KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN - Ultimate Collection: 21 Novels & 130+ Short Stories: Fairy Tales and Poems for Children (Illustrated) Including Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm & Penelope Hamilton Series: Rose O' the
Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin
Date: 2016-06-24 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Young Adult Fiction; Coming Of Age; Fiction; Family Life; General
Description: This carefully crafted ebook: "KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN – Ultimate Collection: 21 Novels & 130+ Short Stories, Fairy Tales and Poems for Children (Illustrated)" is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents: Rebecca of Sunnybrook Series: Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm New Chronicles of Rebecca The Flag-Raising Penelope Hamilton Series: Penelope's English Experiences Penelope's Experiences in Scotland Penelope's Irish Experiences Penelope's Postscripts The Homespun Trilogy: Rose o' the River The Old Peabody Pew Susanna and Sue Other Novels: A Summer in a Cañon: A Califor
Publisher: E-Artnow
Rights: 21 Shades of Night: A Collection of Bestselling Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy ~ copyright 2016 by Bestselling Boxed Sets

21 SHADES OF NIGHT

A Collection of Bestselling Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy

Including works by ~

SARAH MÄKELÄ

ANNA ZAIRES

CONNER KRESSLEY

REBECCA HAMILTON

J.E. TAYLOR

JC ANDRIJESKI

ANGEL LAWSON

NOREE COSPER

K. DE LONG

SUSAN STEC

TERRY SPEAR

JACQUELINE SWEET

LISA CARLISLE

EDEN ASHE

LJ SWALLOW

AMBER ELLA MONROE

LAXMI HARIHARAN

JOANNE WADSWORTH

CJ FLYNN

SKYLA MADI

C.P. MANDARA

CATHERINE STINE

21 SHADES OF NIGHT is a Multi-Author Bundle, copyright 2016 by Bestselling Boxed Sets. All individual titles copyrighted by the individual authors. Published July 12, 2016 by Bestselling Boxed Books.

Cover Art Design 2016 by Rebecca Frank

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition

21 SHADES OF NIGHT

A Collection of Bestselling Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy

“Haunting and Otherworldly...”

With one million words of romantic paranormal fiction, this set will light up your night with vampires, witches, warriors, and more! This limited edition omnibus is packed with today’s NY Times, USA Today, and International Bestselling authors to create a collection you won’t soon forget.

This collection is packed with a gorgeous combination of bone-chilling urban fantasies and steamy paranormal romances. With sexy shifters, hot vampires, wickedly cool witches, gargoyles, and so much more, this boxed set has something for everyone—Take your pick!

* * *

From NEW YORK TIMES Bestselling Author, SARAH MÄKELÄ, BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON –– Carmela struggles to choose between the alpha werewolf she's destined for and the vampire she's enchanted by, but the wrong decision could lead to deadly consequences.

From NEW YORK TIMES Bestselling Author, ANNA ZAIRES, CLOSE LIAISONS –– His people took over her planet. Now he wants her.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Authors, CONNER KRESSLEY & REBECCA HAMILTON, TAKEN BY THE BEAST ––  It's not until a missing girl is found chained up in her boss's home that this beauty realizes her romantic interest is a beast.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, J.E. TAYLOR, NIGHT HAWK –– Sentenced to death at the hands of a demon, Naomi Hawk has a firsthand lesson in betrayal. Now, she thirsts for justice...and revenge.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, JC ANDRIJESKI, ROOK –– Yanked out of her life by dangerous seer and spy, Revik, Allie is thrust into an inter-species war and discovers her blood may not be as "human" as she always thought.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, ANGEL LAWSON, THE LOST QUEEN –– Nadya learns that love, power and destiny lies not in this world but the next.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, NOREE COSPER, A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM –– Gabby, a demon hunter cursed with immortality, must join forces with the descendants of Abraham Van Helsing to defeat an ancient evil plaguing a small town.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, K. DE LONG, REAPER –– When an assignment comes between Imogene and Abel, the undead assassins will be pitted against unheard of enemies- including each other.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, SUSAN STEC, PURGATORY –– A myth with no name, no flesh, no sex, and no identity... Unless it wears one of you.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, TERRY SPEAR, FORBIDDEN LOVE –– Huntress Alena's mission: to work uncover a rogue vampire's secretive work, then terminate him. But Ephraim knows Alena is his Elizabeth from an earlier time, and he's determined to return to the past and end her curse before it's too late–again.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, JACQUELINE SWEET, THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND –– Her heart desired the pirate, but her wolf howled for the shifter prince. How could she love two men at once?

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, LISA CARLISLE, KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON –– A forbidden romance between a gargoyle shifter and tree witch on a mystical island.

From International Bestselling Author, EDEN ASHE, HUNTER UNDONE –– He was her salvation. She would be his downfall.

From International Bestselling Author, LJ SWALLOW, SOUL TIES –– Hunters sent to capture Keir's Nephilim soul never return, but Ava has no choice. Bring his soul in return for her freedom - or die trying.

From International Bestselling Author, AMBER ELLA MONROE, WOLF IN EXILE –– A human and a wolf shifter survive exile, but will their love last when the devastating truth that brought them together is uncovered?

From International Bestselling Author, LAXMI HARIHARAN, AWAKENED –– Armed only with the sexy cop gone rogue Vik Roy, Ruby Iyer must save her city, save her friend, save her soul from total destruction.

From International Bestselling Author, JOANNE WADSWORTH, HIGHLANDER’S KISS –– Tavish is a Highland warrior shifter who's traveled back through time to find his soul bound mate. Now, he encounters his greatest battle to claim her.

From International Bestselling Author, CJ FLYNN, THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER –– A young woman discovers that her grandfather's ramblings of seers and the undead are not creations of his dementia, but the keys to unlocking family secrets long buried.

From International Bestselling Author, SKYLA MADI, DARK WINGS –– Violet Ashton is an exemplary angel with ninety-nine kills under her belt.

From International Bestselling Author, C.P. MANDARA, DESIRING DEATH –– Vampire Vs. Huntress. When death is this sexy, resistance is futile.

From International Bestselling Author, CATHERINE STINE, WITCH OF THE CARDS –– Fiera discovers she's a sea witch, but someone is out to stop her blossoming powers forever. Secrets, lies, even murder, lace this sizzling historical fantasy.

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON

BY SARAH MÄKELÄ

Copyright © 2015 Sarah Mäkelä

Carmela struggles to choose between the alpha werewolf she's destined for and the vampire she's enchanted by, but the wrong decision could lead to deadly consequences.

Werewolf relationships are all about influence and offspring, especially as they are becoming extinct. But Carmela Santiago resents that type of life. She dreams of falling in love, not following the example her parents have set.

When sensual vampire Derek Ashmore rescues her from dangerous hunters, she tumbles head over heels for him. Not a wise decision since werewolves and vampires are mortal enemies.

Meeting her caring mate-to-be Brendan Kelly has her further questioning the future. Regardless, her life has forever changed now that she’s met not one, but two men who pull at her heartstrings...

Beneath the Broken Moon © 2015 Sarah Mäkelä

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

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without expressed written permission from the author.

Editor: Word Vagabond

Cover Artist: Yocla Designs

Chapter 1

Carmela

BULLETS PEPPERED THE big screen of the Teatro de la Noche. Screams rang out around me, and I dropped to the floor, pulling my cousin Chandra down with me. Tension ached in my shoulders, and my heart pounded in my chest like a trapped animal, desperate to escape.

Gunpowder stung my sensitive nose, but through the overpowering scent, I caught a whiff of a hunter heading our way. “Chandra, we have to move.”

If Chandra and I didn’t get out of here we’d end up dead—or worse, test subjects for the Cazador—human hunters ordered to scour the land of nocturnes by the plutocratic government.

“How? They’re all around us.” Chandra peeked over the seats before dropping back down beside me. “A few of them are chasing down those who ran from the first assault, but two more are heading straight for us.” She ran a manicured hand through her honey-brown hair, which was only a shade darker than my own. “Come on. I have a plan. Let’s try to sneak out the side door.” She crawled in the opposite direction, down the row of seats.

The sight of my cousin’s butt cheeks hanging out of her short skirt filled my vision; some things were better left unseen. I lowered my gaze, particularly since Chandra had forgone panties. She almost always held herself with an air of power and purpose. Perhaps that’s what it took to get attention from other werewolves. Chandra got it in heaps, but her lower social status stopped a lot of relationships.

While it was a horrible time to second-guess my modest fashion sense, I couldn’t help wonder if I should take a lesson from my cousin. My own blouse and dark blue jeans had much less pizzazz. But I doubted my father would allow me to dress like Chandra; we had a privileged image to uphold.

I bit my lip, struggling to turn my thoughts back to the problem at hand. This was all too much. How could we get out of here unscathed when the roar of gunfire continued to close in?

We reached the end of the aisle. Chandra moved to glance over the seat, when a shout came from the opposite end, startling us both.

“Run, Chandra!” I barely kept my voice to a whisper.

She sprinted toward the bright red exit sign at the front of the theater, and I chased after her, trying to keep my pace natural though her long legs made it challenging. Maybe if they suspected we weren’t nocturnes, they’d leave us alone.

The stomping of heavy boots on the theater’s plush carpets said otherwise. Then again, they weren’t opposed to taking their fellow humans down too. The very rich in power thrived on oppressing those less fortunate. What better way to keep the populace down than to have their thugs strike whenever possible.

“We should split up.” Chandra shoved a heavy trashcan in front of the door, but that wouldn’t be much of an obstacle to the pseudo-military bastards.

“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “No way. If we do that, we’ll—” The trashcan scraped the cement as the hunters tried to open the door. Maybe she was right. If we were together, there was a better chance of them catching us both. Alone, we might survive the night.

I nodded to her, and we took off in opposite directions down the alleyway behind the Teatro. The door slammed open, smacking the wall hard, as I turned the corner and headed toward the main street. I had to find somewhere to hide out before the hunters spotted me again.

In front of me, another group of Cazador chased a few werewolves down the main road. I slowed to keep my distance from them, but if I didn’t get somewhere fast, they were going to catch me. Ugh. As much as I loved getting out of the house and going to the movies, I wished I’d listened to my instincts tonight and stayed home.

Two sets of feet pounded the sidewalk behind me. Perhaps they’d spotted me before I reached the corner.

I picked up speed a little, pumping my arms as I struggled to keep to a human speed while staying out of range. The temptation to race through the streets nearly drove me to action, but I glanced back, seeing my pursuers for the first time.

One of the men had greying hair and a rounded belly, which explained the slower, heavier footfalls, while the other guy appeared younger and super-athletic. No wonder I was having trouble getting away. If he hadn’t been so scary, he might’ve been attractive. Pure masculine aggression raged through him, tensing his shoulders as his gaze focused solely on me, his prize. Each man carried a large-caliber handgun. I was just glad they were too busy running to try to shoot me...for now, at least.

My sandal hit an uneven patch of concrete in the sidewalk. My body lurched forward, but I caught myself before I could go down. I should’ve been paying more attention to the street. Up ahead on the opposite side of the road, I spotted a dark alleyway running alongside a row house. If I cut through, I could safely turn up the speed without exposing myself, and lose them.

The older hunter slowed; his breathing had become increasingly labored. He cocked his revolver’s hammer, and I darted across the empty road, making a beeline for the alley. The last thing I wanted tonight was to see Dr. Matthews. Just a little bit farther. A bullet smacked the ground at my feet, hitting me with fragments of pavement. I bit back a yelp, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing my fear.

“I got this one, old kook,” the younger hunter grumbled, and his footsteps slowed too.

Another gunshot pierced the hazy night air. White-hot pain rocked my shoulder, nearly toppling me to the ground. I screamed, unable to hold it in, and picked up speed, no longer caring if I appeared human or not. The faint creak of a door barely registered before a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, jerking me inside the dark row house.

My rescuer softly shut the door, careful not to make a sound, and shoved a hand over my mouth. “Sshhh,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe.” His voice was deep, with an English accent. He pulled me away from the door and hunched down in the darkened room, holding me close, waiting and listening.

Agony clouded my thoughts, but I couldn’t let myself lose focus.

Footsteps thundered through the side alley. I stiffened at the sound. The hunters’ harsh voices and the clanking of metal were the only differences between them and a herd of cattle. They made no attempt to disguise themselves, taking delight in the fear they provoked. The Cazador weren’t true predators, but they held power over their fellow humans and the weaker of the nocturnes.

I stayed silent in my mysterious savior’s arms. Thoughts of my cousin Chandra sparked inside my mind. She was still out there. What if the Cazador found her and killed her as they’d tried to kill me?

This man had saved my life. I needed to do the same for my kin.

His large hand flexed slightly, crushing my mouth. I placed my hand against his wrist, hoping he’d release me, since I no longer heard the disgusting Cazador who hunted me like an animal. How had I gotten myself into this mess?

Shifting my weight, I groaned as my shoulder brushed against his smooth chest, my arm hanging limply by my side. The bullet must be impairing my movement. I doubted even shifting into wolf form would fix this right now. What was I supposed to do? Not even my people were immune to blood loss.

The scent of death crept into my nostrils, which could only mean one thing: my savior was a vampire. In this weakened state, he could easily end my life, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him.

But why would he save me? Maybe he required his next meal. An icy shiver slithered down the length of my spine. For the first time, I felt real fear.

If only I’d insisted on returning home from the Teatro sooner instead of catching the night’s second movie, we wouldn’t have been there for the raid. Already my energy waned due to the rocky power of the three raging moons. The added exertion of running from the Cazador and getting shot strained my body even more.

Somehow, the Cazador had known nocturnes frequented the Teatro. Who would give that kind of information away? Wolves wanted the same pleasures in life that humans desired.

My savior readjusted his grip on me, brushing against my upper back. I swallowed a scream, unwilling to alert anyone who might be listening outside this man’s home. This vampire’s home. Clenching my teeth, I pulled at the vampire’s wrist. I would not be his victim.

He remained steadfast, proving my weakness. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. Don’t do anything that would force me to hurt you, because I’ve had a lot of practice.” His crisp voice caressed my ear, and his breath moved tendrils of light brown hair, tickling the flesh on my neck. “Do you understand?”

While he meant the words as a threat, I couldn’t help the way my body responded to his intensity. I nodded, forcing my thoughts back into place. If he attacked, I needed to remember my Militia training.

The vampire released me, but he stayed still, as if waiting for my next move.

Slowly and carefully, I scooted away and turned to face him. My eyes had gradually adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to see more clearly in the dimly lit room than a human would. What a sight he was. I brushed my fingertips over my sore lips.

Crouching in the shadows, he wore a navy-blue dress shirt with the buttons undone to show off his pale, sculpted chest, and dark jeans that snugly fit his long legs. I’d only seen a few vampires, and none of them had looked this exquisite.

My eyes widened as he ran a hand through his shoulder-length black hair. His gaze had dropped to my lips, and I lowered my hand. Hunger burned in his deep blue eyes; I prayed it wasn’t bloodlust.

What was I thinking? Our species didn’t see eye to eye on anything except survival. The Feud between vampires and werewolves had raged on for centuries now, since well before bickering humans shot the moon with a nuke after a resource dispute and nearly killed the world’s population. Little did my ancestors know just how much and how fast the world would change. Instead of bridging the gap, vamps and wolves had grown even further apart. No one remembered what or whom first started the divide, but neither race spent any effort on diplomatic relations.

Kill or be killed.

I took a deep breath and sat a little straighter. With space between us, my fear lessened. The Militia had taught me to defend myself against hunters and other nocturnes. They made sure I wouldn’t be easy prey for the enemy. Of course—they preferred to have my womb protected, since it ensured our race would live on.

Bitterness soured my taste buds, and the urge to spit overwhelmed me.

Admittedly, vampires were the hardest foes to defeat, and I couldn’t practice my skills much these days. Not with Father keeping me almost literally a prisoner in my own home.

But if I had to fight this vampire, I would go out having inflicted a lot of pain.

“Why did you help me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on the wall near his head. No way would I look into his eyes. While I was strong, I wasn’t stupid. His kind could easily manipulate, and I had no idea what he had in mind.

“I think it was your caramel-brown eyes, love.” He leaned into my line of sight, but I looked away. Instead, he closed the space between us in a heartbeat and gently stroked his index finger along my jaw.

The sudden intrusion on my personal space had me jerking away, but with my back so close to the wall, I had nowhere to run. “How could it have been my eyes?” I crossed my good arm under my breasts, but that drew his attention down to my chest. Not what I’d intended. “I’m sure you couldn’t have seen them while I was running from the hunters.”

With a sensual swipe of his tongue, he licked his lips. His gaze lifted to meet mine, but I quickly averted my eyes. “You caught me.”

The cool, sensual touch of his fingers trailed toward my neck, then my shoulder. My breath hitched in my throat as his hand skirted the edge of the wound. Everything in me demanded I move away, but I refused to show weakness.

The vampire sucked in a deep breath, and he let it out in a slow lustful shudder. “You’re hurt.” He raked his gaze over my body, taking in all of me. “Those eyes must have captivated me again.” From what I could see, I doubted my eyes were the only thing he liked.

“Right.” His playful answers surprised me; we were supposed to be enemies. If he wanted to drink my blood, he should just say so. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have attacked already? “I should be going. The Cazador are long gone by now, so I won’t waste any more of your time.” I tucked a leg beneath me to climb to my feet, but the vampire grabbed my wrist, holding me still.

Instinct kicked in, and a low growl of warning rumbled from my throat. My teeth sharpened, and the skin on my arms rippled, ready to welcome my beast. But I shut down the change.

He released me and lifted his arms in surrender. “Where are my manners? My name is Derek. I’m afraid I can’t let you leave. You’re injured, and the hunters could still capture you. Besides, you might tell your wolves where I live.” He smiled without flashing any fangs. Others of his kind wouldn’t be able to pull that off; he had to be an ancient. “Let me help you. I was once a doctor.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. Such irony. A man who once pledged himself to healing people now drained them of their life’s blood. “All I need to do is shapeshift a few times. That’ll fix this.”

He rose to his feet as if pulled up by strings, then folded his arms. “Shapeshifting isn’t going to solve that.” Taking in a deep breath, he shook his head. “Not with a wound so severe. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so by now. Besides, I just saved you from the Cazador.”

I hated that he was right. He’d made no move to harm me, and he’d helped when he didn’t have to. Sighing, I leaned my head back, wincing as my shoulder touched the wall. “Why did you save me? If the hunters knew, they’d punish you severely.”

“More severely than death?” Derek chuckled. “I’d like to see them try.”

I stared up at him, a frown tugging at my lips. No one could argue with his logic. He was a vampire; the worst they could do would be to bring him true death. “I’m Carmela. Thanks for the help. Not many would’ve done that.”

“People are afraid of the ‘mighty’ hunters.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, then held out his hand to me. “They’re pathetic compared to us.”

While I agreed with what he said, I couldn’t suppress my wariness at his help. But I didn’t have a choice; I was too badly injured to survive the night without treatment. I reluctantly accepted his hand. He lifted me to my feet as if I weighed nothing, then led the way into his living room.

The luxurious room showcased a large velveteen couch with handsome oak inlay in the shape of a creeping rose vine along the back. I leaned down to brush my hand along the forest-green cushion, amazed at the ornate décor, but a trail of my blood slid toward my wrist.

Pulling away, I wrapped my arm around my waist and took in the rest of the room. No way would I ruin his furniture. “This place looks like a museum. It’s breathtaking.”

“Hardly. It’s my home. I have a room upstairs better suited for tending to you.” Derek walked toward the banister of the swooping staircase, but he kept his gaze fixed on me as if I’d run at a moment’s notice. That should’ve been closer to the truth. However, I couldn’t help my fascination at the way this vampire lived. I’d never seen such nice things before. How many lifetimes had he spent on cultivating his collection? “Coming, Carmela?” He waved for me to follow him.

The sound of my name on his lips pulled me forward. I walked to the steps, but weakness weighed down my limbs. How could I make it home by myself if the thought of climbing the stairs drained me? If he’d been a doctor, I might be okay in his care. Doctors followed a code of ethics. My mother used to be a nurse, and she liked to talk about those days when we were alone.

I took a deep breath, and I only smelled the two of us. Not that I thought I might be walking into a trap, but I couldn’t be too careful. My gaze swept back to the living room. I wasn’t materialistic, but the blatant show of wealth struck the wishful part of me that hoped for more out of life. I bumped into him as he stopped suddenly on the steps.

“Look, I’m not going to harm you.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Okay?” Worry tightened his lips for a second, but he flashed a smile.

“Fine. If you say so.” The world spun a little, and I clenched the railing in my fist, focusing all of my energy on staying upright. My desire to help Chandra would have to wait. Besides, she’d be okay. She was strong and street-smart. As far as I knew, the Cazador had followed me, not her, and I’d be useless searching for her right now.

However, a small part of me whispered that family didn’t abandon one another. Betrayer, my thoughts hissed, but I shoved them aside.

My legs shook as I reached the top step. Derek watched me carefully but didn’t offer his assistance. He probably knew I wouldn’t have accepted it. I wouldn’t let my weakness get the better of me in front of him, a possible threat. “You’ll stay in my spare room. It’s a comfortable space to relax while I care for you.” I followed him down the hallway, each step harder than the last, and he opened the door for me. “Here you are.”

I stayed put and stood up straighter, hoping he’d get the message and go in first, but he didn’t. Right.

A red paisley bedspread adorned a heavy oak bed with an abundance of matching pillows, befitting royalty. The bedroom was as polished and pristine as the living room. How could I possibly be comfortable with bleeding all over it? If this was how he decked out his spare room, I could only imagine what his room looked like.

I glanced back at the doorway, where he remained. Our eyes met for the first time from across the room, even though I knew the risks. “Where do you want me?” I asked, wincing at how intimate that sounded. “Here?” Dizziness swayed me, and my knees buckled. Strong arms wrapped around me before my body could hit the floor.

Derek’s concerned face filled my darkening vision. “Yes, here is fine,” he murmured, laying me down on the soft bed. “Don’t die on me.”

Chapter 2

Carmela

CANDLELIGHT BATHED THE bedroom in a warm glow. Confusion rippled within me. Where was I? I turned to see Derek perched on a stool beside the bed. My heart skipped a beat, and I fisted my hand in the bedspread. His midnight-blue eyes beckoned me closer, urging me to dive into their deep, churning depths. I ripped myself from the connection and focused on the ceiling.

“You’re awake. I was worried.” His accented voice was smooth and husky, like sex on silk sheets.

What kind of hold did he have on my mind? Fear tickled my senses, warning me to resist his draw. He leaned forward, and I noticed he’d buttoned his shirt—except for the top and bottom few—no longer exposing his chest. However, with his satin sleeves rolled up, his muscular forearms stole my attention as he rested them on his knees. The faint memory of being held by them warmed me. “I patched your shoulder and extracted what I could of the bullet. Seems it was silver shot.”

That made sense. America’s government-funded laboratories created wicked toys for the Cazador and used nocturnes as guinea pigs to test their weapons for maximum efficiency. If Derek hadn’t taken care of me, I could’ve died. “Thank you.”

Tears burned in my eyes as I struggled against the pain in order to sit up. My injured arm was bound to my torso in a makeshift cotton sling. Had he done that while I slept? Dread knotted in my stomach, and I brushed my fingertips over my throat to check for bite marks.

Derek chuckled, igniting molten heat within me. It chased up my neck and nestled into my cheeks. “I haven’t bitten you, if that’s what you’re wondering. I merely worked on your shoulder. As I said, I used to be a doctor when I was alive.”

Sighing, I dropped my hand into my lap. Even though he seemed friendly enough, I didn’t want to lower my guard too much. Besides, now that I felt better, I needed to return home and check on my cousin. “Guess I’m off then. Thanks again for helping me.” I scooted toward the edge of the bed. A cool breeze blew across my face, and Derek pressed his hands into the bed on either side of my hips. His face was less than two inches from mine. Sensations warred within me: part of me felt a seductive pull of energy from him, while the wolf bristled at the intimidation.

“I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be wise. I can’t trust that you wouldn’t alert your people about me. The risk is too great.” His cool breath caressed my lips, adding to the sensual moment.

The scent of peppermint tickled my nose. I grinned in surprise. I knew now wasn’t the time to burst into laughter over minty vampire breath, but it wasn’t every day I witnessed something so...unique.

Derek curled his lip back, showing off pointed fangs, and moved in an inch. “You think what I said is funny?”

Shaking my head, I tried forcing the smile off my face, but I couldn’t. “Your breath. It smells like mint.” The tension between us built, and if I’d wanted to, I could’ve just leaned in and tasted his kisses. Would they be minty or taste like death? My body sank forward, until our lips were a hairsbreadth apart.

Whoa. Where were these thoughts coming from? My wolf growled, but I knew she wasn’t entirely opposed to Derek. She enjoyed the sight of his muscular physique just as much as I did. The wolf demanded a strong mate who could protect our pups. Stop it!

Jerking away, he crossed his arms and stalked toward the window, allowing me a good view of his firm butt.

Embarrassment burned in my cheeks. I couldn’t believe I’d been so close to kissing him. No, no, no... This wasn’t happening. It had to be some kind of Stockholm syndrome caused by him saving me. If I didn’t leave, I might do something stupid.

I crossed my legs, feeling an unfamiliar ache between them. The raw lust I felt for him only made me more confused about what I should do, never mind who I was. Werewolves did not fantasize about vampires. We were mortal enemies.

Anyway, I should’ve gone back sooner to check on Chandra. My parents were probably concerned, and the more time that passed, the less understanding my father would be. Yet I stayed here, letting myself get swept up by Derek. How could I show my face at home? I’d told my parents we wouldn’t be out all night. We gave the show times for the Teatro. Father had actually been lenient for once. Nausea spread in my gut.

Keep it together. You’ve got this.

Focusing on finding a solution helped me feel less overwhelmed. My gaze flicked to the door. If Derek wouldn’t allow me to leave, I needed to come up with a way to escape without his cooperation, despite how painful that might be.

Derek shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Tension still radiated in his posture, and I could tell from the humanlike movements that he was warring with himself. Most vampires stayed perfectly still as long as they were in control of themselves or their environment. That restlessness put me on edge. While wolves were supernaturally quick, vampires were somehow faster. With him so alert, I’d never make it without him catching me, unless I surprised him.

Werewolves could muscle our way through conflict using our teeth and claws as weapons, but vampires possessed magical abilities dependent on their bloodlines. Some of those powers were downright scary. I wondered what Derek was capable of; so far he’d shown no sign of his magic.

Frustration built within me, ready to explode. My wolf grew more and more restless with his domineering behavior. “Are you going to keep me prisoner here forever?”

Derek twisted around to look at me and quirked his lips. “Sounds good to me, love.”

I widened my eyes, not expecting that response. Now he was just teasing me. He couldn’t possible have been serious; but the way he held himself proved differently. Grimacing, I scooted out of bed, reluctant to leave the incredibly soft mattress. “I don’t think so. You won’t hold me here. The Militia trained me to fight your kind. You won’t come out unscathed.”

“Hmm...” He pointedly glanced at my bandaged arm. “Good luck. Your intimidation isn’t working. I’ve been around for centuries—how old are you, pup?” As if to reinforce his smug certainty, he turned back to the window.

Pup. My blood pressure spiked, and my nails sharpened into claws. I hated being called that, but I had to admit, he’d fixed me up without giving into bloodlust and ripping out my throat, which was particularly impressive given our status as enemies.

Some vampires touted werewolf blood as a divine elixir that held an extra kick, making us more scrumptious than humans. Maybe it came from the power werewolves harnessed, the raw wildness that howled through our veins, or the rigid self-control we exercised during the one of three full moons that occurred within a two-month time span.

Regardless of all that, I needed to keep focused on developing my plan.

“That’s none of your business.” I glanced at the door and took a quiet step toward it. Derek had been right about one thing. He had centuries on me, and I hadn’t been able to properly practice my fighting skills. Given fight or flight, my odds were better with flight. He intimidated me, but despite that, my body ached in ways I’d never experienced before. “What do you care?” Perhaps if I made conversation, he wouldn’t notice me trying to escape. Unlikely, though.

He didn’t answer, just kept his back to me. Anger tugged at me, but I pushed it down. He wasn’t worth the possibility of losing control of my beast. My nails returned to normal, and any sign of the nail polish I’d put on that evening disappeared with the change.

Darting to the door, I came up short at the sight of him glowering down at me. Only the cool breeze I’d felt seconds before proved he hadn’t teleported.

I moved away, taking one step at a time until my legs hit the oak bed. Even if I wanted to change forms, I’d have to get the splint off first. Shifting with it on would be unbearable; I might even further injure myself. “What do you want? What guarantee will you accept that I won’t tell my kind about you?” My tone softened, and I stared at my splint. With the way he moved, I wouldn’t be able to get it off before he was on top of me. Back to the plan, Carmela. Don’t get sidetracked. Talk. “The only reason they want me is for my womb, to bear the next generation of werewolves.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. “They don’t really care about my safety.”

Grinding my teeth, I lifted my gaze to his face, which had become as hard and neutral as alabaster. That topic stung, and I couldn’t believe I’d opened up to him, a vampire of all beings. But it wasn’t as if he cared.

“That’s an important role.” He leaned against the doorframe, barring the exit but keeping his distance. “Your kind is near extinction.”

I balled my hand into a fist. How could he side with them so easily? My womb belonged to me, and I resented being used as a tool for breeding. “Sure, you try living with the pressure to appease your people when all you want is a life with love and tenderness, instead of an arranged relationship with someone you barely know.” I turned my back on him, unable to believe I’d just spoken my true feelings for the first time. My future saddened me, but I’d never revealed that sentiment to anyone else.

Vampires had it easier. They turned humans through multiple bites. They didn’t have to worry about dying off like werewolves. He had no idea about my ‘important role.’

But pity wasn’t what I wanted from him or anyone else. I would do what was required, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Suddenly the thought of returning home didn’t feel as enticing as it had moments ago.

“You’d be an Alpha Queen, a sacred title amongst your people, with a mate to protect you and your pups. What more could you want?” On second thought, I could really do without Derek’s pep talk. “That’s prestigious. Surely you weren’t out to get yourself killed by the Cazador for that reason alone?” Humor warmed his voice.

Chapter 3

Derek

“OF COURSE NOT!” Carmela whirled on me. “I’m not like you. Fancy titles and positions of authority might be what you aspire to, but not me!” A snarl trickled from her throat and her skin rippled as fur spread over her arms before disappearing again. Her beast fought hard to take over.

If I didn’t calm her soon, I’d have one pissed-off werewolf on my hands. I wasn’t afraid of what she might do to me—she was injured. She wouldn’t be able to attack as she wanted, and that meant she’d end up hurting herself more, if not forcing me to end her life. I couldn’t have a werewolf rampaging through my home. It’d draw too much attention. The flow of her anger wound through the room, a sign of her staunch control quickly unraveling.

“You’re wrong. I don’t have delusions of grandeur.” I didn’t dare say more. The High Council would rip me apart over mingling with her kind, let alone telling her about my position among them. However, the apocalypse had changed me. My attendance at meetings had suffered for the first time since becoming part of the upper echelon in Victorian London so many lifetimes ago.

She shook her head but took several deep breaths. “Right.”

However, I couldn’t understand why, if she were in such a privileged position, she wouldn’t want that life? Werewolf society was different from the vampires’. We had centuries to horde wealth, and we weren’t in as much danger of extinction as they were. Besides, she’d have a sacred title amongst her people, and a man who would protect her and the pups she bore him.

It had to be better than being one of the Protectors, women who didn’t have a noble birthright. From what I’d read, Protectors also bore children and helped continue the race, but an Alpha Queen was special.

Maybe pairing up and bearing children didn’t suit her ideals. “What were you doing out so late then?” I ran my gaze down her petite frame. “It isn’t wise to roam the city at night. Your people must know the suspicion the Cazador has for those active after dark. Don’t they?” I remained still, trying not to come across as a threat. That was the last thing she needed right now.

“Of course we do. I was out with my cousin.” Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t spill over. Her hands trembled, and she acted as if the walls were closing in on her. “Just move, okay?” Her voice rasped the words. “You saved my life, and I’d prefer not to hurt you.”

My lips tightened in concern, but I wiped away the emotion. I cocked an eyebrow and looked her over again. If she’d look into my eyes this would all be much easier, but Carmela was too smart for that. “I won’t move, and you’re too injured to fight me.”

“That doesn’t stop me from leaving.” She twisted around, and before I could figure out what she meant, glass shattered as she dove out the window. A solid thump sounded a few seconds later.

Cursing, I ran to the broken window. She picked herself off the ground and glared up at me for a second before running off in a flurry of motion. I squeezed my hands into fists. I knew I should run after her, but that might put me at risk. I needed to trust that she wouldn’t do anything to bring her people or the Cazador to my door.

Not that I had any reason to. We were sworn enemies, after all.

If only my heart agreed.

Chapter 4

Chandra

I CROSSED MY legs, then smoothed the wrinkles from my skirt as I stared silently at Uncle William’s red, angry face from across the massive oak desk. Aunt Katarina sat in the chair next to me, wringing her thin hands in her lap.

What would he and Katarina say if Carmela was gone for good? My cousin had always been the shining star, even if she didn’t realize it. I worked hard for the attention I received. There were no mates in my immediate future, no prized position amongst my people, and yet she complained about it all.

I wiped a tear from my cheek. Even if I had my issues with Carmela, I didn’t want her dead. She’d been my only friend when I’d come in off the street.

William leaned forward, his thick hands flat on the surface of the desk. His dark brown eyes scanned mine, and he drew in a deep breath as if searching for signs of deceit. “Get on with it. What happened this evening?” His voice reminded me of a drill sergeant from the Militia, pitched barely lower than a shout. A thick vein protruded on his forehead.

I tugged at the hem of my skirt again. “We were at the Teatro.” Sniffling, I met his gaze, knowing it was a thin line between challenge and standing up for myself. Most of the time, I wondered where the chips would fall. “Someone started yelling at the back of the theater during the movie, then bullets started flying and everyone ran. The Cazador knew a group of nocturnes would be there. We escaped out the exit door and split up in hopes of losing the hunters.” I dipped my head, unwilling to tell the whole story. If they knew I’d had reservations during the intermission, I would be blamed for Carmela’s death. “Several nocturnes were killed. I don’t think they were trying to capture us.” The Cazador had shouted for us to remain in place. As if. Nocturnes, especially lycanthropes, weren’t stupid.

After I made sure I wasn’t being followed, I tracked Carmela and saw the hunter shoot her. If my cousin wasn’t here now, she had to be dead. However, I’d looked for her all over, covering several square blocks. But she’s vanished as if by magic.

Something was off.

Katarina rubbed her hand over my back in soothing strokes, but it did little to settle my confused emotions. “Oh, dear, we’re glad you’re safe. Can I make you a cup of hot chocolate?” she asked, her voice gentle and calming.

I glanced her way and nodded. “Thank you, Auntie.”

Katarina stood up straight, keeping her shoulders back, which only emphasized her thin, frail-looking frame. “Maybe we should send out a search team to find our daughter. She could be—” She stopped herself and sighed. “Forgive me.”

“Just go make your niece some hot chocolate, woman.” Uncle William rose to his feet and circled the desk. He was tall and stocky, making him formidable both as a human and a werewolf. He leaned against the edge and stared over my shoulder as if waiting for my aunt to leave. Once satisfied she was gone, he knelt before me and brushed his knuckles across my cheek in a firm, almost painful, gesture. “If you’re lying,” he said, brushing his lips against my ear, “I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. Do you understand me, girl?” He bit into my earlobe hard enough to hurt but not bleed.

I winced, but a sensual shiver chased down my spine all the same.

After a few moments, soft footsteps signaled Aunt Katarina’s return. William pushed off from the desk, then crossed to the large fireplace, resting his hand on the mantle. His gaze met mine before darting away. He wouldn’t let slip to Katarina what went on between us. If she told anyone, he’d be punished. Granted, he had ways of convincing those under him to obey.

Fear mixed with forbidden lust. I didn’t want to be this messed up, but sometimes...it felt so good. My shoulders hunched, and I grudgingly accepted the mug, keeping my gaze fixed on the warm cocoa—with a spoonful of whipped cream, just the way I liked it.

My aunt was too good to me, and I didn’t always feel deserving of her care.

Chapter 5

Carmela

AFTER TRAVELING ALMOST a block, I slowed my pace and glanced over my shoulder to see if Derek had followed me. Kind of silly, since he could’ve caught me before I made it out of the alley. Crashing through the window wasn’t as painless as the movies made it look. Feline shifters had it so much easier. Then again, the blood loss had made me weak. Whatever the method, I still freed myself from him.

Although not every part of me was happy about that.

My vampiric savior had a strange allure about him, one I hesitated to admit even to myself. Not that it mattered—Father had chosen my mate. Soon enough, I’d be in his possession.

Would forever in the vampire’s care have been so bad?

Shit! What am I thinking? I needed to get a grip. We were enemies. Mortal enemies. Even if we had some kind of fling, our people would hunt us to the ends of the Earth, hell-bent on our deaths.

Father would kill me. Literally.

Rubbing a hand down my hip, I limped along the cracked sidewalk, scanning the row houses that lined the street with their peeling paint and dusty windows. Other people strolled along the pavement, but they averted their gazes from me, obviously uncomfortable. I couldn’t blame them. Derek might have cleaned the wound, but blood stained my blouse and dressy jeans.

I groaned.

Shiny new clothes weren’t easy to come by; not in this day and age. People of my class tended to have fine things, but not me. Father was so controlling. He never allowed me to look ‘too nice.’ Chandra, on the other hand... Don’t even go there, Carmela. It’s not worth it.

Even though I was twenty, he didn’t treat me like an adult. He treated me like a possession, always wanting to show me off at Alpha meetings, but never spending time with me. How would I tell him I didn’t want to be with someone who only wanted a female to bear his pups?

If anyone really looked at traditional werewolf society, they’d know how much it favored the female sex rather than their male counterparts. Yet men these days liked the prestige and power of being in charge. No one considered how change might improve our existence. Equality? Not in this lifetime.

My home came into view, and a sigh of relief shuddered through me. Finally. I’d be able to calm my parents and check if Chandra made it. If not, I’d go search for her myself. I didn’t care how long it took.

Chandra’s life was worse than mine. Her parents had tossed her on the streets to fend for herself when she was little. Only when my mother heard about her sister and brother-in-law’s death did we find out what happened to her, and I’d hate myself if she’d perished while I was safe and tended to at Derek’s house.

I glanced over my shoulder at the now-deserted street before heading up the front steps. I didn’t want anyone to know where I was going. Yes, I was paranoid, but people were out to get me. Whoever had alerted the Cazador to the nocturnes at the Teatro didn’t care if my people lived or died.

Steeling my shoulders, I pushed my hand into my jacket pocket and withdrew my keys. Before I could slide them into the door, it swung open. A scowl curled my father’s thin lips. It was enough to bring any pup to tears.

I gulped and stepped inside after him. “Hi, Dad.”

“Where have you been?” His nostrils flared, and he narrowed his dark eyes at me. My heart raced. He ran a fingertip over the arm splint and brought it to his nose. “What is this scent?” He inhaled deeply but shook his head. “You were out getting in trouble? Do you have any idea how worried your mother was about you? We were about to send out a search team.” He placed his hand on my uninjured shoulder and drew me into his side. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my girl.”

Even as he said those words, his tone was flat. Maybe he didn’t want anything to happen to me, but he wanted that so I could be mated to some influential Alpha’s son. I knew he wasn’t concerned for my well-being, and he never bothered to deny it.

While I was growing up, I witnessed many arguments between my parents. Particularly he liked to snarl that his only offspring hadn’t been a boy. That Mom was at fault for not bearing more children.

When my mother gave birth to me, something in her body gave out. Her womb couldn’t handle having a pup within it. Mom liked to say my birth was a miracle, but I didn’t agree, not when Father made me feel otherwise.

Grimacing, I glanced up at him.

He shoved me toward his office on the ground floor. “Come now. I’ll call Dr. Matthews. Your mother is waiting to see you. Go show her you’re okay.”

I walked through the French doors into the large bookshelf-filled room with its grand oak desk, positioned facing the door. The sting of being sent here when I was younger never went away, regardless of the many times I’d been in the room since.

My mother leapt from a chair angled toward the large stone hearth. “Oh, my dear! Come. Let me look at you. What trouble did you get yourself into?” She crossed the room to me, her light brown eyes wide with concern.

“They raided the Teatro. Chandra and I ran, but they caught up to me and shot me.” My gaze landed on the other chair as my cousin stood.

“Carmela, you’re alive,” she said. “I hope you’re okay.” She smiled, but there was something off about her tone of voice, as if she knew something I didn’t. “We were so worried.” She didn’t give away anything more. Could she be trying to warn me? If only I could decipher what she was hinting at.

Father’s voice came from the other room, most likely using his treasured analog phone. He was a business owner, which gave him a certain level of influence; probably one of the factors that contributed to my family not being lower class like other werewolves. With that influence, he sometimes had the ability to go outside the norm of what others could or couldn’t get. The phone had been a gift from one of his loyal clients. They were fairly rare and expensive these days, unlike before the disaster when almost everyone had a cell phone.

“You should sit down, sweetheart. You look pale.” Mother guided me to the chair Chandra had vacated. Leaning my head back against the chair’s plush upholstered fabric, I closed my eyes and brushed my fingertips over the cottony splint holding my arm in place. My shoulder still burned in agony, and whatever sleep I’d gotten at the vampire’s didn’t seem to help the drowsiness weighing me down now.

If the bullet had been lead, I might’ve been able to shrug the injury off, but that wasn’t the case. The Cazador had known what I was. They’d shot me with silver. Fear chilled me to the bone.

“Are you cold? Here, I’ll fetch a blanket,” Mother said from nearby, but I didn’t pay her much attention. Goosebumps rose up over my skin, and pain gnawed on my shoulder like a dog with a bone.

Weight descended upon me, and I blinked my eyes open. Mother smiled as she tucked a large wool blanket around my shivering body. “Does that help any? Should I have your father light a fire?”

“She does not need a fire, Katarina. She needs the doctor to examine her.” Father walked around from the back of the chair to tower over us. “Who fixed you up?” He tugged the blanket down, his gaze dropping to the arm secured to my side.

“I don’t know, Father. I passed out.” I couldn’t tell him it had been a vampire. For some reason, they weren’t able to smell Derek; it probably had to do with the blood and fear that coated me.

“You don’t know?” He straightened his spine, and ferocity creased his forehead. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Mother placed a hand on his thick arm. “Honey, maybe she doesn’t—”

Father snapped his attention toward Mother and snarled at her. His gaze was so intense it would have made anyone else spill their guts at his feet. He turned his head back to me, his eyes narrowing. Now I knew why Chandra had acted off; Father was in a seriously bad mood. “What about when you woke up?”

“When I woke up, I found my way home.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself enough that he wouldn’t downright accuse me of lying. But with the way he was acting, it was hard. I didn’t want him to strike Mother or anyone else.

Leaning in closely, he growled, “You better not be lying. Do you understand?” I quickly nodded. “Good. You know I’m fully capable of disciplining you, right?”

Fear choked me. He wouldn’t think twice about hurting me. He called it ‘disciplining,’ but that didn’t cover what he did. What he seemed to enjoy doing. “Yes, Father.” My voice broke slightly, and I wanted to avert my eyes, lean away from him, do anything to gain distance between us, but that wasn’t the way to handle him. Not as a werewolf. He’d believe me to be guilty, which I was if truth be told, but he couldn’t know that. He’d kill me if he thought a vampire had tainted me.

“Doctor Matthews will be here shortly. Go up to your room. Don’t make things difficult for him. He’s coming all this way because you couldn’t stay out of trouble.” His lips curled back in disgust, and he straightened to his full height.

I pulled away the cozy blanket and tried to stand, but my muscles weren’t cooperating. Dizziness swept through me, and I bit my lip against the wave of nausea roiling my gut. “I don’t feel well.”

Father grabbed me by the front of my blouse, popping a few buttons in the process, and hauled me from the chair. The tips of my toes barely touched the ground as he lifted. Breathing became difficult, and the gnawing pain in my shoulder grew almost unbearable as my shirt pressed into it. Sheer hostility filled his eyes, and he watched for signs of my pain.

I groaned and wriggled, trying to take some of the pressure off my shoulder by holding myself up, but he hefted me higher.

“Dear, I’ll help her to her room. She’s hurting. Please don’t cause her more pain.” Mother stood a few steps behind my father. Fear was evident in her widening eyes. She didn’t want to get involved, didn’t want to upset Father, but she loved me. Loved me enough to risk Father’s wrath.

Father’s grip fell away, and I plummeted to the ground. A loud smack of flesh sounded simultaneously with me thudding against the floor. I lay on my uninjured side and blinked my eyes to see Mother on the office rug with a big red handprint on her cheek. Blood trickled from her lower lip.

“Don’t tell me what to do. She’s my daughter. I can discipline her how and when I see fit. She left us to worry over her whereabouts. And look at this.” He whirled, waving his hand at me. “She comes back injured and ‘not knowing’ what happened. The little bitch knows how important she is, especially when she’ll be meeting her mate tomorrow.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and he slid his gaze over my body. “Damn. With the condition she’s in, I’ll probably need to reschedule.” He paced across the room and back, retracing his steps in a circular track. “I don’t want the boy thinking he’s in for more trouble than she’s worth.”

I stayed on the ground, unsure if standing would provoke him further. Instead, I tried to lie as still as I could. My shoulder didn’t like this position, but I remained quiet.

Mother climbed to her feet slowly, regaining her prim posture. She glanced between her husband and me. It was apparent she wanted to do something, but she was afraid of enraging him further. So she stood there, waiting like a servant.

“Fine, go to her,” Father said after a long stretch of silence.

Mother knelt beside me, carefully pulling me into her arms. Her smile held regret and sadness, and I didn’t have to wonder why. She hated the way Father treated me. At least one of my parents cared. I loathed that once I left, she’d have to continue to deal with how he treated her. Werewolf society didn’t allow for divorce; we mated for life.

Mother carried me upstairs, then nestled me into bed. She brushed my hair back from my face and sighed. “How did you get hurt, my dear?”

“Honestly, the Cazador shot me with their silver bullets. I managed to lose them. I was bleeding heavily, then I passed out.” That was pretty close to the truth, too. I covered my mouth with a hand, stifling a yawn. “I’m not sure what happened after I passed out.” Also true.

Mother shook her head sadly. “You know that story doesn’t please your father. I find it hard to believe myself. Are you certain you don’t know who helped you? If anything, tell me so I can thank them. I’m glad someone took care of you.”

I smiled but refused to answer.

“You should have stuck closer to your cousin. You’re there to protect one another. Soon you’ll have a new home and a great privilege amongst your people. Your father doesn’t want you to mess up that opportunity.” Mother shrugged her shoulders in a dainty bounce. “You get some rest, and I’ll be back once the doctor gets here.” She stood and walked out of my bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

The smile slid from my face, and I leaned my head back. Why was everyone going on about how wonderful being an Alpha Queen would be? I didn’t want the chore of shooting out babies in a loveless relationship. I’d seen the horrors of arranged relationships in the example my parents provided. Male werewolves were known for their atrocious tempers. Who said I wouldn’t be paired with someone who resembled Father? I didn’t want that kind of life.

I wanted love and respect. Was that too much to ask?

Chapter 6

Chandra

I BIT MY lip hard and stayed as still as I could in the high-back chair Aunt Katarina had occupied moments before. Uncle William’s temper was on a very short fuse, and I didn’t want to risk his wrath, especially not when it was overblown like this.

I wished I hadn’t been left downstairs alone with him. Fear tickled the back of my throat. Sometimes he excited me when he got all Alpha-male, but other times he held such violence inside him that it was better to stay out of his way. Right now was the latter.

He normally didn’t hit Aunt Katarina, much less do what he did to Carmela, in front of everyone. We all knew he abused behind closed doors; now his rage was out in the open. This could set a horrible precedent.

His gaze swung in my direction, and I couldn’t breathe. Heat burned my skin, and I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt. He narrowed his eyes as he stalked toward me, his arms crossed. He stared me down as he had Carmela.

“I guess you were telling the truth, but I know you’re hiding something.”

My eyes widened before I could control my reaction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you everything,” I said, my voice breathy even to my own ears.

He fisted his meaty hand around my upper arm, yanking me from the chair. “Don’t play coy with me, little girl. I brought you into this household. If you don’t want to go back on the streets where Katarina’s sister left you, you’ll do as I say.”

Adrenaline pumped through my veins. Those words ripped through me, leaving me raw. Pain radiated from my arm, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in my heart. He stomped toward the stairs up to my bedroom, dragging me with him.

I’d taken his rough treatment, but only because I yearned for something better. However, the thrill of Uncle William had diminished. I couldn’t believe he was taking this out on me. Why not aim it at its rightful target, Carmela? But he wouldn’t sully his little girl—she was far too important.

He shoved me toward the bed, then pulled a set of keys out of his pocket.

Panic sent my pulse into overdrive. If I could have, I would’ve run, but I knew I’d never be safe. Not from the Cazador, as the Teatro incident proved, and not from him.

Uncle William was powerful. He’d made me feel safer with him than anywhere I’d been before coming into the Santiago household. But right now, he was wrong. Dead wrong.

The key turned in the lock with an ominous click.

Chapter 7

Derek

I CRACKED MY knuckles. The broken shards of glass had lain on my spare room’s floor long enough. If I didn’t want wind and red dust blowing through my house, I needed to cover the window and sweep up. I turned my attention to the jagged hole, still unable to believe I’d let her escape.

I nailed a large piece of cardboard and a sheet of plastic over the hole. If I didn’t fix this within the next day or two, I’d get a notice from the community. Guess I’d be going to the local hardware store. The Cazador hadn’t circled back since last night; they appeared to have moved on.

It wasn’t as if the city’s other residents demonstrated much upkeep of their areas, but everyone liked to believe things hadn’t changed from before the moon rained down to Earth. That meant keeping up with ridiculous regulations. When I took a deep breath, I could still smell her floral shampoo, still see her caramel-colored eyes, petite frame, and supple curves. Beyond her physical beauty, I appreciated her fire. She didn’t cower from me, regardless of her injuries.

I shifted my weight and glass crunched under my boot. My fist clenched on the broom, making the wooden handle groan under the pressure. Damn... I’d gotten caught up in daydreams again.

I should sweep up the glass from the downstairs walkway too. I might be fined if someone were stupid enough to walk down the alley and step on it, most likely some homeless person who might make a lovely snack.

I didn’t like going out of my way to deal with silly mortal rules. If I could have, I would’ve left city life behind, but food was scarce elsewhere. Humans felt safer in cities these days.

My thoughts drifted back to Carmela; my blood warmed, and I rubbed a hand through my hair. Her expression when she first smelled my breath had surprised me, but that interaction stuck like a note from a lover: the smile on her face, the way her eyes lit up when she giggled.

Shaking my head, I pushed the thought away. For all I knew, she might be out telling her people about me, ensuring the werewolves or even the Cazador would pursue me. I needed to be on alert. No reason to chance an attack. I’d lived this long; it would be a pity to die by a hunter’s bullet...or a werewolf’s claws.

Carmela’s face danced through my thoughts even as I swept up the broken glass. She was a werewolf; there was no reason I should be this taken with her. Swirls of blood marred the pavement, and I’d crouched to examine them when a breeze blew across my cheek.

Fellow High Council member Elliot Quinn stared down at me, his full lips quirked in a mischievous smile. “Looks like you’re busy dealing with a mess, mate.” Humor warmed his aristocratic features as he knelt, and his blue eyes showed too much curiosity.

“There was an incident. My window was broken, and someone must have stepped in the glass,” I said, keeping my tone flat. “What are you doing here?” I stood, holding the full dustpan in one hand.

“Just reminding you about the upcoming meeting. Lord Prescott showed much displeasure over you missing the last one.” His crisp British accent thickened, underscoring his worry. “I’d recommend you make this one a priority.” Elliot crossed his arms.

“Guess I need to check my calendar more often.” High Council meetings were the last thing I was interested in. I’d hoped my absence would signal that, but Lord Prescott was too stubborn to let go of his members.

I walked up the alley toward the back door, Elliot perfectly matching my stride. I knew Elliot was only looking out for me by passing on the message. We’d known each other a long time—in fact, he was the closest thing to a friend I had.

“I know you’ve begun to dislike politics, but you don’t have a choice. This is who you are: you’re a High Council member. You’ve known Prescott a long time, so you have a better idea than most how he can be when someone displeases him. You don’t want to put yourself in that position.” Elliot grabbed the door and held it open.

In the darkened kitchen, I emptied the bloody glass and dirt into the trash, then tossed the dustpan in the corner. Elliot was right; Prescott didn’t take kindly to insubordination. He’d been patient so far, but it wouldn’t last forever. I leaned against the counter and sighed. “Fine. I’ll be there.” Turning to Elliot, I added, “Don’t expect me to like it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned, showing sharp, pointed fangs.

A breeze spread through the kitchen, and Elliot was gone. I only saw him leave because, as an older vampire, I could track his movements. I wished he’d be more careful about using his powers in front of others, though. Just because he could outrun the Cazador didn’t mean he was invincible.

This wasn’t like times gone by. Humans knew we existed now. We weren’t just boogeymen to make children behave. Carelessness was lethal.

Chapter 8

Carmela

DR. MATTHEWS STIFLED a yawn. He’d obviously been asleep when Father called. His reddish-brown hair stuck out in all directions, and dark circles lined his green eyes as he gently unwrapped the sling. “Well, I see what happened: the silver bullet pierced the bone in your shoulder and came close to the artery. It’s a miracle it missed, but the silver is keeping you from healing properly. You’ll need to shift, but I wouldn’t advise that until the full moon in a few days. If you try too soon, you may further injure yourself.” He traced his gloved fingers around the bullet wound.

Agony ripped through me, and I sucked in a breath. I glanced between him and Mother, who stood nearby, staring at the wound critically. Her nursing instincts kicked in as Dr. Matthews doled out instructions for my care. I hated seeing her waste such a natural talent on a man like my father.

“Whoever took care of you has excellent precision. I couldn’t find a single bullet fragment in your shoulder. You must have a guardian angel.” Smiling, the doctor pulled out his supplies to wrap my arm in a new sling.

“Could I use the other one?” I didn’t want to raise suspicion, but having something on me Derek had touched felt right.

Dr. Matthews frowned, deepening the lines around his mouth.

“I was starting to get used to it.” I forced a bright smile. Or as bright as I could get manage with my arm hurting this much. It wasn’t like I would ever see Derek again, but at least I could keep his memory.

“Yes, of course.” Dr. Matthews nodded and placed the splint back into his bag.

Mother helped me into a sitting position and held me as Dr. Matthews wrapped my shoulder, then slid my arm back into the sling.

He angled his body away, and I wondered what he was doing. Then he turned to me with a needle, which he tapped lightly before reaching for my arm.

I scooted away. Pain was one thing, but I hated needles. I crawled to the other side of the bed, but before I could flee, Mother pressed a hand against my chest to hold me down.

Dr. Matthews gripped my arm, hard enough to hurt, but that didn’t matter. I writhed and bucked, trying to get away.

“Please, don’t.” My voice came out weak and helpless. “Please. I’m okay.”

“Carmela, don’t be silly,” he said.

My mind flashed to the hazing I’d been through in the Militia. The other wolves had held me and jabbed sharp needles into my skin, thinking they could break me of my fear. It only made things worse. My time in the Militia had been hell on Earth.

“Mother, please. Let me go. I’m fine, seriously.” I stared up at her. A sharp jab stung my arm, and I bit my lip hard as tears streamed over my cheeks.

“It’ll be okay, Carmela. We know you don’t like needles. We’ve gone over this before—it’s for your own good. You need your rest, and we’re just helping you sleep. Just calm down.” Mother’s face blurred. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I blinked, trying to fight the drugs. “Don’t...like needles.” Lightheadedness kept me in the bed, even though I wanted to run.

Dr. Matthews’s face came into view. “This is for your own good, doll. If you don’t rest, your body won’t be able to focus on healing that shoulder. Your father wants you to be in good shape for your mate. You don’t want to give the wrong impression.” He smiled and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

This wasn’t about my pain; it was about Father’s plans being executed the way he saw fit. He didn’t want anything to mess up the first encounter I had with my mate, not even me. I was in my birthing prime. He wanted me to have the sons he’d wanted for himself, sons my mother had denied him, instead of the daughter he barely held back spite for. He only thought about himself. Who cared how Mother felt? He was the center of his universe.

I groaned, surrendering to the drugs.

Chapter 9

Derek

NIGHT DESCENDED, ALLOWING me to once more travel about the city. I pushed open the hardware store’s door, and a bell chimed over my head. The people inside were crowded along aisles filled with everything from hammers to screwdrivers to ladders. Several of the customers stopped and stared, as if expecting an attack.

Charles, the older owner, stood behind an old cash register at the checkout counter and waved, a big smile on his wrinkled face. “Come on in, Derek. It’s been a while. What can I get you?”

Tension left the store in a rush, and everyone returned to browsing the aisles again.

“Someone broke one of my windows last night. Need to get it fixed before the community finds out.” I slid Charles a piece of scratch paper with the measurements on it.

“Sorry to hear about that. You sure do need that window fixed. They’re real sticklers about things like that. Don’t worry, though; I’ll get you taken care of like usual.” Charles looked at the paper and flipped through a catalogue, stopping at a window that would work for the spare room.

“Thanks for this.”

“You’re always welcome. We’ll have this to you tomorrow afternoon. How does three o’clock sound?” Charles scribbled on a receipt, then tucked the pen in his shirt pocket.

I wouldn’t be awake at three o’clock. It didn’t matter how old I was, I wasn’t immune to sunlight. “I have an appointment already scheduled at that time. I won’t be home until later. How about tomorrow evening at six or seven? That’ll give me a project for the weekend.” I slid a few bills across the counter to Charles, hoping he wouldn’t question the timing, then tucked away my copy of the receipt.

The idea I might be something other than human didn’t even seem to occur to Charles. He just nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Just keep watch on your place so no one breaks in between now and then.” He frowned, concern tightening his eyes. “You’re a good man. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Thanks.” The only people who were likely to break into my second-story window were those who could fly. Or someone brave enough to use a ladder, but that would cause a commotion. His words still sunk in, though.

I didn’t need yet another reason to feel paranoid, but it was too late. Would someone dare break into my home while I wasn’t around? Or worse...when I was asleep and helpless?

A foreboding feeling urged me back home. I walked quickly at first, but my nagging intuition screamed at me, ‘run.’ As I stepped into the alley, I saw a hole where the cardboard and plastic were supposed to be.

My fears were proving to be justified.

With a curse, I jogged inside using supernatural speed and stealth. Though the blackness would hamper any human, I could see every detail of my home like it was daytime. Yet something lurked, just out of sight. I could sense an unspoken threat; someone wanted me dead.

“Come out. Stop wasting my time,” I yelled into the darkness. What use would cowardice be?

A shadow moved in the kitchen, and another darted across the balcony overlooking the living room.

My fangs lengthened into sharp points with a quiet snap. I stepped out of the den, but kept my back to the wall. These beings were professionals. I wouldn’t allow them an opportunity to surprise me from behind.

Someone whirled toward me from the kitchen. I slammed my fist into the man’s chest, causing a loud crunch as he stumbled back and hit the floor.

The black-clad figure from the loft flung itself over the railing and soared down to the ground, landing with an arrogant flair.

This didn’t make sense. The man in the kitchen wasn’t a vampire, but there was something about this one. The rapid tap of footsteps drew my attention toward the kitchen. Maybe I’d been wrong about him.

Before I could do anything, a solid weight barreled into me, slamming me into the wall. Fingers dug into my arms, and magic thrummed through the air. The magic held a dark, powerful taint almost like that of the necromancers of old. If I didn’t stop him, I’d die a true death.

I shoved him away and the man flew off me, smacking into the opposite wall. A loud pop resounded from where the man in the kitchen had been. I leapt out of the way and wound up on my hands and knees in the living room.

Another wave of magic slammed into me and I dropped to the floor, pain eating at me. I wouldn’t let this happen. I’d never give in to these men. I was a vampire, a superior being.

Pop.

I jerked to the side, knowing they weren’t trying to kill me. What they were trying to do was much worse than death—they wanted to capture me. I reached out my hand toward them, drawing on the telekinetic magic of my bloodline. I clenched my fist and jerked it toward me. The deathly pain immediately stopped, but my head swam from the after-effects of the necromancer’s magic.

The man from the kitchen lay beside me, his stunned hazel eyes staring at the ceiling. The tranquilizer pistol shook in his hands. I dragged him toward me by the neck. A thick leather collar circled his throat, so they must have suspected what I was. The necromancer’s presence confirmed that.

I sank my fangs into his wrist, keeping my crushing grip on his neck. His hot coppery blood slid down my throat, revitalizing each cell in my body. With my energy this low after the fight, the need to feed overwhelmed my desire for answers. When the man stopped fighting, his heartbeat a small, fragile bird fluttering to a stop in his heart, I closed the wound with my tongue.

The necromancer must have fled, leaving his less powerful friend to die.

I swiped a hand over my bloody lips, staring at the darkly clad intruder. Why were these people trying to capture me, and how had they known I was a vampire? Maybe I should’ve fought my needs and questioned him while he was conscious. I might still have a chance; he wasn’t dead yet.

Slumping into a chair, I sighed. My life had been simpler before meeting that werewolf. People hadn’t been after me for mysterious reasons, and I hadn’t had to deal with the tendrils of desire that stirred within me when I thought of her.

The smile on her lips, and the way she giggled. Damn. I wanted to see her again, but we weren’t meant to be. We could not be.

Chapter 10

Carmela

BLINKING MY EYES open, I stared up at the ceiling. The soft, plush bed relaxed me immediately. Dreams of Derek toyed with my heart. The way he’d smirked and threatened to keep me by his side forever. How did I feel about that?

Werewolves mate for life, and I’d never wanted an arranged marriage like my parents. The abuse my mother suffered, and the misery that radiated from her, made my urge to break the mold clear. But Derek wasn’t a werewolf. Would that make a relationship with him different? I had no idea.

Shifting in bed, I tried to turn on my side, but I couldn’t move. Ropes dug into my limbs; someone had tied me to the bed. Only my injured arm escaped the bindings. No one else was in the room. I’d wanted to cling to the unrealistic dreams of Derek, but I never expected to wake up to this.

Agony still pulsed through my arm, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as what I’d felt last night. Looking at my bedroom window, I saw I’d slept the day away.

Wasn’t Dr. Matthews supposed to check on me?

A grimace curled my lips, and I tugged at the ropes again. Part of me wanted to scream, but I knew Father had tied these, because they didn’t budge. If anything, they were too tight. My hand and feet were asleep; I needed to move my limbs better than this. If they wanted to give me more medicine, then fine, but this was crazy.

“Mother?” I whispered, hoping she was somewhere nearby. I waited a moment, but heard nothing. A thud sounded from the other side of the wall near my head, followed by the sounds of crying and my parents’ headboard slamming against the wall. I’d heard those noises before, for years.

“What did I tell you?” Father yelled, and the banging continued.

The idea of sex repulsed me. How could anyone find the act enjoyable? I remembered the romance novels I used to sneak from my mother’s hidden bookshelf. The characters within those pages enjoyed lovemaking. It didn’t have the violence I heard from behind my parents’ bedroom door and had cried myself to sleep to so many nights. But those pages were lies.

The sobs quieted, and I squeezed my eyes closed, wishing I could be away from there. Father pretended to be a respectable man, but it was all for show. Hopefully, I could deal with the mate Father intended for me. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as horrible. Or he could be worse.

My bedroom door slammed open, and my heart pounded in my chest. I closed my eyes, focusing on keeping my breathing slow and even. Father’s loud footsteps approached the bed, and I shoved down my fear. Maybe if he thought I was asleep, he’d leave.

If not, I wouldn’t be able to fight off his attack; not with my limbs firmly bound. Who was I kidding? When was I ever able to fight off his attacks? He scared me too much for me to even try most times.

His hot hand descended on my stomach, burning my skin through the blanket. He slid his hand over my belly button and toward my hips.

“William!” Mother shrieked. “Stop it!”

I opened my eyes, unable to keep them closed any longer.

Father darted a glance toward Mother and growled. “Get out of here, Katarina! Now!” He pulled away from me and stomped toward my mother.

“She’s your daughter. Don’t put your hands on your daughter like that. You already treat her poorly–”

A wrenching slap sent my mother careening out of the room. Father strode out, then slammed the door behind him. Screams sounded beyond the door, and I was helpless to do anything. The echoes of pummeling punches reverberated through my ears.

Tears streamed my cheeks. In a way, I wished I could’ve taken the brunt of Father’s wrath so she wouldn’t have to fall prey to it yet again.

The door opened again, and my eyes widened.

Chandra walked in and stared at me with hollow eyes. Bruises marred her complexion, and her lower lip was split open. Sighing, she shut the door after her. Her features twisted in pain as she limped across the floor of my bedroom. My cousin raised her arm back, then slapped me across the cheek.

“This is your fault.” Her voice matched her eyes. Empty. “I don’t know why Uncle William even tolerates you, you selfish bitch.” Pain contorted her face. “Don’t screw up the meeting with your mate. I doubt you deserve him, whoever he is. Aunt Katarina shouldn’t have stopped him; you’re the one he should target, not us. But maybe that’s for the best. No one would want you if you were ruined too.” She spun on her heel and left the room.

I couldn’t hold back my astonishment. How could she say that? She’s angry and not thinking straight. Maybe I did deserve the harsh words. No… I came home as soon as I could from Derek’s, regardless of the consequences, but my effort meant nothing. I was never good enough for them.

I bit my lip hard, holding back a scream. Tears cascaded down my cheeks. If I hadn’t been tied down, I might’ve left and never returned. The only person who cared about me was my mother. But how could she continue to love me when I caused her so much pain, even if it was through Father?

Sobs shook my chest. The pain in my shoulder felt like a mosquito bite compared to what filled my heart. I had outsmarted a vampire and jumped from his window while injured to come back to these people, and yet Chandra and my father would be just as happy if I had died. At least if that were the case, maybe my mother wouldn’t be abused like this. Maybe Father wouldn’t feel like he needed to beat her for truly loving me.

But what did Chandra mean about him ruining her? An ugly bruise stained her face, but surely there wasn’t anything more serious than that. Even as I tried to deny that Father could stoop to such a wicked level with Chandra, I wasn’t surprised. He beat Mother regularly, what stopped him from raping Chandra? If Mother hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve done the same to me, regardless of trying to find me a mate.

I wriggled against the ropes, trying to slacken them. If I were at my full strength, I could’ve broken through, but I’d only draw more attention to myself. Even if Father’s senses were dulling from age, he’d be able to hear that much commotion.

Instead, I stayed quiet and hoped Mother would loosen the bindings. Surely Dr. Matthews would be around soon. They wouldn’t keep me like this with the doctor set to arrive, would they?

I frowned and looked out the bedroom window again. At least Derek had been kind to me, even if being in his presence was hazardous to my health.

Father was just as dangerous to my sanity, after all.

Chapter 11

Carmela

I OPENED MY eyes to see Mother standing over me. Sunlight peeked through the window. Faint bruises still marred the skin of her face, neck, and arms. She worked a knife through the ropes that bound my wrist.

“I’m so sorry, dear. Your father is just stressed. Since you weren’t feeling well yesterday, he moved the visit with your mate to today. He’ll be here in a few hours. I’ll be helping you get ready.”

“What about Dr. Matthews? He said he’d check in on me.” I frowned and stared down at my hand, which had become red and slightly cool from constriction. Rubbing it against my leg, I watched her cut the bindings on my feet, relieved it was a new day.

“He came yesterday afternoon. Before...this.” She pointed to the ropes and sighed. “He said you seemed to be well enough, considering the circumstances. Dr. Matthews realizes how important it is for you to meet your mate. He’ll be back in a week to recheck your shoulder.” Mother attempted a smile but looked defeated. “There you go, sweetie.” She lifted me into her arms and slid me to the edge of the bed, then rubbed her hands over my feet and ankles.

Pinpricks of pain flowed through my hand and feet from the blood returning to them. “How are you?” I traced my fingers over the splint Derek had fitted me with.

“Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Don’t worry about me. Today is your day to shine.” Mother hugged me gently and put a little more effort into her smile. If it weren’t for the bruises, she might have been convincing. However, hurt tightened the corners of her eyes, and I hated that.

I opened my mouth to argue with her, but what good would it do? Instead, I pushed my legs off the bed and stood, hoping I wouldn’t collapse to the floor. My legs shook, but at least I stayed upright. “Do you know who he is? My soon-to-be mate?”

“Yes, he’s a nice young man named Brendan Kelly. Comes from a very good family. You two will be happy together.” She nodded, a little too quickly. “Now, enough with the questions. We need to get you ready.” Mother took a hairbrush from my vanity and went to work on the tangles caused by being in bed for an extended length of time. Next, she set out a washing bowl with a washcloth in it. It wasn’t often we took actual baths.

Water was rationed, and only the very wealthy could afford to use the amount it took to fill a bath or, heaven forbid, take a shower. Instead, society had reverted to times when people merely sponged off. Didn’t make for excellent hygiene, but it was better than nothing.

I sat up and cooperated with Mother, getting ready for the big meeting everyone except me was excited for. I wanted to get away from Father; did it matter who the mate was?

Not really. Whoever it was wouldn’t care for me. He’d be someone who wanted to mate for lineage and political purposes. I hung my head, staring at the sling. It was crazy, and possibly Stockholm syndrome, but my feelings for the vampire were more than I’d had for anyone else.

I wondered if I was broken for feeling the way I did about Derek.

Chapter 12

Derek

I STRETCHED OUT on the spare bed Carmela had occupied while she’d been here. I could still smell her, still taste her in my mouth. I’d ended up having to lick her wound to stop it from bleeding so heavily after most of the fragments were removed. A vampire’s saliva coagulated blood so our prey wouldn’t bleed out completely. It’d been hard to stop at just a few swipes of my tongue, but I’d managed.

Unfortunately, the weaker of the two attackers hadn’t survived. I’d dumped the body before the sun came up, in one of the unguarded open graves where the poorest of the poor were discarded.

Tonight, I would repair the damage Carmela had done to my window, once the new one arrived. The High Council meeting was also this evening. Part of me wasn’t terribly excited about going, but after the attempted kidnapping, my curiosity was piqued. Had other council members been targeted too? If this wasn’t about council members, then it had to be an assault due to the werewolf. But if she’d said something to someone, werewolves would be attacking me, not a necromancer and a human. The Cazador? Hmm... They didn’t work with people gifted by the supernatural.

Nothing made sense.

I rubbed my hand over the stubble on my chin. If I knew the cause, I could handle whatever was going on. Ever since Carmela appeared, my life had been turned upside down and shaken like a snow globe.

I let out a sharp breath and held up my watch to read the time. Nearly six o’clock. I should be receiving the window any time now.

Grimacing, I slid off the bed. I needed to stop thinking about her.

Chapter 13

Carmela

I STARED AT myself in the mirror. The sleek black dress hugged my curves, and the make-up presented a nice polished finish to my features. Mother put my hair into a high ponytail, styling my hair to finish off the look. I didn’t know what I would do without her.

Male voices drifted up from downstairs. One was obviously Father, but the other must be my soon-to-be mate. My heart pounded in my chest, and I took a deep breath.

Mother held my hand and walked with me to the top of the stairs. She cast me a small smile and nodded. “Go now, dear. You two have a lovely time.”

I averted my gaze, staring at the floor. It hurt to leave her here alone with that monster. Chandra had holed up in her bedroom, but I didn’t blame her. We all suffered because of my father.

Mom’s fingers caught my chin, and she tugged my head up to look her in the eye. “None of that, now.” She pressed her lips against my ear and whispered so low I could barely hear her. “This is for your good, my precious daughter. Your safety.” Pulling back, she placed a small peck on my cheek. “Go on. He’s waiting for you.”

I forced a neutral expression and turned away. Mom was right; it wouldn’t be proper for me to look upset. I had to face this like a woman. Walking down the steps in the new heels she’d given me, I wobbled a little from being in bed so long. I gripped the stair rail tightly and kept my gaze in front of me.

“Well, here comes my girl. It’s about time. Shall we?” Father’s voice sounded from his office.

My spine stiffened. Fear and disgust battled in my chest while nausea knifed through my stomach. I fought to keep my feelings under control, to keep the neutral look I so needed to have, especially in Father’s presence.

“Sure,” a deep, masculine voice responded. Two sets of footsteps closed in on the bottom of the stairs, and I spotted a pair of shiny black shoes and nice dress slacks. My gaze drifted up the long legs as I kept walking down the stairs, until it landed on a very attractive face. Clear blue eyes stared at me, watching my every move. The man had sandy blond hair, which he’d brushed back from his face.

My foot slipped, and I stumbled forward. Before I could tumble down, strong arms circled my waist and steadied me. I stared into those blue eyes from just inches away. How could I be such a klutz? A smirk tugged at his lip, and he moved back to offer me his arm. Embarrassment burned my cheeks as I placed my hand on the crook of his elbow, allowing him to help me down the rest of the steps.

My father’s face was bright red with anger, but he smiled in time for Brendan’s glance his way. My heartbeat quickened, and not because I’d nearly fallen face-first down the stairs. What would Father do to me once I got home from my date with this seriously attractive werewolf?

“I’ll have her back before her curfew, sir.” Brendan’s husky voice announced, and he turned his gaze my way. “Shall we?”

I nodded before cutting my eyes to Father. “Bye, Dad.”

“Goodbye.” He came behind us and shut the door as we descended the front steps.

“Carmela, you have a lovely name. Where would you like to go?” He turned to the left, leading me toward the shopping district.

“I don’t know. I’m good with anywhere.” Anywhere but here.

He chuckled. “I see. That makes things easy. I’ll throw out some suggestions, and you can pick your favorite.”

“Okay.”

“Do you like seafood? Steaks? Sandwiches? I’d like to take you out for dinner, but before that, I have two tickets to a play I’ve wanted to see. Haven’t had anyone to go with me.”

“I like steak.” Smiling, I lowered my gaze. It had been so long since I had a steak. Not because I didn’t want it, but because Father never went to the expense to take us out, nor did he let Mother buy any from the store to cook. The sound of a delicious steak for dinner whetted my appetite. “I liked seeing movies at the Teatro. Where is the play we’re going to being held?”

“Ah, the Teatro. Weren’t they raided the other night? I heard some nocturnes were killed. That’s horrible. Where we’re going isn’t far from there, but if you like the Teatro, I’m sure you’ll enjoy this place.”

“That sounds lovely,” I said. I looked up to see him staring at me intensely.

He nodded to the sling. “What happened to your arm?”

My lips parted, and I frowned, instinctually pulling away, but his grip on me tightened. “Let me go. Please.”

He released my arm, and I stumbled a step away from him. “Are you okay?”

My mouth went dry, but I nodded. “Yes.” Panic coated my insides, and I swept my tongue over my lower lip. “I’m fine, thanks. What’s your favorite steakhouse?”

His nostrils flared, and my heart skipped a beat. Could he smell Derek on me? Brendan sighed before extending his arm to me again. “It’s a place near the theater.”

Placing my arm back on his, I stayed quiet, but now the silence was awkward. For a moment I’d felt semblance of comfort with him. Now that was gone, and I wasn’t sure how to feel.

After several blocks, I caught sight of Derek’s home. My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t worry about him taking me away or hurting me. The only thought floating through my head was the almost-kiss.

I glimpsed Derek headed through the side alley toward the back of his home. His shoulders stiffened, and he turned in my direction. Our gazes met, and he blinked in surprise. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” Brendan asked, pulling my attention back to him. He glanced between Derek and me, sucking in a deep breath. His lips curled back in a snarl. “Let’s go.”

I opened my mouth to explain. But what could I say that wouldn’t incriminate me? Besides, I didn’t know Brendan very well. What if he found out what Derek had done for me? He might have him killed. “What are you going to do?” I asked. “He’s minding his own business.” I glanced back at Derek before he faded into the shadows.

Brendan stared at me, pressing his lips together in thought. “What would you like me to do, Carmela?”

I shrugged my good shoulder. “Nothing? Just take me out to dinner and a play. We don’t need this incident to ruin our evening.” I forced a smile, knowing I looked at my future in his eyes. Derek was someone I wanted, but he wouldn’t be the one I got.

“That’s against our laws, you know.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What if he tells his kind about us?”

“We’ll be gone by then, but if you’re worried, maybe we should ask him not to?”

Brendan chuckled; amusement lightened his eyes. “You’ve lost your mind.” He quirked his lips in a half-smile. “Come on. Let’s get to the theatre.”

Chapter 14

Derek

FIRE BURNED IN my chest, and I had to force myself to remain where I was. Carmela was with another man. From what she’d said previously, I doubted she was in a consummated relationship. Was this guy her chosen mate? Grimacing, I watched the male werewolf escort her down the street. Would the werewolf report my presence even though she’d asked him not to? I shook my head, turning toward the back of the house.

Elliot stood before me and grinned. “Caught skulking about by some werewolves? Speed and stealth, mate. The two joys of what we are.”

“Caught? No, I wasn’t caught. Just walking around outside of my home. I have repairs to do.” I jerked open the back door and walked inside. After dealing with the necromancer and his helper, I’d gone back to the hardware store to add to my order. Seemed I’d be doing remodeling instead of relaxing before the High Council meeting tonight.

That was probably why Elliot was here. He likely wanted to make sure I would be attending. How thoughtful of him...

I started toward the spare bedroom, but stopped myself. If Elliot followed me, he’d smell Carmela, and that was the last thing I needed.

I glanced back to find him sniffing around my den and living room. Elliot knelt in his nice suit and slacks and placed his nose just above the tile where the necromancer’s helper had perished. “What’s this? Someone died here.” Elliot looked to me with his now-black eyes.

“I was attacked yesterday. I’m not sure by whom, or why they were here. He didn’t leave me much choice but to kill him before he...killed me.” I leaned against the wall by the back door, not sure how much I should tell him. If I mentioned the necromancer and the kidnapping, Elliot might talk to Lord Prescott, and I didn’t want that. He might discover that I’d helped Carmela.

Elliot’s lips pulled away from his fangs. If it had been anyone else, I might’ve felt threatened, but with Elliot, it was just a sign of frustration.

“There’s more to what you’re saying; I smell something else here. This man wasn’t working alone.” He bent by the area where the necromancer had knocked me against the wall. “There’s something familiar about this lingering energy. Afraid I can’t place it though.” Casting me a glance, he added, “Sorry.”

I shrugged. The less Elliot knew the better, at least for the moment. I’d figure out who tried to kidnap me. Necromancers were rare these days, and not many roamed this city. “Guess we’ll see who doesn’t arrive at the meeting tonight.”

“Just because I recognized the scent doesn’t mean they’re connected to the High Council. This doesn’t feel vampiric.” Elliot took another sniff before rising to his feet. “No, they might play a smaller role. As impressed as I am with your formidable skills, I don’t think you would last long if two High Council members ambushed you. Besides, they wouldn’t want to risk their necks. Perhaps it was done by minions.”

“Since when do you hang out with minions of other High Council members?” I raised an eyebrow at Elliot, glad he wasn’t paying any more attention to the scents around my place.

Elliot groaned. “It’s not what you think. Some of us have a libido.” A grin cracked his lips. “Or do you have one? Does fur fulfill your tastes better?”

A hiss escaped my lips before I could catch myself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I see. Why the visceral reaction? Maybe because it’s true.” He leaned in and winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t go against our friendship. Even if it forces me to compromise my duty as a responsible vampiric denizen.” His smile widened, flashing a lot of fang.

“I’m not attracted to her.” I gritted my teeth.

“That’s good. Then you won’t mind if I tattle on her to the Cazador, or worse, our fellow High Council members.” Elliot’s eyes narrowed, and I felt wholly discomforted by this exchange.

“Fine, I am. Don’t mention anything about her to anyone. It’s not like there’s any chance for us. Besides, she’s with someone, and even if we were together, I’d have to protect her from our kind’s wrath.”

Elliot chuckled and shook his head. “Well, it seems like you’re more screwed up than I am. That’s a first.”

Chapter 15

Derek

THE HEADCOUNT BEGAN, signaling the start of the High Council meeting. I reclined in a plush red velvet chair next to Elliot, already wanting it to be over with. Many years ago, the meetings had appealed to me, and I’d listened to the drawn-out political babbling as if it all mattered. Now I forced myself to attend.

Sadly, that wasn’t the only thing worrying me. Someone was after me, and I didn’t know who or why. What did they know about me? If someone had discovered I helped Carmela... I locked the thought away. Some vampires were telepathic; thinking of her could be treacherous.

The other council members were from all walks of life, and ranged in appearance from young adult to elder. Some smelled as if they’d walked in from a shantytown, while others were well-groomed and polished.

A few kept their minor nocturne minions seated at their feet in what the council believed was a manner appropriate to their class. I didn’t subscribe to that school of thought. Who was becoming extinct? Nocturnes. Who was the threat? The humans striving to build up their numbers again.

The progress humans and nocturnes alike had made over the centuries had mostly been lost, secreted away by the human government in their laboratories and military bases. They thought their wealth could protect them from the horrors of this new post-apocalyptic life, but history had proven time and again that the average person wouldn’t be suppressed forever.

Lord Prescott entered from his private chambers at the front of the room. He appeared young and lanky, as if he was in his late teens or early twenties, but he’d been the High Council’s chairman for centuries before I was even born. The power emanating from him swept through the chamber, flooding everyone with its intensity.

Goosebumps pricked my flesh, and I clenched the arms of my chair. Elliot stiffened beside me. One would think we’d get used to this after a while, but Prescott made sure his vampires obeyed him. No one would dare to threaten his position.

“Most of you know why we’ve gathered here.” Prescott stood next to his throne. He fixed his gaze on me. “Why don’t you remind us, Derek Ashmoore. I’m sure you know, yes?”

My lips pulled away from my fangs, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. Giving him a piece of my mind wouldn’t be best. “As the chairman, I assumed you would tell everyone why we’re here.”

Prescott narrowed his grey eyes at me, then turned to another vampire. “Giles Cleaver, what’s the main item on our agenda?”

Giles, a crooked old vampire, cast a haughty glance my way before addressing Prescott and everyone else. “We are here to acknowledge the death of Tom Turner, a senior High Council member. You shall pick the newest senior member, my lord.” He bowed at the waist before sitting back down.

“You received the memo. Good.” Prescott seated himself on the throne. “As Giles said, one of our own has been murdered. This doesn’t even speak to the fact that the kindred beneath us are murdered every day by those human creatures. The Cazador... what a dreadful name.” He entwined his fingers over his flat stomach and observed the council members.

“Who is worthy of fulfilling the role of senior member? Who has earned his place among us and will act in our best interests?” He narrowed his gaze on me, and the muscles in my shoulders tensed. Prescott swiped his tongue across his slightly yellowed fangs, enjoying the sight of watching me squirm; then he twisted his attention to my right.

“Elliot Quinn. How long have you been among us? Since the reign of Queen Victoria, yes?”

Elliot stood with his head bowed. “No, my lord, I became a vampire during King Edward VII’s reign.” His knuckles were white from clenching his hands together.

“Yes, that’s right. Still, you have a few centuries under your belt, and continue to prove yourself useful.” Prescott scanned the room, drawing out the spectacle.

Elliot retook his seat after a few moments. He nearly vibrated with nervous energy, which wasn’t like him at all. This was a big deal for him, since he still believed we could make a difference through politics.

I leaned forward in my chair, resting my hands on my knees. Prescott needed to pick someone already, and end this verbose meeting. One of our kind had been killed, and that led me to wonder if the attacks on me were related.

What reason would a necromancer have for putting his life on the line to kidnap vampires, though? Maybe Tom’s death wasn’t connected.

“Head in the clouds today, Derek?” Prescott steepled his fingers under his chin. He shot a tidal wave of power at me, hitting me in the chest. My body jerked back into the chair at the impact, and the air rushed from my lungs. Agony burned inside me like a blazing torch. I clenched my hands into fists to keep from reacting. “See me after the meeting. Now, focus on our business here.”

I flinched, no longer wanting to be here. Elliot bumped my foot. No, this wasn’t the way to get on Prescott’s good side after my absence.

“At any rate, I will promote Elliot Quinn as the newest senior High Council member. As far as Tom Turner’s death, I will find who committed this crime. If I find anyone to be less than honest and forthright with information, I will rid this forsaken planet of you and your underlings. Obey our laws, and don’t bring harm upon our kindred. We need to remain strong. Understood?”

A low rumbling of agreement filled the air.

“Good. If no one has any further concerns, we will adjourn.”

The room remained silent.

Council members very rarely offered up their fears to Prescott in the public forum. Most tried to stay out of the spotlight.

“Adjourned.” Prescott rose from his chair with flourish, brushing aside his platinum blond hair, and waited there.

“What was that about?” Elliot whispered as we walked down the stairs of the large lecture hall. A couple of vampires shook their heads at me as they filed toward the exit.

“Derek, come. Let’s go to my office.” Prescott waved his hand toward the door of the private chambers near his throne. “Elliot, you may join us if you wish.”

I cut my gaze to Elliot. He should go home instead of getting wrapped up in this.

Something was wrong; I could sense it the closer I got to Prescott. He masked how he truly felt in public behind a façade, but I’d spent enough time with him over the centuries to pick up on his mannerisms.

We followed him into his grand office. Many Renaissance paintings lined the walls, and a colossal crystal chandelier hung overhead. I kept my arms at my sides, focusing on remaining calm and neutral, especially after my misbehavior during the meeting. Besides, Elliot had warned me about Prescott being on edge due to my recent lapse in attendance.

Our chairman sat in a massive brown leather chair behind his ornate mahogany desk, and waved to the crimson seats facing it.

Elliot took the one on the right, and I sat in the other.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Elliot. You are witness to this discussion.” My friend nodded, and Prescott turned his gaze on me. “What distracted you in the chamber? You don’t like politics, but there is an air of unease about you. You will tell me the truth.”

Thankfully, Prescott wasn’t a telepath, but he was excellent at deciphering lies.

I lowered my head. “I’m wary after hearing about Tom Turner, my lord. An attack was made on my life yesterday.” It took all my strength not to shift in my chair, especially under Prescott’s watchful eyes.

He nodded. “I see. You clearly fought off your assailants. Did you know either of them?”

I shook my head. “I did not.”

“If I may, my lord...” Elliot stood and bowed at the waist.

Prescott waved his hand in dismissal. “Save the formalities for the council’s chamber.”

“I visited Derek at his home and noticed a familiar scent, presumably belonging to one of the attackers.”

“And who would that be? Do you have more than that? A name, perhaps?” Prescott turned the full weight of his gaze on Elliot.

“Sadly, I don’t recall where I know the scent from.” Elliot didn’t shrink back.

“Disappointing.” Prescott examined a few papers on his desk. “I’d need more information before I can say if the attacks are connected.” He leaned back in his chair, glancing between us. “I have the initial information on Tom’s death here. If you agree not to speak of this matter with anyone else, I will share it with you.”

“I won’t say anything.” If my attempted kidnapping was connected, I might figure out who was after me. I doubted whoever it was would give up so easily.

Chapter 16

Carmela

BRENDAN INTRIGUED ME. There had to be more to him than what I knew. I mean, our box seats at the theater had an excellent view, with the added bonus of someone catering to our every need. The play itself had enthralled me from the moment the curtains lifted.

The steakhouse we were at now was a five-star restaurant, and unlike any I’d ever been to. The menu hadn’t even listed prices, so I imagined our meal was costing Brendan a pretty penny.

He smiled at me from across the table, the expression warming his ocean-blue eyes. The more time we spent together, the more I wondered about him and our potential future. Could I trust him?

Maybe my wariness was due to my experiences with other werewolf males. Mother sometimes talked about how things were with my father before they mated. He wooed her and treated her well, until she conceived a female child. Would Brendan be the same way? Did he value a male werewolf for an heir so much that he would shun me or the female offspring I might bear?

I stabbed a juicy piece of rare steak and plopped it into my mouth, trying to use the manners my mom had drilled into me. As I took in the classy surroundings, I realized now was certainly one of those times when I needed them. When he’d offered to take me out for steaks, I should’ve known it wouldn’t be to a diner, but I hadn’t expected all of this.

I savored the steak’s taste and texture, not knowing when—or if—I would ever have something so delicious again. Maybe if I mated with Brendan, I wouldn’t be under the strict constraints Father placed on our family. I might be able to make my own choices, if the face Brendan showed now was any indication of who he really was. What other werewolf would brush off a vampire encounter because I asked him to? I couldn’t think of a reason for him to do that, unless this union meant something to him other than fulfilling an obligation or making a power play.

I hoped what he portrayed wasn’t a lie meant to lure me in. If he sunk his claws into me and then expected to treat me the way Father treated Mom, I would run away to the Outskirts. Life was a lot more dangerous there, but I wouldn’t submit to more abuse. I refused.

Brendan placed his hand on mine. “Is everything okay?” He glanced down at my plate to see the meat almost gone, and smiled again. “If you’d like another steak, we can get more.”

My eyebrows rose. Another steak would be divine. But thinking of Father and the fact that I’d be returning home soon made me nauseated. I couldn’t handle more food even if I wanted to. “Everything’s great. The food is wonderful, but I’ll have to pass on another steak. Thank you, though.”

“I know what you’re holding out for. Dessert, right?” He held up a hand for the leggy blonde waitress, who hurried over to us. “A dessert menu, please.” Brendan kept his gaze on me instead of on the waitress, showing that his interest was in me, the woman he’d be mated with.

A sigh of uncertainty escaped my lungs. He seemed almost too good to be true. Why was he doing this? My father had arranged our mating, so pretense wasn’t required. Except on my part.

The waitress returned with the dessert menu and placed it in front of us. She looked to Brendan, as if desperate for his attention. “Would you like a little time to look over the menu? Or do you know what you’d like?”

“I’ll defer to the lady,” he said, smiling at me. “Do you know what you’d like, Carmela?”

I glanced at the menu, feeling the pressure of his gaze on me. The thought of having more food didn’t sit well with my stomach, but I didn’t want to ruin the evening by telling him what really bothered me. “Hmm... How about the molten hot fudge brownie?”

Brendan nodded. “That’s my favorite too.”

“I’ll have that right out.” The waitress took the menu and retreated from the table, her shoulders slumped.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asked once the waitress was out of earshot. “I want you to enjoy yourself. If there’s anything I can do to make this better, tell me.” Concern crinkled the corners of his eyes, and his lips tightened into a slim pink line.

Acting so downtrodden wasn’t fair to him. He’d gone through the effort to plan this evening for me. I shouldn’t be giving off negative energy when he obviously wanted our first date to be special. “I’m sorry.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I guess I don’t want our evening to end.” Truth. Going back home would mean dealing with my father.

“Do you mind if I ask a personal question?” His piercing gaze made me feel naked.

“That would depend on the question.” I lowered my gaze, not wanting the conversation to descend into anything uncomfortable; but then again, maybe I owed him for such a wonderful evening.

“Does your father hurt you? Be truthful with me. This is important.”

My mouth dropped open. I should’ve expected he would ask something like that, considering how standoffish I’d been with him, but I couldn’t help the keyed-up nervousness that betrayed my baggage. Father had acted rather confrontational at the house, too. Maybe he’d noticed that. I moved my mouth, but no words came out. I just stared at him, speechless.

“Please, answer the question. I don’t want to force the issue.” He pointed at my shoulder splint. “Did he do that to you?”

I shook my head. “No.” If only he knew... My chest clenched, and I wondered what he’d do if he found out my father did hurt me sometimes. Calm down. Don’t panic. It’ll all be okay.

Brendan’s brows drew together and he leaned in. “Fine. If you want to tell me, I can make sure he doesn’t hurt you anymore. You don’t have to protect him. He’s not worthy of a wonderful daughter like you.”

I blinked at him, relieved that he seemed concerned about my safety, but also scared. Maybe he thought he could protect me, but I doubted that was possible, given my father’s prestige. How could he beat a man like that? He’d only get himself hurt.

The scent of hot fudge filled my nose as the waitress headed toward our table. Saved by a brownie. I wrung the napkin in my lap as she placed a hot fudge brownie delight on the table with two spoons sticking out of it.

“Would you like anything else this evening?” she asked, looking between the two of us.

“No,” Brendan said.

“I’ll leave the check here. Feel free to pay when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” Brendan grabbed a spoon from the dessert and ate a couple of small bites with whipped cream and hot fudge. He didn’t look at me or say another word.

Sighing, I picked up the other spoon and kept to my side of the brownie. Heaven forbid he think I didn’t want any; that might upset him even more.

We shared the blame for evening falling to ruin. If he hadn’t insisted on bringing up my father, then I wouldn’t have refused to give him a proper answer, let alone the truth. But what could I do? Say my father was a cruel bastard who seemed closer to diving off the deep end than ever, and then deal with the consequences of my actions? Brendan couldn’t do anything about my father. Only the Alpha of Alphas’ opinion would carry any weight, and a werewolf like that wouldn’t care for a random girl like me.

I needed to leave the restaurant and get away for a while; just take a walk and be on my own. I set my spoon down on the edge of the plate, not willing to eat anymore. If I left Brendan, I could be throwing away my future. He’d been kind, if a little pushy. Besides, Father would be furious if I arrived home by myself, and if the Cazador showed up...I’d be screwed.

The idea only having one arm to defend myself—and of risking further injury if I shifted—made me that much more desperate to shed my human skin and run free. Life had become far too stressful. Maybe the Outskirts would be better than this.

The people around us all seemed happy, regardless of the apocalypse the world had faced. Their smiles and lingering touches hurt my heart. I wanted those things most. A true, loving relationship...could that ever happen for me?

The harsh bang of a gun firing sounded somewhere outside, and I nearly jumped out of my seat. Panic thrummed in my chest. Another bang followed the first, and loud scrambling noises ensued. The Cazador were after more nocturnes. I glanced at Brendan, and our eyes met.

He appeared stoic, but the energy around him spiked, giving me a sensation like ants marching across my skin. His gaze shifted to the door, as if willing someone to come through so he could kill them.

The shouts and gunshots grew louder. But we should be safe here. The hunters wouldn’t dare rampage through such a fancy restaurant, not when the people who frequented places like this funded them. Though that might not stop them if they were in pursuit.

My shoulders tensed, and I placed my hand on his. “Don’t. You can’t risk yourself.”

Brendan looked at me for a moment, then pulled away. He dug through his wallet, leaving more money on the table than I typically saw in a year. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want you to be this close to danger, especially while defenseless.” He stood and held out his hand for me.

“I’m not defenseless.” Frowning, I stared up at him. “I could protect myself if I had to.” I’d handled myself with Derek, after all. Getting one up on a vampire wasn’t an easy task.

Narrowing his eyes, he extended his hand farther. “Right now, you’re my responsibility. I’m in charge of your safety. Don’t make me cause a scene, because I will.” Anger darkened his eyes.

I drew in a shaky breath, not comfortable with this side of him, but I accepted his offered hand. The last thing we needed was attention drawn to us.

The large windows at the front of the restaurant shattered, and glass rained inward. Several guests screamed and ducked under tables. Having the Cazador interrupt an evening wasn’t uncommon, but they usually kept to the streets unless they were in pursuit of nocturnes.

Brendan crouched beside me, his hand squeezing mine a little tighter.

Fear pumped through my veins as three Cazador filed through the front door.

Near the shattered glass crouched a man. No, it was a nocturne, with blood trickling over the pale skin of his face and arms. He watched the Cazador, wrinkling his nose with utter disgust. The nocturne flashed long fangs and darted toward the back of the restaurant, past our table. He sucked in a deep breath and paused to hiss at us before continuing.

At the restaurant’s entrance, the hostess held her hand over her mouth, swaying on her feet as if she was moments from fainting. One of the hunters poked her in the chest, causing her to collapse to the floor, while the others darted after the vampire. Satisfied by intimidating the woman, the third man barreled through the restaurant to catch up with his pals. My heart skipped a beat. He was the younger hunter from the Teatro the other night.

Oh no. I dropped my purse and ducked my head, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. Brendan pulled me closer to his hard torso and kept my panic at bay.

Thankfully, the hunter ran by without even a glance in our direction. Once the commotion died down, I strode toward the door, with Brendan close behind in the small crowd anxious to leave their ruined dinners behind. Once we were outside, he grabbed my arm, pulling me aside.

“What happened in there?” He tilted my chin up, forcing my gaze to meet his. “You hid from the last guy.”

“He was...” My voice broke a little and I cleared my throat. “He was at the Teatro...” I scanned the street around us, making sure no one was nearby, then glanced back. “He shot me.” I pointed at the shoulder splint, grimacing at the constant throb of pain.

Brendan’s spine stiffened. “He hurt you.” The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he clenched his hands into fists. “He could’ve killed you. I can’t stand by and let him get away with that.”

I grabbed him by the arm as he turned away. “Stop. Please.” I tried to pull him in the direction of my home; we needed to get out of there before the hunters came back. But he stayed rooted in place like a large tree. I tugged harder, using my supernatural strength, but he still didn’t move. “Brendan, we should go home.”

Footsteps and more gunshots sounded nearby. Probably the Cazador continuing their vampire hunt. With how rowdy they were, it was curious that they actually found nocturnes in the first place. People ran on the sidewalk behind us, and before I could turn, the vampire from the restaurant barreled past, shoving me into Brendan, who stumbled against the wall.

The three Cazador rushed past as I tried to regain my composure. One of them rammed his elbow into my shoulder as he went. I bit my lower lip, holding in a scream. Tears slid over my cheeks, and I buried my face in the hard planes of Brendan’s chest.

He carefully wrapped his arms around me and rubbed my back in soothing circles. His touch comforted me, but we couldn’t do this here. It was too dangerous. I pulled away as the hurried footfalls faded into the distance.

“We need to get out of here. We’re lucky the hunters didn’t spot me.” I glanced up at him. “Besides, I do need your protection, and I don’t want you to die trying to get revenge.”

Warmth glowed in his eyes, and he nodded. “You’re right. Let’s get you safe.”

I brushed my fingers along his jaw line and smiled. Maybe not all men were like my father.

Chapter 17

Derek

“A VAMPIRE KILLED Tom. It’s disgusting to see our kind turn on each other. We aren’t humans. We should be above trivial civil wars.” Prescott glanced between us. “Reports from a surviving member of his entourage, a wizard, said there were three unfamiliar vampires. Tom’s people killed one. By the time the wizard escaped, his master was dead, and he had no clue who’d murdered Tom.

“I suspected the wizard had a part in it. After all, how best to escape one’s master than by one’s own hand? However, you had a similar experience. Now I fear something more menacing is going on. I’d appreciate you telling me if you notice anything else out of the ordinary. We can’t afford to lose another member of the High Council.” The concern wasn’t lost on me, even though he pretended it was for my role in the council. Prescott leveled his gaze at Elliot. “You need to be careful as well. You’d be no good to us dead. I don’t want your promotion to be in vain. Now go.”

I lowered my head, glad the meeting was over, even if it hadn’t given me any clarity. Perhaps Tom’s entourage had killed him; there were rumors that he hadn’t been the nicest master. But I didn’t keep pets—life was simpler on my own—so that wouldn’t explain why the necromancer and his friend came after me.

Elliot swept into an elaborate bow. “I will do my best, my lord.”

Prescott waved his hand at my friend. “I told you to do away with formalities.”

Once Elliot and I were outside the High Council’s building, I released a premature breath of relief.

Gunshots and the thundering of boots revealed the Cazador were already roaming the streets. I needed to return home; I didn’t want to risk dealing with the annoying hunters.

I clapped Elliot on the back, urging him along. After one attempt on my life, I didn’t want to stay still. Fate need not be tempted again, and I had limits to how much drama I could handle in one evening.

“When will you take Lord Prescott’s hint and act more casually during private meetings? Sometimes you allow your manners to get in the way of business.” I glanced at the century-younger vampire and smirked.

Rolling his eyes, Elliot brushed my hand from his shoulder. “It’s not my fault. I have some humanity left in me, unlike some who will remain unnamed.”

“You do? Then why do you enjoy the politics of the council? Since when does that relate to anything humane?” I shook my head. “No, I don’t understand those who enjoy it. Not in this day and age. When the world was still whole and politics didn’t bring us to this level of depravity, sure, even I didn’t mind the game, but now...it disgusts me.”

I leaned closer to Elliot and spoke so softly I could barely hear myself. “Especially since some place themselves on moral high horses when really, what difference is there among the nocturnes when we’re all in the process of being exterminated like insects? No one looks at the threat humans pose. No one thinks to quit fighting amongst ourselves and work together.”

Elliot’s expression turned grim, and he shook his head. “How can you think that would be the answer? Not harming lesser nocturnes wouldn’t solve the problem. It would only make us appear weaker. We wouldn’t have our position of authority with the races we are at peace with.”

I balled my hands into fists. Elliot’s opinion was the popular one amongst vampires. They believed it was better to be powerful alone than to ally with the other races, but I thought my interaction with Carmela showed the potential for peace.

Not everyone was of the same mindset. We were the hunted, not the hunters, these days. Being centuries old and knowing how our ancestors had thrived frustrated me. We’d always had easy prey living amongst humans, but those days were firmly in the past. I lamented them because I had witnessed that paradise for myself; those days weren’t a fantasy to me as they were for some of my younger kin.

“You don’t understand the brainwashing you’ve been subjected to, Elliot. That’s all.”

Before I could react, he slammed me into the building next to us. Elliot’s face hovered before mine. His upper lip trembled with the effort to keep his fangs hidden as a light shade of pink flooded his cheeks. “You don’t understand. I know what’s going on with you—why you want change. I smelled her on your spare bed. No, don’t give me that look. I snooped because you made me suspicious. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He drew in a breath. “I, as your friend, gave my word that I wouldn’t tell anyone about your tryst with the lycanthrope. Maybe the reason you’re interested in becoming friends with everyone else is that you don’t want to hide your relationship with her. Maybe you don’t care about what it could do to our people.”

“And what would that be?” I glanced around the street, making sure no one was around to witness our discussion. “Having more unity, less pissing around with others, not holding firm to a Feud that no one knows the purpose of? How many years has it been going on? Not even Lord Prescott has said why the Feud continues. Perhaps even he doesn’t know, and he’s been around longer than you and I combined.” I shoved Elliot away from me, tired of him being in my face.

He stumbled back a few steps. Frustration drew his eyebrows together. “Fine. I have my doubts about it, but I’m not willing to throw away my people’s security for a wolf who might have been sent to eradicate us. But as your friend, I’ll let you make your own decision. Make sure it doesn’t drive all sense from you and get you killed.” He looked up into the cloudy night. “Don’t make me act on behalf of the High Council, especially now, with my promotion. You saved my life by turning me, and I don’t want to betray you. But I can’t be disloyal to Lord Prescott. He’d sense it.”

Frowning, I smoothed out the wrinkles from my shirt. “I don’t want to put you in that position. I’m not having relations with the w...” I scanned the darkness around us again, uneasy about having this conversation in public. There was no way of telling who could hear us. “Woman. However, I don’t think singling each other out is the best way to stay alive. We should try to do something about the situation we’re in instead of blaming others, especially since we know nothing about why the Feud is happening.”

“But if our elders saw fit...” Elliot raised his clasped fists toward me as if begging me to understand. But he let his hands slowly fall to his sides and shook his head. “You’re right. Perhaps we should figure out why our people are dying before bringing something like this to Lord Prescott. I wouldn’t know how to explain it. He has such a strict view on things.”

“You don’t have to be the one to tell him. Once we find out why Tom was killed, I can explain the reasoning behind my ideas. Hopefully he’ll listen, but if not, I won’t have to feel bad about getting you involved. Besides, Lord Prescott and I have an agreement letting me freely communicate my concerns to him.” Granted, that was before I started skipping High Council meetings left and right, but I didn’t think he would have me killed for speaking my mind. If that were the case, I would’ve been dead long ago. The only way Prescott might be convinced to kill me would be for disobedience. Actions like not showing up for meetings...or worse, helping an injured werewolf and developing feelings for her.

If Elliot remained true to his word about not telling the council, then I had no reason to fear. But what if Prescott discovered my deceit and ordered Elliot to talk? Elliot would sing like a bird about my relationship with Carmela. Maybe I did have reason for concern after all.

Pounding footsteps sounded on the sidewalk ahead, and I turned toward the noise. I didn’t want to deal with the Cazador, tonight of all nights.

Elliot froze in place, and his gaze searched the area.

A grinning vampire jogged toward us, flashing his fangs. Behind the vampire were three Cazador, huffing and puffing as they ran.

I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t what our kind needed, someone acting stupid just to show off.

One of the Cazador looked familiar. Anger darkened his eyes, and he removed his pistol from its holster. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a glowing bullet that looked like it had sunlight radiating from it.

I jerked my head to the side, trying to get the vampire’s attention. If only I possessed telepathy instead of telekinesis, right now would’ve been an opportune time to use it. The young vampire ignored me, not heeding my silent warning.

“Die, bloodsucker,” the hunter said.

The gunshot exploded through the night air, and I had a moment to see the vampire’s eyes widen before he exploded into dust. The bullet flew through his ashy remains, straight toward us.

I pulled Elliot toward the building and pressed myself against the wall, not wanting the bullet to touch us. I had no idea what was in it, but whatever it was, it was lethal.

Elliot and I crossed the street to put space between ourselves and the Cazador. We could’ve died from the strange bullet. The hunters were still humans, but they grew more dangerous with each passing day.

Chapter 18

Brendan

THE TENDER FEEL of Carmela’s hands on my skin brought my beast closer to the surface. I couldn’t wait to undergo the official ceremony and take her as my mate. She made me feel so many emotions that I’d never felt for anyone else.

I drew her in for another hug before letting go. We stared into each other’s eyes, neither of us moving to leave. While I knew she was right and that we should get her home, I didn’t want to the night to be over.

The bang of a single gunshot sent shivers down my spine. It sounded so final, so definite. A growl rumbled in my chest before I caught myself. “Let’s go. That hunter could come back. I don’t want you to be spotted.” She would be my mate. It was my job to keep her safe, regardless of her Militia training.

“Yes, you’re right.” Her voice trembled, and she looked physically shaken.

I rested my hand on her uninjured shoulder. “Are you okay? They hit you hard. If you need to see Dr. Matthews, I can send for him once we reach your home.”

She smiled, but it looked more like a wince. I should’ve thought about getting her seen sooner. Her shoulders were bunched up, and pain tightened the corners of her lips and eyes. She seemed to consider my offer for a moment, but shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” I offered her my arm, and she placed her hand on the crook of my elbow.

“Thank you.” She walked with me, jumping at each bump in the night. It made me increasingly on edge. Then a feeling of being watched crept over me.

Across the street, the dark-haired vampire we’d seen earlier strolled along with another vampire. The other one turned his gaze to us. A smirk tugged at his lips, but he kept his fangs hidden. Carmela’s fingers bit into my arm, and I placed my hand on hers, trying to comfort her.

She looked up at me, loosening her grip as if remembering I was there too. Looking ahead, I saw the Cazador who had shot her walking toward us, seeming pleased about something. His gaze rose and Carmela gasped. A second passed before recognition lit up his eyes and he reached for his gun.

I swirled around, pushing Carmela ahead of me, and we darted back toward the restaurant where we’d eaten dinner.

She ran, but it was plain to see the pain weighing down her movements. She tried holding her arm in place so it wouldn’t jerk around too much. The idea of tossing her over my shoulder and taking off crossed my mind, but that would take a moment away from the chase, a moment that might cost us dearly. Besides, I didn’t want to injure her further. But her life was more important than momentary pain. Once we were out of sight, I’d sweep her off her feet and get her to safety.

“Just go without me,” she said, pain clear in her voice. “I’m slowing you down.”

“No. I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself.”

More voices shouted behind us, making all kinds of excited yells. The hunter’s buddies had come along for the party after all.

She turned a corner at full speed. The high heel she wore snapped, sending her crashing to the ground. I yanked her to her feet without stopping. She kicked off the other heel toward a pile of trash. There was the crunch of broken glass underfoot, and she cried out.

I scooped her into my arms and continued running.

Two dark figures blocked the exit of the alleyway. How could the hunters have gotten there so quickly? That didn’t make sense. Heavy clomping footfalls echoed from behind us.

As I ran closer, the scent of death filled my nose. Vampires.

“Hurry. Follow us,” the vampire from earlier said in a harsh whisper.

“Why should we trust you?” I hissed.

A loud bang echoed in the alleyway, and I jerked to the side as a bullet narrowly missed us. “Fine, but don’t give me a reason to tear your heads from your shoulders.”

“This is a waste of time,” the second vampire said. He ran off, his steps swift and light as he headed south, to the area of town where werewolves frequently resided.

“We’ll follow you,” I said, looking down at Carmela. A shard of glass stuck out from her foot, and she bit her lower lip to keep from making any more sounds.

I easily kept pace with the two vampires as we nearly flew through the night, much faster than what the Cazador could manage. Filthy humans. They hadn’t been able to assault us; we’d been lucky this time.

The loud bang of gunfire startled me. Carmela looked over my shoulder with wide eyes. The bullet whipped through the air, and I yelled as my knees gave way and Carmela spilled from my arms. I reached for her, desperate to keep her safe.

The vampire from earlier grabbed Carmela, while the other one pulled me into his arms and kept moving. My hackles rose at being touched by him, but there was nothing I could do. For some reason they’d decided to help us.

“Lycanthropes. You’re just not as quick as we are,” the vamp carrying me said.

Chapter 19

Derek

PAIN TIGHTENED CARMELA’S face. Something about her made me want to cradle her close and not let go. What was I doing? I’d gotten Elliot involved in all of this, and he was a senior High Council member now.

I could detach from my feelings and tell myself that advising Lord Prescott and the High Council about uniting the nocturnal community was a matter of politics and smart thinking. But holding Carmela close and breathing in her scent, I knew this was more personal than I’d convinced myself.

Perhaps Elliot was right. Was I doing this for a chance at being with Carmela? I didn’t know.

Elliot stood beside me with the werewolf flung over his shoulder. He held the male like a sack of potatoes rather than a vicious beast in human form. Then again, there wasn’t any difference between the person Elliot carried and the one I held. After all, if I fought for equality among the races, and for the community to come together, how could I act untoward to her future mate?

I saw how close they were earlier, how he’d positioned his hand on Carmela’s shoulder possessively. But I didn’t have any right to think I could stake a claim. Our people would kill us if we were found out. Besides, she seemed pretty content with him.

My heart didn’t feel the same way, however. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to do something utterly senseless.

We lost the Cazador as Elliot and I ran at our true speeds. The hunters probably weren’t used to dealing with vampires as old as we were. Humans didn’t have the ability to detect the dark blur of shadow that vampires encased ourselves in. Precision shooting wasn’t their strong point, either. The young vamp had ended up dead only due to his own stupidity and apparent desire to show off.

Prescott wouldn’t like that news, especially after his speech tonight. Poor Elliot. He’d have to report what he’d seen.

I hated the idiocy our younger kin showed when they fooled around with the Cazador. What the vampire had done during that chase decreased our population at a time when we needed our numbers.

We slowed down when we were far enough away. An older warehouse loomed above us, looking like a good place to rest. The building probably hadn’t seen use in several years. Elliot and I laid our werewolves on the concrete floor.

I knelt beside Carmela, staring at the blood as it dripped from her foot. I lifted her ankle slightly, noting the way her dress shifted. Her white, lacy panties caught my eye, and lust warmed my veins, sending blood to my groin. Clearing my throat, I refocused my gaze on the glass embedded in her foot.

“What are you doing, vampire?” the male werewolf spoke up. His gaze locked on mine without fear, even though I had more power here.

“I have medical expertise. I used to be a doctor as a human. I can help her, and you, if you’ll let me.” My voice was low and calm. The last thing I needed was to pick a fight with an injured werewolf. That would not only cause him more anger and stress, but he might feel obligated to protect his soon-to-be mate and push his body beyond the restraints of pain. That would do neither of us any good.

“Just chill out, please. Brendan, they probably wouldn’t have saved us from the hunters to make us into a snack,” Carmela kept her gaze on me before shifting it to her foot.

Grinning, Elliot circled us, keeping just out of Brendan’s reach. “A snack... Now that’s a tempting offer. Sadly, I’ve already eaten for the night. Maybe we’ll have to reschedule for some other time.” For someone who didn’t favor the nocturnal community coming together, Elliot certainly seemed to be taking this situation in stride.

Brendan watched Elliot, a feral snarl rumbling in his chest. “Don’t even think about it, vampire.” At least it took his attention off Carmela and me for a moment.

“I need something to stem the blood flow after I pull the shard of glass from your foot.” I looked around the room, unsurprisingly not finding a first aid kit, or even anything clean. I stood, ready to rip off a section of my shirt.

Carmela opened her mouth to respond, but Brendan answered first. “Here. Use this.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. It was stark white, soft, and made from fine linen. It had a golden B.K. embroidered on it. It was obviously expensive, and yet he was so eager to give it up for her.

“Thank you.” I accepted the handkerchief and tucked it in my pocket to keep it from touching the dirty floor. My fingertips brushed the edges of the glass, and Carmela pulled her foot away from me. “Stop moving around, C...” I cursed myself. If I used her name, I’d strike up suspicion with her mate and Elliot. “Keep still. If I don’t get this glass out, you won’t heal properly.”

“It hurts,” she said. Apparently, no one had caught my near-slip. Carmela closed her eyes and bit her lip, holding in the pain.

Elliot knelt beside me and grabbed her shin, holding her leg firmly.

Her eyes snapped open. She flailed her arm, and this made me happy I’d ended up binding the other one to her torso so well. Her panic spread through room, and Brendan growled, crawling closer to her. He caught her free arm, entwining his fingers with hers. The intimate act spurred jealousy in me; it took all I had not to pry their hands apart. “Just relax and let them take out the glass.” Brendan slid his other hand through her caramel-colored hair. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m here.”

I tugged the glass free—maybe a little harder than I needed to—and placed it in my back pocket. She yelped, and the wolf grunted, presumably from her white-knuckled grip on his hand. I barely restrained my smile. With the shard out, I tied the handkerchief around her foot to help stanch the bleeding. It wouldn’t do much, but it’d be enough to help her get home and seen by a doctor. I moved away from her, uncomfortable with the way she held Brendan’s hand but kept her gaze on me. “There, you should be fine soon.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Brendan sat up a little more, clenching his teeth against the agony of his wounds. “She was shot the other day, I presume with silver. That might explain why her skin didn’t heal around the glass. Her body may be too overloaded to heal with ease.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he jammed a fist against his forehead.

Carmela raised her eyebrows at Brendan but stroked his arm, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have given that information to them. They’re our enemy.”

She jerked away from him. “Enemy? They just helped us.”

I glanced over at Elliot, who was perched on an old crate. “Fun evening, huh?” He shrugged his shoulders, looking amused by the bickering wolves.

Pushing aside their arguing, I studied Carmela’s body. I’d removed the bullet from her shoulder a few days ago, and while she’d been shot with silver, I did find it odd that she still wore the brace. Hadn’t she shifted yet? What was her doctor thinking, allowing her to stay in human form instead of forcing her to shift?

But what did I know? Her doctor had studied their physiology and healing rates, unlike me, who only knew about them from books and gossip.

After waiting for a few moments, I cleared my throat. “If you two would stop for a moment,” I said, ready for the night to be over. Trying to pretend like I didn’t know her and being with her almost-mate set me on edge. “I’m sure she’ll heal when she shifts.”

I glanced between the two wolves. Since I’d helped Carmela, I needed to offer the same courtesy to Brendan. “Would you like me to check your wounds?” The pool of blood around him grew, and I hated to think about him getting delayed treatment. “I don’t have my tools with me, but I might be able to stem the bleeding and see what they shot you with.”

Chapter 20

Brendan

I STARED UP at the vamp doctor, not excited about having him near me, especially while I was vulnerable. However, I felt my strength ebbing, and if I didn’t have his help then I would grow weaker, until I wasn’t able to protect Carmela at all.

I finally nodded and rolled to my stomach, giving him access to the wound on my leg. This evening was already tense from the Cazador attack, and now I was dealing with vampires. Huffing, I rested my chin on my palms and stared at the far wall, but I kept my ears alert to any whisper of movement. If I needed to defend us, I would, injuries be damned.

“Calm down,” Carmela said, placing her hand on my shoulder. As soon as she did, the bulk of the tension drained from my body, and I let out a deep breath. I couldn’t believe the impact she had on me already. This relationship was so much more than I’d anticipated one could be between mates.

The vampire doctor knelt near my leg, and I glanced over my shoulder. He frowned, a spark of concern lighting his eyes. I followed his gaze to the bloody mess covering the back of my pant leg. I placed my hand over Carmela’s and focused on breathing. “I’ll need to rip your pants at least to the knee for a better look.”

Stay calm. If you shift now, you’ll do more harm than good. If I accidentally hurt Carmela or even killed the vampires who’d helped us, I’d regret it. Something about those two was different from what I’d heard about the majority of their people.

“That’s fine,” I said, surprised at how calm I sounded.

The other vampire began pacing back and forth near the door as if afraid Carmela and I would bounce up and run away. Not likely.

From what I could see in the dim light, the vampire’s black eyes burned with hunger. He paused as he looked at me, then continued pacing.

“Don’t worry about Elliot. The blood is calling to him. He’ll be fine.” The vamp doctor still looked composed, but his movements were jerkier than they’d been with Carmela, as if he had to restrain himself more now.

“Fine. Just do what you have to do.” I only hoped I didn’t regret saying that. “It hurts like hell.” I ground my teeth, feeling my body tense up again as he placed his hands on the bloody fabric. He shredded the pant leg all the way up to my thigh with one yank. I jerked, ready to fly at him and attack. A growl bubbled up from my throat, but Carmela kept her hand firmly on my shoulder. The only way I could get up was by brushing her aside and potentially hurting her, and I refused to do that. Instead, I continued growling.

“The bullet struck and tore through the muscles. Hmm... I’m not sure what they shot you with. I can’t tell without the proper equipment. However, the wound is filled with a mixture of silver and something else.” He tore the shredded pant leg off as if to make them into fancy cutoffs, then tied it around the gunshot wound. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. You’ll need to see someone with the proper tools, and quickly, especially with the severity of your wound.”

Elliot stopped pacing and stared between the doctor, Carmela, and me. With the wound bound, he appeared more like the vampire who’d helped me than one who wanted to feast on my blood. Good to know he hadn’t changed his mind about making us into snacks.

“Where’s your home? Your doctor needs to treat this immediately. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He hesitantly wiped his bloody hands on his black jeans, and I wondered for a moment if he’d wanted to lick them clean.

That thought set me on edge, so I pushed it away.

“Why should I tell you where I live?” I rolled—albeit a little awkwardly—onto my back. Intense pain from my leg left me staring up at the ceiling. Breathe in, breathe out. “How do I know you won’t attack me or send your people after my family?” If he did, I knew where he lived, so I could easily retaliate. But if he was right, and I suspected he was, then I needed to trust them.

“For the same reason you won’t attack me after having discovered where I reside.” He narrowed his eyes at me, but his attention wandered for the briefest of moments to Carmela before looking back at me.

The need to protect her rose in my chest, but I couldn’t help wondering if there was something here that I didn’t know about. Why else would he have helped us so selflessly? “Fine. I’ll keep quiet.”

He nodded to Carmela. “What about her? She’ll need treatment too.”

I forced myself into a sitting position, regardless of the pain. “She’ll go with me.” Wrapping my arm around Carmela’s waist, I pulled her closer. Maybe I was being territorial or whatever, but she was promised to me. Mine. I told them where to take us.

Chapter 21

Carmela

BRENDAN’S HAND ON my waist both soothed and unnerved me. Maybe he’d caught the way Derek looked at me, or perhaps it was just his way of being a macho male werewolf. I didn’t know.

Elliot walked a few feet closer to us. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get them home.”

Frowning, I looked between the two vampires. What did he mean about not having much time? The realization struck me like a hammer to the chest. The sun. An overwhelming dread squeezed my throat until breathing became a struggle.

Father was probably furious with me. Fear and nausea roiled my stomach. Don’t give in. Keep calm. I needed to focus on my breathing with Brendan and Derek so near. When Derek touched my foot, I’d felt something beyond the pain, something that made me wonder if my feelings for him weren’t just wistful dreams after all. And his curious gaze...would it have been so bad to stay with him instead of running home?

I shoved the thought away.

Derek watched me as if he could see inside my head, but I knew that wasn’t the case. I never would’ve escaped in the first place if that were true. Oddly enough, I wasn’t scared of him. He’d had plenty of chances to use his power on me, to take my mind or drink my life’s blood. But he hadn’t.

I trusted him.

Brendan’s grip fell away, and Derek lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing. The vampire stole my breath, and I averted my gaze, trying to keep some semblance of distance. What I felt for Brendan was real; he was kind and caring. If he truly was the man he portrayed himself to be, then he’d be the mate I’d hoped existed. However, what I felt for him was different from what Derek stirred inside me. Brendan watched me from the floor with concern, and I couldn’t help but feel conflicted.

Glancing up at Derek, I wondered what the future I desired with him could hold. Most likely death, pain, and suffering. Neither werewolves nor vampires would ever allow us to be together. However, the relationship I’d soon be in with Brendan was arranged, and I refused to have my life dictated to me. It wasn’t rebellion, just my objection to not being given the chance to fall head over heels for someone.

Elliot hefted Brendan over his shoulder again. This time he appeared a little more careful, but Brendan went with it, even if I could hear soft growling coming from him. Elliot zipped to the door in a blur, and Derek followed. Dizziness overwhelmed my senses as wind blew my hair into my face. I could barely make out the alleyway we darted through.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I focused my thoughts on the play I’d seen with Brendan. They’d performed Romeo and Juliet. It had been breathtakingly beautiful, though entirely tragic. Taking a few breathes, I felt the nausea at the feeling of flying through the air slowly dissipate. While my kind was strong, I wasn’t used to this excessive speed, and the idea of puking on Derek was embarrassing.

Without much thought, I wrapped my arms around Derek’s neck, burying my face in his chest. He stiffened at my touch before relaxing into it. Maybe my feelings weren’t one-sided. He and Elliot had helped us with the Cazador, after all.

After a few moments, Derek slowed before coming to a stop. I withdrew my face from his chest and stared at the palatial house we’d arrived at, much larger than the one my parents owned. It also wasn’t a row house but a standalone.

Surprise widened my eyes, and I glanced at Brendan in amazement. No wonder he’d been able to take me out as he had to such a fancy restaurant and the play. His family was apparently very wealthy.

With that kind of money, one wouldn’t have to worry about purchasing simple things like a new pair of shoes or good food for the table. My father was stingy; although he always used the word ‘frugal,’ I saw through his act. I knew the difference between what he said and what was true.

Elliot walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. Derek followed, closing the distance between me and Brendan. I remembered too late about my arms circling Derek’s neck.

Brendan lifted his gaze to me. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he ground his teeth, but he didn’t say a word. That startled me more than him snarling or showing his anger.

I pulled away from Derek and averted my gaze from the men. Instead, I stared straight at the lit upper window of the house.

Noises sounded inside the house, and Derek gently lowered me to the ground. Brendan didn’t get the same treatment; he grunted as his ass smacked the concrete porch. He narrowed his gaze at Elliot and snarled.

The vampire hissed back at him, then nodded at Derek. “See you around, friend.”

“You as well. Stay safe.” Derek swept his gaze over me one last time; then a cool breeze caressed my cheek. I looked around, but they were gone, as if they’d never been there at all.

The front door opened, and a middle-aged woman with blonde hair and light blue eyes stared at us. She pressed a hand over her mouth.

“Who is it, Beatrice?” a concerned male voice asked behind her. A tall, ruddy man hovered behind the petite woman. His eyebrows drew together. “Son? What’s going on?”

Brendan cast a glance in my direction, brushing a hand through his blond hair. “Meet Carmela, my future mate. On the way back to her place, hunters attacked us. I didn’t think it’d be safe to drop her off at home, so I brought her here.” He struggled to a standing position and leaned heavily against the railing before reaching for me.

I accepted his hand, and he pulled me into the warmth of his arms.

Beatrice nudged her husband aside and waved us in. “Let’s get you two comfortable and call the good doctor.” She led the way, but she kept her gaze on us. “Do you want your father’s help, Brendan? Your leg doesn’t look good at all. The scent of blood is so strong, dear.”

Brendan hobbled inside, barely keeping himself upright. I tightened my grip on his waist, and he smiled at me, giving me a little more of his weight. We could do this together. “I’m fine, Mother.”

The den was down a long hallway, and I limped along, trying to help him even though my own balance wasn’t the greatest. The home was very nice, but unlike Derek’s, which looked more like a museum, Brendan’s was obviously somewhere lived-in—albeit in rich abundance. We collapsed on a plump leather couch together; he kept his arm around my shoulders, but was careful not to hurt me.

I couldn’t help feeling awkward, wondering what he was thinking of right now. Did he realize my moment of weakness with Derek for what it was? When his gaze met mine, I saw fear, and my heart leapt into my throat. What was he afraid of? Did he know? Had I given my feelings for Derek away? I didn’t want to hurt Brendan, especially since my life would be with him. Was he afraid I didn’t return his feelings?

I shoved my building emotions down and rested my head against his shoulder. Brendan’s father sat in a chair on the other side of him and placed his hands on his knees. He leaned forward, his slightly wrinkled face intense and his gaze probing. “Now, what happened exactly?”

In the corner of the room, Beatrice dialed the elegant old phone. I couldn’t help listening in to the conversation. “Greetings to you, Dr. Matthews. Our son Brendan and his soon-to-be mate, Carmela—yes, Carmela Santiago—need your assistance. They were injured tonight.” Dr. Matthews replied, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Oh, really?” Brendan’s mom glanced over at me.

A chill slid down my spine, and I diverted my gaze back to Brendan and his father.

Brendan scratched the back of his neck. Tension tightened in his body, and I couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling right now. Although I suspected I’d be in much the same state when I reached my own home.

“We were eating dessert when the Cazador chased a vampire through the restaurant. We made it out and started walking back to her house. After they finished off the vampire, they came after us. We ran, but Carmela stepped in glass, and after I scooped her up, I wasn’t fast enough to escape their bullets. I considered fighting them, but Carmela was my priority. I wanted to make sure she got to safety. Once we were out of harm’s way, we tended each other’s wounds.”

He kept his word; he didn’t mention Derek and Elliot, even though he very easily could’ve told the truth. The way he spoke, his words sounded like truth. Maybe he had more practice at keeping secrets than I would’ve thought.

I wanted to scoot away from him, but the warmth of his skin and his steady heartbeat lulled me into a cozy state. Besides, it was better to present a united front than pull away after he’d lied.

“Wise choice, Brendan. I wish the two of you hadn’t been harmed, but you’ll be in good hands soon enough.” His father turned leveled his gaze at me, then he held out a hand. “I’m Neal. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I only wish we could’ve formally introduced ourselves under happier circumstances.”

Smiling, I accepted his hand with my good arm. If only I could remember where I’d met him before...it had to have been at the Pack meetings my father used to parade me around at, but I was drawing a blank.

“Carmela. It’s a pleasure to meet you too, sir.” I wished I didn’t look so unkempt. Meeting Brendan’s parents was a special event. I dipped my head, showing the appropriate submission.

“Carmela, that’s such a lovely name.” Brendan’s mother sat next to me. I nearly jumped off the couch. I’d been so focused that I’d lost track of Beatrice. She took my hand in both of hers. “Just relax for a while. You’re safe, sweetheart. Dr. Matthews will be here soon. He’s calling your parents as well. They called him earlier this evening and were worried about you. How sweet is that? I’m sure they’ll be over as well.”

My pulse raced. The smile I wore faded at the corners and wasn’t genuine anymore.

Brendan dipped his weighty gaze to meet mine, and I caught the unease in his eyes. He sensed my emotions and I wondered if he didn’t like that my father would be coming by. However, I liked it even less. Regardless of my feelings for Derek, being with Brendan was safe, especially after what I’d been through recently. I didn’t think he would treat me poorly like Father.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kelly. I appreciate your hospitality,” I said.

“Is there anything I can get you in the meantime? Tea? Coffee?”

“No thanks, Mom.” Brendan rubbed his tired eyes and rested his head against the back of the sofa.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” I gently removed my hand from hers, placing it in my lap. I leaned into Brendan’s shoulder again to rest for a moment, hoping my parents wouldn’t arrive too soon. I didn’t want to deal with Father. Not after how he’d acted.

Neal stood and followed Beatrice out of the room. “We’ll leave you two to relax before the doctor arrives for you.” He closed the sliding doors shut and left us alone in silence.

Chapter 22

Brendan

CARMELA’S SOFT BODY molded perfectly against mine. Her breathing was steady and deep while her limbs were heavy from sleep. I stared at the ceiling and remained still, unwilling to disturb her. The sight of her arms wrapped around the vampire’s neck had bothered me. He was the same one she’d asked me not to say anything about earlier in the evening. Plus, I’d never witnessed a vampire helping werewolves. The more I thought about it, the more I had to know what was going on with Carmela.

Should I be the one to broach the subject? I hated lying to my dad. He always had a way of finding out about these things. Frankly, I was surprised that he’d bought all of what I said in the first place. Maybe the pain I was feeling and Carmela’s presence had distracted him from the white lies.

Regardless, now wasn’t the right time. I’d want to have her somewhere private where I knew no one could overhear us, not with my parents likely sitting in the other room having coffee.

Carmela hid more than she told, that much was certain. If only I had a way to penetrate her walls and get her to open up to me. Her father was another topic I needed to know about. When I’d talked with him, he came across as pompous and condescending even to me, the son of the city’s Alpha. I’d seen the hateful looks he’d given her when he thought I wasn’t watching, too.

I released a deep breath to keep calm. Soon that man would be in my home, and while I wanted to tell my father about the possible abuse, I didn’t want to disturb her as she rested her head against me. Besides, she wasn’t even willing to ask for my help.

The more time that passed, the more blood dripped from the scraps of my jeans. Guess it would give Mom another reason to go shopping if she couldn’t get it off the rug and furniture.

A loud banging sounded on the front door. Carmela jerked her head up and glanced around the room before settling her gaze on me. I held her a little tighter and looked toward the closed door leading into the hallway. My mother answered the door, while I returned my attention to Carmela.

“You’re afraid,” I whispered quietly.

She drew in a breath to speak, but no words came from her lips. Finally, she nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I saw how you reacted around him. Let me help you. Please.” I slid my knuckles over her cheek, relishing her soft skin.

Seeing her like this made my thoughts about the vampire slide away. She was mine. We would work through whatever was going on.

“You wouldn’t be able to do anything. Not with him.” She glanced back at the door and frowned. “I’m sorry about all of this. I don’t want to mess up things between us.”

I gripped her chin and forced her to look at me. The front door thumped shut, and I leaned in until our lips almost touched. “Don’t pull away from me.” The thought of kissing her nearly distracted me from what I needed to say. “I don’t want you to suffer. You’re special to me.” I clenched my teeth as the sound of footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors in the hall.

“Thank you.” Her breath caressed my lips, and I couldn’t hold back. I kissed her. Her soft moan urged me on, but harsh words outside the den made me draw back.

Her father’s voice set me on edge, and I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm myself. But as easy as that seemed, I couldn’t. She didn’t pay them any attention; her honey-brown eyes stared up at me in wonder.

Chapter 23

Carmela

WHILE I’D HEARD everyone in the hall, the kiss from Brendan stole my focus. I didn’t want him to stop, but I knew we shouldn’t be doing that right now.

The den’s doors slammed open, and Father stepped into the room, staring between Brendan and me. His lips curled in a sneer. “This is how well you protect my daughter? You’re not fit to mate with her.” He jerked his gaze toward Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, shaking his head. “Your son hasn’t turned out well, unable to prevent an attack like this.”

Neal Kelly flared his nostrils. “Be careful. You know who you’re dealing with. Don’t think for one second that you can enter my home and criticize my son.” He pointed a finger at me. “She already has a broken arm. Whose fault is that? Yours. You can’t even keep track of your own daughter—never mind keeping her safe.”

My eyes widened. If I knew I wouldn’t fall over, I would’ve run away. Tears welled in my eyes. The argument between our fathers made me want to curl into a ball. Everyone glanced at me as if assessing my worth in this mess. Neal had seemed so decent moments ago; now it appeared he resented me. I hadn’t tried to get into trouble.

Brendan drew me closer to him. I loved that he wanted to help, but I couldn’t bear the closeness, not when my father doing his best to ruin my chance of being with him. I had to do something about this. He’d kept me mostly prisoner, hiding me away from the world unless it was convenient for him. I wouldn’t let him steal this from me. I pushed to my feet, fighting the pain in my foot.

“I can’t believe you, Dad. Stop mistreating Brendan’s parents. They took me into their home. They have been kind to me, unlike—” My body sailed backward. Pain burned my cheek, and I smacked into the floor on the other side of the couch. Rough hands flipped me to my back, and my father drew back his fist. Biting back a growl, I threw my arm up to ward off any blows.

Two distinct snarls rose from the room. Brendan loomed over us from the back of the couch, his eyes full of rage and hate. The other man, presumably Mr. Kelly, wasn’t in my line of sight.

“Back away from her.” Brendan’s voice came out gravely. He held himself stiffly, as if ready to intercede with my father’s abuse, regardless of the consequences. We weren’t mated yet; my father still held the most power over me. Brendan couldn’t really do much without overstepping his reach.

“My daughter shouldn’t disrespect me, especially in front of others. I have a duty to make her obey. I doubt you’d be good at handling her.” Father’s lips curled back again. He grabbed me by the upper arm and hauled me to my feet. Agony flooded through me, from my face to my shoulder and down to my hip and foot. I could barely remain standing. “We’re going home.” He jerked me toward the door, and my legs gave way, spilling me to my knees.

“Don’t treat an Alpha Queen like that. You’re not immune to punishment, even if you are a hotshot businessman.” Neal blocked the door; his large frame filled it so Father wouldn’t be able to get past unless he muscled his way through. No good would come from that. My father wasn’t stupid. He’d back off and try to save face.

Dr. Matthews spoke up from the opposite side of the room, near my mom. Her eyes were wide and her face pale white. “He’s right, William.” He sounded calm, professional. “She did speak out of turn, but as her physician, I’m concerned about her shoulder wound. You shouldn’t handle my patient like this. You hired me to treat her wounds, but it’ll do neither of us any good if you’re reinjuring her.”

Father squeezed my arm. I stayed still, not giving him the pleasure of seeing my pain. If he did anything else in this room, he’d be outnumbered. Grunting, he released me with a slight shove that knocked me off-balance.

My injured shoulder smacked the floor, and I choked on a scream. Pain sank its claws into me, and I rolled to my back. My vision closed in, fading fast.

Silent, hobbling footsteps came to me, and I blinked, doing my best to focus on Brendan. Tears I hadn’t known I was crying spilled from my eyes. He knelt on the floor, discomfort tightening his features but concern shining in his eyes. He brushed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a tear that mixed with blood from my split cheek.

Shame washed through me. If I hadn’t provoked my father, he wouldn’t have acted out. What did Brendan think? Could he think I wasn’t worth the effort? Nonsense.

He positioned himself between my father and me, like a guardian. Funny, since my gender were supposed to be the warriors. At least until the Alpha females bore children.

Dr. Matthews knelt on my opposite side and helped align my body into a more comfortable position. His sharp features were strained with pity, something I didn’t want. I just wanted freedom from my father’s tyranny.

If only the Cazador hadn’t seen and shot me after escaping the Teatro. Winding up with Derek had made things worse. Not only had I been with my people’s foe, but my feelings for him were inappropriate, especially after the comforting moments in his arms earlier.

If I’d stayed at his place, life might’ve been better. However, I wouldn’t have met Brendan. That wasn’t something I’d want either. He was sweet, considerate and protective.

Why had I returned home? For my family and the responsibility I had to them. Unfortunately, I remained under their thumb until I mated with Brendan. There wasn’t a lot any of them could do, except expedite the ritual, but neither Brendan not I were healthy enough for that.

Glancing up, I caught sight of my mother. Sadness filled her eyes, and she had a slight bend to her stance that was uncharacteristic.

What was I going to do? I couldn’t leave her alone to suffer in silence from that monster I called ‘Dad.’ The only way she’d break free from him was death—either his or hers. Divorce didn’t happen among wolves.

I averted my gaze before I cried even more.

Chapter 24

Carmela

BRENDAN AND I lay side by side in his bed, with him on his stomach. The room was warm, inviting, and utterly masculine. His scent lingered in my nose, and I let my eyes remain half-closed. The comfort of being close and safe beside him relaxed me a little.

Dr. Matthews had said he wanted us where he could keep an eye on us both and do his job, but I think there was more to it than that. He cleaned my foot first, making sure all the glass was out, then bandaging it. Once he finished checking my shoulder, he switched to Brendan’s side of the bed. Stupid. Brendan needed the doctor’s help more than me, but I wouldn’t say anything. Not after how my words were received earlier. My jaw still ached and the thought of moving it made me cringe.

“This is curious.” Dr. Matthews examined Brendan’s leg, his lips pursing in confusion.

Brendan grabbed my hand almost hard enough to hurt. Pain etched lines into his face, but he didn’t make any noise as Dr. Matthews continued to poke and prod the wound.

“What is?” Neal Kelly said.

I closed my eyes to block the sight of Brendan’s father and my mother, who stood beside the doctor as his nurse. Whenever the opportunity struck for her to use her nursing skills, she jumped on it.

My father was still in the den with one of the wolves Neal had called over.

The bed moved from Brendan shifting his weight, and he groaned in pain.

“I’ll take a sample from this area of his leg to bring it to the lab. This seems like a new creation from the Cazador. I haven’t seen anything quite like it. It appears to have been a silver bullet—which explains why he’s not healing quicker—but these fragments...” He let out a breath. “Let’s just say I suspect the bullet was comprised of a lot more than just silver.” His voice held calmness and curiosity, as though he was holding in his emotions for the sake of everyone in the room.

I opened my eyes and tried to look at Brendan’s leg, but from that angle, I couldn’t see much. “Is he going to be okay?” I said, unable to hold back. In the abandoned warehouse, Derek had blocked my view. Besides, my attention hadn’t been completely on Brendan. But now the doctor’s words made me fear the worst.

Dr. Matthews cleared his throat. “I can’t say for certain. I’ll need to run some tests, but he’ll have to get plenty of rest. I’ll bring a crutch by to help him do whatever minimal movements he needs, but he should remain in bed as much as possible.”

Neal stared at his son’s leg. “Expedite the tests. I want the results as soon as possible.” His face appeared stoic, but there was a tightness around his eyes. He glanced my way, and his eyes narrowed on me. While I would’ve liked to say it wasn’t my fault, the Cazador had been after me. I was their primary target, not Brendan. He just got in the way of their bullet.

I returned my attention to Brendan, but I still felt his father’s cool gaze. He brushed his hand across my cheek. A kind gesture, but it didn’t make me feel any less disliked by his dad.

I pressed into his touch, soaking in the comfort he provided. “It’s going to be okay, Brendan.” My smile didn’t reach my eyes. Instead, it felt hollow and sad. While I knew being with him was safe, I couldn’t remain here forever. I’d have to return home with my family, at least until we mated, if it was still agreeable to everyone else.

“I know it will,” he said, trailing a finger toward my lips. The memory of our kiss swept away some of the building negativity. “Stay strong.”

He was right. I couldn’t lie down and take it.

I had to make a future for myself. Whether that would include Brendan now, I wasn’t sure. His father might forbid him having a relationship with me. After all, my father had publicly wronged his son.

Something very unbefitting of an Alpha Queen’s father.

At least they’d stood up for me, but the primary purpose of a werewolf in my position was to breed. Nothing more, nothing less. That would be my role in life, and if I didn’t provide children for whomever I mated with, I would be worthless to them, just like my mother was to my father.

Was that how life would be with Brendan? If I didn’t provide children for him, would he consider me worthless? My gaze connected with his, and he pulled away, his fist gripping the sheets between us.

Dr. Matthews cleared his throat again. “I’ll come by this afternoon, sir. I should have the results and the crutches for your son. Carmela, you and Brendan both need rest.”

“Dr. Matthews is right.” Mother didn’t look happy about it, but we couldn’t stay. It wasn’t proper. “Let’s get you home, sweet daughter,” she said, holding her hand out to me.

“Dad, what if—” Brendan’s words were cut off with a stern look.

I gave him a soft smile. He’d stood up for me again. Maybe our relationship meant more to him than I’d previously imagined. Still, my heart sank, and I reluctantly accepted my mom’s hand. Like Brendan said, I needed to stay strong.

Chapter 25

Carmela

IF ANYONE COULD’VE influenced my leaving the Kelly household it was Neal, but he’d remained silent. It wasn’t really their place to have me over, but I wondered if he no longer wanted me mating with his son. Understandable, I guess, but it also hurt.

Maybe my chance at mating was gone. Who would want me now, particularly if this whole debacle came out? Werewolves gossiped and talked amongst themselves. Word spread quickly and lives could be shattered.

I sat on my bed, trying not to think about those issues, but a tiny niggling thought plagued me. What if we ended up like Chandra’s family, on the streets? If no one supported my father’s business, we’d become homeless.

The thought didn’t scare me, just made me numb. Here I’d been worried about fulfilling my birthright and having children, and my family might lose it all because of what my father had done.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I kicked off my house shoes and crawled under the covers, more than ready for a renewing sleep. Hopefully when I woke up, life would be better.

Pulling the comforter to my chin, I closed my eyes. Sleep tugged at my consciousness, and I began to drift off. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, but I lingered on the edge of consciousness. Maybe Father would go to bed and not bother me.

On the way home, he’d cursed a blue streak under his breath, fuming at himself. His aggression had been barely restrained, but the angry power oozing from him concerned me. However, he was known for his mood swings...

No, I wouldn’t think that way. He cared for his own reputation, if nothing else, and the ability to say he married me off to a hotshot soon-to-be Alpha like Brendan fit the bill. But that might very well not happen at all.

The footsteps moved toward my parents’ bedroom at the end of the hallway, but they paused. I held my breath. Any sleepiness I felt faded away.

The person came back toward my room and stopped at the door.

I watched the door through my eyelashes, continuing to breathe normally as if I were asleep. This person couldn’t know how much they frightened me. If it was my father, it would give him the ammunition to blow up at me.

The knob turned, and the door creaked open.

I closed my eyes, feigning sleep, but the eerie feeling of someone stalking toward me while my eyes were shut freaked me out.

The door closed behind the intruder. I desperately wanted to see who it was and tell them to go away. A hand touched my foot over the blanket, slid to my knee, and then my hip. It took all my willpower not to recoil. The desire to grab the hand and toss it away overwhelmed me.

The scent of Father’s cologne, mixed with the overpowering smell of his favorite whiskey, burned my nose. A chill chased through me before I could control myself. Father only drank when he was furious. Fear and anger sparred inside of me like two trapped beasts, causing my pulse to accelerate.

The blankets were ripped from my hand. My eyes snapped open to see him leaning over me. I tried to scream, but he slapped a meaty hand over my lips.

“No you don’t. Not this time. Your mother is asleep. We wouldn’t want to wake her, would we?” he said, slurring his words. His tone was a mix of annoyance and disgust. His slid his other hand over my torso, curving across my stomach and up to my breast. He squeezed it hard enough to bruise.

Could this be what Chandra meant the other night? I didn’t want to hurt my father...but I wouldn’t let him do this.

He hopped onto the bed in a clumsy drunken leap and nearly fell off in the process. His eyes were full of loathing—maybe even self-loathing. “You were supposed to bring this family out of the hole it’s in.” He voice cracked a little, as if he’d cry. It broke my heart to see him this way, even though I was terrified. “Instead, what happens? You screwed things up, you stupid girl. Do you know how hard I worked to have Brendan Kelly mate with you? Do you know how prosperous he is? His father is the Alpha,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

Neal Kelly was the Alpha of Alphas? Tears burned my eyes. Now I remembered him. Father had pointed him out at one of the meetings when I was younger.

Neal wouldn’t save me from my father, but my desperation didn’t want to listen. “No, Dad, I didn’t mess up.” My voice lacked any emotion, which fit the increasingly numb sensation that sheltered me. “You insulted our Alpha’s son and my future mate. Why?”

His lips curled back from his teeth, and he narrowed his eyes at me. “How dare you! You should’ve kept out of danger and not gone to his home without my permission. You always get into trouble. Our family will be disgraced because of you.” He forced his way between my legs.

I slammed my knee into his groin, and he slapped me hard. Pain radiated from my cheek. I snarled, but he pressed his hand over my mouth again. Sinking my teeth into his fingers, I savored the taste of his blood trickling into my mouth. The need to shed my human skin and rip out his throat snapped inside me. That brought back my training.

I punched him in the jaw. His head snapped backward and he lost his balance, collapsing on top of me. I headbutted him in the face. An audible crack broke the silence.

His hand clenched over my breast again, as if to anchor himself and regain his power over me. But I wouldn’t fall for that. Not with my confidence crashing back into me.

Stay strong. Brendan’s words echoed through my head.

I punched him again, throwing more force behind it. This time he toppled off the bed, but not without ripping my nightgown.

I clutched the pieces together and scrambled off the opposite side of the bed. Father growled behind me. Sprinting to the door with a supernaturally fast limp, I reached for the doorknob. My fingers had barely brushed it when he grabbed the back of my neck and slammed me face-first into the door.

Blood trickled from my forehead, and my legs weakened from the impact.

Father fisted his hand in the nightgown, and I slammed my head back, hitting his nose again. He released me to cover his nose, cursing all the while.

I scrambled for the doorknob again. If I could just wake my mother, I might be safe. She’d fight him with me. If he succeeded, my position as an Alpha Queen would be ruined. I would be ruined. That couldn’t happen.

The door opened a crack before I could turn the knob, and Chandra peeked inside. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. The door snapped closed behind her, and her footsteps hurried down the hall to her room.

She chose not to help. She’d said it should be me; now she was getting what she wanted, I guessed.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as he dragged me to the bed. He forced my face into the mattress, muffling my cries. His zipper opening was the only other sound.

No. I refused to let this happen. I pushed up from the bed and spun to face him, ready to fight until one of us was dead. He clocked me in the jaw, and darkness shaded my vision. My body fell back, feeling weightless for a moment before I hit the mattress.

The image of Chandra colliding with my father as he reached for me was the last thing I saw. She was back.

“You bitch,” he slurred. “You’ll pay the price for her this time, then.” Chandra started to scream, but it cut off with a thud. A door rattled in the hallway. That’s why Mom hadn’t come to help. She was trapped in their room.

Betrayal stabbed me in the heart like a knife.

I couldn’t stay here after this. It didn’t matter if I lived as a vagrant in the Outskirts for the rest of my life. I’d survive even this.

Chapter 26

Carmela

I OPENED ONE eye. The other had swollen shut from Father’s punches last night. My body wasn’t healing as quickly as it should have. Could it be from not shifting? The visit with Dr. Matthews came back to me. No, it had to be the silver bullet.

My limbs refused to budge, but I had to leave now before Father came back. Remembering yesterday brought tears to the surface, but I held them at bay. For now, I needed to focus on the task at hand.

Hefting myself up, I nearly flopped back onto the bed from the agony ripping through my body. I climbed to my feet, then carefully made my way to the closet, easing it open without a sound. No one could hear me leave; they might try to stop me. I pulled a small duffel bag out and unzipped it, cringing at the sound it made. That same noise brought back the near-desecration I’d suffered from a man who was supposed to love and protect me. I knew I’d hear it play back in my mind for a long time to come.

Chandra... I glanced around the bedroom, but she wasn’t here. Part of me wanted to check her room to see if she was okay, but fear kept me rooted in place. If my father was home, he could try to finish what he started.

I tossed a few outfits into the bag with my good arm, grabbed a couple of essentials like a hairbrush and a picture of my mother and me smiling. After closing the bag, I went to the window and pushed it open to see if anyone was lingering outside. My bedroom faced the street. I had to be extra careful not to get caught.

The sun was just above the horizon. I couldn’t count on Father being at work. He could be passed out on the couch for all I knew, especially with all the alcohol he’d consumed. No one would take him seriously smelling like the bottom of a whiskey barrel.

I looked down at the sidewalk below the second-story drop, remembering how badly it’d hurt jumping out of Derek’s window. This time I was even more injured, but I wasn’t about to stay here and put up with more. Mother might suffer from my actions, but I couldn’t remain under that man’s power after he almost raped me.

I put on some clothes and shoes, then ran my fingers through my hair. If I looked suspicious, the Cazador or police might be curious about me. Neither sounded good. I couldn’t tell the police what had happened—it would force my family into plain sight, and the Cazador would have even more targets to hunt.

Where could I go? Maybe I should accept my fate and go to the Outskirts. The area was originally a refugee camp for those trying to get into the city, but the people who lived there were poorer than poor and far more dangerous than anyone you’d find here. They were more like animals than people, nocturne or not. I shoved the thought aside. Right now it didn’t matter where I went, as long as I got out.

As I tossed my leg over the windowsill, fear clenched my chest at the drop. Stop it. You have to leave. I tossed my bag to the ground, then leapt before I could convince myself to stay. My legs buckled beneath me as my weight hit the ground. Pain gnawed at me like a million piranhas, nearly crippling me.

I clawed my way to my feet, snatched up the bag, and hobbled away. For a long time I just put one foot in front of the other, sticking to the shadows as much as I could. My thoughts were mostly empty. If I didn’t think about what had happened, maybe I could pretend it was just a dream. But that didn’t calm my fears. I kept an eye out for anyone I knew. At any moment, I expected to hear Father’s voice shouting for me to come back.

My feet shuffled along the sidewalk. Dusk settled in around me, and the surrounding streetlamps bathed me with their glow. I lifted my gaze to see Derek’s home, and I froze. Should I knock? What if he turned me away after seeing my condition? What if he thought I was too much trouble?

My shoulders sagged, and I sighed. What other option did I have? Brendan? My father would expect me to run there. He might try to negotiate to bring me home again. No way could I run to him. It was too dangerous. Besides, he’d tried to protect me from my father; maybe I should’ve told him about the beatings sooner. But what could he have done? We weren’t mated yet.

I peeked into the alleyway alongside Derek’s house. It was empty. Inching forward, I kept an eye out for anything suspicious. Elliot, his vampire friend, could be with him, for all I knew. Maybe this was a bad idea.

What would I be opening myself up to by asking for his help? Did it matter? I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I reached the back door and raised my fist to knock.

I tapped on the door twice. If he wanted to invite me in, he’d answer. If not, I would survive without him. One of the werewolves I knew from Militia training lived in the Outskirts. She’d been friendly, while most of the others looked down on me for being an Alpha Queen. They were jealous, but it was understandable; life was hard for them.

Besides, I’d been given enough training to not let what happened get the best of me. At least not the physical pain. Hopefully the emotional trauma brewing inside me would disappear with time as well.

Chapter 27

Derek

THE WEIGHT OF the sun’s power made my limbs feel heavy and lethargic. It was rare for me to be awake with the sun still in the sky; today I’d awakened twice in the same day. But sunset was nearly upon the world now.

Two soft taps at the back door had me pushing through the haze. No one should be knocking on my door, especially at this time of day. The necromancer and his friend were certainly not that polite.

I walked to the back door, barely managing a human pace, and opened it.

Carmela leaned against the doorframe with her head bowed. When she looked up, she had a bandage on her cheek and a black eye marred her beauty. Bruises littered her soft skin. Her shoulders hunched forward, making her seem so unlike the woman I’d left at Brendan’s doorstep last night.

My heart ached for revenge.

Taking a deep breath, I drew her scent into my lungs and almost wished I hadn’t. The strong scent of a male werewolf and whiskey wafted through the air around her.

Any ill effects from the sun evaporated as it set, unleashing the full sting of my power. My blood boiled with the pure rage pounding through my veins.

Carmela winced and drew back a little. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.” She averted her gaze, staring down the alleyway.

I reached for her bag, but she jerked away from me. Her heart raced, and instead of a predator, she looked like prey. Grimacing, I stepped away from the door to allow her entry. “Please, come inside.”

She watched me for a moment, then walked past me, clutching the duffle to her chest. Her gaze skimmed my place as if checking for anyone else’s presence. Her shoulders trembled with nerves.

“I won’t allow anyone to harm you again. I promise.” I held out my hand again. “May I have your bag?” I nodded toward the staircase. “You can use my spare bedroom again. You’re already familiar with it. I could put your things there while you rest.”

She stared down at the bag. Her lower lip trembled, and she handed it over. “Thank you for your hospitality. I didn’t know where else to go.”

The werewolf scent on her wasn’t Brendan’s. Why didn’t she turn to her future mate? I didn’t understand. What that man did to Carmela was a crime. He’d be punished by her people, yet she turned away from them. “Why didn’t you go to Brendan, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” She turned toward the door, but I blocked her way. While I didn’t want her to feel trapped, she couldn’t run out on the street and put herself into more danger. A protective need reared its head. I’d do anything to help her.

“I apologize. I’m just curious why you chose me. Just give me a chance. Open up to me.” I set her bag on the floor carefully and clasped my hands in front of me, when what I most wanted was to take her in my arms and hold her. Instead, I tried to portray a relaxed disposition. But I could barely hold onto that demeanor while I was itching to kill the bastard who’d assaulted her.

“I told you. I didn’t know where else to go.” She swayed on her feet and looked like she would fall over, but caught herself at the last moment.

“Come, let’s sit down. You look like you need some rest.” I offered her a smile, but she didn’t return it. Instead, she stared at the worn leather chair in my den. “No, let’s go to the living room, if you don’t mind. It’s more comfortable.”

Nodding, Carmela took a few hobbling steps toward the living room, but her knees gave out. With a quiet yip, she tumbled forward.

I dove toward her, grabbing her before she could hit the ground and pulling her into my arms. Her wide eyes stared into mine. I considered drawing her in and taking away her pain, but that might end up hurting her more in the long run. Instead, I persuaded her mind to release her from the worst of her fears.

I laid her on the ornate couch, then smoothed my hand over her caramel-colored hair, brushing it from her face. “I don’t have anything for you to drink or eat, but if you let me know what you’d want, I can go to the store. Would that be okay?” I knelt beside her and watched her closely, hoping to comfort her in whatever way I could.

Frowning, she tried to sit up, but her muscles didn’t seem to work. “I don’t need anything now. I’d rather you didn’t leave. Please?”

“You can’t go without food and drink. Not with your injuries. Lycanthropes need a lot of sustenance to survive, and you shouldn’t get too dehydrated.” I trailed my fingertips through her hair, unable to help myself. My finger brushed a large bump, and she cried out and pulled away. “Sorry, love.” I dropped my hands to my knees.

“You’re right.” Carmela sighed. “I will need to eat.” She shivered and stared up at the ceiling. She was still so skittish. I considered increasing my power over her to calm her, but that was wrong.

“Is there anything specific you enjoy eating? I could make whatever you’d like.” I smiled. “Just because I’m a bloodsucking vampire doesn’t mean I don’t know how to cook. I was once alive too. Granted, my cooking skills might be a little rusty, but I probably won’t ruin your meal.” I fetched a blanket from the armchair and laid it over her. “Here you are. Make yourself at home.”

She drew it up to her chin and gave me a small smile, the first one I’d seen that day. Something inside me relaxed. All was not lost. She’d be okay. “Anything beef. Steak, maybe even hamburgers. Rare, preferably. Potatoes are good too. I also like hot chocolate.”

“Good choices.” Hundreds of years had passed since I’d last eaten, but I’d do what I could to make sure she regained her strength. Smiling, I gave her an elaborate bow. “Your wish is my command.”

A feeling of comfort swept through me. Full darkness had finally descended. I swept my gaze over Carmela. Her eyes fluttered shut. She looked almost peaceful, aside from the pain etched into her face. From the pace of her breathing, she seemed to have drifted off to sleep.

I waited there a moment, watching her. I savored having her back in my home, but the circumstances could’ve been better. And how long would it be until someone found out? Brendan had seen my home; he could easily track her to me.

Someone knocked on the back door, and I turned my head toward it. Perhaps her mate had already arrived.

Carmela’s eyes snapped open, and she struggled into a sitting position.

“It’s okay, love. Don’t worry. I’ll go see who it is.”

She slowly lay back on the couch, but her eyes remained open, as if she trusted me, but not enough to fall back asleep. Her heartbeat raced, and her skin was pale. The worry of being here had to be eating at her. But I couldn’t save her from that.

I went to the door and opened it a crack.

Elliot stood there with excitement in his eyes. He pushed against the door, trying to brush past me. “You’ll never believe what...”

I grabbed Elliot by the collar and pushed him outside, then shut the door behind us. Now wasn’t the time for him to intrude. But I couldn’t push too hard now that he was Prescott’s lapdog.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s your problem?” Taking a deep breath, Elliot paled more than a vampire should. “You’re kidding me. She’s here? What were you thinking—?”

“What do you want? I’m busy right now.” A severe frown strained my lips, and my fangs bit into them. I leaned in a little, not wanting to speak the words aloud. “She’s been brutalized by her own kin.”

Elliot pulled back, disgust curling back his lip. “You’re sure? Is that why she came to you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I crossed my arms and looked up into the hazy night sky. “Something must’ve happened between us dropping them off and when the sun rose.” I met Elliot’s blue-eyed gaze again. “I want to keep her safe. Whoever did this could have easily killed her, and will probably try when they find out she ran.”

Chapter 28

Chandra

FOR YEARS WITH my parents I’d yearned for stability, if not prosperity, and living with Uncle William and Aunt Katarina, I’d finally found that. Plus, I used to have a friend in my cousin. Now my life had shattered like glass. The one person William had never touched was nearly ruined. Things would never be the same again.

Her battered face and the look of fear and defiance in her eyes haunted me. I’d been right there. I could’ve helped, should’ve helped before things got so far. Instead, I’d cared more for my own safety than for what was right. But he’d raped me, not her. She was still safe...for now. My words to her the other night were awful, and now I wanted to talk with her more than ever, but I wondered if she hated me for my abandoning her at first.

Katarina busied herself in the kitchen, cleaning like a woman on a mission. A nasty bruise on her face was slathered in make-up, as if that would hide anything. She didn’t meet my eyes when I walked in. I had a feeling she knew what had happened the night before. The walls weren’t very thick.

“C-can...” I cleared my throat. It still hurt from William wrapping his hands around it. “Can I help?”

She nodded to the plates on the counter. “Could you take Carmela some food? There’s some for you as well. I need to finish this up before William comes home.”

Dread tightened in my stomach, and suddenly the thought of eating wasn’t as appealing. “Sure thing, Auntie.”

I grabbed both of the plates, unable to bring myself to return to the kitchen. Not with all of the nervous energy Katarina was displaying.

The closer I got to Carmela’s room, the more I felt like something was horribly wrong. With my acute sense of hearing, I’d normally pick up some movement, but I heard nothing. Maybe she was just peculiarly quiet today.

I knocked on the door, but she didn’t respond. “Carmela? Can I come in?” Still no response. Then again, I didn’t blame her. “I have food.” Nothing.

I juggled the plates and opened the door. The bed stood empty and unmade. I set the plates on the dresser, then noticed the closet door was open. She rarely left it open; we’d told too many ghost stories as children. A warm breeze blew into the room, and I dropped to my knees.

No!

The window was opened wide. I blinked at it. My heart hammered in my chest. How could she do this? When William found out that Carmela had escaped, there would be hell to pay. Maybe there was still time. If I found her before he came home, we’d be okay.

I jumped to my feet and sprang down the steps, taking them three to four at a time.

Katarina met me in the hallway. “What’s wrong?” Fear paled her face, making the bruises stick out that much more. “Is she—”

“Gone. She ran away.”

She looked conflicted, as if unsure whether to be happy or terrified. “We need to find her before he comes home. If he discovers her gone, he’ll be furious.” Tears welled in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. She opened the front door.

I walked outside with her. We searched the darkened street. I focused on the shadows, willing my eyes to adjust to them. I hoped she’d be back, but doubt reined in any positive thinking. What reason would she have to come back? She’d be a fool if she did.

“Should I go search, Auntie?” I glanced over at her, hoping she’d agree to it.

Katarina worried at her lower lip. “I think it’s—” Her attention swiveled to the other side of the street, and she straightened her spine. Fear etched itself in the lines of her eyes and her lips, but any tears were gone.

I didn’t want to look, but I did.

Uncle William stood across the street. He waved at us as if he wanted us to go back inside. So far he was acting like his normal self. In fact, maybe more pleasant than usual. He didn’t suspect anything. How long would it be before he knew?

He walked toward us, crossing the road, and snapped, “Shut the door before too much dust gets in the house. What are you doing outside anyway?” He froze in the street and drew his gaze up to Carmela’s window. The veins in his forehead popped out, and I turned to retreat.

He charged like a bull, grabbing us by the arms before shoving us inside. “Make yourself scarce, Katarina.” He shut the door and locked it, keeping his back to me. But the tension and hatred wafting off him choked me as if I were breathing water.

My aunt looked between us and mouthed an apology before darting upstairs. The soft click of the door closing made me cringe in remembrance of the last time William had directed his anger at me.

“Where is she?” he growled. The animalistic words were nothing human vocal chords should’ve produced.

“I don’t know. Neither of us do.” I took a seat on the stairs. “We didn’t realize she’d taken off.”

The phone rang, but he remained in place, ignoring it. However, the caller let it ring and ring. He turned to me, and his eyes were wolf-amber, not their normal brown shade. “Wait right there.”

I released a shallow sigh as he left the hallway, and placed my head in my hands. Maybe we all should’ve escaped while he’d been away. But I couldn’t bear the idea of going back to living on the streets. That pain kept me trapped here, blinded by a need to escape poverty.

Pain by William’s hand or homelessness. Sooner or later, I’d have to decide which hurt more.

“Brendan Kelly, what a surprise to hear from you.” He sounded cordial, which was a complete change from how he’d been seconds ago. “No, she’s sleeping at the moment. You should call back later. Yes, you’ll talk to her. Right. Bye now.” The phone slammed onto the cradle. “Get out on the streets and find her. Now,” William bellowed from the office.

I slid on my shoes and bolted out the door, pushing down the throbbing physical pain in my neck and thighs. Searching for Carmela was a fate I much preferred to his wrath.

Maybe I’d already made my decision. If I didn’t find Carmela, I’d find my own place in the world. I’d done it before when I was younger. I could do it again.

Chapter 29

Brendan

ANGER BURNED IN me. My thoughts remained glued on Carmela, even though my parents tried to convince me to rest. Not a lot could be done within the werewolf hierarchy. I couldn’t endanger the engagement, and my father had warned me away from speaking up on the issue in front of the others.

I groaned as I moved my leg. I had to talk to her at the very least, and now was the best time for it. My father was attending a business meeting while my mother was out grocery shopping. She’d given me plenty to eat and drink before she left so I’d be taken care of while she was gone. Sweet, but it seemed like sometimes she forgot I was a man, not a boy.

I pushed myself out of the bed and grabbed the crutch, then carefully walked down the stairs to the den where the phone was. I dialed the number, and it rang and rang and rang. My pulse thrummed a quick beat. Should I go there in person? Maybe no one was home? Was everything okay?

The old-fashioned phone’s reception crackled a little when the person on the other end picked it up. “Hello. Maybe I speak to Carmela?” I tried to remain civil.

“Brendan Kelly, what a surprise to hear from you.” My nerves shattered even more as her father spoke. He sounded pleasant...like nothing had happened last night. Bastard. “No, she’s sleeping at the moment. You should call back later.”

Part of me demanded that he wake her up. Why would she still be asleep, anyway? It didn’t quite make sense, but she’d been injured too. She needed to recover as well. “Tell her to call me when she wakes up.”

“Yes, you’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” I said, my temper unraveling. “Promise you’ll relay my message.”

“Right. Bye now.”

The line disconnected before I could say more, and I balled my hand into a fist. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to me. No, I doubted that. There was something going on. He’d sounded much different than before. Perhaps he was scared that my father would change his mind about my future with Carmela. That was something I worried about as well.

Regardless of those fears, I had to remain patient.

I crossed over to the couch. A few drops of blood remained on it as evidence of the encounter. Likely my mother would purchase a new one in the coming days. We had humans over at times due to my father’s business, so this would be unacceptable.

However, lying on it and breathing deeply of Carmela’s scent created a heaviness in my chest. I’d finally found the woman I wanted for the long-term, and now my life was more complicated than it had ever been. Would she even be within my grasp now? My father might change his mind after what happened last night, but I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted her.

However, she’d also showed affection to the vampire, and I couldn’t live in someone else’s shadow. Could I?

I needed her like a thirsty man needed water.

Sucking in another lungful of air, I closed my eyes, concentrating on her scent. My eyes watered a little, but I forced the emotion down. I never should’ve let her walk out of this house.

Chapter 30

Derek

“WHAT ARE YOU going to do about it?” Elliot asked, looking from me to the door and back again.

“Take care of her as best as I can. I haven’t figured out exactly what I should do yet.”

“Sooner or later someone is going to find out, if you keep her here.” Elliot shifted from side to side, a nervous habit from when he was human.

I hated to admit it, but he was right. “Keep quiet. Word will probably get out soon enough.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “I’m in this as much as you are. I was there last night saving them at your side. We could both go down.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this madness.” An idea came to me, and while I didn’t want to ask him about it, he’d brought up a valid point. If Carmela remained here alone, she could be up against the attackers who had broken into my home. They could kill her in her weakened state, or worse, abduct her.

I glanced at Elliot. “Would you mind staying here? I need to get supplies for her.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he stared at the door. “What? She probably won’t like me hanging out alone with her.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Stay out of her way, and if she needs anything, make yourself useful. I don’t think she’ll do much aside from rest for a while.”

He nodded and headed inside. “Don’t be gone for long. You owe me.”

Really. News to me, especially with how often the other vampire said that. “Lock the door.”

Once I heard the lock click behind Elliot, I ventured off. Maybe I’d be able to pick up Carmela’s scent to figure out where she’d come from and who had beaten her so badly. But I didn’t want to take too long. I wouldn’t abandon her in her time of need.

My kind didn’t have senses on par with werewolves, so it took a while to get my bearings. I thought back to the direction she’d been walking from with her mate and headed that way. At one of the row houses ahead, I spotted a young woman rush outside, carefully closing the door behind her. Her hair color was the same as Carmela’s, and there was a strong resemblance. They had to be related.

She looked back up at the house as if it was the last time she’d see it, then she ran toward the nearest alleyway.

The scent near this house was heavy with fear and despair. It smelled of Carmela and the male who’d attacked her, as well as two other females. Her home.

I headed toward the store nearer to my house.

“Hello, Derek. You must have heard about the Cazador killing one of our own. It’s good to see you’re okay,” Prescott said from behind me. I twirled around to face the old vampire. He stood a few feet away, and I couldn’t believe I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t sensed his presence.

I bowed my head. “Thank you.”

“Has there been anything else worthy of my attention?” He watched me closely and tilted his head to the side.

If I said no, he’d know I was lying. My best shot of escaping this meeting without giving the absolute truth was to lie through omission. But what could I say? “Actually, I witnessed the young vampire’s death. The Cazador have a dangerous new tool in their arsenal.” I lowered my voice as two humans walked by. “The bullet glowed as if with sunlight.”

“That’s intriguing. I’ll need to look into that.” He nodded as if pleased with the new information. “Good work. Carry on.” He walked a few steps away before turning back. “I’m not a fool. You’re hiding something. Be careful with that. I wouldn’t want any harm coming to you.”

“Yes, sire.” I bowed my head again. When I looked up, he was gone.

The night couldn’t get any worse, could it?

Chapter 31

Chandra

THE WHOLE SEARCH was beginning to feel rather hopeless. Carmela’s scent was potent near where we lived, but she’d done so much aimless walking, looping around alley after alley, that I’d lost her direction. I wanted to scream.

Sitting on someone’s front steps, I put my head in my hands and fisted my hands in my hair.

What had I done to deserve this kind of life? Ever since I was born, my life had been a hard slog. I’d been born to parents who were thrown on the streets and didn’t care at all about me, then I finally found a home with Uncle William and Aunt Katarina, only to be subjected to his abuse. Now my life and future was based on whether I could find Carmela or not.

The sun had nearly set, and time was running out. I should report back to Uncle William soon—if I decided to go back—but as I continued to search, the sinking feeling that I’d come up empty-handed kept increasing.

Glancing up at the red sky, I felt a warm breeze on my skin. Desperation for some kind of direction and guidance overwhelmed me. The hair on the back of my neck rose at the sensation of being watched, but I caught the faintest scent of Carmela. Hope surged in my chest.

My gaze scanned the gloomy streets, renewed determination lifting my spirits. Sniffing the air again, I caught sight of a darkened alley. Warning bells went off in my head, but it made sense she would go there, especially to keep out of the hunters’ view.

Chill out. It’ll be over soon.

I slowly walked toward it. A shadow moved further within the darkness. There. I picked up my pace, but when I reached the alley, I didn’t see anyone. It was as if she’d vanished. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? I rubbed them and stepped deeper into the alleyway to investigate.

I drew in a breath; a musky male scent lurked among the sour stench of garbage. Alarm rippled through me, and I started to turn around. A solid torso slammed me into a wall, pinning me to it. He pressed a towel over my nose and mouth. A sharp chemical burned my nostrils. I fought to free myself but my limbs weakened.

“Ssshhh. Relax into it, girl. Don’t fight, and it’ll all be okay.” His warm breath caressed my neck, and I would’ve shivered if I could. The only movements I could make were with my eyes. My mouth wouldn’t even let me scream. “I know you’re seeing the vampire. Cross-species relations are strictly forbidden for a reason.”

What was he talking about? I kept my distance from those bloodsucking fiends. My ideal man was a werewolf of high standing. My lower lip quivered, but no words came out.

My captor turned me to face him, pressing my back to the wall. His face was covered in a skull mask, and he wore a hoodie that covered his hair. “You’re pretty. It’s too bad you made this mistake.” He tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

If I’d just run when I had the chance, I might be off starting a new life away from Uncle William and all the trouble associated with him. But I didn’t understand why this man thought I had anything to do with vampires. Besides, he didn’t smell like a werewolf. He held the faint scent of death, but not because he was a vampire. It was different than that.

Zombie? Nope. Those were rare. They only happened when necromancers summoned them... Necromancer.

My gut tightened into a nervous ball of energy. If my people were a dangerous category, then his were legendary, and not to be messed with. But what purpose did he have in policing what the nocturnes did or didn’t do?

I had a feeling I’d be learning that firsthand, and soon.

Chapter 32

Carmela

I BLINKED MY eyes open, then glanced around at my surroundings. Pain saturated my senses. Where was I? Something felt off. As I sat up, agony gripped my muscles and forced me back onto the velvety couch. I groaned and did my best to relax. The blanket that had covered me pooled to the floor.

Movement caught my attention from my peripheral vision. Elliot, the vampire from last night, stood in the doorway to the den staring at me.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked, shuffling his feet. His English accent was crisper than it had been last night.

I shook my head—instantly regretting the motion—then stared at the inlaid rose vine on the back of the couch. Derek’s home. Memories barreled back toward me. I dug my nails into my palm, trying to get my emotions back under control.

“I’ll be in the den if you need assistance.” Light footsteps retreated from the living room.

“Wait.” Curiosity tugged at me. I should’ve let him go, but I wanted to know more about him, especially if Derek trusted him. “You’re Derek’s friend.” My voice croaked, and I cleared my throat.

He froze, his back still to me. “Yes. He’s been my best mate for a while now.” He faced me but remained in the shadows. “What is your name?”

“Carmela.” I pulled the covers back over me. Where was Derek? Oh, right. Food and drink.

Distantly, the sound of rattling keys caught my attention, but I closed my eyes, trying to act uninterested in the noise. Could it be Derek? The back door creaked open, and Elliot spoke quietly to someone.

“How is she?” Derek’s voice caressed my ears.

“Woke up moments ago.” Elliot sounded carefully neutral.

The crinkling of paper bags and the delicious aroma of food piqued my interest. A cool breeze brushed my cheek, and I looked up to see him watching me. He set the two bags on the coffee table in front of the couch. “How are you?” He gave me a soft smile.

What could I say that wouldn’t be a lie?

A rosy glow filled his cheeks. He’d fed. “I’ll go cook something for you, okay?”

“Okay.”

He reached his hand out to touch me, but I pulled back. A flicker of rejection slid through his eyes but vanished in an instant. “Here’s some cold water.” He set the bottle on the coffee table, then picked up the bags. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do. Try to drink and replenish yourself.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t move. If I pushed Derek away too hard, I feared I’d be back on the streets. While I’d tried to convince myself that I could survive in the Outskirts, my rationale slowly faded as I faced the brutal reality...I was far too weak. Maybe when I recovered, but at the moment, I needed Derek. I had no money, no food, and no shelter of my own.

Once again, my supposed enemy had become my savior.

Chapter 33

Derek

I PULLED A skillet from one of the grocery bags, then removed the steak from another. “It’s been centuries since I’ve cooked.”

Elliot sat on the kitchen counter on the opposite side of the room. “I don’t know how you’re expecting it to taste good. Do you even remember the last time food touched your lips? I don’t.” He stared at the floor and tapped his fingers on the countertop as if he was nervous about something. Probably Carmela’s presence in the living room.

“It’ll be fine. How hard can it be? If it doesn’t turn out well, I’ll go get takeout.” But I didn’t want to mess this up for her. Not after what she’d been through. Part of me wanted to tell Elliot what happened while I was out—both tracking her scent and the encounter with Prescott—but I didn’t feel comfortable revealing what I knew with Carmela in the next room.

Surely her attacker couldn’t have been a relative. It had to be someone else. Someone who visited the house, a stranger. But from what I understood in my study of werewolf pack structure that didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t live with extended family unless something had happened to her parents, but the younger woman with the same colored hair resembled a sister. No, she’d spoken of her cousin before, which meant it had to be her family’s home.

I put the steak on the skillet and then sprinkled it with seasoned salt before turning the heat on the stove. From where I stood in the kitchen, I couldn’t see Carmela.

What if she tried to run again? No, she knew she was safe here, didn’t she?

If only I’d been thinking straight. I should’ve given her some soap and water to bathe with. Werewolves had an acute sense of smell; she had to be miserable.

“Elliot.” I glanced over at my friend. He warily glanced up at me from his spot on the counter. “Would you mind keeping an eye on this real quick?”

Elliot raised his eyebrows, giving me an ‘are you serious’ look. “Okay...” He slid off the counter, and the soles of his shoes softly smacked the hardwood floor.

I filled the washing basin with warm water in the spare bedroom, so Carmela could clean up in the privacy of her own room. However, my hearing was sensitive enough that I could help if she had any difficulty. Not that I expected her to ask.

She watched me as I walked down the stairs.

“There’s soap and water waiting for you upstairs while my friend watches over your food. Would you like me to escort you?” I asked.

She took the last sip of water. “No, I’m okay.”

I wouldn’t impose on her. She needed time and space. I couldn’t begrudge her that or take it personally.

Carmela tried to stand, but her knees gave out, spilling her back onto the couch. Her eyes were wolf amber instead of the sensual caramel color I’d grown to love.

I remained still, not wanting to startle her. At our first and second meetings she’d had a fire and determination. I hated seeing her this fragile.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “You don’t have to help. I can stand on my own.” She looked up at me. “Sorry—”

“Don’t worry.” I set her down, making sure she was stable before I let go. “Let’s get you upstairs.” I followed her to the second floor, even though she’d asked me not to escort her. If she tumbled down the steps and I could’ve avoided it, that would be on me. I might be undead, but my instincts as a doctor kicked in around her. Although, I suspected it was much more than that.

She opened the door to the bedroom and paused in the doorway, glancing back at me. “Thank you for taking me in twice now.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but a loud knock sounded at the front door. Who could that be?

I glanced over the balcony to see Elliot come out of the kitchen, carrying the steak on a plate with a fork and knife. He glanced from me to the front door. The banging continued, just as loudly and impatiently.

I motioned for Elliot to put the food down. If it was someone unsavory, I should be here to protect Carmela. Elliot was a centuries-old vampire. He’d be almost as capable of protecting himself as me. The bedroom door creaked a little, and Carmela peeked at me from behind it. Memories of the last time she’d been here came back to me. She’d been so adamant to leave; now I wished she hadn’t.

Downstairs, Elliot opened the front door. “Hello?” Confusion clouded his voice. Not much flustered him. Something wasn’t right.

I leaned over the railing overlooking the living room to get a better line of sight to the door. No one answered Elliot. I strained my ears to hear what was going on. I didn’t want to get closer; if it was a werewolf and they smelled Carmela on me...we could be in a lot of trouble. Prescott wouldn’t do anything at the moment, but that might change if he was forced to act.

A loud pop cracked through the peaceful evening, followed by Elliot’s soft groan and the sound of his body hitting the floor. Grinding my teeth, I leapt over the rail, wishing I’d answered the door instead of him. Who cared if the werewolves found me? Carmela could to go to her future mate. She’d be fine with Brendan.

Reaching the front door, I jerked to a halt. A trickle of blood streamed across the floor, but Elliot was nowhere to be found. I balled my hands into fists and ran down the front steps to examine the street. No blood lined the sidewalk, and I couldn’t see anyone walking down the sidewalk with a blond vampire over their shoulder.

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to sniff out whoever had taken my friend. The necromancer’s faint scent told me he was back, and he’d brought someone else with him. Possibly another nocturne, but I couldn’t place them. Anger burned in my veins. I walked back inside, slamming the front door shut behind me.

How could this have happened? I shoved my hands through my hair as I knelt down to further inspect the blood and scuff marks on the floor. I took another deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to focus on the still-fresh scents in the room.

Soft footsteps and the delicate smell of floral soap heralded Carmela’s presence.

I shot to a standing position. After what happened, part of me wanted to be her protector, but I couldn’t guarantee her safety. Maybe I should take her to Brendan’s home. He could care for her while she recovered from this.

But I didn’t want that. I wanted her to be mine. She’d chosen me. You can’t have her. You need to help Elliot. A grimace pulled at my lips. This was the second attack meant for me. Carmela was injured. If Elliot hadn’t been able to protect himself from his kidnapper, how could she?

Carmela looked at the floor behind me. “I’m sorry, Derek.” She wrapped her free arm over her stomach.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll get him back.” Even as I said it, I knew I couldn’t be certain. But I did know a necromancer, not a vampire, had targeted me. This couldn’t be related to Tom’s death and the High Council position. Necromancers were rare. It had been a very long time since I’d clashed with one, and he hadn’t survived the incident so I doubted this was revenge.

“This is your home. We both know who he was after.” She took another step closer. “I want to help you.”

I couldn’t fathom why she would want to help me. Her stomach rumbled, and I grabbed her plate from the coffee table, walking back into the kitchen with her following. “Here’s your food.” I placed it on the table and held my hand over it to see if it was even remotely warm anymore. It was...barely. “Do you want it reheated?”

She shook her head, gaze stuck on the plate in my hands. “It’s fine as is. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I last ate yesterday evening with Brendan.” She grabbed the utensils and awkwardly carved the meat into manageable pieces, her shoulder splint restricting her movement.

I wished I’d thought to cut it up for her, but it was too late now. “If there’s anything else I can get you, let me know.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared around the kitchen, remembering the time I had just spent in here with Elliot. The faint sound of Carmela eating filled my ears as I tidied up. While I wanted to chase down Elliot’s kidnapper right this second, I couldn’t leave Carmela alone.

She chewed the meat very little before swallowing each piece. She paused as I watched her, and her gaze rose to meet mine.

I turned away, not wanting her to feel uneasy. Werewolves were known to be protective of what was theirs. They also needed to shapeshift, especially to heal themselves when injured. Her injury couldn’t be the sole reason for her not having changed yet. She might be weakening herself further by not shifting.

“May I look at your shoulder after you finish eating?” I said, returning my gaze to her. Surprisingly enough—or maybe not—she was already done.

She leaned back in the chair, her face scrunching up a little from pain. “Yes.” She put her free hand over the sling.

“Let’s go upstairs for that. It’s more comfortable and private.” I put her plate in the sink as she climbed to her feet.

“Why haven’t you shifted since I first looked at your shoulder?” I asked as we reached the spare bedroom. I removed her shoulder splint and watched her face carefully to note her reaction. I needed to know what kind of pain she was in, since I was sure there was more than just the shoulder. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t want to push her too hard.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t shift for a few days afterward, and with everything that’s happened, there hasn’t been a convenient time.” She grimaced as I lifted off the bandage. The skin underneath was still not healed. It had a strange grey tint and was possibly infected.

Perhaps it was silver poisoning. Brendan had mentioned it could be the reason why her foot wasn’t healing properly.

I ran my fingertip near the wound. If only I’d kept some of the fragments, I might’ve been able to discern more. This did appear different from a normal silver-bullet wound, but then again, I’d only seen what they did to vampires; I hadn’t been up close and personal with any werewolf injuries.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking up at me. Her eyebrows drew together.

“Don’t worry. Do you think you could shift? That might be for the best, love.” Although it would likely be painful as hell, especially with the multitude of wounds she had.

She nodded. Her hand went to the button on her pants, but she stopped, her gaze meeting mine.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Chapter 34

Carmela

GETTING UNDRESSED BY myself was harder than dressing had been, but I finally managed. I was glad that Derek had offered to step into the hallway. Having him in the same room when I was naked and helpless...so soon after...

My hands shook, and I clenched them into fists. Stop! How could I concentrate on shifting my body with those thoughts plaguing me?

I knelt on the floor. My injured arm hung freely. At this point, I should’ve gained more control over it, which concerned me. Maybe Derek was right about this.

Closing my eyes, I concentrated on changing my form, pouring each drop of lunar power into what I needed. My bones broke and reformed. My muscles stretched until I thought they’d rip apart. I dropped to my stomach on the hardwood floor as torment burned within every inch of me. Every injury, from being shot, to the broken glass, to the wounds I’d suffered at my father’s hands, clawed at me. If my concentration broke, I could become stuck between forms forever.

My body lengthened into my wolf form, and fur pierced my skin, making me incredibly itchy for a few moments. When it was over, I leapt on the bed and curled up, placing my chin against one paw. Pain still weakened me, but at least it had generally lessened. My shoulder still bothered me. I’d have to keep most of my weight away from my front left leg.

Derek tapped on the door. I barked, and he opened it slowly. His eyes widened a little before he returned to his calm demeanor. Maybe it had been a while since he’d seen my kind in wolf form, or perhaps he’d never been this close to one of us.

I wasn’t sure, but Derek had been around for a long time. Smelling him as my wolf confirmed that. He didn’t smell horrible, but the power cloaking him was awe-inspiring. How had I not been aware of this sooner? I had no clue, but now I finally had a better idea of his ability.

I stretched the muscles of my new form. My shoulder ached, and I sat down, keeping my weight off the paw.

Derek took a few steps toward me, and the hair on the back of my neck shot up. A slow growl trickled from my lips. He held out his palms. “It’s me. I’m sorry. I just want to help.” He took a small, slow step forward.

I continued to growl, but I scanned the room, seeing it with new eyes. My attention returned to Derek. He stood next to me now.

His hand stroked the fur on my head and neck, scratching gently behind my ears. I’d never had anyone pet me. My kind didn’t interact with one another this way. But it did feel good, as if he knew where to find every itch.

He slid his hand down slowly until he reached my shoulder, where he parted the fur. I recoiled a little, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He was just looking at the wound, so I let him continue his examination. His other hand returned to scratch my neck and the back of my ears. My eyes drifted closed at the soothing pleasure. He’d found a hidden sweet spot. How could I resist? He knew how to make me feel so amazing, and I had nowhere else to go anyway.

Part of me wondered about Brendan, but I highly doubted his father would want me to mate with his son now, especially when I was unclean and broken. I barely felt acceptable to Derek, although something about the way he cared for me proved he didn’t feel like I was tainted.

“The wound seems slightly better. Slightly being the operative word. It’s as if the lycanthropy in this area died. The shifting helped some. I’d guess that more shapeshifting—and time—will be required for it to fully heal. I don’t claim to be an expert on lycanthropy, for obvious reasons, but I have read extensively.” He trailed his hand along my spine.

I whirled around and clenched his hand in my teeth. My prickly wolf didn’t like to be touched so thoroughly and that far down our body, especially after what happened. But Derek had no part in that; he hadn’t been the one to nearly violate me.

I turned away and hopped off the bed, landing clumsily as I kept most of my weight on three paws. What he said made sense, and might be why the shift had been so painful in my shoulder.

I limped to the stairs but stopped as Derek blocked my path. My wolf saw him move; she wasn’t awed by his super-speed. “Where are you going?” he asked with a frown on his lips. “I hope you’re not planning on leaving. You shouldn’t go anywhere like that.”

I drew my lips away from my teeth and snarled up at him. If I could have, I would’ve rolled my eyes. I didn’t plan on running off in my wolf form, but I needed food. After shifting, werewolves needed to hunt and rip their prey apart...or at least eat. Shifting took a massive amount of energy to pull off, and I didn’t have much to spare at the moment.

Sighing, he shook his head. “Of course, telepathy would be a godsend right now. You can’t talk. Are you trying to leave?”

I swung my head left to right, doing my best to communicate with him. Werewolves relied on instincts and body language in our other form to talk. It was easier than playing fifty questions.

“Do you need something? Is that why you’re walking around?” He crouched, keeping a little distance.

I bobbed my head, hoping he’d let me show him instead of answering him like this.

“What do you need?” He cursed himself and stood. “Never mind. Show me. Can you do that?”

Growling, I brushed past him. Silly vampire.

I padded down the steps, putting minimal pressure on my injured leg. Taking a deep breath, I paused in my tracks as scents assaulted my nose. Elliot’s smell came to me, as well as that of a magical nocturne. But why would a nocturne be coming to Derek’s place and kidnapping his friend?

I walked closer toward the scents, sniffing the ground. I noticed where Elliot and Derek had been, then I followed my nose as I scouted around for more information on what had happened, especially now that I was in the perfect form to investigate it.

Footsteps encroached from behind, but I ignored them, focusing on my senses. A faint chemical odor drew me in as I searched for the source. I leaned closer to the door, but pulled back as the chemicals burned my nostrils. Lightheadedness rocked me for a moment, but I shook it off.

Glancing over my shoulder at Derek, I tilted my head toward my finding. Whoever had taken Elliot hadn’t done so with brute force. They must’ve knocked him out or weakened him with a potent drug in order to grab him and go.

The discovery made me fear for Derek.

Chapter 35

Derek

I GLANCED AT the spot Carmela nodded to, noticing a small drop of clear liquid on the floor. I crouched on my hands and knees to take a breath, and recoiled from the scent. No wonder Elliot hadn’t put up a fight. They’d drugged him. Not many drugs worked on a vampire, and not many knew which ones did.

Anger flowed through my veins. Rising to my feet, I smoothed my hands over the wrinkles in my pants. If only I had an idea of what happened and where my friend could be. I needed more. “Thanks for showing me that.”

She nodded again, then limped toward the kitchen. Ah, that’s what she wanted. Food. Made sense. “Do you want the steak raw, rare, or thoroughly cooked?”

She cocked her head to the side and stared at me. Right, of course she couldn’t answer me in that form.

Digging into the freezer, I pulled out a cold piece of raw meat. She wouldn’t want it like this. I cut open the package, then tossed the steak onto the skillet. Staring down at her, I wondered what it would be like with her in my life instead of living the way I did now. I wanted her, mind and body. For better or worse, she brought out this in me. I didn’t mind these simple moments together, even cooking.

I slid the warm meat onto a plate and took the knife from earlier to start cutting it for her. A low rumbling growl warned me to stop. I stared down at her as she circled around, her nails tapping the kitchen floor. The wolf in her was growing increasingly impatient. “Okay, I’ll put it down and let you have it, love.”

She carefully sat, but her gaze remained glued to me.

I placed the plate on the floor, letting her eat while I went into the den and sat in my worn leather chair. Prescott needed to know about Elliot’s disappearance. Who would want to come after me? The Cazador hadn’t been around for a few days, so I didn’t think it was them, especially with the necromancer being involved.

Could a High Council member be entangled in this? But why would someone work against Prescott’s orders for unity so openly? Sometimes hunters went rogue. That possibility made more sense than vampires, but how would they get their hands on this?

I picked up the phone to dial Prescott, but the clicking of nails on the hardwood floor drew my attention.

Carmela bobbed her head around the corner. She padded across the room, putting only a little weight on her injured leg, which probably made walking difficult, to say the least. Licking her wolfish lips, she sat in front of my chair, simply staring at me.

I set the phone back down. “What is it?” What did she want now? Maybe if she shifted back into human form we could communicate again.

She padded away and headed upstairs. Did I follow her or go ahead and call Prescott? I sorely needed to speak with him. Her soft whine brought me to my feet, and I strode after her. Maybe she needed my assistance with something. Or she might just need sleep or to change her shape again.

I waited outside of the guest room for a moment as loud snapping, ripping and popping echoed from inside. When I glanced into the room, she was crouched on the bed in the throes of the change. Her body rippled and stretched with the grotesque restructuring of her limbs.

When she was finally done, Carmela lay face-down on the bed, naked and fragile. I hesitated to move, not wanting to draw her attention and make her feel vulnerable, but she didn’t get up. Perhaps she’d injured herself during the shift. That thought had me sprinting to the edge of the bed.

Her long, even breathing sounded restful. I placed my fingers gently to her neck and felt her steady pulse. She was merely asleep.

I ran a hand through my hair and blew out a calming breath. Maybe when werewolves changed back into their human forms, they passed out from the energy spent, and when they shifted to wolf form, they needed to hunt.

I grabbed a warm blanket from the foot of the bed, then tucked her in. She gifted me with a small smile in her slumber.

Chapter 36

Carmela

I OPENED MY eyes and twisted onto my back. With the shift back into human form, I must have fallen asleep. It was common for werewolves to pass out after shifting too soon, especially into human form. My arm and body still hurt, but I was able to move my fingers instead of the limb being completely useless.

Yawning, I looked around. Soft warmth covered me, and I glanced down at my naked torso. While the bruises were gone, not all of the pain had left me, especially the mental anguish. I jerked the blanket over my chest, but I was alone. I released a breath, comforted by the space.

Rolling to my feet, I spotted my clothes on the floor. I needed to pull them on before seeing Derek again.

The soft creak of the hardwood floor alerted me, and I jerked the blanket around me before glancing at Derek in the doorway. He stood there, wearing an unbuttoned shirt as he had when I first met him, looking utterly relaxed. “You’re awake,” he said. “You slept for a quite a while. It’s just after nightfall.”

Blinking, I sat on the edge of the bed, his words sinking in. Normally when I crashed after the shift, I didn’t sleep this much. I’ve been out of commission for almost a day. “Really?” It was a silly question. It couldn’t be daytime, since he’d be asleep. I shook my head and glanced back up at him.

“Yes, you did.” He turned around, facing the hallway instead of the bedroom. “I’m sorry for startling you. I heard movement and wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried.” He leaned against the doorframe and ran a hand through his hair.

The muscles in his shoulder and arm flexed, and I tore my gaze from him. Pulling on my pants and shirt with one hand was hard, but I managed it with very limited use of my other hand. At least it was starting to get better, even if it hurt to use it. I dropped the blanket and rubbed my eyes as I sat on the side of the bed.

“You can turn around again,” I said.

“Are you feeling well enough to be up and about, after earlier?” Concern tightened the corners of his eyes, creating faint lines.

I couldn’t help but smile. “When werewolves change shapes, our bodies expend so much energy that if we shift within a short period of time, we pass out. Nothing more than that, Doc.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, and the concern shifted to amusement. “Ah, okay. I wasn’t sure if that was natural or not, but you appeared to be sleeping. Should I look at your shoulder now that you’ve shifted twice?” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, and I watched his abs ripple.

Stop it, Carmela. Why would he want you?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push those thoughts away. “Okay.”

He slid my shirt’s collar aside for better access to my shoulder. “This seems to be doing a little better now. The lycanthropy seems to slowly be recovering. After a few more shifts, you should gain more mobility in your arm. For now, I recommend that you keep the sling on to prevent further injury. Can you move it around now?”

Wriggling my fingers, I glanced up at him. “Still hurts though.”

He watched my hand, then drew his gaze up to meet mine. The soft emotion in his eyes seemed foreign to me. “Yeah, I figured it would, but I’m pleased you have more mobility now.” He brought his hand up as if to caress my cheek, but reluctantly dropped it. “Sorry. How is the rest of you?”

Thankfully, some of the pain my father inflicted had vanished with the two shifts last night. However, the emotional trauma remained. Tears bit at my eyelids, but I refused to cry in front of him. I would remain strong, at least until I was alone.

But I did need to decide what to do with my life. While Derek said he wanted me, I couldn’t expect to stay here with him forever. Someone would find me eventually, and I didn’t want to bring the Pack’s wrath down on Derek. Not when he’d been so kind to me.

But I couldn’t run forever. My father needed to be punished for the hurt he’d caused. Where did that leave me?

“The shift helped.”

He sat beside me but kept a little space between us. He seemed to be tiptoeing around me now, and while I appreciated it, I didn’t exactly like it. “I’m sorry you went through that. Please let me help you.”

I wouldn’t mind his help, but maybe it was better I do this on my own. But what good had my training done? I’d tried to fight, but he’d made me feel so weak and helpless...like I was nothing better than what my father said I was. Don’t focus on those thoughts.

What about Brendan? I’d been so caught up in myself that I hadn’t considered he might be thinking about me. But I doubted he’d want me after he found out what my father had done. Heaviness settled into my heart.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m just not sure what to do, really.” I sighed. “If I go after my fa...my attacker, then I could get in trouble with the werewolves. They might come after us if I were to seek vengeance without consulting them. And they’d really hunt me if they knew I was with you.” I laughed at the absurdity of my life. “It seems I’ve gotten myself into a world of trouble.”

He gently placed his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get everything taken care of.” Warmth darkened his eyes as he smiled.

For better or for worse, I trusted him.

Chapter 37

Brendan

THE MORE TIME that passed without talking to Carmela, the more worried I became. Maybe I hadn’t done enough, but my hands were tied. Did she not know that? Was she avoiding me? I balled my hand into a fist over the handset as I dialed the phone again, but I made sure not to break it. Old human devices could be fragile, and Neal would be furious if anything happened to it.

I’d tried calling a few more times after the first attempt, but William kept making excuses. She was sleeping, she was with Dr. Matthews, she was bathing. Each time he said she’d talk with me soon, but that phone call never came.

I hated feeling this way. Guilt ate at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. Sooner or later, I needed to act, instead of standing by while her father was holding power over her. I didn’t trust him, and he wasn’t helping things.

The phone rang, and her father answered with a pleasant ‘hello.’

“William, put her on the phone. Now.” My voice was a throaty growl. As each moment passed my control unraveled.

“What a surprise, Brendan. You really should have patience. Besides, your parents must not have taught you many manners to harass one of your elders. Just as I’d thought.” He chuckled, sounding every bit the cocky asshole that I knew he was.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the phone was jerked from my grasp. My surprise nearly made me lose my balance, but I caught myself.

My father glowered at me. “Don’t talk to my son like that, William. Let him talk to Carmela. He has every right as her future mate.”

I hadn’t talked with my father about Carmela or what happened with her father. While I didn’t particularly want to get into it with him, I’d known it needed to be discussed sooner or later. Guess it was sooner.

“Neal.” William hissed out the name. “My apologies, Alpha, but maybe we should rethink mating them. I’m sure you agree that they could both find a better match. Perhaps it’s best if your son doesn’t call my house again.” This was the first time I’d heard him sound submissive to my father, but that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“No, I don’t want anyone but her.” My voice was loud enough for both my father and William to hear, but not so loud that my father would think I was raising my voice at him.

“There’s no need for another mate to be chosen. However, our families don’t appear to get along. Maybe it would be for the best.” Neal looked at me with a stern frown on his face.

I shook my head and walked away. If that bastard wouldn’t allow me to speak with her on the phone, then I’d go in person. I slid on my shoes and grabbed my keys.

They exchanged pleasantries, and I heard my father set the handset back on the cradle.

Neal walked into the entryway. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Where do you think you’re going, kid?”

I straightened my spine. “Out on a walk.”

“You know it’s only going to cause more trouble. That man has always been an egotistical nuisance.” He sighed and shook his head. “The only reason I agreed to the relationship is because of his standing in the city.”

While I agreed with what he said, I was too far gone when it came to wanting Carmela. “Sometimes the easy path isn’t the most gratifying one. I’m going to talk with her. Our customs don’t require both sets of parents to agree to the mating.”

“Sure, if you’re not an Alpha—”

I opened the door. “I’m sorry, Dad. But this has to get figured out. William is arrogant, but I don’t think he’d act this way to my face. He’s a coward who hits women. He needs to be brought down a notch or two.”

Neal nodded. “Do what you will. I know your heart is set on her, but don’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t work out.” He turned his back and walked further into the house.

The truth of his words socked me in the jaw, and I closed the door behind me.

Inside, I faintly heard my mom asking where I was going in my condition. The tap of her heels closed in on the door, but my father spoke to her softly, “He’ll be fine. He’s taking care of something. I’m sure he won’t be gone long.”

I smiled and headed down the steps, then made the slow trip to Carmela’s. It hadn’t taken this long when I’d been able to walk properly, but that didn’t matter. I had a spring in my step. Whatever the problem, I’d know soon enough what was going on.

I approached her row house. My ears perked up at the sound of yelling coming from inside. Worry clenched my chest. Was I too late? Was he beating her again? Anger had me marching up the steps, and I held my hand over the door about to knock, but a few words stood out.

“First Carmela runs off and now Chandra, those ungrateful little bitches. It’s your fault for bringing that wretched niece of yours into our home.”

My mouth dropped open, and I turned to lower myself onto the steps. She’d run away from home? Why? When? Where did she go? She didn’t come to my home; I’d been there the entire time.

I stopped myself from sitting and knocked on the door after all. I needed some answers, and they were the only ones who could possibly know why she’d do such a thing. While William was a bastard, I stood by my thoughts. He wouldn’t physically push around the son of his Alpha.

He went quiet, and Carmela’s mother stopped crying. There were rapid footsteps going up the stairs, so she was probably scampering away to get space from that monster. When I couldn’t hear her anymore, the door opened. William stood in the doorway. His face was red and the vein in his forehead throbbed, but otherwise his demeanor looked neutral.

“I’m genuinely surprised to see you on my doorstep. I guess you didn’t hear what I told your father, but I think it’s best you stay away from my house and stop calling. You’re only hurting her more with this charade.” He started to close the door, but I put my crutch in the doorway, blocking him.

“You’re lying. I heard what you said to your wife. Where is she?” I placed my hand on the doorframe to keep my balance. I wouldn’t let her slip through my fingers. If she’d run away, then she might be in danger.

He lowered his gaze. “Son, if I knew where she was, don’t you think she’d be home?”

“Didn’t you send out a search party?” Bile rose in my throat, and lightheadedness made my vision swim a little.

“Of course. Her cousin went looking for her, but the selfish snot hasn’t come home either.” He shook his head. “They’re probably out there together somewhere thinking they’ll have the last laugh.”

“What if they’re hurt? Didn’t that cross your mind?” Something flashed through his eyes, but it faded too quickly for me to decipher it. My hackles rose. He knew more than he was willing to let on.

“Maybe they are. I’ll give them time to come home on their own. If they’re still missing in a few days, I’ll ask your father to send out the official search team.” He glared down at my crutch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have matters of my own to attend to.”

Probably finishing that argument with his wife. The thought soured my stomach, but I couldn’t do anything about that. However, I had no idea where to search for both Carmela and her cousin. Unless maybe they weren’t together...

I stepped away from the door and pulled my crutch back. William slammed the door in my face, and I waited there a moment before leaving. What did I know? Carmela had run away, and her cousin went out searching for her later. Where would Carmela have felt safe, even if that place wasn’t mine?

The image of her arms wrapped around Derek’s neck while she smiled at him tore through my thoughts. Dread curled in my gut, and I hobbled down the stairs. Did I go back home or confront them? Maybe she’d made her choice, but there had to be more to it than that.

If she didn’t want to be with me, she should tell me herself.

Chapter 38

Derek

HOW COULD I look her in the eye and promise her safety when my position was just as dangerous? The people who were after me had taken my best friend, and I was going against the nearly millennial Feud by helping and protecting a werewolf. Everything within me said to just forget it, return her to Brendan and help Elliot, but I didn’t want to let her down.

“The substance you smelled last night on the floor is a powerful drug developed by vampires.” When she’d gone to sleep, I dabbed up what I could of the drug, took it to Prescott, and reported what happened to Elliot. He’d been able to fill me in. “Originally, it was designed to subdue our younger kind who are prone to insatiable bloodlust. They require training to gain any modicum of sensibility. Unfortunately, someone has amped up the dosage for more powerful vampires, and that was what was used on Elliot last night.”

Prescott had ordered me to do whatever it took to get Elliot back. He’d asked if I’d wanted assistance, but I declined since I needed to keep Carmela safe, which meant I couldn’t have other vampires around here. I couldn’t throw her out on the street, since her attacker might be after her as furiously as the cloaked necromancer and his pals were after me. But I couldn’t keep my thoughts from straying to the Cazador. They had to be involved. They were the only ones with labs sophisticated enough to do this—but how did they get the drug?

I slid the shoulder brace back on Carmela and led her downstairs. When I was out I’d picked up something for her to eat, and prepared it upon my waking. “I have steak and crisps in the kitchen for you. Feel free to it.”

“Thank you.” She headed off toward the kitchen, and the sound of the bag of crisps rustling followed her.

Perhaps after Carmela finished eating, we would—

Something dark moved behind the curtained window on my front door. A thunderous knock banged at the door, causing my hackles to rise.

Cautiously, I went to the door. The last person to come here unannounced had taken Elliot. I slid aside the curtain to see Brendan standing on my doorstep with a crutch under his arm. His gaze turned to meet mine. He clearly wasn’t afraid of me controlling his mind, but I wouldn’t because of her.

Not happy with the idea, I opened the door.

Rage filled Brendan’s face. “Where is she?” His voice was nearly a growl. He glanced over my shoulder, and his face softened slightly. “Carmela. I was so worried about you. Are you okay?” He flashed hostile eyes back at me.

I slammed my hand against the doorframe to prevent him from entering my home. “Did you lead others of your kind here?”

Brendan shook his head. “No, but I should have. You kidnapped her, didn’t you? Why else would she leave her home like this...?” His face paled, and he looked back at Carmela.

I turned my head slightly to look at her. She bowed hers, staring down at the floor. “He didn’t kidnap me, Brendan. I left because...”

Silence stretched between them, and I wanted to wrap my arms around her, to keep her safe.

“Babe, you really worried me. I tried calling your house so many times.” A low snarl rumbled from Brendan’s chest, drawing my attention back to him. “Let me in, vampire.” His hissed word was low enough so those on the street couldn’t hear.

“Why should I?” I asked.

“Let me talk with her.” Pain weighted Brendan’s gaze. “I need to talk with her.” It was almost hard to say no.

“No—”

“He’s fine, Derek. Please.” Carmela lightly touched my arm before pulling it away.

“Fine, but you can’t stay long. I’m trying to protect her, and someone might have tracked you here.” I let Brendan in, then quickly shut the door.

Chapter 39

Chandra

I BLINKED MY eyes open, annoyed with myself for falling asleep. They could’ve killed me while I was unconscious. Pain stiffened my shoulders and wrists from dangling in shackles. Still, I couldn’t get my feet under me no matter how hard I tried. Whatever drug they’d given me was strong and effective. I was aware of what went on, but in a stupor.

Maybe passing out was a better choice; then I wouldn’t have to endure consciousness. If they maimed or murdered me while I slept, that’d be better than living in this dark dungeon waiting for whatever they were going to do. The sleep would be a welcome release. My eyes had begun to feel like they were going to bleed from wakefulness, yet sleep would not come now.

Beside me, something moved. I would’ve jumped if I hadn’t been paralyzed. A male groan filled my ears, and I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t see him before, so he had to be new here. He wore a dark suit and appeared to be in rough shape, but then again, I probably looked worse.

He turned his head to look at me. It seemed he had more control over his limbs than I did. Maybe the drug wore off quicker for him. The shackles on his wrists clanged softly.

“Who are you?” he asked. His voice was scratchy, with a hint of an English accent.

I tried to talk, but I couldn’t force any words out.

Grimacing, he tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him. “Guess there’s no way we’re getting out of this mess.” Sighing, he leaned his head back against the solid brick wall. “In any case, I’m Elliot. Perhaps I’ll get your name eventually. You do bear a resemblance to someone I know...”

Again, I tried to speak, but I only whimpered.

“Hush now. It’s okay. We’ll find a way.” He gave me a kind smile.

A man walked by the large dark room where we were kept. He glared at us like we were pests before continuing past us. Movement in my peripheral vision signified even more people beyond the man next to me. I’d seen some of them when I was first brought in, but there were more here now. Who were our captors? What did they want?

Cross-species relations are forbidden...

Could that be why we were all here? But the Feud...why would anyone go against that? Some of the other nocturnes in the dungeon looked like faeries or other shifters, not those in the actual vampire-werewolf conflict.

Speaking of which, the man beside me certainly smelled like a vampire. However, he was nice, totally unlike what I’d learned about them in the Militia.

Whatever.

At least I was away from Uncle William, though this wasn’t really a better alternative. Memories of his perverted abuse flickered through my mind like a twisted photo album. Anger and frustration bubbled up from my chest. Ever so slowly, I clenched my hands into fists.

Maybe if I built up enough adrenaline, I could burn off the drugs they’d pumped into me.

I thought back to my parents and Uncle William. My parents couldn’t have cared less about me; Uncle William just wanted to abuse me, and I finally saw what I’d missed all along. He didn’t want to me to have any kind of future. I was older than Carmela, yet he’d never looked for a mate for me, regardless of his excuses. He wanted me to be his little play-toy. Someone to sate the twisted desires my aunt couldn’t.

Nausea settled into my stomach, and I felt close to vomiting out of sheer despair.

Carmela had had an excellent opportunity to be an Alpha Queen, and yet she complained about wanting love in her life instead of enduring her power and position. Didn’t she know that some werewolves craved that sacred title?

Some of my strength returned to me as my heart raced and my body pumped adrenaline through my veins.

The man next to me and the girl on the other side of him stared. “What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered. “You’re pushing a lot of power around. Stop it. Don’t draw unwanted attention to us. Our captors could come over and do something to all of us because you’re trying to break free.”

The girl huddled back, pulling her tattered leather jacket around her as if it would keep her safe from whoever had brought us here. But who would come looking for me...or any of these people? We looked like a bunch of rejects, except for Mr. English. Uncle William would think of my disappearance as one less hassle for him, that much I knew for sure.

I put my feet under me, allowing my aching shoulders and bloody wrists slight relief. I didn’t have enough strength to look at them. It was hard enough to not appear too suspicious as I held myself up.

What had I been drawn into?

Chapter 40

Carmela

SIGHING, I RAN my gaze over Brendan. He looked a little ragged, like he hadn’t slept since we last saw one another. Of course he’d been able to find me here. The day I’d met Brendan, we’d walked past Derek’s house while he was outside. I’d been stupid for coming here. Silently cursing, I walked into the living room and sat on the couch.

“He beat you more, didn’t he? I should have handled him when I had the chance. I am so sorry I couldn’t protect you.” Brendan sat beside me, almost close enough to brush his thigh against mine. His utter masculinity overpowered me, and panic surged through my veins.

“I don’t think fighting him would’ve been good for you, especially in your condition.” I glanced over at Derek, who looked grim. I didn’t want to tell Brendan what my father had almost done. Partly from shame, and partly because I still cared for him. What would he think?

“So you ran away to here? Here?” he asked, beginning to sound a little incredulous. He placed his hand on my knee, and the warmth of his touch soaked into my leg.

I scooted away a little, uncomfortable at the closeness. “How did you know to search for me?” Had he talked to my father? What did he say? Were others looking for me? Damn it. I needed to move on soon, even if it meant the Outskirts.

“Like I said, I called your house a few times. William kept giving excuses when I asked to speak with you, so I knew something was up. When Neal commandeered the last conversation, your father said he’d changed his mind about us mating and that I shouldn’t call the house again.” He placed his hand back into his lap. “Needless to say, that didn’t sit well with me. I went there in person, and William said you’d run away. That struck me as odd, since you hadn’t come to my parents’ place, so I thought maybe you came here.” He ran a hand through his blond hair. “I wasn’t positive, but after the other day, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check. Here you are. My only question is, why didn’t you come to me? I could’ve helped. I’m one of your kind. It’s dangerous for you to be here. Our people will kill you, and him.” He jabbed his thumb in Derek’s direction.

Why did I come here? To protect myself from my father. If he found me, I doubted I’d escape fate twice. I leaned back into the couch and rubbed a hand over my face. How could I tell him? Did I want to? If I didn’t, then he’d never understand.

“My father attacked me. He...did more than just beat me. He tried to rape me. I knew he’d find me at your place, and I didn’t want to risk being returned to him.” The words hurt, but maybe they needed to be said so Brendan would understand why I acted the way I did.

His face twisted in confusion, before slow horror filled his eyes. He froze, and pain created lines around the corners of his eyes. “Your father did that to you? Your own father?” He balled his fists and lowered his head. Energy pulsed around him, pushing in hot waves against my skin, as if he was fighting for control. When he’d gotten himself more or less stable, he glanced up at me.

I nodded, not wanting to verbalize my feelings, as if that would make them real.

Brendan pulled me to him. “God. I should’ve helped you whether you wanted it or not. I’m so sorry. I should’ve objected when your mother suggested you go home. You were under my protection, and I’ve failed you.” He rested his cheek on my uninjured shoulder.

My body froze under the onslaught of touch, and I gently pushed away from him once I regained my composure. “You couldn’t have stopped him. Besides, I doubt your father likes me much, especially after what mine said to him. I didn’t feel comfortable showing up on your doorstep with his scent on me.”

He ran his hand through his hair again. “My father does like you, but he didn’t appreciate the way William acted. My father isn’t used to disrespect, especially from someone who should know better. But I guess you’re right about one thing. I would’ve lost control and ripped William’s head off—regardless of the consequences. I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we keep her safe.” Derek leaned against the wall near a window. He looked serious and solemn.

“What do you suggest?” Brendan asked.

“Take her to a safe place. Not your home, but somewhere you think she’d be protected. My friend was abducted from my home—the vampire who saved you the other night. I have to find him.” His face was grim, and he shifted his weight as if unable to relax.

“Chandra’s also missing,” Brendan said, glancing back at me. “Your father said he sent her to look for you, but she never came home. He suggested that you two were off somewhere together, but as we can see, that’s not true.”

My mouth dropped open. Guilt clenched my gut. She’d protected me from my father, and I’d left her and my mother to his violence. What had I subjected them to? I should’ve done something sooner to return the favor, and now I might be too late. Tears stung my eyes.

Elliot was taken from Derek’s home, and now I knew Chandra was missing. What if the kidnappers had both Elliot and Chandra? It might explain why she’d never gone home. Of course, she could also be tired of the abuse, but with her horrible childhood, she’d told me a few times how she never wanted to go back to being homeless. Ever.

I didn’t want to think of the third option. Maybe my father killed her. No, he’s a monster, but there have to be limits. There have to be.

“I don’t want to go to a safe house. What if my cousin was captured too? I know her, and I don’t think she’d run away. She saved me. She doesn’t deserve to be taken, and I want to help you find Elliot, Derek. He was good to both of us.” I turned to Brendan. “Please...”

Brendan worked his jaw, tightening and loosening the muscles. “Yes, he was. If it weren’t for you two, we might not be here after the incident with the Cazador. I wish there was something I could do to help.” He was such a good guy, but part of that was probably for my sake. I wished I could repay him for his kindness. “I promise I won’t tell my father about you being here, Carmela.” He looked at me then Derek. Sadness crept into his gaze. “I’d like to talk with you alone.”

Derek pushed away from the wall and moved as if to separate Brendan from me. “You should be leaving. She wants to stay here.”

“Derek, don’t. Please go upstairs and don’t listen in.” I didn’t want to hurt him. He’d been there for me, but I also couldn’t help melting at the pain in Brendan’s eyes. He’d suffered because of me, and I hated that. “Please.”

He glanced between us and narrowed his eyes at Brendan. “Call my name if you need me.”

“I will.” I turned on the couch to face Brendan better, but I didn’t close the space between us. I didn’t feel that comfortable around him yet, even though I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

Derek’s quiet footsteps faded as he headed up the stairs.

Brendan returned his gaze to my face. “I know there’s something going on between you and him. While I’m not sure why you’re interested in him, I know you felt something for me, just as I do for you.” He put his forearms on his knees and leaned a little closer. “You’re more to me than an arranged relationship. I worried so much when I couldn’t reach you. Did I say something wrong? I knew I shouldn’t have let you leave. I should have stopped you, but...” He lowered his gaze, his face twisting with emotion. “But I had no idea William was the kind of man to try something like that. I’m sorry, babe. I let you down, but I can’t let you slip away from me. That would be my biggest regret.”

The tears hanging in my eyes slid down my cheeks. I’d been wrong about him.

His eyes watered too, but he kept the moisture from falling. “Say something. Please.”

I scooted closer to him and wrapped my arms around his chest. He held me lightly, as if unsure what to do. “I care about you too.”

“If you mate with me, I can protect you. He won’t be able to hurt you again.” He hugged me a little tighter. The warmth of his affection relaxed me a little, even if the words stirred up panic.

Movement on the balcony overlooking the living room caught my attention. Derek slipped back into the shadows, but I’d seen his stoic expression.

I cared for both men. What was I supposed to do?

Chapter 41

Brendan

I COULDN’T SUPPRESS my relief that Carmela hadn’t fled to Derek because she hated me. But I still seethed with anger that her father had almost raped her. If I’d known things would get so bad, I could’ve done something to prevent her pain... Maybe I should’ve pressed to visit her sooner, or talked my father into bumping up the mating ritual. No, I couldn’t second-guess myself. What William did wasn’t normal. You didn’t expect your future mate’s father to do something like that.

“M-mate? S-so soon?” Carmela met my gaze with slivers of panic in her eyes.

Damn. The last thing I wanted to do was scare her. My words had just slipped out in my desperation to draw her close, although I meant them from the bottom of my heart. What if they drove her away from me? I’d been unable to protect her before due to our customs, but now I could change that. My father was the Alpha of Alphas. He could ensure her safety and bring William to justice once we were mated.

The only other thing that bothered me was how she looked at Derek.

“The sooner the better, babe.” Glancing up at the balcony, I caught Derek watching us from the shadows. He wasn’t trying very hard to conceal himself. Emotions warred within me. She was my future mate, but the two of them seemed to have feelings for one another. I was grateful that Derek watched over her while I was injured and at home, but I couldn’t let him take her from me. I was falling in love with her.

She chewed on her lower lip. Memories of our kiss shoved all other thoughts aside. The only thing that kept me from leaning in to claim her mouth again was the worry in her eyes. I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. She leaned into my palm.

“I—”

“You don’t have to make that decision right now, love.” Derek walked toward us, stopping mere feet away, and much closer than I’d have preferred.

Every muscle in my body tensed. “She was going to say something. Let her speak.” The hair on the back of my neck rose, and a low growl trickled up from my chest. I must’ve been so caught up in being close to Carmela that I hadn’t remained aware of our surroundings. Vampires were stealthy, but I was the Alpha of Alphas’ son; my keen senses were sharpened from an early age. He shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on me.

She placed a small hand against my chest. “It’s okay, Brendan.” She leaned up and brushed her soft lips against mine.

I gently cupped her cheeks, not wanting just a chaste peck. After everything that had happened, I needed more than that. I needed her. Her hands covered mine, and she softly moaned as I swiped my tongue over her lower lip.

Derek cleared his throat. “As I said before, you should be going.” His power surged toward us in a hot wave.

Carmela tried to turn to look at him, but I kept her gaze on me. “I can protect you. Just say yes.” My wolf wanted to rip the vampire’s throat out, regardless of the help he and his friend had provided us. That would resolve some of my problems, but it went against the kind of man I was. Besides, he’d taken care of Carmela when I could not. Regret twisted my stomach in knots.

Derek took a couple steps closer. “You had your chance to talk with her. Leave us.”

I grabbed the crutch from beside me and stood. Our eyes met, and I felt the soft tug of his power as he tried to mess with my mind. Even though I was injured, I wouldn’t put up with this. He might have feelings for her, but she was a werewolf, and my destined mate.

“Guys, please.” Carmela looked between us and sighed. “I need to talk with you both.”

Chapter 42

Carmela

I WAVED TO the couch on either side of me, but the men’s eyes were locked on one another. It was as if I didn’t exist. I rubbed my hands over my face, but the familiar caress of power wafting off Derek caught my attention.

Brendan swayed on his feet for half a second; then he jerked forward as if he were a puppet on strings. He tackled Derek to the ground, and I leapt to my feet, stunned at what was happening. While I didn’t doubt Brendan was swift and agile, he’d moved very fast considering his current condition. He straddled Derek and cocked back his fist.

I leapt over the coffee table and grabbed Brendan’s arm. He started to turn his head, but suddenly we were both flying. I groaned as my body hit the soft couch cushions. A loud thud caught my attention as Brendan slammed into the opposite wall.

Derek looked between us before glaring at Brendan. He rushed to my side. “Love, lay back. Let me check you out.” He lowered his voice a little, as if Brendan couldn’t hear us.

I clenched both of my hands into fists, even though it hurt my right arm. “I’m fine.” I pushed into a sitting position. “If you two are done trying to kill each other, I really need to talk with you both.” While I cared about Brendan, I also felt deeply for Derek. I couldn’t push one away for the other. After everything that had happened recently, I knew without a doubt that I was safest with both of them. I just hoped they’d understand, and not push me away because of my feelings.

Pain tightened Brendan’s eyes. He pushed up on his elbows, but didn’t make any move to join us on the sofa. His leg. I couldn’t just watch him lay there in discomfort.

“Derek, help me get him to the couch.” I knelt by Brendan’s side and looked up to see Derek lingering a few feet away from us. I shook my head. “You two need to understand something. I care about you both.” I sat beside Brendan. “I’m still trying to regain my strength, and we need to search for Chandra and Elliot. They could be dead for all we know. Now I have to sit here and watch you guys fight over me.”

Derek closed the distance between us and sat beside me. “What do you expect us to do? Share you?” He looked tired and exasperated.

“Yes.” I winced as they both objected at the same time, nearly shouting each other down. I could barely hear either of them. This was exactly the kind of reaction I figured I’d get.

“Come on,” I said, but my voice was lost in their arguing. I jerked to my feet and glared down at them both, my frustration overwhelming my desire to avoid conflict. “Stop it!”

They quieted down but stared at me with such an intensity that the hackles on the back of my neck rose. My wolf pushed to the surface, and my teeth lengthened into fangs as fur lined my skin. If I didn’t get ahold of myself, I’d shift.

Suddenly having their attention didn’t feel so good anymore, but they boxed me in: Brendan on the floor in front of me and Derek at my side, with the wall at my back.

Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths, trying to regain control. When I opened them, they were still watching me.

“While that—” Derek spoke as Brendan said, “The wolves—” They shifted their glares to one another. Maybe this was a preview of what being in a relationship with both of them might be like—entirely frustrating.

“Brendan, go ahead since you started talking first, then Derek will speak.” I toyed with the fabric on my splint. Think of the positive. They’re not killing each other. I chewed on my lower lip as I saw the openly hostile look Derek gave Brendan. Hopefully that good luck would last.

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through. The wolves would never agree to something like that. I couldn’t agree to that either. It’d be putting both of us in danger.” He looked at Derek. “All of us.”

“My kindred wouldn’t accept that either, and I wouldn’t be able to coexist with another man in your bed, let alone in your life.” Annoyance marred his pale face.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I’d hoped Derek would be agreeable, but I was wrong. Of course, they had valid points. No one said this would be easy, just as being with Derek alone would require sacrifice. But if we wanted each other badly enough, we could figure out a way, couldn’t we?

Disgusted with the conversation, I stepped over Brendan, needing some distance. Ugh.

“Carmela?” Brendan said. When I didn’t respond, Derek called my name as well, but I ignored them both, heading upstairs. “Wait. Come back here.” No way. I took a few more steps. “Fine. Maybe we should talk about this.” I stopped halfway up and turned to them. Brendan cleared his throat. “Right, Derek?”

I glanced Derek’s way.

He still looked grumpy, but his face was more stoic than Brendan’s, and harder to read. “Yes, we’ll talk about the relationship.” He paused. “Still, it’s not wise for Brendan to be here for an extended period of time. I’m sure there will be those out looking for him.”

Brendan nodded. “Unfortunately he’s right. My dad might send out a search party if I’m gone too long. They wouldn’t have to go far from your house to find me. Maybe you should come with me to a werewolf safe house.”

My father was well connected. The idea of being around a lot of werewolves nauseated me. “I can’t. My father knows where a lot of them are, and even if he doesn’t, other werewolves might talk.”

Wincing, he pushed into a sitting position. “There are a couple only my family knows about. They’re meant to house my father if there’s ever an emergency where he isn’t safe.”

I closed the distance between us as Brendan slowly got to his feet. “I...I’m sorry,” I said, looking into his eyes, then glancing back at Derek. “I just don’t feel comfortable with that idea.”

“I won’t force you to go.” Brendan gave me a quick kiss on the top of my head, surprising me. He looked like he wanted to say more but was afraid of how I’d react. “Take care of her, Derek.”

“I will. When you return tomorrow, use the back door. It’s less conspicuous.” At my surprise, Derek shrugged. “I’m not awake during the day, and I’d like to know you’re protected while I sleep.” He walked with us into the den. “When he comes back, we’ll talk this over. Your wolf is right that mating with him will keep you safe. You two should consummate the relationship.” His lip curled a little in disgust, but he opened the door.

I widened my eyes at him, then turned my stunned gaze to Brendan. I couldn’t believe Derek had said that. Without another word, I retreated upstairs to my room.

Chapter 43

Derek

BRENDAN LOOKED BETWEEN me and Carmela’s retreating back, looking almost as stunned as she did. Then he dipped his head and limped out the door.

Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say, but I didn’t understand their surprised reactions. It wasn’t as if I liked the idea of them being intimate; I couldn’t hold her back from who she was, though. I’d been here to help her heal and rest while she was injured, but now there were problems beyond any of us. We needed to keep her safe from her father and to find Elliot and her cousin.

I closed the door behind me and leaned on it. A blast of wild power and the grotesque sound of Carmela’s transformation drew me up the stairs, but I didn’t dare get too close before she completed her change. I’d seen her near-shift earlier, and I regretted the pain and stress she was going through. This wasn’t easy on any of us, least of all her.

When things quieted down, I took a few more steps toward the door. The soft thump of her hopping off the bed prompted me to knock. I needed to make sure she was all right. It was good for her wound that she’d shifted, but I worried about her.

“Carmela?” A warning growl answered me as I opened the door after tapping on it with my knuckles. I couldn’t see her anywhere.

The only sign of her presence was the low rumbling of an angry wolf. She looked over the side of the bed at me, a stunning vision of amber eyes and honey-brown fur.

Through the noise, I heard her stomach gurgle. “Do you need anything, love? Any food?” I couldn’t let myself get so distracted by her current form that I didn’t provide for her as I should.

She shook her head and vanished again. I walked around the side of the bed to see her curled up on the rug, propping her muzzle on her paws. Her eyes were closed.

I knelt beside her, sliding my fingers through her fur. What had I done? I couldn’t lose her. She meant too much to me. I scratched the spot behind her ear that she’d enjoyed before. She tilted her head into my palm a little, but she still didn’t look at me.

“I’m sorry for my behavior downstairs. But until recently, the only constant in my centuries on this Earth was Elliot. That’s not the same as having someone to care for, someone who cares for me. Before I met you I’d become disillusioned with life.” I pulled my hand away, and she looked up at me. “I didn’t know if I could continue on. That changed when I met you.” Grimacing, I pushed into a standing position. “I’m not a fool. I know life won’t be simple for us. But I hate to think I could lose you forever and return to the bleak existence I had before you.”

She perked her head up and gave a soft whimper. I wished she hadn’t shifted to her wolf form, but maybe it was for the best.

Chapter 44

Chandra

WHILE I’D REGAINED some use of my legs, I was still weak. The problem with pumping adrenaline through my body to restore it was the incredible fatigue I felt now. Part of me didn’t know whether it was a good or bad thing that I wasn’t on the concrete floor with some of the others. If I was, I could fall asleep, but maybe I wouldn’t have the strength to fight. Maybe I’d be like the fae girl in the jacket and lose myself.

I wasn’t like them. I’d never been weak. If I’d dropped into that frame of mind, I would’ve been dead a long time ago. Between my parents, life on the street, and Uncle William, I sometimes wondered what it’d be like to be free from all the pain. However, I caught myself when I started to think like that, and continued to push on in hopes that one day I’d wake up and find myself living the life I’d dreamed of for so long.

I didn’t know if that day would ever become a reality, but I couldn’t give up on the dream.

I was so caught up in thoughts of my past and future that at first I didn’t notice the three men walking through the door. When I did, I subtly lowered myself so all of my weight was on my wrists and shoulders. I couldn’t hold back my grimace of pain, but I had to play along. If I didn’t, they’d know I was faking.

I recognized the man on the right side. He wore the same skull mask as before, although this time his hoodie was down. He had thick brown hair that was slicked back. I looked away before he could catch me staring. My legs trembled.

That left me looking at the other men. The one on the left had a mask as well, but his was matte black metal with a blue inlaid scrollwork design. While the man in the skull mask had a bulkier, muscled physique, this guy had a leaner build. Power radiated from him, but it didn’t feel like death. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It almost reminded me of the calm before a storm.

The man in the middle, though, looked to be in charge of everything.

“Tom...” Elliot sounded dumfounded. He knew the guy who’d taken us. How?

Small points peeked from beneath Tom’s lips. Vampire fangs. But then why would he take vampires, too? This was the doing of the Cazador, and yes, there were people with magical powers involved, but a vampire? Vampires hated the hunters as much as anyone else.

“Elliot. I heard that you were my replacement on the High Council. It’s a shame you’re wrapped up in all of this. However, I know you and your friend Mr. Ashmore helped a couple of werewolves.” He crouched in front of Elliot. “You shouldn’t have meddled in their business. Now all of you will become an example of why the species should observe the Feud.”

My gaze slid in front of me to see the necromancer staring at me with his blue-green eyes, as if he was looking into my soul. It took all my strength not to cry out or recoil. Something about him unnerved me, although I wasn’t as afraid of him as I should’ve been.

The vampire rose to his feet and stepped in front of me, forcing the necromancer to take a couple steps back. He didn’t look like he was happy about it. Tom grabbed my hair and stretched my neck out to the side. He licked his lips. “Werewolves are a delicacy. I’ll enjoy draining you.” He drew his head back.

“She’s not the one,” Elliot yelled, then cursed under his breath.

My breath came out in pants, and I saw that the necromancer’s hands were balled into fists. I wished I could see more of his face, but it might be for the better. If I did, he’d have to kill me, right? What was I saying? I’d been watching way too many movies. Just by being here we were as good as dead.

Tom let my head flop forward. “Excuse me? What do you mean ‘she’s not the one’? Have you looked at her? She fits the description.”

My heart clenched in my chest. What were they talking about?

Elliot stared up at me and then turned his gaze to Tom, but he didn’t say anything further. Could he have been talking about Carmela? Was that why she’d gotten hurt again while on her date with Brendan? From what I’d heard, he hadn’t been in any condition to outrun them and rescue her, as they’d claimed.

But no one dared to question them. The Cazador were humans: of course werewolves had the upper hand when faced with them. If only they knew...

“Silent now? I see.” Tom grabbed my hair again, stretching my neck to the side. I screamed as he sank his teeth into my throat.

Right now, I didn’t care who knew that I was free from the paralytic as I kicked and flailed. I was well aware that the movement was causing him to rip my neck; I just wanted Tom to get his fangs out of me. I felt each pull of his lips draining more and more blood, and my limbs grew numb and cold. If I wasn’t chained and tired already, I could fight him, but as the minutes passed... I had a harder time figuring out why I should even try.

“Sir,” the man in the skull mask said after a moment. “She might be related to our target. I suggest we keep her alive.” He kept his steady gaze on me, and I couldn’t look away from his soothing eyes even as I felt my life slowly slipping away.

Tom took one last drink, then slid his tongue over the wounds. He pulled back with some of my blood dripping down his chin. “You might be right, Gareth. Administer another dose to relax her again. We need to find our true target. Jim, let’s leave your brother to handle her. Gather the hunters upstairs for a new briefing.”

Gareth turned a little to watch them go before looking back at me. He closed the gap between us, then reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Leave her alone,” Elliot said. “You people have done enough.”

He held out his hand toward the vampire. Death radiated from him, and Elliot made a choking noise.

“Stop it,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. Maybe I could get through to him. Granted, if it wasn’t for Elliot I might not have had Tom sinking his fangs into me and nearly killing me, but we were all in this together. If we could break free from this prison, then afterward we could resume all the political bullshit our peoples thrived on.

“I don’t take orders from either of you,” he said, but he stopped focusing his necromantic power on Elliot. The vampire groaned and rattled his shackles a little. “If you don’t want to die again, you’ll remember that.” His voice was gruff and slightly raspy. He reached into his hoodie and pulled out a rag and small vial from his pocket. The familiar smell of chemicals burned my sensitive nose again the moment he opened it.

“No, please.”

“Relax, girl. At least you’re not a dry husk.” There was the slightest bit of venom in his tone, and I wondered if he wasn’t blindly following Tom after all. But why would a necromancer unwillingly go along with a vampire? He took another step forward, and I pushed my last remaining strength into kicking him. The impact knocked him backward, though not as far as I’d hoped. I must’ve been weaker than I realized from all the blood loss. He dropped the vial, and it broke on the ground. The slightest bit of victory rang through me, until I saw the look in his eyes. It was worse than anything I’d witnessed before. His pupils went white, and he lunged at me, his fist cocked back.

I glared at him, not willing to show any more weakness. There wasn’t much else I could do.

The hard blow landed on my jaw and my head snapped back, hitting the wall behind me. Stars swirled around in my vision, and I worked at blinking them away.

He towered over me from inches away and shook his head. His eyes were almost back to normal. “Very stupid thing to do. But I’m always prepared.” He pushed the rag over my nose and mouth, pinning me to the wall with his bulky hand on my shoulder.

I tried to hold my breath, but he stayed there, hovering over me. The chemicals still seeped inside, and my limbs turned to jelly. He tilted my head back, maybe not wanting me to get neck strain, or maybe just wanting to see what he’d accomplished before he left.

My mind raced, and I vowed that I’d get revenge for all of this.

Chapter 45

Brendan

DEREK’S WORDS KEPT rolling through my head. I’d only managed a few hours of sleep. Morning rays of sun shone through the cracked blinds, and I covered my eyes with the back of my hand.

It was bad enough she wanted me to share her, with a vampire of all people, but being told to become intimate with her? My wolf was equal parts pleased and angry. I wasn’t sure which one I was yet. All I knew was that our first priority was to keep her safe, regardless of whom she chose.

“Brendan,” Neal called out from downstairs. “I need to speak with you.”

Any hopes of getting more rest drifted away.

This was the worst possible time for me to talk with him. My emotions were all over the place, and he’d sense that. If my father knew what I was doing, my future would be in shambles. I was next in line to be the next Alpha of Alphas. I couldn’t screw that up by being caught associating with a vampire, but I refused to let Carmela slip through my fingers.

“I’ll be right down, Dad.” I didn’t raise my voice; he’d hear me regardless.

I pushed out of bed, washed up, then slid into a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt, all the while taking deep breaths to center myself. I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to escape questioning so easily.

Last night, my parents had been in the den talking and laughing as they assembled one of those massive puzzles my mom enjoyed doing. Usually my father found a way to get out of it—either with Pack business or his construction business—but last night he hadn’t. They’d called me in and asked if I found Carmela, but what could I say? ‘Yes, in the arms of a vampire’? Instead, I gave a noncommittal response and took off to my room, where I tossed and turned.

They’d have both Carmela and Derek killed. I didn’t want that. She’d had a good reason for fleeing to him over coming here; Pack law didn’t allow much to be done for her until we mated. She’d been scared she would be shipped back to her brutal father.

Once Neal went off to work, I’d return to see her. My mother knew I hated being cooped up in the house, so hopefully she wouldn’t ask a lot of questions. As long as my father didn’t know, then we could make this work. It’d be a lot better if Carmela changed her mind and went to one of the werewolf safe houses—I could be with her with fewer questions asked. But Derek would be the one sneaking then.

Part of me wondered if I could sweep her away to somewhere she wouldn’t think about him, but more than ever I had my doubts. Still, she needed my help. She and her family were in danger. Her cousin was out there, likely kidnapped, and I’d seen the emotion in her eyes when she’d talked about her.

Taking one last deep breath, I steeled my resolve and went downstairs to see my father at the kitchen table. He should be leaving after breakfast.

“Good morning, son. You didn’t really say much when you got in last night.” He looked me over, and I remembered the fight with Derek. I hoped I didn’t have any visible bruises. I hadn’t been thinking about that at all last night. “Did everything go well when you talked with William?” The tone of his voice was fatherly, but there was a hint of authority to it that clearly said he expected me to tell him exactly what I knew. Anyone else might succumb to it, but I was his son after all. When are children ever fully honest and obedient to their parents?

I also knew how far I could push the limits of his patience, though. “No, it didn’t. Carmela ran away from her parents’ home.” I had to say something, but I couldn’t tell him everything. “Her cousin went to look for her, and now she’s missing.”

“They’re both missing, you mean?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“No, I...” I cleared my throat and poured a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. “Carmela told me about this place she sometimes goes to get away. I found her there.” I took a sip of water, buying myself a little more time. Should I tell him about what her father did? I hated holding back pertinent information from him, but I wanted Carmela to be here to explain.

Neal’s eyes narrowed at me. “Why did she run?” He knew something was up.

Maybe I wouldn’t be getting out of this so easily.

“She...has her reasons. I’m supposed to meet her in a bit, so I’ll be heading out.” My pulse sped up a little, and I was on the verge of losing my calm. I glanced up at the clock. “Sorry, Dad.” Grabbing my crutch, I pushed up from my chair.

“If she ran, you might not be safe with her, especially with your injuries.” He locked his gaze with mine in a show of dominance. “Someone should tag along with you when you meet her.”

No, he couldn’t do that; if he did, I wouldn’t be able to see her. She was at a vampire’s house. It would incriminate us all. I kept my gaze connected with his, refusing to bow down. While I didn’t hold his position yet, I wouldn’t be pushed around unless he pulled the Alpha card—then I’d be forced to. Fortunately, he didn’t do that very often with me.

“That’s not a good idea. I need to go alone. I can talk with her, and maybe I can bring her to one of our safe houses.” Sighing, I lowered my gaze and returned to the chair. “If it’s okay and if she’s agreeable. She’s concerned about her safety. She knows her cousin is missing and she’s afraid of being next.” I clenched my hand into a fist. “I’m going to mate with her, so we can help her.”

Neal watched me for a long moment in silence. My hands trembled. What would he say? He unfolded his arms and placed his hands on the table. “Fine. Consider it done. I’ll have a few wolves search for the cousin. Take Carmela to the safe house on Salem Street; I’ll have someone set it up.” He leaned forward a little. “You call me when you get there. If I haven’t heard from you by dinner time, then I’ll rip this town apart to find you.”

“Yes, sir. I will.” The fiery strength in his eyes threw me back to my rebellious teenage years. Very seldom had he ever gotten this way, but this was one time when I wouldn’t be pressing his buttons. He meant every word he said.

“Once you have her safe, I expect both of you to tell me everything.” Without another word, he rose from the chair and left the kitchen.

I took another gulp of water as the front door slammed shut with a tone of finality.

Chapter 46

Carmela

A SOFT BANGING sound woke me. What was that? I cocked my wolfish head to the side, but it had stopped.

The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was the gentle brush of Derek’s fingers in my fur. I sniffed the room, but the faintness of his peppermint smell signaled that he’d left some time ago. Disappointment stung me. I still didn’t know where he slept; I’d never fully investigated the house.

Maybe I could find out. I stood up from the plush rug. My injured arm still ached, but not as badly as I’d feared it would. I drew in a breath and lowered my nose to the ground, sniffing out Derek’s trail. I made it into the hallway overlooking the living room when the knocking returned; I hadn’t imagined it.

It sounded as if it was coming from the back door, which made sense. Brendan was set to visit today. My wolf pranced with excitement at the thought of seeing him, but the human part of me wondered how he was feeling after what Derek said last night.

Butterflies danced in my stomach, and it was all I could do to put one paw in front of the other on the steps. I limped to the back door and stared up at it. Why hadn’t I remembered that I’d need to unlock it and turn the knob? I couldn’t really do that in wolf form, could I? But I’d try anyway. It’d take time to shift, and Brendan couldn’t be just hanging around outside. If something happened to him...

I reared back on my hind legs and clawed at the lock, scraping the paint off the door a few times in the process. To my surprise, it opened.

Brendan peeked around the door, a frown creasing his lips. “Are you okay?”

I bobbed my head. With him inside, I needed to shift. We had things to talk about, even if I’d rather avoid the subject for now. After being in wolf form all this time, my stomach grumbled like crazy. I sniffed the air to find Brendan had brought some hot burgers and fries in the paper bag he carried.

Indecision nipped at me. Eat first or shift first? The thought of wolfing down my food in front of Brendan made me a little uncomfortable. My mother had ingrained good manners into me from a young age, and besides, he was my future mate.

Brendan shut the door behind him. He headed for the kitchen, but I jogged up the stairs to my room and nudged the door shut with my muzzle. I caught the faint scent of peppermint I’d been tracking before, and my heart dropped in my chest. Could I really have both of the men in my life?

I forced all of my frustration into the shift. Pain arced through every part of my body as it restructured into my human form, pushing a gasp from my lips, but when I was done I felt better than before. More of my wounds were healing. I tested my shoulder in human form, and I could actually move it. The smart choice would be to put it back in the sling and let it continue healing instead of trying to use it again, though, so that’s what I’d do.

I dressed in a fresh change of clothes and slid the sling on, then headed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. My stomach growled constantly as if it had a mind of its own, and I swayed on my feet when I reached the bottom of the staircase.

Slow down. The food’s still there.

Brendan sat at the kitchen table facing the doorway. He grabbed his crutch and stood when he saw me. “Hey, babe.” It seemed silly for him to do that in his current condition, but he had manners and I truly liked that about him.

“Hi.” I smiled. “Smells absolutely delicious.”

He nodded to my stomach. “Seems like your belly agrees. Have you had anything to eat since your shift? I didn’t see much food in the cupboards.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t want to be nosy, just making sure you’re taken care of.”

I opened my mouth and closed it a few times, then shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m eating now. Thank you for bringing something. Although I’m surprised you managed to find burgers and fries this early in the morning.”

He grinned, and it brightened his blue eyes. “I have my ways. Or more specifically, my father knows a werewolf who runs a restaurant not too far from here. I swung by on the way here, and I know you mentioned burgers. I wasn’t sure what breakfast food you like, so I went with a safe bet.” His smile became a little sheepish.

I placed a hand over his. “Thank you. That’s very generous.”

He covered my hand with his own before pulling away and unwrapping one of his burgers. “We really need to talk.”

Wincing, I leaned back, ready to hear what he had to say about the conversation with Derek last night, but he didn’t say anything more. I wasn’t sure how to take that. Did he not want to have sex with me? I grabbed a few fries from where he laid them out on the bag in the middle of the table.

Silence stretched between us as we ate. I reached for my second burger, but stopped. We couldn’t just sit here and simmer. I needed to get some things off my chest.

“I’m sorry I didn’t turn to you. After what happened, I wasn’t really thinking. But I...I do want to mate with you. Like you said, it will be the best way to protect me and my family while trying to find the missing nocturnes and seeking justice against William.” I leaned back in the chair, realizing just how sterile that sounded. No declarations of love. No heartfelt emotions. Just mating for safety and to have an advantage over my father. My stomach revolted at the idea of eating the second burger. The situation I’d been running from all my life now appeared to be exactly what I’d get.

Yes, I cared for him, but I couldn’t help the shiver of fear chasing down my spine. Not fear of him, but fear that my future was spinning out of my control.

Brendan’s lips stretched into a thin pink line, and pain flickered in his eyes before he stomped it down. “It’s fine. I understand why you did what you did. But I’d feel more comfortable mating at a werewolf safe house. We can’t stay here.” He wiped his hands on a napkin and cleaned up the table, leaving the burger in front of me. “Eat up,” he said as he dumped the garbage in the trash. “You need the protein after shifting.”

Pangs of nausea swept through my belly, but I did as he said. “We can’t just leave. I told you my thoughts on going to a safe house.” I swiveled in my chair to look at him.

He grimaced and opened his mouth to reply, but then shook his head. He leaned against the kitchen counter and tapped his fingers on it. Agitation wafted off him, and I could definitely relate. We’d both been put on the spot last night.

“Do you want to... I mean, shall we...” I took a deep breath. “Will we be mating today?”

He nodded slowly. Heat darkened his eyes. “That’s the plan, it seems.” He closed the distance between us in a few hobbling steps and carefully knelt before me. “This isn’t easy for me. I want to be with you. I care about you, Carmela. If that means Derek is involved, then I guess c’est la vie. But my father knows something is up. We should go to the safe house.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “What do you mean? How much does he know?” Did he know I was here? My stomach churned in rebellion, and I pressed my hand against it.

“Not a lot, but he’s suspicious. I told him you’re safe but that your cousin is missing. He has a few wolves searching for her; hopefully they’ll find where she was taken.” He caressed my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. It was the only thing holding me together right now. “He told me to bring you to one of our family’s safe houses. If he doesn’t hear from me by this evening, he’ll come find me.”

“After Derek wakes up, we’ll mate and head to the safe house.” My heart broke, but it was inevitable. At least someone was out looking for Chandra, although it should’ve been me. “Until then, I guess we should rest.”

Chapter 47

Chandra

IT WAS HARD keeping track of the time down here; I could only judge by how sore my shoulders were becoming. I’d tried standing a second time earlier, only to have one of my captors dose me with the paralytic again. But Gareth never returned. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed by that.

My head bobbed as I struggled to gain more control of my movements. My metabolism was beginning to burn through the drug more quickly, but I’d learned my lesson: I’d bide my time before trying to fight back again.

I looked over at the vampire and other nocturnes as they sat on the floor of this horrible place. A couple of them whimpered occasionally, but no one spoke. Some leaned back against the wall, almost lifelessly, while others rocked themselves or stared, frozen in horror and fear.

Only two others were strung up as I was, and they seemed somewhat familiar. I felt like I should know them; maybe they were werewolves as well. I tried to suck in a deep breath to scent the air, but I choked. My body refused to do much more than breathe shallowly, especially now that the vampire had nearly drained me of blood.

What had my life come to? I didn’t even have enough energy to get angry. I had only been fed once since I’d been here. They just kept sedating us all. I hated this. If we were puppets for their experimentation, they needed to get it over with already. Being imprisoned was worse to me than the idea of being tortured. I’d been trained to withstand torture, but this...this sucked.

My wrists and shoulders ached from bearing my full weight for so long. I would give anything to be in my bed. Anything to see the night sky. To breathe fresh air again.

Snap out of it. Survive, and get revenge.

One of the human guards made his rounds again; this time I watched him as he passed through the room. Maybe if I could get angry again, I could get out of here. Not that there was much likelihood of that happening, but I could dream.

Slowing his pace before me, he stared me down. He was definitely Cazador. “You watching me, bitch? Thinking about escaping?” He gripped me by the throat and hefted me into the air, so I was eye-to-eye with him. As horrible as it was to have his dirty hand around my throat, at least it took pressure off my aching shoulders and wrists. The fact that that was even a consideration was sad.

As much as I wanted to make a saucy comeback, I couldn’t even speak, let alone kick him in the balls. I reached within me, trying to call upon my wolf, but I was too weak to draw my beast to the surface to help with the attack. I doubted I’d be able to shapeshift out of the sturdy iron shackles pinning my wrists to the wall, either—not with the strength of my wolf gone due to the drugs and blood loss.

Chains rattled nearby, and Elliot glared at the guard with a venomous black shadow behind his eyes. “Leave her alone.”

The guard pressed closer to me, not bothered by the vampire’s threat. “What’s it to you? What would you do, huh? Nothing. There’s nothing you can do to me.” He grinned, showing brown stains on his yellowed teeth. His foul breath brushed my face, reminding me of my father’s. He’d enjoyed fear and pain, too; Uncle William was a walk in the park by comparison.

Rage cascaded through me in a torrent, and the wolf within me rose up and up until I could move. I thrust my knee into the guard’s groin, making him release my throat, and then dropped to my tiptoes, but my knees buckled. I screamed as the strain against my sore shoulders returned. Desperately I tried to push back to my feet, but my energy was spent.

“Are you okay?” Elliot asked.

I turned and stared at him; his eyes were still slightly glowing. I nodded, then noticed his gaze dart to my side.

“Watch out,” he hissed. Fury gave his voice a gravelly tone, almost as if he were a werewolf too.

The guard’s fist snapped my head back into the wall. A second blow struck my stomach. He hit my torso again, and a loud crack reverberated through the room. Pain shot through me. It felt like he’d broken my rib—I knew how that felt from experience—but he didn’t stop.

“Leave me alone, asshole,” I whispered.

He paused to grab my chin and yanked my face toward him. “What did you say, bitch? Who gave you the right to talk here?” He slapped me, and the coppery tang of blood filled my mouth.

I spit my blood at him, hitting him on the chin.

His eyes widened and he reeled back. He seemed terrified that I might have infected him with lycanthropy. If only the jerk knew how it was done: either you were born into it, or you were scratched or bitten. There were the occasional special cases, but they were few and far between. I doubted he’d get it through having a little bit of my blood and spit on him.

He swiped at his chin carefully with the sleeve of his shirt, trying to get my blood away from his mouth. Maybe if I was lucky he’d run off and leave me alone. Instead, when he was satisfied his face was clean, he pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into my side. The impact took my breath away and caused another loud cracking sound.

I gasped, trying to catch my breath, but it seemed like I couldn’t get the air into my lungs. A large rumbling growl came from behind the guard, startling us both.

Gareth towered over my attacker. I couldn’t see his face, but his eyes blazed with hatred. This was the first time I’d seen him since our fight. He stared at me and then returned his gaze to the guard. “Don’t mess with the prisoners; they’re not here to be your punching bags. Report to Jim and tell him what you’ve done. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you pay for it.” He took a threatening step toward the guard.

The guard didn’t move, but the smell of urine seeped into my nostrils, and I spotted a growing wet spot on the man’s pants.

“You pathetic piece of human trash. Go.” Gareth grabbed the guard by the upper arm and shoved him toward the entrance of the dank holding chamber. When he was gone, Gareth slowly turned to face me. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” He gripped my chin in his big hands and tilted my head from one side to the other as he inspected my face. “Fuck. Tom doesn’t want weak and damaged nocturnes.” He ran his other hand over the front of my body—not as if he were groping me, but as though he was checking for more wounds. His hand connected with the area where the guard had punched me, and something inside me moved.

I bit my tongue, unwilling to show my pain. Gareth scared me; I wouldn’t show any more weakness to him than I had to. It sounded like the injuries the guard had inflicted made me unfit to live in these people’s eyes. Great. I raised my chin, hoping he didn’t take the gesture as arrogance that needed knocked down a notch.

But he didn’t pay attention to me, just to my body. He jerked my shirt up, showing off my lean, muscular torso. He placed his hands under my breasts, then slid his palms down again as if trying to find something. Midway down, he stopped as more pain shot through me.

Grimacing, I tried to move away before I realized what I was doing.

“Great. Broken ribs. What the hell was he thinking?” He shifted his gaze up my torso, briefly checking out my breasts before meeting my gaze. “Things don’t look good for you. As I said, the people I work for don’t want damaged goods. You’re damaged now.” His gaze descended again. “What do you think I should do with you?”

I just stared at him. Maybe if I pretended I couldn’t talk, he’d leave me alone. Maybe if I wasn’t slightly turned on by his touch, I’d feel better. Either way I was screwed.

He grabbed my chin again, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I know you can talk; I heard what you said. Give me a good reason to not kill you, or so help me, you’ll be one less thing for me to worry about.” He leaned in until we were almost nose-to-nose. Menace lurked in his eyes. His hand brushed the underside of my breast, but this time it wasn’t on purpose.

“If you help me, I’ll satisfy whatever needs you have.” I pushed my hips toward his. I hated to offer myself up for him, but I’d do what I needed to survive.

Gareth grabbed my waist, thrusting me back against the wall. His pupils narrowed. “You shouldn’t make claims like that. How do you know you’d be up to the task?” He trailed his thumb along my jaw line, and pain followed his touch from where the guard had beaten me.

“I know what I’m capable of.” Namely, I could outmuscle him and run. It wasn’t as if I were a vampire or zombie; his necromantic magic couldn’t affect me like them. If I couldn’t overpower him, I’d kill him and then run, because I couldn’t remain in these shackles. If he was like any other man, I might gain sway over him. He clearly possessed some authority here.

Gareth’s breath caressed my cheek as he leaned in closer. “You might live to regret that boast.” He pulled back so he could stare into my eyes. “But for now, you’re less of a threat than you were.” He jerked my shirt down, then grabbed the manacle that held my left wrist and opened it. I groaned as my arm collapsed down, leaving me to dangle by one pinned wrist. He wrapped his arm around my waist while he freed my other wrist.

“Thanks,” I whispered, holding his gaze. I’d never felt fear like this—he promised death with one wrong move. I glanced back at the manacles still fastened to the wall.

“You shouldn’t thank me yet. The night is still young. If you try to run, or if you help the others, you will die. Do you understand me?”

I nodded weakly. “Yes, I understand. I promise.”

“Good. But for security purposes...” He pulled a cloth from his back pocket and shoved it over my nose and mouth. The thought of fighting made my side hurt, so I didn’t. I surrendered to the drugs and went limp, like a sack of skin instead of flesh and bone and muscle. “Sorry, but I can’t chance that you’ll break that promise.” He settled me on the ground, propped against the wall, but I kept listing to the side, nearly toppling into Elliot.

I stared at Gareth, wishing I could shoot daggers with my eyes, but unfortunately, my power wasn’t mind control; I had to settle for lycanthropy.

“Damn.” He finally laid me on the ground.

I tried to whimper, but the sound wouldn’t come. The floors were disgusting. If I ever made it out of here I’d soak in a tub of hot water for a whole day, regardless of the high cost. I felt so, so dirty. Not that being chained to the walls was any better.

“I’ll be back later to check what new trouble you’re getting into.” Chuckling, he shook his head. I watched as he turned his back and walked out the door.

Elliot touched my ankle; I could only breathe in response. “We’ll all get out of this.” Even though his words were optimistic, every time he tried to be reassuring he sounded more and more pessimistic.

A few other people in the room whimpered. One of the werewolves looked ready to gnaw his arm off if it would provide relief.

“Does anyone have telepathy?” Elliot asked, “We need to get a message out.”

A young female, probably the fae girl with the jacket, spoke up from close by. “I do.” Her voice was shaky, as if she hadn’t talked in days. “I’ve tried calling out to my people for help, but I can’t get anything through. It’s as if someone’s psychically blocking me.” She sighed.

“Try one more time for us. The target is Carmela, a werewolf.”

My eyes widened. It seemed my suspicions were right: my cousin was involved in something dangerous and beyond my knowledge. Why hadn’t she told me? Her actions had caused me to be drawn into this.

“Sent.” A moment after the word left her mouth, a guard marched into the room and hauled her away. The fae’s shrieks echoed through the room and up the hallway. Her screams lingered in my head long after they stopped.

Chapter 48

Carmela

I SURGED UP into a sitting position on the bed. Sweat dripped down my chest, and my heart raced as I sucked air into my lungs. The words echoed over and over in my head: ‘Danger. Help us. Warehouse. Danger. Need you.’ Up until then, the dream had been relatively neutral, nothing involving danger or warehouses. The urgency in the words was what startled me the most.

Brendan pushed onto his elbows and rubbed his eyes. “What’s wrong? Bad dream?”

“It was more than that.” Derek stood in the doorway with only a pair of pajama pants on. I hadn’t heard him approach, and his smooth alabaster chest almost distracted me from the message. “Someone communicated with you.”

“How do you know?” Brendan rubbed his hand over my back, and while it was soothing, I knew it had another meaning too—he was showing his possession. They’d have to learn to live with sharing me, though, especially if I was going to be mating soon.

Derek remained silent, but the look on his face was grim, almost as if there was something he didn’t want to share. He’d never been closed off like this before. Did he know more than we did about the voice?

“Derek, tell us what you know.” I patted the covers next to me and scooted into the center of the bed.

He looked from me to Brendan and back again, but he plopped down on the bed beside me. “When you were here that first night I aided you as best I could with medicine, but you were bleeding too heavily.” He went silent for a moment, staring away from us. “I licked the wound closed. It was the best chance for your survival. We’re...connected in a way. I can sense when you’re afraid, or when someone’s in your head...”

Brendan glared at Derek’s back, but he didn’t say anything. I wished Derek had told me this sooner, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now. All we could do was move forward.

“It wasn’t just a dream, then?” I asked.

“No, it was a message from a fae. They’re obviously taking a wide variety of nocturnes. I wonder if the other races know that some of their kind are missing.” He turned to face us. “Once you’re mated, we should split up. If I go to my people and you to yours, we might stand a greater chance of helping our friends.”

“Until one of our people does find them,” Brendan spoke up, and I turned to him. “Then the others will be killed.”

“The three of us stand no chance of finding them by ourselves. There are hundreds of warehouses all over the city.” I wrapped my arm around my waist. “If the Feud didn’t exist...” I sighed and shook my head.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, love.” Derek smiled at me, then rose from the bed. “Speaking of which, I believe you two have unfinished business.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed his hand. “Wait.” I looked between him and Brendan. “Stay with us.”

He watched Brendan’s carefully neutral expression, neither man saying anything. It frightened me that they weren’t speaking, but I did my best to remain calm.

Finally, Derek pulled me into him, pressing his chest against my back. I looked up at him, but he bent forward, placing kisses on my neck. The sensation warmed me in a way I’d never quite felt before. It was different from what I’d felt when I kissed Brendan for the first time. Was it some kind of vampire trick he was using?

Brendan moved in closer to us, but grimaced as his injured leg bumped the other one.

“He should be in the center. Due to his injuries, you can mount him more easily than he can you.” Derek’s breath caressed my shoulder, but his words made my stomach clench in unease. Maybe it hadn’t been a great idea to have him here too.

“Unfortunately, you’re right.” Brendan looked me over as if he were undressing me with his eyes. “Help support her so she won’t hurt her shoulder.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Derek spoke up first. “I will.” He reached around me, offering one hand to Brendan while cupping the underside of his uninjured leg with the other. “This might hurt a little.” He tugged him toward the center of the bed.

Brendan groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. His knuckles were white on the hand holding Derek’s, who was looking more than a little uncomfortable. If I didn’t do something soon, I worried Brendan would break Derek’s hand.

I carefully straddled Brendan’s waist. “You can’t remain in your human form like this. If you shift, you’ll get better. Trust me,” I said, leaning down into him and supporting myself with my good arm. My lips brushed against his, and he slowly opened his eyes.

“I trust you. I just need to be here to protect you.” He wrapped his arms around me, sliding his arms down my waist to my backside.

“You’d be able to protect me better if you were healed.” I pushed back into his hands, enjoying the feel of them on me. Suddenly the clothes between us were too constricting.

Brendan pushed me back from him for a moment. “My wolf isn’t as well-mannered as yours.” He gave me a sideways grin. “When this is over, I’ll change. Your doctor,” he said, nodding over my shoulder to where Derek stood beside the bed, “hasn’t led you astray. Maybe he’s not so bad, for a vampire.”

Derek laughed, and the bed squeaked a little as he rejoined us. “Good to hear, wolf. But you’re both stalling. Brendan will heal with time, just as you are.” He turned my head toward him, beckoning me to look into his eyes. “You need to remain focused.” His voice took on a sultry quality that struck renewed fire in my belly. He glanced at Brendan, meeting his eyes as well. “Make her your mate.”

I wobbled a little. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, but the drive to mate with Brendan overrode that.

Desire darkened Brendan’s eyes, turning them impossibly blue, like an ocean ready to swallow me whole. He reached for the hem of my shirt and tugged it up, but my shoulder splint prevented it from going any further.

Derek took the shirt and lowered it. He removed the shoulder splint, and then carefully lifted my shirt over my head.

Brendan splayed his hands over my stomach before sliding them up toward my breasts. I’d been in such a hurry to eat that I hadn’t put my bra on after I shifted; now I was glad I hadn’t. The feel of his hands on me chased away any dark, creeping thoughts.

Derek unfastened the button on my jeans, then unzipped them. I moved my hips to help him remove them, which placed my breasts nearer to Brendan’s face. He pulled me closer, curving his tongue over one nipple and then the other. His mouth sucked and teased each peak until they were both incredibly hard. He smirked, as if pleased with his achievement.

I moaned, unable to stop myself. The sensations burning within me were like a fire that could never be quenched. Suddenly the romance novels began to make more sense. If this was how it felt...

Brendan stroked his hand down my torso, and I gasped as his fingers dipped between my naked thighs. I didn’t remember Derek taking everything off. “You’re beautiful, Carmela,” Brendan whispered, slowly sliding one finger inside of me and curving it to hit a particularly sensitive spot over and over.

I cried out, savoring the feeling and yet wanting more of him. My thighs trembled as desire pushed me toward the edge.

He smiled, a hint of male arrogance in the curve of his lips. My body trembled with need, but he pulled his finger from me. Only then did I notice the incredible bulge in his jeans.

I blinked down at it, watching him carefully unbuckle his belt, unbutton, and unzip. He pushed his pants down to his thighs just enough to unleashed his large cock. My jaw dropped open. How was I supposed to fit that inside me?

Derek held my waist and rubbed his thumbs over the small of my back in strong, circular strokes. My body relaxed a little, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Brendan drew me toward him and kissed me with such raw passion that it overwhelmed my senses. I opened my mouth to him, letting him ravish me. For the moment, only he and I existed—only his lips and mine.

My hips angled toward his, and he nudged his cock against my entrance. Any fear I’d felt before vanished. I knew I was protected. This wasn’t a horrible experience: there was no violence, no anger, no pain.

Inch by inch, Brendan sank into me, waiting for me to accommodate him before lowering me further, until he was all the way inside. I ground into him, feeling confident in my position over him.

He gave me a sideways grin. “Don’t get too cocky. I can still flip you to the bed and take you, pain or not.” He blinked slowly, and his eyes changed from blue to wolf-amber.

My breath caught in my throat. Seeing the sudden change surprised me. Perhaps he was right about his wolf not being as well-mannered. Mine rolled around below the surface of my skin, pressing every once in a while for me to change, but more than anything she wanted to become mated to him.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea for either of you,” Derek said from behind me.

I sat up to feel the cool press of Derek’s chest against my back and his legs trapping mine against Brendan’s. He held my hips and pulled me up a little before guiding me back down Brendan’s shaft. I bit my lip at the pleasure coursing through me.

Brendan stared up at us, but his gaze returned strictly to meet mine. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want to hurt Carmela.” He rocked his hips up to meet my strokes. Our bodies met, in a leisurely rhythm at first, as if we had all the time in the world to enjoy ourselves, but that didn’t last long. Soon we were writhing against one another.

Brendan held me in his arms, supporting me as best he could. He nuzzled my neck as his body drove into mine with an intensity that I craved. I arched my back a little, feeling my wolf push harder against my skin. It would be so easy to give in and let her take over, but I refused to. Not when we were so close to the edge of climax.

Brendan sank his teeth into my neck, claiming me as his mate, a second before my body exploded with pleasure. I dug my nails into his arms, and he grunted, though I wasn’t sure if it was in pain or pleasure. I should’ve cared, but wave after wave of ecstasy shook me as his hot seed poured into me.

My body was weak with release, but the soft caress of Derek’s cool hand on my lower back rekindled the flames in my lower belly. Brendan’s sweat mingled with mine, between our bodies. I could barely move. How would I be able to mate with Derek too?

Brendan gave me a lingering kiss before lifting me back into Derek’s arms. He tucked his hands behind his head, and I noticed the blood sliding down his arms from where I’d scratched him, but the heat still burning in his eyes reassured me.

Chapter 49

Derek

I’D DONE MANY things in my centuries, but sharing a werewolf with her wolf mate wasn’t one of them. The scent of their blood taunted and teased me, drawing me back to the fact I hadn't eaten yet tonight. It was still fairly early, but now I needed to sate my desires, whether those were for blood, sex, or both.

I caressed my hand over Carmela's breast, toying with the hard tip of her nipple. My lips descended to the spot right above her shoulder where Brendan had bit her. The desire to lick her wound nearly won, but I switched to the opposite side of her neck instead.

She shivered and pressed her bottom against me. I looked down at Brendan, who merely watched us. He looked particularly comfortable, except for the subtle tightness at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and he inclined his head slightly.

I slid down my pajama pants. I wanted to take my time with her, make love to her as I'd hoped to, but her body thrummed with an urgent desire, and her blood sang a siren's song.

I leaned her forward and thrust into her warm, wet center, filling her completely. She yelped and glanced over at me, surprise widening her eyes. I pulled out a little, then slammed back into place, angling my hips for maximum pleasure. While I might not have Brendan's size, I did have many, many years of experience.

As I fell into a steady pace, I pulled her back up against me so I could fondle her breasts and kiss her neck. Her legs wobbled like jelly. Brendan moved below us to hold her hips and help keep her upright.

“Derek,” she gasped, her voice husky with desire. Her walls clenched around me, and I could smell her arousal thicken once more. She was close again.

I lengthened my strokes, trying to bide my time with her, but she wreaked havoc on my sensibilities. My fangs lengthened, and I sank them into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her blood poured into my throat, and I rocked into her, faster and more desperate than before.

She screamed, and her body squeezed around my cock. She thrust back against me again almost as if she were as needy as I was. My body tightened a moment before I came, filling her with my semen. I swiped my tongue over the two perfectly round holes I’d made in her skin—a memento of this beautiful moment.

With a groan, I pulled her to me and lowered us beside Brendan, who carefully positioned himself more toward the right side of the bed. The only sound penetrating the silence was her panting breath. I wrapped my leg between hers as she rested her head against Brendan's chest.

They drifted off to sleep again, but I lay awake. My kind only ‘slept’ during the day.

Thoughts of our time together shifted to what had called me to the bedroom in the first place. The connection between Carmela and I was no longer shaky and weak, but solid now that I’d bitten her. I reached for our bond to glimpse in her mind the words the fae had spoken, when something in the atmosphere changed.

I untangled myself from Carmela and crossed the room to the window that faced the road. Two figures crouched on the roof opposite us. Vampires. Dread filled my gut. There would be no help for any of us anymore. They darted off, presumably to tell Lord Prescott.

We had very little time to get out of here.

“Both of you, get up.” The bed squeaked behind me a little, but neither made much effort to move. Brendan blinked at me, and Carmela cuddled closer to him. “Now.” I put a command into the word, and that finally got them going. “We’ve been spotted by vampires.”

Carmela froze. Her eyes widened, and she looked between Brendan and me. “No. This can’t be happening.”

“It is. We need to get you two to safety. Hurry.” I darted to my room and dressed. By the time I came back, they were mostly decent. Brendan was grabbing his crutch as Carmela pulled on her sling. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 50

Carmela

THE THREE OF us froze in place at the bottom of the stairs as the sound of shattering wood came from the front of the row house.

“We need to go. Quickly,” Derek whispered, grabbing my hand.

I pulled away. “Help Brendan. He has a crutch.”

Brendan handed the crutch to me, and Derek tossed him over his shoulder. “Great. Here we go again,” Brendan grumbled under his breath.

We darted for the back door; we were running as fast as we could toward it when it burst open. We turned again, this time jogging up the stairs. I had no idea where to go if both of the doors were blocked, but Derek knew his house better than I did. Hopefully he had a backup plan. Our lives were in his hands.

The familiar scent of a musky forest flooded my nose a moment before a werewolf’s strong arms pulled me backward down the stairs. I screamed as the hand brushed my injured shoulder, and the crutch fell from my grip. But this didn’t make sense—Derek said we were running from vampires, not werewolves.

Derek stopped at the sound, and Brendan raised his gaze to meet mine. His eyes widened.

“Go! Don’t let them take you.” I struggled against the man holding me, but my body was weak from sex and feeding Derek.

“Brendan Kelly. I should’ve known you were up to something. You tried to be secretive about your girlie’s location, but I’m not an idiot. I told you I’d find you, pup. Don’t even think about leaving this house with that vampire.” Neal Kelly’s commanding voice came from behind me, and I looked up to see him standing over me.

I averted my gaze, cowering slightly before I could stop myself. Brendan had said his father didn’t dislike me, but I doubted that was still true. I’d involved his son in things a future Alpha shouldn’t be part of. Still, I didn’t want this to be the end of us. He had to see reason.

Instinctually, I twisted and broke away from his strong grip. He reached for me again, but I jumped a few steps away from him. My Militia training took hold of me again; granted, it didn’t have great timing. “You don’t understand, sir.” I looked at the four guards flanking our Alpha. They closed in on the staircase as if I were some kind of threat to our kind.

“I don’t understand?” Neal chuckled, looking between the stone-faced guards. “No, I don’t, because no one is telling me anything.”

Derek set Brendan on his feet on the steps.

“What are you doing?” I asked, incredulous that they weren’t fleeing for safety.

“I don’t think they’re here to harm us,” Brendan said, using the bannister to hobble toward me. “Dad, as I said before, Carmela ran away out of fear for her safety. You saw what her father did to her in our house. You didn’t—couldn’t—do anything to him, but her father is a bad man. He nearly raped her.” Brendan’s jaw clenched, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. “She’s—”

“Is this true, girl?” Neal stared me down with regret in his eyes.

I winced and lowered my gaze. I hated that what my father did to me was becoming known to more and more people, like juicy gossip.

“You chose a vampire for protection because you didn’t think your kind would take you in?” Neal knelt in front of me, meeting my gaze again.

I nodded.

“I’m sorry you went through that abuse. You would’ve been cared for. I’m just sad the Feud requires punishment to be brought upon you all. You’ve already been through so much. It breaks my heart that you’ll have to go through more because you didn’t make the right decision.” Neal paused, heaviness in his tone. “Take them.”

“What?” Brendan yelled. “No, don’t do this to her.” The man beside Neal dragged him away from me. “Leave her alone.” He struggled, but he looked as hopeless as I felt.

A hand closed over my arm, pulling me down the stairs to stand beside Brendan and Neal. “Let’s go.” The woman gripping me had burgundy hair that flowed around her face. She frowned at me sorrowfully, but nudged me on my way. Derek walked before me with two werewolves on either side of him. He glanced at me, his eyebrows drawn together. He could’ve escaped; I’d seen how fast he could move.

My chest ached at the pain I was causing those I cared for, and I lowered my gaze. Why was this happening?

The wolves stopped short as vampires appeared, blocking both exits. Their faces were neutral, but power radiated from them like angry stinging bees.

One young-looking male stood out amongst them. He held himself with exquisite grace and power. He seemed to float into the room. His dark brown hair flowed around his shoulders, and his emerald green eyes sparkled.

“It seems we arrived a moment too late to the party. We’ll just have to extend it. Seems you’ve found trouble among your new friends...or should I say lovers, Derek?” He walked up to me and ripped my collar, leaving my neck and the bite marks from both Brendan and Derek bare to the room.

The female werewolf at my back snarled. It seemed more directed at the vampire than at me, but I couldn’t be sure. Her grip on me tightened, and I would’ve preferred to be away from her at that moment.

“Is he right, Brendan?” Neal looked to his son. “Your mate is bound to both you and this vampire?” His face was tomato red. “Damn it, son.” His voice boomed, sending chills down my spine. He turned back to the vampire who appeared to be in charge. “Who are you anyway? How did you know this was going on?”

“I’m sorry, how rude of me. I am Lord Prescott, Chairman of the Vampiric High Council. And you are Neal Kelly, Alpha of the Alphas. Little known fact.” Smirking, Prescott took a seat on the couch and propped his legs on the coffee table. “I suspected disobedience. Try as I might to overlook it, I received an anonymous tip early this evening about what was going on. I sent a couple of people to investigate, only to have my fears confirmed.”

Derek perked up. “Wait. When did you receive the tip?” He pulled against the werewolves on either side of him, and they struggled to remain in place. “Elliot tried to send a message through a fae. They’re being held somewhere. Tell them, Carmela.”

All eyes turned my way, and I blinked at them as I struggled to remember the exact phrasing. “Uhm...” I chewed on my lower lip. “It was ‘Danger. Help us. Warehouse. Danger. Need you.’ We couldn’t really determine their location for sure, since there are hundreds of warehouses in the city.”

“It’s the Cazador. They’re the biggest danger to all of us.” Derek looked from me to Prescott. “The only way we can get Chandra and Elliot back is to work together. The hunters have joined forces with a select group of nocturnes.”

“That’s impossible,” Neal shouted. “They’re out to kill us all.”

“Yes and no. The hunters sent a necromancer after me, twice.” Derek grimaced. “He’s powerful, too. If they have him at their disposal, I’m sure they have more.”

Prescott looked enthralled by the conversation. “Release them.” He waved his hand and power surged outward from him. The werewolves let us go almost in sync, then looked among one another in confusion.

I ran to Brendan as he swayed, letting him lean on me. I couldn’t contain my relief that this hadn’t turned into a bloody battle between the two species. There was enough fighting between nocturnes already. In times like this, all of us were weakened. Someone had managed to capture each of the different races, proving to us that we weren’t at the top of the food chain.

“This is quite concerning,” Prescott said, removing his feet from the coffee table. “Let’s get down to business. We’re looking for a missing Senior High Council member taken from this home only a couple of nights ago, using a powerful drug which very few vampires have access to, much less humans. I’m guessing your son came to find the lovely wolf who is bonded to both him and my vampire.

“As much as the unending Feud amuses me, the time has inevitably come for change, Neal. Necromancers are a bane to my people’s kind just as the Cazador are to yours. They restrict and kill us. We need to make them disappear, just as you can clear these three of their death sentences. Why the female wolf came here is anyone’s guess, but that’s not the point, is it? However, she is mated to your son. She shall provide pups to continue your lineage.” He looked completely relaxed. “It appears we have a common goal here: missing people, and a threat to both our races. Perhaps we should hang up our differences for a while to get things done, yes?”

Neal Kelly crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. He didn’t look happy, but the vampires outnumbered his wolves. It wasn’t as if he had much choice. “Regrettably, there are three werewolves missing to my knowledge.”

“We’re in agreement to work together, then?” Prescott rose to his feet as if he were a puppet on string.

“If we do find your vampire and our werewolves, what then? We both know who holds more influence over the lesser nocturnes, and who has acted openly hostile toward us in days past: vampires. What’s to say you won’t use what knowledge you find to finish my people off?” Neal’s jaw clenched in a similar fashion to Brendan’s earlier. It was interesting to see their striking resemblance now.

I glanced at Derek, nibbling my lower lip. He was watching me, taking in the small action, and I averted my gaze back to the Alpha and the chairman.

Chapter 51

Derek

I WATCHED THE simple action of Carmela nibbling her lower lip. Fire spread through my body again, and I wanted nothing more than to have her. Slight jealousy stung my flesh as I saw Brendan stare at her the same way, but I pushed it down. It was far too late to have those thoughts.

She might primarily be an Alpha Queen to her mate, but she was also mine.

I returned my gaze to Lord Prescott and Neal Kelly.

“You would have to take my word for it. We could set up a written agreement at some point, if you wanted to,” Prescott said.

Neal didn’t look convinced about what Prescott was saying, but at least he wasn’t disagreeing. And they did have a point. We should start working together. It was in everyone’s best interest to fight against the Cazador before they took down all nocturnes, and more humans, too. I didn’t particularly care about humans when they hunted my kind, but they were a food source. The innocent ones didn’t have to be needlessly slaughtered as the Cazador did everyone else.

“No,” Neal growled. “I’m not going to take your word for it. I want proof that if I back you, you won’t backstab me and my people.”

Prescott smirked. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.” He snapped his fingers, and another vampire came to his side, holding a sheet of paper and a pen, which he placed into Prescott’s hand. The vampire stepped away, and Prescott quickly scribbled out a few paragraphs before setting down the pen and spinning the paper toward Neal. “This written agreement shall declare a temporary peace between our races. If you choose not to sign, I will not help you find your werewolves, and if I do find them, I will have them killed.”

I didn’t like that. I wouldn’t stand back and watch Carmela die by Prescott’s hand. I would fight to save her. Obviously Brendan felt the same way, because he pulled her closer to him. She was protected, and regardless of what might happen in the end, that was what mattered most.

“I’ll sign your document. However, this agreement shall not become null and void unless we both agree to dissolve it. You will not escape through any loopholes.” Neal signaled a male werewolf to take the offered paper.

“Agreed. I’ll have a copy of our truce made for you.”

Neal scribbled his name on the document, then handed it back to the werewolf. “Do you have any other information on where we might find the missing nocturnes?”

“Carmela led me to discover that the kidnappers are using a substance vampires developed to help their younger kin deal with the hunger following change. There aren’t many people who would have access to something like that; only a few on the High Council.” I hoped I was wrong, but there had been a little suspicion with Tom’s death. It didn’t seem connected to the necromancer attack before, but now I wasn’t sure. Could he have faked it? No, I had to be grasping for straws. “There’s also the silver bullets both Carmela and your son were shot with. They’ve kept them from healing at the normal rate for werewolves; something in them kills the lycanthropy near the bullet wound. The Cazador were responsible for that, so I think it’s fair to say we might find them at one of the Cazador strongholds.”

Neal glanced at Carmela before turning away. “Well, it’s good we have an idea of who might be behind this. It’d help if things were clearer here.” He turned his gaze to Prescott. “What about you? What do you know about what’s going on here?”

“I have some of my trackers out searching.” Prescott cracked his knuckles. “Mostly, I know what my vampire said. However, I’m certain we won’t see the end of these kidnappings until we’ve done something about it.”

I looked at the vampires and werewolves around us, wondering who might be the next target.

Chapter 52

Carmela

I RESTED MY head against Brendan’s chest as I toyed with the hem of my shoulder splint. I wanted to seek refuge in the spare bedroom. The proximity of all these other werewolves and vampires made me increasingly uncomfortable. It didn’t help that the kidnappings could go on until we somehow managed to stop the Cazador and its nocturne allies.

Neal and his people made me feel like a traitor, but he’d been compassionate about what happened. Maybe he would’ve taken me under his wing if I’d gone to them, but it was too late to second-guess my decisions now.

My attention rested on Derek, who was watching the two leaders go back and forth devising a plan to find and rescue the captives and stop the hunters. Derek’s gaze drifted my way, and our eyes connected, sending a shiver of lust through my spine. Now was not the time to become aroused.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I needed to get away. It wasn’t as if my presence was necessary to the planning. I retrieved Brendan’s crutch and retreated upstairs to the spare room. The sheets still smelled strongly of our lovemaking. If I just closed my eyes, I could pretend I was back in that moment, not trapped here, scared for those I cared about.

I shut the door behind me and rested my back against it. My pulse steadied as I drew in deep breaths, feeling a little more relaxed now that I had some space.

A soft knock sounded behind me. “Are you okay?” Derek asked.

“Please. I just need a moment.” If he came in here, I didn’t know if I’d be able to behave myself. What I needed most was to recover my composure before the search started for Chandra and the others.

“Are you sure?” He sounded disappointed and more than a little annoyed, but he didn’t raise his voice.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. He remained there for a few moments as if I’d change my mind, before finally retreating. Sighing, I looked up at the window I’d broken on my first night here. I needed air.

I walked to the window and stared down into the alleyway below. A strong scent hit my nose: something familiar, chemical. I leaned closer to the window, but the scent faded. I twirled around, but a cloth slammed over my nose and lips with bruising force. A hooded figure with a skull mask grabbed the back of my thighs, and then, heedless of my sling, tossed me over his shoulder.

I couldn’t move. I tried to open my mouth to scream, to get a warning out to Derek and Brendan, but I was paralyzed. I only hoped Derek could feel my terror through our connection, because I had no idea how that worked.

The large man tightened his grip on me and slowly eased us through the window, careful not to make a sound. That was probably how he’d gotten in. He pushed off from the side of the building, hurtling us through the air, but instead of landing in the alley, we were on the roof of the next building.

My head bobbed against his back as he sprinted away from Derek’s, and the pain in my shoulder was like a knife sliding into me over and over. My tears splashed onto the roof below. I wanted nothing more than to be back in Derek’s home, curled up in bed with him and Brendan.

If only I hadn’t pushed him away...

Chapter 53

Derek

AFTER CARMELA TOLD me to go away, I came to the mostly unused bathroom down the hall. What would I say to the others downstairs? I needed to collect my thoughts before I rejoined them. Regardless of my concern for Carmela, Elliot was counting on me to rescue him. I had to get my act together.

Unease trickled along my spine. I scanned the bathroom’s tight confines, confirming I was still alone. Suddenly fear exploded in my chest, but the emotion wasn’t mine. My mind drew back to the way I’d felt the night Carmela came to my home after her father abused her. I darted through the hallway toward the spare room where I’d left her.

Something wasn’t right. I could sense nothing but utter stillness from inside. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. “Carmela? Open up.” I listened, but she didn’t reply. “Love? Are you there?” Silence.

What’s going on?

The sound of footsteps and a crutch tapped up the stairs. “Everything okay?” Brendan asked from behind me.

“No, I don’t think it is.” I jerked the doorknob to the right, breaking the lock. My gaze whipped around the room—Carmela was gone. My heart raced in my chest. The curtain billowed in the gentle breeze, bringing my attention to the open window. Had she run again? “Damn it!” I slammed my fist into the wall beside the door.

Brendan stood in the doorway, just inches from the spot I’d struck. His eyes widened, and he stepped away from me as he checked for himself that Carmela wasn’t here. A harsh growl rumbled up from deep in his chest. He pushed further into the room, heading toward the bed where we’d made love to her a little less than an hour ago. His shoulders slumped forward as if hit by a wave of emotion.

I looked away. I knew about pain all too well, but time was of the essence if we were to figure out where she’d gone and why before she got into even more trouble. But why had she run? I walked toward the window, and a strong, chemical scent seeped into my nostrils. Something like what I’d smelled before.

No! She hadn’t run after all. Someone took her from under my nose, and the noses of the dozen or so vampires and werewolves downstairs. That bastard.

“Carmela was kidnapped.” Brendan’s gaze rose to meet mine, and he hobbled over. He sucked in a deep breath, only to end up coughing and pinching his nose. “Shit. I can’t believe this is happening. Someone should’ve stayed with her.”

“What is it?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to know the answer.

“The chemical has elements of a drug that’s been tested on werewolves as a temporary paralytic. The Cazador concocted it.” Brendan sniffed around the window, then raised his face to an area where the intruder’s scent was strongest. His eyes narrowed. “The Cazador...but somehow, this guy is different. He exudes death.”

The necromancer. It had to be. I scented the air, confirming it for myself.

Several footsteps thumped on the stairs. “What’s going on in here?” Neal said from the doorway.

I frowned, searching for the words tell him.

Neal glanced between me and his son. When neither of us spoke, he glanced around the room. Confusion creased his forehead for a split second before realization set in. “Damn it! Those bastards.” He strolled into the room, sniffing the spots that Brendan and I had discovered moments before. “We should’ve taken out that lab when we had the chance.” He frowned at the burgundy-haired female werewolf standing near the door.

I caught Prescott’s eye as he joined us. He nodded toward a corner of the room, furthest from the window where Carmela had been taken.

An unfamiliar handkerchief lay abandoned on the floor. I crossed the room to investigate, then picked it up and sniffed. It had the kidnapper’s scent, and only a trace of the chemical. Heck, this whole area carried his scent, as if he’d been hovering here for a while. “Found something,” I said, lifting the cloth for the others to see.

Neal snatched it from me, holding the fabric near his nose. He winced, but quickly seemed to brush off any discomfort. “Let’s get some trackers on this.” He held the handkerchief out to the female werewolf he’d looked to moments ago. “I want you searching the rest of the room, top to bottom. Report anything you find.” The Alpha werewolf paused, then turned back to me. His lips tightened. “Thanks.”

“Anything to help find Carmela and the others.” I retreated to the hallway as the burgundy-haired werewolf began her search of the spare room.

Prescott leaned against the wall beside me, shrugging a shoulder as if to say, What did you expect? Two vampires lingered nearby, waiting for instructions. “Timothy and Jane, join the werewolf in investigating the room,” Prescott said before slipping back down the stairs.

The look on their faces showed their displeasure before they could censor themselves. Horror came over Jane’s, while Timothy wrinkled his nose as if the task was distasteful. I couldn’t blame them; they weren’t used to being around wolves.

Brendan and Neal talked further along the hallway in harsh whispers. I didn’t envy the young werewolf. When this was behind us, I’d probably be getting the same treatment from my leader.

Turning away from them, I followed Prescott downstairs to talk with him. What we needed was to be out scouring the streets for Carmela, not searching my spare room. The house felt more like a circus than a command center with this many people loitering about.

Prescott retreated into the living room and propped his feet on my coffee table...again. I hated how comfortable he acted in my home, with my furniture, but I was in no position to speak out against him. Not this time.

“You’ve made some poor decisions in your old age. First skipping High Council meetings, and now marking and fornicating with a werewolf. You used to be smarter. Where did you go wrong?” Prescott waved a hand at the couch beside him, but I didn’t exactly want to sit, let alone that close to him. I settled in the nearby armchair instead. “Obedience never was your forte, but I’ve overlooked a lot to give you the chance to reach your full potential.”

Here we go again. I kept my expression neutral, but memories of the crushing blow he’d delivered with his mind at the Council meeting came back to me. It was hard to tell sometimes how he felt and whether he’d be lenient or not. With the werewolves around, I doubted he’d show his true power again, but I couldn’t be sure.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, sir,” I said. The sudden banging of tools made me jerk around, to see a couple of werewolves repairing the front door. Tension bunched my shoulders, and I forced my gaze back to Prescott, who stood over me now.

“You will be punished in time. For now, you should think on how charitable I am to let you continue existing.” Smiling, he stalked off toward the den at the back of the house.

“At least we’re both still breathing, huh?” Brendan said from the bottom of the stairs. His words were light, but they stood in sharp contrast to his agitated expression.

Vampires didn’t have to breathe. I smirked at the joke, appreciating the humor. “For now. However, my biggest fear is for Carmela.” I rose to my feet, then strode to him. “Allow me to see to your leg. You should probably shift to expedite the healing process. It worked, to a degree, for her.”

“My son is following the instructions of his doctor.” Neal descended the steps to stand behind Brendan. “What knowledge do you have of my people’s healing?” The words came out in a clipped tone. He narrowed his eyes at me, but he also looked genuinely curious. “And what do you mean the healing process was expedited for her? You are referring to Carmela Santiago, I assume?”

“Before I became a vampire, I was a physician. The subject has kept my interest throughout the centuries, so I’ve kept up my knowledge of medicine. I also feed my curiosity about other species as more information becomes available to me.” Having to explain myself to a werewolf set me on edge, but to be fair, I doubted I was the only one feeling that way. “Yes, I did mean Carmela. I’ve cared for her while she’s been in my home. The lycanthropy in her arm and shoulder was severely impacted, but after being given time to heal and change to her wolf form a couple of times, she appeared to be on the mend.”

Sighing, Neal shifted his gaze between me and his son. Apprehension pinched his facial features.

“I trust that he won’t do me harm, Dad.” Brendan took a few hobbling steps my way. “He’s not bad for a vampire.”

“Fine.” Neal nodded, then disappeared back upstairs.

“You’re not bad for a werewolf, either,” I said, pointing him toward the kitchen. It would afford us the most privacy on this level without going into the cramped bathroom, which hadn’t seen use in ages. While I related more to Brendan these days, I didn’t want to be stuck in that tight of a space with him.

He sat on a kitchen chair, then carefully rolled up his pant leg. When he’d managed that, he propped his foot onto the chair next to him. Trying to do anything in my home was awkward, especially with vampires and werewolves constantly walking by and sticking their noses into our business. Their eyes judged us, but I couldn’t pay them any attention. We had more pressing concerns.

“Do you regret saving us?” Brendan’s question startled me. Even with all we were facing right now, the thought that I shouldn’t have saved Carmela—or even both of them—had never occurred to me.

“No, never.” I repositioned his leg to look at the wound better. His healing had progressed a lot quicker than Carmela’s, even without shifting. I wondered if it was due to him being the future Alpha of Alphas. It stood to reason that their line would be more resilient than normal wolves, but I’d keep that speculation to myself. My kind couldn’t be trusted with such knowledge. They might see it as a weapon.

“How does it look?” he prompted, sounding a little concerned. Maybe I’d mused over it for too long.

“Better.” I smoothed the pant leg back in place. “I’d still advise the crutch for now, but...” I lowered my voice and leaned in a little. “If you shift, that should put you back to about eighty percent wellness.” I returned to my normal voice for the next part. “From my limited experience, of course. Regardless, we need to track Carmela, and I trust you the most to help me find her.”

Brendan winced as he pulled himself into a standing position. “I’ll shift.” He met my gaze for one of the first times since I’d attempted to take his mind. “We’ll find her.”

Chapter 54

Carmela

FROM THE CORNERS of my eyes, I watched the darkened hallway go past as the large man carrying me slowed. We passed thick metal doors every so often, and my stomach churned at the muffled cries that carried through them. This had to be a Cazador experimentation facility. I’d heard of them, but this was my first time seeing one. Probably my last time, too.

I wanted nothing more than to go home. No! I wanted to be back at Derek’s, snuggled up between him and Brendan, their limbs entwined with mine. Where was my home these days, anyway? Would Derek and Brendan think I ran away from all the chaos? No, they’d figure out I was taken and rescue me.

If not, I was doomed. Heaviness settled into my chest. I didn’t want to consider that possibility; not when the pain in my shoulder was squeezing me like a werebear. More than anything, I wanted to be put out of my misery. If my kidnapper didn’t set me down soon, I would pass out. There was only so much I could take.

I tried to scream or even take a deep breath, but I couldn’t do either. Nothing I did shook me from the paralysis. I hoped it would wear off eventually, but with how I felt right now, I wasn’t so sure. If I couldn’t even control my breathing, then I highly doubted I could do much more than lay here like a vegetable.

The man shifted his hold on me, gripping my legs tighter.

“Good to see you’re back with the female wolf,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind me. “She’s the correct one this time?”

“She is. I’ll take care of her, Jim. There are several nocturnes at the vampire’s house—bring back the male werewolf. The Alpha’s son. I’ll go back in a few for the vampire.” He spit the word. “We need to get them before the final targets are taken into protective custody.”

My captor clamped my hips, and I was maneuvered until he cradled me in his arms instead of hauling me around like a sack of potatoes. It helped a little with my shoulder, but not much. My head hung back, and I stared at the wall until he supported my neck. I glanced at him for a moment before looking away. He was a really muscular guy.

The man he spoke with wore a black mask with a blue scrollwork design on it. Whereas the man holding me was thickly muscled, the other one had a lean, athletic build.

“I’m the least of your concerns. Just a thought,” he said to me. At the end of the hallway, I noticed a large steel door. My heart beat faster. “Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to kill you.” His words brought my gaze back to him. The cold expression in his eyes sent a chill down the entire length of my body. At least he didn’t look enticed by the idea.

I blinked at him.

“Good. I’ll take that as your word.” He shifted me in his arms and pushed open the door. “Here we are. Your new home for a while.”

I turned my gaze to the room, only able to see part of it. From what I could see, Elliot sat on the floor, with a few other nocturnes I couldn’t place. Two werewolves were chained to the wall, and a woman lay very still before us, on her side. Chandra. Is she alive? Oh, God...

The man rested me next to her. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

It was a stupid question, since I couldn’t talk. Maybe he hoped I’d give some indication with my eyes.

“She was shot in the shoulder by the Cazador with one of the new enhanced silver bullets.” Elliot’s formerly crisp voice sounded rough, if not downright feral.

“Hmm. Even though you violated the Feud, I can’t see why they’d want a weakened nocturne like you for their experiments.” The masked man narrowed his eyes at me. “Why not just finish the job when they had a chance?” He appeared genuinely intrigued, which frightened me the most.

If only I knew.

He knelt and laid me on my back; not the most comfortable position, but I was a lot happier he’d done this instead of shackling my arms.

I stared at the brick wall, not wanting to look at him any further. He moved to Chandra next. Was he going to hurt her? I strained my eyes to see what he was doing, but he’d moved out of my line of sight.

“Still here and not making any trouble. Good.” His leather boots creaked. “Maybe I’ll consider what you promised.”

My eyes widened a little. What had Chandra done?

Chapter 55

Chandra

MY PULSE SPED as I stared up at Gareth. I wouldn’t mind getting out of here with him, but I doubted he’d ever let me escape. Remember your vow. Revenge, then freedom. The slight attraction I felt for him warred with my need to eliminate a threat. This was crazy. He wasn’t a werewolf, and I didn’t want to go outside of my species.

I glanced toward my cousin. Why had they brought her here? No, I remembered. She’d escaped from the Cazador before with Brendan and the vampires. I’d only been a mistake, perhaps held as bait. My cousin was the more important captive. Hell, maybe when the vampires raided this place, they’d kill us all except her and Elliot.

Anger boiled beneath my skin, but I quickly suppressed it. Not now. Not with Gareth so close. He’ll know if I break through the stupor.

He remained crouched over me. His hood was up, covering his hair again. More than ever, I wanted to see his face, but maybe it was better this way. Maybe he’d been scarred in battle and horribly disfigured. It wasn’t my business. All I knew was that danger lurked below the humor in his eyes, as if he were so used to darkness that he emitted it like musky cologne. Gareth trailed his warm hand across my hip and slid it along my thigh to the knee.

Stop toying with me. Arousal formed between my legs, because clearly my body didn’t care how messed up I truly was.

The door squeaked behind him, and Gareth sighed. He straightened and turned away from me.

The guard from earlier stood in the doorway, his pants still smelling like urine. Then the scent of blood hit me like a wave, overpowering the piss. But I couldn’t get a good look at him. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, sir.” He bowed his head, seeming completely unlike the man who’d broken my ribs.

“What is it?” Gareth crossed his arms over his chest. Deathly power radiated from him, crawling over my skin like thousands of bugs.

“Jim had me reprimanded, sir. He instructed me to see you for my next assignment.” The guard’s voice trembled, and he looked ready to jump out of his skin at a moment’s notice.

“Fine. Get yourself new clothes and a shower. After that, grab a bucket and mop the test chamber. I heard the experimental injections with the female faerie went very wrong.” He turned to stare at me again. His pupils were white, and he fidgeted with his mask as if it had become uncomfortable.

“Yes, sir.” The guard turned to leave, and my eyes widened. The source of the blood smell was clear now—the man’s back looked like raw hamburger meat. My wolf stretched toward the surface. Food. We were ravenous. I shook my hunger aside. It was a wonder the guard was still standing, particularly as he was human. He paused in the doorway and twisted back toward Gareth. “Sir?”

“What?” Tension tightened his shoulders, and he tore his unearthly gaze away from me.

“I think I need to...” The guard collapsed to the ground in a heap, either unconscious or dead. From this distance, I couldn’t be sure.

“Ah, fucking fainters.” Gareth hauled the guard up, but kept him at arm’s length. He paused in the doorway to look me over from head to toe one last time, then slammed the steel door behind them.

What exactly he was going to do with the man who broke my ribs? Dispose of him? Take him to get medical care? The thought of him killing the guard didn’t disturb me. Not after all the pain he’d caused.

Chapter 56

Derek

I WALKED INTO the living room while Brendan stripped. It wasn’t out of respect for his modesty; we’d passed that point earlier, in the bedroom. From what I’d read, and what I’d experienced with Carmela, werewolves were vulnerable during the change. They wouldn’t want a vampire stalking about within arm’s reach. Still...it was more than that. I’d grown to respect him, both as the mate to my lover and maybe even as a friend.

Upstairs, I heard a few loud bangs, the sound of glass breaking, and Jane cursing in French about werewolves. The sound drew me toward the stairs. When did the chaos ever end? Once Elliot was safe, I would be moving, especially now that the werewolves knew where I lived. I needed to have my solitude back, my quiet sanctuary away from danger.

A subtle shift of magical power disturbed the atmosphere behind me. It didn’t feel like Brendan. I spun around to see a werewolf lying in the entryway, his head at an awkward angle, and a lithe figure in a mask creeping toward the kitchen. He sprinted back outside the open front door when he realized I’d spotted him, but it was too late.

I lunged forward, ready to kill, but stopped short as Prescott appeared in front of me. His eyes were almost black with power. “Trail him. See where he goes. Don’t initiate combat just yet.”

With a nod, I darted after the person in black. Disappointment stung me when I drew in his scent—this wasn’t the one who had taken Carmela. Regardless, he couldn’t get away. I needed to find her before anything worse happened. She’d been through so much already that I’d been unable to save her from. The thought of finding her dead warmed my cool blood with rage.

On the opposite side of the street, a few rough-and-tumble Cazador staggered drunkenly along the sidewalk, laughing and pushing one another. I couldn’t move very fast with them around. It’d draw too much attention. If I went to the rooftops, I could stay out of sight.

The hunters turned into a pub at the corner, and I blow out an unnecessary breath. Good. Maybe they’ll drink themselves into a stupor.

Running into the nearby alleyway, I jumped high. Gripping the rusty fire escape, I propelled myself to the roof. Carmela’s faint scent threw me off-guard, and I scanned my surroundings before following it.

Maybe the person who grabbed her hadn’t gone through the streets. If she was limp and unable to walk, they might have used the rooftops. I leapt over a gap between two buildings, my mind strictly focused on following Carmela’s trail. I paused a few times to suck in deep breaths and make sure I was still on the right path.

A powerful wave of fear and unease crashed through me again, nearly knocking me off-balance. I crouched by the edge of a roof overlooking a massive warehouse. Carmela had to be close. There were no other warehouses around; this had to be the one the faerie had told her about. A couple of men milled around a side door, talking and smoking. They appeared to be Cazador. I pulled the shadows around me, not willing to let anyone see me. Something like that could get Carmela killed.

I’d do everything in my power to prevent that. I wanted her safe and in my arms. I would give anything—even my own life—to see her face again.

Noise drew my attention away. Glancing back, I saw two wolves bounding over the rooftops as if they were hounds on a fox hunt. Damn it... I jerked my gaze back to see the two men tossing down their cigarette butts as they walked into the building.

Luckily, the door closed right as the wolves hopped onto the rooftop where I perched. I tossed back the shadows to expose my presence to the clumsy beasts. They skittered to a halt, and one took a couple steps back from me, while the second wolf bared his fangs.

“Stop fooling around. I found the building. We must alert the others so we have a better chance of breaking in and getting our people out alive.” I hissed the words, hating that they’d caused so much commotion. What if they’d put Carmela at risk with their over-exuberance? It’s fine, I told myself, trying to calm down. I couldn’t let them get to me, not when so much was on the line.

The werewolves cocked their heads to the side, staring at me.

Sighing, I stared at the warehouse one last time before heading back toward my home. Part of me didn’t want to leave, not when I was so near Carmela. While I might be an elder vampire, I couldn’t sweep down there and save her and Elliot single-handedly. Not when I didn’t know what I was up against.

I couldn’t go in without backup.

The wolves trailed behind me as I took off running. Their claws kicked up gravel on the rooftops. We were a little ways off from my row house when something struck me—I’d forgotten all about the mage I’d been chasing. Shite.

The masked, hooded figure crouched on a rooftop, staring down into an alleyway. My alleyway. Who could he be after now? I frowned, not knowing what to think. I’d pursued him. He’d had plenty of opportunity to sneak up on me while I was preoccupied. Who was this person? Did they really think they could attack me three times in a row? They’d taken my best friend and my love. Who else was there?

Then again, if it’d just been a ploy to hurt me, why would they take Carmela’s cousin? It didn’t make sense. Maybe they weren’t just hunting me.

Brendan... No!

The hooded figure leapt down, and a savage snarl ripped through the air from within the alleyway. I threw all pretense aside and ran at full speed, sailing over the edge of the building to see Brendan pinning the hooded figure to the ground, his fangs squeezing the man’s neck.

Relief washed through me. I should’ve known he could protect himself. Moonlight glinted off a silver blade in the mage’s hand.

“Watch out!” I shouted, throwing myself toward them. I caught the mage’s hand just as the knife pressed against Brendan’s fur. He turned his head toward me and blinked. “I’ll take it from here. We don’t want to kill him.”

Brendan let out a rumbling growl, but he took a couple slow steps away from the downed mage, who looked dumbstruck by us both. His neck was covered by a black turtleneck, but I still smelled the blood from the puncture wounds Brendan had created.

Neal came out from around back. “What’s going on here?”

“Another attack. They were after your son.” I nodded in Brendan’s direction. “He fought bravely.”

Brendan slowly nodded back to me, but he bared his fangs a little. I suspected it was a wolfish smile, but it was hard to be sure.

“Damn it. Get in the house, boy,” Neal commanded, then pointed at the female werewolf who’d followed the Alpha outside. “Take the nocturne in and secure him.” He glanced up, and I followed Neal’s gaze to see the two werewolves staring at us from above. “Shift and get down from there. Now.”

I turned toward the back door and ran a hand through my hair. Prescott had been right about not attacking. I needed to tell him what I’d found. Besides, I didn’t want to get mixed up in the vagaries of werewolf politics.

“Hey,” Neal called out.

I glanced back at the small group of werewolves. Was the Alpha talking to me?

“Thank you for helping out my son, and not just this time. He told me that you looked over his wounds previously, and I knew your scent seemed slightly familiar. I realized it was the strange scent from my doorstep.” He didn’t look pleased, but his expression remained civil.

I froze, unable to believe I had just received thanks from the Alpha of Alphas, not once, but twice in a single night. The world had ended after all. “You’re welcome. I wouldn’t have left him to die. No one deserves to be hunted by the sick Cazador we share this world with.”

“Yes, that’s the truth. Anyway, carry on.” Neal nodded and strode past me to the door, where a couple of other wolves waited. The burgundy-haired she-wolf knocked out the mage before moving him into the house, and Brendan followed after his father in wolf form, limping just a little but seeming much better than before.

This many people around one home was pretty suspicious, especially with all the snarling and growling, but surprisingly none of my neighbors dared poke their heads out to check on the noise. Perhaps they were too scared. Fairly reasonable, considering all of my neighbors were human.

I leaned against the building, deciding to keep some distance between myself and the wolves for the moment. Prescott sauntered toward me, looking a little amused. Maybe he’d overheard the Alpha thanking me. Regardless, he’d be interested in what I’d found on the rooftops.

Brendan. I should’ve told him too, since it involved our mate.

“I know where she is.” I kept my voice low to make sure I could talk without being overheard. “She’s being held in a large warehouse, not far from here. I tracked her scent over the rooftops. We need plenty of people on this. The building will likely be quite secure.”

Prescott rubbed his chin. “Of course, we’ll need to discuss this with the werewolves.”

I nodded. “Right.”

“I’ll talk to their Alpha.” Prescott grimaced as if that didn’t sound very enticing, but he’d suffer through it. Just so long as I didn’t have to engage in the politics.

We headed in. I shut the back door behind us as best I could, content except for the werewolves loitering in my living room. They watched me as if I were an intruder. While they’d taken care of the front door, the back must’ve been considered my problem. Granted, it wasn’t in view of the street, but still, they’d broken it.

After a few minutes, everyone had gathered around their leaders and the prisoner. I perched on one of the bottom stairs near Brendan, who remained in wolf form. He still smelled like Carmela. My chest hurt thinking about her, but having him by my side steeled my nerves. We’d get her back, together. I rested elbows on my thighs, trying to focus on Prescott as he engaged the room, catching everyone up on what we’d learned since Carmela was taken.

Neal removed the hooded figure’s mask. The mage was a male in his mid-twenties. He jerked his head up, and his breathing came out in harsh pants as if he’d just been underwater. He looked wildly around the room, struggling in the confines of a foldable metal chair I didn’t remember having in my home. “What’s going on? Who are you people?”

It seemed he was suffering from amnesia, which went to show how powerful the werewolves were.

Prescott crouched in front of him, making eye contact. “You’re here for your own protection. Could you help us?” Prescott’s voice had a strange melody to it that told me he was controlling the mage’s mind.

He blinked. “Yeah, I guess I could. What do you need my help with?” His tone had a slightly dreamy quality to it, as if he weren’t all there.

Frowning, Neal ran a hand through his hair. The Alpha obviously disliked the blatant display of power.

“What is your name, boy?” Prescott asked, leaning in closer.

“Jim.”

“Good, Jim. Who do you work for?”

“T...I’m not supposed to say who he is. He’s Cazador, but...he’s different.” Frustration swept across his face, as if he wished he could better accommodate Prescott, but the words wouldn’t slide off his tongue.

“How is he different, Jim?” Prescott pushed a little more power into his words.

“He’s a v...” Jim opened and closed his mouth again, but the words choked in his throat. His whole body shook violently—nearly tipping the chair over—as if drawn into a seizure, and then he went limp.

I pushed forward to assist him, but it was over before I could do anything. Damn it. I checked his pulse, but he was dead. Our one good chance of discovering more information before infiltrating the Cazador was gone.

“Whoever took Jim out has to have psychic bonds with their minions, especially if he was able to do this at a distance.” Prescott turned away from the body and put a little space between them. He downplayed his feelings, but I could tell by his mannerisms that this death bothered him.

“Hopefully whoever did this doesn’t know we’ve already pinpointed their locale,” I said. All eyes in the room turned to me as if I had just appeared.

“Yes. They shut down our contact before he could give us anything. Still, we should be careful when we go in. We don’t know what will be in store for us.” Prescott turned in a circle, looking at the vampires and werewolves in my living room. “We need to stay united. We can’t allow the centuries of distrust we’re all struggling against to overcome us. We need to be strong allies to take care of this foe preying on our people.”

Neal nodded. “Yes, we have to stand together to battle our greatest enemy. After that, we can figure out what the future of our races will be, but this is important for all of us.”

Brendan spun his wolfish gaze to me, wearing an almost accusatory glare. But he was right. I should’ve taken him aside. We were supposed to work together for Carmela. I trusted him to want her back as badly as I did. Besides, he’d proven he was more than capable of defending himself against the hunters.

“All right then. Let’s go before they catch on that we know more than they think.” Neal nodded to his son. “You’re staying here. You aren’t in any shape to do this.”

Brendan’s hackles raised, and he growled.

“I agree with Brendan. She’s his mate...our woman.” I looked back at him, and he settled a little. “He should go.”

Prescott nodded. “That is true. If you believe he should go, then I’m inclined to agree with you, Derek.” He switched his gaze to Neal. “But I think we should head to a more secure location. If you went, your people’s attention would be more focused on protecting their Alpha than freeing the captives. You know I’m speaking the truth.” His tone was neutral but authoritative.

Neal narrowed his eyes at Prescott, seeming pissed that he’d taken the option from him in front of his people. “I’m more than capable of making that decision for myself. Thanks for the concern.” His words came out harsh. He looked at his werewolves. “You two stay with me. The rest of you go with my son.” They milled around for a moment, casting glances at one another. “Head out. Listen to my son, protect him, and get our people back alive.”

I looked to Prescott for the final word. He waved his hand. “Go. Bring everyone to my safe house.”

Chapter 57

Carmela

MY BACK ACHED from pressing into the cold hard floor for so long. Sniffles and hushed whimpers came from the other captives in the room. If only I was able to move around as they could, then I could relieve some pressure on my bones and joints.

Why did these people take me? What experiments were they doing here? This was probably where they designed the highly efficient silver bullets I’d nearly died from. God. I’d be set up for target practice for them to unload their guns into. Tears formed in my eyes. No, don’t think of that.

Footsteps sounded from the other side of the massive steel door leading to the hallway. I watched as it creaked open, my heart hammering in my chest. The man with the skull mask lingered in the doorway. His whole demeanor had changed from when he’d come in earlier. He seemed almost like a pained animal now. Taking a deep breath, he peeked into the hallway again before closing the door behind him.

Chandra’s breath hitched, and I heard her move just a little.

I focused my attention on him again, trying to get a better look as he approached my cousin. More than ever, I wished I knew what was going on between them.

He mumbled something under his breath. I tried to make out the words, but he spoke in a guttural language I didn’t recognize.

A current of dark magic spread through the room, and I heard the rattling of chains as the other captives moved around.

“What did you do, Gareth?” Chandra asked, her voice sounding breathy.

“Don’t say a word until I figure out what I’m doing.” His voice was gruff and no-nonsense. He moved into my line of sight, and I heard the same low murmuring of words again. His large palm rested against my forehead, pitching me into darkness for a moment before I emerged from my paralysis.

I wiggled my toes and carefully pushed into a sitting position, scooting a little away from him and my cousin, who was cradling her bloody wrists to her chest. Why had he released us? I didn’t know whether to thank him or be very afraid. Granted, I doubted he’d take all of us to the experimentation rooms at the same time.

“I’m the least of everyone’s concerns.” He massaged the back of his neck as he looked over the other prisoners, as if considering them. Surely he’d unbind them too? My cousin and I shouldn’t be the only ones freed. Shaking his head, he knelt at Elliot’s side to work on his bindings. “Don’t just sit there, ladies,” he said, nearly snarling at us. “If you want out, do the work.”

Chandra climbed to her feet, a little unsteadily, and glanced my way. She reached out her hand to me, keeping the other pressed to her side. “Let’s get out of here, cousin,” she said. Something obviously troubled her, but now wasn’t the best time to ask about it.

I accepted her hand and she carefully pulled me to my feet. My legs wobbled, and I steadied myself against the wall, then set off to help free the dozen other nocturnes here, trying to rip away ropes and pry off the thick manacles with my limited mobility. As more people were freed, more were able to help. I didn’t see the fae girl who’d touched my mind, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what had happened to her. Could they have known she’d helped me?

The door creaked open behind us, and a few cries of panic reverberated throughout the room. Those who were free huddled together in a group, regardless of the differences in species.

Gareth stood between us and the door, standing tall with his hands balled into fists and his shoulders bunched up. He looked fierce, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. “Tom.”

The other man blocked the doorway. He didn’t seem like just another guard. He looked older, with salt and pepper hair, and held an air of authority. His gaze swept the room, taking us all in. “What’s going on in here? Are you helping my prisoners escape? Such a shame, my angry little necromancer. I would’ve thought you smarter, especially after I killed your brother Jim when he merely talked. I know you felt his pain as he died. You brothers had such a special bond. If you don’t obey me now, I will kill your precious sister and these weak nocturnes. All that hard work to free her will have been in vain.” He held out his hand, and a powerful gust of energy shot from his palm.

Gareth flung his arms open as he began muttering again. He wavered on his feet, but didn’t go down. No one else seemed affected. It was as if he’d taken the full force of the attack into himself. “Asshole. Don’t hurt her. I’ll hunt you down.” He continued in the dark language, under his breath. His fists clenched at his sides, and the muscles in his arms flexed with the effort.

“You won’t be able to hurt me with your black magic. I’m much older than you, Gareth. I’ve dealt with your kind before.” Tom jerked his head toward the door as an alarm rang out from deeper in the building. “No, this isn’t how things should be.” He looked back at Gareth and hissed, showing his yellowed fangs. “My experiments must continue. The Cazador mandates it.” Concern drew his brows together for a brief moment. “Looks like I don’t have time to deal with you after all. The explosion will have to do. Perhaps I’ll keep your enchantress sister around as my blood doll.” Without another word, Tom sprinted through the door, and it clanked shut with a heavy finality.

Gareth lunged for the door, but it was no use. He pounded his fist against it.

Shivering, I wrapped my arms around me. Explosion? We were going to die. There was no way we would get past that thick steel door. Tears brushed my lashes. While I was a werewolf, I knew my limits, especially in my current condition, with an unknown amount of time remaining.

A hand descended on my shoulder, and I looked up at Elliot. “This isn’t over. We’ll figure out something.”

I took a deep breath. He was right. We didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity right now. We needed to stay focused. I had two reasons to live: Brendan and Derek.

Gareth dropped his head forward and resumed his muttering. Power swirled around him like a tornado as the stale air thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone in the group took a step away as if we all expected him to snap. He exhaled in a rush and thrust his fists at the steel door. It slammed off the hinges, hitting the hallway wall as if smacked by some hulking giant. He staggered against the ragged doorframe.

I blinked, unable to believe he’d been able to do that. There was more to him than we knew. Chandra had to be careful. Something was going on between them, some sort of...agreement, or even relationship. Besides, he paid more attention to her than he did anyone else. I didn’t want her to get hurt, or worse.

I watched my cousin, who remained focused on Gareth. Complete shock slackened her jaw. She still held her hand against her side, and pain was etched in her face.

Gareth pushed away from the frame and took Chandra by the elbow. “Let’s go, everyone. Keep up or be left behind. We’re not out of this yet.”

Chapter 58

Brendan

ANY OF THE werewolves who had been in wolf form, including myself, had shifted. We were less conspicuous and more in control as humans, although right now my control was shaky in both forms. Derek had kept the information of Carmela’s whereabouts to himself, but he’d agreed that I should be here. While I was pissed, we had both been busy when he’d arrived back. I doubted he’d intentionally held her location from me. Put it aside. What matters is finding and freeing her.

We walked down the road, keeping to three small groups of four since the Cazador were always suspicious of crowds, and usually dispersed them. Mine consisted of me, Derek, a telepathic vampire, and another werewolf.

“She’s in that building. I feel her fear so strongly.” Derek nodded to the large warehouse ahead of us. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if wrestling with her emotions.

A twinge of envy swept through me that he could sense her, but it quickly passed. Did I really want to feel her fear? What would that do to me?

I cleared my throat. “We have to remain split up. If we don’t, we might not find the captives in time. Once we’re spotted, they’ll be in danger. We have to get in and out quickly.”

Derek nodded. “You’re right. We should probably separate, with six people going to each entrance. Once we’re in, they might start killing the captives. We can’t allow that to happen.”

The telepathic vampire bowed her head to Derek. “Oui, monsieur. Message sent.”

“Thanks, Jane.”

“I’ll take a team around back.” I looked at Jane, then Derek. “You lead the other through the front.”

Derek grimaced. “I don’t like that idea. Jane should stay here as a lookout. If anyone else goes in or comes out the front, she can let me know telepathically. We’ll go through the back of the warehouse together.” He lowered his voice and pointed out, “You’re still injured.”

My jaw clenched painfully. I didn’t like being questioned, and it was better to have a person of authority with each team. But the longer we stood here arguing, the more we risked Carmela’s safety. “Fine. Tell everyone to get in position now.”

Jane bowed again and blended into the shadows before me to the point that I couldn’t see her anymore. Only my sense of smell informed me that she was still there. The other group formed and headed toward the side door. I watched them until they disappeared from sight.

We jogged around to the back. As we closed in on the entrance, the door burst open and a large cluster of people ran toward us. My nose twitched and I let out a harsh breath. They had to be the captives, because they smelled as if they’d been stomping around in filth.

“It’s them,” I said to Derek, pointing at them. A couple of familiar faces appeared in the group; Elliot had his hand on Carmela’s wrist as they jogged towards us. I also saw two male werewolves who’d lived down the street from me before my father became Alpha. Elliot shifted his gaze in our direction.

Just then, loud explosions boomed through the still night air, toppling most of the group.

A wave of heat passed over me, and fire and debris rained down all around us. I threw my arms over my head to protect myself. Did the other group survive the blast? I’d seen them go inside before we turned the corner. If only they’d waited a little longer… But how did the nocturnes manage to get free in time? Cries rang out around me, but all noise was muffled now.

Carmela. I crawled around the others to where I’d last seen her, desperate to make sure she was okay. Her honey-brown hair—now covered in dirt and debris—stood out from the crowd, and I headed straight for her.

She looked up, and her eyes widened. “Brendan. I’m so happy to see you.” She pressed a frantic kiss to my lips. “Where’s Derek?”

“He’s here.” I pushed to my feet and scooped her into my arms. “It’s okay. We’ll get you to safety.” The others were slowly starting to stand now as well, but I didn’t see Derek. I scanned the crowd again, worry gnawing on me, until I spotted him.

A tall, muscled man in a skull mask stood in front of Derek. “Where’s the man your people captured earlier?” the man asked. Rage and dark energy spread out from him. Had he been one of those taken? Something didn’t seem right about him. The other masked guy had been working for the enemy... “He’s my brother, and I want his body.” The thick muscles in his arms flexed.

“Who is that?” I asked Carmela, keeping my voice low.

“His name is Gareth. All I know is that he was working for the Cazador, but he rescued us. His superior killed his brother for talking, and is holding his sister hostage.” She frowned and leaned her head against my chest. “I don’t really know.”

Derek kept his face completely neutral, as if he were a statue, but I saw his eyes dart over the small crowd. When he saw us, his posture relaxed a little, and he returned his attention to the masked man. “Fine. But you’ll have to wait. We need to get everyone off the streets first.”

Gareth crossed his arms over his chest, but he didn’t push.

Derek closed the distance between us with a few long strides. He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to Carmela’s lips. “I’m so glad you’re safe, love.” His gaze rose to meet mine. Pain ached within it, and I knew why. “Jane contacted me. The other team hasn’t come out yet.”

“Damn. We can’t waste time second-guessing ourselves, though. We need to move out for the safe house.” I looked around at what remained of our team. Several of them were helping up the captured nocturnes.

Jane appeared beside us from the shadows. Blood streamed from her eyes down her face, and even for a vampire she looked entirely too pale. “They’re...gone.” It took me a moment to recognize what was happening: she was crying.

The building was in ruins. There was no way the other team could have survived the blast.

Elliot grasped Derek by the shoulders and gave him a hug. “It’s good to see you. I knew you’d come, to save your lover if nothing else.” He nodded toward Carmela.

“Don’t be cheeky. I came for you too. I’m glad you’re well.” Derek ran a hand through his hair. “We need to get everyone to Lord Prescott’s safe house, as he requested.”

“Aye, let’s go.” Elliot looked at the crowded alley of people. “We’ll need to split up, though. If we stay in this group, we’re just begging for trouble from the Cazador patrols.”

Gareth walked closer again. “Where does this lord of yours want to meet? I can lead a few people there.”

Derek told him, although I could tell he wasn’t comfortable giving the stranger that information.

A few nocturnes went up to him with their heads bowed, thanking him for the rescue. Gareth’s lips thinned, but he gave a sharp nod of his head. He looked increasingly uncomfortable with the attention. Regardless, I was happy he’d saved the captives. If not for him, we would’ve been too late for Carmela, her cousin, Elliot, and the others.

Chapter 59

Chandra

I TOUCHED A hand to my broken ribs, holding them lightly. It hurt to touch them or even to breathe. I needed to see Dr. Matthews, sooner rather than later. My gaze landed on Gareth, and I sighed, only to end up wincing. What would I do now?

It wasn’t like me to feel an attraction for someone like him, especially with the fear he’d caused. Wrong. But we didn’t have a thing going on—I hadn’t even seen his face. Would he even hold me to my pledge? Probably not. I was free now.

I turned toward home, not bothering with the safe house, as the others spread out in their small groups. No one could save me from what I’d face with Uncle William.

A hand gripped my arm, and I glanced up to see who it was. Gareth. My gaze rose to take in his unmasked face. He was more handsome than I could’ve guessed, without any deformities or the horrid scars I’d imagined.

“Leaving so soon?” His lips tilted in a half-smile. “Don’t think I won’t find you. Promises aren’t made to be broken.”

Energy quivered through me from his touch, and I couldn’t stop myself from rising to meet his kiss. His lips were soft but aggressive, just as I thought they’d be.

My blood warmed, but I pulled away from him, not willing to open my heart only to be hurt. “That’s a small taste of what’s to come,” I said.

Gareth stood there unmoving, watching me with passion darkening his blue eyes. He took half a step toward me, but stopped himself. “Can’t wait.”

Carmela was cradled in Brendan Kelly’s arms while a dark-haired vampire talked with her. I couldn’t understand why Carmela enjoyed the company of vampires, but maybe it wasn’t my place to wonder. Perhaps the Feud was around for a reason. I shook my head. I didn’t know what to think anymore.

At least she was safe. I’d done one thing right in my life. I only hoped she wouldn’t forget about me in my time of need. I didn’t look forward to seeing William again, especially after what he’d done. Should I even return home? Maybe I could ask Gareth for a temporary place to stay. When I looked through the crowd, however, he was nowhere to be found.

My shoulders slumped forward, and I headed toward the home I despised. I’d vowed not to return to the streets, and I wouldn’t break that promise now. I’d bide my time and hopefully survive the horror. Money was incredibly tight since Uncle William didn’t allow me to work, and mates were a distant vision since I wasn’t a virgin. Maybe my dreams just weren’t meant to come true.

Stopping near the front door, I glanced back at Carmela as her group passed with a few other nocturnes heading for the safe house. At least one of us had succeeded. I leaned against the cold brick wall behind me, not ready to go inside yet, and frowned.

Carmela looked between the vampire and werewolf adoringly. She smiled, and they laughed a little as they walked. Carmela’s vampire wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

Jealousy tickled the hardened heart behind my fractured ribs.

My parents hadn’t cared for one another. They were driven to marriage because of me. Having a pup outside of wedlock was punishable. Of course, my father had been a player, while my mother was his ball and chain. But she wasn’t much better. Neither seemed capable of any real emotion. At least Carmela was lucky in that regard. Her mother really did love her.

Shaking my head, I pushed away from the wall, my ribs aching horribly. Sudden movement blurred before me, and I was slammed back into the bricks. Uncle William fisted his hands over my shoulders, and I yelped. Fear set my heart racing as I stared into his angry eyes.

“Let go of me,” I said, groaning in pain. My shoulders were still agonizingly sore from being chained to the wall and lying on the cement floor.

“You betraying bitch. Where were you? The Alpha sent people out to search for you. Did they find you? You better not have said anything about us.” He sneered, but his gaze caught the group across the street. “No, not my daughter.” He released me, causing me to stumble back against the wall, and spun around to take off after Carmela.

Shooting pain ripped through my torso as I kicked out at him. I aimed for his kneecap, but my foot skimmed his thigh instead. I wouldn’t let him hurt Carmela. My cousin seemed happy for the first time in a while.

William grabbed my foot, twisting until the bones crunched. I started to scream, but he slammed his knee into my stomach, sending the oxygen exploding from my lungs.

Blackness narrowed my vision, and I saw Carmela’s vampire over William’s shoulder a moment before all light faded away.

Chapter 60

Carmela

A FAMILIAR SCREAM shrilled in my ears, and I snapped my head in that direction. We were close to the house I’d escaped from a few days ago, but I was so swept up in being back with Brendan and Derek that I hadn’t thought much of it.

Fear spiked within me as I saw Chandra crumple to the ground beneath my father, after he jammed his knee into her stomach. I raced toward them, only to be passed by Brendan and Derek. The latter grabbed Father by the back of the neck and slammed him into the brick wall, face-first.

Behind me came gasps and soft cries from the small group I’d come out of the dungeon with. I grabbed Chandra’s hand and dragged her away from the fight. What did I want to happen? Should I look away and let them beat him? While William Santiago was a horrible man, he was still my father.

A savage growl resonated through the quiet night, and Father looked between his two attackers, drawing himself to his full height. He threw a heavy punch at Derek, but it seemed like Brendan had been expecting that, because he tossed his own, catching William in the side of the head.

Derek stumbled backward to where Chandra had lain moments before. He lunged forward and slammed his fist into my father’s stomach as William turned to assault Brendan. Air surged from my father’s lungs, and he staggered back.

If I didn’t move Chandra farther away, we were going to be stepped on, or worse, used as leverage during the fight.

Chandra opened her eyes, her breath wheezing. “Ah, please. I don’t want to move. Hurts too badly.” Pain drenched her face. There was obviously more to her condition than what I could see.

“Allow me,” Elliot said, kneeling beside me. He scooped Chandra up carefully, then dodged as Derek smacked into the wall near us after a hard right hook. Pieces of brick exploded outward from the impact.

Derek brushed it off. He bared his fangs and leapt for Father’s throat.

Brendan knocked William out with a swift punch to the back of the head, then clamped his fist tight over Father’s throat. “No. He might be a monster, but he’s a werewolf too. He’ll be judged and punished by my Alpha.”

Worry tightened my throat. What if my father schmoozed his way out of trouble and didn’t face any consequences? What if Derek’s desire to kill him was my only chance for true freedom? I wrapped my arm around my stomach, suddenly feeling vulnerable and cold in the warm evening air.

Derek hissed. He turned his gaze toward me, and his fierce expression softened. “Fine. He can be tried by your father, Brendan. Let’s just hope he makes the right decision, or this fight might not be over yet.”

“Believe me,” Brendan said, and his voice was almost a growl, “I wouldn’t stand idly by and let that happen.” He looked at me with a red-hot stare, one that mixed with passion and possession.

My body heated up, and any chill I’d had evaporated. I believed them both. They’d thrown themselves headlong into danger to rescue and protect me. My fear dissipated.

The thudding of heavy footsteps caught my attention, tearing me away from my freeing realization. Before I could do or say anything, a loud gunshot rang through the air. “We have to get out of here. The Cazador are coming.” I looked to Derek, then Brendan. “Everyone should go. You should be fairly safe, for now. Just stick to the alleys and the shadows.”

The other prisoners from the dungeon all rushed off in different directions. Some darted down alleys, and others took to flight like birds. If only...

Derek lifted me into his arms, and we ran.

Chapter 61

Brendan

I COULD HARDLY stand upright by the time we finally got to Lord Prescott’s safe house. I’d run with Carmela’s father over my shoulder, which on a good day wouldn’t have been so bad, but my leg was still trying to heal. The glimpses of concern I kept getting from Carmela unnerved me, so I kept my attention on the room.

I leaned heavily against a wall near my dad while Prescott perched on his massive chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Impatience creased the corners of his eyes. “Where is everyone else?” Prescott asked.

Derek met my gaze. Frustration and sadness tightened his expression, and he looked back to Prescott. “Some ran home. Others... They didn’t make it. We split up, thinking if we went into the warehouse’s two entrances we’d have a better chance of finding the captive nocturnes alive. However, the building exploded shortly after the other team went inside.”

A sniffle sounded nearby, and I glanced up to see Jane hanging her head. She turned away, wiping at the scarlet teardrop sliding along her cheeks.

“We must find out who this enemy is and take him down. If only we knew more.” Prescott fixed his attention on Elliot. “Do you know anything about your captor?”

“Tom. It was Tom.” He said the name as if it should mean something.

From the look of disgrace and horror on the vampires’ faces, I was almost afraid to ask. “Who’s Tom?”

“He was a vampire with a seat on the High Council.” Elliot turned his attention back to Prescott. “He came into the room where we were being held and spoke with Gareth, the necromancer guard who helped us escape. He told us about explosion, and said that this wasn’t the way it was supposed to end. I’m not sure what he meant by that, only that he uses the Cazador to police the races and ensure the Feud continues.”

“I see.” Neal rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. “What else do you know about this guard?”

“He helped us because Tom killed his brother, Jim.” Elliot cast a glance at Carmela’s cousin, half passed-out in his arms. “He was quite interested in this one. Said he’d be finding her in the future.”

Chandra opened her eyes, and a low growl rumbled in her throat. Other than that, she didn’t react to his words.

“Enough, pup!” Neal snapped. She went silent and turned her gaze to her Alpha. “If you come in contact with this man, you will report to me about it.” He gave her a long, assessing stare. “I’m reactivating you in the Militia once you’re healed.” He pointed at two werewolf guards who’d stayed with him. “The girls need to be seen by Dr. Matthews. Escort them home.”

Elliot handed her over to one of the werewolves and sat in a chair heavily, as if he’d spent all of his energy on just holding her.

I pushed away from the wall to go with the werewolves. No way would I sit back and let my mate walk away with them. She’d been captured once, and I didn’t want to repeat that experience. Not with the enemy still out there.

Derek piped up again. “Wait. The necromancer did ask me about retrieving Jim’s body.”

Neal and Prescott both turned toward him, no longer interested in the female werewolves. “What did you say to him?” Neal asked.

“I told him I was busy at the moment, but I’d let him have his brother.” Derek stomped his foot. “Damn it. We’re probably too late.”

Prescott nodded at the vampire near him. “Go. Try to intercept this necromancer and bring him back here. We should talk with him.”

“Good idea,” Neal said, signaling one of his wolves to tag along. “If we find him, we can learn more about our enemy.”

Carmela laced her fingers with mine. Concern weighted her gaze, and I detected a trace of something else as well. Apprehension, maybe? Then again, going back to the home were she’d almost been raped by her father had to be terrifying. I moved to go with her, but Dad gripped my wrist and shook his head.

She frowned and let me go, then brushed her hand along Derek’s arm before walking out of the room with the second werewolf guard.

Prescott waited until the girls were out of the room before speaking again. “We still have business to attend to.”

Neal nodded. He pointed at his remaining people in the room. “Go. Take William to the cage to await judgment. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”

The vampires stayed firmly in position. “Away with you,” Prescott said, flicking his wrist.

Jane helped Elliot to the door, and they joined everyone else in the smaller antechamber outside.

The room went silent for a few minutes. No one said a word. I stood there, keeping my expression pleasantly neutral. Why had they kept me and Derek here when the others were told to leave? This had to be about Carmela. I should’ve known judgement would come for us...

“You both have shown incredible initiative to bridge the gap between our species. If we are to remain at peace, then certain questions must be asked and answered.” Prescott flicked his gaze to Neal. “We’ve come to the conclusion that intermediaries should be in place to continue good relations. You are both experienced, strong, and everyone listened to you when you sought to rescue the missing.”

A feeling of foreboding churned in my chest. It all sounded a little too good to be true. I shifted my gaze to my dad.

Neal nodded. “With both of you claiming Carmela, you’ve tied our hands. We would each be out a high-ranking member of our respective societies if the proper punishment—death—were meted out. Don’t think that either of us is happy with your subterfuge, but it can be overlooked—once, and at a cost.” He shot me a seething glare before turning his gaze on Derek. “Your interest in my son’s mate is beyond my comprehension, but Prescott assured me that you...being with her won’t negatively affect my lineage, as your kind cannot produce children.”

Derek frowned at him but inclined his head. “Yes, that’s true.” He met my gaze, not looking particularly happy with all of this.

“We’re all in agreement then.” Prescott clapped his hands and rose to his feet. “I shall be seeing you at the next High Council meeting, Derek.”

Derek turned on his heel and walked toward the door. I followed after him, ready to be out of this suffocating room.

Neal grabbed me by the wrist and leveled his gaze at me. “Once Carmela has been seen by the physician, you will take her to one of our safe houses. We have a lot to talk about.” His stare slid past my face, and I turned slightly to see Derek watching us. Neal’s jaw ticked a couple times as he ground his teeth. “You can join them. However, you’ll stay out of Pack business, and figure out your own sleeping arrangements.” He released his hold on me and turned away.

Even as they placed new responsibility on us, I could only wonder if this was the real punishment. But nocturnes did desperately need a champion to step up and unite us so we could defend ourselves. Besides, if the vampires and werewolves remained out of the Feud, our lives with Carmela would be much better.

Chapter 62

Carmela

I SAT ON the edge of Chandra’s bed while Mother stood on the opposite side, next to Dr. Matthews. Several bruises marred my mother’s face. This was the first time I’d seen her since the incident with Father. Memories crashed back through me, but I shoved them away. I would not focus on that anymore. My life had changed for the better now.

The werewolf guard leaned against the wall in the far corner, looking a little uncomfortable, as if he were intruding on us. No one else really paid him any attention.

Dr. Matthews pulled Chandra’s shirt up just under her breasts, and lightly pressed on her torso. “Seems like quite a number was done on you; whether by William or the kidnappers, I’m not sure. The best way to heal your ribs is with rest. The broken bones will heal on their own, but I’ll give you medication to help with the pain. ” He glanced to my mother. “Katarina, if you wouldn’t mind getting some for her from my bag...”

My mother smiled at him, but she paused. “Chandra, I know you’ll be heading back to the Militia. I’m sorry you went through all that torment too, but thank you for protecting Carmela. Eventually, I’ll be putting the house on the market. We’ll talk about you moving your things from here once you’re in better shape.”

Chandra clenched my hand tightly. Pain scrunched up her face, but she nodded, simply fixing her gaze on the ceiling. My heart went out to her. Everyone else had a place to go now. Granted, I wasn’t sure where mine was, but I knew my mates were looking out for me. She didn’t have that.

“How are you going to make it on your own, Mom? Father used to provide for us.” I didn’t blame her for letting this place go. This house had too many bad memories.

Mother looked at Dr. Matthews and smiled softly. “Dr. Matthews is allowing me to become his nurse. It’s something he’s mentioned a few times before, but your father never would have allowed it. Thank you once again, Doctor. I appreciate it.”

His cheeks turned rosy and he chuckled. He lowered his lashes, a hint of embarrassment fluttering in his eyes. I had a sneaking suspicion that he’d like her as more than his nurse, but my father was still alive. Until his death, she wouldn’t be able to fully move on. “You’re talented and well-educated. It does me, and our patients, a great service to have you.” He glanced back down at Chandra. “Now then...”

“I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to lie down,” I said. Chandra released her hold on my hand as I stood. “Get better, cousin.”

“Thanks.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

Mother looked between us before the doctor piped up, “Yes, that’s a good idea. Rest for a while. It’ll do you good.” He grinned. “Doctor’s orders.” He always found a way to say that phrase.

Smiling, I walked down to hall to my bedroom. The other werewolf guard sat on the stairs, blocking anyone from coming up or going down. He turned to look at me and then glanced away.

My hand hovered over the doorknob of my room, and I grimaced, not wanting to go inside. The last time I’d been here, I was desperate to get away from this place. To be here voluntarily startled me a little. Maybe I could nap downstairs… I glanced at the guard’s back again. The last thing I wanted was to show weakness, so I shoved the door open. Taking a deep breath, I looked around the room. Flashes of my father’s angry face flickered in my mind’s eye.

He’s not here. He can’t hurt me anymore.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before heading to the bed. It was neatly made with fresh bed linens that smelled clean and cottony. I eased onto the bed and closed my eyes.

Being here reminded me of how much my life had changed. Where were the men in my life who mattered most to me? What were Prescott and Neal doing with them? I wished I was there with them.

Chapter 63

Carmela

BLINKING MY EYES open in the twilight of my bedroom, I heard a low male voice downstairs talking with my mother. It didn’t sound like Dr. Matthews at all. My heart seized in my chest, but I forced myself to listen in until I identified the speaker—Brendan.

I breathed a sigh of relief and climbed out of bed. Walking to the top of the stairs, which was no longer blocked by the werewolf guard, I saw Derek and Brendan standing near the door. My breath caught in my throat.

Brendan turned his gaze my way, and it burned hot when he saw me standing there in my nightgown. He took a step toward the bottom of the stairs while Derek drank me in. His eyes ran over my body as if he were undressing me in his mind.

My mother came into view at Derek’s side, and she frowned, likely at my lack of proper clothes. But Brendan and Derek had seen much more than my nightgown. “You should get dressed, dear. Our Alpha requests that you accompany Brendan to a safe house. He needs to speak with you, and you’re a mated woman now.” She smiled sadly. “It’s time for you to find your place out in the world, with them.” She looked to Brendan. “Once you have a home, she can move her things.”

Brendan nodded and returned his warm gaze to me. His muscles were tense, as if he was forcing himself to remain in place.

Derek’s smile scorched my insides, but he seemed almost intrigued by the way Brendan and I were reacting to one another. He looked like he was filing the information away for the future.

My pulse spiked, and I went back to my room. I pulled out several outfits from my closet, trying to figure out the right one to wear for a meeting with the Alpha. While I knew we were going to see Brendan’s father and likely answer a ton of questions about whatever he needed to know, all I could think of was the immense pleasure I’d experienced being between Brendan and Derek.

I settled on a black skirt that brushed my knees, with a red blouse and strappy sandals. Dr. Matthews had examined me shortly before leaving, and said that with another shift, I wouldn’t even need the sling anymore. I couldn’t wait.

I walked downstairs to meet them. Brendan and Derek were in my father’s former office, sitting by the lit fireplace and talking low enough for privacy. Negative memories of my last experience in that room washed over me, but I shook them off. “Hi,” I said, drawing their attention.

Derek stood and held out his hand to me. I took it, but then walked into his arms and hugged him instead. He gently held me to him, then guided me toward Brendan, who wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “We should go,” Derek said. “Your father is expecting you two to arrive any time now.”

My mother walked into the study from the kitchen. “Be safe, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much recently.” She didn’t know the half of that. “I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

“You will, Mom.” I smiled and gave her a goodbye hug before leaving with Derek and Brendan.

We walked for a while in comfortable silence. The warm breeze on my face was amazing after being in the dungeon. After the madness of having our lives on the line and then me being kidnapped, just being in their presence was so sweet. But questions plagued me about the last time I’d seen them. They both seemed a lot more somber.

Derek beat me to it, though. “How are you doing?” he asked. He slid his hand over my back, and it soothed me like a cooling balm.

I drew in a deep breath, calming myself. “I’m doing well. I was worried I might not see you guys again. When they kept you two there, yet sent everyone else away...” My throat tightened.

“It’s okay.” Brendan lowered his voice. “They made us liaisons for our species, to help keep us united and prevent us from falling back into the Feud.” He held her hand and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I stocked the safe house with some groceries, if you’re hungry. I bought a little bit of everything: steak, burgers, chicken, pasta. We could have anything you’d like. But we don’t have time to hit a restaurant, since we have to meet with my dad.”

“I’m okay, but I might take you up on the steaks later.” I paused a moment, then glanced up at him. “What does Neal need to talk with us about?” We stopped at a nondescript, if not cozy-looking, building.

Grimacing, Brendan looked over his shoulder. “Not sure. We’ll find out soon, though.”

“Your father is already waiting inside.” A werewolf guard frowned at Derek, giving him a skeptical look. “Follow me.”

We walked into the house’s tight hallway, passing a few closed doors before it opened into a large living room with shabby-chic furniture. Neal leaned back in a chair that faced a couch big enough for three people.

“Take a seat. All of you.” He nodded to our guard, who walked back outside. “Carmela, I want you to tell me everything.” Neal leaned forward in his seat. “Everything your father did to you, your cousin, and your mother. Everything you did with Derek and Brendan. Be completely honest with me. I’ll know if you’re not being truthful.”

I bit my lower lip and shifted in my seat. This felt more like an interrogation than a talk with my father-in-law, but I started at the beginning, telling him about my parents’ relationship when I was born and how it shifted over time to become what it is...was. I related everything my cousin had told me, and how she’d sacrificed herself for me when my father almost raped me. “The night the Cazador raided the Teatro de la Noche, my cousin and I were staying to watch both movies there. We managed to escape the building, but we split up to get away from the hunters that caught sight of us. She made it home, but I wasn’t so lucky. They shot me, but Derek...” I placed my hand on his leg just above the knee. “He saved me.”

“That’s noble, but why would you do such a thing considering we are—were—enemies?” Neal shifted his thoughtful look to Derek.

“I’ve witnessed the Cazador chase down many people, but when I saw her, I couldn’t help it.” He kept his expression calm and neutral. “She’s like a breath of fresh air after the many centuries I’ve lived. Rescuing her was like an uncontrollable instinct.”

Neal returned his gaze to me and leaned back. “Continue with your story.”

I told him the rest of what had happened: how I’d escaped from Derek because I was worried about Chandra, how my father had treated me when I’d gotten home, meeting Brendan and going on our date, even about asking Brendan not to tell on Derek.

Brendan wrapped his arm carefully around my shoulders and pulled me a little closer. “I didn’t know things were that bad. If I had, we could’ve talked with my dad.”

“That’s true, but maybe things worked out in the long run.” Neal looked between the three of us. “You’ll all have to handle the path you’ve chosen together.” He rose from his chair. “Thank you for telling me what happened to you, Carmela. Your father will be banished from the city for his crimes against you and your family. Death would be too kind for him. He’ll live with the consequences of his actions in the Outskirts.”

My heart skipped a beat. Part of me was pleased with the sentence. Banishment was like a second death for werewolves. My father would be dead to the Pack and therefore give up his claim on my mother. She’d finally be free from him. I sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Alpha.” I bowed my head to him.

“Call me Neal.” Neal smiled. “But in the future, don’t keep secrets like that. It helps no one and puts your life in danger.” He looked to Brendan. “I do forgive you. You did what you could to keep the one you care for safe, even if you made a few poor decisions. Get some rest. I’ll be around. The guards will keep you all safe, and you know how to contact me if you need me.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said, and walked him to the door. It was hard to believe that we’d made it. Everything would be okay after all.

Chapter 64

Carmela

SEVERAL DAYS HAD passed since Brendan and Derek had rescued me. It was a little strange at first, living with the two of them at the werewolf safe house day in and day out, but we’d fallen into a nice routine, aside from a few notable events: the Pack accepting my mating with Brendan, no longer needing my shoulder splint, and witnessing my father’s banishment, with my mother and Chandra.

I squeezed my eyes shut as the memory came back.

My family and I stood with Neal as a few brawny werewolves supervised my father. He raged at us, spewing curses and threats. Each time Father jerked against the men holding him, I jumped, wondering if next time they might not be able to restrain him. One of the many gates to the city opened, and he was shoved out into the Outskirts. My chest had clenched at seeing that place again. I’d only seen it once before, passing through during my Militia training.

“You are hereby banished from this city. If you’re ever spotted inside these walls, you won’t be escorted back out—you will be killed. Good bye, William.” Neal nodded to his man operating the gate, and he closed it again.

My father-in-law had many more connections than I’d ever imagined. He’d talked us through what would happen beforehand; if William tried to reenter, Neal’s informants would alert him.

Sighing, I brushed it all aside. Something was mentally wrong with my father. I knew that now. He wasn’t a typical male werewolf, as I’d wrongly assumed.

During the day, Brendan and I had become close. We searched for a new home fit for the three of us, while Derek slept in the master bedroom’s closet. He’d reinforced the door and installed locks for added peace of mind, almost creating a panic room out of it. When the sun set, the three of us enjoyed the nightlife together and explored our sensual side in the bedroom.

While we were free to live our lives, I knew there was an expectation for me to get pregnant now that Brendan and I were officially mated. He didn’t say anything about it one way or the other, though. He was just there when I needed him, kind and caring.

I walked into the bedroom, knowing it was nearly time for Derek to wake up. Taking a deep breath, I caught the fresh scent of peppermint and smiled. I slid off my clothes and folded them, laying them on a chair in the corner. The doorknob squeaked a little as it turned, and I glanced back at Derek.

He looked a little sleepy until his gaze landed on me. I slid my tongue over my dry lips, and he lowered his gaze to take in the small action. My naked flesh lit a dark fire within his eyes. His gaze dipped ever lower, warming my body just from the feel of it on my skin. He stalked toward me, but looked at the door. “Where’s Brendan?”

“Just finished preparing dinner.” Brendan slipped off his shirt and threw it to the floor. His muscular abs flexed from the swift movement, making my mouth water. “It’ll be in the oven for just about an hour. We have some time to kill.”

Grinning, I perched on the side of the bed, spreading my legs a little for effect. “Going to make me work up an appetite?”

“I know I will.” Derek crawled onto the bed behind me. He ran his hands over my shoulders and down my arms before sliding his palms up to caress my breasts. I leaned into him, savoring the feel of his cool chest against my back, and then I turned my head and kissed him slowly and sensually.

He slid his thumbs over my nipples, but pulled his mouth from mine. Derek tilted my head to the side, letting his lips tease the flesh over my pulse. His hot breath sent shivers down my spine.

My heart thundered in my chest. I ached to be filled—craved what they would give me.

Brendan pressed between my legs, his hands pushing my knees apart. He tilted my head up and grazed his lips against mine. The electricity between us sparked into pure fire.

Derek pulled back a little, letting Brendan gain more access to my body. They usually alternated who had me first, but Derek knew my concerns over getting pregnant. I think he let Brendan have priority...for now.

Brendan kissed me hard, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and claiming me in the same fierce way I wanted to feel his body in mine. He laid me down on the bed, never breaking from our embrace. His shaky hands slid over me, as if he wanted to memorize my curves.

He ran his tongue over my skin, and I moaned at the pleasure radiating through me. He crept lower, to my stomach, peppering small bites and nibbles across my torso.

I writhed beneath him, aching and anticipating what was to come. He teased me until I was panting and throwing aside any remaining inhibitions I had. I took Derek’s hand and closed his fingers around my breast as Brendan’s warm breath caressed my thigh. His tongue slid slowly along my entrance, tasting me, and I bit back a yelp.

Derek squeezed my nipple and rolled it between his fingers, just hard enough for pain and pleasure to collide. I arched my back and moaned. “Yes. I need you both.”

Brendan brought his mouth up to my clit and sucked, slipping a finger inside me at the same time. My body bucked under his tongue’s onslaught. I slid my hand down, massaging my fingers through his hair. Just as I felt ready to tip over the edge, he pulled away. A growl rumbled in my chest. Maybe my beast wasn’t as tame as I’d thought; the idea made me grin.

Derek pulled back from kissing me as he drew my nipples to hard peaks. Pain and a bead of moisture welled on my lip. I licked it, tasting the coppery blood. He frowned at the nick on my lip and slid his tongue over it, healing the wound.

“I need to be in you.” Brendan’s voice was more of a snarl than actual words. The men exchanged glances, and Derek helped roll me to my stomach. While he knew I was better, I think he was a little too cautious of me using my barely healed arm too much. It was sweet.

My gaze descended on the bulge and the spreading bead of moisture on Derek’s silken boxers. I licked my lips, pushing down his underwear. Derek locked gazes with me and smiled.

Brendan pressed his hard length against my entrance, teasing me, then slowly he eased himself inside me, inch by inch. He paused when he was as deep as he could be, giving me time to adjust.

The angle made me cry out in pleasure, and I raked my nails down Derek’s thighs, leaving thin red marks behind.

Derek gave a harsh sigh, his hands tangled in my hair as my mouth covered his cock like a warm velvet glove. He moved his hips, rocking himself deeper into my mouth just as Brendan began thrusting into me, gripping my hips for leverage.

Having them both inside me at the same time was beyond anything I could’ve imagined. Derek and Brendan quickly found a compatible rhythm, moving me back and forth between them. In the midst of my heat and mounting pleasure, I felt safe and at home with them. They showed their love for me in their actions, and that meant more than words could describe.

Perspiration built up on our skin, glistening in the bedroom’s dim light.

Each thrust drew me closer to the edge, and I groaned against the pleasurable onslaught. They were in control of my desires; my body listened to their commands.

My body clenched as ecstasy sent me reeling. I moaned around Derek’s length, and he tightened his grip on my hair. His seed spilled down my throat as Brendan climaxed inside me. I panicked a little at overwhelming sensations all raining down at once, but quickly rebounded, drinking in as much of Derek as I could while Brendan’s roars of pleasure slowly subsided.

My body shook, and my bones and muscles all felt like they’d give out at any moment. Derek moved to the side so I could lie down next to him as Brendan collapsed beside us.

Brendan nuzzled against me, pressing his nose into my hair as Derek slid his leg between mine. My eyes drifted closed just as the timer went off, indicating that dinner was ready.

Derek pushed up on his elbows. He smiled at me and trailed his fingertips along my jaw line. “I’ll turn off the oven while you two get dressed.” He slid off the bed wearing only his boxers. I hated to see him go. “I love you, Carmela.”

Brendan tilted my head to the side, pressing a soft kiss to my neck. “I love you as well.”

“I love you both,” I said, looking between them. “My life is better with you in it.”

My life now was far better than I could’ve ever imagined. I’d searched for love, not a restricted life where I’d have to spit out children and fill a role. While I’d still have to do the latter part, it was okay, because I had two mates I deeply cared for and who cared for me. My dreams had come true in a big way.

* * *

For more shifter romances from Sarah Mäkelä, grab a copy of The Witch Who Cried Wolf.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GZ9CSHS/
www.sarahmakela.com

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About the Author

New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Sarah Mäkelä loves her fiction dark, magical, and passionate. She is a paranormal romance author and a life-long paranormal fan who still sleeps with a night light. In her spare time, she reads sexy books, watches scary movies, and plays computer games with her husband. When she gets the chance, she loves traveling the world too. If you’re interested in being the first to know about her next release, sign up for her newsletter.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

CLOSE LIAISONS

The Krinar Chronicles: Volume 1

BY ANNA ZAIRES

Copyright © 2012 Anna Zaires

From the New York Times bestselling author of Twist Me comes an addictive, thrilling tale of dark love set on post-invasion Earth…

In the near future, the Krinar rule the Earth. An advanced race from another galaxy, they are still a mystery to us—and we are completely at their mercy.

Shy and innocent, Mia Stalis is a college student in New York City who's led a normal life. Like most people, she’s never had any interactions with the invaders—until one fateful day in the park changes everything. Having caught Korum’s eye, she must now contend with a powerful, dangerously seductive Krinar who wants to possess her and will stop at nothing to make her his own.

How far would you go to regain your freedom? How much would you sacrifice to help your people? What choice will you make when you begin to fall for your enemy?

Note: This is book 1 of a completed trilogy. All three books are now available.

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

Copyright © 2012 Anna Zaires

www.annazaires.com

All rights reserved.

Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.

www.mozaikallc.com

e-ISBN: 978-0-9883913-0-7

ISBN: 978-0-9883913-1-4

Prologue

Five Years Earlier

“MR. PRESIDENT, THEY’RE all waiting for you.”

The President of the United States of America looked up wearily and shut the folder lying on his desk. He had slept poorly for the past week, his mind occupied by the deteriorating situation in the Middle East and the continued weakness in the economy. While no president had it easy, it seemed like his term had been marked by one impossible task after another, and the daily stress was beginning to affect his health. He made a mental note to get himself checked out by the doctor later this week. The country didn’t need a sick and exhausted president on top of all of its other woes.

Getting up, the President exited the Oval Office and headed toward the Situation Room. He had been briefed earlier that NASA had detected something unusual. He’d hoped that it might be nothing more than a stray satellite, but that didn’t appear to be the case, given the urgency with which the National Security Advisor requested his presence.

Entering the room, he greeted his advisors and sat down, waiting to hear what necessitated this meeting.

The Secretary of Defense spoke first. “Mr. President, we have discovered something in Earth’s orbit that doesn’t belong there. We don’t know what it is, but we have reason to believe that it may be a threat.” He motioned toward the images displayed on one of the six flat screens lining the walls of the room. “As you can see, the object is large, bigger than any of our satellites, but it seems to have come out of nowhere. We didn’t see anything launching from any point on the globe, and we haven’t detected anything approaching Earth. It’s as though the object simply appeared here a few hours ago.”

The screen showed several pictures of a dark blur set against a dark, starry background.

“What does NASA think it could be?” the President asked calmly, trying to analyze the possibilities. If the Chinese had come up with some new satellite technology, they would have already known about it, and the Russian space program was no longer what it used to be. The presence of the object simply didn’t make any sense.

“They don’t know,” the National Security Advisor said. “It doesn’t look like anything they’ve ever seen before.”

“NASA couldn’t even venture an educated guess?”

“They know it’s not any kind of an astronomical body.”

So it had to be man-made. Puzzled, the President stared at the images, refusing to even contemplate the outlandish idea that had just occurred to him. Turning to the Advisor, he asked, “Have we reached out to the Chinese? Do they know anything about this?”

The Advisor opened his mouth, about to reply, when there was a sudden flash of bright light. Momentarily blinded, the President blinked to clear his vision—and froze in shock.

In front of the screen that the President had just been looking at, there was now a man. Tall and muscular, he had black hair and dark eyes, and his olive skin contrasted with the white color of his outfit. He stood there calmly, relaxed, as though he had not just invaded the inner sanctum of the United States government.

The Secret Service agents reacted first, shouting and firing at the intruder in panic. Before the President could think, he found himself pushed against the wall, with two agents forming a human shield in front of him.

“There’s no need for that,” the intruder said, his voice deep and sonorous. “I don’t intend to hurt your president—and if I did, there’s nothing you can do about it.” He spoke in perfect American English, without even a hint of an accent. Despite the gunfire that had just been directed at him, he appeared to be completely uninjured, and the President could now see the bullets lying harmlessly on the floor in front of the man.

Only years of handling one major crisis after another enabled the President to do what he did next. “Who are you?” he asked in a steady voice, ignoring the effects of terror and adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The intruder smiled. “My name is Arus. We’ve decided that it’s time for our species to meet.”

Chapter 1

THE AIR WAS crisp and clear as Mia walked briskly down a winding path in Central Park. Signs of spring were everywhere, from tiny buds on still-bare trees to the proliferation of nannies out to enjoy the first warm day with their rambunctious charges.

It was strange how much everything had changed in the last few years, and yet how much remained the same. If anyone had asked Mia ten years ago how she thought life might be after an alien invasion, this would have been nowhere near her imaginings. Independence Day, The War of the Worlds—none of these were even close to the reality of encountering a more advanced civilization. There had been no fight, no resistance of any kind on government level—because they had not allowed it. In hindsight, it was clear how silly those movies had been. Nuclear weapons, satellites, fighter jets—these were little more than rocks and sticks to an ancient civilization that could cross the universe faster than the speed of light.

Spotting an empty bench near the lake, Mia gratefully headed for it, her shoulders feeling the strain of the backpack filled with her chunky twelve-year-old laptop and old-fashioned paper books. At twenty-one, she sometimes felt old, out of step with the fast-paced new world of razor-slim tablets and cell phones embedded in wristwatches. The pace of technological progress had not slowed since K-Day; if anything, many of the new gadgets had been influenced by what the Krinar had. Not that the Ks had shared any of their precious technology; as far as they were concerned, their little experiment had to continue uninterrupted.

Unzipping her bag, Mia took out her old Mac. The thing was heavy and slow, but it worked—and as a starving college student, Mia could not afford anything better. Logging on, she opened a blank Word document and prepared to start the torturous process of writing her Sociology paper.

Ten minutes and exactly zero words later, she stopped. Who was she kidding? If she really wanted to write the damn thing, she would’ve never come to the park. As tempting as it was to pretend that she could enjoy the fresh air and be productive at the same time, those two had never been compatible in her experience. A musty old library was a much better setting for anything requiring that kind of brainpower exertion.

Mentally kicking herself for her own laziness, Mia let out a sigh and started looking around instead. People-watching in New York never failed to amuse her.

The tableau was a familiar one, with the requisite homeless person occupying a nearby bench—thank God it wasn’t the closest one to her, since he looked like he might smell very ripe—and two nannies chatting with each other in Spanish as they pushed their Bugaboos at a leisurely pace. A girl jogged on a path a little further ahead, her bright pink Reeboks contrasting nicely with her blue leggings. Mia’s gaze followed the jogger as she rounded the corner, envying her athleticism. Her own hectic schedule allowed her little time to exercise, and she doubted she could keep up with the girl for even a mile at this point.

To the right, she could see the Bow Bridge over the lake. A man was leaning on the railing, looking out over the water. His face was turned away from Mia, so she could only see part of his profile. Nevertheless, something about him caught her attention.

She wasn’t sure what it was. He was definitely tall and seemed well-built under the expensive-looking trench coat he was wearing, but that was only part of the story. Tall, good-looking men were common in model-infested New York City. No, it was something else. Perhaps it was the way he stood—very still, with no extra movements. His hair was dark and glossy under the bright afternoon sun, just long enough in the front to move slightly in the warm spring breeze.

He also stood alone.

That’s it, Mia realized. The normally popular and picturesque bridge was completely deserted, except for the man who was standing on it. Everyone appeared to be giving it a wide berth for some unknown reason. In fact, with the exception of herself and her potentially aromatic homeless neighbor, the entire row of benches in the highly desirable waterfront location was empty.

As though sensing her gaze on him, the object of her attention slowly turned his head and looked directly at Mia. Before her conscious brain could even make the connection, she felt her blood turn to ice, leaving her paralyzed in place and helpless to do anything but stare at the predator who now seemed to be examining her with interest.

* * *

BREATHE, MIA, BREATHE. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small rational voice kept repeating those words. That same oddly objective part of her noted his symmetrical face structure, with golden skin stretched tightly over high cheekbones and a firm jaw. Pictures and videos of Ks that she’d seen had hardly done them justice. Standing no more than thirty feet away, the creature was simply stunning.

As she continued staring at him, still frozen in place, he straightened and began walking toward her. Or rather stalking toward her, she thought stupidly, as his every movement reminded her of a jungle cat sinuously approaching a gazelle. All the while, his eyes never left hers. As he approached, she could make out individual yellow flecks in his light golden eyes and the thick long lashes surrounding them.

She watched in horrified disbelief as he sat down on her bench, less than two feet away from her, and smiled, showing white even teeth. No fangs, she noted with some functioning part of her brain. Not even a hint of them. That used to be another myth about them, like their supposed abhorrence of the sun.

“What’s your name?” The creature practically purred the question at her. His voice was low and smooth, completely unaccented. His nostrils flared slightly, as though inhaling her scent.

“Um . . .” Mia swallowed nervously. “M-Mia.”

“Mia,” he repeated slowly, seemingly savoring her name. “Mia what?”

“Mia Stalis.” Oh crap, why did he want to know her name? Why was he here, talking to her? In general, what was he doing in Central Park, so far away from any of the K Centers? Breathe, Mia, breathe.

“Relax, Mia Stalis.” His smile got wider, exposing a dimple in his left cheek. A dimple? Ks had dimples? “Have you never encountered one of us before?”

“No, I haven’t.” Mia exhaled sharply, realizing that she was holding her breath. She was proud that her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt. Should she ask? Did she want to know?

She gathered her courage. “What, um—” Another swallow. “What do you want from me?”

“For now, conversation.” He looked like he was about to laugh at her, those gold eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

Strangely, that pissed her off enough to take the edge off her fear. If there was anything Mia hated, it was being laughed at. With her short, skinny stature and a general lack of social skills that came from an awkward teenage phase involving every girl’s nightmare of braces, frizzy hair, and glasses, Mia had more than enough experience being the butt of someone’s joke.

She lifted her chin belligerently. “Okay, then, what is your name?”

“It’s Korum.”

“Just Korum?”

“We don’t really have last names, not the way you do. My full name is much longer, but you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it if I told you.”

Okay, that was interesting. She now remembered reading something like that in The New York Times. So far, so good. Her legs had nearly stopped shaking, and her breathing was returning to normal. Maybe, just maybe, she would get out of this alive. This conversation business seemed safe enough, although the way he kept staring at her with those unblinking yellowish eyes was unnerving. She decided to keep him talking.

“What are you doing here, Korum?”

“I just told you, making conversation with you, Mia.” His voice again held a hint of laughter.

Frustrated, Mia blew out her breath. “I meant, what are you doing here in Central Park? In New York City in general?”

He smiled again, cocking his head slightly to the side. “Maybe I’m hoping to meet a pretty curly-haired girl.”

Okay, enough was enough. He was clearly toying with her. Now that she could think a little again, she realized that they were in the middle of Central Park, in full view of about a gazillion spectators. She surreptitiously glanced around to confirm that. Yep, sure enough, although people were obviously steering clear of her bench and its otherworldly occupant, there were a number of brave souls staring their way from further up the path. A couple were even cautiously filming them with their wristwatch cameras. If the K tried anything with her, it would be on YouTube in the blink of an eye, and he had to know it. Of course, he may or may not care about that.

Still, going on the assumption that since she’d never come across any videos of K assaults on college students in the middle of Central Park, she was relatively safe, Mia cautiously reached for her laptop and lifted it to stuff it back into her backpack.

“Let me help you with that, Mia—”

And before she could blink, she felt him take her heavy laptop from her suddenly boneless fingers, gently brushing against her knuckles in the process. A sensation similar to a mild electric shock shot through Mia at his touch, leaving her nerve endings tingling in its wake.

Reaching for her backpack, he carefully put away the laptop in a smooth, sinuous motion. “There you go, all better now.”

Oh God, he had touched her. Maybe her theory about the safety of public locations was bogus. She felt her breathing speeding up again, and her heart rate was probably well into the anaerobic zone at this point.

“I have to go now . . . Bye!”

How she managed to squeeze out those words without hyperventilating, she would never know. Grabbing the strap of the backpack he’d just put down, she jumped to her feet, noting somewhere in the back of her mind that her earlier paralysis seemed to be gone.

“Bye, Mia. I will see you later.” His softly mocking voice carried in the clear spring air as she took off, nearly running in her haste to get away.

Chapter 2

“HOLY SHIT! GET out of here! Seriously? Tell me what happened, and don’t leave out any details!” Her roommate was nearly jumping up and down in excitement.

“I just told you . . . I met a K in the park.” Mia rubbed her temples, feeling the band of tension around her head left over from her earlier adrenaline overdose. “He sat down on the bench next to me and talked to me for a couple of minutes. Then I told him that I had to go and left.”

“Just like that? What did he want?”

“I don’t know. I asked him that, but he just said he wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, right, and pigs can fly.” Jessie was as dismissive of that possibility as Mia herself had been. “No, seriously, he didn’t try to drink your blood or anything?”

“No, he didn’t do anything.” Except briefly touch her hand. “He just asked me my name and told me his.”

Jessie’s eyes now resembled big brown saucers. “He told you his name? What is it?”

“Korum.”

“Of course, Korum the K, makes perfect sense.” Jessie’s sense of humor often kicked in at the strangest times. They both snickered at the ridiculousness of that statement.

“Did you know immediately that he was a K? How did he look?” Recovering, Jessie continued with her questions.

“I did.” Mia thought back to that first moment she saw him. How did she know? Was it his eyes? Or something instinctual in her that knew a predator when she saw one? “I think it maybe had to do with the way he moved. It’s difficult to describe. It’s definitely inhuman. He looked a lot like the Ks you’d see on TV—he was tall, good-looking in that particular way that they have, and had strange-looking eyes—they looked almost yellow.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it.” Jessie was pacing the room in circles. “How did he talk to you? What did he sound like?”

Mia let out a sigh. “Next time I get ambushed in the park by an extraterrestrial, I will be sure to have a recording device handy.”

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t be curious if you were in my shoes.”

True, Jessie did have a point. Sighing again, Mia relayed the whole encounter to her roommate in full detail, leaving out only that brief moment when his hand brushed against hers. For some odd reason, that touch—and her reaction to it—seemed private.

“So you told him ‘bye,’ and he said he will see you later? Oh my God, do you know what that means?” Far from satisfying Jessie, the detailed story seemed to send her into excitement overdrive. She was now almost bouncing off the walls.

“No, what?” Mia felt weary and drained. It reminded her of the feeling after an interview or an exam, when all she wanted was to give her poor overworked brain a chance to unwind. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Jessie about the encounter until tomorrow, when she’d had a chance to relax a bit.

“He wants to see you again!”

“What? Why?” Mia’s tiredness suddenly vanished as adrenaline surged through her again. “It’s just a figure of speech! I’m sure he meant nothing by that—English is not even his first language! Why would he want to see me again?”

“Well, you did say he thought you were pretty—”

“No, I said that he said he was there to meet ‘a pretty curly-haired girl.’ He was just mocking me. I’m sure that was just his way of toying with me . . . He was probably just bored standing there, so he decided to come by and talk to me. Why would a K be interested in me?” Mia cast a disparaging glance in the mirror at her two-year-old Uggs, worn jeans, and a too-big sweater she got on sale at Century 21.

“Mia, I told you, you’re constantly underestimating your appeal.” Jessie sounded earnest, the way she always did when trying to boost Mia’s self-confidence. “You look very cute, with that big mass of curly hair. Plus, you have really pretty eyes—very unusual, to have blue eyes with hair as dark as yours—”

“Oh, please, Jessie.” Mia rolled said eyes. “I’m sure cute doesn’t cut it if you’re a gorgeous K. Besides, you’re my friend—you have to say nice stuff to me.”

As far as Mia was concerned, Jessie was the pretty one in the room. With her curvy athletic build, long black hair, and smooth golden skin, Jessie was every guy’s fantasy—particularly if they happened to like Asian girls. A former high school cheerleader, her roommate of the last three years also had the outgoing personality to match her looks. How the two of them had become such good friends will always remain a mystery to Mia, as her own social skills at the age of eighteen had been all but nonexistent.

Thinking back to that time, Mia remembered how lost and overwhelmed she’d felt arriving in the big city after spending all her life in a small town in Florida. New York University was the best school she’d been accepted to, and her financial aid package ended up being generous, making her parents very happy. However, Mia herself had been far from excited about going to a big-city school with no real campus. Getting caught up in the competitive college application process, she’d applied to most of the top fifteen schools, only to face numerous rejections and inadequate financial aid offers. NYU had seemed like the best alternative all around. Local Florida schools had not even been considered by Mia’s parents at the time, as the rumor had been that the Ks might set up a Center in Florida and her parents wanted her far away from there if that happened. It hadn’t happened—Arizona and New Mexico ended up being the preferred K locales in the United States. However, by then it was too late. Mia had started her second semester at NYU, met Jessie, and slowly began to fall in love with New York City and everything it had to offer.

It was funny how everything turned out. Only five years ago, most people thought they were the only intelligent beings in the universe. Sure, there had always been crackpots claiming UFO sightings, and there had even been things like SETI—serious, government-funded efforts to explore the possibility of extraterrestrial life. But people had no way of knowing whether any kind of life—even single-celled organisms—actually existed on other planets. As a result, most had believed that humans were special and unique, that homo sapiens were the pinnacle of evolutionary development. Now it all seemed so silly, like when people in the Middle Ages thought that the Earth was flat and that the moon and the stars revolved around it. When the Krinar arrived early in the second decade of the twenty-first century, they upended everything that scientists thought they knew about life and its origins.

“I’m telling you, Mia, I think he must’ve liked you!” Jessie’s insistent voice interrupted her musings.

Sighing, Mia turned her attention back to her roommate. “I highly doubt it. Besides, what would he want from me even if he did? We’re two different species. The thought of him liking me is just plain scary . . . What would he want from me, my blood?”

“Well, we don’t know that for a fact. That’s just a rumor. Officially, it’s never been announced that the Ks drink blood.” Jessie sounded hopeful for some weird reason. Maybe Mia’s social life was so bad in her roommate’s eyes that she was eager to have Mia date someone, anyone—same species optional.

“It’s a rumor that many people believe. I’m sure there’s a reason for that. They’re vampires, Jessie. Perhaps not the Draculas of legend, but everyone knows they’re predators. That’s why they’ve set up their Centers in isolated areas . . . so they can do whatever they want there with none the wiser.”

“All right, all right.” Her excitement waning, Jessie sat down on her bed. “You’re right, it would be very scary if he actually did intend to see you again. It’s just fun to pretend sometimes that they’re simply gorgeous humans from outer space, and not a completely different mystery species.”

“I know. He was unbelievably good-looking.” The two girls exchanged understanding glances. “If only he were human . . .”

“You’re too picky, Mia. I’ve always told you that.” Shaking her head in mock reproach, Jessie used her most serious tone of voice. Mia looked at her in disbelief, and they both burst out laughing.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, MIA slept restlessly, her mind replaying the encounter over and over. As soon as she would drift off to sleep, she would see those mocking amber eyes and feel that electrifying touch on her skin. To her embarrassment, her unconscious mind took things even further, and Mia dreamed of him touching her hand. In her dream, his touch would send shivers through her entire body, warming her from within—then he would slide his hand up her arm, cupping her shoulder, and bring her toward him, mesmerizing her with his gaze as he leaned in for the kiss. Her heart racing, Mia would close her eyes and lean toward him, feeling his soft lips touch hers, sending waves of warm sensations throughout her body.

Waking up, Mia felt her heart pounding in her chest and heat pooling slowly between her legs. It was 5 a.m. and she’d barely slept for the last five hours. Dammit, why was a brief encounter with an alien having such an effect on her? Maybe Jessie was right, and she needed to get out more, meet some more guys. Over the past three years, under Jessie’s tutelage, Mia had shed a lot of her former shyness and awkwardness. For her high school graduation, her parents got her laser eye surgery, and her post-braces smile was nice and even. She now felt comfortable going to a party where she knew at least a few people, and she could even go out dancing after having a sufficient number of shots. But for some reason, the dating world still eluded her. The few dates she’d been on in recent months had been disappointing, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had actually kissed a guy. Maybe it was that nice kid from biology last year? For some reason, Mia had never clicked with any of the men she’d met, and it was becoming embarrassing to admit that she was still a virgin at twenty-one years of age.

Thankfully, she and Jessie no longer shared a room, having found a flex one-bedroom that could be converted into a two-bedroom apartment for a reasonable (for NYC) rate of only $2,380. Having her own room meant a degree of freedom and privacy that was very nice in situations like this.

Turning on her bedside lamp, Mia looked around the room, making sure that the door to her bedroom was fully closed. Reaching into her bedside drawer, she took out a small package that was normally hidden all the way in the back of the drawer behind her face cream, hand lotion, and a bottle of Advil. Carefully unwrapping the bundle, she took out the tiny rabbit-ears vibrator that had been a gag gift from her older sister. Marisa had given it to her for high school graduation with the joking admonition to use it whenever she “felt the urge” and “to stay away from those horny college boys in the big city.” Mia had blushed and laughed at the time, but the thing had actually proven handy. At certain times in the dark of the night, when her loneliness became more acute, Mia played with the device, gradually exploring her body and learning what a real orgasm felt like.

Pressing the small object to the sensitive nub between her legs, Mia closed her eyes and relived the sensations brought on by her dream. Gradually increasing the speed of vibration on the toy, she let her imagination soar, picturing the K’s hands on her body and his lips kissing her, stroking her, touching her in sensitive and forbidden places, until the ball of tension deep within her belly got even tighter and exploded, sending tingly warmth all the way to her toes.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Mia woke up to a grey and overcast sky. Reaching for the phone to check the weather, she groaned. Ninety percent chance of rain with temperature in the mid-forties. Just what she needed when her Sociology paper awaited. Oh well, maybe she would make it to the library before the rain started.

Jumping out of bed, she pulled on her comfiest pair of sweats, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a big hooded sweater she got on a high-school trip to Europe. It was her studying/paper-writing outfit, and it looked just as ugly today as it had the first time she’d worn it while cramming for her algebra test in tenth grade. The clothes fit her about the same now too, as she seemed to have developed a disgusting inability to gain inches either in girth or height since the age of fourteen.

Hastily brushing her teeth and washing her face, Mia stared critically in the mirror. A pale, slightly freckled face looked back at her. Her eyes were probably her best feature, an unusual shade of blue-grey that contrasted nicely with her dark hair. Her hair, on the other hand, was a whole different animal. If she spent an hour carefully blowdrying it with a diffuser, then she could maybe get her corkscrew curls to resemble something civilized. Her normal routine of going to sleep with it wet, however, was not conducive to anything but the frizzy mess she had on her head right now. Letting out a deep sigh, she ruthlessly pulled it back into a thick ponytail. Some day soon, when she had a real job, she might go to one of those expensive salons and try to get a straightening treatment. For now, since she didn’t have an hour each morning to waste on her hair, Mia figured she just had to live with it.

Library time. Grabbing her backpack and her laptop, Mia pulled on her Uggs and headed out of the apartment. Five flights of stairs later, she exited her building, paying little attention to the peeling paint on the walls and the occasional cockroach that liked to live near the garbage chute. Such was student life in NYC, and Mia was one of the lucky ones to have a semi-affordable apartment so close to campus.

Real estate prices in Manhattan were as high as they’d ever been. In the first couple of years after the invasion, apartment prices in New York had cratered, just as they had in all the major cities around the world. With the hokey invasion movies still ruling the public’s imagination, most people figured that cities would be unsafe and departed for rural areas if they could. Families with children—already a rare commodity in Manhattan—left the city in droves, heading for the most remote areas they could find. The Ks had encouraged the migration, as it relieved the worst of the pollution in and around urban areas. Of course, people soon realized their folly, since the Ks wanted nothing to do with the major human cities and instead chose to build their Centers in warm, sparsely populated areas around the globe. Manhattan prices skyrocketed again, with a few lucky people making fortunes on the real estate bargains they’d picked up in the crash. Now, more than five years after K-Day—as the first day of the Krinar invasion came to be called—New York City rents were again testing record highs.

Lucky me, Mia thought with mild irritation. If she had been a couple of years older, she could’ve rented her current apartment for less than half the price. Of course, there was something to be said for graduating next year, instead of in the depths of the Great Panic—the dark months after Earth first faced the invaders.

Stopping by the local deli, Mia ordered a lightly toasted bagel (whole-grain, of course, the only kind available) with an avocado-tomato spread. Sighing, she remembered the delicious omelets her mom used to make, with crumbled bacon, mushrooms, and cheese. Nowadays, mushroom was the only ingredient on that list that was in any way affordable for a college student. Meat, fish, eggs, and dairy were premium products, available only as an occasional treat—the way foie gras and caviar used to be. That was one of the main changes that the Krinar had implemented. Having decided that the typical developed-world diet of the early twenty-first century was harmful both to humans and their environment, they shut down the major industrial farms, forcing meat and dairy producers to switch to growing fruits and vegetables. Only small farmers were left in peace and allowed to grow a few farm animals for special occasions. Environmental and animal-rights organizations had been ecstatic, and obesity rates in America were quickly approaching Vietnam’s. Of course, the fallout had been huge, with numerous companies going out of business and food shortages during the Great Panic. And later on, when the Krinar’s vampiric tendencies were discovered (though still not officially proven), the Far Right activists had claimed that the real reason for the forced change in diet was that it made the human blood taste sweeter to the Ks. Be that as it may, the majority of the food that was available and affordable now was disgustingly healthy.

“Umbrella, umbrella, umbrella!” A scruffy-looking man stood on the corner, hawking his wares in a strong Middle Eastern accent. “Five-dollar umbrella!”

Sure enough, less than a minute later, a light drizzle began. For the umpteenth time, Mia wondered if the street umbrella vendors had some kind of sixth sense about rain. They always seemed to appear right before the first drop fell, even if there was no rain in the forecast. As tempting as it was to buy an umbrella to stay dry, Mia only had a few blocks left to go and the rain was too light to justify an unnecessary expenditure of five dollars. She could’ve brought her old umbrella from home, but carrying an extra object was never high on her list of priorities.

Walking as fast as she could while lugging her heavy bag, Mia turned the corner on West 4th Street, with the Bobst Library already in sight, when the downpour began. Crap, she should’ve bought that umbrella! Mentally kicking herself, Mia broke into a run—or rather a jog, given the backpack weighing her down—as raindrops pelted her face with the force of water bullets. Her hair somehow managed to escape from the ponytail, and was in her face, blocking her vision. A bunch of people rushed past her, hurrying to get out of the rain, and Mia was pushed a few times by pedestrians blinded by the combination of heavy rain and umbrellas held by more fortunate souls. At times like this, being 5’3” and barely a hundred pounds was a severe disadvantage. A big man brushed past her, his elbow bumping into her shoulder, and Mia stumbled, her foot catching on a crack in the sidewalk. Pitching forward, she managed to catch herself with her hands on wet pavement, sliding a few inches on the rough surface.

All of a sudden, strong hands lifted her from the ground, as though she weighed nothing, standing her upright under a large umbrella that the man held over both of their heads.

Feeling like a dirty, drowned rat, Mia tried to brush her sodden hair off her face with the back of one scraped hand, while blinking the remnants of rain out of her eyes. Her nose decided to add to her humiliation, choosing that particular moment to let loose with an uncontrollable sneeze all over her rescuer.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Mia frantically apologized in utter mortification. Her vision still blurry from the water running down her face, she desperately tried to wipe her nose with a wet sleeve to prevent another sneeze. “So sorry, I didn’t mean to sneeze on you like that!”

“No apologies necessary, Mia. Obviously, you got cold and wet. And injured. Let me see your hands.”

This could not be happening. Her discomfort forgotten, all Mia could do was stare in disbelief as Korum carefully lifted her wrists palms-up and examined her scrapes. His large hands were unbelievably gentle on her skin, even as they held her in an inescapable grip. Although she was soaked to the skin in chilly mid-April weather, Mia felt like she was about to burst into flames, his touch sending a wave of heat rushing through her body.

“You should get those injuries treated immediately. They could scar if you’re not careful. Here, come with me, and we’ll get them taken care of.” Releasing her wrists, Korum put a proprietary arm around her waist and began shepherding her back toward Broadway.

“Wait, what—” Mia tried to recover her wits. “What are you doing here? Where are you leading me?” The full danger of the situation was just now beginning to hit home, and she began to shiver from a combination of cold and fear.

“You’re obviously freezing. I’m getting you out of this rain, and then we’ll talk.” His tone brooked no disagreement.

Desperately looking around, all Mia saw were people rushing to get out of the pouring rain, not paying any attention to their surroundings. In weather like this, a murder in the middle of the street was likely to go unnoticed, much less the struggles of one small girl. Korum’s arm was like a steel band around her waist, completely unmovable, and Mia found herself helplessly going along in whichever direction he was leading her.

“Wait, please, I really can’t go with you,” Mia protested shakily. Grasping at straws, she blurted out, “I have a paper to write!”

“Oh really? And you’re going to write it in this condition?” His tone dripping with sarcasm, Korum gave her a disparaging once-over, lingering on her dripping hair and scraped hands. “You’re hurt, and you’re probably going to catch pneumonia—with that puny immune system you’ve got.”

As before, he somehow managed to get a rise out of her. How dare he call her puny! Mia saw red. “Excuse me, my immune system is just fine! Nobody catches pneumonia from getting stuck in the rain these days! Besides, what concern is it of yours? What are you doing here, stalking me?”

“That’s right.” His reply was smooth and completely nonchalant.

Her temper immediately cooling, Mia felt tendrils of fear snaking through her again. Swallowing to moisten her suddenly dry throat, she could only croak out one word. “W-Why?”

“Ah, here we are.” A black limo was sitting at the intersection of West 4th and Broadway. At their approach, the automatic doors slid open, revealing a plush cream-colored interior. Mia’s heart jumped into her throat. No way was she getting into a strange car with a K who admitted to stalking her.

She dug in her heels and prepared to scream.

“Mia. Get. In. The. Car.” His words lashed at her like a whip. He looked angry, his eyes getting more yellow by the second. His normally sensuous-looking mouth appeared cruel all of a sudden, set in an uncompromising line. “Do NOT make me repeat myself.”

Shaking like a leaf, Mia obeyed. Oh God, she just wanted to survive this, whatever the K had in store for her. Every horror story she’d ever heard about the invaders was suddenly fresh in her mind, every image from the gruesome fights during the Great Panic. She stifled a sob, watching as Korum got in the limo and closed the umbrella. The car doors slid shut.

Korum pressed the intercom button. “Roger, please take us to my place.” He looked much calmer now, eyes back to the original golden brown.

“Yes, sir.” The driver’s reply came from behind the partition that fully blocked him from view.

Roger? That was a human name, Mia thought in desperation. Maybe he could help her, call the police on her behalf or something. Then again, what could the police do? It’s not like they could arrest a K. As far as Mia knew, they were above the reach of human law. He could pretty much do anything he wanted with her, and there was no one to stop him. Mia felt tears running down her rain-wet face as she thought about her parents’ grief when they found out that their daughter was missing.

“What? Are you crying?” Korum’s voice held a note of incredulity. “What are you, five?” He reached for her, his fingers locking around her upper arms, and pulled her closer to stare into her face. At his touch, Mia started shaking even harder, gasping sobs breaking out of her throat.

“Hush, now. There’s no need for that. Shhh . . .” Mia suddenly found herself cradled fully on his lap, her face pressed against a broad chest. Still sobbing, she vaguely registered a pleasant scent of freshly laundered clothing and warm male skin, as his hand moved in soothing circles on her back. He really was treating her like a five-year-old crying over a boo-boo, she thought semi-hysterically. Strangely enough, the treatment was working. Mia felt her fear ebbing as he held her gently in those powerful arms, only to be replaced by a growing sense of awareness and a warm sensation somewhere deep inside. Adrenaline amplified attraction, she realized with a peculiar detachment, remembering a study on the subject from one of her psychology classes.

Still ensconced on his lap, she managed to pull away enough to look up at his face. Up close, his appearance was even more striking. His skin, a warm golden hue that was a couple of shades darker than her roommate’s, was flawless and seemed to glow with perfect health. Thick black lashes surrounded those incredible light-colored eyes—which were framed by the straight dark slashes of his eyebrows.

“Are you going to hurt me?” The question escaped her before she could think any better of it.

Her kidnapper let out a surprisingly human-like sigh, sounding exasperated. “Mia, listen to me, I mean you no harm . . . Okay?” He looked straight into her eyes, and Mia couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the yellow flecks in his irises. “All I wanted was to get you out of the rain and to treat your injuries. I’m taking you to my place because it’s nearby, and I can provide you with both medical assistance and a change of clothes there. I really didn’t mean to scare you, much less get you into this kind of state.”

“But you said . . . you said you were stalking me!” Mia stared at him in confusion.

“Yes. Because I found you interesting at the park and wanted to see you again. Not because I want to hurt you.” He was now rubbing her upper arms with a gentle up-and-down motion, as though soothing a skittish horse.

At his admission, a wave of heat surged through her body. Did that mean he was attracted to her? Her heart rate picked up again, this time for a different reason.

There was something else she needed to understand. “You forced me to get into the car . . .”

“Only because you were being stubborn and refusing to listen to common sense. You were wet and cold. I didn’t want to waste time arguing in the rain when a warm car was standing right there.” Put like that, his actions sounded downright humanitarian.

“Here.” Pulling a tissue from somewhere, he carefully blotted the remaining tears on her face and gave her another tissue to wipe her nose, watching with some amusement as she tried to blow into it as delicately as possible. “Feeling better now?”

Strangely enough, she was. He could be lying to her, but what would be the point? He could do anything he wanted with her anyway, so why waste time trying to soothe her fears? Her earlier terror gone, Mia suddenly felt exhausted from her emotional roller coaster. As though sensing her state, Korum gathered her closer to him, pressing her face gently against his chest again. Mia did not object. Somehow, sitting there on his lap, inhaling his warm scent and feeling the heat of his body surrounding her, Mia felt better than she had in a long time.

Chapter 3

“HERE WE ARE. Welcome to my humble abode.”

Mia stared around in amazement, her gaze lingering on floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the Hudson, gleaming wooden floors, and luxurious cream-colored furnishings. A few pieces of modern art on the walls and luscious-looking plants near the windows provided tasteful touches of color. It was the most beautiful apartment she had ever seen. And it looked completely human.

“You live here?” she asked in astonishment.

“Only when I come to New York.”

Korum was hanging his trench coat in the closet by the door. It was such a simple, mundane action, but somehow his movements were just too fluid to be fully human. He was now clad only in a blue T-shirt and a pair of jeans. The clothes hugged his lean, powerful body to perfection. Mia swallowed, realizing that her incredible surroundings paled next to the gorgeous creature who was apparently occupying them.

How could he afford this place? Were all the Ks rich? When the limo had pulled into the parking garage at the newest luxury high-rise in TriBeCa, Mia had been shocked to find herself escorted to a private elevator that took them directly to the penthouse floor. The apartment looked huge, particularly by Manhattan standards. Did it occupy the entire top floor of the building?

“Yes, the apartment is the whole floor.”

Mia blushed, just realizing that she had asked the question out loud. “Umm . . . it’s a beautiful place you’ve got here.”

“Thank you. Here, sit down.” He led her to a plush leather couch—cream-colored, of course. “Let me see your hands.”

Mia hesitantly extended her palms, wondering what he intended to do. Use his blood to heal them, the way vampires from popular fiction used to do?

Instead of cutting his palm or doing anything vampiric, Korum brought a thin silvery object toward her right palm. The size and thickness of an old-fashioned plastic credit card, the thing looked completely innocuous. That is, until it began to emit a soft red light directly over her hand. There was no pain, just a pleasant, warm sensation where the light touched her damaged skin. As Mia watched, her scrapes began to fade and disappear, like pencil marks getting erased. Within a span of two minutes, her palm was completely healed, as though there had been nothing there to begin with. Mia tentatively touched the area with her fingers. No pain whatsoever.

“Wow. That is amazing.” Mia exhaled sharply, releasing a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Of course, she had known that the Ks were far more technologically advanced, but seeing what amounted to a miracle with her own eyes was still shocking.

Korum repeated the process on her other hand. Both of her palms were now completely healed, with no trace of an injury.

“Uh . . . thank you for that.” Mia didn’t really know what to say. Was this a K version of offering a Band-Aid, or did he just perform some kind of a complicated medical procedure on her? Should she offer to pay him? And if he said yes, would he accept student health insurance? Snap out of it, Mia! You’re being ridiculous!

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, still lightly holding her left hand. “Now let’s get you changed out of your wet clothes.”

Mia’s head jerked up in horrified disbelief. Surely he couldn’t mean to—

Before she even had a chance to say anything, Korum blew out an exasperated breath. “Mia, when I said that I don’t intend to harm you, I meant it. My definition of harm includes rape, in case you think we have some cultural differences there. So you can relax, and stop jumping at every word I say.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply . . .” Mia wished the ground would open up and simply swallow her. Of course, he wouldn’t rape her. He probably wasn’t even interested in her that way. Why would he want some skinny, pale little human when he could have any of the gorgeous K females she’d seen on TV? He’d never said he was attracted to her—just that he found her “interesting.” For all she knew, he could be a K scientist studying the New York breed of humans—and he had just found a curly-haired lab rat.

Letting out another sigh, Korum rose gracefully from the couch, his every move imbued with inhuman athleticism. “Here, come with me.”

Still feeling embarrassed, Mia barely paid attention to her surroundings as he led her down the hall. However, she couldn’t help but gasp at the first sight of the enormous bathroom that lay before her.

The glass shower enclosure was bigger than her entire bathroom back home, and a large elevated jacuzzi occupied the center of the room. The entire bathroom was done in shades of ivory and grey, an unusual combination that nonetheless paired well in this luxurious environment. Two of the walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors, further adding to the spacious feel. There were plants here too, she noticed with bemusement. Two exotic-looking plants with dark red leaves seemed to be thriving in the corners, apparently getting enough sunlight from the large skylight in the ceiling.

“This is for you.” Korum slid open part of the glass wall and took out a large ivory towel and a soft-looking thick grey robe. “You can take a hot shower and change into this, and then I will throw your clothes in the dryer.”

With a nod and a murmured thank-you, Mia accepted the two items, watching as Korum exited the room and closed the door behind him.

A sense of unreality gripped her as she stared at the cutting-edge luxury all around her. This could not be happening to her. Could this be a really vivid dream? Surely Mia Stalis, from Ormond Beach, Florida, was not standing here in a bathroom fit for a king, having been told to take a hot shower by a K who had practically kidnapped her in order to heal her insignificant scratches with an alien magic device. Maybe if she blinked a few times, she would wake up back in her cramped room at the apartment she shared with Jessie.

To test that theory, Mia shut her eyes tightly and opened them again.  Nope, she was still standing there, feeling the plush towel and robe heavy in her arms. If this was a dream, then it was the most realistic dream she’d ever had. She might as well take that shower—now that the excitement was starting to wear off a bit, she felt the chill from her damp clothes sinking deep into her bones.

Putting down her burden on the edge of the tall jacuzzi tub, Mia walked to the door and locked it. Of course, if Korum really wanted to get in, it was doubtful that the flimsy lock would keep him out. The incredible strength of the Krinar was discovered in the first few weeks after the invasion, when some guerrilla fighters in the Middle East ambushed a small group of Ks in violation of the recently signed Coexistence Treaty. Video footage of the event, recorded by some bystander on his iPhone, showed scenes straight out of a horror science fiction movie. The band of thirty-plus Saudis, armed with grenades and automatic assault rifles, had stood no chance against the six unarmed Ks. Even wounded, the aliens moved at a speed exceeding that of all known living creatures on Earth, literally tearing apart their attackers with bare hands. One particularly dramatic scene showed a K throwing two screaming men—each with one hand—high up into the air. The exact height of the throw was later determined to be about sixty feet. Needless to say, the men had not survived their descent. The sheer savagery of that fight—and some subsequent encounters during the days of the Great Panic—stunned the human population, lending credence to the rumors of vampirism that emerged some months later. For all their advances in technology and seeming eco-consciousness, the Ks could be as brutal and violent as any vampire of legend.

And here she was stuck with one. Who wanted to heal her negligible scratches and have her take a hot shower in his fancy penthouse. And put her clothes in his dryer.

A hysterical giggle escaped Mia at the thought.

Of course, he might like his snacks clean and sweet-smelling, but somehow Mia believed him when he said he didn’t want to hurt her. Besides, there was very little she could do about her current situation—she might as well stop freaking out and take advantage of the most luxurious shower of her life.

Peeling off her wet clothes, Mia caught sight of herself in the mirror. Why was he interested in her? Sure, she was skinny, which was still in vogue, but he probably had the most beautiful women of both species fawning over him. Standing there naked, Mia tried to look at herself objectively and not through the eyes of a self-conscious teenager. The mirror reflected a thin young woman, with small, but nicely rounded breasts, slim hips, and a narrow waist. Her butt was reasonably curvy, considering the rest of her frame. Naked, she didn’t look like the shapeless stick figure she always felt like in her baggy clothes. If she were taller, she might even think she had a nice figure. However, her skin was way too pale and the dark mess of curls framing her face was much too frizzy for her to ever be considered more than moderately cute or passably pretty.

Sighing, Mia stepped into the shower. After a brief battle with the touchscreen controls, she figured out how to work them and was soon enjoying warm water coming at her from five different directions. She even used his soap, which had a very faint but pleasing scent of something tropical.

Ten minutes later, Mia regretfully turned off the water and stepped out onto a thick ivory bath rug. She dried herself with the towel Korum had so graciously provided, wrapped it around her wet hair, and put on the robe—which was, to her surprise, only a little big on her. It had to be a woman’s robe, she realized with an unpleasant pang of something that felt oddly like jealousy. Don’t be silly, Mia, of course he has female guests! A creature that gorgeous would hardly be celibate. He might even have a girlfriend or a wife.

Mia swallowed to get rid of an obstruction in her throat that seemed to rise up at that thought. Stop it, Mia! She had no idea what he wanted from her, and she had absolutely no reason to feel like this about an alien from outer space who may or may not drink human blood.

Padding to the door in her bare feet, Mia picked up her discarded clothes from the floor. They felt wet and yucky in her hands, and she was glad she was no longer wearing them. Carefully opening the door, she peeked out into the hallway, spotting a soft-looking pair of grey house slippers that Korum apparently left for her.

No sign of Korum himself.

Putting on the slippers, Mia left the bathroom and headed to the left, hoping that she was going back toward the living room. The last thing she wanted was to stumble into his bedroom, even though that thought made her feel warm and flushed all over.

He was sitting on the couch, looking at something in his palm. Sensing her presence, he lifted his head, and a luminous smile slowly lit his face at the sight of her standing there in the too-big robe and turban-like towel on her head.

“You look adorable in that.” His voice was low and somehow intimate, even from across the room, making her insides clench in a strangely sexual way. Oh God, what did he mean by that? Was he actually interested in her? Mia was sure she had just turned beet-red as her heart rate suddenly picked up.

“Ah, thanks,” she mumbled, unable to think of a better response. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes turn an even deeper shade of gold?

“Here, let me have those.” Before she had a chance to recover her composure, he was next to her, taking her wet clothes from her slightly shaky arms. “Have a seat, and I’ll drop these in the dryer.”

With that, he disappeared down the hall. Mia stared after him, wondering if she should be worried. He said he wasn’t going to hurt her, but would he take no for an answer if he really was interested in her sexually? More importantly, would she be able to say no, given her response to him thus far?

She’d heard of humans having sex with Ks, so their species were definitely compatible in that way. In fact, there were even websites where people who wanted to have sex with Ks posted ads designed to attract them. Some of the ads must have garnered responses, since the websites stayed in business. Mia always used to think that these xenos—short for xenophiles, a derogatory term for K addicts—were crazy. Sure, most of the invaders tended to be very good-looking, but they were so far from being human that one might as well have sex with a gorilla; there were fewer differences between gorilla and human DNA than between human and Krinar.

Yet here she was, apparently very attracted to one particular K.

A minute later, Korum returned empty-handed, interrupting Mia’s chain of thought. “The clothes are drying,” he announced. “Are you hungry? I can make us something to eat in the meanwhile.”

Ks could cook? Mia suddenly realized that she was, in fact, famished. With all the excitement of the past hour, her bagel breakfast seemed like a very long time ago. Cooking and eating also seemed like a very innocuous way to pass the time.

“Sure, that sounds great. Thank you.”

“Okay, come with me to the kitchen, and I’ll make something.”

With that promise, he walked over to a door she hadn’t noticed before and slid it open, revealing a large kitchen. Like the rest of the penthouse, it was striking. Gleaming stainless steel appliances, black and ivory marble floors, and black enameled lava countertops populated the space, for an almost futuristic look. Some kind of big-leafed plants in silvery pots hung from the ceiling near the windows, seeming very much at home in an otherwise sterile-looking environment.

“How do you feel about a salad and a roasted veggie sandwich?” Korum was already opening the refrigerator, which looked like the latest version of the iZero—a smart fridge jointly created by Apple and Sub-Zero a couple of years ago.

“That sounds great, thanks,” Mia answered absentmindedly, still studying her surroundings. Something was nagging at her, some obvious question that begged an answer.

Suddenly, it hit her.

“Your home only has our technology in it,” Mia blurted out. “Well, except for the little healing tool you used on me. All of these appliances, all of our technology—it must seem so primitive to you. Why do you use it instead of whatever you guys have instead?”

Korum grinned, revealing the dimple in his left cheek again, and walked over to the sink to rinse the lettuce. “I enjoy experiencing different things. A lot of your technology is really so ingenious, considering your limitations. And, to use one of your sayings, when in Rome . . .”

“So you’re basically slumming,” Mia concluded. “Living with the primitives, using their basic tools—”

“If you want to think of it that way.”

He started chopping the veggies, his hands moving faster than any professional chef’s. Mia stared at him in fascination, struck by the incongruity of a creature from outer space making a salad. All of his movements were fluid and elegant—and somehow very inhuman.

“What do you normally eat on Krina?” she asked, suddenly very curious. “Is your diet very different from ours?”

He looked up from the chopping and smiled at her. “It’s different in some ways, but very similar in other ways. We’re omnivorous like you, but lean even more toward plant foods in our diet. There’s a huge variety of edible plants on Krina—more so than here on Earth. Some of our plants are very dense in calories and rich in flavor, so we never quite developed the taste for meat that humans seem to have acquired recently.”

Mia blinked, surprised. There was something predatory in the way he moved—the way all Ks moved. Their speed and strength, as well as the violent streak they’d displayed, did not make sense for a primarily herbivorous species. So there must be something to the vampire rumors after all. If they didn’t hunt animals for their meat, then how had they evolved all these hunter-like traits?

She wanted to ask him that, but had a feeling that she might not want to know the answer. If his species really did view humans as prey, it was probably best not to remind him about it when she was alone with him in his lair.

Mia decided to stick with something safer instead. “So is that why you guys emphasize plant foods so much for us? Because you like it yourselves?”

He shook his head, continuing to chop. “Not really. Our main concern was the abuse of your planet’s resources. Your unhealthy addiction to animal products was destroying the environment at a much faster rate than anything else you were doing, and that was not something we wanted to see.”

Mia shrugged, not being particularly environmentally conscious herself. Since he was being so accommodating, though, she decided to resume her earlier line of questioning. “Is that why you’re here in New York, to experience something different?”

“Among other reasons.” He turned on the oven and placed sliced zucchini, eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes on a tray inside.

How frustrating. He was being evasive, and Mia didn’t like it one bit. She decided to change her approach. “What brings you to Earth in general? Are you one of the soldiers, or the scientists, or do you do something else . . .” Her voice trailed off suggestively.

“Why, Mia, are you asking me about my occupation?” He sounded like he was again laughing at her.

Predictably, Mia felt her hackles rising. “Why, yes, I am. Is that classified information?”

He threw back his head and burst out laughing. “Only for curious little girls.” Mia stared back at him with a stony expression on her face. Still chuckling, he revealed, “I’m an engineer by profession. My company designed the ships that brought us here.”

“The ships that brought you here? But I thought the Krinar had been visiting Earth for thousands of years before you formally came here?” That had been one of the most striking revelations about the invaders—the fact that they’d been observing humans and living among them long before K-Day.

He nodded, still smiling. “That’s true. We’ve been able to visit you for a long time. However, traveling to Earth had always been a dangerous task—as was space travel in general—so only a few intrepid individuals would attempt it at any given time. It’s only in the past few hundred years that we fully perfected the technology for faster-than-light travel, and my company succeeded in building ships that could safely transport thousands of civilians to this part of the universe.”

That was interesting. She’d never heard this before. Was he telling her something that wasn’t public knowledge? Encouraged and unbearably curious, Mia continued with her questions. “So have you been to Earth before K-Day?” she asked, staring at him in wide-eyed fascination.

He shrugged—a human gesture that was apparently used by the Ks as well. “A couple of times.”

“Is it true that all our UFO sightings are based on actual interactions with the Krinar?”

He grinned. “No, that was mostly weather balloons and your own governments testing classified aircraft. Less than one percent of those sightings could actually be attributed to us.”

“And the Greek and Roman myths?” Mia had read recent speculation that the Krinar may have been worshipped as deities in antiquity, giving rise to the Greek and Roman polytheistic religions. Of course, even today, some religious groups had embraced the Ks as the true creators of humankind, spawning an entirely new movement dedicated to venerating and emulating the invaders. The Krinarians, as these K-worshippers were known, sought every opportunity to interact with the beings they viewed as real-life gods, believing it increased their odds of reincarnating as a K. The Big Three—Christianity, Islam, and Judaism—had reacted very differently, refusing to accept that Ks were in any way responsible for the origin of life on Earth. Some more extreme religious factions had even declared the Krinar to be demons and claimed that their arrival was part of the end-of-days prophecy. Most people, however, had accepted the aliens for what they were—an ancient, highly advanced species that had sent DNA from Krina to Earth, thus starting life on this planet.

“Those were based on the Krinar,” confirmed Korum. “A few thousand years ago, a small group of our scientists, sent here to study and observe, became overly involved in human affairs—to the point that they overstayed their mission by a few hundred years. They ultimately had to be forcibly returned to Krina when it became obvious that they were purposefully preying on human ignorance.”

Before Mia had a chance to digest that information, the oven let out a little beep signifying the food’s readiness.

“Ah, here we go.” He took out the roasted veggies and dropped them into a marinade he’d managed to whip up during their conversation. Placing a large salad in the middle of the table, he picked up a sizable portion and deposited it on Mia’s plate. “We can start with this while the veggies are marinating.”

Mia dug into her salad, holding back an inappropriate giggle at the thought that she was literally eating food of the gods —or at least food that had been prepared by someone who would’ve been worshipped as a god a couple of thousand years ago. The salad was delicious—crispy lettuce, creamy avocado, crunchy peppers, and sweet tomatoes were combined with some type of tangy lemony dressing that was mildly spicy. She was either super-hungry, or it was the best salad she’d had in a long time. In the past few years, she’d learned to tolerate salad out of necessity, but this kind of salad she could actually grow to like.

“Thank you, this is delicious,” she mumbled around a mouthful of salad.

“You’re welcome.” He was digging in as well, with obvious enjoyment. For a little while, there was only the sound of them munching on the salad in companionable silence. After finishing his portion—he even ate faster than normal, Mia noticed—Korum got up to make the sandwiches.

Two minutes later, a beautifully made sandwich was sitting in front of Mia. The dark crusty bread appeared to be freshly baked, and the veggies looked tender and were seasoned with some kind of orange spices. Mia picked up her portion and bit into it, nearly stifling a moan of enjoyment. It tasted even better than it looked.

“This is great. Where did you learn to cook like this?” Mia inquired with curiosity after swallowing her fifth bite.

He shrugged, finishing up his own larger sandwich. “I enjoy making things. Cooking is just one manifestation of that. I also like to eat, so it’s helpful to know how to make good food.”

That made sense to her. Mia ate the last bite of her sandwich and licked her finger to get the remainder of the delicious marinade. Lifting her head, she suddenly froze at the look on Korum’s face.

He was staring at her mouth with what looked like raw hunger, his eyes turning more golden by the second.

“Do that again,” he ordered softly, his voice a dark purr from across the table.

Mia’s heart skipped a beat.

The atmosphere had suddenly turned heavy and intensely sexual, and she had no idea how to deal with it. The full vulnerability of her situation dawned on her. She was completely naked underneath the thick robe. All he had to do was pull on the flimsy belt holding the robe together, and her body would be fully revealed to him. Not that clothes would provide any protection against a K—or a human male for that matter, given her size—but wearing only a robe made her feel much more exposed.

Slowly getting up, she took a step away from the table. Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Mia nervously blurted out, “Thank you for the meal, but I should really get going now. Do you think my clothes might be dry?”

For a second, Korum did not respond, continuing to look at her with that disconcertingly hungry expression. Then, as if coming to some internal decision, he slowly smiled and got up himself. “They should be ready by now. Why don’t you put the dishes in the dishwasher while I go check?”

Mia nodded in agreement, afraid that her voice would tremble if she spoke out loud. Her legs felt like cooked noodles, but she started gathering the dishes. Korum smiled approvingly and exited the room, leaving Mia alone to recover her composure.

By the time he came back, his arms loaded with her dry clothes, Mia had managed to convince herself that she had overreacted to a potentially harmless remark. Most likely, her imagination was working in overdrive, adding sexual overtones to where there were none. Given his apparent fascination with human technology and lifestyle, it wasn’t all that surprising that he would find an actual human interesting as well—maybe even cute in something they did—the same way Mia felt about animals in the zoo.

Feeling slightly bad about her earlier awkwardness, Mia tentatively smiled at Korum as he handed her the clothes. “Thanks for drying these—I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. It was my pleasure.” He smiled back, but there was a hint of something mildly disturbing in the look he gave her.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just go change.” Still feeling inexplicably nervous, Mia turned toward the kitchen exit.

“Sure. Do you remember the way to the bathroom? You can go change there.” He pointed down the hall, watching with a half-smile as she gratefully escaped.

Locking the bathroom door, Mia hurriedly changed into her comfortably ugly—and pleasantly warm from the dryer—clothes. He had somehow managed to dry her Uggs as well, Mia noticed with pleasure as she pulled them on. Feeling much more like herself, she unwrapped the towel from her hair, which was only slightly damp at this point, and left the curly mess down to finish drying. Then, thinking that she was as ready as she would ever be, Mia left the relative safety of the bathroom and ventured back out into the living room to face Korum and his confusing behavior.

He was again sitting on the couch, analyzing something in his palm. He seemed very absorbed in it, so Mia cautiously cleared her throat to notify him of her presence.

At the sound, he looked up with a mysterious smile. “There you are, all nice and dry.”

“Ah, yeah, thanks for that.” Mia self-consciously shifted from one foot to another. “And thanks again for your hospitality. I really should get going now, try to write that paper and finish up some other homework . . .”

“Sure, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” He got up in one smooth motion, heading to the coat closet.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” protested Mia. “Really, I have no problem taking the subway. The rain has stopped, so I’ll be totally fine.”

He just gave her an incredulous look. “I said I will take you there.” His tone left no room for negotiation.

Mia decided not to argue. It’s not as if she rode in a limo every day. Since Korum was so determined to give her a lift, she might as well enjoy the experience. So Mia kept quiet and meekly followed him as he entered a posh-looking elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

Roger and his limo were already waiting in front of the building. The doors slid open at their approach, and Korum courteously waited until Mia climbed inside before getting in himself. Mia wondered where he had learned all of these polite human gestures. Somehow she doubted that “ladies first” was a universal custom.

“Where would you like to go?” he inquired, sitting down next to her.

Mia thought about it for a second. As much as she’d love to run home and blab about the entire unbelievable encounter to Jessie, the deadline for her paper was looming. She needed to go to the library. She only hoped that she could put the day’s events out of her mind for a few hours, or however long it took her to write the damn paper. “The Bobst Library, please, if it’s not too much trouble,” she requested tentatively.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he reassured her, pressing the intercom button and conveying the instructions to Roger.

Sitting in the closed quarters of the limo, Mia became increasingly aware of his large, warm body less than a foot away from her. Her body reacted to his nearness without reservations.

He really was an incredibly beautiful male specimen by anyone’s standards, Mia thought with an almost analytical detachment. She guessed his height to be somewhere just over six feet, and he appeared to be quite muscular, judging by the way his T-shirt fit him earlier. With his striking coloring, he was easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen, in real life or on video. It was no wonder he was having such an effect on her, she told herself—any normal woman would feel the same. Understanding the rationale behind her attraction to him, however, did not lessen its power one bit.

“So, Mia, tell me about yourself.” His softly spoken directive interrupted her thoughts.

“Um, okay.” For some reason, the question flustered her. “What do you want to know?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Everything.”

“Well, I’m a junior at NYU, majoring in psychology,” Mia began, hoping she wasn’t babbling. “I’m originally from a small town in Florida, and I came to New York to go to school.”

He stopped her with a shake of his head. “I know all that. Tell me something more than basic facts.”

Mia stared at him in shock, suddenly feeling like a hunted rabbit. With surprising calm, she asked, “How do you know all this?”

“The same way I knew where to find you today. It’s very easy to find information on humans, especially those with nothing to hide.” He smiled, as though he hadn’t just shattered all of her illusions about privacy.

“But why?” Mia could no longer hold back a question that had been tormenting her for the last two days. “Why are you so interested in me? Why go to all these lengths?” She waved her hand, indicating the limo and everything he had done so far.

He looked at her steadily, his gaze nearly hypnotizing in its intensity. “Because I want to fuck you, Mia. Is that what you’re afraid of hearing, why you’ve been acting so scared of me all along?” Without giving her a chance to catch her breath, he continued in the same gently mocking tone. “Well, it’s true. I do. For some reason, you caught my attention yesterday, sitting there on that bench with your curly hair and big blue eyes, so frightened when I looked your way. You’re not my type at all. I don’t typically go for scared little girls, particularly of the human variety, but you”—he reached across with his right hand and slowly stroked her cheek—“you made me want to strip you down right there in the middle of that park, and see what’s hidden underneath these ugly clothes of yours. It took all my willpower to let you go then, and, when you licked your little finger so enticingly in my kitchen, I could barely stop myself from spreading open your robe and burying myself between your thighs right there on the kitchen table.”

His touch felt like it was leaving burning streaks in its aftermath as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gently brushed his knuckles across her lips. “But I’m not a rapist. And that’s what it would be right now—rape—because you’re so frightened of me, and of your own sexuality.” Leaning closer, he murmured softly, “I know you want me, Mia. I can see the flush of arousal on your pretty cheeks, and I can smell it in your underwear. I know your little nipples are hard right now, and that you’re getting wet even as we speak, your body lubricating itself for my penetration. If I were to take you right now, you would enjoy it once you got past the fear and the pain of losing your virginity—yes, I know about that too—but I will wait for you to get used to the idea of being mine. Just don’t take too long—I only have so much patience left for you.”

Chapter 4

MIA HARDLY REMEMBERED the remainder of the ride.

At some point in the next few minutes, the limo had pulled up to the Bobst Library, and Korum had courteously opened the door for her again and handed her the backpack. He then proceeded to gently brush his lips against her cheek, as though parting ways with his sister, and left her standing on the curb in front of the imposing library building.

Moving on autopilot, Mia somehow found herself inside, sitting in one of the plush armchairs that were her favorite place to study. Going through the motions, she took out her Mac and placed it on the side table, noting with some interest that her hand was shaking and her fingernails had a slight bluish tint to them. She also felt cold deep inside.

Shock, Mia realized. She had to be in a state of mild shock.

For some reason, that pissed her off. Yes, she felt like he had stripped her naked with his words in the car, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable. Yes, if she thought too deeply about the meaning of his last words, she would probably start running and screaming. But she was hardly a Victorian maiden—her lack of experience notwithstanding—and she refused to let a few explicit phrases send her into vapors.

Resolutely getting up, Mia left her bag in the chair as a placeholder—nobody would steal a computer that old—and headed to the coffee shop to get something hot to drink. On the way there, she stopped by the bathroom. Splashing warm water on her face in an attempt to regain her equilibrium, Mia inadvertently caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The usual pale face staring back at her looked subtly different—somehow softer and prettier. Her lips appeared fuller, as though slightly swollen where he had touched them. Her eyes looked brighter, and there was a hint of color on her cheeks.

He was right, Mia thought. She had been extremely turned on in the car, his words alone bringing her nearly to the edge of orgasm—despite her shock and fear. What that said about her was not something she cared to analyze too deeply. Even now, she could feel the residual dampness in her underwear and a slight pulsing sensation deep within her sex whenever she thought back to that limo ride.

Taking a deep breath, Mia squared her shoulders and exited the restroom. Her sex life in all its extraterrestrial manifestations would have to wait until the paper was done and submitted.

Her priorities were two-fold right now—an extra-large coffee and a few hours of uninterrupted quality time with the Mac.

* * *

THE RINGING OF the doorbell and an excited squeal by her roommate woke up Mia twelve minutes before her alarm.

Groaning, she rolled over and put her pillow over her head, hoping that the source of the noise would go away and let her get the remaining few minutes of precious sleep.

She had gotten home at three in the morning, after finally finishing the evil paper. Unfortunately, she had a 9 a.m. class on Mondays, which meant that she would get less than five hours of sleep that night. Even so, her overtired brain had refused to let go of the day’s events, with dark, erotic dreams interrupting her sleep—dreams in which she would see his face, feel his touch burning her skin, hear his voice promising both pain and ecstasy.

And now she couldn’t even enjoy a few moments of peaceful rest, as Jessie apparently couldn’t contain her excitement over whatever it was that came to the door.

“Mia! Mia! Guess what?” Jessie was practically singing as she knocked on Mia’s bedroom door.

“I’m sleeping!” Mia growled, wanting to smack Jessie for the first time in her life.

“Oh come on, I know your alarm is about to go off. Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty, and see what you got from Prince Charming!”

Mia bolted upright in her bed, all trace of sleepiness forgotten. “What are you talking about?” Jumping out of bed, she flung open the door, confronting her disgustingly cheerful and bright-eyed roommate.

“This!” With a huge excited grin, Jessie gestured toward a large vase of exotic pink and white flowers that occupied the center of their kitchen table. “The delivery guy just came and brought this. Look, there’s even a card and everything! Do you know who sent it? Is there some secret admirer that you haven’t told me about?”

Mia felt a sudden inner chill even as her pulse speeded up. Approaching the table, she reached for the card and opened it with trepidation. The content of the note—written in neat, but clearly masculine handwriting—was simple:

Tonight, 7pm. I will pick you up. Wear something nice.

Her hand shaking slightly, Mia put down the note. For some reason, she hadn’t thought he would want to see her again so soon, much less come to her apartment.

“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense!” Unable to wait any longer, Jessie grabbed the note and read it herself. “Ooh, what’s this? You have a date?”

Mia felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache. “Not exactly,” she said wearily. “Let me get dressed for class, and we can talk on the way.”

Ten minutes later, Mia grabbed a breakfast bar and headed out the door with Jessie, who was nearly bursting with curiosity at this point. Sighing, Mia relayed a shortened version of the story, leaving out a few details that she felt were too private to share—such as his exact words and her reaction to him.

“Oh my God.” Jessie’s face reflected horrified disbelief. “And now he wants to see you again? Mia—this is bad, really bad.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe he just openly told you he intends to have sex with you.” Jessie was wringing her hands in distress. “What if you don’t show up tonight—go to the library instead or something?”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to find me there. He’s done that before. And I don’t know what he’ll do if he gets mad.”

Jessie’s eyes widened. “Do you think he would hurt you?” she asked in a hushed tone.

Mia thought about it for a few seconds. All his actions toward her thus far had been . . . solicitous, for lack of a better word. It could all be an act, of course, but somehow she doubted that he would physically abuse her.

“I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “But I don’t know what else he might be capable of.”

“Like what?”

“Well, that’s the thing—I just don’t know.” Mia nervously tugged at one long curl. “He’s definitely not playing by any kind of normal dating rules. I mean, he practically kidnapped me off the street yesterday . . .”

“What if you go home to Florida?” Jessie was obviously desperate to find a solution.

“That seems like an overreaction. Besides, it’s the middle of the semester. I can’t go anywhere until this summer.”

“Crap.” Jessie sounded stumped for a second. “Well, then just tell him no when he shows up tonight. Do you think he would force you to go with him anyway?”

“I have no idea,” Mia said wryly, pausing in front of the building that was her destination. “I’m going to have to think about this some more. Maybe if I look particularly ugly tonight, he’ll lose interest.”

“That’s a great idea!” Jessie clapped her hands in excitement. “He wants you to wear something nice tonight? Well, you show him! Put on your ugliest clothes, eat some fresh garlic and onion, put some oil in your hair so it looks all greasy, and maybe do something that makes you sweaty—like a run—and don’t shower or use deodorant afterwards!”

Mia stared at her roommate in fascination. “You’re scary. How did you come up with all of this? It’s not like you try to un-attract guys on a regular basis.”

“Oh, it’s easy. Just think of all the things you’d do to get ready for a date—and do just the opposite.” Jessie breezily waved one hand with such a know-it-all expression that Mia couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

* * *

AT SIX O’CLOCK, Mia began implementing Jessie’s plan. Her roommate had been dying to see her first K and lend Mia moral support for the confrontation, but she had a biology lab that couldn’t be missed. Mia was glad about that. The last thing she wanted was to put Jessie in harm’s way.

She started out by doing jumping jacks, lunges, squats, and sit-ups. Within fifteen minutes, her leg and stomach muscles—unused to so much exertion—were burning, and Mia was covered with a fine layer of sweat. Without bothering to shower, she put on her oldest, rattiest underwear, thick brown tights that her sister absolutely despised, and a long-sleeved black dress that Jessie had once claimed made her look completely washed out and shapeless. A pair of old black Mary-Janes with medium-height heels, worn out and scuffed, completed the look. No makeup, except for a slight dusting of dark blue shadow directly under her eyes—to imitate under-eye circles. Her hair already looked like a frizzy mess, but Mia brushed it for good measure and added hair conditioner only to the roots, leaving the ends to poof out in every direction. And for the grand finale, she cut up an entire clove of garlic, mixed it with green onion, and thoroughly chewed it, making sure that the smelly mixture got into every nook and corner of her mouth before she spit it out. Satisfied, she took one last look in the mirror. As expected, she looked ghastly—like somebody’s crazy spinster aunt—and probably smelled even worse. If Korum remained interested in her after tonight, she would be very surprised.

When the doorbell rang promptly at seven, Mia put on her scruffy wool peacoat and opened the door with a mixture of trepidation and barely contained glee.

The sight that greeted her was breathtaking.

Somehow, in the short span of a day, Mia had managed to forget just how beautiful he was. Dressed in a pair of dark designer jeans and a light grey button-down shirt that fit his tall, muscular body to perfection, he fairly gleamed with health and vitality, his bronzed skin and glossy black hair providing a stark contrast for those incredible amber-colored eyes. Mia suddenly felt irrationally embarrassed about her own grungy appearance.

At the sight of her, his lips parted in a slow smile. “Ah, Mia. Somehow I suspected that you would be difficult.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mia said defiantly, lifting her chin.

“I’m glad you decided to play this game.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, sending an unwanted shiver of pleasure down her spine. “It will make your eventual surrender that much sweeter.”

Still smiling, he politely offered her his arm. “Ready to go?”

Fuming, Mia ignored his offer, stomping down the stairs on her own. Idiot! She should’ve realized he would see her deliberately ugly appearance as a challenge. With his looks and apparent wealth, he probably had women fawning all over him. It must be refreshing to meet someone who didn’t immediately fall into his bed. Maybe she should just sleep with him and get it over with. If the pursuit was what he enjoyed, then he would lose interest very quickly if he got what he wanted.

The limo was waiting as they exited the building. “Where are we going?” Mia asked, wondering about it for the first time.

“Percival,” Korum answered, opening the door for her. The place he named was a popular restaurant in the Meatpacking District that was notoriously difficult to get into, even on a Monday night.

Mia mentally kicked herself again. It was one thing to look repellent for Korum—a wasted effort, as it turned out—but it was a whole different level of embarrassing to show up in the fanciest, trendiest district of New York City looking and smelling like a homeless person. Still, she’d rather die of embarrassment than give Korum the satisfaction of knowing how discomfited she felt.

He climbed into the car and sat down next to her. Reaching out, he took one of her hands and brought it to his lap, studying her palm and fingers with some apparent fascination. Her hand looked tiny in his large grasp, his golden skin appearing much darker next to her own whiteness, creating a surprisingly erotic contrast. Mia attempted to yank her hand away, trying to ignore the sensations his touch was provoking in her nether regions. He held her hand just long enough to let her feel the futility of her struggles, and then let go with a small smile.

It was strange, Mia thought, somewhere along the way she had stopped being so afraid of him. For some reason, knowing his intentions toward her—as crude and base as they were—gave her a peace of mind. The scared girl who sat in this car yesterday would not have dared to oppose him in any way for fear of unknown retaliation. Mia no longer had such qualms, and it was oddly liberating.

A minute later, the limo pulled up to the door of the restaurant. Korum exited first and Mia followed, noticing with mortification the double-takes they got from the well-dressed men and women on the street. A gorgeous K in his limo was bound to attract attention, and Mia was sure they wondered about his dowdy companion.

A tall, rail-thin hostess greeted them at the door. Without even asking for their reservations, she led them to a private booth in the back of the restaurant. “Welcome back to Percival,” she purred, leaning suggestively over Korum while handing them the menus. “Should I start you off with sparkling or flat?”

“Sparkling would be fine, Ashley, thanks,” he said absentmindedly, studying the menu.

Mia felt a sudden, shocking urge to tear out every straight blond hair from Ashley’s model-like head. A strange nausea-like sensation roiled her stomach as she pictured the two of them together in bed, his muscular body wrapped around the blonde’s. Stop it, Mia! Of course, he slept with other women! Undoubtedly, the creature left a trail of Ashleys anywhere he went.

“Have you decided what you’d like?” he inquired, looking up from his menu, seemingly oblivious to the murderous expression on Mia’s face.

“No, not yet.” Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to concentrate on the menu. This was undoubtedly the nicest restaurant she’d ever been to, and the menu—which lacked prices for some reason—listed some dishes and ingredients that she’d never heard of. Her eyes widened as she noticed goat cheese and caviar in the appetizer section and eggs in one of the noodle dishes. Her mouth watered. “I think I’ll get the roasted beets and goat cheese salad, followed by the pesto-artichoke Pad Thai.”

Korum smiled at her indulgently. “Of course.” He motioned to the waiter and relayed her order. “And I will have the watercress jicama salad and the shiitake parsnip ravioli in cashew cream. We’ll also get a bottle of Dom Perignon.”

Mia looked at him in fascination. She hadn’t known that Ks consumed alcohol. In fact, there was so much that she—and the public in general—didn’t know about the invaders who now lived alongside them. It dawned on Mia that she had the perfect opportunity to learn sitting across her at the table.

Feeling slightly reckless, she decided to start with the question that had been bothering her ever since their first meeting. “Is it true that you drink human blood?”

Korum’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead, and he nearly choked on his drink. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?” A big grin breaking out on his face, he asked, “Are you asking if we have to drink human blood, or if we do it anyway?”

Mia swallowed. She was suddenly far from sure this was the best line of questioning. “I guess both.”

“Well, let me set your mind at ease . . . We no longer require blood for survival.”

“But you did before?” Mia’s eyes widened in shock.

“Originally, when we first evolved into our current form, we needed to consume significant amounts of blood from a group of primates that had certain genetic similarities to us. It was a deficiency in our DNA that made us vulnerable and tied our existence to another species. We have since corrected this defect.”

“So it’s true? There were humans on your planet?” Mia was staring at him open-mouthed.

“They weren’t exactly human. Their blood, however, had the same hemoglobin characteristics as yours.”

“What happened to them? Are they still around?”

“No, they are now extinct.”

“I don’t understand,” Mia said slowly, trying to make sense of what she’d learned thus far. “If you needed them to survive, how and when did they go extinct? Was that before or after you . . . um . . . fixed your defect?”

“It happened long before then. We succeeded in developing a synthetic substance before the last of their kind disappeared, and it enabled us to survive their demise. They were an endangered species for millions of years. It was partially our fault for hunting them, but a lot of it had to do with their own low birth rate and short lifespan. Just like you, they had a weak immune system, and a plague nearly wiped them out. That’s when we began to work on alternative routes of survival for our species—synthetic hemoglobin substitutes, experimentation with our own DNA, and attempting to develop a comparable species both on Krina and on other planets.”

A lightbulb went off in Mia’s brain. “Is that why you planted life here on Earth? Is that how humans came to be—you needed a comparable species?”

“More or less. It was a shot in the dark, with minuscule odds of success. We disseminated our DNA as far as our then-primitive technology could reach. We didn’t know which planets and where would be hospitable to life, much less bear any similarities to Krina, so we blindly sent billions of drones to planets that are located in what you now call the Goldilocks Zones.”

“Goldilocks Zones?”

“Yes, these are also called the habitable zones—regions in the universe around various stars that potentially have the right atmospheric pressure to maintain liquid water on the surface. Based on our knowledge, those are the only places where life similar to Krina’s could arise.”

Mia nodded, now remembering learning about that in high school.

Satisfied that she was following along, he continued his explanation. “One of the drones reached Earth, and the first simple organisms succeeded in surviving here. Of course, we didn’t know that at the time. It wasn’t until some six hundred million years ago that we reached this part of the galaxy and found Earth.”

“Right before the Cambrian explosion began?” asked Mia, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. It was public knowledge now that the Ks had influenced evolution on Earth to a fairly significant degree, the timing of their initial arrival coinciding with the previously puzzling appearance of many new and complex life forms during the early Cambrian period. But their motives for planting life on Earth and later manipulating it had remained a mystery, and it was incredible to hear him speak about it so nonchalantly, revealing so much to her over dinner.

“Exactly. We have occasionally stepped in to guide your evolution, particularly when it threatened to drastically diverge from ours—such as when the dinosaurs had become a dominant life form—”

“But I thought the dinosaurs had been killed by an asteroid?”

“They were. But we could have easily deflected that strike. Instead, we simply ensured that the necessary life forms, such as the early versions of mammals, survived.”

Mia stared at him open-mouthed as he continued the story.

“When the first primate appeared here, it was a tremendous achievement for us because its blood carried the hemoglobin. However, we no longer needed it by then because we’d recently had the breakthrough that allowed us to manipulate our own DNA without adverse consequences.”

He paused when the salads were served, and continued speaking between bites of his watercress. “At that point, Earth and its primate species had become the grandest scientific experiment in the history of the known universe. The challenge for us became to see whether we could nudge along evolution just enough to see another intelligent species emerge.”

Mia felt chills going down her spine as she listened to the story of human origins told by an alien from the gazillion-year-old civilization that had essentially played God. An alien who was munching on his salad at the same time, as though discussing nothing more important than the weather.

“You see,” he continued, “the primates on Krina were of the same intelligence level as your chimpanzees, and few of us thought that a species as short-lived as yours could develop a truly sophisticated intellect. But we persisted, occasionally stepping in with genetic modifications to make you look more like us, and the result has surpassed all our expectations. While you share a lot of the characteristics of the Krinian primates—presence of the hemoglobin, a relatively weak immune system, and a short lifespan—you have a much higher birth rate and an intelligence that’s nearly comparable to ours. Your evolution rate is also much faster than ours—mostly due to that higher birth rate. The transition from primitive primates to intelligent beings took you only a couple of million years, while it took us nearly a billion.”

Dozens of questions were running through Mia’s mind. She latched onto the first one. “Why did you care if we looked like you? Is that somehow a requirement for intelligence?”

“No, not really. It just made the most sense to the scientists who were overseeing the project at the time. They wanted to create a sister species, intelligent beings that looked like us, so that it would be easier for us to relate to them, easier to communicate with them. Of course,” he said with a wicked smile, twirling his empty fork, “there was an unexpected side benefit.”

Mia looked at him warily. “What benefit?”

“Well, you see, when the first Earth primates appeared, some of the Krinar tried drinking their blood out of curiosity. And they quickly discovered that, in the absence of the biological need for the hemoglobin, drinking blood gave them a very pleasurable high—an almost sexual buzz. It was better than any drug, although synthetic versions of your blood have since become quite popular in our bars and nightclubs.”

Mia nearly choked on her salad. Coughing, she drank some water to clear the obstruction in her throat while he watched with an amused look on his face.

“But the best thing of all was our more recent discovery.” He leaned closer to her, his eyes turning a now-familiar shade of deeper gold. “You see, it turns out that there’s nothing quite as pleasurable as drinking blood from a living source during sex. The experience is simply indescribable.”

Mia reflexively swallowed, feeling horrified and oddly aroused at the same time. “So you want to drink my blood while . . . fucking?”

The corners of his mouth turned upward in a sensuous smile. “That would be the ultimate goal, yes.”

She had to know, even if the answer made her sick to her stomach. “Would I die?”

He laughed. “Die? No, taking a few sips of your blood won’t kill you any more than giving blood at a doctor’s office. In fact, our saliva contains a chemical that makes the whole process quite pleasurable for humans. It was originally intended for our prey, to make them drugged and docile when we fed on them—but now it merely serves the purpose of enhancing your experience.”

Mia’s head felt like it was exploding with everything she’d just learned, but there was something else she needed to find out. “How exactly do you do it?” she asked cautiously. “Drink blood, I mean? Do you have fangs?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s an invention of your literary fiction. We don’t need fangs—the edges of our top teeth are sharp enough that they can penetrate the skin with relative ease, usually by just slicing through the top layer.”

Their main course arrived, giving Mia a few precious moments to regain her composure.

It was too much, all of it.

Her thoughts spun around, all jumbled and chaotic. Somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, she’d gotten used to the idea that an extraterrestrial wanted to have sex with her, for whatever reason. But now he also wanted her to serve as a blood donor during sex. His species had basically created her kind, and they now used human blood as some sort of an aphrodisiac. The idea was disturbing and sickening on many levels, and all Mia wanted to do was crawl into her bed, pulling covers over her head, and pretend that none of this was happening.

Something of her inner turmoil must have shown on her face because Korum reached out, gently covering her hand with his, and said softly, “Mia, I know this is all a huge shock to you. I know that you need time to understand and get to know me better. Why don’t you relax and enjoy your meal, and we can discuss something else in the meantime?” He added with a teasing smile, “I promise not to bite.”

Mia nodded and obediently dug into her food as soon as he released her hand. It was either that or run out of the restaurant screaming, and she wasn’t sure how he would react to that. After everything she’d learned today, the last thing she wanted was to provoke whatever predatory instincts his species still possessed.

The Pad Thai was delicious, she realized, tasting the rich flavors complemented by bits of real egg. For some reason, despite her delicate build, nothing ever interfered with her appetite. Her family often joked that Mia must really be a lumberjack in disguise, given the large quantities of food she liked to consume on a regular basis. “How is your ravioli?” she asked between bites of her noodles, searching for the most innocuous subject.

“It’s great,” he answered, enjoying his dish with similar gusto. “I often come to this restaurant because they have one of the best chefs in New York.”

“I don’t know,” Mia teased, trying to keep the conversation light. “The salad and sandwich you made yesterday was pretty tasty.”

He grinned at her, exposing the dimple that made him seem so much more approachable. It was only on his left cheek, not the right—a slight imperfection in his otherwise flawless features that only added to his appeal. “Why, thank you. That’s the best compliment I got all year.”

“Do you cook a lot for yourself or mostly go out to restaurants?” Food seemed like a nice safe topic.

“I do both quite a bit. I like to eat, as you apparently do too”—he motioned to her rapidly disappearing portion with a smile—“so that necessitates a lot of both. What about you? I imagine it’s tough to go out too much in New York on a student’s budget.”

“That would be an understatement,” Mia agreed. “But there are some really nice cheap places near NYU and in Chinatown, if I want to venture out that far.”

“What made you decide to come to New York for school? Your home state has a number of good universities, and the weather is so much better there.” He seemed genuinely perplexed.

Mia laughed as the irony of her school choice only now occurred to her. “When I was applying to colleges, my parents were afraid that you—the Krinar, I mean—might establish a Center in Florida, so they wanted me to go to an out-of-state school.”

Korum smiled in response. “We did actually think about settling there, but it was too densely populated for our taste.” He took a sip of his champagne. “So I’m guessing they wouldn’t be particularly happy that you’re here with me today?”

“God, no.” Mia shuddered. “My mom would probably be hysterical, and my dad would get one of his stress migraines.”

“And your sister?”

“Um, she wouldn’t be particularly happy either.” For a moment, she had almost forgotten how much he knew about her.

“She’s older than you, right?”

“By nearly eight years. She got married last year.”

“I wonder what it would be like to have a sibling,” he mused. “It’s not a very common occurrence for us, having more than one child.”

Mia shrugged. “I’m not sure if my experience was particularly authentic, given our age difference. By the time I was old enough to be anything more than a brat, she had already left for college.” Her curiosity kicking in again, she asked, “So you don’t have any siblings? What about your parents?”

“I’m an only child. My parents are back on Krina, so I haven’t seen them in a while. We do communicate remotely, though, on a regular basis.”

Their waiter returned to clear the table and give them their dessert menus. Mia chose tiramisu—made with real cheese and eggs—and Korum went with the apple pecan tart. Somehow, in the course of their conversation, she’d managed to down two glasses of champagne, and was beginning to feel buzzed. The evening took on a slightly surreal tint in her mind, from the restaurant filled with Manhattan’s most beautiful people to the gorgeous predator who sat across the table from her, blithely chatting about their families.

Mia wondered how old he was. She knew the Ks were very long-lived, so there was really no way to tell his age from appearance. Had he been human, she would have guessed late twenties. Her curiosity got the best of her again, and she blurted out, “How old are you?”

“About two thousand of your Earth years.”

Mia stared at him in shock. That would put him somewhere in the very ancient category by human standards. Two thousand years ago, the Roman Empire still ruled the Western world, and the Christian religion was just getting its start. And he had been alive since that time?

She drank some more champagne to help with the dryness in her throat. “Does that make you old or young in your society?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I guess on the younger side. My parents are much older. It doesn’t matter, though. Once we reach full maturity, age literally becomes just a number.”

“We must all seem like infants to you then, huh?” Mia took a big gulp from her glass and felt the room tilt slightly. She hoped she wasn’t slurring her words. She probably should stop with the champagne. He could easily take advantage of her if she got drunk. But, then again, he could easily take advantage of her sober too. She was completely at the mercy of an alien who wanted to fuck her and drink her blood, so she might as well enjoy this undoubtedly excellent vintage.

“Not infants. Just naive in certain ways. More like teenagers, if anything.”

Mia rubbed an itchy spot on her nose with the back of her hand, wondering if she wanted to know the answer to her next question. She decided to go for it. “So are you immortal, like the vampires of our legends?”

“We don’t think of it that way. Everybody can die. Our species has always enjoyed negligible senescence, but we can still be killed or die in a bad accident.”

“Negligible senescence?”

“Basically, we don’t have the symptoms of aging. Before we were sufficiently advanced with our science and medicine, we could still die from a variety of natural causes, but we’ve now succeeded in achieving a very low—almost negligible—mortality rate.”

“How is this possible?” asked Mia. “How can a living creature not age? Is that something peculiar to Krina?”

“Not really. There are actually a number of species right here on Earth that have that same characteristic. For instance, have you ever heard of the four-hundred-year-old clam?”

“What? No!” He had to be making fun of her ignorance; surely such a thing didn’t exist.

He nodded. “It’s true—look it up if you don’t believe me. There are a number of creatures that don’t lose their reproductive or functional capabilities with age—some species of mussels and clams, lobsters, sea anemones, giant tortoises, hydras . . . In fact, hydras are pretty much biologically immortal; they die from injury or disease, but not from old age.”

Trying to process this incredible information, Mia rubbed her nose again. That’s it, she realized, no more alcohol for her. For some reason, her nose had a tendency to get itchy after a few drinks, and Mia had learned to respect it as a sign of when to stop. The few times she’d ignored this warning, the consequences hadn’t been pretty.

Seeing her weaving slightly in her seat, Korum motioned the waiter for the check. Mia hazily wondered if she should offer to split it, the way she always did when she went out with college guys. Nah, she decided. He had practically forced her to come out today, so she might as well get a free meal out of it. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could afford this place, given the priceless menu. So instead, she just observed when Korum waived his wristwatch phone-wallet over the waiter’s tiny digital receptor, and added what seemed to be a generous tip, judging by the grateful expression on the waiter’s face.

“Ready to go?” He helped her put on her coat and again offered her his arm. Mia accepted this time, as she felt somewhat woozy and didn’t have a high degree of confidence in her own ability to make it out of the restaurant without tripping at some point.

“Are you drunk?” he asked with amusement, observing her slightly unsteady gait as they exited onto the street. “I only saw you drink a couple of glasses.”

Mia raised her chin and lied, “I’m perfectly fine.” She hated it when people pointed out what a lightweight she was.

“If you say so.” He looked like he was about to laugh, and Mia wanted to smack him.

Roger and the limo were waiting at the curb, of course. Mia hesitated, her heart rate accelerating at the realization that she would be alone with an extraterrestrial predator who wanted her blood.

She turned to him. “You know, I really feel like getting some fresh air. I can just walk from here—my apartment is only about a dozen blocks away, and the weather is really quite nice and refreshing.” The last bit was a lie. It was actually quite chilly, and Mia was already shivering in her thin coat.

His expression darkened. “Mia. Get in. I will take you home.” It was his scary tone of voice, and it worked just as well on her the second time around. Shaking slightly from a combination of nerves and the cold air, she climbed into the car.

The ride to her apartment was oddly uneventful, taking only a few minutes in the absence of traffic. He again held her hand, gently rubbing her palm in a soothing manner. Despite her initial nervousness, Mia closed her eyes, leaned back against the comfortable seat, and was just starting to drift off when they arrived at their destination.

He walked her up the five flights of stairs to her apartment, holding her arm as an apparent precaution against any alcohol-induced unsteadiness. She felt tired and sleepy, wanting nothing more than to collapse into her bed at home. At one point, she managed to stumble and nearly fall anyway, missing a step with her high-heeled shoe. Korum sighed and lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the remaining two flights despite her mumbled protestations.

Upon reaching her apartment, he carefully set her back on her feet, briefly keeping her pressed against his hard body before letting her pull away. His hands remained on her waist, holding her at a short distance. Mia stared at him, mesmerized. Her breathing picked up, and warm moisture pooled between her legs as she realized what the large bulge she’d felt in his jeans meant. His breathing was a little fast too, and she doubted that it had anything to do with carrying a hundred-pound human girl up two flights of stairs. He leaned toward her, eyes nearly yellow at this point, and Mia froze as he cupped the back of her head and pressed his lips to hers.

He kissed her leisurely, his tongue exploring her mouth with exquisite gentleness, even as he held her against him in an unbreakable grip. Mia moaned, a wave of heat surging through her body and leaving an oddly pleasurable sense of lethargy in its wake. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning bell was going off, but all she could concentrate on was his mouth and the sensations spreading throughout her body. He brought her closer, pressing his groin against her belly, and she felt his hardness again, her sex clenching in response. He lightly sucked on her lower lip, pulling it into his mouth, and his hand slid down her back to cup her buttocks, lifting her off the ground so he could grind his erection directly against her clitoris through their layers of clothing.

The pressure building inside her was different and stronger than anything she’d ever experienced, and Mia groaned with frustration, wanting more. Her hands somehow found their way to his shoulders, kneading the heavy muscles through his shirt, and it was not enough. She wanted, needed the feel of his naked skin against her own, the slide of his heavy cock into her sex, quenching the empty pulsing sensation she felt there. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding against him, and the sensations built to a fever pitch. She hovered on the edge for a few delicious seconds, and then went over, climaxing with a muffled scream against lips. He groaned as well, his other hand reaching under her skirt and tearing at her tights as he let go of her mouth to press burning kisses on her neck and collarbone.

“Mia? Is that you?” A familiar voice reached through her daze, and Mia realized with mortification that Jessie had opened the apartment door and was staring at them in shock. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call the police?” Her roommate clearly wasn’t sure how to interpret what she was seeing.

Still wrapped around Korum, Mia felt a shudder go through his body as he visibly fought to regain control. Suddenly fearing for Jessie, Mia barked at her, “Yes, I’m fine! Go back inside and leave us alone!” A hurt look appeared on her roommate’s face, and she vanished inside the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Mia pushed at Korum, trying to put some distance between them. “Please let me go,” she said quietly, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a little ball in her room and cry. He hesitated for a second, and then lowered her to her feet, still keeping her pressed against his body. His golden skin appeared flushed from within, and his eyes still had a strong yellow undertone. The bulge against her stomach showed no signs of abating, and Mia shivered, realizing that he was holding onto his self-control by a hair. “Please,” she repeated, knowing that there was nothing she could do to make him release her until he was ready.

“You want me to let you go? After all that?” His voice was harsh and guttural, and the arms locked around her back tightened until she could barely breathe.

Mia nodded, trembling, the white-hot desire she’d felt earlier giving way to a confusing jumble of fear and acute embarrassment. He looked at her, his expression dark and unreadable, and then very deliberately removed his arms from around her waist and stepped away.

“All right,” he said softly. “Have it your way. Go to your little room, and tell your roommate all about it. Have yourself a good cry about what a little slut you are, coming like that from a kiss right out in the hallway.” His eyes glittered at the stricken expression on her face. “And then you better get used to the idea that you’ll come a lot more, from everything I do to you—and I will literally do everything.”

With that promise, he turned away and walked toward the stairs. Pausing before entering the stairwell, he looked back and said, “I will pick you up after class tomorrow. No more games, Mia.”

Chapter 5

HER LEGS SHAKING, Mia made her way into the apartment with as much dignity as she could muster considering that her underwear was soaking wet and her tights were hanging in shreds around her knees. Jessie sat on the couch in the living room, waiting for her to come in. She didn’t look mad anymore, just extremely concerned.

“Oh my God, Mia,” she said slowly. “What the hell was that out in the hallway?”

Mia shook her head, barely holding back tears. “Jessie, I’m sorry. I really can’t talk now,” she said, going directly to her room and closing the door.

Collapsing on the bed, she wrapped the coverlet around herself and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her body seemed like it didn’t belong to her, with her sex still pulsating in the aftermath of her orgasm. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her nipples felt so sensitive that the bra was too abrasive against her skin. She also felt raw and devastated inside, exposed in a way that she’d never before experienced in her life.

She didn’t want this—any of this. The complete loss of control over her own body was overwhelming, and the fact that Korum was the one to solicit such a powerful response made her feel even more vulnerable.

He frightened her.

She was completely out of her league with him, and she knew it. As scary as it was to think about what the sexual act with an extraterrestrial vampire was likely to entail, the thing that Mia dreaded most was the effect he had on her emotions. He would take everything from her—her body and her soul—and when he was done, he would move on, leaving her broken and scarred for life, unable to ever forget her dark alien lover.

This was not how her life was supposed to turn out. Coming from a family of second-generation Polish immigrants, Mia had always followed the right path. She studied hard in school, both to please her parents and out of her own desire for achievement. Once she finished grad school, she intended to use her degree to counsel high school or college students on their own career path. She was close to her parents and sister, and she hoped to be a good mother to her own children one day. At some point, she was supposed to fall in love with a nice man from a good family and have a long happy marriage, the way her own parents did. While other girls dreamed of adventures and chased after bad boys, Mia just wanted a regular life, done the right way.

She had always known that she was a sexual creature. Despite her lack of experience, she had no doubt that she would enjoy sex once she found the right person. She loved reading racy novels and watching R-rated movies, and she considered herself far from a prude. In fact, she liked the idea of trying out new things and having several relationships before ultimately settling down. When she went out clubbing with Jessie, Mia frequently found herself turned on from dancing with some attractive guy, particularly after having a couple of shots. For some reason, it had never gone beyond a few kisses, perhaps because Mia was too cautious and rational to pick up a guy at a club for a one-night stand. Still, she had looked forward to her first time, preferably with a special someone that she cared about and who cared about her. An alien predator who wanted to fuck her and drink her blood was as far removed from that ideal as anything that Mia could imagine.

She wanted a shower.

Slowly getting up, Mia took off her clothes. The tights were beyond salvation, so she threw them in the trash. Her black dress was also slightly ripped in the front—Mia could not even remember when that happened—and she discarded it also. Feeling reckless, she chucked the Mary-Janes and her underwear into the bin as well, wanting nothing to remind her of this night. Wrapping herself in her robe, Mia left the safety of her room and headed into the shower, hoping that Jessie had gone to sleep.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Mia woke up with a headache.

As soon as she opened her eyes, the events of the last evening rushed back into her mind, accompanied by a scalding feeling of humiliation. He had mockingly called her a slut, and she very much felt like one, particularly given what Jessie had been privy to. She also remembered what he’d said about picking her up today, and she suddenly felt nauseous from a combination of fear and some kind of sick excitement.

She only had one class today, and it didn’t start until eleven. It was just as well, since she didn’t even know if she wanted to get out of bed at all.

There was a timid knock on her door.

“Yes, come in,” Mia said in resignation, knowing that Jessie must’ve been anxiously waiting for her to wake up and listening for any movements in her room.

Her roommate entered sheepishly and sat down on Mia’s bed. “So I guess my patented guy-repellent strategy was a total fail, huh?”

Mia rubbed her eyes and gave Jessie a bitter smile. “It’s pretty fair to say, yes.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to yell at you—I just really didn’t want you out there, seeing what I guess you saw.”

Jessie nodded, clearly having figured it out on her own. “No worries. I would’ve done the same. I was just worried that he was forcing you or something. So, are you, like, really into him now?”

Mia groaned and buried her head in her pillow. “I don’t know. Every sane part of me says to run as far away as I can, but every time he touches me, I just can’t help myself. It’s like I don’t have any control over this thing. I hate it.”

Jessie’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow. That’s so hot. It’s like the kind of thing you read about in romance novels—he kisses her and she swoons!”

An elusive something kept nagging at Mia this morning, and Jessie’s words suddenly put the puzzle pieces together.

Of course! He did kiss her, and he had explicitly told her that K saliva contained some chemical that kept their prey docile and drugged. It all made sense now—the pleasant lethargy that had spread through her veins and the way her brain had simply turned off the second his lips touched hers, leaving her to operate on pure animal instinct. The chemical was probably even more potent directly in the bloodstream, but she had undoubtedly gotten a nice dose of it last night.

No wonder she had acted like such a slut—not only was she drunk from champagne, but she was also literally high from his kiss.

A burning fury slowly built in her stomach, replacing the sense of humiliation she’d felt earlier. The bastard. He had basically drugged her and very nearly took advantage, and then he had the nerve to accuse her of playing games. Well, screw him! If he thought she would meekly go with him today after class, he had another thing coming.

Her brain whirled, searching for alternatives.

“Jessie,” she said slowly. “Didn’t you once tell me that a cousin of yours had some kind of connections in the Resistance?”

“Uh—” Jessie was clearly surprised. “Are you talking about that thing I once told you about Jason? That was a long time ago, when we were still freshmen. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have anything to do with that anymore, not that I’ve kept in touch with him.” She stared at Mia with a concerned look on her face. “Why are you even asking? What, you want to join the freedom fighters now?”

Mia shrugged, not sure where she was going with this. All she knew was that she refused to meekly become Korum’s sex toy, to be used and discarded at whim.

She had never believed in the anti-K movement and thought that the Resistance fighters were crazy. The Krinar were here to stay. Human weapons and technology were hopelessly primitive in comparison to theirs, and Mia had always thought that trying to fight them was the equivalent of banging your head against the wall—futile and likely dangerous. Besides, it didn’t seem all that bad, once the days of the Great Panic were over. The Ks had mostly left them alone, choosing to live in their own settlements, and life went on with a few minor differences—cleaner air, a healthier diet, and a lot of shattered illusions about humanity’s place in the universe. However, now that she’d had some personal interactions with one particular K, she felt a bit more sympathetic to the fighters’ cause—not that it made the Resistance movement any less futile.

She sighed. “Never mind, it was just a stupid idea. I think I just need to clear my head.” Hopping out of bed, Mia pulled on her jeans, an old T-shirt, and a comfy sweater.

“Wait, Mia. What’s going on?” Jessie was confused by her actions. “Are you upset about what happened last night?”

Mia pulled on her socks and a pair of sneakers. “I guess,” she muttered. Telling her roommate the whole story would just make her worry, and a worried Jessie sometimes did drastic things—such as calling the police once to report Mia missing, when she had simply fallen asleep in the library with a dead phone battery. Not that Jessie could do anything in this case, but she still preferred not to cause her unnecessary distress. “Look, I’m fine,” Mia lied. “I just really need to take a walk and get some air. You know I haven’t exactly had a lot of experience with this type of thing, and this is a little like being thrown in the deep end of the pool. I just want to try to figure out how I feel about all this before I can even begin to talk about it.”

Jessie looked at her with a faintly hurt expression. “Okay, well, sure. Whatever you need to do.” Then she brightened. “Are you going to be home for dinner tonight? I was thinking of cooking some pasta, and we could just have a girls’ night in, watch some old movies . . .”

Mia shook her head with regret. “That sounds amazing, but I really don’t know. I think I’ll be seeing him again today.”

Seeing the worried look on Jessie’s face, she quickly added with a sly smile, “And it might be quite fun.” Before Jessie had a chance to reply, Mia grabbed her backpack and ran out the door with a quick “see you later.”

She walked briskly down the street with no particular destination in mind. Stopping by a deli, she bought a pack of chewing gum—since she hadn’t even brushed her teeth this morning—and a wrap loaded with hummus, avocado, and fresh veggies. Her brain seemed to have gone into hibernation, and she simply walked without thinking about anything in particular, enjoying the feel of her feet striking the pavement and the mid-morning sun warming her face. She must’ve walked like that for a long time because, by the time she started paying attention to street signs, she was already in TriBeCa, a block away from the luxury high-rise that she’d been in less than forty-eight hours ago.

And just like that, she knew what she was going to do—what her subconscious must’ve known even earlier because it had brought her here.

It was really quite simple.

Running was futile. He could track her down anywhere she went, and he had already proven that he could manipulate her body into responding to his with the aid of various chemical substances. No, running wasn’t the answer. He was a hunter. The chase was what he loved, and there was really only one thing she could do to thwart him. She could deny him the chase, take away the enjoyment of pursuing a reluctant prey.

She could come to him herself.

* * *

HAVING REACHED THE decision, Mia lost no time in putting it into action.

Entering the lobby of his building, she calmly told the concierge that she was there to see Korum. The man’s eyes widened a little—he clearly knew what the occupant of the top floor was—and he notified the unit of her presence. Ten seconds later, he motioned toward the elevator that was positioned a little to the left of the main one. “Please go ahead, miss. Just enter in 1159 when prompted for a code, and it will take you to the penthouse floor.”

Korum was waiting when the elevator doors opened.

Despite her intention to remain unmoved, her breath caught in her throat and her pulse jacked up at the sight. He wore a soft-looking pair of grey pajama pants and nothing else. His upper body was completely bare, with bronze skin covering chiseled muscle and a light smattering of dark hair visible around small, masculine nipples. Broad shoulders, thick with ropy muscles, tapered down to a slim waist, and an actual six pack covered his flat abdomen. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on his powerful body.

Mia swallowed to help the dryness in her throat, suddenly far less sure of the wisdom of her plan.

“Mia,” he purred, leaning on the doorway and looking for all the world like a big jungle cat about to pounce. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I was not expecting to see you so early.” Something in her expression must’ve betrayed her because he let out a short laugh. “Ah, I see. It was because I wasn’t expecting you. Well, come on in.”

Padding to the kitchen in his bare feet, he asked, “Have you had breakfast?”

Mia nodded, feeling like a mute but afraid that her voice might betray her nervousness. This was definitely not the best plan. Why had she thought that bearding the lion in his den was somehow better than trying to avoid him altogether?

But there was no turning back now.

“Okay, then, perhaps I might interest you in some coffee or tea?” His tone was overly courteous, making a mockery of the normally polite question.

Her chin went up at the realization that he found the whole situation amusing. “No, thanks,” she said coolly, taking pride in the level tone of her voice. “You know why I’m here. Why don’t you stop playing games, so we can just get on with it?”

He stopped and looked at her. There was no trace of laughter on his face. “All right, Mia,” he said slowly. “If that’s how you wish it.”

“One more thing,” she said, wanting to needle him and no longer caring about the consequences. “No drugs of any kind. No alcohol and no saliva anywhere in my body. If you want my blood, you can just cut my vein and drink it that way. And no mouth-to-mouth kissing. I don’t want to be drunk or high today.”

His face darkened, and his eyes seemed to turn into pools of liquid gold. “You think you were high yesterday? Is that what you’re telling yourself to explain what happened? That a couple of glasses of champagne and my magic kisses turned you into a nymphomaniac?” He laughed sardonically. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, darling, but the chemical in our saliva only works if it gets directly into your blood. Maybe if I kissed you all day long, after a few hours you might feel a tiny buzz—if you’re lucky. Of course, if I kissed you all day long, you would probably come dozens of times and be long past noticing any kind of saliva-induced effects.” Still smiling, he said pleasantly, “But have it your way. No kissing and no biting. All else is fair game.”

Coming up to her, he took her hand and led her down the hall. Her heart pounding, Mia went without protest, knowing that the time for changing her mind was long past. She didn’t know whether to believe him and, more importantly, she didn’t want to believe him. If he was telling the truth, then she had made a huge mistake in coming here today. Some foolish part of her had thought that she could do this—let him have sex with her unwilling, unresponsive body, reduce him to being the rapist he’d claimed he was not—and walk away with her emotions untouched, maintaining some kind of moral high ground. If he wasn’t lying, then she was, quite literally, screwed.

He led her into what had to be his bedroom. Like the rest of his penthouse, the room was both modern and opulent at the same time. A large circular bed dominated the center of the room. It was unmade and had obviously been recently slept in. The sheets were a soft ivory color, and the thick blankets and pillows strewn around the bed were a pale shade of blue. Mia’s heart climbed into her throat as she fully realized what she’d just agreed to do.

He released her hand and stepped back, leaving her standing in the middle of the room. “All right,” he said softly, “now take off your clothes.”

Mia stood there frozen, a hot wave of embarrassment rolling through her. He wanted her to remove her clothes, right there in the middle of the sunlit room?

“You heard me,” he repeated, his voice cold despite the yellow heat in his eyes. “Take them off.” Seeing her hesitation, he added, “I can guarantee your clothes will not survive it if I lay my hands on them.”

Mia’s hands shook as she slowly raised them to pull the sweater over her head. He merely watched her, his face inscrutable despite the hunger in his eyes. She took off her sneakers, and her jeans were next, leaving her clad in pink boy-short panties and a T-shirt. She had forgotten to wear a bra and now acutely felt that lack, with her nipples hard and visible against the thin fabric of the T-shirt.

“Now take off your shirt,” he instructed, seeing her pause. The front of his pants was tented, she noticed, and somehow that was oddly reassuring—to know that she had that kind of effect on him, that he wasn’t turned off by her awkwardness or her skinny body. Trembling slightly, she pulled the shirt over her head, revealing her breasts to male eyes for the first time. It took all her willpower not to cross her arms over her chest in a silly virginal gesture; instead, she stood there with her hands fisted at her sides, letting him look his fill.

He came toward her then and touched her, slowly stroking one palm down her back while another hand cupped her left breast, gently kneading it as though to test its weight and texture. “You’re very pretty,” he murmured, looking down at her as his hands deliberately explored her body, every stroke sending ripples of heat down to her nether regions. Standing there in her bare feet, Mia was acutely aware of how much larger his body was compared to hers, with her head barely reaching his shoulder and each of his arms thicker than half of her torso. His hands appeared dark against her pale skin, and she shivered when he moved his palm down to her belly, the width of his open hand nearly spanning the distance between her hip bones. His erection prodded her side, the thin material of his pajama pants doing little to conceal its heat and hardness.

Without the blurring effect from the alcohol or the shield of darkness, there was no retreat from his brutally intimate actions, no merciful escape into a sensual fog. Instead, Mia stood there in broad daylight, exposed and vulnerable, intensely aware of each stroke of his large hands over her body and the warm moisture lubricating her sex in response.

Hooking his thumbs into her underwear, he pushed her panties down her legs, removing her last defense. “Step out of them,” he hoarsely ordered, and Mia obeyed, standing completely naked in his arms. The fact that he was still wearing his pants somehow made the whole thing worse, adding to her sense of complete powerlessness.

He touched her buttocks, his hands curving around the small pale globes of her ass and lightly squeezing them. “Very nice,” he whispered, and Mia blushed for some inexplicable reason. The dark curls between her legs attracted his attention next, and Mia flinched when his fingers slowly stroked her pussy hair, looking for the tender flesh underneath. Feeling her wetness, he smiled with purely masculine satisfaction, and Mia’s embarrassment grew tenfold. This was the worst part—knowing that her own body betrayed her, that a creature who was not even human could provoke this kind of response from her under the circumstances.

“No mouth-to-mouth, right?” he murmured, picking her up and carrying her over to the bed. Mia nodded, squeezing her eyes shut in the hopes that it would be over with quickly. Instead, he placed her in the middle of the circular bed, like some virginal sacrifice, and crawled down her body until his head was above the juncture of her legs. Mia tried to rear up then, realizing his intentions, but he had no intention of letting her go. Instead, he easily held down her flailing legs with his elbows while his fingers leisurely parted her folds, exposing her most sensitive place to his burning gaze. Lowering his head, he gently pressed his tongue, soft and flat, against her clitoris—just holding it there and letting her struggle until she could bear it no longer, her entire body arching with the most powerful climax of her life.

While she lay there, still shuddering with little aftershocks, he rose up on his knees, deftly stripping off the pants to reveal a large jutting penis. Mia’s eyes widened as she realized that her first time would likely involve more than a minor discomfort, given the size of the cock in front of her.

Seeing her fear, he paused. “Mia,” he said quietly, “we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. I can wait—”

She shook her head, unable to think past the fog of desire clouding her brain. It had taken all her courage to get this far, to allow him so much intimacy. To retreat now seemed cowardly, and Mia felt a sudden, irrational dread that this was it—that if she gave up a chance to experience such passion now, she would never feel it again.

He didn’t need much encouragement. Before her logical side could reassert itself, he was already over her, parting her legs with one powerfully muscled thigh and settling in between them. Looking steadily into her eyes, he began to push his cock into her opening, slowly working it in inch by slow inch.

Regretting her decision almost immediately, Mia writhed under him, feeling like a heated baseball bat was attempting to enter her channel. Despite the wetness from her orgasm, her inner muscles did not want to let him in, desperately clenching to repel the invasion. “Shhh,” he whispered soothingly as tears rolled down her face at the burning discomfort that threatened to morph into pain. Beads of sweat appeared on his own face at the obvious strain of holding back, his arms flexing as he held himself steady, trying to let the delicate muscles stretch around his shaft before proceeding. But Mia could not hold still, every instinct leading her to fight the penetration, little cries escaping from her throat as he pressed further, pausing briefly at the internal barrier. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, and Mia screamed as he pushed forward in one smooth motion, tearing through the membrane that was blocking his entrance and sheathing his cock to the hilt, his pubic hair pressing against her own.

Mia’s vision went dark for a second, and hot nausea boiled up her throat as a knife-like pain tore through her insides. She had never expected to feel such agony, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, raw, guttural cries breaking out from her throat, desperately wanting to escape the object tearing her body apart. All earlier pleasure forgotten, she writhed under him like a fish on a hook, barely registering the soothing platitudes he was murmuring in her ear and the gentle kisses he was raining on her cheeks and forehead.

At some point, the agonizing pain began to abate, and she realized that he wasn’t moving, just holding himself deep inside her, his muscles quivering from the effort it took to stay still. “I’m sorry,” he was saying, apparently repeating it for the umpteenth time, “it will get better, I promise. Just let yourself relax, and it won’t hurt like that anymore, I promise you . . . Shhh, my darling, just relax . . . there’s a good girl . . . It will get better soon, I promise . . .”

Liar, Mia thought bitterly. How could it get better when he was still inside her, the organ that had caused her so much pain lodged deeply within? She felt violated and betrayed, pinned under his much larger body with no hope of escape until he was done. “Just finish it,” she told him harshly, willing to tolerate anything to have this be over.

A small smile curved his lips despite the strain on his face. “Ah Mia, my sweet brave girl, your wish is my command.” He pulled out slowly, and Mia squeezed her eyes shut, unable to hold back tears as the motion brought more pain at first. He kept moving, however, slowly retreating from her body and penetrating her again, and the ancient rhythm somehow ignited a small spark inside her again. Sensing it, he gradually picked up the pace and changed his angle slightly, so that the broad head of his shaft nudged some sensitive spot deep inside. His arm reached between them, knowing fingers unerringly finding her clitoris, and he pressed lightly, keeping the pressure steady and letting his strokes move her against his hand. Mia’s body tensed again, this time for a different reason, and liquid heat began to gather in her core. She found herself starting to pant, echoing his heavy breathing, and the tension inside her became nearly unbearable, every thrust of his cock bringing her closer and closer to the edge without sending her over. The pain didn’t go away—it was still there—but somehow it didn’t matter as every nerve in Mia’s body focused on her desperate need for the release. He groaned, his hips now hammering at her, and she screamed in frustration, small fists beating uselessly against his chest, her body vibrating like a guitar string from the intolerable tension deep inside. And suddenly it was too much. She felt him swell up even more, and then he was coming with one final deep thrust that sent her over the edge, his pelvis grinding against her sex as her entire body seemed to explode with an orgasm so powerful that she literally saw stars, her brain almost short-circuiting from the intensity of the climax.

She lay there afterwards, feeling his cock still twitching inside her even as it became softer and smaller. His shoulders and back were slick with sweat, and his breathing sounded like he had just run a marathon, his body lying heavily on top of hers. Her own limbs were shaking slightly, she noticed with a curiously detached interest, and her heart was pounding as though from a physical exertion.

He pulled out then, and Mia felt the loss of heat from his body, a strange inner coldness taking its place. He left the room, and she brought her knees up to her chest in a slow, painful motion, her body feeling foreign as she curled into a fetal position on her side, her mind oddly blank. There were streaks of blood on her thighs, much more blood than the spotting she’d always thought was the norm.

He came back a minute later, a small white tube in his hands. Squeezing out some clear substance, he coated his finger in it and reached between her legs, entering her sore opening despite her faint protest. Almost immediately, Mia felt the burning pain beginning to abate as the mystery gel worked its magic.

“It’s an analgesic, and it will speed your recovery,” he explained, wiping his hand on the sheets to get rid of the excess. “Unfortunately, I can’t heal you completely because the last thing I want is for your membrane to regrow itself.”

Mia responded by curling up into an even smaller ball. More than anything, she wanted to shrink and disappear, to pretend that none of this was real. He didn’t let her though, gathering her closer to him in a spooning position, his large warm body curling around her own. “I hate you,” she told him, wanting to lash out and hurt him somehow. She felt his sigh against her back. “I know,” he said, gently stroking her tangled curls.

They must have lain like that for a few minutes. The sheets smelled like sex, Mia noticed, and like him. There was also a metallic odor that Mia realized had to be the remnants of her virginity.

“You never drank my blood,” she said, finding it easier to communicate like that, with her back turned toward him.

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed, adding, “I think you’ve had enough new experiences for one day.”

How considerate of him, Mia thought bitterly. Such a gentleman, sparing the poor virgin additional trauma. Never mind that he was the cause of that trauma in the first place.

As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, he said, continuing to stroke her hair, “I’m sorry it was so painful for you. I know you won’t believe me right now, but I never wanted to hurt you like that and I never will again. Had I known how narrow you were inside and how thick your membrane would be, I would have made sure to remove it before we got anywhere near this bedroom. Once I was inside you, it was too late—I just couldn’t stop. It won’t be like this next time, I promise.”

Mia listened to his little speech with a growing dread in her stomach. “Just to be clear,” she said slowly, “I don’t ever want to do this with you again. Ever. If you touch me again, it will be rape in the very real sense of the word.”

Korum didn’t answer, and Mia realized with a sinking feeling that he very much intended for there to be a next time. “You’re a monster,” she told him, trying to pull away. He let her go, getting up himself. Before she realized what he wanted, he bent over the bed and lifted her in his arms, carrying her naked out of the room.

He brought her to the same bathroom Mia had showered in before. At some point, he must have filled the jacuzzi because it was ready for them. He carefully set her on her feet in the wonderfully hot water that came up to her waist. Her legs still felt shaky, so Mia lowered herself into the bubbles, finding a step on which she could sit. Powerful jets pleasantly massaged her tired muscles, washing off dried blood and semen on her thighs, and Mia leaned back against the edge and closed her eyes, trying to ignore Korum’s naked presence.

A scary thought suddenly entered her mind, causing her eyes to pop open. “You didn’t use any protection,” she hissed at him, horrified at the realization. “Am I going to catch some kind of a weird STD or worse—get pregnant?”

He laughed, throwing his head back. “No, my sweet—both would be an impossibility. You’re far safer having sex with me than with any human male, regardless of how many condoms he wears.”

Mia exhaled in relief. The gel he’d used earlier and the hot water were doing wonders for her physical state, and she felt nearly back to her old self. She was also hungry, she realized.

“I should get going,” she said, looking around the bathroom for a towel or a robe to wrap herself in. She still didn’t feel comfortable being naked in front of him.

“Why?” he asked lazily, moving his muscular back to take better advantage of the jets. “You already missed your class and you don’t have anything on Wednesdays.”

Apparently, he knew her class schedule by heart.

Mia shrugged, no longer surprised by anything. “I’m hungry, and I want to go home,” she said, telling the truth.

He grinned at her, looking happy for some reason. “I’ll make you something to eat. Why don’t you relax here some more, and I’ll come get you when the food is ready.”

She nodded, deciding not to argue at the memory of the delicious meal he’d made before.

Still smiling, Korum rose and stepped out of the tub, water streaming down his golden skin and well-defined muscles. Despite everything that happened, Mia felt a spark of arousal at the sight of him fully naked. His back was broad and muscular, and his hips were narrow. His ass was the best she’d ever seen on a man, tight with muscle, and his legs looked powerful. She wondered if Ks needed to work out to maintain their looks and resolved to ask him at some point later.

“Like what you see?” he asked with a sly smile, obviously noticing her scrutiny.

Mia blushed a little and then told herself not to be a ninny. “Sure,” she said with a straight face. “You’re very pretty, like a male Barbie doll.”

Far from offended, he laughed with genuine amusement. “Not like Ken, I hope. Isn’t he missing the requisite equipment?”

Mia just shrugged in response, not wanting to get into this kind of banter with him right now. Grinning, he exited the room, leaving her alone to enjoy the jacuzzi for the next twenty minutes.

By the time he came back, Mia was already showered and wrapped in the familiar robe she’d discovered in the bathroom closet. She even found the slippers she’d worn before and gladly put them on. Showering here was becoming a habit.

She accompanied Korum to the kitchen, her mouth watering at the delicious smells emanating from there. He had made another one of his signature salads and a dish of roasted buckwheat with stir-fried carrots and mushrooms. Feeling like she was starving, Mia attacked her food with appreciation, and so did he. For a while, the kitchen was silent, except for chewing noises and the clattering of their silverware. Finally feeling replete, Mia leaned back in her chair. He was done with his portion, as usual, and was observing her with a half-smile.

“What?” asked Mia self-consciously, wondering if she had a bit of lettuce stuck between her teeth.

“Nothing,” he said, and his smile got wider. “I just love watching you eat. You do it with such enthusiasm—it’s very endearing.”

Mia flushed a little. He obviously thought she was a glutton. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “Yeah, what can I say? I really like food.”

He grinned. “I know. I really like that about you. Very unexpected in a girl your size.”

Mia smiled back tentatively and got up from her chair. Now was as good a time as any. “Okay, well, thank you for the meal. I’ll just change and get out of your hair.”

The smile left his face. He clearly didn’t like hearing that. “Why don’t you stay?” he suggested softly. “I promise not to touch you again today, if that’s what worries you.”

Mia swallowed, suddenly feeling on edge. “I really have to get going,” she said, hoping that she was misreading his body language—that he didn’t really have the intention of keeping her there against her will.

He looked directly into her eyes. Whatever he had seen there seemed to make up his mind. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You can go home.” Mia’s breath escaped in relief—prematurely, as it turned out. Because he added next, “But I want you to come back here tonight. Gather whatever you need for the next day or two—or I can buy you new things if you prefer—and come back here by 7 p.m. I’ll make us dinner.”

Mia stared at him. “And if I don’t?” she asked defiantly.

“Then I will come and get you,” he answered, the look in his eyes leaving no doubt of his seriousness.

“But why?” Mia burst out in frustration. “Why do you want to be with someone who doesn’t want you? Who hates you, in fact? Surely, there can’t be a shortage of willing women for you. You’ve already gotten what you wanted from me. Can’t you move on to another victim?”

His eyes narrowed in anger. “Well, Mia, you’re right. There is no shortage of women who would love to be in your shoes, and I could easily get myself another ‘victim,’ as you so nicely put it.” He took a step toward her. “The reason why I want you—as unwilling as you pretend to be—is because chemistry like ours is very rare. You’re very young, even for a human, so you don’t realize what we have. Do you honestly think that sex would be like that for you with another man? Or that just any woman could have that kind of effect on me?” He paused and continued in a softer tone, “This kind of attraction happens once in a blue moon, and I know better than to give up on it even if you’re running scared right now.” Staring into her shocked face, he added with a familiar golden gleam in his eyes, “I know this is all very new to you, and that you probably felt more pain than enjoyment today. It won’t be like that again. The next time you’re in my bed, I promise that your only screams will be those of pleasure.”

Chapter 6

MIA LEFT HIS apartment and walked home, her thoughts whirling in chaos. She was no longer a virgin, and she had the residual soreness between her thighs to prove it. His gel thingy had helped with the majority of the pain, but she could still feel echoes of his fullness inside her. Her sex clenched slightly at the memory of the orgasms he’d given her, and she shivered with the intensity of her recollection. And he wanted to see her again, tonight. In fact, it sounded like he had no intention of dropping his pursuit—in complete disregard of her wishes.

At that thought, Mia got angry again. He had no right to do this to her. His species may have guided human evolution, but that didn’t mean he owned her. Whatever special chemistry he thought they had did not excuse his behavior, and Mia hated the idea that he thought he could have her whenever he wanted. She wished there was something she could do to thwart him, but her own response to him had made a mockery of any resistance.

It was a long walk back to her apartment, but Mia wanted to stretch her legs and clear her head before potentially seeing her roommate. By the time she got to her building, she was sufficiently tired that going up five flights of stairs seemed like a chore. She was looking forward to plopping down on the couch and doing something totally brainless—like watching a show on her laptop.

This was not her day, however. Jessie had guests, Mia realized as she opened the door and heard masculine voices in the living room. Walking in, she was surprised to see two men she’d never met before.

One of them—an Asian guy—looked to be somewhere in his mid-twenties, while the other had to be at least thirty. The older guy caught her attention immediately. There was something about the way he sat on the couch that gave her the impression of a coiled spring. His hair was blond, and his ice-blue eyes were extraordinarily watchful. He looked to be of medium height and lean, maybe even a bit on the skinny side.

At Mia’s entrance, they both got up. Jessie remained sitting, looking pale and strangely guilty. “Hi, Mia,” she said with some hesitation. “This is my cousin Jason and his friend John.”

Mia’s eyebrows rose. “The Jason we mentioned this morning?” she asked in confusion.

The Asian guy nodded. “The one and only.”

“Oh, hi . . . nice to meet you,” Mia said politely, trying to connect the dots.

“They’re here to talk to you,” Jessie said, and Mia realized why she looked so guilty.

“Are you guys, like, the Resistance or something?” she asked incredulously. At their non-response, she drew her own conclusion. “Look, I don’t know what Jessie told you, but we really don’t have anything to talk about—”

“On the contrary, Miss Stalis,” John said, speaking for the first time in a slightly raspy voice, “we have a lot to discuss. Jason—why don’t you catch up with your cousin while Miss Stalis and I conclude our discussion?”

Seeing Mia’s response in the stormy expression gathering on her face, Jessie gave her a pleading look. “Please, Mia, I know you’re mad at me, but I really think they can help you. Just hear them out, okay? Jason said they can give you some good tips on how to handle this situation—that’s why they’re here.”

Mia sighed heavily and bit out, “Fine.” Apparently, her relaxing afternoon at home was not to be.

“When does he want to see you again?” John asked quietly.

Mia blinked in surprise. “Uh—tonight at seven.”

“Okay,” he said, “that gives us enough time to bring you up to speed. Tell me—have you been shined?”

“Shined?”

“Did he use any kind of alien device on you that shined a reddish light on any part of your body where the skin was broken?”

Mia stared at him in shock. “How do you know about that?”

Taking that as an affirmative, he said, “You can’t leave the apartment then. Jason—why don’t you take your cousin to see a movie while Miss Stalis and I talk here?”

Jason nodded and left with Jessie in tow, although Mia could see that her roommate was just dying with curiosity.

When they were alone, Mia asked angrily, “What do you mean, I can’t leave the apartment?”

“You have been shined. He basically branded you—you now have little nano machines embedded in whatever part of your body has been shined on. They transmit your location to him at all times. If you were to do something he doesn’t expect, such as leaving your apartment when he thinks you should be home, he would know immediately—and it could make him suspicious.”

Mia looked at her palms in horror. “You mean, when he healed my scrapes, he was really putting a tracking device inside me? Why would he do this?” She raised her head with suspicion. “And how do you know all this?”

“Miss Stalis—” he said wearily.

“Please call me Mia,” she interrupted.

“Okay, Mia,” he agreeably repeated, “we have been fighting the Krinar for a very long time. Don’t you think we would’ve learned a lot about our enemy in the process?”

“Okay,” Mia said slowly, “let’s say I believe you. Why would he do this? Brand me like that?”

“To know your whereabouts at all times, of course. It’s standard operating procedure for them.”

Mia stared at him with shock. “Well then, what can you do to help me?”

“We can’t help you, Mia,” John said bluntly. “But you can help us.”

Mia inhaled sharply. She was afraid it might be something like this. “I think you’ve been misinformed. I don’t want to get involved with your cause in any way, shape, or form. You can’t win, and the last thing we need is to return to the days of the Great Panic. I just want to be left alone—by Korum, by you, and by everyone else—and if you can’t help me with that, then you should just get out.” She pointed at the door.

“You are already involved, Mia, whether you like it or not. Do you know who your K lover is?”

“He’s not my lover!” Mia said sharply.

“You haven’t slept with him?” Seeing the color flooding her face, he said, “That’s what I thought. I’m sure he wasted no time taking exactly what he wanted from you, just like they took our planet.”

Mia fought her embarrassment. “What do you mean, do I know who he is?”

“Did he tell you anything about himself? Do you know why he’s here, in New York? How the Ks ended up coming to Earth in general?”

Mia nodded slowly. “He said that he’s an engineer, that the company he works for made the ships that brought them here to Earth.”

“An engineer? That’s rich.” John let out a humorless chuckle. “He’s one of the most powerful Ks on this planet, Mia. He owns the ships that brought them here—his company, in fact, has been the driving force behind them settling on Earth.”

Seeing the look of sheer disbelief on her face, he added, “He’s part of their ruling council—some even say he runs the council. His company provides everything for their Centers. Without him, there would be no K Centers and no Krinar on Earth.”

“I don’t understand,” Mia said in confusion. “If he’s all that, then why is he here? And what does he want with me?”

“He’s here because, for the first time since K-Day, we actually stand a chance against them.” John’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Because he knows that we’re very close to being able to give them a fair fight. Because he wants to stamp out the Resistance before we go any further.”

He took a deep breath. “As to what he wants with you, it’s pretty obvious. Do you know what a charl is?”

Mia shook her head, feeling overwhelmed.

“The literal translation of charl is one who pleases. It’s the term they use for the human slaves they keep in their settlements. The purpose of the charl is to provide Ks with pleasure. As you may or may not know yet, they enjoy drinking blood during sex. So they keep us as captives, locked up in their high-tech cages, and use us whichever way they want.”

Mia felt hot bile rising in her throat. “You’re lying. Why would they do this? We’re intelligent beings.”

“They don’t necessarily think of us that way. Most of them regard us as pets that they bred explicitly for this purpose—little better than the primates they’d hunted into extinction on their planet.”

“So what are you saying? That Korum wants to keep me as a slave?” Mia asked incredulously. “That’s bullshit. If he wanted to keep me locked up, I wouldn’t be here, now would I?”

He sighed. “Mia, I don’t know exactly what game he’s playing with you. Maybe he finds it fun to give you the illusion of freedom for now. It’s not real—you understand that, right? If you tried to leave New York instead of staying here and going to him whenever he wants, I don’t know what he would do, whether your family would ever see you again. You’re a smart girl. You sensed that, right? That’s why you haven’t been exactly avoiding him. That’s why your roommate was so scared for you, why she came running to Jason even though they haven’t spoken in three years—because she said you were in way over your head.”

Mia wanted to throw up. If John was telling the truth, then her situation was far worse than she’d imagined. He was right; her subconscious must have realized the danger of running from Korum because she had never seriously contemplated leaving town. Her brain buzzed with a million questions, even as a hopeless pit of despair grew in her stomach.

“So what do you want from me?” she asked bitterly. “Did you come all the way here to tell me that I’m screwed? That I’m going to end up as an alien’s pet, locked up somewhere and used for sex? Is that what you’re here to say?”

“Yes, Mia,” John answered calmly, his expression oddly flat. “There are no good options for you. If he gets tired of you, then you might be able to resume your life—particularly if you’re still in New York at that time. Of course, you might also catch the attention of some other K and never be seen again. That’s what happened to my sister—that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing, so that other innocent young women can have a normal life.”

Mia looked at him in horror. “Your sister? What happened to her?”

His mouth twisted bitterly. “What happened is I gave her a trip to Mexico as a college graduation present. She went with her girlfriends and met a handsome stranger on the beach. Turns out, he wasn’t exactly human . . . The night before they were supposed to return home, Dana disappeared from her room. For the longest time, we had no idea what happened—just suspicions that the K was somehow involved. That’s why I started fighting the Ks, to avenge my sister. It wasn’t until a year ago that I learned she’s still alive and is being held as a charl in the Costa Rican K Center.”

Mia’s eyes welled up with tears as she pictured his family’s suffering. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Is there any way you can get her back?”

“No.” He shook his head with angry regret. “Even if we succeeded in rescuing her from there—an impossibility in and of itself—she’s been shined, like all charl. They will always know her exact whereabouts—there’s no way we can reverse that procedure.”

“Shined,” Mia said. “Like all charl—like me.”

“Like you,” John agreed.

She wanted to scream and cry and throw things. She settled for asking, “So why did you come here today?”

“Because, Mia, although we can’t really help you, you are actually in a position to help us. If we succeed, not only will you get your life back, but you will also have saved countless other young women—and men—from my sister’s fate.”

“I don’t understand . . . What are you asking me?” Mia said slowly, her pulse picking up.

“We want you to work with us. To notify us of Korum’s whereabouts, what he likes to eat, how he sleeps, any weaknesses that he might have. And if you happen to come across any information that might be even remotely useful—any passwords, security measures, anything at all—to convey that information to us.”

“You’re asking me to spy for you?” Mia’s voice rose incredulously.

“I’m asking you to make the best of your admittedly unfortunate situation. To help yourself and all of humanity. All you have to do is keep your eyes and ears open when you’re with him and occasionally report your findings to us.”

“And you think I will be able to pull this off? With no training of any kind and no acting skills? Somehow fool one of the most powerful Ks on this planet? What makes you think he’s not already aware that you’re here, particularly if his goal is to crush your movement?”

“This apartment is not bugged—we checked. He would have no reason to spy on you here if you don’t do anything suspicious and continue to play along. He doesn’t know that we’re here—if he did, we’d already be dead. Look, we’re not asking you to be James Bond or some kind of femme fatale. You don’t need to try to get close to him or seduce him or anything like that—just continue your relationship with him, such as it is, and occasionally give us information.”

“How? And what would that accomplish anyway? What makes you think you have a chance in hell when all the governments in the world with their nuclear weapons were completely helpless in the invasion?” The whole thing was insane, and Mia had no intention of becoming a martyr in the name of some hopeless cause.

“The how—leave that up to us. If he still gives you a similar degree of freedom, it will definitely be much easier. If not, then it gets more complicated, but we have our ways.” He paused for a second, apparently debating the wisdom of his next words. “As to why we think we can win, let’s just say that not all Ks are the same. They don’t all share the same beliefs about human inferiority. I can’t tell you more without putting you in danger, but rest assured—we have some powerful allies.”

Human allies among the Ks? The implications of that were mind-boggling.

“I don’t know,” Mia said, trying to think it through. “What if he catches on? What will happen to me then?”

He said truthfully, “I don’t know. He may choose to have you killed or punished in some other way. I honestly don’t know.”

Mia let out a short bitter laugh. “And you don’t care, right?”

John sighed. “I do, Mia. More than anything, I wish that things were different. That I wasn’t asking you to do this, that the only thing you had to worry about were your midterms. But we don’t live in that kind of world anymore. If we are to regain our freedom, we have to risk everything. You are our best chance to get close to Korum. You can really make a difference, Mia.”

Mia walked over to the table and sat down, closing her eyes for a minute so she could think. She had no reason to trust John, and she had no idea if anything he had told her was the truth. Still, she was somehow inclined to believe him. There was too much pain in his voice when he talked about his sister; he was either the best actor in the world, or the Ks really were abducting and enslaving humans who caught their eye. The way she had inadvertently caught Korum’s.

Another question occurred to her. Opening her eyes, she asked, “What if Korum knows that Jason is Jessie’s cousin, and he is already suspicious of me?”

John shrugged. “It’s a possibility, of course. But Jason is Jessie’s third cousin, so the connection is very distant. Also, he’s a nobody in our operation—he has barely been involved in the last two years. He only came to me today because Jessie had called him about you. We can’t completely rule out this possibility, but the odds are in our favor. Also, don’t forget—Korum is the one who has been pursuing you, not the other way around, so he really has no reason to suspect anything.”

“All right,” said Mia, “let’s pretend for a second that I do decide to spy for you. How do you expect me to go to him tonight, knowing everything you’ve just told me, and act like nothing has changed? He’s thousands of years old—he can read me like an open book. I don’t stand a chance.”

“I don’t know, Mia. At this point, you know him far better than we do. I know you’ve never been tested like this, but I believe in you. Your biggest advantage may simply be the fact that he likely underestimates your intelligence. As long as you’re just his charl, he may not see you as a threat.”

Mia had finally had enough. She stood up, a feeling of exhaustion washing over her.

“John,” she said wearily, “I understand what you’re trying to do, and I do sympathize with your cause. I can’t promise you anything. I will not put my life in danger to report to you on Korum’s whereabouts and what he had for dinner. But if I do happen to come across any information that could be material, I will do my best to get it to you.”

He nodded. “That’s fair, Mia. If you need to get in touch with us, just talk to Jessie—or if that’s not possible, send her an email with ‘Hi’ in the subject line—we’ll be monitoring her account. That way, if he decides to keep tabs on your email—which he probably will—he won’t get suspicious. You’ll just be saying hi to your roommate.”

Mia nodded in agreement, wanting nothing more than to be alone. Her head was pounding with a brutal headache, and she gladly locked the door behind John as soon as he left.

Making her way to her room, she collapsed on the bed.

She felt sick, her stomach churning from John’s revelations. It just couldn’t be true—she didn’t want to believe it. Yes, Korum did seem to ride roughshod over her objections, and he really hadn’t given her much choice in their relationship thus far. But to actually keep her as a very real sex slave? To take away all her freedom and keep her locked up somewhere within a K Center? If the existence of the charl was anything more than a figment of John’s imagination—and Korum intended to make her one—then he was definitely the monster that she’d accused him of being.

Mia felt nauseous at the thought that she would see him tonight and feel his touch on her body. And probably respond to it, as though he were really her lover. That last part made her want to throw up again. How could her body want him when he didn’t even regard her as a person with basic human—or rather, intelligent being’s—rights?

She was also terrified about spying on him. If she got caught, she was sure that she would probably be killed—perhaps even tortured first, for information. Anyone who kept slaves likely wouldn’t blink at torture.

She shuddered.

In fact, if he found out about her conversation with John today, she might be doomed.

She tried to imagine him intentionally inflicting pain on her. For some reason, it was difficult. For the most part, he had been very gentle with her. Even her loss of virginity this morning—as traumatic as that had been—could have been much worse if he hadn’t tried to control himself. In fact, some of his actions were almost caring—feeding her, making sure she was warm and dry, healing her (well, maybe not that one, given what she’d just learned)—and that hardly jived with the villainous image John had painted for her. Then again, she wouldn’t want to hurt a kitten either, but would have no problem keeping said kitten locked up in her house. If that was truly how he saw her—as a cute pet that he just happened to want to fuck—then his behavior made perfect sense.

Mia tried not to think about the implications of it all, but it was impossible. Her future had always seemed so bright, and she had enjoyed thinking about it, planning out the next few years of her life. And now she had no idea what the next few weeks would hold—whether she would even be alive, much less still attending NYU.

The thought that she might end up as Korum’s charl in an alien settlement was devastating, especially if she started thinking of her family’s reaction to her disappearance. Would he at least let her tell them that she was alive, or would she vanish without a trace?

A wave of self-pity washing over her, Mia felt the hot prickle of tears behind her eyelids. Unable to contain her battered emotions any longer, she buried her face in her pillow and sobbed at the bitter unfairness of it all—until her eyes were red and swollen and she couldn’t squeeze out another tear.

Then she got up, washed her face, and began to pack her things for tonight as per Korum’s suggestion.

* * *

AT 6:45 P.M. she took the subway down to TriBeCa and entered Korum’s building at 6:59. Mentally patting herself on the back, Mia thought that she made quite a punctual spy.

He greeted her with a slow sensuous smile, looking as gorgeous as ever in a pair of light blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Even after John’s revelations, Mia’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. Her inner muscles clenched, and she felt herself starting to get wet. His smile got wider, exposing that damnable dimple. He could obviously sense her arousal.

Mia cursed her body. It had gotten conditioned to respond to him, despite everything. Then again, if she was literally sleeping with the enemy, she figured she might as well enjoy it. Now that she knew the truth about his kind and his probable intentions toward her, she was fairly certain that she could keep her emotions in check, no matter how many screaming orgasms he gave her.

The dinner that he prepared was outstanding as usual. Tender roasted potatoes with wild mushrooms, dill, and caramelized onions were the main course, preceded by an appetizer of spinach salad with poached pears. The dessert was a platter of fresh fruit, cut in various unique shapes, with a sweet walnut dip. The entire meal was served by candlelight. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was wooing her with a romantic dinner. The more likely explanation was that he simply enjoyed great food in a beautiful setting, and she was the beneficiary of that.

Still, this hardly fit with the evil overlord image John had painted.

Despite Mia’s initial concern, she found it easy to act naturally with him—perhaps because she didn’t have to pretend to like him or be calm in his presence. He knew her feelings toward him perfectly well from this morning, and he wouldn’t expect her to be anything but nervous, snarky, and reluctantly turned on—all of which Mia genuinely was.

Dinner flew by, dominated by light banter—she learned that he really enjoyed American movies from the early twenty-first century—and delicious food. As the meal drew to a close, Mia’s anxiety levels began to rise at the thought of what awaited her later in the evening. Despite the gel he’d used on her, she still felt a slight discomfort deep inside and was not looking forward to experiencing sex again any time soon—even if, theoretically, it would hurt less the second time. She doubted that it could ever be completely pain-free, given the size of his cock and her own supposedly unusual narrowness. Still, her body did not appear to care as warm moisture gathered between her legs in anticipation.

After dinner was over, Mia helped Korum clean up, stacking the dishes in the dishwasher and wiping the table. It was a disconcertingly domestic task—something that she might have done with a boyfriend or husband in the future—and it made her even more aware of the strange turn her life had taken. It was difficult to believe that just four days ago, she was dreading her Sociology paper and worrying that her dating life was in the dumps. And now she was trying not to get caught spying on a two-thousand-year-old extraterrestrial who likely wanted to keep her as a sex slave.

Once the clean-up was done, Korum led her to the bedroom.

At this point, Mia felt like a nervous wreck, fear and desire fighting with each other in her stomach. Noticing her obvious apprehension, he said, “No intercourse tonight, I promise. I know you’re still sore.”

Mia’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch. What exactly did he intend to do if intercourse was out of the question?

They entered the bedroom, and he led her to the familiar circular bed, now covered with a fresh set of blue and ivory sheets. The room was lit with a soft yellow light, and some kind of sensuous music was playing in the background. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled her closer to him until she stood between his open legs. In this position, Mia was nearly at his eye level. Trembling slightly, she stood still and tried not to look at him as he pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a plain white bra that she had remembered to wear this time. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, holding her gently by her sides while studying the body revealed to him thus far. Inexplicably, Mia blushed, her insecure inner teenager absurdly pleased at the compliment.

Bending toward her, he pressed a warm kiss to the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Mia shivered from the sensation, goosebumps appearing all over her body. Apparently pleased with the reaction, he did it again, and then lightly blew cool air on the damp spot his mouth left behind. Mia gasped, her nipples hardening from the pleasurable chill. He smiled, eyes gleaming with gold. “Still no mouth-to-mouth?” he asked softly, and Mia shrugged, remembering what happened the last time she set that condition.

Interpreting that as consent, he brought her toward him, burying one hand in her hair and keeping the other on the small of her back. Putting her own hands on his clothed shoulders, Mia closed her eyes and felt him press small butterfly-light kisses on her cheeks, forehead, and closed lids. By the time his soft lips reached her mouth, she was nearly squirming with anticipation.

At first, he kissed her very lightly, just brushing her mouth with his. Then he began gently nibbling on her lips, carefully teasing the rim with his tongue. She moaned, her body pressing closer to his, and he pushed his tongue into her mouth, penetrating it in an obvious imitation of the sexual act. A rush of moisture inundated her already wet sex as he alternated fucking her mouth with his tongue and lightly sucking on her swollen and sensitive lips.

Lost in the sensations, Mia only vaguely registered his unfastening of her bra. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he kissed her ear, sucking carefully on her earlobe. She arched with pleasure, knees buckling and head falling back, and he took advantage, licking and sucking his way down the delicate column of her throat and the collarbone region until his hot mouth reached the small white globes of her breasts. “So pretty,” he whispered, before pulling one pink nipple into his mouth and scraping it softly with his teeth. Mia cried out, her clit throbbing on the verge of orgasm, and he gave her other breast the same treatment, holding her tightly as she writhed in his arms, maddeningly close to finding relief. He held her like that, pausing for a few seconds until the sensation waned a bit, and then lifted her astride one of his bent legs, grinding her jean-clad pussy firmly against his knee and swallowing her scream with his mouth as the long-awaited climax rushed powerfully through her body.

Collapsing bonelessly against him, Mia felt her inner muscles pulsing with little aftershocks. Without waiting for her to recover, Korum got up, lifting her in his arms, and lowered her onto the bed. Stripping off his own clothes with a speed that made her blink, he climbed over her, unzipped her jeans, and pulled them off together with her panties.

Lying there completely naked, Mia was unpleasantly reminded of the pain that followed the last time she was in this position. However, despite the large cock jutting aggressively at her, all he did was gently kiss his way down her body, starting with the sensitive spot near her shoulder and ending near her lower belly. She tensed in anticipation, and he did not disappoint. Pulling open her legs with strong hands, he bent his head and gently licked her folds, avoiding direct contact with the clitoris. Mia was surprised to feel herself getting turned on again, just minutes after her last orgasm. One long finger slowly entered her opening, pressing carefully on some sensitive spot deep inside, while his tongue flicked over her nub in an accelerating rhythm. There was no slow build-up this time; instead, her body simply spasmed around his finger, releasing the tension that had managed to coil inside her in a matter of seconds.

Stunned, Mia lay there. At some point, she must have grabbed his head because her fingers were buried in his short glossy strands. Feeling irrationally embarrassed, she let go, pulling her hands away. He slowly took his finger out, making her sex clench with a residual tremor, and licked it while looking up at her. Mia nearly moaned again.

He sat up, still maintaining eye contact with her. Mia realized that he was still extremely hard, not having come yet. She licked her lips nervously, wondering what he intended. His eyes hungrily followed her tongue, and she suddenly knew what he wanted her to do.

Sitting up herself, Mia cautiously extended her hand and gently brushed against his shaft with her fingers, feeling its smooth hardness. To her surprise, it jumped in her hand, as though alive. Mia’s eyes flew up to Korum’s face, and what she saw there was reassuring. He looked like he was in pain, eyes tightly shut and sweat beading up near his temples. Feeling her pause, he opened his eyes and hoarsely whispered, “Go ahead.”

Emboldened, Mia wrapped her fingers around his cock and slowly stroked it in an up-and-down motion, the way she’d seen it done in porn. Her hand looked white and small wrapped around his thickness, and she wondered how it had ever fit inside her. He groaned at her action, his whole body tensing, and Mia suddenly felt very empowered. To know that she had this effect on him, that this formidable creature was at the mercy of her touch—somehow that went a long way toward restoring the balance of power in a relationship that had been very one-sided thus far.

Deciding to take things further, she got on her knees and bent over him. Her dark curls brushing against his thighs, she tentatively licked the engorged head. He hissed, thrusting his hips toward her, and she smiled, reveling in her ability to control him like this. Holding his shaft with one hand, she cupped his heavy balls with the other hand and squeezed gently, exploring the unfamiliar part with curiosity. “Mia . . .” he groaned, and she smiled, pleased. She wanted to wring an even stronger response from his body, the way he had from hers. Still holding his balls, she carefully wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock and swirled her tongue around it inside her mouth while moving her other hand on his shaft in a rhythmic motion. He let out a hoarse cry, his hips bucking, and she felt a warm, slightly salty liquid spurting out into her mouth. Surprised and delighted, Mia let him go, watching as the rest of the thick cream-colored fluid landed on his bronzed stomach. There was a strange taste in her mouth—not unpleasant—and she wondered briefly if there were differences between K and human semen. His cock was still twitching slightly before her eyes, even as it began to diminish in size.

Looking up, Mia found him staring at her with a smile. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked, motioning toward his sex.

Mia shook her head in response. For some weird reason, she had never wanted to go past a few kisses with any of the guys she’d dated in the past.

“Well, then, you’re a natural,” he said, his smile getting even wider. Reaching somewhere under the bed, he pulled out a box of tissues and used one to wipe his stomach. Mia blinked, wondering what else he kept under there. After cleaning himself, he got up and walked to the door completely naked. “Shower?” he asked, and Mia gladly agreed, following him to the bathroom.

They got into the giant shower stall together, and Korum set the water controls to have warm water raining at them from all directions. Pouring shampoo into his hand, he massaged it into her hair, washing it with experienced movements. Eyes closed, Mia just stood there, enjoying the feel of his fingers on her scalp and the water pouring over her sensitized skin. Afterwards, he washed her entire body, making her blush with his thoroughness. Feeling slightly shy, Mia tentatively reciprocated, rubbing soap all over his golden skin and powerful muscles. He unashamedly took pleasure in her touch, arching into it like a big cat getting stroked.

When they were done, he dried her body with a thick towel and then toweled off himself. Relaxed from the warm water and the two orgasms, Mia felt a wave of drowsiness washing over her. Noticing her barely stifled yawn, Korum picked her up and carried her back to bed. Putting her in the middle, he pulled a soft blanket toward them and lay down next to her, hugging her from the back. Feeling oddly comforted by the feel of his large body curving around her own, Mia closed her eyes and fell asleep easily for the first time since her world got turned upside down by the extraterrestrial lying next to her.

Chapter 7

STREAMING SUNLIGHT WOKE up Mia the next morning.

Keeping her eyes closed against the brightness, Mia thought with a minor annoyance that she must’ve forgotten to close the blinds last night. It didn’t matter, though; she felt well-rested and extremely comfortable. Perhaps too comfortable? At the sudden realization that the bed she was lying on was much too soft to be her own IKEA mattress, Mia jackknifed to a sitting position and stared in shock at her surroundings. Memories of yesterday rushed into her brain, and she recognized where she was.

She was also completely naked and alone.

Pulling the blanket up to her chest, Mia warily surveyed the room. She was sitting in the middle of the giant round bed—she guesstimated it had to be at least fifteen feet in diameter—in Korum’s beautifully decorated bedroom. A few potted plants were thriving near the large window that looked out over the Hudson River.

Noticing the robe and slippers that Korum must have left for her, she put them on and went in search of the restroom. Surprisingly, there wasn’t one connected to the bedroom. Peeking out into the hallway, Mia spotted the bathroom door. She made a quick beeline for it, not wanting Korum to know that she was awake yet.

After taking care of business, Mia gratefully brushed her teeth with the toothbrush that he left for her and washed her face. Staring into the bedroom mirror, she was surprised to see that she actually looked quite well. Her pale skin was almost radiant, and her eyes looked unusually bright. Even her hair—the bane of her existence—seemed silkier, with dark brown curls glossy and nicely defined. Whatever shampoo he had used on her yesterday clearly worked miracles. As did orgasms, apparently.

Mia wondered where her clothes were. Her tummy rumbled, reminding her that the dinner last night was already in the distant past. Still wearing the robe, she decided to go in search of food.

Entering the living room, Mia heard voices coming from somewhere to her left.

Thinking that Korum might be watching TV, she headed in that direction. The voices got louder, and she realized that they were speaking in a foreign language she’d never heard before. Slightly guttural, it nonetheless flowed smoothly, unlike anything she was familiar with.

Mia’s breath caught.

She had to be listening to the Krinar language—which meant that Korum likely had visitors, and there were other Ks in the house. This might be her chance to learn something useful, she realized even as her heart skipped a beat.

Quietly approaching the room, she was startled when the heavy doors abruptly slid open in front of her, revealing its occupants and exposing her to their eyes.

Korum and two other Ks stood around a large table that had some kind of a three-dimensional image displayed on it. At the sight of her, Korum waved his hand and the image vanished, leaving only a smooth wooden surface.

Mia froze as three pairs of alien eyes examined her.

The expression on Korum’s face was cold and distant, unlike anything she’d seen before. The other male K, about Korum’s height, had brown hair and hazel eyes, with a similarly golden skin tone. The female was a bit lighter-skinned, closer to Jessie’s color, and the silky hair streaming down to her waist was an unusual shade of dark red. Her eyes were nearly black and looked enormous in her strikingly beautiful face. She was also tall, probably close to 5’9”, and wore a dress that looked like it had been poured on her curves. She could have easily stepped off the pages of an old Victoria’s Secret catalogue—if they had first air-brushed the image, of course.

Standing there in her bath robe, Mia felt like a naughty child getting caught stealing from a cookie jar.

There was no help for it. She cleared her throat, heart pounding in her chest. “Um, hi. I was just looking for the kitchen—”

A small smile appeared on Korum’s face, warming up his features, and his distant look vanished. “Of course,” he said, “you must be hungry.”

He turned toward his visitors. “Mia, these are my . . . colleagues,” he said, seeming to hesitate slightly at the last word, “Leeta and Rezav.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mia said politely, eyeing them with caution.

She had a strong impression that those two were not happy to see her. Leeta stared back, her beautiful mouth pinched with dislike. Rezav was a bit friendlier, curving his lips in a half-smile and inclining his head graciously toward her. Speaking to Korum, he asked him something in their language, to which Korum absently nodded in response.

“Okay, well, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Mia apologized, her pulse roaring in her ears. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

Korum gestured toward the kitchen. “Feel free to grab some fruit or whatever you wish. I’ll join you soon.”

With a muttered thanks, Mia escaped as fast as her shaking legs could carry her.

Entering the kitchen, she sank down on one of the chairs, hugging herself protectively. Her head spun in a sickening manner, and her stomach churned with nausea.

Because in Rezav’s question, spoken entirely in Krinar, Mia had caught one familiar word: charl.

* * *

BY THE TIME Korum came to the kitchen, Mia had managed to compose herself.

At his entrance, she gave him a small smile and continued eating her blueberries as though she had not a care in the world—as though she had not just heard him confirm her worst fears.

He came toward her and bent down, thoroughly kissing her mouth. For the first time, Mia simply endured his touch, the bile in her stomach too strong to allow her normal sexual response.

She didn’t know why she’d needed this confirmation. For the most part, she had believed John when he’d told her about the Ks and their atavistic approach to human rights. Yet some small part of her must have been clinging to the hope that John was mistaken—that Korum would feel differently about her, that she was somehow special in his eyes.

To hear him admit that she was his glorified sex slave—his human pet—was like being punched repeatedly in the stomach.

If he had treated her with cruelty from the very beginning, it would have been easy to hate him. Instead, his arrogance toward her was often tempered with tenderness—and that made the whole thing so much worse. Despite her better judgment and common sense, he had succeeded in getting under her skin, and today’s revelation felt like the cruelest of betrayals.

Sensing her lack of response, he pulled away and frowned slightly. “What’s the matter?” he asked, perplexed. “Are you feeling all right?”

Mia’s brain worked quickly. It would be dangerous for her—and for the Resistance—if he knew she had understood Rezav’s question. However, she couldn’t hide the fact that she was upset—Korum was too astute for that. Suddenly, a risky but brilliant idea came to her.

“I’m fine,” she said with quiet dignity, obviously lying.

“Uh-huh,” Korum said sarcastically, “sure you are.”

Sitting down next to her, he lifted her chin toward him so he could look into her eyes. “Now tell me again what’s going on.”

Mia felt a furious tear escape. “Nothing,” she told him angrily.

“Mia,” he said her name in that special tone he reserved for intimidating her. “Stop lying to me.”

Staring directly into his beautiful eyes, Mia channeled all of her frustrated fury and irrational feelings of betrayal into her next words. “How often do you fuck her?” she threw at him, summoning up remembered feelings of jealousy at his familiarity with Ashley the hostess. “In general, how many women do you go through in any given day? Two, three, a dozen?”

At the surprised look on his face, she continued, injecting as much bitterness into her tone as possible, “Why are you even forcing me to be here if you have her? And Ashley, and God knows how many others?”

Still holding her chin with his fingers, Korum said slowly, “Are you talking about Leeta? You think we’re somehow involved?”

Mia allowed another tear to slide down her face. “Aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “No. In fact, we’re actually distant cousins, so that would be an impossibility.”

“Oh,” Mia said, pretending to be embarrassed about her outburst. She tried to pull away, and he let her go, watching as she got up and walked over to the window, carelessly wiping her face with the robe sleeve.

Mia stood there, looking out over the Hudson. Some stupidly romantic part of her was foolishly glad to hear about Leeta, even though her little jealousy act had been designed to throw him off track. She didn’t say anything when he came up to her, embracing her from behind. He didn’t make any promises or offer any other clarifications, Mia noticed. Of course, why should he try to reassure her, to convince her that she meant something special to him when she clearly didn’t? She wouldn’t have been particularly concerned about her dog’s feelings either.

“I’m thinking of going for a walk in the park,” he murmured, still holding her close. “Would you like to come with me?”

She was to be given a choice? What would happen if she said no? “I don’t know,” she said. “I have some studying that needs to get done, and I wanted to catch up with my parents. Wednesday is usually our day to Skype . . .”

She couldn’t see his expression, and she was glad about that. Now he would show his true colors, she thought.

“Okay,” he said, “that sounds good.”

Mia blinked, surprised. Then he continued, “For tonight, I made us a reservation at Le Bernardin at 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up at 6:30. Since you don’t seem to have any nice clothes, I’ll have something appropriate sent to your apartment.”

Now that was the dictator she knew—and now truly hated.

“I don’t need any clothes,” Mia protested. “I have better dresses. I just didn’t wear them that time.”

Turning her around in his arms, he looked down and smiled. “Mia, no offense, but I haven’t seen you wear a single piece of clothing that was in any way flattering. You’re a very pretty girl, but your clothes make you look like a ten-year-old boy most of the time. I think it’s safe to say that dressing nicely is not one of your strengths.”

Mia flushed with anger and embarrassment, but decided to hold her tongue. If he wanted to dress her up like a doll, then let him. It was hardly the worst thing he would likely do to her, anyway.

At the mutinous expression on her face, his smile got wider and his eyes gleamed with gold. Lifting her by the waist, he brought her up toward him and kissed her again. His lips were softly searching on hers, and his tongue stroked the recesses of her mouth with such expertise that Mia felt a spark of desire kindling again. Relieved that she no longer had to act, she looped her arms around his neck, let her mind go blank, and focused on the sensations. Her body, already so used to his touch, reacted with animal instinct, and she kissed him back with all the passion she could muster.

At her response, he groaned and pressed her closer to him, grinding his hips against her and letting her feel the hard bulge that had developed in his pants. Mia’s insides clenched, and she found herself rubbing against his body like a cat in heat. All of a sudden, he was no longer satisfied with just kissing. Mia felt the shift of gravity as he lay her down on the table, her butt near the edge and legs hanging over the side. Stepping between her open legs, Korum pulled apart her robe with impatient hands. Before she even realized his intentions, he already had his jeans unzipped and was pushing into her opening.

Mia was wet, but not enough, and he could only get the tip inside her before she cried out in pain. Pulling out, he lowered himself to a squatting position, his head between her spread thighs, and licked her folds with his tongue, spreading moisture around her entrance. She arched, blindsided by the sudden intensity, and he pushed his finger inside her, rubbing the sensitive spot until her inner muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Before the pulsations even stopped, he was already over her, pressing his thick cock to her opening and pushing it inside in a slow, agonizing slide.

Mia writhed beneath him, little cries escaping from her throat as her interior channel tried to expand around his width. Despite the orgasm, his penetration was far from easy, and she could see the strain on his face from the effort it took him to go slowly.

There was no pain this time—just an uncomfortable feeling of invasion and extreme fullness. He felt too big, his shaft like a heated pipe entering her body. Yet there was a promise of something more behind the discomfort. He continued his inexorable advance, and Mia gasped as her inner muscles gave way, allowing him to bury his full length inside her. He paused, letting her adjust to the unfamiliar sensation, and then pulled out slowly and pushed back in. A wave of heat rushed through her veins as his cock rubbed that same sensitive spot, and she cried out from the intense pleasure, digging her nails into his shoulders.

At the feel of her sharp nails on his skin, the last shred of his restraint seemed to dissolve. With a low growl, he began thrusting in a deep, driving rhythm, each stroke of his cock pushing her back and forth on the slick table. Somewhere in the distance, a woman’s cries seemed to echo his thrusts, and Mia vaguely realized that she was that woman. Every cell in her body screamed for completion, for relief from the terrible tension that was gripping her every muscle and tendon, and then it was suddenly there—a climax so powerful that it seemed to tear her asunder, leaving her bucking uncontrollably in his arms even as he reached his own peak with a guttural roar.

Chapter 8

MIA WALKED BACK to her apartment, desperately needing some alone time before she faced Jessie and her questions.

She felt raw and emotional, filled with self-loathing. Rationally, she knew that responding to him that way made her task easier and more tolerable. It would have been infinitely worse if she had found him repulsive or had to pretend to feel passion where there was none. However, the romantic teenager buried deep inside her was weeping at the perversion of her love story. There was no hero in her romance, and the villain made her feel things that she had never imagined she could experience.

After he had finished fucking her on the kitchen table, he carried her back to the bathroom and gently cleaned her off. He then allowed her to get dressed and go home, with a parting kiss and an admonition to be dressed and ready by 6:30 p.m. Mia had meekly agreed, wanting nothing more than to get away, her body still throbbing in the aftermath of the episode.

She debated how much to tell Jessie. The last thing she wanted was to drag her into this whole mess. Then again, Jessie was already involved through Jason, and one could argue that she’d made things worse for Mia by unintentionally bringing her into the anti-K movement.

Entering the apartment, she was surprised and relieved to find that no one was there. Jessie had to be out studying or running errands.

Sighing, Mia decided to use the quiet time to catch up with her family. The last time she’d spoken to them was last Saturday, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Her parents likely thought that she was swamped with schoolwork, so they hadn’t bothered her beyond sending a couple of text messages to which Mia had managed to respond with a generic “things r good - luv u.”

She powered on her old computer and saw that her mom was already waiting for her on Skype. Her dad was in the back of the room, reading something. Seeing Mia log in, a big smile broke out on her mom’s face.

“Sweetie! How are you? We haven’t heard from you all week!”

If there was one thing that Mia was grateful to the Ks for, it was the impact they’d had on her parents and other middle-aged Americans across the nation. The new K-mandated diet had done wonders for her parents’ health, reversing her father’s diabetes and drastically lowering her mom’s abnormally high cholesterol levels. Now in their mid-fifties, her parents were thinner, more energetic, and younger-looking than she remembered them ever being in the past.

Mia grinned at the camera with pleasure. The worst thing about being in New York was seeing her parents so infrequently. Although she went back home every chance she got—flying to Florida for spring break was hardly a chore—she still missed them. One day, she hoped to move closer to them, perhaps once she’d finished grad school.

“I’m good, mom. How are things with you guys?”

“Oh, you know, same old—all the news are with you youngsters these days. Have you spoken to your sister yet?”

“Not yet,” said Mia, “why?’

Her mom’s smile got really big. “Oh, I don’t know if I should tell you. Just call her, okay?”

Mia nodded, dying of curiosity.

“How are things in school? Did you finish your paper?” her mom asked.

Mia barely remembered the paper at this point. “The paper? Oh, yeah, the Sociology paper. I finished it on Sunday.”

“You’ve had more papers since then?” Her mom asked disapprovingly. Without waiting for a response, she continued, “Mia, honey, you study way too hard. You’re twenty-one—you should be going out and having fun in the big city, not sitting holed up in that library. When is the last time you had a date?”

Mia flushed a little. This was an old argument that came up more and more frequently these days. For some reason, unlike every other parent out there who would love to have a studious and responsible daughter, her mom fretted about Mia’s lack of a social life.

Mia tried to imagine her parents’ reaction if she told them just how active her dating life had been in the past week. “Mom,” she said with exasperation, “I go on dates. I just don’t necessarily tell you all about it.”

“Yeah, right,” her mom said disbelievingly. “I remember perfectly well the last date you went on. It was with that boy from biology, right? What was his name? Ethan?”

Mia smiled ruefully in response. Her mom knew her too well. Or at least she knew the Mia she’d been prior to last Saturday, when her world had gone topsy-turvy.

“By the way,” her mom said, “you look really nice. Did you do something to your hair?” Turning behind her, she said to Mia’s dad, “Dan, come here and take a look at your daughter! Doesn’t Mia look great these days?”

Her father approached the camera and smiled. “She always looks great. How are you doing, hon? You meet any nice boys yet?”

“Dad,” Mia groaned, “not you too.”

“Mia, I’m telling you, all the good ones get taken early.” Once her mom got on this topic, it was difficult to get her to stop. “One more year for you, and you’re going to be done with college, and then where are you going to meet a good boy?”

“In grad school, on the street, online, at a party, in a club, in a bar, or at work,” Mia responded by listing the obvious. “Look, mom, just because Marisa met Connor in college does not mean that it’s the only way to meet someone.” One could also meet an alien in the park—she was proof of that.

Her mom shook her head in reproach, but wisely moved on to another topic. They chatted about some other inconsequential things, and Mia learned that her parents were contemplating going on vacation to Europe for their thirtieth wedding anniversary and that her mom’s job search was going well. It was a wonderfully normal conversation, and Mia reveled in it, wanting to remember every moment in case this was the last time she would speak to her parents this way. Finally, she reluctantly said goodbye, promising to call Marisa right away.

Her acting skills must have drastically improved in the last few days, Mia thought. Despite her inner turmoil, her parents hadn’t suspected a thing.

Trying to reach Marisa on Skype was always a little challenging, so she called her cell instead.

“Mia! Hey there, baby sis, how are you? Did you see any of my postings on Facebook?” Her sister sounded incredibly excited.

“Um, no,” Mia said slowly. “Did something happen?”

“Oh my God, you’re such a study-wort! I can’t believe you never go on Facebook anymore! Well, something did happen. You’re going to have a niece or nephew!”

“Oh my God!” Mia jumped up, nearly screaming in excitement. “You’re pregnant?”

“I sure am! Oh, I know you’re going to think I’m too young, and we just got married, and blah, blah, blah, but I’m really excited.”

“No, I think it’s great! I’m very happy for you,” Mia said earnestly. “I can’t believe my favorite sis is having a baby!”

At twenty-nine, Marisa had exactly the kind of life Mia had always hoped to have. She was happily married to a wonderful guy who adored her, lived an hour’s drive away from their parents in Florida, and worked as an elementary school music teacher. And now she had a baby on the way. Her life could not have been more perfect, and Mia was truly glad for her. And if she felt a twinge—okay, more than a twinge—of envy, she would never let it intrude on Marisa’s happiness. It was not her sister’s fault that Mia’s own life had become such a screw-up in the last week.

They caught up some more, with Mia learning all about the first-trimester nausea and cravings, and then Marisa had to run since her lunch break was over. Mia let her go, already missing her cheerful voice, and then decided to use the remaining time for studying.

An hour later, Mia had gone through the requisite Statistics exercises and had just started reviewing her Child Psychology textbook when Jessie showed up.

“Mia!” she exclaimed with relief, spotting her curled up on the couch. “Oh, thank God! I was so worried when you didn’t come home last night! I called Jason, but he said that you were probably fine and that I shouldn’t worry. What happened? Did John tell you anything useful?”

Mia stared at her roommate, once more debating how much to share with the girl who had been her best friend for the last three years. “He did,” she said slowly, trying to come up with something that would put Jessie at ease.

“Well, what did he say? And where were you last night? Was it with that K?”

Mia sighed, deciding on a plausible storyline. “Well, John basically said that the Ks occasionally get interested in humans this way. It’s usually a passing fancy, and they get tired of the relationship and move on fairly quickly. It’s nothing to worry about, and I should just play along and enjoy it for as long as it lasts.”

“Enjoy what? Sleeping with the K?” Jessie’s eyes widened in shock.

“Pretty much,” Mia confirmed. “It’s really not that bad. He also takes me out to nice places. We’re going to Le Bernardin tonight.”

“Wait, Mia, you’re sleeping with him now?” Jessie’s voice rose incredulously. “But you’ve never been with anyone before! Are you telling me you lost your virginity to him already?”

Mia blushed, feeling embarrassed. At this point, she was about as far from being a virgin as one could get. Seeing her answer in the color washing into Mia’s face, Jessie softly said, “Oh my God. How was it? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

Mia’s blush deepened. “Jessie,” she said desperately, “I really don’t feel like discussing this in detail. We had sex, and it was good. Now can we please change the topic?”

Jessie hesitated and then reluctantly agreed. Mia could see that her roommate was dying with curiosity, but Mia knew she could not keep up her brave act for long. More than anything, Mia wanted to tell Jessie the whole messy story, to reveal the sickening fear she felt at the prospect of ending up as a sex slave or getting caught spying for the Resistance. But doing so would likely put Jessie in danger as well, and that was the last thing Mia wanted.

Lying was a small price to pay for keeping her loved ones safe.

Before Mia had a chance to do much more studying, she was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Opening the door, she was surprised to see a sharply dressed middle-aged woman and a young flamboyantly trendy man standing at her doorstep. The man was holding a zippered clothing bag that was nearly as tall as he was. “Yes?” she said warily, fully expecting to hear them say that they’ve got the wrong apartment.

“Mia Stalis?” the woman asked with a faint British accent.

“Uh, yeah,” Mia said, “that would be me.”

“Great,” the woman said. “I’m Bridget, and this is Claude. We’re personal shoppers from Saks Fifth Avenue, and we’re here to remake your wardrobe.”

Light dawned.

Trying to hold on to her temper, Mia asked, “Did Korum sent you? I thought he was just getting me a dress for tonight.”

“He did. This is your dress right here. We’re going to make sure it fits you properly, and then we’ll take some additional measurements.” Bridget sounded snooty, or maybe that was just the British accent.

Mia took a deep breath. “All right,” she acquiesced, “come on in.” By now, Jessie had come out of her room and was observing the proceedings with great interest, and Mia didn’t want to throw a scene over something so inconsequential.

They came in, and Claude unzipped the bag with a flourish. “Wow,” Jessie said in a reverent tone, “I think I’ve seen that dress on the runway . . .”

The dress was truly beautiful, made of a shimmery blue fabric that seemed to flow with every move. It had three-quarter-length sleeves—perfect for a chilly restaurant—and looked like it might end just above the knees. It also seemed tiny, and Mia doubted that even she would be able to fit in it.

Nonetheless, she went to her room and tried it on. Twirling in front of her mirror, she was shocked to see that it actually fit her like a glove. The dress was very modest in the front, but had a deep plunge in the back, so she couldn’t wear a bra. However, it was so cleverly made, with the cups already sewn in, that no bra was necessary for someone of Mia’s size. The young woman reflected in the mirror was more than merely pretty; she actually looked hot, with all her small curves highlighted and shown to their best advantage.

Feeling shy, Mia walked out of her bedroom and modeled the dress to her audience. Claude and Bridget made admiring noises, and Jessie wolf-whistled at the sight. “Wow, Mia, you look amazing!” she exclaimed, walking around Mia to look at her from all angles.

“Here,” Bridget said, her tone less snooty now, “you can wear these tights and shoes with it.” She was holding up a pair of silky black pantyhose and simple black pumps with red soles.

Trying on the shoes and tights, Mia discovered that they were a great fit as well. She wondered how Korum knew her size so precisely. If she had been the one choosing the clothes, she would have never gone for the dress, sure that it was too small to fit her. Still caught up in the beauty of the dress, Mia graciously allowed Bridget to take her full measurements.

Checking on the time, Mia was surprised to see that it was already six o’clock. She only had a half-hour to get ready—not that she needed all that time given that she was already dressed. Her hair was still magically behaving, so she only needed to worry about makeup. Two minutes later, she was done, having brushed on two coats of mascara, a light sprinkling of powder to hide the freckles, and a tinted lip balm. Satisfied, she settled on the couch to finish studying and wait for Korum to pick her up.

* * *

GREETING KORUM AT the door, she was pleased to see his eyes turn a brighter amber at the sight of her in the dress.

“Mia,” he said quietly, “I always knew you were beautiful, but you look simply incredible tonight.”

Mia blushed at the compliment and mumbled a thank-you.

The dinner was the most amazing affair of Mia’s life. Le Bernardin was utterly posh, with the waiters anticipating their every wish with almost uncanny attentiveness and the food somewhere between heavenly and out-of-this-world. They got a special tasting menu, and Mia tried everything from the warm lobster carpaccio to the stuffed zucchini flower. The wine paired with their courses was delicious as well, although Korum kept a strict eye on her alcohol consumption this time, stopping the waiter when he tried to refill her glass too often.

Keeping the conversation neutral was surprisingly easy. Korum was a good listener, and he seemed genuinely interested in her life, as simple and boring as it must have seemed to him. Since he knew everything about her anyway and she wasn’t trying to get him to like her, Mia found herself opening up to him in a way that she’d never had with her dates before. She told him about the first boy she’d ever kissed—an eight-year-old she’d had a crush on when she was six—and how jealous she’d felt of her perfect older sister when she was a young child. She spoke of her parents’ high expectations and of her own desire to positively influence young lives by serving as a guidance counselor.

She also learned that he normally lived in Costa Rica. Supposedly, the climate there best mimicked the area of Krina where he was from. “Our Center in Guanacaste is the closest thing we have to a capital here on Earth. We call it Lenkarda,” he explained. She remembered then that Costa Rica was where John had said his sister was being held. She wondered if Korum had ever seen her there. It was feasible—he’d said there were only about five thousand Ks living in each of their Centers.

As the dinner went on, she found herself straying more and more from the safe topics. Unable to contain her curiosity, she asked him about life on Krina and what the planet was like, in general.

“Krina is a beautiful place,” Korum told her. “It’s like a very lush green Earth. We have many more species of plants and animals, given our longer evolutionary history. We’ve also succeeded in preserving the majority of our biodiversity there, avoiding the mass extinctions that took place here in recent centuries.” For which humans were responsible—that part he didn’t have to say out loud.

“The majority, with the exception of your human-like primates, right?” Mia asked caustically, slightly chafing at his holier-than-thou attitude.

“With the exception of them, yes,” Korum agreed. “And a few other species that were particularly ill-equipped to survive.”

Mia sighed and decided to move on to something less controversial. “So what are your cities like? Since you’re so long-lived, your planet must be very densely populated by now.”

He shook his head. “It’s actually not. We’re not as fertile as your species, and few couples these days are interested in having more than one or two children. As a result, our birth rate in modern times has been very low, barely above replenishment levels, and our population hasn’t grown significantly in millions of years.” Pausing to take a sip of his drink, he continued, “Our cities are actually very different from yours. We don’t enjoy living right on top of each other. We tend to be very territorial, so we like to have a lot of space to call our own. Our cities are more like your suburbs, where the Krinar live spread out on the edges and commute into the denser center, which is only for commercial activities. And everywhere you go, the air is clean and unpolluted. We like to have trees and plants all around us, so even the densest areas of our cities are nearly as green as your parks.”

Mia listened with fascination. This explained the flora all over his penthouse. “It sounds really nice,” she said. Then an obvious question occurred to her. “Why would you leave all that and come to Earth, with all of our pollution and overpopulation? It must be really unpleasant for you to be in New York, for instance.”

He smiled and reached for her hand, stroking her palm. “Well, I’ve recently discovered some definite perks to this city.”

“No, but seriously, why come to Earth?” she persisted. “I can’t believe you’d give up your home planet just to come here and drink our blood.” Which he still hadn’t done with her for some reason, she realized.

He sighed and looked at her, apparently coming to some decision. “Well, Mia, it’s like this. As beautiful as our planet is, it’s not immortal. Our sun, which is a much older star than yours, will begin to die in another hundred million years. If we’re still on Krina at that time, our entire race will perish. So we have no choice but to seek out some other alternatives.”

“In a hundred million years?” That seemed like a very long time to Mia. “But that’s so far away. Why come here now? Why not enjoy your beautiful planet for, say, another ninety million years?”

“Because, my darling, if we had left Earth to humans for another ninety million years, there might not have been a habitable planet for us to come to.” He leaned forward, his expression cooling. “Your kind has turned out to be incredibly destructive, with your technology evolving much faster than your morals and common sense. When your Industrial Revolution began, we knew that we would have to intervene at some point because you were using up your planet’s resources at an unprecedented pace. So we began preparations to come here because we saw the writing on the wall.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “And we were right. Each generation has been more and more greedy, each successive advance in your technology doing more and more damage to your environment. As short-lived as you are, you think in decades—not even hundreds of years—and that leads you not to care about the future. You’re like a child who takes a toy apart for the fun and pleasure of it, not caring that tomorrow he won’t have that toy to play with anymore.”

Mia sat there, feeling like said child getting castigated by the teacher. The tips of her ears burned with anger and shame. Maybe what he was saying was the truth, but he had no right to sit in judgment of her entire species, particularly in light of what she knew about his kind. Humans may be primitive and short-sighted compared to the Krinar, but at least they had the wisdom—and morals—to stop enslaving intelligent beings.

“So you came to our planet to take it over for your own use?” she asked resentfully. “All under the guise of saving it from our environmentally unfriendly ways?”

“No, Mia,” he said patiently, as though explaining the obvious to a small child. “We came to share your planet. If we had wanted to take it over, believe me, we would have. We’ve been more than generous with your species. Other than banning a few of your particularly stupid practices, we’ve generally left you alone, to live as you wish. That’s far better than the way you have treated your own kind.”

Seeing the stubborn look on her face, he added, “When the Europeans came to the Americas, did they let the natives live in peace? Did they respect their traditions and ways of life enough to let them continue, or did they try to impose their own religion, values, and mores on them? Did they treat them as fellow human beings or as savage animals?”

Mia shook her head in denial. “That was a long time ago. We’ve changed, and we’ve learned our lessons. We would never do something like that again.”

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “But you still have no problem exterminating other species through negligence and willful ignorance. As recently as a few years ago, you treated the animals you raised for food as though they were not living creatures. And don’t even get me started on the Holocaust and the other atrocities you’ve perpetuated against other humans during the last century. You’re not as enlightened as you’d like to think you are.”

He was right, and Mia hated him for it. As much as she would have liked to throw their own use of human slaves in his face, she was not supposed to know about that. So she asked instead, “If we’re so awful, then why do you even want me? I certainly wouldn’t want to be with someone of whom I had such a low opinion.”

Korum sighed with exasperation. “Mia, I never said you’re awful. Especially not you, specifically. Your species is still immature and in need of guidance, that’s all.”

“Plus, I’m just your fuck toy, right?” Mia said bitterly, not sure why she was even bothering to go there. “I guess it doesn’t matter what you think of humans as a whole in that case.”

He just stared at her impassively. “If that’s how you want to think about it, fine. I certainly enjoy fucking you quite a bit.” His eyes turned a deeper shade of gold, and he leaned toward her. “And you love getting fucked. So why don’t you stop trying to slap labels on everything and just enjoy the way things are?”

Sitting back, he motioned to the waiter for the check. Mia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, even as her body involuntarily responded to his words with swift arousal.

He paid the bill, and they left, heading back to his penthouse.

As soon as they got into the limo, Korum pulled her onto his lap and thoroughly kissed her until all she could think about was getting to the bedroom. His hands found their way under the skirt of her dress, pressing rhythmically between her legs until she was moaning softly and squirming in his arms. Before she could reach her peak, they had arrived at their destination.

He carried her swiftly through the lobby of his building, and Mia hid her face against his chest, pretending not to see the shocked stares from the concierge and the few residents passing by. As soon as they were alone in the elevator, he kissed her again, his tongue leisurely exploring her mouth until she was nearly ready to come again. Without pausing to take off their clothes, he brought her inside the bedroom and threw her onto the bed.

At their entrance, the background music and soft lighting came on, creating a romantic ambiance. Mia hardly noticed, her arousal nearly at fever pitch. She watched hungrily as he stripped off his own clothes with inhuman speed, revealing the powerfully muscled body underneath. It was no wonder she was so addicted to him, she thought with some coolly rational part of her mind. He was probably the most gorgeous male she would ever be with in her life.

He came over her then and pulled off the dress, barely taking the time to unzip it. She was left lying there in her black pantyhose and high-heeled pumps, with her upper body completely exposed to his starving gaze. “You look so hot,” he told her, his voice rough with lust. The thick, swollen cock pointing in her direction corroborated his words. Bending toward her breasts, he closed his mouth over her left nipple and sucked hard, making her arch off the bed with the intensity of the sensation. Doing the same thing to her other nipple, he simultaneously pressed at the throbbing place between her thighs, and Mia screamed as she came, her entire body shuddering from the force of her orgasm.

Before she could recover, he started kissing her again with an oddly intent look on his face. Starting at her lips, his warm mouth moved down her face and neck, lingering over the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder and making her shiver with pleasure.

Suddenly, there was a brief slicing pain, and Mia realized that he must have bitten her. She gasped in shock, but before she could feel anything more than a twinge of fear, hot ecstasy seemed to rush through her veins. Every muscle in her body simultaneously tightened and immediately turned to mush, and her skin felt like it had been set on fire from within. Her last rational thought was that it had to be the chemical in his saliva, and then she could no longer think at all, her entire being tuned only to the pull of his mouth at her neck and the feel of his body entering her own with one powerful thrust.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of sensations and images. She was vaguely aware that she climaxed repeatedly, her senses heightened to a nearly unbearable degree. All the colors seemed brighter, and she felt like she was floating in a warm sea, with the currents caressing her skin and lapping at her insides, making them clench and release in ecstasy. He was relentless in his passion, his cock driving into her in a savage, unending rhythm until she was nothing more than pure sensation, her essence reduced down to its very basics, her very personhood burned away in the all-consuming rapture.

Hours may have passed, or days. Mia didn’t know and didn’t care. At some point, her voice gave out from her constant screams, and she couldn’t come anymore, her body wrung dry from the ceaseless orgasms. He came hard too, shuddering over her several times throughout the night, and then penetrating her again a few moments later. Finally exhausted, Mia literally passed out, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep that ended the most unbelievable sexual experience of her life.

Chapter 9

OVER THE NEXT couple of weeks, Mia settled into a routine—if sleeping with an extraterrestrial while trying to spy on him could be called anything that mundane.

He insisted on seeing her every evening, for dinner and beyond. She spent every night at his penthouse, no longer sleeping in her own apartment. During the day, he allowed her to attend class, go home to study, or spend time Skyping with her family. Her social life—never particularly active—now revolved around her relationship with him, and Jessie was horrified by that.

“I’m telling you, Mia,” she earnestly tried to convince her, “I know you said it’s only temporary, but I’m really worried about you. All you do is go to him—it’s like you don’t have a life anymore. It’s not healthy, the way he just completely took over all your free time. I barely see you anymore—and we share an apartment. Can’t you just spend one night away from him, just to hang out with the girls or go to a house party? You’re in college, for Christ’s sake!”

Mia shrugged, not wanting to get into an argument with Jessie. Let her think that she was simply obsessed with her first lover. It was better than explaining the reality of her precarious situation.

John contacted her on Thursday, wondering if she had any useful information. Mia had nothing. Leeta and Rezav had come by Korum’s place a few times, but they had gone into that room and Mia had been too scared to try spying on them again. Walking in Central Park, Korum and Mia had once been approached by a group of three Ks that she’d never seen before. Their attitude toward Korum had been somewhat deferential, giving Mia a glimpse of the power he supposedly wielded over the Krinar on this planet. However, they’d spoken in their own language, and Mia had no clue what they said. She was surprised to see them, however; she hadn’t known that Manhattan was such a popular place for the Ks to hang out.

On Fridays and Saturdays, he took her out to see Broadway shows and new movie releases. Mia greatly enjoyed herself. For some reason, despite living in New York City, she rarely got a chance to go to the shows—and it was fun pretending to be a tourist for a night. He also took her out to expensive restaurants or made gourmet meals at home on the days that they stayed in. For an outsider looking in, her life was the stuff of every girl’s fantasy—complete with a handsome, wealthy lover who drove her around in a limo and generally treated her like a princess.

Her wardrobe had undergone a complete change as well. The personal shoppers from Saks had gone all out, replacing every piece of Mia’s clothing with something nicer, more flattering, and infinitely more expensive. Stylish new coats and fluffy parkas kept her warm and cozy in the unpredictable spring weather. All of her underwear was now mostly silk and lace, with a few cotton pieces mixed in for everyday comfort and exercise. Her bulky old sweaters and baggy sweatpants were exchanged for comfortable, but formfitting yoga pants and soft fleecy tops. Even her jeans were deemed to be too old and poorly fitting, and designer brands now proudly resided on her shelves. And, of course, the beautiful dresses that now hung in her closet were in a category of their own. Her shoes had not escaped either, with brand-new high-end boots, sneakers, flats, and heels taking place of her old Uggs and worn-out All Stars from high school.

Mia’s strident objections at Korum’s extravagant expenditures on her behalf were completely ignored.

“Are you under the impression that this is something more than pocket change for me?” he asked her arrogantly, arching one black eyebrow at her protests. “I like to see you dressed well, and I want you to wear these.”

And that was the end of that topic.

The sex between them was explosive—literally and figuratively out-of-this-world. Korum was a very mercurial lover. One day, he could be playful and tender, spending hours massaging Mia with scented oils until she purred with pleasure; other times, he was merciless, driving into her with unrelenting force until she screamed in ecstasy. On days when he took her blood—not every day, because it could be addictive for them both, he’d explained—she thought she could easily lose her mind from the intensity of the experience. Although Mia had never tried the hard-core drugs herself, she knew about the effects of various substances on the brain through her Psychology of Addiction class, and she imagined that the sex-blood combo with Korum was probably like doing heroin at the same time as ecstasy.

She often felt bitter about that, knowing that she could never feel the same way with a regular human man. Even if she was able to return to her normal life some day, she knew that she would never be the same, that he was too deeply imprinted on her mind and body. With each day that passed, she grew to crave his touch more, every cell in her body aching for him when he was not around. All he had to do was smile or look at her with those amber eyes and she was ready, her body softening and melting in preparation for his.

The calm, rational Mia Stalis of the past twenty-plus years was replaced with an insecure, emotional wreck. When she was with Korum, feeling his touch and basking in his presence, Mia felt like she was floating on air. As soon as she stepped away, however, she was filled with self-loathing and gut-wrenching fear—fear of being caught spying, of being unable to carry out her mission before he tired of her, and, most of all, of losing him.

It was inevitable, she knew. Even if he hadn’t been the enemy, even if his kind had not been enslaving her own, there was no future for them. They were different species, and, if that hadn’t been enough of an obstacle, her life span was like that of a fruit fly compared to his. In another few years—a dozen years at most—she would begin the inevitable aging process, and his attraction to her would fade, assuming that it lasted that long in the first place.

In her darkest moments, a small insidious voice inside her head wondered if it would truly be that awful—being his charl in Costa Rica. Would he treat her any differently from the way he did today? If not, then what did it matter what label was placed on their relationship as long as she could continue to be with him? And then she would be disgusted with herself, sickened that she could even contemplate the idea.

Despite her best attempts to remain upbeat for them, her family had begun to notice that something was amiss. Her mom ascribed it to stress from the proximity of finals, but her dad was more observant. “Did you meet someone, honey?” he asked one day out of the blue, startling Mia. She had vehemently denied it, of course, but she could see that he still had some doubts. Out of her entire family, her father was the only one who could read the subtleties of Mia’s moods, and she was sure that her artificially bright smile did little to conceal the turmoil within from his sharp gaze.

The only time she felt like her old self was when she would bury herself in the library, absorbed in her studies. The end of the semester was approaching quickly, and Mia’s workload tripled, with papers and finals looming in the near future. Under normal circumstances, Mia would have been tense and snappy from the stress. These days, however, studying brought a welcome relief from the drama of the rest of her life, and she gladly pored over textbooks and practiced linear regression every chance she got.

The first days of May brought unseasonably warm weather to New York, and the entire city came alive, with residents quickly donning their new summer clothes and tourists arriving in droves.

As much as Mia would’ve liked to join the other students lounging on the lawn with their books, she needed four walls around her in order to concentrate. Korum was becoming increasingly reluctant to have her go to the library, given her tendency to forget about the time while there, so she tried to study more in his penthouse. He set up a desk and a comfortable lounge chair for her in a small sunny room next to his own office—the place where he had met with Leeta and Rezav—and she began spending hours there instead.

She was also starting to think about the summer. After finals, Mia was supposed to fly home to Florida to see her parents. She had been fortunate to get an internship at a camp for troubled kids in Orlando, where she would be one of the counselors. Since Orlando was only about ninety minutes away from Ormond Beach, she could easily visit her parents on the weekends or whenever she had days off. Although dealing with troubled children would not be the easiest gig, the experience was considered valuable for someone in her field and would greatly aid her on grad school applications.

She had no idea how Korum would react to her essentially leaving for the next couple of months. It was possible that in another couple of weeks he would be tired of her, and then the issue would never arise. Thus far, he had not prevented her from carrying on with her schoolwork, and she hoped they might be able to come up with a workable solution for the summer as well—if their relationship lasted that far. For now, she decided to keep quiet and not rock the boat.

Two days before her Statistics exam, with Mia beginning to think and dream in correlations, Korum got called away for some unknown emergency. Sitting in her study room, she heard raised voices speaking in Krinar across the wall. Minutes later, he came into her room and told her tersely that he would be away for the rest of the day.

“If you need to go home to study or you want to hang out with your roommate tonight, feel free,” he added as an afterthought. “I may not be home tonight.”

Surprised, Mia nodded in agreement and watched him depart swiftly, with only a quick peck on her cheek.

Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized that this may be the chance she had been waiting for.

She sat for a few minutes, making sure that he was truly gone. For good measure, she leisurely strolled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her cheeks, trying to convince herself that there was nothing to worry about . . . that she was completely alone in the house. Her hands were shaking a bit, she noticed as she raised them to her face, and her eyes stood out against her unusually pale face. You can do this, Mia. All you have to do is just take a look around.

She casually walked toward his office, ready to run into her own study at the first sign of his return. The penthouse was eerily quiet, with only her footsteps breaking the uneasy silence. Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Mia tiptoed toward the office door.

As before, the doors slid open automatically at her approach. Even though Mia had been expecting it, she still jumped at the quiet “whoosh.” Stepping in, she quickly surveyed her surroundings.

The room was completely empty.

A large polished table stood in the center, dominating the space. There were a few chairs positioned around the table, with the whole setup reminiscent of a corporate conference room. Mia was not sure what she’d hoped to see—perhaps a few papers left lying around or a computer carelessly turned on. But there was nothing.

Of course, she realized, he would not be using anything as primitive as paper or a tablet computer. Whatever the K equivalent of a computer was, she likely wouldn’t even recognize it as such given the state of their technology.

Not for the first time, Mia cursed her own technological ineptitude. Someone who had problems keeping up with all the latest human gadgets was particularly ill-equipped to spy on an alien from a much more advanced civilization.

Walking into the room, she carefully approached the table. It looked like a regular table surface, but Mia remembered the three-dimensional image she’d seen on it that one time. She tried to remember what it was that Korum did to make it disappear. Was it a wave of his hand?

Trying to imitate the gesture, she motioned with her right arm. Nothing. She waved her left arm. Still nothing. Frustrated, she stomped her foot. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t do anything either.

Mia circled around the table, studying every nook and cranny. Getting down on her knees, she crawled underneath and tried to look at the underside in the crazy hope that there might be a recognizable button somewhere there. There wasn’t one, of course. The surface above her was completely innocuous, made of nothing more mysterious than plain wood.

Trying to crawl out, Mia bumped against one of the chairs. Exactly like a corporate office chair, it had wheels and swiveled in the middle. A fleecy sweater Korum occasionally wore around the house was carelessly hanging on the back of it. She crawled around the chair, not wanting to disturb the arrangement in case Korum had a good memory for furniture placement.

Sitting on the cold floor next to the chair, Mia stared despondently around the room. It was hopeless . . . John had been crazy to think that Mia could help somehow. If they were truly relying on her, then they were doomed. She was, quite simply, the worst spy in the world.

Her butt was getting cold from sitting, and the whole thing was utterly pointless anyway.

Trying to get up, Mia inadvertently brushed against the chair and lost her balance for a second. Grabbing onto the chair for support, she accidentally pulled off Korum’s sweater.

Great. She wasn’t just a useless spy—she was also a clumsy one. Lifting the sweater, she brought it closer to her nose and inhaled the familiar scent. Clean and masculine, it made her warm deep inside. You have it bad, Mia. Stop mooning over the enemy you’re spying on.

She tried to arrange the sweater back in its original position, and her fingers felt something unusual. A small protrusion on the edge of the sleeve that didn’t seem to belong on a soft sweater like that.

Her pulse jumping in excitement, Mia lifted the sleeve to take a closer look.

On the bottom of the sleeve, a tiny chip was embedded in the fabric. It was the size of a small button, and it was sheer luck that Mia’s fingers had landed on it—otherwise, she would not have noticed it in a million years.

A light went on in her head. Korum had been wearing this sweater when he waved his arm and made the image disappear, Mia remembered with chills going down her spine. He had literally had a trick up his sleeve!

Nearly jumping in excitement, Mia examined the little computer—or at least, that’s what she presumed it was—with careful attention. The thing was tiny and had no obvious on or off button.

“On,” Mia ordered, wondering if it would respond to voice commands.

Nothing.

Mia tried again. “Turn on!”

There was no response this time either.

This was frustrating. Either the chip did not respond to voice commands, or it did not understand English. Then again, it could be programmed to respond only to Korum’s voice or his touch.

Maybe if she massaged it herself?

She tried it. Nothing.

Blowing in frustration at a curl that had fallen over her eye, Mia considered her options. If the thing responded to Korum’s touch, then it probably knew his DNA signature or something like that. In which case, she had no chance of getting it to work.

Discouraged, Mia sat down on the floor again. It seemed to help the last time she was stumped. If only there was some way she could test her theory—like a chunk of his hair or something . . .

Suddenly hopeful, Mia jumped up and ran to the bedroom to see if she could find any stray hairs. To her huge disappointment, the room was utterly hair-free, except for a couple of long curly strands that could only be her own. Korum was either a clean freak, or he simply didn’t shed his hair the way humans did.

Furiously thinking it through, Mia ran to the bathroom and grabbed his electric toothbrush. Maybe it had some traces of his saliva or gum tissue . . . She held up the toothbrush to the little device with bated breath.

The device blinked, powering up for a second, and then fizzled out again.

Mia nearly screamed in excitement.

She held the toothbrush even closer, nearly brushing the sweater with it, but the chip remained silent and dark.

Mia’s teeth snapped together in frustration. She was on the right path, but she needed a bigger chunk of his DNA. His clothes might have some, his shoes, the sheets on the bed . . . But those would likely be trace amounts, like those on the toothbrush.

The sheets on the bed! A big grin slowly appeared on Mia’s face. She knew exactly where to get that big chunk.

Going into the laundry room, she dug through the pile of towels and dirty linens that had piled up in the recent week. Korum tended to do his own laundry for some weird reason, and he usually did it on Mondays. Given that today was a Saturday, the room was chock-full of DNA tidbits, courtesy of their active sex life.

Mia pulled out a particularly stained pillowcase, blushing a little when she remembered how it got that way. Bringing it into the office, she held it up to the little device and waited, hardly daring to hope.

Without any sound, the chip blinked and turned on. A giant three-dimensional image appeared on the table surface. Her heart in her throat, Mia slowly hung the sweater back on the chair—which did not affect the image at all—and walked around the table, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

Chapter 10

SPREAD OUT BEFORE her was a giant three-dimensional map of Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs. It was like a much fancier, much more realistic version of Google Earth.

Slowly pacing around the table, Mia stared at the familiar landscape laid out in front of her. There was Central Park, right in the middle of the tall narrow island that was still the cultural and financial center of the United States of America. Much lower, all the way on the west side, Mia could see Korum’s luxury high-rise, outlined in perfect detail.

Fascinated, she stretched her hand toward the small building image, wondering if it had any substance to it. Her fingers passed right through it, but she felt a small electric pulse run through her palm. All of a sudden, reality shifted and adjusted . . . and Mia cried out in panic as she found herself standing on the street and looking directly at the building itself—not its image, but the real thing.

Gasping, she stumbled backwards, falling and catching herself with her hands.

There was no pain at the contact with rough surface of the sidewalk; in fact, the sidewalk felt like nothing at all. Everything seemed strangely muted and silent. There were no cars passing on the street and no pedestrians leisurely strolling by.

It had to be a dream, Mia realized with a shiver, or a really vivid hallucination. Maybe she was really dying from the contact with the alien technology, and this was her brain’s last hurrah. It didn’t feel like that, though—it just felt weird, like she had fallen into a reflective pool of something and the reflections turned out to be real.

Virtual reality.

Mia knew it with sudden certainty. Even today’s human technology could give a weak imitation of it through all the three-dimensional movies and video games. The Ks could obviously do much better, making her feel like she was actually in the image herself. This had to be the K version of Google Maps, where, instead of placing the little orange figure on the digital map to look around via pictures, the map simply placed the viewer into the three-dimensional reality.

The question now was how to get out.

Maybe if she closed her eyes and reopened them, she would find herself back in the office. Squeezing her lids shut, Mia tried counting to five. Halfway through, she lost her patience and peeked. Nope, she was still definitely in front of the building.

Her next initiative was to pinch herself . . . hard.

Ouch.

She definitely felt that pain, but her view didn’t budge. She stomped her foot. Her leg communicated that sensation to her brain as well, but Mia was still in that mysterious world.

Crap. She was starting to panic. What if she could never leave this place, or worse, what if she was still in it when Korum got home? He would know immediately that she had been snooping. There was no way to spin this in a positive light, or to pass it off as random curiosity. She had clearly gone to extraordinary lengths to access his files.

Think, Mia, think. If she had entered this world so easily, there had to be an equally easy way to get out. Something had to be real in this surreal place, even if everything seemed fake.

Raising her arms at her sides, Mia slowly turned in a circle. Initially, her outstretched hands encountered nothing but air. She took a step to the right and repeated the process. Then another step and another. On her fifth attempt, her fingers brushed against something soft and familiar. The sweater! She couldn’t see it, but she could definitely feel it.

Grabbing it with a desperate grip, Mia attempted to locate the device. And there it was, a tiny nub near the edge of the sleeve. As soon as Mia touched it, the familiar electric pulse ran through her hand. For a second, she experienced that feeling of disorientation, and then she was standing on solid ground—on the floor of Korum’s office inside the building she had just been looking at.

Nearly shaking in relief, she stared at the map still spread out before her. She’d done it! She—Mia Stalis, who had to be taught how to operate the latest iPads—had actually entered an alien virtual reality world and come out unscathed.

Of course, she still hadn’t learned anything useful. As much as she wanted to stop and go back to memorizing the standard deviation formula, she had to explore this opportunity further.

This time around, Mia knew what she had to do to avoid getting lost in that strange world. She put on Korum’s sweater herself. It was huge on her, nearly reaching down to her knees. His deliciously familiar scent surrounded her, almost as if she was standing in his arms. For some reason, she found it very comforting, even though she knew that he might kill her if he saw her in this moment.

Walking around the table, she examined the map in detail. The image seemed to pulse slightly, and there were areas that shimmered more than others. One particular building in Brooklyn almost had a glow around it.

A glow? Mia had to investigate it further.

Extending her hand toward the tiny image, she closed her eyes and braced for the reality shift. When she opened them, she was on the street, looking at a quiet tree-lined residential block populated by a row of red-brick townhouses.

To her surprise, the scene was far from empty. Stifling a startled gasp, she watched a man hurry into one of the houses. He walked right past Mia on the street, without even a cursory glance to acknowledge her presence. Of course, Mia realized, she wasn’t really there from his perspective. She was either watching a live video feed—a very realistic one—or, more likely, a pre-recorded video.

A saying she’d once heard nibbled on the edge of her mind. Something about advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic. That’s exactly what it was like with the Ks, thought Mia. She felt a little like Harry Potter in his invisibility cloak—though her adversary was admittedly much better-looking than Voldemort.

Gathering her courage, she followed the man up the steps and into the house. This is not real, Mia. They can’t see you. You can get out any time you like. She opened the door—which was unlocked for some reason—and stepped inside.

There was no one in the hallway, but she could hear people in the living room. Her heart pounding in her throat, Mia slowly approached the gathering. The big sweater wrapped around her felt like a security blanket, giving her the nerve to continue.

Tiptoeing into the room, Mia hovered in the doorway, waiting for someone to yell out, “Intruder!” But the occupants of the room were unaware of her presence. Feeling much calmer, Mia began to observe the proceedings.

There were about fifteen people gathered there, of various ages and nationalities. Only three of them were women, including a middle-aged lady who looked like a professor. The other two women were young, probably around Mia’s age, although the stressed look on their faces aged them somehow. A lean blond man was sitting with his back turned to Mia, but there was something about him that looked familiar.

“John,” said the middle-aged woman, addressing the blond man, “we really need to work out these details. We can’t just blindly trust them—”

He turned his head to respond, and Mia realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she knew this John—that she had spoken to him twice in the last few weeks. And that meant only one thing: what she was observing had to be a meeting of the Resistance— and if she was observing it through Korum’s virtual reality video, then he was obviously onto them.

Oh dear God. They thought they were safe, that they weren’t being tracked. Why else would they all be gathered here like this? John had said that Korum was specifically in New York to stamp out the Resistance movement . . . because they were getting close to some breakthrough. But clearly, Korum was even closer to his goal of hunting down the freedom fighters.

She had to warn them. They were sitting ducks in that Brooklyn house. Korum could ambush them at any moment.

Suddenly, Mia felt every hair on the back of her neck rising. The puzzle pieces snapped into place, and she gasped in horrified realization.

It may already be too late for John and his friends.

Why else would Korum leave so abruptly today? He knew exactly where they were. There was no reason for him to wait any longer. The ambush—if it hadn’t occurred yet—was about to take place.

Without waiting a second longer, Mia touched the little device on her sleeve and was immediately transported back to Korum’s office. Waving her hand as she had seen Korum do, she nearly collapsed with relief when the action actually worked and the map winked out of existence. Quickly taking off the sweater, she hung it on the back of the chair, making sure that no stray hairs from her head remained anywhere on the fleecy fabric. Then she positioned the chairs back to how she remembered them being and ran out of the room. Last minute, she remembered the pillowcase and grabbed that too, dropping it back in the laundry pile on her way out of the apartment. Two minutes later, she had her purse and shoes and was getting into the elevator.

She needed to contact John, right away.

Pulling out her old-fashioned pocket cell phone, Mia shot an email to Jessie, writing ‘Hi’ in the subject line. In the body of the text, she mentioned that she would be home tonight and asked if Jessie wanted to have a girls’ night in. That should put John on alert, she thought, if he was indeed monitoring Jessie’s account. Now all she could do was hope and pray that she was not too late.

Wanting to get home as quickly as possible, Mia hailed a cab. It was a wasteful extravagance, but if there was ever a good reason to hurry—this was it. Climbing in, she gave the driver her home address and leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes.

Thoughts and ideas zoomed around her brain, jumping from one topic to another. How did Korum know where they were meeting? He had to have bugged the fighters’ house without their knowledge . . . But John had reassured her that he could tell if a room was bugged or not. Either John had lied to her or Korum was ten steps ahead of whatever knowledge John’s crew thought they possessed. That last part made sense to her. Humans could never hope to win against the K technology. If Korum wanted to watch the Resistance, he could obviously do so without their knowledge.

The full danger of the game she was playing dawned on Mia. Depending on how long Korum had been spying on them, he could know all of their plans by now . . . and he could know about Mia’s involvement, limited though it had been up until today. At that thought, Mia’s stomach turned over and she felt a sickening cold spread down to her toes. She had never seen Korum truly angry, but she had no doubt it would not be a pleasant sight.

Arriving at her destination, Mia paid the driver with cold, clammy fingers and walked up the five flights of stairs to her apartment. Jessie wasn’t home, and Mia enviously thought that she was probably out enjoying the beautiful day with her friends. Either that or studying for finals—and both options sounded amazing to Mia right about now.

She settled in to wait.

About a half hour had passed, and Mia had nearly worn a hole in the carpet pacing up and down the living room. Finally, just as she was about to go out of her mind with frustration, the doorbell rang.

John and one of the young women from the meeting were at her door. The girl’s hair was a sandy shade of brown and cut short, almost like a man’s. She also looked very athletic. If it hadn’t been for her elfin features, she could have easily passed for a teenage boy.

“Mia, this is Leslie,” said John. “Leslie—this is Mia, the girl I was telling you about.”

Mia nodded in greeting and let them into the apartment.

“John,” she said without a preamble, “I just learned that you’re in danger.”

“No shit,” Leslie said sarcastically. “We had no idea.”

Mia was taken aback. This girl had no reason to dislike her, yet her tone was almost contemptuous. She felt her own hackles rising. “That’s right,” she said coolly. “You obviously had no idea . . . else you wouldn’t have had that meeting where Korum could get a nice video of you all—including you, Leslie.”

John’s eyes widened in shock. “What are you talking about? What video?”

“I’m not even sure if video is the right word for it. It’s really more of a virtual reality show—”

She relayed to them exactly what she’d seen today. By the time she finished, John looked pale and Leslie’s arrogant smirk had been wiped from her face.

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “How did he know where to find us? All of our regular meeting places get swept for bugs and tracking devices daily. We all get regular scans too—”

“It’s obviously not enough,” said Leslie. “Either that, or we were betrayed.”

They looked at each other in dismay.

“How are you even doing this?” asked Mia. “How do you even know what to look for when you do your scans? They can hide their tracking devices in anything. You even told me I have them in me . . .”

“That’s true,” John nodded, “but we can still find them—”

“Usually,” said Leslie.

“Right, usually, because we’re not just relying on our own modern technology—”

“John,” said Leslie warningly.

“Leslie, Mia should know. She clearly risked a lot finding this information for us tonight—”

“But how can you trust her? She sleeps with him every day!”

“She has no choice in the matter! And how else would she have come across this today? You should be kissing her feet that she risked her life like that—”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Mia, flushed with anger and embarrassment, “what is it you think I should know?”

Leslie just stared angrily, looking like she wanted to hit John. He ignored her and said, “Look, Mia . . . I don’t want you to think that we’re just a bunch of idiots bumbling around, in over our heads. Maybe that’s what the movement was in the early stages, when we had no clue what they were or what they were capable of. It’s different now. We know our adversary well. And we have help—”

“Help from the Ks?” interrupted Mia, her heart beating faster at the thought.

“From the Ks,” confirmed John. “As I told you before, they’re not all the same. Some of them believe it’s wrong, the way the Ks have come to this planet to steal it from us . . . to enslave our population. They want to help us—to share their technology with us, to help us advance until we become their equals—”

“They’re like the PETA version of the Ks,” said Leslie, giving in to the inevitable, but with a frown still on her face. “We call them KETHs—Ks for the Ethical Treatment of Humans.”

“KETHs, or Keiths, to make it easier to pronounce,” clarified John.

Mia stared at them in amazement. He’d hinted at their powerful allies before, but this clearly went beyond just one or two rogue K individuals.

“What kind of pull do the Keiths have within their society?” she asked, trying to put it all into perspective.

“Not a ton,” admitted John.

“They’re kind of a fringe group, from what we understand,” added Leslie. “But they do have access to K technology, and they supply us with what we need to stay ahead—the scanning tools we use, the shielding technology . . .”

“But to what end?” asked Mia, still not comprehending. “So you run around unseen—or not, as we learned today—but what can a fringe group do to really make a difference? You still can’t fight them, even if you have a few bug scanning devices. Unless—”

She gasped in realization.

“Unless they were supplying us with more than a few scanning devices, that’s right,” John said helpfully.

“That’s enough, John,” Leslie said in a harsh tone. “Now she knows as much as most members of our group. If you tell her anything else and she gets caught—”

John sighed. “Leslie’s right. Your lover already knows everything we’ve told you so far. I can’t tell you anything else without putting you in danger. In even greater danger, I mean . . .”

Mia nodded in understanding. There was no reason for her to know the particulars of the Resistance plans. The last thing she needed was to be tortured for information. Of course, she had no idea if she could withstand even the threat of torture. Just the thought of Korum being angry with her was frightening in and of itself.

“Okay, then,” she said. “I have to ask you one thing . . . Since your security is not as good as you thought it was, is there a chance that Korum could know about me? Did you talk about me at any time in that place in Brooklyn? Because if you did—”

“No, Mia, you’re safe.” John understood immediately where she was leading. “There’s always a chance that he could know . . . but I really doubt it. You’re our secret weapon. I’ve never spoken about you with anyone. Except for Jason—and Leslie, who happened to be with me today when I saw your email—no one knows that you’re working for us.”

Seeing the surprised look on Mia’s face, he explained, “I didn’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. If we were to get caught and interrogated, your name would not come up.”

He paused, apparently thinking about his next words. “And, frankly, I wasn’t sure you would be able to come across anything useful. What you just told us today is so far above my expectations . . . I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful we are. You see, tonight we were supposed to have a final brainstorming session—more than thirty of our top fighters were scheduled to attend. Korum must know about this . . . We talked about it in the last meeting—the one that you partially saw. If he had ambushed us tonight, he could have dealt a serious blow to the movement. You probably saved many lives today, Mia.”

Mia looked at him, her cheeks flaming with mixed emotions. She was glad she could help the Resistance and hugely relieved that her secret was safe for now. But she was also a little offended at his low opinion of her capabilities. Then again, it was sheer luck that she’d stumbled upon this information today. Prior to this, she really had been useless to the movement, so she could hardly blame him for thinking that.

“All right,” she said. “I hope that you can reschedule whatever you’ve got planned for tonight. Korum said he may not be home at all this evening, so whatever he’s doing is probably big.”

Chapter 11

“HEY STRANGER, WELCOME back!”

Jessie had apparently gotten her email and came home, bubbling with enthusiasm.

Mia grinned back and gave her roommate a big hug, genuinely happy to see her cheerful face. Her meeting with the Resistance fighters had left her unsettled, and Jessie was exactly the distraction she needed.

“So tell me,” Jessie joked, “how did the big bad K let you come out for a night? I was sure he was keeping you under lock and key there.”

Mia flushed. It was a little too close to the truth for comfort. Shrugging, she said, “I think he has to work this evening or something. He wasn’t sure if he’d be home at all, so he suggested we hang out.”

“Wow, how nice of him,” Jessie said, comically widening her eyes. “Do you know what this means?”

“No, what?” Mia said, laughing at the dramatic expression on Jessie’s face.

“It means we’re going out! It’s a Saturday night, and we’re going to party!”

Mia wrinkled her nose a little. “Really? Right before finals?”

“Damn right! Oh, don’t give me that look. I know you’ve been cramming for weeks already. One evening out won’t make or break your grade. But since your K overlord decided to let you out only for tonight, we’re going to have ourselves a blast!”

Mia grinned. Jessie’s enthusiasm was catching, and suddenly the idea of getting utterly wasted while dancing all night sounded just about perfect.

Two hours later, the girls began preparations for the night out. Showering and shaving every inch of her body, Mia washed her hair and thoroughly conditioned it. The regular use of Korum’s shampoo had turned it soft and silky, infinitely more manageable, and blowdrying resulted in a soft mass of well-defined dark curls cascading halfway down her back.

Makeup was next, and Mia went for the dramatic smoky-eye look, keeping the rest of her face neutral. Her wardrobe, however, presented a dilemma, for which she needed expert advice. “Jessie!” she yelled for the expert.

Her roommate came in, dressed to the nines herself. In her short red dress and sky-high heels, she looked like a million bucks. “Let me guess. You still don’t know what to wear?” she asked with a big grin.

“I need your help.” Mia gave her a helpless look, motioning toward the closet.

“Okay, let’s see, what have we got here . . . Prada, Gucci, Badgley Mischka—oh poor you, you really have nothing to wear!” Jessie shook her head in mock reproach. “This is unbelievable, Mia—he totally spoils you. No wonder you never come home anymore.”

Digging through Mia’s closet, Jessie pulled out a risqué Dolce & Gabbana dress and thrust it at Mia. “Here, try this one on.”

Mia eyed it doubtfully. “Won’t I be cold?” There wasn’t much to the dress. It looked like two scraps of purple fabric held together by a few hooks and zippers.

“Dancing in a hot, crowded club? Oh please.” Jessie snorted dismissively. “And if you wear this, I can guarantee you we won’t have to stand in line outside.”

Mia decided to listen to the expert. Shimmying into the dress, she walked out of the room to show it to Jessie.

“Wow.” Jessie was almost speechless. “I don’t know what he’s been feeding you, but you look amazing. I mean, you always looked cute—but this is a whole other level.”

Mia blushed a little. The dress was definitely sexy, showing off her legs and exposing her back and shoulders. It was a bit too provocative for Mia’s taste, with the flimsy ties around her neck being the only things holding the top in place. She couldn’t wear a bra with it, given the low cut in the back, and she felt like her nipples were visible under the clingy fabric. To complete the look, she slipped on a sexy pair of heels and grabbed a tiny sparkly purse.

She was ready to party.

* * *

FOR THE CLUB, they chose the trendiest place in the Meatpacking District. It was a popular destination for celebrities, models, model wannabes, and any other beautiful people who liked to party. Pre-Korum Mia would have never gone to such place, sure that she wouldn’t make it through the door without waiting for two hours in the cold. However, her newly confident well-dressed self had no such qualms.

Strolling right up to the bouncer, Mia and Jessie gave him big sexy smiles. He eyed them with a purely masculine appreciation and lifted the rope, letting them through without a word.

“Nicely done,” Jessie whispered as they walked down the steps toward the deafening music.

Even at 11 p.m. the club was packed and happening. The music was excellent, a mix of old hip-hop favorites and some of the latest dance-hop. The dance floor was not particularly large, and every inch of it was filled with gorgeous girls grinding against each other and the few lucky guys who’d managed to get past the bouncer thus far. Sometimes it was really nice to be a girl, Mia thought. The only way most men could get into a place like this was by spending a ridiculous amount of money, whereas the girls were let in for free—as bait, of course.

Going up to the bar, the two girls quickly found a pair of stools and ordered four vodka shots. A couple of guys immediately offered to buy them drinks, and Jessie declined with a giggle. “Too early for that,” she told Mia. “We want to dance, not hang out with these bozos all night.”

Mia laughingly agreed, and they did their first shot, biting into a lemon afterward.

The evening got even brighter, taking on that special sparkle that only the first glass of alcohol and anticipation of a fun night could bring. Mia felt young and pretty—and, for the moment, utterly carefree. Tomorrow she could worry again, but tonight—tonight she was going to party.

“Cheers!”

The second shot went down even smoother, and things acquired a pleasant fuzzy glow in Mia’s mind. The dance floor beckoned, the pulsating rhythm of the music reverberating in her bones. Grabbing Jessie’s hand, she pulled her toward the gyrating crowd.

For the next hour, they danced nonstop. One good song after another came on, driving the dance floor into a frenzy. Mia danced with Jessie, with two other girls who had danced up to them, with a group of Wall Street types who kept trying to touch her naked back, and with Jessie again. She danced until she was hot and sweaty and breathless, her leg muscles quivering from all the squatting motions that a proper grinding dance entailed. She danced until she could no longer remember why she’d felt so crappy earlier today and what tomorrow could bring.

“Need water!” Jessie yelled out, trying to be heard above the music. Laughing, Mia accompanied her back to the bar. They each got a glass of tap water and another round of vodka. This time, Jessie was too buzzed to refuse when a handsome guy who looked vaguely familiar—a reality TV star, perhaps—offered to pay for their shots.

Edgar—who turned out to be an actor in a recently canceled drama—hit it off with Jessie right away. Her roommate, flattered by attention from a celebrity, flirted and giggled for all she was worth. Feeling slightly left out, Mia went to the bathroom by herself.

When she came back, a couple of Edgar’s friends had joined them at the bar. They were both cute in that slightly boyish way that was popular now, and looked to be in great shape. They introduced themselves, and Mia learned that they were from the show as well. Peter was a stunt double, while Sean was a member of the supporting cast. “What is this, Entourage?” Mia joked, and they laughed, agreeing that their lives had much in common with the old show.

Apparently realizing they were horning in on a girls’ night out, the guys ordered another round of drinks for everyone. It was tequila this time, and Mia nearly gagged at the strong taste that remained in her mouth even after biting into her lime. Her alcohol-barometer nose was long past its itching point, and she knew she would probably regret this tomorrow. But at this particular moment, with vodka and tequila surging through her system, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mia wasn’t planning on chatting up any guys, but Peter turned out to be a surprisingly good conversationalist. His voice was deep enough that it carried above the loud music, and she learned that they had Polish ancestry in common. His parents had actually come to this country fairly recently, even though he was an American citizen and had no accent. He had recently graduated from NYU himself—the Tisch School of the Arts—and wanted to be a film producer longer term. Since he had always been athletic, stunt-doubling was the best way for him to break into the field and start getting to know people, and he had been lucky enough to land a spot on the recently cancelled show.

He also seemed genuinely interested in Mia, his blue eyes sparkling whenever he looked at her. With his wavy blond hair, he looked like a mischievous angel, and Mia couldn’t help laughing at some of the over-the-top compliments he directed her way. Under normal circumstances, a fun, outgoing guy like that would never have been interested in someone as shy and studious as Mia—and she couldn’t help but be flattered by his attention. So when Peter asked for her number, she gave it to him without thinking, the alcohol in her veins slowing her thinking just enough to remove all caution.

They went on the dance floor again—Edgar and Peter joining her and Jessie. Sean, probably feeling like a fifth wheel, left to join another group of girls. They danced as a group at first, and then Peter starting dancing closer to Mia, his movements graceful and athletic. She smiled, closing her eyes and swaying to the pulsing rhythm, and it didn’t occur to her to move away when he put his hands on her waist.

It felt good to just dance with a regular guy she liked, whose intentions she had no need to second-guess. Nothing could come of this, of course, but some silly drunk part of her hoped that maybe—if she survived all this and was still in New York when Korum inevitably tired of her—she could look up Peter on Facebook one day. Out of all the guys she’d met in recent years, she liked him the most, and she could easily envision herself becoming friends with him . . . and maybe something more.

A new song came on, with even more explicit lyrics. The crowd let out a whoop, and the movement on the dance floor picked up. Peter stepped closer to her, his hips rubbing suggestively against her own. He was of average height, and Mia’s high heels put the top of her head nearly at his temple. He smiled at her, eyes twinkling, and Mia smiled back, experiencing a pleasantly mild attraction—nothing like the maddening, all-consuming heat Korum made her feel. And even though her stupid body was wishing that it was Korum who was holding her like this, she still enjoyed the sexy dance with a cute guy . . . who, under different circumstances, could have been her date.

“You’re really pretty,” said Peter, practically yelling it over the music.

Mia grinned, moving to the rhythm. It was always nice to get compliments. “Thanks,” she yelled back, “so are you!”

Her head was spinning from the drinks, and the whole night started to seem a little surreal—right down to the angelically handsome guy dancing with her. Still dancing, she closed her eyes for a second while holding on to Peter’s waist to combat a slight dizziness. Mistaking her actions, he leaned toward her, and his mouth brushed against her lips for a brief second.

Startled, Mia pushed Peter away, taking a step back. Embarrassed, she looked to the side and suddenly froze, paralyzed with dread.

Looking directly at her from the edge of the dance floor was a familiar pair of amber-colored eyes. And the icy rage reflected in them was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen in her life.

Chapter 12

HE KNEW.

In the suffocating panic engulfing her, Mia had only one clear thought: Korum knew. Somehow, he had found out about today—about what she’d done for the Resistance fighters—and he had come here to find her.

Her survival instinct kicked in, and a surge of adrenaline cleared the alcohol-induced fog from her mind. She fought a desperate urge to run, knowing that he would hunt her down in a matter of seconds. Instead, she just stood there, watching as he stalked toward her through the dance floor crowd, his eyes nearly yellow with fury.

Through the pulsing music and the terrified pounding of her own heart, she heard her name.

“Mia! Mia!” It was Peter, and he was talking to her. “Hey Mia, listen, I didn’t mean to be so pushy—”

He broke off in the middle of his apology and followed her gaze. “What the hell . . . is that your boyfriend or something?”

“Or something,” Mia said dully, staring at Korum easily pushing his way through the normally impassable mob. Her stomach churned with nausea and fear. Would he kill her on the spot or bring her elsewhere to interrogate first?

And then he was there, standing right in front of her.

“Hey man, listen, I think there’s been a misunderstanding—” Peter bravely stepped up, not realizing in the darkness what he was dealing with. In a blink of an eye, Korum’s hand was wrapped around Peter’s throat.

“No!” screamed Mia as Peter was lifted off the floor, feet kicking in the air and hands clawing helplessly at the iron grip around his throat. “No, please, let him go—”

“You want me to let him go?” Korum asked calmly, as though he was not killing a grown man with one hand in a crowded club.

“Please! He had nothing to do with it,” begged Mia, horrified tears running down her face.

“Oh really?” said Korum, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So my eyes deceived me then. He wasn’t the one just pawing you . . . It was someone else?”

Pawing her? Korum was upset that she had danced with Peter? Her brain could barely process the implications.

“Korum, please,” she tried again, “you’re mad at me. He didn’t do anything—”

“He touched what’s mine.” The words sounded like a verdict.

“Korum, please, he didn’t know! It was all me—”

The dancers around them realized that something unusual was going on, and a ring of spectators was starting to form around them.

“Please, don’t kill him!” she begged, grabbing at Korum’s arm in desperation. “Please, I will do anything—”

“Oh, you will,” he said softly, “you will do anything I want regardless.”

Peter’s face was turning purple, and the frantic clawing of his fingers was slowing. There were panicked cries from the crowd, but no one dared to intervene.

“PLEASE!” screamed Mia hysterically, tugging uselessly at his arm. He didn’t even look at her.

And then he suddenly released Peter, letting his body drop to the floor with a thump.

The crowd gasped as Peter drew in air for the first time, choking and gagging.

Sobbing, Mia nearly collapsed in relief. Her hands were still holding Korum’s forearm, and she let go, taking a step back.

He didn’t allow her to get far. His hand shot out, steely fingers wrapping around her upper arm.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

And Mia went with him, ignoring shocked stares from the people around her.

She was certain now that she would not survive this night.

There was no limo waiting for them. Instead, he hailed a cab and tersely gave the address of his building to the driver.

The ride was mercifully short. He didn’t speak to her at all, the silence in the cab interrupted only by the sound of her quiet weeping.

She’d always known that Ks had great capacity for violence, but she had never witnessed it in person. Korum had always been so careful, so gentle with her . . . It had been difficult for Mia to imagine him tearing apart a human being—like those Ks had done with the Saudis. But now she knew that he was no different, that he could snuff out a human life as casually as swatting a fly.

She didn’t want to die. She felt like she had barely started living. Thoughts tumbled around in her mind, frantically searching for a way out and finding none. Would he interrogate her first? She didn’t know anything of significance, but he might not believe her. She shuddered at the thought of torture. She’d never experienced real pain, and she didn’t know if she could withstand it. The last thing she wanted was to die like this, sniveling and begging for her life. If only she were braver—

They arrived at the building, and he dragged her out of the cab, still holding her arm. Her legs were weak with fear, and she stumbled on the stairs. He caught her and lifted her in his arms, carrying her through the lobby and into the penthouse elevator. The warmth of his body felt wonderful against her frozen skin, reminding her of the other night he’d carried her like this—under vastly different circumstances.

Once inside the apartment, he set her down on the couch and went to the closet to hang up his jacket. Of course, Mia thought resentfully, he wanted to be as comfortable as possible for the upcoming torture and mutilation.

To her utter mortification, she felt a strong urge to pee, her bladder nearly bursting from all the earlier drinks. She desperately wanted to hold on to her last shreds of dignity—dying while peeing her pants seemed like the ultimate humiliation.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “can I go to the bathroom?”

He nodded, a small mocking smile appearing on his lips.

Mia went as quickly as her shaking legs could carry her. Once inside, she quickly relieved herself and washed her hands. Her fingernails had a faint bluish tinge, she noticed, and the warm water felt almost scalding on her icy hands.

Finishing, she stared at the closed door and the flimsy lock on it. It was useless, she knew. But she didn’t want to go out there. For some strange reason, the thought of her blood spilling all over the cream-colored furniture was too disturbing. She would wait here, she decided. He would undoubtedly come get her in another few minutes. But when these might be the last moments of her life, every second counted.

She sat down on the edge of the jacuzzi and waited. It felt like an eternity had passed. Her reflection in the mirrored wall looked nothing like her normal self, from the provocative purple dress to the raccoon-like circles around her eyes from the smeared mascara. It was oddly fitting that she would die looking like this—not at all like the Mia Stalis from Florida that her family knew and loved. At the thought of their grief, a sharp pain sliced through her chest, and Mia nearly doubled over from the force of it. She couldn’t think about this now. If she did, she would break down and plead for her life, and it was strangely important to retain at least a semblance of pride—

There was a knock on the door.

Mia stifled a hysterical giggle. He was being polite before he killed her.

“Mia? What are you doing? Open the door and come out.” He sounded annoyed.

Mia didn’t respond, her eyes trained on the entrance.

“Mia. Open the fucking door.”

She waited.

“Mia, if you make me open this door myself, you will regret it.”

She believed him, but she refused to go meekly, like a lamb to the slaughter. At the very least, she wanted him to have to deal with some house repairs afterwards.

The door flew off the hinges, crashing onto the floor. Even though she expected it, Mia still jumped from the suddenness of the violent action.

Korum stood in the doorway, looking magnificent and angry. His high cheekbones were flushed with color, and his eyes were almost pure gold.

“Are you seriously hiding from me in my own bathroom?” he asked, his tone dangerously quiet.

Mia nodded, afraid that her voice would tremble if she spoke. Despite her best intentions, fat tears kept sliding down her cheeks.

He came toward her then, and Mia shut her eyes, hoping that it will be over quickly. Instead, she felt his hands on her naked shoulders, lightly stroking her skin.

Her eyes flew open, and she stared up at him.

“Get in the shower,” he said. “You have his stink all over your body.”

In the shower? He wanted her clean. Mia’s stomach churned with nausea at the realization that he intended to have sex with her—maybe for the last time—before he killed her.

She shook her head in refusal.

His expression darkened. Before Mia could further contemplate the wisdom of her actions, the little dress lay in shreds on the floor and he was carrying her—naked and squirming—to the shower stall. A surge of adrenaline kicked in, and she arched in mindless panic, furiously kicking and scratching anything she could reach. Suddenly, she was standing on her feet inside the stall, and he was looming over her with an incredulous look on his face.

“Are you insane?” he asked her softly. “Did all that alcohol fuck with your brain?”

Panting from exertion and fear, she stared up at him defiantly through the tears blurring her vision. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with! I don’t want to be fucked first!”

His eyebrows rose, and he looked genuinely taken aback. “You think I’m going to kill you?” he asked slowly, as though not believing his ears.

“You’re not?” It was Mia’s turn to be surprised. Her heart pounded as if she’d run a marathon, and she could barely think.

He took a step back. He was still wearing his clothes, she noticed now. The expression on his face was strange. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d wounded him somehow.

“Mia,” he said wearily, “just because I’m angry with you doesn’t mean that I’m going to hurt you in any way, much less kill you.”

“You’re not?”

She had difficulty processing this. Ever since she’d laid eyes on him at the club, she’d been so certain that she would not survive the discovery.

“Of course not,” he said, still looking at her with that strange expression. “You betrayed my trust tonight, but you were drunk and stupid—”

Mia blinked. Something didn’t add up.

“—and I should have known better than to let you out like that on a Saturday night.”

She stared at him in confusion, hardly daring to hope. “You’re upset that I went out clubbing?”

“Upset is a very mild term for what I feel right now,” he said quietly. “You let that pretty worm put his hands all over you, and you kissed him right in front of my eyes. No, Mia, upset doesn’t even begin to approximate it.”

He didn’t know.

Her knees almost buckled in relief, and she grabbed the shower wall for support. As unbelievable as it seemed, his anger tonight was due to misplaced jealousy and had nothing to do with the Resistance movement.

It was a mind-boggling realization, and Mia desperately wished that she could think past the fog that seemed to permeate her every thought. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. “I’m sorry,” she said cautiously. “I didn’t think you’d care if I went out tonight. I just wanted to have fun with Jessie and . . . I didn’t think you’d care either way. I wasn’t going to do anything but dance, I swear . . .”

He just continued looking at her, as though trying to decipher her thoughts.

“All right, Mia,” he said slowly, “just take that shower now, okay? We’ll talk when you’re done.”

And then he left, walking around the broken door lying on the floor.

Chapter 13

SHE WAS GOING to live. He said he wasn’t going to hurt her, despite his anger.

Korum didn’t know about her real betrayal. She had gotten incredibly lucky.

Her head spun, and every muscle in her body trembled in the adrenaline rush aftermath. As she stood there, she felt her stomach twist with sudden nausea. Scrambling for the toilet, Mia barely made it before the contents of her stomach came up, the toxic brew of alcohol and residual terror proving too much for her system to handle.

Mortified, she kneeled naked in front of the toilet, shaking uncontrollably. Flushing the disgusting mess, she used her remaining strength to crawl back into the shower stall and turn on the water, shuddering in relief as the warm stream poured over her frozen body.

The hot shower worked miracles. After a few minutes, Mia felt well enough to get up off the floor. She washed and shampooed every inch of her body, rinsing away all traces of the horrible night. When done, she toweled herself off, put on a big fluffy robe, and brushed her teeth twice to remove the unpleasant taste in her mouth. She was now ready to face Korum again, even though all she wanted to do was pass out and sleep for the next ten hours.

He was waiting in the living room, again looking at something on his palm. At her tentative entrance, he looked up and motioned to have her come closer. Mia cautiously approached, still feeling wary.

“Here, drink this.”

He had picked up a glass filled with a pinkish liquid from the table next to him and was holding it out to her.

“What is it?” asked Mia with visible nervousness.

“Not poison, so you can relax.” At her continued reluctance, he added, “Just something to reduce the strain on your liver from all the crap you drank tonight.”

Mia flushed with embarrassment. He had clearly heard her vomiting earlier. Without further arguments, she took the glass and tried the liquid. It tasted like slightly sweet water and was wonderfully refreshing. She gulped down the rest of the glass.

“Good,” said Korum. “Now sit down and let’s talk about expectations in our relationship . . . specifically, my expectations for your behavior.”

Mia swallowed nervously and sat down next to him. The liquid was already working its way through her system, and she felt the cobwebs clearing from her mind.

He turned toward her and took one of her hands in his, lightly stroking her palm. His eyes were nearly back to their normal shade of amber, with only a few traces of the dangerous yellow flecks.

“You’re mine, Mia,” he told her, his thumb caressing the inside of her wrist. “You’ve been mine from the moment I saw you in the park that day. I don’t share what’s mine. Ever. If you so much as look at another male—human or Krinar—you will regret it. And whoever lays a hand on you will be signing his own death warrant. Do I make myself clear?”

Mia nodded, unable to speak past the volatile mixture of emotions brewing in her chest.

“Good. The pretty boy you were dancing with tonight is very lucky he walked away. If there’s ever a next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

Her free hand curled into a fist on the couch.

“You acted foolishly tonight. Two pretty girls going out dressed like that—any number of bad things could have happened to you. And drinking until you throw up—you might as well schedule a liver transplant for yourself in the near future. Your human body is already fragile, and I won’t allow you to abuse it like this.”

Mia’s nails dug into her palm in frustrated anger. To be lectured like this, as though she was a stupid teenager, was beyond humiliating.

“If you want to go out dancing, I will take you. And no more nights out with your roommate—the two of you clearly cannot be trusted.”

Mia just stared at him with a mutinous look on her face.

“And now,” he said softly, “we should discuss your little misconception earlier . . . the fact that you actually believed that I would kill you for kissing a boy in a club.”

“You nearly killed Peter,” said Mia, frantically searching for an explanation for her earlier panic. “Why are you so surprised that I was scared?”

“Peter deserved exactly what he got for touching what’s mine.” He leaned toward her. “You, on the other hand, have nothing to fear from me. When have I ever hurt you—aside from the loss of your virginity?”

It was true. He had never caused her physical pain—at least not of the unpleasant kind. He was always very careful not to hurt her with his much greater strength. Of course, he didn’t know she was helping the Resistance.

“Mia, I know we literally come from different worlds, but some things are universal across both species. I sleep with you every night, I kiss and caress your body, I take great pleasure in having sex with you—and you think that I could just snuff out your life like that, with no regrets?”

He still might, if he discovered her true betrayal.

Taking her silence for the affirmative, he shook his head in disappointment. “Mia, I’m really not the monster you’ve made me out to be in your mind. I would not hurt you—ever, under any circumstances. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, suppressing a slight yawn. She felt completely drained, exhaustion creeping up on her during their conversation. Even after the restorative potion he’d fed her, she was more than ready to go to sleep. Tomorrow she would gladly analyze all the ins and outs of his words, but for tonight—she was completely done.

“All right,” he said, “I can see that you’re tired. Let’s go to bed. You’ll feel much better after some rest.”

Mia nodded gratefully, and he picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom.

Entering the room, he placed her gently on the bed.

Too tired to move, Mia just lay there, watching as he stripped off his clothes. His body was truly beautiful—all muscle, covered with that smooth golden skin. All of his movements were inhumanly graceful and carefully controlled. For the first time, Mia realized that he probably exerted a lot of effort to reign in the enormous strength she’d witnessed today.

He came toward her, his cock already stiff, and opened her robe. “You’re so lovely,” he murmured, studying her body with obvious appreciation. Despite her exhaustion, she felt her inner muscles clenching in anticipation.

Climbing over her, he bent down and kissed the sensitive part of her neck. Mia held her breath, waiting for the familiar rush of bite-induced ecstasy, but he just continued nibbling his way down the rest of her body, with only his lips and tongue touching her. She moaned softly, wanting more, but he was ruthlessly slow, branding every inch of her skin with his mouth.

He reached her feet, and Mia giggled, feeling his lips closing over one of her toes. And then his warm hands touched her foot, massaging with a light yet firm pressure, and Mia arched in unexpected pleasure as his thumb found a spot that sent sensations directly to her nether regions. All of a sudden, she didn’t feel like giggling anymore as tension started building in her sex. He gave her other foot the same treatment, and she cried out, feeling as if he was touching her clit instead.

He flipped her over then and removed the robe completely. Grabbing a pillow, he placed it under her hips, elevating her butt. For some reason, Mia felt very vulnerable, lying there face down, with her back exposed to the predator she was sleeping with.

Leaning over her, Korum lifted the dark mass of curly hair off her shoulders, revealing the tender spot of her nape. Bending down, he kissed it lightly, his mouth feeling hot on her sensitive skin. She shivered from the sensation, and he moved lower, kissing his way down each vertebra of her spine until he reached her tailbone. His hands touched her butt, lightly squeezing the pale globes, and she felt his mouth leisurely making its way down to the opening of her sex, teasing the crevice between her cheeks on the way with his tongue. She jumped, startled by the unfamiliar sensation, and he laughed softly at her reaction. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “we’ll leave that for another time.”

And then playtime was over.

He settled over her, his legs pushing between her own, opening her wider. Mia gasped as she felt the heavy force of his cock pushing into her. Despite her wetness, he felt impossibly big in this position, and she whimpered slightly, her muscles quivering, trying to adjust to the intrusion. Sensing her difficulty, he paused for a second and reached under her hips, applying steady pressure to her clitoris even as he moved his pelvis in a series of small, shallow thrusts, working himself deeper into her. With his much larger body over her like that, she felt completely dominated, unable to move an inch, and she groaned in frustration, hovering on the verge of relief yet not climaxing. He moved deeper still, touching her cervix, and she froze as every nerve ending stood on edge, waiting for something—pleasure, pain, she didn’t care which as long as she could reach the elusive peak.

He withdrew halfway then and slowly worked himself back in. The tension was becoming unbearable, and Mia resorted to begging, pleading him to do something, to make her come. “Not yet,” he told her, moving in that maddeningly slow rhythm that kept her at an agonizing intensity level. Whenever he sensed her orgasm approaching, he would slow down further, and then thrust faster when the sensation receded a bit. It was literally torture, and Mia realized that this was to be her punishment for tonight.

“Korum, please,” she begged, but he was intractable. The slow drag and thrust of his cock was driving her insane. In any other position, she would have been able to do something, to move her hips in a way that speeded up the climax. But lying there like that, with his heavy body pressing her down, she could only scream in frustration.

“You’re mine, do you understand it now?” he said hoarsely, still keeping up that mercilessly slow pace. “Only I can give you this—what your body craves. No one else . . . Do you understand that?”

“YES! Please, just let me—”

“Let you what?” he panted, the torture exerting a toll on him as well.

“Just let me come! Please!”

And he did. His thrusts gradually picked up speed, winding her up even tighter, and her screams got even louder . . . and then she went over the cliff, her entire body pulsing and spasming in a release so powerful that every muscle in her body trembled in its aftermath. Her orgasm sent him over the edge as well, and he came deep inside her with a hoarse groan, his seed spurting in warm bursts inside her belly.

Mia lay there afterwards, feeling his weight pressing her down. She couldn’t breathe easily, but she didn’t care. She felt utterly boneless, unable to move in any case. And then Korum rolled away, freeing her. She shivered slightly at the feel of cool air on her naked sweaty back. He picked her up and took her into the shower again, for a quick rinse this time. And then they finally slept, with him cradling her possessively even in his sleep.

Chapter 14

MIA WOKE UP the next morning feeling surprisingly well. Dry mouth, a pounding headache, and the generally shitty overall state that came with the morning after clubbing—none of these were present today, likely due to Korum’s magic potion.

As usual, she was alone in the bedroom. She had learned that Ks needed significantly less sleep than humans—some as little as a couple of hours a night—so Korum was a very early riser. It was just as well. She wasn’t sure she was eager to face him this morning.

For some reason, she had never expected him to be jealous. With his looks and skills in bed, she couldn’t imagine that any female would prefer another man over him. Her light flirtation with Peter last night had been just that—harmless fun that would’ve never led anywhere.

Most of the time, she had trouble deciphering his emotions. He usually seemed so calm and controlled, with that slightly mocking expression on his beautiful face. She knew she frequently amused him, and he often liked to tease her just to see her temper flare up. She imagined she was something like a kitten to him, a little creature that he liked to pet and play with on occasion. His reaction last night did not jive with that casual attitude, however. The extreme possessiveness he’d displayed didn’t make sense in light of what their relationship really was. He definitely liked having sex with her, but she could not imagine that she meant anything more to him than that.

Then again—although she might have misinterpreted his expression last night—it seemed like he’d been genuinely hurt that she’d thought him capable of killing her. Could it be? Did he actually care for her as a person—as something more than his human toy? At this thought, an odd ache started in her chest. It couldn’t be, of course, but if he really did care for her . . .

And then she remembered a little tidbit about life on Krina. They were territorial, he’d said, and didn’t like to live right on top of each other.

And she wanted to cry.

It was all clear now. Of course he had been mad at Peter last night: the poor guy had inadvertently infringed on Korum’s territory. As far as Korum was concerned, she belonged to him now, for as long as he wanted to keep her.

She was another one of his possessions. And he didn’t like to share.

As much as she wanted to laze in bed all day, there were things to be done. Her Stat final was tomorrow, and she still didn’t feel fully ready. The last thing she needed was the distraction of her screwed-up love life.

Getting up, Mia brushed her teeth and got breakfast. Korum wasn’t home at all, and she wondered where he went.

Before she settled down to study, she decided to check her phone to make sure that Jessie got home safely last night. Sure enough, there were about a dozen missed calls from her roommate and an equal number of texts and emails—each getting progressively more worried. Mia groaned. She should’ve texted Jessie last night before falling asleep, but it had been the last thing on her mind at the time.

There was no help for it. Studying would have to wait. She called Jessie instead.

Her roommate picked up at the first ring. “Oh my God, Mia, are you all right?!? What the fuck happened last night? If that alien bastard hurt you in any way—”

“No, Jessie, he didn’t! Look, I’m totally fine—”

“Totally fine? Everybody was talking about it last night—how he dragged you off after nearly killing Peter! I came back from the bathroom, and you were gone, and the poor guy was still choking on the floor—”

“Is he all right now?” interrupted Mia, suddenly overcome by guilt.

“He was taken to the hospital, but it was mostly swelling and bruises, they said. He’s probably going to have difficulty speaking for a few days, and I’m sure he was scared out of his mind . . .”

“Oh my God, I am so sorry about that,” Mia groaned. “I should have never put him in danger like that—”

“Him? What about yourself? Mia, this K of yours is insane! He was about to kill a person for dancing with you—”

“Kissing me actually . . .”

“Whatever! It’s not like you slept with the poor guy, but even if you had . . . that’s just crazy!”

Mia sighed. “I know. I learned too late that they’re apparently very territorial and possessive. If I’d known before, I obviously would’ve never gone to the club in the first place—”

“Territorial and possessive? More like homicidal! Mia . . . you really need to leave him. I’m scared for you . . .”

“Jessie,” said Mia softly, wondering how to best phrase it, “I’m not sure that I can leave him yet.”

“What do you mean? Like he would force you to stay somehow?”

“I don’t really know, but I don’t think it’s the best idea to break up right now—”

“Oh my God, I knew it! You are afraid of him! Did he threaten you in any way?”

“No, Jessie, it’s not like that . . . He said he would never hurt me. I just think it’s best to let the relationship play out naturally. I’m sure he’ll get bored soon and move on—”

“And you’re okay with that? Just waiting around until he tires of you? Wait, what about the summer, when you go home to Florida?”

“Um, I’m not really sure how that’s going to play out yet . . . I haven’t really talked to him about that—”

“Well, you better, because it’s coming up! Finals are next week, and then you’re gone. What is he going to do then? Not let you go home?”

Jessie had a valid point. Mia had no idea what would happen at the end of next week. For some reason, she had thought that Korum might get bored of her before Florida became an issue. His actions last night, however, were not those of someone who was getting bored with his new toy; in fact, he seemed very determined to hold on to said toy. Mia was starting to worry, but Jessie didn’t need to know that.

“No, I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Look, Jessie, I know it sounds bad, but he’s really not mistreating me or anything. If I just act more considerately, everything will be totally fine. He’ll go back to his K Center soon, and I will have lots of interesting stories to tell my grandchildren . . .”

“I don’t know, Mia. This is starting to sound like he’s almost holding you captive—”

“Don’t be silly! Of course he’s not!”

“Uh-huh,” said Jessie skeptically, “sure he’s not. You can just go anywhere you want, do anything you want—”

“Well, no,” admitted Mia, “not exactly—”

“Not at all! He’s keeping you prisoner there—”

“No, he’s not,” protested Mia. Taking a deep breath, she added, “But even if he was, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. You saw it last night—they can nearly kill someone in public and nobody will say boo. Whether we like it or not, they are not subject to our laws. Jessie—please, just let it go . . . I know how to handle my relationship with him. Obviously, it’s not like dating another NYU student, but it’s not all bad—”

“Not all bad? You mean the sex is good?”

Mia blushed, glad that Jessie couldn’t see her. “Well, definitely that—it’s actually pretty amazing . . . but also just spending time with him. He can be really fun . . . and romantic, and he’s a great cook—”

“Oh, don’t tell me . . . are you falling in love with him?”

“No! Of course not!” Mia sincerely hoped she wasn’t lying. “He’s not even human—”

“That’s right! He’s not human! Mia, he’s dangerous. Please be careful, okay? If you feel like you can’t break up with him yet, then don’t . . . but just don’t fall for him, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt . . .”

“Of course, Jessie. Please don’t worry so much—I’m totally fine. But enough about me,” Mia said with false brightness. “What’s the deal with that hot actor you were flirting with all night?”

“Oh, he was a total sweetheart. I gave him my number, and he said he will call today—”

And Jessie told her all about the cute guy and how he was in town for at least a few more months, and how they both enjoyed Chinese food and had the same taste for nineties music . . . It was all so uncomplicated, and Mia envied her roommate for being able to fret over something as ordinary as whether Edgar would call today as promised.

They wrapped up the conversation, and Mia promised to see Jessie the next morning after the Stat exam. And then she settled in to study for the rest of the day.

Chapter 15

ON MONDAY MORNING, Mia walked out of her Stat exam feeling like she had conquered the world. She’d known the answer to every question and finished the test in half the time. Now she only had to turn in three papers, and the school year would be officially over.

Elated, she texted Jesse to let her know that she was done. Her roommate was probably still taking her BioChem final, so Mia decided to chill in the park for a bit and wait for Jessie to finish up.

Parking herself on a bench, she pulled out her phone to call her parents and let them know that the test had gone well. But before she could even press a button, a man sat down right next to her, and Mia found herself looking into a familiar pair of blue eyes.

“John! What are you doing here?” Mia asked in surprise. She had always seen him inside her apartment, and it was a bit of a shock to see him out in the open like this.

“I wanted to talk to you about something important, and I wasn’t sure when you would be home next,” he said. “But first, let me ask you . . . are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Mia flushed a little. “Why, did Jessie talk to Jason again?”

“No, but we heard about what happened. Your Saturday night adventure made the local papers.”

Mia shuddered. That was embarrassing. A scary thought occurred to her. “Was my name in the paper? If my parents find out—”

“No, there was only a description. I doubt your family will make the connection.”

Mia exhaled in relief. “Yeah, well, as you can see—I’m totally fine.”

“Why did he attack that guy like that?

Mia shrugged. “He’s just possessive, I guess. I was really scared, actually, because I thought he’d found out I was helping you. Turns out I was wrong, but there was a very unpleasant hour when I was certain he would kill me.”

John regarded her with a calm, level gaze. “It’s a risk that we all run, unfortunately,” he said.

Mia shivered slightly. She didn’t want to think about the nearly paralyzing terror that had gripped her that night. Instead, she asked him brightly, “So how did things work out for you guys this weekend? You moved your meeting, right?”

“We did. That’s why I’m here to talk to you today. There’s been a change of plans.”

“What kind of change? But, wait, first—did you figure out how he was videotaping you?”

“Do you remember the Keiths that we mentioned the last time?

Mia nodded.

“They were able to find the devices. They were embedded in the curtains and the couch fabric—even the tree branches outside. It was a new and different technology—something that they must’ve developed recently. We are lucky that one of the Keiths has a design background and was able to figure out what the things were based on their new nano-signature.”

Mia listened in fascination. “So what now?”

“We got very lucky that you came across that information. The Keiths thought so too—”

“They know about me now?” Mia wasn’t sure if she should worry about that.

“Yes. We had to explain how we learned about being recorded in the first place.”

The expression on her face must’ve seemed concerned because he added, “Look, I promise you they’re not all the same. The Keiths really believe in our cause—they won’t do anything to put you in danger.”

“I don’t understand something,” said Mia. “Are these Keiths openly walking around their communities talking about their views and the fact that they’re helping you guys?”

“No, of course not! If Korum knew who they were, he would quickly neutralize them. They have a lot to lose if their identities are discovered before we put our plan into action.”

“Okay,” said Mia, “so what’s the plan? And should I really know about it, given my proximity to you-know-who?”

“Unfortunately, you do have to know . . . because you’re a big part of this plan now.”

Mia felt her heart skip a beat. “Okay,” she said slowly, “I’m all ears.”

“Do you remember when I told you that Korum is one of the key reasons they came here? That his company essentially runs the K Centers?”

Mia nodded.

“Well, the reason why he has all this power is because his company developed a lot of proprietary, classified technology that’s not available to the general Krinar population. We don’t know much about their science, but we think they probably have mature nanotechnology—”

“What does that mean, mature nanotechnology?” asked Mia.

“Basically, we believe they can manipulate matter on an atomic level. As the Keiths have explained to us, they can create almost anything using technology that’s right in their homes—as long as they have simple input materials and the design for it. Their designers—which are a bit like our software engineers—create the nano blueprints for all the things they use in daily life, as well as for their weapons, ships, houses, et cetera . . . Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Mia didn’t fully understand, but she nodded anyway.

“Korum is one of their most brilliant designers. A lot of the blueprints that he and his company have created are not available to the general public. That includes the design of their ships—that’s highly classified information—and many of their security details, including shields and weapons for the K Centers. If you’re a regular run-of-the-mill K, you can easily go on the Krinar version of the Internet and get yourself a design for their standard weapons and technologies. That’s how the Keiths have been helping us until now—by providing us with the basic tools we need to evade capture and some simple weapons. Ultimately, the goal was to use their own weapons to attack their Centers and kick them off our planet.

“But, like I said, the K Centers are protected by technology that only Korum and his trusted lieutenants have access to. One of the Keiths has spent months trying to hack into their files . . . but with no success. We thought we were close to being able to penetrate their defenses, but we learned this weekend that we’re as far away as we’ve ever been. Korum continues to develop newer and more complicated designs—the devices he used to spy on us are particularly ingenious—”

“Can’t the Keiths reverse-engineer these designs?” interrupted Mia. Not that she knew anything about technology, but that seemed logical.

“Most of Korum’s designs contain a self-destruct feature that gets triggered when you try to take apart the device on the molecular level—which is what you’d have to do to figure out the structure of it. That’s how he has a monopoly on this stuff—the patent or copyright protection is built into the design itself.”

“Okay, so let me see if I understand this . . . The Keiths are willing to help you attack their own Centers, but they can’t break the code on the technology that protects the settlements? Am I getting that right?”

“Exactly. There are fifty thousand Ks and billions of us. They may be stronger and faster, but we could easily overtake them if they didn’t have their technology. If we could somehow disable their shields and get our hands on some of their weapons, we could take our planet back.”

Mia rubbed her temples. “But why would the Keiths help you so much against their own kind? I mean, I understand that they think it’s wrong the way humans have been treated . . . But to endanger the lives of fifty thousand other Ks for the sake of helping us? That doesn’t fully make sense to me—”

“We promised to minimize the Krinar casualties as much as possible and to grant them safe passage back to Krina. We also promised that the Keiths—and whoever else they think can be trusted—can stay here on Earth and live among humans, as long as they obey our laws.

“You see, Mia, they would be our teachers, our guides . . . bringing us into the new technological era and greatly accelerating our natural progress. They would be heroes to all of humankind, their names revered for ages. They would help us cure cancer and other diseases, and give us ways of extending our lifespan.” His face was glowing with fervor. “Mia . . . they would be like gods here on Earth, after all the other Ks leave. Why wouldn’t they want that instead of leading the regular lives they’ve already led for thousands of years?”

Mia was reaching her own conclusion. “So they’re bored and looking to do something epic?”

“If you want to think about it that way. I believe they’re genuine in their desire to help our species evolve to a higher level.”

“Okay, so let’s go back for a second. If they can’t hack into the files, then what are you going to do? Sounds to me like Korum is winning the war before you even got a chance at a single battle.”

“Not quite,” said John, his eyes burning with excitement. “We can’t hack into the files—but we can steal the information anyway.”

Mia didn’t like where this was going. “Steal it how?” she asked slowly.

“Well, the rumor is that Korum keeps many of his particularly sensitive designs on him at all times. For instance, have you ever seen him doing anything like looking into his palm or at his forearm?”

“I’ve seen him looking into his palm,” said Mia reluctantly, starting to get a really bad feeling about this.

“Then that’s where he has one of their computers embedded. I use the term computer loosely, of course. It has as little in common with human computers as our computers do with the original abacus. Still, he has information stored there—literally in the palm of his hand. We could never hope to get to it because even if we captured and immobilized him—which is a nearly impossible task—he would probably be able to wipe the data in a matter of seconds.”

“So what can you do then?” asked Mia in confusion.

“We can’t do anything . . . but you can. You’re the only one who gets close enough to him to be able to gain access to that information—”

“What? Are you insane? It’s in his palm—how would I get to it? It’s not like he’s just going to hand it over!”

“No, of course not,” sighed John. “But we do have this . . .”

He was holding a small silver ring.

“What is it?” asked Mia warily.

“It’s a device that scans data. The Keiths deliberately made it look like jewelry, so you could wear it without raising suspicions. If you could somehow hold it to Korum’s palm for about a minute, it should be able to access his files and get us the blueprints.”

“Hold it for a full minute against his palm? What, like he wouldn’t find it suspicious?”

“Not if he was otherwise distracted . . .” His voice trailed off suggestively.

“Oh my God, are you serious? You want me to steal data from him during sex?” Mia’s stomach turned over at that thought.

“Look, the when is up to you. He could be sleeping—”

“He only sleeps for a few hours, and I’m usually passed out during that time.”

“Okay, then, do you ever go anywhere with him when he just holds your hand?”

Mia thought about it. When they walked somewhere together, she would usually put her arm through the crook of his elbow. Or sometimes he would put his hand on the small of her back. If he ever held her hand, it was usually for a brief period of time only. “Not really.”

“Well then, it has to be when it wouldn’t be strange for you to be touching him . . .”

“So you do mean during sex?”

“If that’s the only time, then yes.”

Mia stared at John in shock, unable to believe he was asking her to do this. “John,” she said slowly, “I’m not some femme fatale who can just do stuff like this. The last time, when I thought that Korum had caught me, I was completely freaking out. I’m not cut out to be a spy, not even close. And Korum knows me by now—if I suddenly start acting weirdly, he’ll catch on right away—”

“Look, I understand that it’s not going to be easy. You’re right—you’re not a seasoned agent. But you’re literally our last hope. The Keiths believe that Korum is getting closer to figuring out who they are. He knows that we’re getting help from the inside, and the Keiths think that their ruling council will not look kindly on those who pose a threat to the Centers here. At best, they’re looking at forced deportation to Krina and some serious punishment there. At worst, well . . .”

“John,” said Mia wearily, feeling the beginnings of a headache, “I just can’t—”

“Mia, please, just wear the ring. That’s all I will ask you to do. If you get an opportunity, great. If not, well, at least we will have tried.”

“And if I get caught wearing this device? If Korum is as brilliant as you say, won’t he recognize their technology from a mile away?”

“He has no reason to suspect you. You’re just his charl. He won’t be expecting a threat from you. And here, see, the ring is truly nice-looking. You could claim that it’s a gift from your sister if he asks.”

Mia stared at the device. The little silver circle was thin and stylish, and it probably wouldn’t look out of place on her finger. To confirm that theory, she extended her hand. “All right, let me try it on—see if it’s even my size.”

John gave her the ring with a relieved smile. Mia slid it on the middle finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly. If she hadn’t known its purpose, she would have never thought it was anything other than a simple piece of jewelry. She hoped that Korum would be fooled as easily.

With his mission accomplished, John rose to his feet. “Mia,” he said, “I hope you realize that if this works, if you succeed, then our species will enter into an entirely new era. We will have our planet back, and our freedom. And we will have a lot more knowledge—science and technology that we wouldn’t have had for hundreds or maybe thousands more years. You will be a hero, your name written in the history books for generations to come—”

Mia felt chills going down her spine.

“—and you will have nothing to fear from him again, ever. And girls like my sister will finally be reunited with their families, and they would be able to lead normal lives again—as will you.”

He painted a compelling picture, but Mia couldn’t imagine how she could possibly bring something like this pass. “John,” she said, “I’ll try. That’s all I can promise you.”

“That’s all I want.” He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Good luck.”

And then he walked away, leaving Mia with the alien device that was supposed to determine the future of humankind sitting innocuously on her finger.

Chapter 16

JESSIE JOINED MIA in the park a few minutes later. “Ugh,” she said, “I hate BioChem. So glad that torture is over.”

Mia smiled at her. “No one said it’s easy being a pre-med.”

“Yes, well, not all of us chose the easy route with a psych major—”

“Easy, please! I have to write three papers by Thursday, and I’m only done with one so far!”

“My heart bleeds for you . . . it really does—”

“Oh shut up,” said Mia, and they both grinned at each other.

“So what are you doing now? Going to the library?” asked Jessie, wrinkling her nose.

“Nah, I think I’ll head back to Korum’s place. All my books and stuff are there now—”

Jessie’s expression immediately darkened. “Of course. I should’ve known.”

“Jessie,” said Mia tiredly, “please don’t give me a hard time over this. One way or another, I’m sure this relationship will be over soon—”

“Mia, is there something you’re not telling me?” Jessie was looking at her suspiciously.

“No! I just meant that I will be going home to Florida—and he may not want to continue seeing me when I return, that’s all.”

“You’ve talked to him about this already?”

Mia shook her head. “I’ll do it tonight.”

“Okay, good luck with that. Let me know how that goes.” She paused and then added, “Oh, and by the way, Edgar said that Peter’s been asking about you.”

“What? Why?”

Jessie shrugged. “I guess he’s suicidal. That, or he really likes you. It’s hard to tell, you know?”

“Is he feeling better now?”

Jessie nodded. “He seems to be fine, just some residual bruising.”

“Well, I’m glad. Listen, tell Edgar that Peter should just forget about my existence. If it’s ever safe, when this thing with Korum is over, I’ll contact him myself.”

Jessie promised to do so, and they chatted some more about Edgar. Jessie was supposed to see him tonight, and Mia again envied the ease and simplicity of her roommate’s life.

Mia was now literally wearing the fate of her species on her finger, and the burden felt far heavier than the light silver circle could ever be on its own.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, KORUM made dinner for them again. After agonizing over the best way to approach summer plans, Mia decided to just tell him straight out. First, though, she wanted to make sure that he would be in a good mood and receptive to the idea.

The dinner was delicious, as usual. Mia gladly consumed another creatively made salad—she had definitely developed a taste for them—and a bean crepe wrapped in seaweed with a spicy mushroom sauce.

If she succeeded in her mission, there would be no more dinners like this. Korum would be forced to go back to Krina—if he even survived the attack on their settlements.

At that thought, Mia felt a strange squeezing sensation in her chest. She didn’t want him killed. He might be the enemy, but she didn’t want to see him get hurt in any way.

Furiously thinking about this, she resolved to ask John to grant Korum safe passage—if she did get her hands on the data. Of course, even the thought of him simply leaving the planet was oddly agonizing. You silly twit, he did manage to get under your skin.

“A penny for your thoughts,” teased Korum, apparently noticing the introspective look on Mia’s face.

“Um, I’m just thinking about all the stuff I still have to do before the end of the week—turn in all those papers and then start packing . . .” Mia let her voice trail off. It seemed like a good segue into what she wanted to discuss today.

“Packing?” A slight frown appeared on his smooth forehead.

“Yes, well, you know the semester will be over soon,” Mia said cautiously, her heart rate beginning to increase. “After finals, I have to go home, to Florida, to see my parents, and then I have an internship in Orlando—”

His expression visibly darkened. “And when were you going to tell me about this?” His voice was deceptively calm.

Mia slowly chewed the last bite of her food and swallowed it. “I thought you knew everything about me already, including my summer plans.” The evenness of her tone matched his, despite the pounding of her heart.

“The background check I did on you a month ago was not sufficiently comprehensive, I guess,” he said, still dangerously calm.

Mia shrugged. “I guess not.” She was proud of how bravely she was handling this discussion. Maybe she would make a decent spy yet.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said quietly. His eyes were taking on that golden tint that she now associated with all kinds of strong emotions.

“Korum, I have to.” Mia tried to think of ways to convince him. “I have to see my parents and sister—she’s pregnant, actually—and then I have a really good internship lined up at a local camp, where I would be a counselor for children who are going through a difficult time . . .”

He just looked at her, his lack of expression scaring her more than any outward anger.

“All right,” he said. “I will take you to see your family this summer . . . just not next week. I can’t leave New York quite yet. And if you want, I will find you an internship here as well, something within your field that you would enjoy.”

Mia felt a cold sensation radiating from her core all the way down to her toes. Up until now, even though she knew he regarded her as his pleasure toy, their relationship had a semblance of normality. He might have considered her his human pet, but she could still pretend he was her boyfriend—an arrogant and domineering one, for sure . . . but still just a boyfriend. Now that illusion was broken. If he really did go so far as to disregard her summer plans made months in advance, then he had absolutely no respect for her rights as a person—and probably no qualms about keeping her as his charl indefinitely, until he got bored with her.

Her fists were tightly clenched on the table, she noticed, and she forced herself to relax her fingers before proceeding. “And when you’re done with your business in New York,” she asked quietly, “what happens then?”

He regarded her with a level gaze. “Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?” he suggested gently. “That might not be for a while.”

“No,” said Mia, past the point of caring. “I want to cross that bridge now. If your business gets done next week, what would happen then?”

He didn’t answer.

Mia could feel herself getting even colder inside. Slowly getting up from the table, she searched for something to say. There was really nothing. She wanted to yell and scream and throw something at him, but that would not accomplish anything. The clueless Mia that she was supposed to be would not read anything particularly sinister into his silence. It was only Mia the spy who knew what could happen to a girl that a K regarded as his charl.

So she acted the way he would expect any normal girl to act when her boyfriend was being unreasonable. “Korum,” she told him with a stubborn expression on her face, “I’m going to Florida this summer—and that’s that. I have a life that doesn’t just revolve around you. I made these plans months before I knew you, and I can’t change things around just because you want me to—”

“Mia,” he said softly, “you can change things around and you will. If you try to leave at the end of the week, I will stop you. Do you understand me?”

She did. She understood him perfectly. But the Mia she was pretending to be wouldn’t.

“What, you’re going to prevent me from getting on the airplane? That’s ridiculous,” she said, even as her stomach twisted with fear.

“Of course,” he said. “All I have to do is make one phone call, and your name will be on a no-fly list at all your human airports.”

She stared at him in shock. Somehow, she hadn’t expected him to go to such lengths to detain her. She figured he might lock her in the apartment or something. But it made perfect sense . . . Why do something as crude as physically restraining her when he could simply exercise his power with the U.S. government?

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she held them back with great effort. “I hate you,” she told him, barely able to speak past the constriction in her chest. And she really did in that moment. If she’d had any doubts about helping the Resistance, they dissolved as she stared at his uncompromising expression. He had no right to do this to her, to take over her life like that—and his kind deserved exactly what they got. If Mia could really make a difference in the fight against the Ks, then she had an obligation to do so—even if it meant losing her life in the process.

He got up then and came toward her. “You don’t hate me,” he said in a silky tone. “You may wish you did, but you don’t . . .” He grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were nearly yellow at this point. “You’re mine,” he said quietly, “and you’re not going anywhere without me. The sooner you come to terms with it, my darling, the easier it will be for you.”

And so the gloves had come off then. He was not going to hide his true colors any longer.

Mia’s fists clenched with impotent rage.

“I’m not coming to terms with anything,” she hissed at him. “I’m a human being. I have rights. You can’t order me around like this—”

“That’s right, Mia,” he said in that same dangerously smooth tone. “You’re a human being—the creation of my kind. We made you. If it weren’t for the Krinar, your species would not exist at all. Your people came up with all kinds of imaginary deities to worship, to explain how you came to be on this Earth. The things you have done in the name of your so-called gods are simply preposterous. But we are your true creators—we made you in our image. The only reason you have the rights you think you have is because we choose to let you have them. And we’ve been extremely lenient with your species, interfering as little as possible since we came to your planet.” He leaned closer to her. “So if I want to keep one little human girl with me, and I have to order her around because she’s too inexperienced to realize that what we have is very special—well, then, that’s the way it’s going to be.”

Mia could barely think past the fury clouding her brain. Staring up at his beautiful face, she felt a surge of hatred so strong that she would have gladly stabbed him in that moment if she’d had a knife nearby. “Screw you,” she told him bitterly, taking a step back to avoid his touch. “You and your kind should just go back to whatever hell you came from and leave us the fuck alone.”

He smiled sardonically in response, letting her go for the moment. “That’s not going to happen, Mia. We’re here and we’re staying—you might as well get used to it.”

No, they weren’t. Mia would make sure of that.

But he couldn’t know that yet, so she said nothing, just looking up at him in defiance.

“And Mia,” he added gently, “I can be very nice . . . or not—it’s really up to you.”

“Fuck you,” she told him furiously, and watched his eyes flare even brighter.

“Oh, you will—and gladly.” He smiled in anticipation.

Mia wanted to hit him. If he thought she would melt into a puddle at his touch, he had another thing coming. Unless . . .

“Fine,” she said slowly, “but I call the shots tonight.” And she smiled back at him, ignoring the rapid beating of her heart.

His eyes glittered with sudden interest. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because that’s the only way I’m having sex with you tonight . . . willingly, I mean.” Her smile took on a taunting edge. “You can always force me, of course—maybe even make me enjoy it. But I will always hate you for it . . . and you will ultimately regret it.”

“Okay,” he said softly, the bulge in his pants growing before her eyes, “let’s pretend you’re calling the shots . . . What would you like to do?”

Mia moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue and watched his eyes follow the motion with a hungry look. “Let’s go into the bedroom,” she said huskily, and walked past him, making the safe assumption that he would follow her there.

Chapter 17

THEY ENTERED THE room.

Mia walked over to the bed and sat down on it, fully dressed. He was about to do the same, but she stopped him with a shake of her head. “Not yet,” she murmured, and watched him pause in response.

“I want you to take off your clothes,” she said quietly, and waited to see what would happen.

To her surprise and growing excitement, he did as she asked, removing his T-shirt with one smoothly controlled motion. She inhaled sharply, the sight of his muscular half-naked body making her inner muscles clench with desire. Watching her with an amused half-smile, he unzipped his jeans and lowered them to the floor, stepping out of them gracefully. His erection was now covered only by a pair of briefs, and Mia could feel herself getting even wetter inside.

“Okay,” he said softly, “now what?”

Mia’s heart was galloping in her chest. “Lie down on the bed,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

He smiled and obeyed, sprawling out on his back, his hands behind his head.

Mia got up and started taking off her own clothes, watching the bulge in his briefs growing even larger as she shimmied out of her jeans and unbuttoned her shirt. Still wearing her bra and underwear, she climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. All of a sudden, he no longer looked amused, his entire body tensing up as her sex pressed against his erection, with only the two layers of underwear standing in the way of his cock.

Mia smiled triumphantly and put her hands on his chest, feeling the powerful muscles bunching under her fingers. The game she was playing was incredibly dangerous, yet she couldn’t help but be aroused by the control she was exerting over her normally dominant lover. Running her hands over his chest, she leaned forward and touched the flat masculine nipple with her tongue, loving the way his cock jumped beneath her at the simple action.

“Give me your hands,” she whispered, her hair brushing against his naked chest. He reached for her, but she intercepted him, grabbing his wrists. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he let her stop him, observing her actions with a heavy-lidded amber gaze.

She twined her fingers with his and pressed his hands into the pillow above his head, as though her small human hands could contain his Krinar strength for even a second. His eyes burned brighter with lust, but he did not resist, letting her hold him captive for now. She leaned closer to him and kissed his neck, and he arched beneath her with a sharp hiss. Reveling in his response, she lightly scraped the area with her teeth and was rewarded with a low growl. Rising up a bit, she repeated the action on the other side of his neck. By now, his body was nearly vibrating with tension, and she wondered hazily how much longer he would allow her to tease him like that. Still holding his hands, she kissed him on the lips, her tongue tentatively entering his mouth. He kissed her back with barely controlled aggression, and she sucked lightly on his tongue, causing him to buck underneath her. Leaving his mouth, she nibbled his neck again, focusing on the tightly corded muscle connecting it to his shoulder, and he groaned as though in pain.

Loving her newfound power, Mia licked the side of his neck and tongued his ear, softly biting the earlobe. His hips thrust at her in response, but the underwear was in the way of his penetration. She moaned, her panties getting soaked with her juices as his erection rubbed against her clit.

“Keep your arms raised,” she whispered, finally letting go of his palms.

He did, and Mia could see the effort it took him not to touch her in the sweat beading up on his forehead. She moved down his body then, licking and kissing every inch of skin along the way until her mouth reached his flat stomach. His abdominal muscles quivered in anticipation, and she smiled with excitement, gently squeezing his balls through the briefs as her lips followed the dark trail of hair down from his navel to where it disappeared into his underwear. He groaned her name, and she hooked her fingers into his briefs, slowly pulling them down. As he lifted his hips to help her, his cock sprang up at her, the bulbous shaft stiff and the tip glistening with pre-ejaculate.

Mia swallowed with nervousness and excitement, wondering what would happen if he lost control—if she drove him as crazy as he could make her.

Grasping his shaft with one hand, she lowered her head and slowly licked the underside of his balls, which were tightly drawn against his body with extreme arousal. He hissed at her action, torso arching and cock jumping in her hand, and Mia let go of it, using her hands to cup his balls instead. Simultaneously, she closed her lips around the tip of his cock and moved to take him further into her mouth, stopping only when he reached the back of her throat. She could taste the saltiness of his pre-cum, and her sex contracted in excitement. His body vibrating from the tension, he growled low in his throat, hips thrusting at her in a wordless demand to take him deeper, but Mia resisted, moving her lips up and down his shaft in a torturously slow and shallow rhythm.

And then he snapped.

Before she even realized what happened, he had her on her back, her panties ripped to shreds and his cock pushing into her in one heavy stroke. She cried out in shock, her nails digging into his upper arms as he penetrated her all the way without giving her any time to adjust to his fullness. She was dripping wet, but it didn’t matter, and her inner muscles trembled in the desperate attempt to accommodate the invasion. There was pain, but there was pleasure too, as his hips hammered at her in a merciless, driving rhythm. She screamed—in agony, in ecstasy, she didn’t know which—and felt him swell even more, becoming impossibly harder and thicker, and then he was coming, his head thrown back with a roar and his pelvis grinding into her sex. Mia cried out in frustration, her own release only a few elusive seconds away, and then his teeth sank into her shoulder, and her entire world exploded from the sudden rush of heated ecstasy through her veins.

It was not enough for him, of course, with the taste of her blood driving him into a frenzy, and his cock stiffened again inside her before her pulsations even ended. And Mia could no longer think at all, the drug-like high from his saliva turning her body into a pure instrument of pleasure, her skin unbearably sensitized to his touch and her insides burning with liquid desire. He drove into her relentlessly, and she screamed from the excruciating tension until she climaxed, over and over, in a never-ending cascade of orgasmic peaks and valleys, the night turning into a nonstop marathon of sex and blood.

Finally passing out toward the morning, Mia slept, her body still joined with his and her mind void of any thoughts.

* * *

MIA WOKE UP the next day to the feel of someone’s hand gently playing with her hair.

Surprised, she opened her eyes just a bit and saw Korum sitting by the edge of the bed, looking oddly concerned.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she muttered sleepily, blinking in an attempt to focus.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, brushing back a stray curl that fell over her eye.

“Um . . .” Mia tried to think. Moving a little, she became aware of various aches and pains, as well as an extreme soreness between her thighs.

Obviously not satisfied with her response, Korum pulled off the blanket, uncovering her naked body to his eyes. Her mind still feeling fuzzy, Mia followed his gaze as it lingered on the faint bruises covering her breasts and torso, many in the shape of finger marks.

His face darkened with guilt, and he groaned. “Mia, I’m so sorry about this . . . I should’ve never let you play that game with me last night. I can usually control myself with you because I know how small and fragile you are, but I completely lost it last night . . . I never meant to hurt you like this—please believe me . . .”

Mia nodded, still trying to understand what happened. All she could recall was the mind-blowing sex, mixed with the ecstatic rush from his bite.

He gently stroked her shoulder, caressing the soft skin. “I am really sorry about this,” he murmured. “You’re so delicate . . . I should’ve never lost control like that. I’ll make you feel better, I promise—”

The events of last night were slowly coming back to Mia. Her hand clenched into a fist as she remembered what had led her to tease him like that, and the feel of the ring on her finger was utterly reassuring.

She might be sore this morning, but she was also hopeful that the little device had worked as promised. There was no guarantee, of course, but her finger’s proximity to Korum’s palm last night should’ve been sufficient to get access to the necessary blueprints. Now she just had to get the ring over to John and, for that, she needed Korum to leave her alone.

“It’s all right,” she mumbled, trying to think of something appropriate to say. He was obviously feeling guilty about leaving a few bruises on her body. It struck her as hypocritical, this extreme concern for her physical well-being, since he obviously had no problem causing her emotional pain by upending her entire life. Then again, her being sore could interfere with their sex life, and he probably didn’t want that.

“I’ll bring something, okay?” he said, and disappeared from the room with inhuman speed.

Mia buried her head in the pillow while waiting for his return, desperately thinking of ways to get the information over to John quickly. She still needed to write her papers, so maybe she could tell Korum she had to get some books from the library.

He was back a minute later, carrying the familiar device that had “shined” her and something else that she’d never seen before. The second object looked most like a lipstick tube, but was made of some strange material.

“Um, I’m all right—really, there’s no need for this,” said Mia quickly, not wanting him to plant any additional tracking devices on her. For all she knew, the next batch of nanotechnology in her body might broadcast her every thought to him, and that was the last thing she wanted.

“There’s every need,” he said, obviously surprised at her reluctance. “You’re hurt, and I can fix it. Why not?”

Why not indeed. She didn’t have a good answer for that, and protesting further would make him suspicious. Getting caught so close to the end of her mission would be stupid, and it’s not like she didn’t already have the tracking devices embedded in her palms. What’s a few more?

So she just shrugged her shoulders in response, letting him do as he wanted.

He activated the “shining” device and ran the warm red light over her bruises. Seeing it work the second time was still incredible, with the marks on her skin disappearing as though they were never there. He was very thorough, inspecting every inch of her skin, and Mia blushed slightly at having so much attention paid to her naked body in broad daylight. Once he was done, he took the tube-like device in his hand and brought it toward her thighs.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked suspiciously, eyeing it with distrust. There was only one place remaining on her body that still hadn’t been healed, and the red light from the device could not reach there. She hoped the little tube wasn’t really going where it looked like it could go.

Korum sighed and said, “It’s something we use for deep internal damage, when you have to heal various organs before you can mend the outer layer of the skin. I know it’s overkill for what you’ve got, but it’s the only thing I have in this apartment that can reach inside you to help you with the soreness.”

So it was going there. Mia’s blush got worse. The thing was about the size of a tampon, and the thought of having something medical like that inserted in broad daylight was embarrassing.

“Seriously?” he asked with incredulity. “After last night, you’re going to blush at this?”

Mia refused to look at him. “Just do it already,” she mumbled, plopping down and hiding her face in the pillow.

He laughed softly and did as she requested, sliding the little device inside her sore and swollen opening. It went in easily, and Mia didn’t feel anything for a few seconds until the tingling began.

“It feels funny,” she complained, still shielded by the pillow.

“It’s supposed to—that means it’s working.”

The tingling went on for a couple of minutes and then it stopped. She didn’t feel sore anymore, which was nice, although the feel of the foreign object inside her was disconcerting.

“It should be done by now,” said Korum, reaching inside her with his long fingers and pulling out the tube. “That’s it—all finished. You can stop hiding now.”

“Okay, thanks,” muttered Mia, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I think I’m going to shower now.”

He laughed and kissed her exposed shoulder. “Go for it. I have some things to take care of, so I’ll be out the rest of the day. The dinner will probably be a late one, so be sure to grab a good lunch.”

And then he walked out of the room, finally leaving Mia alone to carry out the rest of the plan.

Chapter 18

As soon as Korum left, Mia sprang into action, her heart pounding at the magnitude of what she was about to do.

Before hopping into the shower, she sent a quick ‘Hi’ email to Jessie, letting her know that she would be stopping by the apartment today and asking how Jessie’s Anatomy final had gone. Hopefully, John would see the email and contact Mia quickly. It was already early afternoon; due to her complete exhaustion, Mia had slept far later than planned, and there was a lot to get done before this evening.

Korum had thoughtfully left her a sandwich for lunch, and Mia gratefully gobbled it down before heading out the door. When he did things like that—considerate little gestures—she could almost believe that he genuinely cared about her, and she would feel an unwelcome pang of guilt at betraying his trust. Even today, after everything that happened last evening, the thought of him coming to any harm made her feel sick. It was ridiculous, of course; he would most likely be fine—and even if he wasn’t, it was his own fault for invading Earth and trying to enslave her species. Still, she would much rather see him safely deported back to Krina, so she could resume her normal life knowing that he was thousands of light years away and would never bother her again.

Or so she told herself.

Deep inside, some silly romantic part of her wanted to cry at the thought of never seeing Korum again—never feeling his touch or hearing his laughter, never glimpsing the dimple that so incongruously graced his left cheek. He was her enemy, but he was also her lover, and she had gotten attached to him despite everything. The pleasure that he gave her went beyond the sexual; just being with him made her feel excited and alive, and—if she ever let herself forget the exact nature of their relationship—oddly happy.

She could not imagine having sex with someone else after experiencing Korum’s lovemaking. It would be like eating sawdust for the rest of her life after first tasting ambrosia. It made perfect sense that he would be a good lover, of course; aside from whatever special chemistry he said they had together, Korum was also thousands of years old—and had had plenty of time to learn exactly how to please a woman. How could a human man compare to that? And she didn’t even want to think about how he made her feel when he took her blood. She wasn’t sure that it was healthy, to feel a pleasure so intense, but the thought of never experiencing it again was nearly more than she could bear.

For the first time, she wondered about the xenos she’d heard about before. The motives of these people—who supposedly advertised online with the goal of entering into sexual relations with the Krinar—had always been a mystery to her. But she wondered now if they were perhaps truly addicted . . . if they’d had a taste of paradise and knew that everything else would pale in comparison. Korum had warned that addiction was a possibility for both of them if he took her blood too frequently. Mia shuddered at the thought. That was the last thing she needed—to actually develop a physical need for him. It was enough that she would probably miss him with every fiber of her being when he was finally gone from her life; the last thing she needed was to crave some elusive high that she could only achieve with him.

There was no other alternative for her; she had to complete the mission. Their relationship was bound to end—it was just a matter of time. Even if she were willing to put up with his autocratic nature—or if she even went so far as to accept being his charl—he would tire of her in a few short years and then she would be alone anyway, completely heartbroken and devastated at his desertion.

No, she had to do this. There was no other way. She couldn’t have lived with herself knowing that she’d had a chance to make a real difference in the course of human history and failed to do so because of her weakness for one particular K—for someone who regarded her as nothing more than his plaything.

Arriving at her apartment, Mia was surprised to see that John was already there. So were Jessie and Edgar, the actor her roommate had apparently started seeing.

As soon as she walked through the door, John asked if they could speak in private. Mia nodded and led him into her room, closing the door behind her. Before the door was fully shut, Mia heard Edgar ask Jessie if her roommate was seeing John as well, but Jessie’s reply was already inaudible.

“I think I have it,” said Mia without any preamble.

John’s entire face lit up. “You do? That’s great! How did you manage it so quickly?” Seeing the color flooding her face, he added hastily, “Never mind, that’s not important.”

Mia shrugged and pulled the ring off her finger. There was a little indentation left behind on her skin. She sincerely hoped that Korum was not particularly observant when it came to women’s jewelry; otherwise, he might wonder why she’d worn that ring once and never again.

“I need you to promise me something,” Mia said slowly, still holding on to the ring.

“What?”

“Promise me that Korum will not be harmed in whatever you’re planning to do.”

John hesitated, and Mia’s eyes narrowed. “Promise me, John. You owe me that much.”

“Why? He doesn’t deserve it—”

“It doesn’t matter what he does or does not deserve. This is my condition for helping you. Korum gets safe passage home.”

John looked at her and then sighed heavily. “All right, Mia, if that’s what you truly want. We’ll make sure that he gets safely deported.”

Mia nodded and handed him the ring. “So what now?” she asked. “How long do you think it will take your Keiths to do something with this information?”

He grinned at her, looking like a kid at Christmas. “They’ll have to look at it and make sure that it’s not more complicated than they think, but if they’re right . . . we could be looking at a potential attack within days.”

Days? That was much faster than Mia had ever thought possible.

“Won’t it take them time to make . . . well, whatever it is that those blueprints are for?” she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head. “No, not that much time at all. Remember what I told you about how they manufacture everything using nanotechnology—and can make things almost instantly if they have the design for it?”

Mia vaguely recalled something like that, so she nodded.

“Well, they will now have the blueprints, and they already have the technology to create those designs. They just need to get that technology to a safe location outside of their settlements, and then they can manufacture the necessary weapons to penetrate the K Center shields. Once the shields are gone, the human forces will be ready.”

Forces?

“Is the government in on this?” asked Mia with surprise.

John hesitated. “Not exactly. But there are those within the government who believe that it was wrong to sign the Coexistence Treaty, to allow them to build the settlements. These individuals are sympathetic to our cause and they have the ability to bring us reinforcements. Some of these are highly placed people in the Army and the Navy, as well as within the CIA and other equivalent agencies worldwide.”

Mia looked at him in shock. She hadn’t realized the full scope of the anti-K movement. For some reason, she’d envisioned it as being a few hundred suicidal individuals within the Resistance—or those like John, who had a personal vendetta against the Ks—helped by a few human-sympathizing aliens. But it made sense, of course, that the freedom fighters couldn’t have come as far as they did—and gained the assistance of the Keiths—if they hadn’t had at least a decent chance of success.

“Wow,” she said softly, “so it’s really happening then? We’re kicking them off our planet?”

John nodded with barely contained glee. “It’s happening, Mia. If the information on this ring is as good as we hope it is, we’re looking at Earth’s liberation within a week—a couple of weeks at the most.”

That was crazy. Mia tried to imagine what would happen when the Ks learned that they were being attacked. She remembered the days of the Great Panic and shuddered.

“John,” she said slowly, “would they really go without a big fight? You know what happened before . . . how much damage they could do even with bare hands—”

“That’s true,” agreed John, “they could definitely fight back—and it could get very bloody for both sides. That’s why the information you got for us is so crucial. You see, if the Keiths are right, these blueprints also contain the design for one of their most advanced weapons. Once the shields are down and we let the Ks know that we have this weapon, they would be suicidal to do anything but surrender. Because if they fight, we will use it—and every K in their colonies would be turned to dust.”

“Turned to dust? What kind of weapon can do that?” asked Mia in horrified shock.

“It’s weaponized nanotechnology on a massive scale. It can be programmed with very specific constraints, so we could set it to only destroy Ks within a certain radius and to spare whatever humans may be in the area at the time.”

Mia’s eyes widened, and John continued, “Of course, we still expect some Ks to try to escape from the colonies when they learn of the attack, so we’ll have our fighters stationed all around to capture and contain those—and that could get bloody. We might still end up suffering heavy casualties, but we stand a very real chance of winning here.”

Mia swallowed, feeling nauseous at the thought of any bloodshed. Knowing that something she did led to “heavy casualties” or extermination of thousands of intelligent beings—she didn’t know how she would handle that kind of responsibility.

But there was no choice now, not that there had ever been any for her. Ever since she’d laid eyes on Korum at the park, her fate had been decided. Her only choice had been to meekly accept being his charl or to fight back—and she had chosen to fight. And now that decision might result in the loss of many lives, both human and Krinar.

Mia bitterly wished she’d never gone to the park that day, had never learned about what goes on in the K Centers. If she could somehow turn back the clock and go back to her regular life, knowing next to nothing about the Ks, she would gladly do so—and leave the liberation of Earth to someone better equipped to deal with it. But she knew, and that burden felt unbearably heavy right now as she looked into John’s glowing face and imagined the upcoming bloody battle.

“Mia,” said John, apparently sensing her distress, “please don’t forget: they came to our planet, they imposed their rules on us—and killed thousands of people in the process, until we had no choice but to give in. Do you remember how it was during the Great Panic?”

Mia nodded, thinking of the terrifying chaos and bloody street fights of those dark months.

Satisfied, John continued, “I know that your only exposure to them has been through Korum, and he has probably treated you nicely so far . . . because he thinks of you as his current favorite pet. But they’re not nice at all. They’re predators by nature. They evolved as parasites, as vampires, sustaining themselves by consuming the blood of other species. In fact, they developed humans for that purpose—to satisfy their own perverse urges with us—”

That wasn’t exactly what Korum had told her, but she didn’t feel like arguing that point right now.

“—and they have no regard for our rights. Most of them view us as inferior, and they would not hesitate to enslave us completely if it suited their purposes.”

“I know,” said Mia, rubbing her temples to get rid of the tension. “I know all of that—that’s why I’m helping you, John. I just really wish there was another way . . . some way we could just make them go away without spilling any blood.”

“I wish there was too,” said John, sighing heavily. “But there isn’t. They invaded our planet with force—and now we take it back from them in the same way. And if some lives have to be lost in the process—well, we just have to hope that not too many of them are on our side. It’s war, Mia—the real War of the Worlds.”

John left, and Mia sat down on her bed to digest everything.

How had she—a regular college student—managed to get involved in a war? Spying was something she’d always associated with glamorous secret agents, men and women who’ve had extensive training in everything from martial arts to defusing a bomb. A psychology major from NYU just didn’t fit the bill. Yet here she was, supposedly aiding the Resistance in their most important fight against the Ks.

A terrifying thought occurred to her. Once Korum knew what was happening—that their settlements were being attacked—would he realize that she was the one responsible? Would he make the connection between his carefully guarded blueprints being stolen and the human girl he slept with every night? Because if he did—and he was still in New York at the time—then her days were likely numbered as well.

A tentative knock on her door interrupted her dark musings.

“Yes, come in!” she called out, relieved to have a distraction from that line of thinking.

To her surprise and dismay, it was not Jessie. Instead, Peter stood in her bedroom doorway, his wavy blond hair and blue eyes looking even more angelic in the bright light of the day. There were still black and blue marks on his throat.

“Peter!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he said. “Your roommate told Edgar that you would be home today, and I just wanted to make sure you were all right after what happened that night—”

“Oh gosh, Peter, that’s really nice of you,” said Mia, desperately trying to think of the quickest way to get rid of him. She couldn’t imagine that Korum would be pleased to know that Peter was anywhere near her right now, much less in her bedroom. He probably wouldn’t find out, but she didn’t want to chance it. It was enough that she had almost gotten him killed in that club.

Peter was looking at her with a concerned expression. “What happened that night, Mia? Did that monster hurt you in any way?”

“No, of course not,” she tried to reassure him. “He just got jealous—I never expected him to react like that, believe me. I’m really sorry about everything that happened. I should’ve never danced with you that night. You got hurt because of me—”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not a big deal. I was once beaten up in high school because the head quarterback thought I was flirting with his girlfriend. Believe me, this was nothing in comparison.” And he grinned at her, his smile utterly infectious.

Mia smiled back a little. It was good to hear that he didn’t hold a grudge against her. But he still needed to go away for his own safety.

“Listen, Peter, thanks for checking up on me,” she said. “That was really sweet of you. But we now know that my boyfriend is not too keen on our friendship—and it’s really for the best if he doesn’t find out you were here—”

“Mia,” said Peter seriously, his smile completely gone, “are you really dating that creature? I just never pictured you as a xeno—”

“I’m not!”

“You’re not a Krinarian, are you?”

“Of course not! I’m not religious at all!”

“Then why are you seeing him?”

Mia sighed. “Look, Peter, that’s not really any of your business. He’s my boyfriend—that’s all you need to know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that when we first met. I was just having a fun time at a girls’ night out. I really didn’t mean to mislead you in any way—”

“That’s bullshit,” said Peter vehemently. “A boyfriend—that’s a human guy, not some vicious alien who drags you out of the club like that.” He paused for a second and asked quietly, “Mia, is he forcing you to be with him?”

“What? Why would you think that?” Mia stared at him, wondering what would make him ask something like that.

He looked back at her, his brows furrowed in a frown. “You just don’t seem like the type to seek out one of these monsters.”

“What type is that?” wondered Mia, genuinely curious to hear the answer.

He tugged at his ear in frustration. “Well, a lot of people in the entertainment industry actually . . . models, actresses, singers—they get bored and look for something to spice up their lives . . . They’re shallow, and many of them are stupid—all they see are the pretty faces and not the evil underneath—”

“Evil underneath?” asked Mia, surprised that he felt so strongly about the Krinar. Prior to her own close encounters with Korum, she’d had zero exposure to the invaders and no real opinion about them. Maybe Peter was religious himself and believed the claim that the Ks were demons?

He grimaced. “I’ve seen people disappear, Mia, when they get involved with these creatures. That, or end up really messed up at the end. It’s not natural for us—to be with their kind. It never ends well . . .”

Mia took a deep breath and said firmly, “Peter, look, I appreciate the concern, but there’s really no need in this case. I know what I’m doing. I’m neither shallow nor stupid—”

“I never said you were,” protested Peter.

“—and I don’t really appreciate you implying anything about my relationship. I’m with Korum because I want to be, and that’s all there’s to it.”

She sincerely hoped that was enough to get Peter to go away. The last thing she needed was a bumbling white knight trying to save her from the evil monster—a white knight who would definitely end up getting slain in the process. Maybe later, if she survived the next couple of weeks, she would apologize to Peter for being so harsh. She liked him, and it would be nice to become friends with him, particularly if her life ever got back to normal.

He looked slightly hurt. “Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. Obviously, you can be with whomever you choose. I just wanted to make sure you were all right, that’s all.”

Mia nodded and gave him a faint smile. “I understand. Thanks again for stopping by.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the laptop and a couple of books.

Peter immediately got the hint. “Sure. I’ll see you around, okay?” he said, and walked out of the room. Mia heard him talking to Jessie and Edgar for a minute, and then he was gone, the front door closing decisively behind him.

Mia plopped down on her bed with relief. How had it happened that a cute guy—with whom she actually had a decent connection—had come along at such a wrong time in her life? Had she met him two months ago, she had no doubt that she would have been ecstatic to have him pay attention to her like that—but it was too late now.

Like those people he knew, she would likely end up messed up in the end—either that or dead at the hands of her alien lover.

Chapter 19

SHORTLY AFTER PETER left, Edgar departed as well. Mia heard them kissing and giggling by the door, and then there was silence. Almost immediately afterwards, Jessie came into her room.

“So,” said Mia, smiling at her roommate, “I take it things are going well with Edgar?”

Jessie gave her a huge grin. “They are going very well. He’s just so nice, and so fun, and so cute . . .”

Mia laughed and said, “I’m glad for you. You deserve a good guy like that.”

“That I do,” said Jessie without any false modesty, still grinning. And then her expression abruptly became serious. “And so do you, Mia—”

Uh-oh, thought Mia. Here comes the lecture.

“—and you’re clearly not getting it.”

“Jessie, please, let’s not beat a dead horse—”

“A dead horse? I’d like to beat up a certain K!” Jessie took a deep breath, clearly riled on Mia’s behalf. “Peter is such a nice guy, and he seems to really like you—to come all the way here like this after everything that happened . . . and you’re stuck with that monster!”

Mia rubbed the back of her neck to get rid of some tension there. “Jessie, please stop worrying about my relationship . . . everything will get resolved in its own time

“Speaking of getting things resolved, did you talk to him about the summer?”

Mia bit her lip. She hated lying to Jessie, and she so badly wanted to talk to someone about the whole maddening mess. If John was right about the Keiths’ timing, her trip to Florida would be merely delayed—and not even by all that much. Of course, that assumed she would still be alive at the time. Mia decided on a slightly edited version of the truth.

“I have,” she said slowly.

“And?”

“And we agreed that I’ll go later in the summer, and do an internship here in New York instead.”

Jessie stared at her in shock. “What internship?”

“I’m not sure yet. Korum promised to find me something in my field.”

“Oh my God, he’s not letting you go, is he?” Jessie looked completely horrified.

“Not exactly,” admitted Mia. “He did say, though, that we’ll go to Florida together once his business in New York is done.”

“Together? What, he’s going to meet your family?” The expression on Jessie’s face was utterly incredulous.

“I have no idea,” said Mia, and she really didn’t. She hadn’t had a chance to think about it, with everything that had gone on—but she couldn’t imagine her normal down-to-earth family interacting calmly with her alien lover. “We didn’t get as far as discussing the  particulars—”

“That bastard! I can’t believe he’s doing it to you! No wonder you’re helping the Resistance—you probably hate his guts.”

Mia couldn’t believe her ears. “What? What did you just say?”

“Oh come on, Mia,” said Jessie calmly. “I’m not an idiot. I can put two and two together. John was waiting for you here in the apartment even before you showed up. Clearly, he knew you were coming. You’re communicating with them, aren’t you?”

Damn it. Sometimes Mia forgot just how astute her pretty, bubbly roommate could be. Denying it any longer would be pointless, but Jessie could not know the extent of Mia’s involvement—it would be much too dangerous for both of them.

Mia gave her a piercing look. “Jessie, listen to me, don’t ever say something like that—and don’t ever talk about it with anyone, not even Edgar. Do you promise me?”

Jessie nodded, her eyes narrowed. “I would never say anything. When Edgar asked me if you and John were dating, I just said that he was an old friend of your family’s.”

“That’s good,” said Mia with relief. Then she added, “Look, I am not doing anything too crazy, I promise. John just asked me to keep an eye on Korum’s activities and report to him occasionally. That’s all I was doing today. Korum met a couple of other Ks recently, and I just wanted to tell John about it. Turns out he already knew, so it really wasn’t a big deal.” Mia had no idea where she had learned to lie so smoothly.

“Not a big deal? Mia . . . you’re dealing with an extraterrestrial who has no regard for human life. You saw what he did to Peter—and that was just for dancing with you! If he catches you spying, he would kill you for sure! Of course, it’s a big deal!” Jessie blew out a frustrated breath.

There was nothing Mia could really say to that, so she just shrugged.

“And it’s all my fault for blabbing about you to Jason! I can’t believe those bastards decided to use you like that.”

Mia rubbed her neck again. “They just saw an opportunity and decided to use it. It doesn’t really change my situation. I’m still with Korum, whether or not I’m spying on him. So I might as well try to help out, you know?”

Jessie gave her a frustrated look. “I can’t believe all this shit is happening to you. You’re the most by-the-book person I know . . . and you end up sleeping with a K and spying on him.”

Mia sighed heavily. “I know. I’m so screwed, Jessie—and not just in a good way.”

A small smile broke out on Jessie’s face, and she shook her head in reproach. “Mia . . .”

Mia grinned at her. “I know, I know, that was pretty bad.”

“Not James Bond caliber, that’s for sure.” And Jessie grinned back.

* * *

THAT EVENING, KORUM got home around eight o’clock. Mia was already back at his place and frantically working on her paper.

He entered her study room and came up to kiss her. “Hey there, looks like somebody is hard at work,” he teased, brushing his lips briefly against her cheek.

Mia gave him a little frown. “Yeah, I have to finish this paper tonight. I have this and my Child Psychology paper due Thursday, and I’m not done with even one of them.”

“Sounds terrible,” Korum said, the slight curve of his lips giving away his amusement.

“It is!” said Mia, her frown getting worse. Couldn’t he see she was stressed? He didn’t have to laugh at her just because her worries seemed minor to him.

“Do you want some help with it?” he asked, causing Mia to give him an incredulous look.

“Help with my papers?” Was he serious?

“Isn’t that what you’re stressing about?” He didn’t look like he was joking.

“Uh . . .” Mia was speechless. Finally finding her tongue, she mumbled, “That’s okay, thanks . . . I should be able to handle it.”

Stifling a grin, she imagined turning in a paper on the effects of environmental factors in early childhood development—written from the perspective of a two-thousand-year-old extraterrestrial. The look on Professor Dunkin’s face would be priceless.

“I can write in English, you know,” said Korum, apparently offended by her reluctance.

Mia smiled with some condescension. “Of course you can.” This was the strangest conversation ever. “But there’s more to writing an academic paper than just knowing the language. You have to have read all these books and attended the lectures . . .” She gestured toward the big pile of paper books sitting at the corner of her desk.

“So,” said Korum, shrugging nonchalantly, “I can read the books right now.”

Mia gave him a dumbfounded look. “There’s about ten of them . . .” She swallowed to get rid of the sudden dryness in her throat. “H-How fast do you read?”

“Pretty fast,” he said. “I also have what you would call a photographic memory, so I don’t need to read the material more than once.”

Mia stared at him in shock. “So you can read all these books in a matter of hours?”

He nodded. “I would probably need about two hours to finish them all.”

That was incredible. “Is that normal for your kind?” Mia asked, still digesting that shocking tidbit.

“Some of us have that ability naturally, while others choose to enhance it with technology to keep up. I was born this way.”

Mia could feel her heart rate picking up. She’d known that he was very smart, of course, and John had told her that Korum was one of the best designers among the K. She just hadn’t expected him to have what amounted to superhuman intelligence.

“I probably seem really stupid to you then,” Mia said quietly, “given how long it takes me to do all this—”

He sighed. “No, Mia, of course not. Just because you’re lacking certain abilities doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

Yeah, right. “What else can you do?” asked Mia, realizing how little she still knew about her alien lover.

He shrugged. “I can probably do some math in my head that you would need a calculator for.”

This was fascinating and scary at the same time. “What’s 10,456 times 6,345?” she asked, simultaneously reaching for her phone to check the answer.

“66,343,320.”

That was exactly right. And he’d given her the answer before she even had time to input the numbers into the calculator on her phone. Mia swallowed again.

“So do you want my help with the paper or not?” Korum was beginning to look impatient.

Mia shook her head. “Uh, no—that’s all right, thanks. I’m sure you could write a great paper—probably better than me—but I still have to do this myself.”

“Okay, sure, whatever you want,” he said, shaking his head at her stubbornness. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to make something?”

Mia had snacked throughout the day, so she wasn’t starving. “I don’t know,” she said tentatively. “I don’t think I have time for a sit-down meal today.” She looked up at him, hoping that he would understand.

“Of course,” he said, “I’ll bring you something to eat here.” Giving her a quick smile, he left the room.

Mia stared at the door in frustration. Why did he have to be so nice to her today? It would be so much easier if he treated her with cruelty or indifference. The guilt burning her up inside made no sense; she knew she was doing the right thing by helping the Resistance. The Ks had invaded their planet, not the other way around; liberating her species should not make her feel like this—like she was betraying someone she cared about.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus back on the paper. It was an impossible task. Her thoughts kept wandering, jumping from one unpleasant topic to another. Had she set in motion something that would result in the loss of thousands of lives? And would Korum be one of the casualties? It still didn’t seem entirely real to her, the potential impact of her actions.

Korum came back a few minutes later. He had made some kind of sushi-like rolls with crunchy lettuce and peppers and an apple-walnut dish for dessert.

Mia thanked him and gladly dug in, finding that she was quite hungry after all.

He smiled at her and bent down to kiss her forehead. “Enjoy. I’ll be next door if you need me.”

And then he left, letting her work on her papers—and battle her own dark thoughts.

Chapter 20

THAT NIGHT, HE was incredibly tender with her.

His fingers unerringly finding every knot and tense muscle, he massaged every inch of her body until she lay there in a boneless puddle of contentment. Once he was satisfied that she was fully relaxed, he flipped her over onto her back and began kissing her, starting with the tips of her fingers. His lips were soft and felt warm on the skin of her hand, and when he sucked her index finger into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, Mia moaned from the unexpectedly erotic sensation.

Leaving her fingers alone, his mouth traveled up her palm, licking the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist, and then further, up her arm, until he reached the arched column of her throat. Mia held her breath, waiting for the familiar biting pain, but he merely placed a series of light kisses there, sending goosebumps down her leg and arm, and nibbled softly on her earlobe. Mia moaned again, overcome by the pleasure of his touch, and buried her fingers in his hair, pulling his face down for a deep French kiss.

He kissed her back, passionately and intensely, and Mia felt the strength of his desire in the rigid erection brushing against her thigh. His hand found her breasts, gently squeezing and massaging the small globes, and his thumb flicked across her left nipple, causing it to stiffen further.

Lifting himself up on his elbows, he looked down at her with a warm golden gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, staring into her eyes, and the tender expression on his face made her want to cry. Why was he doing this to her today of all days? This might be one of the last few times she was having sex with him, and she didn’t want to remember it like this—like the lovemaking that it could never be.

He kissed her again, and she sucked on his tongue, hoping to make him lose control, so she could forget everything in the mind-bending ecstasy and finally turn off her brain. He groaned in response, and she felt his cock jump against her leg, but his touch on her body remained exceedingly gentle, with none of the raw lust from last night.

Frustrated, Mia pushed at his shoulders. “I want to get on top,” she told him huskily. He was clearly doing penance for his roughness yesterday, but that wasn’t what Mia wanted tonight.

His eyes widened a little in surprise, but he rolled off her onto his back. Mia climbed over him and grabbed his head with both hands, bringing his face to hers for a deep tongue-filled kiss while simultaneously rubbing her sex on his without allowing actual penetration. He wrapped his arms around her in response, so tightly that she could barely breathe, and kissed her back with the intensity she was seeking. She could see a fine layer of sweat on his forehead as his body strained with the effort of holding himself back. Mia moved her hips suggestively then, grinding against his cock, and his hips lifted off the bed, trying to get more. His embrace loosened slightly, and Mia worked her right hand in between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his shaft. He hissed, his body tensing up, and she carefully guided his cock to her opening, starting to lower herself onto him in a maddeningly slow motion.

He growled low in his throat and his hips thrust up, penetrating her in one powerful stroke. Mia cried out, feeling her muscles quivering, adjusting to the extreme fullness. He grasped her hips, his thumb finding her clit through the closed folds and pressing on it, his touch torturously light, bringing her closer to the desired peak without sending her over. Mia moaned, her sex clenching around his cock. She wanted more—more of the madness, of the mindless bliss that only he could make her feel. “Bite me,” she told him, and watched his eyes turn even more yellow even as he shook his head in denial. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he muttered roughly, and rolled over so that he was over her again, their bodies still joined.

Before she could say anything else, he twisted his hips slightly, and the head of his cock nudged the sensitive spot deep inside. Mia moaned, arching toward him, and he repeated the action, again and again, until the monstrous tension coiling inside her became unbearable, and she screamed, raking her nails down his back as the long-awaited climax finally rushed through her, obliterating all rational thought in its wake.

But he wasn’t done with her yet. He still hadn’t come, despite the rhythmic squeezing of her inner muscles, and his shaft was lodged inside her, as hard and thick as ever. Burying his hand in her hair, he kissed her deeply and began thrusting, alternating a shallow stroke with a deeper one, until the tension started building again and every cell in her body was crying out for the release. She tried to move her hips, to force him into that constant pace she needed to reach her climax, but he wouldn’t let her, his large, powerful body holding her down. His kiss was relentless, his tongue ravishing her mouth, and Mia felt like she would explode from the intensity of the sensations. And then suddenly she was there, her entire body convulsing in his arms, and he was coming as well, his pelvis grinding into her own as his cock pulsed inside her, releasing his semen in short, warm bursts.

Afterwards, he rolled off her and gathered her to him, leaving her lying partially on top, her head on his chest and her left leg draped over his hips. They were both slick with sweat, and Mia could hear the rapid beating of his heart gradually beginning to slow as his breathing returned to its normal pace.

She didn’t really know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. The sex had been incredible, and she hated the fact that he could make her feel like this—even without any chemical enhancers.

Why did it have to be him, she thought bitterly, looking at his flat bronzed stomach moving up and down with every breath. Why couldn’t she have fallen for a normal human guy instead of an alien genius whose kind was taking over her planet?

She felt the hot prickling of tears behind her eyelids and squeezed them tightly, not letting the moisture escape. Her body felt languid and tired in the aftermath of the sex session, but her mind kept buzzing, working overtime, looking for a solution where none could be found. Even if he cared for her in his own way, those feelings would turn to hatred once he learned the depths of her betrayal—and the hands that held her so gently now would likely end up wrapped around her throat.

She must have tensed at the thought because he pulled away to look at her face and asked curiously, “What’s the matter?”

When she hesitated, a worried frown appeared on his face. “Mia? What’s the matter? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Mia shook her head, trying not to look him directly in the eyes. “No, of course not,” she said huskily, “it was wonderful . . . you know that—”

“Then what?” he prodded, reaching out to grasp her chin and force her to meet his gaze.

Mia tried to control herself, but the stupid tears wouldn’t leave her alone, welling up in her eyes.

“It’s nothing,” Mia lied, silently cursing the fact that her voice was shaking, “I just . . . g-get this way when I’m stressed—”

His frown got deeper. “Why are you so stressed? Is it your papers?” he asked, studying her with a perplexed look in his eyes.

Mia nodded slightly, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to calm herself. He might become suspicious if her tears didn’t have a good explanation. Unless . . .

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, no longer caring if he saw the glimmer there. “I really miss my family,” she confessed, and it was the truth. In this moment, she desperately wanted to be a child again, safe and sound in her parents’ house, with her mom making chicken soup with matzah balls and her dad reading a newspaper on the couch. She wanted to turn back the clock and go back to the last decade, to a time before people knew that there was life on other planets—and that their own planet would not belong to them much longer. To a time before she met the alien who was staring at her now with his beautiful amber eyes—the lover whom she had no choice but to betray.

Korum seemed to accept her explanation. “Mia,” he said quietly, letting go of her chin, “you’ll see them soon, I promise. I’m getting closer to completing my business here, and then I will take you there—”

“I haven’t even told them yet that I’m not coming,” said Mia, her voice thick with tears. “They’re expecting me this Saturday, and my plane ticket is   nonrefundable—”

He looked exasperated. “Are you worrying about money now? I will refund you the cost of the ticket—”

“My parents are the ones who bought it.”

“Okay, then I will refund the cost to your parents.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Mia, you don’t ever have to worry about these logistics when you’re with me. I’ll always take care of you and your family—you don’t need to stress about money ever again. I know your parents’ finances are tight, and I would be more than happy to assist them financially—or in whichever way they need.”

Mia swallowed a sob, feeling like an iron fist was squeezing her heart. As arrogant and high-handed as that statement was, she had no doubt that he was genuine in his offer. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “that’s very . . . generous of you—”

“Mia,” he said softly, “I care about you, okay? I want you to be happy with me, and I will do whatever I can to make that happen.”

His every word felt like he was cutting her with a knife, and she could no longer hold back. Burying her face in the pillow, she turned away from him and broke down crying, her entire body shaking from the force of her sobs.

“Mia?” His voice sounded uncertain for the first time since she’d met him. “What . . . Why are you crying?”

She cried even harder. She couldn’t tell him the truth, and the guilt was like acid in her chest, eating her up inside.

Tentatively touching her back, he stroked it in a soothing manner, murmuring little endearments. When that didn’t seem to help, he pulled her into his arms, letting her bury her face in the crook of his neck and cry while he stroked her hair.

So Mia cried. She cried for herself, and for him, and for the relationship that could never be . . . not even if he weren’t the enemy that she’d been spying on.

After a few minutes, when her sobs began to quiet down, he reached somewhere and handed her a tissue, letting her wipe her face and blow her nose before asking softly again, “Why?”

Mia looked at him, her vision still blurry with tears. The full truth was out of the question, of course, but she could tell him something that had been tormenting her for a while. “This is not right,” she whispered, her voice rough with residual tears. “You, me—it’s not right, it’s not natural . . . And it can never last—”

“Why not?” he said softly. “It can last for as long as we want it to last.”

“You’re not human,” she said, looking at him in disbelief. “How could it ever work for us?”

He hesitated for a second and then said, gently brushing her hair off her face, “It can—just trust me on that, darling. I can’t really say more right now, but we will talk about it later . . . when the time comes.”

Mia blinked in surprise, staring at him. This was something she hadn’t expected. Did he mean that there was some way for them to be together . . . as an actual couple? The implications of that were too big to contemplate right now, with her head pounding and her mind barely functioning in the aftermath of her emotional storm.

He pulled away then and got off the bed. “I’ll bring you something to make you feel better,” he said, and left the room.

Mia looked at the door, stifling a hysterical giggle at the thought that this was becoming a nightly occurrence. She just hoped he didn’t bring back the little tube.

He brought back a glass filled with some kind of milky liquid and handed it to her.

“What is it?” she asked, sniffing it with suspicion. It didn’t smell like anything.

He grinned at her, showing the dimple. “Not poison, I promise. It’s just a little something to help you sleep better and take away your headache.”

How did he know that her head was hurting? Mia blinked at him again.

As though reading her mind, he said, “I know how humans feel after crying. This drink is meant more for helping with a cold or a flu, but it doesn’t have any harmful side effects, so you might as well drink it now and feel better.”

Mia nodded in agreement and tasted the liquid. It didn’t have any flavor either; if not for the color, she would have thought she was drinking water. She felt dehydrated, so she gladly drank the entire glass. Almost immediately, the painful pressure around her temples eased, and the congested feeling in her nose disappeared. Another K wonder drug, apparently.

“Why do you have all these medicines for humans?” she asked, the thought only now occurring to her. “Do you also use these for yourself?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, they’re human-specific. We have other ways to heal ourselves.”

“So why have it then?” Mia persisted.

He shrugged. “I knew that I would be living among humans and interacting with them. It only made sense to have a few basics handy in case of various emergencies.”

Interacting with humans at his apartment? Mia suddenly felt an unwelcome pang of jealousy at the thought of other women being here, in this very bed. It wasn’t surprising, of course; he was a healthy, attractive male with a strong sex drive—it was perfectly normal for him to have had other sex partners before her, both human and K.

Or so she told herself. The green-eyed monster inside refused to listen to reason.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because he said softly, “And no, none of those interactions have been human women in recent months—definitely none since I met you.”

“What about K women?” she blurted out, and then mentally kicked herself. She had no right to be jealous after what she’d done. He was her enemy, and she had treated him as such. It was absurd to feel so relieved that she was the only woman in his life right now. Their days together were numbered, and it shouldn’t matter whether Korum had been faithful to her or if he had fucked a hundred women in the past month. Yet somehow it mattered to her—and it mattered a lot.

“None since we’ve met,” he said, smiling. He seemed pleased by her jealousy, and Mia nearly broke down crying again. Taking a deep breath, she controlled herself with great effort. A second crying fit would be even more difficult to explain.

“Let’s go to sleep, shall we?” he suggested softly. “You still seem stressed, and you’ll probably feel better in the morning.”

Mia nodded in agreement and lay down, covering herself with the blanket. Korum followed her example, pulling her toward him until they lay in his favorite spooning position.

Against all odds, Mia drifted off to sleep as soon as she closed her eyes, feeling comforted by the heat of his body wrapped around her own.

Chapter 21

MIA WOKE UP on Wednesday morning with a sense of dread in her stomach.

Today she had to tell her parents that she wasn’t coming to see them on Saturday. She still hadn’t come up with a good reason to explain the delay, especially since she was supposed to start her internship at the camp on Monday.

And if Korum discovered her involvement in what was about to befall the K colonies, then it might be the last time she was speaking to her family in general. That made it even more imperative that she present an upbeat and positive image today, so as not to make her parents worry prematurely. It would be better if she left only good memories behind when she disappeared from their lives.

At that thought, stupid tears threatened again, and Mia took a deep breath to control herself. She didn’t have time for this right now; she still had to write the last paper. Although it made no sense to care about something so trivial in her precarious situation, not writing the paper would be like giving up—and some small part of Mia was still hopeful that there might be light at the end of this tunnel, that some semblance of a normal life was still possible if she made it through the next couple of weeks unscathed.

Clinging to that thought, Mia dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. Korum was nowhere to be found in the apartment, and she guessed he was off doing whatever he normally did during the day. It probably had something to do with tracking the Resistance fighters, but she had no way of knowing that for sure. Grabbing a quick breakfast, she headed to the library in the hopes that she might be better able to concentrate there.

The day was beautiful and sunny—a perfect foil for her gloomy mood. Under normal circumstances, Mia would have taken a nice lengthy walk to the library, but time was of essence and she took a cab instead. Staying at Korum’s place and eating nearly all her meals with him, Mia was flush with cash for the first time in her college career. The student grants that helped pay for tuition and books also provided a minimal allowance for food and other living expenses, but it was usually just enough for her to survive on. Eating out in restaurants or taking cabs were indulgences that Mia could not normally afford, and it was nice to be able to splurge now that she didn’t worry so much about the cost of food.

The library was a zoo. Just about every NYU student was there, frantically cramming for exams and writing papers. Of course, Mia realized, it was finals week. She should’ve just stayed in the comfortable study room Korum had set up for her, but she’d wanted to be some place where nothing reminded her of the mess that her life had become.

After wandering around for a good fifteen minutes, she finally located a soft chair that had just been vacated by a pimply red-headed boy who looked like he was all of twelve years old. Quickly occupying it before anyone else saw her prize, Mia smiled to herself. Not that she was all that old, but some of the freshmen looked ridiculously young to her these days.

Five hours later, Mia triumphantly finished the last sentence and saved her work. She still had to proofread the damn thing, but the bulk of the job was done. Gathering her things, she left the library and went to her own apartment, hoping to see Jessie and have a chance to talk to her parents.

Jessie wasn’t home when she got there, so that left only the parents. Taking a deep breath, Mia turned on her computer and prepared to be as bright and bubbly as any college student who was almost done with finals week.

“Mia! Sweetheart, how are you?” Her mom was in fine form today, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement and a huge smile on her face.

Mia grinned back at her. “I’m almost done! Just have to proofread the last paper, and then the school year is officially over for me,” said Mia, keeping her voice purposefully upbeat.

“Oh, that’s great!” her mom exclaimed. “We can’t wait to see you this weekend! Marisa and Connor are coming over on Sunday, and we’ll have a big dinner. I’ll make all your favorites. I already bought some eggs and even a bit of goat cheese—”

“Mom,” interrupted Mia, feeling like she was dying a little inside, “there’s something I need to tell you . . .”

Her mom paused for a second, looking puzzled. “What is it, honey?”

Mia took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. “One of my professors asked me for a big favor this week,” she said slowly, having come up with a semi-plausible story in the last few minutes. “There’s a program here at NYU where psychology students go and spend some time with disadvantaged high school kids from some of the worst neighborhoods . . .”

“Uh-huh,” said her mom, a small frown appearing on her face.

“It’s a great program,” lied Mia. “These kids don’t really have anyone to help them figure out the next steps, whether they should go to college or not, how they should apply if they decide to go . . . And you know, that’s exactly what I want to do—provide that type of counseling . . .”

Her mom’s frown got a little deeper.

Mia hurried with her explanation. “Well, I didn’t know about this program before, but I was chatting with my professor this week and mentioned my interest in counseling to him. And that’s when he told me about this program, and that he was actually desperately looking for a volunteer to help out for a week or two this summer—”

“But you’re flying home on Saturday,” her mom said, looking increasingly unhappy. “When would you be able to do this?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” said Mia, hating herself for lying like this, “I don’t think I can come home this weekend, not if I do this program—”

“What! What do you mean, you can’t come home this weekend?” Her mom appeared livid now. “You already have a ticket and everything! And what about your camp internship? Aren’t you supposed to start that on Monday?”

“I already spoke with the camp director,” lied Mia again. “He’s fine with pushing back my start date by two weeks. I explained the whole situation, and he was very understanding. And my professor said he’ll reimburse me for the cost of the ticket and even buy me another one to make up for this—”

“Well, that’s the least he could do! What about the money you were going to earn during those two weeks of your internship?” her mom said angrily. “And what about the fact that we haven’t seen you since March? How could he ask you to do something like that, so last-minute?”

“Mom,” said Mia in a pleading tone, “it’s a great opportunity for me. This is exactly what I want to do career-wise, and it’ll really boost my chances of getting into a good grad school. Plus, the professor said he’ll write me a glowing recommendation if I do this—and you know how important those are for grad school applications . . .”

Her mom was blinking rapidly, and there was a suspicious glimmer in her eyes. “Of course,” she said, a wealth of disappointment in her voice, “I know that stuff is important . . . We were just so looking forward to seeing you this Saturday, and now this—”

Every word her mom said was like a knife scraping at Mia’s insides. “I know, mom, I’m really sorry about this,” she said, blinking to hold back her own tears. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, okay? It won’t be so bad, you’ll see . . .”

Her mom sniffed a little. “So no family dinner this Sunday, I guess.”

Mia shook her head with regret. “No . . . but we’ll have one in two weeks, okay? I’ll cook and everything—”

“Oh, please, Mia, you couldn’t cook to save your life!” her mom said irately, but a tiny smile appeared on her face. “I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t manage to boil water—”

“I can boil water now,” said Mia defensively. “I’ve been living on my own for the last three years, you know, and I can even make rice—”

The tiny smile became a full-blown grin. “Wow, rice? That is progress,” her mom said with barely contained laughter. “I honestly don’t know what you’re going to do when you meet someone . . .”

“Oh, mom, not this again,” groaned Mia.

“It’s true, you know. Men still like it when a woman can make a good meal, and keep the house—”

“And do laundry, and be a general domestic slave, and yadda yadda yadda,” finished Mia, rolling her eyes. Her mom could be amazingly old-fashioned sometimes.

“Exactly. Mark my words, unless you find some guy who likes to cook, you’ll be stuck eating takeout for the rest of your life,” her mom said ominously.

Mia shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek to avoid bursting into semi-hysterical laughter. The irony of it was that she had actually found such a guy—except he wasn’t human. She wondered what her mom would say if she told her about Korum. He’s great: he loves to cook and even does laundry for us both. Just one tiny issue—he’s a blood-drinking alien. No, that probably wouldn’t go over well at all.

“Mom, don’t worry about me, okay? Everything will be fine.” At least Mia sincerely hoped that was the case. “We’ll see each other soon, and maybe I’ll really try to learn how to cook this summer. How about that?” Mia gave her mom a big smile, trying to prevent any more lectures.

Her mom shook her head in reproach and sighed. “Sure. I’ll tell your dad what happened. He’ll be so disappointed . . .”

Mia felt terrible again. “Where is he?” she asked, wanting to speak to her father as well.

“He’s out getting the car fixed. The damn thing broke again. We should really get a new one . . . but maybe next year.”

Mia nodded sympathetically. She knew her parents’ financial situation was not the best these days. Her mom was currently between jobs. As an elementary school teacher, she was usually in demand. However, the private school where she had taught for the past eight years had closed recently, resulting in a number of teachers losing their positions and all applying for the same few openings in the local public schools. Her dad—a political science professor at the local community college—was now supporting the family on his one salary, and they had to be careful with bigger expenses, such as a new car. In general, her family, like many other middle-class Americans with 401(k) retirement plans, had suffered in the K Crash—the huge stock market crash that took place when the Krinar had arrived. At one point, the Dow had lost almost ninety percent of its value, and it was only about a year ago that the markets had recovered fully.

“All right,” said Mia, “I’ll try to log back in later, see if I can reach dad.”

“Call Marisa too,” her mom said. “I know she was really looking forward to seeing you on Sunday.”

Mia nodded. “I will, definitely.”

Her mom sighed again. “Well, I guess we’ll talk to you soon then.”

“I love you, mom,” said Mia, feeling like her chest was getting squeezed in a vise. “I hope you know that. You and dad are the best parents ever.”

“Of course,” her mom said, looking a bit puzzled. “We love you too. Come home soon, okay?”

“I will,” said Mia, blowing an air kiss toward the computer screen, and ended the conversation.

Her sister was next. For once, she was actually reachable on Skype.

“Hey there, baby sis! What’s this text I just got from mom about you not coming home?”

Mia hadn’t seen her sister since she got pregnant, and she was surprised to see Marisa looking pale and thin, instead of having that pregnancy glow she’d always heard about.

“Marisa!” she exclaimed. “What’s going on with you? You don’t look well. Are you sick?”

Her sister made a face. “If you can call having a baby sickness, then yes. I’m throwing up constantly,” she complained. “I just can’t keep anything down. I’ve actually lost five pounds since I got pregnant—”

Mia gasped in shock. Five pounds was a lot for someone her sister’s size. While a little taller and curvier than Mia, Marisa was also small-boned, with her normal weight hovering somewhere around 110-115 pounds. Now she looked too thin, her cheekbones overly prominent in her usually pretty face.

“—and my doctor is not happy about that.”

“Of course, he’s not happy! Did he say what you should do?”

Marisa sighed. “He said to get more rest and try not to stress. So I am working from home today, preparing my lessons for next week, and they got someone to substitute for me for a few days.”

“Oh my God, you poor thing,” said Mia sympathetically. “That sucks. Can you eat anything, like maybe crackers or some broth?”

“That’s what I’m subsisting on these days. Well, that and pickles.” Marisa gave her a wan smile. “For some reason, I can’t stop eating those Israeli pickles—you know, the little crunchy ones?”

Mia nodded, stifling a grin. Her sister had always been a pickles fan, so it really wasn’t surprising she was going pickle-crazy during her pregnancy.

“So anyway, enough about my stomach issues . . . What’s going on with you? Why aren’t you coming this Saturday? We were all ready and excited to come over, see you and the parents—”

Mia took a deep breath and repeated the whole story to Marisa. She was getting so good at lying that she could almost believe herself. Maybe she should think about starting such a program at NYU next year—if she was still alive and attending school at that time, of course.

Her sister listened to everything with a vaguely disbelieving expression. And then, being Marisa, she asked, “Is the professor cute?”

To her horror, Mia felt her cheeks turning pink. “What? No! He’s old and has kids and stuff!”

“Uh-huh,” said Marisa. “So I’m supposed to believe you would be willing to do something like this at the request of an ugly professor? Just to pad your resume a little?” She shook her head slightly. “Nope, I just don’t see it.” A sly smile appearing on her face, she asked, “Just how old is old?”

Mia cursed her poor acting skills. Now Marisa would probably go blabbing to their parents that Mia had a crush on her professor. She tried to imagine liking Professor Dunkin that way and shuddered. Between his receding hairline and the yellowish spittle that frequently appeared in the corners of his mouth when he spoke, he was probably one of the least attractive individuals she’d ever met.

“Old,” Mia said firmly. “And unattractive.”

Marisa grinned, undeterred. “Okay, then, who is he?” she persisted. “I know you, baby sis . . . and you’re hiding something. If it’s not the old and unattractive professor you’re staying in New York for, then who is it?”

“No one,” said Mia. “There’s no man in my life . . . you know that.” And she wasn’t lying. There wasn’t a human man—just an extraterrestrial of the male variety. Who was also old—a lot older than her sister could imagine.

“Oh, please, then why are you acting so weird? You’ve been kinda strange for the past month, in fact,” said Marisa, looking at her intently. “Mia . . . is something wrong?”

Mia shook her head in denial and silently cursed Marisa’s sisterly intuition. It had been so much easier to fool her mom. “No, everything’s fine. It’s just been stressful, you know, with finals and all . . .”

“Uh-huh,” said Marisa, “you’ve had finals for the past three years, and it’s never been like this. I can see you’re not yourself, Mia. Now fess up . . . what’s happening?”

Mia shook her head again, and tried putting on a bright smile. “Nothing! I don’t know what you’re talking about—there’s absolutely nothing wrong. I just got a great opportunity to get some valuable work experience, and I am taking advantage of it. I’ll see you soon, just in a couple of weeks. There’s nothing to worry about—”

“Have you already bought tickets?” interrupted Marisa. “Do you have a set date when you’re flying in?”

“Not yet,” Mia admitted. “I’ll do that soon. The professor said he’ll buy me a new plane ticket, so there’s nothing to worry about about—”

“Nothing to worry about? Mia, I know when you’re lying,” said Marisa, giving her a strict look. “You’re terrible at it. You’ve been such a good girl your whole life, you’ve had absolutely no practice deceiving your parents—or me. You’ve never even snuck out to a party in high school . . .”

Mia bit her lip. How did Marisa get to be so observant? This was a big problem. Maybe if she told her a partial truth . . .

“Okay,” said Mia, choosing her words carefully. “Let’s say that there’s something to what you’re saying . . . If I tell you, do you promise not to tell the parents? They’ll worry, and it’s really not necessary—”

Marisa looked at her, her blue eyes narrowed in consideration. “Okay,” she said slowly, “you can always talk to me, baby sis, you know that. I’ll keep your secret . . . but only if it’s nothing life-threatening that parents must know about.”

It actually was something life-threatening, but parents definitely didn’t need to know about that. Mia sighed. Since she started going down this path, she might as well tell her sister something, or else her entire family will be calling in panic within a half-hour.

Taking a deep breath, Mia said, “You’re right. I did meet someone—”

“I knew it!” yelled Marisa triumphantly.

“—and he’s not exactly someone you’d be happy to see me with.”

Marisa stared at her in surprise. “Why? Who is he? Another student?”

Mia shook her head. “No, that’s the problem. He’s older, and he’s not exactly first-boyfriend material.”

“Are we talking about the professor now?” asked Marisa in confusion.

“No, the professor is just the professor. It’s someone else. He’s actually a senior executive in a tech company,” fibbed Mia, trying to stick as close as possible to the truth. “I met him in the park one day, and we’ve been sleeping together—”

“What?” Her sister was gaping at her in disbelief. “Is he married? Does he have any children?”

“No, and no. But I know it’s just a temporary fling for him, so I really didn’t want to go into any details with you and the parents . . .”

As Mia was speaking, a big smile slowly appeared on Marisa’s face. “A fling? Wow. When my baby sis decides to finally lose her virginity, she does it with style! A senior executive no less . . .”

Mia shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

“What’s his name?”

“Uh, I’d rather not say,” mumbled Mia. “He’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks, and there’s no point in discussing the whole thing—”

“Leaving to go where?”

“Um . . . Dubai.” Mia had no idea why she’d chosen that particular location, but it seemed to fit the story.

“Dubai? Is he from there originally?” Her sister’s curiosity knew no bounds.

Mia sighed. “Marisa, listen, there’s really no point in discussing it. He’ll leave, and that’s that.”

Her sister cocked her head to the side, studying Mia’s face. “And you’re okay with that, baby sis?” she asked quietly. “Your first lover leaving just like that?”

Mia looked away, trying to hide the moisture in her eyes. “He has to leave, Marisa. There’s no choice. It doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it or not.”

“Of course, it matters,” said Marisa. “Do you think he cares for you at all? Or are you just a pretty college girl he’s sleeping with while in New York?”

Mia shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he might care about me a little.”

“But not enough to stay?”

“No, he can’t stay,” said Mia. “And it doesn’t matter. We’re not right for each other, anyway. The relationship was doomed from the start.”

“Why did you start it then?” asked Marisa, eyeing her with bewilderment. “Is he really good-looking? Did he sweep you off your feet or something?”

Mia nodded. “He’s gorgeous, and he’s smart, and he knows a lot about everything . . .” Those were all true statements. “And he took me out to all kinds of fancy restaurants and Broadway shows—”

“Wow, Mia,” said Marisa, looking envious for the first time in Mia’s memory, “that sounds like a dream guy.”

Mia smiled. “And he’s also a great cook, and does laundry—”

“Oh my God, where did you find this paragon?”

“I know, right? Mom would have a cow if she heard about this.”

And the sisters grinned at each other in perfect understanding.

Then Marisa got serious again. “So why can’t it work out for the two of you? He sounds perfect. Does he have some major character flaw that you can’t stand?”

“Well, he’s very bossy and autocratic,” admitted Mia, “so I definitely have a problem with that. And where he comes from, they don’t necessarily view, um, women . . . as equals, if you know what I mean?” That was as close to the truth as she could get.

Marisa’s eyes widened in understanding. “Ohhh, is he one of those Middle Eastern types? With a harem and all . . . who require their women to be veiled from head to toe?”

Mia shrugged. “Something like that. So it could never really go anywhere. We come from very different worlds.” Mia meant that in the literal sense, but Marisa didn’t need to know that.

“Wow, baby sis.” Marisa was looking at her with newfound respect. “I have to say, you’ve surprised me. No boring college boys for you . . . oh, no—you’ve gone straight for the big leagues. A sheikh from Dubai, huh?”

Mia flushed. “He’s not a sheikh, just an executive.”

“Wow.” Her sister was still looking impressed. “So did he give you any fancy gifts or jewelry?”

Mia smiled. Her sister was so predictable sometimes. Even though she lived a simple life for the most part, Marisa definitely appreciated the finer things in life—nice hotels, designer clothes, beautiful accessories.

“He bought me a whole new wardrobe from Saks Fifth Avenue,” admitted Mia. “He really didn’t like my old clothes—”

“OH MY GOD, FROM SAKS?” Marisa’s shriek was ear-piercing. “Are you serious? You’ve gotta let me borrow something when you come!”

Mia laughed. “Of course! Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Oh crap, never mind,” said Marisa, “I just realized that soon I won’t be able to borrow anything from anyone—especially from my tiny baby sister. In a couple of months, I’ll be a total cow.”

“Oh please,” said Mia, laughing at the image of her svelte sister looking even remotely cow-like, “you’ll look like one of those actresses in Hollywood—all normal, just with a cute little baby bump.”

Marisa shuddered. “I certainly hope so. But I have to say, so far, pregnancy is nothing like what I’d imagined.”

Mia looked at her sympathetically. “That sucks. Hang in there, okay? It’s just a few more months, and then you’ll have a beautiful child . . .”

Marisa beamed at her. “That’s true. And you too, baby sis, hang in there, okay? Call me if you ever want to talk about Mr. Gorgeous again. And I promise I won’t say anything to the parents. You’re right—they would worry unnecessarily. This type of stuff is best left for talks with your sister.”

Mia smiled and said, “That’s what I thought. I love you. Say hello to Connor for me, okay?”

“Will do,” said Marisa, and disconnected with one final wave.

Relieved, Mia stared at the blank computer screen. She had lied to her family, but at least she’d managed to prevent them from freaking out completely. In a way, the conversation with Marisa had been therapeutic. Although she couldn’t tell her sister the whole truth, she’d been able to share enough details to make herself feel much better about the situation. Marisa’s nonjudgmental, sympathetic ear had been exactly what she’d needed at this point.

Now she had to finish editing the paper—and then she will have completed everything she’d set out to do for the day.

Chapter 22

NOW THAT SHE was done with studying, Mia had no idea what to do with herself. Waking up on Thursday morning, she submitted her papers online and decided to go for a walk in Central Park. Korum again left early in the morning, before she had woken up, so she was on her own for the day. She texted Jessie, but her roommate had her Calculus exam in the afternoon and was frantically cramming. Mia wished there was someone else she could hang out with, just to avoid being alone with her thoughts, but most other students were too busy packing for the summer or still in the middle of finals.

The middle of May was usually a ‘hit-or-miss’ weather in New York. This year, it seemed like summer had started early, and the temperature that day was a balmy seventy-five degrees. Mia gladly put on one of her new spring dresses, a simple blue cotton sheath, and a pair of cream-colored sandals that managed to be both comfortable and stylish. And then she headed out to join the hordes of New Yorkers and tourists that came out to enjoy Central Park.

It was hard to believe that only a month ago Mia had been walking here by herself, with no real knowledge of the Ks, thinking about nothing more than her Sociology paper. She hadn’t met Korum yet, and had no idea what a drastic turn her life would take in the next few minutes. What would have happened if she hadn’t sat down on that bench that day? Would she even now be packing to go home on Saturday?

As though her feet had a mind of their own, Mia found herself heading toward Bow Bridge, the place of her first close encounter. Unlike the last time, the little bridge was teeming with people today, all seeking to take photos of the picturesque view. Mia found herself a spot on a bench next to a young couple and settled in to read the latest bestselling thriller—something she only had time to do when school wasn’t in session.

After a half hour, the couple left, and Mia got the entire bench to herself. Before she could enjoy it for long, however, she heard her name being called. Startled, she looked up and saw a young woman, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a white sleeveless shirt, approaching the bench. Her short sandy hair was tousled, like a boy’s, and her arms were sleekly muscled. It was Leslie, the girl she’d met that one time with John—one of the Resistance fighters.

“Hey Mia,” she said, “do you mind if I join you for a minute?” Without waiting for a response, she sat down on Mia’s bench.

“Sure, be my guest,” said Mia, somewhat rudely. Leslie was not her favorite person, and she really didn’t feel like being tasked with something else right now. As far as Mia was concerned, she had carried out her mission, and all she wanted was to be left alone.

“Look,” said Leslie, her tone far friendlier than before, “I know we got off on the wrong foot. I just wanted to say thanks for what you did, and to give you something from John.” She held out a small oval object that looked vaguely like a garage opener or an automatic car key.

“What is it?” asked Mia warily, not taking it from her.

“It’s a weapon,” said Leslie, “a weapon that you can use to protect yourself in case Korum figures out what happened before we have a chance to neutralize him.”

“Neutralize him?”

Leslie sighed. “As per your request, we’ll try to capture him alive, so he can be deported back to Krina. It’s not going to be easy, but we’ll do our best.”

Mia swallowed. “What . . . um, when are you going to do it?”

“We can’t do it before the shields are down, and the attack on the K Centers is underway. He might be able to warn them, or get reinforcements, if we try to take him now, so we can’t risk it. It’ll have to be almost simultaneous. He’s not the only one. There are other Ks who are outside their Centers right now. As soon as they learn of the attack on their colonies—and they’ll learn it almost immediately—they will join in the fight. But they’re not in some remote areas—they are in our cities, near our government centers. If they realize that we’ve broken the treaty, they will attack us—and many civilian lives will be lost before we would be able to stop them. So we need to plan everything very carefully, or else it’s going to turn into a bloodbath.”

This was bad, thought Mia. Really bad. She hadn’t thought of that aspect—other Ks who, like Korum, were living among humans for whatever reason. Strong, fast, and armed with K technology, even one individual could inflict a tremendous amount of damage on the human population. She tried to imagine Korum fighting to protect his kind, and shuddered at the thought. Just that one brief glimpse of his rage in the club had been frightening. She had no doubt that he could be truly brutal if the occasion called for it.

Turning her attention back to the little object, Mia asked, “So what is this weapon supposed to do?”

“It dissolves molecular bonds, breaking down everything in its path,” said Leslie. “Essentially, it’ll turn whatever you want into dust. It’s a simple miniature version of the big weapon we intend to use to make the Ks surrender.”

Aghast, Mia stared at the small, harmless-looking device in Leslie’s palm. “So it could turn a person to dust?”

Leslie nodded. “It’ll work on whatever is in its path. The nanomachines it releases work for a period of only about thirty seconds before they become inactive, but that time is usually enough to completely dissolve a person. You don’t even need to worry about shooting him in the chest or whatever—if the nanos get on any part of his body, he’s toast.”

Mia nearly gagged at the thought. “What? No! I could never do something like this!” she exclaimed in horror. “I can’t use it on him—”

“You can, and you will,” said Leslie, “if your life is at stake. I have no idea if he’ll make the connection between what’s happening in the K Centers and you—but he’s supposed to be some kind of a genius, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.” Running her hand through her short hair in a frustrated motion, Leslie added, “And it’s best if you do it quickly, before he has a chance to react. Just point and shoot, no thinking . . . do you understand me? They’re fast, Mia, really fast.”

Mia shook her head. “I won’t do it. I can’t—”

Leslie shrugged. “That’s your call. If you’d rather die, then so be it—it’s none of my business. John asked me to give it to you, and here it is. You can take it and not use it, if that’s what you want. But at least you won’t be completely helpless when all this shit goes down.” She put the device on Mia’s lap. “If you want to use it, just feel for the little indentation on the side—if you press firmly there, it’s going to go off. Just be sure to point the rounded end toward him—”

Mia shook her head again. “I won’t use it,” she said with firm conviction.

Leslie looked at her with something resembling pity. “You idiot,” she said softly, “you’ve fallen for the monster, haven’t you?”

Mia looked away. “That’s none of your business,” she said quietly, examining her fingernails. “I did what needed to be done. He’ll leave, and that’s all there is to it.”

“You stupid girl,” said Leslie in a contemptuous tone, “you’re nothing to him—less than nothing. He’ll crush you like a bug if you’re anywhere in the vicinity when we attack. Just because he likes to fuck you doesn’t mean he’ll have mercy on you if he learns what you’ve done. He’s slept with hundreds of women just like you—thousands, probably—and you’re nothing special—”

“You don’t know anything!” interrupted Mia, feeling each word like a stab in the heart. “You’ve never even met him—”

Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to meet him to know exactly what he’s like—what all of them are like, Mia. They have no regard for us, for human life. We’re just an experiment to them, something they’ve created. As far as they’re concerned, we’re their creatures—theirs to do with as they please. And if it pleases them, they will get rid of us and take over our planet for their own use. And you’re a fool if you think he’s somehow different. He’s as bad as they come—he’s the one who led them here . . .”

Leslie was right. Mia knew all of that with the rational part of her mind, but her stupid heart refused to get with the program. The knowledge that he would be gone from her life in a few short days was strangely painful, and the thought that he might be harmed in the process made her stomach twist with fear. And yet Leslie was right—he probably would not hesitate to kill her if he learned that her actions had threatened the Ks’ agenda here on Earth.

She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t think she could kill him, not even in self-defense.

Taking a deep breath, Mia asked, “When is it happening? How long until the attack takes place?”

Leslie hesitated, apparently wondering if Mia was still trustworthy.

“Leslie,” Mia said wearily, “I know what would happen if he found out I was helping you. I won’t warn him. I can’t, not without losing my life in the process. I have no regrets about what I’ve done. Just because I can’t kill someone I’ve been intimate with for the past month doesn’t mean I would betray our cause. I just want to know how much longer I have—”

“Until tomorrow,” said Leslie. “You have until tomorrow. My advice is to disappear in the morning—get away as far as you can. Don’t pack, don’t do anything to raise his suspicions. Just leave. One way or another, everything will be over by this weekend.”

* * *

THAT EVENING, KORUM came home late, closer to nine o’clock.

Mia found herself pacing back and forth in the living room starting at five o’clock, unable to sit still or relax in anticipation of what was to come. If Leslie had told her the truth, this would be her last night together with Korum . . . and maybe the last night she was alive. To maximize her chances of survival, she decided to follow Leslie’s advice about leaving first thing in the morning. Korum would likely be gone from the apartment by then, and she would have a chance to escape—maybe taking the subway to one of the boroughs. The dissolver, as she’d decided to call it, was sitting in her purse, safe and sound. She had no intention of using it on Korum, but it was still good to know that she had something she could defend herself with, in case all hell did break loose on Friday.

Just to keep herself busy, she went through her closet and tried on a few of her new dresses. Her wardrobe was so large now that many of her clothes still had tags on them, and she had no idea what she owned. Everything fit her perfectly, of course; the shoppers from Saks had done their job. After an hour of trying on one outfit after another, Mia settled on a simple grey sleeveless dress, made of some cotton-silk blend, that hugged her upper body and flared gently from the waist down to her knees. Despite the conservative color and cut, it looked stylish and sexy—as did most of what Mia wore now. To go with the dress, Mia decided to apply some makeup, putting on one coat of mascara and a light dusting of powder. She had no idea why it was suddenly so important to look good tonight, since she didn’t normally obsess over such things, but she wanted to appear particularly attractive to Korum this evening. Finishing the outfit with a pair of strappy black heels, Mia resumed her impatient pacing.

He had given her a phone number where he could be reached in case she needed him, but Mia had never used it before. As eight o’clock rolled by, however, she seriously contemplated calling him to find out his whereabouts. But that would be so far out of character for her that he might wonder—and she didn’t want to chance his getting suspicious.

Finally, the door opened at a quarter to nine. He came in, dressed in a simple pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt. It didn’t matter what he wore, of course; he would have looked stunning in rags. At the sight of her standing there, a wide dimpled smile appeared on his beautiful face, lighting his features and making those amber eyes crinkle at the corners. And then a familiar golden glow lit his gaze.

Before she had a chance to say anything, he was next to her, lifting her up effortlessly for a deep, thorough kiss. His tongue stabbed into her mouth, and Mia wound her arms around him and kissed him back, passionately and a little desperately. Her legs found their way around his hips, and they stayed like that, locked in each others’ arms, until Mia was gasping for breath and writhing against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest and her sex grinding on his pelvis. He groaned low in his throat, and she could feel his erection grow even bigger, pressing into her nether regions through the material that separated them. Holding her up with one arm, he found the lacy scrap of material that covered her pussy and tore it off, his fingers petting and exploring her moist folds. Mia moaned, driven nearly mindless with desire, and heard the sound of a zipper sliding down. And then he was inside her, his cock thrusting up into her even as he still held her like that, lifted up against him while he was standing in the middle of the living room.

Shocked at the suddenness of his penetration, Mia cried out, her inner tissues struggling to accommodate the intrusion, and he paused for a second, letting her get used to the feel of him in the unfamiliar position. And then he started moving, raising her up and down with one hand while his other hand buried itself in her hair, bringing her mouth back toward him. There was no slow and gentle build-up this time, as everything inside Mia tensed simultaneously, and then she was hurling into the climax, her muscles clamping down on his shaft, and he was coming too, so deeply inside her that she felt his contractions in her belly.

Panting, Mia collapsed against him, unable to believe that this happened just now, in the span of all of two minutes. His breathing was heavy as well, and she could feel his powerful chest moving up and down as she hung in his grasp, his cock still inside her. Once the pulsations of his orgasm ended, he lifted her up and placed her carefully on the ground, his hands still wrapped around her waist. Mia’s legs were shaking, and she clung to him, grateful for the support.

Staring up at him, Mia noticed that his eyes were returning back to their regular amber color. His lips curling into a small, wry smile, he said huskily, “I guess I have to apologize again—clearly I don’t have any control where you’re concerned. I really didn’t mean to jump you like that first thing. You’re probably hungry too . . .”

Mia actually was, but it didn’t matter. Blushing a little at the feel of his semen sliding down her leg, she mumbled quietly, “No, no need for apologies . . . you know that I really enjoyed it too . . .”

His smile now held purely masculine satisfaction. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “Now how about some dinner?”

Mia nodded in agreement, and blushed even more when he disappeared for a second and came back with a paper towel that he handed to her. Embarrassed, Mia looked away as she cleaned off the remnants of their passion.

He laughed softly. “You’re still such a prude,” he teased gently. “We’ll have to cure you of that at some point. It’s all natural, you know.”

Mia shrugged, purposefully not meeting his eyes. For some reason, she still had these occasional bouts of shyness around him, despite all the hot and raunchy sex they’ve had in the past month.

Korum laughed some more, and then asked, “Since you’re dressed so nicely, how do you feel about going out for some French cuisine?”

Mia felt great about that, and she told him so.

“Okay, then, let me take a quick rinse and change, and we’ll go,” he said, stripping off the T-shirt on the way to the bathroom. The sight of his lean, muscled back made her insides clench with desire again. Why him, she wondered again in desperation, why did he have to be the one to make her feel this way? And how would she be able to bear it when he was gone for good?

The dinner was at a little French place Mia had never heard of. Nonetheless, the meal was outstanding, from the ratatouille Mia had gotten for her main course to the super-light pastry they ended up sharing for dessert.

“So are you now officially done with school for this year?” Korum asked, taking a sip of his red wine. He seemed to like wine and champagne, Mia had noticed, although she had never seen it have any effect on him. Then again, she’d never seen him have more than a couple of glasses.

“That’s it,” she replied, spearing a piece of zucchini with her fork. “The school year is officially over for me. I turned in all the papers today, and now I can be a total bum.”

He grinned. “Somehow I can’t quite envision you bumming around all day. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been busy studying or doing something for school.” Reaching for her, he lightly stroked her cheek, his expression becoming more serious. “It’ll be nice to have you relax a little. You’ve been working way too hard in these past couple of weeks. I don’t think all that stress is good for your health.”

Mia gave him a surprised look. “I’m fine,” she protested. “I feel great—it’s really not a problem at all.”

Korum regarded her intently, a concerned expression on his face. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Your immune system is so delicate, so fragile—it’s really not good for you to overload yourself like that.”

Mia shrugged, wondering what got him started on that topic. “My immune system is fine,” she said. “It’s as strong as that of any other human. You really don’t need to worry about me—I don’t get sick often or anything like that.”

“As strong as any human is not all that strong,” he said, a slight furrow between his dark brows. He looked at her speculatively, and Mia had no idea what he was thinking. Whatever it was, he apparently came to some conclusion, because his forehead smoothed out. Changing the topic, he asked about her day, and the conversation again flowed casually and easily.

As the dinner went on, Mia couldn’t help but stare at him, drinking in the sight of his face, the animated gestures he used when he spoke about something he found exciting, the way his tall, muscular body moved in his chair—even the smallest of motions endowed with that athletic, inhuman grace. Her flesh craved him sexually, but it now went beyond that. Every cell in her body yearned to be with him, and the thought of tomorrow filled her with a cold, sick horror. She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t warn him of what was to come, but she could try to remember every moment of this evening, to commit to her memory the curve of his mouth, the bold slashes of his eyebrows, the way his laugh sounded when she said something amusing.

An agonizing realization tore through her then: she loved him. Despite everything she knew about him, despite everything he’d done to her, despite the fact that he was her enemy and she’d betrayed him—despite all that, she loved him with every fiber of her being.

And tomorrow, she would lose him forever.

Chapter 23

A FAINT BUT steady sound of rain woke up Mia the next morning. Still half-asleep, she stretched, reluctant to face the day for some reason—and then her brain connected the dots and she sat up, gasping at the realization of what was to take place this morning.

Jumping out of bed, she forced herself to walk to the restroom and brush her teeth, following her usual morning routine in case Korum was still in the house. Once done, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a comfy long-sleeved shirt and carefully ventured out into the living room to check on the situation.

The living room and the kitchen areas were empty, and Mia almost shuddered with relief. Korum must have followed his usual routine, leaving for the day to do whatever it was that he did. And after the wave of relief came disappointment. Rationally, she knew that she should be glad she would have a chance to get away, that fate was being kind by enabling her to avoid one last—potentially deadly—encounter with her alien lover, but that didn’t help the gaping wound in her heart that had opened at the recognition that she would never see him again.

Last night had been incredible, the sex between them as close to lovemaking as Mia had ever experienced. He had treated her like a princess, worshipping her with his body, and Mia had cried again in the aftermath, unable to stem the flood at the knowledge of what tomorrow would bring. He had tried to soothe her, to find out what was causing her distress this time, but Mia had been incoherent. And finally, he had simply taken her again, his body driving into hers in a savage, relentless rhythm until she could not think about anything at all, her worries burning up in the heat of passion—until she screamed in ecstasy as he brought her to peak, over and over again. And then she had simply passed out, too exhausted to remember why she had been crying in the first place.

But she couldn’t think about that now. Not if she wanted to get out alive.

Grabbing her purse, Mia laced up her sneakers and prepared to leave Korum’s apartment. With one last look at the cream-colored furniture and leafy plants, she walked toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the rest.

She wasn’t sure what made her turn back, to go toward his office, leaving her purse sitting on the couch in the living room. Was her subconscious still clinging to the hope that he was here? That she might be able to see him one final time? She didn’t think so, but her feet appeared to have a mind of her own, bringing her toward the sliding doors that parted at her approach.

There was no one in the room, but a giant three-dimensional map shimmered before her, looking like nothing she had ever seen before.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Mia stepped into the room, as though drawn in by an invisible string.

This was not New York spread out before her; she would have recognized that at a glance. In fact, it was not like a city at all. Vegetation was everywhere. Lush green plants seemed to dominate the landscape, ranging from the familiar to the exotic. Pale-colored oblong structures could be seen peeking through the trees, looking a bit like strange mushroom caps. If it hadn’t been for the structures, Mia would’ve thought she was looking at a park or a forest in some tropical country. The place was beautiful . . . and alien. Every little hair on her nape stood up as Mia realized exactly what she was looking at.

It had to be a K Center . . . perhaps even their main one in Costa Rica. Lenkarda, Korum had called it once.

Her heart racing, Mia assessed the situation. She needed to leave, and she needed to do so now. Why would Korum be looking at a map of one of the K Centers? Was he suspecting something? And why would he be so careless as to leave it visible like that? Did he suspect her after all? Was this a trap?

At the last thought, Mia felt a cold wave of terror rushing through her veins. She had to leave right now.

Yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the incredible picture in front of her. How many humans had seen such an amazing sight? The K Centers were closely guarded, with a no-fly zone established over them. Even human satellites could not view them; the Krinar shields had rendered the settlements all but invisible to human electronics. And here was a chance for her to look at an alien colony, to see where Korum had lived.

A terrible curiosity drove Mia now. Ignoring all reason and common sense, she stepped further into the room, slowly circling around the table and studying the tableau laid out in front of her.

The buildings—if that’s what they were—were spaced widely apart and blended harmoniously into their surroundings. There were no paved roads or sidewalks as far as Mia could see; instead, each structure stood alone, right in the middle of all the greenery. And there were no windows or doors, Mia realized—at least none visible to her eyes. Each building was light in color; ivory, cream, and soft beige were the most prevalent, although light grey and pale peach shades could also be seen.

Toward the center of the map, there were several larger structures, including one big circular dome. They were purely white in color. Mia surmised that those were probably common gathering areas. There were no sidewalks or roads leading to them either, and no visible entrances or exits.

On the outer edges of the settlement, some smaller circular buildings were spaced evenly apart, surrounding the entire perimeter. They were green and brown and blended into the scenery so well that Mia had to look carefully to discern their presence. It was like camouflage, she realized. If it hadn’t been for a slight shimmer that the buildings seemed to emit, she wouldn’t have known they were there. Mia wondered if these were some kind of guard posts. The Ks were in hostile territory after all, far outnumbered by the natives; it only made sense that the security in their colonies would be strong.

Beyond the green-brown buildings lay more greenery, the plant life dominating everything in sight. And to the west, Mia saw a large body of water—perhaps an ocean of some kind. If this was Costa Rica, then it was likely the Pacific; although the country had two coasts, the Guanacaste region that Korum had mentioned was located on the Pacific side.

As Mia stared in wonder at the three-dimensional images, she noticed a familiar glow surrounding one of the areas near the ocean. Peering closer at it, she saw a small wooden structure that looked human in origin—like a hut of sorts. Hardly daring to breathe, Mia extended her hand toward it, and then jerked back, remembering what had happened the last time she entered this virtual reality world without a way to get back. Casting a desperate glance around the room, she saw Korum’s sweater hanging on the back of one of the chairs. Ah-hah!

Quickly putting on the sweater, Mia touched the glowing image with her hand, bracing for the reality shift she’d experienced before.

And then she was there, standing on the beach, breathing in the salt-scented breeze, feeling the warm sun on her face, and hearing the roar of the ocean. A dragonfly whizzed by, followed by a bee. She could see a little crab-like creature scuttling across the sand a few feet away from her. It all seemed so real, yet she knew she was probably in a recording of some kind.

Squinting against the brightness, Mia stared at her surroundings. There was a little path leading from the beach toward the hut-like building she saw nestled among the trees. Feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland, she headed toward it, unbearably curious to see what was inside.

The hut looked old and decrepit, even more so on closer inspection. It had to be human-made; judging by the condition of the wood, it definitely predated the Ks’ arrival. It also had a door, which meant that Mia could go inside and explore. Holding her breath in anticipation, she pushed open the door, wincing at the squeaky sound of the rusted hinges.

The interior of the hut was immaculately clean, free of cobwebs and other unpleasant things one might expect to find in an abandoned building. The furniture was old and plain, but still serviceable, with a small table and a few chairs arranged around it. There was also a pallet on the floor, apparently for sleeping. And the place was completely empty. Disappointed, Mia looked around. Why did Korum have this recording? Clearly, nothing was happening.

And then the door opened, and a male K came in. He looked very typical of their kind, tall and good-looking, with black hair and darkly bronzed skin. He wore a pair of grey shorts made of some unusual material, a loosely fitting sleeveless top, and some type of thin sandals on his feet. Hardly daring to breathe, Mia stared at him, but he was obviously unaware of her presence. He did seem nervous, however. Casting a brief, furtive look around, he walked toward the table. Just in case, Mia scooted out of his way, climbing onto the pallet, uncertain what would happen if she physically touched someone in this strange virtual world.

The K moved the table to the side and squatted, looking at something on the floor. Then he pressed on one of the floorboards, and it seemed to give under his fingers. Loosening it further, he pulled on something, and the entire section of the floor opened up. Without any hesitation, he jumped down, and the opening slowly began to close behind him.

Mia’s heart raced as she observed his actions. Here was her chance, but did she dare follow him? How far down was his destination, and what would happen if she jumped after him? Would she be hurt, injured? This wasn’t real; she was just watching a very realistic movie. But certain sensations were still there—heat, smell, touch. Yet falling down on the sidewalk the last time hadn’t hurt at all. And the opening in the floor was closing more with each second. To hell with it, Mia decided. She was already risking her life by being here—what’s a potential injury in a virtual world?

Taking one deep breath, she jumped.

At first, there was only darkness and the stomach-churning sensation of falling, and then the hard floor was beneath her feet, and Mia landed on it easily, like a cat. Gasping for air, hardly daring to believe that she had made it, Mia felt her legs and knees with her hands. Everything seemed to be fine, and Mia’s breathing began to return to normal. She had survived the jump in one piece, and now she just needed to figure out where she was.

The room where she had landed was small and nondescript, but there was a door. The K had to have gone through there. Carefully opening it, Mia peeked inside.

Beyond the door lay a large room, occupied by several Ks, including the one Mia had been following. Her heart skipped a beat. She had never seen so many aliens gathered in one place, and it was a striking sight.

There were five males and two females, all tall and beautiful in their own way. Their clothes were clearly intended for hot weather, with the males wearing shorts and various styles of sleeveless shirts and the females dressed in light, floaty dresses that only covered their breasts and hips, leaving most of their golden skin exposed. Despite their attire, Mia doubted they were there to enjoy the ocean breeze. They looked tense and worried, their gestures sharp and almost violent as they argued about something in the Krinar language. In general, they reminded Mia of a pride of lions, prowling around the room with that animalistic grace peculiar to their species.

Finally, one of them looked at his wrist, where a little device seemed to be attached. Barking out what sounded like a command, he pressed some button and a holographic image appeared in the middle of the room. The rest of the Ks gathered around, and Mia moved closer, trying to see what they were looking at. To her surprise, it was a human man, possibly someone in the military, judging by the uniform he wore.

“We’re all safe,” said the black-haired K in a perfectly accented American English. “All of us left the Center at various points this morning and last night. Are you ready on your end, General?”

General? Mia felt icy terror spreading through her veins. These had to be the Keiths—and they were working with the human forces that John had mentioned. And since she was observing them this way, their identities were no longer secret. Korum knew exactly who they were and what they were up to. Nearly hyperventilating in panic, Mia stared in horror at the scene that she knew could not possibly end well.

The general nodded. “We’re ready. Our people are stationed at the agreed-upon points outside the Centers. The operation will commence upon your signal.”

One of the female Ks, a brown-haired hazel-eyed beauty, approached the image. “And the ones outside? Do you have someone ready to take each of them out?”

“We do,” said the general slowly, “but there’s one small problem. One of them is missing.”

The female’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, missing? Who?”

“Korum. We haven’t been able to locate him this morning.”

The Ks hissed in anger, breaking into angry speech in their own language. The female who spoke gesticulated wildly, trying to convince the black-haired male of something, but he merely shook his head, repeating some phrase over and over. Mia desperately wished she understood what they were saying, but all she could catch was the occasional mention of Korum’s name.

Apparently deciding on something, the black-haired K turned to the image again. “General, this is a major problem. Why weren’t we notified of this earlier?” His voice was harsh with anger.

“We had the situation under control up until thirty minutes ago. Our two best fighters were on him, tracking him as he left his apartment. And then he walked inside a Starbucks and just disappeared. We never saw him come out, and we searched the entire place top to bottom. I was notified of this development a few minutes ago myself.”

“You idiots,” the female spat at him. “How many times have we told you how dangerous he is? Why would he disappear like that? Did he spot your fighters?”

The general stared at her with an impassive gaze. “Do you want us to call off the operation?”

The Ks looked at each other, discussing it some more in their language. After about a minute, they seemed to reach a conclusion of some kind. “No,” the female said in English, shaking her head, “it’s too late for that. If something made him suspicious, then the worst thing to do would be to retreat at this point. We’ll have to deal with him later, and hope that not too many lives will be lost in the process.”

“Do we have your go-ahead to proceed then?”

“You do,” said the black-haired male, and the female nodded.

“Very well,” said the general. “Operation Liberty will commence at nine hundred hours, Eastern time.”

Mia frantically looked around the room, trying to figure out the time now. An old rusted clock hung on one of the walls. It showed 6:55. If that was correct and she was indeed in Costa Rica, then the attack would take place in less than five minutes, since the Central American country was two hours behind New York.

The image of the general disappeared, and another picture took its place. This one was of a forest, with the familiar greenish-brown circular structures in the background. It was the edge of the colony, Mia realized. The Keiths were going to observe the attack from this underground bunker, where they thought they were safe.

Mia felt her hands beginning to shake. Oh dear God, if only she could warn them . . . But it was too late now. When Mia had walked into Korum’s office, it was already well after ten in New York. Had an attack taken place, Mia would have heard about it, would have gotten worried texts from Jessie or an urgent alert from some news source on her phone.

No, the Resistance must have failed. All she could do now was watch helplessly as the disaster unfolded right in front of her eyes.

The Keiths paced around the room, occasionally trading brief comments, but keeping silent for the most part. The holograph showed a calm and peaceful border, with only the occasional flying insect providing some entertainment. Time seemed to have slowed, each second passing by more leisurely than the next. Mia found herself biting her nails, something she hadn’t done since high school, and watching the Ks as they grew more and more anxious.

The clock hit seven, and all hell broke loose.

Something shimmered at the edge of the forest, and there was a flash of blue light. The Keiths yelled in triumph, and Mia realized that something had gone their way—perhaps a shield had been breached.

And then there was a blinding light, and the circular structure disappeared, dissolving before her eyes. Another flash of light and another structure was gone. Oh God, realized Mia, the attack was real; it was actually happening. They were taking out the guard posts, breaking through the Center’s defenses.

Suddenly, the human forces appeared, rushing toward the border. Dressed in army fatigues, they all seemed to be trained soldiers, and there were many of them—dozens, no, hundreds . . . They ran toward the border, everything in their path disappearing in those flashes of bright light.

The holographic image shifted then, zooming out, and Mia could see the magnitude of what was taking place.

Thousands of human troops had massed at the border, most of them armed with human weapons. As the guard posts dissolved, that seemed to serve as a signal of some kind, and the attack began in earnest, the massive wave of human soldiers rolling toward the Center and then spreading out to encircle the perimeter.

She could hear the Resistance broadcasting their demand for the Ks’ surrender, announcing that they had the nano-weapon ready to be used.

And in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

As the first wave of soldiers approached the border, there was another flash of blue light and the shimmer was back. The Keiths shouted something, and Mia watched in horror as the people in the front were thrown back by some invisible force, their bodies burned to a crisp.

Her mouth opened in a wordless scream of terror, and then it was suddenly over. A huge wave of red light blasted through the battlefield, and the remaining human troops fell to the ground in unison and didn’t move again. Thousands of human soldiers were now nothing more than bodies lying limply on the grass. It was as if a bomb had gone off, but instead of blowing them to bits, it had simply killed them with that bright red light.

Mia couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the destruction taking place. Her chest felt like it would explode from the force of her heart hammering against her ribcage, and hot bile rushed into her throat. It was all her fault; if she hadn’t done what she’d done, none of this would be happening. There wouldn’t be an attack, and all these people would be home with their families, going about their day instead of dying before her eyes. Thousands of human deaths were now on her conscience.

The Keiths were panicking now, and the room was filled with their shouts and arguments. They were deciding whether to run or to stay here, Mia realized with a sick feeling in her stomach. They had risked everything and lost—and now there would be consequences for their actions. And then the ceiling about their heads shattered, and the Keiths screamed in terror as the bright morning light streamed down, the hut above them apparently destroyed. Mia screamed too, diving for cover even as her brain told her that this wasn’t real—that she was not the one in danger. Petrified, she huddled in the corner, hugging her knees against her chest and watching helplessly as other Ks jumped down into the room, dressed in the simple dark grey outfits that she recognized as their military uniforms.

The black-haired male sprang at one of the soldiers, his attack fast and sudden, his motions almost a blur to Mia’s eyes—and he was thrown back just as fast, his body jerking uncontrollably as he collapsed on the floor. Another soldier—their leader, Mia guessed—barked out a command, and the jerking motions stopped. The black-haired Keith was now unconscious. The other Keiths stood still, unwilling to share his fate, their expressions ranging from rage to bitter defeat. Whatever invisible weapons the soldiers possessed were clearly enough to dissuade the Keiths from fighting any further.

It was all over, Mia thought dully. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the soldiers place silvery circles around the Keiths’ necks. The K version of handcuffs, perhaps . . . The circles locked into place with a faint click, and there was a sense of finality within that sound—the sound of defeat. The Resistance had lost, their forces utterly decimated and their alien allies captured. Operation Liberty had failed, and thousands of human lives had been lost. There would be no liberation of Earth, not today . . . and probably not ever.

Another K jumped down into the room then, his movements gracefully controlled. Unlike the others, he was dressed in human clothes, a pair of blue jeans and a beige T-shirt. And Mia recognized the familiar slash of dark eyebrows above piercing golden eyes, the sensuous mouth that now looked cruel, set in an uncompromising line in his strikingly beautiful face.

It was Korum. Her enemy, her lover . . . whose kind had just killed thousands of people before her very own eyes.

Chapter 24

MIA COULDN’T THINK, her entire body shaking from shock and fear as she watched Korum prowl toward the Keiths. The expression on his face was unlike anything she had ever seen before, a blend of icy fury and extreme contempt. He spoke to the brown-haired female in Krinar, his voice low and cold, and she flinched, as though he had physically slapped her. The other female interrupted, her tone pleading, and Korum turned his attention to her and said something that silenced her right away. The male Keiths just stared, their looks ranging from fear to defiance. Then Korum turned to the leader of the soldiers and asked him a question. Whatever answer he received made him nod, apparently satisfied.

“I asked him if all the other Centers were secured as well . . . in case you were curious about the translation.”

Mia froze, her blood turning to ice. Slowly turning her head to the side, she looked into the gold-flecked eyes of the alien she had just been observing on the other side of the room.

This Korum was wearing the same clothes as his virtual alter ego, but the mocking half-smile on his face was different. So was the fact that he was looking straight at her and speaking in English. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the drama continuing to unfold in the room, but it no longer mattered. Instead, all she could do was stare at the real-life version of her lover . . . who now undoubtedly knew about her betrayal.

“Fortunately, they were,” he continued, his voice deceptively calm. “With the exception of the traitors you see before you, none of the Krinar were harmed. Only a few of our shield posts were destroyed, and they will be easily replaced within the next hour.”

Mia could barely hear him above the roar of her heartbeat, his words not registering in the panicked whirl of her thoughts. He knew. He knew what she had done, and nothing she said or did would change the outcome. All she could hope for now was to delay the inevitable.

“H-how?” she croaked, her bloodless lips barely moving. Her throat felt strangely dry, and she could taste the saltiness of her own tears gathering in the corners of her mouth.

“How did I know?” Korum asked, approaching her corner and crouching down next to her. Raising his hand, he gently tucked the stray curl behind her ear and brushed his knuckles down the side of her face, his touch burning her frozen skin.

Mia nodded, trembling at his proximity.

“How could I not know, Mia?” he said softly. “Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t realize what was taking place under my own roof? That I wouldn’t know that the woman I slept with every night was working with my enemies?”

“Wh-what are you saying?” she whispered, her brain working agonizingly slowly. “Y-you knew all along?”

He smiled bitterly. “Of course. From the moment they approached you and you agreed to spy for them, I knew.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand. You knew and you let me do it anyway?”

“It was your choice, Mia. You could’ve said no. You could’ve refused them. And even after you agreed—at any point, you could’ve told me the truth, warned me. Even last night—you could’ve still told me. But you chose to lie to me, to the very end.” His voice was oddly calm and remote, and that bitter expression still twisted his lips.

“But . . . but you knew—” Mia couldn’t process that part, couldn’t understand what he was telling her.

“I did,” he said, reaching out to pick up a lock of her hair. “I knew, and I let things unfold as they will. It wasn’t part of my original plan; it wasn’t why I was in New York. I wanted to find and capture one of their leaders, to extract the identities of the traitors you saw today. But when you chose to betray me, I knew that a rare opportunity had presented itself—that we could strike a blow to the Resistance from which they would never recover . . . and I could catch the traitors in the process.”

He paused, playing with her hair, twisting and untwisting the strand around his fingers. Mia stared at him, hypnotized, feeling like a rabbit caught by a snake.

“And so I played along. I gave you every chance to succeed in your treacherous mission—and you did. You turned out to be resourceful and clever, quite inventive really.” His eyes took on a familiar golden gleam. “That night when you stole my designs was . . . memorable, to say the least. I very much enjoyed it.”

Mia swallowed, beginning to realize where he was leading. “Y-you planted fake designs,” she whispered, a searing agony spreading through her chest.

He nodded, a small triumphant smile curving his lips. “I did. I gave them just enough rope so they could hang themselves with it. They learned how to disable the shields, but not how to keep them disabled. The weapon they were relying on wouldn’t have functioned properly; I had designed it to work under testing conditions but not when it was really deployed. And I let them have a few minor weapons, so they could do some damage and get caught red-handed trying to escape . . . like the cowards that they really are. I knew that they would trust you when you brought them the designs—because you had already given them enough real information by that point.”

“So you used me,” said Mia quietly, feeling like she was suffocating. The pain was indescribable, even though logically she knew she had no right to feel this way.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he said astutely, a savage smile on his face. “It hurts to be the one used, the one betrayed . . . doesn’t it?”

“Was any of it real?” asked Mia bitterly. “Or was the whole thing a lie? Did you set it all up, right down to our meeting in the park?”

“Oh, it was real, all right,” he said softly, now stroking the edge of her ear. “From the moment I saw you, I knew that I wanted you—more than anyone I’ve wanted in a very long time. And I grew to care about you, even though I knew it was foolish. With time, I hoped that you would feel the same way about me, that if I showed you how good it could be between us, you would realize what you were doing, the mistake that you were making. And you were close, I know . . . Yet you still betrayed me in the end, not caring what happened, whether I would live or die—”

“No!” interrupted Mia, her eyes burning with a fresh set of tears. “That’s not true! They promised me . . . they promised you’d be all right, that they would give you safe passage back home—”

“Back to Krina?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Where I would be out of your life forever? And how would they have ensured that I stayed there?”

Mia could only stare at him. Somehow that thought had never crossed her mind. In the background, virtual Korum left the room, and so did the soldiers with their prisoners in tow.

He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I see. That never occurred to you, did it? That deportation was a temporary solution at best? No, the traitors would’ve never deported me . . . I am too dangerous in their eyes because I have both the desire and the means to return to Earth with reinforcements—and that’s the last thing they would want.”

Mia felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She hadn’t known . . . They’d lied to her. She couldn’t have gone through with it, couldn’t have done it knowing that he would be killed in the process. She had to convince him of that. “Korum,” she said desperately, “I didn’t know, I swear—”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Even if you didn’t mean for me to get killed, you still had every intention of exiling me from your life forever, you still betrayed me . . . and that’s not something I can forgive easily.”

“So what now?” asked Mia wearily. She was beginning to feel numb, and she welcomed the sensation, as it took the edge off her terror and pain. “Are you going to kill me?”

He stared at her, his gaze turning a colder yellow. “Kill you? Did you listen to anything I said in the last ten minutes?”

He wasn’t going to kill her? The numbness spread, and she could only look at him, unable to feel anything more than a vague sense of relief.

At her lack of reply, he said slowly, “No, Mia. I’m not going to kill you. I’ve already told you that before. I’m not the unfeeling monster you persist in thinking me to be.”

Getting up in one lithe motion, Korum waved his hand, and Mia shut her eyes, seeing the virtual world dissolving around her. When she opened them again, she was sitting on the floor of Korum’s office, against the wall, still hugging her knees to her chest.

Bending down, he offered her his hand. Her fingers trembling, Mia placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her up. To her embarrassment, her legs were shaking, and she swayed slightly. Letting out a sigh, he caught her, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her out of the office.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Mia in confusion, disoriented after the recent reality shift. Oh God, surely he wasn’t thinking of having sex right now; she didn’t think she could bear that kind of intimacy after everything that happened.

“To the kitchen,” Korum replied, walking swiftly. Before she could ask him why, they were there, and he was setting her down on one of the chairs. Mia blinked up at him, too drained to attempt to understand his inexplicable behavior.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” he asked, looking at her with a slight frown on his face.

“Um . . . last night.” Mia couldn’t fathom where he was going with this.

He nodded, as though she had confirmed something for him. “No wonder you’re so shaky,” he said reprovingly. “You didn’t eat breakfast, and your blood sugar is low.” Walking to the refrigerator, he filled a glass with some clear liquid and brought it to her. “Drink this, while I make you something to eat,” he ordered, ignoring the incredulous look on Mia’s face.

He wanted to feed her right now? Was he serious? Cautiously sniffing the glass, Mia discerned a faintly sweet coconut scent. What the hell, she decided, if he wanted her dead, she sincerely doubted he would use poison to kill her. Taking a sip, she realized that her nose hadn’t lied; Korum had indeed given her fresh coconut water to drink. It was exactly what her body was craving right now, a perfect blend of carbohydrates and electrolytes. The frozen numbness that had been encasing her like armor began to crack, and tears welled up in Mia’s eyes again. Why was he acting like this now, after everything that she had done to him?

Finishing her drink, she watched him move about the kitchen, making her an avocado-tomato sandwich. Now that the main adrenaline rush was over, she was starting to think again, her brain beginning to function at some fraction of its normal ability. The truth about their relationship had been revealed. This entire time she’d thought that she was spying on him for the benefit of all humanity, but he had really been using her to crush the Resistance once and for all. All those lives today had been lost because of her . . . No, she couldn’t focus on that now, or she would shatter into a million pieces.

She concentrated on the puzzle of Korum’s intentions instead. He wasn’t going to kill her, he’d said. But would he punish her in some other way? She couldn’t imagine that he would want her around after the way she had betrayed him. Their farce of a relationship was over. He had won: Earth would remain firmly under Krinar control. And Mia had outlived her usefulness. He didn’t need an unwitting double agent anymore—

“Here, eat this,” the object of her musings said, placing the sandwich in front of her and sitting down across the table. “And then we’ll talk.”

“Thank you,” Mia said politely and obediently bit into the sandwich. Her stomach growled, and she was suddenly starving, her lumberjack appetite making its appearance despite the trauma of this morning’s events. In less than a minute, she had devoured the sandwich and looked up, slightly embarrassed by her greediness. The smile on his face was a genuine one this time, and she remembered that he liked that about her—the healthy appetite she possessed despite her small size.

“So what now?” Mia repeated her earlier question, and Korum’s smile faded. He regarded her with an inscrutable gaze, and Mia shifted in her seat, growing increasingly nervous.

“So now,” Korum said quietly, “you will come with me while I help clean up this mess.”

Mia felt all blood drain from her face. “Come with you where?” Surely he couldn’t mean—

A small smile appeared on his lips. “To the same place you went while snooping this morning: Lenkarda, our settlement in Costa Rica.”

All of a sudden, there wasn’t enough air in the room for Mia to breathe properly, and the sandwich felt like a rock inside her stomach. What was he saying? He couldn’t still want her, not after everything . . .

“Why?” she managed to squeeze out, staring at him in horrified disbelief.

“Because, Mia, I want you with me, and I can’t stay in New York any longer,” he said calmly, with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ve been away far too long. There are things that require my attention—not the least of which is what to do with the traitors.”

Mia shook her head, trying to get rid of the mental fog that seemed to be slowing her thinking. “B-but why do you want me with you?” she stammered. “You were just using me—”

“I was using you because you chose to betray me—don’t ever forget that, darling,” he said in a dangerously silky tone. “I’ve wanted you from the very beginning, and nothing you’ve done changes that fact. You’re mine, and you’ll remain with me for as long as I want you. Do you understand that?”

There was a dull roaring in her ears. “No,” she whispered, her words barely audible. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t be a slave . . . I refuse, do you hear me?” Her voice had risen in volume with each sentence until she was almost yelling at him, the red mist of fury taking over her vision and getting rid of any remnants of caution.

“A slave?” he asked with a puzzled frown on his face. And then his forehead smoothed out as he apparently realized what she was talking about. “Ah, yes, I almost forgot that you’ve been laboring under a misconception this whole time. You’re referring to being my charl, aren’t you?”

“I will not be your charl!” Mia snarled, her hands clenching into fists under the table.

“You will be anything I wish you to be, my darling,” he said softly, a mocking smile curving his lips. “However, your friends in the Resistance have misinformed you—either inadvertently or on purpose—about the real meaning of charl.”

Her temper cooling slightly, Mia stared at him. “What do you mean? Are you telling me that you don’t keep humans in your Centers as your . . . pleasure slaves?” She spit out the last words with disgust.

He shook his head, with that same sardonic look on his face. “No, Mia. A charl is a human companion—a human mate, if you will. It’s a unique term that we use to describe a special bond between a human and a Krinar. Being a charl is a privilege, an honor—not whatever it is that you’ve been imagining.”

“A privilege to be with you against my will?” asked Mia bitterly. “To be forced to go where I don’t want to go—unable to see my family, my friends?”

“Don’t lie to me, Mia,” he said quietly. “Or to yourself. Being with me is hardly a chore for you. Do you think I don’t know why you’ve been crying this week? You need me . . . just as much as I need you. What we have together is rare and special—even though you’ve done your best to tear us apart. If I were young and foolish, I would let my hurt and anger get the best of me . . . and leave you, full of bitterness at your betrayal. But I’ve been around long enough to understand that when you find a good thing, you hold on to it; you don’t throw it away on a whim.”

“Really? You hold on to it even if the other person doesn’t want you?” said Mia sarcastically, infuriated by his arrogant assumption that he knew all about her feelings. Maybe she had fallen for him; maybe she’d even thought she loved him—but that was before she knew how he’d used her, before she witnessed the deaths of thousands of human soldiers as a result of what he’d done. He might be able to get over his hurt and anger, but Mia couldn’t be so magnanimous right now.

“Oh, you want me,” Korum said softly. “That much I know for a fact. Would you like me to prove it?”

And before she could come up with a retort, he was next to her, swinging her up into his arms and bringing her toward him for a deep kiss, his tongue pushing into the recesses of her mouth. Infuriated, Mia tried to remain impassive, to temper her response, but her body didn’t know, didn’t care that he was about to ruin her life. It only knew the pleasure of his touch, and Mia found herself melting against him, her hands clinging to his shoulders instead of pushing him away. A familiar wave of heat swept through her, and she felt a surge of moisture between her legs, her body eagerly preparing itself for his possession.

Still holding her in his arms, he walked somewhere, and Mia was too far gone to care where. They ended up in the living room, and he lowered her onto the couch, still kissing her with those deep, penetrating kisses that never failed to make her crazy. She heard the zipper of her jeans getting unfastened, and then he was tugging them off her legs along with her sneakers, leaving her lower body clad only in a pair of white lacy panties. His thumb found the sensitive nub between her legs, and he pressed on it through the underwear, circling it in a way that made her insides tighten, and Mia moaned helplessly, arching toward him, wanting more of the magic that she had only experienced in his arms.

He let go of her then, taking a step back to remove his own clothes, stripping off the T-shirt with one smooth motion and then swiftly taking off his jeans and underwear, leaving himself fully naked. Mia stared at him with unabashed lust, taking in the powerful muscles covered with that beautiful bronzed skin, the smattering of dark hair on his chest, and the hairy trail on his lower abdomen leading down to a large, fully aroused cock, with the heavy balls swinging underneath.

He didn’t let her enjoy the view for long, grasping her shirt to pull it over her head and unclasping her bra. A second later, her panties were pulled off her legs and joined the heap of clothes lying on the floor. He paused for a second, raking her naked body with a burning gaze, and then he bent over her, his hot mouth closing over her left breast, sucking on it. Mia moaned, feeling the pull of his mouth deep within her belly, and he sucked on the other breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple in a way that made her desperately wish his head was two feet lower. As though reading her mind, he touched her wet folds with his hand, one finger pushing into her opening, pressing on the ultra-sensitive spot inside her pussy, and Mia gasped from the intensity of the sensation, her body throbbing on the verge of release. Without removing his finger, he brought his mouth down toward her sex, his tongue finding its way inside her folds to tease the area directly around her clit. At the same time, his finger moved slightly within her, starting to find a rhythm, and Mia’s entire body tensed as the tingles of pre-orgasmic sensation began to radiate from her lower regions outward. His tongue flicked at her nub, first lightly and then with increasing pressure, and Mia screamed under the almost cruel lash of pleasure, her inner muscles clamping down on his finger and then pulsating with the aftershocks of the release.

Withdrawing his finger, he flipped her over, pulling her toward the edge of the couch. Lifting her briefly, he placed her so that she was bent over the plush couch arm, face down and her feet on the floor. Covering her with his body, he began to push inside her, his cock penetrating her inch by slow inch. Mia was soft and wet from the orgasm, and her body accepted his gradual entrance, the tender inner tissues stretching and expanding to accommodate the intrusion. As he pushed forward, he kissed the side of her neck, and she shivered, the tension starting to build again. Her sex spasmed around his cock, and he groaned in response, sheathing himself fully within her. Mia inhaled sharply from the feel of his shaft buried to the hilt; he was impossibly hard and thick, and she felt like she was burning from the heat of him inside her, over her, all around her.

And then he began to move, his thrusts pressing her deeper into the arm of the couch. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she cried out, each stroke intensifying the agonizing pleasure, until her world narrowed to nothing more than the cock moving back and forth within her body and she existed purely for the sensations, stripped down to the raw and elemental parts of her animal nature. She could hear the rhythmic cries in the distance and knew that they had to be her own, and then the massive climax swept through her, her inner muscles rippling around him and her entire body trembling from the shock of the orgasmic wave. And, with a hoarse shout, he was coming too, his hips grinding into her as his cock pulsed inside her with his own contractions.

When it was all over, he withdrew from her, leaving her lying there naked, still bent over the sofa arm. Without his large body covering her, Mia suddenly felt cold—and the realization of what had just happened added to the icy knot growing inside her. Standing up on quivering legs, Mia bent down to pick up her clothes, refusing to look at him and trying to ignore the wetness sliding down her leg. With the heat of passion over, her anger returned, magnified by the shame of her unwanted response to him.

“Mia,” he said softly, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him standing there, completely unconcerned about his nakedness. She turned away, putting on her bra, and using her shirt to wipe off the traces of the sex session before putting on her underwear. Pulling on her jeans, she felt slightly better, but the cold fury inside remained. Without even thinking about it, she walked over to the little purse she’d left sitting on the couch earlier this morning. Reaching inside, she pulled out the little device Leslie had given her and pointed it in his direction.

“I’m leaving,” she said with icy calm. A stranger seemed to have taken over her body, and the normal Mia couldn’t help but marvel at her daring, even though she knew that her odds of success were nil.

At the sight of the weapon, the golden glow in Korum’s eyes cooled.

“That’s a dangerous toy you have there,” he said quietly, staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Mia nodded coolly. “Don’t force me to use it.”

“So you walk out of here, and then what?” he asked with mild curiosity. “There’s nowhere you can go where I won’t find you.”

Mia hadn’t thought that far; in fact, there’d been no thinking involved in her actions at all. It was too late now, though, so she just shrugged and said bravely, “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

“Are you going to go on the run? Change your identity?” he continued, an amused note appearing in his voice. “None of that would work, you know.”

“Because of the tracking stuff you put in me without my knowledge or consent?” she asked bitterly.

Korum just looked at her, neither admitting nor denying it. “There’s only one way you could be free of me,” he said slowly.

Mia stared at him in frustration, not understanding where he was leading. Now that the initial wave of fury had passed, the full stupidity of her actions dawned on her. He was right; even if she managed to walk out of his penthouse—a big if, given the laser-quick reflexes she was up against—he would catch her before she could go more than a few blocks. By pointing that weapon at him, she had only succeeded in angering him, and she felt a tendril of fear at the thought.

“And what way is that?” she asked, deciding to stall for time.

“You could shoot me,” he said seriously. “And then all your problems would be solved.”

Horrified, Mia gaped at him. The idea of actually pressing the button and watching him dissolve before her eyes, like those shield posts at the colony, was unthinkable. She’d never had any intention of actually using the weapon. All she’d wanted was to regain some measure of control, to feel like she was in charge of her own life. She’d wanted to threaten him, to make him bow to her will, to make him feel the way she felt when he took away her freedom of choice. She’d never wanted to hurt him, much less kill him.

“Go ahead, Mia,” he said softly. His powerful naked body was relaxed, as though they were having a regular conversation—as though he didn’t have a deadly weapon pointed at him. “Go ahead and shoot.”

Her fingers trembled, her palms slick with sweat, and she felt her eyes burning with stupid, unwelcome tears. “Please,” she said, not caring anymore that she sounded like she was begging. “Please don’t make me do it. I just want to leave . . . to go home. Please just let me walk out of here—”

“Just press the button, Mia. And then you can go wherever you want.”

Mia felt hot and cold, her stomach twisting with nausea. The tiny device in her hand was suddenly unbearably heavy, and her arm shook with the effort of holding it pointed at him. The tears spilled over, running down her cheeks, and she lowered the weapon, sinking down to the floor, her trembling legs unable to hold her any longer. Burying her face in her hands, she cried, bitter at her own cowardice, her own idiocy. She couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t kill him; she would have sooner cut off her own limb. How could she feel this way about him even now? What was wrong with her that she had fallen in love with someone who wasn’t even human . . . an alien whose kind had just murdered thousands of people?

In the depths of her despair, she felt him wrap his arms around her, lifting her from the floor and onto his lap on the couch. “Hush, my darling,” he whispered, “everything will be all right, I promise. I wouldn’t have been able to press that button either—and I’m glad you couldn’t.” He stroked her hair gently while she cried into his naked shoulder. After a few minutes, her sobs began to quiet. Feeling embarrassed about her outburst, Mia tried to pull away, but he didn’t let her, lifting her chin instead to look her in the eye.

“Mia,” he said softly, “I’m not taking you with me to be cruel. After everything that happened, the Resistance—or whatever is left of it—will be looking for you. They don’t know the full story, and they’ll think you set them up. They’ll spare no effort in trying to kill you, and if they figure out how much you mean to me, they’ll try to capture you alive to use you against me. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. It’s simply not safe for you to be anywhere but in Lenkarda right now.”

Mia stared at him, her vision still blurred by tears. She hadn’t thought about that, but it was true. As far as the Resistance was concerned, she was a traitor to all of humankind. They would definitely blame her for the huge loss of life she’d just witnessed. A terrifying thought occurred to her. “What about my family?” she asked, everything inside her turning to ice at the possibility that the freedom fighters might try to hurt those she loved.

“Your family had nothing to do with it, and I doubt the fighters would be vengeful enough to needlessly harm fellow humans. But your kind can be very unpredictable, so I will make sure that several of our best guardians are stationed near your family, to keep an eye out for them.”

Mia opened her mouth to ask, but he forestalled her. “And no, that wouldn’t be enough to ensure your safety. There are still a few key Resistance leaders unaccounted for, and they’re armed with some Krinar weapons. I expect them to go into hiding and leave your family alone, but they may be willing to risk everything to get to you. So until they’re apprehended, you will be safest in Lenkarda. And if you have to venture out, it will be with me by your side.”

How convenient for him, Mia thought bitterly, he could now keep her prisoner with good justification. Of course, the Resistance would want to kill her—and they would be right to do so. She was responsible for all those deaths today . . .

“How many people were killed this morning?” asked Mia, feeling like she wanted to die herself.

Korum shrugged slightly. “I don’t know if the medics got to the ones who were burned fast enough to save them. Some of them might have died from their encounter with the shield.”

“What about all the other ones, the ones who were hit with that red light?” asked Mia, her heart beginning to pound in wild hope.

“They were knocked unconscious—and so were the ones who attacked our other Centers. They deserved to die, of course, but we decided to let your governments deal with them. It’ll be interesting to see what their punishment will be for violating the Coexistence Treaty and endangering your entire species in the process.”

The relief that Mia felt was indescribable. The painful grip in her chest seemed to ease, letting her breathe freely for the first time since she’d witnessed the attack.

And then Korum added, “Of course, we’re not going to leave it to chance. All those fighters now have surveillance devices embedded in their bodies, so we’ll know everything they do and everywhere they go. They’ve been effectively neutralized as a threat to us, and we can now use them to catch the rest—those that were not near our Centers today.”

So he had succeeded in his mission of squashing the Resistance movement. Given the number of fighters lying on the field, Ks would now have thousands of walking, talking surveillance mechanisms all over the globe. It was quite clever really; why bother killing a human when you could use him instead? Pure Korum deviousness at work.

She must’ve looked upset because he said, “Mia, stop worrying about this. The Resistance is over. It was a foolish movement to begin with. Just think about it. So they don’t like us being here and changing a few things. Is that really a good reason to risk so many lives? You have to admit, we’re nothing like the alien invaders of your movies. We have no desire to enslave humans, or to take away your planet. If that had been our agenda, we would’ve already done it. We settled here as peacefully as possible, living in our Centers with minimal interference in human affairs. That’s far better than what your Europeans had done to the American natives.”

Still sitting on his lap, Mia looked away. If Korum was telling her the truth and John had lied about the meaning of charl, then the entire Resistance movement was misguided at best—and criminally irresponsible at worst.

“And do you honestly think it would’ve been a good thing for you to have those seven traitors as your rulers? Because, believe me, that’s what they would’ve been. They wanted power, and they didn’t care who got hurt as a result of their actions. Do you really think they would’ve been content to live quietly among humans, obeying your every law and selflessly sharing Krinar knowledge?”

Now that Korum put it that way, Mia could see the implausibility of what John had originally told her. Maybe the Resistance leaders had thought they could somehow control the Keiths once the other Ks had left—but that could’ve easily been a dangerous assumption to make. Mia mentally kicked herself. Why hadn’t she probed further into the Keiths’ motivations? But no, she’d blindly gone with what John was telling her, too caught up in her own personal drama to fully think about anything else.

Korum sighed, and she felt the movement of his chest. “Look, it won’t be so bad being in Lenkarda, believe me. Aren’t you the least bit curious to see how we live?”

Mia looked up at him again, feeling completely drained. “Korum, I just can’t . . . I can’t simply leave everything and everyone—”

“What if I take you to see your family in a couple of weeks as we originally discussed?” he asked softly. “Would that make you feel better?”

“We’d go to Florida?” asked Mia in surprise.

He nodded. “You could spend a few days with them before we have to go back.”

She smiled, the pressure in her chest easing further. “That would be wonderful,” she said quietly.

He smiled back and gently brushed a curl off her face. “And hopefully, by the end of the summer, we’ll catch the rest of the Resistance fighters—so if you still want to come back to New York then, we’ll return here and you can finish your last year of school.”

Mia blinked at him, hardly daring to believe her ears. “You’ll bring me back here?”

“I will . . . if you still want to return by then.” Getting up, he placed her gently on her feet. “Now put on a shirt and some shoes while I get dressed. It’s time to go.”

* * *

KORUM ALLOWED HER to take her purse with its entire contents, the weapon excluded, and nothing else. When she protested that she needed her computer and her clothes, he laughed. “I promise you, there’s plenty of everything where we’re going,” he explained with a smile.

“What about my passport?” she asked, and then realized that it was a stupid question. She might be heading to a foreign country, but she sincerely doubted she would be going through airport security. Somehow, Korum had managed to travel there this morning and then come back to New York—all within a span of a couple of hours. No, thought Mia, they likely wouldn’t be traveling by airplane.

Her suppositions turned out to be correct.

He led her into his office, holding her hand as if afraid she would bolt. Walking toward the back of the room, he held his other hand in front of the wall and it slid open, revealing stairs that likely led to the rooftop.

“Come,” Korum said, and she followed him with hesitation, her pulse racing at the thought of where she was going. It was too late to turn back now—not that he would have let her—and Mia felt a heady mixture of excitement and fear rushing through her veins as she walked up the stairs.

They exited onto the rooftop, and Mia looked around. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see—perhaps some alien aircraft sitting there. But there was nothing. The roof was empty, with the exception of some evergreen shrubs growing in neat rows around the perimeter. The rain had mostly stopped, but it was still wet and humid outside, and Mia could practically feel her curls frizzing up from the moisture in the air.

“What are we doing here?” she asked in surprise. “Is someone coming to get us?”

Korum shook his head and smiled. “No, we’re going by ourselves.”

“How?” asked Mia, burning with curiosity.

“You’ll see in a second. Don’t be afraid, okay?” He squeezed her palm reassuringly.

Mia nodded, and Korum let go of her hand, taking a step forward. Extending his arm, he made a gesture, as though pointing at the empty space in front of him. All of a sudden, Mia could hear a low humming. The sound was unlike anything Mia had heard before—too quiet and even to be the buzzing of insects.

“What is that?” she asked warily, wondering if Korum intended to teleport them somewhere. Mia had no idea what the limitations of K technology were, but she did know that Krinar physics had to have gone far beyond Einstein’s theories; otherwise, the Ks wouldn’t have been able to travel faster than the speed of light. Who knew what else they could do?

Korum turned toward her, his eyes glittering with some unknown emotion. “It’s the sound of the nanomachines that I just released. They’re building us our ride.” And Mia realized that he was excited, pleased to be going home.

Something began to shimmer in front of them. Goosebumps appeared on Mia’s arms as she stared in fascination at the strange sight. The shimmering intensified, as if a bucket of glitter had been thrown in front of them—and then the walls of the aircraft began to form in front of her eyes.

Barely holding back a gasp, Mia watched as the structure assembled itself, seemingly out of nothingness. The walls slowly solidified, thickening layer by layer, and then a small pod-like aircraft stood in front of them. It appeared to be made out of some unusual ivory material, with no visible windows or doors, and was smaller than a helicopter.

Mia exhaled sharply, releasing a breath she had been holding for the last thirty seconds.

“It’s called advanced rapid fabrication technology,” Korum said, smiling at the look of utter astonishment on her face. “It’s one of our most useful inventions. Come with me.” And taking her hand again, he led her toward the newly assembled structure.

As they approached, the wall of the pod simply disintegrated, creating an entrance for them. Mia blinked in shock, but followed Korum inside the aircraft. Once they were in, the wall re-solidified, and the entrance disappeared again.

The inside of the pod did not look like any aircraft she could have ever imagined. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling were transparent—she could see the ivory color of her surroundings, but she could also see the world outside. It was as though they were inside a giant glass bubble, even though Mia knew that the structure was not see-through from the outside. There were no buttons or controls of any kind, nothing to suggest that the pod had any kind of complex electronics. And instead of seats, there were two white oval planks floating in the air.

“Have a seat,” Korum said, gesturing toward one of the planks.

“On that?” Mia had known that Krinar technology was far more advanced, of course, and she had expected to encounter some unbelievable things. But this . . . this was like stepping into some fairy realm where the normal laws of physics didn’t seem to apply—and she hadn’t even left New York yet.

He laughed, apparently amused by her distrust. “On that. You won’t fall, I promise.”

Warily, still clutching his hand, Mia perched gingerly on the plank. It moved beneath her, and she gasped as it conformed to the shape of her butt, suddenly turning into the most comfortable chair she had ever occupied. There was a back now too, and Mia found herself leaning into it, her tense muscles relaxing, soothed by the strangely cozy sensation.

Grinning, Korum sat down on a similar plank next to her, and Mia stared in amazement as the white material shifted around his body, fitting itself to his shape. She was still holding his hand with a death grip, Mia realized with some embarrassment, and she let go, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible when confronted with technology that seemed exactly like magic.

Korum nodded approvingly and waved his hand slightly.

Softly, without making a sound, the pod lifted off the ground, rising swiftly into the air. With a sinking sensation in her stomach, Mia looked down at the see-through floor, watching New York City shrinking rapidly beneath them as they gained altitude. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel nauseated or pushed into her seat as one might expect during such a swift ascent; it was as though she was sitting in a chair at home, instead of rocketing straight up.

“Why don’t I feel like we’re flying at all?” she asked curiously, looking up from the floor where she could now see only clouds.

“The ship is equipped with a mild anti-gravitational field,” Korum explained. “It’s designed to make us comfortable by keeping the gravitational force at the same level as you’d experience normally on this planet; otherwise, accelerating like that would be very unpleasant for me—and probably deadly for you.”

And then she could see clouds whizzing underneath them as the pod traveled at an incredible speed, taking her to a place that few humans could even imagine, much less visit in person. Never in a million years could Mia have thought that a simple walk in the park could lead to this, that she would be sitting in an alien ship headed for the main Krinar colony . . . that she would feel like this about the beautiful extraterrestrial who was sitting beside her.

A couple of minutes later, they seemed to have reached their destination, and the ship began its descent.

“Welcome home, darling,” Korum said softly as the green landscape of Lenkarda appeared beneath their feet, and the ship landed as quietly as it had taken off.

Mia’s new life had begun.

* * *

Mia & Korum’s story continues in Close Obsession and concludes in Close Remembrance.

With no way to leave and no idea how to operate even the most basic Krinar technology, Mia has no choice but to trust the K who brought her there—the lover whom she had betrayed.

http://www.amazon.com/Close-Obsession-Krinar-Chronicles-2/dp/0988391333/

* * *

About the Author

Anna Zaires fell in love with books at the age of five, when her grandmother taught her to read. She wrote her first story shortly thereafter. Since then, she has always lived partially in a fantasy world where the only limits were those of her imagination. Currently residing in Florida, Anna is happily married to Dima Zales and closely collaborates with him in the writing of the Krinar Chronicles.

To learn more, please visit www.annazaires.com.

* * *

Read more from this author

Anna’s website: http://www.annazaires.com/index.html

Anna’s Amazon Author’s page:

http://www.amazon.com/Anna-Zaires/e/B009MRNPZ4/

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THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

TAKEN BY THE BEAST

BY CONNER KRESSLEY AND REBECCA HAMILTON

Taken by the Beast © 2015 Conner Kressley and Rebecca Hamilton

A Sexy Beauty and the Beast Spin Off

When Charisse Bellamy takes the job at New Haven’s first ever Night Club, it’s only intended as a short term solution to make ends meet. But she soon discovers there is no resisting the pull of her new boss, Abram. Despite worrying how her feelings for Abram will impact her budding relationship with police deputy Dalton, she can’t seem to stay away, and it’s not until a missing girl is found chained up in Abram’s home that this beauty realizes one of her romantic interests is a beast.

Taken by the Beast © 2015 Conner Kressley and Rebecca Hamilton

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

I RAN THROUGH the hallway, throwing open closets like a lunatic. Just shy of two hours—that’s what it had taken me to completely screw up what my best friend Lulu did daily with ease. In that time—one hundred and eleven minutes to be exact—I had burned three grilled cheeses, knocked over a vase that I hoped wasn’t too expensive, and (most importantly) ‘misplaced’ her three year old son.

It was safe to say I wasn’t the domesticated type.

“Jack, this isn’t funny!” I yelled, pulling open the final closet door and coming up empty.

My breathing came more labored now, and not just because I had been running nonstop for the last several minutes. This hall was my last chance. I had now officially covered every inch of this house, attic and all. The little guy was nowhere to be found, and my panic was quickly twisting into dread.

The doorbell dinged, at once breaking me from my train of thought and sending my heart into my throat. What if that was Lulu? What if she forgot her keys? I would have to explain to her how I lost her kid, and that would no doubt send her eight month pregnant butt right into labor.

It might not be Lulu, though. Maybe it was the cops. New Haven was about as big as a shoebox, and before I’d moved away from here all those years ago, it was certainly the kind of place where your wayward child could show up on your doorstep with police escort. Lord knows I had.

I kicked off my heels, because if my seventeen-year-old self had taught me anything, it’s that cops who have come to chastise you don’t really care for the hooker heel look. I doubted that would change just because I’d aged a decade since then.

As I got to the door, I bit my lip, bracing myself for one sort of confrontation or another. The doorbell rang again. God, help me. I twisted the handle and pulled the door open in a ‘rip the Band-Aid off’ sort of way.

Before me stood a polished woman, best guess mid-twenties, wearing a sundress and sporting the sort of unwavering blonde hair that could double as a hard hat if need be. Pearls circled her throat, a purse sat clutched between her hands, and she smirked as she looked me over head to toe.

“How very forceful of you,” she said, running her hand up and down the doorframe. “I would be more careful with it, though. It’s palmetto. Imported all the way from the Carolinas.”

I grimaced. Before I left for New York, New Haven was a farming town. We had two general stores, a diner, and a movie theater that was always three months behind the rest of the country. You could set your watch by it. I hated the town back then, but not nearly as much as I hated it now. Ten years away had seen this place morph into a sort of retreat for the newly wealthy. The general stores gave way to day spas, the diner was replaced by a Starbucks, and last I heard, the movie theater was vying to house an independent film festival in the fall.

And all of that would be okay. I had never been the type of woman to bat away progress, after all. But it came complete with people like her, and that rubbed me the wrong way.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind—you know, when handling it,” I said, trying hard to keep the smarm out of my voice. “Can I help you?”

“Other than refraining from treating my best friend’s door like a jilted lover, you could invite me in,” the woman said, and she brushed past me, completely nullifying the need for an invitation.

“Y-your best friend?” I stammered.

As far as I knew, I was Lulu’s best friend. Sure, she had been cordial with some of these nouveau riche housewives, but that was more out of necessity than anything else. It wasn’t who she really was.

“That’s right,” she said. “Though, to be honest, I’m a little peeved at her. Lulu promised to let me know before she hired a housekeeper. I had more than a few qualified candidates in mind.” She removed a pastel glove and ran her finger along the counter. She lifted her hand and looked at the pad of her pointer finger with disgust. “Not that you aren’t doing an adequate job.”

“I’m not a housekeeper,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.

“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I’d hate to think Lulu was actually paying you for this.”

“Who are you?” I asked, marching after the woman.

“Ester Jacobs.” She gave me a little nod.

“I see. Well, I’m Charisse Bellamy.”

“Oh,” she said, setting her purse on the chair, careful to miss the apparently dust-ridden counter. “Lulu’s new friend. I’ve heard of you.”

“Ha!” I scoffed more loudly than I intended. “Well, given that I’ve known Lulu since we were crawling around in the dirt, I’d say that makes you the new friend.”

“What a charming visual. Forgive me for not recognizing you at first. When Lulu told me her model friend from New York was coming for a visit, I naturally pictured someone a little…”

“Thinner?” I finished, noticing the way Ester’s eyes traced my curves. I posted my hands on my hips and dared her to look away. “In the real world, there are a lot of different standards of beauty.”

“Evidently.” Ester pursed her lips. “In any event, I’m here for Jack. Not that this interaction hasn’t been delightful.”

Uh-oh. That’s right. I still haven’t found Jack.

“I… He’s asleep!” I said before thinking.

“Asleep?” Ester said with narrowed eyes. “Why, it’s nearly four in the afternoon. Something tells me Lulu wouldn’t be fond of the idea of you throwing off her son’s sleeping schedule like this.” She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Of course, I suppose that’s something only a mother would think of.”

I bristled, not so much because she had hit a nerve or anything. Sure, kids were something I wanted…in the far off future. It was sort of the way a person wanted to go to Europe or plan for retirement. I was going to think about it, just not today.

No, the thing that really pissed me off was the slithering notion that she might be right. Lulu was a mom, and I wasn’t. There were things that she went through that I wouldn’t understand, things that this stuffy witch apparently would.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. He’s asleep. Come back later,” I said, motioning toward the still open door.

“You sure about that?” She smiled.

My teeth clenched, wondering what she knew that she wasn’t telling me. But I didn’t have time to consider that. A shriek, loud and decidedly panicked, sounded from outside.

I darted to the door to find Lulu standing in the driveway, a spilled bag of groceries littered at her feet and her hands clawing at her temples, the way they did only when she was really freaking out.

“Jack!” she yelled, her eyes planted on the backyard. “Jack get back from there!”

Leaving the groceries behind, she bolted toward the house faster than any pregnant woman this close to popping ever should.

“Lulu, slow down,” I said, flinching at the fire coloring her eyes. “The doctor said you’re supposed to take it easy.”

“And you were supposed to be watching him!” she said much louder than I had anticipated. She pushed past me, almost knocking me down with her momma bear bruteness as she made her way out the back door to the huge expanse that was her backyard.

I went after her, trying hard not to react to the smug satisfaction that Ester didn’t even attempt to hide.

“That’s the strangest nap I’ve ever seen,” Ester remarked as she followed me outside.

At first, I didn’t see him. The yard was completely empty, save for the customary swing set and sliding board that seemed to be everywhere now. God, people sure loved to procreate around these parts. But as I followed Lulu’s running (and bouncing) frame, that quickly changed.

Jack was beyond the white wooden fence that cut off the backyard and separated it from Bookman’s Woods, which had always traced the outskirts of much of the town but seemed bigger now than it had when I was a kid.

Jack splashed around, running his hands through a shallow running stream and laughing like some sort of carefree hyena.

I bolted toward them, easily catching up with Lulu as she made it to the fence.

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” she yelled, moving down the fence, looking for the break that Jack had undoubtedly squeezed through. “Jack, you get back from there!”

She was breathless, holding her belly and wheezing.

“Lulu, calm down!” I said, scanning the fence. “He’s right over there. We can see him. There’s no reason to—”

“What the hell do you know?” she barked at me. “You were supposed to be watching him, and you let him go here of all places! Do you have any idea how dangerous—” She bent forward, clutching her stomach and panting even harder.

“It’s just a stream, Lulu,” I said. I reached for her, but Ester was already there, making soothing sounds into her ear and pulling her away from me.

God, how’s that for symbolism?

Jack stood up, as if sensing his mother was in pain. His eyes cut to the left, and following them, Lulu pointed.

“Th-there,” she muttered breathlessly.

A piece of the fence had broken, leaving the smallest of openings in the otherwise unyielding white wood.

“I’ll get him,” I said

Lulu was way too pregnant to crawl on her belly, and I had seen enough women like Ester to know that they didn’t get their hands—much less their dresses—dirty for anything.

The look Lulu shot me told me she would rather be going to get her son herself. But she was too winded, and I was too ready. I quickly slid through the tear in the fence, or as quickly as a woman with curves could. The tear was small and the edges of the fence were jagged. It didn’t surprise me when one of them scored into my back.

I winced, but kept moving. After wriggling my ample hips and bottom through the fence, my legs came through easily. Looking back, I saw a hint of blood, my blood, across the wood. Whatever. I would bandage up later.

Jack waded out of the stream and hobbled over to me, and I scooped him up into my arms, giving him a half-guilty, half-grateful hug. “What were you thinking, Little Man?”

He mumbled something in baby speak, something that sounded like “He talks” or “He walks.”

Kids are so weird.

Letting him go, I ushered Jack through the tear. Obviously, he made it through much easier than I had, artfully dodging my bloodstain with plenty of room to spare. I, on the other hand, wriggled around like a fish caught on a hook, no doubt ruining my favorite pair of jeans in the process.

Jack scrambled away from me and jumped into his mother arms.

“You shouldn’t be holding him,” I said, getting to my feet and checking out all the dirt that was now caked into my outfit.

Yep. Ruined.

“I’ve got him,” she said, keeping her eyes away from me.

“But the doctor—”

“Goddamn it, I said I’ve got him!”

I reared back, knowing better than to push my best friend any further.

“Ester,” Lulu said, turning to the prim woman. “I need you to—”

“Get a contractor to fix that fence?” She shot me a look before continuing. “I already sent a text. He’ll be here within the hour.”

“Thank you.” Lulu sighed in the way you would expect to hear from someone who had just heard their husband had come out of surgery fine. But this was a fence. It was a stupid fence that blocked woods that Jack was barely in. Yes, I had screwed up, but was it really that big of a deal?

“Lulu, I’m sorry. I was making lunch. I didn’t—”

“Look, I need to lay down for a bit,” she said dismissively. “Just…just make sure that fence gets fixed.”

“All right,” I muttered at her back as she walked away.

“I’ll show myself out,” Ester said, shooting me another withering glance. “After all, I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

She smirked as she walked past Lulu, giving her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it hurt. Maybe Ester was right. Maybe I had been here too long. Maybe after everything that happened, this wasn’t the place for me.

I turned back to the woods, staring out into the trees as though I could see my future among them or something.

I felt so alone. Even here, even among Lulu and the town where I had spent the first seventeen years of my life, I felt like an outsider. If only Mom were here. If only I could retreat into her the way I always used to when things went wrong. I never felt alone so long as I knew she existed in the world. And maybe that was the thing. Maybe now that she was no longer in the world, alone was all I would ever feel.

I ran my fingers through my hair and tried not to cry. Instead, I just kept staring out at those woods. And the funny thing was, for a second, it felt as though something might be staring back.

Chapter 2

BY THE TIME dinner rolled around, things had calmed between Lulu and me. I would like to think that was because Lulu realized she had overreacted about the whole ‘scary-woods, must-have-fence’ thing. But in all honesty, my chicken piccata probably had more to do with it. Lulu loved that recipe, and she had ever since my Grandma No Neck taught it to me during that summer I spent in the mountains.

That, paired with a bottle of wine, and Lulu could loosen up after just about anything. She was pregnant, though, so I would have to hope the piccata was especially potent tonight.

She scooped what was probably her third helping onto her plate and started to dig in.

Looks like it’s doing the trick.

My eyes gravitated from her to Jack, who was half covered in macaroni and cheese and completely over whatever perceived trauma Lulu inexplicably imagined he would face once he got three feet past the tree line.

“It’s different this time,” she said through a heaping mouthful. “What is that?”

I smiled. “I started adding in tabasco.”

“Really? Since when?” She stabbed at a cube of chicken with her fork.

“About seven years ago,” I said, wincing at all that statement revealed.

“Good God!” Apparently the effect hadn’t been lost on Lulu, either. “It has not been that long since we’ve spent real time together.”

“High school,” I said. “Not that I didn’t beg you to come with me.”

“Not this again,” she said, grinning and wagging her finger at me. “What was I going to do in New York, Char? I’m not pretty like you.”

“That is insanely untrue. For one, everyone thought we were twins growing up. You’re a freaking supermodel.”

“No,” she answered, grabbing Jack’s leaking juice cup and tightening the lid. “You’re a supermodel. I got magazines in the attic to prove it.”

“You kept those stupid things?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

“Are you joking? You were pretty much famous.”

“Tell that to my agency,” I mumbled, pushing food around on my plate with one of Lulu’s heirloom forks. I guess Ester hadn’t influenced her too much. Yet. “I wasn’t ‘pretty much famous’ enough to keep them from pretty much dropping my ass.”

“Morons.” She scoffed. “The world is full of them. It doesn’t take anything away from you.”

“Except an income,” I answered. “Speaking of which…” I wriggled uncomfortably in my chair. “I owe you a lot of money. I haven’t forgotten about that, and I will absolutely pay you back once—”

“Enough,” she said, raising her hand in stop-right-there fashion. “You’ve had a rough go of things, Char. Money should be the least of your worries.”

“Tell that to Medi-Collections. They’ve called me twice this week. Turns out chemo isn’t cheap.”

Images of my mother, of the way she looked at the end, strapped to machines and struggling for air, assaulted me the way the cancer had assaulted her. As always, tears stung my eyes.

Keep it together, Char. Streaky-mascara-face is not your best look.

I blinked hard and stared at my place. “I just want you to know I don’t expect a free ride.”

“And you aren’t getting one,” Lulu answered, reaching across the table to place her hand on mine. “You’re not here for nothing, Char.” She gave my fingers a little jiggle. “With Eddie gone so much for work, it’s not really feasible for me to be by myself right now, especially with Jack.”

“‘Cause I do such an amazing job watching him,” I muttered. “I really am sorry about earlier. What about the guy who’s supposed to fix the fence?”

Lulu sighed and pulled her hand back to beside her plate. “Ester texted me before we sat down. The project at the Coleman Mill is running long. They’re going to be three days. At the earliest.”

The anxiety in her tone didn’t make sense. It was only a fence. Not even the whole thing—just a single board…half of a board, actually. What was the big deal? But the way Lulu’s hands twisted around her napkin told me it was a big deal to her.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled. “Eddie left the gun.”

“The gun?” I almost choked on the air, my eyes flying wide. “Lulu, I get that your friends probably expect things to be perfect around here—Lord knows Ester seems like the type—but it’s a piece of wood. What the hell do you need a gun for?”

Her eyes moved over to Jack. Her hands gripped the napkin even tighter. “It’s nothing,” she said, almost panting. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because I’m not a mom?” I asked, already sick of that notion.

“Because you’re not from here,” she answered. “At least not lately. New Haven isn’t the same place we grew up in, Char. Things have changed, and we’ve had to change with them. The woods are part of that.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, tilting my head. “How could the woods change?”

“Look.” Lulu swigged another sip of water. “It’s not important, and neither is this whole money thing. Eddie makes a good living, certainly good enough that you don’t have to worry about stupid stuff like paying me back for snacks or whatever ridiculousness is cooking in that whacked out brain of yours.”

“I just want to do something. I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” I lamented, remembering what Ester had said.

“Then do something,” Lulu answered. “Get a job if you want. I, for one, would love the idea of you sticking around for more than a few weeks. Who knows, you might even find that this is somewhere you can call home again. Until then, my guest room definitely is.”

She stood, cradling her pregnant stomach and letting out the sort of belch girls only do when guys aren’t present.

“That was amazing. Thank you.” She smiled, the first non-strained gesture she’d made since the fence incident. “But I think Jack here is getting drowsy, and I need to sleep for a week after that.” She pulled Jack gently from his booster seat and took his hand. “Just remember to lock up before you go to bed, okay?”

I nodded.

Lock up. Right. Then she won’t need the gun.

Ugh.

“And Char,” she called over her shoulder from the kitchen doorway. “Do try not to be so hard on yourself. These morons out here, they don’t know the girl that I do.”

* * *

I SHOULD HAVE known better than to ever think Lulu would let one little transgression taint a friendship that had survived almost a decade of not being in the same zip code.

Still, I was a guest in this house, one who had no way to show my host how unbelievably grateful I was to have her—not to mention her guest room—in my life. Pulling out my laptop, I decided that if I couldn’t pay for rent, food, or practically anything else (thanks a lot, medical bills), then I could at least try to chip in where I could.

For whatever reason, this fence was bothering Lulu enough to consider brandishing a firearm. Setting that bit of lunacy aside, I figured if I could take matters into my own hands and fix the stupid thing, then that might be a good way to show her how appreciative I was for all she had done and was doing for me.

Never mind that the closest I had ever come to real manual labor was that time I had to provocatively press a sledge hammer against my chest for the cover of Maxim.

Fixing a fence couldn’t be that hard. A bit of wood, a couple nails, and some of that elbow grease I always heard the camera people talking about, and the job would be done. Lulu wouldn’t have to wait three days for those carpenter idiots to finish whatever crap they were doing at Dumbass Mills. It would be finished. I would have finished it, and aside from loosening Lulu’s death grip on that pistol, maybe getting something accomplished would actually make me feel better.

I opened the browser and searched for the nearest hardware store.

One hour away.

“Seriously?” I muttered to myself.

For all the expanding this stupid town had done, one would think a hardware store would be among the first improvements. Of course, my luck didn’t work that way.

A drive out of town for a piece of wood was impractical; I couldn’t afford the wood and nails if I spent all my money on a tank of gas. I would have to go to the town’s open market. And I hated the town’s open market.

I glanced at the clock and cursed under my breath. It was after eight, which meant most of the vendors would have closed shop by now. As much as I wanted to let Lulu wake up to a newly mended fence, it would have to wait until tomorrow. Better than three days, sure, but not the perfect surprise I had hoped for.

An image of a very pregnant Lulu snoring and clutching her pistol flashed through my mind. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so…okay, it was still pretty funny. But it was strange, too. What was it about those woods, and what had Lulu meant when she told me I wouldn’t understand?

On a whim, I typed Bookman’s Woods into the search engine. Bookman’s Woods was a mammoth, a national reserve really. It stretched through pieces of four towns and two counties and held more than three endangered species. But according to the search results, it turned out that wasn’t all it held.

A news article from the Freemont Times (the second town to the left) led the search results.

THIRD BODY IN TWO WEEKS FOUND IN BOOKMAN’S WOODS.

When I clicked, a picture of a smiling girl loaded, beneath it a caption that read “Same strange markings cover the remains.” Same strange markings? As what? The other bodies?

When I examined the picture more closely, I shuddered. She was brunette, like me. And she had blue-green eyes…also like me. In fact, she shared more than a passing resemblance with me, which made her death even more unsettling.

I didn’t want to read the article. I shouldn’t have read the article. But I couldn’t stop myself. I scrolled through quickly, learning that the girl who looked like me was named Nancy Redcliff, was a second year pre-med student at Freemont U, and had recently gotten engaged to her boyfriend of a year.

My scrolling finger froze as I neared the picture of her body. A lump grew in my throat the way it always did when I looked at something like this. But it wasn’t the gore that gave me pause.

The markings—large scratches that crisscrossed the poor girl’s back—looked just like those I saw on Dad that night…the night he disappeared.

The memories flooded my mind as fresh as if it’d just happened, when in reality, it’d been decades ago. Heck, I’d only been eight when he’d walked through the front door, silent and gruff. It wasn’t unusual for him, though. Dad was often that way. He laid concrete, and he hated it. Mom and I stayed out of his way on nights like those. But that night, for whatever reason, I decided to bring him cookies, something to make him feel better.

When I walked in, he was changing his shirt. The unexpected markings on his back took my breath away.

“Daddy! Oh, goodness! What—”

He screamed at me get out, said I would be better off as far away from him as possible.

I opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong, but he brushed past me. I hadn’t even noticed the bag in his hand until I stood at the window, perched on my tippy toes as I watched him march into the woods. The same woods that Lulu was so afraid of now.

It was the last time I ever saw him.

I slammed the laptop shut. This was ridiculous. So a couple of kids got themselves killed out in the woods. It was probably an animal and had absolutely nothing to do with what happened with my father.

For so long, I had convinced myself that Dad disappeared, that something must have happened to him. Forget the telltale bag slugged over his shoulder. He would never leave us. He would never leave me.

But now that I was grown, I knew better.

My father ran away from us. Anything else was just a story I told myself to try and feel better. I was done with stories, and I was done with towns that told them. Getting yourself all worked up because there was a wolf or a mountain lion thirty miles away didn’t make any sense. God, a night in a real city would put all of these bumpkins in the looney bin.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to stay here, in some place where they spun tales tall enough to make your best friend sleep with a gun under her pillow.

I didn’t want to be that person, not for anything. And something told me that if I stayed here long enough, I wouldn’t be able to help it.

No, I would go to sleep, get up, pick up the supplies I needed from town, and fix the stupid fence. Then I would get a job, save up like crazy, and make a break for it. Maybe I could call my (former) agent and beg him to take me back.

Hell, the Sears Catalog always needs models.

I punched my pillow, trying not to think about this ridiculous place, about all it had seen me lose.

“Idiots,” I muttered, climbing into bed. “They turn their town into a pressure cooker and then they make monsters out of thin—”

A sudden howling cut off my words.

Tensing, I threw my covers off and lurched for the window. The sound was nothing. A dog, or something. I would prove that to myself.

I glared out into those goddamn woods. See, nothing. Absolutely—

A shadow moved between the trees, hulking and burly, but also tall—too tall to be an animal.

I blinked hard, once, and then again. When I looked back, there was nothing there.

Stop it, Char.

This place would drive me crazy if I let it. It was nothing. An animal.

I got back in bed, trying to feel more New York and less New Haven. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t let go of the howl…or the markings…or the dead girl who looked just like me.

Chapter 3

I SET MY alarm for 6:45 the next morning, thinking that if I got a handle on the whole fence issue, I might be able to wrestle the pistol out of Lulu’s hand without incident. Of course, after my internet escapades last night and that howl in the distance (which was absolutely positively a coyote…right?) I didn’t really need help waking up. I’d completely missed my “window” and was on my second wind when the clock radio sprang to life, blaring ‘My Humps’ and telling me that the night was mercifully over.

I opened my closet with all the aplomb you would expect in the morning from someone who had spent her formative years sleeping until noon.

Crap. Laundry day.

Scanning the rack, I found the only clean thing I had was a dress the good people at Seventeen Magazine allowed me to keep after a particularly breezy photo-shoot. I wanted to be low key at the stupid open market. How could I do that in a sundress that featured a dangerously low cut top and a sparkling gold sequins?

Oh, screw it. Might as well give these stuffy losers something to talk about.

I grabbed the matching sky high heels, because when you jump down the rabbit hole, you do it with both feet. Quietly, I snuck out of the house, closing the door behind me, my heels clapping against the sidewalk like a runway model on her first trip to Milan.

A slight breeze cut through the springtime warmth, and birds sang in the trees as if they were serenading some cartoon princess. The open market was just through town, a half-mile walk at the most if I went straight. But straight meant I would have to pass by the cemetery, and I wasn’t ready to do that, not yet. I made a quick left and hummed along with the birds, trying to keep my mind in a light place.

The streets were obviously emptier than what I was used to back in New York. Even at this time of morning, the city would be a mass of people all buzzing about. But aside from some joggers (a few of whom did double takes when they caught a glimpse of my outfit), I was pretty much by myself.

To stave off the boredom, I popped in my earbuds and shuffled through my downloads. If people judged me by the way I looked, they would probably assume there was some bubblegum club song jamming through my head, but the truth was, I had always been more of a book girl. After all, there was no law that said models couldn’t enjoy Steinbeck.

Ten minutes and half of an audiobook chapter later, I was pulled from my third visit with Holden Caulfield by a hand on my shoulder. I spun around, removing the buds from my ears.

A burly man with a five o’clock shadow and a baseball cap that read ‘John Deere’ stood grinning at me. A wad of chewing tobacco protruded from his lip and his tongue flicked disgustingly in and out of his mouth.

“Well, how you doing, sweet thing?” he drawled. His smell—whiskey and sweat—nearly knocked me down.

“Fine ‘til a minute ago.” I jerked away from him. “You need to sober up, dude.”

“Me?” He scoffed, but his half-open, bloodshot eyes agreed. “I ain’t the one taking the walk of shame.”

“What? I didn’t—”

“Save it, sweet thing. That’s a club dress if I ever saw one. You leave your car over at Fangs? I could give you a ride. You know, it ain’t safe for a girl to be walking around these parts by herself.” He looked me up and down, drinking me in with a look that made me glad I’d skipped breakfast. “Especially one like you.”

“I think I got it,” I said, stumbling backward and feeling one of my heels wobble under me. “Besides, it doesn’t look like you’re in any condition to be driving anyone anywhere.”

“Come on,” he slurred. “You obviously ain’t the type to keep your legs closed for long. What’s one more time?”

Okay, so I’d never been the type of girl to get stunned easily, but that sure as hell did it.

I opened my mouth to speak, or barf, or something. Instead, a loud, raucous laugh burst out. To my surprise, I found myself nearly keeling over, grabbing my gut and chuckling.

“Seriously?” I said, cupping my mouth with my hands. “Oh, my God! Are you serious?”

Understandably, he was not amused.

“You think this is a joke, bitch?” He spit tobacco-colored crud at my feet. His meaty hands balled into fists at his sides. “You think this is funny?”

Before I could reply, another voice came from behind me: “It’s certainly pathetic enough to be funny.”

I turned to find a sleek man with blond hair, angular features, and blue eyes so bright I was sure they could cut diamonds. His arms crossed his chest—his very…nice…chest.

Wow.

“This ain’t nothing to do with you, kid,” the drunken brute stammered, marching closer. “Step aside. You can’t handle this.”

The blond man smiled wide. “As the foremost expert on all things me, I’ll have to disagree with that.”

“He’s big,” I muttered to the blond man as he settled beside me.

“They always are,” he answered. “Just means he thinks he doesn’t have to work as hard. You wanna hold my phone while I take care of this?” He shoved his white iPhone into my hands before I could answer.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he answered. “Doesn’t mean you should have to.”

With that, the blond man darted forward, bridging the gap between himself and the drunkard.

The drunk man swung at him, but the blond ducked, causing the bigger man to stagger as he missed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the blond man asked, circling the drunk.

“Pfft! You can’t hurt me, kid! You ain’t nothing but a twerp.”

“Whatever you say.” The blond man shot me a smile. “This’ll only take a second.”

The infuriated drunkard lunged at the blond man. As nimble as a dancer, the blond man spun around, pulling a pair of cuffs from his back pocket and slapping one onto the drunk man’s wrist. He gave him a swift kick to the knee, which sent him wobbling. The blond man closed the other handcuff onto a nearby stop sign.

“See, just a second.” He turned to me, a grin still on his handsome face. He pulled a walkie talkie I hadn’t seen before from his hip and spoke into it. “10-94 on Crescent Avenue. Transport requested. Suspect is apprehended. Be aware, he’s as big as an ox and drunk enough to be flammable.”

“10-4,” someone on the other side of the line answered. “Be there in three.”

Before long, a New Haven police car screeched up to us. The blond man talked to an officer who helped the drunkard into the back and then promised to “get the girl’s statement.” Up until that point, I’d just been standing there stunned. After all, here I thought this handsome blond was trying to be my hero, but he was really just doing his job.

“You okay?” the blond man asked as the car pulled away, taking the drunk to jail.

“Yeah,” I answered, more sternly than I probably should have. “I told you I didn’t need your help. I could have dealt with that guy fine on my own.”

“Of course you could have.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his tight-fitted jeans. “You were always like that, though. I remember that time you and Lu tied me to that tree by the lake. God, you guys used to scare the hell out of me.”

“Wait?” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

A blush flared in his cheeks. “You don’t remember me, do you?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “God, Char, you’re killing me here.”

Okay, so he knew my name. And he knew Lulu’s name. But who did we tie up to a tree other than…

“No, you’re not!” I said, looking him up and down. “Dalton?”

He spread his arms wide. “The one and only!”

Lulu’s kid brother was a snot-nosed, piss-ant of a kid when I left town. He had big ears, scrawny arms, and a disposition that would wilt flowers if they were in direct communication with him for too long.

This guy was…hot. He was hot and charming. They couldn’t be the same person.

“But you’re a child,” I said, piecing things together.

“I’m twenty-four, Char,” he said, arching his eyebrows at me. “Tabloids have shown you with younger. Not that I’ve been keeping up with you…”

The heat in my face spread to my ears, and I looked away. “Yeah, you definitely grew up,” I muttered. “And filled out.”

“I’m not the only one.” When I looked back, he winked at me.

“And you’re a cop?”

“A detective, actually,” he said. “Hence the street clothes. I live in Milledgeville now. I’m on a case at the moment, so I really need to get going.” He moved closer to me with a hint of something devilish in his gaze. “I’m supposed to get a statement from you about that drunken jackass, but seeing how I’m kinda busy right now, maybe we could get coffee tomorrow.”

Was he…asking me out? Was Lulu’s little brother asking me to go on a date with him? I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. On one hand, he was definitely cute enough to warrant a second (and probably third, fourth, and fifth) glance. But he was Lulu’s brother. Wouldn’t that make things weird?

Ugh! I shook my head. What did it matter? I wasn’t here for that. I wasn’t even here to stay.

“We can meet for coffee, but only while you take my statement,” I answered firmly.

He smiled. “What else did you have in mind?”

“Look, I—”

“Oh, stop.” He waved me off. “Does it look like I’m hiding a diamond ring in my pocket?” He kicked a pebble in front of him. “Just coffee is more than okay with me. I’ll text you the address.” He shot me another smile and started to walk away. “You know,” he said, turning around and walking backwards, “they were right about you. You went off to the big city and got all full of yourself.”

My face grew even hotter now, and my hands balled at my sides. “I did not!”

“Yeah, you did,” he said, looking me up and down. “But I never said you didn’t have reason to be.”

* * *

I HAD BARELY managed to beat Dalton out of the forefront of my mind when I made my way into what passed for the heart of town. Good, I thought. That meant I had successfully dodged the cemetery. Coming face to face with that place right now, with my mother’s headstone in the western corner, would only serve to send my mind down a path it didn’t need to go right now. I was here to reset, and you can’t reset if you keep rewinding.

The extra-crowded marketplace came into view. People smothered the streets and, the drunken would-be rapist aside, my dress and shoe combination had its expected effect. I could barely contain my glee at seeing the distasteful looks that graced the faces of the old farts as they caught sight of me.

A woman whispered, “She’s either charging for it or giving it away,” to her friend, and as I was about to spin around and give her a challenging glare, something more alarming caught my attention. A missing person poster. I wouldn’t have stopped normally, but aside from missing posters being something of an oddity in a town like New Haven, the girl’s picture was oddly familiar. She looked like…

Well, she looked just like me.

As I read over the poster, checking out the girl's brown curls, her full cheeks and bust, and the curve of her hips that could have been a reflection of my own, I shuddered. Sure, her nose was a little bigger, and her eyes were a darker shade of blue. But, for the second time in two days, I was face to face with a picture of a woman who looked a great deal like me. And, for the second time, it was clear something horrible had happened to her.

Annabeth Girts was last seen heading to her car on the night of April 16th. At the time of her disappearance, she was wearing an orange sweater and jeans. Any persons with information on her whereabouts are to contact—

I would have kept reading, except right then, my heel broke.

As I went winding down a nearby stairwell, I thought about a lot of things— none more than the fact that the piece of garbage Italian shoes were eleven thousand goddamn dollars! And they were now likely about to kill me. All because New Haven liked half of their stores to have cellars!

I braced for impact, envisioning my bloodied face and broken teeth that would no doubt come as a result of tumbling down concrete stairs.

I wonder who I could sue at this point.

But there was no pain, no metallic blood taste, no broken teeth or bruised tailbones. Instead, I found myself in the arms of a man—the second inexplicably attractive man I had crossed paths with in a single day.

Either I was losing it, or Lulu was right. This town had changed. Especially with the selection of…er, well…men.

My rescuer this time had dark eyes and even darker hair that slicked back on his head. His cheekbones were dusted with stubble—I would bet he was the type that always had five o’clock shadow. He stared down at me for a long moment before his lips, pink and inviting, finally parted to speak.

“You-you have a freckle in your eye,” he said.

“I got it from my father,” I mumbled, staring at him hesitantly, as though his face were the sun and I didn’t want to blind myself.

He shook his head. “What are you doing down here?”

“I…I fell,” I said, bristling at the steel in his voice.

“I can see that.” His scowl set firmer. “I mean what were you doing skulking around at my doorstep? And what did you do with my barrier?”

He glared at the street above, at the decidedly barren stairwell that apparently was supposed to be blocked off.

“I didn’t see any barrier,” I said, trying—and failing—to squirm my way out of his arms.

“Damn children,” he growled. His chest, firm and impressive, rose and fell in deep, sharp intakes of breath. “Look, no one is supposed to be down here. It’s not safe.”

“Obviously,” I said. “Now can you put me down?”

He sighed heavily and sat me on the pavement. I winced as pain shot up my ankle and my leg folded under me.

“Damn it, you’re hurt,” he said, scooping me back up, but sounding more perturbed than concerned. “I suppose you’ll have to come in now.”

“Well, don’t put yourself out or anything. Wouldn’t want you to overdo it with the compassion and pull a muscle.”

He glared down at me and huffed, marching me through a door he unlocked by pressing a series of numbers against a keypad.

I bit at the inside of my cheek, debating if I might be better off hobbling home with my injuries or letting this jerk help me. Considering he was a very handsome jerk, I went along with the latter.

We entered a huge, barren space that, upon first inspection, was probably almost definitely a murder dungeon.

On the off chance I was wrong, I muttered, “What is this place?”

“A club,” he answered flatly. “Or it will be in two weeks.”

“A club?” I asked, looking around at the dark, dank void, thinking about how big of a turnaround two weeks would have to bring for this to be anything even close to such a thing.

“Yes,” he said, setting me on a lone, dusty stool. “For dancing, mingling…you know, general merriment.”

“General merriment?” I asked, giggling inwardly. “Why would you even want a club in a town like this? There’s no market for it.”

“There are young people here,” he answered. “This will give them someplace to go. Someplace safe,” he finished under his breath. “Let me get you ice and get you on your way.”

“You’re a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” I said as he disappeared off into a backroom.

Looking around the space, I saw it was even more pathetic right side up. There was no way this guy was going to turn this place into a club in two weeks. It would take someone of immense taste and talent to pull that sort of thing off. It would take someone who had been around the block a time or two, someone who knew what she was doing and had the foresight to get it done, someone like…

My gaze fell on a ‘Manager Wanted’ sign.

While it was true I didn’t want to stick around, this was the sort of thing that could really help me out. I could help Mr. Deadpan get this place up and running, make a little scratch, and then take off once I got my legs back under me. Plus it would give me something to do so I wouldn’t feel like such an anchor around Lulu’s neck.

“You’re looking for a manager,” I yelled into the distance.

“No,” he yelled back.

“You’re not?”

“I am, but it’s not you,” he answered, still in the other room. “There’s a form and protocol. But that aside, you wouldn’t be a good fit.”

“Me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “I spent my formative years in New York hobnobbing with Hollywood starlets and athletes. And you think I wouldn’t be a good fit? I can’t see why, given that it would take me all of fifteen minutes to give this place a fighting chance.”

“Look, I understand you’re—”

A loud rumbling noise came from the back, like thunder or a large machine malfunctioning.

There was silence for a long time after that—so long that I leaned forward and shouted, “Hey, bud, you okay?”

The noise amplified and a muffled “Goddamn it!” came from the back room. Then there was a loud clanking and crash, as if a set of dishes had shattered against the floor. This guy was going to get himself killed.

I slid off the stool, careful not to put much pressure on my ankle. I moved forward. Sure, it ached a little, but if you could walk a runway with half a placemat and light bulbs on your head (thank you, Fall line 2011), hobbling around on a banged up ankle was cake.

I inched toward the backroom, following through the hallway the man had disappeared into. It stretched out a hundred feet and then split off left and right. Making my way to the ‘fork’, I passed a room on the right with a huge padlock on it. The door was wooden and looked even older and more neglected than the rest of this place. But that wasn’t the strangest part. There a symbol, like a crescent moon, painted red with a few dots on the inside.

“Damn!” came another shout from the left.

I turned to find him on his knees, soaked to the bone, jabbing at what looked like an ice machine. A plastic bag, no doubt where my ice was intended to reside, lay empty on the floor.

He growled. “This blasted contraption!”

“Blasted contraption?” I asked, arching my eyebrows.

“You shouldn’t be standing,” he said, giving me the briefest of glances. “I don’t have the time or resources for a lawsuit, so if you could kindly limit the amount of damage you inflict upon your body, I would appreciate it.”

“I bet you’re popular,” I said, leaning against the wall and taking the pressure off my foot.

He stood, his dripping shirt clinging to his hulking chest. Well, damn. He probably actually was popular, regardless of how he treated people.

He pressed his hands against his knees and shook his head. “I can’t get this ridiculous machine to work.”

“I gathered that.”

“There are so many buttons, and so many different kinds of ice. Who would want their ice to be crushed, anyway?”

“Me.”

“Figures,” he muttered.

“So how are you going to run an entire nightclub if you can’t even fill a bag of ice?”

He threw his hand toward the machine. “No one could work that stupid thing.”

“Press power twice,” I said, “then hit crushed, and then enter.” I hopped over to the machine and filled the bag the way I had a million times back when I was still working at that restaurant before my agent landed me my first real gig. “It’s pretty standard. It works the way you think it would.” I gave him a quick look over and amended, “Well, maybe not the way you think it would.”

His mouth fell open, but he snapped it shut it before mumbling, “I have a soda machine on the way.”

“I can work that.”

“And an espresso maker.” This time his raised his eyes to me. He looked defeated and hopeful all at once.

“I can work that, too.”

“What if I put a stipulation in your contract saying you can’t sue me for throwing yourself down the stars?”

“I didn’t throw myself anywhere, but sure, I’ll sign it.” I grinned. “Boss.”

He picked himself up off the floor and stepped out of the room and into the hall with me. “Abram Canavar,” he said gruffly—or perhaps he was just bitter over conceding I knew my way around a club. “When can you start?”

Chapter 4

“I CAN’T BELIEVE you,” Dalton said, taking a sip of his coffee and staring at me over the brim of his mug. His blond hair hung lazily in his eyes, and though I couldn’t see his lips, there was no doubt in my mind he was smiling.

I tried a swallow of my cappuccino, but it was way too hot. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do.” He wiped his mouth. “Not to toot my own horn or anything, but it isn’t every woman who’d make me wait two weeks for a date.”

He swept his hand to indicate his body, and I couldn’t argue there. He was dressed down, in a gray t-shirt and corduroys; his pistol dangling visibly from his hip sure as hell didn’t hurt. He was, indeed, not the type of guy you expect to wait for you. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

I lifted my eyebrows and grinned. “Did you really just use the phrase ‘toot my own horn’?”

“I know. It’s sexier than you thought, right?”

Coming from him, yeah, just about anything would be sexier than I expected. But the whole situation was still strange. I mean, this was Lulu’s little brother. I basically watched him grow up. He’d at least traded in his tastes for earth worms for expensive coffee. And seeing how we were flirting shamelessly, apparently my tastes had changed, too.

“Who said this was a date?” I asked, half toying with him and half genuinely not sure if I wanted to commit to that idea.

“Nobody,” he admitted, plunging a stirrer into his coffee and twirling it. “But nobody came out and said the sun was up, either. Doesn’t mean we don’t need shades. We’re both grown now, Char. Let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here.”

He bit his lip, which was admittedly much sexier than I would have liked it to be.

“I’ve been busy,” I said, trying—and failing—not to stare at him. “That’s why it’s taken me so long. It’s not because—” I cleared my throat. “I don’t know if Lulu told you, but I got off my ass and actually found a job.”

Well, the truth was that I fell on my ass and got the job, but he didn’t need to know that.

“She said something about it,” he answered, his tone firmer than I expected.

“Something wrong?” I asked, leaning in ever-so-slightly.

“That night club, right?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s the goal,” I answered. “The truth is, it was barely a pit in the ground when I got there. The guy who owns the place wouldn’t know contemporary from alt contemporary if the theming slapped him in the face.”

Dalton’s eyes glazed over, and he blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t open a night club, either,” I said with a reprimanding point of my finger. “But I’ve made good headway since I got there. I actually need to get back before long. Tonight is the grand opening, and there’s—”

“I don’t think you should work there anymore,” he said, then he swigged his coffee again.

I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’m sure you’re good at what you do—great, probably. But I’ve been around since the last time we’ve seen each other, Char. I know things now—things I sometimes wish I didn’t. Places like that and girls like you…they don’t mix.”

Suddenly, I felt acutely aware of what I was wearing, of every inch of exposed skin and every fleck of makeup. I was right back there with that drunkard, being judged by my clothes and appearance.

“Girls like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He shook his head and pushed his coffee aside. “This case I’m on…it’s getting to me more than it should.”

“The girl on the missing poster?” I asked.

“I’m not really allowed to talk about that,” he answered.

“Do you have any idea who did it?” I asked, my heart racing. He knew about this more than I did, and we were both avoiding the elephant in the room—that the missing girl looked a helluva-lot like me.

“There are a lot of awful people in the world, Char.” His hand fell and hovered over his pistol. I wondered if he even realized he was doing that. “And they tend to congregate in those sorts of places…clubs...the nightlife scene.”

“I meant it when I said I could take care of myself,” I said, splaying my hands across the table. “It’s cute that you’re worried about me. Really, it is. But if you’re curious about what kind of girl I am,” I said, harkening back to his earlier phrase, “I’m going to tell you that I’m not the sort who gets scared off easily. All this talk of missing girls and howling things in the woods—it just doesn’t do much for me.”

“Doesn’t much matter what it does for you. Still poses a threat to the women in our town.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, ticking my head to the side. “Well, buddy, let me tell you. I’ve lived in scarier places than New Haven.” I had to hold back a giggle at the thought. Big Bad New Haven. Yeah. This single murder was the most action they’d had in decades. “I’ve lived in the city, Dalton. I’ve worked the graveyard shift for a year and a half. Had pervs glaring at me with every step down the runway—”

“This is making me feel better, Char,” he said, his mouth setting into a grim line.

“My point is, this ‘small town gird your loins’ nonsense isn’t going to change the way I sleep at night.” I huffed. “Now this might not be the best job in the world, and Lord knows Abram is far from the best boss,” I said, thinking of his cold attitude and barking nature, “but the pay is good, and it gives me something to do besides take up space at your sister’s house.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, spreading his hands. “I get it, and I totally respect your decision. Now get back to that part where you were calling me cute.”

I chuckled out loud, surprising myself. “I didn’t call you cute. I said what you were doing was sort of cute. Sort of.”

“Potatoes, tomatoes, Char. Don’t run from your feelings.” He smiled and rested his chin flat against his hands, which were folded on the table. Suddenly he looked like a puppy—cute, harmless, and ready to show submission.

“Don’t give me that look,” I told him, noticing the way his bright eyes got wider, rounder, and even more adorable.

“You didn’t mind it when we were kids,” he teased.

“It didn’t have the same effect back then.” I nearly choked on my words. I was determined not to let him affect me. At least not until I knew where these feelings were leading us. “Look, I don’t like to talk about this, but it’s been a rough year for me. Losing my mother, losing my job—it took a toll on me. And while your sister has been better to me than I have any right to expect, coming back here hasn’t been the best thing in the world for me, either. Everyone’s moved on around here. Their lives are different…fuller. I have to find something to do with myself. This might not be the place I want to be forever, but it looks like the place I’m going to have to be for a while. And I can’t just keep mooching off your sister.”

“You could always move in with me,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m sure I could find something to keep you busy.”

“Slow your roll, Puppy Dog.” I leaned back, resting my arm on the back of my chair. “Usually, a guy takes me to dinner before inviting me to move in.”

“Deal!” Dalton said, snapping his head upward. “I’ll pick you up Friday night at seven.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” I said, sitting forward again. “That wasn’t—”

“Too late. I already accepted.” He finished off the last of his coffee. “And I don’t like to be disappointed.”

“Fine,” I mumbled, following him to the door, “but—”

Before I could finish my thought, he turned toward me, putting us inches apart. The tension rendered whatever I was about to say pointless. My breath caught in my chest. I couldn’t deny my attraction, even if whatever was happening between us felt…wrong. Would I ever be able to see him as something other than my best friend’s little brother?

“There’s something about you, Char, hiding right under the surface,” he said quietly into the silence between us. “I’m not sure how I missed it before.”

I could say the same for you, I thought, blushing uncontrollably.

His arm reached past me, bringing his face a hair’s breadth from mine. Oh, no. This wasn’t good. He was going to kiss me, and I so wasn’t ready for that.

My hands shot up to stop him. “Dalton, wait!”

He pulled his arm back, coat now in hand where it wasn’t before. “Just had to grab my jacket, Char.” He winked. “See you soon.”

Then he left, and I stood at the door for a good ten minutes waiting for my heart to stop beating so wildly in my chest.

* * *

IN THE TWO weeks I had been working at Abram’s club, I had made several changes. I switched out the lighting (who wanted fluorescent tube lights in a club, anyway?), I canceled his furniture shipment and changed it out for something a little hipper (which wasn’t hard considering he had ordered wicker), and I even convinced him not to put mirrors on the ceiling (since, you know, it wasn’t the seventies). But the most important change I had implemented since coming here was definitely when I convinced Abram to change the name.

It wasn’t easy. Things never were with Abram. Even when he was there, which wasn’t nearly as frequently as you would expect from an owner, he was stubborn as an ox and completely closed off to the idea of change. Luckily for him, I could be just as stubborn, and I didn’t have the taste of somebody’s grandfather.

“I named it the Cellar because it’s in a damn cellar! How much more explanation does it need?” he’d said when I’d confronted him about his choice of name for his establishment.

I’d combated that quite easily: “A cellar is dark and dank, you idiot! Who wants to go there? You might as well name it The Cesspool!”

We settled on ‘The Castle” since it was old and majestic-sounding enough to suit Abram and because, well, it was better than The Cesspool. I mean, The Cellar. Either way.

As I passed the club sign, I gave it a little wink, seeing it as proof not only of my effectiveness here, but also of how misplaced Dalton’s fears had been.

‘That kind of girl’, my big, gorgeous ass.

Descending the staircase (much more gracefully this time than the first time), I was surprised to see Abram locking the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “We only have three hours until opening. We need to be inside.”

“You’re late,” he growled at me, which I absolutely expected at this point.

“Pfft, twenty minutes. I had a date. Besides, I figured you’d be—”

“It’s almost dark!” He spun toward me. The stubble on his face was fuller now, almost too full given that, just yesterday, he was nearly clean shaven.

“Newsflash,” I said, “nightclubs are open at night.”

Actually, come to think of it, I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen Abram around here in the evenings, much less at night. Certainly he couldn’t keep that up, though. We were about to open. He had to be here for that.

“Where are you going anyway?” I asked.

“I have to attend to some business,” he answered, gaze firmly directed toward the pavement.

It was then that I noticed how labored his breathing was. He practically huffed at me. And the look seeping out through his eyes spoke of either pain or anger. Maybe both.

“This is your business, Abram,” I said, planting my fists on my hips. “We open the doors in just a few hours. You have to be here.”

“I have other things to consider.” He clutched at his gut, folding into himself just a little.

“Are you okay?” I asked, inching forward instinctively. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“You have a job, Ms. Bellamy.” He grunted again, obviously hurting. “I expect you to be on time, and I expect you to do what’s required of you.” He moaned, bowling over.

“Jesus, Abram, let me call somebody.”

He threw a hand in front of him, stopping me in my tracks. “If you want to help, you can get the hell away from me and do your damn job!”

His teeth ground together, and his muscles clenched, flexing under his tight-fitting black jacket.

I inched backward, eyeing him up and down. Sweat poured off every exposed inch of his body as he sat hunched-over on the pavement.

“Are you stupid?!” He growled. “Get inside! Now!”

Normally, if a man spoke to me like that, I would introduce his crotch to my Louboutins. But something was going on here, and I didn’t have a full picture of what it was.

So instead of flipping out all over this hardheaded douchebag, I just glared at him and said, “I know what my job is. You don’t have to be such a beast about it.”

He got up slowly, tensing his muscles as if he was afraid his insides were going to come pouring out. Turning from me, he began up the stairwell. “Ms. Bellamy, you have no idea.”

Chapter 5

THE NEXT FEW hours flew by quicker than I had hoped. In my mind, I would have plenty of time to get everything in order before The Castle’s grand opening. In reality, though, I probably looked more like a Milan noob on a greased runway.

There was just so much to do, and until the trail bartenders and wait staff got here, I was the only one to do it. And whose fault was that?

So, while I bustled about, arranging and rearranging the chairs, tables, and centerpieces, I couldn’t help but curse Abram under my breath. He should have been here. Hell, he should be the one doing most of the heavy lifting. This was, after all, his nightclub. Shouldn’t he be at least a little concerned about how the place looked once the floodgates opened?

Still, he had been sick. He was practically bowling over in pain when he left, all gritted teeth and clenched muscles. I should have called the ambulance. For all I knew, the brute could be lying in a ditch somewhere. But the idiot had a head like Monday morning. You just couldn’t get through it.

So, sensitive and caring woman that I was, I found my irritation with him tinged with a little concern.

That really pissed me off.

Once I was absolutely sure (for the third time) that the contemporary decor was all centered and the ‘feel’ of the room was perfect, I moved my attention to more utilitarian matters. There was a huge cooler behind the bar, and it needed to be filled before thirsty customers arrived. I had always found getting people drunk was more about timing and less about actual desire. Nobody liked to wait for their ‘whatever on the rocks,’ and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the hostess/manager/woman who did everything because the damn boss couldn’t be bothered to.

Sure, I could have waited for the new bouncer to get here and help. God knew he was probably going to be bored to tears tonight. New Haven wasn’t the type of place to support a line past the velvet rope. But I was too type A for that. So I kicked off my giant heels and made haste toward that troublesome ice machine.

I was three trips into what was certainly going to be double digit treks when a noise from inside the room across the hall stopped me in my tracks. It was loud but nondescript, like white static or distant rainfall. I hadn’t been outside for a few hours now, and the downstairs of the club didn’t have many windows. The sky had been clear last I’d checked, but if it was raining now, it sounded as though Abram had left a window open.

I set the ice bucket down and stepped into the hall, and as I neared the other room, the strange red symbol painted on the door began to take shape. Still, I couldn’t tell what it was. I grabbed the handle and turned, but the door was locked.

Maybe I should call Abram. Whatever was in that room would no doubt be ruined if it was raining as hard as it sounded. Then again, he had been a super dick to me earlier…

You know what? Let it pour.

Maybe that would teach him to be a little more responsible with his club.

By my seventh trip, the noise quieted, so at least the rain was dying down. But there was another layer to the sound now. A melodic whisper…a song…as if someone was singing on the other side of the door.

Well, that didn’t make any sense. As far as I knew, I was the only person in the club. Abram must have left a CD playing. I pressed my ear against the door to get a better listen as the song continued.

It was…hmmm…I had to be hearing that wrong. It sounded like it was whispering my name.

I bristled and pulled my head away.

“Hello?” I rested just my palms against the door now. “Hello? Is someone—”

The door flared with heat, and I jerked backward as the metal burned my hands.

What the hell!

The song got louder, whispering my name over and over again.

“Real funny, Abram!” I said, hoping that it was a joke. I knew better, though. Abram wasn’t the joking type. And besides which, he wasn’t even here.

A knock on the door startled me so much that I shuddered.

“Charisse,” a voice sounded from the alleyway outside, and I jumped again, then caught my breath.

Get a hold of yourself, girl! It’s just the bartender.

I flipped open my phone and checked the time. Almost seven. The club would open in just over an hour. I needed to get back to work.

I gave the weird door one last look before sprinting down the hall to let the bartender in. She stood waiting for me with a big smile on her face, dry to the bone and not a puddle in sight.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I didn’t see New Haven as the sort of place to have much of a market for a night club. A bar, sure. A backwoods pool hall, definitely. But the sort of quasi-refined establishment I had in mind, not so much.

As such, I didn’t allow myself to entertain the possibility of The Castle filling up. Half-full would be a good night, I told myself. So you can imagine my surprise when not only did the place fill to capacity, but a line formed outside the door.

I guess the bouncer won’t be so bored after all.

Things moved quickly after that, and despite myself, a sense of pride started to build inside of me. I had done this. This place was popular, in part, because of all the hard work I had put into it in the last few weeks.

It sure as hell wasn’t Abram’s doing.

I thought about calling him. After all, it was his pockets that the thirsty crowd was lining tonight. And despite how infuriated I was with him, I wanted to make sure he was okay. And what was more, I kind of just wanted to talk to him.

No, that can’t be right.

My specific role changed a bit as the night progressed. I hadn’t really expected the influx of people, and Abram’s wallet hadn’t exactly been open during all of our planning, so I had hired accordingly. In other words, we were wildly understaffed. So as the hours passed, I went from proud manager, to equally proud hostess, all the way to down to haggard (but still proud) waitress.

I had just spilled three vodka tonics all over my white blouse when I heard the first words in hours that weren’t commands or drink orders.

“Lulu, I thought you said she ran the place,” came a familiar voice. “From here she just looks like a barmaid who’s showing too much cleavage.”

I quickly found the source. Ester sat at a nearby table beside Lulu, eyeing me up and down like a cat staring at a goldfish she deemed too small to worry about.

God, why couldn’t it have been a drink order?

“Char, your shirt…” Lulu mumbled, her gaze landing on me. There was a soda water in her hand, and the look on her face was a mix of shock and discomfort.

“I know,” I said. “It’s ruined.” I bent down and picked up the spilled glasses. “And it was Prada,” I said, cutting my eyes over to Ester. “Very expensive.”

“Well, now it’s see through,” Ester announced, grinning and taking a sip of her drink. Looking back at Lulu, she muttered, “I told you she wasn’t wearing a bra.”

Of course I wasn’t wearing a bra. Bras weren’t exactly designed for open-backed tops. But how would she know?

I followed her gaze down to my breasts only to find that the vodka tonics had bled through the fabric, exposing—well, everything I had that was exposable.

My face ran hot as I realized everyone was staring at me.

“Damn it!” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I didn’t expect you to be so modest.” Ester pursed her lips. “I guess models are only comfortable showing skin when they have Photoshop to correct those little imperfections.”

“Ester!” Lulu said, her gaze shooting daggers at her new friend.

“What?” she asked, motioning to my unintended display. “So they’re not perfect? I’m not judging her or anything.”

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said through clenched teeth. Without waiting for an answer, I bolted off, arms still crossed to salvage what dignity I had left.

This was so not how I wanted the night to go. Not only had I exposed myself in front of basically the entire town, but I had made a fool of myself in a place I was supposed to run. This officially could not get any worse.

“Char?” Dalton’s voice boomed in my ear like a firing squad cocking their guns. He had just walked in and (if there was a God in heaven) maybe he hadn’t seen everything I had to offer.

“I can’t right now,” I said, trying my best to move away from him.

The place was crowded, though, and the guys here didn’t seem as though they wanted to help a buxom (and basically topless) woman run away.

“I just wanted to say hey,” he said, weaving through the crowd with irksome ease.

“Hey,” I said, over my shoulder, still moving, still intent on getting out of this with at least a little of my self-respect intact.

“Well, I mean, and to say congrats.” He was close now—so close I could feel his breath on my neck.

He swung in front of me, stopping me where I stood. My shirt dripped onto the floor, I stunk of alcohol, and worst of all, every inch of breast that wasn’t covered by my hands, might as well have had a blinking arrow pointing to it.

I sighed, accepting defeat. “Thanks.”

“Oh, wow,” he said. His gaze lingered where everyone else’s had, but to his credit, he forced his attention upward to my face. “That’s a lot of—”

“Yes, it is,” I answered. “And there are a lot of people here, so if you don’t mind—”

“Right!” Dalton said. “On it.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over my chest. “There we go,” he said, looking at me again. “I wanted to tell you congratulations on the opening.” He grinned. “Though, if I’m being honest, I sorta want to congratulate you on other things now.”

“I’m mortified,” I said with a groan, but he just scooped me up into a hug. “I just flashed the entire town.”

“Lucky bastards,” he muttered.

Though I tried to fight it, I couldn’t help but smile. Sure, I had embarrassed myself. And I had probably given Ester at least a month’s worth of ammunition. But things felt better in Dalton’s arms. He was warm. He was dry. And what was more, he was inviting—the sort of inviting I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said, in a slightly more serious tone.

And the thing was, at least for a moment, I believed him. Maybe everything would be all right.

A huge boom rocked from above. I jerked, looking up. Another boom shook the roof, followed by the creaking and breaking of wood beams.

The entire club ground to a halt, music and all. Everyone looked up, staring at the source of the strange noise. Then another crack erupted, and something crashed through the ceiling.

A woman screamed. Her scream became many screams. People ran, some filing for the door, some too drunk to know where the door was. I weaved through the crowd, easier to part than it had been minutes ago.

And as I neared where some of the crowd had gathered, I saw exactly what had shaken them up so much.

Lying lifeless and bloody on the floor, covered in scratches and bite marks, was a woman. A woman with dark hair and bright eyes.

A woman—another one—that looked a lot like me.

Chapter 6

I HADN’T BEEN inside The Castle in days. No one had, what with the crime scene tape stretched across it, blocking the entrance with its creepy yellow and black barrier. That didn’t stop people from talking about it, though.

Not five minutes went by without me overhearing someone recall that gruesome moment. Either they were recounting what they saw firsthand (with a few embellishments thrown in for good measure) or they were repeating what they heard from a friend who had been there. No one seemed to have seen exactly the same thing. The only thing everyone agreed on was that they were absolutely, never ever, under any circumstance, without question, going back to that club.

They had even taken to calling it “The Casket” instead of “The Castle.”

Turned out the only thing worse for a business than a small town murder was an unsolved small town murder. And worse for me, the girl—like every other who seemed to get herself in trouble within a twenty mile radius—looked disturbingly like me. But she wasn’t me. I was me.

In the two days since that girl came crashing through the roof, I had been through three rounds of police questioning, and within the confines of those sessions, I learned that Abram had only moved to town a few months prior. I also learned that he came from old money. I did not, however, find out Abram’s address. And since he had deliberately been sending me to voicemail for days now, I was starting to worry.

It wasn’t that I cared, per se. He was, after all, an arrogant prick. But his business had fallen through, the last time I saw him, he was sick, and if I knew the people in this town the way I thought I did, there were probably more than a few who thought he was the murderer.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. Abram was a lot of awful things, but he wasn’t a killer. He just wasn’t.

Right?

And while the town and the police had already asked him their fair share of questions, I wasn’t about to let him off the hook from mine. I had waited long enough and damned if I was going to wait any longer.

I found him exactly where I thought I would: at the first place I had ever seen him—the bottom of the stairwell leading to The Castle’s entrance. He stood there, his back to me, arms folded, staring at The Castle’s door from the bottom of the stairs. His black slacks matched a t-shirt that hugged his arms, chest, and shoulders in a way that made him look impossibly large and defined.

“Be careful,” he said without looking up at me. “I’m not in the mood to catch you today.”

Gritting my teeth, I padded my way down the steps. “Don’t worry,” I answered, infusing a light tone in my voice that I didn’t really feel. “I think I’ve got this much under control.”

“Really?” He swerved to face me, cutting those dark eyes right in my direction. The stubble on his cheeks had been shortened since last I saw him, but there was still a hint of darkness in his expression, which matched his eyes perfectly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, settling next to him.

“It means it would be the first thing you had under control.” He sounded more tired than angry, but that didn’t stop the rage from bubbling up in my chest.

“You can’t be serious.” I pitted my hands on my hips. “You’re not seriously going to blame this on me!”

“No,” he said, raising a mitt-like hand to shush me. “You didn’t kill that girl.”

“Carla,” I said, moving closer. “The paper said her name was Carla Rogers.”

“I know her name, Ms. Bellamy. Trust me, in the last few days, I’ve learned more about that girl than I ever cared to know.” One of his hands balled into a fist at his chest. “She was a graduate student, she came here from Anchorage, and according to her friends, she had just went through a bad breakup with her boyfriend and wanted to go out that night to ‘relax a little’.” He shook his head morosely. “She was a baby.”

His words broke at the end, and my heart ached to tell him everything would be okay.

“Abram, I—”

“Stop,” he said, his voice sharp enough to silence me. “You didn’t kill her, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t facilitate the tragedy. Make no mistake, that girl is dead because of your actions.”

If I could have seen my own face, it would have no doubt been a trip. What the hell was he talking about?

“My actions?” I balked. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Precisely.” He growled, turning to me, his arms crossing across his massive chest. God, why was I always looking at his chest? I forced my attention up to his face as he continued. “The upstairs was supposed to be closed off, Ms. Bellamy. No one—no one—was supposed to be up there! I made that explicitly clear to you many times!”

He was closer to me now, his mammoth chest heaving in huge, infuriated breathes. His teeth ground together, his lips curled back, and there was a fire in his eyes that would have scared me if it didn’t intrigue me so much.

“So how did it happen, Ms. Bellamy? How did that poor girl end up in a place inside my club that you ensured me no one would enter?”

Maybe I should have been afraid. Maybe I should have been repentant. He had, after all, made it crystal clear to me that upstairs was off limits to everyone but me, employees included.

But I wasn’t repentant, and I sure as hell wasn’t afraid. I was angry, I was outraged, and what was more, I was right.

“She fell through the roof, Abram,” I said. “Not over the balcony.”

A vein pulsed along his temple. “You can’t get to the roof without access through the second floor,” he said through gritted teeth. “So I ask you again—How. Did. This. Happen?

“You know what?” I jabbed his chest with my index finger. His pecs were firm and unyielding, which I probably would have paid more attention to if I wasn’t enraged. “None of this would have happened if you”—I poked him again for good measure—“would have done your job!”

His dark eyes widened, but I didn’t let him respond. I had too much to say. “That’s right, you arrogant asshole.” Jab, jab, jab. The last poke of his chest hurt one of the knuckles in my pointer finger, so I finally dropped my hand away. “If you would have actually taken the time to be where you were supposed to be instead of laying it all on my lap, then maybe things would have turned out differently.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said. He stepped so close to me that our chests pressed together. His head had to crane down to look at me, and I think I trembled a little then, but not out of fear. “I’m not the one who allowed a murderer through the front door.”

Abram was a big guy, even compared to a tall, curvy girl like myself. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and steeled my gaze up at him. “And what the hell was I supposed to do about that?”

“What I hired you to do!” he said. “You told me you could do this. You sold yourself as some street savvy siren who knew everything there was to know about running a nightclub. Where’s that woman, Ms. Bellamy? Because, from where I’m standing, all I see is some blubbering little girl making excuses!”

Before I could stop myself, my arm reared back. My hand flew toward him, ready to smack him in his smug, gorgeous face.

Instead of me hitting him, however, he grabbed my arm with his hand and held it steady in the air, staring at me with fierce eyes and flared nostrils. He was so close to me, his chest heaving against mine, that his breath mingled with my own. I sensed he was angry enough to want to do something, but I didn’t know what. He was a brute, but he wasn’t the type to hurt a woman.

He was the type to not completely control his temper, though.

“Maybe I should find a new place to work,” I said breathlessly, his hand still cupping my arm.

“Maybe you should,” he answered, his tone firmer than my own.

I tried to muster up some of that confidence I felt the first day I strolled—or rather fell—into this place. “Your club will never recover from this without me, though.”

His grip on my arm faltered a little, but he didn’t let go. “I guess we’ll see.”

For a few more moments, I stared at him, my breaths matching his. What the hell did he want from me?

I pulled my arm away and glared. Turning around, I huffed as I made my way back up the steps.

“The police tape comes down on Wednesday,” he said from behind me. “We’re open for business again the next day. Will I see you here?”

“I guess we’ll see,” I muttered, rolling my eyes and walking away.

* * *

AS I DROVE back to Lulu’s, I tried shaking off thoughts of Abram, but it wasn’t all that easy. He was such an ass—such an absolutely infuriating prick—but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Did he hate me as much as he seemed to? And if he did, why did I care?

It was a stupid job. Sure, it paid well, but even if I lost it, I could get another one. It would probably be better, too, because I wouldn’t have to deal with a boss like him.

I jacked the radio up, but Florence and the Machine didn’t help. All the chords either made me think of how mad I was at Abram or how mad I was at myself for still thinking about how mad I was at Abram.

By the time I got home, I knew what I had to do. The only way to stop thinking about a bad guy was to start thinking about a good one.

I scrolled to Dalton’s name in my phone and placed the call from the driveway—only because it was sort of awkward to talk to someone you are hot for in front of their sister.

Lulu’s little brother. God, what was I thinking?

When he picked up on the other end, I actually grinned a little.

“Took you long enough,” he said. “I was beginning to think I lost my charismatic charm.”

“Remember that time you saw my boobs?” I asked playfully.

I practically heard him blush on the other end of the phone. “I do.”

“Well, usually a guy has to buy me dinner before he gets a look at the goods. It’s time for you to pay up, Big Boy.”

* * *

THE NEXT NIGHT at Luigi’s, Dalton was an entire forty-three minutes late. Still, when he came rushing through the door, a frazzled blur of apologies, he was carrying a bouquet of fresh white roses.

“An interrogation ran long. I would have called, but I was this close to a confession,” he said, coming tableside with his thumb and forefinger inches apart in front of him.

“Really?” I asked, taking the roses and setting them on the table. “How did it go?”

“Better than this date so far. Are you mad?” he asked, spying the placement of the flowers.

“Not mad, just hungry,” I answered.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Can we start over?”

“No,” I said. “You’re doing fine.”

“Am I?” He smiled and waved away the waitress before she could make it to the table. “Because you seem a little preoccupied.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Of course, I was preoccupied. I had spent the entire day fuming about Abram, counting down the hours to this date, and hoping that Dalton’s easy-going demeanor would help clear my mind. But here we were, him standing as though he was patrolling our dinner table, and me still unable to stop thinking about my boss.

But Dalton’s presence was melting away my stress. He was sweet. He was funny and charming. He bought me roses and apologized when he did something wrong. He didn’t scream at me and blame me for things that were beyond my control. He wasn’t Abram.

More importantly, we clicked. He knew me. We grew up together. He wasn’t some snide mystery man who pushed me away every time I got close to him. Why was I still thinking about Abram?

Ugh! That man was so infuriating that he made me mad even when he wasn’t around!

As Dalton sat down and started perusing the menu, I pretended to do the same, even though I had already read it six times. The fact was, Dalton was a good guy—the perfect guy, actually. It could be good between us. No, scratch that. It could be great. We could be ‘Nicholas Sparks, clutching each other in the rain and dying in bed together’ great.

I couldn’t let my anger toward my jackass boss ruin something that wonderful, could I? Nope, not today. I knew what I had to do.

I reached over, took Dalton’s hand in mine, and squeezed it. “Thank you for the roses, thank you for the jacket the other night, and thank you for the lobster roll I ordered before you got here. If I’m preoccupied, it’s because I’ve had a lot on my mind. But that doesn’t matter anymore, because you were right. I have to quit my job, and I’m going to do it tonight.”

Chapter 7

DALTON MANAGED TO stop me from getting up in the middle of dinner to rush over to The Castle and quit, which turned out to be a good thing, since the date turned out to be pretty enjoyable. Especially since Dalton couldn’t be happier with my decision. Even before dead sorority girls started falling from the rafters, Dalton didn’t think I belonged there. And, while I still wasn’t sure what he meant when he said I ‘wasn’t the right type of girl for a place like that,’ after everything that had happened, I wasn’t sure I disagreed with him, either.

I wasn’t a good fit for that place, and I sure as hell wasn’t a good fit for Abram. Our last interaction would’ve told anyone as much. All I wanted to do was stop thinking about him—about his brooding eyes, about his hard, sculpted chest, about his stupidly handsome (and always scowling) face. Most of all, I didn’t want to think about the electricity that sparked between us more and more every time we were near one another.

I promised Dalton I would give it the weekend and let myself cool off before I officially quit. He didn’t want me running in there and saying something I would regret. So I sat around all weekend, twiddling my thumbs, chewing the scenery, and all around chilling out. Turned out Dalton was right. After I got a hold of myself, the fire in my gut—the thing that was pushing me to run away from Abram and The Castle so quickly—died down. Even the desire to leave faded.

I was left only with this: the knowledge I would be better off away from there, away from him. Away from my unexplainable feelings that threatened to ruin a good thing between Dalton and me.

And that was as clear as it was pertinent. It was for that reason I knew I still had to quit.

I moved down the stairwell to the club as carefully as I had every time, save the first. Expecting to see him standing outside an unbroken sphere of police barricades, I was stunned to find the alleyway empty and the pavement littered with shredded crime scene tape.

“Damn him,” I muttered.

I hurried the rest of the way toward the door, ready to type my security code into the pad and get this over with, but the door was already open. In fact, it was swung out so far it had practically fallen off the hinges.

“Abram,” I called through the door. “Abram, you’re not supposed to be in there. They could throw your dumb ass in prison for this!”

When he didn’t answer, I stepped inside. I was going to kill this man even if I ended up in an orange jumpsuit. I flicked on the lights to get a better look, but what I saw took my breath away.

The entire place was in ruins.

The furniture was tipped over, destroyed with its pieces splayed across the floor. Glasses lay shattered in shards on what was left of the bar, and scorch marks spotted the drapes and carpeted areas. All my work in tatters around me.

“Somebody set this place on fire,” I whispered to myself.

“Among other things.”

I jumped back a step. Even though I had expected Abram’s presence, his voice still startled me. But nothing was more alarming than his condition.

Abram sat ass against the floor, his knees to his chest, his eyes transfixed on the destruction surrounding him. Though he remained his hulking self, dressed in a gray pair of pants and a tight matching blazer, he looked smaller somehow.

It didn’t take me long to recognize the look on his face. It was the same one I felt on my own when my agent told me I had aged out of modeling, when I had to move to a smaller apartment, when Mom was diagnosed. It was utter defeat, the sort one only earns by watching everything they’ve built melt away in an instant.

Maybe I had been wrong about Abram not caring about The Castle. Whatever things in this world were important to him, this club was among them.

I walked a few steps toward him, but decided it prudent to keep at least some distance between us.

I splayed my hands. “What happened?”

“Looters, I suppose. That’s what the fire department told me.” He shrugged lightly. “They took the beer, all the alcohol. Smashed up the place pretty good. I’m told I’m ‘lucky’ they were able to contain the fire. Some luck, huh?”

My hand flexed into a fist at my side. “My God, why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t think you would care,” he mumbled.

“That’s not fair,” I said, shaking my head. “I know we didn’t leave off in a good place, but if you needed me, I would have come.” I cleared my throat, turning to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “I mean, it’s my job.”

“Is it?” he asked, arching his brows. “After the other day, I wasn’t sure. What are you doing here anyway? You obviously didn’t know any of this was going on, and you’re not on the schedule.”

“I came here to quit.” I sighed. “But it’s not—”

“Quit then,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you.” His gaze panned the room. “I know I gave you a hard time before, but you shouldn’t have to go through this. It isn’t your mess to clean up.”

Turned out that was all it took. Looking at Abram, so humbled, so downtrodden, and hearing him tell me that none of this was my problem…well, it made me want to make it my problem.

He was a dick, sure. But he was also right. I shouldn’t have to go through this. No one should.

Not even him.

“I can’t believe how selfish people are,” I said, and I crossed the rest of the way to kneel beside him on the floor—even though it would likely ruin my designer skirt. “To hit you when you’re down like this, all for a couple bottles of beer and whiskey.”

“Please.” He scoffed. “Tell me you aren’t as blind or ignorant as the firemen and police officers in this town.”

“What?” I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t think this was a burglary?”

“The fire started upstairs,” he said, his gaze lifting up. “Where that girl was killed.”

I wasn’t sure whether it was what he said or the way his dark eyes bore into me after he said it, but suddenly it was hard to form words.

“I—you…” My hands twisted together in my lap. I wanted to reach out to comfort him, but for some reason, it felt wrong. “You think someone was trying to destroy the evidence?”

“No,” he said, scowling. “I think someone succeeded in destroying the evidence. The entire attic is gone. Most of the bottom floor was ravaged.”

I didn’t know what to say. Nothing would make him feel better.

“There’s nothing left here, Ms. Bellamy, at least nothing you can help me fix.”

“So that’s it?” I asked. “You have one bad week, and you just give up?”

He smirked, challenging me with his gaze. “Says the girl who came to quit.”

I lowered my head and stared at my hands folded in my lap. “It’s not like that.”

He sat up straighter, some of his old self shining through again, and I didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed for that. “Then tell me what it is like.”

Yes, I had just come in to quit, in no small part because I saw this place, and my boss, as a lost cause. That didn’t mean I wanted Abram to feel the same way, though, and I wasn’t sure how to tell him that without letting on to thinking the place was doomed no matter what.

“I—uh—”

He tilted his head to one side. “You what? Are you at a loss for words, Ms. Bellamy?”

I slammed my fist against the ground between us. “You are extremely aggravating!”

Abram leaned back against the wall, hands folded behind his head, and closed his eyes. “There’s the door,” he said, pointing. “No one’s making you stay.”

That was probably why I was so upset right now. Because if I was being honest with myself, a small part of the reason I had done this—a very, very small part—had been because I wanted him to fight for me to stay. Now here I was, trying to convince him he still needed me.

Something wasn’t right here.

And still I tried.

“I get that it’ll be a lot of work—”

“Too much work, Ms. Bellamy.” He brushed himself off and stood up. Even now, after having known him for this long, I was still shocked by the sheer size of him. “And for what?”

“For this!” I answered, waving at the wreckage and hoping he could see it for what it could still be. “You worked really hard on this.”

Well, whenever you weren’t disappearing for the night.

“We worked really hard on this!” I added, following him as he marched toward the hallway. “We worked our asses off for this stupid club, and now you’re just going to walk away because things got rough?”

“Is that what you think this is about?” He turned to me so abruptly that I took a step back. His eyes bore into me again, and I could barely catch my breath. “What’s happening here is dangerous. These disappearances, this murder, that howling thing in the woods—this is not pretend, Ms. Bellamy. This is not some dark fairytale you can dismiss or ignore. Real people are dying. Do you think I care about this ridiculous club, about these walls and floors? This was supposed to be a place they could go! A place where they would be safe while—” He bit his lip hard and looked at the floor. Looking back up at me, he added. “It was never about this place.”

“Then what?” I asked in a small voice. “What is it about?”

“Don’t you get it?” His brow furrowed, as though he was surprised that I didn’t already know the answer to my question.

“It’s about…the people?”

“You, Ms. Bellamy,” he said, softening his tone. “It’s about you, of course. Ever since you fell into my arms, ever since the moment I saw you, with that freckle in your eye and your take-the-world-by-storm nature, it’s been about you.”

My heart jackhammered in my chest, beating so hard I was sure it would shatter my ribcage. Was this actually happening? Was Abram telling me he had feelings for me? But that couldn’t be right.

“What are you saying?” I asked, too stunned to move.

“I’m saying there are things happening here that you don’t know about, that you shouldn’t have to worry about.” He set his jaw. “You need to leave this club, leave this town, and don’t ever look back.” He gave me a long stare—one that I might describe as longing if I was forward enough to believe it—then he added, “Your final paycheck will be in the mail by the end of business today. Have a good life, Ms. Bellamy.”

He turned and lumbered toward the back room. I followed after him just in time to watch him head through the ‘symbol door.’

He was not just going to say that and walk away! I rushed behind him and grabbed the handle, but it scorched my fingers. I yanked my hand back. What the hell? It was way too hot to touch, let alone turn.

I chewed my lip, eyeing the door, thinking about shouting at him through the hunk of wood to come back out here. But even the thought of doing that made me feel pathetic. I had come here to quit—to get away from him. And now I was running after him, on the verge of begging him to talk to me?

No, I couldn’t be that girl. But I certainly wasn’t going to be the girl who took commands from some man who didn’t even know how to work a damned ice machine.

Yes, there were things going on here. Things I didn’t know about, and things that I did. There were reasons for me to stay in this town. Dalton, for one, and for two, well…Abram.

Ugh.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall beside the symbol door, tilting my head back. I was here for Lulu. That’s why I came in the first place, even if most days it felt more like she was helping me. But I promised I would be here when she had her baby, and if for no other reason, that was why I would stay. I certainly wasn’t going to run away just because some asshole told me I should.

I moved back to the club’s main area, deflating as I surveyed the mess. Dalton aside, this club had been the only bright spot in my last few weeks. Fixing this dive up—making it a place people wanted to be—filled me with a sense of purpose that I hadn’t felt since Mom died.

That’s when I knew what I would do. Instead of telling Abram what I was thinking, I would show him. I would fix this entire place up and let him see for himself that I was stronger than whatever dangers he feared for on my behalf. He might have been ready to throw in the towel, but I wasn’t. We would worry about the rest later—add security, do a night of free admission to show this place wasn’t a murder barn…whatever necessary, we would do it. But Milan-be-damned, this club wouldn’t be left for dead.

Mom didn’t raise a quitter and, soon enough, Abram would know that, too.

Chapter 8

IT TOOK THREE phone calls and all of forty-five minutes to get help putting The Castle back together. I would have liked to give myself a huge pat on the back for proving myself to be a competent and effective manager (if that was even what I was anymore), but the truth was, for all the upper crust snootiness New Haven had garnered in the last decade, work was still few and far between—which meant the lowly middle class couldn’t turn away employment opportunities. Even if those opportunities happened to be at a murder scene.

I couldn’t, of course, actually do any of the refurbishments until the police tape officially came down. And since that wasn’t happening for a day or two, I had plenty of time to load up on supplies. Unfortunately, the only décor store I could find that didn’t have the word ‘Barn’ in the title was a good fifty miles away, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me.

It was that want for supplies—or, more precisely, the hunt for the perfect replacement tables—which had me on the road that night.

I should have gone earlier, but Lulu had woken up short of breath and, as the designated freeloading best friend, rushing her to the emergency room fell under my jurisdiction. It was just gas (thank God), but when you’re that preggers, they apparently have to run three dozen tests no matter what brings you to the hospital.

By the time I got her back home, fed, and safely in bed with Jack snoring in the next room, the sun had already set.

I thought about putting the trip off until tomorrow. I even thought about asking Dalton to come with me. It could be a date, of sorts. But I was behind schedule, and if I was going to be serious about this, then I needed to get a move on, and Dalton would have been…distracting.

I cut onto the main road, my mind firing off one stressing thought after the next. Things were supposed to be simpler here. This was supposed to be the place I could chill out and start over after my mother’s death.

But here I was, dating one man, thinking about another, and strutting down a runway surrounded by an ever-growing audience of dead bodies that looked unnervingly like me.

Why was I doing this? I never wanted to run a nightclub, and I sure as hell didn’t see myself settling down in New Haven.

I pressed harder on the gas pedal, accelerating as though I was already making a run for it from that miserable town. But there was a hesitation there I hadn’t felt before. Something that made me feel tethered to New Haven.

Maybe the reason I wanted club manager job was for the control. Maybe, with so much spinning in orbit around my head—so much that I couldn’t grab or change or fix—I felt compelled to find any situation I could control. And The Castle was just that.

Thinking of the club brought an image of Abram to mind, and I sighed. Was it The Castle I was drawn to…or was it him? I tried to think back to other jobs I’d had before, and never had thinking about work make me think about my employer’s eyes, or arms, or chest, or lips.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and gave myself a little shake. Snap out of it, Char. The truth was, I was only thinking of Abram right now because I felt bad for him. He had seemed so defeated. Of course I couldn’t get that image out of my mind—who could? All I wanted to do was save him from that misery. Lord knows I couldn’t save myself from mine.

I mean, it was either that, or I just wanted the job because he didn’t want me to have it.

So I either want to help him or piss him off. Real healthy, Char.

Those thoughts, along with a little concern about whether the tables would look like they did on the website swirled in my mind.

On a long, dark stretch of highway with woods on either side, Lulu’s car made a loud pop. I had never been much of a driver. It wasn’t really a necessity in New York. As such, I didn’t really know what was going on when something about the steering changed the car startled swerving across the emergency lane.

I jumped, gasping. Tightening my grip on the wheel, I jerked back hard the other way. The car fishtailed and spun across the empty highway until it skidded sideways into a tree.

Despite being thrown back, my seatbelt kept me in place. Still, it hurt like a bitch and shook me up pretty badly.

I stumbled out of the car, kicking off my heels and cursing my incessant need to dress up even when only the employees at a furniture supply store would see me. A quick assessment of the car revealed the culprit for my distress: a flat tire.

Wow, Char. That’s pretty special.

Only I could have such a disastrous reaction to something so basic. The flat tire may as well have been ancient hieroglyphics for all I knew about it.

As I stared at the shredded rubber, chewing my lip, my agent’s voice scrolled through my mind. “Pretty girls shouldn’t do that sort of work,” she’d said one day in reference to women learning to change the oil in their car. “It ruins the hands.”

I looked down at my hands now. They were useless, but damn if they weren’t stunning. I rifled through the front seat until I found my cell phone. No signal.

Ugh! I hate this place.

So much for Triple A. Maybe if I walked back toward town, I could get a signal. It was only a couple of miles, and for all I knew, only a few steps until the signal kicked back on.

I grabbed my purse and took a look around. The road was dark, though, sandwiched by thick tree lines and without a single street lamp. Not exactly my idea of an inviting nightly stroll.

A sense of uneasiness crept over me. Here I was, all alone, in the dark, and without any way to call for help.

Would walking down that road even be safe?

Would staying here with the car be safe, either?

I thought about the girl in the club—her dead, open eyes. I thought about the missing girl, about what might have happened to her. I thought about the girl in the next town over, the one who had been found in these woods…not too far from here. She’d had markings all over her and a face that could easily be confused for my own.

But if I worried about that now, I was just as bad as the backwoods townsfolk who spun tall tales about forest monsters being the culprit.

A howl, sharp and terrifyingly close spiked a shiver down my spine. My muscles tensed as something primal and instinctive turned on in my brain. I grabbed at my phone, fumbling for my flashlight app and squinting as its thin white light forced a narrow cone into the darkness.

I spun slowly, looking around for the source of that howl and hoping to God I didn’t find it.

The woods were even closer than I thought, almost swallowing up the road on either side. Had they grown in the ten years since I had been gone? I didn’t remember them being so…encroaching.

I shone my light back toward town. Maybe if I waited here, locking myself in the car, someone would come by.

I inched backward, grasping for the door handle while scanning the area with my light.

Then I heard it—low, even breathes accompanied with a simmering growl. It was worse than the howl, mostly because of how close it was. I couldn’t dismiss it this time. It rumbled so near that every hair on my arms and neck prickled.

A whoosh of something darted in front of me, knocking into my hand. My phone flew from my gasp and landed screen first onto the road, the light shooting straight up into the air.

I jerked back as I saw what it now illuminated. A thing—some sort of animal—reared in front of me, huffing wildly.

Dark auburn fur covered its body. Its head stretched into a long snout, and fang-like teeth jutted from its open mouth. It had all the characteristics of a wolf—a massive torso, pointed ears, and powerful hind legs.

Except it wasn’t a wolf. Wolves weren’t this big.

It threw its head up and howled again, loudly into the moonlight. Never one to run toward a fight, I spun away and took off, my bare feet smacking the pavement, but I knew it was no use. This open road would make it a foot race, and an animal that size would have a gait I couldn’t outrun. My only chance, if I had any at all, would be to somehow lose this beast inside the woods.

The animal took off behind me, first two feet, and then four, clapping against the pavement.

I darted into the woods, stumbling as the ground shot up a little at the tree line. My heart raced ten times faster than normal while fear sent beads sweat crawling down my spine.

My eyes adjusted to the near absolute darkness just in time to alert me I was about to crash headfirst into a tree. I stopped, bracing myself against the bark. I dodged out of the way, but the animal chasing me wasn’t so lucky. It slammed into the tree trunk and let out a surprisingly human-sounding yelp.

I zigged to my left then zagged to my right, remembering something from a television special about some kind of animal that couldn’t keep up with that sort of thing.

No such luck, though. The beast gained ground on me.

Oh that’s right. It was an alligator.

The beast’s breath, hot and terrifying, brushed against the back of my neck. I was even hotter now, pouring sweat as I spun around a nearby tree, changing directions.

I had no idea where I was headed or even what direction I was going in. But the quick thinking earned me a much needed split second. Using it, I slid to the ground, wincing and throwing my hands in front of me as the beast jumped over me. It skidded to a stop and turned.

Getting back on its hind legs, it paused with bright yellow eyes trailing down my body before baring its teeth again. Then, slowly, it started toward me again.

My eyes stayed locked on it, but my hand went for my bag. Back in New York, I kept mace in my purse. You know, because of the crazies. Maybe, if I was really lucky, I would have some left.

My fingers fumbled for the small rounded bottle as the monster neared me. When it growled again, I sensed a bit of hunger, but then, I suppose it wasn’t chasing me down just to say hello.

Grabbing the bottle, I cursed my luck. Empty. But there was something beside it—something small, hard, and bumpy.

That’s right. A stupid exfoliating soap my agent used to make me use—the one Mom said could take paint off the walls.

I wrapped my fingers around it, unsure I was going to do. It was a rock, at best. And what good could a rock do against a monster.

I mean, even David had a slingshot.

The monster settled in front of me, leaves crackling under foot, paw, or hoof—whatever this thing had. Its breaths were not labored like mine. It hadn’t even exerted itself.

Its hands folded in a claw like manner, probably preparing to shred me to pieces, to mark me up the way it had the woman on the internet. And, like her, tomorrow I would nothing but a statistic—an unanswered question posted alongside a picture in the newspaper.

It opened its mouth wide, howling as it had before, and I reared my arm back and flung the soap. God must have been feeling cheeky, because it landed right in the monster’s open yap.

It grabbed its throat and starting heaving, choking on the soap.

I scrambled to my feet, not sure where I was going, but ready to get anywhere where this beast wasn’t.

As quick as my bare, pedicured feet would take me, I ran deeper into the woods. The monster probably wouldn’t choke to death on soap, but I might be able to find a hiding place to duck into to wait the horrible thing out.

I ran so far and so fast that my lungs burned. I kept imagining the monster behind me again, paws galloping after me. I had to keep running. Maybe there was a ditch, or a cave, or a…

Or a two story house with front porch furniture?

There, sitting in the middle of the woods, like the greatest mirage anyone could ever imagine, stood a house.

I slid to a stop, bracing myself against the pain in my bloody and bruised feet. A light shone from a second floor window. Not only was there a house out here, where a house had no business being, but there was someone in it.

I might actually survive this.

A howl shot through the woods; the monster was undoubtedly back on track, so I pooled what little energy I had left and made a beeline for the front door. My hands slammed against it in panicked knocks.

“Help me!” I screamed. “Help!”

No one answered. With little time to waste, I turned the knob, and to my great relief (and surprise), the door actually opened.

I clamored in, slammed the door closed behind me, and bolted the lock.

The first floor was dark, but I switched on a nearby light.

“Hello?” I yelled again. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but there’s something out there!” Tears stung my eyes. “I need help!”

No answer.

I ran toward the stairs, to the burning second floor light. At the very least, if the monster found me here, I needed as many closed doors as possible between us.

Two rooms sat at the top of the stairs. I grabbed the handle straight ahead, but it was hot and singed my fingertips. For an instant, my mind traveled to the door inside The Castle. But then a sickeningly close howl shook me back to the present.

I darted inside the other room. But no sooner had I crossed the threshold than the window shattered in front of me. Glass flew everywhere, and when it settled, the monster stood before me.

It was on its hind legs again, like a man. Bits of the soap were clutched in its ‘hand’ and the look in its yellow eyes said it would enjoy whatever hell it was about to put me through.

I turned toward the open door, hoping I could at least run for it, but to my utter shock, I was met by a second beast. This one was even larger than the first. Its body was even more hulking, covered in coarse black fur. It also stood on its hind legs, but this one looked past me, toward the other monster.

Just when I was about to burst into defeated tears, it leapt over me. I had never seen anything so big move so quickly, so fluidly.

In an instant, it was on the other monster, tearing into it with claws and teeth.

Before they could finish fighting over which of them would get to eat me, I turned toward the stairs to make my escape. Maybe they would kill each other, or maybe they would get over their differences and split me down the middle. Either way, I wasn’t planning to hang around and find out.

I grabbed hold of the railing to start down the stairs, but the old wood snapped beneath my touch. I fell in a series of painful tumbles. My head hit hard against the floor, but only enough to rattle me—not enough to stop me from trying not to die.

But when I attempted to stand or even move, it was no use. My vision darkened. I struggled, pulling myself across the floor, but I didn’t even make it half-way to door before things went black.

I was about to become the world’s best-dressed doggie treat, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Chapter 9

STRETCHING AGAINST THE cool, soft sheets, memories filtered in the way they often did in the morning. But when the image of the beasts came along, my mind snapped to attention, and my eyes flew open.

I wasn’t on the floor anymore. I was in a lumpy bed, satin sheets covering me and pillows propping up my head. How did I get here? What happened to the monsters that seemed so intent on making a meal out of me?

The vision of their yellow eyes and bared fangs clouded my thoughts. Surely they hadn’t left such an easy meal passed out at the bottom of the staircase, and even if they had, that didn’t explain how I’d ended up in this bed.

I leaned forward, my body aching all over as I scanned the room for danger. Not that I would be able to defend myself should anything pop up. My head was spinning, my vision blurred, and worse than that, my phone was nowhere in sight. Embarrassingly, my stomach rumbled, as though food should be the most of my concerns.

Flinging the sheets back revealed a cut red rose lying beside me on the bed. It had been pruned, too, free of thorns.

Okay, things just went from weird to weirder.

I still had no idea whose house I was in, but it was pretty clear someone had been here. Maybe the owner of this place, the one responsible for the burning light on the second floor window, had saved me. Maybe he had beat back those animals, and when he was done with that, scooped me up Rhett Butler style, put me to bed, and sat a rose beside me for good measure.

Thinking it over, I couldn’t decide whether that was cute or pervy.

“H-hello?” The word scraped my throat.

No answer came.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood, taking the rose in my hand. I cleared my throat. “Is anybody there?”

For the first time, I had a chance to really look at the house I had broken into. It was plain, the walls free of picture or painting and the furniture sparse and nondescript.

A pair of slippers waited at the bedside beside my high heels, which were now cleaner than they had been before I took my unplanned trip through the forest.

At the thought, I froze.

I hadn’t worn those shoes in the woods. I had thrown them off the instant I saw the first creature. That meant whoever put me in this bed went all the way to my car, got my shoes, and brought them back here.

All that, but they clearly hadn’t called the police…

Suddenly, a new dread—a more human one—seeped into my soul. I grabbed my heels and made a beeline out the door.

I was on the first floor. Evidence of the fight lay strewn all around me; chairs and tables had been smashed in a way that reminded me of The Castle after the looting.

I had never met this person, and he had just saved my life, but I wasn’t about to take a chance on dodging a wolf-shaped monster bullet just to end up like Clemp’s backwoods bride.

I shoved my feet into my heels, wincing against the pain, and darted toward the front door, chancing only the slightest glare in either direction. When I got to my exit, though, I found a note hanging from the handle.

Leave this place. Don’t tell anyone about it or anything you saw here, and don’t ever come back.

Of course, I took the advice.

* * *

IT TOOK ME an hour to find my way back to the main road, stumbling over hills and valleys on my heels so hard that I soon wished I had reached for the slippers instead. Lord knew the damage from running barefoot last night was enough on its own to slow me down.

I must have come out of the woods at a very different spot than I left it, because my car was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing, I brushed the hair out of my eyes and started the long trek back to New Haven.

I had been gone all night, and I didn’t even have any furniture to show for it. How would I explain all this? Something told me the truth wouldn’t go over so well.

So, a monster chased me into a weird house where another monster attacked it. I hit my head, and then I woke up with turn-down service.

Yeah, not so much.

A mile of hot asphalt later, I had my heels in my hands and two throbbing, bloody feet. But nothing was worse than the head full of questions I would never get the answers to.

New Haven appeared before me, as quaint as ever. Still, even a hick town like that was a beautiful sight for eyes that had witnessed what mine just had.

I looked down, instinctively primping myself. Just because I had been through hell didn’t mean I had to look like it. But there was no way I was putting those heels back on.

“Hey!” a voice called out from behind me.

I jerked, my entire body trembling. The whole experience must have shaken me up worse than I thought.

“Hey, you!” A kid, maybe seventeen years old, came darting out of the woods toward me. “Get over here!”

Panicking, I flung my shoe at him. My Gucci knocked him in head.

“Goddamn it!” he shrieked, grabbing his skull. “What’s your problem, lady? I’m trying to help you.”

“W-what?” I asked, suddenly feeling pretty ridiculous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the model, right?” He looked me up and down. “Dude! The whole town’s looking for you!”

“Did you just call me dude?” I asked before registering the rest of what he had said.

“Are you hurt or something?” he asked, scratching his head. “I mean, you don’t really look hurt…” he started, but then his gaze continued down to my feet. “Shit, do I need to call an ambulance?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer his question. I had been through a traumatic experience, sure, and maybe I was in shock…but I doubted there was much a hospital could do for cut up feet. And I certainly didn’t feel like having some doctor poke and prod at me all day. I just needed some Advil, a lot of bandages, a warm bath, and my own bed to crawl so I could try to forget everything.

Of course, if the entire town was looking for me, then it definitely wouldn’t be that easy.

The boy waved his hand in front of my face then grabbed his phone. “I’m calling somebody to help you, ‘kay?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

But it was too late. The kid already had emergency services on the phone, and within ninety seconds, the sirens blared toward us.

I wasn’t surprised to see a patrol car cresting the hill, blinking lights shining from the cab. And, when it screeched to a stop in front of me, leaving skid marks on the pavement, I wasn’t surprised to see Dalton jump out of it, either.

But the look on his face—the pain mixed with unimaginable relief and hesitant hopefulness—pinged at me. It was the sort of look you only get when someone you really cared about was in trouble.

“It’s her,” he said, slamming the door shut and sprinting toward me.

He scooped me up into his arms and squeezed me just enough to let me know I was really here…really alive. And, for whatever reason, I instantly hoped he would never let me go. That he would tuck me away somewhere safe, where it would just be him and me.

The way it should have been last night, if only I had done what I told him I was going to do.

“Thank God,” he muttered, his face pressed against the crook of my neck. “We thought you were…”

“I’m okay.” I breathed against his chest, nearly crumbling in into his embrace. “Just a little shaken up. And tired. But I’m definitely not…well, you know.”

He set me down and started to turn away, but not before wiping a tear from his cheek. Meanwhile, Lulu lugged herself out of the backseat of the cop car. My guilt over not being where I should have been doubled at the sight of her, then tripled at the sight of her overripe belly.

She was so pregnant. So. Damn. Pregnant. And here I was, blowing out the tire on her car and disappearing into the woods.

“It’s all right,” I said, tears burning behind my eyes. “I’m fine, really I am.”

I stepped toward her and hugged her the same way she had hugged me after Mom’s diagnosis.

Her whole body was trembling. “They found the car—”

“I’m sorry about the car,” I said.

“Shut up about the stupid car,” she said, wiping her eyes, smiling through her tears. “What happened? Where were you?”

My mind flickered back to last night, to running through the woods away from monsters and finding myself mysteriously moved inside a seemingly abandoned house. Then I thought about all the girls who had disappeared, all of the girls who looked just like me. And the note on the door of the house, warning me to keep my mouth shut.

My lips parted, though I was still unsure what to say. It wasn’t so much the note that gave me pause. After all, I was free of whoever wrote it. But, even if I told the truth, who would believe me?

Monsters running through the woods at night? Wolves that stood on their hind legs like men? It was one thing for people to make up stories about missing girls and wild animals, but it was another to say you knew those outlandish stories actually had merit.

None of it made any sense, and it would have likely either branded me a lunatic or an unreliable witness. Or, ya know, maybe they would eat the story right out of my hand—this was New Haven after all. But did I want to take the risk? Once I said it, there would be no taking it back.

So I did what any woman would do when faced with a similar situation: told as much of the truth as possible without making myself look bad.

“The tire blew out, and then I heard some weird noises…” I started, trying not to pause too much as I made up my story on the spot. “My phone didn’t have service, and I saw a…dog or something on the road. It started chasing me, and I headed out into the woods.” I swallowed hard. “I got lost out there. It took me this long to find my way back out.”

“Oh, my Lord. You poor thing,” Lulu said, taking my hand.

“You didn’t hear us?” Dalton asked, cocking his head to the side. “After we found the car, a few of us went out into the woods with hounds, looking for you. We weren’t quiet about it.”

“I…I must have been a long way out,” I answered. “Not that I was in the mood to come running toward the sound of dogs.”

“Understandable,” he muttered.

“There’s a house, Dalton,” I said, my stomach twisting in knots. “Out in the woods, there’s an old house. It looks like someone might live there.”

Someone who wanted to protect the secret of what was really going on in those woods, I thought. But I couldn’t say that—not without explaining more than I cared to.

For a long moment, Dalton glared past me and into the woods. I wasn’t sure whether he could tell I was withholding something, but it was clear that a bit of his ease melted away.

His teeth ground together, and his jaw set. “I’ll look into that.”

* * *

ALTHOUGH DALTON AND Lulu insisted on me going to the hospital, the choice was ultimately mine. They settled for me heading back to Lulu’s house with both of them to keep an eye on me.

On the ride home, I learned that I wasn’t the only person who went missing last night; there was one other woman—a real estate agent and mother of three—who disappeared while walking her dog a few hours before they found my car. Her name was Rachel, and judging by Dalton’s description of her, she looked a lot like me.

Of course.

We pulled up in front of Lulu’s house, the events of the previous night chasing so close behind me that I shivered at the sight of the woods stretching across Lulu’s backyard, just past the fence Dalton had parked in front of. He came around to my side of the car and opened the door, while Lulu let herself out and headed up the path to unlock the front door.

“Things are kind of falling apart around here,” he said, taking my hand and guiding me out of car much more than I actually needed. “This is the third woman, not counting you, who’s vanished in the last month.” He shook his head. “Throw in the woman found in your nightclub and the lady from the next county over who was mauled to death, and people are understandably on edge.”

“Well, that’s why you’re here, right?” I asked as he led me up the front steps and held the door open for me.

“I’m afraid it’s bigger than me now, Char,” he said. “People want to feel like they’re in control, especially when they’re not.”

He guided me through the door, as careful as if I was made of glass. Lulu was in the living room with Ester, the two whispering as not to wake Jack, who was sound asleep on the couch. Some cartoon movie about a genie and a magic lamp emanated a soft glow from the screen.

Great. My disappearance had completely uprooted Lulu’s quaint family life. I was supposed to be a help, not a burden. Ester glared at me as she carried Jack past us and up to his room.

“So now what?” I asked, turning back to Dalton. “You have to do something.”

He nodded emphatically. “We are, Char. I promise you. They town council held an emergency meeting this morning. Some of the townsfolk had concerns, and we’re going to institute a curfew for the woman in town.”

“What?” I asked, pulling my arm back from his gentle grasp. “A female-only curfew? Are these idiots living in the stone age?”

The idea of it, of basically segregating people because women weren’t strong or capable enough to fend for themselves, rubbed me every way but the right one.

“Perhaps.” Dalton winced, then added, “The notion passed nearly unanimously.”

I scoffed. “What kind of idiot would even suggest something like that?”

“The same kind that would hire you, I suppose.” His gaze slowly shifted from looking out the front window to my face. “It was your boss.”

Abram did this? Had he lost his mind?

“No. No he didn’t! He wouldn’t!”

What sort of chauvinistic asshole was I working for anyway?

“Char, please try to relax,” Dalton said, reaching for me once more. “You’ve been through enough.”

I huffed and stepped back. “Would you stop treating me like the five million dollar bra for a second?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if that means—”

Ester strode right between us, a smug look on her face, and exited through the front door. Dalton glared after her, then shook his head and returned his attention to me.

“If that means I value you, then the answer is no,” he said. “No, I will not stop treating you like ‘the five million dollar bra’.” He smirked and stepped to close the distance between us. “You’ve been through hell. You’re dehydrated, you might be hurt, and you’re definitely in shock.”

As much as I wanted to be angry, right about now, I didn’t exactly mind the idea of a knight in shining armor swooping in to rescue me. And damn if that wasn’t what Dalton was trying to do.

He put his hand on my arm. “Now, I know you can take care of yourself. You wouldn’t have made it through half the crap you have if you couldn’t, right? But I’m a guy,” he said, moving even closer, “and my pride is at stake.”

I wanted to tell him he need not measure his manliness by his ability to protect me, but I was too distracted by the heat radiating off his body at this close proximity. I couldn’t form words as the warmth soaked into my own skin next. With everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, I was in sensory overload, and every time Dalton moved, every nerve in my body tingled in response.

He brushed my cheek with his fingers. “My girl was in trouble, and I couldn’t save her.” He leaned in closer, and my breath caught in my throat. “So, for the sake of me and my fragile, manly pride, let me take care of you now. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered, just barely managing words.

He leaned in closer and pressed his lips against my ear. “Good. Not let’s get you some rest. You can battle the townsfolk over that curfew after a good night’s sleep.”

Chapter 10

THE NEXT DAY, once I had thoroughly convinced Dalton I was perfectly capable of going on about my business as usual, I made it my personal mission to show the idiots serving the town council just how stupid and antiquated the idea of a ‘women only’ curfew was. Unfortunately, the town council only met on Thursdays and, according to his secretary, Mayor Altman was busy “herdin’ up a mess of cattle” and couldn’t be reached.

God, I hate this town.

Luckily for me, there was someone else I could vent all my pent up indignation on—someone who might be guiltier than all of the town council folk put together.

Abram.

As I marched toward The Castle, I couldn’t believe I had ever thought of Abram as anything other than a ham-handed jerk. To think I had felt sorry for him enough to try to save his dump of a club, let alone long enough to stop me from quitting.

Well, that was a mistake I would gladly remedy today. I would serve him my walking papers along with a piece of my mind.

I was almost on fire as I descended the stairwell, muttering aloud everything I was going to say to him. I had just gotten to the part where I would tell him to “kiss my fat, gorgeous ass” when I saw him.

He was outside, shirtless and sweaty as he stroked a paint brush across the front door. The hot sun glistened off his body, illuminating the tight muscle that corded his arms and shoulders as well as the pelt of coarse dark hair sprinkled across his chest and abdomen.

Ridiculously, I found myself biting my lip.

“Hey,” I said, my voice breaking a little at the end.

His head snapped up, moisture plastering his hair to his forehead, and he mumbled to himself. Standing, eyes narrowed at me, he took a bottle of water and poured it over his head, letting the moisture run down his body. Droplets settled at his navel and on the trail of dark hair that disappeared behind his low hanging jeans.

I swallowed around the lump growing in my throat, dismissing the warm flush in my chest and face as a reaction to the unusually hot day. I mean, clearly it wasn’t just me overheating out here. Abram was…drenched.

“Ms. Bellamy,” he said, grabbing a towel that hung from a nearby chair and drying himself off. “Forgive me. I didn’t expect to see you today.” He slung on a flannel shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and hanging loosely around his chest. “I take it you’re feeling better.”

His tone was almost indifferent—a world away from the intense concern that colored every interaction I’d had with Dalton since my return.

He kneeled over the paint tin to dip his brush and tipped his chin toward a paint pan to his side. “Grab a brush.”

A brush? Was he joking? First of all, I was wearing Dolce. Secondly, I wasn’t here to work. I never intended on working for him ever again.

I clenched my hands at my side and growled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!”

He sighed and dropped the brush in the bucket. The paint splashed up, dots of white speckling the parts of his chest that were still exposed. Then he stood tall—taller than I remembered. Had he always been this intimidating? My breath caught in my throat.

“As always, Ms. Bellamy, being around you has been the most frustratingly mysterious part of any adventure.” He grabbed the handle, careful to miss the still-wet paint, and opened the door. “Why don’t you come inside? You can tell what fresh irritant has you disheveled today.” As if verbally rolling his eyes, he added, “I’m sure it’ll be interesting.”

I followed him into the club, already more furious than I had been when I’d arrived. This son of a bitch was belittling me. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised, considering the recent turn of events.

“So this is what you think of women?” I asked, shaking my head in disgust. “Really?”

Though the workers I’d hired wouldn’t come for a few more days, The Castle was starting to come together. The rubble had been cleared and a fresh coat of paint had been slapped across the walls. It was gray, which wouldn’t have been my first choice. Still, the fact that Abram had done it all by himself was more than a little impressive.

But not impressive enough.

Abram arched one of his dark eyebrows. “I’ll ask you one more time, as you seem intent on me knowing the other end of this conversation.” He leaned closer. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talking about?” I scowled. “The curfew.”

He nodded once. “You’re welcome, of course. But I was referring to what it is that’s bothering you.”

I blanched, sure the heat in my face would come pouring out as smoke from my ears. This man—this ridiculous man—was trying to push my buttons. And worse, it was working.

“You smug bastard,” I said, jabbing the part of his hard, bare chest that peeked out from beneath his shirt. “I don’t know who you think you are or what right you think you have to—”

“To what?” he asked, smiling. He didn’t move my finger; instead, he leaned in further so that my entire hand was now splayed against him. “To do what was necessary to keep you safe?”

His skin was burning, and his pulse beat rapidly against my palm. I steeled myself against the confusion swarming through my mind. I knew how I felt. Angry. Only angry and nothing else. Right?

My eyebrows pulled together in that way my agent warned me not to let them. Not unless I wanted wrinkles. Right now, I didn’t care.

“Don’t you dare make this about me,” I said through gritted teeth. “This is about what you think of women!”

“I assure you I am a fan of women, Ms. Bellamy,” Abram answered, staring down into my eyes, more of a calm in his gaze than I’d ever seen before. “That’s why I prefer to keep them alive.”

“By making them second class citizens?” I didn’t realize at first, but my nails were beginning to dig into Abram’s chest. “You’re aware that this curfew does nothing but assume the women here can’t take care of themselves.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled it away from him. I flinched when I saw the scratches on his chest, but he didn’t show any signs of pain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Judging by what’s happened in the last few weeks, Ms. Bellamy, I would say protecting yourselves isn’t among your strongest attributes. Collectively speaking, of course.”

“Women are every bit as capable as men.” I tried to pull my hand from his grasp, but he held firm.

“Perhaps,” he answered. “But men aren’t the ones who are being targeted. And, given that you were almost killed the other night because you couldn’t change a flat tire, I wouldn’t use this as your opportunity to boast of capabilities.” His tongue appeared, licking his lips. “Say what you want, but we both know you need someone to take care of you. No,” he amended, glaring at me as my heart hammered in my chest. “You want someone to take care of you. Don’t you, Ms. Bellamy?”

I reared back to slap him with my other hand, but he grabbed my wrist. Now both my hands were captive, and in that instant, we were nearly nose-to-nose, breathing in the same air—a musky air that had been permeated by his scent.

“Let go,” I said, hating the way both my breathing and voice had shifted.

His gaze bore into mine, as though he could see something deep inside of me, something I couldn’t even see myself. Or, rather, something I didn’t want to admit. Something that went against everything I believed and all of who I thought I was.

“Is that what you want, Ms. Bellamy?” His lips parted. “For me to let go?”

The breath caught in my throat. He inched a fraction closer, closing that last bit of space between us so that his chest pressed against mine. Suddenly, and against my volition, my nipples hardened. My heart jackhammered against my ribcage, and a flush crept up my body, warming every part of me.

Abram tipped his forehead down so that it rested against my own. “Is that what you want?”

The temperature of the room shifted. The sensation of his hands pinning mine sent sparks through my body. He pushed against me, and the evidence of his arousal stiffened against my thigh.

I opened my mouth, ready to push him away, to tell him that yes, I wanted him to let me go. But the words did not come. Instead, only a whimper escaped my lips.

“Not good enough,” he said.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing warm and rough against my neck, and my knees wobbled so abruptly that I wasn’t sure I could keep myself upright if not for his grip on me. Another damned whimper trickled from my mouth.

“Not near good enough.” His breath was hot against the side of my neck. “See, Miss Bellamy, I’m not sure you want me to let go. I think you want me to take care of you. But if you want that—if you want me to really take care of you—then you have to say it.”

His mouth traveled to my earlobe, the same earlobe Dalton had kissed not twenty four hours before, and he gave it a sharp nip.

I moaned, arching my back and pressing hard against him. The entirety of me trembled as pleasure vibrated up my legs and into the rest of me. I moistened, as if to prepare for him, as if to answer his question without saying a word.

“You have to say it,” he commanded. “If you want it, you have to say it.”

I hadn’t felt like this in…well, I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever felt this way. The attraction—the need—was all-consuming. I didn’t care about anything else anymore. Just this moment. So I told him what he wanted to hear—what deep down was really true.

“I…I do,” I murmured, heart in my throat. “I want it.”

He let go of my hands and grabbed either side of me, thrusting me up and wrapping me in his massive, muscled arms.

The world spun as he pressed his face against mine, ravaging my cheeks, nose, and neck with his mouth.

Finally, mercifully, he took my lips with his own. The rush was almost too much to handle. When his tongue pushed past my lips and into my mouth, I thought I might faint. The warmth of him caressed me, exciting me and comforting me all at the same time.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and we slammed into a wall still slick with fresh paint. I smelled it all, the paint that now covered us both, the sweat that slid between our bodies, the scent of him that urged me to go further.

My fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed me deeply. He throbbed against me now, and I ached for him to quench the fire he had lit.

His hand, covered in paint, ran under my blouse, inching up from my navel. He bit my lip as he tugged off my bra, freeing my breasts and sending a needy shiver through my body. I moaned again, clutching against him and thrusting my hips into his.

His mouth still pressed against my own, I felt the smile creep across his lips as he scoured my breasts hungrily, electricity in his fingers and desire coursing through my every nerve. He pinched my nipples between his thumb and forefinger until my moans turned to begging, then he pulled at my blouse, ripping it open.

“Your dress,” he muttered.

“Fuck the dress,” I whispered. “Just keep going.”

He trailed kisses down my neck, my chest, my breasts. My body shuddered as he took them in his mouth, one and then the other. His tongue flickered across my nipples, sending shockwaves through me and beating past the very last of my defenses.

But it wasn’t enough. I wanted him everywhere. As my body rocked against his, his hand traveled lower, past my navel, in between my thighs. His face came back up near mine, his nose brushing across my cheek and his lips tracing my jawline. When I tried to push my body back against his, I was met with the resistance of him holding me still and his soft chuckle in my ear.

“What are you waiting for?” There was a pleading in my voice, a pleading for him not to stop, for him never to stop.

“You’re not ready,” he mumbled. His hand slid over the silk of my underwear, and his thumb rubbed my clitoris through the thin material. “I’ve never known you to be so quiet. Are you all right?”

My nails were digging into him again—his back, this time. “I’m going to kill you, Abram.”

“Not yet you’re not,” he whispered. His fingers dipped in the welcoming darkness of my underwear, and I gasped as he slid one into me, but his free hand flew up and pressed over my lips.

I stood, trembling against the paint-soaked wall. With Abram’s hand against my lips and his other hand inside of me, pushing deeper than I ever imagined anyone would go, it seemed as though I might explode.

After a moment, he removed his hands from me and stepped back, but when I whimpered, he just grinned. “Shh, Mrs. Bellamy. These walls are thin. You wouldn’t want the whole town to hear.”

I felt vulnerable, needy, and weak—but I didn’t care. My whole face burned as he assessed me with his gaze while sliding off his shirt to reveal the rest of his upper body. The paint had smeared across both of us, and he was covered in streaks of gray and desire. My heart leapt in my chest as his fingers trailed down to unbutton his pants, but there was one more thing we needed to do first.

“Wait,” I breathed.

He blanched. “Is this too fast for you?”

I replied with a devilish grin. “Not fast enough,” I said, both my voice and body still trembling with desire. “But now you have to say it. If you want me, you have to—”

“I do,” he said. “Since the first moment I saw you, I have.”

Well, that was a lot easier for him than it had been for me, but more importantly, I knew he was telling the truth.

His pants fell, revealing the fullness of his body. He was a sculpture, a masterpiece of skin, hair, and heart. Our bodies collided, and I wrapped my legs around him. He tore away my underwear, the shreds falling to the floor at his feet.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, just as breathless as I had been.

And that’s when it hit me.

The most beautiful thing I had ever seen just called me the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

All of the sudden, this town didn’t seem so bad.

He moved again, slower this time, to lay me across the bar. I was naked— trembling and exposed—but the look on his face told me I was safe, that he would never let anything happen to me. And, for the first time, I knew what he meant about me wanting someone to take care of me.

He was right.

He settled over me, all caresses and kisses, his hands finding my wrists and gliding them against the marble-top, pushing my arms over my head and pinning my hands against the counter. I felt completely out of control, and it felt…good.

As though not satisfied with all that had already transpired, his hands explored my body again—pinching, twisting, teasing. Biting, nibbling, scraping. I was near tears with need when finally he finally rolled on a condom and guided himself inside of me, white stars shooting across my vision as he thrust himself deeper.

I bit my lip, trying to keep my whimpers and moans from turning louder, but when he thrust again, my mouth flung open and, like an audience welcoming the hottest model of the season, a scream of ecstasy escaped my lips.

So much for quitting and so much for taking care of myself. But as good as Abram was in bed—or rather, on the bar countertop—I had to wonder…

Could he really keep me alive?

Chapter 11

I WOKE WITH a sweet ache pulling at my bones. I was on the floor upstairs—that was much was clear from the way my body was contorted. But it didn’t matter. I was a world away from uncomfortable. I had just experienced the most magnificent thing in the world, something so amazing I was sure it would never be duplicated.

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the sleep and stretching out the satisfaction. The sun seeped low through the windows, indicating the fall of evening.

I reached across for Abram, yearning to feel him against my fingertips again. When I came up empty, my eyes flung open. He was gone. Go figure. He’d probably snuck off as though I was some convenient booty call.

Is that what I was?

Well, that would make things awkward. Regret for my actions trickled into my mind. Looking over to where Abram should have been, I found a crumpled note.

I had to go.

I was going to wake you,

But then you made this little moaning sound and pursed your lips.

I didn’t have the heart to disturb something so beautiful.

I have a lot I want to say to you, a lot I think you need to know.

But a letter doesn’t seem like enough, and those texts machines are confounding.

Let me make you breakfast tomorrow instead.

I would love to show you what a real pancake tastes like.

-Abram

A smile broke across my face, and suddenly I didn’t feel like a booty call after all. I felt…wanted. Sure, it was a stupid note on a crumpled napkin smeared with barbeque sauce, but for Abram, that was a big thing. I knew that, and because I knew that, it meant something.

I sat up, folding the crumpled napkin and slipping it into my purse, which at some point while I slept had been placed neatly beside me along with my shoes and clothes.

I had never been the type of girl who did the whole ‘keepsake’ thing. Reminders were just that, and I didn’t want to be reminded. But there was something about this note, something about this man, that made me feel differently somehow.

My stomach rumbled, and I was instantly glad Abram wasn’t here to hear it. I wasn’t about to apologize for being hungry, but something about the idea of being stark naked on the floor of a demolished club with your tummy growling like a grizzly bear didn’t seem very attractive.

I stood, ran my fingers through my hair, and slipped on my clothes. Leaving my shoes off and trying ignore the ugly yellow-green bruises and scrapes on my feet that would surely scar, I sauntered barefoot across the long upstairs hall, looking down over the balcony into the main area.

I felt comfortable here. Really comfortable. And it had little to do with the fact that my bare ass had touched the paint-splattered walls.

Something about fixing up The Castle, about molding it into the sort of place that might have been successful under different circumstances, made me feel better. It was like building this place up built myself up, too. Maybe that was why I was where I was now. Maybe it was this piece of confidence, this accomplishment, which gave me what I needed to let Abram in.

I sighed, breathing in the smell of drying paint. Abram was still here, his scent wafting long after he had left. Every muscle in my body relaxed. For the first time since returning to New Haven, I was at peace.

Moving toward one of the windows, I closed my eyes and let the light of the fading evening sun tingle against my skin. A murmuring tickled at my ears, and at first I thought I just imagined it. But then the sound came again like a soft call, whispering my name.

“Chaaarriiiissse.”

Without moving, without flinching, I knew where it came from. I had heard that noise before, singing from behind the painted moon door downstairs.

Before I registered what was happening, I was downstairs, across the main floor, and down the hall leading to the back room. And, though I had no memory of picking it up, I found a crow bar in my hand.

Did I even know where Abram kept his tools?

I stood in front of the door, the voice singing my name to me again.

“Chaaarriiissse. Chaaarriiissse.”

Last time I’d tried to open the door, I’d ended up with burns on my palms. Now the crow bar was heating to match it. I didn’t let go, though. I couldn’t. Besides, the heat didn’t hurt this time. There was no pain, nothing more than the sensation of warmth. It was almost inviting.

I found the crow bar pulling back in my hands, which were now raised over my head. I could feel the bar being pulled back and then toward the door. It slammed hard against the painted moon, which had begun to glow red.

“Aaaaggaaiiiinnn,” the voice sang after the bar shook against the door.

My arms sprang into action again, pulling behind my head. But my phone dinged loudly, indicating I had a text.

Something jarred inside my head, and a crow bar fell from my hands.

Why was I holding a crow bar? Why was I standing in front of this creepy door?

Shaking the fog from my mind, I looked down at my phone.

The text read: Dinner tonight? 

It was from Dalton. Oh no. I hadn’t made him any promises. I hadn’t even kissed him, unless you counted a hot peck on the ear. But there was no denying something was going on between us. He had even called me ‘his girl’; a definition I hadn’t rebuffed.

And now here I was, planning morning-after breakfast with my boss while this man was waiting on me for dinner, sending me texts with cute smiley emoticons and being an all-around standup guy, oblivious to what a shitty person I was.

I wasn’t a cheater, exactly. Was I? If not, I was still too close for comfort. I couldn’t let this go on. Dalton deserved better than this. He had been nothing but amazing to me. Not to mention we had grown up together and he was my best friend’s baby brother.

This was getting complicated.

But complicated didn’t change facts, and the fact was I wasn’t attracted to Dalton, not in the same way I was attracted to Abram. And maybe I had always known that. Maybe running from my growing feelings for Abram was part of the reason I threw in with Dalton so quickly.

That wasn’t fair to him, but there was nothing I could do about the past. And now that I knew, not telling him right away would be even worse. I needed to nip this thing in the bud and deal with whatever fallout came from it.

I shot him a text.

Hey. Can we talk? Meet me at the diner? –Char

I could have broken it off with him via text. God knew it would be easier for me that way. But that would be impersonal and, as Abram had said, a letter didn’t seem like enough.

Begrudgingly, I slipped my shoes on. I used to love my shoes, but lately, with my feet still sore, wearing them felt like a punishment. Maybe one I deserved at the moment. I sighed as I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. After locking up The Castle behind me, I ascended the stairs, not wanting to do what I knew I had to.

The sun was almost gone from the sky, tinting the clouds red and orange and elongating all the shadows. It would be dark soon, and with that damn sexist curfew in effect, I wasn’t legally allowed to be on the streets right now. But since I didn’t give a warmed-over damn about that, I kept toward the diner.

I was about halfway there when the unnerving thought struck me: I hadn’t been outside and alone in the dark since that night. The monsters surged to the forefront of my mind. I still hadn’t told anyone about what really happened, and since I didn’t fancy being fitted for a strait jacket, it was going to stay that way. Besides, it had probably only been shadows playing tricks. They were dogs…or something…

Dogs with glowing yellow eyes. Dogs that stood straight up like men.

I shook my head, passing by an entrance to those large and encompassing woods.

I didn’t want to look at them, not after everything that had happened. But something caught my eye.

A man was wandering into the woods. And not just any man. I knew that back. I knew those arms. I knew that ridiculously tight ass.

It was Abram.

Chapter 12

WHAT WAS ABRAM doing in the woods? And why so close to the area where I had gone missing?

My heart bounced around in my chest like a pinball. I shook my head. Whatever he was doing, I would find out tomorrow. I would just ask him, and he would tell me.

Yeah. Right. I wasn’t kidding anyone—not even myself. This man—a man I had just let into my heart and my body—had secrets. He had always had secrets. It was part of his appeal. But now it seemed very likely that his secrets were connected to things that happened to me…things that I still didn’t really understand.

Maybe a different type of girl would be okay with asking him tomorrow and taking whatever he said at face value. But the type of girl I was—she just flung her heels off and followed him into the woods, battered feet and all.

At first, I stayed far enough back to be sure Abram couldn’t hear all the noise I made storming after him. It was strange. Here I was, after the most intense night of passion with this man, snooping around at his footprints like some sketchy TMZ photographer.

And it wasn’t as though I was the jealous girlfriend type. In all honesty, I didn’t even consider myself to be Abram’s girlfriend. I was his—well, I had no idea what I was. But I didn’t suspect he was marching into the woods to be with another woman. He struck me as too old school for that sort of thing.

I wasn’t sure what I thought was going on. The only thing clear was that weird things had been going on with me since I returned to New Haven, and these woods (and this man) were pieces to a puzzle I needed to solve.

As leaves crunched underfoot, a shiver ran up my spine. The last time I had been here, I was running for my life. It was one of the worst moments of my existence, and the thought that Abram—this man who I had just given myself to—might have something to do with it, sickened me to the core.

No, I was being ridiculous. He was just going for a walk.

A sunset walk through the middle of a tract of woods that had seen the murder of at least one woman. Yeah, that made sense.

Still, there had to be a reason for this, and it couldn’t have had anything to do with the myriad of crazy theories running through my mind.

It’s just…there was so much about Abram I still didn’t know. So much that still didn’t make sense. Where did he live? Where did he go at night? Why didn’t I ever see him at the club (or anywhere, for that matter) after the sun went down? That wasn’t even the whole of it. I’d had so many questions since meeting him, that I couldn’t even remember them all—but I knew there was more than just this.

Abram marched quickly through the forest, the sort of speed one only takes when he or she knows exactly where they’re going and just how to get there.

My stomach was in knots, and my poor yo-yo of a heart was racing again. Whatever was going on, one thing was for sure: New Haven was no longer the sleepy town I remembered from my childhood.

My phone buzzed, and I hit the ground.

Goddamn it!

Served me right for not having sense enough to turn the ringer off. Just my luck. When I was stranded in the middle of the night, I couldn’t have made a call to save my life. But now that I was being (sorta) stealthy, my ringer was blowing up like Lady Gaga at a nightclub. If Abram saw me here, following him, how would I even explain myself?

Hey there. Was just taking a stroll through the place where I almost got killed. Funny seeing you here.

I huddled behind the stump of a nearby tree, hoping that if I was still and quiet enough, he would assume the ringer had just been the wind. If he had heard it at all, that was.

Why should I have to explain myself to him anyway? He should be the one explaining himself to me!

And yet I kept myself hidden, unable to overcome the guilty feeling I had over not trusting him. It made no sense for me to feel this way, and yet, there it was.

Pulling the phone from my purse, I lowered the ringer down to silent, noticing a text from Dalton had been the source of the disturbance.

Hey. I’m at the diner. Ordering you juice and eggs Benedict. I know how u like breakfast 4 dinner. How long r u gonna be?

Oh, great. I was supposed to meet him to break things off, and here I was standing him up to prance through the woods after the guy I was leaving him for.

It was like I was inadvertently training for the bitch Olympics.

I considered texting him back, telling him to wait there, or ever just telling him it was over like this. But just because I seemed to be in training didn’t mean I wanted to take the gold. So, shooting him a quick, Sorry. Something came up, I slid the phone back into my purse.

Slowly, I peeked from behind the stump. Not only was Abram not marching back toward me, but it seemed he didn’t hear anything at all.  Because he was nowhere to be seen.

But how could that be? This particular stretch of woods was flat and expansive. It would have taken him at least five minutes to make it out of my line of sight, and it hadn’t been near that long.

I stood, brushing leaves and twigs from my dress, cursed my current trend of ruining all my designer things, and took a long look around. Where the hell was this guy? I had never seen him run and, given the sexual encounter I had with him earlier, he didn’t seem like the type to do anything in a rush.

I clutched my purse and thought about turning around. But I knew that was no good. If I didn’t get to the bottom of this, I would never have a clear head around Abram again. I would ruin this relationship before it even started.

Well, Char, there’s only one thing to do.

I didn’t know everything that was going on—in fact, the only pieces I did have about what was happening didn’t make sense when I tried to put them together—but I did know it had something to do with that old house, and I was pretty sure I could find my way back to it.

So long as Abram wasn’t there, I could make peace with the idea he didn’t have anything to do with this—that whatever he was doing in these woods was as innocent as I hoped it was. And peace, it seemed, was in short supply these days.

* * *

THE MILE UP the road out of New Haven seemed shorter when full of anxiety instead of fear, but the trek through the woods was as unenjoyable as ever. Considering I had never been a nature lover—heels and hills don’t mix—I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the trip, regardless how much shorter it was this time. But something about that house seemed to draw me to it, as if a piece of myself was waking up and guiding through this place where all the trees and paths looked the same.

I barely had to think as I moved toward my destination, which was good considering my mind had basically melted into paste by this point.

The house came into view. First that awful peak, jutting out from the tree line. Next, I saw the top floor, with the beckoning light still burning in the window.

It had taken me nearly an hour the other night to get away from this place, and I was a bit stunned to realize how close to the road it actually was. Maybe being disoriented from the attack had slowed my escape.

As I drew nearer, the chipped paint and quaint structure exposed beneath the waning sunlight made the old house look less monstrous and more lonely. Or, as lonely as a house could look anyway.

Here was this house, sitting untouched and outpaced by the rest of the world. It was sort of sad. But, more than that, it was almost beautiful. Or at least it would have been if this hadn’t been the location where I’d nearly been eaten alive by a pair of quarreling monsters.

I stepped closer to the house, pursing my lips at the already repaired window. For a house that looked as though it hadn’t been touched in fifty years, it sure had an efficient handyman.

I pushed all of that out of my mind. At this point, I didn’t care about solving this mystery. The only thing that mattered was ruling out Abram as a participant in it.

Inching forward, I bit my lip as the door revealed itself to me. He wasn’t going to be here. He was a good man—a bit of a dick, sure, but not the sort to lie, not about something like this. He was old fashioned in a way I couldn’t really describe. He was untouched by time, sort of like this house. Sort of like—

Sort of like the kind of man I would find standing in the threshold of the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently.

My heart sank at the sight of him. No, Abram. Please, no. However small it was, this man who I had just slept with had a part in all of this.

His dark eyes scanned the periphery of the woods and, for an instant, I thought he was looking for me. Maybe he had heard my ringer go off. Maybe he had sprinted away from me quickly enough for me to lose sight of him.

He turned and walked into the house. The door slammed shut behind him, and I was alone, gasping in shock and slumping against a nearby tree.

Shock soured in my stomach, turning to hurt and finally to anger. He had lied to me. It must have been Abram himself who found me in the house that night. Of course, that would have also meant he’d fought back those monsters and saved me. But if that was the case, why didn’t he just tell me? Why did he let me limp back to town with cuts, bruises, and a mind so rocked with questions that it barely functioned?

I wanted answers. Abram owed me those answers. And, by God, I was going to get them. But I couldn’t just barge in there. He had lied to me at least once. I would have to be sneaky about this and gather some clues, or else he might hide more from me before I ever had the chance to find out. But I also couldn’t wait for him to leave. It was getting late and, if I didn’t show up soon, Lulu would worry.

Going missing twice inside of a week was the last thing my extremely pregnant and hyper-worrisome best friend needed.

I was going to have to go inside now. I would have to sneak around without Abram knowing I was in there. It was a terrible plan, and yet, it was all I had without the risk of losing this opportunity forever.

Ducking low, I scampered across the field toward the front door. My feet fell lightly onto the porch and, quietly as possible, I turned the knob.

I had no idea what I was going to do if Abram had locked it behind him. Or if he was standing right on the other side of the door. I had never been the sort who thought things through. But the house was in the middle of nowhere, so it wasn’t likely he was expecting company, or that he had come all the way out here to sit the living room.

Luckily for me, the door sprang open. After slipping inside, I crouched down and looked around cautiously, praying Abram wasn’t standing there watching me. But the living room was as empty today as it had been the other night, though the quickly setting sun tinted the entire room orange and red.

I listened for sounds, trying to gauge where Abram might be. Suddenly, heavy footsteps stomped from a back room. Crap. They were headed this way. I sprang to my feet, bolted toward the steps, and pushed up them, hoping to get out of sight before he found me.

I shuddered as my feet fell across the staircase. The last time I had been on them, I had been tumbling down like a discarded sequin on a McCartney original. Shaking my head, I moved into the upstairs hallway just before Abram crossed into the living room.

Pressed against the wall, I found myself guarded in shadow. The sun would be down soon, and getting home from here would prove troublesome. But I needed answers. And right now was the only time I could get them.

Sorry, Lulu.

Abram stopped in the living room, and I shivered, thinking he would move up the stairs. I darted farther into the hallway. Remembering the layout from the last time I was here, I knew there were only two rooms at the end of the hall. One of them was the room I had almost died in and the other had been locked the last time I was here.

Now, with little bit of daylight remaining, I could actually see the door. And when I did, I nearly choked on air. The door was stamped with a similar crescent moon symbol to the mysterious room inside The Castle.

Realization slammed into me with a sickening thud. How could I have forgotten the way the doorknob had burned me that night? Of course Abram had something to do with all this. I was just the idiot girl who needed a damn symbol to spell it out for me. But that still didn’t explain what was going on. I needed to hide before Abram came upstairs. I needed to find answers before he found me.

I moved toward the marked door, knowing it would probably be locked but also knowing I would regret it forever if I didn’t at least check. Suddenly, a strange noise poured from the other side. It was a song; someone was singing one word.

My name.

A repressed memory from earlier in the night tried to push its way through. The room in the hall at The Castle… I couldn’t quite grasp the picture, though. It was like a lost dream. I tried to retrieve more from my mind, but footsteps bounding up the stairs interrupted my efforts.

Abram would be here in mere seconds, and unless I found someplace to hide, he would know I had followed him.

The crescent moon symbol began to glow, and I jerked back just in time for the previously locked door to fly open. A whoosh of cinnamon-scented air burst from the open space, almost knocking me down.

I slid into the room quickly and, without touching it, the door closed behind me.

Okay, so, that’s not a good sign.

A loud crashing and then a sound like glass shattering stole my attention before I was able to take the room in. A picture had fallen off a nearby counter. When I looked down at it, my heart skidded to a stop.

The old photograph lay face up under shards of broken frame. Two men stood by a lake, smiling for the camera and showing off their latest catch: a huge catfish.

I recognized both of the men instantly. I had seen one of them in my dreams almost every night since I was a child. When I was little, it seemed I would never stop seeing his face, watching him walk away from me night after night. It was my father and, beside him, untouched by time or trend, stood Abram.

“He looks exactly the same,” I muttered, mouth agape. “How is that…that’s not possible.”

“Miss,” a tired voice croaked, breaking me from my concentration and startling the hell out of me. “Are you here to help me?”

I spun around, the picture and frame slipping from my hand to crash to floor once again. A woman sat on the floor in the fetal position. She was pale and disheveled. Her face was gaunt, and she seemed as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. She looked up at me expectantly. When she shuffled, I realized both her hands and feet were fastened with chains connected to the wall.

I recognized her, too. With sickening clarity, I realized where I had seen this face before. It had shone, bright and smiling, from the missing poster I had seen when I first returned to town.

This was the missing girl. She was being kept here, in a house that Abram had something to do with.

This—the missing woman, the mutilated bodies, the strange creatures that chased me to this house—was all connected.

And Abram was at the center of it.

Chapter 13

“ARE YOU HERE to help me?”

The words couldn’t have been more off the mark. Here I was, staring at this woman, mouth agape and wide eyed. I couldn’t help myself, let alone someone else—not with my mind spinning like a top.

“H-hurry,” the woman begged. “He’ll be here soon. He’s never gone for too long.”

There was such hurt in her eyes, such unadulterated broken fear; it sickened me. Could Abram—the Abram that I knew—be the source of that? It didn’t seem possible.

Cuts and bruises spotted her filthy face. Her hands hung limply at her sides, useless appendages bound by chains. As shocked as I was, I managed to shake it off and kneel beside her.

She reeked as though she hadn’t bathed in weeks, which I realized with stomach-churning horror was probably the case.

“Is there a key?” I asked, mouth dry.

“There’s always a key,” she answered, narrowing her eyes. “We just don’t always see it at first glance.”

Her hand jerked toward my own, striking at me with long, unwashed nails. She sliced into my palm, breaking the skin and sending a trail of blood dripping to the floor.

“Ah!” I jerked away.

Her gaze transfixed on my blood, she ran her forefinger across the splatter. Then she looked back up at me, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“Chaarriissseeee,” she said in the sing song voice that had seemed to taunt me from behind closed doors.

I stumbled to my feet, grabbing my palm and glaring at her. There was a hunger in the way she looked at me now, something almost feral in her eyes.

“How do you know my name?”

“Did you know fear has a scent, Charisse?” She tilted her head to one side, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. “It’s sweet, like sugarplum. You stink of it at the moment, but it won’t be enough to make up for the blood. It won’t ever be enough.”

I was too stunned to reply. I stepped back, torn between helping her and being terrified she might hurt me.

“Let me out,” she hissed. She pulled toward me, jerking against her chains.

“I…I don’t have the key.” I almost tumbled with the next step back I took.

She held her forefinger up; it was coated with my blood. She grinned. “Just say the word.”

“Leave her alone!” Abram growled from behind me.

I spun, shuddering at the sight of him. He was just as big as he had ever been, but suddenly that size seemed more important, more threatening.

“You leave her alone!” I yelled, steeling myself. He wasn’t about to get away with this, not if I could help it.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said, looking past me. “Wipe it off, or I’ll take the hand. I mean it.”

The woman’s eyes slid from Abram to me. Slowly, she ran her forefinger across the wall, wiping it clean. She sneered. “We’re not done.”

“We never are.” He sighed and turned his attention to me.

As they always had, his dark eyes disarmed me the instant they met my own. But this time, I couldn’t afford to let myself get lost in them, not when it was clear what sort of a person he was.

“Let her go,” I demanded.

Sure, the chick was acting strange—one charm short of a bracelet—but who was to say that being held captive for so long wouldn’t do the same to me? She was probably in shock, starving, dehydrated, and certainly scared to death.

“We need to talk,” he answered flatly.

“You can talk to the police. How about that?” I said, balling my fists.

I had been so blind, so stupid. How could I have let myself be seduced by someone like this, much less fall for him?

“I can’t let you do that,” he said, stepping closer to me.

I flinched, lunging backward and fumbling for my phone.

“It doesn’t work out here. Don’t you remember?” he asked. “Though I hope you know by now that I would never hurt you.”

“Tell that to her.” I motioned back to his prisoner.

“She’s a different story. A long story.” His jaw flexed. “I said we needed to talk, and we need to do it alone. Now, you can come with me, or I can throw you over my shoulder and take you.”

Though I couldn’t see myself, I was sure I paled.

“Listen,” he said, his tone a little softer now. “She hasn’t been harmed.”

“Save the bull. There are cuts all over her. She obviously hasn’t eaten or bathed in days.”

“She hurts herself, and if she hasn’t eaten or cleaned herself, it’s because she refuses to do so.” He moved closer, something dangerous darting through his gaze. “So what’s it going to be?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“See it yourself,” he said, and before I could turn to dodge him, he had already slung me over his shoulder.

I could have sworn he grinned as he did so, but before I knew it, I was nearly upside down, my hips high at his shoulder and his strong arm pinning my legs to his chest.

I struggled against his grip, but between gravity and his hold on me, it was useless. He crossed the hall into the room I had been nearly attacked in and mercifully set me down on the edge of a bed. I tried to stand, but his hand came quick to my shoulder to hold me in place.

“Stay,” he ordered.

“Or else you’ll tie me up like you did her?”

A grin broke across his face, but he bit his lip and looked away.

“Not quite the same way,” he muttered suggestively. But before I could even chide myself for blushing, he added, “Hear me out, and then if you want to leave, I will not stand in your way.”

My mind and my instincts were at odds. There was a woman in the other room, beaten and captive. But as intimidating as Abram was, nothing about him seemed nefarious, and if he was going to hurt me, wouldn’t he have done so by now?

I squirmed beneath the weight of his hand on my shoulder. I was a fool. Now was not the time to test my instincts, which had a history of failing me enough as it was.

A loud crash came from the other room, followed by screeching. When Abram turned to look down the hall, I used the opportunity to escape from under his hand. I made it to the door within moments, but so did he. His arms circled around to grab to me, his breath hot on my neck.

Gritting my teeth and praying for a little luck, I drove my elbow hard into his gut. He didn’t crumble as much as I’d hoped, but I darted toward the steps regardless. Stairs were not my friends. I had fallen on both these and the stairs leading down to the Castle. So I hopped onto the bannister instead, sliding down it toward the first floor.

My feet thudded against the carpet, and I bounded toward the door, pushing through it with elbows in front of my face to break the impact.

The air hit me hard and cold, gusting through my hair and prickling my skin. The sun was almost down, and here I was—again—in these goddamn woods.

I barreled into the quickly darkening gray. Visions of that monster, the one that chased me, sliced into my thoughts. Would it be back tonight? Was it lying in wait right now, itching to pounce on me?

Couldn’t think about that. I might not have been able to save that girl myself, but I knew where she was, and the instant my phone went back into service, I would have Dalton on the line. Abram would never hurt anyone again, not so long as that poor girl could hold out until help arrived.

A whoosh of wind shuffled past me, and then he was standing there. Abram. His massive chest heaved up and down in ragged breathes.

“Stop!” He growled, his eyes glowing bright red and his already huge frame somehow even more hulking. “You. Need. To. Listen.”

I dodged to the left, but he was there, too, appearing in front of me with impossible speed.

“I said listen!” He grabbed me by the shoulders, wrapping his huge meaty hands around my arms.

“That girl,” I coughed out, tears pouring down my cheeks. “How could you do that to an innocent girl?”

“She’s not innocent, and she’s not a girl,” he answered, red eyes burning into me. “No more than I’m a man. Not anymore.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, trying and failing to pull away from him.

“This is going to sound peculiar, Ms. Bellamy, but I’m going to need you to trust me, regardless of how fantastic it might sound.”

I continued my futile attempt to free myself, which only resulted in him tightening his grip on my arms. His chest heaved, pressing against mine forcefully.

Swallowing hard, he said, “Ms. Bellamy, there’s a beast in me.”

For whatever reason, the revelation weakened his grip. I pulled away, spinning and running as quickly as my tired legs would carry me. The setting sun glared in my eyes, making it hard for me to see, but I pressed on. Even if I ran headfirst into a tree, it would be better than whatever Abram had in store for me.

There’s a beast in me…

He couldn’t possible mean—

He was in front of me again, once again huffing, once again staring at me with glowing, inhuman eyes.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Have it your way.” He grabbed me again, jerking me toward him in a fluid motion that both terrified and excited me.

“I suggest you brace yourself,” he said flatly.

And then he threw me.

Chapter 14

I WENT SAILING through the air. The trees seemed to meet me and then I surpassed them. I was over the tree line.

But how was that possible? Even if I wasn’t what my agent generously described as ‘full-figured,’ this wouldn’t be possible. No person could toss another one so high into the air. No one could—

Oh God. Look at how high I was. There was no way to survive this. I was going to splat against the ground like a bug, if the branches didn’t impale me on the way down.

A scream, shriller than I thought I was capable of, escaped my lips. Suddenly, I felt colder. I would die out here in this woods, just like all the other women who looked like me.

And the worst part was I would never get the answers to the questions swirling about in my mind. No one would. They would all think I was just routinely murdered. Or maybe Abram would cover it up as a hiking accident. Hell, maybe my body would just go missing and no one would ever know what became of me. I would be a fixture on those Walmart missing poster boards, forgotten by time.

I began to fall. The earth sped toward me at lightning speed. I would have screamed again, but what use would it be? Screaming wouldn’t stop this. Nothing would, and I didn’t want my last moments to be spent howling like some doomed idiot. Even if that’s exactly what I was.

Instead, I shut my mouth, closed my eyes, and tried to settle both my stomach and my mind. If this was the end, and it most certainly was, then I was going to face it with as much dignity as I could muster.

Still, if I was gonna die, I wished I could do it in Versace.

Something caught, and I jerked to a stop.

Was that the ground? Was I dead?

I opened my eyes, fully expecting to see either nothing or the golden (and hopefully bedazzled) gates of the afterlife. Instead, I had to begrudgingly admit what I saw was just a beautiful.

Abram had me in his arms, cradling me like I was friggin’ Scarlett O'Hara.

I brushed windswept curls out of my eyes. “How did—You just—”

“I told you. There’s a beast in me.”

“But you didn’t kill me.”

He growled as though I’d either hurt him or offended him. “Of course I didn’t ‘kill you,’ Ms. Bellamy I only threw you to prove that even the most unbelievable things can be true.”

“Mission accomplished,” I muttered, and I pushed my way out of his arms.

He didn’t fight me.

“So explain this unbelievable thing then,” I continued. “Tell me what ‘there’s a beast in you’ means.”

“Let me ask you,” he said, lowering his brow. “What do you know about magic?”

I fumbled through my purse, fingers grasping at the metal cylinder that held my mace. Abram’s eyes bore into me, though they lacked the sort of delusional flair you might expect from someone who just seriously asked you whether you believed in magic or what you knew about it or whatever.

Finding the fresh can of pepper spray (replaced after the last incident), I yanked it out of my purse and emptied its contents right into Abram’s glowing red eyes. He jerked away from the mist, covering his face with his hands and growling.

It was strange. Not twenty-four hours ago, I would have told you this man was someone special. Okay, so I probably wouldn’t have actually admitted that out loud, at least not before our massive sex session. But the truth was, deep down, in a place within myself that I so rarely went that I barely recognized it, there was a piece of me that felt like I might be falling in love with him.

What a difference a couple hours could make.

I turned to run again, but before I could make even a step, he was in front of me. His eyes were watery, puffy, and still red. He grabbed me hard on either arm and somehow looked even larger than he had just a moment ago.

“It is entirely too close to sunset for this sort of dalliance, Ms. Bellamy.” He ground his teeth together. “Now, I’ve already thrown you halfway to Jupiter. Should I plant you at the top of the nearest pine? Would that be enough to convince you that what I say is the truth? Or would you prefer this?”

His lips receded, revealing long hooked fangs where his teeth should be. They were huge and crowed out of his mouth. Suddenly, in the light of the setting sun, Abram looked less like a man and more like a monster…as if everything he had said was true.

Maybe there was a beast inside of him.

Whatever that meant.

I pulled away hard, stumbling over my feet and falling to the ground. The mace fell from my hand, not that it had done much good anyway.

“You’re…You’re…” I stammered.

He just stared at me with the saddest, scariest eyes I had ever seen.

It all came together. The missing girls, the glowing red eyes, the monster that chased me through the woods and into the strange house I had just ran away from.

There was a beast in him. He was the monster that had chased me.

But no, that wasn’t right. Those eyes, I recognized them. Monster or not, I knew them.

“You were…you were the one that saved me,” I said quietly. “Weren’t you?”

His fangs receded and he stepped toward me. “Yes.”

I flinched back. “What are you?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “There is magic in this world, Ms. Bellamy—things that can’t be explained by reason or logic.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I asked, although it wasn’t lost on me that he had just sent me soaring to the heavens.

He stood and looked around wearily. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I need you to. For your own safety.”

“And you—you are saying you used magic to throw me?”

“No.”

My brow furrowed. “Well, spit it out. You didn’t hunt me down just to keep it a secret, did you?”

He shook his head, but his lips moved wordlessly several times before he finally spoke. “Ms. Bellamy… What I mean to say is, there are those who can channel magic. They’re called Conduits. And in addition to being extremely powerful, they have also become exceedingly rare. But I am not one of them.”

“Why are you telling me this if it has nothing to do with you?”

“It has everything to do with me,” he answered.

I pressed my lips together, my legs trembling beneath me. “Then tell me what you are.”

“Something unlike anything else. Or at least I used to think so.” He looked away from me, deep into the woods. “I was something of a scamp in my younger days, Ms. Bellamy. To put it bluntly, I was crude, lazy, and worst of all, incredibly selfish. I used people, women chiefly. One day, a beautiful traveler named Satina wandered into our village.”

“Your village?” I asked, my nose crinkling.

“She was beautiful,” he said. “The most beautiful thing I had even seen.” He blinked hard. “Or she used to be.” He cleared his throat. “I was a handsome man even then, if a bit boyish. And my charms were quite effective when I wanted them to be. Nature took its course with us, and after that, I took mine. She thought we were in love, that we would be married. I, of course, never saw her as anything other than a conquest. That is, until she killed herself.”

My skin went cold. “What?”

“She was a Conduit. I didn’t know, but her bloodline was one of the most potent in recorded history. A few nights after I left her, she climbed to the top of the bell tower. She cursed me in front of the entire village, told them of all my shortcomings and that very soon the ugliness inside of me would be seen by everyone. Then she spouted some incantation to invoke the harvest moon.” An aching smile etched across his face. “You know, I actually scoffed when she jumped. All I could think, when she hit the ground, was how foolish she must have been and how lucky I was to be rid of her.” His eyes flickered back to me. “That’s the kind of person I was.”

His hands found their way into his pockets and his eyes moved away from me again. “I was already with another woman when it happened the first time. It was almost a month after Satina died. It came on me like a sickness. I was on top of her.” He bit his lip. “In the middle of it all. I felt myself heaving. It was so painful the first time that I couldn’t stop myself from screaming. And her eyes, if I live a thousand years, I’ll never forget those eyes. That poor girl was terrified, and with good reason. One look in the mirror showed that I was a monster; a horrific hairy thing that no one could ever love.”

Abram folded his arms as I lay there motionless on the ground, half terrified and half enthralled.

“What happened next?” I asked, too stunned and too curious to move.

“The girl tried to run,” Abram said softly, as if the memory had taken him by surprise and he was afraid he might drown in it.

“Tried?” I asked, hoping that didn’t mean what I thought it did.

“You have to understand, when the change happens, it doesn’t just affect my body. Everything is heightened. Every sensation is a thousand times stronger. Anger, grief, lust—even love; it’s all supercharged. I wasn’t equipped to handle it then, especially not on that first night.” He shook his head hard. “She called me a demon. She said she was going to tell her father what I was, that she was going to have me burned with all the other abominations.”

“Burned,” I muttered, thinking how long ago that must have been. “How old are you?”

“I didn’t want to kill her, but I was so afraid and so angry that I almost did. It took all I had in me to run.” He slid down the trunk of a nearby tree so that we were nearly level with each other. “Satina came to me after that, as an apparition of sorts. That’s when she told me what she had done. She’d cursed me, made it so that the monster I was on the inside would be what I was on the outside.”

“But you’re a man now,” I answered, waving my hand at him.

“She’d called on the moon to perform her curse, so it’s only in effect at night.”

“That’s why you could never be in The Castle after sunset,” I said quietly, realizing how close to sunset we were right now.

“I am this thing,” he answered. “I will always be this thing. But I thought I was the only one.” His back straightened. “Something is here, though, in New Haven. Someone else like me. He’s taking women and hurting them, including the girl currently chained up in my family home.”

“But you have her,” I challenged him, doubt creeping back in. “Not someone else.”

“I found her in the woods. She was near death, and though I figured it was a lost cause, I took her home hoping I might be able to save her. At the very least, I thought I would be able to make her final moments more comfortable. But then something strange happened.”

When he didn’t continue, I waved him on. “What happened, Abram.”

“Long story short, the body reanimated. It was hijacked…by Satina.”

I gasped, reacting more as though what I was hearing was a telenovela than my actual reality.

“It was the first time I had seen her since the first time I changed. I didn’t know until then that she’s always been with me, always following me. Because she cursed me with her death, her spirit is connected to mine either until I die or until the curse is broken.” He scoffed, ticking his head to the side. “She said it was time to break it.”

“Break it how?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter!” He growled. “She’s a liar. She wants nothing more than to torment me. Besides, this isn’t about me,” he said, lowering his brow again. “It’s about you.”

“Me?” I asked, scrambling to my feet. “How could any of this be about me?”

“Because of what you are.”

“I’m nothing like you!” I yelled, blinking away whatever momentary crazy allowed me to listen to that story and actually take any of it seriously. Calling himself a monster was one thing, but pulling me into it, that was something else entirely.

“If you would calm down, Ms. Bell—”

“Oh, for God’s sake. You’ve been inside me. I think you can call me by my goddamn name.” I gritted my teeth. “Or better yet, don’t call me anything. Don’t call me anything at all.”

“Get mad if you like, but I’m not the reason this is happening. You are. And until you accept that, it won’t stop. If you would just let me explain—”

“Why? Because those girls look like me? That’s why I’m in danger, right? That has nothing to do with what I am.”

“You’ve got it half right,” he muttered. “You’re not in danger because you look like those girls.” His gaze traveled from my toes up to my eyes. “Those girls were in danger because they looked like you.”

Now he moved closer to me. “You’re a Supplicant, Ms. Bell—Charisse. Your blood has magical properties—the magical properties that a Conduit needs to perform their magic. And there is someone out there like me looking for you, to use you for just that. And it’s obvious he’ll stop at nothing to get to you.”

“How do you know I’m a…whatever it is?” I asked, backing away. “How do you know that beast is after me?”

“Because I knew your father,” he said evenly. “He was a Supplicant, too. You have his eyes.”

My mind flickered back to the first time I ever saw Abram and to the first thing he said to me.

You have a freckle in your eye.

Just like my father.

“You’re insane!” I said, my mind spinning. Maybe magic was real, and he certainly was a beast, but I had nothing to do with this. And to bring my father into it—I refused to hear another thing he had to say.

“You stay the hell away from me. Do you understand?”

I turned and ran, bolting through the woods. When I glanced back, he was just staring after me. As promised, he was letting me leave now that he had said all he had to say.

I swallowed hard, resisting the tug in my heart and stomach that made me want to erase all I had learned.

“Don’t ever talk to me again!” I screamed, more to cement my resolve than to rebuke him. “Not ever again!”

This time when I ran, I didn’t look back. And I swore to myself, right then and there, this would be the last time I ever laid eyes on him.

Chapter 15

IT WAS STRANGE how easily I found my way out of the woods that night. Maybe I had been up and down this path enough to know my way around. But, given my astonishingly bad sense of direction, it probably had more to do with the way my thoughts were racing.

Monsters and witches, curses and fangs—all these things filled my mind. Conduits, whatever they were, and all that other garbage Abram expected me to believe mentally batted me around like one of those beanbags Lulu and I used to kick back and forth in grade school.

While my subconscious guided me to the main street of New Haven, my actual conscious was trying to make sense of all the senselessness that was now my life.

If he expected me to believe him—that magic was real and he was a douchey product of some Conduit witch’s temper tantrum—then he had another thing coming. It was too farfetched. Well, except for the douchey part. Abram definitely fit the bill where that was concerned.

But what about all the crazy things I had seen? I couldn’t ignore them. Like it or not, I couldn’t explain half of the things that had happened to me since I returned to New Haven. But magic? Could that really be the answer?

My head was still swimming when I made it up Lulu’s walkway. It was after dark now, which technically made me a fugitive thanks to the town’s ridiculous ‘women only’ curfew.

Screw that. If I could deal with strange woods monsters, possessed witch prisoners, and a boyfriend who could throw me around in all the wrong (and right) ways, then this one-horse-town’s Barney Fife patrol was the least of my worries.

I heard the baby crying before I even settled in front of the doorway. The sound of his wails, haggard and tired as though they had been going on awhile, sent shivers down my spine. Something wasn’t right. When Jack cried, his mother dealt with it. She was freaking Super Woman.

Instantly, I thought of the fence, of the way Lulu freaked when she saw it was broken. It made sense now. If there were creepy kooky monsters doing creepy kooky things one hundred feet from where my kid slept at night, I would want to keep the fence up, too.

My entire body went cold as I fumbled through my purse for the key to the house.

“It’s okay, Jack. It’s gonna be okay,” I said, my hand shaking as the key found its way into the doorknob.

Of course, I couldn’t back that up. For all I knew, there could be an army of Conduits or weird wolf-monsters or hell, leprechauns, waiting to hijack me as soon as I walked through the door. And what could I do? I was a plus-sized model whose only knowledge of self-defense came from last winter’s ill-fated trend of designer combat boots.

Oh, that’s right. What was it Abram said? I had magic blood that could do spells or something. And apparently that meant my blood was in high demand. How refreshing. Whether it was true or not, it didn’t speak well for my safety, let alone my ability to save others.

God, please tell me I’m not considering it’s true.

As the door swung open, I saw the reality in Lulu’s home was a bit more ordinary in origin, though no less horrifying.

My friend lay on the floor of the foyer, her face pained and tense, a puddle circling her body. Her water had broken. She was in labor.

I ran to her, forgetting all my worries as I knelt beside her on the floor.

“Are you all right?” I asked as she did her breathing exercises. “How long have you been like this?”

“The phone,” she said through grunting breaths. “Get the phone.”

She was calmer than she had any right to be—definitely calmer than I would have been if my glorious ass was in the same position. Looking over, I saw her cell phone was out of reach. She mustn’t have been able to get Jack to bring it to her.

I lunged for it and was already dialing 9-1-1 before I realized I could have used my own phone without the dramatic dive into the living room.

I didn’t even let the operator finish her intro before I cut in. “My friend is in labor. I need you to get somebody to—”

This time she interrupted me, reciting the address.

“Yeah, that’s it. Hurry. I think she’s about to blow!”

Lulu crinkled her eyebrows. “About to blow? I’m not a whale, Charisse.”

“Forgive my lack of etiquette. I’m trying to get the morons to hurry,” I answered. Then, realizing I was still on the phone, I said, “Not you, 9-1-1 lady. You’re awesome. Just send someone.”

Ending the call, I flung the phone back onto the couch and joined Lulu at her side.

“Relax, please, Charisse,” she said, wincing. “People give birth at home all the time. It’s not—” She moaned, keeling over farther where she lay on the floor. “—life or death.”

“You look like you’re dying to me,” I said half-heartedly. Truth was, her pain terrified me, no matter how normal the Discovery Channel said this life event was.

“Thanks,” she muttered. Somehow, she was smiling between the bouts of pain, but it never lasted long. She seemed to only get a few seconds break between each of her moaning fits.

I think I was squeezing her hand tighter than she was squeezing mine. Man, those birth shows she was always watching had it all wrong!

“Do I need grab the sheets or boil some water or something?”

“That depends on if you’re trying to get stains out of my bedspread.” Lulu grunted.  Obviously she was in pain, and obviously I wasn’t the type of person you wanted to bring with you to a medical emergency.

“I’ll be fine,” Lulu said, sweat forming on her brow. “Just try to calm Jack down until the paramedics arrive.”

Trying to calm Jack down sounded much easier than it actually was. I was bitten, I was scratched, I was punched, and I was called the only word he knew how to say—which wasn’t really a word at all, but more like a sound I could not replicate. But the kid was scared, and since I was basically peeing my pants myself, I couldn’t blame him.

When the paramedics finally arrived, they were quick, guiding Lulu onto a stretcher and assuring her (and Jack and I) that everything would be just fine. For Lulu, that might be true, but for me it was anything but.

After his mother left, Jack went from simmering to full-blown nuclear. It took every rabbit I could pull from my hat to keep him quiet for even a minute. I did my best baby voice. I tried pirate cartoons. I attempted to feed him cookies (which were thrown back at me). I even tried to pay the stupid kid, but it turned out twenty bucks wasn’t as big an incentive to a toddler as I imagined it might be.

It may have been for the best, though. The more Jack screamed (and there was a lot of screaming) the longer my mind stayed occupied. It was when he was actually quiet, in those moments of silence, when my own internal monologue got noisy.

I started to worry about Lulu, and not just for the obvious reasons. Sure, she was in labor, and yes the hospital in New Haven was about as big as a Quizno’s (with all the technical advancement). But what was really pulling at my mind was what Abram had told me.

The dead girls…they all looked like me. And, according to Abram, that was the reason they were all dead. Someone was looking for me, because my blood was magic and they could use it to take over the world or make some supermodel fall in love with them or something.

You know, that old chestnut.

But as crazy as all of that sounded, I was actually beginning to believe it. And that was what was upsetting me so much.

Because as much as all those dead girls resembled me, none of them looked as much like me as Lulu did. For our entire lives, people confused us for sisters. We had the same dark hair, the same light eyes. Of course, Lulu was missing my father’s eye freckle, but that distinction hadn’t saved any of the other girls.

A horrible howling echoed from the woods behind us. Jack erupted back into screams, and though my entire body shook, I rushed to grab him. The monster was out there, but which one?

God, I was actually taking all of this seriously.

How could I not, with all I had seen tonight?

Another howl. From the same monster or another one? Maybe it was from an ordinary run-of-the-mill non-monstrous wolf. Hey, a girl can hope.

My mind raced to the worst possible scenario. What if Lulu was attacked on her way to the hospital? What if the monster who chased after me—the one Abram saved me from—had ripped into that ambulance in an effort to get a hold of her?

She would be running through these woods right now, scared and in labor. Or would she not even be able to run, same as she hadn’t been able to get to her phone. Did the Discovery Channel say fear can stall labor? Or was that with animals?

No, if something was after Lulu, labor or not, she would be trying to get back to her child. But what chance would she stand against a beast? She would be ripped apart, just like the rest. And it would be all my fault.

I reached for my cell before I realized who I was intending to call.

My mind shouldn’t have gone to him. I had just told him how awful he was and how I never wanted to see him again.  But if Abram was here, he would fix this. He would run those meaty wonderful hands through my hair and tell me everything would be all right. And I would believe him. Just like, God help me, I believed him now.

I set the phone back down and curled up in a ball on the couch with Jack, squeezing my eyes shut to try to keep the tears from falling.

How had my life gotten to this point?

Chapter 16

IT WAS HALFWAY through a symphony of Jack’s screams that a knock sounded at the door.

My body tensed, causing all my other thoughts to screech to a halt like Saturday night traffic in Queens.

As if he sensed it, too, Jack’s high-pitched hijinks stopped as well, allowing the next knock to echo through an otherwise silent house.

I inched toward the door, looking out of the corner of my eye for something that might be used as a weapon. As the third knock banged along the door, I settled for the first thing in the kitchen I could find—a cheese grater.

Never one to put off the inevitable, I pulled the door open, holding the grater out in front of me like a magic talisman.

“I appreciate it, but if I was going to present someone with a kitchen utensil, I think it would be the blender. Just feels more personal.”

Dalton stood in the doorway, a sly smirk plastered across his otherwise adorable face.

Okay, so the smirk was adorable, too.

He was dressed in a police uniform: brown slacks and a matching shirt with a star shaped badge pinned to his chest. If I wasn’t so scared and embarrassed, I would have said it was hot. Because, you know, I was a red-blooded female and there was nothing—nothing—sexier than a guy in uniform.

Well, unless you count a sexily aggressive nightclub owner who may or may not moonlight as a giant wolf-monster or psycho kidnapper. Somehow, though, I sensed the latter wasn’t the case, and I wasn’t sure if that was more alarming or less.

Why is my life so weird?

“Are you—” I started, then shook my head. “Is Lulu—”

“Still in labor,” Dalton answered. “It’s gonna be an all-nighter. Lucky for you, I’m an all-night kind of guy.”

A bolt of guilt ran up my chest. Dalton had been such a great friend to me. And, if I was being honest, he had been a great ‘more than a friend’ too. And how had I repaid that awesomeness? By bumping uglies with the first sexy guy who looked at me twice.

His eyebrows rose. “Can I come in?”

Well, that was awkward. Here I was just standing there staring at him in silence.

“Sure,” I answered, because after all, it was his sister’s house, and who was I to say he couldn’t come in? “Have you called her husband?”

“His phone’s going straight to voicemail. He must still be in the air.” Dalton moved past me and gave me a peck on the cheek.

God, he still thought we were together.

I should have flinched away from him. I hadn’t been the type of girl who deserved a kiss from a guy like Dalton, someone capable of making me feel so safe and loved. I was the kind of girl who threw all that away for someone who kept secrets from me, someone who spouted nonsense when questioned about those secrets. But, for all that, Abram made me feel alive in a way that Dalton hadn’t, in a way I feared Dalton never could.

“How have you been?” he asked, moving through the foyer and scooping up Jack, who instantly perked up a thousand percent. “I missed you today at the diner.”

“Right,” I answered, remembering the text I had sent him. I was going to break up with him, but then the world turned upside down. And here he was being so gracious about me standing him up, too.

Break up with him now, dummy!

I opened my mouth, but no words came. The moment felt all…wrong. My world was still spinning. I wasn’t sure where I (or anything else) was going to land.

I should have broken up with him anyway, on the sole basis I didn’t deserve him. We weren’t officially together, but there was something between us. I was certain he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, and yet I had.

I couldn’t even bring myself to defend my actions with the notion that we had never agreed to see each other exclusively. I’d never been one to see a problem with women dating as many men as they liked, but in this situation, the fact remained Dalton wasn’t aware of me seeing anyone else, and this would hurt him, and that was what made it wrong. The only right thing left to do was tell him.

Yet my mouth still couldn’t form the words.

“Sorry about dinner,” I said lamely. “Things came up.”

“They usually do,” he answered, tousling Jack’s hair. “No worries. Though I did have to brave the diner crowd shooting me pitiful looks. And on my first day in uniform and all.”

“Yeah, what’s that about?” I asked. “I thought detectives wore plain clothes.”

Not that I was complaining.

“It’s for the curfew.” He shrugged. ‘The town thought it would be more effective if the people on patrol looked like officers instead of—”

“Studs?” I finished.

A blush crept up his cheeks. Oh, no. I was doing it again, feeding into the relationship monster.

“Sorry,” I muttered instinctively.

Dalton’s eyebrows pulled together. “For what?”

Kill me now. “I don’t know. I’m not feeling right tonight.”

At least that was true. I felt wrong. All wrong. I shouldn’t be playing this game, and yet selfishly, I wanted Dalton to be here. Abram was either literally or figuratively a monster, and the reality was, if Abram wasn’t in my life, I would be with Dalton, no questions asked. But I didn’t deserve him after what I’d done.

Dalton nodded as if it was no big deal. If only he knew…

He looked at Jack, who was giggling now, but whose face was still streaked with tears and red blotches. “He’s been crying?”

“Only every second since before I got here,” I answered, squinting at the way he seemed so at ease with Jack in his arms and trying to decode the secret.

“Well, he’s better now.”

“Thanks to you.”

He smiled. “I have my talents.”

“I have no doubt,” I answered. Now a blush crept up my cheeks.

“Have you eaten?” he asked. “How about I put him to bed and throw on some spaghetti? How does that sound?”

“Like you’ve been reading from my dream journal,” I answered, realizing how hungry I was.

As he moved from Jack’s room to the kitchen, eyeing the place from top to bottom, I realized why he was actually here.

“Lulu sent you to check up on me, didn’t she?” I asked, arms crossed.

It all made sense. I was here, as useless as a soaking wet parachute, and she sent her brother to make sure I wasn’t destroying her home and her kid.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His smile faltered as he put the pasta on the stove. “I’m sure you’re doing a great job.”

“Save it. She thinks I’m going to make a mess of things.”

“I believe the word ‘sinkhole’ was used.” He grinned, his hand moving to rake through his hair. “But it’s not bad.”

I arched my eyebrows.

“Well it’s not that bad.” He chuckled.

“Don’t laugh. This isn’t funny,” I said, surprised at how angry I was becoming. “We’re in a crisis, and my best friend doesn’t trust me!”

“Well,” Dalton said, moving closer in a slow (and decidedly wary) manner. “First of all, it’s not a crisis. She’s in the hospital. You know, where pregnant women go when they go into labor.”

I would have pointed out not all of them, according to Lulu, but I really didn’t know enough to argue. I frowned.

“She’ll be fine,” Dalton said. “And if she’s a little bit concerned about your abilities in certain areas…” He cleared his throat. “And, for the record, I am not saying she is concerned. Mostly because she’d kill me if she knew I told you. It’d only be because she knows this type of thing isn’t really your bag.”

Disregarding his retro usage of the word ‘bag’, I said, “That’s just a nice way of saying I don’t fit in with her anymore.”

And there it was, the truth of what had been simmering between Lulu and I since I returned to New Haven.

“Face it,” I continued, “if it had been Ester who found her, you wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You’re right.” He shook his head. “If that stuck-up snob would have found my sister, I wouldn’t be having this conversation. But I wouldn’t be here, either.” He leaned in, kissing me on the cheek. “Because you are.” Dalton brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and continued. “You’re amazing. You have to see that. God, knows everybody else does. It’s why Ester hates you. It’s why Lulu loves you so much. It’s why…”

His hand lingered on my cheek as his voice trailed off.  Heat ran through his fingers, tingled along my cheek. It was all around me, thick and warm, almost like—

“Your pasta is burning,” I said, noticing the billowing smoke.

“Not the impression I wanted to make.” He grinned, still looking into my eyes.

Biting my lip, I answered, “You’re doing just fine.”

* * *

TWO PHONE CALLS to the hospital to check up on Lulu and an absolutely breathtaking (if a little overdone) pasta and eggplant dish later, Dalton and I were snuggling on the couch.

It would have felt wrong if he hadn’t been so right. Sure, he wasn’t strong in the way Abram was. After all, Abram was massive. Abram was a thrilling, intimidating, and exhilarating thing. Like fire. But like fire, the thought of him consumed me. It devoured my mind until there was nothing left of me.

But Dalton was strong, too, in a solid-like-stone sense-of-being type of way. You could build on stone. You could make a life on stone. Stone did not destroy all it touched. It didn’t leave you burned and broken, with nothing to show for your time and passion but ash scattered on the floor.

With Dalton, there was no bull, no drama, no chained up girls, and no magical excuses or beastly traits. And he wanted me.

But did I want him?

I snuggled as close as I could, trying to come up with the answer. But it wasn’t long before I realized what I was actually doing was trying to convince my heart to want something it didn’t.

I knew what was good for me. Any idiot could see that this man, so wonderful, so kind, was the right choice. But Abram was different. There was something about him that drew me in like a moth to flame. Questions and concerns aside, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would go to that flame again.

I was cold without him—isn’t that how it is with fire? Whether or not it was foolish to do so, I would keep going back to him, just like all the other times I vowed never to see him again.

Fact was, I trusted him. Conduits and beasts be damned. I believed every freaking word of it. How could I not? To deny it would be to deny things I had seen with my own eyes, experienced with my own body. No man, no matter how strong, could throw a woman like that.

What I had told Abram before, about not ever wanting to see him again, was all bluster. If I’d meant that, I would have called the cops by now—would have alerted the one sitting right beside me. Sure, no one would believe any of that magic nonsense, but they would listen if I told them a missing girl was chained up in the woods.

The only reason I hadn’t said something was because deep down I believed that girl was who Abram said she was. A witch in a woman’s clothing.

God, I was just a much as a liar as he was. Perhaps worse. He had kept things from me, true, but anyone could see why. But me? I hid things, too, and I lied. Mostly to myself, but still. Maybe we deserved each other. I certainly didn’t deserve Dalton. That was for sure.

Jimmy Fallon was halfway through a lip sync battle when I made my decision, or rather, accepted what I already knew.

If I needed to move on from Abram—and I wasn’t sure I did—I wouldn’t be able to until I had answers. And there was only one place where those could be found.

I would have to go back into those damn woods.

Chapter 17

I MAY HAVE been in a rush to get answers, but I’d had enough nighttime treks into dangerous territory for one lifetime. I waited until the next morning, after Ester came to relieve me of my babysitting duties, to head back into the woods.

The path was almost second nature to me now. Unlike the last few times I hiked into these woods, though, I was prepared, and as such, the heels I usually wore had been replaced with sneakers. Underneath were thick socks to cushion the impact of walking on my still sore and battered feet.

And yes, the sneakers were still Coach, but who says a girl can’t rough it in style?

As I neared the old house, my heart raced. I thought about turning around, considered writing the events of the last few days off as nothing more than a fevered dream, of going on about my life as usual. Whatever that even was anymore. But what was the use? I had tried that already. I had attempted to do the quiet thing with Dalton, and all it did was make me feel even more out of place.

I needed this. I needed answers to my questions. Hell, I probably needed answers to questions I hadn’t even asked yet. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. My life was at risk, and if I didn’t find out how to fight back, anyone who even remotely resembled me would be in danger until I was found.

And Abram. Sigh.

I needed to make my peace with him as well. As much as I hated to admit it, in light of all that had happened, he and I had a connection. And it was more than physical. I found myself thinking about him all the time now. And that wasn’t okay. Not when there were still so many secrets between us.

The house loomed into view more quickly than it had the last few times, as if it was coming out to meet me. The building looked somehow colder and more haunting during the day beneath the overcast sky. As if daylight couldn’t reach this place if it tried.

The front door might as well have been a beckoning hand as it swung open of its own accord, and a lump rose in my throat. Did this house want me to come inside? Could houses want things?

Well, maybe this house could.

I fought back the urge to turn tail and run, and instead resolved to put on my big girl panties and get this over with. Either he would come off his lies and tell me the truth about what was going on, or he would hold firm to his ridiculous stories and prove how crazy he was.

But I think what I feared most of all was possible outcome number three: that all the lunacy Abram told me about actually was the truth.

I marched up to the open door with the same mixture of intensity and nervousness that a newbie model would display looking down her first cat walk.

As I crossed the threshold, the floorboards creaked under me. This was the third time I had entered this God-forsaken place, and with any luck, it would be the last.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” a voice groaned from beside me.

I turned to the voice. Abram hunched over on the floor, his face unshaven and his shirt a mess of careless stains. There was a bottle in his left hand, and the look on his face spoke of equal parts defeat and disgust.

“I’m nothing if not surprising,” I muttered, noticing how much he looked like he did that day I found him after The Castle had been ransacked. And where had that led us? I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat and tried to push the images from my mind. I’d come here for answers. Nothing more.

“I didn’t say you surprised me,” Abram answered, taking a swig from the bottle. “I caught your scent when you were a half a mile out. I just said I didn’t expect to see you, not after that performance yesterday.”

“It wasn’t a performance,” I said, leaning against the far wall.

Something about seeing him like this, obviously broken, made me want to go to him. And I was afraid that if I moved even an inch, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

So I stayed plastered against the wall, as far away from him as the confines of this room would allow. “You said a lot of garbage yesterday, as if you actually expected me to believe it. How was I supposed to react?”

“With a little grace,” he answered, taking another swig and actually belching as he lowered the bottle.

“Grace personified, I see.”

He waved me off and set the bottle aside. “And I told you those things because they were true.”

“True?” I scoffed. “You expect me to believe that poor girl is a witch, or a Conduit, or whatever you called her! And that I’m one, too!”

“You’re afraid of me,” he said, standing and wiping the moisture from his lips.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I answered, and for just a moment, it was true. I was too upset to be scared. This man had lied to me. He had screwed with my mind, screwed with my heart. I had let him into me physically, mentally, and emotionally. And the truth was, I had no idea who he was. So no, I wasn’t afraid. I was angry, goddamn it. “I’m pissed, and I want answers.”

“You already got answers. You just didn’t like them.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I’ve got a lot of a lot of things,” he answered, still moving closer. “Call it the unintended spoils of a very long life.” His eyebrows arched. “And I never said you were a Conduit.”

“What?” I asked, half stunned and half exasperated. If he changed his story now, I might really snap. Forget claiming to never see him again, I might kill him on the spot.

“A Conduit—the witch counterpart you referenced. I never called you one.”

He couldn’t be serious. A part of me had actually considered this, had actually held onto that shred of trust in him. And now he was saying he didn’t say those things?

“You did!” I yelled, stepping toward him before remembering my resolve to stay as far away as possible. “Not that it matters,” I cut out, “since you’re batshit crazy. But you did.”

“I most certainly did not.” He’d taken a few steps of his own—or rather, more than a few—and was almost on me now.

His chest heaved as he neared, as if he was becoming increasingly short of breath. I wondered about the change, about the monster he became, and about how difficult he said it was to control himself once it took him over. Was that what was happening now? Was I about to be torn apart?

He stopped, his body language softening as though he sensed that fear I had just moments ago denied feeling.

“I didn’t say you were a Conduit,” he repeated, more lightly this time. “I told you what you were, but you didn’t let me explain before you ran off.”

“What am I then?” I asked, my voice quivering as much as the rest of me did.

“Other than a beautiful pain in my ass?” He grinned. “You’re a Supplicant.”

“I’m also a Virgo,” I said. “Doesn’t mean anything to me, since I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“You wouldn’t be here unless some part of you did,” he countered, and he was right. “And as much as you want answers, I want to give them to you.”

I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. He was standing too close to me now, and my stupid heart was fumbling around in my chest like a teenage girl’s moments before her first kiss.

“Then give them to me,” I said, trying to exert confidence with my voice.

His head tilted to one side and his gaze bore into my own. “Conduits perform magic. Supplicants, Charisse—Well, Supplicants are magic.”

He ran his forefinger lightly down my arm, causing every cell to stand at attention. I should have been afraid. I should have slapped his hand away. But I was frozen, consumed by a desire for him to keep touching me.

“There’s a limited source of mystical energy in this world, Charisse.” His finger traced my palm, sending sparks through me. “Increasingly limited, as it turns out. Nowadays, it’s only found in ancient relics and specific geographical hotspots.”

His finger moved from my palm and rested across my cheek, flirting dangerously with my lips.

“And in people like you, of course. I told you there was magic in your blood, and there is. Resting inside of you, Charisse, is the essence of everything in this world that’s worth having.” He moved his finger and cupped the back of my neck with his huge hand. “All beauty, all wonder, everything that poets write about and painters try to capture with a brush—it’s all because of you. It’s all inside of you.”

I swallowed hard, cursing the way heat was spreading through my body, the way my skin tingled beneath his touch.

“You…” I started, my voice a whisper. “You look like shit.”

It wasn’t true, of course, though he was disheveled—a shell of the dapper old-school gentleman I had come to know. He was still him: magnetic, intense, and quite possibly completely irresistible.

Of course, I didn’t want him to know that.

“I do,” he conceded, running his fingers down the nape of my neck. “I thought I was never going to see you again.” His eyes darted to the floor and then back to me. “The prospect took its toll.” His lips pursed. “I don’t want you to worry, Charisse. I protected your father for as long as he allowed me. And I’ll protect you, too. I swear it on my—”

“My father?” I asked, my eyes glazing over. He had mentioned him the other night, but I’d been too angry to consider it. But it would explain the picture I’d found in Abram’s study. “My father’s a—”

“He was a Supplicant as well. Yes.”

“Was?” I asked, my voice quivering.

I hadn’t thought about whether my father was alive or dead for a long time. Sometimes I would pretend he was dead. It somehow made things easier. He was the bastard who left me. Who cared if he died?

But I was beginning to think there might be more to my father’s story than what I knew, and being confronted with the possibility of his death now wasn’t making anything easier.

The look that passed through Abram’s eyes told me all I needed to about my father’s fate. But he continued anyway.

“He was a good man, Charisse. One of the best friends I ever had. I know it must be hard for you to entertain the thought that he loved you, but—”

“No!” I said, shaking my head, surprised at the stream of hot tears that drove their way down my cheeks.

“Charisse, things were complicated,” Abram answered, wiping my tears away with his massive and powerful thumb. “There were factors involved that none of us could see coming, least of all him. I told him that I could keep you both safe. That nothing would ever harm you. I promised him that. But he couldn’t bear the thought of putting you in danger. It was all for you, Charisse.”

“Then he should have stayed!” I yelled, batting Abram’s hand away. “You have no idea how hard things were for me and my mom. She worked herself to death—literally to death! And all because my dad didn’t have the balls to stand up to the people who were after him.”

“You know they aren’t people, Charisse, not really. And you should know, he did stand up to them. That’s how he wound up dead.”

My mind revolted the idea. I couldn’t let go of being angry at my father. It was my only line of defense at not falling completely apart at the idea I had lost him.

“So Conduits killed him,” I said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“They’re monsters, Charisse. Like me.”

“You’re not a monster,” I said instinctively.

And I meant it. In that moment, looking in Abram’s repentant eyes, I realized that not only did I believe everything he said to be true, but I always had. Ever since the first words came tumbling out of his mouth, I knew that my life would never be the same. I had run away because I was afraid—afraid of what he was saying, afraid of what I was feeling for him.

“Charisse, I was a monster before I ever became a beast. That is why Satina cursed me. And I am every bit the monster they are now, but without their ability to channel magic myself.”

“You’re a different kind of monster now, but you aren’t a monster where it counts,” I said, my fingers tracing over his chest, across his heart. My face flushed hot, and I quickly dropped my hand away. “But that doesn’t excuse anything you’ve done. And it doesn’t excuse my father for leaving me in this world not knowing the truth.”

“He had your best interests at heart,” Abram answered. “If he were here—”

“If he were here, he would be alive!” I shouted. “But he isn’t. I’m sure things were complicated. Things always are. But you don’t leave the people you care about, Abram! Love doesn’t run.”

“It doesn’t?” he asked, his voice suddenly strained. Abram blinked hard, and his expression said everything he didn’t. Love doesn’t run. But that was what I had been doing every step of the way.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Abram shook his head and continued.

“You have every right to be upset,” he said, “but not at your father. He only wanted to keep you out of harm’s way.” He folded his arms over his hulking chest. “Part of my curse, a piece of what Satina did to me, was penance. She had found me lacking in life, heartless, and without even the slightest compassion for humanity. To that end, she compelled me to help people who were in need. I doubt she had in mind that I would be protecting Supplicants, but I made that my mission. And that is how I came to know your father. The people who came after him, looking to use his blood to power horrible spells, they were vicious. We both knew they would stop at nothing to drain every drop of blood from his body. And, because you were like him, from your body, too.”

“Bullshit,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Blood replenishes. Why kill a never ending source?”

Abram stepped in closer, intimidating in his stature. His face hard, his eyebrows lifted as though to question me challenging him. My heart skipped a beat, and my body betrayed me with the complete wrong reaction—arousal.

I swallowed around the tightness in my thought. “Well?” I asked, the confidence in my tone wilting. “Explain that.”

Abram’s nostrils flared. “Greed. Not only do these…creatures…lack self-control, but the bigger the spell, the more blood they need to perform it. Fresh blood, Charisse. And yes, they will bleed you dry and take your life for one spell. They’ll take a dozen lives for one spell if they need to. Then they’ll move on to the next Supplicant—which is why your father left you. They had found him, and though they hadn’t tracked him back to his home yet, it was only a matter of time. He had hoped to take them out and return to you when everything was said and done.”

I shook my head, not understanding.

“He left you to keep you safe, Charisse. To stop them. To attempt to accomplish what I could not.” He paused, his jaw tensing and his hands balling into large fists at his side. “Had I done my job—had I been able to keep both of you safe…” His hands splayed out widely at his sides. “If you’re looking to blame someone for the way your life turned out, for all that you’re lacking, look no farther than the man who stands before you.”

I wanted to scream, to rear back and slap him. How dare he rob me of this? My father left me, and now I was just supposed to forgive him? Now I was just supposed to place the blame on this man—this man who I couldn’t have hated no matter how hard I tried?

My whole body was trembling now in my effort to resist the emotional hurt ravaging my body, but I steeled myself against the tears. “So what? They got him before he could get them? They used my dad’s blood, and that’s all he was good for? They ran out, and now they want me?”

Abram shook his head. “Yes, and no. Yes, Conduits do use people for their blood. That’s all they care about, that is all the value a Supplicant has to them. But no, they are not after you because your father’s blood ran out. They have always wanted you. They just don’t know it yet.”

“What does that even mean?”

Abram sighed. “A while ago, rumors began in our world about a Supplicant girl—one who was an extremely potent being of magical origin. They didn’t know it was you, though if they knew you were a Supplicant at all they would have gone after you anyway. But now they are hunting you specifically.”

“Something must have changed, then,” I mused under my breath.

Abram nodded. “It was not long before you returned here that the rumors took shape. A location—this town. A woman—fitting your description.”

“And that’s why those women were killed,” I answered. “Monsters want to bleed me out to make a voodoo cocktail. But couldn’t they tell those girls weren’t Supplicants?”

Abram titled his head back slowly. “That is the ever-concerning mystery. Whoever is after them…they aren’t a true Conduit. If they were, they would have known those women were not Supplicants.”

I shuddered hard. “Those poor girls.”

“More people I couldn’t save,” Abram said. His voice had dropped to a bitter growl. “But I won’t make that mistake with you. I’m here because of you, to keep you safe. I made a promise to your father, and I intend to keep it.”

“What are you going to do then?” I asked breathlessly.

“I’m going to find that creature who’s after you, the one who chased you into this house that night, and I’m going to relieve him of his head.”

* * *

ABRAM HAD GONE to clean up, leaving me standing in the foyer, reliving the craziness that had just unfolded around me. My mind was spinning, which might as well be its new default for all the times it had happened lately.

That was when I heard her voice.

Chaaariiiissssseeee.

It was the girl. I shook my head, remembering what Abram had said. She wasn’t a girl. That was Satina, the woman who had cursed him. The Conduit was calling to me, just like she had the other day.

I didn’t want to, but I found myself moving closer to her room. She sang my name again.

Chaaariiissseeeeeee.

It was a siren song, a call that pulled me toward it without need of my cooperation. And somehow both the room here and the room at the club called me in the same way. But how could that be? She was here.

I crossed the threshold to the room before I realized where I was. She sat on the floor, still chained to the wall.

“Are you here to help me?” she asked in the same ‘poor me’ voice she had used the first time I saw her.

Suddenly, I snapped out of my fog. “Stop,” I growled. “I know what you are.”

“Do you?” Her face dropped all pretense of innocence, and she snarled at me so viciously she barely looked human anymore. “And do you know what you are, Supplicant?” When she said the word, her voice dripped venomously, so much so that I stumbled a step back. “Do you really know?”

Her mouth twisted into a haunting grin, and her tongue flickered between her lips.

“Stay away from me,” I said, taking another step back, this one more determined. “Satina.”

“Oh, someone’s been brushing up on their ancient history, I see. Did he tell you the rest?” The Conduit arched the dead woman’s eyebrows. “Did he tell you what happened the night I died?”

“Of course.” My back knocked into the far wall. “And if you think I’m going to listen to some idiot girl who gets herself so twisted up over a man that she throws herself off a building, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

For the first time in my life, I heard an honest-to-God cackle. It escaped her lips as she threw her head back gleefully.

“Is that what he told you?” She shook her head. “I must not be the only one who’s found herself in the throes of that man’s charms.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“If you’re willing to accept that pile of horse manure, than you’re in deeper than I imagined.” She leaned in closer, so close that the shackles pulled tight. “I didn’t throw myself, Supplicant.” She smiled again. “I was pushed.”

Chapter 18

“PUSHED?” I ASKED, crossing my arms. “That’s not what Abram said.”

“Of course it’s not,” Satina spat back. “He’s the one who pushed me! Did you expect him to offer that up?”

This was too much. I wanted—no, I needed—to be done with this back and forth. Abram was good. Abram was evil. The whole thing was enough to give me whiplash.

“You’re a liar,” I ground out, “and I won’t fall for it again.”

It was one thing to finally make my peace with the existence of magic, Conduits, Supplicants, enchanted beasts, and leprechauns. Okay, so I might be winging it with the last one. But it was something else altogether to put my trust in someone the way I had just done with Abram. And standing here, watching this ridiculous creature threaten the stability of that trust with some horrible lie, wasn’t something I was prepared to do.

Even if, somewhere in the back of my mind, I still wondered if it was true.

Satina sighed. “You know, I don’t see what he sees in you.” She eyed me up and down with a sneer. “You’re not his type. He’s never been with a chunky girl before.”

“Curvy,” I corrected, then I waved my arm at her. “No different than you.”

“This?” she asked, looking down at her own body. “This is nothing more than a borrowed opportunity. I was waif-like and beautiful in my time…back before your boyfriend killed me.”

“You killed yourself,” I said, finding it suddenly easy to not feel bad over the loss of her life. “I know that’s probably hard for you to deal with, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Satina leaned back, letting her chains hang loosely in the air. The look on her borrowed face was cool and collected. She eyed me up and down as if I was a slab of beef and she was picking the choicest parts to chop off.

A shudder ran through me. This woman…well, first of all, she wasn’t a woman at all, at least not the one I was looking at. She was a creature, some sort of spirit who had slung on a poor girl’s corpse and was wearing it around the same way I’d have worn a pair of Louboutins.

She was a walking obituary. Or more aptly, a sitting, chained-up obituary. And she wanted something from me.

“You better hope you’re right, Supplicant. Otherwise, I think it’s safe to say that you’re in over your pretty little head.” A disgusting smile parted her dry, cracked lips. “He was good, wasn’t he?” She rolled her eyes, seeming to relish some unspoken memory. “He was amazing back then. Not good enough to make up for the murder, mind you, but I can only imagine what a dozen decades of experience has brought to the table. Let me ask you, is he still a moaner?”

I shuddered again, thoughts of Abram and I in the Castle, thoughts of Satina and Abram all those years ago.

God, he was a moaner.

“Shut up! He didn’t murder you!” I yelled. “He’s not that kind of person.”

The smile fell from her face, replaced with hard lines that the girl Satina inhabited hadn’t lived long enough to earn. “Are you willing to bet your life on that, Supplicant? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing.” Her eyes flickered to the door and then back to me. “I was just like you back then. A little less thick around the waist, but we shared other qualities. I, too, was kind and naïve. I gave people more credit than they were due, and lent my trust to the wrong men.”

“Sweetie, you don’t know anything about me.” Now I stepped closer to her, a little bit of my hard-earned edge creeping in. “I cut my teeth on the mean streets of New York City. And I realize that, since you’re about as relevant as socks with sandals, that doesn’t mean much to you. But suffice it to say, it chews up and spits out scarier people than you on a daily basis.” I sneered at her, leaning in even closer to her. “But it didn’t get me, and you won’t either. You see, you might have been some stupid little girl who couldn’t get past the fact that the guy who screwed you didn’t love you, but that’s not me. I’m a grown ass woman, bitch, and you don’t scare me.”

She lunged at me with a growl, the chains clanking as she pulled at them to get her face closer to mine, but I held steady, not letting my body or expression reveal my lingering fear.

When I didn’t flinch, she flopped back against the wall, sighing. “I’m tired of this.”

Good. So am I.

But I was wrong to think she was done trying to intimidate me.

She pulled against her chains again, this time so hard that one of them snapped. Before I could react, she flicked her hand, throwing the loose chain at me. It struck me, wrapping around my neck like a noose. I grappled at it, but she jerked with more strength than I’d have ever imagined that body to be capable of.

I fell to the ground as she pulled me closer. I tried to scream, but the chain cut off my airway. I couldn’t breathe. Panic shot through me, electric and terrifying. My heart thundered in my chest as I struggled against the witch.

Clawing at the floor, I tried to slow my journey toward Satina, but it was no use. She jerked the chain again, and with each pull, the chain got tighter around my neck. Pressure pounded in my head. I could feel the blood settling there, all my brain cells dying. Spots started to ping at my field of vision, and the edges of the world blurred. Somehow, from the corner of my eye, I spied a shard of something.

A piece of glass from the broken picture frame. Abram hadn’t cleaned it up yet.

Using a tiny bit of my quickly dwindling energy, I swiped it up, hiding it inside my clenched fist. Now all I had to do was wait until she pulled me toward her, and I would slash the bitch.

If I didn’t suffocate first.

I felt her behind me, pulling up the last bit of the chain's slack. I sprung (or rather, inched) into action. Opening my hand, I drove the shard toward her neck.

She grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. I wasn’t giving up now. Since she had to use one hand to grab me, that meant she let go of her vice grip on the chain.

Instinctively, I whipped the chain off my neck, gasping as a rush of cool air replenished my dry and sore throat.

The relief was short lived. I was still in danger. Looking up, I saw Satina had swiped the shard from my hand. I looked at my feet. Stupid shoes. If I had been wearing my heels, I could have flicked one off and drove a red-heeled point into this witch’s ugly eye.

My agent was right. Women shouldn’t wear sneakers. And to think I had thought he was just being sexist. However, he also said that no woman who cared about proper nail care should ever throw a punch. Unfortunately, I was going to have to prove him wrong on that one.

I swung at her. A bit of me felt guilty and squicked out as I realized it was a dead girl’s head I was connecting with. She pulled back as I clocked her across the face, but she didn’t let go of my hand.

“You stupid cow!” she spit out. “I’m just trying to show you the truth.”

She sliced the shard down my arm, breaking the skin. My eyes widened as a thick red mark appeared along my forearm.

Abram’s words rang out in my head.

There’s magic in your blood.

Uh-oh.

“Abram!” I screamed as the Conduit ran her finger along my arm, soaking up the blood.

She shuddered as a faint golden glimmer danced its way through her eyes.

“You truly are special.” She sighed. “Now sit back and enjoy the show.”

She slapped her palm hard against my forehead. I shook as I felt it—sparks and electricity running through my body. I tried to scream again, but my voice was gone. Then my eyes were gone.

Then everything was gone.

Chapter 19

SUDDENLY, I WASN’T lying on the floor in Abram’s upstairs dungeon anymore. I was in a different house, standing in the corner of a bedroom lit by candles and hanging lanterns.

It was dark outside, and as I tried to move toward the open window to better gauge my new surroundings, I realized I couldn’t move. I was, once again, not in control of my body.

How refreshing.

A giggle shot through the orange-hazed room, followed by a fuller chuckle and then a shushing sound. Without my consent, my gaze flashed to the direction of the noise. A couple moved through the doorway, tangled up in each other and kissing.

The blonde woman was thin and unassuming. Her milky white skin was almost completely covered by a plain navy burlap sack of a dress, save for her arms and neck.

The man, wasting no time, was already halfway out of his shirt, whipping the puffy white fabric off and letting it fall to the floor. He had a hat on, swooping and bulky. As he pulled it off, letting dark curls fall down his shoulders, I instinctively knew a few things to be true.

First, I was in the past. That much was clear from the lantern light and ridiculously dated clothing.

Second, the man I was looking at was Abram. I knew that sculpted chest. I knew those strong arms.

And Abram, given the tremble in the girl’s voice, was clearly about to get lucky.

But why was Satina showing me this? I knew Abram had a past. He told me he was a cad (or whatever grandpa language he used to let me know he used to sleep around). Did this stupid witch really think that giving me front row tickets to a time Abram made a girl regret her choice of bed buddy would be enough to make me turn on him?

“What if Father hears us?” The girl gasped as Abram slipped the dress off of her shoulders. It fell the way you would expect something large enough to hide every curve might—completely and all at once.

The girl was left standing in only a white slip, which was still more clothing than you would see in Milan this season. But I could tell that, for her, this was a line she had never crossed before.

“Father should be the furthest thing from your mind right now,” he said, kissing her neck. He moved down her untouched skin, his lips wrapping around the softness of where her shoulder met her neck.

His fingers, as skillful as a surgeon’s, pulled at the lace of her slip, loosening the fabric.

The girl shook all over as her breasts were exposed. Her eyes filled, and instantly I recognized something in them. I had been a girl who had never been naked in front of a man once. And the feeling that overtakes you when you finally are, that mix of regret and excitement, is something you never forget.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble we’ll get into if—”

Her words stopped as Abram’s moved down to her breasts, his mouth circling her nipples. She bit her lip, feeling the warmth overtake one of her most sensitive areas.

And then I bit my lip.

Oh God, I could feel it. I could feel everything he was doing to her, every sensation and emotion coursing through Satina’s body.

I felt his lips on me, his tongue flicking at and hardening my nipples. Satina wasn’t satisfied to make me a voyeur to whatever was about to happen. She wanted me to be an inactive participant as well.

His hand ran up her back, and I shuddered. His palm, steadying her back, steadying her insecurities. It was more than just the physical sensation I was indulging in. I felt all of her anxiety, all her excitement. All the trembling, worry, regret, fear, longing, and connection; it all belonged to me too somehow.

It felt—it felt like the first time all over again.

“Father will—”

With his free hand, Abram ripped the rest of her slip away, revealing the entirety of her supple body to the open air. She was cool and trembling, afraid of what he was about to do, and desperate for him to continue.

His fingers searched her thighs as his mouth explored her abdomen. I stifled a breath as his tongue ran across her naval. Slowly, her inhibitions were falling away. Everything she had been taught, all the truths about what a proper lady was supposed to be, melted away under the heat of his touch.

The strangeness subsided for me as well. Her feelings were my feelings. Her sensations were my sensations. And it would be a lie to say I wasn’t starting to let myself get swept up in them. Abram had a way of doing that to people—apparently even through the memories of times past.

My chest tightened as his fingers found their way into her. The moisture that came with her excitement pooled around his touch, and if I would have been able to moan in my current state, I sure as hell would have. Every sex dream I had ever had paled by comparison.

Even now, seemingly before his lifetimes of experience, Abram was skilled in the art of pleasure. Though he wasn’t touching me, I felt him deep within myself. His hands were a symphony of sensations, each one more precise and exhilarating than the last.

I tried to remind myself that this was a spell, that the creature responsible for this may very well have been bleeding me dry and that this was nothing more than a magical ruse to keep me occupied.

But if it was a ruse, it was a damn good one. I felt myself lunge as Abram kissed the girl, letting his tongue slide where his fingers had just been.

She threw her head back, and her pleasure coursed through me, stealing away what little resolve either of us had left. If Satina was going to kill me like this, hopefully she would at least have the common courtesy to wait until he was finished.

Yet I couldn’t live in the moment—not this one. No, not with Satina’s stream of conscious rushing over my own. Thoughts of her family—all powerful Conduits—and how in a few short days, on her eighteenth birthday, she would shift into the form of a beast herself. All she wanted was to escape, to live a normal life. And here was Abram, charming, handsome, and strong. If anyone could help her, it was him.

Suddenly, the door flew open. The girl pulled away, covering herself with her hands and leaving Abram on his knees, shirtless and smiling.

“Father!” she yelled, tears pooling in her eyes.

But the man on the other end of the door wasn’t her father. At least, not the sort I expected. He was a priest, complete with collar and rosary.

It was then that I realized what was going on. The emptiness of the room, the way the girl was so apprehensive. She was a nun. He was actually screwing a nun.

“Again, brother?” the priest said, looking down at Abram.

Heaven help me. Satina wasn’t a nun…Abram was a priest.

“I suppose asking for forgiveness wouldn’t help my cause?” he asked with a fiendish glimmer in his eyes.

The priest’s frown carved deep lines around his mouth. “Not this time.”

“I’m not even the first,” the naked woman muttered, and I felt the shame, regret, and anxiety slam back into her.

“Not even close,” the priest said. “But you will be the last.”

The girl scampered to dress while keeping her body shielded from the other priest, but he had already turned his attention to Abram.

“You’re a disgrace to all who would give themselves to the Lord,” the priest said. “And I, for one, am done covering up your sins. I’m reporting you to Father Jacobs with the sunrise. You’ll be arrested within a fortnight. Let’s see you break your vows within a prison cell.”

“You wouldn’t,” Abram cut out, the lightness leaving his voice. “You know of the demons I struggle with, brother.”

“Enough of your excuses and lies!” The priest raised his hand. “I will not let you make a mockery of this house, of these women, or of your own body. Not any longer. You will be brought out into the light of day, brother. Nothing short of divine intervention will stop me this time.”

Suddenly, I wasn’t in the room anymore. I stood on a crowded dirt road, watching a building as it was devoured in flames. People stood around it, gawking and praying. Most of them were priests as well.

The building I had just been standing in…it was on fire.

My head snapped to the right. Abram stood beside me, a hood pulled low over his face. His grin had returned.

“I suppose not all intervention has to be divine,” he muttered.

“You burned it!” I yelled, but I wasn’t there any longer. I was back in the old house, lying on the floor with a faded ceiling above me.

“What have you done?” Abram’s voice boomed. Satina’s throat was in his hands. She was pressed against the wall, rope binding her hands where the chains had failed. “Where is she?”

“I-I’m here,” I said hoarsely, trying to stand.

Turning to me, Abram’s eyes widened. He released the Conduit and rushed over to me, helping me up.

“Are you all right, Charisse? Where did she send you?”

I pulled away from him, squirming at his touch.

Satina laughed. “I suppose you know the truth now, don’t you, Supplicant? You see the type of man he is.”

“Quiet! Before I silence you myself!” Abram growled.

“All monster, no magic,” she taunted. “Such a waste.”

He spun around on her. “And whose fault is that?”

She glowered at him. “Yours, you idiot! I offered to protect you. My family could have kept you safe after what you’d done!”

He clenched his jaw. “I told you then, and I will tell you now: I don’t need you or your family.”

“Actually,” she said, tipping her head to the side. “You do need me. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, now would I? You could have had it all, Abram. You could have shared this magic with me. But you made your choice—your stupid, idiotic choice! Look where it got you. And still you try to deny me.”

Now it made sense. She hadn’t wanted him to save her from becoming a beast. She’d wanted him to join her. For him to marry into her powerful Conduit family so she wouldn’t be alone. She’d given a piece of herself to him in that bedroom, and when he betrayed her, she’d given a piece of herself to him in her death as well. The piece of her that would become a beast, making Abram a monster with none of the Conduit power to fight her back.

Was that why she couldn’t turn into a beast now? It would explain why she hadn’t broken from her chains sooner. By reanimating herself in that poor dead girl’s body, Satina had found a way to be a Conduit without the curse of being a beast.

Well, if she thought that was going to make me side with her, she was dead wrong. I would have chained her up, too.

Abram turned to me hesitantly. “She told you I murdered her, didn’t she?”

“Did you?” I asked.

“Of course not. Everything I told you was the truth.”

“You were a priest,” I said, shaking my head.

His jaw set. “I was in training, but I never completed the process,” he said. “Is that what she showed you? You need to understand, I was a different—”

“What happened to them?” I asked, backing away from him. “To all the people in the building you set fire to?”

His gaze lowered. Quietly, he said, “They were awake and outside when I set that fire. Working. I did horrible things, Charisse, but I wasn’t a killer. I have never been a killer.”

“And what about the girl you slept with? That was Satina? That must have ruined her life!” As much as I hated the witch, I had to admit I felt bad for the girl she was before all that happened.

“I ruined a lot of lives,” Abram conceded. “I was selfish and more than a little irresponsible. But I’m not that man anymore, and I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Are you really this stupid, Supplicant?” Satina asked, eyeing the way Abram’s hand hung expectantly in the air, waiting for me to take it. “He has broken every promise he has ever made. He turned his back on God himself. What makes you think you’ll be any different?”

“For such a crystal clear vision, you didn’t take the opportunity to show your supposed murder. Not that I could trust anything you show me anyway.” I turned to Abram. “Could I?”

He pressed his lips together. “She can’t show you a memory that hasn’t happened. Even Conduits have limits, though not enough of them,” he added, glaring at her. He returned his gaze to me and frowned. “She had to show you a horrible truth, and I’ve certainly given her enough to choose from.” He reached for my hand. “And she’s right about one thing. I’ve broken a lot of promises in my long life. But not with you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Never with you.”

“He lies.” Satina scowled. “We’re all the same to him. What makes your relationship with him any different?”

I looked at him for a long moment, studying his dark eyes, watching the lines on his face, considering his strong hand, still outstretched and reaching for my own. I knew him—maybe not the man he was then, but certainly the man he was now. And I would make this choice. I would trust him.

Because I already did.

“It’s different now,” I said, taking his hand, “because he’s different.”

Chapter 20

SOMETHING ABOUT THE small act of taking Abram’s hand changed everything. It was then, with my fingers knotted in his, that I let go. All my doubts, all my fears, everything that had been holding me back since that day in The Castle...it all melted away in the heat of his touch.

All the nonsense that had been and still was swirling around me lost its potency. Abram was here. He was mine. There was some evil force trying its best to bleed me dry and discard me like last year’s spring line, and it didn’t matter. Abram would keep me safe. I trusted him. I really, honest-to-God, without a shadow of a doubt, trusted him. And that made the world a brighter place.

Of course, it didn’t change the fact that, googly eyes aside, there was still work that needed to be done.

As we walked through the forest, still hand in hand, my body trembled slightly as everything I had learned came rushing in at me. Suddenly, it wasn’t a wild story. It wasn’t crazy talk. This was my new reality, and as much as I was ready to accept that, it wasn’t any easier to come to terms with.

Abram gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right, Charisse?”

I chewed my lip. “To tell you the truth, it’s still a lot to take in.”

“Of course it is,” he said, his voice just as steady as his resolve. “You’ve had days to take in what I’ve had decades to learn and accept.”

As if I needed the reminder. The path where our feet fell was well worn, and I imagined Abram walking it ten, fifty, one hundred years ago. The idea that it was possible, that he had been this breathtaking man even then, was still enough to spin my head around.

It made me uneasy. He had lived so long. He had seen so much. And maybe, my grand gesture notwithstanding, I was no different than the rest of them. How could I compete with a hundred and fifty years of life experience?

No, that wasn’t true. Those were Satina’s words, her insecurities, and I wasn’t about to let them become mine. Besides, I was Charisse Bellamy. I had been on the cover of Seventeen, Cosmo, and Maxim magazine. I was third runner up to the 2007 Miss Plus Size Manhattan. A hundred and fifty years of life experience couldn’t compete with me. And that was just the way I liked it.

“I’m just not sure how I can help when I still don’t have the first clue what any of it means.”

“Don’t worry about what it means right now,” he said. “The only thing you need to know is that I’ll protect you. On my life, I’ll keep you safe. The rest will fall into place with time.”

I sighed and pulled my hand away from his as we continued down the path. We were almost back at the house now, and he fresh air had done little to calm my nerves.

Abram stopped in his tracks, and the wind picked up, sending strands of dark hair blowing across his night-black eyes. Some people might have seen those eyes as menacing, as capable of horrible things. And honestly, I might have been one of those people if things had turned out differently. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth now. To me, those eyes were kind and beautiful.

He had tried so hard to explain away the mistakes of his youth. Though he always took responsibility for what he had done, he must have thought me knowing about those things would make me think less of him.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

To me, that only made him stronger. My own mistakes in life might not have been as grand, but I’d lived enough to know everyone was guilty of something. Knowing that he had been that boy and then came out the other side of the man he was now…I was in awe.

When I didn’t say anything, Abram’s eyebrows arched. “Did I misspeak?”

“No,” I answered, running my hands through my hair. “Yes. I don’t know.” I shook my head. “Look, I get that you want to take care of all of this. And that’s sweet. It really is. Lord knows there are probably a billion girls out there who want nothing more than some gorgeous man to swoop in and save them from their problems, no questions asked. But I’m not one of those girls. I ask questions, Abram.” I pointed to myself. “This is my problem, my fight. You said it yourself—those girls are dying because of me.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” he snapped, and despite the anger in his voice, his body language told of a man who wanted to comfort me.

I raised a hand to stop him. “I don’t blame myself. I blame the son of a bitch who’s killing people. But that doesn’t absolve me of my responsibility here. This monster might have been the one to kill these girls, but that doesn’t change that they died because I moved back to New Haven.”

It had been weighing on my mind, and it had to be said.

As the sun behind Abram’s head began its descent westward, we finished our stroll and stepped into the living room. We had little time left before his change, but somehow I sensed that wasn’t going to stop him from arguing with me.

“It started before you came back,” he said, locking the door behind us and waving arm toward to the couch for me to sit.

I flopped down on a soft but dusty cushion and clutched my purse in my lap. “I visited Lulu weeks before I moved back. I couldn’t ask her a favor as big as moving in over the phone, so I’d come by. I’d been here, Abram. Probably around the same time that first girl went missing. If I hadn’t come then—if I hadn’t moved here—those girls might still be alive.”

Abram, seating himself beside me, pressed his lips together into a defeated frown. “You couldn’t have known coming back would start this.”

“That’s just it, Abram. I don’t know anything.” I turned my body toward him, grasping my purse even tighter, as though if I held on tight enough I wouldn’t been thrown from this world that was spinning too fast for me to keep my balance. “Maybe if I knew who this person was, or even if I knew what they wanted, then maybe I could make sense of all this. At least then I’d be able to put reasoning behind why all of this is happening. At least then I might feel like all these people didn’t die for no—”

“I know,” he said firmly.

“You know what?” I scoffed, ready for him to tell me that he knew exactly how I felt so that I could tear into him and assure him that he didn’t.

“I might not know who the person is,” he said, “but I’m fairly certain I know what he wants.”

I blinked hard. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to tell you anything.” Abram huffed. “If I had my way, you would be mixing drinks for your over-privileged friends or helping Lulu with the baby. The fact that this has touched you even this much is a testament to how much I’ve failed you already.”

Lulu. God, I hadn’t even thought about her. Some friend I was. I would have to call her later and check up on things. Of course, if she was still in labor (very possible given the seventy-two hours it took for her to squeeze out the first one), that would mean I would have to call Dalton…which was a completely different can of worms I didn’t have time to open right now.

“Your father wanted you to have a normal life, Charisse,” Abram finished.

“Well, that ship has sailed, don’t you think?” I arched my perfectly plucked eyebrows at him. “I get that you’re old world, and that you think a man is supposed to take care of everything, and a woman is just supposed to be barefoot and in the kitchen. But I’m not Donna Reed, Abram.”

“My sentimentalities are actually much older than that, I assure you.”

“Whatever. The point is, this is the twenty-first century, and even if it wasn’t, I’m not the type of girl who’d just let you make everything better. This is my life—not my father’s, not yours, and certainly not whatever outdated gender roles you subscribe to. I want to know everything you know. I deserve to know everything you know.”

For a long moment, he stared at me. I couldn’t be sure, but he seemed impressed.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I brought Satina back.”

“What?” I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you do that? She’s horrible. And that poor girl…”

“The girl was dead. But I knew something was coming, and Satina was right. All the monster, none of the magic. I was out gunned. I needed a Conduit to help me through this.”

“So you brought back the worst woman you’ve ever known? How did you even do that without magic?”

“A mystic owed me a favor. He brought her back. But I couldn’t trust him for what was coming. You’re a very potent Supplicant, Charisse. I had to be careful who I exposed you to.”

“Something tells me you made a bad call.” I chewed the inside of my lip, shaking my head. “She tried to kill me.”

“She was trying to get you to turn on me, and that’s the least of what would happen if a full blown Conduit ever got their hands on you. Satina’s powers are diminished while she’s trapped in that body. It’s why even the simplest of memory projections required your blood. I can control her this way, Charisse. And she has no choice but to give me the guidance I need.”

“What guidance?” I gave Abram a proper glare. “You still haven’t told me anything.”

The sun dipped well below Abram’s head now. We only had so much time, and I needed to make sure we put it to good use.

“Satina thinks she knows what the other beast is after.” Abram folded his arms over his chest, making him look twice as hulking. “He’s not an actual Conduit, not a born one anyway. They give off certain energies, and Satina was able to pull a sort of psionic fingerprint off of the body she’s inhabiting. The only thing we don’t know is why its energy changed the night it followed you into my home—that night it was certainly more of a Conduit and less of…whatever it was when it killed Satina’s host.”

I shook my head slowly. Back in New York, I wouldn’t have been caught dead marching around the woods in sneakers. And I never imagined I would be in a position where I would have to listen to a sentence with the words ‘psionic fingerprint’ in them. But here I was.

Guess you can’t fight fate.

“You said I was born a Sassafrass,” I muttered.

“Supplicant,” he corrected. “And you were.”

“And Conduits are born, too?”

“Traditionally,” he answered. “But there is another way—a much more gruesome way entirely. “

“You have to kill one, don’t you? That’s the other way?”

Abram nodded.

“Unbelievable!” I threw my hands in the air. “Everything is about killing with you people. Why does life always have to be about death?”

He moved toward me. This time I didn’t stop him. “I wish I had the answer to that question, Charisse. But they’re not my people. I’m a bastardized monster—a product of a curse, not a beast by birth or by murder.”

“Are you sure they killed a Conduit, though? Maybe they were cursed like you were.”

Abram shook his head. “They wouldn’t be after you if that was the case. Your blood would be no good to them then. A Conduit without the magic is a beast and nothing more. And you must understand—these are your people. This is your world. It’s because of that that this monster can use you.”

“To what end?” I asked as he neared me.

“This other beast—he has some of the powers of a Conduit, but not all of them. That is why his visions of you are unclear. Any other Conduit hunting you would have found you by now—would not have killed the wrong people in error. But what Satina believes he is after is something much more potent, something only your blood could give him, due to your bloodline being one of the strongest Supplicant bloodlines in history.”

“And what is that? What is it that my extra special blood has to offer that is worth this blind killing spree?”

Abram looked down at me guiltily, as though he was somehow to blame for this. “Eternal life.”

“What?” I gasped. “I can’t do that! I don’t have the power to make someone live forever.”

Abram just stared at me.

“Do I?”

He continued to stare.

“But I thought you beasts already had that?”

“I do, but only because it’s part of my curse. Someone who has stolen the life of a Conduit, however, would have to keep replenishing their state of being with fresh Supplicant blood…unless they could find a permanent solution. You could be that solution.”

“Oh my god,” I said, and I started pacing. “Oh my God.”

“It’s all right,” Abram said, wrapping his arms around me and stopping me. “It’s a lot of power, but it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you. You’re still—”

I shook my head against his chest. Listening to the steady beat of his heart, I continued. “If we can’t stop him—if he does get to me—then he’ll never die. Think of all the people he could hurt, all the people he could kill. Forever.”

Tears burned behind my eyes.

“I won’t—We won’t let that happen,” Abram answered. “I promise.”

“How do we stop it then?”

Abram rubbed his hand up and down my back and let out a long, soft breath. “For now, just try not to hurt yourself. No falling down steps or running through the woods with cut up feet. The blood will only draw him to you.”

I shuddered, pulling away. “So my blood acts like a beacon for demon monsters? Geeze, better hope I don’t knick myself shaving.”

Abram leveled his gaze at me. “This is no laughing matter, Ms. Bellamy. I’ve already chased it off several times thanks to your…injuries.”

“Then let’s do something about it,” I said. “I’m not going to wait for some accident to send this thing hurtling at me while I’m unprepared. I rather see it coming.”

“No, Charisse,” Abram said firmly. “This man killed a Conduit—something most would consider a suicide mission. That he actually accomplished that only speaks to how dangerous he is.”

“Which is all the more reason for us to stop him,” I said, “and it sounds like there’s only one way to call out something so single-minded.”

“Please, don’t.” Abram placed his hands on either of my shoulders. “I shudder to think of whatever it is you are considering.”

“There’s nothing to think about, Abram. I’m going to give him what he wants.” I slid his hands from my shoulders and scooted back. “I’m going to give him me.”

Chapter 21

THE LOOK ON Abram’s face told me that I may as well have shot him as suggested what I had.

“Are you out of your mind?” He huffed, staring at me with bewildered eyes. “I’ve spent all of this time trying to keep you safe, keep you hidden, and now you just want to dangle yourself out there like a worm on a line?”

“A worm, Abram? I think as far as prey are concerned, I could at least pass for a rabbit in a fox’s den, or something less…slimy.”

“I’m being serious,” he responded without even a shadow of a smile. “This is deadly business.”

“I know that.” I spread my hands. “And I’m not the only one. I bet all those girls that bastard massacred knew it, too. I bet that was the last thought that went through any of their minds.” I looked down at my feet, suddenly ashamed that I’d ever thought the sort of shoe adorning them was in any way important. “I won’t let their deaths be for nothing, Abram.”

“God, you’re amazing,” he mumbled under his breath, and I couldn’t tell whether he was exasperated or impressed. “Don’t you see, Charisse? If you die, then all of it really would have been for nothing. He’ll get what he wants, and those girls will never be avenged.”

I shook my head. “That won’t happen.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re here,” I said. I stuck my finger into his hard chest and let it sit there. At first, I’d only intended the gesture to hammer home my point, but soon, I found myself taking comfort in this small connection. Touching him, even like this, seemed to quiet my mind and steady my stance. “You’d never let anything happen to me.”

“Not in a hundred lifetimes.” His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper.

His hand traveled upward and encompassed mine. Sparks shot through me and, for an instant, I forgot about everything else. I wasn’t a Supplicant. He wasn’t some Conduit’s pet science project. He was just a man, and I was a woman. There was no danger, no pile of lookalike corpses for me to hang my guilt on. There was only this tenderness between us. Tenderness and heat.

He cleared his throat, and I realized he was feeling it, too.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to go spearheading into danger, though,” he said. “We need to go about this in an intelligent manner.”

“Does intelligent mean slow, Abram? Because I don’t think the next poor sap who looks like me has that kind of time to waste.” My hand was still his to hold. My heart was still his to break. But I couldn’t fold on this.

“I know you want to save them, and that’s admirable. But you have no idea what we’re up against. I was dealing with Conduits while your grandfather was still in diapers. They’re dangerous creatures, and I doubt you have the foresight to fully understand that.”

My eyes narrowed accusingly. “So I don’t understand anything?” I wrestled my hand from his. “I’m just some child then?”

He sighed, his expression forlorn. “That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s exactly what you meant,” I answered, grinding my teeth together. “You think that because you’re older than sand, you have some kind of immaculate perspective on this.”

“I think my situation affords me a unique advantage, and if you weren’t so close to the situation, I’m sure you would agree.”

“You’re sure?” I asked indignantly. “And I suppose you’re sure because I’m so infantile and predictable.”

His eyebrows shot up quizzically, which was just what I was going for, and he blew out a thin stream of breath. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Acting like what? Childish? Well, I suppose I’m acting this way because that’s how you see me. Like a child!”

I wasn’t, of course. I knew better than that and, even if I didn’t, I wasn’t the type to go off on some poor guy just because he said the wrong thing. That was way too ‘How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days’ for my taste.

I had slipped into mega-bitch mode only to create a distraction. And I was trying to create a distraction because I didn’t want Abram, with his heightened beast senses, to realize that I was—at this very moment—fumbling for the nail file in my purse.

And he wouldn’t like what I was about to do with it.

“Why on Earth would you think that?” he asked, raking his hand through his hair.

Turned out that, magical or not, all guys fell apart into confused messes when the girls they liked got emotional.

“Because it’s the truth!” I yelled way too loudly. “You know it’s the truth! And what about my clothes? I know you don’t like the way I dress!”

“I—What?” Poor Abram. He was as lost as a socialite at a NASCAR race.

“You know you do! All you ever do is judge me!”

“Charisse, I—I don’t understand where this is all coming from. I just—”

I pulled the file out quickly, and ran it across my palm, breaking the skin.

“Goddamn it!” Abram yelled, rushing toward me. He pulled my palm toward him, sandwiching it between his and effectively stopping any of my blood from hitting the ground. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What I have to,” I said, dropping the charade of the easily offended psycho girlfriend. “I have to do this. I have to save those girls.”

“What about this girl?” he asked, eyes wide, motioning toward me. “What about my girl?”

A touch of guilt pinged at the back of my mind. Dalton had called me his girl not two days ago. And he meant it.

I pushed that aside and let myself drown in the other, more pleasurable sensations that Abram’s proclamation brought about.

I was his, something that belonged to him. He was saving me. He was prioritizing me. He was taking me.

And I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be taken. My inner feminist was appalled by my reaction, but I didn’t care. All I wanted in that moment was his hands on my body, his mouth on my lips.

Too bad he wasn’t done scolding me.

“You can’t be this foolish, Charisse,” he said sternly. “Not when so much is at stake.”

He looked at me, his dark eyes bearing clear down into my soul. And I realized that the thing at stake—the thing he was putting so much emphasis on protecting—was me.

“I just wanted to—”

“I know,” he said, leaning in close and shutting me up with his nearness. “But the only way to keep everyone safe is to keep our wits about us.”

He opened his hands, revealing that he had soaked up most of my blood with his palm. It shimmered, gold and sparkling against his tan skin.

“My God…” I murmured. “I’ve cut myself before. It never—”

“It wouldn’t, not unless your blood came in contact with someone of a supernatural persuasion.” It was then I noticed just how hard Abram was trying to keep his hand from shaking. “Just one drop of your blood,” he said, biting his lip. “You have no idea how much—”

“Oh God, are you in pain? Is this hurting you?” I asked, pulling my hand away. “Am I hurting you?”

“Not you,” he answered, closing his eyes. “The magic. I’m an abomination—all beast, no magic, remember? The magic doesn’t take to me very well.”

“Well, wipe it off!” I yelled, reaching for him.

“No!” He pulled his hand away. “It’s a beacon. Conduits can track it. If this touches anything, it’ll send the person after you right to us.”

“That was the point,” I said.

He glowered at me, but his scowl soon turned to a wince.

“Okay, so maybe this wasn’t my best idea.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not playing that game with you again. But could you please stop with the blood luring?”

My hand was still bleeding, but I hadn’t touched anything. That was all I had to do, and the trap would be set. As I chewed at my lip, contemplating, his hand shot out to cover my wound again, his face twisting into deeper pain.

“Charisse, please.”

God, his voice was so strained. But what other choice did we have? “We can’t do nothing.”

“I promise we’ll do something,” he said. He barely got the words out. “Something. Not this. Please.”

Seeing Abram beg twisted up my insides. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see him like this.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I won’t, okay?”

He nodded and released my hand again, then stumbled back to sit on the floor, leaning back against the wall clutching his hand against his chest.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” I said, overcome by guilt.

He balled his hand into a fist. “I’ll be fine, Charisse. This is far from the worst pain I’ve been in.”

“Uh-uh,” I said. I dug in my purse for a bottle of Evian. “At least let me help fix it.”

I kneeled beside him, opened the water, and pulled his fist apart before splashing the liquid onto his hand. The blood dispersed, as if by magic. Just…gone. When Abram’s hand was clean, I noticed his palm had been scorched.

“God,” I said, staring at his palm. “If that’s from me, then maybe I’m the monster.”

“You’re a miracle. I’m the monster,” he answered, visibly relaxing. “But that’s all right. If a monster is what it takes to keep you safe, then I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And there it was, the miracle and the monster. But even if Abram was okay with being a monster, as he called himself, I wasn’t. He wasn’t this horrible thing. Hell, even in his beast form, he had done everything he could to keep me safe.

But that didn’t change the fact that, once the sun went down, he would lose control of himself. He would be forced to take a shape that wasn’t his own, to live a life that wasn’t of his choosing. And he had done it every day for well over a century.

“Satina,” I muttered, looking at him and seeing not just the man I adored or the monster that intrigued me, but also the naughty roguish boy who had gotten himself into a hundred and fifty years’ worth of trouble. “You said something about breaking the curse.”

“I said no such thing.” He wouldn’t look at me.

“No more lies, Abram,” I said, grabbing his chin and turning his face toward me. “And no more secrets. You said Satina’s spirit is connected to you until you die…or until the curse is broken. How do you break it?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” he grumbled.

“Well, for one, because I want to hear it from you. For two, we both know damn well she’s a liar.”

His gaze swung toward me. “And who do you think told me how to break the curse?”

“Right,” I said, feeling the sinking of defeat in my stomach. “Satina.”

Which meant anything he might know about breaking the curse was a moot point. For all we know, if he even tried to do what she said, it would only make matters worse.

“I don’t want to get either of our hopes up, Charisse,” he said quietly. “I’m not keeping secrets, and I’m not lying to you. I’m just not sure what the truth is.”

“I see. But there has to be a way,” I said, “And my hopes are getting up regardless, Abram. It’s a little something called faith that my Grandma taught me.”

“Hope you have enough for both of us,” he muttered.

I smiled. “At least I got you hoping for something.”

Abram didn’t respond. Instead, he straightened where he sat and tore the sleeve from this shirt. “Give me your hand.”

“Um, okay,” I said, stretching my hand out to him. He tore the fabric sleeve in half, making a scrap of cotton that he began to wrap around my wound.

As I watched him, I tried to think what our next move should be. My blood was magical—the sort of magic that was no less than poisonous to the touch (at least for Abram). If we were going to see our way out of this, we were going to need guidance—the same sort of guidance Abram sought out when this whole thing started.

“We need her help, Abram,” I said, though I couldn’t believe the words were coming out of my mouth.

“Whose help?” he muttered as he finished tying off the fabric. He looked up to me, and his expression shifted from blank curiosity to sheer disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Charisse.”

“I am.”

“Satina’s not going to help us. Never, not in a million years. Just get that idea out of your head right now.”

I placed my uninjured hand over his and gentled my voice. “If we’re going to even have a chance of surviving this, we need her on her side. You must have had that thought at some point, too—that’s why you brought her back here.”

“And we see how well that went.”

“Abram,” I said, steeling my voice. “You need to set her free.”

He nearly choked on the air. “That’s a little unfair, don’t you think? She’s the one who needs to set me free.”

I knew why I needed Abram. Having him in my life meant it was safe for me to have moments of weakness. After years of staying strong while my mom fought cancer, I needed that. I needed for it to be okay to not be strong all the time.

But now I knew why Abram needed me. He needed someone to help him move past all his anger and bitterness, his self-loathing and regret.

“Maybe she will set you free,” I said. “Or maybe she won’t. But do you think she’ll even consider it while you’re keeping her captive?”

He swallowed and looked toward the staircase leading up to the room where Satina sat locked away and chained to a wall.

“We’ll try it,” he said slowly. “But if she tries to hurt you, I really will be the one to kill her this time.”

Chapter 22

“I DON’T LIKE this idea,” Abram said, standing beside me in front of the enchanted room that held Satina. “I know I agreed and, since I’m a man of my word, I’ll do it. But I think it should be noted that I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” I answered drolly, arms folded. “And your word, is that the only reason you consented?” I arched my eyebrows at him.

A grin spread across his face. This was a dark time. That much was true. But, if being there for my mother through her painful last days taught me anything, it was that darkness without a touch of light was too unbearable to get through.

“It was either that or your lips,” he answered.

“My lips?” I asked, surprised.

“They curl up when you get angry. Would you find it demeaning if I said it was arousing?”

A spike of warmth seemed to leak out from my heart, filling my chest. “No,” I admitted. “Not if you said it.”

He looked at me for a long moment. It was clear that we were lost in each other, sinking gleefully into the possibility of what we might be to each other. Soon though, his expression sobered. We didn’t have time for this, and we certainly didn’t have the luxury of forgetting what we were here for.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he said, turning his attention back to the door. “Satina isn’t going to help us.”

“You said you brought her back for the express purpose of helping you. Try to channel some of whatever you were feeling when you did that.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Abram said, running a skillful hand through his hair. “And you saw how much good that did. If you didn’t have your father’s eyes, who knows if I would have ever made the connection. I might have still been scouring that stupid club, combing through beautiful women.”

The idea of Abram combing through beautiful women didn’t sit well with me, regardless of how pure his intentions were. But that wasn’t the only thing about his sentence that I took offense with.

“Don’t call The Castle stupid. It’s where we met. It’s your work.”

“You’re my work,” he answered. “The club was just a vessel to facilitate that.”

“Well, I like it.” I smiled, nudging his shoulder. “Ridiculous ice maker and all.”

His hand trailed down my side and rested at my hip for a brief moment before he pulled away. “Maybe I’ll give it to you one day.”

“The ice maker?” I asked.

“Whatever you want,” he answered quietly.

The proclamation made me flush. I cleared my throat and swiftly shifted the conversation. “You just have to tell her what the other beast did. Tell her he killed a Conduit to get his powers. She’ll hate that. Conduit solidarity and all.”

“They’re not the Girl Scouts, Charisse. She already knows about that, and she doesn’t care. And if you remember, she didn’t even want to be a Conduit in the first place. Besides, I was under the impression you were going to speak with her.”

“Me?” I balked. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it was your idea,” he answered, eyeing the door. “And because Satina still hates me for what I did to her when she was alive.”

“Have you apologized?” I asked, leaning in.

A quizzical look came over Abram’s sculpted face. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I will not lower myself to apologize to a woman of that nature.”

“Of that nature?” I asked. “I get that you’re from another time and you were raised with outdated values, but I don’t think I’m comfortable with the idea of slut-shaming Satina, even if she is a psychotic witch.”

“They don’t like that word,” he scolded. “Conduits aren’t witches, not really.” He shook his head. “And I’m not some out-of-date fossil. I might have been born in a different time, but I grew up alongside this world. I’m just as contemporary as anyone.”

“Really?” I asked. “What’s a Kindle?”

“A bundle of sticks one uses for a fire. And it’s pronounced kindling,” he answered proudly.

“Right.” I sighed and turned away.

“What?” he said. “You can’t be mad at me for telling you how to say it correctly. Is this one of those times where you are pretending to be upset over nothing to distract me?”

“Look,” I said, laying a hand on his muscle-corded left arm. “I felt what she felt. I know what she went through that night with you. She was ashamed. She was afraid. She was embarrassed—more so than I’ve ever been in my life.” He tried to look away, but I traced his cheek with my fingers and held his attention. “I know what she did to you was wrong, and nothing could ever excuse that. But the healing has to start somewhere. And I know you can be the bigger person here.”

As he stared at me, I could see his resolve softening.

“My lips are curling again, aren’t they?” I asked.

“Every time,” he said, a smile breaking through his mask. “It’s uncanny.”

I knew I had him, so I nudged him toward the door. “So get in there, big boy.” I slapped his ass, surprised both at how firm it was and how this little gesture caused him to jump.

His eyes slid over to me. “I’m going to make you pay for that later.”

“So long as you make sure there is a later, I just might let you.” I winked. “Now go.”

I pushed the door open and felt a chill as the room revealed itself to us.

Satina sat in the corner, her chains reset from when she had broken one earlier. Her eyes darted toward us and, inexplicably, her tongue danced in and out of her mouth.

“I was wondering when you were finally going to come in.” Satina groaned, and her body twitched as though she was in pain.

My first instinct was to feel for her, but I quickly remembered who we were dealing with. This very well might have been a ploy to garner my sympathy. Satina was more than capable of that.

And I wanted to set her free.

“You heard us?” I asked, suddenly hyper-aware of all the flirting.

“I sensed you,” she answered. “A residual treat from your blood, Supplicant.” She smiled all wide and unearthly. “I wonder if you’d be so kind as to top me off.”

“We’re not here for that,” Abram started, moving through the doorway and toward Satina. “I need to talk to you, to give you something.”

“And what could you possibly have that would interest me, Beast?” she asked.

I kept my distance as he neared her. Nothing good would come from taunting Satina with my blood, not when she looked like one of those junkies on 9th Street, desperate for a high.

“My apology, Satina. That’s what,” he said, settling in front of her.

She looked up at him, her eyes licking over every inch of his body. Then, surprisingly, she cackled, shaking the entire room with her boisterous laugh.

“You’re desperate? Is that it?” She looked over at me, disdain flickering in her eyes. “You realize you’re out of your depth, and you think that some halfhearted apology will soften my heart.” She spit, literally spit, at him. “I’m not the weak-willed girl you knew, Beast, ready to spread her legs with little more incentive that a roguish brute telling her she’s pretty.”

“You were pretty,” he answered, wiping the spittle from his cheek. “And you’re right. I’m desperate. We won’t survive without your help, but that doesn’t change the fact that I wronged you once. And it’s past time that I take ownership for that.”

Her eyes went wide. For a second, I thought she was actually going to accept the apology. But then she scowled, twisting the dead girl’s mouth downward.

“This is about her.” She motioned toward me with her head. “About making yourself out to be the chivalrous hero to some chunky damsel in distress.”

She said that as if my curves were a bad thing, but I bit my tongue.

Abram’s posture stiffened. “That’s not what—”

“You still think you can trust him, don’t you?” she asked, looking past him to me. “I ask you, Supplicant, has he given himself to you entirely, the way I’m sure you’ve given yourself to him? Or are there still places he withholds from you, say a particular room in his Castle?”

I balked. She was talking about the strange marked door in the Castle, the one I still had never set foot in. But we hadn’t been back there yet, and I hadn’t asked him about it. There had been more pressing matters.

“And has he told you of the price he paid in order to bring me here?”

“Enough, Satina!” Abram yelled.

“You don’t think I see it?” Satina matched his yelling with her own. “The way she looks at you, the way you look back! It’s everything it should be—every required ingredient. But it would ruin everything, wouldn’t it?” She cackled again. “God, that is delicious.”

I stepped closer to them, eying Abram carefully. “What is she talking about?”

“Forget it,” he ground out. “She’s trying to distract you.”

I could sense the anger coming off him in waves. He wanted to go, to turn away from this and find another solution. But that anger only lasted for a moment. As he stared at me, his emotions took a different turn. He sighed, clearly resolved to do what he had to in order to keep me safe, no matter what that meant.

Just like he said he would.

Crouching down, his elbows pressed against his knees, he settled himself face to face with Satina.

“Satina,” he started, looking her directly in the eye. “I know you think this is about Charisse or about me using you. And I can’t blame you for that. I did use you. I used you in a way that was completely and utterly wrong. You were a beautiful girl. You were kind and warm. You trusted people, and all you wanted was to be accepted, to be loved. I took advantage of that. I twisted it and used it for my own perverse pleasure. I broke that light inside of you. I turned it into something else. I drove you to do what you did, and I didn’t realize that before. Even standing outside that door just now, I didn’t fully understand how much I hurt you. And I suppose that’s because I never let anyone in. When you knew me, I had a wall up. My parents, they weren’t good people. They didn’t trust anyone, least of all each other. And they led me by example. I learned how to treat women by watching the way my father treated my mother. And while that isn’t an excuse, I think I at least owe you the explanation.”

He bit his lip and held his gaze steady on Satina. “I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t deserve to be looked at the way you looked at me. I was unworthy. But I didn’t realize what it meant to open yourself up to someone. No one had ever been behind the walls I built up around my heart.” He blinked hard and peeked over at me. “Now someone has. Now I do understand. Now I realize you are right. In a sense, I am the one who killed you. In a sense, I did push you, even if not literally. And for that, I am truly and deeply sorry.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Satina asked, eyeing him again. Her face seemed to light up. Her body seemed to loosen, as though it had been freed of a weight it had carried for far too long. “God above, you’re really serious. You have changed.” She looked over at me. “I suppose the Supplicant was right…it is different this time.”

An uneasy sensation started in the pit of my stomach. I had hoped she would come around…but that was too easy. She was up to something.

She touched Abram’s cheek with a shackled hand and stared softly into his eyes. “I will help you. I’ll do everything I can. The mystery beast was in the room adjacent to us. Bring me something he touched. I can use that to identify his energy signature and track it.”

Abram stood.

Satina grabbed his leg. “This is a complicated spell, Abram. It requires much magic, much energy. I need—”

“I know what you need,” he said sternly, and they both looked at me again. “I’m not comfortable with—”

“No,” I answered, realizing what they were talking about. Regardless of my distrust for her, this was our only chance. We would just have to be careful. “If my blood is what it takes, then that’s what she’ll get.”

My eyes darted from one of them to the other. They looked different to me now. They weren’t the strapping supernatural monster and the suicidal witch who made him that way. They were a man and a woman with a complicated history. They made mistakes, and now they were trying to make it right. Maybe she really was being sincere…

Walking toward her, I ran my nail file over my palm again, irritating the cut enough to draw blood again.

Satina gasped, shuddering just a little. Lord, my homemade heart juice must really be powerful stuff. I watched the blood pool in my hand as I moved toward the Conduit. This was a calculated risk. Hesitantly, I glanced back at Abram.

He gave a firm nod. “The chains will hold, and I’m not unchaining her until this is over.”

She scowled a bit. “Still don’t trust me?”

He frowned. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded slowly. “Fair enough.” She tilted her head to one side. “Maybe in time,” she added. “Let’s just get this done so we can all move on.”

Trying to step carefully, I somehow managed to trip over my own feet. Leave it to a former model to traipse around in five inch heels like a pro but turn into a world class klutz once you get her in a pair of sneakers.

I fumbled, stopping myself from falling.

But the blood…

The blood in my hand spilled into the open air. I couldn’t stop it before it splattered into the ground. A huge golden ring of energy shot out circularly around us, spreading out far and wide, like a wave that eventually disappeared in the distance.

“Oh God…” I muttered, remembering what Abram said.

If just a drop of my blood was akin to a beacon meant to lead my killer to me, then I had just sent out a signal flare.

Chapter 23

“YOU HAVE TO leave now,” Abram said, already taking my hand.

The instant my blood touched the floor, he changed. It wasn’t fear as much as determination. He had made a promise to my father. He had likely made a promise to himself. And judging by the way he now pulled me toward the door, he clearly intended to keep this promise.

But I was intent on something else. I pulled my hand free. “No, Abram.”

He turned to me, panic reaching his eyes, sighing too loudly for me to miss his clear exasperation. “I understand your penchant for being infuriatingly contrary might be hard to control, Charisse, but now is not the time to disagree with me. That blood you just spilled will act as—”

“A beacon. I know. It’ll draw that monster here.” I shrugged. “Isn’t that what we wanted? To draw the bastard out?”

Abram narrowed his eyes at me, his hands clenching into fists. “That was what you wanted. I thought we agreed to go about things another way. Or were we giving your blood to Satina for the hell of it?”

“What’s done is done, Abram. That monster is going to come here now, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.”

“I understand that, but ideally you would be out of harm’s way when that ‘bastard’ got here.”

I shook my head. “What good would that do?”

“It would go a long way in not getting you killed.” His nostrils flared.

“That won’t be a problem,” I quipped, pointing to him. “You already told me you won’t let that happen.”

“I did,” he conceded, as irritated as I had ever seen him. “Now you need to let me do what I need to keep you safe.”

“There’s a cost in keeping me safe.” I glanced back to Satina, remembering what she said about costs. Maybe there was a cost for everything in this new world I had stumbled into. “The girls who look like me—”

“Are already dead,” Abram said. “Joining them won’t help anything.”

“And what about the others?” I asked. “If I leave now, and that monster—” I found myself choking up. “More girls will be in danger. Ever curvy brunette in a fifty mile radius will be fair game to this son-of-a-bitch, including my best friend.” I swallowed around the knot tightening in my throat. “People always used to think Lulu and I were sisters. That’s how similar we are. How much longer before this monster targets her? She has a family. I won’t put her in danger like that. This ends right here, right now.”

He stared at me, his eyes narrowing even further. “I won’t lose.”

“Then we don’t have anything to worry about,” I said, moving closer to him and making sure he knew that I could be every bit as hardheaded as him.

“I don’t understand you,” he said glumly. “You’ve been trying to sacrifice yourself ever since you learned about all of this.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“That’s different,” he said. “I’m different. My life doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I said, surprised to feel tears burning behind my eyes. “Do you really need me to spell this out for you?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, I knew he did. Damn him. “I don’t want to leave you, you jackass. I will not leave you here to fight this thing alone. And if you pull me out of this house, I’ll come marching back.” Reaching him, I stuck my finger into his chest. “You’re not in this alone, Abram, no matter how much you want to be. So suck it up, big boy. I’m here to stay.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he answered, but his tone said he was just as impressed as he was concerned.

“As touching as all of this is, it’s unnecessary.” Satina’s voice, stronger than it had been before, echoed from the background.

Abram whipped around. “What are you talking about?”

“I can shield us, all of us,” she answered. “Wasn’t that the whole point of enlisting my help? The spell is complicated, and I’ll need a bit more of your blood and one of my hands to be unshackled. But I can scramble the draw that’s leading the other monster here. It will buy us some time. Though, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing him. His form is a trademark of mine, and I’d like to see what changes he’s made to it.”

Her eyes flickered over to me. “If you would be so kind.”

I marched over and extended my hand. Running a dead, cold palm across mine, she soaked what blood remained on my skin. Like it did with Abram, the blood glowed and turned a bright golden color. Though, unlike with Abram, it seemed to invigorate Satina, lighting her up.

“And my hand,” the Conduit said, rattling the shackles on one side.

“Just one?” I asked, half-skeptical and half-concerned. If she was really going to help us, had the roles reversed? Were we the bad guys now, keeping her chained up for no reason? Or was this a ploy of hers to make me wonder just that? I would rather be a fool than an asshole, though. “What if there’s danger? Don’t you want to be able to run?”

“Supplicant, I have no interest in this body or in the life that it would tether me to. I’ve moved on from this world. Being brought back to it was an unwelcome intrusion.” She looked over to Abram. “One hand will be sufficient.”

He moved toward her. With one quick, jarring motion, Abram ripped the chain binding Satina’s hand from the wall.

“There,” he said as dust and plywood splinters flew in the air.

“One more thing,” Satina added.

“What’s that?” Abram asked warily.

“This spell takes concentration. I’ll need privacy. I’m sure the two of you can find some way to keep yourselves…occupied.”

Abram nodded and led me toward the door. As we descended the staircase, I saw the sun had set. It was dark outside, which meant Abram should have turned by now.

“I don’t get it,” I said as we stepped into the foyer. “Why aren’t you the beast? The sun has already set.”

“That’s not how it works, Charisse.” He placed his hand on my hip and guided me into the living room. “The curse is tied to the moon, but I can control it until midnight. That’s when the magic is the strongest. After dark, though, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain control. The monster begins to creep in, and it takes huge amounts of willpower to keep it at bay.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It also becomes harder to control my other…impulses.”

A spark lit in my chest and spread to the rest of my body. “You want to eat me or something?” I chuckled nervously.

“Among other things,” he muttered.

It was then that I noticed the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. He was fighting against something, and the small voice in my head told me he would win.

It also said that I didn’t want him to.

“Charisse.” Abram reached out to take my hand. “I believe I promised I would make you pay for what you did earlier, and I can think of no better time to handle your misgivings than the present. I know how much you love a man of his word.”

I grinned, remembering how he jumped at that playful smack on his rear. “Why, Abram, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” he said. “But I don’t think you realize how disrespectful your actions were.”

He seemed actually upset now. Was it really that big of a deal?

“It was just a smack on your butt,” I said. “It was meant to be playful.”

“In my time, it would be considered completely unacceptable.”

I motioned around us. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t ‘your time’ anymore.”

He stepped in closer. “But it is my house.”

I bit my lip, and his hand slid up to caress a tendril of my hair. “How would you like it if I had done that to you?” he asked. “You would probably be ranting at me this very second about how degrading it is for a man to do that to a woman.”

There was no denying the red hot blush that fired up in my cheeks. “Some people enjoy that kind of thing.”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, I don’t.” He spun me around and pulled my body against his, his pelvis pressed against my back side. His hands held my arms crossed against my body, pinning my wrists at my hips. “Perhaps you are one of those people, though.”

“I don’t really know much about that whole BDSM thing, to be honest,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. But my heart was thundering in my chest, and there was no way he didn’t sense that.

“I am not familiar with that. Is it new age?”

I tried not to laugh. “To you, maybe.”

“I’m not laughing, Charisse,” he said sternly. It was hot the way he said it, though I couldn’t be sure if that was what he was going for. I wished I could see his expression, get a better read on him. “It wasn’t long ago that it was considered acceptable for a man to spank his woman for her misdeeds.”

My inner modern-day woman bristled. “But not for a woman to spank her man?” I countered. “You don’t think that’s biased?”

“On the one hand, what’s fair is fair. You got a good swat at me.” He breathed against my scalp, and his hips shifted behind mine, shooting a pleasurable tingle between my thighs. “On the other hand, I still think I ought to teach you a lesson.”

Now there was some playfulness in his voice; meanwhile, I was appalled by the way my body was reacting to this conversation.

“Do you know what that tells me, Charisse?”

I shook my head.

“Answer me.”

“No,” I whispered.

“It tells me I ought to spank you with both my hands.” He released me and turned me back to face him. “But I’m not going to.”

“You’re not?” I asked, surprised by his words as well as my disappointment.

“No,” he said, sliding his hand down my arm. “You taught me something important today.”

“I did?”

He nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You taught me the importance of apologizing. Now it’s your turn. You are to show me how sorry you are.”

“I’m—uh—what?”

He kissed me hard on the mouth, backing me up against the wall and pressing his body against mine. Then he pulled back. My body shot into overdrive, and my hands slid over his hard chest and chiseled biceps. There was just so…much of him.

“Show me, Charisse.”

My entire body trembled. “Show you how?”

Raising his eyebrows, he leaned back against the arm of the couch beside us. “Use your imagination.”

I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat and stepped closer to him. I’d never been ordered around like this in the bedroom…or living room…before. I was turned on and shutting down all at once.

I ran my fingertips along his collarbone and then down the length of his arm, trying to work up the courage to do something—or rather, the one thing I knew drove most men crazy.

His eyes blazed, and my heart thudded wildly. But he just stood there, stone still and hard as a rock…in more ways than one. Gosh, I felt like I virgin all over again. Like some prude idiot. My hand finally found the way to his erection, gliding over it through his rough jeans. His body stiffened, and his jaw flexed. He wanted me, I knew that much.

I fumbled with his belt, unbuckled his pants, and carefully undid his zipper before tugging on his pants just a little. They hugged his thighs, and as I pulled the jeans lower, his erection sprung out. I caressed it with my fingertips, careful not to upset anything with my perfectly manicured fingernails. Then I slipped both my hands up under his shirt to push it off over his head.

Suddenly I felt the weight of all his experience against my own. It wasn’t that I was at all inexperienced, but when we’d had sex the first time, I hadn’t realized that he literally had centuries of conquests before me. Now here I was, trying to—I don’t know—impress him? Show him, somehow, that I was sorry I smacked that fine ass of his? Because, well, that wasn’t true at all. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

His hand slid to my shoulder, and his thumb caressed the side of my neck as I kissed his chest. Slowly I trailed my kisses down his stomach, across his waist, inside his thighs. His erection pulsed, and a small burst of triumph coursed through me. I was driving him as crazy as he drove me.

I stole a glance at him, and immediately regretted it. Looking up at him from my knees, with his intense gaze bearing down on me, was nothing short of intimidating. He was watching my every move.

I quickly averted my attention to focus on the task at hand. Moving my kisses to his cock, I covered the length first in soft rubs of my lips, then twirled my tongue around the head before taking him into my mouth. I’d forgotten how large he was—and not just his body. Everywhere. It made this sexual offering a little…difficult.

My fingernails scraped down the tops of his thighs as I worked him with my mouth, and he responded instantly with a low moan. His skillful fingers tangled in my hair, encouraging me to continue. Finally I felt like he was really getting into it, his hips giving small thrusts to get more from me, but then he nudged me away.

“Enough,” he said breathlessly. He pulled me to my feet. “God, you’re amazing.”

“I don’t think God wants anything to do with what we’re up to right now,” I said cheekily.

He grinned, his hands possessing me at the hips. “You’re probably right.”

“So you forgive me?” I asked. This little ‘game’ was proving to be the perfect escape from everything that lay ahead, and I was ready to submerge myself into every moment of it.

“Not yet,” he said, starting to slowly strip me of my own clothes. “I don’t think you’re actually feeling very sorry for what you did.”

Guilty as charged. Sorry was not the word I would use to describe how I felt right now at all.

“You know, Charisse, you are a powerful woman. And I don’t just mean because of your Supplicant blood.” My shirt and bra were already on the floor by this point, and now my pants joined them. “It’s who you are. It’s in your nature.”

“I suppose then you’ve met your match.”

He tilted his head to the side, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe.”

I did not like that word one bit. Not in response to what I just said. I started to pull back, but Abram held me firm.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing for you to surrender sometimes. To let someone else make decisions. It’s not a weakness to let someone else take control of you for a little bit now and then.”

“Someone?” I asked. “Or you?”

He spun me around again, this time bending me over the arm of the couch and tugging down my underwear. My whole body went hot. His hands slid lower on my hips, the heels of his palms grazing my ass.

“You’re right. Just me. You want all of me, Charisse?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He did not just ask me that!

“Heaven help us, you have a dirty mind, Miss Bellamy,” he said, slipping into his old name for me like it had become a kinky afterthought. He pressed closer to me, his cock nudging against my intimate folds. “I mean, you want me, body, mind, soul. Correct?”

“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “I think you know that already.”

“I do,” he said. “And that’s why you should understand that I want you in the same way. I want you to belong to me.”

The head of his cock pressed into me, but he did not push any farther. He trailed a finger down my spine, stopping just below the small of my back to trace small circles as he throbbed inside of me. Some part of me was telling me I had to argue with his choice of words—“belong to me”—but the other part of me just wanted him to fuck me and tell me I’m pretty.

My arousal was making it hard to think, and my body squirmed. I pressed my hips back, wanting to take more of him, overwhelmed by how impossibly hard her was, but he firmed his grip to hold me still.

“Not yet, Charisse.” He paused, and the heat radiating off of him alone was enough to set me on fire.

I took a slow, deep breath. I wasn’t sure if he was doing this to drive me crazy or to control his own impulses, but I think he was accomplishing both either way.

“You’re your own woman,” he said, sliding in a smidge deeper, stretching me and making me feel empty all at once. “So you do realize it would still be your decision, even if your choice was to be my woman? To surrender every now and then? It may be more empowering than you think.”

I could fight it all I wanted, but there could be only one authority in this relationship, and Abram claimed that role long ago, despite any resistance on my end. And deep down, I liked it that way.

“You already have me, Abram,” I whispered.

With that, he leaned over me, pressing his lips against my ear. “I know.”

I gasped at the feeling of fullness as his erection pushed the rest of the way inside of me. Abram was larger than life, in more ways than one. And in that moment, I felt more full than I ever had before. My heart, my body. My undeniable love for him. The lusting ache that begged for release. This new freedom to stop worrying about being a Modern Day Woman and just let this man ravish me. He was right. It was much more empowering than being the boss of our relationship.

That is, until I was about to climax, and Abram pulled away.

I turned around. “Why did you stop?”

He pulled me to him and cradled body against his chest.

“Your lesson,” he said, kissing my temple.

He released me to gather my clothes from the floor and toss them to the other side of the room, then dressed himself.

“My lesson?” I asked, stumbling over the words. “What are you talking about?”

Why was he pulling on his clothes? I’d met men who didn’t care if a woman got off or not, but Abram wasn’t one of them…and he hadn’t even taken care of his own needs yet.

Abram dressed himself and then scooped me up in his arms and laid me out on chaise lounge. “Your lesson, Charisse. To respect me in my home—and everywhere else. That is how you will get what you want from me.”

“Don’t you want the same thing I do?”

He nodded, kneeling between my legs and rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. My body shuddered, every nerve cell alight with need

“Of course,” he said. “But I also want to see you beg for forgiveness.”

“For slapping your ass, Abram? Really?”

My sentiment was cut off by a gasp as his leaned over and flicked his tongue against my nipple. He stopped and let me finish.

“You’re can’t be serious,” I breathed.

“You saw me grovel to Satina today,” he said, his hand slipping between my legs. “You’re so wet,” he added, sliding a finger inside of me, and then another. “When you can convince me you are sorry as well as I convinced Satina that I was, I’m going to give you the biggest orgasm of your life.”

I didn’t doubt for a second he could, but I wasn’t sure how to convince him I was sorry, though the way his fingers were so skillfully pumping into me was a great motivator.

“I am sorry,” I tried.

Abram chuckled. “No, you’re not.”

His fingers worked inside of me, and my body writhed against the crushed velvet of his chaise lounge. His thumb grazed at my clit with each movement of his hand, sending me into the depths of erotic insanity. My fingers splayed through his hair, and my back arched as a moan escaped my lips. Again he stopped. By the third time he put me through this unique brand of torture, bringing me to that brink only to withdraw his attention again, I was equally infuriated and desperately sorry.

This must have been how he felt apologizing to Satina, sans the arousal.

I gasped, reaching down to grab his hands and stop him from starting again. “I’m sorry, Abram. I swear. I MEAN IT, OKAY?”

He brushed me away, smirking, ready to start again, but I snatched his hand once more. I had become desperate. I couldn’t take any more. I needed release.

“I swear on every Gucci dress I own, I will never smack your butt again. Please, Abram.”

He sat back and pressed his lips together triumphantly. “Well, that wouldn’t be much fun…”

His coy grin nearly sent me over the edge, and I grabbed him by his shirt and pulled his body on top of mine until his lips crushed against my own. He could have resisted—he was only infinitely stronger than me—but he fell between my legs with ease. I bucked my hips against him, and he ground his pelvis in return, his jeans rough against my skin. But I didn’t care.

He pulled back, just enough that I could make out the strong lines of his face. “Well, I suppose if you’re truly sorry…”

“I am,” I said breathless and desperate. “Now, will you please fuck me proper?”

“Of course, Miss Bellamy. I love it when you’re proper.”

And not to my surprise, Abram delivered the orgasm of my life, just as he promised.

It was only moments after every muscle in my body contracted and relaxed in the most exquisite of respites, however, that the door burst open.

I threw myself back, covering myself with my hands. My clothes were in a pile on the other side of the room, and standing here, in the middle of Abram’s living room, was the one person we weren’t prepared to face.

Dalton.

Dalton, and several other police officers along with him. All wearing bulletproof vests, their guns drawn.

“Charisse, are you…” His voice trailed off as he looked up. “Jesus Christ.”

Following his eyes, I found the source of his astonishment wasn’t finding me here naked. It was who—or rather what—I was with.

Where Abram had only moments ago been lying beside me now resided a hulking, fanged, and feral beast.

Chapter 24

MY HEART GROUND to a halt. I had seen the beast before. I had trembled as it stood over me and marveled at his familiar eyes as they bore down on me. But I didn’t know it was Abram then. I couldn’t look and see all the cues I had missed before.

Now, with it literally lying inches from my naked body, I could see how much of the beast was Abram. It wasn’t something that took him over and made him an imprisoned bystander in his own body. It was him.

The creature’s long arms were covered in thick black fur, but they were also corded in the same muscle Abram’s had been. The creature’s face, while pulled into an elongated snout, still retained some of Abram’s more striking features.

Even his chest, that chest I longed to lay my head against while drifting to sleep against the drumming of his beating heart, was recognizable behind the alterations.

It was like looking at a model after her first trip to Europe. He was the same, but somehow very different.

“Charisse, get away from it!” Dalton’s gun was pointed straight at Abram, as were the guns of the officers who flanked him.

His sudden voice pulled me from my reverie, and I grabbed a nearby throw blanket to cover myself. Sure, I’d done some nude art modeling in college, but that didn’t mean the entire N.H.P.D. needed to see my charms.

“I have a shot!” said the officer to Dalton’s left.

“No!” Dalton yelled. “Stand down. Nobody discharges anything until that woman gets to safety.”

That woman.

Was he angry with me? Was that why he called me that instead of my name? He certainly had the right to be. Though I hadn’t meant to, I had strung him along. I kept him in the—what do they call that baseball thing?—the bullpen. And all the while I pretended to be confused about my feelings. But that was never the case. Since the first moment I laid eyes on Abram, since he literally swept me off my feet, I knew, deep down, there was no one else for me.

I had lied to Dalton as much as I’d been lying to myself.

So maybe this was Dalton finally realizing that I wronged him. Or maybe it was just him reacting to seeing my boss transform into a giant wolf-monster.

Either way.

“Char, move away,” he said, his teeth clenched. His gun was still fixed on Abram’s head, and I wondered how in control my lover was at this very moment. The last thing anybody needed was for him to go all ‘disgruntled werewolf’ on the New Haven Police Department. None of us could explain that.

“You don’t understand,” I said as quietly as I could manage. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

But could I be sure of that? The beast huffed beside me, hot breath and moisture pushing against my neck. Its muscles tensed beneath me, and fighting the urge to dart to the other side of the room for my clothes, I tried to remind myself that this was Abram.

He would never hurt me. Even in this form. He had proven as much. He fought that other beast off tooth and nail when it wanted to make a Supplicant energy drink out of me, and he would do it now.

Except, in this particular moment, I wasn’t the one who was in danger.

Would bullets hurt Abram in his beast form? Would anything? There was so much I still didn’t know, and there was no way of denying (to myself or anyone else) that I was in this. All the way. So I hung onto the things I did know. Abram was a good man. Beast or not, I was safe with him. Dalton was a good man, too. He would listen to reason. I just had to make sure he saw it.

“I promise you he’s not going to hurt me,” I repeated. Clutching the throw blanket tighter around my body, I ran my free hand along the length of Abram’s forearm.

It was strange, but not completely unpleasant. In fact, it was surprising how right it felt.

A low growl escaped Abram’s mouth. I thought about pulling my hand away, but there was no need. Abram would not hurt me. I knew that as well as I knew my own name.

“Get away from that thing, Char,” Dalton said, his hands and voice steady.

He was less of a boy now, less of the snot-nosed kid that used to tag along behind Lulu and me. There wasn’t even a shadow of the easygoing guy I had once flirted with. This was Dalton the detective—Dalton the grown man who was exceedingly good at his job.

Unfortunately, at this particular moment, his job very likely entailed firing live ammo at my boyfriend.

“Don’t shoot him, Dalton,” I said, standing my ground, shifting my body further in front of Abram’s body.

The growl Abram was producing grew louder, and Dalton began to inch toward me.

“If you’re not going to move, then I’m going to move you,” he said quietly.

“You’ll shoot him if I move,” I answered.

“You’re damn right I will,” he said through clenched teeth.

I resolved to stay exactly where I was. I would be a human bulletproof vest if necessary. Not because I thought I could stop bullets—nor did I even know if they would harm Abram in this state—but because I knew that Dalton would never take the shot if there was even a chance of hurting me and that, if he did start firing, Abram would never forgive himself for what the beast did in retaliation.

It didn’t matter, though. In an instant, Abram was on his feet, settling into a human-like stance—all fur, teeth, and trepidation. He slunk away from me, his hands warped into razor sharp claws.

Dalton’s pistol followed him, and I realized what he was doing. Abram was moving away in order to keep me safe. All these stupid men were going to get themselves killed to keep me safe. And the funny thing was, in the end, it probably wouldn’t be close to enough. Not with that other beast out there.

“Dalton, don’t you dare!” I yelled. But Abram’s growl got louder, and before I could stop it, shots thundered through the room.

“No!” I screamed, but it was too late. That idiot to Dalton’s left had begun firing. And once he started, he didn’t stop.

Bullets went flying toward Abram. He darted around and with all the agility one would expect from an animal. But that moron’s gun kept firing. Abram skidded along the walls, and I watched as fresh bullet holes appeared closer and closer to his body.

Abram sprung toward the idiot just as I heard the click that signified he was out of ammo, and I braced myself to watch Abram tear him in half.

But another gun fired. Dalton’s gun.

And he didn’t miss.

Abram reared back, howling loudly. It was so strong, so sharp, that I thought my ears might bleed.

“Dalton!” I screamed.

Abram swung at him, knocking the gun out of his hand before he could fire again. But instead of attacking Dalton, Abram grabbed his gut, charged out of the way, and jumped through the nearby window, shattering the glass.

I ran for the window, still clutching the throw blanket around my body. But by the time I got there, Abram was gone. He had vanished into the woods, save a trail of blood that marked his path.

I spun to find Dalton staring at me, holding his arm and narrowing his eyes.

“Search the house,” he said breathlessly to one of his officers. Turning to the other, he motioned to me. “Get her dressed, and put her in the car.”

* * *

DALTON HAD ME in the squad car. After getting me out of the house, he had given me a quick look over with his first aid kit, but he hadn’t said so much as a word to me. Now we were on our way back to New Haven, and the silence was killing me.

“Why am I in the backseat?” I asked.

I expected the silent treatment, but apparently all it took was one of us to break the ice.

“Because I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be up here,” he answered, eyes on the road.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked, hands against the cage that separated us.

“You’re acting irrationally. I think you may have been drugged.”

“Drugged?” I asked, my eyebrows scrunched. “Look, you don’t know what’s going on here, Dalton. And if you did—”

“I understand enough, Char. I understand your boss has some weird cabin in the woods. I understand he was holding Ellie Farmer, the first girl who went missing, like some kind of caged animal. And I understand he turned into something that I definitely don’t understand.” He swallowed hard. “I also understand he might very well have been raping you, and that whatever he’s been dosing you with has kept you unaware it was going on.”

“He wasn’t raping me!” I screamed, slapping my hands against the cage. “I told you, you don’t understand! It’s very dangerous for me to be out here right now, Dalton! You need to bring me back!”

“Is that what he told you?” Dalton took a right onto Main Street. He slid to a halt in front of Town Hall. The sheer amount of cars here shocked me.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “If you think I’ve been drugged, then shouldn’t you bring me to the damn doctor?”

“Dr. Miller is inside. Everyone is,” Dalton said, stepping out and rounding the car to open my door. “After you disappeared, I convinced the mayor to declare a state of emergency. Everything has been on lockdown.”

“How did you find me?” I asked, as he opened the door and helped me out.

“I pinged your cellphone.”

“But my location services—”

“Were turned off. I know.” He had me by the arm now. It felt strange, as though he had never touched me before, as though no man other than Abram ever had. “I figured he might do something like that. That’s why it took me so long.”

The thought of Abram leapt into my mind. He was hurt. He was bleeding. He might die if I didn’t find him. But even if I could manage to get away, I wouldn’t know where to start looking for him. But I had to. I couldn’t just let him die in the woods like an animal.

Even if he was an animal at the moment.

“What are we doing here?” I asked as he pulled me toward Town Hall.

“I told you. We’re in a state of emergency. The mayor’s called a mandatory town meeting to discuss how to deal with the situation.”

“And what situation is that, exactly?” I asked.

He pushed open the double doors, and all uncertainty I had about what he meant washed away like suntan oil at Sports Illustrated beach shoot. The hall was jam-packed. The lights were off, and a movie was playing against the wall.

No, it wasn’t a movie. That was Abram. He was standing there stark naked with his naughty bits blurred out. It was the scene from just a few minutes ago, only I had been cut out, replaced with a huge blur.

“Officer Evans was wearing a vest cam,” Dalton said. “Everything was transmitted to the chief of police. And it’s a good thing. I’m not sure I’d have been able to convince them.”

“I’m going to play this again,” the mayor said from a podium at the end of the room. “But I’ll repeat my initial warning. This subject matter is intense and frightening. It would be best to shield your children’s eyes.”

And with that, Abram morphed into the beast right there on the wall-turned-screen. Gasps, whimpers, oohs, and ahhs filled the room. Someone toward the back shrieked.

Dalton marched toward the stage as the lights turned back on, and the two other police officers came up on either side of me. Their stance made their intentions clear. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Halfway down the aisle, Dalton started speaking, as though whatever he had to say couldn’t wait until he got to the podium.

“We have to keep our wits about us, people,” he said, loud enough for his voice to carry over the chatter of the room. “I know this isn’t a situation any of us ever thought we’d find ourselves in. But the truth is, we’ve all known that something has been plaguing New Haven for quite some time.”

If it wasn’t Abram he had been talking about—if I didn’t know all that I knew—I would probably be swooning right now over his amazing leadership skills and bravery. But that timeline could never exist again. Life wasn’t that simple.

Dalton settled at the podium, looking particularly comfortable up there. “We’ve felt the unease. We’ve sensed the foreboding. We’ve all held our children a little closer, all locked our doors extra tightly.” He pounded his fist on the podium. “And now we know why.”

Pointing to the light-drenched image of Abram on the pull-down screen, he continued. “This thing—this monster—is very real. It’s after our citizens. It’s after our women. How many people does it have to hurt, does it have to kill, before we take action?” He hit the podium again. “There is only one course of action. We have to put an end to this before it goes any further.”

Applause lit up the room, but Dalton continued, shouting over it. “We have to protect our town, protect our citizens, and protect ourselves by whatever means necessary. We have to fight back. We have to kill the beast!”

Chapter 25

I STOOD THERE in shock as the chants grew louder.

“Kill the beast! Kill the beast!”

It was a living nightmare. New Haven had been whipped into a frenzy, with Dalton at the head. And the object of their misplaced fear and anger was the man I loved.

“Stop,” I muttered as people started to clap and raise their hands in solidarity.

This was like a tsunami—destructive and unstoppable. But I had to try. Because if I didn’t, then either Abram or a hell of a lot of the people demanding his murder were going to wind up dead.

“Stop!” I said louder. But my voice was lost in the sea of screams, in the fog of rage.

If I could just talk to them, if I could just get them to calm down for a second, I was sure I could make them see reason.

They would have to come to terms with magic, and witches, and monsters, and all of that, which hadn’t been the easiest thing in the world for me personally—but I had done it, and they could, too. Heck, if they believed in the beast, most of my hard work had already done for me.

Though I didn’t care for this town, the people in it were generally good. They looked out for each other. They protected their neighbors. This sort of mob mentality wasn’t like them. They had their backs against the wall, though, and the same desire to keep their community safe was pushing them toward this bloody agenda. I had to change the course of this conversation, and to do that, I needed to be up at that podium.

I inched forward, eyeing the two police officers on either side of me. Their focus was on the crowd, but I wasn’t going to sneak away undetected by walking right into their line of sight.

I chewed my lip and looked around. Okay, I could do this. Just had to channel my inner actress, the same way I had at the Fright Night Runway Show in New York City. Direct my attention at some unseen danger and get the police officers to notice my reaction.

As I looked over my shoulder, one of the officers shifted their gaze to me. Slowly, I shifted my focus past him, at the empty doorway, channeling a sense of sheer terror. I drew my eyebrows together and opened my mouth in a horrified “o” shape, leaning back, inching away. I let out a small gasp.

The officer looked over his shoulder now, too, then back to me.

“What is it?” he asked.

I shook my head as though too afraid to speak and pointed toward the door.

“Wait here,” he ordered. He tapped the other officer on the shoulder, put his hand on his gun, and nodded his head toward the door. “I think he’s here,” he whispered. “Cover me.”

As soon as they disappeared into the hall, I zipped myself into the crowd where they would not be able to easily retrieve me. Then I moved toward the front of the room, suddenly aware of how tired I was. It had been like this since almost my first day back in New Haven—one crazy turn after another. And for all my fighting, I ended up here, as desperate and alone as ever.

Abram was hurt. He might have already been dead—but I couldn’t entertain that. I wouldn’t entertain that. Abram was strong. But he wouldn’t be able to protect himself in the condition he was in now. The mob would find him, and they would kill him. If, of course, that other beast didn’t get to him first.

Suddenly, I realized that my own life had become very secondary. I would give it up easily if that meant I could keep Abram, Lulu, Jack, and Dalton safe. If turning myself over to this monster would be enough to spare New Haven all this tragedy, then I would happily put on my best pumps and march myself over to him.

But something told me we were past that now. No amount of sacrifice could get us out of this. I could only hope that my words somehow would.

A hand grabbed me and pulled me back. I spun, jumping back, fearing I had wasted my choice and the other officers had caught up to me.

“Char, it’s me,” Lulu said. Her face was pale and tired, and she wore loose-fitting black clothes. She threw her arms around me and pulled me closer. Her arms were so weak, though, that it felt as though she was using me to hold herself up. “Thank God you’re okay. I thought for sure that you…” She cleared her throat. “Thank God.”

“Lulu,” I choked out as tears streamed down my cheeks. “The baby…”

“Allison,” she answered through tears of her own. “She’s fine. She’s at the hospital with Jack and her dad.”

“You need to be there with her,” I said, and I looked her up and down, shaking my head in horror. “You just had a baby! You can’t be here, walking around. Lulu—”

She chuckled weakly. “Oh, Char,” she said, in that bemused way of hers. “You always worry too much. You do realize the prolonged maternity ward stays are a cultural thing. There are places where women have their baby and immediately go back to work in the field.”

She was undermining things. For my sake. And I hated myself for it. “We don’t live in one of those place, Lulu. You need to rest.”

“Rest?” she said. “My best friend was missing. I couldn’t just lay there. I had to do something, even if it was just sit here with the rest of the town and worry.”

I squeezed her tightly. This was a detour. I should push her away and start my tirade of crazy sense-making, but I needed this. I needed this respite to remind me of who I was, of what I was fighting for.

“Thank you,” I said over the noise of the crowd. “But I’m not missing anymore. Go back. I’ll be okay.”

“Will you?” she asked, her mouth twisting up. “Did that bastard hurt you?” She studied my face as though the answer might lie in my sunken cheeks or disheveled hair.

“It wasn’t like that,” I assured her. “Abram’s not who you think he is.”

“Don’t you mean he’s not what you think he is?” Ester’s voice screeched in my ears like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“I don’t have time for you,” I snapped, looking past Lulu and the epitome of privileged bitchiness that was Ester. Returning my attention to Lulu, I continued. “He’s not a monster, Lu.”

“The hell he’s not.” Ester tilted her coiffed head. “We all saw it, and the fact that you’re still willing to defend whatever that thing is, after what he did to you, means you’re either sick or stupid.”

“Ester!” Lulu spun around. “Charisse has been through a horrible ordeal. I can’t even imagine—”

“Neither can I,” Ester said, folding her arms. “But I don’t need to.” Ester’s eyes traced me, resting on my bosom. “Look, it’s no secret that you and I aren’t exactly friends. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to see you dead, and it sure as sugar doesn’t mean I wanted to see you kidnapped and harmed by some strapping man-monster.”

“Sure as sugar?” I repeated slowly. “What are you, from Pleasantville?”

“I have children to protect.” She pursed her lips. “We all do. This is our home and, unlike a certain washed-up slash never-was supermodel, we actually like it here. So, while I have all the sympathy in the world for you and your plight, if you’re insist on being the twenty-first century Patty Hearst, I’m just going to have to write your plus-sized behind off.” She looked to Lulu. “And you’d be smart to do the same. You’ve got as much to lose as any of us.”

“You’re right,” Lulu said, and my heart sank. Was it possible that she was turning on me, that one of my worst fears was coming to pass and Lulu had finally realized that she had outgrown me? “I do have a lot of things to lose, Ester. But a friend won’t be one of them. Certainly not my best friend.” She took my hand and, in some small part, that was enough. It certainly helped to see Ester’s face fall in recognition.

“I hope you know what you’re doing then.” Ester glared at me. “Putting your friend in danger like this.” She clicked her tongue and narrowed her eyes as she leaned in closer. “But I’ll say this much. You have brought nothing but trouble to our town since the minute you slunk in here. Death after death. One strange occurrence after the next.” Ester shook her head, then turned her attention back to my best friend. “Don’t come crawling to me when she gets you killed, Lulu.”

I would have told her dead people don’t come crawling back, but it wasn’t worth it, for more reasons than one.

Lulu squeezed my hand as Ester turned and walked away.

“She’s kind of a bitch, isn’t she?” Lulu asked, smiling.

“A little bit,” I answered.

Looking to her, I felt a wash of emotions. She had just had a baby, a baby I hadn’t even seen. And what if Ester was right? This was, in some way, my fault. What if knowing me, if choosing me, was enough to get Lulu killed? I couldn’t live with myself if that happened. But there was Abram to think about, too. He was out there somewhere, injured. If he died…

I couldn’t even think about that.

“You believe me then?” I asked.

“I believe that you believe,” she answered, her face placid. “But I also believe that you’ve been through a lot, much more than anyone should have to.” She squeezed my hand again. “And maybe you’re not seeing things very clearly right now.”

Oh, Lulu. She meant well.

I felt hands on my back. I didn’t have to turn to know they were Dalton’s. I knew his hands and, though they had never been as rough with me as they were now, planted firmly against my shoulders, I recognized them.

“We need to go, Char,” he said softly. Looking ahead, I realized that the crowd was dispersing, funneling out the front of the building undoubtedly on their way to ‘take care’ of Abram. And Dalton wanted me to go with them.

“I won’t help you!” I spun around. “I won’t lead you to him! I can’t!”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You need to rest now, and the doctor wants to run some tests on you.”

“No!” I shrieked. That was the last thing I needed. Being in the hospital, strapped to machines and surrounded by orderlies, would make it impossible for me to find Abram.

I turned on my heel and bolted for the podium. I needed to tell everyone the truth. I needed to stop them before they left and did something that couldn’t be undone.

I stumbled up the stage steps, nearly tripping, but I caught myself on my hands and clambered the rest of the way up. I darted to the podium. My hands fumbled on the microphone.

“Everybody! Attention, everybody.”

I stared at the microphone in disbelief. It wasn’t on.

“Everyone,” I shouted, louder.

Dalton came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “Stop this, Char.”

No one could hear me. I needed them to hear me. “Everyone, please!”

As Dalton pulled me back, I gripped the podium, but he was too strong. My fingers slipped. He tugged me aside, set me down, and put his hands firm on my shoulders.

His face was inches from mine. “Enough, Char! Pull yourself together.”

If I couldn’t get them to listen, I needed to stop them, or find Abram and warn him. Help him. Somehow. I pushed Dalton off of me.

“I have to go!” I yelled, and I spun on my heel to run.

It was crazy, the sheer amount of running I had done since all of this started, and something told me this was far from the end of it. I just needed to find Abram, though. I needed to save him the way he had saved me. After that, we would figure the rest out. So long as we were together—

Hands latched onto me again, driving me to the ground.

“Let me go!” I yelled, struggling against Dalton’s weight.

“Doctor!” he yelled, pinning me down at my shoulders. “Doctor, I need your help! She’s not well!”

“No!” I screamed, struggling futilely to get up. I pounded my hands against his chest, but he was not fazed. Steps settled near me, and I saw brown shoes.

“Stay still,” a stranger’s voice said calmly. “It’ll all be better soon.”

Something pricked my arm and sent a burning sting through my veins. The world darkened. My body got heavy, and my eyes struggled to stay open.

God, they had drugged me. Could they do that? I struggled to hold on to my consciousness. They were doing all kinds of things they shouldn’t do. None of this was right. Nothing in my world made sense anymore.

I was going to pass out. This was it. Abram would die out there without me, and I would lay helpless in some hospital until the other beast found me and drained every drop of blood from my body.

This shit never would have happened in New York. But I wasn’t in New York anymore.

* * *

I WOKE SLOWLY, aching and with the worst headache I had ever experienced. The lights on the ceiling, bright and white, buzzed the way only hospital or school lights ever did.

I knew where I was. I could feel it in the uncomfortable bed and paper thin gown that scraped against my skin. I could hear it in the steady rhythm of a heart monitor. I could see it in the plain white walls and the dry erase board that displayed my name and condition.

Charisse Bellamy: Shock

The patient is to confined to bed rest
and remain under constant supervision.

Looking forward, I saw that ‘constant supervision’ took the form of an officer standing guard outside of the door. At least he didn’t seem to be very attentive. His head was slouched forward and an awkward angle.

I sighed as loudly as my sore throat would allow. Lulu was slouched over and sleeping on the chair adjacent to my bed. We were in the hospital. Her newborn was probably a unit or two away, and here she was with me. Guilt clawed its way up my chest.

“They’re all asleep.”

The voice startled me. Jumping, I turned back. I didn’t see her before, but Satina, still trapped in the body of the first missing girl, stood at the foot of the bed, flipping through my chart nonchalantly.

“Lulu?” I asked. “She’s the only one here.”

“It’s amazing what they’ve done with parchment in the last two hundred years,” she mused. “This would have all been done by quill in my day, and without near the penmanship. I’ll tell you that much.”

“You have to help me,” I said. “You have to get me out of here.”

“Do I?” she asked, arching her borrowed eyebrows.

“Abram is in trouble,” I said quietly. “He’s hurt, and the entire town is looking for him, not to mention that other beast. Have you told them the truth about yourself, about who you are? Maybe that’ll help them understand.”

“And why would I do that?” She shook her head. “So that I can spend the rest of this shell’s life beating against padded walls? No, thank you. It was hard enough dodging the police without a scene. I’d rather ride it out. I hear something called ‘spring break’ is right around the corner.”

“But Abram!” I said with tears in my eyes.

“Is halfway to whatever country now borders this one if he has the sense God gave a common house flea.”

“N-no,” I stammered. “He wouldn’t leave me.” I knew this was true, even though deep down, I wished what she said was true.

“Perhaps not,” Satina conceded. “But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t. There is no ‘win’ in this game, Charisse. Not for him, not for you, and certainly not for the both of you together. I know you think he loves you, and perhaps he does. But have you ever considered the idea that love, at least this love, isn’t what either of you need?”

“He’s here!” I said, much too loudly. “And he’s hurt, and I need you to help me get out of this hospital! If you want to leave after that, then so be it. But I won’t give up on him. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“When has what someone deserves ever mattered for people like us?” she shot back. “Listen to me, Supplicant. You need to leave, and not with a beast in tow. You need to run somewhere where you can fit in. Become a waitress, dye your hair. Blend in. Just don’t stick out, certainly not the way being in league with someone like Abram would force you to.”

“Don’t you get it?” I asked. “They know now. They all know. They have it on camera. It’s all out in the open. It’s never going to be like it was again. There is no disappearing, not for any of us.”

“To be so young.” She chuckled. “They always do this, Supplicant, and it never lasts. They don’t want to believe. They can’t handle believing. So yes, they see and they know. And then, after a while, they convince themselves that it was all conjecture or imagination or special effects. It’s in their nature. But it isn’t in yours. You need to run.”

“No…” I said through gritted teeth.

“Your funeral.” She shrugged. “I hope he’s worth it.”

She turned and began toward the door.

“Wait!” I said. “I still need your help to get out of here.”

“You already have it.” She smiled, looking over her shoulder and holding up a vial of blood—my blood, no doubt. “I said they were all asleep, and they will be for the next ten minutes.”

“All?” I asked, my eyes narrowed. “Everyone in the hospital?”

“Everyone in the town,” she answered flatly. “Now run. Ten minutes isn’t much of a head start.”

Chapter 26

I PULLED THE electrical wire stickums off of myself, wincing as the machine they attached me to made a long flat-lining beep. As soon as my bare feet hit the cold tiled floor, I scurried to find my clothes. Ten minutes, that was all Satina had given me. Perhaps it was all she could give me. I had no idea how magic worked, but sending an entire town’s worth of people off to sleepy town didn’t seem like an easy job. And she only had a singular vial of my blood.

Or did she?

For all I knew, she had pumped me like a farmhouse well before I woke up. That would account for the dizziness. But why? Abram had said Supplicant blood had a shelf life. Was she planning on using it all soon?

Whatever the case was, I was still alive, and that put her one up on what that horrid mystery monster wanted to do to me and what the town wanted to do to Abram.

My shoes were in the corner, scuffed and practically screaming with wear. As I moved closer, I saw the sole was coming off of one of them, an absolute abomination of a thing that, on any other day, would have sent me screaming back to bed. But at the moment, I was in a tender situation. Shoe integrity would have to take a backseat, even if the sight of it made me want to heave.

“Sorry, Lu,” I said, leaning down and untying her laces.

I really did not want to steal her shoes, and it wasn’t because she had bad taste. On the contrary. She was stylish, and there were more than a few times when I’d shipped her an extra pair or two of whatever I was gifted on a particular photoshoot. She had just had a baby, though, and her low top sneakers spoke to that.

It was a good thing, too. My feet (along with the rest of my body) were killing me. I wasn’t worried about style today. I was worried about function.

I slid Lulu’s shoes off her feet and placed them on mine. They felt like heaven, all cushioned and relaxed. For all of our similarities, Lulu had a slightly larger foot than me. I slid around a little as I stood, but they would do. I tied them extra tight before I scanned the room, lips pursed.

I still didn’t see my clothes. Shit. Where did they put them? I didn’t have time to think, so I started throwing open cabinets and doors, much like I had that time I lost Jack. Never in a million years would I have guessed that day would lead to here.

When all the cabinets came up empty, I raked my hands through my hair. I didn’t have time for this! I spun in a slow circle, begging for a solution. Clothes, Satina! Why didn’t you leave me clothes? My throat was closing off, making it harder to breath.

Calm down, Char.

I ran into the next room and looked around. The sleeping beauty in this room was apparently allowed to have clothes, because a pair of sweat pants and a large shirt were folded neatly on the chair next to her bed. Thankfully she was on the curvier side like me, even if she didn’t have the best fashion sense.

Knowing I wouldn’t have time to put them on, I scooped them up and decided I would get dressed after Satina’s magical timeout wore off.

Running through what signs now told me was the third floor was just about the creepiest thing I had ever seen. Halloween 2 had taught me to be distrustful of hospitals, especially empty hospitals. And watching it now, devoid of any conscious movement, sent my heart racing.

People littered the floor, having fallen where they presumably stood just minutes before. A nurse at the desk had knocked her coffee over, effectively destroying a desktop computer. Another nurse had fallen with her head just inches away from her soup bowl. I wondered what would happen if she hadn’t missed it. Would she wake up, or would Satina’s spell stay in effect, drowning her in clam chowder?

And what about the poor bastards in surgery? Were they bleeding out on some operating room table, unable to wake up? And what if that were true? What could I do about it? I couldn’t undo the choices Satina had made.

The sickness in my stomach would not settle, though. Whatever she had done, she had used my blood to do it. I had to know. So as I slipped past one of the operating rooms, I stole a moment to peer inside.

Frozen. Everything was frozen—even the blood.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and ran back into the hall, trying to make up for wasted time—trying to orient myself which way to go. I trained my eyes forward, doing my best to block out the sights along with the thoughts. My steps came faster, softened by Lulu’s comfortable shoes.

I pushed through the doors and onto the streets. The first thing I felt was warmth. There was a fire. A car had crashed into a nearby telephone pole, and the engine had ignited.

“Damnit,” I muttered.

Clearly Satina had not thought of everything.

How much damage had this spell, had my blood, caused? Guilt, as familiar as an old friend, sprung up inside of me. The man in the car, old and balding, lay snoring against the steering wheel. He was unaware that he had destroyed his Lexus and was about to burn to death because of it.

“Goddammit!” I yelled, knowing what I had to do.

Ten minutes wasn’t long enough. As it was, I would have been lucky to get out of the Town Square mere minutes before the angry mob woke. I could have hid in the woods and done my best to find Abram after they passed. Maybe my super magic blood would draw me to him or something. That was a thing. Right?

But I couldn’t do that now. I couldn’t leave this man to die because of me, even if I wasn’t the one who cast this stupid sleeping spell. Dropping my clothes, I sprinted over to the car. The warmth washed over me, making me even more lightheaded than before. Almost woozy, I swallowed hard and pushed on. Passing out wouldn’t help anything now, and the clock was ticking.

The door creaked as I pulled it open. That meant it must have been damaged in the crash, because I had been in enough luxury automobiles to know that the doors don’t creak.

Whipping off the old guy’s seatbelt, I groaned.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I told him as I pulled.

The bastard was heavy—like, really heavy. The flames grew higher. They got closer. And still this old guy wasn’t moving.

“What do you eat, Cream of Lead?” I huffed, pivoted my right leg against the door for leverage, and gave one last tug. The old man jarred out of the car, barreling toward me like some sleeping, geriatric cannonball.

He landed on top of me, knocking the wind out of me and shuffling back into a comfortable (for him, anyway) position.

I was trapped, pinned beneath this slobbering fool.

And that’s when I heard the footsteps.

My body went ridged. It hadn’t been ten minutes, not even close. If it had been, then this old guy would be awake right now instead of having his wrinkly unconscious palm placed firmly against second base.

No, these steps belonged to someone else, someone supernatural in nature.

“Abram…” I muttered, pushing at the old guy futilely. He was heavy, and I wasn’t able to get him off me. “Abram, please tell me that’s you.”

The only answer though was continued and closer footsteps.

“Abram,” I called again.

A huff answered me this time. Paws—not feet—settled in front of me. I traced the beast upward. Full hair laden thighs, a massive chest, and shoulders that would have blocked out the sun if it wasn’t the middle of the night. As I got to his face, the worst fate was confirmed. These weren’t Abram’s eyes. This wasn’t Abram’s face.

This was the other beast.

The beast who wanted me dead.

And here I was, trapped and helpless to stop it.

The beast growled at me, teeth bared and eyes glaring hungrily. Its jaw snapped at me before it licked its snout.

“Get away from me!” I said, pushing wildly against the old man’s body. Of course, he didn’t move.

The monster knelt toward me, and the scent of burning flesh wafted through the air.

“Get away!” I repeated. But what could I do? I was meat, literal meat, waiting to be consumed and drained of everything that made me, me.

I pushed against the man again, but this time I felt a stiff mass pressed against the waistband of his pants.

Well, this is awkward.

No. It wasn’t that, I realized. This wasn’t New York, and that hard mass wasn’t an old man’s excitement. It was a gun!

God bless this town.

I whipped the pistol out of his pants and aimed it toward the monster. Without flinching, I pulled the trigger. The barrel pushed back, knocking me in the chest. But the blast did its job. Opening my eyes, I saw that the monster was gone.

Adrenaline pulsed through me, sweet and freeing. After placing the gun beside me, I pushed hard. I pushed like I should have the first time—like my life depended it—and finally he budged enough from gravity to help tip him off of me.

I jumped to my feet and bolted. I needed to get out of here, get away before the beast returned.

I rounded the corner, desperate to get back to the woods which had ironically become my safe haven. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who had that idea.

I ran smack dab into someone. Panicking, I starting clawing at the body instantly.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said. “Stop. It’s me! Char, it’s me.”

Looking up, I saw Dalton standing in front of me. His hair was disheveled, and his face was pale.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I thought you were—”

And then it hit me. Everyone else was still unconscious. Even now the streets were littered with sleeping citizens. The fact that Dalton was awake right now, that he was standing in front of me—

I shook my head and swallowed hard, cautiously stepping back. “No, Dalton. Please, no. Not you.”

“Oh, Char,” he said, and he grabbed my arm, his expression darkening. His hands turned to claws, digging into me, breaking the skin. His eyes flickered red as my blood touched him.

It was him. Dalton was the other beast.

“I should have known. I was so frantic, hoping that my sister wasn’t the Supplicant. I looked right past the most obvious candidate.” He grinned wide and manically. “It was you. It was always you.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “No, it can’t be. You knew I was in the woods that night. You would have known it was me.”

“Oh, Char. How limited your scope of this earth really is. Of course I wasn’t the one who attacked you in the woods that night. I had been…preoccupied.”

My mind flashed to the woman who had been found dead that same night—the one who had been walking her dog. I shook my head, the horror piercing every inch of my skin like a thousand needles. But how—

“I admit, I should have figured it out when your blood lured me to Abram’s home,” Dalton continued. “But then Ellie Farmer was there. I thought I’d left her for dead, but there she was, taunting me, and I thought for sure she was the Supplicant, that somehow I’d missed it the first time. But then she skipped off again, right out of protective custody, and who should I find when I go to look for her? You. You walking around when the rest of the town is trapped in some frozen spell.”

As terrified as I was, my mind just wouldn’t let go of one thought: Dalton was the beast who had killed those women. Dalton was the beast we were looking for. But Dalton was not the beast who attacked me in Abram’s home. Which meant…

I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want to admit that there could be more…that there could a third beast in New Haven. With everything I knew, it made sense, but admitting it made this situation feel even more hopeless.

Finally, I whispered what I already knew to be true. “It’s not just you, is it, Dalton? There are others. Aren’t there?”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, isn’t it, Char? You wouldn’t have gotten far in life if you had to rely on your mind.” He titled his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course there are others. You escaped, after all. And my victims never escape.”

It was true. Ellie Farmer had died eventually, even if Abram had reanimated her with Satina’s spirit. But where did that leave me now? I finally had all the answers I wanted, but I wouldn’t live to tell about it.

With a low and deep growl, Dalton pulled me closer with one arm and punched me hard in the face with the other. I whipped back, but he wouldn’t let me go.

“Sorry, Char, but I’m going to have to make you bleed.”

Chapter 27

BLOOD POURED FROM my nose, and Dalton looked at it hungrily. This didn’t make any sense. This man, the one standing before me now, wasn’t anything like the person I had come to know since returning to New Haven, much less the boy I grew up with.

Dalton’s mouth twisted into a determined, but sullen, smirk. Still, he held my arm tightly.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to end. You should know that.” His voice was light and apologetic. “Even if it wouldn’t have been you, even if it had been one of those random girls who looked like you, I still didn’t want it to come to this.”

“It doesn’t have to,” I said, trying to tug free of him. But he was supernaturally strong; I would’ve had a better chance of pulling off white after Labor Day than breaking free of his grip. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.” He ground his teeth together. “I don’t have a choice.” His bright eyes filled with tears. “Do you think I wanted to be this? Do you think this is what I envisioned for my life?” He stomped hard against the ground, causing a crack in the pavement.

Damn, he was strong.

“I had a good life, Char. I had ambitions. I had dreams. I had a fiancé. And do you know what she did when she found out?” Tears tripped down his cheeks now. “She just left. Said she couldn’t handle it, that she didn’t think she had the constitution to care for a sick person.”

“Sick?” I muttered, my face tensing as my eyebrows drew together.

“Cancer.” The word left him like a breath.

Images of my mother flooded my mind the way they always did when that horrible word was uttered. I always figured time would change that. But I was wrong. Even now—in the most dangerous situation of my life—her face was the first thing I saw.

“Stage four,” he continued. “There was nothing the doctors could do. There was nothing anyone could do. They just expect me to rot away, to lie around and wait to die.” He shook his head. “And do you know the worst part? By the time it’s finished, what they bury won’t even look like me.” He stared past me for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the ground, but his hand never left my arm. “And I’ve tried, Char. I found as much blood as I could after that old man came to me. But it wasn’t enough. The magic always wore off, just like he said it would.”

“What old man?” I asked, wincing as his hand tightened around my arm, his nails digging into my skin.

“That doesn’t matter!” He yanked me closer. “None of it matters, because it wasn’t enough.” He blinked hard. “But he showed me what I needed to do. I had to kill that stupid Conduit and change myself.” He shook his head, slowly lifting his gaze back to me as he gentled his tone. “Have you ever killed someone, Char?”

“You don’t have to do this, Dalton,” I said emphatically. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Maybe we can help you…somehow…”

“It changes you,” he said. “It digs deep down into you and steals away things.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Things you didn’t even know could be stolen.”

“Dalton—”

“I had to,” he said, as if begging me to understand.

And the scary part was, some small part of me could. Some small part of me wondered how far I would have gone to save my mom from the same fate Dalton had faced. But I wouldn’t have gone this far.

“I couldn’t die like that,” he continued. “I had come too far. I had done too much to let it all end like some chump, connected to machines and living off applesauce and medication.”

His eyes filled with some dreadful emotion I could not pinpoint. Desperation? Determination? Or was it agony and regret?

“And that’s still true,” he said. “I hate to do this, but I can’t just give up on life. I’m sorry, Char. I can’t. Why should it be me who dies? Why does fate get to decide?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know what to say. That’s just the way it was. He couldn’t play God. It wasn’t right. “So—so what are you going to do?”

He let out a slow sigh. “I need more Supplicant blood. All of a Supplicant’s blood. The right Supplicant’s blood,” he added. “That’s the only hope it might be enough.” His cracked his knuckles in front of him, then slanted his gaze toward me. “I really wish it wasn’t you. Please don’t make this harder for me.”

“Harder for you?” A new wave of anger came rushing through me. “What are you expecting, Dalton? That I’m going to willingly sacrifice myself for you? Clearly you would not do the same for me.”

He bit down on his lip and shook his head. “Sorry it has to be this way.”

Then he swung at me again, striking me hard against my right cheek with a sickening crack. I slumped in his grasp. Now that I was limp and defenseless, he finally let go of my arm, and I crumpled to the ground.

“I wondered if you could use it, the magic in your blood.” He kicked me hard in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I lurched to my side, holding my stomach. “Guess not.”

My eyes scanned the ground. Of course I would leave the stupid gun over there. Of course I would.

“D-Dalton…” I said, my voice nothing more than a thin rasp. “P-Please…”

“I wish I could stop, Char.” He advanced, his fists morphing into sharpened claws. “I’ll make it quick.”

This was it. He was going for the finishing blow.

“You can stop,” I murmured. “You can.”

He raised his right hand over his head, readying to bring it down on me. “Pleading won’t save you. Nothing can save you now.”

A blur whizzed across my line of sight. In a blink, Dalton was on the ground, gasping for air with scratches across his face.

Looking up, I saw Abram standing there in his human form, bare-chested and glistening in the moonlight. “I think I’d like to test that theory.”

My heart leapt. The rest of me would have followed, but I was as bruised and battered as the honorees of Mr. Blackwell’s ‘What Not to Wear’ list, and my heart was the only part of me capable of doing any leaping.

Abram glared at Dalton with enough animosity to break glass. His chest huffed up and down like waves crashing against a gorgeous shore. He was obviously pained. Panicking, I scanned his torso, searching for the bullet wound. All I found was dried blood. It seemed the injury had closed itself. I should have known better than to worry. It would take more than a bullet to stop Abram.

Of course, the same could be said for Dalton.

But what did that mean? If Abram wasn’t injured any longer, then why was he in so much obvious pain? The answer came to me almost immediately. It was after midnight. He was trying to maintain his human form, probably so that I would recognize him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, speaking to me but never removing his gaze from Dalton.

“I think he broke something,” I answered, already feeling how much my jaw was swelling up.

Abram growled. “I’m about to break him.”

Dalton smiled from the pavement. His wounds were stitching themselves together, too. This wouldn’t be an easily won fight. The only thing clearer than that was the fact that I seemed to the only person around who couldn’t heal her own wounds, which put me at a distinct disadvantage.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Abram,” Dalton said, getting to his feet much quicker than he should have been able to. “Run along like a good dog, and you just might survive this.”

Abram leaned toward Dalton, not a wrinkle of fear to be found anywhere on him. “I would say the same about you, but I’m not going to afford you that luxury.”

As they circled each other, Abram’s eyes flashed down to me.

“Run,” he said, his worried voice gravelly with warning.

Then he sprung forward, morphing into full-on beast mode as he came down on Dalton. His elongated jaw went right for Dalton’s throat. He was obviously not wasting any time, freeing up of whatever energy it took him to remain human and going right for the kill shot.

Dalton ducked out of the way, and Abram landed, spinning around on his paws. Deep claw marks gashed into the pavement.

I darted off, heading right for the woods. But Dalton appeared in front of me.

“Stick around,” he said. “I don’t want you to miss this.”

Grabbing my arm, he flung me hard. I stumbled back and crashed against a parked car. The impact dropped me to my knees, and I curled up, spikes of pain shuddering up my back.

Abram’s howl pierced the night air. It was, at once, terrible and wonderful. He looked over at me, his beast form lean and muscular. His eyes traced me, taking ownership of all they saw. He lunged toward Dalton, but this time Dalton wasn’t lucky enough to get out of the way.

Abram collided with him, a mass of fur and teeth. Soon, Abram had eclipsed him, and all I could see from where I slumped against the car was Abram’s massive form huddling over what surely by now was Dalton’s bloodied corpse.

Astonishingly, though, Abram’s form lifted from the ground—Dalton held him over his head. He flung Abram through the air. The beast hit hard against a nearby building and yelped.

I shivered, realizing what Dalton could have done to me. But he wanted me alive—at least until he was ready to drain all my blood for himself. If I died before then, I would be no good to him.

Dalton started toward me. “Let’s go, sweet thing. I don’t exactly have an endless amount of time.”

Another howl danced across my eardrums, and Abram raced between us. He was on all fours now, growling with bared fangs and raised fur. The two beasts pounced toward each other, claws connecting with bodies midair, slicing gashes into each other as they tumbled back to the ground. They rolled closer to me. A spray of blood—I hoped not Abram’s—splashed onto my hospital gown.

With so much blood streaking and matting their fur, I could not fathom how either of them continued to brawl. Abram swiped at Dalton’s face, his nails slicing through his snout, and Dalton howled. He whacked Abram hard, sending him flying back, then barreled toward me again. His dirty claws tore right through the hospital gown and into my thigh, and I screeched.

Though my mind went numb with terror, my whole body shook from the pain. Dalton raised his paw again. But Abram towered behind him, pulling Dalton back by his beastly shoulder and sending him hurtling through the air.

Oh, Abram. This is a disaster.

Abram’s eyes, even in beast form, looked so human. So anguished. He made a small mewling sound, tilting his head as he looked over my wound. He ripped off a piece of my hospital gown and tied it around the large gash in my thigh, then started to try to lift me.

Before he could get me off the ground, Dalton pounced on his back, wrapping his beast-arms around Abram’s neck and digging claws into his shoulders to hold tight. Abram’s grip on me slipped, and fell back, my head knocking into the car. There was just…so much blood. My stomach lurched, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Please, God, do something.

A shot rang across my field of vision, nearly striking Abram in the head. Turning to the left, I saw Mr. McKenzie, gun pointed toward the beast. They were waking up—the entire town. And that meant that, once again, the game had changed.

“It’s back!” Dalton screamed. “The monster is back!”

I spun my gaze toward him, only to find Dalton had already morphed back into human form, his clothes hanging in tatters off his body. The devil. He’d created the perfect scene to further incite the mob: a battered detective hero, the bleeding damsel in distress, and the hulking beast waging war on this sleepy peaceful town.

One by one, the people of the town encroached on this tableau, an entire town, readying themselves for the kill.

“Abram…” I murmured, reaching out helplessly toward him.

He pounded his clawed-fists against the ground, getting onto all fours. He looked at me and then shook his head forward, snorting. I knew what he wanted. With what little strength I had remaining, I thrust myself onto his back and grabbed a handful of fur.

Abram took off, driving a path through the terrified townspeople. The muscles in his back flexed as the wind picked up around me. It was almost like flying, moving through Main Street quicker than I had ever gone before. But where were we going? Where could we go? There was no escaping this.

When Abram’s paws hit hard against the pavement to take an all-too-familiar left, I knew where he was headed, even before he descended the staircase—the very one I fell down the day we met.

Abram burst through the locked doors of The Castle and darted down the hall, huffing as he settled in front of the strangely marked door.

He lowered his back, and I climbed off. Chanting and clanging and thundering from the streets poured in now. The mob was legion. And they were coming.

The beast stood and, slowly but surely, morphed back into Abram. His shape returned before my very eyes, naked, muscular, and mouthwatering.

“How are you doing this?” I asked.

“The room,” he said as his voice returned. “This room, it’s letting me do it.”

“How?” I asked, my voice shaking.

A loud crash echoed from down the hall. From here I could just barely make out what it was: someone had thrown a lit bottle through the window. A table caught fire, and it quickly spread to the drapes.

“My God,” I said.

He took my arm gently. “We have to go inside. You’re losing a lot of blood.”

I’d nearly forgotten my own wounds; I’d been staring at Abram, whose body was unmarred, no evidence of his injuries remaining. I hadn’t noticed the blood streaming past the cloth Abram had used to tie off my wound. I was dripping blood all over the floor.

I gasped and stumbled back, about to faint at the sight of all the blood—worse, somehow, coming from my body. A body I knew would not heal itself.

Abram caught me and pulled me against him. “The room will protect us. Get inside.”

But I just stood there, frozen, unable to pull my gaze from the fire. The flames licked up the walls the same as fear burned in my core. Abram pushed the previously unmovable door open and swept me inside.

A soft light—like moonlight—swelled around us, so pale it was nearly blinding. He pushed the door closed behind us and, slowly, my eyes adjusted to the light.

But my mind could not comprehend what I saw.

Chapter 28

NO SOONER HAD my feet crossed the secret room’s threshold than something flared inside of me. Some pieces of myself, parts that I didn’t even fully realize existed, started lighting up and falling into place. The light here shimmered in flecks of gold, sort of like the way my blood looked when it came in contact with someone magical.

As the light washed over me, all my pain subsided, all my wounds tingled into a glorious numbness. Once my eyes adjusted from the burst of light, I began to take stock of the room. It was quaint, nearly empty. Nothing inside betrayed whatever importance existed within these walls. Why had keeping me out of here been so important? And why was this barren space able to keep us safe now when all other areas came up lacking?

Something was wrong about all this. I couldn’t pinpoint what, but unease was seeping through my bloodstream, rapidly replacing that brief moment of peace the light had afforded me.

I turned to Abram, my heart nearly stopping in my chest at the sight of him. While I’d ventured farther into the room, he’d waited just by the door. He was stunningly handsome, of course, but that’s not why my heart stopped. His eyes were so full of sorrow, and yet his expression was calm, his body language confident. I could only explain it as a quiet resolve. But it made me more concerned.

“Abram…” I said, watching his face carefully. He was scared about something. “The place is on fire Abram. There’s a mob building outside the door. Shouldn’t we be running?”

“It’ll be okay,” Abram said. But there was too much apology in his voice.

“Please, no more secrets.” I shook my head and splayed my hands. “How can anything be okay? How, Abram?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his jaw tensed. His chest puffed up a little as he took a deep breath, and I expected him to approach me, but he didn’t. I wished he would.

“There’s something you should know about this room,” he said finally. “About this town actually.”

Oh, no. Here is it. More things I don’t want to know.

But they were things I needed to know. I turned away, blinking back tears as anxiety throttled in my chest. “We don’t have much time, do we?”

“No,” he said. “We don’t. But it’s not what you think.”

My gaze landed on a crucifix on the wall and a stained glass window that sat under it. That window, with its red moon almost completely colored in—I had seen it before. I had seen this entire room before. But where?

“Oh, God,” I muttered as the answer came to me, as soft as the last whispers of a peaceful dream. “Satina. This is the room where it happened.”

“This is the genesis point,” he said, his voice gravelly. “The origin of the curse that, even now, still envelopes me.”

“That was here?” I asked, moving closer to the window. I turned to face him. “But it was a monastery. You said you burned it down.”

“I attempted to burn it down,” he said, eyes plastered on the floor. Even now, it seemed, the incident still brought about shame in him. “They don’t make buildings like they used to. The fire destroyed most of the interior, but the structure remained intact. And this room was completely untouched.”

“I don’t suppose that’s coincidence,” I answered, running my finger across the colored-in moon.

“Sometimes, if the magic is strong enough during a certain event or occurrence, it leaves something of an imprint on the area affected.” I felt him behind me, the heat of his human form radiating on my skin. “The magic that envelopes this room was made for me. To curse me. But part of that curse is also what keeps me alive.”

“Well, what good is a curse if you’re not alive to suffer through it?” I asked as he ran his fingers down my arm.

“That’s the idea,” he answered. His lips traced my hair, settling along my ear. “It’s stopped me from being able to end my life during my darker moments of the last century.”

My throat tightened at the thought of that, and although I knew emotions came from the mind and not the heart, I still felt that honest-to-God heartache in my chest. “You tried to…to what?”

“Shh,” he breathed into my ear. “It was a long time ago, before I had something to live for. Before you.”

My heart fluttered. I felt myself dancing close to a cliff that would drop me right off into ecstasy. It was strong. The way it always was with Abram. His musk, his lips—they all joined to form the sweetest and most seductive song I had ever heard. But I couldn’t allow myself to be seduced, not right now.

“Abram, they’re right outside.”

“And that’s where they’ll stay,” he answered, hands wrapping my waist.

“The fire,” I breathed.

“Won’t cross into this room. I promise you,” he said low into my ear. “The magic here is strong, Charisse. You need to trust it, to trust me. We don’t have much time.”

“I do trust you,” I answered wholeheartedly, looking into his eyes that were dark and mysterious pools. “But you’re also scaring me. What do you mean we don’t have much time? If this room will protect us—”

I cut myself short as my gaze fell back onto the painted moon. That was it. The stained glass moon was much fuller than the one on the door—less of a crescent, more of a waxing moon—nearly full, in fact.

“What does this mean?” I asked, waving my hand at the symbol. “People don’t just have empty rooms with moon symbols on the door and stained glass displays with moons to match inside.”

“You’re right,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at me. “It means something, though, doesn’t it? It has something to do with your curse.”

He shook his head, but something in his eyes told me I was right.

“Tell me.”

“Please don’t, Charisse. I’ve told you many things. I don’t want to—” He nearly choked on the word. Anger clouded his expression, and he jutted his finger toward the painted glass moon. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

I looked from him to the moon and back again. “Abram, if you don’t tell me what it means, I’m going to walk out that door.”

When he didn’t stay anything, I started to storm past him, ready to play this game of chicken, fire and all. But he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled my body against his. His hands were firm, but his expression was gentle.

“Tell me,” I demanded quietly.

He wrapped his arms around me and rested his cheek against my forehead. “This is my last full moon. After tonight, the curse will be permanent. Every night, for the rest of eternity, this will be my life, with no hope of ever changing that. I’ll be this…this…thing…forever.”

“But there’s a way to break it,” I said. “There has to be. Just do whatever Satina said it was. What’s the worst that could happen, Abram?”

“The worst?” he whispered, his voice nearly cracking. “Losing you.”

I pulled back and shook my head. “You won’t lose me, Abram.”

“You don’t know that.”

I balled my hands in fists at my side. “Well, neither do you.”

His finger came up to my lips. “Please, Charisse. Don’t argue with me right now.”

“I don’t want to argue with you Abram. I’m not the one who cares if you are a beast. You are. I’m trying to help you. Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“If you want to help me, then be with me. Please, just be with me and let me do what I’m meant to do. I promised I would protect you, and I will.”

Something rumbled in the room, and a voice echoed through the chamber. “I’m not sure how seriously I would take that promise.”

I knew that voice. It was the same one that kept me up at night, and when it did allow me sleep, it was the same voice that haunted my dreams.

But it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. He was dead.

And yet, the voice of my father continued. “Given that he gave the same promise to me. And we all know how well that turned out.”

I jerked away from Abram’s touch and spun around. My father stood behind Abram, arms folded and staring at me with those eyes that I had come to both miss and vilify. My entire body went rigid. How was this happening?

Well, that was a stupid question. I knew how it was happening. It was this magic, the one surrounding us, the one we were—even now—breathing in.

My face must have been a horrible thing to behold, because Abram took my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“What do you see?” he asked.

He knew. Somehow he knew the magic was showing me something.

“My father,” I whispered, my voice sounding weak and small, the way it did when I was a child.

My father moved around Abram, almost floating toward me with his lightness. It wasn’t like him, to move this way, to have a look on his face that screamed of mischievous glee. Or maybe it did. I hadn’t seen my father since I was a kid, and even the man I knew then was a lie. That much was obvious.

Why was I even thinking this way? My father loved me. Abram being here was proof of that. Why was I forgetting everything I had learned about the man?

“You need to run, Charisse. You can’t trust this thing.” My father looked Abram over with disgust darkening his eyes. “He’ll use you up, even more than he already has. He’ll destroy you. He lies. Everything he says is a lie.”

My father moved closer, and my entire body trembled. “But that’s what you like, isn’t it? That’s what you want from your men.” He shook his head. “Is that what I did to you? Did I ruin my little girl?”

“What?” I balked, backing away. “Of course not.”

Abram’s hand squeezed mine. “It’s not real, Charisse. It comes from the curse, and the curse wants me to suffer. It doesn’t want to be broken.”

Abram’s comforting grip did little to steady me. All I could see was my father’s eyes, weighing me, judging me, finding me lacking. And all of this to keep some curse going. But how would me suffering keep the century-old punishment that Satina leveled onto him running strong?

“You need to run, Charisse!” My father’s voice was panicked now.

No. Not my father. I leaned in toward the apparition.

“Go away,” I said firmly. “You’re not gonna win this one.”

“Get away from this monster!” my ‘father’ demanded, a cloud of anger storming across his face. His face twisted and darkened, and his eyes disappeared as he bent disgustingly into a dark shadowy creature. It was the magic. It was the curse. “I’ve healed your wounds so you can run, not so you could stand here staring like a fool! Now go away and leave him to suffer on his own!”

It was greedy, this curse. It wanted to strip away all light from Abram’s life, as though it fed on the darkness, as though it needed it to survive.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” I asked, turning to Abram and connecting the puzzle pieces. All the strange things Satina said, the way she looked at me…and now the way this room was attacking my devotion to Abram. It all made sense now. “I can break the curse, can’t I?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Abram said, unable to see what had just transpired in front of me.

“You have to tell me the truth.” I took his unshaven face in my hands. “You have to trust me, too, you know.”

He stared at me, parting his lips and then closing them again.

“Abram! I mean it!”

“You can, in a sense…” he said, closing his eyes. “When Satina placed the curse on me, she did so because she realized I didn’t love her. She said I wasn’t capable of love. She said if I could love someone, really love someone, and have that love returned, then the curse would be broken.”

“Oh, God,” I murmured, stroking his face. “I do,” I said, shaking my head. My eyes welled up with tears. “I do love you.” And it was the truth. I knew it as clearly as I knew Betsy Johnson’s Spring 2002 Collection. “I love you, Abram.”

But then a sickening realization came to me. I did love him. I had loved him for a long time now. But he was still this monster, still this beast. And that could only mean one thing.

“You don’t love me…” I muttered.

It wasn’t a question. My heart sank so hard and fast I felt it slam into my toes. I stepped back, almost stumbling. It couldn’t be. The rules of the curse only left room for one answer.

“Charisse…” He stared at me apologetically. “I can’t—”

But I didn’t want an apology. What good would it do? What he’d said leveled more pain than all the punches Dalton had thrown at me.

“Charisse, you don’t under—”

“Don’t bother,” the shadow magic said. Judging from Abram’s reaction, the way he stiffened and clenched, he could now see it, too. “I’ve tired of you, and I’ve tired of this.” The magic raised something that looked like a misshapen hand. “And this is what I’m doing about it.”

Chapter 29

WITHIN MOMENTS, WE found out exactly what the shadow magic intended to do. The light in the room burst in a thousand little echoes of darkness, and the cool of the room was replaced with immediate intense heat.

We were no longer untouchable. The fire was coming for us, and so was the mob. I could hear it in the screams and bangs that were now evident outside the club’s entrance.

The door to the room that had once been a force now lay in shambles on the floor, a victim of the curse’s fickle temperament.

“Get behind me,” Abram growled, but before I could move, he thrust me against his back. His skin was warm and, even pressed against the wrong end, I could feel his heart racing like a jackhammer.

The stomping and banging and chanting of the mob grew louder. Could I even blame them at this point? They thought they were putting an end to the danger that had been tormenting their town for months now. They were out to a kill a murderer, a monster.

“We need to run,” I murmured.

Abram nodded, but he didn’t move. His gaze swept down the hall, and I knew he could see the same thing I could. We needed to run, yes. But there was no place to run to. We were cornered. And the club’s front door was splintering inward. It wouldn’t be long before—

The door caved, and the first of the mob poured in. Five, ten, twenty. It seemed the entire town was after us, all rushing in toward this small, sacred, and (until now) secret room. Everyone but Dalton. He was mysteriously absent in the midst of the fervor he had been so busy whipping up.

Abram held one arm out in front of him while the other circled my bicep. He stepped back, leading me into the doorless room, then turned to me and held his finger to his lips. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, shaking my head and holding back a whimper. What good was this? It wouldn’t be long before they found us. All he was doing was buying time.

As though sensing my distress, he slipped his hand down to mine, wrapping his fingers around my palm possessively. His touch steadied me. The even nature his breathing brought an ounce of comfort to an otherwise unbearable situation, though I still couldn’t explain why. He didn’t love me. It had been magically incontestable, deemed truth by the highest and most unexplainable of vouchers.

And yet, I still sensed something was wrong about that. Looking at his hand, still human as it entwined with mine, I could not help but wonder how he was resisting the pull of the moon that should have changed him into a beast by now. If love wasn’t the driving force for his resistance, then what was?

“Hey,” a young man yelled. “There’s some rooms down here!”

My whole body stiffened, bracing for the inevitable—not even sure what the inevitable was. Soon the young man was in the doorway, staring us down. He trembled, though, not so brave when faced with Abram…not until the others were at his back.

Dozens of people clogged the hallway, and some of the bigger men of the town forced their way to the front. My heart dropped as I recognized some of the faces in the crowd. Faces I grew up with.

Mrs. Adler, who had tended my cut that time I scraped my knee following Lulu on our brand new roller blades, was nearly foaming at the mouth with a pick axe in her hand. She had been so gentle then, so kind as she washed and bandaged my leg. Seeing the fear and anger in her eyes now was almost surreal.

And there was Douglas Feathersby—my first kiss. He gave me a nickel under Hopkin’s Bridge and planted a wet one right on my lips. He told me he would always love me. I probably shouldn’t have expected him to keep his word, given that we were seven and all. Of course, I also never would have imaged a reality where he was running toward me with a pitchfork.

But now that they had us cornered, it seemed everything slowed down. Each man and woman assessing the best way to kill the beast—or rather, the man with the beast within him.

“Char,” Douglas said, “get away from him.” He reached his hand out to me, as though I would go running to his protection, as if the mob were here to save me. Maybe they were. “Hurry, before it’s too late!”

I took a step back, shaking my head. If I left Abram’s side, he was as good as dead. If I stayed here, eventually they would go after Abram anyway, and they would kill us both. But this was buying us time.

“I don’t want to kill them,” Abram said to me quietly. He hadn’t so much as flinched this entire time.

“Then don’t,” I said.

And I meant it. These people didn’t know what they were doing. They were pawns, just like me—chess pieces in a game none of us understood. Killing them would be as useless as wearing socks with designer heels.

But as the first man lunged at Abram, swiping a torch in a large arc meant to set him on fire, I didn’t know what to want anymore. If Abram didn’t fight back, they would kill him. If he did, these men and women would die—none of them bad people, just misled and afraid.

Abram pounced, even in his human form so clearly animalistic with his grace and fluidity. But before he landed, the pull of the moon finally had its way with him. His hands twisted into something sharper as he reared back.

I flinched for what would be bloody impact. But instead of shredding the townsfolk, Abram’s claw drug across the light fixture, blanketing the room in darkness.

I felt hands grab at me hard. I struggled against them, sure that Douglas Feathersby was either going to drag me away or demand his nickel back. But then I felt a breath on my neck, and I knew it was Abram.

His now much hairier, beastly arms pushed me westward and the last thing I saw was the glint of shattering glass against my face.

I spun around to throw my arms around Abram’s neck as a rush of cool invaded my nostrils and filled my lungs. He swept me around onto his back as we flew through the air, falling toward the hard concrete of Main Street.

But I wasn’t afraid. Abram was with me and, our current predicament aside, I knew enough to know that my best shot was in his arms—or in this case, on his back.

“I’ve got you,” he called over his shoulder to me as the ground rushed up to greet us. “I’ve always got you.”

His feet hit hard against the ground, but he didn’t falter. I slid down from his back, and he turned to face me, once again a man. He was really fighting the beast thing, and while he wasn’t entirely successful, I was impressed.

“Are you all right, Charisse?” he murmured, brushing the stray hairs from my face.

“We have to hurry,” I said breathlessly. Of course I wasn’t all right. I was running for my life—running away from people I grew up with. “They’re still coming.”

Looking behind us, I saw that the moon window, the window he had just jumped through, was still intact. But how could that be? I felt it shatter against my skin. I heard the crunch as Abram’s boot landed against shards of it. Now it was there again, the red moon almost completely colored in.

“The window…” I said.

“I know,” Abram answered, already a man again. In one swift motion, he threw me over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t be much of a curse if all it took was a couple of warm bodies to break it.”

As he sprinted forward, a cold gust of wind cascaded over my back. He was moving too fast for me to tell where we were heading. All I knew was that the sounds of the mob, as well as the lights of Main Street, were fading away quickly.

He skidded to a stop. Leaves rustled around us. After he helped me slide off of his back again, I saw we were back in the woods, only feet away from the old house.

It was strange how much time we had spent in these woods together. Along with the Castle, it sort of felt like ‘our place’…aside from how we almost got ourselves killed every time we came here.

“What is it?” I asked, spying the way he grabbed his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” he answered. “I just need a moment.”

I brushed his hand away, revealing his shoulder as a mess of red gashes, and I gasped. “My God! Look at all that blood!”

“One of them nicked me with something. I’ll be fine. Self-healing, remember?” His face shifted, nearly changing back into that of the beast. His mouth closed hard, and he reverted to his old (and quite stunning) features. “We need to move.”

“To where?”

“Inside,” he said, nodding toward the house, the hand of his good arm clutching his wound once more. “I’ve set up some fail safes, just in case something like this happened.

“But you won’t be you,” I answered, grazing his arm with my fingers. “How much longer can you keep the beast at bay?”

“Not as long as I need to.” He grimaced. “I think I’m out of time.”

And the way he said that, the finality of it, sparked something inside of me. I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you mean by that?”

He brushed past me to head toward the house, growling under his breath. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“Hell no!” I said, grabbing his arm and spinning him back toward me. “I’m about ten miles past ready to hear that, Abram.” My hand tightened around his arm. “You’re gonna be straight with me. You’re gonna stop treating me with kid gloves. Or this is where you and me part ways. Got it?”

He glared at me. “That would be a death sentence for you, Char.”

I tilted my chin up. “Like you care.”

The expression in his face was so pained it felt like razors in my own heart. “I do,” he said, his voice shifting lower. “Damn it, Charisse. You’re making this harder than it already is.”

“It’s the damn moon,” he said finally. “And what I did to it.”

“What did you do to it, Abram?” I asked.

“Magic is about balance and energy. When Satina was on the other side, keeping the curse fed wasn’t an issue. There’s unlimited energy in the afterlife. But when I brought her back, all that changed. The curse began to sputter out. With Satina cut off from the energy that powered it, the curse began a sort of countdown. And, because that’s what she tied it to, the next full moon became the anchor for it.”

“Speak English,” I said with a growl of my own. “And do it quickly. I doubt Dalton and his mob are going to take long to figure out we came back here.”

“The reason the moon on the window phased into waxing is because I brought Satina back. With every moon, we took one step closer to stripping all the magic from the curse.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said. “It’s almost colored in now. Your curse will end. So what’s the issue?”

“Yes, the moon is almost colored in now,” Abram conceded, but he didn’t have the same joy I had. “This is the last night. This is the last moon of the curse that’s plagued me for over a hundred years.”

“That’s great,” I answered. What was his problem? Was this like Stockholm syndrome? “You can be a man again. You can have another chance. Isn’t that what you want?”

“More than anything,” he answered. “Well, more than almost anything. But I don’t think you understand, Char. I never broke the curse. The curse isn’t breaking…its ending.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, my eyebrows pulling together. “What’s the difference? What does that mean?”

He looked past me, to the sky above, to the moon with only but a sliver away from complete. “When the moon is full, Charisse, I will remain a beast. Forever.”

Chapter 30

ABRAM’S WORDS LITERALLY clanged against my ears, screeching like nails against a chalkboard. Instantly, they exhausted me. It seemed it would never end, the constant twists and turns of fate. Every revelation seemed to dig us deeper into this hopeless pit. And this was no different.

We were hours away from sunrise, hours away from his curse becoming a permanent, unbreakable thing. And I could do nothing to save him.

He had to love and be loved in return. How does one accomplish that in the span of a single night?

Hurt engraved itself into my heart. The truth was, I did love Abram. I loved him more than I had every loved anyone in that way. And he…just didn’t feel the same way.

It was then that a sickening truth leveled itself onto me. Is that why Abram had gotten so close to me? Had he wormed his way into my heart hoping that I might be the person he could fall in love with? Had he used me in some halfhearted attempt to break an age-old curse? And, worse than that, had he found me lacking?

Still, it wasn’t as though I could fault him for his feelings, or for trying to love me, or for wanting to break his curse.

Fact was, I would fight for him until the end. And, even though he didn’t love me, I knew he would fight for me, too. He had proven that much. He had risked his life for me time and time again. Even now, in our darkest hour, he didn’t flinch once as he faced the incredible odds to keep me safe. But why?

“Are you sure about this, Abram? If you don’t break the curse tonight, it can really never be broken?”

He gave a solemn nod. “I would still have the days, same as now. But that would be it for me. The hopes of reclaiming nights as a man will be gone forever. All chance for redemption will be lost.” He looked down at his clawed hands and let out a sound between a growl and a sigh. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

“Of course it matters,” I said, determined not to let his lack of feelings for me alter my feelings for him. I took his hands in my own, claws be damned. “There has to be something we can do. Anything. Just tell me what.”

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with this, Charisse. There’s too much going on, too much at stake. The curse is the least of my concerns.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” I said. “And you shouldn’t have started whatever mystical clock you did by bringing Satina back.”

“I don’t want to fight with you right now,” he answered quietly, recognizing the tone in my voice.

“Too bad.” I ran hands through my hair, shaking out my natural curls and trying to reset my tired brain. “I’d rather not be running from a Frankenstien’s monster-esque mob, but we are where we are.” My voice was lower now, more sincere. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I understand that. And I also understand that you didn’t do anything to deserve it. You were born into this life.” He was barely able to keep his human form now, struggling as he was against his beastly nature. “But I will keep you safe,” he said. “I swear it.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I said, my voice breaking. “I know you’ll do everything you can to keep me safe. But I didn’t ask you to. And I certainly didn’t ask you to give away your one chance at happiness to get it done.”

“Charisse—”

“No.” I threw my hands in front of me, no longer willing to let the elephant in the room remain unseen. “I get that you don’t love me and, if you give me a little time to process that, I might even be able to understand it. But what I don’t understand—what I’m not sure I’ll ever understand—is why you would do something like this for someone you didn’t even care about.”

His eyes shot open. The entirety of his morphing body tensed. “Why would you say something like that?” He moved closer to me. “Why the hell would you even think something like that?”

I bristled as he neared me. It was strange. Hours ago, his body felt like home to me—that safe place I had spent my entire life looking for but had never found. And now, with this newest revelation, I couldn’t think of anything more ludicrous.

“You know why,” I said. “You don’t love me.” Anger started to pool in my gut and bubble up like venom through my throat and out my mouth. “I scoffed at Satina when she compared me to all your other conquests. I actually thought there was something different about me, about us. But I was wrong. I didn’t think someone could touch someone the way you touched me and not feel anything behind it.”

His mouth, almost completely a snout now, clenched together. With pain etched in his face, he transformed his face back into human form. “I know you think you know everything. God knows you’re stubborn enough to think you can see every piece on this chess board. But there are some things, Charisse, that are even above that beautiful, hard head of yours.”

“You either love me or you don’t, Abram. Love isn’t a complicated thing. It’s there or it’s not.”

A loud shuffling sounded from far off.

“They’re coming,” Abram said, crouching into a feral position. “We need to get into the house.”

“Why?” I asked.

“There’s no time for that. Get on.” He leaned over, motioning for me to climb on his back.

I didn’t move.

“Damn it Charisse! Get on my goddamn back!”

Again, I didn’t move.

“Do you want me to beg to save you?”

I didn’t answer. The rustling just got louder, signifying that the mob, or at least part of it, was getting closer.

“Fine,” he growled. “Get on my back. Please.”

Hiding a smirk, I climbed on. He let go of all his resistance and shifted completely from man to beast as he darted off toward the house. My heart sped in tempo with his thundering footsteps, and my hair whipped behind me. Something about being carted around by Abram made me feel alive in a way I really never had before. Or maybe that was just Abram himself.

We burst through the doorway like a pair of twin bullets. He shrugged me off of his back, placing me gently on the floor and nudging the door closed behind him with his snout.

He was all beast now—all strong hind legs, massive thighs, and thick, luscious fur. He glared at me for a moment with those familiar eyes, perhaps expecting me to be disgusted at the sight of him. But if that’s what he was looking for, he was going to be sadly disappointed.

The beast was Abram, and Abram was the beast. They were interchangeable to me now, one as much a part of the man I loved as the other.

Looking away from me, he padded up the staircase on all fours. His paws hit heavy as he neared the top.

I followed him, settling in front of the room that once held Satina.

As soon as we stopped in front of it, Abram began to morph back into the man I knew.

“Magic,” I answered, putting it together. “This room is magic, too?”

He stretched, brushing off the last bit of monster as the man fully emerged. “I told you that magic is about balance. Even curses like the one that affects me has to be equal parts light and dark. The room in the Castle held the darker magic that fueled the curse. It wanted me to suffer. When it believed keeping me alive would accomplish that, it was happy to accommodate, but when it realized…when it realized how you felt, it wanted you to die so that I would live on in agony. That’s why it dispersed when it saw that the mob was its best chance to see you dead.”

His eyes flickered to the floor.

“Which of course means that this room holds the light side of the magic. It stands to reason that this aspect of the curse yearns to see my redemption. To that end, it’ll do everything in its power to keep you safe.”

“Should have brought us here first then,” I mumbled.

“It wasn’t clear then,” he said, and he sounded sort of…hopeful.

Please don’t let him be guessing all this.

“So now it’s clear?” I asked skeptically.

“Aspects of the curse only reveal themselves when the curse is at its most powerful, which only happens when—”

“When the bitch who cast it comes back from the dead and starts a magical timer?” I asked.

He grinned, pushing the wooden door open. “You learn quickly.”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, thinking of all the things I hadn’t learned quickly enough.

Abram gestured for me to enter the room, and as soon as I crossed the threshold, I felt the magic pouring into me. It comforted me, made me feel whole, made me feel at peace.

But was this true peace, or was this an illusion like the last time?

It was then, in the midst of that clarity, that a question filtered its way into my mind. “Why did the curse want me to die?” I asked. After all, my love alone clearly wasn’t enough. “You said the outcome is already in stone, isn’t it? What does the curse know that I don’t?”

I turned to Abram. He was still on the other side of the doorway. The look on his face both troubled and soothed me. It was clear and full of the sort of stoic and tempered joy that only existed when you realized you had found the best the world has to offer…and that you were sure that you were never going to see it again.

“I wish I could answer that,” he answered. “More than anything, I wish I could tell you.”

In that moment, I could sense the truth of his feelings burning under my skin. I knew him as I knew myself. It was mystical, cellular, beyond bone deep. And I knew that he loved me. I just knew it. It was in the way he spoke to me, in the way he drove my passion and allowed me to stoke his own. It was in his voice, in his gaze. It was as singular and real as my own name.

There was something about all of this that I didn’t know, something that would make sense of this whole thing.

“Please, Abram,” I said, shaking my head. “Just say it. Whatever it is, just say tell me, and we’ll figure something out. We’ll fix it somehow.”

He swallowed, and his head shook a fraction of an inch. “I am fixing it, Charisse.”

The tone of his voice and the expression on his face sent a panic into my chest that I couldn’t explain. I started back toward the door, back toward him. “Abram, what are you doing?”

“What I have to,” he said.

Then he slammed the door shut.

I rushed toward it, but I already knew what I would find. The door wouldn’t budge. Like before, I was trapped inside, protected by magic that I knew nothing about.

“Abram!” I screamed. “Abram, open this door!”

He was going to do it. He was going to keep me safe by any means necessary, even if that meant facing that mob by himself.

“Abram!” I screamed, beating so hard against the door that I thought I heard something in my hand snap. “Abram! Would you listen to me damn it? For once, just listen to me!”

Tears streamed hot down my cheeks. My heart shattered into so many pieces it might as well have been dust.

“Abram!”

No answer. He was gone. And I knew where he was going.

I rushed toward the window, wiping my eyes and looking past the nearly full red moon that graced it, a perfect match to the one back at The Castle.

The mob had gathered outside. All of them. The entire town littered the ground, armed with pitchforks, rifles, and other weaponry.

Blinking through fresh tears, I saw Abram walk out the door and into the yard, already morphing into the beast.

The crowd reared back, but soon overcame their fears and pushed forward. Shots fired at Abram, and I beat against the window. Maybe I could jump through it, the way Abram had back at the Castle.

But I knew better.

I wasn’t as strong as him, and the truth was, if this room didn’t want me to get out, then I wouldn’t.

All I could do was watch. Watch the man I love fight. Watch the people I grew up with try to kill him.

“Stop!” I screamed. But no one listened. Did they hear me? Could anyone even see me?

I slapped my hand over and over again on the glass pane, but no one so much as looked up at me. The glass rattled and my palm stung, but it was useless.

Bullets collided with Abram, and his body lunged backward.

“No!” I screamed.

Howling loudly, he lunged forward, but he didn’t attack. Didn’t defend himself. Didn’t even try to run. A swing with a baseball bat to his hind leg hit so hard that the crack could be heard over the cries and shouts of the mob. Another person—this time someone I didn’t recognize—swiped at him with a kitchen knife, but the man kept too far a distance to make contact.

But the more people who braved their assault on him, the more people who found the courage to do the same. Soon the town had swallowed him up. My fingernails dug into the old window frame, splintering against the soft wood. Pain cut off the air to my lungs as they kicked him, punched him, stabbed him. Seeing the blood matting his fur did something to me—changed me. This was a nightmare. I couldn’t cope.

I ran back to the door and tried it again, rattling the doorknob and banging on the wood. “Please, please,” I shouted. “Open.”

My voice was strained and cracked, my body weak, my mind a swirl of confusion and anger and hurt. I stumbled back to the window, falling to my knees at the sight of him. They had backed off now to observe their damage. He staggered sideways. Someone threw a stone at him, and he yelped.

No one wanted to go through with it. No one wanted murder on their hands, even with such a beast as they believed him to be. For a moment, hope bubbled up through my heartache. But through the blur of my tears, I saw the one person who could shatter all that hope in an instant.

Ester.

Ester, with a gun in her hand, marching up to Abram with the barrel already pointed down and finger on the trigger. She didn’t even look like herself. My body tensed.

Ester, please. Don’t.

I shook my head as though I could will her to stop. This couldn’t be happening. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? He was already a heap on the ground, bloody, broken, barely able to move.

But Ester didn’t stop her advance—didn’t even flinch—as she fluidly approached the beast.

With a swift, almost graceful motion, she took aim at his head and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 31

I WATCHED ABRAM’S body fall lifeless to the ground and, as it did, reality twisted into a dark and unsettling thing.

Things would never be the same.

My body shut down. The pain in my chest was so strong that I couldn’t feel if my heart was still beating, but if it were, each beat would be hopeless anyway. My soul had been shattered, and I felt the pieces of me scattering away from my body, leaving behind only the sinking feeling of dread that weighed my every limb.

My hearing went out. Could a gunshot do that, or was I in shock?

The crowd dispersed—Ester with her horrible gun and the rest of the townspeople behind her, ambling away as though they had awoken from a spell. They had done what Dalton implored them to. They had killed the beast. Their nightmare was over, and mine was just beginning.

I stared in trembling, core-quaking silence as they filtered back into the woods, so much more ceremoniously than they had come. Marching victoriously back to the safety of their beds and leaving Abram to rot in the night air.

Bile rose in my throat. They had won. It was over.

Expect that it wasn’t.

Dalton was still out there, hiding somewhere, waiting for me to appear. It was only a matter of time. He would find me, kill me, drain me, and then live forever, enjoying the spoils of his victory. But only if the third beast didn’t get to me first.

And the thing was, I didn’t care. I was already dead. Everyone I had ever loved was dead, save for Lulu, and if my track record were any indication, it would only be a matter of time before she was killed, too. Because death followed me, wherever I went, and there was no denying that now.

The yard was empty. Only one piece of evidence remained to indicate what had happened here. I bit down on my lip to brace myself as I turned to face it. To face…him.

I swallowed hard as my gaze drank him in. He was still a beast. Was he not going to transform back? Would this be how he would spend his eternity—in the body of an animal, afforded no more dignity than a dog who had been hit by a passing car and pulled off the side of the road to die? Body battered. Limbs bent at impossible angles. Blood everywhere. All the signs that life had been present but was not anymore.

I stared hard, willing him to breathe, praying to see that rise and fall of his chest, clinging hopelessly to that thread of hope, knowing if anyone could survive this, Abram could. And yet knowing no one could survive this.

Everything was still. The yard. The leaves in the trees. And worst of all, Abram. So peacefully, painfully still. The realization of how true his death was rocketed into me like a missile.

I turned my back against the window and slid to the floor, by body plastered against the damn wall.

This can’t be happening.

I repeated the thought like a mantra, over and over, again and again. And nothing changed. I was so crippled with emotion that even my tears escaped me. There was nothing left. My entire being was evaporating around me, my mind and emotions at war, pulling me in every direction.

All the fire that blazed within me while Abram was fighting for his life was now extinguished. He was dead, and he was taking my will to live with him.

Let Dalton come. Let all the beasts this world had to offer come for all I cared. What more harm could they do to me now? In less than five minutes, everything had changed. All hope had been erased. All of my worst fears had been realized.

Just five minutes ago, Abram had been standing before me, his chest heaving with determined breaths. How could those breaths be his last?

My senses started to return. First with the sound of my pulse in my ear, a rushing, shushing sound. An agonizing reminder of life. I dug my nails into the wood floor beneath me and pressed the back of my head hard against the wall.

Abram, no.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and the burning tears that had been floating in my subconscious came streaming out, reminding me I was still alive to cry. To feel. Alone.

The more I wanted the pain to end, the harder I cried. I was hyperventilating, and this was even worse than when cancer stole my mother from me. I choked on life’s air as I gasped for breath.

I had the fleeting thought of getting up. Of pulling myself together. Of just stopping crying long enough to breathe. But those thoughts only made me hurt more, made my cries flood faster, made the ache spread farther in my chest.

Like an insult, the door clicked and creaked open, releasing me from my prison. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. I wasn’t ready to see life beyond that door. I just shook my head and curled into myself.

“I know you must be disheartened.”

The voice tore through my mind. Whipping my eyes open, I looked toward the source of the noise.

Satina stood at the doorway, still wearing the dead girl’s body and looking every bit as refreshed as a girl coming off a week long Daytona vacay.

I licked my dry lips, trying to find the will to speak. “How long have you been standing there?”

She titled her chin up. “Charisse, you have to understand—”

I lifted my hand to stop her. “Don’t,” I ground out, anger bubbling up inside me. “Don’t fucking say another word, I swear to God, Satina.”

She had been right outside this door the entire time, I just knew it. She could have helped. Could have used her Conduit magic and saved his life. Could have freed me and allowed me to at least try to protect him. Could have done something. But she’d just stood there. Stood there and let him die. Left me in here to watch hopelessly as his life was stolen from him. From me.

“I did what I had to do,” she said firmly, not wavering an inch from where she stood.

Indignation swelled in my heart. “You bitch!”

I darted to the far wall to grab an ancient-looking sword in a scabbard that hung there as one of the few adornments in the room, but as soon as I touched it, I realized it was fake. I could still give that bitch a hell of a swat nonetheless.

“This was all some plan of yours, wasn’t it? You pretended to help us so we’d let you free. And then you just did nothing while they killed him!”

Satina rolled her eyes. “If you recall, it was your other boyfriend who freed me. The cutie in the police uniform.”

“In case you didn’t know—and I’m sure you did—he’s the beast that’s after me. But you probably knew that all along.”

I marched toward her, costume arsenal in hand. To her credit, Satina didn’t look worried. Given the fact that she was a one hundred and fifty year old witch, had already died once, and was being threatened by a woman who had never swung a golf club much less a sword, that shouldn’t have surprised me.

She just remained where she stood, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Calm yourself, Supplicant.”

“I’m as fucking calm as it gets,” I said through clenched teeth, tightening up on the sword’s hilt.

“You’re blaming the wrong people,” Satina said, cocking her head curiously to the side. “It isn’t I who is responsible for the death of your love, nor the mob who assailed him.”

“You could have helped him!” I yelled, lunging toward her.

“I did,” she said, a ting of annoyance in his voice. “I helped him achieve what he wanted. To keep you safe!”

“That wasn’t his call.” I had settled in front of her, sword still in hard, but it hung limply at my side now. Fresh tears swelled on the cusps of my eyelids. “That wasn’t your call.” I wiped my eyes with the back of wrist. “Damn it, fuck you both! It’s my life!”

“And his life was his,” she said, her eyes flickering past me. “And I’d dictated more than enough of it. He at least deserved to die with the honor he sought.” She shook her head. “Alas, I am afraid rest doesn’t always come so easily.”

I deflated at her words. Beating Satina to a pulp wouldn’t bring Abram back, and it wouldn’t stop Dalton’s crusade. It was over. I dropped the sword, letting it clang to the ground.

“You’re not worth my time.” I shoved her out of the way and moved past her through the threshold.

My empty shell of a body glided downstairs and out the front door. The night air punished me as I stepped outside, lighting up my skin and reminding me that it would never again feel the touch it yearned for.

My entire body shook as I neared the dark mass that was Abram’s body. It was a death march, the quickly vanishing line that led to my last moments of happiness—perhaps my last moments ever. Death was coming for me next, and I couldn’t think of a better place to die than by Abram’s side, where I should have been all along.

Dalton would be here soon, but damned if I wouldn’t say goodbye first.

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling as I settled over him. His body was large and rippling. His blood-soaked fur matted against his skin, and his mouth hung open, his fangs bared.

He certainly should have been a frightening sight, but he wasn’t scary at all. He was majestic and beautiful, even in this mangled, beastly state. Because I could see past it all. I could see who he really was, and I had never wanted to be near anything so much in my life.

I knelt down slowly, savoring the closeness. After today, I would never have this again. I lied on the ground, face to face with Abram. His eyes were closed, but I reached out, stroking his cheek. Sparks lit up my hand every time I touched him, and now was no different.

The tears scraped down my face like needles dragging against skin, leaving my cheeks raw and sore. But I settled my breaths. If these were to be the last moments I would ever spend with Abram, I would not to cry through them.

“This isn’t over, Supplicant.”

Satina was behind me, standing over me and robbing me of this, too. Intruding on these last moments, stealing my chance to say goodbye. In her hand, she held the display sword I’d threatened her with earlier.

“Leave me alone,” I muttered, defeated.

“And if I did, what good would it do? Fate has plans for you yet, plans that will take you to places near and far.” She inspected the not-so-sharp blade of the sword and frowned. “You have not yet seen what you need to see, not yet done what you need to do, and not yet loved in the way that will save us all.”

“Just shut up!” I screamed. I’d had quite enough of this. “Shut up and go away!”

“Why do you think Abram did this, Supplicant? Why would Abram go through this nightmare? Why would he give up so much for this crusade, for you? Answer that, and I’ll leave you…if you still wish me to.”

“I don’t know,” I answered, still sobbing painfully. I put my head on Abram’s chest, resting against his soft fur.

Satina stabbed the sword into the ground and rested her hand on it. “Yes, you do know.”

“I don’t!”

Her hand gripped the sword handle, and her gaze cut into me like a razor. “Answer my question, and I’ll leave.”

“I thought—I thought he loved me,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe that would make her go away, or maybe she just wanted to rub salt in the wound. None of it changed how I felt about him. “But I was wrong.”

“And yet, here you are, still alive. Because he knew there was more ahead for you. If you loved him, should you not honor his sacrifice?”

I stared up at her defiantly. “Why should I?” I asked. “Why are you letting him die? Why can’t you just bring him back?” I sat up now, wild with need. “Use my blood or something. Satina, you can’t let him die. You can’t. You could help him, I know you can.”

“Oh, child,” she said with a sigh and a slight frown. “You still don’t get it. Today is nothing”—she waved her free hand dismissively—“compared to the many trials you will face yet. You need this moment in your life to prepare you. There are worse days ahead than this one. Great lovers and more painful heartaches. Believe me.”

She didn’t know shit. I glared at her. “Nothing could be worse than this. Now do something,” I growled through my teeth. “Save him!”

Satina pulled the sword from the ground and dragged it behind her as she practically floated over to me. Setting the display arsenal on the ground beside Abram, she crouched at my side and placed her hand on my arm. I would have expected my skin to crawl at her touch, but the action seemed surprisingly…gentle. Caring, even.

“He’s not gone, Charisse,” she said, her voice soft.

“You’re gonna save him?” My voice was barely above a whisper, too afraid to convey hope.

“I don’t have to,” she said, smiling. “You already have.”

“What do you—”

She swiped her fingers under my eyes, smoothing away my tears. When she lifted her hand, her fingertips were red. My tears must have been streaming through the cuts on my face from when we broke through the glass back at The Castle.

Looking down, I saw a pool of my blood, of magical blood, soaking up into Abram’s skin. It glowed with the same golden signature it had the first time he touched it.

Oh.

Realization shot through me like a current of electricity. My tears had carried blood from the wounds on my face to Abram’s beastly body. Could it really have…healed him? Of course I never would have thought of that…this whole having magic blood was new to me, and I still didn’t know all that I was capable of. But was I capable of saving him? Even without the ability to perform magic myself?

My gaze trailed up to his face, and just as I looked at him, I felt it.

I felt him breathe.

My heart sped in my chest, and a rush came through my lungs. I stood stock-still, frozen, holding my breath, waiting for another, hoping it wasn’t imagined, praying it wasn’t an illusion.

“Is he… Is he…” I was afraid to finish the question.

“Yes, Supplicant. He’s alive.”

“My God,” I whispered, my tears turning from ones of anguish to joy. “He’s alive!”

“Barely,” Satina said. “But, if he is left to heal and recuperate, he’ll rejoin us soon enough.”

“Well, then,” said another voice in the distance

My head snapped up. Dalton.

He moved toward me, already changing into a monster himself, one dead set on tearing me from limb to limb. “Looks like I’m going to have to put a stop to that.”

Chapter 32

THE SIGHT OF Dalton standing there, half beast and half something much worse, sent spikes of panic coursing through my veins.

Abram was still out. He wasn’t dead, which was a step above his condition a few moments ago, but he also wasn’t in anything close to fighting shape. My body tensed as I mentally recounted the last confrontation I had with Dalton. That hadn’t gone so well for me. In fact, I still bore several injuries from that attack, although, if I knew how my blood worked, that could be what saved my big beautiful ass. Unfortunately, I didn’t know that. Not even a little.

Dalton’s gaze violated every inch of me. It seemed impossible now that I had ever thought of him as desirable, as anything other than some horrific monster. It was all over him, in the wicked crook of his lips, in the sly way with which he slinked closer.

And then something unexpected settled over me. Guilt. He hadn’t always been this thing. Dalton was once the boy I grew up with. He was Lulu’s brother, who chased us around ponds, holding up frogs like they were knives, the boy who hid behind trees and assaulted us with snowballs every winter. He was just a boy, just a person. And now, in part because of the sickness that threatened to destroy him, he was something else.

But that was no excuse. I’d lived alongside my mother in that world for years, and no one else with his diagnosis had attempted the things he was attempting.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” I murmured, my hands pressed against Abram’s barely living body.

“Is that a joke, Char?” Dalton grinned. “Because we both know there’s nothing you can do to stop me, and lover boy over there doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to rescue you this time.”

“I can take care of myself,” I said through gritted teeth, echoing the conversation I had with him my first day back in New Haven.

“You keep saying that.” He shook his head, pacing toward me slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. His hands were claws, stretched out and ready to tear me apart. “I can smell you from here.”

My hands balled into fists against Abram’s chest. I would have liked to have said there was some marked improvement, but his breaths were just as shallow and infrequent as ever. No, if we were going to survive this, it would be on me to make it happen.

“You’re gonna wish you never came back here,” I said, my voice surprisingly strong and steady.

“You gonna strike a pose at me, Runway Girl?”

I stood, angry, scared, and totally devastated. This would likely be my last stand. Before the sun came up, I would probably watch the last bit of life drain from the man I loved and then feel the last bit of blood drain from me.

Meanwhile, Dalton would no longer have to worry about mounting hospital bills. I could almost envy him that.

Still, if I was going to die, I would go down kicking. I owed Abram that. I owed my mother that. I owed myself that.

I spied Satina from the corner of my eye, which sparked an idea. I didn’t know how to use my magic…but she did.

“You’re gonna be really sorry,” I repeated, this time with renewed vigor. Sticking my still bloody hand out for her to feast upon, I motioned to Satina. “Let’s finish this.”

“I’m afraid not, Supplicant,” she said, and she might as well have added, “I hope you’re wearing clean underwear, because the cops are gonna see it as they’re scooping you up.”

My entire body jerked toward her. “Excuse me?”

“This battle does not belong to me. It never has. The end must be the end, no matter how difficult it is.” She leveled her gaze at me. “The object of pain is not to avoid it, but to outlast it.”

“How very Dr. Phil of you,” I muttered, feeling my pulse speed up to about ten times its normal rate as Dalton neared us.

“You can’t trust a Conduit, Char.” He chuckled loudly. “Figured your boyfriend would have warned you about that.” His eyes flickered to Abram’s unconscious body. “You know, the first time I caught his stench on you, it took me a while to deal with it. I really thought we had something special, me and you.” He made a fake pout with his lips. “Turns out I was wrong. Oh well, just makes the prospect of tearing his throat out that much more satisfying.”

“I won’t let you touch him,” I said, my voice nearly a growl.

“If you really want to save him, then step away from him,” Dalton said sternly. “After all, you’re the prize, baby doll. You’re what the whole spectacle has been about. I’m sure you love that, vain as you are.”

“And if I do step away?” I asked, a tremble in my voice. “If I went to you willingly, you would really let him go unharmed?”

“Come to me and let me lap up that precious blood of yours, and I give you my word as a gentlemen and a scholar that I won’t touch a hair on his big bad head.” He winked at me. “He’ll have a good life, Char. Who knows, maybe he’ll find some new precious little flower to desecrate.”

“Take the sword.” Satina’s voice went directly into my head, bypassing my (and presumably Dalton’s) ears. Her command only made my anger burn hotter in my chest. Lord knew she wouldn’t be any help—she’d told me as much herself. But I’d saved Abram without her, hadn’t I? If I could trust Dalton about anything, it was that I couldn’t trust Satina.

“It’s fake,” I answered, eyeing where she had placed the sword by Abram’s side earlier. Did she really think I would fall for that? For all I knew, she was on Dalton’s side.

“Take the sword,” she repeated.

“I’m not an idiot,” I choked out. “It’s plaster and wood.”

Dalton’s determined gaze turned curious. Skeptical. Maybe even a little worried. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Satina’s gaze burned into me. “Touch the sword, you stupid girl!”

“Oh, the hell with this,” Dalton said, shaking his head like a bull. “Offer’s off the table. I’m gonna kill him, Char. I’m gonna rip apart everything you love and bury it in places man will never touch again. But I like you, and I’ll kill you first so you don’t have to watch. You’re welcome.”

And with that, he sprung toward me in the air.

“The sword!” Satina’s voice boomed through my cranium now. “Touch the sword!”

Seeing as I didn’t have any better ideas, I reached for it, grabbing the hilt where Satina had tossed it minutes before. My hand, still coated in the blood from my own wounds, tingled as it touched the wood.

I lifted it off the ground and turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Dalton in full beast form, his mouth all fangs and anger, his eyes twisted and hungry. If there was any humanity left in the man, it wasn’t there to be seen now.

Shooting up a quick prayer, I closed my eyes and swung the sword, hoping the plaster would at least be hard enough to disorient him. The other, more likely possibility was that the plaster would shatter against his hulking body. And then I would die.

But there was no plaster. Instead, the sword whistled through the air, making a squishy thwick sound as it made contact with Dalton. He let out a yelp.

I opened my eyes to find Dalton on the ground, reared back and holding his gut. The sword in my hand shone brightly with blood and glinted strangely in the moonlight.

It wasn’t plaster anymore. Thank the good Lord above, it wasn’t plaster anymore! I couldn’t stop myself from beaming, even in my current predicament, as the revelation sent a surge of giddy adrenaline through me, replacing the sense of impending doom that had shackled me in fear just moments before.

My touch, my blood-soaked palm, had changed the fabric of reality. What was once plaster was now steel. What was once harmless and decorative was now deadly.

But that didn’t make sense. My blood could be used for magic, yes, but not by me.

“You bitch!” Dalton growled through pained and twisted fangs.

I stood my ground, hovering close over Abram. “I know I said I could take care of myself,” I rambled off quickly to Satina. “But I’ve never used a sword.”

“You’re destined for more than just taking care of yourself, Supplicant. Don’t be so self-limiting.” She began to shimmer with light.

Dalton was starting to get up now, though, and Satina’s riddles were of no help once he did.

“Okay, but what do I do now?”

“Outlast it,” she whispered through the wind, and then she vanished into nothing.

Dalton stood upright now. No sooner did I register him than he came toward me. His claws struck at my side and knocked the wind out of me. I stumbled backward, but kept two hands on the sword’s hilt. Swinging blindly, I came up with nothing but air.

His swing at me was much luckier.

He ripped into my forearm, spraying blood all over his claws and the ground. His affected appendage began to glow with golden ribbons.

“That’s the stuff,” he said breathlessly. “Now give Papa some more.”

Pain shot up my arm, and a throbbing sensation threatened to rob me of my weapon, but I had to fight. This was my one chance. This was my last chance.

“I’ll give you something,” I said, arcing the sword at him again. Missing again.

But the sword felt less foreign in my hands now, like it was speaking to me, telling me where to point it. Maybe the magic in my blood had something to do with it or maybe I was just a fast learner. Either way, I was open to any advantage I could get.

“Don’t make this hard on yourself, Char,” he said, circling me like predator. “I can make it quick. Drawing things out will only make it worse for you.”

“You’re just scared I can still kick your ass,” I said, jabbing the blade forward. It nicked his side, but he spun too quickly for the blow to do any real damage. “You always were a sore loser.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, almost foaming at the mouth. “You don’t have a chance here, and even if you did, you couldn’t kill anybody. It’s not who you are.”

“You have no idea who I am,” I cut out, narrowing my gaze at him.

I swung again. He grabbed the blade with his bare hand, and I yanked it hard, freeing it from him and slicing his palm on the way out. He yelped again and pulled back.

I may not have actually killed anyone before, but after this, after everything that had happened, I couldn’t tell you what sort of person I was anymore.

“Fine. Have it your way,” he said.

He jumped again, and this time his feet came at me. He kicked me hard in the shoulders, knocking me backward. I tripped over Abram and tumbled to the ground. My head hit hard against the ground, and my vision dimmed. Then, I was being lifted upward.

Dalton’s claws dug into my back as he raised me over his head. I clutched the sword’s hilt tighter and made another swipe at him, but the angle made my attempt futile. Instead of doing any damage, it flailed back and forth ridiculously.

“I tried to warn you, Char. Really, I did.” He threw me, and as I passed through the air, I saw everything: Dalton standing there wickedly, Abram lying on the ground beside him, the full moon hanging in the sky and marking some horrible countdown to Abram’s curse.

And then there was the tree.

I slammed hard into its trunk. Something in my chest cracked as I slid to the ground. I tried to calm myself, to breathe, to ignore the pain. But it was no use. The entire world was spinning. Pain flashed through me, intense and damaging. I had been hurt. Badly. And it wasn’t over yet. I could see my own blood covering me, yet doing nothing to heal my own wounds. I still had no idea how any of this worked. All I knew was that if I lost this fight, Abram and I were both dead. And who knew how many more after us.

Through bleary eyes, I watched Dalton come toward me. I grappled for the sword, but it was nowhere to be found. It must have dropped it at some point between Dalton’s arms and sliding to the ground.

I tried moving, but a stabbing pain ran up my chest. Yep, I had definitely broken a rib or two.

“I really wanted to do this the easy way, Char,” he said, lumbering over me. “But you just wouldn’t let me, would you? Everything with you has to be a challenge. Always been that way. You know, not everyone wants a girl who plays hard to get.” His teeth shone sharply in the moonlight. His claws twitched by his sides, itching to rip into me. “I was gonna make it quick for you,” he said, licking his lips, “but at this point I’m about ready to hurt you, and I’m not going to feel bad about it.”

I searched his beastly body looking for a weak spot. Certainly there had to be something to exploit. Certainly there was an area that I could attack that, even in his current condition, might still be vulnerable.

I grinned a little as the answer came to me.

“Funny,” I muttered. “I was just about to tell you the same thing.”

And then I kicked him right between the legs.

Pain threatened to rip me right in half, but I still didn’t hurt half as much as Dalton did. The big lug keeled over, affording me just enough room to snake past him.

I stumbled away, holding my injured midsection. He would be back on his feet in a minute. These beasts never stayed hurt for long. I thought about running, but reconsidered. Abram was here. I needed to do my best to keep him safe. Love me or not, he would’ve done the same for me. And that was what mattered.

Through my pain-filled gaze, I caught sight of the sword. It hurt like hell as I bent over to scoop it up, but something about its weight in my hands felt right.

An almost howl was the only warning I got before Dalton collided with me. He knocked me to the ground mere inches from Abram and flipped me over. The sword flew from my hands again, landing just out of reach.

He sat on my chest, all the bravado gone from him.

“I’m gonna make you wish you were never born, you fat bitch,” he snarled.

Thrusting his arm forward, he dug into my chest. Blood splattered everywhere as I felt an intense rush of heat and pain. Suddenly, my broken ribs didn’t seem so bad.

He dug again and again. The pain intensified and morphed into a strong and primal sickness. Bile rose in my throat, and my body began to wretch.

“This is where you die,” he kept repeating. “This is where you die.”

My blood was all over him now, and he shimmered gold in its presence. I turned my head, half to check the distance to the sword and half so that I wouldn’t have to actually watch Dalton murder me.

I stretched my hand out, but the damn thing was too far. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I was too weak, and this hurt too much. My vision blurred, the world paled.

Satina’s words rang through my head again.

Outlast it.

But that was ridiculous. Dalton ran a claw deep into me now. I could literally feel his fingers inside of me, claiming my blood as his own. There was no way I could do this. Let him take the blood. Let him take it all. Nothing was worth this pain.

But then I saw Abram lying there. He was still alive, even if just barely. If he made it through this, he would make the next century unlivable for himself, thinking about all the ways he had failed.

No. I would live for him. He was worth it.

And with that realization, the pain sort of went away.

It seemed I had outlasted it.

I stretched my arm as far as it would go, threatening to pull it out of its socket, but pain or not, the sword was still just out of reach. My fingernail grasped helplessly at the dirt, trying to pull myself just a little closer. Dalton’s weight on me made that nearly impossible, but I couldn’t die. I just couldn’t.

I mustered up all the will I could for another pull, and now the sword was just a fingertip away. I didn’t stop until my fingers grazed the hilt, until I could pluck the sword closer.

Dalton didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he kept drilling into me, covering himself in my blood.

“This is where you die,” he said again. “This is where you die.”

My fingers wrapped around the hilt. “Funny,” I said, gathering up the last bit of strength I had, maybe the last bit of strength I might ever have. “I…was…about to-to tell you the same thing.”

And I throttled the sword straight at him.

It flew true, slicing its way through the air and hitting Dalton right in the neck. He didn’t have time to yelp this time. He didn’t react at all. His eyes went wide and then they lost their light. His body fell limp and lifeless against me, and I pushed it off. All but his head.

I had taken that clean off.

Chapter 33

THE MINUTES STRETCHED as I struggled to catch my breath. Killing Dalton… I squeezed my eyes shut. God, I had killed somebody. It was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. Pushing him off me was only slightly easier.

He was heavy and slick with blood. Bile rose in my stomach, not only because I was touching a still warm corpse, but because of who the corpse used to be. This was Lulu’s brother. Lord, Lulu was going to be heartbroken. And how was I going to explain this? How would I explain any of it?

His headless body thudded onto the ground next to me, and I rolled as far away from it as I could. The night air mingled with my bangs as I settled close to Abram. I felt his breath, steadier now. That was a good thing—perhaps the only good thing—to happen this entire damn night.

Heaviness drifted over me as I lay there. The weight of all that had happened, of all I had done, of everything all of us had been through, was too much. And it was begging me to sleep.

I fought the urge as long as I could. I needed to be here when Abram woke, to make sure he was okay, and to explain everything he had missed. But it was no use. My body was too exhausted. And before long, my eyes refused to cooperate.

* * *

I WOKE IN familiar arms. My entire body ached, my mouth was dry, and my head spun. But as my eyes opened, heavy and nearly unwilling, the sight they took in made it all worth it.

Abram sat over me, cradling me in his arms. He was a man again, bare-chested and sweating. But he wasn’t hurt. And he sure as hell wasn’t dead.

“You’re not…” I muttered. My voice was cracked, low, and weak.

“Not on your life.” He smiled at me. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

Sitting there, dark eyes gleaming in the quickly brightening sky, he was everything I had ever wanted. Even if he could never match the way I felt for him, it was okay. I didn’t care, so long as he was alive.

He had given me this gift. He had shown me that love, real live honest-to-God love, existed. It was pure and beautiful. It would change you in the most unexpected and glorious ways. And it hurt. It hurt in ways you never knew were possible and in volumes you hoped would never stop.

He had shown me love, even if he could never return it. And right now, in the glow of the early morning, that was enough.

“Don’t try to talk,” he said over me. “You saved my life, you know.”

“Now we’re even,” I answered, against his protests.

Bracing myself on his shoulder, I pulled myself up. The entire world was shaky, and I was somehow even less stable than that.

He took hold of my hand in his. “Do you need water?”

“No. Just you. I just need to sit here with you for a minute.” The tears that welled up behind my eyes surprised me. “I thought you were dead.”

“I was…” He shook his head. “Or at least, that’s what she told me while she was healing you. Apparently you brought me back from even death, which I would venture to say makes us not so even after all.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to me.”

“I can think of more than a few alternatives,” he said with a grin, that smoldering look in his eyes making my knees go even weaker than they already were…but this time, for a completely different reason.

And just like that, the dread and worry that had laid so heavily on my shoulders melted away. Against all odds, we had won. There were no more best friends’ little brothers hoping to bleed me dry. It was just Abram, me, and eternity.

And a third beast we still hadn’t found…

“What about the other beast?” I asked warily. “I spilled a lot of blood…”

“You spilled enough blood for Satina’s spell to block that beast for a month,” Abram said with a low chuckle. “But I’ll get him…or if that fails, I’ll just toss you a sword next time he’s around.”

His simplicity in that moment solidified everything I felt about him. “I love you,” I whispered, letting him fold me into his embrace. “You don’t have to say it back,” I said against his chest. “I know it’s too soon for you. Just know that it’s true. Just know that I feel it.”

He tensed up and, when my mind slowed down enough to register the quickly greying sky, I remembered why.

“The curse,” I whispered. “It’s permanent now.”

“Not yet.” He caressed his hand down my back. “When the sun comes up.”

I held him a little tighter. “There has to be something we can do,” I said, dreading my sentiment wasn’t true. “We’ve come this far.”

“We have,” he said, his hand tracing small circles at the bottom of my back. “Don’t worry about the curse. It doesn’t matter. This is who I am now. I’ve made peace with that.”

I tilted my head against his shoulder and listened to the beating of his heart. It was so strong now, so alive.

“Don’t you miss it?” I asked. “Being human?”

“I try not to,” he said, but his voice was quiet and strained. “But there are…things that I would love to experience again.”

“Like what?” I asked, lifting my head and meeting his gaze.

“Dreams,” he said ruefully. “I can’t—my kind doesn’t dream.” His eyes glazed over. “And that would be all right if not for my sister.” He bit his lip. “She died when I was twelve. Paintings were expensive then, and my family didn’t have any money. But I dreamt of her almost every night. It kept her face fresh in my mind.” He pulled my body back against his again, maybe so I wouldn’t see the pain etched into his expression. “I’m not sure I even remember what she looks like now.”

I kissed his chest and twirled my fingers through his. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said a voice from behind me. “He does it to himself.”

Satina.

I turned. She stood just a few feet away, although, floating might have been a better word for it. Every inch of her skin shone with light, and despite her few acts of kindness, I still found it odd that she wasn’t cloaked in shadows instead.

“Satina, don’t,” Abram growled.

“What is she talking about?” I asked, unease creating a pit in my stomach.

“Nothing,” Abram said. “Just ignore—”

“The curse is his to break, Supplicant. All the pieces are in play.”

“What does that even—”

But before I could even finish my sentence, it all fell into place. Like a runway show, the idea coming to life as finally the make-up is applied, the hair styled, the wardrobe divvied up. Where I could not see the designer’s vision before, it was all very clear to me now.

“Oh, God,” I murmured, my gaze rolling back to Abram. “You do love me.”

His eyes went wide, but the rest of his face steeled over. Still, I knew the truth. I had wormed my way into his heart, and he wouldn’t admit it.

“He has to say it, doesn’t he?” I asked, turning to Satina.

“Before the sun comes up,” she answered, looking at the almost bright sky. “He has two minutes.”

“Abram!” I said, spinning around to him.

He shook his head, tears gleaming in his eyes.

“I should have known,” I said. “I knew you couldn’t have kissed me like that, couldn’t have touched me like that, if you didn’t love me. I knew it was true.”

He cupped my face in his hands. “Charisse,” he said, his voice firm, “you need to let this go.”

“No way!” I said, pushing his hands away from my face. “You have a chance to be human. We have a shot at a real life. We can have a future. Abram, I know you feel it, all you have to do is say it.”

“Absolutely not,” he muttered.

“Don’t be so hard headed! What is your issue? You waited over a century for this. Please, I’m begging you. Just—”

“Is that what you think, Charisse? That we can just go skipping off into the sunset?” He waved his hand. “Dalton wasn’t the only one after you, remember? You’re a commodity. There’s always going to be someone out to steal what makes you special. Besides, Satina told me about the future. Your trials aren’t over, and that means neither are mine. You are always going to be in danger, Charisse. And I’m sure as hell going to make certain I’m able to save you.”

“I just saved you!” I shot back, incredulous. Ugh. I didn’t have time to deal with his sexist views right now, and I was kicking myself for not making more of an effort to get him over them sooner. “I can take care of myself. Surely you have noticed this by now!”

He scowled. “And if you do, then what good am I?”

“I love you, you moron. That’s what good you are. Now for the love of God, you’re running out of time! Stop being so goddamn self-sacrificing.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not a martyr, Charisse. If I’m human, if I can’t save you, then you’re gone. And what am I supposed to do then? Would you just expect me to go on without you? Because I have lived over a hundred years, and I have made it through things that would tear mortal men apart, but I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, I would never make it through that. Not for a day. So no. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me. For me and for us.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips square against mine, and something in me shifted as we kissed. Gold light shimmered across him. The sun was up, the moon on the window was full. The curse was permanent.

He pulled away and took one of my hands gently in his own.

“Now I love you,” he said, and with his free hand, he swiped a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “And I always will. Now and forever.”

Epilogue

TWO WEEKS LATER, they laid Dalton to rest. It took all I could do to sit there without squirming out of my own skin. He was a monster. He wanted me dead. If he’d had his way, I would be the one they were lowering into the ground right now, nothing more than a bloodless husk.

But the townsfolk didn’t know that. To them, sitting all teary eyed and justified, he had been a victim of Abram’s. Even if they still couldn’t quite put into words what Abram had turned into (and, as a result, were beginning to make stupid and mundane excuses about it) the narrative still stated the obvious. Abram was a murderer, a villain they had needed to bring to justice.

Even if he hadn’t been seen by anyone in town since that night.

Anyone but me, anyway.

Some believed he died and that wild animals had dragged off his carcass, but others thought he was still alive, out there, on the prowl, ready to strike again at any moment.

Because everyone knew about his place in the woods, Abram had been forced to hide out in an abandoned farmhouse in the next town over. It wasn’t much, but it was off the beaten path, close enough for me to stop by every day, and there was a basement with enough space to lock him in when the sun went down.

People were still after him, and they were looking for both a man and a monster. We couldn’t be too careful. Still, it was only a temporary solution.

Things at home didn’t get any better, either. Lulu was despondent after the death of her brother. And though she didn’t come out and say it, I could tell she blamed me at least in part for what happened. She knew that I had sided with Abram, and since the town never was able to confirm whether Dalton had died before or after they had supposedly killed Abram, for all she knew, Abram was responsible for her brother’s death.

Dalton was a hero not only to her, but to the entire town. And though I was a victim in their eyes as well, I was also a facilitator. And they weren’t going to let me forget it.

Doors got closed in my face. Children sneered at me. It was like the entire place was filled with Esters. New Haven had finally realized how much I didn’t belong here, and I absolutely agreed.

A week after Dalton’s funeral, I left town. Lulu was still talking to me. God bless her, she was trying to move past things. But I could hardly look at her. It was me who had snuffed the life from her brother’s eyes. And whether he deserved it or not, that fact weighed on me heavily.

“You’re like my sister, you know?” she’d said before the taxi pulled up to get me. “Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

There were tears in her eyes when she hugged me goodbye. And there were tears in mine when the cab pulled away.

I met Abram two days later on the island of Grimold. It was a tiny dot of a place in the Mediterranean that I had never heard of, but the instant I stepped off the plane, I knew I had made a good choice.

When Abram had first told me we were leaving, I hadn’t wanted to go. Not with a third beast still known to be in New Haven. But Abram promised me he would hunt that one down before meeting me in Grimold, and he’d held true to his promise. In a way, it wasn’t someone I knew being a beast that really scared me, though. It was that there were so many, complete strangers, insignificant in the scheme of themes yet ingrained in my life in the worst possible way.

But now was not the time to linger on those thoughts. Abram was finally here with me. New Haven was safe from the beasts and Abram was safe from New Haven. He stood on the tarmac, dressed in white, all tanned and rested, his hands hanging freely at his sides. Seeing him was like coming home, and his easy smile made me feel as though everything would be okay.

“What do we do first?” I asked after he gave me the sweetest, longest kiss of my entire life.

“Whatever you want,” he said, running his hands down my back and resting them near my big beautiful butt. “We’ve got the rest of our lives. All we have to do is live it.”

* * *

ON OUR THIRD day in Grimold, Abram took me for a walk along the ocean. The mist of all that had happened dissipated there. It was no match for the sun, sand, and sea. It was no match for the man standing next to me or for the way I felt about him.

“Tell me again,” I demanded, smiling and leaning into him.

“Again?” he asked with a secretive smile.

“You owe me,” I said, kissing his bare arm.

“I love you,” he said, and he dropped a kiss on my hairline. “I love you,” he repeated, kissing me again. “I love you. I love you. I love you. A thousand times over, Charisse, I love you, and I always will.”

Satisfied by his proclamation, I let my cheek rest against his shoulder, my fingers entwined with his, breathing in the smell of salt and sun on his warm skin.

This was my life now. Unending happiness.

And then I heard her.

“This sounds familiar.”

Satina’s voice was about as welcome as a hangnail. I spun around to find her standing along the shore in a fringe bikini. The crystal clear waves lapped at her feet, and she had one of those ridiculous drinks with the little umbrellas.

Abram’s body tensed against mine. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice dropping to a protective growl. “How did you find us?”

“Two questions with but one answer,” she said, her voice lilting. “I told you fate wasn’t done with your little Supplicant here. There’s more to your story.”

“No,” Abram said flatly. “We are done with this, Satina. Leave now.”

“I could,” she said. “And I will. But that won’t change anything. These things will happen whether I’m here or not. So I suggest you hear me out and prepare while you still have time.”

I stepped forward, half terrified and half resolved to hear what she had to say.

“What?” I asked, crossing my arms in a poor attempt to stop my hands from trembling. “Skip the riddles and cut to the chase.”

“I have the answer to the question you never asked,” she said, tilting her head. “You know—how you used magic. Supplicants can’t use magic, Charisse. They can only facilitate it. And yet your blood performed magic without a Conduit to conduct a spell. Don’t you find that strange?”

“Well, I guess you were just wrong then,” I said, rolling my eyes.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Yes and no. I was wrong about you, but now I know why. You aren’t just a Supplicant, Charisse. You’re the bridge. You’re the fuel and the fire.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re not just a Supplicant. You’re a Conduit, too.”

I stepped back. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” she insisted. “And you’ll either be the key to fixing this mess or the key to destroying our world, so I suggest you take what I have to say seriously. The hunt for you will not end here. Mystics all over the world have been prophesying about you, and it won’t be long before every Conduit on this planet knows who you are and what you are. And they will come for you.”

I shook my head, trying to will away everything she had said, but there was no unhearing her words. “Fine. Let’s say you’re right,” I said. “Then what happens now?”

“What always happens, Charisse. The next.”

“Enough,” Abram barked. “You promised me you would give us—”

“I already gave you time!” she shouted, a storm taking over her features. “I gave you as long as I could. There is no more time, Abram.”

Abram clenched his jaw, and he stepped past me, right up to Satina. His body was hulking compared to the body she had borrowed. “I said we’re done, Satina.”

“Uh-uh.” She didn’t even flinch. “Sorry, lover boy, but your romance will have to wait. What is will turn into what needs to be.”

“Great, more riddles,” I mumbled.

Just then, a mass fell to the shore, landing with a thud and bursting in warm red ribbons.

No. Not ribbons. Blood.

It splattered against my legs and the skirt of my sun dress. And that mass…it was a man. A very dead man, with two simple words carved into his forehead.

She sleeps.

I covered my mouth, holding back a horrified gasp, and lifted my gaze to Satina. “What does it mean?”

“It means,” Satina said, waving her drink to the side, “that you two have work to do.”

* * *

Check out the new Urban Fantasy series that readers are comparing to Karen Marie Moning's Darkfever and HBO's True Blood.

http://shadowsofsalem.com

* * *

About Kressley & Hamilton

Conner Kressley is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA. He is an avid reader and all around lover of storytelling. His book "The Breaker's Code" is the first in the epic "Fixed Points" series that pits free will against fate and true love against good intentions and bad situations. You can learn more about Conner and his books below.

http://www.amazon.com/Conner-Kressley/e/B00N1JVL6O/

Rebecca Hamilton is a USA Today Bestselling Paranormal Fantasy author who also dabbles in Horror and Literary Fiction. She lives in Florida with her husband and four kids. She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA and has been published internationally, in three languages. You can learn more about Rebecca and her books below.

http://www.amazon.com/Rebecca-Hamilton/e/B0072J4RS8/

* * *

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

NIGHT HAWK

BY J.E. TAYLOR

Copyright © 2012 by J.E. Taylor

Sentenced to death at the hands of a demon, Naomi Hawk has a firsthand lesson in betrayal. Now, she thirsts for justice... and revenge.

Selling your soul has never been so charming and Mark throws in a little something to sweeten the pot, his girlfriend Naomi.

Sentenced to death at the hands of a demon, Naomi Hawk has a firsthand lesson in despair and betrayal in Mark’s deal for fame with all the trimmings. Deep in the clutches of the underground brotherhood, Naomi's light is coveted for the Master's gain.

When she slips and falls eighty stories from a precarious ledge, Naomi resigns herself to the inevitable impact and death by shattered bones. Before she can escape her demons in eternal slumber, something sinister plucks her from the plummet, stealing her out of the night to sacrifice her forever to the shadows.

Imprisoned in bottomless darkness, Naomi thirsts for justice…and revenge.

Night Hawk © 2013 by J.E. Taylor

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

Naomi

I STILL REMEMBER the first night.

The full moon illuminated the landscape and I could see for miles from my perch. The eighty-floor drop left me dizzy and I stepped farther back into the wall. My heart thundered in my chest and the adrenaline warmed my skin against the frigid air.

“There’s nowhere for you to go.”

His growl yanked my gaze from the busy city street below to his dark and crazed eyes.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, dry as desert sand and I shook my head. I didn’t want to fall, and I reconsidered my situation. Maybe going inside was a much better alternative, no matter how horrifying death at his hands promised to be. The fear of dying by terminal velocity was even greater and it cemented my feet to that small ledge.

“I can wait.” His evil laugh hung on the air, chilling whatever heat I had left right out of my bones and I clamped my jaw tight against the tears that threatened, leaving my vision warped.

I slid farther away from the open window and the glistening blade in his hand. He ran it slowly along the brick, creating a screaming sound that made my teeth ache.

Either way, I was screwed. A flare of anger shot through the fear, adding to the tremor in my skin. Damn you, Mark, why did you turn me over to these vultures?

Demon boy looked up at me and chuckled as if he heard my silent question. His shaded gaze flashed red before it sank back to the sharp blade. “It was the only way my boss would honor his deal,” he muttered and glanced back at me. “His soul and your life and your boyfriend will have all the fame and fortune he could ever envision.”

“But why me?”

“Your life force is quite a delicacy.” The knife scraped against the brick again. “My boss has waited for millenniums to taste the beating heart of a child of the light.”

“Fuck you,” I said, my voice shook with the flare of anger and I took another step away, however a gale caught me off guard and I teetered on the edge trying to grasp at the brick wall; but my hands were too cold to gain the purchase necessary to catch my balance. All it took was another wind gust and I slipped, the scream barreling out of my mouth at the sudden weightless freefall.

I had a moment of satisfaction when the demon’s expression transitioned into fear-tinted shock at losing what his master coveted.

Gravity pulled and my hair whipped across my face, blinding me to anything but streaks of light. I thought my heart would catapult out of my chest, it beat so hard, and I drew in a breath waiting for the impact that would turn out the lights for good.

Pain bit around my waist and I was yanked from the descent by a strong grasp. A sharp cry ripped from my throat, and the sound of beating wings filled my world. Before I could focus on what had saved me from certain death, I was tumbling through space again, this time, the hard asphalt of a nearby roof bit into my skin and I rolled away.

When I got my bearings, I brushed the hair from my face in time to see a human form at the edge of the roof. A man in a dark overcoat stepped from the shadows, his intense glare fell on me and he licked his lips, revealing a sharp set of canines.

“Who are you?” I whispered and climbed to my feet. My legs shook under my weight, barely able to hold me up.

He smiled and stepped into the light.

“I’ve been watching you.”

The mere thought of a fiend like him studying me from afar gave me the creeps. The movies always made it quite romantic to be the object of a vampire’s affection, but in reality all they wanted was an entertaining meal.

“Why?” I asked fumbling for the knife clasped to my belt. When my hand came up empty, he laughed, dangling the weapon from his fingers.

“You really think your little dagger will stop me?” He tossed the knife to the edge of the rooftop and stepped toward me.

Being a demon’s meal was bad, but being this bastard’s chew toy was worse. I would rather have been splattered on the pavement. I took another shaking step backwards, too aware of my near frozen condition.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, trying to stall him until I could maneuver close enough to dive for my weapon.

He stared me down with hard black eyes. Eyes no more distinct than the shadow he stepped out of.

“Why?” he replied. “Because I swore I’d destroy anything that bastard wants and you are at the top of that list. I’m sure he’s gutting his little lackey right now for not being more subtle. He’ll be even more pissed when he finds out I’m the one that stole his dessert.”

The bitterness in his voice nearly quelled the fight in me, but when he stepped closer, my survival instinct flared and I ducked under his reach, swinging my fist, hoping to get a shot in, but my knuckles only grazed his hard cheek.

His vice-like grip clamped on my throat, pulling me close. The burn of his bite seized my muscles, his poison saturating my entire form with exquisite pain. Each beat of my heart hurt, and I screamed. He pulled away from my neck and stared into my eyes.

“My god, you are delicious,” he whispered, his voice laced with rough desire and before I could pull another breath in, his teeth ripped at my throat again.

My fading gaze landed on the arch of his neck and my scream morphed into a growl. I sank my dull human teeth through his skin and was rewarded with a gasp and the gush of black blood filling my mouth. He pressed me closer, still drinking from my throat and pressing my mouth to his neck. I tried to wiggle out of his grasp but he clamped down hard enough so I had no choice but to ingest his blood.

A wave of dizziness hit and he loosened his grip, stepping away from me. I crumpled to the ground, heaving the blood from my stomach, but I knew it was too late. I had already swallowed too much of the vile poison and no matter how much I threw up, I couldn’t stop the infection.

“I bet you never saw that coming,” I whispered and sent a glare in his direction.

He no longer held that smug look, instead his handsome face transformed into a mask of horror and his hand clamped his neck, the blood flowing freely over his fingertips.

As the infection spread, it crystallized my cells into a hard shell and transformed my senses into acute hunting weapons. The pain that had gripped me moments ago faded and I stood with a ravenous need. I ran my tongue over my teeth and winced at the cutting edges that would puncture steel if I so desired.

The human soul inside me cried at the injustice. I should be dead, but instead, I was now one of the undead, all because the bastard before me decided to pluck the demon’s meal out of the sky.

I stepped toward him with a growl and his eyes widened, reflecting a blue as crisp as the fall sky, and I stopped.

“You bit me,” he whispered, his voice unsteady and shaking.

“Did you think I’d just let you drain me dry without a fight?”

His hand dropped from his throat and he stared at the wet blood covering it before raising his gaze to me. “No one has ever bitten me before,” he said.

I crossed my arms and studied him. “Sucks, doesn’t it,” I said. I couldn’t help it, the disbelief in his face made me want to laugh but I kept a check on my chuckle.

He blinked and then the smile that spread over his lips sent a shiver through me. Laughter followed, rich and full and as hypnotizing as his smile.

“Yes. It does,” he finally said and wiped at his neck again. The flow of blood stopped and he glanced at me.

“You aren’t such a badass after all,” I said.

The menacing shadow was gone, replaced by a man barely out of his teens. I studied him, taking note of the uncomfortable shift along with his worried scan of the night around us. It took a minute to understand the hesitation in his gaze.

He glanced back at me, and I knew. This kid was scared shitless, but I wasn’t sure if it was me or something else.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re in trouble,” I said.

He laughed and caught my gaze, moving faster than I could blink and I found myself pressed to the wall by his incredibly hard body. His intense stare left me breathless, but this time, it wasn’t food he hungered for and he leaned in to kiss me.

I swept his feet out from under him and he landed on his back with a thud, surprise plastered across his face.

“Not going to happen.” I pointed at him. “You may have turned me into a monster, but that doesn’t give you the right to screw me any time you please.” I didn’t want to rely on any man, never mind a blood-crazed vamp, no matter how good looking he was.

I swallowed, suddenly thirsty and my gaze dropped to the dried blood on his collar. I knew soon enough the thirst would overwhelm me, but in that moment I swore I’d never become a shadow dwelling killer.

He climbed to his feet, brushing the roof grit from his jacket. “You’re mine now,” he said, trying to exude authority.

I laughed and crossed to the knife, picking it up and hesitating. The silver glinted in the moonlight and I sighed, running a fingertip down the length. The metal created a warm glow on my skin unlike anything I had seen before, but it didn’t penetrate and draw blood like it should have.

I understood his mocking of my weapons now and glanced over my shoulder at him. “No one owns me.” I sheathed the blade and turned toward him, ready for battle.

Chapter 2

Damian

I STARED AT her.

Her transformation took seconds, not hours like mine had, one minute she was human and the next, her beauty transcended anything I’d ever witnessed. I had seen a couple of transformations in the last two millenniums, but none of them survived the first pangs of thirst after the sun rose. They burst out of the dark caverns into the burning sun and were reduced to a pile of smoking ash.

I prayed she’d be able to resist, to survive the remainder of the change.

I vaguely recalled that need, but I had been so close to death, I didn’t have the strength to pull myself out from under the pile of slaughtered vampires until the next sunset. Lucifer tossed me in that pit, never expecting me to survive, but I fought, just like this vixen before me, sacrificing my soul for vengeance.

I survived the initial bout of thirst by feeding on dead vampires and because of that horrid experience, my taste for humans wasn’t as acute as the rest of my shadow kin.

My thirst thrived on the destruction of anything Lucifer coveted.

And Lucifer coveted this beauty.

I stalked her from the shadows, harboring a hatred that clouded my judgment. If I had taken a closer look, I might have seen the hypnotic power of the life light shining in her heart. That first burst of her blood was sweeter and more soul affirming than any human I had ever tasted and I lost my focus long enough to let my guard down.

Long enough for her bite to puncture my skin.

I let my gaze travel from her dark locks over her lovely curves all the way to the killer cowboy boots and sighed. Lust was normal for me, but this was beyond lust, I wanted to protect her, to never let her leave my sight.

I was ensnared and there was no escape.

“What’s your name?” I asked, hoping to diffuse some of the anger radiating from her.

Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. “What?”

I should have expected her hostile response. Hell, when I was in her shoes, I tore the monsters limb from limb, relishing their death, so I don’t know why her fury surprised me.

Gulping my unease, I tried again. “I’m Damian,” I said and looked at the ground. Unsure if I should offer her my hand or my throat as a peace offering, I shoved my hands into my pockets and did neither.

“So?” Her hands found her hips and I met her stark glare.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, casting a glance at the sky again. Light was just piercing the horizon and the sun would make an appearance within the next hour.

Her gaze followed mine and then snapped back in my direction.

“I refuse to live in the shadows,” she snapped.

“And I refuse to let you become a pile of ash,” I said and willed myself to morph as I charged toward her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I jumped from the roof, feeling the change and relishing her gasp as my mighty wings took us higher in the air.

While the subway systems seemed like the most logical place for me to take her, I knew that would be the first place Lucifer would search for us. By now, he knew I screwed up his plans and if he found us during the day, there would be no defense against his strength or fury.

Instead, I turned, heading into the northwest hills of Connecticut, to one of the few places of mine that Lucifer hadn’t tracked down. I landed in the back yard just as the sun’s rays lit up the horizon. With her in my arms, I swung the door open and rushed her down to the windowless basement, setting her down on the plush couch.

Before I was out of her reach, her palm stung my cheek, sending me back a few steps.

“What makes you think I want to live like this?”

“Maybe you’d like the same shot at vengeance that’s kept me alive all these years.” I didn’t mean for the bitterness to sneak into my tone, but there it was; just as loud as a bull horn.

My words struck her silent and she studied me.

Silence descended and I turned, flipping the switch that filtered the soft glow of fluorescents through the room. I didn’t know what else to say so I took the chair opposite her and fiddled with my hands, folding and unfolding them before shifting in the chair.

“Naomi,” her soft voice caught my attention and I met her gaze.

“My name is Naomi. Naomi Hawk.”

My eyebrows rose at the irony.

She allowed a half smile. “I’m hungry,” she whispered and her gaze landed on my throat again.

“You can’t go out, yet,” I said hoping she’d understand. “The sun…” I shrugged and stood. “I’m going to clean up. You’re welcome to do the same.”

For the first time since I attacked her, she looked down at her blood soaked shirt. When her gaze lifted, I saw the spark of ravenous hunger.

Chapter 3

Naomi

BLOOD.

The coppery scent wafted from my shirt and my focus clouded.

Need.

I had never understood what need was until that moment and my gaze jumped to his. He stepped back, putting distance between us but it wasn’t enough. I could smell the mixture of fear and lust in him along with the tainted blood that soaked his collar and I wanted to lick it off his skin.

I blinked at the carnal thoughts flooding my mind and glanced at my surroundings again. I had crossed half the distance between the couch and where he stood without knowledge of moving.

He closed the distance with apprehension and took my hand.

“I think we both need to clean up before you get too far gone.”

My gaze dropped to our clasped hand and I felt the electrical flow it produced through my cells. While I wanted to remain distant and pissed off, this sensation was new and overwhelming. I followed the tight muscles in his arm to his shoulder and stopped at the blackened stain.

Hunger and lust and anger all mixed into a potent concoction and I snapped my gaze to his.

“You did this to me,” I whispered.

He held my gaze and shook his head. “No. I had every intention of killing you.”

I yanked my hand from his and stepped back, allowing a fraction of space between us.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because you taste like summer rain,” he whispered and reached for me. His fingers fluttered across my cheek and into my hair and before I knew it, his mouth was on mine, his tongue playing with me in a kiss that should have been forbidden.

The burn of it caught me off guard and I pulled away.

“Damn. You still taste like summer rain.” His blue eyes flashed and he stepped closer, crowding me.

I planted my hand on his chest, forgetting about the hunger that throbbed in my teeth. “Maybe we should take a cold shower,” I said, trying to diffuse the growing tension between us.

“Together?”

The hope in his eyes made me laugh. “No.”

His features fell into a sulk and for a moment, I almost took back my answer, but the stubborn part of me reared up and I stood my ground.

He gave me a nod and turned, leading the way to a large bathroom that piqued my interest. Grey marble covered the room from ceiling to floor and in the corner across from the beautiful walk in shower was a gas fireplace. The claw-foot tub shined against the gray tiles and a large floor to ceiling mirror was broken with a fine white pedestal sink.

“There are towels and a bathrobe in the linen closet on the other side of the shower that you can use,” he said.

I stepped inside and gave him a faint smile before closing the door on his questioning stare. The bank of light switches intrigued me and I played with the dimmers until I had the lighting just the way I liked it, soft shades and with the flames in the fireplace, it would have been the ultimate romantic setting.

Instead of dwelling on the idea of romance, I stripped the bloody shirt from my back and the rest of the clothing peeled off just as easily. The shower called my attention and I turned on all the jets as hot as the setting would allow. Steam rose and I stepped inside, relishing the heat on my cold skin. Pulsing water massaged my muscles, loosening the knots and ridding my skin of any remnants of blood.

I don’t know how long I stood soaking in the water, but when I finally opened my eyes, I glanced at the neat little alcove in the shower wall that housed bath wash and shampoo. Curious, I opened the wash and took a sniff. It reminded me of a bamboo forest and I lathered my body with the luxurious soap.

The shampoo reminded me of cocoa butter and beach lotions. A scent I adored and the reality that I’d never see the sun again hit like the force of a truck. Pain centered in my chest, dropping me to my knees and I buried my face in my hands as the last of my human tears mingled with the hot water.

When the sobs ran dry, I climbed to my feet and turned the water off. A stack of plush towels sat on a small pedestal and I wrapped my drenched hair in one, drying off my body with the other.

A hunger pang hit, almost knocking me to the ground, and I gripped the edge of the sink, clamping my eyes shut and willing the hunger away. I forced myself to breathe in and out until I had some semblance of control, and then I stared at the steam-streaked mirror. Unwrapping the towel from my body, I used it to clear the glass.

My reflection hadn’t changed much. I still had curves in the right places and my stomach was as flat as a washboard. I glanced at my new Brazilian wax wondering if I’d ever have to endure that torture again. If not, that was definitely something positive about being a vampire.

I opened my mouth to inspect my teeth and a crease appeared between my eyes. They were normal. No sharp canines existed.

“They only go razor at night.”

I jumped at his voice and covered my body with the towel, glaring in his direction.

“Get out!”

He grinned and picked up my clothes, leaving without another word.

I hadn’t heard him come into the room and irritation snaked over my skin. How long had he been there?

I rummaged through the linen closet, finding a plush bathrobe just like he said and wrapped the cloud-soft fabric around me. I tossed the towels over the side of the tub and hand combed my hair before charging into the living room.

I found him leaning against the bar with his shirt hanging open. The rippled muscles of his stomach glistened in the soft light and I had to tear my eyes away from his god-like form.

“Sorry about that,” he said and nodded toward the direction of the bathroom but neither his tone nor his gaze held any regret. He even had the audacity to grin.

“You have no right to spy on me like that,” I said and the words came out in a feral growl.

“I figured you might like clean clothing at some point today.”

“But you just walked in without knocking.”

He glanced at the floor and nodded. “I guess I’m not used to having house guests.” A bright red hue colored his cheeks and my eyebrow rose.

“You’re blushing. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Damian raised his gaze, meeting mine and he stood up, crossing to the couch. “I gather you don’t know very much about vampires,” he said and took a seat.

“I know you like to play with your food,” I said with as much snark as possible.

His laugh struck a chord, I crossed my arms and refrained from tapping my foot with impatience at his adolescent behavior.

“How old are you, anyway?” I asked, sending the most derogatory glare I could drum up.

His laughter wound down but the smile remained.

“Which age? The one I was when I was turned or how many years have I been walking the earth?”

I blinked at his question, debating on which one to ask.

“I was turned when I was twenty-five.”

Just a few years older than I am which explains some of the adolescent behavior, but the wisdom in his eyes told me that his twenty-five was a very long time ago. “How long have you been like this?”

“Longer than you can conceive,” he whispered and any hint of a smile vanished. He turned his head toward the brightly decorated walls. “I’ve seen the world evolve.” When he brought his gaze back to mine, I shivered. In a blink, the shadow hiding his eyes disappeared and the vibrant blue returned.

His evasive answer irritated me and I tried another tactic. “Where were you born?”

“Greece.”

That explained the thick dark hair that I wanted to run my fingers through and even the hint of Mediterranean in his complexion, but I still didn’t get a sense of how long he had been like this. I got the impression he didn’t really want to discuss the passage of time and I let it go for now.

Something shifted on the floor above us and my attention snapped to the ceiling, or more specifically to the heartbeat. I could smell it and the hunger pang hit again.

I didn’t realize I had moved until I found myself face down on the stairs with Damian pinning me to the risers.

“No,” his whisper hissed in my ear. “They are off limits.”

They? I’m surprised his voice cut through the rush of blood I heard pounding in the veins of the humans above. I wanted to drink every drop, to satiate this sudden craving and I clawed at the stairs, trying to break his grip, my focus on the metal door keeping my meal at bay.

He jammed his wrist in my mouth and at first, I pushed it away, but when he pressed it to my lips a second time, the dull pulse caught my attention. His whisper was lost in the rushing need that gripped my form and I sank my teeth through his flesh, closing my eyes and reveling in the taste of the black blood.

His wince cut through the haze and with my teeth still embedded in his wrist, I turned, meeting his frantic gaze. My eyes locked with his and the razor incisors in my mouth retracted but I kept my grip, drinking with greedy slurps.

With each drop came an image and I saw the world as it was when he was human.

I saw him vibrant and alive and I saw the reasons for the vengeance in his blood.

My betrayal paled in comparison to his loss.

He watched his lover, Athena, torn to pieces at the hands of a demon, all because she refused to disclose where she hid her daughter.

Damian knew where Zoe hid, but kept silent. He had sworn allegiance to the girl, taking the place of her dead father and loving her like she was his own child. Nothing the demons did would loosen his tongue.

The little girl was an innocent, a child of light descendant and the demon wanted to feast on her life force even more than he wanted Athena’s. It was a coveted delicacy and Damian stood in the demon’s path.

When his lover lay in pieces at his feet, her blood smeared across the demon’s lips and her heart an empty husk on the ground, Damian swore he would dedicate his life to destroying the demon.

That’s when Lucifer threw him into the pit with a hoard of hungry vampires.

He yanked his wrist from me and covered it with his hand, standing and taking an unsteady step backwards. Damian’s jumbled thoughts flowed over me like a blanket, suffocating me and I gasped, my hunger forgotten.

He had walked the earth for over two thousand years protecting Zoe’s bloodline.

Until his fangs sank into my neck.

Chapter 4

Damian

THIS IS WHAT happens when a light child becomes a shadow.

Her strength outmatched mine and I had no idea how I subdued her. The moment she sensed human life above, her teeth had flared to sharp weapons of destruction and she had moved like lightning, finding the hidden entrance to the stairwell with ease.

I stared at her, holding my aching wrist and reeling from the mind-union we held as she feasted on my blood. That was an entirely new and unwelcomed experience.

“I, uh, I can’t let you go up there,” I said, unsure of whether my blood had tempered her thirst. If not, she was screwed. The minute she stepped from our daytime sanctuary, the sunshine would torch her delicate skin, leaving her nothing but a pile of ash.

Naomi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze landed on my wrist and then traveled back to my face. Her eyes carried confusion and she stepped toward me, pulling my injured wrist toward her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her trembling fingers traced the wounds and she closed her eyes, inhaling and bringing my wrist to her lips.

Instead of latching on again, as I expected, she pressed her lips to my skin. A warm sensation flooded through me and her eyes opened, her gaze shooting right to my heart. Naomi melted the frost that had built over millenniums and I stifled the urge to take her to my bedroom and do things I hadn’t done since the days I spent with Athena.

The light burned in her eyes, too, and she stepped close, crowding me.

“You don’t kill humans, do you?” she asked, the lilt in her voice made the phrase more of a statement than a question.

“No. Not usually.” I led her out of the stairwell, closing the door and getting my bearings. “I’ve made exceptions over the years and death is usually warranted, but lately, I’ve let my hatred get the best of me.” I turned back to her. “If I had taken the time to really see you instead of just stalking you for revenge, I would have known why Lucifer wanted you. I would have known you were off limits.”

“Off limits?”

“A child of light is off limits,” I said and a crinkle of confusion appeared on her forehead. “A child of light is a descendant of the Archangel Michael,” I explained. “You’re in one of the lines I lost track of.” I dropped my gaze to the floor and the heat of my failure filled my cheeks.

“Is that why you looked so scared on the rooftop?”

My gaze snapped to hers and I shrugged.

It was bad enough having Lucifer as an enemy, but pissing off Michael, that was an automatic death sentence. The righteous were infinitely more brutal than the demons when crossed.

“I’m still here, but that could change at any moment.”

Chapter 5

Naomi

MY LEGS WOBBLED and he stepped forward, putting his uninjured arm around my waist and led me back to the couch. His touch was gentle and I found myself wondering just what he would be like in bed.

A different type of hunger accosted me and I pounced, pushing him down on the cushions and his eyes widened, following the line of my neck to the open V of my bathrobe. He blinked and then snapped his gaze from my exposed breasts back to my face, all hesitation in his expression morphed to a desire deeper than mine.

He pulled me to his lips, the first kiss soft; as if he was afraid I would run. When his hands threaded into my hair, the kiss became more insistent, his tongue explored my mouth and a low groan escaped him like I was the most precious thing he had ever encountered.

His body responded and I yanked away at both the jolt of his erection and the shock skittering over my flesh. I blinked down at him and his slow easy smile made me forget what he was. Nimble fingers unthreaded the tie holding the rest of the bathrobe closed and the coolness of the air slapped me back into control.

Before his shaking hands touched my skin, I hopped off him and pulled the soft material back in place.

“I’m sorry,” I said and took a few paces in the opposite direction.

Damian stared at the ceiling with his fists clenched. The muscles in his jaw twitched and I could tell he was grinding his teeth together, fighting for control. When his gaze moved from the ceiling to me, I knew he lost the battle but I didn’t react fast enough.

Within a blink, he had me against the wall. His iron grip held my wrists against the cool fabric covering the concrete beneath. He stared at me, his chest rising and falling with the lust sparkling in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t tease me like that.”

His voice fanned over me like a delicate shower and instead of struggling I kept his gaze biting my lip to keep my voice in check. Awareness of how close he was made my heart bang in my chest and the knowledge that it still pumped blood through my body took my attention away from his intense eyes.

“My heart…” I whispered.

His grip loosened but he didn’t let go. “It still beats. So does mine,” he said, answering my unasked question.

“I thought…”

He laughed and dropped my hands, taking a step back. “You thought vampires were dead and cold and soulless.”

I raised a shoulder in response.

“We’re ageless whether we feed on humans or not and we are alive. I’ll admit the degree of alive varies, but we are alive and not the walking dead you’re imagining.”

“Un-dead,” I said.

He smiled and shrugged. “Until your luck runs out, then you’re just as dead as the next cadaver.”

“Why?”

“The virus crystallizes our cells, freezing them in time, but they still require oxygen, so we breathe. Blood moves the oxygen through the body, so our hearts continue to beat. There hasn’t been an ounce of decomposition in my system since I turned. The ability to heal is accelerated as well and I haven’t quite figured out why.”

His explanation intrigued me. “If that’s the case, why can’t vampires go out in the sun?”

“The crystallization reacts badly with ultraviolet rays,” he said, understating the dangers.

I skirted around him and wandered through the room, digesting his words and examining my surroundings. The tapestries hanging over the concrete provided a lively and warm feel to the space and I reached out, running my fingers over the silky vibrant fabric. His gaze followed me, heating a spot on my back and I flexed my shoulders, trying to dislodge the burn.

“I’ve never known vampires to shape shift,” I finally said, stopping in front of a mural of a castle with a pair of hawks flying overhead.

His huff took my attention away from the wall and I turned, meeting his gaze.

“What, exactly, do you know about vampires?”

“You have super human speed and strength, you heal like that,” I snapped my fingers. “And you survive by drinking blood. The perfect monster.” Sarcasm wrapped its hands around each of my words and he rolled his eyes.

He crossed his arms and waited for me to continue.

“I used to think a silver blade to the heart would kill them.”

His smile surfaced. “Silver will leave a nasty welt, but it’s not strong enough to pierce through our skin. However, any blade made from a derivative of platinum, especially when thrust through the heart, kills.”

“Why platinum?”

“There’s something about the purity of the metal that allows it to pierce our skin, but the blade doesn’t have to be forged from pure platinum, it can be forged of steel and dipped in platinum.”

“You never answered my question about shape shifting.”

He sighed and his gaze lifted to the tapestry. “I didn’t think it was a question.”

“Well, is that normal?”

He shook his head and his less than cursory glance in my direction made my skin flush.

“So, what? You’re special?”

His chuckle caught me off guard and he shrugged. “I never thought of it that way.”

Chapter 6

Damian

CURSED IS MORE like it, I thought and met her stare. I could tell she had a boatload of questions pinging around behind those beautiful eyes, but I wasn’t in the mood for speculating about why I could morph into a mammoth predatory bird at will. Whether it was a divine gift or a demonic curse, I wasn’t sure, but that unique gift saved my ass a time or two.

“Well?” Her hands found their way to her waist and her head cocked to the side.

Her stance allowed the V in the bathrobe to widen, giving me just enough of a glimpse of her breasts to jump-start my overactive libido. I forced my gaze back to her face and shoved my hands into my back pockets. Even though it had been centuries since I had a houseguest, I hadn’t totally lost sight of my manners.

“I’m sorry, Naomi, but I don’t have an answer for you.”

Her perfect pout surfaced and I turned, stalking out of the room before I acted on the overwhelming urges wracking my form. Instead, I busied myself with the laundry, pulling the soaking garments from the spiffy new front-loader I had purchased recently, and throwing them into the dryer.

I’d have to take her shopping tonight because there was no way I would be able to resist another day of her lounging in that bathrobe.

I turned away from the machine and stopped. Naomi stood in the doorway, her hands gripping the frame, all her earlier curiosity gone. Her face transformed into a mask of lust-filled hunger.

“I should get you something to drink,” I whispered, reacting to her close proximity and the knowledge that she could drain me dry if she wanted to.

She didn’t budge and I stepped back in the small space, my back finding another concrete wall.

“I’m hungry,” she said in a feral growl that revealed her sharp fangs. Her hands dropped to her sides and she stepped into the room, blocking my exit.

Memory of how sweet her blood had been bubbled my own thirst to the surface and I licked my lips, my gaze falling to the slow pulse visible in her neck. God, I wanted to drink from her again, but I knew how wrong it would be.

“Naomi,” I started, keeping my voice low and reasonable. “You don’t want to do what you’re thinking.”

Her laugh filled the small space and she lunged, pinning me to the wall. I tilted my chin to my chest so she didn’t have a clear bite and stared at her.

“Killing me won’t change you back,” I whispered.

She snapped her teeth together in a growl and then her crazed grin faltered. She blinked, and her sharp incisors retracted. “Who says I want to kill you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

I raised a questioning eyebrow.

She let go and stepped back. “I don’t know what came over me…”

“You’re a newborn. It happens,” I said, dismissing the danger and stepping around her. “Your clothes will be dry in a little while, then you can get out of that bathrobe.” I started walking away.

The ruffle of fabric made me turn and she stood in the entry way again, but this time it wasn’t bloodlust in her gaze. The bathrobe lay crumpled around her feet and I stumbled, almost falling on my ass at the shock.

She was divine and I followed her curves before returning my gaze to hers.

“What are you doing?” It took everything in my power not to move to her, to take her in my arms. This need singeing my blood was foreign and unwelcomed. It was far greater than any need the blood-hunt created and I didn’t understand why.

I stepped backwards, putting more distance between me and this goddess.

She spread her arms out. “You don’t want me?”

The hysterical laughter that spouted from my mouth was so out of character and it offended Naomi, setting her into action. She snatched the bathrobe from the ground, wrapping it around her before she stormed off.

I didn’t follow until a door slammed and momentary panic filled my bones. I bolted to the stairwell and yanked the door open. The stairs were empty and the upper door still latched from the inside. Relief swept through me and I closed the access door, leaning against it with my eyes closed.

I focused, training my ear to locate her heartbeat and followed the sound to my bedroom. Tentatively, I turned the knob and opened the door.

Naomi lay face down on the king size bed, her face buried in my pillows and the distinct shake in her shoulders told me she was crying.

What the hell is the etiquette for this? I cleared my throat.

“Go away,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Um…this is my bedroom.”

The glare she leveled at me made me second-guess the living arrangements.

“How long till sunset?”

I waved toward the clock. “It’s not even noon yet.”

She turned away and I hung my head, debating on whether I should leave her alone or not. History and my instincts told me not to leave her unattended, but I didn’t want to set her off. Dealing with a newborn was as volatile as dealing with a bomb, one wrong move and you’ll find yourself in pieces.

I looked up, meeting her stark stare.

“What?”

I bit the snide comment that surfaced at her snotty tone, opting to stare her down instead.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“Maybe,” I offered with a snideness of my own.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Screw you,” she snarled and turned away again.

The venom in her voice set me into action and I moved across the room, flipping her over on the bed and slammed her wrists over her head before I could blink. I straddled her, staring down into her wide dark eyes.

“You have no idea how much I want you, so cut the crap.”

She struggled and I squeezed my thighs into her hips, keeping her still beneath me. Naomi twisted her wrists, trying to break my hold and I clamped harder.

“Why?” she screamed in my face, the fury was back and I could deal with this much better than the hungry seductress.

“Why what?” I snarled down at her.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” she roared, her struggles continued and she screamed a long lonely wail before she lay still, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Killing you is the last thing on my mind,” I whispered and her exhausted gaze flicked to mine.

A sheen of tears covered her eyes and I sighed, letting go of her wrists. I sat back on my heels, running my fingers into my hair, holding the back of my head to get control of the torrent flooding my senses.

“But you laughed,” she whispered.

I met her gaze, dropping my hands to my thighs. “I laughed because your question was ludicrous.” Hurt flashed in her eyes. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Assuming the worst.”

Her lips pressed together and she blinked away the sheen.

“You’re not running on all cylinders right now,” I said. “You haven’t finished the transition and while you’re in this state…” I trailed off not knowing how to tell her that she might feel differently once everything clicks into place. Instead, I climbed off her and stretched out next to her on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“So, you’re trying not to take advantage of me?” she asked and I smiled, nodding without looking her way.

“Well, doesn’t that just beat all?” Naomi sat up. “A chivalrous blood sucker.”

“Would you prefer I just fuck you?” I asked, sending a glare in her direction, although just saying it sent tendrils of heated anticipation through my body.

I guess the question turned her on as well because she met my gaze and offered a come-hither smile. She shifted, swinging her thigh over me and straddled my lap like I had done to her moments ago. A wicked gleam filled her eyes and she took my hands, placing them on her bare thighs.

“I’d like that very much,” she purred and circled her hips on my groin.

The feel of her silky skin under my fingertips just about did me in.

“Naomi,” I whispered, my voice raspy with want.

“Damian,” she whispered back and leaned forward, her lips breezed over mine and trailed down my jaw to my neck.

A trail of butterfly kisses lined my throat and a low grumble started in my chest until the sharp stab of her incisors pierced my skin. Her bite burned and without thinking, I sank my fangs into her exposed throat. Her blood still tasted like summer rain and I groaned under the pulse of it.

She whimpered against my throat, and I couldn’t help myself, my hand found her delicate folds and my fingers circled, playing with her and turning her whimper into a lust filled moan.

“Damian,” she whispered and I realized she wasn’t biting anymore. I relinquished my hold on her, the release flooding me with disappointment until our eyes met. My gaze dropped to the thin line of blood trailing down her throat, sliding between her breasts and I lost control.

I flipped her under me, pushing the bathrobe open and licked the trail away until her skin was pristine again. Her body responded to my touch and the heat between us increased, turning my heart into a frantic drum in my chest.

She fumbled with my belt and I stopped my exploration, raising my gaze to hers.

“You do realize, hawks mate for life,” I said.

Her hands paused and it took her a few seconds to digest my words. Her eyes narrowed.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t fucked anyone for over two thousand years?”

I laughed and raised an eyebrow. “I’ve fucked thousands of women but none of them were vampires.” I chuckled at her wide-eyed reaction, enjoying her shock and then my laughter faded. “None of them were my own kind.” When my gaze locked with hers, I saw the hesitation and it was enough to dampen my lust.

Chapter 7

Naomi

HE PULLED AWAY, gently setting my bathrobe back in place and the disappointment overwhelmed me. I covered my face and rolled away from him, the volatility in my range of emotions grating on my nerves. On some level, I knew this was a normal part of the transition between being mortal and turning into an immortal monster.

“You don’t have to be a monster,” he said with his back to me. “It’s a choice.”

I didn’t see how, not with the waves of hunger that kept knocking me senseless. Without elaborating, he got up and left me alone in the bedroom. I reached up and pulled the pillow from under the covers, hugging it. Burning tears choked my throat and I nuzzled into the soft down with the sweet taste of his blood still in my mouth.

Exhaustion settled in and I closed my eyes.

Chapter 8

Damian

I CROSSED TO the bar in the corner of the living room and pulled the stopper out of the flask holding an aged brandy. I poured myself a drink, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, watching as it coated the crystal before retreating in a sensuous liquid dance. I sighed and closed my eyes, downing the alcohol, feeling the heat spread through my system like a wildfire spreading through the dry California timber.

I slammed the glass on the counter and gripped the edge of the bar, feeling the burn now. I clenched my jaw against the sudden pain in my abdomen, knowing it would abate but relishing the momentary punishment. It took a few minutes before the burning agony subsided and I stumbled to the easy chair, dropping into it with relief.

Alcohol always made me feel more human than demon and I sighed, rubbing my face and looking toward the bedroom. Just the thought of her almost brought me to my feet, but I resisted, instead, I analyzed what made her so damn hypnotizing.

Beauty wasn’t the reason I felt like a horny teenager in her presence. After all, I had held court with some of the most beautiful women in the world. No, it was something more subtle and elusive and I wondered if it was her blood that connected me to her, that made me want to protect her, even from herself…even at my peril.

Guilt bit at the lining of my stomach and I shifted in the chair, keeping my eye on the hall in case the hunger overwhelmed her again. She had exercised a great deal of restraint already, showing coherent thought as opposed to ravenous rants.

I glanced at the clock and raised an eyebrow. Naomi had made it far longer than any of my other doomed bids for partnership.

Of course, none of them drank my blood beyond that first minor infusion.

My eyes widened and I snapped the chair closed.

None of them had wanted my blood the way Naomi did.

Was it just newborn syndrome or did she crave me as much as I craved her?

I stood and crossed the distance, pushing the bedroom door open. A slight rise and fall in her chest, the rhythm of sleep, greeted me and I sighed, leaning on the threshold and just watched her. My gaze traveled to the ceiling and I wondered if Michael would smite me the moment I stepped out of this hideaway.

If I were in his shoes, I would.

The shuffle of fabric caught my attention and I dropped my gaze. Naomi rolled toward the door, tucking her hands neatly under her cheek in an angelic pose that slammed the point home.

I turned away, heading to gather her clothing before she woke. When I returned to the room, her breathing transitioned into a light snore that shattered the angelic vision and I smiled. I placed the pile at the foot of the bed and started out of the room.

“Don’t go,” her soft voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I can’t stay,” I said without turning.

“Why not?” she asked, the lilt in her voice that of curiosity as opposed to either hunger or lust and I tensed, glancing back at her.

“Because.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but instead of the open hostility that would have brought to the surface a few hours ago, a vulnerable disappointment shifted through her features.

“Damian?” she said as I started out of the room again.

This time I turned. She sat with the covers pulled over her chest, her shoulders bare and the bathrobe hanging half in and half out of bed. Her disheveled hair and breathy pout set my heart on fire.

“What?” I tried to keep my voice from shaking, to keep the fear that now pounded in my veins away. The speed of her transition was not possible, there wasn’t an ounce of bloodlust left in her gaze, what was there now was a curiosity that leapt from the depths of her mind like a beacon.

She looked around the room and back at me.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?”

The sincerity and sweetness in her voice caught me off guard and a lump formed in my throat. I shook my head slowly and the guilt came crashing down, mowing me over like a rogue bulldozer. Overwhelming sadness hit and I stumbled from the room, falling to my knees in the hallway from the power of it.

The wrongness of it all tossed me into a dark pit of despair and I covered my face, horrified at what I had done.

When her hand slid onto my shoulder, I couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to whisper.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t tell me it was okay, instead, she knelt beside me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders and leaned her head against mine.

I turned, meeting her gaze and she offered a conciliatory smile.

Jesus, how I wanted her, and I couldn’t help myself this time. This time when I kissed her, it was met with surrender and I soared with the gentleness of it. This creature was so different in demeanor than the woman I turned that I began to wonder if it was indeed a dream.

“It’s not,” she whispered against my lips.

“Not what?” I pulled away meeting her gaze.

“Not a dream,” she answered, sending chills through my frame and before I could react, she pulled me into another kiss.

Chapter 9

Naomi

HE PICKED ME up in his strong arms and carried me to the bed. This time I was lucid and in control of all my faculties as opposed to the volatile she-devil that took over the moment his blood slammed down my throat. His touch ignited my skin and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief and lust.

He stripped the bathrobe before he laid me on the satin sheets. He paused, taking a moment to scan me from head to toe, and the rapture in his expression left me breathless. No man had ever looked at me the way he was and when his gaze locked with mine, I couldn’t help the thrill that blanketed me.

He stripped his shirt and my gaze traveled over his chiseled torso. The view was magnificent and he crawled on the bed, straddling me and planting one of those kisses that should be illegal. My entire body melted into him.

When his lips left mine and trailed down the line of my neck, I tensed and he moved to my ear, taking my lobe in his mouth, sucking gently, before he whispered “I’m not going to bite you.”

The hushed timber of his voice lulled me, making my muscles feel like a mass of warm silly putty. Wherever his lips landed, a small bloom of heat spread and I sighed. Damian was a volatile mixture, but at this moment, he displayed gentleness and tenderness I didn’t think capable of a vampire. The way he teased with his hands and mouth drove me farther into the land of pleasure than I had experienced in my human life.

He took his sweet time with me; his slow progression south only heightened my anticipation. I couldn’t help my comparison of him to my ex and I think I even chuckled, because Damian paused, meeting my gaze and offering up a slow smile that promised so much more.

There was no comparison, perhaps it was Damian’s two thousand years worth of experience versus the self-centered bastard who sold me out. This was miles away from the “if you won’t fuck me, you better damn well suck me” attitude Mark had.

I could get used to this pampering.

Damian stopped at my belly button and tilted his head, sending a questioning stare in my direction, pulling my attention back to him.

“He really treated you like that?”

I blinked and raised an eyebrow. The idea that Damian heard my thoughts sent another wave of chills over me, hardening my nipples further. I didn’t speak, but I nodded, confirming his question.

Damian’s eyes flashed with a brutal anger and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes a moment before he leveled his gaze at me. “Let me show you how a goddess should be treated,” he said and continued his slow progression.

Did he just call me a goddess?

The sideways glance and sudden appearance of dimples confirmed that he could read my mind just as easily as if I had spoken aloud. When his mouth dropped between my legs, all thought ceased and only the tendrils of erotic pleasure remained. Slow circles of his tongue caressed my clit and I voiced the thrill of it with a wordless purr.

He toyed with me, licking, stroking until I couldn’t catch my breath and a hot wave started in my toes, traveling with lightning speed.

“Oh…my…god!” I gasped as aftershocks wracked my form.

He slid his finger inside me and stopped. His eyebrows arched and his mouth dropped open just before his gaze shot to mine. “You’re a virgin?” his breathless question caught me off guard and I met his shocked stare.

Consuming heat still filled my form and I nodded, not understanding the shadow that passed over his face. He slowly pulled away from me; the absence of him cooling my fiery skin and slamming a layer of disappointment over my already raw nerves.

“Is…” I started and swallowed the question back. Mark hated that I was a virgin and he tried to undo that at every opportunity. I wondered if it would be the same with Damian. “Is that a bad thing?”

Damian laughed, settling over me, his jeans still on, but I could feel the hard outline of him against my crotch and for a second, I wanted to throw my virginity to the wind and give Damian exactly what Mark coveted.

Damian caught me with another kiss, tender and soft. When he pulled away, he studied my face, tracing his fingers over the skin and a set of small chills traversed my spine

“No, it isn’t a bad thing, besides, I wouldn’t dream of forcing you into anything you’re not ready for,” he said.

Blue eyes that held the secrets to this dark world stared at me. His heart pounded against mine and the feel of him on top of me was more natural than anything I imagined. He was right, there was so much I didn’t know about vampires and this was one facet I never believed existed.

Chapter 10

Damian

HER LIPS WERE soft under my fingertips and I sighed, looking back into her dark eyes. She wasn’t ready for this and the thought of the mind games that bastard played on her turned my lust into a simmering anger that I couldn’t wait to unleash. If I ever ran into him on the street, I’d make him suffer before I killed him.

A slow evil smile surfaced. Instead of waiting for chance, maybe I’d seek him out.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“You don’t want to know.” I glanced at the clock and then back at her. “Congratulations, you’ve made it longer than any other human I’ve had the misfortune of turning.”

She ran her palm over my cheek. “You know, I’m usually not this easy.” Her gaze flicked between us and back to mine. “And I’m surprised you didn’t take advantage of the situation earlier when I was in she-devil mode.”

“I’m not a shallow bastard like your ex,” I said and her eyes flashed. Her body stiffened under me and I tilted my head, studying her emotional state, wondering if I had pushed the button that would bring the crazy fiend back.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do about him,” Naomi said, her teeth raked her lower lip as she contemplated different forms of revenge.

Every single thought that rang through her mind brought a smile to my lips. She certainly knew how to deliver justice and when her gaze cleared and she met mine, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Your ideas on vengeance are quite unique,” I said and rolled off her. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Her laugh filled the room and she sat up, reaching for her clothing. Much to my disappointment, she covered her delectable form. Naomi turned and leveled a glare in my direction.

“It’s too late for that. I am already pissed at you because I’ll never feel the warmth of the sun on my face ever again.”

My smile faded and I shrugged. “But you will own the night.”

Chapter 11

Naomi

DAMIAN PROPPED HIMSELF on his elbow offering up another smile. “You will,” he added when I just stared at him.

The clock display flipped to five o’clock. I couldn’t remember if it was dark at five at this time of year and I wanted to get out of this cave. Tendrils of claustrophobia tickled my psyche and I shifted.

“How long?” I nodded toward the clock.

“Just a few more minutes. I want to make sure there is no more light in the sky.” He rolled off the bed, grabbing the crumpled shirt off the ground and slipped it on. “We need to get you some clothes tonight.”

“You trust me around people?” I asked, thinking about the uncontrollable rush I had earlier when I realized humans were just a floor away. I could only imagine the damage I could do in a crowded store.

“I think you’ll be okay,” he said, but the crease between his eyes said otherwise.

“Really.” I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow.

He smiled and focused on buttoning his shirt, and then he crossed to me. “We’ll find out.”

Discomfort made me shift my stance. “I don’t relish the idea of losing control.”

“The constant driving need for blood is a fallacy. The only time a vampire has insane cravings is during the day. That’s why there are so few of us still alive. Most give in and go in search of food and once they step into the sun, bam, they’re dead. I’ve learned that feeding at least once at night makes the daylight hours more bearable,” he said. “Also, a shot of whiskey helps temper the urge.”

I stared at him, his words sinking in and I narrowed my gaze. “You said the teeth only go sharp at night, but earlier when I attacked you, mine came out.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Under normal circumstances, they only come out at night. Last night wasn’t normal.” He reached over and wiped a stray hair out of my face. “We’re vulnerable during the day. Not just from sunlight, but from our enemies. That’s why I brought you here. This is one of the few places Lucifer doesn’t know I have.”

That name sent a flush of fury through me and my jaw tensed. “He is on the top of my hit list.”

Damian laughed at me and leaned real close. “Get in line.”

The menace his voice made me recoil and I stepped away from him.

“Let’s go get you a new wardrobe,” he said and took my hand, leading me out of the bunker and into a beautiful two-story atrium enclosed in glass.

Views of a full moon met us and I sighed, looking around toward the door to our daytime sanctuary. My gaze traveled over an ornately painted wall and I turned my attention back to Damian. “Where’s the door?”

He smiled. “It’s a secret.” With that, he led me outside and pulled a set of keys from his pocket, opening a door to another large building. Even in the darkened enclosure, I could see just as clearly as if it was daytime and I gasped at the site before me.

Damian settled on a specific key and led me to an Aston Martin, opening the door for me. I scanned the rest of the cars and met his gaze.

“I collect cars.” He gave me a half-shouldered shrug and waved me into the Aston.

“But these are rare,” I said, finally finding my voice. He even had a mint condition Benz Motorwagon and a Ford Model T.

“Sweetheart, I was here even before chariots were the bomb.” He pointed to an ornate chariot in the far corner and retuned his amused gaze to mine.

He closed the passenger door and trotted around to the driver’s side, settling in and pushing a button on a remote attached to the visor. The doors slid open and he pulled out into the night, waiting for the doors to close again before speeding off.

When he pulled into the garage at the Stamford Town Center, I raised an eyebrow.

“It isn’t Fifth Avenue, but it’s close and you have your choice of designer shops.”

“I can’t afford this,” I said, waving my hand at the fancy shops. I was lucky to afford Wal-Mart.

“I can. Besides, I can’t have you walking around all day in a bathrobe.”

“I never asked you to do this,” I snapped, his audacity unnerved me.

He smiled. “I know you didn’t.”

“Why don’t you just take me to my apartment and I’ll pack up my stuff.”

His smile vanished. “Because the demons will be waiting for you there and until you learn the ropes, I’m not letting you anywhere near those sadistic bastards.”

“I can take care of myself.” I saw the flash of aggravation in his eyes and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “You’re not my keeper,” I added, pushing his buttons.

He stopped and leveled a glare at me, pulling me close to him. “I am your keeper. I became your keeper when you sank your teeth into my throat last night. You became my responsibility instead of my victim.” He let go of my wrist and stepped away, putting a little distance between us and diffusing the building tension.

I kept my instinctual response to myself, waiting for him to calm down, instead, I studied him under the bright interior lights. His wavy black hair fell in haphazard swirls framing a face that should have been accompanied by angel wings. Muscles rippled under his shirt as he fought the growing frustration. He obviously wasn’t used to a self-sufficient woman.

He rolled his eyes at me.

“Are you in my head again?”

Damian’s cheeks bloomed red and his gaze snapped away from mine. “Just pick out a couple outfits, so we can get out of here,” he said.

I considered telling him to go to hell, but then I thought of another day hanging in his sanctuary with only a bathrobe and his hungry gaze. That clinched it and I turned, stomping into the upscale mall and scanning the store names, unsure of where I should go.

He decided for me, steering me into Saks Fifth Avenue.

I approached a rack of blouses and glanced at one of the price tags. My jaw dropped. Over two hundred dollars for just a simple blouse and my gaze shot to Damian’s.

“Damian, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you spend this kind of money on me. All I need is a comfortable pair of yoga pants and a few t-shirts.” I bit my lip. “And maybe a quick stop at Victoria’s Secret so I can get some underwear.”

He scoffed at me. “Money isn’t an issue. Besides, I’d like you to have the opportunity to wear something dressier than yoga pants when we go out. So, if you won’t choose a few outfits, I’ll choose for you.” He strolled through the store, casually inspecting the clothing displays. When he stopped at a rack with a beautiful blue cocktail dress, one that I secretly envied, he glanced at me, his eyes sizing me up before he pulled one from the group.

“I think that’s your size,” he said and I glanced at the label, nodding. The man had impeccable taste in clothing and when my arms were full, he sent me to the dressing room, taking a seat outside the entrance, waiting for me to model his choices.

I slid the blue dress on and after maneuvering the zipper up my back; I turned and looked in the mirror. While the dress was stunning, it didn’t quite go with my cowboy boots. I smiled at the mismatched combination and strode out to where he sat.

Chapter 12

Damian

WHEN NAOMI STEPPED into the doorway wearing the blue designer dress I picked out for her, my breath locked in my throat. Stunning was an understatement and I’m sure my face reflected the shock because she grinned and twirled, her eyes sparkling with humor.

“You like?” she asked.

I did my best to pull myself together but my voice still cracked when I said, “Yes.”

With each mini-catwalk display of hers, I found myself getting hornier and hornier and I could tell by the way she flipped her hair and flaunted her body in the form fitting clothing that she knew the effect she was having on me.

I glanced around and made sure none of the sales people were within range and slipped into the dressing room. When the dressing room door swung opened, I pushed her back inside, latching the door and planting a hungry kiss. My hands traveled over the silky fabric of the tank top and yoga pants she had donned.

“You are the hottest thing this side of Eden,” I whispered when she pushed me away.

“Damian, this is the women’s dressing room,” she whispered, the crease between her eyes along with the stern expression conveying her disdain.

“I don’t care, you look delectable.” I licked my lips and leaned in to kiss her again.

Her palm planted on my chest, holding me far enough away to thwart my attempt. “Buying me shit doesn’t give you the right to do anything you please,” she said.

The admonishment hit home and I stepped back, my libido in check and aggravation replacing the heat burning inside me. Putting my palms up, I took another step. “Sorry, you just…I just…” Frustration at not being able to articulate swelled. “Shit, Naomi, do you have any idea just how fucking hot you are?”

“So you think I’m hot, big deal, Mark thought I was hot, too. Look where that got me,” she snapped, her voice turning feral. “And it doesn’t give you the right to come in here and pin me to the wall. That may have been fine and dandy when you were human, but it doesn’t work that way these days. You do not own me.”

I stared at her and a new thought formed, one I hadn’t considered. Maybe she didn’t feel the same electricity I did.

“So…you’re not feeling the same connection. I get it,” I said and reached for the door.

“Damian?” Her exasperated voice stopped me.

“What?”

“It has only been one day…” she whispered. “Give it a rest.”

The desperation in her eyes clinched it and I nodded, sneaking out of the dressing room and running smack into a sales clerk at the entrance.

“Excuse me, sir, but you can’t be in here,” the platinum blonde said, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed in reprimand.

“I’m sorry but my friend needed a hand with her zipper,” I said just as Naomi stepped from the dressing room with her arms full of the clothing. “We’ll take everything she has,” I added, nodding in Naomi’s direction.

Naomi traded an awkward smile with me and handed over the pile to the beaming sales clerk.

I slipped my wallet from the inside of my coat and handed the clerk a credit card. Naomi snickered and turned away but I caught the dimples before her hair covered her smirk. I shrugged at the sales woman and offered up my best smile, the one I reserved for charming the pants off unsuspecting women and it worked wonders. She immediately focused just on me, almost salivating as she rang up the purchase.

Once the transaction was completed, the slip signed and the card back in my wallet, I gave her a nod and took the bags, leading Naomi out of the store with a sideways glance.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“A vamp with a credit card. It just struck me funny.”

“I’m not a thief.” My voice carried a measure of defensiveness and I snapped my mouth closed and tossed the bags into the trunk, slamming it shut.

“Lighten up, dude,” she said when I got into the driver’s seat and I turned on her.

“Part of surviving is blending in.”

“Oh yeah, turning into a giant hawk certainly constitutes blending in.” She rolled her eyes.

“Keep pushing and I’ll bend you right over my knee.”

She burst out laughing. “I’d like to see you try,” she said and crossed her arms.

I didn’t take kindly to anyone laughing at me and put the car in gear, tearing out of the garage in frustration. I couldn’t recall a woman ever getting under my skin the way Naomi did and I slid my glance in her direction. The chemistry between us was certainly volatile and I didn’t know whether it would ignite or explode.

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me how to survive?” she asked after a few minutes of strained silence.

I refocused on the road ahead of me and sighed. “Yes. I need to teach you to hunt, otherwise tomorrow will be more of a challenge than today was and I’m not sure I can function after another night of offering myself up as an alternative whenever you get hungry.” I met her gaze. “Unless your intention is to kill me.”

Chapter 13

Naomi

MY EYES WIDENED and the anger flared at his thinly veiled accusation, my skin heating with a burning sensation. “If I wanted you dead, you would be,” I snapped and looked out at the passing scenery.

He laughed, and sent a raised eyebrow in my direction. I could almost hear the response, but he never voiced the words. The look was enough.

“I know how to hunt,” I mumbled under my breath, thinking how nice it would be to have my twelve-gauge right about now. I’d pump a round into his pompous ass.

When he pulled into the garage, he turned to me.

“Wait here,” he said and grabbed the clothing from the trunk, disappearing with the pile and coming back a few minutes later with the leather jacket I wore last night along with his black trench coat. He tossed the leather jacket to me and waited while I slipped it over my shoulders.

“It’s time to learn to be a shadow,” he said in a low growl, stepping from the dark corner flashing a mouthful of sharp fangs and his bright blue eyes were shrouded in blackness.

I took a step back and before I realized it, my skin had broken out in a full rash of gooseflesh. The persona he wore scared me as much as it had last night and I had to remind myself he couldn’t hurt me. Not now that I was just like him, but it still didn’t alleviate the majority of the unease racking my bones.

He took a predatory step toward me and tilted his head. “You should be nervous,” he snarled.

His voice promised pain and I took another step back, swallowing the lump of fear blocking my throat. “Cut it out, Damian.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I failed, and the shakes came through loud enough for him to chuckle.

Even his chuckle resounded with pure evil. I turned and ran.

He stalked me through the maze of cars, catching me as I made a run for the door. Instead of tearing my throat open with his teeth, he stopped when the sharp points grazed my skin. With his hand still holding a fistful of my hair, he pulled away, meeting my frightened gaze with a quizzical one of his own.

“Naomi,” he started and sniffed me, “I suggest you start defending yourself, otherwise I am going to drain every drop of your sweet blood.” He clacked his teeth together and let out a vicious purr.

This was the fiend that attacked me last night. Not the sweet and sexy man I spent the day with and a fury I couldn’t control welled up. With a growl, I shoved him away from me and shock gripped me as he flew across the garage, into the cement column between two of the doors.

He was slow to get up and the persona fell back to Damian the man instead of the shadow monster. He ran his hand over the back of his head and brought the blood-covered appendage into view before his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped.

I caught him before he hit the ground, my heart pounded in my chest and my mouth ran dry. A different type of fear took hold and I laid his injured head in my lap, tapping his cheeks and whispering his name. He didn’t respond and I could feel the rising panic.

“Please wake up, Damian,” I said. “Please, please wake up!” I glanced toward the ceiling praying silently for him to wake, for him not to die and leave me here without a clue of how to get into his sanctuary and the imminent sunrise.

Without thinking, I ripped my wrist open, placing the flowing wound over his mouth. At first, nothing happened, and a sob escaped my chest. Finally, his throat constricted, swallowing, and his hand grabbed the outside of my wrist, clamping it to his mouth, sucking the blood in one hard pull that burned through my veins.

I tried to break his grasp but he was just too strong and my sob turned to a frightened gasp.

His eyelids fluttered open and his gaze met mine before widening. He let go of my wrist, licking his lips and blinking in confusion as I covered the wound with my hand.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whispered.

Damian slowly sat up and leaned against the wall, staring at me.

“I could have killed you, Naomi,” he said, his voice raspy and unsteady.

I narrowed my eyes and hopped to my feet unsure of where my fury was coming from. “Wasn’t that your intent with this little game?” I waved at the interior of the garage.

“No,” he said and felt the back of his head again.

His tone diffused me completely and when his gaze returned to mine, I couldn’t help taking a step toward him.

“You never offer your open wrist to a wounded vampire.” He pushed himself to his feet and took an unsteady step toward the door.

“Why not?”

“Because when we’re wounded, we usually don’t have the sense to stop.”

“But you…” I started, thinking about how he offered himself up to me more than once last night.

“Yes, and you could have killed me, but you seem to have a very strong sense of self-discipline,” he stumbled out into the night.

I followed, letting his words sink in as well as all the ramifications of what he had done since he sank his fangs into my skin struck me silent.

“I need to eat,” he whispered and headed toward the wood line.

“Is that what I’ll turn into?” I asked pointing back toward the garage as I caught up with him.

He offered a tired smile. “Honestly, I have no idea what you’ll turn into. The fangs are supposed to come out as a defense mechanism, but yours didn’t.”

“They came out on the roof last night and I think they made an appearance during the day, didn’t they?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said and stopped as we stepped into the forest.

“So…”

“Shush.” He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. A slow smile spread on his lips. “I’ll be right back,” he said and sprinted. Within three paces, magnificent wings pounded the air and he soared into the treetops, leaving me alone and acutely aware of the silence surrounding me.

Chapter 14

Damian

THE COOL NIGHT air shuffled through my feathers and I glanced down at her as I pounded the wings, taking me higher over the forest top heading toward dinner. The forest opened to a small glen filled with deer and I swooped down from the heavens and snatched the largest doe in my talons before any of them understood the danger.

The flight back was harder considering my already exhausted state of mind and when I landed, pinning the deer beneath my talon, I turned my hawk gaze to Naomi.

She stared at the deer and then brought her shocked gaze to mine.

It was clear she didn’t understand and I willed myself back into human form. Without the strength of my talon holding her to the ground, the doe struggled to her feet.

“Food,” I said to Naomi and again I got the dumb stare. “If you’re not going to take her down, I will,” I snarled and caught the deer before she was able to find her footing, my teeth buried in the soft flesh of her throat and I was rewarded with the warm rush of blood. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as sweet or hypnotic as Naomi’s, but it was food none-the-less and it would bring me back to full strength, which I desperately needed.

With every ounce I drank, I could feel the expansion of my cells, the strength returning and I closed my eyes, pulling every last one of the hundred ounces out of the carcass. When there was no more, I dropped the dead husk on the ground and wiped my mouth with my shirtsleeve willing my teeth to retract.

Naomi still stared and I approached her, exhilarated by the blood. Her gaze pulled from the dead deer to me, and I had to remind myself she was new at this, but the horror reflected in her eyes caught me off guard.

“It’s more palatable than tearing a human’s throat and draining them,” I said. “Besides, this will give the people living in the house a couple weeks worth of venison, so it’s a bonus.”

Her eyebrows rose and her glance jumped from mine to the deer.

“I thought you said you had been hunting before.”

She nodded and licked her lips, still unable to speak.

“Naomi, you have to eat tonight.”

“Why?” she asked with a voice no more than a whisper.

“Because come daylight, your training begins and you will need all the strength you can get,” I said and pulled her into my arms and planted a kiss, exploring her mouth with my tongue, letting her taste the remnants of blood. I prayed that would set her appetite on fire and I smiled at the shift. Her fangs finally made an appearance.

When I pulled away, the feral hunger in her eyes sent a warning siren through me and I pointed in the direction of the glen. Her gaze landed on my throat and I stepped back, turning and taking flight, drawing her in the direction of the herd.

She sounded like a hungry pride of cats running through the woods and I knew with that approach, she would find herself standing in the field alone. I swooped behind her, wrapping my talon around her waist and started toward the treetops. When we cleared the brush, I soared, hearing her gasp at the dizzying height.

She held onto my talons like a frightened child and I wanted to tell her she was safe, but a hawk can’t speak, at least not in the way human ears would understand. I made a lazy pass over the glen, making sure the herd was still there and Naomi panted in my grasp, her eyes locked on our prey. Her hunger and impatience overwhelmed me and I dove toward the meadow, dropping her right on the back of a large buck.

I swooped, landing on a thick branch at the edge of the woods, turning in time to see the remainder of the herd galloping into the forest underneath my perch. Naomi had her hand wrapped around one of the antlers and her face nuzzled into the deer’s throat despite the animal’s struggles. She wrestled it to the ground, still drinking as the beast huffed and tried to shake her off.

The death throes of the buck slowed, and then stopped altogether, but Naomi kept her grip, tilting the massive head to get better access until she finally released, and slowly stood.

I transitioned and jumped off the branch, landing on the soft grass in a crouch, my gaze locked on her in case she was still overwhelmed by the shadow thirst. Her chest rose and fell, signs that the blood was working her muscles and when her dark gaze shifted to mine, her lips stretched into a feral smile, revealing the razor sharp teeth we were known for.

She moved faster than I did, and the hard ground met my back with the force of her tackle. I stared up into her wild eyes and grabbed a fistful of her hair, keeping her teeth away from my throat with brute strength. They snapped together in a click, followed by a growl so fierce it struck fear in me.

“Naomi!” I yelled and rolled, pinning her below me.

She struggled, snarling like a wild cat caught in a snare and I held fast, knowing the effects would wear off in a matter of minutes, but I was exposed with my hands wrapped around her wrists and my knees squeezing her hips.

She lunged, her teeth scratching my arm and I shifted, widening her span.

“Naomi.” This time I whispered, soft and seductive, hoping my charm would calm her.

Her eyes locked with mine and her struggling ceased. The fangs retracted and she blinked up at me before her gaze turned to the meadow surrounding us in confusion.

I released her wrists and sat back on my heels, mopping my face with my palm.

“What happened?”

Chuckling, I swung to the side and took a seat on the grass next to her, pointing at the massive antlers peeking out of the long grass.

She sat up and stared, her eyebrows arching before her head swung in my direction.

“I did that?” she asked, her graceful finger pointed toward the dead buck.

“Yes.”

Silence settled.

“I don’t remember anything beyond you kissing me,” she whispered.

I stretched out on the grass and stared up at the stars, trying to remember those first days and nights and I came up blank as well. In two thousand years, I never got through more than a couple days with a fledgling before disaster struck in some form, so I never had a chance to really talk to those I cursed with this existence.

“I don’t remember much about those first few days either,” I said and she turned her beautiful brown eyes in my direction. When she stretched out next to me, I continued, “Of course I was locked in a pit and when I came to my senses, every last vampire was in pieces.”

She reached over and pulled my hand off my chest, lacing her fingers through mine, the gesture silenced me and I stared at her. I realized in that moment that I really didn’t want anything bad to happen to this girl and I swallowed the lump in my throat. Being associated with me seemed to be bad luck and I pulled my hand out of her grasp, getting to my feet without meeting her gaze.

I crossed to the buck and stared at the carcass.

“Do you want the head mounted?” I asked when she joined me and she flinched. “You don’t want a trophy of your first kill?”

“God, no,” she gasped and disappointment flushed my skin. “My father asked me the same thing when I shot my first deer a few years ago. I said no to him, too.” She met my gaze.

It was nice to know it wasn’t just this situation and I nodded. I glanced around the meadow and sighed. “I’m not going to be able to bring you and the buck back in one trip.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Deerskin and venison,” I said and glanced at the buck. “Although I think it’ll take me the rest of the night to skin these and pack the freezer.”

“Damian?”

I turned to her. “Hmm?”

“When are we going after Luc…”

I clamped my hand over her mouth and shook my head. “Not here,” I whispered and her eyebrows creased. “When I think you’re ready,” I answered and waved her back, “Until then,” I closed my eyes and the transformation took hold.

Chapter 15

Naomi

ONE MOMENT HE was in human form and the next, the giant hawk spread his wings and with the buck in his claw, he took off, leaving me alone in the quiet meadow. I glanced up at the unobstructed view of the stars and sighed. I had never seen them so clear and crisp and I stretched on the grass waiting for him to return.

My thoughts wandered back to the prior evening. The last thing I remembered was sitting at dinner with Mark and sipping the wine he ordered. A black rage gripped me and I sat up, my fists clenching and my skin tingling with the power of the vengeance filling my soul.

The bastard drugged me and the walk from the restaurant to the apartment building across the street was a haze. I don’t remember the elevator ride or much of the conversation Mark had, but I do remember his unfeeling gaze when he handed me over to that crazy demon.

His words pulled a growl from my throat.

“I don’t know why you want her, she’s nothing but a tease anyway,” he had said and then the door closed behind them.

Mark had me completely snowed.

My foolish belief in him burned in the pit of my stomach and I tightened my jaw. The flap of his wings fell over the clearing and the grass swayed under the breeze he created. Instead of gripping me in his talons like I expected, his hand landed on my shoulder and he took a seat next to me.

He didn’t speak. Instead, his hands fidgeted until he finally sighed. “Your ex is a supreme asshole.”

I burst out laughing, giving Damian a sideways glance. “Right now I think all men are assholes.” The fallen expression and quiet “oh” amused me and he looked away. I took the opportunity to study him without the flush of hunger roiling in my blood. He had a handsome profile and when his lips formed a smirk, I knew he was hearing my thoughts, but this time I continued staring, trying to figure this creature out.

“Have you been alone all this time?”

He twitched and picked a blade of grass, twirling it around his finger slowly, not answering right away. “Yes and no,” he said and stood. “Come on.” He reached a hand out to me and I took it, surprised when he led me into the thick woods by foot.

“You must have been very lonely,” I said as the forest swallowed us.

His light laugh filled the air. “You have no idea.”

“So no vamp mistresses in all this time?” I teased.

He sent a silent grin in my direction but as we walked, his smile faded and his expression turned contemplative. “No,” he said and ran a hand through the loose waves of his thick hair. “I’ve destroyed every vampire that has crossed my path and anyone I turned only lasted a couple days before something bad happened.”

The admission stunned me. “Have you ever been in love?”

His gait slowed and he turned toward me. “Once, when I was human,” he said and shrugged. “I vaguely remember the feeling but the crushing devastation of losing her can still drop me to my knees if I let it.”

Truth rang in his words and the emptiness in the center of my body grew along with a profound sadness. I crossed the distance and wrapped my arms around him. Damian stiffened under the warm hug.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered in his ear and his arms encircled me, holding me tight.

“I haven’t felt any deep emotion except rage since she died,” he whispered with a trembling voice and his hands dropped to my waist, pushing me away. “Until you bit me.” He offered up a crooked smile. “And since then, I’ve pretty much been scared senseless.”

“You afraid of dying?”

He laughed and his shoulders relaxed. “No. I’m not afraid to die.”

I believed him. “Then why are you scared?”

His smile slowly faded and he took a deep breath. “Because you are someone I don’t want to lose.”

My mouth popped open and I stared into the bright blue of his irises. Something deep within me stirred and I reached up, running my hand over his smooth cheek. His eyes closed and he leaned his forehead against mine.

“Well, well, well,” a voice boomed and Damian reacted, spinning around to face the owner of the voice.

I stood on my tiptoes to get a glimpse over Damian’s shoulder and he blocked part of my view, but what I saw chilled me to the core. Pristine white wings fluttered and I had a good idea who interrupted the tender moment.

The sudden shift in Damian’s stance along with the tightening of the muscles in his back conveyed the growing tension.

“What in the name of heaven do you think you’re doing?” the angel growled, his voice rippling through the trees like a hurricane gale.

“Michael, I, uh,” Damian stuttered but stood his ground.

He trembled under my hand and I moved to his side, jutting my chin out in defiance at the angry angel.

The angel was as glorious as Damian was, and his dark eyes snapped to mine. For a moment, the angry features softened but then the hardness returned and he glared at Damian.

“I should have ground you to dust years ago,” he growled.

The sudden wave of heat hit and I stepped in front of Damian blocking whatever punishment this angel was hell bent on delivering. “Don’t!”

Michael blinked, and his hands dropped to his side. Chilly air settled between the three of us.

“Why not?”

“Because he didn’t intend to turn me.”

“I know. He intended to kill you,” the angel said. “And that goes against every rule I set down when I pulled him out of that dark pit.”

“No matter what his original intent was, he saved me from Lucifer,” I said. “If he hadn’t been blinded by his hatred, he wouldn’t have been there to pluck me out of the sky.” I could tell my argument was softening the mighty archangel. “I am still alive.” I spread my arms.

“You are a shadow,” he spit.

“Damian says I still contain the light.”

Michael studied me, his eyes narrowing. “He would have been there to save you if he hadn’t lost sight of my bloodline.”

I couldn’t find a strong argument for that except that Damian couldn’t be everywhere at once and I wondered how many distant relatives I had. “How can you expect one man to be everywhere, overseeing all of us at once?” I asked voicing the thought as it popped in my head.

“I gave him wings to oversee my lineage.”

That’s why he can shape shift into a hawk. I glanced over my shoulder at Damian. His gaze was glued to the forest floor at his feet, and shame heated his cheeks. I turned back toward Michael.

“Why aren’t you protecting your lineage?”

Anger transitioned back into his features. “Watch your tone, child.”

“Naomi, don’t,” Damian whispered and his hand settled on my shoulder at the same time Michael spoke. I shook it off, sending a glare at him before turning back to my distant kin.

“Damian may be immortal in some respects, but you can’t expect him to be everywhere like you can be. After all, he still is human.” A raw anger bubbled up inside me at the audacity of this being.

“I am not God. I can’t be everywhere, either,” Michael growled.

“Why weren’t you there to protect me?”

His jaw tightened and he leveled his intimidating stare at me. “I think it’s time to send you back to hell.” His gaze transitioned to Damian.

I reacted before either of them could. When my fangs sank into Michael’s throat, both Damian and the angel gasped. Knowledge flowed with the archangel’s blood, overwhelming me. Snapshots of information danced on my eyelids.

The promise of heaven.

Michael’s love for humankind.

His hatred for Lucifer and every last nocturnal creatures the demon created.

His joy and love of Athena’s mother.

The creation of my bloodline.

His devastation at his daughter’s death.

His fury when he pulled Damian from the pit of slaughtered vampires.

The covenant Damian made to protect Zoe and the bloodline.

Pure light fused with my shadow cells and I moaned. Arms grasped me around the waist, yanking me away. Stunned, I stared at Michael, while Damian whispered softly in my ear, begging for me to stop before Michael lost his temper and reduced me to ashes.

“You were Athena’s father?” I asked when I found my voice. I realized how stupid that question was considering the amount of information his blood infused in me.

Michael stared, just as dumfounded as Damian was when I bit him that first time. He blinked, swiping the remnants of blood still speckling his neck. Michael stared at his hand and then his gaze snapped to mine.

Damian still held me in his grasp and the tremors of fear flowing through him were palpable in the air. I wrapped my arms over his to calm him while keeping Michael’s gaze.

“Damian has done your bidding for over two thousand years,” I said. “What makes you think he won’t continue for another two thousand years?”

“He made a fatal mistake,” Michael said.

“Yes. He made a mistake, but I wouldn’t categorize it as fatal. If you make the decision to destroy him, you’ll have to go through me.” I took a breath wondering whether that would put a stay of execution in play or not. I shifted my weight, waiting for Michael’s judgment.

Chapter 16

Damian

HER BLATANT DISREGARD for how dangerous an archangel was astounded me, and her ultimatum left every muscle in my body trembling, expecting the flash and then the nothingness of death that followed.

I unwrapped my arms from around her and pushed her to the side. “I can’t let you do that,” I said despite the scream of every cell in my body fighting for self-preservation. If I had to make the sacrifice for her, I would.

I met Michael’s glare, straightening my posture against the urge to cower. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, the pace much higher than its normal dormant beat, announcing my unease like a tribal drum.

“I need him,” Naomi shouted as Michael’s gaze narrowed.

Her declaration snapped my head in her direction and I arched my eyebrows. She needs me?

“Why?” Michael asked.

“Because he is going to help me take down Lucifer.”

Michael’s laugh filled the woods. “Darling, child. You cannot take down Lucifer.”

“Why not?” she asked, her tone incredulous and I stifled a smile at the sweet cluelessness of her innocence. My gaze found Michael’s and I offered a partial shrug to the question in his eyes.

“Do you not know who Lucifer is?” he asked and his arms fell to his sides, his posture relaxing and more quizzical than the deadly coil it was a moment ago.

“He’s the king of hell. A fallen angel and all that hoopla,” she said waving her hand like it was just a trifle myth. “Can he not be destroyed, just like the rest of us?”

“Only I can destroy Lucifer,” he started and Naomi interrupted him.

“What about a descendent that has your blood pumping through her?”

She tilted her head and I couldn’t help the chill that layered over me, turning my skin into a relief map of gooseflesh.

Was that your real purpose in biting him?

She glanced in my direction and then back to Michael. “I’m not talking by birthright either,” she added softly and licked her lips before flashing that heart-stopping smile.

Maybe she wasn’t so innocent after all.

Michael crossed his arms studying her. The seeds of possibility bloomed in his eyes and for the first time since I spotted his angry glare, hope found its way into my heart.

Maybe we would make it through the night after all.

“What makes you so sure you can kill Lucifer?” he asked, his voice filled with a level of sarcasm I have never heard from him, and the hope I embraced moments ago evaporated.

She stepped closer to him, positioning herself between us. “I got to you didn’t I?” When she stepped into a familiar ready pose, I nearly laughed aloud.

Was she really challenging the archangel Michael to a fight?

Michael’s expression mirrored mine for a fleeting instance and then it hardened.

“Come on, gramps, let’s see what you’ve got,” she said, waving him in with her fingers.

Before her words sank in, Michael was in motion, his fists meant to inflict a lesson on this smart-ass child, but she parried, blocking his swings with a grace and speed that left me breathless. Instead of retreating, she stepped close, using the natural flow of her body and a sweep of her foot, to knock Michael’s feet out from under him. The angel fell to the ground with a thud that sent a tremor through the earth.

Naomi stood over him with a smug smile on her lips.

A moment later she was on her back, the smile wiped from her lips, replaced by a shocked ‘o’ and Michael stood over her with a stern finger pointed in her direction. His lips pressed together and he waved the finger at her before he stepped back, his face a mask of fury and frustration. But even he couldn’t deny the talent she just displayed.

In two thousand years, I hadn’t seen anyone, angel, demon, or human, take Michael down.

Silence blanketed the woods and then he turned on me with that fierce glare. “Make sure she goes for the kill when she does that, otherwise Lucifer will have her heart in his hand and that will be the end.”

With that, he disappeared.

I stared at the spot he had occupied and swallowed, turning my gaze to her and reaching my hand out in silence. She stared at me for a moment and then accepted my hand, letting me help her to her feet.

“Gramps?” I asked after she brushed herself clean.

She chuckled and shrugged. “It was the first thing that came to mind,” she admitted.

“You are insane,” I said and joined her with a nervous chuckle.

I took her hand and resumed our journey back to the house. The walk would take us another hour and I considered flying, but I needed the calm and quiet to digest what just happened.

“Why did you try to protect me?” I asked after we covered half the distance.

She didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know,” she said just when I thought she wasn’t going to give me an answer.

I stopped and swung her to face me. “How do you not know your place in the universe?” I asked, the simmering anger surfacing. “He could have killed you like that.” I snapped my fingers, voicing the fear that had shaken the very foundations of my soul.

“I’m part of his bloodline,” she answered.

“Naomi, he has stamped out members of his bloodline before. Anyone who crosses the line and embraces evil is destroyed just on principle alone,” I said and she paled. “Thinking you’re immune to his wrath is foolish.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that surfaced. “God, Naomi, that was one of the stupidest things I have ever seen!” I ran my hand through my hair and let her hand go, taking a seat on a nearby stump before my legs gave out from the sudden absence of stress. The complete relief of living through one of Michael’s ultimatums took control of my form sending tremors all the way to my bones.

Chapter 17

Naomi

HIS TEETH CHATTERED as if it was below freezing, but the cold didn’t penetrate our crystallized skin. I crossed and put my hand on his shoulder, the shakes gripping his muscles sending waves up my arms and when he glanced up at me, I saw the depth of his relief under the annoyed glare.

“I didn’t know,” I said, trying to diffuse him.

He took a breath that expanded his chest and he stood, towering over me. “Well, now you do,” he said and stormed away.

I trotted after him, catching up and matching his stride.

“So, what next?”

“I have two deer to clean,” he said.

“That’s not…”

He interrupted me, swinging into my path. “I know that’s not what you were asking and just as soon as I’m done, we can talk about what’s next, but for now, I’m going to do something normal and mundane before I step back into the save-the-world mode.”

He got right in my face, the biting anger sparked in his eyes and my hands clenched. I wanted to hit him, and at the same time, I wanted to kiss him. The juxtaposition of opposite emotions rippled through me and I reached out, pulling him to my lips.

My hand laced into his thick hair, forcing him to stay in place, to kiss me back even though he tried to break my grip. It took a few seconds and then I found myself wedged against a tree, his kiss hot and deep and his hands already yanking my shirt out of my pants.

He broke the kiss and glared at me, his hands freezing before they found my skin. “You are infuriating,” he whispered and stepped away.

His brash attitude sparked the frustration in me as well and I stomped past him in the direction we were heading without another word. Truth of the matter was, at that moment, if we had dropped to the forest floor, I would have let him take me.

I guess living through an encounter with an archangel made me just a wee bit reckless. I should be glad Damian stopped, but for some reason, it just fanned the flame in the middle of my body, tightening my muscles. His silent denial burned my skin as I imagined the sun would.

The flap of wings filled my ears and I didn’t have a chance to turn completely before the talons grabbed my waist, lifting me off the ground and speeding me to the entry of the garage where the two gutted deer carcasses lay. He dropped me and I landed in a crouch looking up at the graceful curve he made in the sky above. He didn’t stay and transform like I expected, instead, he let out a loud and intimidating screech before swooping up and diving into the woods like a bullet.

I stared at where he disappeared, my heart leaping into my throat as his warning call penetrated my mind. I took an indecisive step toward the woods and stopped to listen, closing my eyes in concentration. Battle sounds reached my ears and my gaze snapped open. I reacted, letting my savage heart take control.

The sight of a demon wielding a knife in Damian’s direction ripped a snarl from my throat and I lunged through the air, my teeth tearing right through the bone, severing the arm holding the knife. I slid to a stop on four large white claw-clad paws and turned, aware that I was no longer in human form, and the fear I saw in Damian’s expression matched that of the demon. I snarled and attacked, ripping the demon’s head from his body in one snap of my jaws. It rolled away and I sank my teeth into the decapitated body, shaking it back and forth. My battle cry bounced off the trees and I tossed the body away, turning my gaze to Damian.

He stood frozen to the spot and I approached, adopting a more casual gait. He stared at me and I rubbed against him, bringing my gaze to his. His fear transitioned and he dropped to a squat, taking my head in his hands.

“Naomi?” he whispered and I chuffed back, leaning into the fingers that scratched gently behind my ear.

The scent of his blood filled my senses and my gaze dropped to the slash in his shirt, the blood soaked edges of the fabric bringing another panic attack. This time when I reached for him, it was my beautifully manicured hand that touched him. He still held my head between his palms and he tilted my chin up.

“I’ll be fine,” he said and glanced toward the demon before bringing his gaze back to mine. “We need to go before more of them come.”

I nodded and we both stood, sprinting toward the house. Damian hung the deer up in the large walk in refrigerator at the back of the garage and locked the door, before leading me inside.

The atrium was dark and he crossed, placing his hand on a spot on the wall behind a large plant. A light filled the room, scanning his palm and I cocked my head in his direction.

“I’m the only one that can get in right now,” he said to my quizzical gaze.

The mural slid on hydraulics, revealing a metal door. Damian swung it open and gestured for me to head down the stairs. I didn’t hesitate and at the landing below, I glanced up in time to see him punch a combination. The whir of the hydraulics sounded until the scenery above locked back in place.

Damian unbuttoned his shirt as he descended, wincing as he pulled the fabric away from the skin. When he reached me, he peeled the shirt off his shoulders and stared down at the nasty welt traversing his chest. He sighed and met my gaze, his mouth working but no words came out.

“What was I?”

He laughed. “A massive Siberian tiger,” he said and led me into the living room. “And you scared the shit out of me.”

“But my paws were white.”

“Yes, a White Siberian,” he said and sat on the couch. “It is by far the biggest and rarest of all the wild cats and you dispatched that demon like he was nothing more than a giant stuffed animal.” He met my gaze. “Maybe you should be the one teaching me things instead of the other way around.”

I smiled at the awe in his eyes. “Do you need me to get anything for that?” I pointed at his chest and he looked at the seeping scar.

“I guess I should get cleaned up,” he said and stood, heading out of the room without further comment.

The shower went on and I looked around the room. Last night’s escapades down here were a blur and I wondered if it would be like that every day. I do remember the carnal electricity between the two of us and my gaze traveled over the murals landing on one that made my heart stop.

It was a winter scene with a white Siberian tiger crossing a meadow and a hawk soaring in the sky.

I turned crossing the expanse and stepped into the bathroom. “You painted those murals?”

He turned his head toward me, looking over his shoulder and away from the pulsing spray of the shower and his eyebrows rose. “What?”

I crossed opening the glass door. “The murals?” I asked and my gaze couldn’t help but wander down to his hard smooth ass. I felt the smile and blinked, looking back into his eyes.

“What about them?”

“You painted them, right?”

He nodded.

“You painted us,” I whispered and his gaze traveled toward the door, the crease between his eyes deepened and then it smoothed and his eyes widened returning to mine.

“The tiger,” he said.

“And the hawk.”

Chapter 18

Damian

DAMN. I PAINTED that mural close to a thousand years ago. My skin broke out in gooseflesh, despite the exquisitely hot water pounding on me and filling the room with steam.

Her gaze wandered down my back and over my ass before bouncing back to my face again. This time her inspection was a little less subtle than the first time and I considered turning and giving her the full frontal view, but I decided against it.

“You’re more than welcome to join me,” I said when she showed no signs of moving.

Her mouth opened and she glanced back toward the living room. “When?”

“Right now,” I said, knowing she wasn’t referring to my offer.

She rolled her eyes. “When did you paint that mural?”

“A long time ago,” I said. “Now, are you going to join me or not?” This time I turned toward her, giving her the full view and I smiled at the way her gaze bounced, her eyes widening a fraction before inching their way back up my chest to my face. Her cheeks bloomed and I cocked an eyebrow at her.

She pressed her lips together and slammed the door, marching out of the room in a huff.

I chuckled and ran the soap over my chest, running my fingers over what was left of the welt on my skin. The vampiric healing powers still amazed me enough that I missed the shift in the air around me.

Nails scraped my back and I jumped, swinging my head in the direction of the disturbance. Her wide eyes met mine and I turned, drinking her in from head to toe. Exquisite was the only word that popped into mind and when her fingers touched my chest I reached, covering her hand and holding it against my skin.

“What are you doing?” I whispered because having her undressed and this close put me at a major disadvantage.

“I’m saying thank you,” she said and her hands moved lower.

Catching her wrists, I warned, “Naomi, don’t start something you can’t finish.” My body responded anyway and she closed the distance. Her lips grazed my chest and I closed my eyes, releasing her and surrendering to her exploration.

When her tongue trailed lower, I recalled the memories of her ex and my eyes snapped open. As much as the thought of her taking me in her mouth thrilled me, I didn’t want to be that memory and I grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up to face me. She wasn’t one of the common harlots from my past that I let drop to their knees before me.

No, Naomi was different and I wanted more.

“You do not have to do this just because you aren’t ready for anything else.”

Her dark eyes met mine and I traced the frame of her face with my fingertips, studying every curve. Leaning down, I took her lower lip in my mouth, sucking gently before shifting and delivering a kiss that started as tender and rich as her blood, but soon escalated into an all-consuming heat and I could envision living in this bliss for the rest of eternity.

I had lied to her today.

Fear wasn’t the only deep emotion I had encountered since I plucked her out of the sky, this need to connect, to love again overwhelmed me. The irony of her name and the form she turned into added to the feel that fate had prepared this feast just for me.

I reveled in the feel of her, the taste of her and the sound of her. Each stroke of her hand, each swipe of her tongue gave me new life.

The shower transitioned to the bedroom and when she whispered, “I’m not doing this because I have to.” I nearly lost my mind. Her mouth was the closest I’ll ever get to heaven. I couldn’t recall ever feeling this out of control with a woman, this lost in the sensation, this deep even with the taste of blood passing over my palette.

“Good lord, girl,” I whispered when she crawled next to me and curled up in the crook of my shoulder. Shudders still shot through my form in aftershocks of pleasure and I met her gaze, hungry for more. I pushed her onto her back and stretched on top of her, clasping her hands in mine and raising them above her head while I explored the recesses of her mouth, our tongues playfully dancing with the rhythm of my heart.

When the kiss broke, I stared down at her with a grin.

“You know, hawks mate for life,” she said, her tone laced with amusement.

“You know, I think I heard that somewhere,” I answered. Her laugh filled the room and I turned serious before we did something she didn’t fully comprehend. “Are you really ready for this, Naomi?”

Her smile faded. “You drew a mural of us. It’s almost like…” she trailed off.

When her eyes closed and that crease formed between them, the heat building inside me doused to a low simmer and I shifted, pulling her back into the crook of my arm as I rolled to my back. She sighed and ran her fingers over my chest.

“Are you angry?” she asked after a few moments.

“No.”

“Disappointed?” She raised her head and met my gaze.

I gave her the warmest smile I could muster. “No,” I said, even though my soul ached for her. “When you’re ready, we’ll cross that bridge.” I glanced at the clock and peeled her from me sitting up and taking a deep breath.

“I need to do a quick scout of the area before sunrise.”

Her expression became guarded and she folded her arms over her chest, like I was pulling away on purpose. A flash of a thought brought my attention to her.

“I’m not running out on you, Naomi. I have to make sure the family above is safe. Demons can’t get in the house, neither can angels. I saw to that, but my safeguards don’t apply to the yard and if demons are hanging around that could put these people in danger. I can’t let that happen.”

Naomi unfolded and rolled off the bed, reaching for one of the shopping bags.

“What are you doing?” I asked as she pulled on a pair of jeans from the bunch.

“I’m getting dressed so I can help.”

Her offer amused me and I laughed. “You are staying put.”

She spun, sending a glare in my direction.

“Lucifer knows I took you, but I’m not sure he knows you’re alive, and I’d rather not divulge that fact just yet.”

“What if there are more demons out there?” She yanked on the new hiking boots we bought and stood.

“Baby, I could have handled that demon.”

It was her turn to laugh. “You weren’t handling him when I got there.”

“I’m serious, Naomi. I’d rather not have to worry about protecting you if I run across another demon. Please just stay put.”

“What if something happens to you? How would I get out of here and more importantly, back inside if you don’t come back?”

I crossed and grabbed her by the arm, bringing her to my computer. With a few quick keystrokes, the scanner beeped and I put her right hand on the surface. The machine catalogued her handprint into the security system. “There, you can get in whenever you need to,” I said. “As far as the keypad, the number is seven, one, nine, two. Can you remember that?”

She started laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What’s so funny?” I asked and glanced at the clock. I had a little more than three hours before the sun broke the horizon and I wanted to cover a large circumference before I got back.

“That’s the day I was born.”

My gaze snapped from the clock to her face as another coincidence raked a chill across my skin. “What?”

“Seven, one, ninety-two,” she said. “How long have you had that security code?”

“Forever,” I said. Anytime I needed a pass code that was my default.

“Any significance?” she asked and pulled on her coat.

“It’s a combination of my birthday and the day Athena died.”

Chapter 19

Naomi

A SHIVER STARTED at the base of my neck and I resisted the urge to rub the chill from my arms. If I didn’t know better, I would think all of this was etched in some ancient tablet somewhere. The intersection of Damian and me written in the folds of fate.

“You were born on July first?” I asked and he nodded, his wide blue eyes never leaving mine. Certainty swept through my blood and I took a step back. I needed to sit down and I turned, crossing to the couch and slumping in the soft cushion.

“Holy shit,” I whispered and my gaze found the mural. The thing that triggered the intense sexual romp in the bedroom, and I wondered if I should have said yes, if I should have sealed our fates beyond the blood bond.

He stepped out of the office, running his hand through his thick hair, his face a shade paler than a moment ago.

“I need to do my sweep of the area,” he said. “If I’m not back in an hour…” he trailed off.

“I’ll come looking for you.”

He shook his head. “No. You can’t. If you go running out looking for me and don’t get back here in time for the sunrise, I’d never forgive myself.”

“What about you? What if you don’t get back in time?”

He sent a smile in my direction, one meant for the addlebrained and I tightened my jaw at the flush of anger that seeded in my chest.

“Just stay put,” he said and turned to go.

Irritation racked my bones and I almost followed him, but the warning glare he shot over his shoulder before he disappeared up the stairs stopped me. When the rattle of the door settled, I turned and stared at the clock. If he wasn’t back by four, I’d go looking for him regardless of whether he wanted me to or not.

I wandered back into the office and slid into the chair behind the computer monitor, pulling the keyboard out. The minute I moved the mouse, the monitor came to life and a password prompt came up. My fingers paused and I looked toward the stairwell before I typed the four digits he told me operated the keypad upstairs.

My hands closed into fists as I waited and the little hourglass flipped on the screen. After a few tilts of the timer, the familiar windows screen appeared. I huffed at the non-personalized screen and opened up the browser. I logged onto my email account and stared at the latest message.

It was from Mark and I hesitated, knowing that the moment I opened it, he would know I wasn’t dead and if he knew, Lucifer would know as well. I moved the mouse over the entry waiting for the preview to show me the first line but no preview was available.

“Damn it,” I whispered to the empty room. “What the hell could he possibly have to say to me anyway?” Pushing away from the desk, I crossed my arms and stared at the screen. After the internal debate of whether to open the stinking email or not, I reached for the mouse, moving it to the top corner and closed the browser.

The last thing I wanted to do was lead Lucifer to this house, and I knew enough about computers and email accounts to know that would be exactly what I was doing if I gave in and opened his email.

Thoughts of what I’d do to Mark when I got hold of him accosted my brain and made me smile. I caught my reflection in the monitor and my heart jumped. The visions of tearing Mark to pieces brought forth a set of razor sharp teeth and I laughed at the image, knowing he’d shit his pants if I showed up at his door like this.

I opened the browser again and brought up the news just to see what was going on in the world. The political climate disgusted me, so I switched from CNN and FOX over to the entertainment news. My fingers itched to jump back into my email or log onto my facebook page, but again, that was dangerous and I wanted to talk with Damian before I endangered all of us by doing something stupid.

My gaze dropped to the clock at the thought of Damian and my eyes widened. The hour had already passed and he wasn’t back.

I shut down the computer and tore up the stairs, impatiently waiting for the door to unlatch. Once the click signaled, I shot out the door and put my hand on the scanner hidden behind the shrubbery, engaging the mechanics to make the doorway disappear.

I stepped out into the cool morning and scanned the sky. The absence of a hawk in any direction clenched my heart. Losing him now would be devastating and I almost laughed at the lurch in my stomach, especially since I had only known him for a full day. This kind of attachment usually takes a lifetime.

I closed my eyes and lifted my nose in the air, letting the wind bring all sorts of scents into my consciousness. I stepped into the middle of the large yard, repeating the process, scanning the air over the forest and then inhaling the scents hanging on the air. Neither brought me answers.

I turned in the direction where the demon attacked and a twinge in my spine told me it was the right direction to start looking. Willing the change, I bounded in the same direction I had earlier, crashing through the forest and sending the wildlife in all directions. I slowed and lifted my snout, testing the air again.

This time, my tiger senses overflowed with information. Damian was in the woods and he wasn’t alone.

The knowledge almost sent me into a full charge, but there was more than one demon here and I needed to be stealthy in order to intercept. My heart knocked in my chest and I slunk in the direction of the meadow, leaving a wide berth around the area where I thought they were.

Snow dropped from the sky, helping me blend into the dark forest and when I reached the meadow, I turned my attention to the opening closest to the house. What I saw sent a visceral fury through my frame and I snarled.

Damian knelt between two trees, his arms stretched wide and his wrists bound in glinting chains that wrapped around the tree trunks. A demon was pacing in front of him, glancing between the field and Damian as he paced.

A flicker lit the night behind Damian and he winced, his back arching and a pain-filled growl peeled from his throat. Why didn’t he just transition and fly away?

My gaze dropped to the chains and then the demon behind him gleefully cracked the whip against his skin again. It was the same bastard that taunted me from the window last night.

This time when the whip bit into his back, Damian didn’t react. His head lolled on his shoulders.

I took a moment to test the air again. The scent of Damian’s blood drifted on the wind, along with the stench of demons. I only saw two, but there were more in the area, one guarded the perimeter of the glen and I slunk farther away from Damian, toward the offensive beast.

The kill was quick and silent. One snap of my jaws severed his head, the taste of the blood reminiscent of fire and brimstone and I didn’t linger. I dragged the body into the underbrush and stalked closer.

My senses overloaded with Damian’s blood and the continued crack of the whip and my rage built. I flexed my paws and a line of razor sharp claws retracted itching to slice through the bastards.

“Wake him,” the order captured my attention and I lowered close to the ground, still maneuvering closer, using the woods and the shadows to my advantage. Whatever they waved under his face made his head snap back in disgust.

The bastard took a handful of his hair and leaned close. “I want you alive when the sun bakes you to dust,” he growled. “You shouldn’t have intervened yesterday.”

“Fuck you,” Damian whispered but his voice shook with the pain that filled his senses.

I angled myself in the outcrop of trees directly across from him and every muscle in my body tightened. My gaze traveled between the closest demon and the one delivering pain in the form of a whip.

The next snap of the lash acted like the gunshot at the start of a race and I shot out of my crouch, pushing the envelope of speed and Damian’s eyes widened at my approach. The demon in front of him turned just in time for my claws to shred his throat and I coiled, launching myself in the air.

The demon holding the whip didn’t even have time to reach back with the weapon before I was on him. His screams were like a twisted elixir and I relished each one until he was in pieces all around me.

“Naomi,” his voice cut through my carnage and I spun, licking the blood from my chops. My gaze landed on his shredded back and two conflicting emotions took hold of my form, hunger and horror.

Damian turned his head to the east and I followed his gaze. The color painting the sky gave my heart a shot of adrenaline and my gaze snapped to the chains holding him in place. I launched at the one on his right, clamping my powerful jaws on the material, even as Damian yelled “No!”

The metal snapped under the vicious clench of my teeth and the motion silenced Damian. I repeated with the other chain and then stepped next to him, nudging him. He was in no condition to walk back, never mind run, and I didn’t think he could transition with the strips of platinum still wrapped around his wrists. It took him a moment and a second nudge to understand my intention.

He draped his leg over my back and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Go,” he whispered in my ear and I took off like a shot, flying over the thin layer of snow with the speed of a cheetah. I slid to a stop just shy of the back door and put my paw on his arms, feeling the transition.

Damian was dead weight on my back and I stumbled into the atrium with his feet dragging behind me. It was a struggle crossing but I made it to the keypad slamming my hand on it and praying it would be fast enough. A quick glance over my shoulder at the morning sky sent a skeptical rush through my veins and I dragged Damian to the door, impatiently tapping my foot as the mural moved at a snail’s pace.

As soon as it stopped, I pushed the door open, nearly falling down the stairs with the weight of him. I caught the railing and closed the door, punching the code before I worked my way downstairs. I didn’t stop until I collapsed under his weight on the bathroom floor.

I crawled from underneath him and my hands shook as I unraveled the chains, flinging them across the room in disgust. Damian didn’t flinch, or groan or utter any signs of being alive and the panic attack started, gripping every one of my muscles and twisting.

“Damian, wake up!” My voice shook with an edge of the panic fluttering in my stomach. I glanced at the floor under him, the puddle of blood expanded and I rolled him over, studying his injuries. The damage was catastrophic and I found my feet, pulling a towel off the rack and soaking it in cold water before laying the wet fabric across his shredded back.

I rolled him onto his back, with the towel soaking up his blood and laid his head in my lap. His beautiful face was pale and slack, almost peaceful and my heart cried out for him. Without more than a fleeting thought, I ripped my wrist open and put it to his mouth, stroking his cheek with my free hand and whispering a prayer.

When he latched on, I gasped at the pain. He pulled the blood from me with a vengeance that made me swoon. I tried to pull away but he held my wrist in place, sucking around a low growl that started in the center of his chest.

“Damian,” I yelled, struggling to pull away.

His eyes flew open and they were dark shadows of the demon that attacked me on the rooftop until they focused in my direction. The snarl in his throat quieted and he blinked. The rush of blood slowed and he looked around the room, his gaze landing back on me before his teeth retracted from my skin. His lips remained in place, but he stopped sucking, instead, I felt the soft swipe of his tongue. His eyes closed again and he pulled my wrist away from his mouth.

“I told you never to feed an injured vampire,” he whispered and tilted his head back so he could see my face.

I shrugged at him, shaking off the waves of dizziness and offering a smile. “I couldn’t let you die.”

“Baby, you’re lucky I care about you so much,” he whispered. “Otherwise, I would have drained every last drop of your blood.”

His admission stunned me and my eyebrows rose. He shifted, lifting his head to sit up, but the strength of my blood hadn’t taken hold of him yet and he dropped back in my lap.

“You didn’t listen to me, either,” his raspy voice cut through my shock.

“If I hadn’t come, you would be a pile of dust on the forest floor right now.”

He let out a shaky laugh and nodded, easing himself into a sitting position next to me. “I’m not used to having to be saved.” He glanced at me. “And you’re a hot mess,” he grinned and glanced at the blood soaked towel on the floor. His smile faded and a sigh replaced it.

I climbed to my feet and glanced in the mirror. My eyes widened in the reflection. Hot mess was an understatement. I looked like a blood soaked ghost. He straightened next to me in the image, looking every bit as horrid as I did.

“Quite the pair,” he said and I turned a skeptical eye in his direction. He went to strip the shredded shirt and winced. “This is going to take a little longer than the duration of a shower to heal.”

I didn’t speak, but I reached out and helped him strip the fabric off.

Still clad in his blood-drenched jeans, he maneuvered us into the stall and turned on the shower. His jaw clenched against the whimper of pain when the spray doused his back and he pulled me into his arms, nuzzling his head in the crook of my neck. I wrapped my arms around his waist, careful not to disturb the cuts on his back.

Streaks of red flowed off both of us and I closed my eyes, just holding on and letting the hot water wash away the blood. A twinge of hunger struck at the sweet smell filling the shower stall and I pressed my eyes tight, turning my head away from Damian and willing the thirst away.

“I don’t understand how you were able to snap the chains in half,” he whispered and pulled away, meeting my gaze.

“Yeah, well, I still don’t understand a whole hell of a lot either,” I said. His blue-eyed gaze pulled me in and I sighed and stretched up on my tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Thank you,” he said when I dropped down to my heels. His gaze traveled over my shoulder at the mess on the bathroom floor. “I made a hell of a mess.”

Chuckling, I followed his gaze. “Yes, and I’m not sure I can help you clean it without losing control.”

“I’ve got some emergency reserves that’ll help both of us get some strength back.”

My gaze snapped to him as the statement sank in. He met my gaze with a shrug. “I’ve had a run in or two before,” he said.

“Like that?” I swung my thumb over my shoulder.

“No, not like that. I’ve been lucky enough to stay out of range of Lucifer’s henchmen.” His fingers traced my lips. “Until tonight. I walked right into their ambush like a rookie. I should have known there would be more than one.” He pulled away from me and reached for the knob, turning the water off. His hands dropped to his belt and he unbuckled, peeling his soaking jeans from his skin and dropping them in the corner. Closing his eyes, he leaned his hand on the wall to steady himself.

“You should leave your clothes in here, too,” he whispered with his eyes still closed. His chin dipped to his chest and he drew in a deep breath.

I watched as he gathered himself to take another step. I followed his advice and dropped my clothing in the pile, leaving only my bra and underwear in place. I stepped to his side and took hold of his arm.

He glanced at me, the question in his expression made me smile.

“You look like you need a hand,” I said.

We stepped out of the shower, careful to avoid the tacky blood on the floor and I led him to the bedroom. When he turned to his dresser, I bit back the gasp. His back was still traversed with oozing wounds.

“Do you have any bandages?” I asked with my gaze locked on the thin trails of blood running down to the waistband of his underwear where it soaked into the fabric creating a pattern I couldn’t tear my eyes from.

He paused with a t-shirt in his hand and cocked his head, like he was thinking through the catalog of items he had in this daytime sanctuary. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t even think I have Band-Aids,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Why, is it still that bad?”

I laughed, yanked from my thirsty stare by his question. “Whatever you put on, you’ll ruin.”

“Shit,” he said and dropped the shirt back in the drawer. He peeled off the wet underwear and switched it for a dry pair. Rummaging around the drawer, he finally found an old pair of cut off sweats, pulling them on before he turned toward me.

“Are you just going to stand and stare or are you going to get dressed?”

His curt attitude slapped me into action and I changed into one of the more comfortable lounging accessories I bought and turned. Damian stood with his hand gripping the top of the chair next to the dresser like it was the only thing holding him upright.

“Do you need my help?” I asked crossing to him and he sent a weak smile in my direction. I took that as a yes and wrapped my arm around him and he steered us toward the small kitchenette that I didn’t know existed.

“You haven’t seen the entire place yet,” he said and hobbled to the refrigerator. When he opened the door, I gasped at the content.

“What’d you do, raid a blood bank?”

He shrugged and took out two bags of O positive from the stash. “I only took the most common blood type and it’s just for emergencies.” He met my gaze and hobbled to the counter across the small expanse. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out two large goblets that looked like they came from ancient times.

The moment he ripped open the bag, the sweet scent settled in my head and my thirst went from a whisper to a scream, I was at his side reaching before he was done pouring. He intercepted my wrist long enough to squeeze out the last drop and then he handed the cup to me. I didn’t wait for him, I drank in greedy gulps, the liquid fueling a new energy in my tired cells.

“Kind of like crack, isn’t it?” he asked, licking his lips. I saw the same renewed energy in his eyes that ran amok in my body. He dropped the empty packages in the garbage under the sink and took the glass from my hands, cleaning both of them and putting them in the drain before turning back to me.

My gaze traveled back to the refrigerator. I wanted more but he took a grip of my upper arm, pulling me away from the source of my craving. I let him, knowing he was right, but the base animal at my core let out a growling groan and he stopped.

“That’s all we need to recharge,” he said and I found his hard gaze. “Any more and you won’t be able to resist attacking a human.”

His words pierced through the hunger, dissolving it into a twitching itch at the base of my spine and I nodded, understanding his warning. I didn’t want to kill the innocent and he gave me a nod.

“Neither do I,” he whispered.

He was in my head again and I pulled out of his grip.

“I can’t help it, Naomi, and I don’t know how to shut it off.” He offered a shrug. “This is as new to me as being a vampire is to you.”

“You’ve never read other’s minds?”

Damian shook his head. “No. That’s been another unique development and it’s only you that I can read.”

I thought about the flood of information I received when he offered his blood to me yesterday and I nodded. I hadn’t experienced anything like that in my mortal life.

He reached out and took my hand, leading me back to the bedroom.

“What are you? A sex addict?” I said.

“No, I need some sleep,” he said. “And I don’t want you to get into trouble.” I didn’t resist when he pulled me close, his form wrapped around me, fitting around me in the perfect spoon, like we had done this a thousand times before. The natural ease of it sparked in my soul and I sighed. His lips trailed down my neck and the back of my shoulder. “Thank you for saving my life,” he whispered.

I let the silence settle until his soft snores caressed my neck, tickling and I smiled, closing my eyes and letting sleep take over.

Chapter 20

Damian

FIRE RIPPED THROUGH my back again and my heart leapt into my throat at the sight of the white tiger launching over my head.

I sat up in the bed, my eyes adjusting to the darkness before my gaze landed on her warm form stretched out beside me, the soft rhythm of her breath told me she was still in the grips of slumber and I rubbed my face. She had saved my life today and I couldn’t comprehend what would have happened if they had caught her.

The thought produced a shudder and I stood, collecting our dirty garments and heading to the bathroom to clean up the mess.

I stood in the doorway staring at the blood soaked towel on the floor, and my heart ached. I could have killed her today and I have no idea what stopped me. All I remember is the visceral craving for more, and then the soft whisper of her voice triggered strength at the core of my soul commanding me to stop pulling the blood from her veins.

I turned away from the blood soaked floor and headed into the kitchen, pulling the garbage can from under the sink and the mop from the closet. The towel and my shredded shirt landed in the garbage with the empty blood containers. I tossed the clothing from the shower into the washing machine and turned the load on before I went back to mop up the tacky layer still covering the floor.

Naomi walked in with her nose wrinkled just as I started my third pass with the mop.

“Smells like bleach.”

“Yep,” I said, more convinced now that I should have died on the floor than when I started cleaning. The fact I was still alive and had enough strength to do this raked over my skin as brutally as that demon’s whip.

The shift in her mood hung on the air. “What the hell is your problem?”

I dropped the mop and crossed the room taking her by the upper arms and slammed her into the wall. “I could have killed you,” I snapped, the emotions swarming through me surfaced like a tornado flattening a Midwestern town.

“But you didn’t,” she answered in a small voice that paled behind her wide eyes.

I leaned in close, snarling; the storm taking hold and turning me into a thoughtless bastard intent on making her regret her decision to sacrifice herself for me. “You don’t understand how fucking dangerous that was!” I pointed to the sparkling floor that no longer held the evidence of my near demise.

Her eyes darted from mine to the spot and back.

“And what if they had gotten hold of you out there,” I pointed toward the ceiling. “I would have had to watch you die,” I said and my voice cracked. For the first time in at least a thousand years, my eyes misted and I let go, turning my back on her. “They would have made me watch you die,” I repeated and walked away from her trying to figure out why that thought nearly brought me to my knees.

She came to me, stepping into my line of sight and raising my chin until I met her gaze.

“I’m not going to apologize for saving you,” she said and the warmth in her eyes made my jaw clench and my eyes blink against the wavering view.

I reached up and took her face in my hands, the warm skin stirring the need deep in me and I kissed her. “Why did God deliver an angel to me?” I asked when I pulled away.

She laughed and it brought a smile to my lips.

“I’m no angel,” she said. “I want vengeance just as much as you do.” She pulled out of my grip and turned me, so my back faced her. The trail of her fingers down my skin sent a spark to a region lower than my beltline. “Your back healed up nicely while we slept.”

“Changing the subject?” I turned back to her and her cheeks flushed.

“Kind of,” she said and spun, heading into the living room. She slumped in the couch and I glanced at the mop and bucket in the bathroom, deciding it could wait. When I took the seat across from her, she picked at the cuticle on her thumb.

“The demon whipping you was the same one from the other night,” she said.

“I gathered from your reaction.”

She looked up at me.

“I hope I’m never on the receiving end of your wrath.”

She cracked a small smile. “Just don’t cross me.”

I couldn’t fathom crossing her, quite the opposite. I’d gladly lay down my life for her and that certainty wasn’t driven by responsibility or Michael’s ultimatum. It was driven by something much deeper. I was just beginning to realize how much her strength and beauty reminded me of her distant grandmother.

“You remind me of Athena,” I blurted and then pressed my lips together, looking away from the surprised gaze she leveled at me.

“Mark sent me an email.”

That got my attention and I nearly gave myself whiplash turning my head back in her direction. Every level of emotion inside my core turned the black shade of anger. There was a man I’d willingly tear limb from limb just for fun and the closer I got to Naomi, the bigger that fury grew.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“I didn’t open it yet. I don’t want him to know I’m alive.” She shifted on the couch. “And I wasn’t sure if I opened the email, if it would lead them to us.”

I sent a smile her way. “I’ve already thought of that. I’ve got so many ghost URL’s that they’d never find the source. They’re more likely to attack my Paris home than anything in the states.”

“You understand technology?”

I laughed. “What else is there to do during the day?”

“So, what, you take online classes?”

“Yes. It keeps my mind sharp and I have to admit the computer revolution has been a blessing. Getting educated prior to online courses was a pain in the ass.” I stood and reached out. “Come on; let’s see what he has to say.”

She stood, allowing me to take her hand and lead her to the office where she took the seat and I stood behind her, leaning on the back of the black leather seat while she logged into her account.

“Should I open it?” She glanced up at me.

“Hang on.” I waved her from the seat and pulled up the virus program I wrote, scanning her email account for hidden code, deleting any Trojan horse I found. I typed a few more commands blocking any return receipts notifying the sender that she opened the email, and then gave her the seat. “No one will know you opened any of the messages now.”

Naomi moved the mouse over the message and hesitated, her hand pulling away from the controls like the message was going to deliver her news that she couldn’t stomach. She took a deep breath and I could feel her nervous energy.

“It will be okay,” I said and she gave me a glare.

“In what world is what he did okay?” she asked and I put my hands on her shoulders.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” I said, but the doubt in her gaze left me cold.

The click of the mouse pulled my attention to the screen and we both stared at the message. It was an apology of sorts, one meant to cover his ass if her body was ever found and my fists clenched.

“He called my grandfather?” she whispered in the seat. “That bastard.”

My intuition prickled. “Is he…”

“No, he’s a tribal elder of the Mohegan Indian tribe.” She glanced at me. “That’s where my last name originates.”

I stared at the screen. “You think he’s sending you some sort of warning?”

Naomi shook her head. “No. He’s expecting that if I’m alive, I’ll run to my grandfather to make sure he’s okay. It’s a trap.”

Another email popped into her box and she opened it.

Mark’s words leapt off the screen producing a growl in my throat.

“Now he’s just fishing,” Naomi whispered and leaned back in the chair with her arms crossed. The glare she sent at the screen matching mine.

“He called you a slut,” I said.

She glanced up at me. “He’s doing it to get a response.”

“I’ll give him a fucking response.” The back of the chair creaked under my crushing grip. My gaze moved from the screen to her. A smile played on her lips as her gaze met mine. “What are you smiling at?”

“You getting all protective of my honor,” she teased.

I relaxed my grip on the chair and chuckled.

“So when are we going after the dickwad?”

My smile faded. “We have to give it a few weeks.” Disappointment transformed her lovely features. “We have to wait until he stops sending you emails. That’ll mean he believes you’re dead and his guard will drop. Besides, I’d be willing to bet Lucifer has one of his more diligent details tagging along with your boyfriend there, and if we strike while they’re around, today will seem like a walk in the park in comparison.” I let that settle between us.

Her gaze held mine and she nodded, glancing back at the screen. “The demons today…”

“I told the truth,” I said answering her before she finished the question and her head snapped around. “I said you were delicious.” I couldn’t help the grin that surfaced.

“So they thought I was dead?”

“Yes, they made that assumption,” I said, offering her a shrug. “Otherwise, they would have used me as bait to flush you out.”

The way her eyes widened made me want to kiss her fears away and I leaned down, planting a peck on her forehead.

“What if Lucifer finds out I’m alive?”

I stood and walked out of the office. The question brought forth a wealth of images, none of which I wanted to discuss with her. She followed and grabbed my shoulder, turning me toward her.

“What will he do?”

I laughed and looked at the ceiling. “Before he cut your heart out, he’d shatter what’s left of your innocence just to spite me.”

“Why?”

“Because, he’d assume the only reason you were alive was because I fell in love with you.”

Chapter 21

Naomi

HIS WORDS CREATED a warm ripple through my form. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” he asked, but the softness in the question told me much more than I anticipated.

I put my hands on my hip, cocking my head and raising an eyebrow.

He laughed, turning away.

“Damian?”

His shoulders tightened and he glanced to the side, not quite meeting my inquisitive stare.

“Talk to me.”

“I have to finish cleaning the bathroom,” he said and sauntered away.

My gaze landed on the mural and I crossed, studying the intricate detail. The familiarity of the setting chilled me and set me on fire at the same time. It was the snow-covered glen that I circled around to save his life, however the snow was much deeper than the dusting today and my posture in the picture was relaxed, almost playful while I tracked the hawk in the sky above.

I turned at the rustle behind me. Damian carried the empty bucket and mop toward the laundry area.

“You might want to check the stairway, too,” I said.

He stopped and scanned the dark tiles that led from the entry to the bathroom and swung the mop from its resting place on his shoulder. Watching him clean created a peculiar heat in me and he sent a sideways glance in my direction accompanied by a knowing smirk.

“This turns you on?” he asked without diverting his attention from his task.

“A little,” I answered. I hadn’t seen Mark lift a finger to clean anything up in all the years we were together and the sight of a man cleaning just warmed my soul. My eyes traveled over his form sparking a carnal hunger and I licked my lips.

Damian stopped and crossed his arms, leaning them on the mop, sending a grin my way. “Will you please get your mind out of the gutter so I can finish this?”

It was my turn to grin.

“Ah, fuck it,” he said, letting the mop drop to the floor and crossing the room in a flash, tackling me onto the couch.

I giggled as he settled over me and grinned, looking exactly like a normal impulsive twenty-five-year-old and for a moment, I lost the ability to breathe. His eyes sparkled with a light humor that I hadn’t seen from a man since high school.

“You are insatiable,” he said.

I let out a breathy laugh, my gaze locked with his. “What would happen if I let you shatter my innocence?” I asked with a coy teasing tone.

His reaction wasn’t what I expected.

Damian’s smile faded and the sparkle in his eyes turned into a burning flame. He pressed his lips to mine for the briefest instant and then pulled away.

“If you were to allow me the honor, any man, mortal or otherwise, who dared to lay a finger on you from that point forward, would be signing his own death warrant.”

“Oh, really?” I toyed with him. “And what about all those women who throw themselves at your feet?”

He laughed and chills traversed my skin.

“Baby, they don’t matter,” he said and leaned in to kiss me again.

I put my hand between his lips and mine, narrowing my eyes. “Does that mean you can play the field but I have to be all saintly?”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “No, that means it would only be you. You’d be my playing field.” He let the silence fill the space and then added, “The only field I’d ever play on.” And with that, he grinned. “Does this mean you’re considering it?”

His grin was infectious and I couldn’t help the curve of mine, but I offered a shrug in answer because I couldn’t say yes to him. I wasn’t in love with him. Sure, I was dependent on him, but I had to be in love before I made that kind of commitment.

Forever was a long time, especially since we were both, by all accounts, immortal.

Chapter 22

Damian

A BLAST OF arctic air couldn’t have doused the heat any faster and I pulled away, giving her a nod and some space. I began to realize this was going to be a very complicated relationship, one that was going to test my patience.

“What happens if I never get to that point?”

The dread in her voice smoothed the aggravation and I sighed, meeting her gaze. What happens, indeed? I didn’t have an answer, so I went back to cleaning the last of my blood from the slate.

“Damian?”

“I don’t know,” I answered watching the slow swipes of the mop on the floor. I didn’t turn at the shift in the air around me, nor did I when her fingers ran down my bare back. I just kept up the slow movement across the floor, cleaning all traces of my close call from view.

“Are you angry?”

The mop stopped and I closed my eyes, giving a shake of my head as an answer. My heart ached and I sighed, analyzing the emotions sweeping through me. The pendulum swung from one extreme to another almost as if I was a hormonal teenager again, and it irked me. I opened my eyes and turned my gaze to her.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

Her eyes drifted over me again and I saw the spark light up in her eyes.

“Maybe I should get dressed,” I said, her hungry gaze tempting fate and I had to distance myself a little from this crazy brew in my blood.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” she said and crossed her arms, cocking her head, her teasing tone getting under my skin.

“You better make up your mind, girl, because this hot and cold shit is going to drive me up the fucking wall.” I turned and grabbed the bucket, heading into the laundry room and stashing the cleaning equipment. I leaned against the wall with my back to the door, regretting the harshness in my tone, but she didn’t comprehend the pending storm.

“Damian?” her soft voice implored.

I turned, leveling my best stay away glare and she took a step back. The fear that flashed in her tight features diffused the ticking bomb inside me. When she turned and ran toward the bedroom, I didn’t follow.

Instead, I went back into my office and slumped at the computer, pulling up my latest online class. I hadn’t checked the lesson plans in over a week and the number of lessons stacked up yanked a groan from my throat. The last thing I wanted to do right now was homework, not with Naomi sulking in the bedroom.

“Damn it,” I cursed and pushed the chair back, storming across the expanse and pushing the door open.

She lay stomach down on the bed with her face buried in her crossed arms. “Look,” I started and her glare shut me up.

“Maybe I should find another place to stay,” she said and rolled to her side. Her tearstained face tugged at my nerves just as much as her statement.

I glanced at the ceiling, trying to find the right words before I brought my gaze back to hers. “You don’t need to do that. I can find somewhere else to go if that makes you more comfortable.”

She tensed and under the aggravation, I saw a flare of pain.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be here with you,” I started back-tracking and stopped, blinking away the need to babble until that hurt look evaporated from her eyes. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me?

Her lips pressed together and I sighed.

“Naomi, this whole thing is new for me and I’m not entirely sure what to do with you,” I said, laying it out for her with no excuses.

Her face relaxed and she sat up, crossing her legs Indian style. “You’re overwhelming to me, too,” she said.

I laughed and crossed the floor, taking a seat on the bed facing her. “Well, I guess it’s good that’s mutual.”

She smiled and studied me for a moment. “Are you in love with me?”

Her question took me by surprise, so did the silent plea in her eyes and I shrugged. “I don’t know. Logically, it’s way too soon.” I dropped my gaze, not adding that I would be if I could figure out how to break down the last of the crumbling brick around my heart. Instead, I asked, “Are you?”

“I’m at the same place you are,” she said and I glanced into her eyes, seeing the conflict. “Being with you feels right. Natural. Like it was meant to be, but I can’t fathom that.” She glanced around the room. “I can’t fathom any of this.”

I nodded, dropping my gaze. “It’s funny how things turn out.”

“I can’t reconcile my feelings right now, Damian,” Naomi whispered and I met her stare. “On one hand, I am still very pissed off that you did this to me and on the other…” She trailed off and her gazed drifted over my still bare chest. She inhaled and continued, “And on the other, you create such a heat in my soul that I can’t ignore it, but I’m not sure if it’s going to ignite or explode.”

The smirk came naturally and she swatted my arm.

“I’m serious.”

“I know, it’s just your description is dead on and you’re not telling me anything that hasn’t crossed my mind.”

Dimples appeared in her cheeks and she fought the smile, but lost and I shifted, crawling over to her with a predatory hunger, and she giggled.

“Heat, huh?” I said and pushed her back, nuzzling my face into her neck. “I can show you a heat that’s out of this world.”

Her laughter filled the room and I joined her, tickling her sides with my fingers and nipping at her neck and she squirmed under me. Naomi’s hands found my only ticklish spot, an obscure spot on my natural waist and I jerked away, my laughter turning to a squeak of surprise. The mischief in her eyes bloomed and she went on the offensive, tickling relentlessly, until I caught her wrists and stretched them over her head.

Both of us continued to shake with laughter and I moved to nip her neck again. She pulled her shoulder up, blocking access. I tried the other side and she blocked me again, the game repeating through a half dozen times before I let go of her wrists and settled over her, propping myself up on my elbows.

The laughter wound down and she reached out, sliding her palm over my cheek.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“For making me laugh,” she said.

I turned my lips to her hand, placing a kiss at the heart of her palm. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that,” I said and sighed.

Her smile faded and she stared at me with those beautiful chocolate eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said and offered a ghost of a smile.

I inhaled her sweet scent and then pulled away. “I’m way behind in my studies,” I said and rolled off her and glanced at the clock. “And I only have a few more hours before nightfall, so…”

“So, you’re bailing on me?”

“Yes. If you want something to read, I can show you to my library.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Either that or you could go exploring. There are quite a few sections of this place you haven’t seen.”

“Really?” she asked and smirked. “And here I thought you were shallow and just had places to screw around.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “I’m sure you’ll find more than enough intriguing places for us to screw around, if that’s what you desire.” With that, I slipped off the bed and headed out of the room.

Chapter 23

Naomi

THE VIEW OF his back was mighty fine and when he shot that twinkling smile back at me before disappearing around the corner, I thought my skin would catch fire. I dropped onto my back and stared at the ceiling.

He was smashing almost every notion I had about vampires, although, I wondered if it was just his innate ability to charm that had me smitten. And I had to admit, I was smitten, maybe more than smitten now that he'd let his guard down and laughed with me.

Rough housing impressed his sense of humor, and that was a rarity in the vampire realm. From what I had heard, vampires were cold with no depth of personality; all they wanted was blood and that trumped being civil. The disease burned out any hint of fun.

Damian was different. He was as full of life as a twenty-five-year-old should be, like turning the sands of time stopped not only his body, but his mind from aging. He was a strange contradiction. His normal persona was so charismatic and bright, but his shadow form, well, frankly, that terrified me.

I wondered if being an Archangel’s lackey had some influence on his demeanor.

Damian stepped back in the doorway.

“I’m not his lackey,” he said, the aggravation making his features hard.

“That’s what you got from my silent ramblings?”

His cheeks transitioned to embarrassed red and his gaze dropped to the floor. When his mouth opened and closed a couple times trying to form a rebuttal, I stifled a chuckle. However, in the end, he just offered me a shy smile.

“Your notion of what a normal vampire is like isn’t that far off. They crave blood more than you and I do, and it turns them into uncontrollable monsters.”

“Why are we different?”

Damian bit his lip and met my gaze with a shrug. “Probably because you and I survived on vampire blood that first day and we’ve both been infused with angel blood.”

My eyes widened. “You bit Michael, too?”

The bitter smile surfaced and he nodded. “He nearly took my head off.”

I thought about how pissed he was when I bit him, and I’m part of his bloodline. “Why didn’t he kill you?”

“He got a mental viewing of what happened to his daughter and knew how hell bent I was on revenge.” Damian leaned on the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “I also think the fact I didn’t divulge where Zoe was held some weight.”

“So it wasn’t just a pity thing,” I said and grinned.

His eyes narrowed and he leveled a glare in my direction before disappearing down the hall. This time, I scrambled after him, catching him halfway across the living room.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said.

He looked up at the ceiling before bringing his gaze to me. “You didn’t offend me. It’s just still a sensitive subject,” he said.

“Even after all these years?”

His lips pressed together and he nodded. For a brief instant, I saw the underlying pain flogging his soul, and I reached out, cupping his cheek with my palm. I wanted to erase every last drop of strife in him and the soft smile that appeared tugged at my heartstrings.

I moved closer and allowed my hand to drop to his chest. His heartbeat tapped a soft rhythm at my proximity.

“Do you know why the connection between us is so…” I trailed off, unsure of the proper way to describe it. Strong wasn’t the right word but it was the only one I could come up with and the thought prompted his smile to gain traction.

“Electric?” he asked, his voice lilting in a pleasant question.

My face heated and I nodded.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But when you get this close, I can’t think straight.”

His admission made me smile. I liked the fact that I pushed him to the edge of control, because he certainly had that effect on me.

“Is this a supernatural side effect to being a vampire?”

He laughed. “No,” he said when the laughter wound down. “You were out with people last night. Did you feel this connection with anyone else?”

I thought about the stroll through the mall and the number of people surrounding us. Not one of them captured my attention and I shook my head.

“I really have studying to do,” he said but instead of moving away, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. When his lips touched mine, I swear a bolt of lightning pierced through my soul, searing me to him for all eternity.

Chapter 24

Damian

THE TASTE OF a summer rainstorm washed over me and I couldn’t help myself. The kiss transitioned into the flash over zone and before I knew it, I had her pressed against the wall. My hormones went into overdrive and all I wanted was to hear her cry my name with her throaty, sex-laden voice.

The reality of our connection sucked the air from my lungs and I pulled away, meeting her gaze.

“I really have to study,” I mumbled, trying to convince myself more than her.

She giggled, and the sound made my muscles tingle.

“You’ve said that three times already,” Naomi whispered and licked her lips. That simple act may have been done in innocence, but it erased all thought from my brain, reducing me to the base animalistic tendencies so pronounced in my blood.

I think I growled, but I can’t be sure. All I knew is the night was coming and I could feel the pulse of it in my mouth and my cock, both begging for satiation. Cloth tore and I blinked, staring down at her wide eyes, my body poised over her now naked form laid out on the hard floor, ready to take her without consideration.

My muscles tensed and I exhaled. “I’m sorry,” I whispered and went to pull away.

Naomi grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. When her teeth closed on my throat I moaned her name, but she didn’t break the skin, instead her tongue danced over my carotid, the flutter as pronounced as my pulse. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to bury myself inside her.

For every swipe of her tongue, a little piece of my control chipped away and the burning need to have her stripped my skin of hesitation.

“Ah, fuck, Naomi, you have got to stop that,” I said.

“Why?” she asked against my neck just before her teeth punctured my skin.

Her gentle sucking crashed through me and I dipped my mouth to the line of her throat, piercing her skin at the same moment I thrust my hips. Her sharp gasp slapped my mind back in place and my teeth retracted, breaking contact with her skin. The feel of her tight around my throbbing member nearly sent me over the edge and I closed my eyes, relishing the all-consuming heat.

“Damian,” her voice cut through my stupor, the moment bringing with it a sharp clarity at what I had done.

I raised my head, meeting her gaze and then looked down at our coupled bodies. I’m sure my eyes were just as wide as hers, but I made no move to pull out, instead, I circled my hips slowly and my eyes rolled at the sheer bliss. I leaned down and licked the blood from her neck before bringing my lips to hers.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered and punctuated it with another swirl of my hips, bringing a gasp from her, but this time there was an underlying hint of pleasure and her body responded, moving with me.

Her fingers dug into the back of my head, pressing my mouth to hers, our tongues mingling, drenching my senses with blood and summer mist, our bodies sinuous and languid in our rhythm. Not one encounter in my entire existence prepared me for this moment, even the memories of my time with Athena paled in comparison to this exquisite creature.

We rolled and I let her take over the pace, whispering her name accented with my ancient Greek, forming long-forgotten words of affection. Her features transitioned, saturating with ecstasy and her throaty breath with my name on it led me right into oblivion.

I opened my eyes to the ceiling, blinking before lowering my gaze to her body draped over me. Her knees still tightly hugged my sides and both her arms curled around my shoulders. Her chest heaved with exertion and her dark hair tickled my neck.

My first coherent thought sent a shock wave spinning through my body. What the fuck have I done?

I licked my lips, afraid to speak. I knew I’d have to eventually, so I bit the bullet. “Naomi?”

She lifted her head a fraction, but didn’t look at me, instead, she used her luxurious mane to hide her features and when I went to move her hair from her face, she stopped me with one word.

“Don’t.”

“I…” I started, but she whipped her hair away from her face and the glare that pierced me shut off any further attempt at an apology.

She lay her head back down on my chest and fear channeled into my cells. My fingers found her hair and I combed them slowly through her locks. My mind shifted to the feel of the silky strands and the warmth of her stretched out on me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the chance to feel her this way again, so I took the time to burn it to memory.

When she finally lifted her head and propped her chin on her fist, I met her gaze.

“This doesn’t mean you own me,” she said, her voice still carrying a hint of anger.

“I know. It means you own me.” I traced her lips and met her gaze.

Naomi’s features softened and she sighed, allowing a small smile to form. “I guess Lucifer can’t shatter my innocence anymore,” she said and offered an eye roll.

I smiled, unwilling to speak, unwilling to tell her that Lucifer could now shatter my world. And if he ever got his hands on her, that’s exactly what would happen. Making love to Naomi had sealed my fate. My life was now devoted to keeping her safe. Michael would have to enlist someone else to keep tabs on the rest of his bloodline, because this beauty in my arms was my future.

“I could stay like this forever,” I whispered.

Chapter 25

Naomi

A STORM OF emotions swept through me and my gaze remained locked on his bright blue eyes. I found myself grinning at the irony. It took two days with a vampire for me to open my legs and welcome him inside me, an action that Mark had been unable to get me to do in over two years.

I had heard horror stories of the first time from my girlfriends and now I wondered if it was just an elaborate lie. One that I bought into enough to cling to my virginity into my twenties and I’m sure it probably saved me the same un-enchanted fate as my friends.

While I had felt that initial stab of pain everyone described, Damian had bit me at the same time, consuming all other sensations. The shock of it was as overwhelming as the flow of his blood had been, and every movement after had been sweet bliss.

My god, it was amazing, he was amazing.

I dropped my head back to his chest, listening to the dull drum of his heart. Resting on his chest felt natural, like we were an extension of each other. His arms wrapped around me and his lips pressed to the top of my head.

“I still have to study,” he whispered.

Lifting my head, I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Really?’

He grinned. “Yeah,” he said and pushed my hair away from my face.  He planted a kiss and sat up, keeping his arms wrapped around me. “If I don’t, I won’t have time for anything else tomorrow and I think my boss will go ballistic if I don’t check in.”

“Your boss?” The notion of Damian holding down a job made me laugh.

“Yes. I freelance. Computer programming, website design, stuff like that.”

The more I found out about this man, the more I was intrigued.

“How do you think I maintain my properties?” he asked and pulled me off his lap. The sudden disengagement of our bodies made me whine and I saw the same wince from him. Our detachment left me empty in more than one respect.

Damian stood, helping me to my feet while he surveyed the clothing carnage scattered across the room. He gestured toward my shredded bra. “It looks like we’ll have to make another trip to Victoria’s Secret tonight.”

My mind was still stuck on the fact he had a job and I stared at him for a moment before glancing around the room. “Looks that way,” I muttered and began picking up my clothing, assessing the damage. Nothing was salvageable and I turned toward him, holding the pile out to him. “You destroyed everything.”

He shrugged, pulling his shorts on and leveled a shy smile in my direction. “Sorry,” he said and he smirked, turning and disappearing into the office.

I turned and headed back to the bedroom, dropping the ripped clothing in the chair by the door before getting dressed. A quick glance at the clock told me we didn’t have much longer cooped up in this underground establishment, and instead of donning jeans and a t-shirt, I opted for a sexier look.

When I walked in the office, Damian’s quick glance froze and his eyes widened in appreciation. I saw the spark ignite and he leaned back in the chair as I crossed and took the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

“You really know how to distract a man.” His appraisal of me continued and I shifted under his blatant study.

“I want to see if Mark sent another email,” I said, changing the subject.

He nodded and I stood, walking around to his side of the desk. Instead of relinquishing the chair to me, Damian pulled me onto his lap and then closed the course menu he had up, leaving the browser open for me.

He pushed my hair to the side and ran his tongue from my exposed shoulder to the curve of my neck. I tried to shrug him off, but I couldn’t ignore the heat. My fingers slipped on the keyboard, and it took me three tries to type in the correct URL and he chuckled in my ear.

“It looks like my homework will have to wait,” he whispered.

I stared at the latest note from Mark, my blood running cold despite Damian’s attempts at seduction. His hands stopped on my waist and the low growl that formed in his throat told me he was reading the same thing I was.

The words sank in and I tried to stand but Damian clamped down on my waist.

“It’s a bluff,” he growled at the screen.

My heart had already started that panicked pulse and my mouth ran dry. “He’s got my grandfather, Damian.” I turned, meeting his gaze.

Damian’s jaw tightened and his glance flicked back to the screen. “What’s your grandfather’s name and phone number?” he asked, reaching for the phone.

“Nathan Hawk,” I said and rattled off the number.

He pressed a few numbers and then dialed my grandfather’s line and put his finger on my lip, his eyes carrying the warning to be quiet.

“Hello, is Nathan Hawk available?” he asked. “Oh, okay, can you tell me when he will be home?” He paused and listened. “This is Connecticut Light and Power calling regarding his electric bill.” Another pause. “I’ll try back then, thank you.” He disconnected the call and put the phone on the desk before meeting my gaze.

“My grandfather lives alone,” I said and my skin flushed against the chill settling into my bones.

“It’s an ambush, Naomi. A set up to draw you out.”

“I can’t let them torture my grandfather,” I pointed at the screen and the promise of the things that would happen to my grandfather if I ignored the email.

“Would your grandfather want you to sacrifice yourself for him?”

The sharp tone in Damian’s question along with his stern piercing stare clamped my lips closed. I glanced at the screen and shook my head, although it didn’t settle well in my stomach. “I can’t let him die in my place,” I finally said.

He shook his head. “I’m not letting you go there.”

“You don’t have a say,” I snapped.

“The hell I don’t,” he growled, his grip on me tightened. “It is a set up.”

“I’m well aware it’s a set up, but I can’t let him take the fall.” I struggled out of his grip and spun toward him. “I told you, you don’t own me.”

He shot to his feet, his eyes blazing and his fists clenched. The muscles in his arms twitched and he just glared at me. His chest rose and fell with aggravation. “If I have to lock you up for the next two weeks, I will.”

“Bullshit!” I stepped toe-to-toe with him, my fists clenching hard enough for my nails to dig into my palms.

He closed his eyes and hung his head. “I can’t.” His hands unclenched and he stepped around me, heading out of the office, leaving me with my building fury.

“What do you mean you can’t?” I stormed after him.

“I can’t walk you into an ambush,” he spun and glared at me. “Not in this lifetime.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It isn’t your choice.”

“God damn it, Naomi, I’ve dealt with these assholes before, you haven’t.”

“Can you guarantee they won’t hurt my grandfather?”

Damian clenched his teeth, his gaze dropping to the floor. “He’s already dead,” he said, his voice barely a whisper and when his glance met mine, I saw the truth in his eyes.

I stumbled back, my legs losing all control to hold me upright and Damian reached out, grasping me around the waist. The shock of his words bled through the numbness and pain hit like a razor to my skin. I shook my head to wipe away the black rim closing down my vision and met his gaze.

“How do you know?” I managed to ask.

“Because they were there,” he said.

Rage burned from the base of my spine to the nape of my neck and a growl formed in my throat. It started low and Damian pulled me close, trying to hold me together, but it was too big, too dark and I wanted blood. I spun, flipping him over my hip and onto the floor and I shot to the door, my focus only on tearing Lucifer’s throat out with my bare hands.

Damian caught me on the stairs, tackling me to the risers.

“No,” he growled in my ear in the voice of his shadow form. “You are not ready to go charging after Lucifer yet.”

“Damian, let me go,” I screamed and a crash in the house above froze us both in place.

I turned my head and his shadow glare met mine, sending a shiver up my spine.

“What…”

“Shut up,” he muttered and his hand slid over my mouth, his gaze transitioning to the door and the sounds of shuffling above.

“Open it!” a male voice snarled and Damian picked me up, carrying me back into the house. He closed the door at the bottom of the stairs and set me down. Taking my hand, he stalked through the office to a panel on the wall, punching in the familiar numbers, a door popped open. He led me down another set of concrete stairs into an underground maze.

I lost track of how many turns he took and the complete blackness surrounding us didn’t give me any hint of what direction we were going. All I knew was he was practically dragging me. When he stopped, he turned toward me, slamming me against the wall.

Without warning, his body pressed against mine and he kissed me.

I pushed him away. “What the fuck, Damian,”

His husky laugh filled the dark. “Before we go barreling out of here, I need you to know…”

“Don’t give me this sentimental bullshit. Just tell me what you need me to do,” I snapped, cutting him off and blinking at his dark shape.

“I need you to run,” he whispered.

“Right,” I said with all the sarcasm I could muster. “You said the house is demon and angel proof, so that means those are human thugs.”

Silence met my comment.

“Who do they have up there?”

“The family’s daughter,” he whispered.

“How old is she?”

“I think she’s eighteen,” he said.

“What’s her name?”

“Valerie, why?”

“Because I have an idea and I’m dressed for it. Can you get me to the front door?”

His hesitation annoyed me.

“Damian, you know damn well I can hold my own and even if the idiots upstairs are working for Lucifer, I’ll make sure they send back a hell of a message.”

“You can’t let Lucifer know you’re alive.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“No. He doesn’t know you are alive.”

Damian shifted and reached beyond me, pushing a stone. The back wall slid revealing another stairwell. He took the lead and when we reached the top, he pushed up on the floor. Ambient light filtered in and he scanned the length of the opening before lifting the floorboard up enough for me to slip through.

I slid out of the cavern, crawling under the chassis of a truck. Damian caught my foot before I rolled out into the open garage. I glanced back and he shook his head, putting a finger to his lips and crawled next to me, closing the hatchway with his foot.

The gentle click echoed and we both stiffened.

When no one came running, he shimmied out from under the truck and offered his hand. I hesitated and took it. Damian helped me to my feet and wiped the dust off the front of the dress. “They don’t know what we are,” he whispered.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to go all fangs and rip their throats out in front of Valerie.” I glanced around the garage and my gaze landed on a small motorcycle. “Can you get that down the road for me without clueing them in?”

Damian raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” I whispered and gave him a peck on the lips.

“Okay,” he said, but I could tell there wasn’t a comfortable bone in his body. We rolled the motorcycle out the side door at the farthest point from the house and with a quick glance; he transitioned and wrapped one talon around the bike and the other around my waist. I started to argue, but he lifted off, flying low enough to keep the garage as a buffer to the view. When we reached the woods, he set me on the ground and snapped back into human form.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re up to…”

“Damian, I’ll get Valerie out of danger without her knowing what we are, I promise. Okay,” I said and his jaw tightened. “I need you to cool your jets.”

His lips pressed together.

“Give me ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for, okay?”

He sighed and nodded.

“Where’s the road?”

“A few yards that way.” He pointed over my shoulder and I pushed the bike onto the tar, straddling it and kicking the starter on.

The engine purred beneath my legs and I sent a smile in his direction. As soon as I was within distance of the driveway, I whooped and hollered, pulling right up the walkway to the front door and turned the beast of a motorcycle off.

I vaulted up the stairs and pounded on the door. “Val?” I yelled, continuing to pound on the door. “Val, it’s freezing, let me in!” I pressed the doorbell, shifting my weight and rubbing my arms.

When the girl opened the door with wide scared eyes, I winked at her.

“Hey Val, I know I said I was grounded, but Jake’s party sounds way too good to pass up,” I said and stepped in the entry. “I hope like hell we can use your car, because it’s way too cold to ride my brother’s motorcycle.”

I closed the door and glanced at her. “You’re not wearing that to the party, are you?” I met her shocked gaze and shivered, still running my hands over my arms as if I was cold.

She blinked and shook her head. “Um, I didn’t think you were going to make it so…” she trailed off, picking up on my little sham. Her eyes darted toward the back hallway, the one that led to the atrium and Damian’s hideaway below.

“Well, go change,” I pointed upstairs and she nodded, taking a step toward the stairs.

“And who do we have here?” a deep voice said from where her eyes had darted.

Valerie’s entire form stiffened and she reached for the banister.

“I’m Anna, who the hell are you?” I asked, bringing my hands to my hips as the stranger stepped into the hallway. When he pulled the gun out from behind him, my eyes widened and my hands dropped to my sides. “Whoa, I don’t want any trouble,” I said, putting my hands up in front of me and stepping back against the door.

“It’s a little too late for that,” he smiled and waved the gun, motioning me toward Valerie.”

My gaze jumped to Valerie. “Did he…” I let the question trail off and added just the right tremor into my voice to carry across to the man with the gun.

Valerie shook her head and I moved toward her on what appeared to be shaky legs. When I got to her, I threw my arms around her with a dramatic, “Oh god.”

The man chuckled.

“When I say run, you run and hide, understand?” I whispered in Valerie’s ear. She met my gaze and offered the slightest of nods. I pulled away, putting my hands on her cheeks. “He didn’t hurt you?”

Shifting, I put myself between her and the thug.

“No, neither of them hurt me,” she said and I got the message. “They want me to open my father’s safe and I don’t have the combination.”

I turned toward the approaching man with the gun. “You’re a fucking thief?”

He laughed and waved for us to step into full view.

I glanced at Valerie. “It’s time to run, Val,” I said and directed her upstairs with my eyes before turning back to the man. Valerie’s footfalls echoed as she scrambled upstairs.

“You bitch,” the man snarled and pointed the barrel at me.

The report of the gun filled the space and I spun. The heat from the bullet grazed my shoulder and before he could get off another shot, I had his wrist in my grip.

Raw power surged in my veins and I twisted, nearly tearing his wrist off in the process. The gun fell from his hand and I snatched it from the air before it hit the ground. I didn’t hesitate, when his accomplice appeared in the doorway, I pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him between the eyes and he was dead on the ground before I turned the gun on the thug trying to crawl away. I crossed to him, slamming my stiletto into the small of his back. He cried out.

The hinges on the front door broke and Damian stumbled into the foyer, his eyes crazed and darting around the brightly lit hall until they landed on me. He skidded to a stop and the complete surprise in his features made me burst out laughing.

“I told you I could hold my own.”

The click behind me sent a skitter of shock through me and I aimed the gun at the man below my heel before sending a glance over my shoulder. “I’ll kill him,” I said, meeting the hard gaze of the third culprit and pressed my heel harder into the man’s back.

Another anguished cry filled the room.

He stepped into my field of view and my gaze landed on the gun. It wasn’t pointed at me; instead it was aimed toward the doorway. Toward Damian.

“A platinum bullet will kill him,” he said.

I pulled the trigger, killing the man underneath me and spinning so my gun was now aimed at the bastard threatening Damian. No one moved. The shock on his face was complete, like he never expected me to call his bluff and before he could recover, I squeezed the trigger again.

His shot went wild, but mine was true and he landed on his back, his dead surprised gaze locked on the ceiling. A harsh gasp caught my attention and I turned toward the door.

Damian clutched his shoulder and blood ran over his hand. I stepped toward him.

“Make sure there aren’t any more,” he said and I nodded spinning and moving like a professional from room to room. The house was clear and I came back to the foyer, picking up the guns as I went.

Damian was still conscious when I approached, but his complexion was ashen.

“What’s wrong?”

“The bullet is still in there,” he whispered, meeting my gaze.

I set the guns down and squatted next to him, ripping open the shirt and inspecting the wound. The smell of his blood sent a wave of hunger through me and I clamped my mouth closed, taking a deep breath.

“This is going to hurt,” I said and before he could react, I sank my teeth in his shoulder, tearing at the wound. I leaned back and reached into the gash, extracting the platinum-plated bullet.

He stared at me, his breath ragged as he glanced down at the bullet in my hand.

“You shouldn’t even be able to touch platinum,” he whispered and then his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped. I ripped a strip of his shirt and wrapped his shoulder before I wiped my face.

Her eyes burned into my back and I pivoted, glancing at the top of the staircase at Valerie. Now that I wasn’t trying to save her life, I took a moment to study her and the light shining from her was almost blinding. I now understood why Damian protected this girl.

She was a child of light like I had been.

“It’s okay now.”

Valerie’s eyes jumped from the dead man by the stairwell to Damian and her eyes narrowed. “Are you here to hurt my family?”

I stood and stepped to the stairs meeting her gaze. “No. I’m here to protect you.”

“Are you a cop?”

I sighed and glanced at Damon’s unconscious form wondering if I should lie, but I opted not to. “No, I’m not a cop.” I met her gaze.

“You sure shoot like one.”

I smiled. “My father was a cop and taught me how to shoot,” I said and my smile faded. “He’s dead now,” I added and dropped my gaze. The smell of fresh blood was overwhelming and I wanted a drink. “Why don’t you go upstairs and wait while I clean up this mess.” I waved to the dead men.

Her glance fell on Damian. “Will he be okay?”

The concern in her voice hit a chord and I nodded. “I’ll see to it that he is, now go. I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”

Valerie nodded and I waited until a door latched upstairs before my gaze landed on the expanding pools of blood. I had to get these men out of here and Damian was in no shape to help. I left him there and jumped into action, using my speed to carry the relatively weightless bodies into the woods. When I stepped back in the house, the bloodlust took control and I closed my eyes, transitioning.

Padding up to the first puddle, I licked it clean, even though the taste disgusted me. It wasn’t like the blood bags Damian had and I wondered if the fiends had been human or if they were vampires like we were, or something all together different. I cleaned the first two puddles and stepped to the third, the one closest to Damian. A gasp caught my attention and I raised my head, my gaze falling on Valerie. She smelled delicious and I closed my eyes, dipping my head to the puddle of tacky blood before I did something Damian would hate me for.

“Naomi,” his voice cut through my concentration and I lifted my head. Damian had gotten to his feet, his hand still clamped on his shoulder and he stepped to the edge of the stairwell, blocking the path to Valerie. I glanced in her direction before returning my attention to the puddle, swathing up the blood with my tongue.

“Is that yours?” Valerie whispered.

“Yes. Where’d the girl go?” he asked.

“She said she was going to clean up the mess and when I came down, the dead men were gone and that tiger was cleaning the floors.”

“She must have let my cat out when she took the bodies out,” he said. “Naomi won’t hurt you,” he added and I caught the glare he sent my way.

With the last of the intruder’s blood mopped up, I padded over to the puddle Damian left. His blood was richer and more full-bodied than the others were, but it still had that tainted quality that screamed vampire. Had these things arrived after sundown? I needed to know and once I finished licking the floor clean; I turned and bolted out of the room.

In the atrium, I transitioned back and whistled.

“There you are,” I called out and shut a door.

I walked back into the foyer and glanced at Damian. “Your tiger got loose,” I said hooking my thumb over my shoulder.

“I saw.”

Valerie stepped into view. “Where did you go?”

“I moved the bodies outside and I didn’t realize I let the cat loose,” I said and Valerie put her hands on her hips.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” she said and glanced between Damian and me.

“Valerie,” Damian began and she turned on him.

“I know damn well what you are, Damian. I’ve always known,” she said. “And they confirmed it.” Her gaze transitioned to me. “I just don’t know what the hell you are.”

I traded a glance with Damian, his features hard and unreadable as he took a step back.

“You knew?”

“Dude, you haven’t aged a day since I was born and my father believes you’ve been here since before he was born. We know you’re not human, either that or you have one hell of a plastic surgeon.” She crossed her arms and I stifled a smirk. “The blood trail you left this morning freaked us all out and now my parents are out looking for another place to stay.”

Damian hung his head and took a deep breath. “Have you talked to them recently?”

“No, why?” her clipped voice answered.

“You don’t think?” I interrupted and Damian’s pained gaze met mine.

“Call them,” he said and pointed to the living room where one of the phones sat.

Valerie’s features transitioned from annoyed to wide-eyed fear and she bolted down the steps, her dark hair streaming behind her as she tore past me and slid to a stop by the phone. Ripping it from the cradle, she dialed and waited. After half a dozen rings, she said, “Dad?”

Valerie pulled the phone away and stared at it, before spinning and handing it to Damian. “They want to talk to you,” she said and her voice shook.

Chapter 26

Damian

I STARED AT the phone and then met her dark and frightened gaze. Naomi shifted behind me and I stepped forward, taking the handset from Valerie. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was devoid of saliva and my shoulder still throbbed where the bullet shattered the bone.

“Hello,” I managed and the chuckle on the other end of the line bit under my skin. I snapped my gaze to Naomi.

“You took something that belonged to me,” Lucifer said, his voice holding a measure of anger along with a mocking joy. “I want the girl in exchange,” he said.

“Not on your life,” I growled.

“What about her parents’ lives?”

“That’s a joke, right?” I said and he chuckled, making sucking sounds that disgusted me with their familiarity. I could see the still beating heart he clutched and the monument of my failure hit. “You’re a bastard, you know that?” I whispered and met Naomi’s gaze.

“Is my original meal still alive?”

“She tasted better than anything on this earth,” I said, speaking the truth and knowing Lucifer would take that as a no.

He laughed. “So you’re not only running from me, you’ve got Michael on your ass, too?”

I remained quiet.

“And now with another of his descendants dead, I’m sure he’s going to step up his game.”

“Probably,” I conceded. There was no reason to lie. Michael was going to be fired up, even with Valerie still breathing.

“I’ve got a bounty out for your head,” he snickered and I looked at the floor, taking a deep breath. “You won’t get out of that house alive and I’ll have my pure virgin heart that I’ve waited so long to taste.”

“Fuck you,” I whispered and disconnected the call. I put the phone down, trying to frame a way to tell this sweet girl her parents were dead and it was my oversight that caused it. I should have never had them so close, but I figured I could keep them safe in this remote setting.

What a fucking joke.

“Damian?” Naomi asked.

I sat on the couch and ran my hands into my hair, resting my elbows on my knees while I grappled for words. When I came up empty, I just shook my head without bringing my gaze to either of them.

“What’s he saying?” Valerie asked and I kept my gaze locked on the floor.

“He’s saying they’re dead,” Naomi answered and I nodded.

“What do you mean, they’re dead?” The hysterics in her tone brought my gaze to hers. Naomi had moved to her side and wrapped her arm around the girl.

“Just like my grandfather,” she said meeting my gaze.

I nodded. “And Lucifer has issued a bounty for my head.”

“Lucifer?” Valerie’s voice rose. “As in the devil?”

“Yes,” I said straightening my back. “You’re a delicacy to him.”

“Why?” she asked in a voice filled with pain and sorrow.

“Because of your lineage,” Naomi said, taking over the conversation. “But neither Damian nor I will let anything happen to you.” She led Valerie to the overstuffed chair. “I know this all sounds crazy and unreal, but we won’t let your parent’s sacrifice be in vain.”

I laughed and stood, turning my back on their surprised gaze, surveying the landscape. The buildings were protected from angels and demons, but that’s not what he was sending to collect. He was sending his hybrid monsters to bring back his bounty.

Her hand on my arm pulled my attention away from the darkness.

“What is it?”

“He knows where we are,” I said. “And he knows how to kill me.”

Chapter 27

Naomi

“YOU CAN TAKE her away from here,” I said, ignoring the devastating twinge his words carried.

“I wouldn’t get a hundred yards,” he said and wiped his face. “I’m surprised we got the motorcycle out and back without being shot.”

My gaze landed on the glass he stood in front of and I turned, sweeping his feet out from under him a moment before the window disintegrated in a hailstorm of bullets. Valerie dove to the ground, shrieking, with her arms over her head.

“We have to get her downstairs,” I said to Damian and he nodded.

We crawled to her, each taking an arm and we got to our feet, running toward the back of the house, keeping low so the bullets passed over our heads. The atrium was off an enclosed mudroom but the distance between the doorway and the security panel seemed like an impossible feat. The front of the atrium had a line of plants that would help shelter us, but the back wall, that gave a clear view all the way to the wood line.

“Damian, you have to do this as a shadow,” I whispered and his gaze fell on Valerie. “It’s the only way you’ll get across the distance. I can get Valerie through the door if you can get it open,” I said when he hesitated.

“Naomi,” he started.

“We will all die if you don’t,” I said, my gaze planted on a line of advancing shadows.

“I don’t want to die,” Valerie said pulling his gaze from mine.

One minute Damian was the blue-eyed man that held my heart and the next, he was the fiend that almost killed me and Valerie gasped. He shot out into the opening and I wrapped my arms around Valerie and whispered, “He won’t hurt you, neither will I, but those things closing in on the house will. When he hits that panel, you have to climb on my back and hold on, understand?” I met her frantic gaze.

“What?”

I wrapped her arms around my neck. “Hold on!” I yelled as the bullets rained on the glass. The door slid far enough and I saw Damian slip inside and I closed my eyes. Valerie’s arms tightened around my neck and I waited a moment before darting out, my paws hitting the tile with intent, and when I slid through the opening I didn’t stop until I stood on the landing with Valerie sobbing into my fur.

I glanced up in time to see the wall close and Damian shut the door. He stumbled down the steps and closed the door, leaning on it with his breath wheezing. I padded into the room and stopped, putting my paw on the arms grasping me like I had done with Damian the other night.

Valerie cried into my fur and I traded a glance with Damian.

“We have to get out of here,” he said and stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. I shook Valerie off and sniffed her to make sure there were no bullet holes in her and then I licked her cheek in a gesture that stopped her tears.

I left her huddled and shaking and turned to Damian, it took me two strides to be back in my human form and I crouched next to him.

“Baby, where are you hit?”

He glanced up at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Baby?” he asked, his breath wheezed again.

I offered him a soft smile. “Where?” I asked again, not acknowledging his questioning gaze. Instead, I pushed him into a sitting position and peeled off his shirt. “Fuck,” I whispered. “Is the bullet still inside you?”

He shrugged. “You have to get her out of here,” he repeated.

I leaned him forward and didn’t find an exit wound on his back. Closing my eyes, I sighed. His shoulder was one thing, but his chest was another. I couldn’t just tear that open with my teeth and reach in and grab the bullet poisoning him. “I’ll get you both out of here as soon as I get that bullet out,” I said. “Do you have a knife in the kitchen?”

He nodded.

“How long before they get through that wall upstairs?”

“I don’t know. The outer shell is made of platinum.”

“In that case, I’ll assume I have the time to fix you up.” I hopped to my feet and glanced at Valerie. “Think you’ve got your shit together enough to help me?”

“Naomi,” Damian whispered.

“What?”

“Just leave me,” he said, his blue eyes pleading.

I hunched down and ran my palm over his cheek. “Not on your life.” My heart thundered at the request, fear biting me from the inside out. I wasn’t willing to lose him, to lose either of them; and the longer I chatted with him the more likely that bullet would make it impossible for me to bring him back.

“Come on,” I ordered Valerie and to her credit, she stood and followed me. Her eyes still wide amidst the pallor of her face.

“What are you?” she whispered as I rummaged through the drawers until I found a couple specially made steak knives that reminded me of scalpels. I grabbed one and handed it to Valerie. “Hold this a minute,” I said and opened the refrigerator.

It took all my willpower not to dig into the bags sitting on the shelf; instead, I grabbed three of them and turned toward her wide eyes.

“He’s going to need blood when I’m done,” I explained.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to get that bullet out before it kills him,” I said and plucked the knife from her hand, trading the blood for the blade and made my way back to Damian.

He tried to shake his head, to deter me, to get me to leave, but I met his panicked stare. “I can’t just leave you like this,” I whispered and laid him down. “I think the bullet is in your lung. Just don’t move, okay?” I bit my lip and placed the blade on his skin at the point of entry. “I’m sorry, baby.” I met his gaze and pressed, slicing a slit an inch long from the base of the entry wound.

Damian screamed, but didn’t move. The second cut was just as painful for both of us, and I heard the slump on the floor behind me, assuming Valerie had passed out. My heart slammed against my chest and I prayed I would be able to get the bullet out. I dropped the knife on the floor and slid my fingers into the cut. The bullet was there, wedged between two of his ribs, spreading toxic poison through his abdomen.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered again and pushed down on the rib. He cried out again, but this time it was weaker and the snap of the bone released the bullet. I yanked it out and tossed it across the room, like it was kryptonite and distance would help Damian.

He panted, blinking and I could tell he was barely hanging on. I turned and reached for the blood, ripping one end open with my teeth and pouring the bag into his mouth. Damian choked, and coughed and then his reflex took hold and he gulped, hanging onto my hand in a death grip until the bag was empty. I did the same with a second one and the haze over his eyes sharpened, his breath coming in a more natural un-wheezing rhythm.

When I reached for the third bag, he grabbed my arm. “No,” he whispered.

“You need it,” I said and his gaze traveled beyond me. I glanced over my shoulder at Valerie, still laying unconscious on the floor and turned back to Damian. “You won’t hurt her,” I said, unsure if it was true or not. All I knew is he needed blood, now, in order to have the strength to run.

“Naomi,” he started and I ripped the bag open, bringing it to his lips. He didn’t hesitate and when the bag was empty, I dropped it with the other two. The adrenaline that had propelled me, drained, leaving me shaking.

“I need to check on her,” I said and he nodded, leaning his head back against the floor. The wound on his chest was already patching itself up and I crawled to Valerie, turning her over. I tapped her cheeks lightly with the cleaner of my two hands. “Valerie?”

Her eyes blinked open and when they landed on me, her face scrunched.

“It wasn’t a dream?” she asked, the tears springing forth from her eyes.

“No sweetie, it isn’t,” I said and climbed to my feet. It was my turn to wince and I glanced at my thigh. Blood streaked my right leg and I took another step before the room spun into blackness.

Chapter 28

Damian

NAOMI FALTERED AND I was up and moving, catching her before she hit the tile. I traded a glance with Valerie and then focused on Naomi. She had saved my life twice tonight and I marveled at her speed and cunning, but now she lay bleeding and unconscious and my heart thundered as loud as hers had when she was trying to get the bullet out of my chest.

“Valerie, I need you to get me a couple pints of blood, okay?” I asked, meeting her wide stare.

She nodded without speaking and crossed to the kitchen, coming back with two more bags from the refrigerator. I poked a hole in the bottom of one bag and slipped it between Naomi’s slack lips. It only took a few drops before her eyes snapped open and she drank in greedy pulls. When she only sucked air, she let out a growl and I pointed to the hallway.

“Go to the bedroom down that hall and close the door.”

Valerie didn’t move.

“Go!” I yelled before Naomi lost all control. Valerie listened this time and I slid the second bag between Naomi’s lips. By the time she finished the second bag, the hole in her leg had closed and I picked her up, bringing her into the shower, and blasting the water while I peeled off her clothes and mine as well.

“What are you doing?” she asked and glanced around.

“I’m getting the blood off both of us before we get dressed and get the hell out of here.”

She glanced at my chest, tracing the angry scar with her fingers. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you,” she said and when she raised her gaze to mine, her eyes were filled with tears.

I pressed my lips to her forehead and switched the water off. Sweet moments could wait until after we got through the night. I tossed her a towel and grabbed one of my own, leading her to the bedroom and stepping inside to Valerie’s wide gaze.

“The bullet hole…” she trailed off, pointing at my chest.

I nodded in her direction and opened the closet, tossing Naomi a duffel bag. “Pack up your stuff.”

I slipped on underwear and jeans under the towel before letting it drop and slamming a handful of outfits into a second duffel bag.

“What about me?” Valerie asked and I turned.

“I’ll buy you new clothing when we find a safe place to hole up.”

I stalked out of the room, leaving the women alone. In the office, I slid into the controls and flipped open my laptop, connecting the two with a cord. After a few keystrokes, the hard drive started the transfer. I had five minutes before I could do the self-destruct sequence. I dropped my duffel bag on the floor and headed to the kitchen, grabbing the cooler under the sink and sweeping the contents of the refrigerator into it. I had a feeling we might need some back up.

Anger burned in my veins and I stormed across the room, catching sight of Naomi and Valerie stopped in the hallway.

“What?” I snarled and Valerie shrunk into Naomi.

Naomi cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m pissed, and I’m trying to get my shit together so we can get moving.”

“I get it, but you don’t have to snarl like a rabid dog,” she said and I stopped moving.

I hadn’t realized I was snarling.

She smirked. “Between the snarling and swearing, I could have sworn we were at an illegal dog fight.”

“Oh, fuck you, Naomi,” I said and stormed back into the office to her laughter.

“Are you two related?” Valerie asked just before I stepped into the office.

“No, we’re not,” Naomi answered.

“How long have you been together?”

I stopped and turned, meeting Naomi’s gaze. “Not long enough,” I said, dispelling the questions before I slipped into my chair. I had a minute left and I dropped the cooler by the door, pointing in that direction.

“What’s burning?” Valerie asked.

“The house,” I answered and sighed, glancing at Valerie before moving my gaze to Naomi. “Go get some blankets for her. It’s going to be cold where we’re heading.” I received a nod and then she disappeared, coming back a few minutes later with the chenille blanket at the same time the download finished. I stood and pushed the commands and the door opened.

“Take her down, I’ll be there in a second,” I said and disconnected the laptop, slipping it into my backpack along with the cords I would need. Once I had that zipped, I pressed the destruction commands and took a deep breath, slinging the backpack and duffel bag over my shoulder. I hit enter and grabbed the cooler, I stopped long enough to close and latch the door before jumping down the stairs.

At the bottom, I didn’t wait; I grabbed Valerie around the waist, whispering, “Hang on tight.” and then bolted. Naomi kept up, running alongside me and I grabbed her when I took the sharp turn away from the property and stopped, my hand running across the wall before I found the release. The squeak of metal met us and I pushed Naomi through, dropping Valerie in her arms before I forced the door back in place.

“Run,” I said. The timer in my head ticked off the seconds as we bolted. The fact that neither one questioned my command, gave me more speed and I traded Valerie for the cooler when Naomi started trailing behind. We had to make the outer door before the charges blew otherwise we’d be buried alive.

I heard the first explosion and turned on the speed. “Hustle!” I yelled and Naomi grunted. I could see the end of the tunnel now that my eyes had become accustomed to the blackness and put on the brakes, skidding to a halt and reaching for the latch. I swung the door in and stepped aside, letting Naomi skid to a stop beyond me and I slammed the door before setting Valerie down and leaning my back against the metal.

The ground rocked underneath us and I kept my back to the door, my gaze locked with Naomi’s as she held Valerie against her. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth together. The thought of the murals burning hit harder than I expected, especially the one of Naomi and I crossing a snow-covered glen. The rest were ancient and reminded me of my youth, but that one, that was special and outshone everything. Even my auto collection, which I had taken great pains to procure, came a close second to that painted mural. But I had made allowances for the cars. The security sequence lowered iron plates lined with platinum across all the doorways and windows, securing the building from the pending blast.

“Damian,” Naomi said and I opened my eyes. She unfolded the blanket and held it up. Tucked inside was the mural and I bit my lip against the gratitude that swept through me, lifting my eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer of thanks.

“We need to keep going,” I said once we caught our breath.

“How long is this tunnel?” Naomi asked.

“A couple miles,” I answered. What I didn’t tell her was I had no idea what we would do when we came to the end.

“I don’t like the dark,” Valerie whined.

I dug my cell out of my pocket and took her hand, placing the phone in her palm and curling her fingers around it. “It’s not much,” I said and took the lead, walking at a slower pace so Valerie could keep up.

Naomi followed behind Valerie and I could tell by her silence that her brain was trying to wrap around the events of the last few days. The number of lives that had been destroyed since I plucked her from the sky was unprecedented and I sighed, glancing over my shoulder at her.

The cell light kept going on and off, casting an eerie glow through the metal encased tunnel.

“How many do you think the explosion took out?” Valerie asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I hope it took them all,” she said, the darkness in her tone echoing my sentiments.

“I hope so, too,” I replied, even though I highly doubted it.

“But you don’t think it did,” Naomi said and I stopped, turning toward them.

“No, I don’t. I’m not sure if we’re walking into an ambush or not either. And while you and I have something to keep us alive,” I started, holding up the cooler. “We have nothing here for Valerie, so we can’t just hole up here until this blows over.”

Naomi’s mouth dropped open and her eyes softened. “And daylight isn’t that far off,” she said.

“Yep.” I nodded and she closed her eyes.

“So where does this dump us off?” Naomi asked when she got her composure back.

“A hunting cabin on the edge of the state forest.”

“Uncle Nick’s cabin?” Valerie asked, her eyebrows arching.

“No, sweetheart, the opposite direction of your uncle’s place. I didn’t want an escape route they would track down.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you telling me…”

I inhaled and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what the fuck do you know?” Valerie snarled with her first display of anger.

“Not a whole hell of a lot at the moment,” I answered, knowing it wasn’t the least bit reassuring, but I needed them to know the score. To understand that we were alone in this and nobody any of us knew was safe. It was a morbid fact that I could see settling in her eyes. “We are all we have at this moment,” I said pointing between the three of us. “And that could change the instant we step out of this cavern.”

Chapter 29

Naomi

DAMIAN’S HAUNTING GAZE sent a chill up my spine and I could see it had the same reaction in Valerie. Her laugh hit a nerve. It was the high-pitched laugh of someone on the edge and I reached out to touch her arm but she withdrew.

“What are we going to do?” I asked. This was no life for a teenage girl and we both knew it, but we couldn’t just cut her loose in the woods. Not with all the monsters looking for her.

Damian met my gaze. “I’m hoping Michael can help us.”

“Jesus, Damian, that isn’t an alternative. He’ll turn you into dust,” I said and Damian’s nonchalant shrug sparked a rage inside me.

“Who’s Michael?”

I pressed my lips together and met her gaze. “The Archangel Michael,” I said. “He is your ancestor.”

Valerie’s eyes widened.

“That’s why Lucifer considers us such a delicacy.” Bitterness laced my voice and when I glanced at Damian, he lowered his gaze.

“Us?” she asked.

“You and I. We are both descendents of Michael’s.”

Valerie blinked a few times and turned toward Damian. “Where do you fit into all this?” She crossed her arms and I pressed my lips together at the smile that threatened. This girl was a pistol and one that had the rare quality of being able to reason during a shit storm.

“I’m supposed to protect the bloodline,” he answered. “Key words are supposed to. That doesn’t always go as planned.” Damian turned and resumed his gait into the dark tunnel.

Valerie watched him go and then turned in my direction. “So, we’re related?”

“In some distant and obscure way, yes,” I said and took her arm, following Damian’s shadow.

“So how long have you been…” she started and paused, glancing at me. “I don’t even know what you are,” she added.

“I’m a vampire, like Damian.” The admission caused Damian to pause and glance back in my direction. His gaze told me that I wasn’t like him at all but he kept his mouth shut and turned away before Valerie caught the look in his eyes.

“Oh,” Valerie whispered and continued walking; the silence broken only by our shuffling footsteps. “How long have you been like this?”

“Two days,” I answered and she stopped. “Well, almost three at this point.” I sent a smile in her direction. “If I smelled anywhere near as sweet as you do, I have no idea how Damian missed it.”

“You were nearly frozen to death,” he mumbled and his head dipped lower in the posture I was beginning to understand was his “beating himself up” stance.

“You mean to tell me, you’re new at this?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that rang out. “Yes, I’m brand spanking new at this.”

“Am I in danger?”

Her voice held a tremor and I glanced at Damian before looking her way. “I don’t think so, but just to put your mind at ease, Damian will protect you from me if it comes to that.”

He scoffed and kept moving. His derisiveness irked me and I traded a glance with Valerie.

“He will or I’ll kick his ass.”

That brought forth a ghost of a laugh and he glanced over his shoulder. “I’d like to see you try and I’m talking you, not the tiger.”

“When all this is settled, I’ll take you on,” I shot back.

The grin he sent over his shoulder sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

He slowed and stopped, putting the cooler and computer bag down at his feet. Apprehension replaced the grin and he looked at the ceiling for a moment before facing us.

“I don’t think anyone is up there,” he whispered.

“Then why are you whispering?”

Valerie looked down to hide the smirk. I wasn’t so kind and Damian sent a glare in my direction, his displeasure in my mocking as pronounced as the silence above.

“This isn’t a joke,” he said, pointing his finger in my face. “You’re going to stay put while I check things out.

“Like hell I am,” I shot back, dropping everything in my grasp. The sound of my duffel bag hitting the dirt, echoed in the small space.

“I don’t want to be down here alone,” Valerie said, her voice quiet and timid amidst our posturing.

Both our gazes snapped to hers and I could feel Damian’s discord. He was not happy with the situation at all.

“We all go together,” I said and Damian opened his mouth to argue. “Or we don’t go at all,” I added.

Damian put his hands on his waist and stared at the ground, his jaw tight with frustration. When his gaze returned to mine, he nodded. He didn’t need to tell me just how dangerous it was to bring Valerie out of here. Any vampire within a hundred yards would pick up her scent. But I also didn’t want to be stuck down here if something happened to him.

“If you insist on coming up with me, I want the tiger,” he said, leveling a glare.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

“Because if anything is out there and gets away, Lucifer won’t know it’s you.”

“Why the hell does that matter now?”

He leaned in close. “Because, no matter what happens to me, I’d like to have some sliver of hope that you’re going to survive. If Lucifer knows you’re alive, all bets are off.”

I inhaled at his intensity. But it wasn’t the intensity that made me comply, it was the underlying plea in his gaze. Within a blink, I was fur and fury in the small alcove. Valerie took a step back, giving me some space. I chuffed and rubbed against her to ease the fear radiating from her.

Valerie hesitated and then ran her hand over my massive head, finding the spot behind the ear that seemed to make everything all right. She even let out a small laugh when I nuzzled into her further. I wanted her to know I was there to protect her and when she leaned down, wrapping her arms around my neck, I knew I had conveyed the message.

Damian took a deep breath and unlatched the door. The creak of the hinges made me cringe and a low growl came from deep in my throat at the disruption announcing our presence. Another stairway greeted us and Damian led the way.

He paused at the top door and sent a glance back at us. I saw him clearly and dread filled his features for a moment before he closed his eyes and pushed the door open. Darkness greeted us along with a draft of frigid air.

I padded ahead with Valerie’s hand on my back. Her scent drifted on the air, thick enough that I couldn’t get a clear bead on even Damian. Her teeth started chattering and I glanced around the dark interior of the cabin. Damian crossed the small space, slipping into a side room before returning, his tension melting and he offered a nod.

“I’ll go grab our stuff,” he whispered and disappeared. I padded through the rooms of the cottage, sniffing every corner out before feeling secure enough to transition back to human form. The windows in the bedroom were covered with plywood and no natural light penetrated this room. I wondered if the door was as secure as the windows. In the living space, the windows were covered with only wood-slatted blinds. I crossed and opened the one on the door, scanning the dense forest surrounding the cabin. Nothing stirred and I closed the slats.

The kitchen offered very few amenities. The stove was one of those mini-two burner blind stoves that really shouldn’t be used indoors, but it was my only option for heating something up for Valerie. The cabinets carried a few canned goods and some half-empty water bottles that were frozen solid. A mismatched pair of dishes sat opposite the canned goods and I reached for one of the dust-covered cans.

“It looks like Damian has a few cans of chicken noodle soup,” I said, turning toward her. “And we’ve got some bottled water, too.”

Damian dumped the stuff on the floor and wrapped the blanket around Valerie, trading a glance with me. She still had the phone as her night light and he reached over her shoulder, plucking it out of her hand.

“We don’t want the battery to die,” he said and pocketed the phone, ignoring her gasp at the sudden darkness. “Before we make the attempt to get that stove going, let me see if I can get you some help.”

Nerves punched my lungs and I intercepted him before he reached the door.

“Damian,” I whispered.

“I have to,” he said, meeting my gaze. “She’ll freeze to death if I don’t get her out of here.”

“What about starting a fire?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not with the demon’s henchmen only a few miles away.”

“Don’t I have a say?” Valerie asked through her chattering teeth, blindly crossing the room until her hands landed on Damian.

“Val,” Damian started.

“Come on, those bastards killed my parents. I want them dead!”

“I promise, they’ll pay, but I need to make sure you are somewhere safe that they can’t get to you and the only person I know that can make that happen is Michael.”

“You’re not going out there alone,” I said.

“Baby,” he sighed.

“Don’t baby me, Damian. If Michael has another shit fit…” I stopped and glanced at Valerie, offering a smile. “Michael is a bit of a jerk,” I explained and turned back to Damian. “You aren’t going alone.”

“At least let me do a quick scan of the area,” he said, holding his hand up to any argument I might start. “Please.”

I gave a nod and put my arm around Valerie’s shoulders not just to settle her nerves. “Two minutes,” I said as he opened the door.

He gave a nod and the door closed behind him.

Chapter 30

Damian

THE QUIET FOREST met my glance and I lifted my head, inhaling. Nothing alarming hung on the air, but I didn’t trust that. I hadn’t smelled the danger closing in on us at the house either and I wondered if I should take a quick fly-over.

I stepped toward the woods and the rustle of wings behind me froze me in my tracks. My heart thundered in my chest and I prayed the lesser of two evils stood behind me and not Lucifer.

“You fucked up, again,” his voice growled and relief spread over me. I turned toward Michael.

“Yes.” I didn’t see any reason to try to talk my way out of it, especially since I had underestimated Lucifer. I should have gotten everyone out after the whipping in the woods. Three demons in such close proximity to the house should have set off my internal alarms, but I was too busy trying to survive the beating. I led them straight to the house.

“I need your help,” I said before he could say anything more.

His jaw tightened and his gaze narrowed. “You expect me to help you?”

“No, I expect you to help Valerie and Naomi. I need you to take them somewhere far away where they’ll be safe.”

The door to the cottage opened and Naomi stood blocking the entry.

“I’m not leaving, Damian,” she snapped and I sent a glare in her direction.  I wasn’t getting out of here in one piece and there was no way in hell I was taking her down with me.

Instead of acknowledging her disagreement, I met Michael’s glare.  “Will you take them?” I asked, desperation filling my voice because now that he had shown up, the demon hoard would soon follow.

Michael’s hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around my neck. Before I could react, a white blur tackled him and I blinked, staring at the white tiger growling in Michael’s face.

“Naomi,” I started, and Michael’s gaze flicked from the teeth inches away from his neck to mine, widening a fraction and I wasn’t sure if his shock would bode well for either of us. I cleared my throat and continued, “Baby, he’s the only one that can get Valerie to safety.”

The snarl in her throat faded and she licked her chops, stepping off Michael’s chest and positioning herself between Michael and me. I almost rolled my eyes, but the anger settling in Michael’s features gave me pause and I knelt, pulling Naomi into my grasp.

Michael climbed to his feet, glaring down at the two of us. I flinched at the clench in his jaw and another snarl built in Naomi’s throat.

“Please,” the soft voice in the doorway caught all our attention. “Please don’t hurt them,” she said and Michael glared at her.

“Why not?”

“Because they saved my life,” she said.

“That’s his job,” Michael said, waving in my direction. “And he failed to save your mother.”

Valerie inhaled and closed her eyes. “I know.”

“So why should I let him live?”

Valerie’s eyes opened. “Because he’s all the family I have left.”

“He isn’t family,” Michael said, spitting the words out like a bitter pill.

“There’s more to family than just blood,” Valerie argued and took another step. “At least he’s been there,” she added with a hint of an attitude that took Michael’s full attention. Valerie had the audacity to cross her arms and I suddenly felt the need to intervene before Michael annihilated all of us.

“Mind your tone,” he said.

The teenage attitude came out in full force and I scrambled to my feet just as she spouted out a curse that made Michael’s face turn bright red.

“Valerie.”

She turned and stared me down with the same glare Naomi had given me that first night. The same glare present in her ancient grandfather’s features.

“Shut up, Damian. My family is dead and this asshole has the fucking nerve to threaten you?”

I put up my hands to try to settle her down and the shift in the air caught my eye. Naomi stood next to me back in human form and her hand settled on my arm.

“She’s grieving,” Naomi whispered soft enough to catch my ear and I saw the subtle change in Michael as he glanced her way before returning his attention to Valerie.

“Valerie, Michael is here to protect you,” I said trying to diffuse the situation.

“Yeah, right,” she said and the first sign of tears surfaced. The glaze in her eyes overflowed streaking down her cheeks in a silent flood and for the first time in my lifetime, I saw the fire sputter in Michael.

He crossed and wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll never be alone,” he whispered and glanced at Naomi before his gaze moved to me and hardened.

Before I could tell him to wait, he disappeared, taking Valerie with him. I turned on Naomi and a sudden wave of fear shut down my ability to speak. My gaze traveled over her shoulder to the woods and back to her. They were coming and I could feel it.

“We have to go,” I said and spun toward the cottage. She followed me inside and closed the door. I grabbed my backpack and slipped it over her arms, meeting her gaze. “Grab the cooler and then I need to fly you out of here.”

“Why?”

“Michael leaves a distinct signature and this place isn’t protected like the house was.”

She shoved the blanket and mural into her duffel bag and slung the strap over her head. “What about your clothes?” Naomi asked as I pulled her out of the house.

“I’ll be fine,” I said and forced the transition, grabbing her around the waist in my talon. I took to the air heading northwest; away from the hungry pack closing in on the cottage from the south. The risk of being shot out of the sky crossed my mind and I ascended higher into the thickening cloudbanks and out of range of rifle fire.

I wasn’t sure just how much time we had and my choices of where to go were limited. If I made a mistake, we’d be dead by sunrise. And if I didn’t find shelter before then, we’d be just as screwed.

Chapter 31

Naomi

FLYING IN THE clouds held a dream-like quality that drenched my senses as much as the condensation soaking my clothing. I clung to the cooler handle, wondering how long I would be able to hold it in the high winds produced by his massive wingspan.

Instead of worrying, I closed my eyes and chose to enjoy the ride. The wind whipped my hair in wet strands and the cold penetrated deeper than it normally would. I found myself shivering and Damian slowed, dipping down into the open air. Lights speckled the landscape and in the distance, I could see a brighter glow.

Damian descended to just above the treetops, scanning the landscape as the glow increased to a cityscape. When he passed a low group of buildings, he dove, landing us in the middle of a deserted lot. The sign announced a self-storage facility and I glanced at Damian as he walked through the yard, looking both ways at the windowless buildings. He stopped in front of one of the units toward the back of the lot and studied the padlock. Before I could ask what he was doing, he reached into his pocket, pulling a pocketknife from his jeans and knelt with the lock in his hand.

I took a minute to scan the area as he picked the lock wondering what the hell we were doing here. A hundred questions flitted through my mind and my arm ached from the weight of the cooler. The click of the lock caught my attention and I looked back in time to see Damian sliding it out of the clasp.

When he lifted the gate, waving me inside the dark container, I slipped past him with a questioning stare. His lock-picking skills certainly clashed with his statement of not being a thief and he shrugged, keeping silent as he scanned the grounds and followed me inside.

Once the door closed behind us, he slid the lock through the track, preventing the possibility of the door being lifted during the day. I dropped the bags on the floor and took a seat on the cooler, unsure of what to do. The water dripped from my body and I wrapped my arms around my chest, trying to find some heat, but there wasn’t any left and my teeth started chattering.

The darkness enveloped us and when he opened his phone to scan the interior, I squinted and looked around at the haphazardly packed belongings. Furniture and boxes graced the space and he moved to the center, pushing boxes to the side and creating a little alcove for the two of us. With another quick scan, his gaze landed on a mattress set leaning in the far corner and he sent a raised eyebrow in my direction.

“It might be more comfortable than the floor,” I whispered through my chattering teeth.

He shuffled some more things around and then cut through the path he made to where I sat.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” he said.

The deep timber of his voice filled the small space and created another chill down my spine. He helped me to my feet and then grabbed the cooler along with the computer bag and my duffel bag, disappearing through the maze again. I had barely started unzipping the fleece jacket when he was at my side, helping me peel the soaking fabric from my chilled skin. Each garment found a resting place on the edges of the boxes lining each side of the container, far enough away from the door for the puddles not to leak outside and trigger the storage unit owner’s curiosity.

“Your clothes are that way,” he said, pointing through the maze as he stripped his coat and hung it up to dry with the rest of the clothing.

I didn’t wait for him. I shuffled down the path, finding the opening he created. A few chairs lined the alcove and a bare mattress lay on the ground with the chenille blanket laid out on it. The thought of being wrapped in the soft fabric overwhelmed me and I nearly dove onto the waiting refuge. It was every bit as heavenly as I thought it would be and I wrapped the blanket around me in a tight cocoon. When Damian rounded the corner in only his underwear, he stopped.

“Are you going to share?” he asked, standing over me.

My teeth chattered in answer and he took a seat next to me, drawing me onto his lap. His strong arms wrapped around me, while his breath tickled my shoulder, but it still didn’t warm my core.

“I am so cold,” I said.

“I know. So am I.”

The admission caught me off guard and I turned, meeting his shivering stare. Instead of elaborating, he reached over and popped the cooler open, pulling out one of the bags of blood. He sank his teeth into the bag, tearing a hole in the top before tipping it to my lips.

“This will help,” he said and the cold blood flowed into my mouth.

I drank until there wasn’t anything left and he dropped the empty into the cooler, taking one out for himself. He drank as quickly as I had and discarded his empty into the box before closing it.

It took a little while for the blood to settle into my system, warming the chill as much as Damian’s slow caress of my arms and his lips finding the arch of my neck. I shifted, unwrapping myself from the blanket and letting him take the fabric. He draped it over his shoulders, enclosing both of us in chenille.

“Thank you,” he whispered in my ear and just by his tone, I knew it was for more than sharing the blanket and I turned my head, meeting his gaze.

A hunger blazed in his eyes and he offered the slightest of smiles before crushing my lips under his.

Damian’s kiss stopped time and made the storage unit disappear.

When his mouth left mine, he was stretched out over me, our bodies melded together on the soft mattress. I don’t even remember shifting from his lap or removing my bra and underwear for that matter. Dimples appeared in his cheeks and he dipped his head, finding my neck. The raw power of him knocked me senseless, and his touch ignited my skin, bringing with it a fever of pleasure.

His slow sensual descent from my throat to my breasts left me dizzy and when his lips trailed even lower, I purred my approval. His mouth and tongue created magic on my skin, each swipe, each trailing caress sent tendrils of heat between my legs. When he pushed my thighs wide and buried his mouth between my legs, I moaned.

“Shush,” he whispered, his gaze shooting to mine.

I shoved the back of my wrist to my lips, cutting off the moan and he chuckled, resuming his blissful seduction. He took his time, loving me like I had never experienced, until every nerve ending begged for him. When he shifted, crawling back up my body, anticipation quickened my breath and he grinned down at me. The thrust of his hips and sudden fullness of him pulled a gasp from my chest.

“Baby, being inside you is better than heaven,” he whispered and crushed my lips under his.

Heaven wasn’t in the same league as this. This transcended and thrilled at the same time. The way Damian made love to me today was beyond comprehension, making yesterday’s frantic bid feel like an awkward mess. He took his time, his slow grind sending my eyes rolling back into my head and pulling soft pants from my throat.

I opened my eyes and met his bright-blue gaze, his eyes almost glowing in the darkness and his teeth shining in a grin that accompanied a rush of wetness between my thighs. I arched into him, unable to stop the moan this time.

“Oh, god, Damian!” I cried, my voice husky from the orgasm gripping my body. I trembled under him and he picked up the pace, his smile fading into the serious gaze that pierced my soul.

He pressed his lips together against his own groan of gratification just before his eyes clamped closed and every single one of his muscles tightened. He collapsed onto me, his breath as ragged as mine.

I held him tight against me, my fingers lazily tracing his back, content to just be in his arms. Finally, he propped himself up on his elbows and met my gaze, and a warmth I couldn’t put words to encompassed me.

“I have waited my entire life for you,” he said and the tear that slipped from the corner of his eye cut me deeper than I could imagine. He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite form and he dropped his head to my shoulder, cursing under his breath at the emotional display.

His reaction brought a smile to my face and I wondered why I wasn’t a mess like he was. Maybe two thousand years alone had prompted this. I planted a kiss on his temple and he squeezed me closer in response.

Damian’s body relaxed, melting into me and his breath slowed into that soft rhythm of sleep. His weight became heavy and suffocating and I squeaked out his name.

“Damian?”

He jerked, his head rose, and he blinked his eyes. Instead of moving off me, he rolled, wrapping us in the blanket before giving me a sleepy smile. His eyes drifted closed, sleep tugging him under.

I studied the lines of his face, the contours of his cheekbones and the strong curve of his chin. The man was beautiful, like an exquisite work of art and I wondered if I would live up to his expectations.

His brow crunched and he opened his eyes, meeting my gaze.

“Baby, you surpass all of my expectations.”

I stiffened and pressed my lips together. “Stop listening to my thoughts.” I rolled off him and out of the warmth of the blanket, annoyed that he could still set my temper on edge.

Crawling to my bag, I rifled through it until I found some underwear and an oversized t-shirt, dressing. I glanced toward the door and froze. Light bled through the perimeter, penetrating the darkness like a halo.

“How much light can hurt us?”

Damian got to his feet with the blanket wrapped around his waist. “That isn’t enough,” he said and slid on his underwear, taking a seat again. This time, he pulled out his computer and booted it up.

“What are you doing?” I folded up next to him, glancing at the screen.

“I’m praying I can tap into a wireless connection because I need to check the news and our email accounts in case our friend’s are phishing.” He glanced at me. “And I need to find another place for us to go, this isn’t safe.”

“You said you had other places,” I started and before I finished, he was shaking his head.

“I can’t risk it.” He bit his lip at the wireless accounts that appeared within range and glanced at me. “They’re all secure,” he said and sighed. He took a moment to rub his face and crack his knuckles, and then his fingers flew over the keyboard. A half hour later, he had hacked into the strongest signal and pulled up a local Connecticut news station.

We scanned the article, our gazes zeroing in on the names of the deceased and Damian smiled. A name I didn’t recognize along with the three family members were listed as found dead in the rubble.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because, that’s one of my aliases, which means the information was fed to the press by one of our friends.”

“You mean Lu…”

He slapped his hand over my mouth. “No, don’t. Saying their names is a death sentence.”

My eyes widened and I gulped. “Then why were we able to talk in your place before?”

“I had it angel and demon proofed, remember?” he asked and I nodded. “This place isn’t. Saying the names aloud gives away your location.”

He went back to reading the story online while I tried to get a grip on my racing heart.

“It means he’s looking for us, whether it was the beast or his brother who leaked the information, he’s still looking, but maybe not as diligently.” His nimble fingers played on the keys again. “Just need to check one more thing.”

When he brought up his email account, he paused and I swallowed the fear building in my throat. We traded a glance and he closed his eyes, clenching his fists before opening the email.

“Fuck,” Damian whispered and tossed the computer onto the edge of the mattress before throwing himself on his back.

I stared at the words, the threat, the knowledge that I didn’t die and I slid my gaze to Damian’s.

Someone witnessed our escape.

Chapter 32

Damian

I CAN’T WATCH her die. That isn’t even an option and the grisly details of what Lucifer would do when he found us were spelled out in black and white on my screen. Each word pummeled my heart and if he ever got hold of us, I would wish for death long before it came. The crush of his promise made my skin burn with fear.

“He doesn’t know you turned me,” Naomi said, scrolling down the page.

“What difference does that make?”

“To him, I’m just a weak human.” She waved at the screen. “I say we go after him instead of waiting for the ball to drop.”

Laughter shot from my chest. She was out of her fucking mind and all I could do was shake my head. My laughter choked when she climbed on top of me, straddling my lap, her eyes filled with that wicked twinkle.

My hands landed on her waist and my laughter wound down. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t.”

“I’ve already witnessed the death of someone I loved. I’m not doing it again.”

Her eyebrows rose and her mouth dropped open.

Irritation raked over my skin. She still didn’t get the depth of our connection, of what all this meant to me, of what she meant to me.

“Did you just…”

“Shut up,” I growled and pressed my palms to my eyes. I didn’t want to be forced to say the words, not right now when everything in our future was so precarious. The reality of happily ever after was a farce and the passage of each second brought us closer to the end.

She shifted off me and without removing my hands from over my eyes, I could still picture her with her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs wearing that pouting expression that made me want to put my fist through a wall.

With Naomi, it was fire and ice and I couldn’t seem to regulate the emotional impact she had on me. I sighed, pulling my palms away from my face and sure enough, she sat with her arms around her legs and her chin resting on her knee like the sweet child she was at heart, but instead of a pout, she just studied me with interest.

“What?” I asked.

“Sometimes you can be just as juvenile as a teenager.”

“Oh, and you can’t be?” My comeback brought forth a sour expression and she dropped her hands, reaching for the computer. I didn’t stop her and as she scrolled down the message, taking in everything that I had scanned, her face paled and her gaze rose from the screen.

“He’s a real prick, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” No argument from me there.

When her gaze dropped back to the screen and her fingers started plucking on the keyboard, I sat up.

“What are you doing?”

“Responding in kind,” she said and offered me a sly smile. “Since he knows I’m alive, I have a few choice words for him.”

“Don’t,” I snapped, grabbing for the computer and she pulled it away from me. Messing with Lucifer wasn’t a prudent thing to do.

“Why the hell not?” she asked.

Her glare said it all and I rolled my eyes, snatching the laptop from her before she had the chance to hit send. I went to close the browser and paused, raising an eyebrow at the equally disturbing descriptions she typed. I moved my gaze from the screen to her and pressed my lips together, shutting off the smirk.

The temptation to send her scathing prose was just too much and I hovered the mouse over the command, at the last second I move away from the button and closed the window, opting for at least one more night of safety before sending Lucifer on an all out manhunt. I shut down the computer and dropped it back in my bag.

“What are we going to do for the rest of the day?” she asked glancing around at the small space.

I sensed her unease, her inability to sit still and smiled. There were a thousand and one things I could think of to pass the time, none of which included a stitch of clothing.

Her eyes narrowed. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

I raised my hands in the air and laughed. “You’re the one who asked the stupid question.”

“When the sun sets, I want to go after Mark,” she said and all humor in me evaporated.

“That’s not a good idea,” I said.

“They won’t expect it and I’ll be able to dole out a bit of revenge.” She sent that sexy smile that sent my blood into overdrive, but underneath there was a dangerous and deadly streak. “Besides, he’s the only human I want to drain dry. He sold me out thinking he’d find fame, well, I’ll give him the headlines he’s searching for. He just won’t be alive to see it.”

“You are a very evil little girl,” I purred and got to my hands and knees, crossing the distance between us.

“Not,” she said with a laugh and shuffled away, hopping to her feet and retreating far enough to avoid my reach.

Catching her scent, I moved, slamming her into the nearest wall, pinning her to the flimsy metal. “You like to play games, don’t you,” I whispered and met her gaze.

She sent a shrug my way and I raised her arms over her head, enjoying the feel of her against my chest, even with the t-shirt.

“Are you always this way?”

“What way?”

“As horny as a tomcat with a room full of females in heat.”

I chuckled, not because of the analogy, but because it had been my M.O. for as long as I could remember. And even though the situation with her was worlds away from the whores I bedded, the basic fact that sex and revenge ruled my world wasn’t a mystery.

“Yes,” I admitted. “Although you have ignited an entirely new desire.”

“And what might that be?” she teased trying to weasel out of my grip.

“The will to live,” I whispered and crushed her lips under mine.

Chapter 33

Naomi

BREATH STEALING HAD become the norm with his kisses, but this time, it was the words uttered before his mouth found mine. When he pulled away, I met his gaze, all teasing and fun slipped away.

“What do you mean?” I searched his smoldering features.

Damian paused, running his hands down my arms before pulling me into a tight grasp, all of which clouded my focus and doubled my heart rate, but I needed to know. When he leaned in to kiss me again, I moved back.

“Well?” I asked.

“I didn’t care whether I lived or died until I sank my teeth into your throat.”

He kept my gaze, striking me speechless.

“You changed that,” he added, shifting under my silent stare.

“Why?”

All I got in answer was a shrug and my eyebrows rose. His gaze dropped and for a moment, I saw underneath his façade, into the pain in his soul.

“What is it?”

“I’m wondering if at some level I knew you were one of Michael’s bloodline,” he whispered and shifted again, pulling away. “Like I knew it was a suicide mission.” His hands dropped and he went to turn away.

“Damian,” I said and he turned, meeting my gaze.

“I never bet on you biting me,” he whispered. “And I sure as shit never thought I’d fall in love with you.” He reached out and ran the back of his knuckles over my cheek. “And now that I have, I don’t want this to end.”

“Who says it has to?”

His gaze softened and he tilted his head, looking at me as if I was a four-year-old child that had just asked for the impossible. “We both know how this ends,” he said.

The hell I did and I sent him a silent challenge that made him chuckle.

“God, you’re so fucking naïve,” he whispered.

“Don’t be so condescending,” I snapped, my mood souring at his tone.

“I’m not trying to be,” he said and pulled me back to the mattress, waving for me to take a seat before he continued. “Before all this, I was an annoyance to…” He pointed at his computer. “But I’ve now upgraded to a bonafide member of his hit list. No one survives that, even with Michael on their side and I don’t even have him in my court now.” Damian rubbed his face and sat next to me. “Honestly, if he catches up to us…I wouldn’t want to survive after the things he’ll make me witness.”

He took my hand and brought it to his lips.

“So, right now I’m a bit averse to walking into a position where he could trap us.”

“Look, I am a big girl, and I know how dangerous it is out there, but Luc…” I clamped my mouth closed on the name and started again. “But he knows you wouldn’t walk me into that situation. That’s why we should strike tonight. Because it will not be expected.”

I could see my logic chipping away at his reluctance and he sighed, when he met my gaze I knew I had won my argument and I tried not to gloat.

“Hell hath no fury?” he said and dimples made a brief appearance.

I pushed him and he smiled, yanking me to him as he stretched out on the mattress.

“If I’m walking you into the lion’s den tonight, I better take advantage of every second I have with you today.”

“Oh, really?”

He didn’t answer with words, instead he grinned and pulled me to his lips.

Chapter 34

Damian

HOURS LATER, I lay with her sprawled across my chest, her light snores bringing a smile to my lips, but it was fleeting as I let my mind drift to the approaching sunset. My gaze drifted to the fading light leaking through the doors, painting shadows on the ceiling and I wondered what the sun would feel like.

If Lucifer found us, that’s exactly what the morning would bring and I had seen enough vampires reduced to dust to know it wasn’t a pleasant end.

Her head rose and she met my gaze.

“Stop worrying,” she whispered and stretched.

“Easy for you to say, you’ve never seen Lucifer in action,” I said and she stiffened, her eyes widening. It took me a moment to understand her reaction and then what I had said slapped into my brain.

“Oh, fuck,” I muttered and slid her off me. “Get dressed,” I ordered and crossed to the front of the container, grabbing my damp clothing and sliding them on. A glance at my watch told me we didn’t have much time before sunset, but it was enough to trap us in this metal tomb.

I heard the click of a gun and turned toward Naomi as she came around the boxes with her jeans, weapons belt and the skintight black camisole that made me want to forget about the coming danger. When she tossed me the gun in her hand, I stared at it and snapped my gaze back to her.

“You do know how to shoot a gun, right?”

“Where did you get these?”

“From those assholes that broke into Valerie’s house,” she said, flipping the safety on her gun and slipping it into her waistband. “You do know how to shoot, right?”

I nodded, it was one of the things I had learned over the years, but from her display at the house, I was sorely lacking in skill in comparison. I made sure the safety was on and slid the gun into my coat pocket before dragging her back through the maze. She kept glancing at her watch and the door while I packed up my computer, zipping the backpack before cracking open the cooler. A half dozen blood bags sat in the bottom and I pulled three out, tossing them to Naomi.

“Power up,” I said and did the same.

Naomi handed me her empties and slid on the black bomber jacket she had shoved in the duffel bag and stood looking every bit as formidable as she had that first night. She folded the mural and handed it to me.

“Do you have room for this?”

It fit neatly on top of the computer and I zipped the bag closed. My heart clanged in my chest with each passing minute and I stepped toward her, sliding my backpack over her arms and clipping it across her stomach before giving her a kiss.

I handed her the gun. “You’ll have to do the shooting. I’ll do the flying.” With a big inhale, I glanced at the watch again. “I’m not sure if we should open the door or barrel through it.”

“Will going through the door hurt?”

“No, but it will leave no doubt about where we had been.”

She pulled the clip out of the gun and stared at the neatly lined bullets before snapping it back in. “If you fly farther north, will you be able to loop around to the city without being seen?”

“We’ll find out.”

“How accurate is his intuition on where we are?”

I shrugged and took a deep breath attempting to settle the nerves skittering over my skin like a hoard of spiders. “I don’t know.”

“Then let’s chance going out the door. That way if no one is there, we can at least lock the place up,” she said.

I debated, weighing our chances. Another glance at my watch told me I only had seconds to make a decision before the sun dipped below the horizon. “Okay,” I whispered and she offered me a smile of support. “I won’t be able to fly far, not at twilight, but I think I can get us to a shopping center and then we’ll have to procure a car.”

“Procure?”

“It sounds nicer than steal,” I said and her dimples appeared.

“I thought you weren’t a thief?”

“This isn’t the time to razz me, love.” I turned and plucked the lock out of the track. “You ready for this?” I asked and she stepped close, flipping the safety off and positioning herself in ready stance, with the gun aimed toward the door.

“Go,” she said.

I leaned down and gripped the door, sending one more glance in her direction before I pulled it up and slid outside with her leading the way. It took me a second to flip the lock and I didn’t wait for her to give the all clear. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her and launched us over the building into the woods to the north.

No bullets flew in our direction and I landed at the edge of the woods near a strip mall. My heart still clanged in my chest, but the overwhelming fear abated a fraction. It had been years since I hotwired a car and I scanned the slim pickings and then glanced back at Naomi.

“None of these will work,” she muttered.

“Why not?”

“These shoppers aren’t planning on being here for a long time. We need more than fifteen minutes to get out of town,” she said and my curiosity bloomed.

“When we get out of here, you’ll have to fill me in on how you know that,” I said and unclipped the backpack, slipping it off her back and slinging it over my shoulder before taking her hand. “If not here, then where?”

“A mall garage would be best, but it doesn’t look like that’ll be easy to find here, so let’s look for something covered in frost or with a thin layer of snow. That’s a vehicle that hasn’t been used and the likelihood of it being reported right away is lower.”

“Okay,” I said and let her lead the way. She handed me the gun and I stashed it in the backpack before we stepped out from the woods. We crossed through the parking area and circled behind the building. A car with a frost-bloom pattern on the windshield sat behind the building. “Like that?”

“No.”

“Why not?” I asked, trying to squelch the budding irritation.

“Because I’m willing to bet the owner works here and is just about ready to leave.”

As if on cue, the door on the back of the store swung open and a man with grey-speckled hair and a weathered face stepped into the alleyway, taking a moment to light a cigarette. With it hanging from his lips, he pointed his remote at the car and it beeped.

We were in the shadows, less than ten paces away and I traded a glance with Naomi, seeing the spark in her eyes. Perhaps our luck had changed and when the car door opened, I nodded my head in his direction. Naomi understood and she stepped out of the shadows, clearing her throat.

The man spun, and his eyes widened, but the cigarette didn’t move from his lips. When his gaze focused on her, it softened.

“What’s a sweet thing like you doing hanging out here?” he asked.

Naomi shrugged. “I think I’m lost,” she whispered and the confused pout she wore even suckered me in. When she slowly stepped toward the man, I almost laughed at his incredulous expression. “The last thing I remember was taking a drink at a party and then I woke up in a deserted car. I don’t have any idea where I am. Can you help me?” She stopped a few feet from him.

“Are you hurt?” he asked and concern laced his voice.

Naomi shook her head. “I don’t think so. Can you tell me where I am?”

“You’re in Albany, darling.”

Naomi let out a sharp laugh and looked around, raking her fingers through her hair. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “I’m from Pittsburgh.”

Her ad-lib was priceless and I covered the grin.

“How in god’s name am I going to get home,” she said, her voice rising with panic.

“I can take you to the bus stop if you’d like,” he offered and pulled the cigarette from his lips.

Naomi blinked at him and then rummaged through her pockets. I swore her chin quivered. “I don’t have, I don’t have any money,” she whispered, her voice lilting the way a girl about to cry does. She crossed her arms and shivered.

“Look, let me get you out of the cold and if you’d like, you can use my cell phone to call someone.” He waved to the car and she hesitated before offering a nod and rounding to the passenger side. When she closed the passenger door and took the cell phone from his hand, I moved, opening the back door and sliding in before either of them could react.

Her eyes widened when I placed the barrel of the gun to the back of his head.

“Drive,” I snarled and had to hand it to the old man, he kept his cool and slid the keys into the ignition.

Naomi clung to the phone and moved herself against the passenger door, her expression one of absolute fright and I nearly lost the glare in my expression.

“Is he with you,” the man snarled at Naomi and her gaze moved from the gun to his face.

She shook her head and whispered, “No.”

Even I believed the lie.

He stared at her a moment and then met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Son, I suggest you put that gun away before someone gets hurt.”

“I suggest you drive before someone gets hurt,” I snapped back.

His lips thinned and he put the car in gear, pulling out on the road.

“Where exactly am I driving?”

“South, towards New York City,” I said and glanced at Naomi. “What are you looking at?”

Her gaze dropped to the phone in her hand and she turned toward the windshield.

“You don’t have to be rude,” she muttered and I almost burst out laughing.

“Why don’t you show me what you have in your hands before I blow your friend’s brains through the windshield?”

Naomi stiffened in the seat and she slowly raised the phone. I reached forward and plucked it out of her grip. She gave the driver another one of those forlorn looks.

“What’s your name,” I asked and she glanced at me.

“Anna,” she whispered, using the same name she had with Valerie.

“Well, Anna, you might want to stow the attitude, otherwise this is going to be a very long three hour ride.”

“What are you going to do with us once we get there?” the man asked as he pulled onto the freeway.

“Nothing. You’re just on a six hour joy ride as long as you both cooperate.”

“Bullshit,” he muttered and glared at me.

“What are you doing with such a hot thing anyway?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I was taking her to the police station,” he said, sending me a challenging stare.

“I thought…” she began and stopped. Instead of continuing, she crossed her arms and slumped in the seat. “New York City, Albany, it doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “It’s still a long ass way from home.”

“What’s your name?” I asked and tapped his head with the barrel.

“None of your fucking business,” he snapped and I smiled in response.

“Okay, in that case I’ll just call you Lebaron, after your shitty car.”

* * *

THE REMAINDER OF the ride was quiet and despite Lebaron’s less than subtle attempts at flagging for help, Naomi remained quiet and subdued in the front seat. Staying in character despite the silence.

The wall of stopped cars ahead made me pause, even though we were approaching the George Washington Bridge. Traffic here wasn’t uncommon, but my internal alarms started tripping and my gaze shot beyond the traffic to the red and blue flashing lights beyond.

I swiveled my gaze to the man. “Pull over.”

He saw the red and blues too and his hands tightened on the wheel.

“Pull over or she dies,” I said, moving the barrel in Naomi’s direction. I played the bluff and it worked. Muttering under his breath, Lebaron pulled to the side of the road. “Now please step out of the car.” I kept my gaze on Naomi. “I’m talking to you, not him,” I clarified.

Her jaw dropped. “But,” she started.

“Get out,” I growled and she blinked before sliding out of the car. She shut the door and I swung the barrel against Lebaron’s head. “Step on the gas.”

Lebaron hesitated and when Naomi reached for the door handle, he peeled away from her. I got a quick glimpse at her aggravated features before I focused on the man in the front seat.

“You’re going to drive right by that barricade unless they wave you over to the side of the road. If they do, then I’ll make sure to keep them busy and you just drive away. Understand?” I asked and he looked at me like I had sprouted another head. “I was desperate, okay? I needed to get to the city as fast as humanly possible and I really need to get through that barricade.”

“What about the girl?” Lebaron asked and I inhaled looking out the window at the approaching checkpoint.

“I didn’t want her caught in the middle if this gets nasty.”

He leveled another glare in the rearview mirror and gave a curt nod.

“I’m gonna fade into the shadows back here, but I still have the barrel of the gun aimed at your back, so please don’t make this any uglier than it already is.” I leaned back in the seat, using the shadows to my advantage. Lebaron glanced back at me and his eyebrows creased. “Drive,” I said and he snapped his gaze back at the road.

The closer we got to the checkpoint, the more the supernatural chill bit at my bones. The bastard was here and when the state trooper turned his flashlight on our vehicle, I clenched my teeth.

Lucifer stared right at me before moving his gaze to Lebaron.

“Sir, please pull to the side of the road and put your hands on the wheel where I can see them.”

As Lebaron pulled to the side, I dropped the gun on the seat next to him and whispered, “As soon as you hear the door, hit the gas.” I met his gaze. “I’m serious, if you don’t, you’ll die tonight.”

When Lucifer had crossed half the distance, I opened the back door and rolled onto the pavement, landing in a crouch, facing the devil himself. I rose to my feet, irritated that the car still idled behind me.

“Where is she?” Lucifer asked and unclasped his gun.

“Gone,” I answered and my heart slammed in my chest as I looked around at the number of demons converging on the scene, every one of them wearing the skin of a cop.

“Hands on the wheel!” a voice growled behind me and I closed my eyes.

“I held a gun to his head and made him drive me down here,” I said.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I want to skin the bastard who sold her out.”

“Get on your knees and put your hands on your head,” Lucifer growled.

The click of a hammer made my teeth clench and I dropped to my knees on the cold pavement, putting my hands on my head. The burn of platinum bit my wrist and I winced as one of the officers secured my wrists in specially designed handcuffs.

Lebaron started arguing with one of the demon officers and I heard the click of another pair of handcuffs.

Lucifer yanked me to my feet and surveyed the onlookers, he shoved me in the back of the squad car and leaned in. “You’re going to wish I had shot you before this night is over.”

The door slammed and I leaned back, closing my eyes. All manners of torture danced over my eyelids and I ground my teeth together to keep them from chattering. When the door on the opposite side of the cruiser opened and Lebaron was shoved into the cage next to me, I met his gaze.

“You should have listened,” I said and he just glared at me. The poor soul thought we were going to the nearest precinct. I knew better and when the car pulled into an abandoned warehouse, I let out a breath of air at the chains glinting in the center of the building.

My gaze rose to the upper level, specifically to the upper wall of windows on the east side of the building.

“What time is it?” I whispered to no one in particular.

Lucifer pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned. “You have a little over eight hours before sunrise.”

“This isn’t the police station,” Lebaron snapped interrupting Lucifer’s concentration. “And why is my car here?”

I looked at Lebaron. “Because they don’t leave loose ends.”

Lucifer stepped out of the car and opened the back. He reached in and grabbed a handful of my hair, dragging me from the car before tossing me toward the waiting chains. Platinum utensils glowed on the table and I swallowed the fear constricting my throat.

Two demons stepped out of the shadows, yanking me to where the chains lay. I struggled and when they unclasped the handcuffs, I twisted out of their grasp. My right fist landed in the middle of one of the demon’s faces and I had a moment of satisfaction at the feel of bones crunching under my knuckles.

All those years of different martial arts disciplines kicked in and I used the momentum of the second demon and spun him, tossing him into the first asshole. More demons came out of the woodwork and I have no idea how many I took down before the click of a hammer caught my attention. I turned toward the noise.

Lucifer held the barrel of the gun against Lebaron’s temple.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” he asked.

“Fuck you,” I snarled.

“Let me put it a different way. If you don’t cut the shit, I’ll blow his brains out.”

My fists clenched as tight as my jaw and I sent a glare, but when the remaining demons grabbed me, I didn’t struggle. Instead, I let them pull me into the center of the warehouse, over the dead bodies of over a dozen demons to where the chains awaited.

My chest rose and fell with the fury filling my cells, making the fear seeded in my stomach abate. Fabric ripped and I jerked my shoulder away, reviving a fraction of my fight as they stripped the shirt off my back.

A growl formed in my chest until Lucifer clucked his warning, tapping the gun on Lebaron’s temple as a reminder. When the first stab ripped through my left shoulder, a protest of pain peeled from my throat.

The burn of the platinum hook locked my ability to reason and when they pierced my right shoulder, I started spouting curse after curse, alternating between my native Greek and English. Each wrap of the chain around my arms burned and the fuckers had the audacity to laugh. There wasn’t a god damn thing I could do now and I struggled to remain standing under the crippling pain.

Lucifer gave a nod and one of his henchmen turned a crank, tightening the chains until my arms stretched to the sides.

Lebaron just stared at the spectacle, his eyes blinking rapidly and his mouth hanging open in shock. I could tell he didn’t have a clue what was coming.

“You’ve made your point. Let him go,” I said, mustering up enough anger to send a glare at Lucifer.

The report of the gun silenced Lebaron for eternity and I bit down on the flash of envy that gripped me at his quick death. What I had coming was worlds away from quick and I ground my teeth together, grasping at the fleeting fury, trying to hold onto some semblance of sanity.

Lucifer glanced into the darkness to my right and I followed his gaze. A man stepped out of the shadows. A human, and the anger came back full force, enough so I lunged against the chains, the motion creating a ripping agony in my shoulders and I thundered my discontent.

I knew exactly who this fucker was and he waltzed up in front of me, his smug expression just as infuriating as the memories of how he treated Naomi.

“You’re the asshole who sold her out,” I said, my voice raw from pain.

“Yes, and you made the mistake of intervening.”

I allowed a smile to form. “The mistake was yours.” I straightened, standing tall. I narrowed my eyes, inspecting him in a way that made him shift uncomfortably, his eyes bouncing from my face to the barbed hooks piercing my skin.

“What kind of loser sells out his girlfriend because he can’t get into her pants?”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“And while we’re talking about that, why was it you couldn’t get her to do the deed? Oh yeah, it must be because you’re a world class dick,” I taunted, pushing his buttons and watching his aggravation grow.

“Like she would ever sleep with a vampire,” he laughed.

I raised an eyebrow and produced a knowing smile, letting my mind flow over every nuance of her. The memory gave me strength and I inhaled.

“Mhm, and she was so fucking good.”

I let the words hang on the air, enjoying the effect they had on her ex. His face turned a shade of red that I wasn’t readily familiar with, one usually reserved for heart attack victims.

“Worth dying for?” Lucifer asked.

“Yes.”

Both Lucifer and Mark blinked, not expecting my immediate answer or the smile that accompanied the single syllable.

It took a second and Mark’s face scrunched into a mask of anger. His brass-knuckle-clad fist slammed into my cheek hard enough for me to stumble back a step, but the chains kept me in place. He didn’t stop with just one swing either, and the brass knuckles he wore were platinum-plated for maximum damage.

I blinked away the gray spots in front of my vision in time to see Mark pick up a whip from the table. He had worked himself into a frenzy while Lucifer leaned against the car, watching the beating with amusement. The rest of the demon horde had spread out around the perimeter, to watch the show.

The first snap of the whip sliced a trail through my back, dropping me to my knees and forcing a bellow of anguish from me. A pain-filled haze gripped me, tearing at every cell and my gaze rose to the windows.

“Michael, keep her safe,” I whispered at the night sky and another crack of the whip followed.

The sunrise couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter 35

Naomi

PISSED DIDN’T BEGIN to describe the fury cramping my muscles as I stomped down the breakdown lane toward the distant police strobes. The frigid winter wind tossed my hair behind me, but I hardly felt the bite of it. It wasn’t until I got closer to the checkpoint that I noticed the effect of the chill and my gaze shot to the barricade now within sight.

I slowed, listening to my internal alarms instead of barreling through like a crazy banshee. When the procession of cop cars rolled away from the scene, I caught a glimpse of the Lebaron and I almost sprinted, until I saw the driver’s profile.

A chill settled over me and I could feel the growl form in my throat.

Mark was driving the car, which meant only one thing.

They had Damian.

I took a step toward the cars and stopped, unsure of what to do next. All of my instincts told me to turn and run in the opposite direction and I knew that’s exactly what Damian wanted. He wanted to die knowing I was safe and I bit down at the flare of anger.

That’s why he ditched me.

And I was damned if I’d let him die at the hands of Lucifer.

By the time I got to where the police barricade had been, all traces of the demons and Damian were gone and the flow of traffic had picked up again. I stomped my foot on the pavement and cursed under my breath. There was only one person that I could think of that could help and I turned, crossing into the small outcrop of woods lining the road.

“Michael?” I asked, hoping I had the ability to call my long lost relative.

The wind shifted around me and I turned, meeting the angel’s questioning gaze.

“They have Damian.”

“I know,” he said, crossing his arms.

My mouth dropped open. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

His gaze narrowed. “Watch your tone with me.”

I stepped closer, leveling a glare. “You can’t let him die.”

He closed the distance, towering over me. “I can’t intervene,” he said through clenched teeth, and I caught the measure of frustration in his tone.

“Why the fuck not?” I shot back, challenging him.

“Because they have the facility marked. I can’t get in and Lucifer can’t get out.”

His answer wasn’t what I expected and I saw the anguish in Michael’s gaze instead of the anger he displayed earlier in Damian’s presence. It was almost akin to a father’s grief and I raised my eyebrows unable to voice the questions that flooded into my head.

“He was supposed to be my son-in-law,” Michael said to my questioning stare.

“So, you care about what happens to him?”

Michael nodded.

I looked down at the ground for a minute, digesting the conversation and then my gaze snapped back to his. “You know where they took him.” It wasn’t a question and when he looked away, he confirmed it.

“Take me there,” I said and Michael laughed. “I’m serious. I can get him out.”

“Damian was right about you being naïve,” he said.

“I have to try,” I whispered, my lilt on the cusp of begging. “Please.”

His lips pressed together and he shook his head. “I can’t protect you and neither can he.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I can hold my own? After all, I’ve been able to get the drop on you a number of times.”

Wings fluttered and he sighed. “If I agree to this, the first thing you have to do is find the mark that looks like this.” Michael turned and drew a symbol on the tree that looked like a complex and detailed Chinese symbol. “And destroy it.”

“How?”

“If it’s on the glass, break the glass.  If it is on the wall, scratch it so you put a break in the pattern. That will allow me to get inside.”

I looked at the symbol. “And it will allow Lucifer to get out.”

He nodded and I shook my head. “I want to tear his head off myself.”

“Damian expects me to protect you,” he started and I opened my mouth to argue, but he put his hand up, stopping me. “He expects me to protect you and considering how much he has done for me over the years, I need to honor that.”

“I cannot let him die,” I said. The thought of losing him made my heart hurt, like a bullet tore through my chest, producing an overwhelming panic. “I love him.”

Michael’s eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest. “Naomi,” he started.

“I will not let him die,” I said, the force of my words brought his gaze back to mine. “Whether you help me or not, I’ll find them and I’ll stop them.” I turned to leave and his hand clamped down on my arm.

The transition of time and space warped my brain and when I blinked, we stood at the edge of a deserted parking lot. At the far end stood a large building made of brick and glass and steel. The second floor windows were what caught my attention and I turned, meeting Michael’s gaze.

“They’re going to let him burn, aren’t they?”

Michael inhaled. “Yes, that’s if he doesn’t bleed to death first.”

I took a step toward the building, unaware that Michael still held my arm. I looked at the grip that stopped me and then up into his eyes. “Let go,” I whispered.

“You’re not going to wipe out that symbol, are you?”

I debated on giving him a line of crap but somehow I knew he’d see through me, so I shook my head. “If I can’t save him, my choice is to die with him.”

Michael’s eyes misted over and he looked at the building before returning his gaze to me. “If you get out of there alive, I expect you to keep this information to yourself. Anger works with us and has for millenniums. If he knew I loved him like a son, he might not stay on the righteous path he’s on.”

“So all your threats?”

“Were serious. If he steps over the line again, I will destroy him whether I want to or not. I made an exception with you, but I won’t in the future. He cannot spill innocent human blood.” Michael raised his eyebrows. “Neither can you.”

“I have no intention of doing that.”

He smiled and with a nod, he held out his arm, exposing his wrist to me. “If you’re damn sure you aren’t going to destroy that mark, you will need some extra magic to have a prayer of pulling this off. But understand, if you drain me, I won’t have the strength to intervene,” he clarified when I took his hand.

“You won’t die?”

Michael shook his head. “No, I’ll just be out of commission for a few days. Take what you need, child.”

I hesitated and then brought the soft flesh to my lips. His sweet scent brought forth my fangs and I bit, closing my eyes and drinking his pure blood, feeling it fuse into my muscles like an armor plate. Revelation after revelation fed into my consciousness, things he had blocked the last time I bit him, and I sighed at the depth of the angel’s mercy.

Damian’s pain-filled voice echoed in Michael’s head. “Michael, keep her safe.”

I stiffened and my eyelids flew open, meeting Michael’s gaze before my teeth retracted and my head swiveled toward the warehouse. I dropped his hand and bolted toward the building. Within two paces, I transitioned and my fury and panic melded into the perfect cocktail, giving me the speed and focus I needed.

Scanning the front of the building, I honed in on a lower level window next to the left corner and headed straight for it. The glass disintegrated the moment I launched and when I landed inside the small room, I rolled, coming to a standing position in my human form. I glanced over my shoulder and gave a nod of thanks to Michael. He returned it with a look that begged for me to be careful and then he was gone.

I stood in the dark room, letting my eyes adjust and mapping out my strategy, debating on what to enter the belly of the warehouse as. I knew my tiger form was a force to be reckoned with, but not knowing how many demons were on the other side of the office door left me at a disadvantage. I needed to get close to where they held Damian and that clinched my decision.

If they thought I was human, I’d have a better chance of getting to him.

I reached behind me, digging the gun out of my waistband and checked the clip. I had four bullets left and I inhaled, steadying myself for what would come after they ran out. I closed my eyes and flipped off the safety before stepping to the door.

A short hallway greeted me and the creak of the hinges was masked by another sharp cry. I bit down on my lip, forcing myself to move slowly instead of listening to the building panic inside my muscles willing me to rush.

I knew once the first bullet flew, my element of surprise would shatter. I stepped into the shadows and got my first look at the set up, focusing on the exterior walls instead of the spectacle in the center.

I counted a half dozen within range and steeled myself for action. Lining up the closest demon’s head in the gun sight, I exhaled and pulled the trigger. My shot was true and he went down. The burn of glares hit me and I ignored it, turning and taking out the second demon before he could step in my direction. They moved fast and I got the last two shots off before my gun clicked empty.

Tossing the useless shell away, I yanked both knives from my belt, wielding them as the demon hoard approached. My mind raced and I had to keep the strength pounding my muscles in check. Everything I did had to scream human, otherwise my chances of getting to the center of the floor where Damian was would be killed just as efficiently as I had killed the first demon.

I slashed out, giving the impression of desperation until I was overwhelmed and disarmed. They dragged me, kicking and cursing all the way to where a police car sat and a darker version of Michael stood with arms crossed and lips pressed together in an amused smirk.

I landed at his feet and glared up at him from my hands and knees.

He looked to his right and an eyebrow rose. I followed his gaze and gasped. Damian was in worse shape than he had been in the woods. The sharp hooks piercing his shoulders sent a wave of nauseous fury through me and I kept it in check, storing it away for when I made my move. When his gaze met mine, I saw defeat and sorrow that stripped my soul down to my base instincts.

“You bastard,” I snarled and scrambled to my feet, glaring at Lucifer.

Lucifer’s hand reached out and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling me close and inhaling through his nose. “My god, she smells heavenly,” he said, glancing at Damian. “How did you not feast on this girl?”

Damian’s gaze shifted to me and he forced himself to his feet, his features morphing into a grimace and I silently swore they all would pay dearly for torturing him. I glanced at the demons surrounding us, counting a meager five left to defend the building and they were close by, watching my struggle with interest.

“She’s Michael’s bloodline,” he whispered as if it was a reason, but I could see the confusion in his expression, confusion that Lucifer mistook as pain.

“You fucked this monster?” The question shot from the dark behind Damian, and I tensed, letting my mouth drop open with just the right amount of shock. Mark stepped from the shadows, a bloodied whip in his hand and I almost changed, just for the sheer joy of ripping him to pieces.

The hand gripping my hair stopped me from doing anything rash just yet, but I had to give a show, so I lunged toward him, yanked back by the hair, allowing a stream of unladylike curses fall from my lips.

Mark threw the whip on the table and approached me, his features contorted in rage. Lucifer pushed me toward him and I stumbled, catching myself to stand tall and defiant.

“You fucked him?” he repeated, pointing at Damian.

I shrugged. “What do you care? You sold me out,” I snapped and shifted, putting enough distance between Lucifer and me so I was now out of his reach.

Mark scanned me and then gazed at Lucifer. “I want to fuck her before you kill her,” he said, just like I thought he would. The prick was so predictable.

Lucifer gave a go-ahead wave and Damian growled a warning, but I focused on Mark.

“I’d like to see you try,” I said, daring him to step within range. I closed my mouth, ignoring the pulse in my teeth and the desire to tear into this bastard. No one in the room besides Damian knew what I was and when Mark stepped forward, I nearly smiled at his stupidity.

Instead, I shifted my weight, taking a ready stance.

“You think your little self-defense classes are going to save you?” he said, laughing.

“Maybe, maybe not, but I’ll at least get a couple shots in, maybe even ruin that pretty face of yours,” I said and the vain asshole paused, nodding to the beasts surrounding us.

“You fucking coward,” I yelled when arms gripped me, holding me in place as he approached.

He stepped close, his hands grabbing my coat and pushing it over my shoulders. The grip on my arms loosened as the demons stripped the garment. I jerked away from Mark’s touch, but the demons held me in place. He squeezed one of my breasts through the camisole and grinned.

“I’ve been waiting years for this,” he whispered and his fingers trailed to my belt.

I brought my knee up, but he anticipated it, grabbing a hold of my knee, his eyes narrowed in a way that chilled me. The thought that I once thought I loved this asshat made me want to puke.

“So predictable,” he said and stepped close, holding my thigh to his hip and his free hand gripped my ass. He smiled and pressed his crotch to mine, his hard shaft suggesting exactly what he had in store. “And so fucking hot,” he whispered.

I tried to wriggle free, giving the impression that the grip on my arms was as good as iron shackles. He laughed and leaned forward, kissing my bare shoulder, his lips followed the line of my neck to my ear and I glanced at Damian before my gaze landed on Mark’s exposed neck.

It was time and I sank my teeth into the flesh bared before me, relishing the hot stream that filled my mouth as much as Mark’s scream. At the same time I bit, I yanked both demons, knocking their skulls together in a teeth-shattering thud. I spun Mark, throwing him against the stunned demons.

I didn’t hesitate, I lunged and when I landed on the trio, claws ripped flesh and screams filled the room. I focused on the demons, leaving Mark for later. I wanted him to live with a few minutes of terror before I tore his head off. I wanted him to feel death’s breath, to know how fucking terrifying it was to know he was only a few moments away from dying.

The rest of the hoard charged and I leapt from the dead bodies, focusing on the chains holding Damian before dispatching the rest of the beasts. The metal holding his right arm snapped in my jaws and before I could reach the second chain, the remaining demons surrounded me.

Lucifer bellowed commands that they were not to kill me. That I was his, but I didn’t wait for them to ensnare me at his orders, I went on the offensive, tearing them apart before turning to Lucifer and Mark. I launched toward them, snapping the second chain in half on my way past Damian.

Lucifer stepped to my right and I snarled, undecided as to who to go attack. The scent of Mark’s blood drew my attention and I focused on him. Fury filled every cell and my haunches tightened, springing me onto him. His dying screams of terror fueled my anger, heightening my need to kill, and I clawed and bit, relishing the taste of fear in his blood until all that was left echoing in the warehouse was my snarl and the ripping of flesh.

“Naomi,” his voice cut through the rage and I turned.

Lucifer held a handful of Damian’s hair and the barrel of a gun rested on his temple. My heart stopped and the breath locked in my lungs. When I took a step toward them, Lucifer cocked the hammer back. I hesitated, letting the transition take hold.

“Please, don’t,” I whispered, lifting my gaze from Damian’s to meet Lucifer’s furious eyes.

Lucifer smiled and pulled the trigger. The snap of an empty clip filled the room and his smile faded.

I launched from my spot before Lucifer could recover from the shock of his failure, hitting him full in the chest and knocking him away from Damian. I dug in with both claws and teeth, delivering what should have been mortal wounds.

Unfortunately, Lucifer was neither mortal nor demon and he found the strength to throw me aside. I scrambled, putting myself between the king of hell and my suffering vampire.

“Naomi,” Damian’s voice attempted to pull my attention and I ignored him, keeping my eyes on Lucifer circling the perimeter, limping and leaving a significant trail of blood.

Damian’s grip on my fur finally pulled my attention away and I turned my head.

“Sun,” his gaze rose and I followed it to the growing light in the window.

Lucifer’s laughter rang out and I snarled, crouching so Damian could climb on my back. He seemed to understand and the moment he had a grip, I took off toward the back of the warehouse, away from the sunrise. The only thing between us and the dark water of the Hudson River was glass and I didn’t hesitate, I leapt, smashing the window and tumbling through the air with Damian still holding tight.

White light filled my senses and then darkness descended.

Chapter 36

Damian

PAIN SCRAPED EVERY cell of my body and my eyes blinked open to black so thick, I couldn’t see anything, our tumble into oblivion still sharp in my mind. I tried to sit up but hands pushed me back.

“Don’t move,” Naomi said, her voice drowning all my other senses, layering a blanket of relief over me. Tears burned my throat and traced hot paths down my face, blurring the darkness and dulling the agony.

Wire snapped and I groaned at the fire burning my shoulder, choking me. I clamped my eyes closed, pressing my teeth together while she pulled the metal shard from my shoulder, unwrapping my arm before placing it on my stomach over my other freed appendage.

“Where are we?” I asked once the ability to articulate returned.

“I don’t know,” she answered and something delectable pressed against my lips.

The minute my teeth pierced her skin, power flowed into me and I had to temper the burn, the need to suck every last drop from her. The knowledge that she’d let me, if it meant my survival, brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes and after a few draws on the angel infused blood, I released her wrist, opting to pull her against me in the darkness instead of feasting on her blood.

Crying was not normal for me. It was something that I hadn’t done since I was a little boy and the strange outpouring gripped me, flooding my ears with hot liquid. My arms tightened around Naomi, my form shaking to the core with silent sobs. I buried my face in her shoulder and her tender lips found my ear.

“I love you,” she whispered and I squeezed tighter.

Light filled the space and I opened my eyes, staring up into Michael’s magnificent form. His melancholy expression blurred and I blinked the sheen of tears from my eyes, meeting his hard gaze. I scrunched my eyebrows together, wondering if I had seen the warm expression or if it was just the tears that distorted his features.

Naomi pulled out of my arms and stood, crossing to the angel and giving him a hug.

“Thank you,” she said and placed a kiss on his cheek. Michael closed his eyes and gave her a quick squeeze before meeting my gaze.

“How’s Valerie?” I asked.

“She’s with her uncle in a safe place,” Michael answered and then looked at Naomi. “Lucifer is still alive”

Naomi nodded and looked at the floor.

“My sources tell me he's in bad shape,” he said and slid his gaze to me. “So it looks like you’ve got a reprieve while he heals.”

Confusion clouded my already emotionally charged brain and I attempted to sit up again, succeeding, despite the protest of every muscle. I glanced around at the familiar surroundings of the cottage bedroom and the bags on the floor, including my computer bag, before my gaze snapped back to Michael.

“How?” I asked and pointed to the luggage, but really what I wanted to know was why he saved me. I just didn’t know how to ask without setting him off.

Michael’s eyebrow rose in that arrogant gesture that always infuriated me.

I bit down on a derogatory remark and traded a glance with Naomi. “Okay, then why,” I asked, finding the curiosity too overwhelming not to ask.

“Because she asked for my help,” he said, but I saw something underneath the sternness that told me there was more to it than that. He sent a warning glare in Naomi’s direction and added, “The bloodline still needs protection.” Which sounded logical considering, but it didn’t explain the underlying fatherly vibe I was getting.

“You sure it isn’t because you care?” I asked, offering a smirk as compensation for the dig.

Michael’s laughter filled the room and then he was gone, leaving Naomi and I alone in the dark.

I stood on shaking legs and crossed to where she stood, wrapping my arms around her. “What you did was stupid and foolish,” I whispered and she stiffened in my arms. “And insanely brave,” I added and before she could voice any argument, I crushed her lips under mine, kissing her with every ounce of love and passion filling my soul.

Epilogue

DAMIAN AND I fled from the east coast as soon as he was healthy enough to move. We found solace in one of his hunting cabins in the Colorado Rockies, and carved ourselves a proper living space in the mountain behind the cabin.

It wasn’t long after our home was completed that Damian took me out to one of our favorite spots. He made me sit on one of the downed trees while he paced in front of me under the full moon. His constant nibbling on his bottom lip had me concerned.

“Is everything okay?”

He stopped pacing and offered me a soft smile. “Yes, everything is fine,” he said but the nervous expression belied his calm words.

“Are you sure, because everything about you right now screams nerves.”

“Yes. Everything is okay. Just be quiet for a minute. I have something I need to say,” he said, exasperated and then began that incessant gnawing on his lip.

He moved in front of me and I couldn’t tell if he tripped or was trying to decide whether to stand or drop to his knees. The entire approach was awkward and clunky, two things I thought I’d never put in the same sentence as Damian Andreas. His entire demeanor pulled a laugh from my lips.

His hands found his waist and he cocked his head. “Can you please stop laughing?”

I pressed my lips together, but all that did was produce a snort from my nose, which didn’t help matters in the least. My incessant giggles turned into a full-bodied laugh.

He stared at me as if I had lost my mind, and then turned, muttering under his breath as he started back towards our cottage.

“Damian, wait,” I said, out of breath from laughter. He stopped and the deep breath he took lifted his shoulders before he turned back to me.

“I have a question for you and I’m not going to ask you if you insist on laughing at me.”

The seriousness in his expression squashed my giggles. “I’m sorry. It’s just I have never seen you this fidgety. What’s bothering you?”

This time when he approached, any sign of nerves had vanished and he stopped right in front of me, staring down at me with such intensity that it was my turn to fidget.

“I know we have only known each other a short time, but I can say with certainty that I love you with all my soul.”

He dropped to one knee in front of me and my heart thumped in my chest.

“I never thought I’d find this kind of passion, this kind of love, again.”

His hand slipped under mine and he brought it to his lips. Just his touch turned my insides to a hot mess, but when he produced a velvet box in his right hand, my breath locked in my chest.

“I want to see every moonrise and moonset with you. I want to dance with you and make love to you under the starlit sky. I want a partner that is my equal on every level.” He flipped the box open and I stared down at the stunning diamond ring. “I honestly don’t know why the gods sent you my way, but I cannot imagine a forever without you by my side. So, Naomi Hawk, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears blurred my vision and my hand moved to cover my mouth. The perfection in his proposal along with the adoration in his eyes sealed my answer. He stayed on his knee, but his sincere gaze clouded with worry when a few beats of silence passed. I dropped my hand and nodded, forcing my voice to squeak from my tight chest.

“Yes. Yes, Damian, I will marry you!”

His face transformed into the brightest smile I have ever seen adorned on his lips and he slid the ring on my finger. Damian leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my lips. He pulled away far enough to meet my gaze, and the fire in his irises blazed with the same tornado of need burning through my bloodstream. He swept me off my perch and into his strong arms planting a searing kiss that melded our souls into one. With me nestled against his chest, he headed towards the cottage, pledging a forever filled with passion and promise.

* * *

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About the Author

J.E. Taylor is a writer, a publisher, an editor, a manuscript formatter, a mother, a wife and a business analyst, not necessarily in that order. She first sat down to seriously write in February of 2007 after her daughter asked:

“Mom, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

From that moment on, she hasn’t looked back!

She lives in Connecticut with her husband and two children and during the summer months enjoys her weekends on the shore in southern Maine.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

ROOK

Allie’s War Book One

BY JC ANDRIJESKI

Copyright © 2011 by JC Andrijeski

“You are the Bridge…”

In a modern-day Earth much like ours, Allie spent her life distancing herself from Seers, a second race discovered on Earth and enslaved by human beings. After getting in trouble with the law and with her own race in question, Allie manages to pick up a new stalker even as events in her life start to spiral out of control.

Yanked out of her life by the mysterious Revik, Allie discovers that her blood may not be as “human” as she always thought, that the world is nothing like it appears to be... and she has far more in common with Seers than she ever wanted to believe.

When Revik tells her she’s the Bridge, a mystical being meant to usher in the evolution of the human race––or possibly its extinction––Allie realizes there’s no going back.

ROOK

Allie’s War Book One

Copyright © 2014 by JC Andrijeski

Published by White Sun Press

Cover Art & Design by Jennifer Munswami at

J.M. Rising Horse Creations
www.facebook.com/RisingHorseCreations

2015

Link with me at: http://jcandrijeski.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Prologue

MISTAKE

“PUT IT DOWN!” A voice yelled. “On the ground! Right now!”

I blinked in confusion, staring at the bottle in my hand. The jagged end of broken glass looked like something out of a cartoon, or an old gangster movie.

Blood ran down the inside of my arm, not all of it mine. My muscles locked, bunched up with adrenaline.

Someone must have called the police. The young guy in front of me didn’t have his gun out, but his hand held the holster menacingly, and his uniform brought a flush of panic, starting somewhere in my lower belly.

The other fire that had burned there—irrationally bright only seconds before—abruptly sobered. Without taking so much as a breath, I dropped the broken bottle, holding up my hands in a gesture of surrender.

I’ve never been a tough chick. I’d never done anything remotely like this before... but I knew enough to know that my combat boots, smudged make-up and punky, bleached-calico hair weren’t winning me any points with the men in blue. I looked around at the swath of cleared space around the bar.

“Hands up!” the cop yelled.

“They’re up!” I said.

He walked up, grabbing one of my wrists. He spun me around so I faced the bar. I felt cool metal hit my wrist as my chest thudded into the lacquered wood.

“You have any weapons?” the young policeman asked. He cuffed me, then patted me down. “Don’t fucking move!” he yelled, when I turned to look at him.

“No weapons!” I was shouting I realized, scared out of my wits.

All the while, my mind churned useless facts. People got shot doing stupid shit like this. More cops got shot in domestic disputes than during any other kind of call, which likely explained why the young cop’s hands shook as he cuffed me.

My eyes swept the oddly bright space until they lit on the person who had inspired all this drama, and that flame of irrational feeling ripped once more through my chest cavity, making it difficult to breathe, to think straight.

Jaden, my now ex-boyfriend, stood like a store mannequin, his eyes as wide as saucers in a pale face. He gripped the upper arm of his date, a voluptuous girl in a red vinyl dress, as if to steady himself. I looked at her, and the rage came back, intense enough to scare me. Breathing harder, I leaned against the wood, closing my eyes, trying to crush my own chest.

Feeling ripped through my center, animal-like—almost painful.

In my defense, I’d only heard about them that night, and the fact that their affair started three months earlier, while I’d been blissfully happy, thinking Jaden and I were mutually in love. According to his bass player, she’d started hanging out with them after shows, eventually winning him over with flattery, pouty lips and enormous tits.

She was babbling something to him and her friends now, half-hysterical, her arm bleeding profusely from where I’d slashed at her with the bottle, her red-painted lips another dark wound on her face.

I stared at them both, thinking, this can’t be real. It can’t be. This isn’t me.

But it was.

Chapter 1

SEERS

SO YEAH, I got arrested that September, and it pretty much changed everything.

Forever and ever... in my life, at least.

Why did it change everything, you might be wondering?

Well, not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.

Okay, yeah, it was really humiliating. I got thrown in jail for two nights. The cops treated me like some kind of PCP-smoking weirdo and wouldn’t let me call my mom for twenty-four hours. My mom flipped out. My brother Jon really flipped out. My friends all flipped out. I got a psych eval, as mandated by the state of California for all new violent offenders with no previous criminal records. I got a blood test... again. I had to pee in a jar.

Then, after all of that, I had to do community service. I couldn’t leave town. Worse, I had to check in with the authorities, and yes, wear a shiny new GPS bracelet that was even more awkward to explain when I finally got back to my job at Lucky Cat diner.

Who thankfully, by some miracle, hadn’t fired me.

None of that was the real issue, either, though.

The real problem, as they explained to me much, much later in time, was that I made myself visible. That little freak-out of mine with Jaden and the broken bottle and the bimbo band groupie was like sending up a great, big, noisy flare, one that got all the wrong people looking in my direction.

Why is that, you might be wondering?

Well, it’s simple. See, what I did was only crazy if you’re human.

If you’re not human, I was later to discover, it’s pretty much run-of-the-mill normal.

* * *

RIDING DOWN DIVISADERO Street towards my mom’s, I leaned against the cab’s window as it paused at a red light.

I’d been spacing out, not really paying attention to anything outside, when I realized that I was staring at someone.

She stared back at me, her sharp blue eyes eyes openly hostile. Framed with stiff dyed braids that came off her head like a white and orange headdress, her heart-shaped face had an almost unreal beauty to it, even beyond the heavy layer of foundation and eye make-up she wore. I read the name of the fetish bar on the marquee behind her, and realized abruptly what she must be. I’d heard about the place opening up, but hadn’t been by to see it like everyone else.

It just felt weird to me, I guess.

Gawking at seers, I mean... like they were animals.

The woman’s opaque blue eyes drank me in without apology or fear. Her hands rested on her hips over a white, lace bodysuit.

I receded into the cab’s seat so I would be less visible.

I caught the cabbie watching me in the rearview mirror and blushed.

“Yeah,” he commented flatly. “They got a few of them now.”

“I know,” I said. “I just... forgot.”

He didn’t seem to hear me, or care maybe.

“They just keep bringing more of them over here,” he complained. “Like we need our own damned glow-eye army. Fucking animals. I don’t trust ‘em... collared or not.” He glanced at me in the mirror. Looking over my tangled hair and hastily applied makeup, he smiled.

Maybe he thought the dishevelment was deliberate. I wondered if he’d think I was so sexy if he saw the GPS anklet I wore under my jeans, thanks to the nice people at the California Board of Corrections. I suspected probably not.

“You seen one before, honey?” he said.

“Yeah.” I glanced out surreptitiously, but the seer was no longer looking at me. Smiling seductively at a man on the street, she touched his arm as he passed. The man jerked away as if burnt, glaring at her.

The seer laughed, but I saw those blue eyes turn cold, predatory.

“Really?” the cabbie said. “Where?”

“At Oakland Coliseum. With my dad.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the seer. I found them fascinating, I couldn’t help it. “And on the street too. Downtown... you know. The ones that work for corporations and rich guys or whatever.”

The man nodded, absently. He’d already lost interest.

I ventured, “They’re allowed to just walk around like that? With no owner? What if she, you know... hurts someone?”

The cabbie pointed, tapping his window. “See that collar?”

I followed his pointing finger to the circle of brushed metal around the female’s neck. Finger-width, it had no markings I could see, other than the pulsing blue light at the base when she turned her head.

Feeling the cabbie watching me, I nodded.

He said, “They’re coded to the owner, see? They can’t do nothing with that on... blinds ‘em. They take it off when they’re, ah... you know, working.”

I nodded again.

I knew about the collars, of course.

I hadn't actually meant that, when I'd been asking about her being outside... I'd more been wondering why she was on the street without her owner in visual range. I’d always wondered why more seers didn’t simply run away, find some way to saw the collar off.

Then again, where would they go? If they tried to leave the country, SCARB or one of the local law enforcement agencies would track them down, drag them back to whoever had papers on them.

Even so, most seers I'd seen on the street had some kind of human chaperone with them; I'd assumed it was for a reason.

Not like I enjoyed seeing the whole seer-human dynamic in the first place. But seers were getting to be so common in the city, I guessed I needed to get used to it.

Lately, anyone with money seemed to have one.

They were the new high-status pet, I guess.

Sex and fetish shops specializing in seers had popped up all over town. If the laws changed or SCARB was loosening its controls, no one bothered to say so on the feeds. I did wonder that some of them wouldn’t be smart enough to figure out how to get the collars off.

Without their human owners, that is.

I almost understood the driver not being thrilled with the sudden influx of seers all over the city. Heck, maybe my brother Jon’s conspiracy stuff was true, about how the government was in secret collaboration with seers to mind-warp the rest of us. Jon was convinced we all might wake up one day inside a dream created by a bunch of seers to keep us all docile.

Looking at that female seer, though, I had trouble seeing her as colluding with anyone, much less a bunch of guys in suits.

No, she looked like she’d rather just shoot me in the head.

* * *

THE CABBIE DROPPED me off on Fell Street. He pulled up in front of the familiar, purple Victorian, and I transferred money to his cab number from my headset as I was sliding off the back seat. Trying to hurry, I slammed the door and promptly tripped over a dented juice bottle. Bending down to pick it up, I tossed the bottle in my mother’s neighbor’s yellow recycling carton, then noticed that the neighbor’s bin was empty, along with my mother’s section of curb.

Great. Another week of week-old garbage.

Digging my keys from my red vinyl jacket, I righted them to insert in the dead bolt lock... but the door was already open. A prickle of nerves ran up my spine. Had she been out today already? Or had the front door really been open all night?

I so wasn’t in the mood to deal with another of my mother’s benders.

Walking inside, I heard the television and sighed in relief.

I shut the door behind me loudly.

“Mom?” I headed for the sound of the t.v., dragging with me the bag of donuts and coffee I’d grabbed from the street vendor in front of the courthouse. Passing the dining room, I saw that she’d closed the drapes, which was strange, too.

My mother liked to watch the birds, even in the fog.

“Mom, you forgot the garbage again,” I said. Pausing, I raised my voice. “Tuesday, Mom. Remember? Every Tuesday. It never changes.”

No answer.

A prickle of misgiving touched my spine.

It already wanted to turn into annoyance, but I knew that annoyance was at least partly fear. Jesus, please tell me she’s not drunk. Please tell me she didn’t leave the television on when she left the front door unlocked, that she’s not in some bar right now, doing shots.

“Hey, Mom... I don't have a lot of time. I promised I'd come by, so I'm here... but I can't stay. I just wanted to make sure you were up. Aunt Carol's coming over. Remember...?”

When she didn't answer again, I felt that misgiving worsen. Moving faster down the hall, I stepped out into the living room, stopping when my eyes met a shock of skin sprawled on the paisley print couch.

“...Oh,” I said.

Sighing, half in relief and half in irritation, I crossed the remainder of the room, kicking aside an empty bottle that at least partly accounted for the smell from the faux-Indian carpet. Sitting on the squishy couch I’d loved as a kid, I sank so low I nearly got dumped on the floor.

I set down the coffee cup I had surfed to safety, and dropped the crumpled bag of donuts to the carpet. Sighing again, I leaned over to tap my mother’s bare back. The skin there was smooth and somehow younger than the rest of her, marked with tan lines from working in her garden.

“Mom? What are you doing?” I looked at the clock in exasperation. "I have to go."

I looked around at the open photo album, the crushed cigarette butts that she’d sworn up and down just two days ago that she no longer smoked, the faded, Mickey Mouse drinking glass that had once been Jon’s. I counted five butts in the plastic Waikiki ashtray with the hula girl painted on it, and at least two more in the bottom of Mickey’s glass.

The only thing I didn’t look at was the television, where the familiar voice of my father could be heard amid kid laughter and cheers.

The birthday video.

I had been four. That was before dad’s MS had been diagnosed, before he started losing weight, before he gave me the ceramic dolphin music box and promised he would never leave me. The day after he died, I smashed that box to a million pieces on the curb outside of our house. The next day, I moved out. I was seventeen.

“Mom?”

A muffled voice emerged from against my mother’s arm.

“You are an evil, evil child.”

“You going to church? Aunt Carol's coming, remember?”

“I don’t belong in church.”

“Sure you do.” I patted her back. “Where else does an old drunk go for repentance?”

My mother, Mia Taylor, raised her head. Bleary-eyed and pale, dark circles under her eyes, she looked old to me suddenly, in a way that brought a rush of what felt oddly like anger.

She also looked hurt. “You are evil. Did you bring coffee?”

“Yup. With the requisite sugar fat explosion, dunked in chocolate-flavored lard... your favorite.”

She was already reaching for the bag, her eyes faintly quizzical, like they always were when I cracked one of my dumb jokes. She unfurled the crinkled paper and peered inside.

Her voice grew timid. “Allie, will you go with me?”

I failed to completely stifle a snort.

“Come on, Mom. Conversion? This early in the morning?”

As I said it, my eyes made contact with the television.

There, my father held me in his arms, beaming so wide, his eyes so shining that I couldn’t help but feel him, hearing his laugh through the middle of my chest. Only after I could breathe again did I look at my mom. Her deer-like eyes were wide as she munched on the edge of a donut, chocolate frosting coating her small fingers.

“You’ve got to get past this,” I said, hating myself for saying it.

I knew in some ways, my mother’s grief was a lot more honest than mine. It was me who covered myself over in sharp laughs and dismissive shrugs. Or, in the words of the boyfriend before Jaden, a Puerto Rican from New York, I was “a cold white woman, made of ice.”

A faint nausea rose briefly, a pulse of warmth.

I disagree, a voice said softly in my mind.

I jumped, violently enough to make my mom look over.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she said. She patted my leg. “Are you okay, Allie-bird? You look like a goose walked on your grave.”

I forced my eyes back to the television, watched my dad lean down to help my four-year-old self blow out four pink candles on a cake with white, fluffy frosting. Four-year-old me looked up at twenty-eight-year-old me and beamed, wanting to be my friend.

But watching my younger self wrapped in the gnarled, work-worn hands of my father, I felt nothing but envy.

Chapter 2

MR. MONOCHROME

I HUNCHED OVER an espresso maker, trying to get the metal coffee filter with the pressed coffee crammed inside to fit the groove. I got it hooked somehow, managed to turn the handle a quarter turn, but it stuck there and wouldn’t budge.

In the background, I listened to the television over the bar. There, our recently-elected president spoke over the flash of cameras and odd cheer or laugh from the crush of reporters ringing him like fans at a rock concert.

The media used a parade of what my grandmother would have called “dimestore words” whenever they described President Daniel Caine. He was never just President Caine. He was “...charismatic, bold in speech, forty-something President Caine exuding reassurance, his dark chestnut hair shining as he speaks from the White House lawn, the flowers of overhanging trees blending with the honey-blond of his wife’s hair. We only wish we could show you his real appearance so you could see how presidential he truly looks...”

Refocusing on the espresso maker, I finally got the filter off and hooked back on the machine. Clicking it on, I waited for the red light, glancing up at the line of blue suits on the television. I noticed the scarf at the blond woman’s throat, the flash of teeth as the man’s avatar rocked his head back in a laugh.

I’d never really followed politics.

But Caine, the new national obsession, was hard to ignore.

Most of my gal pals found him clinically “hot.” I don’t know how they could tell, honestly, since we only ever saw avatars.

Even Jon liked him, and Jon didn’t like politicians... at least not successful ones. Liberals liked him. So did right-wingers. I found myself riveted whenever Caine spoke, but couldn’t say I liked him exactly.

Like all humans, he had to wear avatars when appearing in the public feeds. The rumor was, those avatars weren’t far off from his real appearance, though... hardly the norm for celebrities and politicians. He wore just enough to remain legal––meaning, enough that seers wouldn’t be able to track him based on his physical appearance. He didn’t even change his age, or make himself ridiculously handsome, like most celebrities did.

The press corp rumor was that he actually looked better in person.

“...I have every hope here, fellas.” Caine smiled and I felt a kind of exuded warmth. “That this new agreement will establish real stability in a previously turbulent part of the world. Create friends and trusted neighbors out of those who in the past were our enemies.” He paused for just the right beat of time. “You don’t think we’re going to let a few screwballs get in the way of that, now do you...?”

Laughter sparked through the crowd.

“President Caine!” My eyes followed the petite female avatar as she pushed her way to the front. “What will your response be to the terrorists?”

He smiled at her.

“Donna,” he said. “You know I can’t give you details.” He winked at the camera. “...But rest assured, harsh language will be involved. Very harsh language indeed.”

Another collective laugh rolled through the crush.

I leaned my back against the espresso machine, frowning.

Folding my arms, I focused on the dark-skinned, African-American avatar standing just behind Caine. High cheekbones rose above full lips below cat-shaped, amber eyes. His was an undeniably handsome face, one I had also heard mirrored the handsomeness of the man behind it. The female friends of mine who didn’t have a thing for Caine definitely had one for Ethan Wellington, Caine’s new Vice President.

My reactions to him were more mixed.

The guy had something, definitely.

Again, I couldn’t decide if I liked whatever that something was.

“...I truly believe that we are now laying the real foundations for peace and prosperity in the future,” Caine spoke out over the crowd. “Paving the way for a time when human being will no longer fight human being...”

A low hiss emanated from the espresso maker at my back... just before it sprayed wet steam all over my uniform. Jumping forward with a yelp, I saw the metal filter belch water and coffee grounds through a warp in the seal. I was still staring at the machine, trying to decide how to proceed, when my best friend, Cassandra Jainukul approached.

Everyone but her mother called her Cass.

When we were kids, it had been Cassie.

“Hey.” Cass took in the issue with the espresso maker with polite disinterest. “Jon’s here. So’s your buddy.”

Gripping the filter’s plastic handle with a resolve I didn’t feel, I gave it a jerk. More steam and water vomited, drenching my shirt.

Cursing, I leapt back, soaked to the skin.

“Do you want me to call Jon over?” Cass folded her arms, bunching up the uniform under her breasts. “Or not?”

“What for?” I muttered. “He sucks at fixing things.”

“No, dummy.” Cass pushed shocking, dyed red hair out of her dark eyes. “Not for that. For that guy... your friend.”

When we were kids, I would have done anything to look like Cass. Her dad was Ethiopian and Thai and her mom something like Scottish and Indian. Cass ended up with a blend of all four that made her beautiful and unique-looking with a delicate face, high cheekbones, full lips and giant, liquid eyes. Her figure had always been better than mine, too. Leggy and big-chested with a tiny waist. She blew stray bangs out of her eyes.

“...What’s his name,” she prompted. “Your friend. Mr. Monochrome. The sexy guy with the black hair sitting in your section.”

I turned too fast, knocking the coffee filter with my arm. Cass watched it fall to the rubber mat with no reaction on her face. Turning, she stared openly at the man in the corner booth.

“Isn’t that the shirt we looked at in Aardvarks? You said you liked it, right?”

I nodded. I remembered.

“That’s creepy, Al.”

I said, “Where’s Jon?”

Cass aimed a finger at the bar.

My brother sprawled over a counter stool like an adult in a child’s chair. Catching my glance, he waved a hand sharply for me to come over. I rolled my eyes.

“Bossy,” I mouthed. “Pushy. Bossy. Control freak...”

When Jon threw a spoon at me, I ducked, smiling, and glanced at Cass. She was still staring at Mr. Mono, her lips scrunched in vague puzzlement.

When Jon motioned us over again, she smirked and started sashaying in his direction. Cass always flirted with Jon. It made my teeth grind sometimes, but I knew she did it to mess with him as much as anything. She knew she lacked the requisite, er, equipment, to catch my brother’s eye... but she’d also had a crush on him since kindergarten.

Watching Jon’s knee jiggle up and down as I followed her, I got a flash of what he’d been like back then, when most people still called him “Bug.” Skinny and pale with thick glasses and too-large hands, he’d been mostly a non-entity in high school, despite getting bullied by some of the real turds among the jock contingent.

He started doing martial arts before Dad died, tired of being stuffed in lockers and covered in ketchup packets for “being a little faggot” by the mentally-challenged of gym class. Now he had the broad-shouldered, sinewy body of a career athlete. His old coke-bottle glasses had been replaced by contacts over green-flecked hazel eyes, and he’d grown into the hands, too.

According to Jaden, Jon and I were a little creepy for brother and sister—even adopted brother and sister—in that we hung out together so much. But I wasn’t about to ditch Jon as a friend just because his parents were cool enough to adopt me.

Anyway, Jon wasn’t into girls. He never had been.

I watched his eyes swivel to the dark-haired man in the corner booth.

As soon as I got close enough, he let go with a not particularly stealthy whisper.

“Why didn’t you call me? I told you to call me!”

“I didn’t know.”

“How long has he been here?” Jon demanded.

“Well, if I knew that, I would have known when he got here, right?” I folded my arms. “I didn’t. Know, I mean.”

For an instant this stumped Jon. He squinted at me.

Cass said, “I don’t know, Al.” Her lips pursed. “You sure you don’t want to talk to this one? Before Jon goes all kung fu on his ass...?”

It was my turn to stare at Cass. “What?”

She nodded towards Mr. Monochrome. “Him. Look at him.”

I felt my jaw tighten, even as Jon gave Cass an incredulous look. Then both of us turned, following her gaze to the man with the coal-black hair.

I mean... I knew Cass was right, in a way.

He was really cute.

Well, not cute exactly... but he had something, for sure.

Whatever that something was, it was pretty damned sexy.

Moreover, Mr. Mono had little in common with my usual breed of stalker. He didn’t stare at me nervously, clutching flowers or bad poetry that rhymed. I’d never seen him wear crosses or pentagrams or so much as a Buddha T-shirt. Most of the kooks who followed me around seemed to be looking for something... a savior, maybe. Or maybe just a purpose.

This guy seemed to have all kinds of purpose already.

He practically breathed purpose.

In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would think he was a cop.

Hell, maybe he was a cop. Had I done anything to warrant a cop following me, though? Even with that freakout in the bar and the GPS anklet, I figured I was pretty much a nonentity in their eyes. First time offender, no previous history of drugs or violence. I was pretty sure my public defense lawyer convinced them of the “temporary insanity” thing, even if it didn’t get me off the hook with community service or the anklet.

I still found Mr. Mono’s ethnicity impossible to pinpoint.

He had gorgeous eyes––almond-shaped, but I had no idea what color they were, or even if they had a color at all. The few times I’d seen them in natural light, they’d looked almost like glass, faintly tinted with maybe blue or green.

His mouth was narrow, his face angular. Straight black hair, could use a hair cut.

He touched the formica tabletop with long-fingered hands, staring down at his own digits with the same almond-shaped eyes, the same eerily pale irises. I could gauge no emotion there, no expression at all. His face remained endlessly flat, his body inconspicuous in its stillness.

“He’s probably a sociopath,” Jon grunted.

“Sure. Maybe.” Cass shrugged. “But I like his hands.”

“You said that about Jack, Cass,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, well I was right, wasn’t I?”

I didn’t touch that one. I squinted at the black-haired man. Some part of me wanted to dismiss him, to follow Jon’s lead and put him in the weirdo category. After all, the guy had been following me for weeks now, and he’d never actually said a word to me.

“He’s like a walking corpse,” I said a second later. “...Minus the goth. He probably lives in his parent’s basement. I get Asperger’s syndrome, listens to bad cowboy music.”

Jon stifled a laugh, but Cass saw through me.

She gestured with her slim fingers, tugging at a silver chain around her neck. “He looks like there’s more to him than that, Al.”

“Again. You said that about Jack, Cass.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?”

I grimaced, glancing back across the room.

The black-haired stranger rose to his feet.

I watched him reach into a back pocket and extract a money clip. Like he had the day before, and the day before that, he left actual paper money on the table, and well in excess of what he owed. He wore a single piece of jewelry, a silver ring on his smallest finger.

“He’s leaving,” Cass said.

Jon yanked on my arm. “Stop staring, Al.” He sharpened his voice when I didn’t turn. “Al... seriously. What are you doing?”

I watched Mr. Mono move softly out the diner’s front door. It was already dark outside, but the neon sign lit up his face as he passed by the plate windows. He didn’t hurry, and just when I thought he wouldn’t, he turned.

That lamp-like stare met mine.

When it did, the world became soft.

I grew aware of the sharp lines of the diner blurring. Night filled in the gaps... a sky teeming with violet and black clouds, a backdrop streaming further back than my mind could reach.

Stars exploded behind my eyes, a single shocking plume of brilliance.

And it is beautiful.

So incredibly...

The clouds enveloped my mind, leaving nothing but silence.

Chapter 3

EXIT

“EXCUSE ME? MA’AM?”

Someone near me cleared his throat.

My eyes clicked back into focus.

I found myself looking at a man in a dark blue suit. A bright red silk tie contrasted the blue of his jacket, setting off the auburn highlights in his long hair. His light brown eyes studied mine, crinkling at the edges in a smile.

When he cleared his throat politely, my gaze drifted down to his hand, where he held out several twenty dollar bills.

“Can I use paper currency here?” the man said.

He spoke like someone who’d already asked the same question several times. I blinked, then looked down at his hand. Christ. He was a customer. I’d probably waited on him; that’s why he looked familiar.

Where had my head been?

I glanced down the bar counter at Jon and Cass, a little bewildered that I wasn’t standing next to them anymore. I stood by the cash register instead. Jon and Cass didn’t seem to have noticed that I had apparently teleported to the opposite end of the bar.

Cass laughed while I watched, leaning closer to Jon’s ear to answer something he’d said.

Feeling the man in front of me waiting, I jerked my eyes back to his.

“Yeah,” I told him. “Yeah, sure. Of course. Sorry.”

His smile widened. “No apology necessary, my dear. I am the one who is sorry... to have interrupted your thoughts just then.”

I smiled back noncommittally, hitting through keys on the old fashioned register.

“You looked very deep in thought right then, Alyson.”

I hesitated, glancing up at him.

I wasn’t wearing a name tag. Maybe I’d told him my name when I waited on him earlier. Shrugging it off, I gestured towards his arm. When he bared it to the elbow, I summoned the bill by scanning his barcode.

“Were you?” he said politely. “...Deep in thought?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Well. Even waitresses think about things, I guess.”

The man returned my smile, his gaze flickering over the rest of me.

Ignoring his appraisal, I met his gaze. “Do you want the change in hard currency, too?” I said. “Or just on your account?”

“Hard is fine.” His smile widened, even as his amber-colored eyes grew more serious. “What are you doing after work? Can I buy you a drink, Alyson?”

Counting out the coins, I handed him his change. I kept my smile polite. “I can’t date customers, sorry.”

“No? You won’t make an exception?”

I smiled again. “Sorry.”

The man met my gaze. When he did, I paused, in spite of myself.

For the first time, I really looked at him.

His eyes were riveting, difficult to look away from. That amber color nearly glowed, such a light color they seemed to have an internal fire. I found myself lost there, wondering why I’d been so quick to turn him away.

I could have one drink with the guy, sure. Why not? He was age appropriate, more or less, and while I didn’t usually date suits, he was cute. Nick the bartender, the guy I'd been seeing casually for the past few weeks, probably wouldn’t like it, but we weren’t exactly a couple.

My attention got pulled off him when the door to the diner opened with a bang.

I looked up, blinking in confusion.

Once I did, I found myself staring at the black-haired man. He stood there, looking angry, his athletic frame looming over the guy in the blue.

For the first time, he looked directly at me.

His colorless eyes grew utterly motionless, like a held breath.

Immediately, my head started to clear. I was still standing there, my hands poised over the cash register, when the man with the amber eyes turned, staring up at the black-haired man along with me. Neither of them spoke.

Even so, the man with the amber eyes smiled.

Looking away from the taller man, he brought his gaze back to rest on mine. He made a strange, soft clicking noise with his tongue, giving me a regretful smile.

“Ah. I see that you’re already taken,” he said. “Perhaps another time, my dear.”

“Sure,” I said, only half-hearing him. “Whatever.”

I was still looking at the man with the black hair.

The guy in the blue suit turned from the counter, heading for the door.

The black-haired man didn’t take his eyes off him as he passed. His eyes followed the man past him and through the front door and even outside, onto the street. I saw the amber-eyed man watching him as well... saw him wink at the black-haired man through the window before he disappeared down the sidewalk, past the edge of the building.

Before I could wrap my head around what had just happened, the black-haired man walked directly up to where I stood. His colorless eyes met mine.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now, Allie.”

When I didn’t move, only stared, the black-haired man grabbed my arm.

“Allie.” His voice was a growl. “Now.”

Before I could bring my eyes back into focus, Jon appeared at my side. He had his hand on the other man’s forearm even as he inserted his entire body between us. Jon’s voice came out quiet but firm, not an ounce of compromise in his words.

“Let go of her, man. Now. Step back.”

I saw the black-haired man look at Jon.

“Jon,” he said. “I won’t hurt her. But I need to get her out.”

I saw Jon’s eyes widen in surprise, right before they blurred, growing less clear. The black-haired man focused back on me.

We don’t have much time.

I stared up at him, feeling a cold wash of fear when I realized I’d heard his words from inside my mind, not with my ears. His mouth hadn’t moved.

Allie! I know you can hear me! You have to come with me. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cage? Wearing a collar? That man who just left here. He knows what you are.

More fear coursed up my spine.

What I am? What the hell was he talking about?

Allie! They can’t hear me! Only you can... what does that tell you?

Cass ran up at the same moment. “Allie! What is going on?”

The black-haired man looked at her. As he did, his concentration on me and Jon seemed to break. Jon’s eyes cleared in the same instant. He stepped forward once they had, as if remembering where he was.

His mouth hardened into a line as he grabbed ahold of my wrist.

“Al... get away from this guy! Right now.”

Confusion twisted my stomach in knots. I tried to think through the fear I saw in Jon’s eyes, the worry I saw on Cass’s face... but the black-haired man’s words resonated somewhere in my mind, and I knew suddenly, that I believed him. Without understand at all what he was talking about, I believed him that I was in danger.

I couldn’t stay here.

Memories swam forward, worsening that ache in my gut.

They’d tested my blood a few hundred times when I was a kid. It always came up human. Always. They’d only done it so many times because of how I’d been found, my parents assured me, and the fact that they couldn’t trace my biological parents, despite the record-keeping processes now in place. An unregistered baby found under an overpass in the middle of a major city like San Francisco had been big news... they had to be sure, my mom explained. It had been suspicious that they couldn’t trace my parents through my DNA. All people were registered at birth now––human and seer. Pretty much everyone had a DNA record on file.

So they had to check, my mom said. They had to be sure.

But my blood was human. They verified it, re-verified it. There was no question what I was.

I was 100% human being.

The doubt lingered. I remembered feeling my father’s fear...

I couldn’t go there again. I couldn’t.

When Jon yanked on my arm, I didn’t think.

A part of me reached out, seemingly on its own. It happened so fast there was no thought behind it, nothing that made sense. It felt more like a reflex than anything I did consciously. A folding sensation started somewhere deep inside my mind... as if a part of me collapsed like a telescope, pulling me along with it.

I exhaled it out, flexing a muscle I didn’t know I had...

...and then Jon was all the way across the room.

I couldn’t remember raising a hand, any part of me––and the black-haired man hadn’t moved from where he stood by my side.

Anyway, if it had been something like that, something physical, Jon himself wouldn’t have been caught so completely by surprise. Jon was a trained fighter––a fourth degree black belt in Choy Li Fut. Fighting was his job; he’d been a senior instructor at a kung fu school in the Richmond District for years, training people in self-defense and for the ring.

I saw a soft flash of light. I saw Jon’s eyes widen.

Then, he was just gone.

When that force hit him, he released my arm.

He tried to grasp at me the instant he had, but despite his super-fast martial arts reflexes, he missed his grip. His fingers splayed, groping first for a bar stool, then the counter. He careened backwards as if he’d been thrown bodily by a much larger man.

He slammed into a series of shelves covered in clean water glasses. Over ten feet from where I stood... from where he’d started... he fell to the rubber mat, taking half the shelves’ contents with him.

The sound was deafening. Everyone in the diner looked up.

Tom, the manager, emerged from the back room. He looked between me and Jon, stunned, then back at the mess covering the back area behind the counter.

Jon scrambled to get up, impressively fast, but water glasses continued to fall. Over the sound of breaking glass and people rising to their feet, I realized everyone in the diner was staring at me now, too.

I didn't take my eyes off Jon.

He was bleeding. One arm and his face were nicked with cuts.

I tried to understand how he’d gotten there. I tried to make sense of it.

Had I done that? Had I just hurt my brother?

I stopped then, staring at myself in the mirror over the bar.

My eyes...

What the hell is wrong with my eyes?

They glowed at me in the mirror’s reflection, like pale green fireflies.

Out of nowhere, I found myself remembering my Uncle Stefan. The memory crystallized starkly in my mind, if only for a single beat of my heart. We’d been visiting his farm, touring the pig barn. I’d been maybe seven years old. No one in the family ever talked about what happened that day... not once, at any point afterwards. Even now, my memories struck me as strangely surreal, like they might have happened to someone else.

I remembered standing there with Uncle Stefan, his rough hands on my shoulders. I’d been crying. My father had been trying to reassure me.

Uncle Stefan wasn’t a bad man. He was a rough man, a practical man and a life-long farmer... but he wasn’t a bad man. He’d just finished telling me what they did to the runt baby pigs. I’d been all excited to see those babies, having recently read Charlotte’s Web.

Then Uncle Stefan told me what they did to them.

I couldn’t believe it was real. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t a story... they really did that, killed something for being small.

The next thing I knew, Uncle Stefan was screaming, pinned against the wall of the barn. He’d been a big man, around six-two, over two hundred pounds, most of it muscle.

I forced the image from my mind, feeling sick.

When I glanced up, my anxiety turned into full-blown terror.

The black-haired man was staring at me, shock written all over his face.

I saw that shining reflection of seething green light in his glass-like irises, and realized that came from me, too. That otherworldly light wasn’t his––it shimmered back at me from my own eyes. Like in my dreams, my eyes were glowing.

They were really fucking glowing.

Glow eye...

At the same instant, I knew.

Maybe I'd always known. Maybe my parents had known, too.

Clearly, this black-haired guy knew what I was. At any rate, he'd known I could hear his thoughts inside my head. Not a whole lot of humans who could do that. I looked up at his pale, colorless eyes, maybe even for help. But the shock on his face was as prominent as anyone else’s in the bar. More so, maybe.

For a long moment, no one in the diner made a sound.

Then the last glass fell and shattered on the tile floor at the edge of the rubber mat.

The black-haired man spoke, his words thickly accented.

“Dul-ententre d’gaos!” he burst out. “You’re a fucking manipulator!”

I barely understood his words.

For my brain, enough was enough.

Everything around me grayed... then went totally dark.

Chapter 4

ROOK

I AM. NO thoughts cloud me.

The stories that run silently in the background, all the time... about my life, my dreams, my problems, what it all means... they are all vaporized, gone.

I am. It is enough.

Time is not. Not here, anyway. I live in spaces between time increments, outside time which spins like a glass ball, a matrix clockwork toy whirling dutifully overhead.

The walls of buildings glow like oddly invasive lines, showing me where to direct each foot.

He pulls me along the street. I feel fear through his fingers.

Am I dead? I wonder.

No, is all he says.

I follow the insistent tug of his hand. I occupy myself by feeling my legs as they are jerked and released like a puppet’s wooden limbs.

The streets are full of glowing beings. Most are white and gray clouds with blurred outlines. They have no features, no faces. Above their heads, thin sparking threads rise up.

Humans, he explains. That is what they look like from here.

From where? I wonder.

He doesn’t answer me.

I look at him then, see his precisely structured light body and chiseled features, perfectly reproduced inside the rose-tinted blackness. He is so different from the blurry cloud-like people it is hard to see the similarities.

Seer, he tells me. I am a seer, Allie. We look different from the Barrier.

Thinking about this, I lift a hand and stumble, still trying to keep up with his long legs. Rather than seeing my fingers and palm as a puff of indeterminate smoke, I am like him, made of crisscrossing white and gold lines and fire-colored light.

That light weaves into complex patterns under my gauzy skin. I turn my hand over in wonder, see veins and light structured as bone.

Am I not human? I ask.

My companion is silent.

Hey, I say to him. What am I...?

Later, he says. We don’t have time for Seer 101 right now, Allie.

We are approaching another one of those sky people, a being of bright gold light, like the man holding my hand. I feel my companion tense. The new being with the chiseled face and body grows nearer with every step. Unlike us, he does not walk, but sits.

The negative clicks to positive...

...and a homeless man blinked back at me from the sidewalk, a broken cardboard box over his legs. A puppy lay curled at his feet, white with chocolate spots. A gray beard covered the lower half of his face above a tie-dyed shirt and dirty jeans.

Understanding reaches me, a kind of panic.

They are everywhere, I think. They look just like us...

...then I am back in the place of no time.

There, the homeless man’s eyes glow as pale white stars, reflecting a quiet joy. I feel my companion’s relief as he looks at this man. He shows me, in another flash of layered and complicated thought, the proper means of greeting the other in this place.

The other person...

Seer, my friend whispers.

I flinch from the word.

But the old man is smiling. He bows to me and to the man I am with... and I smile.

The homeless man smiles back, exuding warmth

We are all everything, beautiful sister, he tells me. All the time.

* * *

I AM SOMEWHERE else now.

He pulls me across an endless sea of green grass. He won’t let me slow. I want only to enjoy the feel of animals and plants, watch clouds whisper around the faint auras of trees...

...when suddenly, the image righted itself.

The night sky flattened, turning back to the one I’d always known.

Auras evaporated like smoke from everything around me.

Once they had, I shivered, suddenly freezing cold.

I found myself walking in my waitressing uniform––a thin white blouse and short black miniskirt––without a jacket. I was with the man with the black hair, who held my hand. We were making our way along the edge of a long line of trees overlooking a sloped pasture. I was still looking down that hill when I saw dark forms with shaggy humps, black horns and low, twitching tails. Something clicked, and in that same moment, I knew where we were.

We were in Golden Gate Park. Just outside the buffalo paddock.

We were walking in the direction of the ocean.

Fighting fear, I wracked my brain for how I’d gotten here.

I glanced up at the trees, then towards the road.

I stumbled when I stared for too long, fought to regain my footing when the man holding me didn’t slow his pace. He gripped my hand like iron.

“Hey,” I managed. I tried to pull back my arm and hand, but he only gripped me tighter, exuding impatience as he dragged me along. “Hey... wait. Stop!”

He didn’t slow his steps.

I found myself trying to get close to him the other way, reaching towards him almost unconsciously... and a rush of nausea hit me, hard enough to make me stumble again. The man glanced back in the same instant, his pale eyes glinting in the light of the moon.

That strange nausea worsened.

My mind sifted backwards, explaining the facts to me belatedly.

He was a seer. He was a seer, and he wasn’t wearing one of those collars.

Allie... calm down, he sent.

“Let me go!” I yanked on my hand again, fighting panic. “I’ll call SCARB!”

His reaction shocked me.

He laughed.

It had been a childish threat, spoken in desperation. Even so, his laughter startled me. I found myself following him again in spite of myself, still struggling to see his face in the dark, to remember what he looked like. There was too much light; I couldn’t see past it.

When he looked back, I saw my eyes reflected in his, glowing a pale green. He frowned, staring at me a few seconds longer, then looked away.

You’ll need to learn to control that, he sent.

I held up my hand. It was back to normal, in the physical sense... but a sickly, green light now illuminated the lines of my palm, like from a headset or a handheld computer. I realized the light had to be coming from me, from my eyes.

The information wouldn’t wholly compute.

“You’ll need to learn to control that,” he said, speaking aloud that time.

His physical voice shocked me. It was deep. It also carried an accent, but not one I would’ve expected. It was Germanic-sounding, European.

He gestured briefly towards my face, still walking fast.

“Can you... stop doing that, Esteemed Bridge?” He continued pulling me along with him deeper into the trees, his voice strangely polite. “At some point, you must have learned to control it. See if you can now,” he suggested. “While we walk.”

“Who are you?” My voice shook. “What have you done to me?”

That time, he barely spared me a glance.

Still, I could have sworn I felt something like impatience coming off him again, wafting over me like a scent. On the surface, he only inclined his head, still walking fast as he gestured towards me with his free hand. The way he did it struck me as formal, perhaps even conveying respect, but he did it hurriedly.

Dehgoies. The word landed directly in my mind. Revik.

I could only struggle after him, fighting to think as I strove to keep up with his long legs.

Deh-go-ies, he repeated, slower. Re-vik.

“What is that?” I said. “A name?”

“I will answer whatever you ask...”

His physical voice shocked me again. Glancing back at me as if he felt my flinch, he tugged harder on my arm, leading me deeper into the trees.

“...But not now, Esteemed Bridge,” he finished belatedly.

“Where are we going?” I tried to piece together what happened in the diner. “Why do you keep calling me that? Where are you taking me?”

“Please be quiet.” He held a finger to his lips. “Please.”

“No,” I snapped. “I need you to stop! I need you to stop right now!”

He halted at once, so quickly I ran into him.

He didn’t release my arm, but turned, meeting my gaze. His eyes looked cold, glass-like in the dim light. He stared down at me warily, as if trying to assess what I might do.

I need to get us a car, he explained. We have to leave the city, Allie... now. Before they set up blockades.

“Blockades?”

He made an irritated-sounding clicking noise with his tongue, one that sounded oddly familiar to me.

You don’t remember any of it? he sent. What you did in that diner? He gestured towards my face with his free hand. Every intelligence group and law enforcement branch in San Francisco will be after you once that surveillance feed hits the wires. How can you be surprised by the urgency I am feeling? Now? Given what you did?

I stared up at him.

In desperation, I flipped over the arm connected to the wrist he held, showing him the barcode on my inner arm. I pointed out the “H” designation from among my collection of tats.

“I’m human. Hu-man. Get it?”

He held up his own arm, showing me his racial-cat tattoo. I lowered mine, staring at the “H” on his pale skin in disbelief.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice cold.

Looking away at my silence, his eyes scanned the pitch black trees.

Can we go now?

“Where are you taking me?”

We must leave the city, he repeated, as if talking to a rather stupid child. The Rooks are here... His mouth firmed to a frown. ...Terian. He worries me more than your human police. Or even SCARB, although I’m sure he will come in that guise, as well.

Seeing my bewildered look, he let out a sharp exhale, clicking again.

Rooks, he repeated. Other seers. I will explain later. His thoughts grew as impatient as his voice. Can we go? Are you done asking me questions I could answer better en route, Esteemed Bridge? Or would you prefer to spend your life in a cage?

“Why do you keep calling me—”

I don’t have time for you to have an emotional reaction right now! he sent, his thoughts cutting into mine. Are you going to pretend you didn’t cause a fucking scene at that restaurant? That your eyes aren’t glowing...

He motioned towards my face.

...Even now? As we speak?

When I didn’t answer, he clicked at me more loudly. Pulling on my arm, not roughly but purely out of a desire to move me forward, he switched back to his physical voice as he started walking.

“You are at risk, Esteemed Bridge. You understand that this is serious?”

“Wait!” I felt the first real flickering of fear. “I’m not going anywhere with you! Besides, I can’t. I’ve got this GPS thing, and...”

Stopping dead, he reversed direction before I could regain my balance. He stepped towards me and I stumbled backwards, trying to get out of his way. Standing less than a foot away, he stared down at me.

Listen to me, sister, he sent. Hear this, for it is the last time I will say it.

His thoughts turned ice cold.

You cannot go home, Esteemed Bridge. Even without the Rooks. You cannot.

He gestured sharply, a downward slash.

...It is over. It is over for you, this human life. Do you hear me, Esteemed One? Do not make the mistake of thinking you can go back. You cannot go back. Never, Allie.

I stared up at him, fighting for words.

His eyes continued to study mine, as if waiting for me to understand.

You are already a criminal, he added. ...a violent one. If you are a seer, they will show you no mercy. Your life living among them is finished. It is absolutely imperative that you understand this. You cannot trust humans anymore. Any humans, Allie.

Briefly, I saw a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.

Feel whatever grief you need to feel about this, then let it go, he advised. Do it soon. It will save you much heartache later. Or worse, a life of slavery and torture like nothing you can imagine, Bridge Alyson.

My jaw fell open. I continued to stare up at him.

“The boy,” he said, exasperated. ...You threw him. Across the room.

He made that odd clicking sound with his tongue, shaking his head.

I could not believe it. I still do not believe it. They did not warn me you would be telekinetic!

He sounded almost angry.

Staring up at him, I clenched my fists, forcing my brain to work.

Jon. He meant Jon.

There’d been witnesses at the diner.

They’d seen me throw Jon across the room. There would have been surveillance, like this guy said. They would assume it was some form of telekinesis. What else would explain what happened, since I hadn’t laid a hand on him?

Telekinetic, christ. I’d never heard of a telekinetic seer before.

Well, other than...

I stared up at him, eyes wide.

“Yes.” The man nodded grimly. You will be little Syrimne. Little female Syrimne and all the babies she could make. If SCARB finds you, your citizenship, even your sentience categorization will be revoked. That H mark you value so much...

He motioned towards my racial-cat tattoo.

...It will be burned right off of your arm.

His mouth formed a grim line as he waited for me to catch up.

I couldn’t, though.

I couldn’t get past the Syrimne thing.

Syrimne was the bogey-man to most humans, even my own parents. In school, I’d seen all the old footage of him blowing up oil tankers and downing planes during World War I. He did all of it with his mind, sometimes from hundreds of miles away. It took an army to get him down, and more than half of them had been seers, too.

The black-haired man’s clicking sound grew softer, and contained more sympathy again.

We must leave here, Esteemed Bridge. Even your human brother understood this. He did not like it... but he understood. He let us go.

I bit my tongue, hard enough to taste blood. The man in front of me looked to be about 6’6” or 6’7”, barefoot. I didn’t stand a chance against him.

If he was telling the truth, I had nowhere to go anyway.

I watched his eyes flicker over mine. A hint of emotion grew discernible in the dark. Then, out of nowhere, that weird nausea-pain feeling plumed off him in a cloud. It enveloped me, heating my skin, taking my breath. It brought my own nausea back, forcing a low gasp from my throat. I felt my cheeks warm, even as it hit me that the feeling was almost...

Sexual.

God. It was definitely sexual... or had a flavor of sex woven into it somehow. But it was different than an ordinary wanting of sex, too. Truthfully, it was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was a tangible pulling on some part of me, making me want to touch him.

Before I could think, the man was beside me. His fingers circled my upper arms.

I am here to help you. He hesitated, pulling me closer to where he stood. Trust me. Please... trust me. I won’t hurt you, Allie. I can get you out safely. I promise.

I felt my throat close. “And that’s my only option?” I said. “To get out?”

His fingers loosened.

Yes, he sent, stepping back. His eyes watched mine with that unnerving scrutiny. “Your human family,” he began aloud, then switched to his mind. There might still be time to move them. If I can get in contact with my people, they might be able to—

A flash lit the clearing.

With it came a thwup-thwup sound, like staccato inhales of breath. The man beside me moved like liquid shadow.

He shoved me, hard.

Before I could put the different pieces together inside my mind, my feet had already separated from the ground. I flew through the air...

...and slammed, hard, into the trunk of a nearby redwood tree.

My face smacked into rough bark. Pain sucked the air from my lungs, blinding me even as it blanked out my mind. I couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe as I crumpled in mud and pine needles. The pure shock and intensity of that pain both woke me up and stunned me in the same breath.

Then I heard another series of shots.

Thwup, thwup, thwup...

I fought to rise, but my back lit up like a Christmas tree in an electrical fire. Spots flashed before my eyes as an odor like sulfur hit my mouth and nose. Gunfire. Not like I was an expert, but I’d heard gunshots before, living in a city.

My fingers fought for purchase on the wet bark. I was in full-fledged panic mode now, but also in shock, a deer in headlights. I couldn’t figure out from which direction the shots had come.

The man with the black hair was on the ground. I felt a sharp pain where he held his shoulder. I smelled blood and my panic worsened.

I tried to stand, but another volley of shots peppered the clearing, bringing me swiftly back to my knees. That time, I knew from which direction the shots came at least. Whoever they were, the shooter was close now. Scrabbling on my hands and knees, I slid halfway around the base of the thick trunk, putting the tree between me and the gun.

When I looked back at the clearing, the black-haired man was gone.

He’d left me. Great.

A crackle of branches being shoved aside caused me to turn back in the direction of the gun. I found myself face to face with the shooter, and recognized him at once. He still wore the same blue suit and blood red tie. Flipping aside a longer greatcoat, he extracted a fresh magazine from an inside pocket, and deftly replaced the one he let fall to the ground.

He stared directly at me, his amber eyes reflecting light like a cat’s.

“Interesting.” He snapped in the fresh magazine, chambered a round, and raised the gun so it pointed at my face. “Was he flirting with you just now?” Pausing, he grinned. “Please tell me, if so, for that is simply too delicious for words...”

He began walking towards me when I didn’t answer.

In seconds, he stood directly over me.

Reacting belatedly, I pushed my body off the trunk with my palms and slipped, landing hard on my tailbone on a protruding root. I gasped, closing my eyes, bracing myself to be shot.

I was in shock. My mind acknowledged this, as if from far away.

In front of me, the man with the amber eyes fell to a crouch.

When I opened my eyes, our gazes were nearly level.

His amber colored eyes studied my face. I found myself looking back at him, unable to help myself from studying him in return. Reddish-brown hair framed his high cheekbones and a sensual mouth. As I continued to look at him, his eyes caught some unseen light, reflecting a glow that made them look distinctly inhuman to me.

They didn’t glow like mine had, though.

“Are you hurt, sister?” he said pleasantly.

“Umm... no.” I fought to control my voice. “I’m okay. I think.”

He smiled. “My deepest apologies for scaring you.” Unlike the black haired man, this one had no discernible accent beyond a bland American one. Even so, the construction of his sentences remained foreign-sounding to my ears somehow.

Seer, I found myself thinking. He has to be another one.

He gave me a faint smile. “This man,” he said then. He gestured towards the trees with the hand holding the gun. “He is a criminal, you see. He has been harassing you, yes? Following you? Am I mistaken in this?”

When I remained silent, his mind prodded mine.

“No,” I managed. “You are not mistaken.”

“I am Terian.” He waited, as if expecting me to introduce myself next, as if we were at a cocktail party. Even as I thought it, he prompted, “...And you are? What? Another Sark, surely. Living among the worms, trying to pass. Succeeding too, or so it would seem. And Dehgoies felt obliged to out you, did he? Such a gentleman.”

Terian chuckled, resting the gun on his thigh.

“I’m sure you’ll be jumping into his bed at any moment for that favor,” he grinned. “Am I right?”

His gaze sharpened above the smile then, flickering down my body.

“So tell me. How old are you, sister?”

I stared at his yellow eyes...

…and dark clouds intervene.

Briefly, his face shines with flickering, metallic lines. His eyes are yellow lamps in that other place, emitting cold, fast-moving, highly-structured silver light above the densely drawn lines that make up his body. Above his head in miniature rotates a Pyramid.

The Pyramid is there... sharp, crystal clear in the space.

Then, it is gone.

...and I lay crumpled on water-drenched ground in Golden Gate Park, my head throbbing with a dull pain. Rain dripped down from the trees, making me blink, sparkling on the black coat the man wore, contrasting the yellow of his eyes.

“I am sorry for the gun,” he said.

The warmth of his heart felt almost real. He tugged me deeper into him, trying to modify how he appeared to me.

I fought him, but it was like fighting smoke.

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

It started raining for real. Larger droplets hit my face, disorienting me.

“He warned me about you,” I told him. “He warned me you were dangerous.”

Terian rose to his feet. His smile grew a touch cold.

“Did he?” That time, I almost heard an accent. Clicking softly like the other one had, Terian made a low snorting sound. “Gaos di’lanlente. My dear old friend Dehgoies isn’t very subtle these days, is he? Since he has already begun his pathetic attempt at indoctrination, let us cut to the chase. You are the Bridge, are you not?”

I frowned, remembering what the black-haired man had called me.

Of course, I had absolutely no idea what it meant. I could recall something from history classes in college, some mythology that mentioned a religious figured they called “The Bridge,” but I had no memory of the significance. It had something to do with that telekinetic seer, Syrimne, I was pretty sure... but I couldn’t remember.

In response to what must have been a blank look from me, Terian’s smile widened.

“He woke you and didn’t tell you? Classic Dehgoies.”

I shoved my body backwards in the mud with my feet.

Following my retreat, Terian once more bent his knees, sidling forward like a crab. He caught my wrist, staring into my face.

“Let me enlighten you, my dear,” he said softly. “You are the Bridge. In fact, I can see that it is so, clearly now that we are so close... it is written all over your aleimi. We have been looking for you... the whole seer community has been trying to find you... for more years than you have been alive. I do not know how the Seven managed to locate you first, or to hide you... or to keep your sight powers from showing, or your blood hidden from SCARB, but they did do all of those things, somehow...”

“What are you talking about—”

“You’re going to kill all the humans for us, Allie love.” Terian smiled, but his eyes shone cold as ice. His voice grew into a caress. “Every last one of them. You’re going to save us. You’re going to restore your race to its birthright, lover. To its former, unabashed glory...”

My fingers clenched the mud.

I was probably dead either way.

I threw the handful of mud directly at his eyes, scrabbling to get away. He lunged after me easily though, catching my ankle, then my arm.

“There, there, little girl—”

“Let me go!” I shouted, hoping someone, anyone, might hear. “Seer!” I screamed louder. “Seer! Crazy fucking terrorist seer!”

Terian dragged me to my feet, his fingers gripping my wrists like iron bands.

His voice remained friendly, if indifferent.

“It will not help you to pull the authorities into this, Alyson,” he said. “...Not anymore. I would not relish hurting you, like my old friend, Revi’ might, but I will, if I must. The hard part...” He paused. His grin stole wider. “...Well, the hard part for you, of course, is only beginning I’m afraid. But Dehgoies lied. We do not wish you dead. Quite the contrary—”

“Get your hands off me!”

“––There is a necessary, ah, assimilation period, of course,” he said, still smiling. “It is difficult of course, I will not lie. But I will do what I can to ease it for you, my sister. Or to hasten it, if you prefer...”

“Get off me! Now! Get the fuck off me...!”

A dark form dropped silently from the trees behind him.

Terian smiled down at me warmly, his voice still collegial.

“The pain will be entirely worth it, I promise you. It will be brief, you will forget it... and when it is finished, we have such wondrous things to show you, my young friend! I myself regret not a single instant of my time with the Org. Neither did Revi’, whatever he might say now. He once was one of our most ardent soldiers. A true believer, through and through—”

“Help!” I jerked my arms, bucking against him, trying to get away. I found myself aiming my words at the shadow standing behind Terian. “Help me, please! I’ll go with you! I’ll go with you! I’ll do whatever you want!”

Terian whirled, looking behind him... but too late.

Metal glinted as the shadow swung his arm.

Then Terian was kneeling on the needle-strewn ground. He clutched his throat, making choking, gurgling sounds.

He raised the gun, pointing it at the shadow, who knocked it sharply away.

I only stood there, paralyzed, as the shadow forced Terian to the pine-carpeted ground. The taller man knelt on Terian’s chest, holding his forehead with pale fingers. I just stood there, watching, as he cut directly into Terian’s throat with the same sharp object, sawing through cartilage and flesh above a bucking, writhing body, finishing the job with a methodicalness that bordered on rote.

A fountain of blood pulsed up, dark in the moonlight. It splattered his hands, face, neck and chest. Watching it, smelling it, brought bile to my throat in a thick rush.

I was panting, breathing too much, my back against the tree. It felt like all the blood in my body now pooled in my feet.

When he finished his task, the shadow straightened as if pulled vertical by steel cables.

“We cannot stay here,” he said.

I screamed. I must have screamed again. Before I could get too far into it, he threw himself forward in a crouch, clamping a sticky hand roughly over my mouth.

“Sleep,” he commanded. “Sleep now.”

The trees, the rain and the dead body disappeared.

Chapter 5

BARRIER

I DIDN’T QUESTION the motion of the car at first.

It was kind of soothing, even if I struggled finding a comfortable resting place for my arms. A bump in the road brought my eyes abruptly open. Sky through a dirty windshield showed the faint pink and gold of pre-dawn.

The silhouette of a saint statue broke my view. It was glued to the dashboard above an old-fashioned FM radio with silver knobs.

My eyes traveled left, meeting an angular profile framed by black hair matted to a pale neck. Almond-shaped eyes sat above high cheekbones, taking in the road. He had the beginnings of five o’clock shadow. Flecks of a familiar-looking brown stained his shirt, which bulged from a crude, homemade bandage on his shoulder.

Feeling my stare, he turned. His eyes appeared cold even in the morning sun.

I tried to raise a hand...

And the motion of my arm was abruptly stopped.

I stared down at the handcuffs for a full minute before the reality of them penetrated. It struck me that my wrists were bare apart from the metal rings. So were my ankles; the GPS was gone but my ankles were now bound with hard plastic, like those tie-binders they used on reality cop shows. Leaning back, I used my weight to try and budge the only object I thought I had some chance of influencing, namely the plastic armrest.

When it stayed firmly affixed to the door, I looked up at him again, watching him stare at me. I translated his expression as disinterested puzzlement.

He didn’t try to stop me as I continued to test my limits of motion. My whole body hurt; I was bruised, dirty and felt half-naked under the dog-smelling blanket, even though I was reasonably sure I still wore the same clothes I had at work. My throat hurt. I was insanely thirsty. My neck had crimped while I slept against the car door. I thought about my mom in a kind of blurred panic. I started to scream, but that got a reaction from him.

“Be silent!”

His words jarred me. I’d forgotten about the German accent.

When I shut up, his eyes lowered, along with his voice.

“Don’t make me knock you unconscious.” He shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable, or maybe just hearing his own words. “I would rather not.”

Hesitating, he glanced at my wrists.

My eyes started their waterworks thing. I couldn’t help myself. “Please don’t kill me,” I said. “Mom’s not even over dad yet... she’d never be able to handle this. She might really kill herself, I mean it... she’ll drink herself to death...”

His gaze drifted out the window. He seemed to sigh.

“Please! Mister, I...” My cheeks burned before I’d even said it. “I was always supportive of seer’s rights,” I ventured. “I was never one of those people who—”

He laughed, startling me back into silence.

Unsure how to go on from that, I was still fumbling with words when he turned, his eyes like two flat stones.

“I do not wish to kill you,” he said. “I am sorry for your mother. I truly am. There is nothing I can do.”

I absorbed his words.

I felt the blood slide from the veins in my face when it occurred to me that he really wasn’t letting me go. With the GPS gone, even the cops wouldn’t know where I was. Clearly, they’d be looking for me, though. I glanced out the dusty windows in a kind of desperation, but only saw a semi-truck a few hundred yards ahead.

When a car began to pass a lane over, I shrieked, banging on the glass.

He grabbed my arm, one-handed, forcing me around, so that I faced him. The strength behind his fingers made my muscles lock.

“No,” he said sternly, as if talking to a dog. “Do not make me put you to sleep.” His eyes flickered between mine. “If you need to hear it again, I will talk. Do you agree?”

I felt my muscles unclench as a part of me deflated.

Probably not a good idea to piss off the murdering seer who could read my mind and had me handcuffed to his car.

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay. Sure.”

He released my arm, returning his gaze to the road.

But he didn’t talk.

We drove in silence while I massaged my wrist. When I glanced up next, he was staring at my bare thigh, which had shifted out from under the ugly, gray blanket he must have put over me after he knocked me out.

Slowly, I retracted my leg, hiding it back under the blanket.

I’d forgotten all those other stories about seers.

Frowning, he averted his gaze. “I haven’t seen you in the flesh in a long time.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “You are... larger.”

I said, “Oh.”

“You are safe with me, Alyson.”

I let out a low snort. I couldn’t help it.

“You say that a lot,” I muttered.

My fingers clutched the chain between the metal bracelets. I tried to think if there was any way I could talk him into unlocking the handcuffs... then remembered he could read my mind. That pretty much limited my options.

“Yes,” he agreed neutrally.

I faced him, biting my lip.

“So what are you?” I said. “A terrorist? One of those ‘unaffiliateds’ who want a seer nation? What?”

He made that soft clicking noise with his tongue. I watched him do it, fascinated in spite of myself. I remembered reading somewhere about seer language, how they used sign language in addition to verbal and telepathy.

“Alyson,” he said. “Killing him bought us time only. I’d prefer not to waste it while you assume my agenda is that of fictitious seers portrayed on your human news.” He glanced at my face. “I was sent to bring you back to our world. That is all. I would only kill you––”

Letting out a shriek, I slammed my shoulder against the door and window.

The man grabbed my forearm, roughly.

Once more, I found myself staring up at his face.

“...I would only kill both of us if my attempt failed. If I failed, Allie. Understand?”

I found myself staring back and forth between those clear, glass-like eyes. As I did, my shoulders relaxed involuntarily.

“No,” I said. “I don’t understand.”

“But you believe I will not hurt you.” I heard relief in his voice. “Good. That is good.” He released my arm, putting both hands back on the steering wheel. “We can talk now.”

But he didn’t talk.

I watched in disbelief as he sank deeper into the cloth driver’s seat, wincing from the gun wound in his shoulder.

“So you’re from another world,” I prompted, when he didn’t look over. “I remember reading some conspiracy theory about that... that seers are really aliens who seeded us from another galaxy.” I leaned against the car door, trying to find a comfortable place for my arms. I couldn’t, so eventually I gave up. Exhaling, I added, “I also heard one where you were all victims of some disease... or an asteroid that hit the earth back in the early years of human evolution.”

His eyes flickered to mine, reflecting puzzlement.

“Seriously,” I said. “If this isn’t about the terrorist thing, what do you want? Money? I don’t have any. Sex? There are easier ways, man. You’re not a bad-looking guy. One of my friends thought you were hot. I don’t know how she feels about seers, but knowing Cass, she’d try anything once.”

He frowned slightly, his eyes flickering back towards the road.

“Did someone hire you?” I said. “Do I have a rich crazy stalker this time?”

“You are the Bridge,” he said. “The Harbinger.”

“Great,” I said. “That’s what the other guy said.”

The man’s mouth firmed to a line. I got the sense my words irritated him, though.

“Terian likes his little games,” was all he said.

I waited, wondering if he would say more. But he didn’t.

Biting back impatience, I shook my head, as if to clear it. “So what kind of accent is that? German? I didn’t think any seers even lived in Europe anymore. I thought you were all in Asia, with the exception of a few who worked directly for—”

“You are not human, Alyson.”

When he didn’t say anything else, I broke into a shaky laugh.

“Okay. So you want to play that game again? Well, I’ve been tested, man. Like, hundreds of times. So pardon me if I think you’re full of shit. Whatever you’re trying to do, framing me as some kind of über-seer, Syrimne-wannabe, I don’t appreciate being the fall guy for whatever takeover trip you’ve got planned...”

He reached out without a word and laid a hand on my leg.

It wasn’t a sexual thing that time, but I sucked in a breath anyway, feeling him all around me, invisible hands shoving at me, pushing me out of my body until...

...I feel myself leaving.

I couldn’t stop it.

The car disappeared around me like a shadow in brilliant light. The road disappeared too, along with the mud-spotted windshield, the plastic saint statue glued to the dashboard, the handcuffs, my bruised legs, his shirt collar with the dried blood...

I passed through what felt like a stretched membrane...

* * *

...AND FIND MYSELF once again in that endless black and violet sky.

The colors shock me back into remembrance.

I remember this, from when we walked the streets of San Francisco.

Here, though, we are alone, surrounded only by distant stars and lumbering clouds. It is more than I can take in... the stars, the strange river-like currents I can feel, flowing above and below where we stand, filled with flecks of different-colored lights. A kind of prismatic wind ripples veins in my limbs, penetrating my light-filled skin.

I could spend hours looking only at him.

He stands beside me in the night sky, carved in detailed gold and white light. Bones, muscles, teeth, veins, irises, hair and skin are replicated in a million subtle shades and hues, all moving so fast that the colors appear almost to be stable. I only see their movement as waves flicker through the whole, changing him subtly and silently.

The space directly over his head fascinates me the most.

A line rises up from the crown of his head, filled with complex structures.

There rotate light-filled geometries, like living math equations rendered in multiple shapes and dimensions. Whatever they are, they look complicated, structured, but also strangely alive. I sense something there, too. The man’s presence lingers around them of course, but I also get a feeling of, I don’t know... function, I guess... as if those structures have a use. Whatever they are, I definitely get the impression they’re more than just a bunch of pretty lights.

One thing is for sure: he is nothing like the man in the park.

His light shines with a subtle clarity that is vastly different than Terian... and yet, he is not soft here, either. His eyes are diamond white, carrying a faint edge.

I am still staring when he points.

I see nothing at first. Nothing but clouds and stars.

Then I see movement. Beings dart from and into those massive thunderheads.

They remind me of old woodcuts of tentacled leviathans surrounded by underwater forests. Some are singing. Watching them, I know I should be more afraid.

The man watches me look.

They will not hurt you, he reassures me. Those kind are harmless.

My mind pauses on “those kind” then decides not to pursue it.

Where are we? I ask.

Instead of answering, he points down. Two long, twisting trails of light, one white and gold, the other a different shade of gold and white, loop languidly from our feet. I follow the course of those lights. At the bottom is a circle of blue daylight.

There, a black-haired man drives a car, blood staining the collar of his shirt. His hands grip a leather-wrapped steering wheel as he leans back in his seat, and next to him, a girl with matted blond hair with dark roots leans against the car door, her wrists handcuffed to the armrest.

I look dirty to myself, like some kind of vagrant or drug addict. I have a bruise on my face and dried blood at my hairline. My eyes are closed. Slumped against the door, my body bounces lightly from the car’s motion.

Landscape flows by as he steers the car down a frontage road. His eyes appear to shine white down there, too; I do not know how they would look to others.

To humans, I look normal, he says. After a pause, he adds, Your glowing eyes are unique in that regard, Alyson... although it is rumored that Syrimne shared this trait with you. Humans and seers can see it in the physical world when you operate your light at certain frequencies. It is something we can hopefully train you to control...

As he speaks, I watch his reconstructed veins pulse and plume more light.

There are several... oddities... in your make up, he continues. Your blood is undetectable as Sark... seer, I mean. Sark is short for ‘Sarhacienne,’ which is the real name for our race. The lack of discernible markers for your blood is an extremely rare condition. Only one in several hundred thousand seers have this. I have it, too. It is why they made me an infiltrator.

I am back to staring at myself inside that car, trying to convince myself that the rest of this isn’t real. He reaches out, catching hold of my light arm.

This is the Barrier, Esteemed Bridge. Do you recognize it?

I am forced to nod, which isn’t a nod of course, but a silent conveyance that feels like one. My heart isn’t really in it, but I feel his approval.

Good, he sends.

I’m not a seer, I say. I can’t be. It’s impossible.

My protests sound hollow, even to me.

Even so, I fight to hold on to that one thing.

I’ve read about your kind, I think at him. You play with people’s minds. You can convince them of anything...

This does not faze him.

You are right, he sends equably. But why would I do this with you?

I don’t have a good answer.

His opens himself somehow, and I feel more of him.

It is disconcertingly intimate.

You have known you are different from them, he says, letting me feel still more of his presence and light. You consciously chose to hide those differences... to suppress them wherever you could. His mind turns more pointed. You knew you weren’t human. You just didn’t want to know. So you pretended to believe the blood tests.

I don’t like this much, either.

His light begins to change, sparking in different-colored eddies that dance along his skin. I cannot help but watch. His veins pulse, changing from white-gold to orange and red rivers. The transformation is strangely liquid, fire-like. That fire starts from a particular structure over his head, leaking down through his light skull like thinned, living paint.

What are you doing? I ask.

I want to show you something, he says.

Show me what?

But he doesn’t answer me. Not directly.

Inside the Barrier, he says instead. There is only one rule...

The fire spreads to me, touching my light forearm first, where he holds me. Before the color has finished traveling to his waist, it is spreading into my transparent skin. Once it soaks my arm, it sears like ice, absorbed by my light bones.

Wait. I am fighting panic. Something’s wrong! Dehgo, whatever your name is—

Revik, he says. Dehgoies Revik. Do not be afraid. I am slowing it down so you can feel the process accurately—

No, Dehgo! Wait—

Revik, he repeats. Dehgoies is my family name.

The fire spreads up my shoulder. I struggle against his hold, panicking, but I can’t extract myself from his fingers, nor from that fire-like light.

...The rule is this, he continues, as if I hadn’t interrupted. To go anywhere you wish to go, to find anyone or anything inside the Barrier, you must become what you seek. Distance can impact this, and time. But ultimately, even these can be overcome.

Orange fire spreads to my stomach.

His body is all bright orange now, with the exception of one hand, which stubbornly remains a sparking gold-white. The denser orange sinks into my thighs, moving swiftly to my knees...

Wait! I shriek in the dark. Revik!

...Whatever you become, you are drawn to. This is called resonance. It is what you and I were born to do...

My left foot fills with liquid fire. Right as the last spot changes, his hand flushes orange. It occurs to me that he used that last piece of himself as an anchor...

When everything disappears.

I come out on the other end into the deepest silence I have ever felt.

Stars flicker in an expanse without clouds. Everything is so still and silent that a kind of wonder comes over me as I look around. Here, that same orange light he used to bring us here pulses in the sky. Gaseous clouds swirl in inexorable silence, a spiral with a fire-orange cloud at its center. We are swimming inside a nebula, I realize.

I watch flares arc over us and dissipate into the night.

It is heart-achingly beautiful.

He is pleased.

You like this? he asks. It is pretty, yes?

Are we... here? I manage.

He nudges my mind towards a particularly beautiful flare of light as it explodes outwards.

We are, he replies. But not in the physical, Esteemed Bridge. This is the Barrier. He watches as I look around, still exuding satisfaction. I thought it best to go first to a place where accidents were not so much of a danger.

I try to make sense of his words, can’t.

We float over unspeakable beauty for what could be minutes, days...

A part of me will never leave this place, I think.

...when suddenly, he changes frequency again.

The new vibration spreads more quickly this time. Several structures over his head are involved, working conjointly.

But I’m not ready to leave.

Wait! Can’t we stay a little longer?

You will only grow accustomed through doing. His presence exudes understanding, but his thoughts are firm. I want you to see that you can be anywhere, he says. With anyone...

Revik... wait!

The new frequency locks in. It is pale blue, the color of a virgin lake...

It rips me out of that flame-filled sky.

We pop out into a new night sky.

At once, I make out the familiar outline of Earth.

But Earth here is not the Earth as I’ve ever seen it, not even in satellite images. Light beings streak and hover over the shining blue sphere. They cluster over continents, attach themselves to other beings both lower and higher in the layers of atmosphere over the ground. They attach themselves to land masses and cities and even oceans.

The Pyramid hovers like a shadow over the largest concentration of lights.

It is huge here.

Even as I focus on it, he steers my attention firmly back to him.

Your interest in them is natural, he says. But it is too soon.

Again, I don’t understand.

I get the sense he knows this, but he doesn’t clarify what he meant.

Rather, he changes the subject.

It is possible to go more directly to the thing or place you seek, he explains, still keeping my attention focused on him, and away from that bright cage of Pyramid-shaped light. I thought you should see where you are, first. So you would know you can do this, too.

He pauses then, his thoughts carefully polite.

...Do you have any questions?

I laugh. I can’t help it.

Seconds later, we are descending through clouds, aiming for the surface of that light-filled world. As we begin to speed up, vertigo hits me for real, tinged now with an edge of exhilaration. We pass through a layer of rough, exploding light which I realize lives at the edge of the atmosphere. Fires spark my body like solar flares, curling around me and diminishing. Eventually they leave me entirely and the landscape unfurls below.

As we pass through, I begin to feel connections between people and other beings, feel the warm pulse of life, the mix of vibration...

I also feel a liquid surge of delight.

You do remember.

His light is all warmth again, relief mixed with a feeling that borders on affection. I know this should probably unnerve me, but it only makes me smile.

North America grows larger.

We descend towards the west coast, then California.

I laugh as San Francisco appears in a shower of sunlight over fog-blanketed hills and suspension bridges. Steel skyscrapers and brightly-colored homes grow larger, more diverse. The glittering bay shimmers a pale gold with the light bodies of plants and fish, darker near the marinas and docks, lighter again at the gates of the open ocean.

It is breathtaking. Stunning.

Yes, he agrees. It is still quite pretty.

I pause on his qualifier, then let it go.

Now the lights of people dominate, but I see every other living being as well; I am shocked by the variety of them, their different colors and vibrations. Hawks, blue jays and sparrows wing by. I see dogs running down the street, their outlines discernible through a blur of amiable light. Flies and gnats and ladybugs are pale dots; worms, cats, moles, snakes, squirrels, raccoons, rats, fleas, butterflies, trees, flowers, ants, gophers, beetles. They all flicker and shine separately yet remain connected in the overall matrix of light. Stranger still, if I concentrate I can feel each individual frequency, until it vibrates slightly with my own.

Then I start to see them, moving among the blurred human lights.

They are everywhere.

Chiseled outlines like the man beside me are present in nearly one in five collections of humans. Some walk in their own clusters, five or six or even ten of them together, speaking to one another animatedly, the faint outline of business suits and blue jeans, T-shirts and name brand coats visible around their lit forms.

Just as often, I see them alone, or with groups of blob-like humans.

I see seers attached to humans by the geometrical shapes that rise above their heads. It’s not hard to see that the communication isn’t equal; instead, it’s more like ventriloquist and wooden dummy. In some places, two or three seers control the humans in an entire building.

A kind of horror takes over as I see more and more seers controlling humans in this way.

So many, I say. How did they all get past the Sweeps? Past SCARB?

He senses my fear.

His light grows cautious.

SCARB isn’t interested in controlling all seers, he explains. Only those who are not owned. SCARB is also not officially aware of the Rooks, who are quite good at infiltrating human hierarchies, including SCARB itself. Many of the seers you see now are owned. Many are also Rooks, albeit low-levels ones for the most part, non-infiltrators. It is in the interests of both human and seer governments to keep this reality from civilians.

Wait, I send. You’re saying human governments—

Yes, he says, emitting a shrug. Does this surprise you? Although, as I said, even they do not know the extent of it. Some know this situation isn’t tenable. There is a sort of ‘cold war’ happening between the seers and the humans on many levels...

I don’t answer him.

Shrugging. he adds, There are more seers here than you see now, Allie. A trained infiltrator can eliminate their frequency from regular perception in the Barrier, mainly through blending with the lights that make up their environment.

Another thought trickles in, one that has already occurred to me.

They cannot see us, Allie, he confirms in answer to my unspoken question. At least not in a regular scan. I am shielding us. There are ways to track anyone, of course...

I stare down, trying to count them.

It is impossible.

Seers have only three real options, he tells me. We can live with traditional, religious seers in seclusion, and according to their holy precepts. It is not a bad life, but it is not for all seers, just as it would not be for all humans. The second option is to be owned... to sell our sight to humans. It provides some freedoms, providing one is skilled and has an employer who is fair. But it is risky... a kind of voluntary slavery.

He adds, The third option is to join the Rooks... or ‘the Org,’ as they call themselves. They are an underground network of seers with an anti-human agenda.

Which are you? I say, unthinking.

He pauses, letting me know that the question is, indeed, rude.

Presently, I am all but the third, he says then.

I watch a cluster of seers toy with a crowd of humans, changing their emotions back and forth like ocean currents. I feel their laughter as we pass.

They are no more dangerous than humans, he says, a little defensively. There are mature elements, and less mature. Kind, and less kind. Thinking, he shrugs. Some are bitter about being enslaved, of course...

I stare at him. No more dangerous than humans?

Well, perhaps that is an exaggeration.

You think? I burst out. What are you all doing here?

Surprise and anger flare his light.

What do you mean what are we doing here? We live here! Same as you!

I refocus on the seer lights, fighting back more words.

Those lights come in more colors than my mind has names for, their textures ranging from smooth as milk to jagged electric sparks. I notice they differ far more from one another than the lights of humans do, which all seem to occupy the same rough spectrum of gray.

Moreover, the seers are chameleons, changing their skin from contact with one another and threads of light through which they pass.

I feel my companion’s light change subtly and...

We pop out somewhere else.

I find myself staring at the glowing hands of a Betty Boop clock on the wall near the ceiling and it hits me that I am in the diner where I used to work. I watch blob-like human forms move through a catacomb of vinyl booths. Unlike before, I know a few of these blobs. When I concentrate a little harder, I recognize Sasquatch the cook, Cory behind the bar.

I try to determine if any of the light blobs are Cass––

To learn a place or thing from another’s light... this is called imprinting, he tells me. I took this one from you.

I look down. My light-feet are standing in a man’s plate of ham and eggs. He eats through my ankles, but I feel his light fingers and tongue and jerk away, repulsed. My companion grabs my light arm before I can float across the room.

I am what is called an infiltrator, he says. A seer trained to find things behind the Barrier. It is a trade, one that is learned, often at a young age.

A spy? I venture.

He doesn’t like this, I can tell.

Still, he shrugs it off.

A human equivalent might be espionage, he sends diplomatically. It is how my human employer sees it, certainly. For Rook infiltrators, the designation of espionage is more accurate. They do not follow Code and operate under a quasi-military structure, as you see reflected in the spatial representation of their network of seers.

At my bewilderment, he adds,

...the Pyramid.

I am back to looking around the diner.

I don’t understand, I say. How are we here?

Resonance, he sends. It is what we seers do. We resonate with things. Everything has a vibration. Every person, every place, every event. You can see a past event if you can recall its imprint, or if you resonate strongly enough with someone who was present. The future is more difficult. His light body emits a shrug. ...For obvious reasons. Even in the present, imprints change. People change, although usually not enough to fool an experienced tracker.

His light sparks, hardening and softening in waves.

There are exceptions, he adds. These things are very complicated in terms of functionality, Alyson, but the principle is simple. Resonance means things that have the same vibration are drawn to one another. Everything in the Barrier operates thus.

But what is this? I ask, waving a light hand over the diner. Are we on Earth?

Yes, he sends at once. ...And no. Reacting to my exasperation, he adds, It is a level of the Barrier. The Barrier is not material. ‘Where’ has a different meaning here. It is closer to ‘what.’ But we are close to the ‘what’ of Earth. Here, its ‘where’ is less important.

When I want to argue, he cuts me off.

...Simply grasp the basics for now. Your consciousness must learn to split in order to grasp it fully, Esteemed Bridge. All seers must learn to be in two places at once... to hold two views of reality at once. It is normal for us.

Without waiting for my reaction, he sends out a flicker of warning.

One other thing, he says, hovering over a family dining on hamburgers. And this is important, Allie. While it is true that the Barrier is where we seers have the most power, it is also the place we are most vulnerable. When you operate outside of the Barrier, you are invisible, Allie. Powerless, like a human... but untraceable. Inside the Barrier, you can be attacked.

I don’t know what this means, but fear ripples my light.

I look around, half expecting to get smacked out of nowhere.

I feel more than hear Revik sigh. I can tell I’m taxing whatever levels of patience he possesses. He turns his attention to the blurred human lights, and for an instant, I see through his eyes, an eagle’s view of all humans, everywhere.

It strikes me that really there aren’t so many seers, after all.

We have been around for much longer than humans generally believe, he says. In our mythology, humans are the third race. The first is Elaerian... the second Sarhacienne, or Sark, which is us. The third is human. Each race is said to destroy itself at a certain point in its evolutionary cycle, as a means of moving to the next level. Elaerian, the first race, no longer exist outside of the Barrier.

His light turns wistful before he focuses it back on me.

Sarhacienne means “Second” in the seer tongue, he adds. What humans believe to be their earliest civilizations were mainly remnants of ours. Egypt. Mesopotamia. Even parts of the Americas and Europe. It is said we did not have sight before the Second Displacement.

He gazes out over the sea of humans.

We did not notice at first when humans began to appear among the animals, he says.

I am trying to follow his words, but am lost in the images he sends me. I see white stone cities rising and crumbling to dust, chanting seers in caves high in the mountains, the strange, water-like Elaerian with giant glowing eyes and beautiful laughing faces.

We believe a third Displacement is coming, he sends, glancing at me.

Red starbursts color my light veins, changing them to a deeper scarlet. The diner starts to shimmer like smoke, then fade...

...When fingers abruptly clasp my light wrist.

He enfolds my body with his, and in no time at all, he is all I feel. The diner reemerges, the blobs of human light, the plastic cat crouching by the old fashioned cash register on the counter.

Even after it all comes back, he doesn’t let go of me.

What happened? he asks.

You’re kidding, right? How would I know?

He is upset though, which startles me. He continues to hold me tightly in his light arms. You must be calm when you are in the Barrier, Esteemed Bridge! Calm! Emotions change your frequency!

I’m sorry, I say, more out of confusion than knowing why I’m apologizing.

Do not be sorry... do as I say!

His fear still sparks through my light. I send calm to him, warmth. I do it instinctively, without really thinking about how or why... and I can tell it startles him, but it affects him, too, enough that he opens, letting me in. After a few seconds more, I feel him beginning to calm.

His light grows more and more still, until it is nearly serene.

Dangerous how? I ask him then.

He sighs, but still doesn’t pull away from me.

The Rooks are looking for you, he says. They would send many seers after us. More than I could handle.

So they really want me dead? These Rooks?

He hesitates. Yes. He pauses. ...Or with them.

With them? I think about this, remembering Terian’s words. And that would be bad?

We should not talk about this here, Allie.

I look around the diner, then ask anyway. So what is a Rook exactly? Just a renegade seer? One of the terrorists the news is always talking about?

He looks at me, his light once more a pale blue.

They are the enemy, he sends simply.

Chapter 6

TERIAN

THE CORPSE OF a man who died in his early twenties lay with artistic precision on a stainless steel table.

Clear tubes protruded from his throat, from veins in his arms, legs, his stomach. He was additionally fitted with several color-coded sets of electrodes that dotted patches of his bare skin, a computerized headband and the more conventional saline I.V. The organic-looking headband with its soft, skin-like texture blinked rhythmically, the only light not coming from one of the four monitors that dominated the walls of the bone-white room.

A technician adjusted settings on a rolling console beside the steel table, utilizing a standard interface and keyboard that projected data and findings to one of those thin screens that covered a portion of the organic-coated wall. Fluid coursing through the clear tubes disappeared into the same wall, changing color subtly soon after each adjustment the technician made. Temple electrodes on the corpse’s head flashed a dark blue once the fluid stabilized, signaling that another piece of the organic end of the transfer had been completed.

Fogged pupils stared blindly at the ceiling, irises and whites the same milky gray. As the tubes carried the genetic virus to their host, the eyes changed to an opaque yellow, the color of daffodils... or strong urine, the technician thought.

Over time, that yellow began to brighten.

The skin looked different as well, not flushing with life exactly, not yet, but somehow less... dead. That much took twelve hours.

It would have taken longer, but the body had been prepped well in advance.

Day one came and went. The technician’s boss came to the room, several hours past the first signs of change. An older woman, she checked the readouts on the monitor, made more and infinitely more subtle adjustments before nodding a stiff approval to the junior tech, who watched her every move in undisguised tension.

“Now,” the woman doctor said. She had the barest hint of a German accent. “Now, we wait.”

* * *

TERIAN LAY ENTIRELY still.

His new body’s only hint at motion lived in an elusive attempt to focus his eyes.

New eyes... to him at least... they looked out from the foreign planes of an unfamiliar face. His face, although he hadn’t gotten a good look at it, yet. Terian gazed up at a flat, dead ceiling, wishing he’d thought to have them enhance the view. Bone-colored, white with just the barest depth of yellow, the dull shimmers of the organics weren’t enough to distract him.

He would have them put a fifth monitor there, for next time.

The basics of his probable situation filtered into his awareness.

A period of adjustment always awaited him on the other side; he should be used to it by now, but the very nature of the change made familiarity with its workings impossible, at least in those first, virginal moments. To ease his confusion, Terian had imparted a program into the transfer process itself that reminded him of the fact of his death and rebirth, even before bringing him fully awake. The disorientation would not desist entirely until that process was complete, however—which, despite its temporal insignificance, took no small amount of time to Terian’s subjective mind.

He hated the quiet.

He disliked the emptiness that lay between states of active consciousness. While every death remained unique from the one before, all instances shared certain similarities in physical sensation and mundane forms of psychological stress.

In the beginning, silence always met him.

Therefore, whatever the desirability of said state, the most intelligent course of action lay in accepting this fact with some attempt at grace... even introspection.

Philosophical musings should accompany death, he thought, no matter how temporary. Death, like life, should not be viewed as being without consequence. This mental ritual contained a vestigial superstition and yet, Terian liked the idea of being appreciative of his own ample gifts, particularly those of his mind and character.

Gradually, memory began its stealthy return, too.

Pieces of his past filtered through Terian’s consciousness like leaves falling in cold wind. Some stuck, eliminating gaps.

Technically, all of his memories had been connected to this new body since the raw technique of transfer, but with every body came a new set of nonphysical structures, a combination of Terian’s mind and the mind of whomever’s body he now wore. Gaps remained while his aleimi relearned pathways to access the material world.

More time passed.

He applied pressure to the process of his rebirth, trying to access his previous body’s final moments. This early remembering took work, mainly in the form of separating his own, multi-life memories from those of the body he now wore... which of course carried only one mortal life’s worth. Well, really, not even that.

Terian liked his bodies young.

When they finally surfaced, the images and sensations came with no warning, a movie that began and ended without prompt or fanfare. A shadow rose from the dark; Terian heard the sound of another’s stressed breathing. The touch of wet fingers flattened his forehead, grinding his head into soaked ground littered with pebbles and sharp leaves. He saw a dull flash of jagged metal, felt a shocking splash of warmth on his neck and face.

Dehgoies Revik. Of course.

If he could have, Terian would have chuckled. His friend was perhaps not so changed after all. Perhaps there was still a lot of the old Revi’ in him, even now.

Terian should have brought more than one body.

As he thought it, a shadow fell over him, blocking the white, pock-marked ceiling.

“Sir?” a voice said. “It is too soon. You must rest.”

Fatigue encumbered him, a stress borne of birthing, of straining back to life... even as drugs aided his return to a blissfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

DOES HE REMEMBER? a familiar voice said over him.

Terian cannot open his eyes.

He floats over himself, watching as they speak within his mind like it were a conference room on one of Galaith’s many private planes. Terian hovers there, listens.

He remembers his death, she comments.

It was Dehgoies, was it not?

Her thoughts turn affirmative. The images we’ve pulled indicate that is probable. Would you like to see?

The other’s light indicates yes.

She plays the memories, as one plays a film excerpt, or a video from television.

Ah. The voice sighs as its owner watches, but the emotion behind it feels complex, a flavor of pride mixed with regret. His words remain all business. Are you checking for anomalies each time our Terian returns to a new body? Each and every time, Xarethe... no exceptions?

Yes, she says, her voice stiffly certain. He is not resurrected without a thorough examination, father Galaith. There are no anomalies. No irregularities of any kind.

There is another silence while he thinks about her words.

She breaks it, her voice cautious that time.

Sir, if you don’t mind my asking. Dehgoies. Is it strictly necessary that he—

I do mind, Xarethe, Galaith’s voice holds the faintest of warnings. Ensure that our friend Terian remains stable, happy and free of any disturbing thoughts with which any good and loyal friend of mine should not be burdened. And ask him to contact me as soon as he is able...

Of course, she sends.

...As she speaks, the voices begin to fade from Terian’s hearing, drifting from his consciousness like a boat blown further and further away by a cool breeze.

* * *

THE NEXT TIME he woke, the old doctor was there in person, bent over the main monitor.

How long have I been out? he sent to her.

She made a few final adjustments before she glanced down at him, smiling. “Approximately thirty-two hours in total, brother.”

Terian blinked, tried to move his jaw. It remained sore.

Tracking has continued? he sent.

“Of course.”

How many?

“Three squads. And we have utilized the human media.”

Where is he now? he sent. Dehgoies.

“We are still compiling the last set of memories,” Xarethe said, rather than answering him. When she looked over next, she smiled. “Your diligence is noteworthy, brother. But your recent imprints of his light will have to be collated before we will have a realtime track. Until then, the usual channels are being utilized.”

So you haven’t found him. Terian stared at the ceiling. Did anyone recover the body? ...My body, he clarified.

“Of course. The team is already working on it, brother. Estimate 141 days minimum to clone and reconstruct.” The old doctor sat in a chair beside the bed, looking oddly anachronistic as she squinted at readouts over cat-shaped bifocals. “Full re-load in 167 days.” She smiled at him again, taking the glasses off her veined nose, exposing pressure marks from the frames. “You won’t be disappointed, Terry.”

Is this one a temp? Terian sent. I don’t remember it.

“A temp,” the woman said. “Yes.” She smiled at him in a grandmotherly way. “Would you like the same personality structure as the body he killed? It is no trouble at all. I have the base characteristics loaded now.”

What’s available?

“This is a seer’s body, so you have access to that biology and the requisite skills—”

Intelligence? Problem-solving? Can I boost them at all?

The doctor made a low clucking sound, a modulation of the sharper, more aggressive clicking common among seers.

“There are limits, Terry. You are fairly well dispersed right now.”

I can’t lose any of the others?

The old woman chuckled, even as she gave him a sharper look. “All are on assignment, Mein Herr. If you remember, you are using a significant amount of your problem-solving skills with body number nine already.”

Terian frowned inside his mind, staring up at the ceiling.

He could see no solution, and it bothered him.

The doctor offered, “I can add creativity. A slight warning... it would be associated with a form of sociopathy that can be a bit unstable.”

Terian didn’t hesitate. Do it, he sent. If he could have moved his lips to smile, he would have. And if he kills me again, I’ll blame you this time, Xarethe.

She smiled, but when she turned that time, her eyes were hard as glass.

“Whatever story keeps you hard at work, my fragmented little friend.” Rising to her feet, she adjusted her glasses back on her nose, peering again at the machine. “I may have some words for you, at that, if you ruin another of my bodies so quickly.”

She glanced down over the bifocals, giving him a harder stare.

“I will deny I said this,” she said. “But do us all a favor, Terry. Kill that son of a bitch already. I am tired of this cat and mouse game with him.”

Terian’s lips twitched in humor.

I don’t think that would go over well with the big boss. His face creased painfully with another attempt at a smile. I would have liked to see you in your prime, Xarethe...

The old seer looked at him, and for an instant, her eyes flashed a hard white, her lids falling to half-mast, until they appeared almost reptilian.

No, she told him. ...You wouldn’t.

Chapter 7

ESCAPE

I STARED OUT the dirty window of the bottle-green Plymouth, watching trees and rocky coastline slide by, now broken by low-hanging clouds and fog. We were still on Highway 1, nearing where it merged with 101, not far from the Oregon border.

I hadn’t been on this stretch of road since I was a kid.

What took minutes on Highway 5, or even 101 North from San Francisco to Eureka, took hours along Highway 1, making the twisting two-lane road hugging the jagged coastline feel endless. But Revik wanted us off the main highway, at least until we crossed state lines.

Even within seaside towns, he took side streets, avoiding the main “strips,” if they could be called that in towns that maybe had four bars, a salt-eaten motel, a greasy spoon, a church, a head shop and one drive-through coffee stand.

Somewhere near Fort Bragg, he uncuffed me from the door.

I suppose I should’ve been grateful for that, but as my hands and ankles remained bound, my gratitude was limited. I watched the sun slink into the Pacific as pelicans skimmed by, beating long wingspans.

I felt him looking at me.

When he didn’t stop after a few minutes, I exhaled sharply, facing him.

“What?”

He turned the worn, leather-wrapped wheel of the Plymouth, sliding onto the main street of another seaside village whose name I didn’t know. We passed a few bars and an auto shop. His pale eyes shone in the neon signs as night approached.

“We are low on gas. Can I trust you?”

“Dehgo... whatever your name is...”

“Revik.”

“Right. Are you going to tell me? What that guy meant about me ending the world?”

He exhaled. “Terian was trying to unbalance you. But it is true that they...” He amended, “...We believe you to be someone important.”

“Important how?”

“Allie, can I trust you, if I—”

“Revik, important how?”

Clicking to himself, he pulled into a nearby Arco station.

Stopping in front of a pump, he turned off the ignition. When an attendant walked right up to the window, I realized with some surprise that we must be in Oregon already. Revik rolled down the window, which stuck a few times. He gave me a last warning glance.

“Hey! Cool car, man! What can she do on the freeway...?”

The boy’s words trailed, just before his eyes filmed over.

Revik sat up to tug the money clip from his back pocket, handing through a few bills of paper currency to the kid attendant. I noticed the attendant’s eyes didn’t look at me as he took the folded paper. They also didn’t glance at the rust-colored stains on Revik’s shirt, or the slash of the same on his pale neck.

“Revik...”

Frowning, he glanced at me, then at the rearview mirror.

I watched as he licked his fingers, rubbing at the dark stain on his neck. Then he leaned over my lap and pulled open the glove box. Taking out an oil rag, he poured some water in it from a plastic bottle and rubbed it over his neck, erasing the mark completely.

“Where did you get this car anyway?” I said. “Speaking of cool cars.”

“I stole it.”

I felt my jaw tighten a little, but truthfully, I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting for an answer. Looking back at the minimart attached to the gas station, I only nodded.

“Revik, I’m hungry. I’m thirsty, too.”

Instead of answering, he handed me the half-full water bottle.

I tilted it over my mouth, drinking.

His tone remained neutral. “Like I told you... historical periods have beginnings, middles and ends,” he said. “At the end, the dominant species has an opportunity to evolve... in several possible directions. We seers call these opportunities Displacements.”

In the mirrors, he watched the boy hook the pump to the tank. His fingers gripped the wheel when he looked back at me, his skin a greenish-white in the florescent light.

“In some human mythology, this is called ‘Apocalypse,’” he added, his pale irises reflecting that same green light. “Do you know this word?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I might have heard it on one or two heavy metal albums.” I watched the blond kid in the dingy overalls enter the convenience store. He walked to one of the coolers in the back, pulled out a large bottle of water.

“...So you understand,” Revik said. “This will, of necessity, affect all of the species, not just humans. The elders have seen signs of the human Displacement approaching. Some of these signs relate to developments in the natural world. Others have to do with—”

“Okay,” I said, still watching the boy. “...So you’re paranoid. What does any of that have to do with me?” I watched the blond kid pull two plastic-sealed sandwiches out of a cooler, two apples, a bag of chips...

“Burrito,” I blurted. “Get me a frozen burrito... he can throw it in the microwave, right?”

A hint of revulsion grew visible in the set of Revik’s mouth, but when I looked back at the store, the blond kid was stuffing a plastic-covered burrito into a industrial microwave and twisting the grease-covered dial.

When I glanced over, Revik was watching me again, his eyes narrow.

He said, “The Bridge ushers in the Displacement. They are the catalyst. They are also what we call an intermediary being... one of the first. Historically, they gather three friends—”

“Let me guess... the four of us, we all ride horses, right?” I propped my cuffed hands on the armrest. “I do read, you know.”

I leaned my head on the glass of the passenger side window. Glancing in the side mirror, I winced. I looked like I’d escaped from a mental hospital, then got beaten up and thrown in a dumpster. When I looked over, I saw him watching me again, his expression wary.

“Trust me to attract crazies even among the seers,” I said. “...Jon will love this.”

Looking away finally, Revik rolled down his window, accepting the receipt from the blond in the dirty coveralls. The blue and white patch on his breast labeled him “Jerry.” Jerry handed a paper bag through the window that Revik immediately placed on my lap, where its warmth soaked through my waitressing uniform skirt.

“The Bridge is the catalyst,” Revik repeated, like I hadn’t spoken. “They have their place, and their purpose... just like any of the intermediary beings.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the GTX’s engine rumbled back to life. “You need to understand your importance. Not in terms of ego, but of role. It is a responsibility, Allie.”

I looked up from the bag. “So, just to be clear. You're saying I am going to end the world... at least as we know it. And that this is a job that I should take seriously... and do really, really well.” Shaking my head a little, I smirked at him. “Did I get that right... Revik?”

I watched him think. “Yes,” he said. “That is right. Simplistic, but ultimately correct.” Before I could speak, or even laugh, I saw his eyes click back into focus. “You will meet Vash. Then you will understand.”

“Did you just read my mind?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Is that absolutely fucking necessary?” I said.

He thought about this also, glancing at me.

“Yes,” he said.

* * *

I STAND ON a high building above a smoky city.

An angular, steel and glass structure shaped like a square reaches up on two legs from the edges of the skyline in front of me, barely visible through a veil of smog and smoke drifting near the ground in the pre-dawn light. Beyond that oddly-shaped building, more skyscrapers reach up like jagged teeth, stretching in rows as far as I can see. A low building made of watery glass, bulging shades of blue-green and blue-white, like giant raindrops, crouches incongruously in all of that smoke, an artificial world that looks better suited to the bottom of the ocean.

Already, lights are coming on, even though the sun isn’t yet above the horizon.

People emerge from tall buildings and single-dwelling homes with briefcases and backpacks. Some of them jump on bicycles or mopeds, or patiently wait for buses and trains, drinking hot drinks and reading feed marquees. The whisper of car horns grows audible as others crawl along a jam-packed freeway, fighting to get downtown.

I recognize this skyline, but I’ve never been here.

I’ve seen it on the feeds.

Even as I search for landmarks, sound erupts over the horizon, followed by a silence so profound the city’s heart stops beating.

Trails of smoke follow bullet-like shapes over a curve of amber sky.

Then... the wailing sirens start up for real.

White streaks of light multiply to the increasing pitch of air raid horns.

I watch, my breath caught, as people stand like penguins staring at the sun. The first missile hits, creates a shock wave of smoke, then a rapidly blooming mushroom cloud that looms over every building. The sky goes from amber to pink to red even as, in the distance, another missile kicks up an even larger cloud of dust, forming a second, blood-red pillar of smoke.

Another hits, then another.

One crashes through a leg of the upright square, another flattens the watery glass structure and I hear the scream of metal as it rips through steel, just before—

* * *

I JERKED AWAKE.

My face hurt from being ground into a wrinkle in the cloth seat. Drool connected my lips to the cushion until I raised my cuffed hands, wiping my mouth clumsily with my fingers.

Gazing through a dirty window at the pre-dawn light, I felt my heart clench.

But this was no smoke-drenched city of auto-rickshaws, bicycles and millions of Chinese. All I saw was pale blue sky above a low horizon of two-story Craftsman homes. Our car was the only one I could see in an empty parking lot before it transitioned back to the main road. I glimpsed ocean through the trunks of trees on the other side of that same road, broken by more houses on a street that sloped downwards, probably leading eventually to the beach itself. A seagull sat on a dimming orange parking lot light, stabbing at something with its beak that it held between its toes.

Next to me, he shifted position, drawing my eyes.

His long body stretched across the driver’s seat, his head and neck cramped in the crack by the driver’s side door. Despite the awkward angle of his body, he was asleep.

His face, even his hands lay open as he breathed.

I watched him sleep, and that inexplicable nausea I’d felt around him in the park returned. It rose and crested... then started to recede when I felt a returning pull from him, like a slow tugging below the navel that brought heat, along with another wave of that discomfort. I clutched my belly in reflex, then pressed my hand to the middle of my chest, rubbing the spot there, even as he shifted his weight uncomfortably, lowering a hand to rest on his thigh.

When that feeling didn’t lessen, a soft sound left his throat.

I waited to see if he would wake. When he didn’t, I let out my held breath.

Quietly, I bent forward, testing the binders on my ankles.

The hard plastic had already cut into my skin. I tugged on the ring anyway, feeling the connecting points for how to unlock the plastic knot. I fumbled with the end, realized a key fit in there, a small one.

I opened the glove box, moving papers and the oil rag as quietly as I could, looking for something sharp, but all I found was a broken pen that leaked ink, a used up book of matches and a condom so old the wrapper had cracked in the heat of the engine. I felt around under the seat, looking for anything that might saw through the thick plastic.

“Does it hurt?”

I jerked back, slamming my head into the open glove box lid. When I glanced up, rubbing my head, his pale eyes shone orange in the streetlights.

“Do you sleep?” I said.

He didn’t answer, but leaned forward, reaching into his back pocket.

My eyes followed his hands as he pulled out a rectangular piece of featureless, black metal. He unfolded the blade housed inside and before I could fully absorb the reality of the knife, he bent to my ankles. Without warning the hint of nausea leapt.

Holding the plastic off my skin, he cut through it with a single tug.

I was still reacting to the relief of that pressure being gone when he pulled off the hard coil, letting it drop to the floor of the car. Once he had, he traced the red line on my ankle with his finger. When he did, the nausea surged, catching me off-guard.

Swallowing, I looked away.

“Is it all right?” His voice was gruff.

“Yeah.” I drew my feet away from his fingers. “Thanks.”

“I should have taken it off,” he said.

“It’s fine. Forget it.”

I watched him look at me.

As I did, I couldn’t help but remember what he was. Even in early adolescence, all I’d ever heard about seers was that they had, well, issues with sex... that they were born with abnormally high sex drives, that the males would rape or manipulate women into sleeping with them, that the females couldn’t say no to anyone, no matter who they were. I always figured it was b.s., a way to scare girls off the males at least.

Looking at him now, though, I wondered.

There was definitely something different about his sexuality... an added component of some kind. Whatever it was, there seemed to be a lot of it.

Averting his eyes, he sank back in his seat. After he refolded the knife and replaced it in his back pocket, he shoved his hand in his front pocket, extracting the keys.

“Did you sleep?” I said. “Or were you faking before?”

Ignoring me, he started the car, gunning it slightly to blow out the exhaust. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Can I call my mom?”

The look in his eyes flattened. “No.”

He put the car in gear. The wheels crunched through gravel and garbage as he drove to the edge of the parking lot. We bumped over the low curb as he pulled onto the road.

“Where are we?” I said.

“Washington.”

“Washington? What happened to Oregon?”

“You slept through Oregon. I took us to the main highway.”

I gazed out at the gray-looking town, feeling my stomach start to cramp. “Why?” I said finally.

“I wanted to make some time. There is a safe house in Seattle. I thought—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Why can’t I call my mother?”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“Say I believe you,” I said. “Say I believe some of it, anyway. Why can’t I call my mom, tell her I’m okay?”

He shook his head. “The Rooks will have infiltrators with your people by now.”

It took another few seconds for his words to penetrate.

“My people?” I said.

Not seeming to notice my stressed tone, he nodded, once. “They will use them to gather imprints on you. To track you.” He pointed to a sign with missing marquee letters. “...I could get us food there.”

I stared at him, my mouth ajar. My voice rose. “Use them? To track me? How does that work, exactly?”

He focused on a field beside the road, a stretch of sharply green, waving grasses dotted with wildflowers where cows grazed in the early morning light.

“Revik!”

My tone jerked his eyes over. His fingers tightened reflexively on the steering wheel.

“What does that mean?” I said. “Are they going to hurt my mom? My friends?”

After a flat beat of time, he looked back out the window.

“All right,” he said. “We will eat later.”

He turned onto the ramp for Highway 5 North. The Plymouth made a growling noise as he accelerated from the base of the hill.

In my defense, I didn’t actually know I was going to do it.

I didn’t plan it, which is probably why he didn’t look over until I already had my fingers on the handle of the car door.

By the time he lunged, I was in mid-motion.

My weight followed with a hard lurch as my fingers snapped the latch.

His foot slipped on the clutch... he miscalculated where he aimed his hand as a result, snatching at the edge of my ripped shirt, getting the blanket instead. I slid off the seat and into cold rushing air as the blanket unraveled around me...

There was a silence.

In it, I felt free, an odd rush of joy...

Then my body smashed inelegantly into the ground.

I hit, bounced, rolled, scraping arms and elbows and face as I tumbled down a rock and weed and garbage-strewn slope beneath the ramp.

My cuffed wrists smacked against my chest, then my face. I finally used them to slow my fall, digging the metal rings into the dirt as I slid on my stomach, my legs partly splayed. Coughing gravel dust and dirt, I stumbled drunkenly to my feet at the bottom, my ankles still stinging from the plastic bindings. Somehow I felt that more than the pain of the fall itself. Brushing bits of rock off my forearms and knees, I limped barefoot towards the main road.

On the ramp above, the GTX had come squealing to a stop.

Another car slammed it from behind, knocking it further into the middle of the ramp. Cars careened into angled stops in a rough line behind the first, and promptly began to honk.

Revik got out. Ignoring the other drivers, he walked to the edge of the ramp and looked down at me. A young guy in a stained shirt and cap got out of a rusted pickup and started walking towards the Plymouth.

“He’s a seer!” I screamed, pointing at Revik. “He kidnapped me!”

Revik stared down at me, his pale eyes hard.

The guy in the cap looked at me, then at Revik. His voice rose in excitement. “Call the cops, someone! Terrorist! Bona fide terrorist here! Call 911!”

Revik turned his head.

The boy with the stained baseball cap stopped in his tracks.

His face went into a childlike slump. After the barest pause, he turned around and walked back to his truck. He climbed into the cab and sat there without moving, not even honking. The two other people who’d gotten out of their cars also returned to them obediently.

Did you really think it would be that easy?

I jerked my eyes back to Revik, feeling my breath stop.

You know so much about seers, after all...

He was angry.

Really damned angry.

My throat constricted as I took in the expression on his face. I hadn’t been afraid of him before. I probably should have been, but I hadn’t been, not really. I was genuinely terrified of what I felt off him now, even as my physical vision slanted out, replaced by...

“Stay away from me!” I screamed.

* * *

...DARKNESS, HIM FLICKERING in and out, outlined in pale sky, shadowy and lean at the rise in the road, then stark in the negative, a brilliant light against indigo clouds. Dark gold meets red sparks through lines that make up his arms and chest.

I look at him and know I’m in the Barrier even as I take in his sharp, structured form.

I have barely wrapped my mind around this, when...

His arm surges with a fire-like light.

The light brightens, turns blinding, right before it leaves his fingers.

Before I can think what it might mean, the burst spins down upon me, aiming straight for me, like and I don’t think, don’t form a single conscious thought.

Instead, I step aside, even as a part of me reaches up, takes the fire-like ball and sling-shots it back at him in one smooth, reflexive motion...

It bears down on him, fast.

I stare, bewildered as I realize it’s going to hit him, that I just threw something at him, and I have no idea what it will do to him. Just before the fiery burst touches his outline, however, a white density of light materializes around him.

The burst hits the shield, glances off and dissipates.

It all happens so fast I barely take it in, and when it’s done I feel something off him, surprise, but with another feeling following close behind... not quite pleasure, but a sharp flicker of interest, like a part of him waking up.

The predator raises its head, focuses on me intently, like a wolf meeting its own kind.

My eyes snap back into focus, and I see him in the physical again. His pale, light-filled eyes are watching me, and I see the predatory stare there, too.

“Hey!” I hold up a hand, panicking. “No! No! I didn’t mean it...”

He starts walking down the hill.

“Revik! Leave me alone! Please!”

He doesn’t slow his steps.

My fear bursts out as anger, panicking me, throwing me back and forth into that other place, so that his image flickers, positive to negative. “If you or any of your...” crazy friends has hurt Jon... “Or Cass, or my mom...” I swear to God... “I will kill you...!”

The predator’s interest flares again at my threat, but I feel him rein it in.

His legs lengthen stride, and he is coming towards me faster now.

It is not safe, what you are doing. His light flashes back to gold, exuding reassurance, calm. You are calling attention to us behind the Barrier, Esteemed Bridge, which is dangerous to both of us. Walk to me, Allie. Before it is too late...

“Go to hell!” I back up in equal measure.

You are untrained, he warns. It is not safe... and I do not wish to hurt you.

“You’re a liar!”

He stops, as if listening to something far off. When he returns, the predator is gone.

Allie, I am not playing anymore! Come to me... now! There is no time!

The fear in his words disarms me, then confuses me.

Turning away from him altogether, I run, even as another negative image of him inside the Barrier fills my vision. Red and blue charges spark along his arms and legs, growing brighter. He throws another of those blindingly bright bolts at me, this one denser, and again I manage to sidestep it. Something above my head also reacts, pushing the bolt sideways.

The second reflex feels weaker than the first, though, almost like a muscle atrophied from lack of use.

I stumble towards the road, stub my toe on a rock and half-fall, pick myself up.

My limbs move muddily but I force them faster, fighting the rising sickness in my gut as his light reaches for mine, strangling some part of me I can’t see, making it hard to move. I make it to the road when the scene around me vanishes... replaced by dark blue clouds.

Blind, I try to manage my limbs, can’t.

Out of nowhere, a hard thud collides with the meat and bone of my physical body. Pain rockets up my leg, pools in the point of contact until...

I snapped out.

...and found myself staring into the chrome grill of a car, on my knees, holding my stomach. Nearby, a car door opened, and the sound is so loud it deafens me. I stared at the dotted dividing lines in the road, garnished with yellow reflectors.

“Get out of the road!” a man yelled at me.

A whisper of hope lifted my eyes.

And if you are the terrorist? the voice says. Will you still run to them to save you?

“Are you crazy, girl? Trying to kill yourself?”

Are you really so sure you’re not one of us?

Fear lurched me to my feet. My knees were bleeding but my first thought was that he was coming, that he was in my head, and even if he wanted to, this old man with the angry face and the bushy white eyebrows couldn’t save me.

I pushed past him, seeing his expression change as he took in my appearance, my hair matted with blood and dirt, my cut feet and hands, the ripped up waitress uniform and handcuffs.

“Girl.” He called after me. “Hey... girl! Are you all right? Where are you going?”

I looked back, but not at him.

The tall, black-haired seer had reached the bottom of the hill. He slid down the last of it on leather boots through dusty gravel and broken glass.

I ran, feeling each bare foot hit hard at the pavement. I darted into traffic, aiming for a nearby gas station, and again cars honked, swerved to avoid me, only now I tried to wave them down once more, too desperate to think about whether they could help me or not.

I pounded on the hood of a red compact when it screeched to a stop.

“Help! I’m being kidnapped! Please, help me...!”

The woman inside stared up at me, wide-eyed.

“Please!” I screamed. “Get me out of here!”

The woman flinched, cowering behind the steering wheel.

I ran on. People on the sidewalk reacted slowly, staring as they realized something unusual was happening, something they probably shouldn’t ignore. Someone might have called the cops by then, but he was right, I couldn’t be sure if they’d come to help me or to take me away.

Then, before I could decide what to do next, he took me down.

* * *

HE WATCHES HER from the Barrier, calculates how best to proceed.

He has frightened her, broken her trust with his honesty about the Rooks, or at least his refusal to lie. He is glad he chose to tell her less rather than more about them and the being, Terian, who Revik knows he did not really kill in San Francisco.

He does his best to shield her light, to keep her in her body, out of the Barrier.

When she runs into the street, he sees interest dawn on the faces of watching humans. It is too many for him to push. Worse, her light sparks in panicked waves that remind him that she is the Bridge, not just some fledgling seer with poor light control.

Although she is that, too.

When she starts pounding on car hoods, interrupting traffic, he splits his consciousness, leaving a lesser part to steer his physical body and jumping the rest out.

His aleimi leaps ahead, flashing across the road’s meridian to knock her out of her body.

Like any fledgling, she cannot yet split herself... and collapses.

Revik checks his own physical body, sees it running across the road, dodging cars with only slightly slower reflexes. Then he sees the truck, and lands more of himself in the physical to speed his legs...

* * *

...TIME LURCHED BACK, bringing him along its narrower lines.

The driver saw him and then her and slammed the truck’s brakes, careening cab and cargo to a slanted halt a few feet from them both.

By then, Revik crouched over Allie, his arms outstretched, protecting her, his eyes glowing a pale white the human wouldn’t see.

The driver leaned his bulky form out the driver’s side window.

“Hey! Wiseass! Get your damned girlfriend out of the road, unless you want to scrape her off the pavement with a spatula!” He paused, looking down. “And put some clothes on her, while you’re at it! Where the hell do you think you’re doing, with the...”

Trailing, he took in Allie’s crumpled form.

Her handcuffed wrists had welts on them from the two days of driving, made worse by her fall down the hill. Her small hands folded together in a neat gesture of prayer. The ripped up uniform with its low-cut blouse and short skirt was now decorated with splotches of blood and caked in mud and dirt, as were her hair and feet. She had a bloody nose from hitting the pavement, fresh cuts and scratches from the fall and she looked pale, overly thin without her light. Looking at her, Revik realized she looked bad. Really bad.

He was struck again by how small she was physically.

She moaned as he thought it, and he felt his body react, so that he had separation pain to deal with on top of everything else.

“Help me,” she murmured. “Help...”

It was soft, but Revik heard it. He also saw the truck driver watching her moving lips. The man’s eyes widened, as he seemed to put two and two together.

“What the hell—”

“Police!” Revik said. He pulled a flip ID with badge from his pocket, miraged it into a local configuration from memory. “Stay in your vehicle! This woman is in my custody!”

Revik felt the worst of his tension dissipate as the man’s face calmed.

He had blundered, but he’d contained it. He felt other humans around him start to relax as well, as soon as they saw the badge and heard his words. She had gone from fleeing kidnap victim to suspect fleeing police custody. Even so, Revik knew he didn’t have a lot of time. He shoved the ID back in his pocket, gave another look around before he bent his knees, crouching down beside Allie. When he glanced up next, the truck driver looked almost blank.

Something about the expression there made Revik pause, however.

Then Revik saw the man’s eyes roll up in his head, flashing with a silver light.

Fuck. They were no longer alone.

Without waiting, Revik looked back at Allie, shoving his arms under her jointed limbs, lifting her ungracefully to his chest before he straightened abruptly to his feet. He saw the truck driver reach behind him as he completed the motion, glimpsed the wooden stock of a worn, pump-action shotgun.

Seeing that much, he turned without wasting another breath.

He didn’t let himself feel, to second guess, or even think.

He gripped her tighter and ran, flat-out for the car.

Chapter 8

FLIGHT

REVIK SPRINTED DOWN the sidewalk, holding me against his chest.

Unerringly rhythmic, his feet impacted the sidewalk as if he counted steps alongside his well-regulated breaths. He held me close, and that felt calculated too, as if he’d practiced with potato sacks approximating my weight. When he reached the gravel-strewn hillside, he barely paused before vaulting up the steep bank, sliding in its shale folds at each step but not stopping as he fought his way back up the steep slope.

I felt sick, dazed, unsure on which side I lived.

It becomes clearer as images around me flash in negative... then the Pyramid is everywhere, all around us. Its silver threads shine like bright wires in rose-lit clouds. Tarnished silver entangles the lights of people I can see around us on the sleepy Washington street.

Red eyes surround me, bodies made of wire...

Laughter brings my own gaze higher.

A face hovers below the Pyramid, and I recognize it as a ghostly version of the man from Golden Gate Park. His face morphs in Barrier wind, distorted by silver light. There is symmetry to those flickers of light, though, like film stuttering in a projector. The Pyramid’s shifting cells split and reconfigure, moving on gliding rails like a carnival fun house, and I feel sick from the motion. I feel both out of control and strangely suffocated under that crushing weight as it strangles my light, fighting to insert itself deeper into my mind.

I see you! Pretty bird! Do you know who carries you on such swift wings?

I feel my chest clench.

My mother calls me her bird. She has since I was a kid.

I feel Revik again, his arms around me, the steady beating in his chest. No one has ever felt so much like me. But the other presence feels me thinking that, too.

Terian’s laugh rises. I could tell you such stories about your new friend! Do you know what he used to like to do for fun?

Images start to coalesce, movies that start once I focus directly on them. They draw me in, until I want to see, until I cannot help but look. I feel Revik there, and I know a part of my fascination comes from him. He and Terian stand in a cell-like room with no windows or furniture. On the floor sprawls a young girl with blond hair and inhuman, gold eyes, a beautiful face and Revik is watching her, his own eyes hard, calculating.

The predator is there, but he lives in silver light—

A jarring contact met my head and back. I gasped.

Pain brought the physical world into focus.

Staring down at me is Revik’s sweaty face. His eyes are still glass shards, but the silver light is gone, and the predator is, too. Fear lives in his face instead, faint but visible. I realized then, where we were... where I was. He’d laid me roughly on the hood of the GTX.

My back hit the protruding air vent on top, snapping me out, hard enough that I wondered if he’d done it on purpose.

Either way, the pain yanked me away from Terian’s mind.

I struggled to sit up as Revik walked to the rear of the car, opening the trunk with the keys and pulling out a black gym bag filled with something heavy. He reached inside the driver’s side window to unlock the door.

“Allie!” he said, jerking it open. “Now!”

I rolled over the top of the hood to the passenger side while he leaned over and opened my door from the inside. By the time I got in, he was already ripping open the black nylon bag, and it struck me that the line of cars behind us had resumed honking.

I watched Revik jam the key into the ignition, holding a gun against the steering wheel.

“Put on your seat belt!” he said.

I fumbled with the strap as the GTX’s engine rumbled to life, but I couldn’t quite work it with the handcuffs. Revik put the car in gear. Then a voice emerged above the sound of the car’s motor. It took me a second to realize it was real... that it wasn’t his, or something from inside the Barrier.

“What in the name of Mary’s tits...”

Jerking my head around, I forgot the seat belt and crouched down, looking past Revik and up through the driver’s side window. Two cops stood there. Behind them, a black and white slanted down the bank beside the fisherman’s truck.

The cop who’d spoken stared at the gun in Revik’s hand.

“You got balls, buddy,” the second cop said, unholstering his sidearm. He raised the gun, aiming it at Revik’s face. “Now toss it out the window. Real slow.”

“Sleep,” Revik said. “Now.”

Both cops collapsed on the onramp without emitting a sound.

I sucked in a breath, shocked at the clean indifference of the act.

The one holding the gun wasn’t much older than me.

I didn’t have time to think about that, either, though. In the rearview mirror, I saw movement in the space by the fisherman’s truck. I turned my head right as another policeman emerged.

My voice burst out of me.

“Revik!” I yelled.

The third cop pulled his sidearm. I saw the brown eyes flash silver as he raised the gun.

“Seer!” I yelled.

“I know,” Revik growled.

His hand clamped roughly around the back of my neck, forcing me down past the bottom of the seat and under the windows. He took his foot off the brake in the same instant and the car lurched forward as the cop squeezed off his first round.

The sound of the shot seemed to come late, a second after the soft plink as the bullet went through the rear driver’s side window. I turned my head, staring at the hole in the upholstery until Revik shoved me down even further on the seat.

I crouched on the mat when I heard the GTX’s engine roar back to life.

I sat on the floor as Revik threw the car into reverse, slamming into the truck behind us. By then he had aimed the handgun and fired at cop number three. He hit him in the chest on the second shot, knocking him backwards into the police car so that the man’s arm and shoulder broke the passenger side window.

The cop’s partner emerged, firing wildly.

Screams erupted on the street.

I peered over the edge of the window, watched people run and duck in fear, eyes wide, and for a moment, I see them through Revik’s eyes, a flock of birds scattering... then Revik swiveled the gun towards the fourth cop, narrowly missing the man’s head.

He stepped on the gas...

But his foot slipped.

The engine’s rev faded.

Bewildered, I looked up, then saw Revik slumped in the seat as the car continued to roll. I froze, seeing his eyes glaze as the car veered towards the edge of the road. I threw myself up and into his lap, hauling the wheel to the left with my cuffed hands, trying to get my foot down to his, to keep the car from stalling, or worse, careening off the onramp and down that weed-choked slope onto the street below...

...when just as suddenly, he was back.

I felt it just before he raised his head, jerking back into life.

The gun rested on his thigh, pointed at his feet from where he’d slumped in the cloth seat. He stared at my handcuffs in front of him where I gripped the steering wheel, blinking at them as if he didn’t know what they were. When I looked back at his face, his eyes narrowed on mine, and for an instant I saw the predator there again.

“Revik!” I screamed. “Snap out of it!”

His eyes clicked abruptly into focus.

Reaching around me, he caught hold of the wheel, gripping the gun where it had loosed in his fingers. Without looking over, he moved one arm long enough to push me out of his lap.

He returned to the Barrier as he did it, and either I am too close, or something else drags me right along after him...

* * *

REVIK HEARS TERIAN’S laugh before he locates him among the metallic bodies.

Terian throws another cluster-fuck of silver, spinning lights at Revik’s head once he does, a Barrier structure that makes the orange sleeper Revik lobbed at me earlier look like a blown kiss. Revik makes his energy flush with the background and disappears, something he can do even with a part of himself operating on the ground, and I wonder where I am, if I am with him in this space... but he melts sideways and reappears, too late for Terian to redirect.

The silver spinners disappear into the empty nothingness of Barrier space.

I’ll kill her, Revik tells Terian.

No, Terian says. You won’t. That’s the beauty with you, Dehgoies. By the end of this, we will have not only her, but you as well. You’re only a half-step from falling willingly, my friend. We can be brothers again...

Revik focuses on me.

He knows I am with him, somehow, but he can’t see me here—

You will help us train her, Terian says to him. Breaking in newbies was a particular talent of yours, as I recall. Especially the females...

Terian sees Revik starting to withdraw and calls after him.

...I will let you have her, my brother!

In that heartbeat of Revik’s hesitation, Terian lobs another cluster... this time of images, sensations. In it, Revik sees my body under his, our lights merging as I open to him. It is a mirage, a lie, but it catches both of us off-guard and briefly he is forced to untangle it.

He snaps the connection and is met with... separation pain, he calls it... that nausea I’ve been feeling with him, what I struggled with just that morning. Unlike with me, the feeling is familiar to him, though, something he understands. But with me, it bothers him more, creates a resonance with some younger version of himself, a place and time he wishes to forget.

Anger briefly suffuses his light, then reason.

He’s let it go too long, he thinks.

He will remedy that, in Seattle.

At the thought, heat flushes his belly, a flicker of sensual memory. I glimpse bare skin, a seductive smile, and this time it has nothing to do with me...

The Rook laughs. You lie, Revi’! I know you... even if your clan friends do not! I see how empty this new life of yours is! Terian’s smile turns friendly, and Revik recognizes that too; I feel the part of him that succumbs to that pull.

She will be my gift to you! Do you think your clan elders would offer you such a prize? Access to their precious Bridge? Do you, Revi’?

There is only the barest pause before Revik makes his light disappear, but Terian’s laugh follows him out of their connection.

I saw you thinking about it, brother! I saw you!

The clouds fade as Revik wills himself back.

Back to the car, back to me.

* * *

I SAW HIM come out of it.

Crouched on the floorboards of the GTX, I watched him warily, wondering how much of what I’d just seen and heard really happened.

My handcuffed wrists rested on the seat in front of me. I watched his face as he fired out the window again, his light focused on his targets. I heard the crash of breaking glass, felt him hit something he’d aimed for, wondered why he wasn’t driving away. Even as I thought it, he slammed his foot on the gas, his hand holding the gun falling to the manual gear shift.

Once more, his eyes phased, but it was gone as soon as I saw it, leaving only a tension around his eyes, a quick glance at me. The GTX leapt forward, throwing me into the edge of the seat. I heard more shots and peered back between the seats.

I saw the cop in the road, firing steadily at us.

“Get your head down!” Before I could react, Revik caught hold of the chains between the handcuffs, yanking me down forcibly.

“Was that Terian?” I said. “The guy from the park?”

Revik gave me the barest glance. “Yes,” he said.

“I thought you killed him!”

Revik jerked the wheel sideways. The tires thumped up over a curb, bounding me high enough to pass the headrest.

“Put on your fucking seat belt!”

“I can either stay down, or wear a seat belt... pick one!”

He didn’t answer.

I slid carefully back up the seat, peering out over the dashboard past the plastic statue of the saint.

Still holding the gun, Revik gripped the steering wheel with his other hand, edging it hard and soft as he maneuvered us across a pit of gravel towards a field that stood between us and the main freeway. I looked back at the onramp, realized he’d bumped the curb to avoid the line of police cars heading for us on the frontage road beside the freeway entrance.

Slamming his foot on the gas once he cleared the gravel, he bounced us across a weed-choked stretch of grass dotted with broken bottles, plastic bags and scrub brush. I glanced at the speedometer, saw it edging towards 60 mph, then glimpsed a large rock and cried out, but Revik had already jerked the wheel to clear it, jumping us into oncoming traffic.

“Jesus! Revik—”

“There are things I haven’t told you,” he said, over the screech of tires as he straightened the car out from a skid. For the barest instant, his eyes glinted silver. “...About Terian.”

I swallowed as his eyes faded back to clear.

“Is he here?” I said. “In the physical?”

Revik barely looked at me. “No.”

I glanced over as he wiped his nose. I didn’t notice the blood until his fingers came away covered in it.

“What happened?” I said. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I’m losing light.” Reaching into his pocket, he dug something out and tossed it at me. Small and bright, it landed on my lap. It was a key.

“I'm not chasing you anymore,” he said.

I snatched the key off my leg just before he swerved again. Revik rammed the GTX over the path of an eighteen wheeler, sliding past as the man honked. Still watching the road, I unlocked the cuffs from around my wrists, dropping them to the floor.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded curtly, not looking over.

* * *

EARL REDDING KNEW a sicko when he saw one.

He’d been running long-hauls across the whole of this country for 27 years, including all over California, and that mecca of perverts and terrorists, San Francisco. This dark-haired fellow, who obviously had some Oriental in him, had the audacity to impersonate a cop. Luckily, Earl saw through it. And a good thing, too... not five minutes later the Chink fuck went on to shoot three of Washington’s finest dead on the highway onramp like some kind of cop serial killer.

That poor white girl was clearly one of his victims. Whatever his intentions, whether he wanted to sell her, rape her some more, or kill her, Earl couldn’t let it stand.

He’d watched the whole thing, calling in details on his radio, then, when he saw the shooting and the green muscle car heading for the freeway proper, he’d turned the wheel, making the beginnings of the arc needed to clear the island around the onramp. Once he’d straightened out the length of his rig, he downshifted and jammed his foot on the gas, driving up the shoulder past the line of cars.

Up ahead, a couple of highway workers stood beside the remaining cop car parked up on the shoulder. They were in the process of covering one of the cop’s bodies with some kind of tarp. A line of cars stood in the left lane, waiting for the space to clear. Horns honked, a few drivers cheered the highway workers as they huffed the second cop car up the steep incline and back towards the road, some even helping, wearing civvies as they pushed along with the orange jumpsuits.

Earl pulled further up into the shoulder, glancing to his side to make sure he wouldn’t tip the rig. He started yanking on his horn. When the highway workers didn’t look back, Earl pulled harder, more urgently, finally just holding it down for a long, continuous bellow.

First one worker looked up, then another.

Earl saw the second react, eyes widening to white-rimmed dots in a cartoon-like face. Earl waved his hand out the window, telling them to get out of the way. One shouted to the others. Another tried to wave Earl off, but Earl only hit the horn harder. All five of them finally scattered, three in the right direction, two in the wrong one.

The front grill of Earl’s truck slammed the back end of the cop car.

The car leapt forward on the hill then abruptly off to the right and into the main onramp, rolling straight for the gravel bank at a quickly accelerating rate. It knocked over one of the highway workers, hitting another a glancing blow that threw him 10 feet where he promptly began to skid down the sharp gravel of the hill. The car shortly followed him.

Earl only saw part of this. Glancing once in his rearview mirror, he patted the 12-gauge wedged between the cushion of his seat and the plastic storage containers that held his music collection and audio books for driving. Muttering, he aimed for the freeway down the sloping frontage road.

Seeing the green GTX on the weed-choked field between the town and highway, Earl hit the gas, and the giant engine thrummed louder.

“You’re going to put that girl down, boy,” he muttered, wiping a hank of greasy hair out of his forehead. “Then you and I are are going to have a talk... yessir.”

He propped the gun against his knee, dislodging a photograph that had been wedged in the ashtray since he’d quit four years earlier. On it, a little boy and girl smiled, encircled by the arms of a woman with long, streaked-blond hair.

Earl didn’t notice.

Chapter 9

MORTAL PERIL

MY EYELIDS DROOPED.

I jerked up my head, then shook it violently, overwhelmed by my own exhaustion, irritated by its suddenness... but more than anything, scared by it. The intensity of my sudden desire to sleep struck me as more than a little strange. It was weird enough, in fact, that it made me wonder if I’d been drugged. I couldn’t imagine when, or how, so my mind drifted to shock, to wondering if I was having some kind of psychological reaction.

Was this how people went into shock?

But I wasn’t really that kind of person, either.

Generally, when the shit hit the fan, I got more alert, not less. I’d never been one of those people to fall apart in a crisis, to go catatonic or start flipping out. Never.

And yeah, okay, granted this might be more of a crisis than I’d ever dealt with before, but I’d been in life or death situations before today, sure. Hell, I’d been in life or death situations a few times in that prison cell, only a few months before.

I didn’t go into shock. I didn’t panic. Not like that, anyway.

My mind usually got really damned clear in those situations, in fact.

Usually, I was the one to keep my head straight when stuff got rough, like when Cass had that asthma attack at the bar in college and nearly died, and when my friend, Frankie, got stabbed by that crazy biker chick outside the No One Club.

I hadn’t freaked out. I was scared, sure... but I dealt with it.

The GTX had been weaving up the road, avoiding cars, for what felt like hours now, although I knew realistically it couldn’t be more than twenty or so minutes. I still crouched low on the passenger seat, watching Revik’s eyes dart between side and rearview mirrors as he wove from lane to lane, evading our pursuers. Crouching there, I struggled to stay awake, watching trees and land flash by through the windshield and side window, even pinching my arms to keep my eyes open. Most cars on the road, seeing the black and whites, just got out of the way.

I nodded off, thinking about this...

There was a crash, metal grating on metal.

I jerked in my seat violently and opened my eyes, saw Revik slamming the GTX into a Ford Ranger with banged up fenders, forcing it into the next lane. I saw the driver of the Ford yell at Revik, eyes wide, tinged with more fear than anger.

When I looked over, Revik was staring at me. His narrow lips curled into a frown.

“What do we do now?” I said, loud above the wind from the holes shot in the back windows.

His eyes returned to the road.

I glanced back at the passenger side window and flinched back, seeing a truck driver staring down at me, a shotgun resting in the crook of his arm. His eyes looked manic, not quite at home, and I sensed more than saw the silver flicker of light that lived there.

Paralyzed for the barest breath, I only stared up at him, at his too-blue eyes and dirty brown hair. I took in the blue flannel shirt and reddish nose and mutton chop sideburns and realized I recognized him. It was the same man who’d yelled at us on the street, who yelled at Revik to get me out of the road. He didn’t look like he wanted to help me now, though.

He aimed the gun down at the hood of the GTX.

Before I could make a sound, Revik hit the brakes, slamming into the car behind us. He created enough space to slide the GTX behind the bigger rig, pulling us out of range of the crazy guy with the shotgun. Then he jammed his foot back on the accelerator, passing on the truck’s blind side, in the far right lane.

A few car lengths later, he found a clear patch of road. The driving smoothed, even as he jammed his foot down on the accelerator. I watched the blur of trees go by faster.

The GTX’s V-8 engine thrummed a soothing, low sound...

I snapped awake, panting.

Revik gripped the front of my uniform shirt in his fist. His other hand gripped the steering wheel even as he leaned over where I lay.

I was still frozen there, panting, when he slammed my back into the seat.

“What the—”

“You cannot sleep!” He barked the words, his accent thick. “You cannot sleep!”

His face flashed into the negative...

...and gold lines make up the bones, muscles and blood of his jaw. His eyes shine white, filled with clouds, darkly twisting movies. Shadows dart as Rooks rope him with silver threads. One throws a ball of spinning silver light.

...a complex gold and orange geometry explodes over his head in a shower of sparks.

Revik's light body flickers, dims.

I see him draw his light arm back. Then he completes the rest of the motion...

And suddenly, I am wide, wide awake.

“Ow!” I held my face. “Ow, Jesus!” When my fingers left my mouth, blood colored them. I felt my cheek swelling already and my shock and pain turned into something closer to rage. “Are you kidding me?” I touched my lip. “You hit me!”

“Stay here, Allie!” he said. “Do whatever you have to, but stay the fuck in your body... I cannot do everything!”

“You hit me!”

He glared at me. “Yes.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I said.

“Yes.” He released the front of my shirt.

Taking another breath, he exhaled sharply, leaning back in his own seat.

“They are draining you, Esteemed Bridge... you will get tired. You will get very tired, but you cannot sleep! I hit you only to bring you back. If your body perceives itself in mortal danger, your light will return.” His eyes returned to my face.

“Pain is fastest. Understand?”

Something rammed us, hurling me into the dashboard.

Revik veered when the truck accelerated to smash into our rear bumper again.

Suddenly a police car blazed behind us, siren on as it flashed its lights.

Revik yanked the wheel left, throwing us into the grass and tree-filled island between the north and south-bound lanes. I gripped the dashboard as we bounced down the grade. We hit hard at the bottom, then Revik gunned the GTX up the grassy hill.

Behind us, the cop car hit that same grade at a different angle and got stuck, wheels spinning in the dirt after it smashed its grill into a boulder.

Revik entered the south-bound traffic going north.

I let out an involuntary cry as horns blared, cars spun and veered with a squeal of grinding metal and burnt rubber. He straightened the car’s trajectory and accelerated.

I looked back through our half-missing rear window.

Glass covered the back seat. I touched my face, realized I had tiny cuts on my arms and hands that I hadn’t noticed.

Cars screeched to a halt, swerved to avoid hitting us, slamming into one another instead. I counted five... six separate vehicles wrecked just past where the GTX dragged dirt tracks onto the road. Taking a breath, I gripped the armrest under the side window and stared at the blurring trees, flinching at the view out the windshield.

He spoke up as he weaved between cars.

“The Rooks would rather convert you,” he said. “But killing you would be an acceptable outcome for them...”

I gripped the dashboard, not looking at him. “Great. Nice to know. Revik... just drive the damned car, okay?”

He swerved again, causing another car to slam its brakes too hard and flip.

I watched through the rear window as that same car came crashing down in the middle of the road, facing the opposite direction as traffic, like us. I looked to my right, saw the truck driver pacing us in the northbound lanes up above, flashing between the trees of the wide divide.

“...The reality is, no one knows what causes the end.” Revik was saying. “Your death itself might start the wars.”

He drove up and over the gravel shoulder. He aimed us back into the island between the north and southbound lanes, bouncing a rough diagonal line through the sloped grass. I realized he was heading back towards the north-facing lanes.

“Your presence here complicates things for both sides. The fact that you are telekinetic—”

I shouted over the engine and bouncing car.

“You pick now to get chatty?”

The GTX slammed into a hole and a rock, and I smacked my head on the roof, yelped. We were nearly across the island.

“Hold the wheel,” Revik said.

“What?”

He turned to look at me...

...and his eyes are silver once more, metallic. Inside, pictures flicker in an organic projector, a war happened and happening and about to happen in shadows and exploding lights. I see vultures around his head, raptors...

...and snapped out.

His body lay slumped over the steering wheel.

I leapt onto him without thought. Pushing his torso back, I slid into his lap and gripped the wheel, turning it sharply to avoid hitting a tree. Shoving my legs down between his, I jammed my foot on the accelerator over his leather boot.

Still, we’d slowed down, enough that the trucker pacing us miscalculated.

I drove us through a narrow gap between two trees as that same trucker hit his brakes, trying to head me off. Managing to just get in behind him anyway, I headed for the right lanes, swerving on asphalt and gravel as we abruptly accelerated out of the lawn...

When Revik jerked beneath me.

He grabbed the wheel over my hands, as if to steady himself. Remembering what he said about pain, I dug my fingernails into the skin of his knuckles.

“Wake up! REVIK!”

His eyes clicked into focus.

He looked up at me, briefly, then turned away, coughing. Blood speckled the glass of the driver’s side window. He wiped his mouth, but when I started to climb out of his lap, he grabbed my wrist.

“I need you to drive,” he said.

He was already moving out from behind the wheel.

Gripping the steering wheel, I considered protesting, but realized it was too late as he crawled into the passenger seat to my right and leaned between the seats to retrieve the gym bag from the back seat of the car.

Watching him, I perched on the edge of the driver’s seat to compensate for his long legs, gaining control of the car before I fumbled for the knob to move the chair.

I forgot about both things when a booming sound vibrated the sides of the car.

I ducked as I felt nicks from more shards of glass, glancing at the ragged hole punched through a rear side window.

The trucker accelerated from a few lanes over, leaning out his cab.

Revik opened the black gym bag, and pulled out a shotgun that looked like law-enforcement issue. He dug around in the bag for a box of shells. Cracking the cardboard open one-handed once he found it, he dumped a pile in his lap, then began methodically loading the Remington 870 with deft fingers.

He paused, giving me a quizzical look.

“How do you know that?” he said. “About the gun.”

I looked at him, blank, then at the gun. “Old boyfriend.” When Revik went back to loading, I said, “What are you going to do? You can’t just shoot them all.”

He continued loading the gun, not answering at first.

Then he glanced up at me again, his voice flat, “You have the right to lodge a formal complaint regarding my methods with the Council once we arrive. They will hear you, and with a great deal of sympathy... I assure you. But reminding me of the damage I’m doing to my soul won’t help either of us right now, Allie.”

I stared at him uncomprehendingly, saw no hint of sarcasm. When he seemed to be expecting a response, I could only nod.

“Okay. Sure.”

“Thank you.” He chambered the first shell with a smooth jerk of his hand, then leaned out the window.

I watched in the mirror as he aimed at the truck, firing as soon as he leveled the barrel.

The truck swerved and his shot went wide.

Revik aimed again.

He hit the grill that time, and the truck swerved behind another 18-wheeler.

Revik sat back, his pale eyes locked on the mirrors. I heard a bleep of loudspeaker and turned, saw a Washington State police car pull up alongside us. Inside, a red-faced officer leaned back stiffly in his seat, driving and glaring at us while his partner aimed a shotgun at Revik.

“Pull over!” the driver yelled. “Right now!”

I caught the barest whisper of Revik’s thoughts.

We are not the criminals. It is them. Help us.

The cop driving glanced at his partner. Confusion softened both of their faces.

We are in danger. Protect us. Please.

The officer nodded to Revik, indicating the highway ahead. He shouted, “...Go on. We’ll take care of this, sir.”

Thank you, officer.

The driver tapped his brakes, picking up the police radio mouthpiece and speaking into it as the car fell dramatically behind.

I looked at Revik, dumbfounded.

“Go faster,” he said. “They will do the same to us.”

I muttered something about free will, hammering my foot down on the gas. My fingers whitened as the scenery started to blur.

Revik shrugged in answer to a question I hadn’t asked.

“I thought you would prefer that to my killing the driver,” he muttered.

I followed the direction of his eyes through the rear-view mirror, saw the vibrating reflection of the cop car slow beside the truck’s cab, right before I heard the same blare of loudspeaker and warning tap of siren.

A second later, Revik turned to me.

“It’s done. Faster, Allie.”

The Washington cops’ siren blared back into life.

I already had the pedal down hard. Now I pressed it to the floor, feeling my chest constrict as the GTX leapt forward. We were definitely past my comfort zone in terms of my ability to navigate at high speeds. I was on the verge of being out of control when I felt Revik with me in the Barrier, directing my hands. I resisted at first—

Let me. You will learn.

Faintly, a grid appeared, a maze of bright lines that overlaid the scenery and cars. The grid showed how the drivers interacted with one another and the light of the Barrier. I could almost see what each driver would do—

Another blast hit the back of the car.

My eyes snapped to focus as Revik’s mind left mine.

He leaned out the window as I turned, propping the stock against his shoulder and firing. The sound boomed inside the car, deafening, right before I saw the cop car swerve to avoid his shots. The black hood erupted in smoke after Revik’s third shot penetrated the engine block.

The police car swerved again, then rolled.

I heard a squeal of tires, a sound like an explosion, but the crash sounds were rapidly receding already.

I swallowed back bile, trying to focus.

“They seemed nice,” I said. “Like nice people.”

He didn’t answer. A shot hit the back of the car with a loud plink and groan of metal. Revik leaned out again, firing at whoever was shooting at us.

His mind felt closed to me now, so I stared out the windshield, digging my nails into my palms every time drowsiness tried to overtake me, hoping like hell I didn’t kill us both. I was so focused on these two things in fact, staying awake and not crashing from the speed, that I barely noticed the second police car pull up alongside us.

I glanced over in time to see the officer in the driver’s seat reach for his sidearm. I sucked in a breath, ready to duck, but the man unholstered his weapon and held it out to Revik through the window, the handle pointed towards us.

I worried Revik had told him to shoot himself, but...

...the gun simply left his fingers.

It clattered to the road, bouncing behind us.

“Watch the road!” Revik snapped, glaring at me. “I am doing this! You drive!”

I turned back to the windshield.

But his anger had allowed me to feel him again, at least in part.

The gun was as far as he would get with that human; the Rooks already had control over the cop’s mind. The knowing of that fact reflected a bitterness in Revik that surprised me.

...bastard’s doing it on purpose, forcing me to kill as many as he can...

When he looked at me next, anger still hardened his features.

Swallowing, I nodded, trying to let him see that I understood.

* * *

WE APPROACHED SEATTLE.

I glimpsed a skyline to my left, then flashes of buildings through a maze of overpasses dripping with dark green plants.

I recognized landmarks from being here with Jon, but couldn’t read signs with how fast we were going. I’d stopped looking at the speedometer by then, anyway.

Revik was doing something in that other place, so I couldn’t ask for his help to use his grid thing. I felt a few people point and stare at us as we passed. I also saw other vehicles hitting their turn signals and pulling over, moving out of the way of the line of cop cars screaming behind us, clearing the freeway for the chase.

I felt it when the third cop car ceased to be a pull toy between Revik and whoever else.

I felt Revik lose that battle, too, and felt him let go just before the cop accelerated, coming up on us blaring light and sound from his overhead siren. I glanced over in time to see the dark-skinned cop smile at Revik, making an odd flowing up and down gesture with one hand that had the flavor of a taunt.

Whatever it was, it definitely didn’t look human.

Then, whatever held the cop’s body let go, leaving the cop sweaty-faced, determined, and completely focused on the two of us. From his eyes, he fully believed we’d killed his whole family with baseball bats then lit his house on fire.

Revik turned to me, his pale eyes hard.

“Stop the car,” he growled.

I thought I’d heard him wrong. “What?”

Behind him, I saw the Seattle cop raise a shotgun.

Before I could react, Revik grabbed the wheel, jerking it sideways to slam into the cruiser. The cop dropped the shotgun, and I heard his partner yelling excitedly.

“Revik, jesus! What are you—”

“Take that exit! Now, Allie!”

He pointed and I veered, braking to slide across lanes.

I saw the truck driver in the blue flannel shirt, who was still, amazingly, behind us, begin the turn to follow. I glimpsed faces as other, noninvolved drivers reacted, too, their eyes widening in fear as they tried to get out of my way, instead coming even more dangerously close to hitting us.

By some miracle, I slid behind the Washington cop car, in front of a different trucker who honked madly at us.

Then we were past, wincing from the scrape of metal as the GTX grazed his grill.

Revik leaned out the window, firing at the Seattle cop from behind.

He blew out a rear tire with the first shot, smashed the back window with his second. He chambered another round and aimed again, blocking my side view when he climbed up to sit on the passenger side window.

The Seattle cop cut across multiple lanes and again I felt the difference; it was no longer a human driving, but one of those things with lightning-fast reflexes and 360 degree vision. I was forced to brake, saw Revik clutch the window frame as he lost his balance. The Seattle cop swerved, just making it onto the exit off-ramp behind us.

A sign flashed by, too fast for me to read clearly.

I glimpsed white words spelling “Mercer Island.”

Revik slid back in through the window, landing on the seat. When I looked over, his shoulder was bleeding again, a dark, spreading stain under his shirt.

“You are trained in basic firearms use?” he said.

“Right,” I said, loud over the wind and engine. “Dad taught me to shoot cans. I'm practically special forces.”

“Good.” He propped the gun up on the seat between us. “Use it if they get too close.” He added, “Or if I don’t come back.”

“What? Revik, that's not funny, I—”

His body slumped against the seat.

I cursed, swerved into a guardrail, and the GTX threw up sparks as metal grated metal. I gripped Revik’s bare arm in my stubby nails, hard enough to bruise his skin. I shook him, then wondered if I should hit him, like he had me.

“Revik! You've got to be kidding me! REVIK!”

Something smashed into the back of the car.

I was merging into the main sprawl of traffic on the new highway and the truck driver with the blue flannel shirt was in the next lane over. Pulling up alongside the GTX, he aimed the pump-action shotgun out his window.

I hit the brakes like Revik had done, and another cop car hit us from behind. That same cop car forced me along until I accelerated, and then the guy was honking, waving at me to pull over.

A rush of panic made me wonder what would happen if I did.

Even as I thought it, the first Seattle cop drew up next to me on my other side.

...and for an instant, I see him. A metal thread cage ensnares his light, and behind his eyes breathe the orbs of the Rook controlling him. They shine coal red, and he makes his thumb and index finger into the shape of a gun, pointing it at me as his lips stretch in a corpse’s smile.

Bang, bang, little girl.

I snapped out, still miraculously gripping the steering wheel... and feel them in me. They drag at me and I shriek, as if the sound of my own voice might keep my light in my body.

But I can feel myself separating out, losing control of my limbs.

Lowering my head, I bite down on my fingers. My teeth clamp on skin and bone and my light rushes in like a rubber band snapping back.

Pain came with the light. But clarity, too.

I un-clamped my jaw from the red crescent on my knuckles. Blood dripped over the steering wheel once I’d extracted my teeth, but all I could feel was relief.

Just then, everything went dark.

We’d entered a tunnel. My foot mashed down harder on the accelerator.

Orange lights streaked by in irregular lines as cars cast shadows on tile walls. Surrender no longer felt like a good idea. The Seattle cop’s eyes flash red and I realize I am still inside the Barrier, just enough that they are all around me.

I slam my head against the driver’s side window, hard enough to crack it. My head leaves an impact mark surrounded by spider web lines. I am losing it. I feel sick, anemic... like my blood leaches out of me as they pull at me.

I keep my foot jammed on the accelerator as I lean over and snatch at Revik’s seat belt, miss, grab for it again, hooking it in my fingers.

A car slams the GTX from behind, and I lose the silver buckle, curse.

The third time, I dragged the nylon belt over his body and hooked it into the clasp at his side. His skin glistened with sweat, but he looks overly pale.

I hit him with my fist, hard in the side of the head, trying to wake him.

In doing so, I lost control of the car, slamming into the guardrail, leaving more paint and metal as sparks flew before I got the car off the rail again.

Sunlight washed into my eyes, slanting through the windshield as we flew out of the second tunnel. Before me stretched a long bridge with water on either side. The ramp aimed straight for the lake’s surface where the bridge floated on top of the water.

I glanced at Revik.

“Mortal peril,” I muttered. “...Mortal peril.”

I didn’t think. Even so, I saw every flash of metal and sunlight as I swung the wheel. Veering behind a green Jetta, I made a straight line for the right guardrail, beyond which lay nothing but sky and the waters of Lake Washington.

A thick, protective rail stood between us and the water...

...but my mind seems to clasp it somehow, fold it, or maybe not my mind, but suddenly I can see through it...

...and we are through.

Exhilaration lifts me as the car soared.

Then gravity clutched the GTX at the top of the arc. Its nose tipped.

As water rushed to meet us, I could only hold onto the steering wheel, flashing to being on a runaway horse as a kid, where I’d clutched a mare’s black mane, screaming in fear and hysterical laughter. If a thought could have formed in my mind just then, it may have been about death... the transitoriness of all things.

Instead, there was a long, slow silence as the water rushed to meet.

* * *

THE GRILL SLAMMED into the surface of the lake with an enormous splash.

On the bridge, cars swerved, honking, slamming into one another.

An 18-wheeler’s brakes screeched as it followed the GTX’s trajectory towards the gap in the rail. A woman in a Toyota glimpsed round, rough-cut holes in the grill and front fender of that same truck as the metal trailer skidded past her view. It seemed about to follow the GTX over into the lake itself, when the driver swung the wheel, throwing the cab perpendicular as it slid towards the gap in the rail.

The truck’s trailer slammed metal, bending it outwards.

When it finally came to rest with a shudder, the cab faced north, like a dog peering over its shoulder.

In a daze, people exited their vehicles.

Several walked to the rail overlooking blue-gray water. The scream of sirens could be heard approaching from the other side of the tunnel; the dull thud of news and police helicopters grew audible overhead.

All of the onlookers simply stared down at the lake’s depths, at the rings of wavelets forming a perfect circle in the otherwise calm surface. They all looked at that same spot in the water in the center of those rings, searching for the thing they had witnessed smash through a two foot guardrail and fly out over an early morning sky.

But the GTX was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 10

SEATTLE

COLD GREEN SHIMMERED around me, clouds of sand and rising bubbles.

My mind flashed to Monterey Bay Aquarium as a kid, seeing the jellyfish on the other side of the glass as they opened, closed, opened, closed... but this time, glass and metal trapped me inside the tank and freezing cold water, instead of the other way around.

Still feeling dazed and only half-there, I grappled with the car door until fingers gripped my arm, causing me to turn. Once I did, I saw Revik through the green water, eyes open, his long fingers seemingly drained of blood. The knuckles of his other hand bled in red clouds and the window frame behind him bled upwards into the water from an odd-shaped smear, like watching a film happen in reverse.

No Barrier, he sent, so softly I barely heard him.

My mind, everything about me, remained oddly calm.

I squeezed his arm to let him know I understood.

I’ve always been able to see well in water.

Revik hit the locking mechanism of his seat belt clumsily, rising to thump up against the roof of the car as the belt slid off his chest. It was only then that I realized the car was still sinking. Blood swirled around us from his his head and hand. He pedaled his arms to reach me, grabbing for the strap of my own seatbelt, fumbling with the clasp and hitting the button to unlock it from around my body... which still hadn’t occurred to me for some reason.

He got it undone, then held me to keep me from rising too fast.

My body hurt... badly enough to bring the first real flickers of fear.

My limbs only half-cooperated as I jerkingly swam for the open driver’s side window at the prompting of his hands. I’d always been able to hold my breath under water for a long time, too. Jon would time me at the community pool when we were kids, taking bets... but now I was starting to worry about air. I had no idea how far down we were.

I pedaled through bubbles like a crippled dog, aiming my body at the window.

Shards of glass nicked my cheeks and arms... then grated on my leg until I jerked away from the edges of the window frame, emitting a garbled sound as I kicked my way through.

Then I was on the other side, in open water.

I watched the car roof and hood as the GTX sank below me.

Revik swam past me then and I felt his fingers tug my arm, pulling on me to follow.

Looking up, I glimpsed rays and sparkles of light through chunks of green plant matter, remembered anti-drowning training and followed the bubbles. The tugging on my arm grew less once I was swimming alongside him... until I saw clouds and patches of blue sky through a window of clear water. Then he pulled me roughly sideways, guiding me under the surface before I could reach the open air.

By the time he let me rise, I was panicking for real, fighting to pry off his fingers, and the sunlight was gone.

He didn’t let go until we breached the surface together, gasping.

Once I’d filled my lungs with air, choking out the water I’d inhaled, I looked up. We were under the bridge. Land lay a few hundred meters behind where I watched Revik tread water. I glanced at it, saw mostly greenery and rocks, then looked back at Revik himself, watching him gasp to regain his own breath. Massive cement pillars stood to either side of us, and the thundering sound of cars on the bridge overhead echoed over the water.

The sound touched a memory in me.

Something about it brought a wave of fear, and I shivered.

I was still staring up at the underside of the overpass, when Revik’s fingers circled my arm. I felt an apology there, but also fear, enough to take my breath. He looked different with his hair slicked back, and for an instant, I could only stare at his face. I almost didn’t recognize him with how pale he was, exaggerated by the wet hair and the blood on the side of his head.

Only his eyes and mouth looked the same.

“Don’t go into the Barrier.” He was having more trouble than me regaining his breath, and I watched him struggle to speak. “Not even a little, Allie. If they find us––”

“It’s okay,” I told him.

He shook his head. “No. It’s not. Only talk to me like this. Promise me...”

I stared at his face, worried. He didn’t look good.

“Can you swim?” I said.

He looked back over his shoulder, towards shore, still holding my arm, only now it felt like he was using me as a flotation device. I felt him hesitate, as if thinking about my question.

When I started swimming towards land, though, he followed.

* * *

WE REACHED THE rocky shoreline, stopping at each set of cement pillars to let him rest. As if by mutual assent, we didn’t get out of the water right away but traveled south, sliding from one private dock and mooring to the next in a slow procession down the shoreline.

The morning sun disappeared behind cloud cover, which helped turn everything gray when police boats skimmed the water on their way towards the bridge.

I heard the thwup, thwup, thwup of rotary blades, and couldn’t help but follow them with my eyes. Some of the helicopters looked military. I wondered if they were Sweeps, anti-terrorist from our own government, or just navy from down the coast in Tacoma.

We hid under one dock and then the next until our teeth chattered, waiting for them to circle and pass. We didn’t speak, and I tried not to worry as Revik’s breathing grew ragged. Just as the activity really exploded around the bridge and the submerged GTX, we climbed out into a public park, wading over and through thick vegetation that surrounded the last bit of water before it dumped us out on a wide, manicured grass lawn.

I helped him into the trees.

I was likely more conspicuous with my tattered waitressing uniform and bare legs, but he looked worse than me, and not only because of the blood still running down one side of his face. I could only hope no one saw us until we entered the forested park, where the trees made us at least as inconspicuous as your average homeless person. Once we were well out of sight of the shore, I helped him lean against a tree, then slide down to sit.

He was shivering by then, so pale he looked dead.

I looked around for something I might cover him with, then decided speed mattered more. At the moment, the cops were focusing on the car itself. Once they saw no one in it, I knew that would change, and fast.

The adjoining neighborhood didn’t look rich enough to have a grid along the entire coast. If it did, we were screwed already, since our presence would have been recorded and sent automatically to SCARB and local law enforcement. Even so, I had to assume regular, mid-grade upper-middle class suburban security, which meant towers on the streets that took timed images... maybe flyers at night, depending on how paranoid the neighbors were.

Still thinking about this, I squatted next to his legs.

“Revik.” I grasped his arm, tighter, until his eyes opened. “Don’t go to sleep. You can’t sleep, okay? I need to know I can trust you if I leave.”

“There is a safe house—”

“You told me,” I said patiently. “But we’re not going to make it like this. You said it’s downtown, right? And you can’t do anything in the Barrier. So we need to do it the human way. I need to get us clothes. And at least one local ident card, to get us past the gate.”

I saw him look at the wet uniform clinging to my body, my blood-matted hair. He nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I said. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise, Allie.”

* * *

I SLID THROUGH a row of bushes, trying to avoid the road while staying on the edge of park that backed up against the nearest street full of wealthy homes, all of which lined the coast of Lake Washington. I looked for signs of burglar alarms, avoiding houses with cars in the driveway or where I could hear voices or feed stations blaring off screens through the windows.

Thank god, Seattle was nothing like San Francisco.

I found an open back door with no external cameras I could see at about the fourth or fifth house I checked. From a slight rise overlooking a set of backyards that formed a gentle curve around that part of the lake, I spotted the clothesline first and stopped. My fingers clutched the trunk of a tree as I looked for people in the windows and adjacent yards.

Men’s clothing hung from the sagging cotton rope between two maple trees. I saw sheets on another line that went to the other side of the Craftsman-style house. Women’s clothes hung there also in a more colorful line of blues and purples, and what looked like a child’s, but that line was much closer to the back of the house. It was the men’s clothes that drew my eyes. I found myself hoping they were dry, even as I measured the length of the pant legs with my eyes, wondering if they would be remotely close enough to fit him.

A moment later, I slid through a gap in the tall evergreen shrubs that hid the back of the house from the lake’s shore, avoiding the actual footpath and its stone steps down to their private dock. Stepping along the fence, I got as close to the line as I dared without breaking cover, then reached out to tug off a pair of jeans and baggy sweats, grabbing a long-sleeved T-shirt and an only slightly damp sweatshirt from another section of line.

Taking my bundle back into the hedge, I didn’t wait but pulled the bloody and ripped-up white waitressing blouse over my head and left it in the bushes. Then I writhed out of the black miniskirt and even my underwear so that I was stark naked, and freezing my ass off. In less than a minute, I’d pulled on the long-sleeved tee and jeans, rolling up the cuffs on the latter so they rested on the top of my feet and folding over the waist to keep them up without a belt. I left the sweats and sweatshirt in the hedge and looked back up at the house itself.

That’s when I noticed the back door was open.

At first it made me panic. I wondered if someone had seen me, or come outside to collect clothes. When I didn’t hear or see anyone after a few minutes, however, I decided the door had already been open when I got there.

I hesitated only a half-second longer, then crept forward.

I knew we needed money, and this was better than mugging someone.

Time was an issue, too.

I walked to the back door, moving quietly. I tried not to think too much about how I must look, with my hair bunched up with lake gunk in it, my arms and face bloody and bruised. I told myself that these people could afford to be robbed, with a house like this on the lake... and if they found it disquieting that someone had snuck into their house while they were at home, well, that was a small price to pay.

It still didn’t feel great, though.

I peered into a large but dated kitchen with dark oak cabinets and white-tile counters. The linoleum was clean but faded from its original flecked gold and white. On a butcher-block cutting board, I saw an actual homemade pie. Staring at it, seeing the dark berry puree bleeding out of the crust, I felt my stomach grind into a hard knot.

Tiptoeing around the pie to the refrigerator, I opened the door softly, glancing over the contents before grabbing a container of milk and quaffing it. Setting it down carefully so as not to rattle the metal shelf, I pulled out a package of bread, then another plastic package of what looked like real cheese, probably from one of the local farmer’s markets.

As I closed the door softly, I caught sight of the entryway table. On it sat a leather purse, worn to a pale beige from years of use. It looked like something my mom would buy and wear into nothing, too, and suddenly I felt a little sick.

Shoving aside my lingering guilt, I walked with painstaking care down the hall, conscious of any loose floorboards as I lifted and placed my bare feet. I reached the purse and opened the snaps, wincing at the faint click before I tugged it open.

The woman’s wallet lay on top, a faded Gucci with a white and brown pattern along the coin purse. I opened it quickly and quietly, found an ident card and breathed a sigh of relief in spite of my guilt. Tugging it carefully out of the side pocket and shoving it into the front pocket of the stolen jeans, I closed the purse, then hesitated again, seeing the woman’s headset.

I could leave both in the taxi. Minus a few credits, the woman would probably get them both back without too much of a hassle; the cabbie would be legally obliged to turn them in, and they were both coded to her. Hesitating only a second longer, I snatched up the headset, too, and turned for the back door.

I found myself facing a four-year-old boy with dark eyes and dark hair. His mouth fell slightly open as he stared up at me, his eyes growing wider and wider. My heart thudded in my chest, but I held up a hand to reassure him.

“It’s okay, kid,” I whispered. “It’s for a good cause. Tell your mom I’m really sorry.”

The kid stared at me, his almond eyes growing wider still.

Then his mouth dropped open for real.

“Mom!” he shrieked. “Mommy! There’s a dirty lady in here! She has my sammich bread! She has my sammich bread!”

My heart stopped for a half-beat.

...Then I bolted, leaping over and past the boy.

I landed off-kilter on one foot, picked up my weight, stumbled for the door, limping on the ankle I’d just twisted. I knocked into the door frame as I ran by, smacking my shoulder and making a loud clattering noise that echoed into the small clearing.

A screech of lake-rusted hinges followed me as the door swung behind my erratic path. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the door hung crooked on its wooden frame.

I didn’t look back again.

At the small opening in the hedge, I scooped up the clothes I’d stolen for Revik, then ran behind the denser vegetation and through the next backyard over. I made it back up to the wooded park above the row of homes a few minutes later, trying not to think about whether Revik would still be there.

Panting, I ran up to the cluster of roots on to the tree where I thought I’d left him.

He wasn’t there.

My heart stopped again, until I realized I’d gone to the wrong tree.

I found him after I’d already started to panic, skidding to a stop when I saw his long legs splayed. When I saw his eyes closed, I panicked, sure he was dead... but they fluttered open as soon as I crouched beside him.

“I didn’t sleep...” he said. “I didn’t.”

Relieved beyond words, I kissed him on the mouth.

His eyes registered a dim surprise.

“Sorry I took so long,” I said, embarrassed, then grinned. “But hey, look!” I showed him the headset. Fitting it over my ear, I switched it on, even as it occurred to me to hope it didn’t have a DNA key. I knew some of the newer ones did.

Luckily, it wasn’t that new.

I scrolled through the woman’s cached numbers until I found one labeled “taxi.”

“Yeah,” I said when the dispatcher picked up. I waited for her to trace our location. “Yeah, now.” I glanced at Revik, watched him fumble with the sweatshirt I’d brought him. “We’ll be in the parking lot.” I hung up, crouching in front of him again. “You up for this? We can’t go door to door... we’ll have to have them drop us near a bus stop, or downtown. It’s in Chinatown, right?”

He nodded, unbuttoning his shirt.

I continued to stand there as he began struggling out of it. Looking down at his exposed neck and shoulder, I noticed a question-mark scar curling up from his back to his throat, such a pale white color it had to be really old. It wasn’t small though, or particularly light. In fact, it was nearly the width of my index finger.

I hesitated, wondered if I should offer to help, given his condition, then thought better of it and walked off a few paces instead, sitting on the grass with my back to him.

Twisting off the clasp ties, I reached into the plastic bag filled with bread, selected a big piece with dark crust and began munching. It was soft with a crunchy, chewy crust, and at that moment I decided it was the best damned bread I’d ever eaten.

I played lookout while I ate, combing fingers through my hair to get as much gunk out as I could, pausing occasionally to try to clean up my face on the long-sleeved tee.

“Stockholm syndrome,” I muttered, then laughed, stuffing another piece of bread into my mouth and chewing.

I would think about that later.

* * *

THE SUN DIPPED towards late-afternoon before we finally stood in front of a red-painted basement door.

I looked up the cement stairs to the street, where a woman leaned against a telephone pole. Nylons torn, makeup running down her cheeks under a slightly askew wig, she swayed drunkenly on high heels, staring at Revik with half-hearted interest. She saw me looking at her and gestured in a dismissive wave.

“Enjoy yourself, girlfriend.” She burst into a laugh. “That one’s too drunk to fuck, so you be nice... I find him in the gutter tomorrow, I’ll remember your face, honey...”

My eyes found Revik’s. He continued leaning against me, his hand on the wall. He was having trouble breathing.

I said to him, “You sure this is the place?”

He didn’t look at the woman, who called out again, trying to get his attention. “Yes.”

“Hey, lover! Be careful! That one looks like a predator...” She burst into drunken laughter. “Wanna come home with me? I’ll take good care of you. Hey! Tall and dark...”

“This part of town isn’t exactly where I’d put a ‘safe’ house,” I muttered. “You’re sure we’re at the right—”

“Seers have photographic memories, Allie,” he said. “Trust me. It is here.”

Seeing the exhaustion behind the request in his eyes, I gripped him tighter, but still hesitated, staring at the chipped, red-painted door. I was about to walk into a house full of seers. Seers who would probably think I’d done this to him.

And they wouldn’t be that far off.

“Knock, Allie.”

I raised my hand.

The door opened before I could touch the wood.

A woman stood there with stunning dark-red hair that hung in ringlets down either side of her heart-shaped face to bare, pearl-white shoulders. My eyes took in that flawless face, the dark blue eyes that shone almost violet and perfectly drawn lips. Everything about her, from her clothes to her figure to her hair reminded me of an old sex siren from the forties or fifties. The clothes she wore fit so well they could have been made for her.

Or painted on her, perhaps.

The woman smiled, and the smile drew me like a caress.

“Can I help you, friend?”

I glanced at Revik. No wonder he wanted to come here.

He remained outside the circle of light, but I felt his fingers relax slightly when the woman appeared. Turning away from the relief I could see on his face, I looked past her, glimpsing a wider space with more people, but her eyes must have followed mine back to him.

“Revi’!” The violet eyes widened, all trace of coyness gone. “Gods, Revi’! What happened to you?”

Before I could say a word, she stepped forward, not moving me aside so much as sliding into the gap between me and Revik and circling his waist with her arm. She took him for me before it occurred to me to protest, and led him through the doorway. I found myself just standing there, strangely light without him to prop up, but not really relieved, either.

Then another pair of hands dragged me in after the two of them, swinging shut the door.

More people rose from chairs, their faces showing different amounts of surprise. None spoke... aloud anyway. Looking around at all of them without really seeing them, I glimpsed satin dresses and long jackets, faces heavy with make-up with a variety of skin tones and hair textures. The first woman I’d seen appeared to be in charge. She gestured with her free hand to the others, speaking an odd mix of accented English and a language I didn’t know.

“Mira, lock the door! Il’letre ar enge. Ivy, set up the room, yes, ugnete... make sure Sharin knows, and tell her to let the last one out the back...”

The woman with the long red hair stood at a decent height, maybe five-nine, but still looked small where she supported Revik with her shoulder. I saw her caress his back with a ring-adorned hand and felt more than that pass between them.

“That was you on the news!” she said, looking up at him. “I should have known... they intimated terrorism. But we didn't expect you so soon.” As if remembering, she looked over her shoulder at me. Her eyes glowed briefly, taking me in.

“Is this her?”

Revik glanced at me, too. Then he turned away, speaking only to her, using that other language, interspersing his words with a series of clicks.

“Arente ar mulens, sarten,” he said softly. He glanced at me again. “Il en, yet. Igre ar ulen. Bridge,” he added.

The woman stared at me. “Ar li ente u?”

“Ur et estarn. Alyson... ut te Allie.”

The woman looked at me more intently. Her irises blurred just enough that I suspected she was reading my mind. I saw Revik nod to her perceptibly a few seconds later. He gestured fluidly with one hand, ending on a downward slash.

I stood there, arms folded, fighting back emotion that felt more and more like anger. My eyes found his fingers entangled in the woman’s dark red hair, caressing the bare skin of her neck and shoulder.

A pulse of warmth reached me.

I jumped, my face hotter when I realized who had sent it. Then it hit me. He had access to his abilities again.

He met my gaze. Ullysa has a construct on this place. It will keep us hidden from the Barrier proper. We are safe here... for now.

Ullysa made a soft clicking sound that held a trace of amazement, drawing my eyes.

“She is young, Revi',” she said. “I pictured an old man from the Elders’ impressions. Is she trained at all?”

Revik made another of those downward slashing motions.

No, he translated for me.

Ullysa looked up at Revik’s face. “And how did they find you? We were told you got away from San Francisco cleanly.”

“It was my mistake—” Revik began.

“No,” I said. “It wasn’t.”

Ullysa looked at me in surprise.

Her expression suddenly grew much harder for me to read. She bowed politely as I thought it, indicating around the room with her free hand. I couldn’t help but notice her other hand was now under the sweatshirt Revik wore, caressing his bare back.

Realizing I was staring, I looked away, folding my arms tighter.

“Wait here, please,” she said politely. “...Esteemed Bridge.”

I held up my hands, not hiding my annoyance. “Sure thing.”

She left the room with Revik, whose eyes I avoided, only to meet other stares aimed at me from different parts of the room. Shrugging deliberately, I plopped down on one of the plush chairs. A number of seers had risen to stare at me. Most of those stares felt mainly curious, but I felt hostility there, as well. Maybe I was too tired to be afraid, or too angry, or too stupid, but I avoided looking at any of them, even to smooth over the silence.

Eventually, though, I met one woman’s gaze in particular. Her eyes were predatory, but beneath that, I felt a lot of anger.

Great. This woman actually felt dangerous.

“Should we call his owner?” a girl asked from another part of the room. She sounded worried... and sane, at least. “He’ll be in trouble, won’t he?”

“What is the point?” The predatory woman’s eyes remained on me. Her accent was thick, and sounded Slavic. Russian, maybe. “His owners will have declared him rogue by now... cut a deal with SCARB to avoid attention.”

“But I thought his job was classified. Even among the humans, don’t they—”

“Well, they may not tell the human news crews what he did for them,” the Russian said, rolling her eyes at the other’s words. “But that does not mean they will not shoot him down like a dog now.” Her eyes returned to mine. “What do you think, little girl? You were raised human.”

Her full lips curled, but it wasn’t really a smile.

“Would you kill him?” she taunted. “...Or play with him awhile first?”

A few of the other seers snickered.

I tried looking from face to face openly, the way Cass would have done.

When the other seers only avoided my eyes, I focused back on the Russian. The woman had her hair piled in braids around an angular but striking face with caramel-colored skin. Her brown eyes shone with so much light that I found myself fighting a kind of fear reaction just trying to hold her gaze.

Her full lips curved higher, so I knew she was reading my mind, too.

She stood beside a short Asian with a wide face and dark hair hanging down the center of her back. So not all seers were tall—good to know. Both of them wore silk robes that covered only the top of their thighs.

“Does it bother you, that we are whores?” the Russian asked me, folding her arms. “Would it bother you to know he sells it, too? But then, we seers are all ‘big sex,’ yes?” Anger colored her voice again, but once she saw my face, her predatory smile returned.

“Ah, you do not like what I say. But Revi’ is a whore... of many kinds. Offer him money. See what he says.” She grinned around at the others. “We seers always need money!”

More laughter rose. A few other seers held my stare that time, too, and smirked at me knowingly. Their expressions and bodies seemed to shift around me, a sea of hair and skin and glowing eyes, and they looked like animals to me, I couldn’t help it. They gestured to one another and their voices echoed in my head, seeming to come from all sides.

Has she tasted him yet?

No. I do not see him in her.

No wonder she is so angry...

Laughter rings, in my mind and outside. My head pounds, but my body feels far away, like a shank of meat on a hook. I close my eyes, trying to block them out.

Do you think it was she who beat him half dead?

Knowing Revi', he liked it...

A few more of them laughed.

He was hungry... even under all that. Do you think she refused him?

Not this one. She is hungry too.

Maybe he is forbidden? By the elders, I mean. Maybe he is not allowed, with his penance.

Did he ask you for it, little girl?

This last is directed at me, and comes from the Russian with that angular face and light-filled eyes and long, brown legs. The rest of the prostitutes fall silent, waiting for my answer.

I look around at them, knowing there is no good answer, no good not-answer.

Finally, I just fold my arms, sinking deeper in the plush chair.

They all laugh again. The room is half in darkness now. Their faces flicker, in and out, negative to positive. The Russian smiles nearest to me.

You don't know what you're missing, little sister...

I struggle to work my tongue. I am too angry, tired and in pain to care anymore if they hurt me. “Look,” I say. “We're not related, Miss...?”

Kat. I am Kat, and I have tasted him. Would you like to know how often? In what ways?

Images swirl briefly, a taste of the flavor of him, and my body reacts involuntarily, a thick surge of that nausea bringing heat to my face.

Kat laughs, and the images recede.

Yes... she is hungry for brother Revik. Kat looks around at the room. But is it him in particular, I wonder? She is new to our kind, after all. Maybe she would like one of her other brothers just as much? Who will break her in for the rest of us?

My fists curl. I don’t turn my head towards any of the males I now feel looking at me with interest. The tiredness is debilitating; if they’re not just having fun with me, there’s no way for me to know. I see a wine bottle, half full on the table.

I let my hand wander closer—

Stop! A voice breaks through the others. You are going too far... she thinks you mean it! The short, Asian female steps closer, and I realize it is her voice. She looks at me with curiosity, but also sympathy. She can’t help what she’s been taught. She’s scared, Kat. You’re being mean.

Mika is right, says a warm voice, chiding the Russian. And the girl does like him. You should not tell her of his trade. It is not your place.

Kat snorts. I am educating her. What does she think he's doing with Ullysa right now?

Don’t be silly, says another. He’s wounded.

He is never that wounded!

Another roll of laughter twangs strings of light, this one warmer, more genuine. I blink, try to focus my eyes.

The mature-sounding voice returns. My head turns; I can almost distinguish them now. An African-looking woman stands in the back, smiling at me with dark eyes.

Retract your claws, Kat. She’s only a cub.

She wants to know... look at her!

She doesn’t want to know. You are angering her, Kat... and you are jealous.

Jealous? Of what? Why would he play with a half worm, when there is no money in it?

He wants anything with a pulse, a male voice laughs. And her soul may look like an old man, but she is beautiful... her light pulls. Of course he wants her... I want her. The paradox alone is intriguing, even without those eyes...

I am exhausted. I’m fighting to stay awake when another presence enters the room. The others fall silent, and it is a schoolyard silence, children caught tormenting a wounded animal.

Even Kat steps back, looking defensive.

“What is going on in here?” Ullysa says.

I am standing. When had I gotten to my feet?

Just having a little fun, big sis, Kat sends.

I look at Kat, and the woman’s eyes pulse, more schoolyard politics, this time a warning from the head bully to remain silent. But I don’t even care anymore. I feel sick, more tired than I can remember feeling. I want to go home, make sure my mother’s all right, and Jon... and Cass. To hell with these people.

Now that Revik is okay maybe they’ll just let me leave.

“You cannot leave, sister.” Ullysa’s eyes reflect alarm, maybe at my thoughts, or maybe at something she sees in my face. “There is no home to which you could return. I am sorry. Did you not watch the feeds?”

I shake my head, but I can’t let myself think about her words. Putting out a hand like a zombie, I lean my weight on a chair.

Fuck it. If they wanted to screw with my head, or rape me or whatever, there wasn’t a hell of a lot I could do about it. Maybe I wouldn’t even remember.

When I glanced up, Ullysa was staring at me again. Then her eyes turned to glass, reminding me of Revik’s before they swiveled to face the rest of the room.

Her anger flared, a red streak in the dark.

She was begging for it! Kat said, before Ullysa could speak. Her sad, human eyes on our brother's ass...

Ullysa fury pulsed higher. “Do you know who this is? Do you have any idea what you are doing right now?”

Stepping towards me, she ignored my flinch and took my arm.

I stood there, feeling like some kind of poster child, and not liking that much, either. She spoke quietly though, warmly, and at each word, I felt a little less strung out.

“I am very sorry to have left you alone, Esteemed sister,” she said. She glared around at the seers filling the rest of the room. “...I would never have done so, if I knew my own people would shame me in such a way.”

Her eyes returned to mine, and softened.

“I wanted only to look at the nature of his wounds. Right now, more than anything he requires sleep, and that is better done in pairs.” She glanced at Kat. “...He asked for you,” she added pointedly.

I didn’t know which of us she meant, and at that point I didn’t much care.

When she looked at me that time, Ullysa smiled. A flicker of relief shone in her violet-tinged eyes as they met mine. “He is very weak. Did you feed him at all, sister?”

I had to think about this. I shook my head. “No. I stole some stuff. He wouldn’t eat it...” I trailed, hearing the prostitutes snicker.

Ullysa’s voice remained gentle. “Sister... I meant light. Did you give him any of your light?”

I blinked, trying again to think.

Finally, I could only shake my head.

“I don’t understand.”

Kat broke out, “You see? She acts like one of them. Thinks like one of them!”

Ullysa’s eyes flashed fire. “She is only recently awakened, and you should know why that is! You are embarrassing me, Kat!” She turned to me, her fire dimming back to that warm ember. “I will show you, sister. Please come with me.”

I followed her, giving a last glance at Kat, who was staring at me, her brown eyes glowing in anger. I turned away from her once I saw the fury reflected there, and pushed it from my mind a second later, focusing on the hallway itself.

Plush, dark-green carpet cushioned my bare feet, feeling heavenly after walking over and around sharp stones, trash and glass on the cement sidewalks. Hanging on the corridor walls, tapestries depicted colorful dragons belching fire, people in Asian-looking costumes floating or riding on clouds, fantastical-looking animals that may have been lions with curling blue and green hair. I touched the face of a giant white dog with bared teeth.

Ullysa smiled. “They are Chinese. Given to me before the Cultural Revolution.”

I nodded, but didn’t speak, or even look away from the walls.

We turned down a few more forks in the long hallway, and I realized the apartment must be huge, not really an apartment at all but more like a flat, or perhaps they owned the entire building. Eventually, after what felt like the length of a football field, I followed Ullysa into a square room with a white door.

The building must be set in a hill, I thought.

The side I was on now faced the downward slope, as windows showed us to be aboveground, rather than on the first floor, like before. In front of those same windows, rust-colored drapes hung from rods below a low, red ceiling. An even thicker, gold-white carpet sank under my bare feet. I glanced towards the bed, and over the headboard saw another painting, this time of a round-eyed god riding a lion. He spat fire below an elaborate headdress of looping tongues of flame. Next to him, I saw an image of what might be a buddha, only with a stack of heads rising like a cone from his torso.

“She likes the paintings, Revi’,” Ullysa said. “Especially the thankahs.”

I glanced down, and saw him looking at me from the bed. The sweatshirt was gone, but he didn’t look like he’d been doing the big sex, like Kat had said. He gestured delicately to the woman who sat next to him in a chair, stitching up his shoulder.

As soon as he had, she pressed a palm to his forehead.

When she took her fingers away, his eyes were closed. Seeing him lying there so still and pale, I stepped closer to the bed, my hands shoved deep in my pockets.

“He will sleep now.” The woman stitching his shoulder... or girl really, I realized, now that I stood closer... smiled. Her bleached, platinum hair stuck up in curled tufts around an elfin face. “I let him stay awake until he saw you... but no more. I am sorry.”

I hesitated, not sure I was ready for more bad news.

“Is he all right?” I said.

“The shot was clean,” she assured me, tugging the thread up by the needle, pulling his skin taut. “Physically, he will recover well. He has lost a lot in structure, though,” she said more somberly. “...That will take longer.” The elfin face turned to mine. “Will you hold for him?”

My mind puzzled over this for a few beats. I glanced at Ullysa.

“We will all provide light,” Ullysa explained to me. “But one person serves as a conduit. Ivy is asking if you will take that role.”

I still didn’t get it. I nodded anyway.

Ullysa’s smile warmed. “As in many things, the best way to learn is by doing.”

My jaw tightened. “I’d rather not use a dying guy as my test case. You’re his friends... why don’t one of you do it?”

Ivy glanced up at me in surprise. “He asked for you.”

My cheeks warmed. “Fine. But I’m not exactly qualified. And I’m pretty damned tired myself, if you want the truth.”

Ullysa took my arm, guiding me gently towards the bed. “You must be very, very tired, sister,” she said, her voice a near purr. “This requires no strength or effort, I assure you... merely structure, and you have that in abundance. We will do the rest.”

I stared at Revik’s body sprawled on the dark orange comforter. Ivy was knotting the stitching on his shoulder. I watched until she glanced up, smiling as she bit off the excess thread. A pulse of warmth reached me from the girl’s light as she did it, like what Revik had done to me in the other room. It seemed to be a form of affection... or reassurance maybe... like a hand on the arm at hello. The simple gesture brought my emotion surging to the surface.

“Is my family all right?” I said. “Has there been anything on the feeds about them?”

The warmth from Ivy increased.

She nodded. “Interviews were released by SCARB. They have all said you are innocent... that you would not hurt anyone.” Ivy clicked softly. “No avatars, of course, but we will protect them. We believe the Rooks were behind that, the showing of their real faces...”

“No avatars?” I said. “What did they look like?”

Ivy rolled her eyes up in thought. “A very sad and worried woman with dark curly hair and large eyes who they say is your mother. A handsome man with streaked hair, Chinese writing on his arms, and broad shoulders who is your brother. A Thai girl with hair like Ullysa’s and who wears dark lipstick...” Ivy held her hands out to approximate Cass’s generous chest, and I laughed in spite of myself. Ivy smiled. “They seemed very nice.”

I felt myself take a breath. “Then they’re okay.”

Ivy smiled. “They are fine, Esteemed Bridge.”

I hesitated, staring at her.

Esteemed Bridge. Those were the exact words the other woman had used... and the same ones Revik called me whenever he didn’t forget and call me Allie instead. Or when he was stressed out and wanted me to do something, like when he’d been dragging me across Golden Gate Park by the wrist, trying to get us out of San Francisco.

Before I could ask, Ullysa pushed gently at my back until I sat on the edge of the bed.

She very efficiently removed the jeans I’d stolen off the clothesline earlier that day, leaving me with the long-sleeved T-shirt and nothing else. I slid my legs under the quilt, not caring. Lying down was followed by unspeakable relief as I sank between clean sheets. I watched Ivy continue to work over Revik, bandaging his shoulder. If I’d known him even a little better, I might have curled up on his other side, maybe even wrapped my arm around him.

I was tempted to do it anyway.

I turned to Ullysa, but she held up a hand.

“Shhh, Esteemed sister. Do not talk. I apologize profoundly for the lack of warmth in your greeting here. Revi’ has already told us that you saved his life several times...”

I was about to argue, then decided she probably didn’t care.

“What do I do?” I said. “The holding thing, I mean?”

“Relax,” Ullysa said.

This time it was a command.

My eyelids immediately closed.

Chapter 11

VOW

I STAND IN a field.

Grasses pool at my feet, flooding down the hill below me like ocean waves. The wind stirs them into rippling patterns, woven wildflowers creating a mosaic of dusty pinks and purples in the cold, clean air, and I am awake, more awake than I can ever remember being. Snow-covered mountains loom above where I stand, jagged and coarse, and incredibly still. Those mountains have their own presence, even apart from the sky and towering clouds, and I look up at them, drinking in their beauty until...

He pulls on me, turning my head.

He stands there, alone, staring up at those same mountains, his long form utterly still.

He doesn't seem to see me, but I feel him all around me, as if I’m looking at him through him... as if I am inside him, too.

This place, it is a part of him, somehow.

* * *

...I WALK A corridor now, barefoot.

It is carpeted, with high-walled, dark wood paneling, oiled to a lustrous shine. Lamps hang down the center of the ceiling at regular intervals, made of crystal and iron. They flicker as I walk past, but I am a ghost here, invisible. Brightly-colored paintings garnish muted wallpaper, as different from the paintings on Ullysa’s wall as they can be. I trace them with my eyes—white men on muscled steeds, Wagner-esque with a hint of Valhalla. The riders’ expressions mirror one another, stern but wise, unintentionally cartoonish.

Through an open doorway, a harsh, emotional voice speaks over the crackle of an ancient radio.

Servants stand over it, listening. They don’t notice me, but I recognize the voice, even understand the words, although in the real world I don’t understand German.

“God knows that I have indeed wanted peace...”

Ahead, the sounds of a larger party beckon.

The man’s strident words pull at me, inexorable.

“...We were forced to fight. In the face of such malice, I can do nothing but protect the interests of the Reich with such means as, thank God, are at our disposal...”

Voices grow louder from the room off the corridor ahead. I hear laughter interspersed with the murmur of conversations, some of it tinny and off-kilter, drunk-sounding.

A cluster of men walk towards me, wearing uniforms.

“...They were bound to regard this action as a provocation emanating from the State that once had set the whole of Europe on fire and had been guilty of indescribable sufferings. But those days of using seers and Jews to fight the battles of men are now past. An error we regret, one we will not repeat...”

Four men approach in that group. Soldiers. I recognize the color and shape of their uniforms and what they mean, their import, but here, the clothing feels mundane.

They speak German, like the radio.

“The Fuhrer’s speech is not finished,” a tow-headed boy of maybe seventeen says. He shoves a cap back on his head, rubbing his forehead. “We shouldn’t have left.”

The man next to him throws an arm over his shoulder. “Aw, read the text in the papers. I need something stronger to drink... and there are nothing but dogs in that pen.” Drunk already, he grins, eyes bleary. “...At least that I could bark at without getting shot!” He laughs, slapping the tow-headed one in the back of the head. “Dogs! Ha!”

A third looks over, a giant with dark hair and thick lips. His arm, when he raises his flask, is the size of my thigh.

“My god... you didn’t have the view I did. Did you see Rolf's wife? Holy Christ.”

“What an ass on her!” tow head says, smiling.

“And she has that look—” the drunk one leers.

“—Like you want to surprise her,” the giant says. “Yes, I saw. Lucky bastard.”

The fourth one listens intently. Of them, his eyes shine clearest, a blue that looks like steel in a ferret-like face. His uniform is the least rumpled, the least sweat-stained. He also wears a slightly different insignia at his collar.

“He should not have brought her here,” he says only, into the silence.

Tow-head takes the flask from his giant friend. “He’s in love. It’s romantic, isn’t it?”

The ferret-faced man’s German remains clipped. “It is no excuse for stupidity. Blauvelt was not subtle in his attentions. I would not want the assignments Rolf pulls after this meeting.” He mutters, softer, “...Especially with his pedigree.”

“What?” the giant asks. “What did you say?”

“Aww, who cares?” the drunk one says. “He’d cut our balls off if we breathed on her. Let’s go find our own tail... some that doesn’t have a Luger attached to it.”

They walk through me and past me down the corridor from which I’ve come, as if I were a puff of smoke. I watch them leave out another door, but my feet compel me to continue in the other direction.

The sounds of the party grow louder. I follow the clink of glasses, the low murmur of voices, but above this, the rise and fall of the emotional speech dominates. Occasionally the words are broken by wild applause, both by those in the room ahead of me and by a crowd far bigger that carries through the loudspeakers themselves.

“...The training of our officers is excellent beyond comparison. The high standard of efficiency of our soldiers, the superiority of our equipment, the quality of our munitions and the indomitable courage of all ranks have combined to lead at such small sacrifice to a success of truly decisive historical importance. What need have we of homo fervens? Of Syrimne? Should we weaken our humanity further by dependence on foreigners and half-breeds...?”

Another swell of thunderous clapping drowns out his words.

I enter a room with ceilings two or three times the height of the corridor. A giant banner cascades down a fireplace of river-polished stones. I stare up at the black swastika riding the center of a white circle on a blood-red background.

Away from the crowd gathered under metal speakers, men in uniform talk in small clusters, eating and drinking with women in party clothes that make them look like gaunt, long-necked birds. The ecstatic voice can be heard from speakers in the high walls, as if it lived in the ceiling, like a voiceover in a movie... or God. Even those talking amongst themselves split their attention, soaking up his words as one breathes in air.

My attention is drawn to a group standing off by itself.

An older man in a medal-covered uniform smiles, listening to a beautiful woman with dark hair and wide eyes, who looks embarrassed as she answers a question in a low voice. Her curved body is draped in a glittering blue dress and pressed into the side of a harder body next to hers. Her thick, dark hair is piled in elaborate curls on top of her head, studded with diamond-like pins that match her dangling earrings and the stones on her dark blue shoes.

She clutches the hand of the man next to her, who is tall, who wears a German infantry uniform that is at least a few cuts above the rank and file. As I focus on the three of them, I hear their words.

“...We will have these English scum routed in no time, do you not agree, Rolf?” The older man takes his eyes off the dark-haired woman, staring up at the tall man at her side. “What have you to report from the front of late?”

The taller man takes a drink from a glass half-filled with ice and amber liquid.

I can’t flinch exactly, nor feel real surprise, not in this place... but I stop walking when I see Revik’s profile. Except for the clothes and haircut, subtleties in his expression and posture, he looks exactly the same as when I last saw him, minus the bruises and with a bit more weight on his long frame.

He glances at the woman, his light eyes as still as glass. He tugs her closer before he looks at the man across from them, who frowns.

Revik’s voice is low, familiar in all but its tone, which is not quite insolent, but close to bored... younger somehow.

“With all respect, Commander Blauvelt,” he says. “These British are stubborn. It will be months yet before they fall. And if the Americans become involved...”

The man waves a hand, irritated.

“...They will not.”

“Fine,” Revik returns evenly in German. “But Churchill has been astute in cultivating a friendship with the American President. We would be fools to discount his charms entirely.” He smiles, shaking his glass towards the loudspeakers. “Especially when our Fuhrer does not.”

Blauvelt frowns in disbelief.

Revik gazes out over the room, his light eyes narrow.

“...The American taste for isolationism may run out. Or the ability of their arms manufacturers to quell the outcry over the distress in Europe. If they were to feel themselves threatened by any of our incursions on the sea, or if we were to let our gaze go too far East...”

He trails as the dark-haired woman tugs sharply on his hand. Her eyes hold a warning when they meet his. Shrugging, Revik leaves off, but I see the hardness that touches his mouth.

Blauvelt notices none of this.

He waves a gloved hand, having decided to dismiss the alternate view, rather than honor it with anger.

“You are saying I must tremble in fear over a fat old man on a tiny island because of his cripple friend? Bah! They warned us about France’s mighty armies as well! And the legion of seers supposedly commanded by the English...” Blauvelt smiles at the dark-haired woman, who glances to Revik with worried eyes.

“...Your husband would have us fear the gypsies next, Frau Schenck! What do you make of this poor display? Or are you merely wondering how he and I could be such tremendous bores in such enchanting company as yourself... and when you are wearing such a lovely gown?”

Frau Schenck smiles, still clutching Revik’s hand. There is a moment where husband and wife look at one another, and I cannot help but see the intensity that comes briefly to his light eyes, or how her expression softens.

Blauvelt, watching them look at one another, frowns.

* * *

...AND I BLINK against a gust of cold wind.

I clutch my body, shivering as I look out over a bleak landscape of dark and torn earth, winding, muddy ruts cut through iced-over snow. The horizon seems to go on forever, broken only by heavy carts drawn by shaggy horses who stomp and paw at the icy ground, huddled with humans for warmth, their ribs sticking out even through their thick coats.

A man lies in the snow not far from me, features blurred by a thin layer of water frozen on his face. His ice-filled hair sticks up like fine grass. Dark, rust-colored streaks stand out on his chest and one upraised hand, soaking the wool coat wrapped around his emaciated frame. His eyes are stuck in an expression of agony.

I look to the endless plain of white and black, and see more bodies, a line that stretches to where land meets a heavy sky. Columns of smoke hang in that streak of gray. As if the sound comes back on, an explosion breaks the quiet some way in the distance.

A soldier approaches, stepping around bodies.

Behind him stand more wagons, and now I really see the men leaning against them to shield from the cold. Some are wrapped in heavy coats, rubbing hands together and blowing on fingers, faces wrapped in gray scarves... but most are not. One works over a body while I watch, trying to pry a wool coat off stiff arms, stomping and cracking ice and bone with his boot.

The approaching soldier speaks from within a few feet.

“Heil Hitler,” he says, raising his hand.

I look back, flinching when I see how close he stands to me.

Revik lowers his hand from the returning salute, wrapped in a winter coat, wearing a cap of the German Wehrmacht. Breath comes out of his lips in thick clouds. He has a beard, and his eyes reflect back the sky in darker tones. With one boot, he prods at a body frozen in the snow by where he stands.

“They have found more, then?” he says in German.

“What? Found what, sir?”

“Glow eyes.” Revik’s own shift up. “Jews. Communists. Are they bringing them back alive, or just shooting them?” He half-smiles, his voice bitter. “...Because we could use the bullets.”

I stare at him, more shocked by his eyes than his words.

“Sir.” The soldier takes a breath. “Sir... we cannot remain here. Russian infantry traveling south from Rostov, moving fast. The panzers are stuck in the mud a few miles up—”

“Pull them back,” Revik says. “Those in the town, too. I imagine their fun is spent... or their tolerance for the smell of burning flesh, at least.” The bitterness edges towards what lies under it now, something more raw, that edges into hatred.

“Do as I say, Lieutenant,” he says, when the other hesitates. When the soldier turns to go, however, Revik’s voice stops him.

“Any news on von Rundstedt?”

I cannot tear my eyes from Revik’s face, lost in the unhappiness I see there.

“Sir.” The man hesitates again. “The advance divisions were forced to turn back. Von Rundstedt has been, well... replaced, sir. For health reasons is the word of the office.” At Revik’s harder look, the soldier’s face reddens. “...We are to be led by General von Reichenau in the next attempt. You are in charge of the Eleventh until von Reichenau can evaluate our status.”

Revik’s expression hardens more. Stomping snow off his boots, he turns, gazing out over the body-strewn field. The feeling in his eyes is gone by the time he completes the motion. He clasps black-gloved hands at his back.

“And my recommendation to Berlin?” he says. “We could be helping them in the West...”

“Denied, sir. Blauvelt felt—”

“Blauvelt?” Revik’s eyes turn to ash. “Is our Fuhrer no longer deciding strategy on the Eastern Front? It is fallen to his swine, instead?”

The other hesitates. Stepping closer, he lowers his voice.

“Sir... when I spoke to his man, he had news, sir... a message. He claimed to know you, and recommended me to assist him in this...” The man’s voice trails as Revik’s eyes narrow.

“Well?”

The man takes a breath. “It’s about your wife, sir...”

Revik’s face grows whiter than the snow flurrying around them in dry bursts. He is reading the man’s mind now, and no longer hears the words coming from his lips.

The world fades around the wind-chapped face of the unnamed soldier speaking to him earnestly. Details remain with me briefly, the smell of rotting corpses and unwashed clothes, burnt flesh imprinted permanently behind his eyes, knowing that friends and even relatives burned in those ovens, that the humans are no longer simply doing it to one another...

Then, all of it is gone.

* * *

...I JERK BACK, indoors, in a dated room that doesn’t feel dated here.

A mirror hangs over the fireplace. Fresh flowers bloom yellow blossoms over a flower-patterned vase with wing-like handles. I gaze into reflective glass, see a room washed in dusty pinks and rosewood trim. Lamplight warms a stained-glass shade from a table beside a standing wardrobe. A thin carpet of eggshell blue lays over the hardwood floor.

For a moment, the sounds of wet wood crackling distract me.

Then I hear breathing... the heavy, half-expressed breaths of a rhythm I recognize. I look at the bed. Tufts of gray hair stand unevenly across a man’s bare shoulders and in patches along the sides of his thick back. He lets out a low grunt.

The woman under him, I recognize. Her brunette hair lays in an artful fan on the bed, and she smiles at him. I feel a shiver of revulsion; it’s gone before I realize it’s not mine.

The woman is tired. I feel her unhappiness like a shroud...

The door slams open and I turn.

The sound is loud, but I can only watch, unsurprised to see him, although he looks different to me now, older than he’s ever looked to me, his eyes nearly black as he stands in shadow by the door. My gaze drifts to his white, long-fingered hands, and I see them clutching the wooden handle of an ax.

The woman has seen him too. Her voice is filled with terror, but not for herself. Her words come out in a near wail.

“Rolf! Rolf, no! Darling, no!”

He is walking to them in a straight line, his long legs moving with a quiet grace I recognize from a park on the other side of the world over seventy years in the future.

“Rolf! They know what you are!”

He doesn’t look at his wife, but at the stretch of skin and tufted hair.

He swings the ax before he has completed his last stride, embedding it between the man’s shoulder blades. It sinks down to the thickest part of the blade.

Revik slams the wooden stock forward, ripping it out with a thick, wet sound and Blauvelt screams and screams and screams...

Revik’s wife screams with him.

Unflinching, his face a mask of emptiness, Revik raises the blade and swings again...

* * *

...I AM LOST. I am lost.

A farmhouse lays buried in snow, two forms huddled in ratty blankets, a man and a woman. The woman is pregnant, at least seven months, and she is asleep, though the man is not.

Revik lays in the dark, watching the snow fall through the square window at one end of the hay loft, and his face looks almost dead to me now.

His eyes sharpen with a sudden flash of light, and he raises his head.

His skin is whiter, his weight less. His beard is shorter, and unevenly cut.

He is listening. There is a resignation in his eyes as he looks down at his wife. She has lost weight also, and her dark hair is matted with dirt, limp on the straw by her hollow cheeks and eyes bruised with fatigue. When the doors burst open below, he hesitates, then shakes her gently awake. Hearing the sounds in the barn, she stiffens, clasping his arm.

“We are caught,” he says quietly. “They know we are here.”

Her eyes widen like a frightened animal. “No—”

“You need a doctor, Ellie.”

She starts to argue, but he puts a finger to her lips. He is just sitting there when the SS Commander lifts his head above the lip of the hayloft, holding a Lugar. Before the man can speak, Revik sits up, raises his hands so they are visible.

“Rolf Schenck?”

Revik nods. “That is me.”

“You are under arrest.”

His wife, still half-lying beside him, bursts into tears.

* * *

...DARKNESS FILLS ME, cold. I hear her last words to him. She thinks he let them be caught, and there is some truth to that, too.

He did not do it for the reasons she thinks.

He has no place to take her, not anymore.

You want to die so much? I hope they torture you! I hope they beat you half to death...

She bursts into tears, clutching at him, begging him.

...And then she is gone, too.

There is nothing to push against, nothing with which to push. A faint whisper of voices speaks softly, a tinge of warmth that he will not let near enough to feel. The light is gone.

It is gone.

* * *

...I WAKE IN the dark.

The mind-numbing disinterest remains.

Anger lives here, as well, a wanting of... something. That something is death, but death itself feels unsatisfactory. His muscles hurt from disuse, and of all things he would like to use now, it is them.

He amuses himself with their minds instead, if they are foolish enough to be alone with him. He flexes the only muscle he can, and ignores the voices that grow fainter and fainter as he learns new trails in the light.

They know what he is.

His marriage is void. He was never married.

He gets the followers, too... those who believe him an angel beside them who think him a devil. He doesn’t discriminate; he hates them all. His wife gets her wish, too. They beat him when they’re bored, but it’s never enough... for them, or for him.

He has forgotten the reason that brought him here, the thing that once seemed so important.

It is a story to him now, and childish. In any case, his own people will not come for him now. Not anymore. Perhaps not even before he became a murderer.

This will all end soon. He knows enough to allow it to happen. He sits, leaning on a stone wall. His hands crumple together in his lap, his wrists encased in iron chains. His face is covered in bruises. His skin twitches when a fly alights on a cut, but he does not brush it away.

It happens again. And again.

Then... a clanking emerges from outside.

The door opens and Revik squints as two men enter. Surprise touches his light; his internal clock tells him it is too soon. But these are not priest and guard. The first man is of medium build and wears expensive clothes. Where his face should sit, I see only a blur, a movie screen on which several movies are being projected at once.

The second man I know from Golden Gate Park.

Like Revik, Terian does not appear to have aged. He wears the black uniform of the Gestapo. On him, it looks like a party costume.

“Rolf Schenck?” the man who is not Terian says.

Revik looks the two men over. He doesn’t know either of them.

“I've answered all of your... questions,” he says. “Or would you like to hit me some more?” He raises his bound hands. “Maybe you could take these off? I could use the exercise.”

Terian laughs, nudging the man with no face.

“I'll hit him, sir,” he says. “He seems to want it so badly.”

“No.” The new man’s focus stays on Revik. “No. I think we could find better ways to spend our time together. Perhaps, as Terian here believes, we could be frank with one another, yes?”

Revik gives Terian a dismissive look, looking at the man with no face.

“Does he make you feel safe, worm?” he says only.

The faceless man smiles through his shifting countenance.

“You are operating under a misconception, Rolf. I do not speak for the Reich, nor for any of the human governments. I would like to offer you a job. One you’ll find interesting, I think, even apart from your current lack of options.”

Revik scans the human in the expensive clothes. He cannot read this faceless man. He assumes the seer with him shields them both.

He lets his hands fall to his lap, shrugs.

“I'll be otherwise engaged. Or hadn't they told you they plan to cut off my head?”

Terian laughs, and Revik’s eyes flicker back to his.

“I told you, sir.” Terian smiles, looking at Revik like he’s his favorite new toy. “He will be well worth our time... once we’ve honed the snarl a bit.”

The faceless man acts like he doesn’t hear. “I think we can help you with your little problem, Rolf,” he says. “Or should I just call you Revik? Living amongst us hasn't made you forget yourself entirely, I hope?”

Revik’s eyes swivel to Terian, this time in utter disbelief.

“Yes,” the faceless man says. “I know who you are. Not only Rolf Schenck, German patriot, but Dehgoies Revik, seer of clan Arenthis.”

Revik continues to look only at Terian. He speaks in that other language next, the one with the clicks and rolling purrs.

Only this time, I understand him.

“What game is this?” Revik says to the other seer. “You gave our clan keys to a human? The elders will hang you for this...”

It is the faceless human who answers him though, using the same language.

“Rules were broken, it is true,” he says, gesturing smoothly, seer-like. Revik follows the motion with his eyes, his expression stunned. “But you can be selective with rules as well, Rolf. Such as the one against choosing a mate from among the females of my kind.”

He clucks his tongue ruefully.

“...For these things tend to happen with humans, do they not? Sadly, my kind does not have the same respect for loyalty. Nor do most in my race understand the true repercussions of commitment...” His hands open as if in prayer.

I see a ring on his finger, what looks like an Iron Cross.

“She was lovely, cousin,” he adds. “I am sorry you lost her to such a vile representative of my species. Truly.”

Revik’s eyes change. For the first time, they belong to the Revik I know. The anger and youth is leached out of them.

“What do you want?” he says.

I glance at Terian, who is smiling. His gaze is predatory too, like he sees that thing in Revik, and wants it.

“My name is Galaith,” the faceless man says. “Perhaps you have heard it?”

There is a silence. Then Revik snorts a short laugh.

“You are the scourge of the seer world?” he says. “The one who downed Syrimne, single-handed? You are lying...”

Terian takes a step closer, his humor less visible now.

Galaith holds up a hand to each of them, like a teacher breaking up a fight at school.

“Who I was is perhaps less important than who I have become,” he says diplomatically. He asks Revik, “Why have you not simply walked out of this cell, cousin? If you wanted out, they could not hold you.”

Revik lets his shoulders unclench. Still eyeing Terian, he shrugs, folding his arms tighter.

“Perhaps I deserve to die,” he says.

Galaith nods. “Are you so tired of this life then?”

Revik stares at Terian. “Perhaps.”

The faceless man glances at Terian, too. They exchange a subtle smile, then Galaith’s voice warms.

“I understand, cousin. More than you know. But, you see, there are many like you and I, Rolf. Tired of senseless death and war. Tired of the world being led by liars and old men, dreamers and fanatics. Those who feel the Codes, laws, bibles and prejudices of both species no longer represent the current realities of either. We would like to see these Codes...” He smiles. “...Modernized, as it were.”

Revik closes his eyes, leaning his head on stone. “Approach my brother, Whelen.”

“You have not yet heard my proposal—”

“—And yet I am not a fool,” Revik cuts in, opening his eyes again. “Whatever game you and your pet Sark are playing, it is my family name you want. You picked the wrong son. Nothing I said would ever be heard in the Pamir, least of all by my own family. And I have had my fill of humans and your... ‘modernization.’”

The faceless man holds up a hand, another gesture of supplication.

“I know your life has been hard, Revik. I know of the death of your parents. I know too that you were adopted by a family that did not want you.” His tone grows cautious.

“...I also know of your current problems, as I have said. But women die in childbirth, cousin. Even among your kind. It is pointless to throw away such a promising, young life for what is a relatively natural event. She was not seer. This suicide of yours cannot be inevitable.”

He pauses, watching Revik’s face.

“Was the child Blauvelt's? Or another’s?”

Revik doesn’t answer at first. He gives a short laugh.

“You really want me to kill you. Perhaps I should oblige this wish of yours.”

Galaith holds up his hand again. “You are wrong about me. My regret for your misfortune is sincere, cousin.” He pauses, still watching Revik’s face. “And I have already spoken with your blood cousin, Whelen,” he adds. “I told him where you are, too. I told him of your predicament. Your family understands more than you believe, despite your decision to distance yourself, to live among my people and participate in this heinous war on her behalf.”

“It was not for her,” Revik said.

“It was for her, brother. You felt obligated—”

“I meant, it was not her fault.” Revik is once more staring at the shadow-darkened corners of the cell. “Please go.”

“Revik, your blood cousin, Whelen, doesn’t interest me.” Galaith’s words contain a gentle pull. “We have no need of family names. That clan nonsense is of the past. I want your talent, Revik. I believe you will prove to be our most valuable asset yet.”

Terian leans closer. He holds up two fingers in a backwards V, wiggling them at Revik.

“...Second-most valuable,” he says, winking.

Galaith chuckles, patting Terian on the back with one hand. “Yes,” he says. “It was Terian here who petitioned hardest for your recruitment, Rolf. Our little Terian is most anxious to see what you can do... he may have created a bit of a reputation for you in advance, I’m afraid. One you may have to defend in not too long a time.”

His smile grows more visible as he discerns Revik’s involuntary reaction to his words.

“...I, too, am anxious to witness these talents, cousin,” he says. “Indeed I am. Most anxious.”

A flush of warmth grows in some part of Revik that doesn’t need to feel much else.

He is still thinking, turning over this spark in his mind, when the walls around me fall once more into black.

* * *

I CHOKE... CHOKED... am choking... caught inside a fisted clutch of light, an egg-shaped pocket that holds me unflinchingly in place. Inside that heated glow, I birth. The turning planet brings stars past me in a pale swath, sky broken by sharp eyes and lightning flashes, snaking charges of gold and orange and crimson, the late side of the setting sun.

The pain worsens, a spike that arcs, a taste before it keens steeply up, inexorable, becoming gradually more unbearable, until I am sure my insides will be ripped out, torn into so many pieces there is nothing left.

Beyond where I lay, a golden ocean beckons. It is familiar.

He is there too.

I’m sorry, he says. It’s not why I asked for you. I’m sorry, Allie—

Shhh. My voice is steady, somehow apart from the lights clashing, the ghosts winging over both of our heads. Revik, it's all right.

Don't leave me, Allie. Don't leave me alone with this...

The pain worsens again, makes it hard to see.

Still, the words come easily, without thought or regret.

I won't, I tell him. I never will.

There is a question in this... one that shocks his heart.

Before I’ve understood either the question or the possible answers, he’s agreed. A surrender lives in that agreement, what is almost shame. He clasps my fingers, and I see tears in his eyes. They bewilder me, touch me somehow through the pain and he pulls me closer until...

He kisses me. It is a brief kiss. Clumsy, awkward, almost tender... meaning lives there, more meaning than I can comprehend. I feel him agree again.

It feels final that time... like a promise.

A vow, maybe.

Like an ending and a beginning, all at once.

...and then, the night sky disappears.

Above us, light weaves into complicated patterns, in and out like a shuttlecock between silk threads. I have a fleeting impression of time removed. The weaving of the threads grows more and more complicated, more subtle, more intensely beautiful and intimate and connected to my heart. I watch a painting form in the vastness of that sky, a painting of diamond light, in a pattern too breathtaking for words. My struggle stops, even as the pain I felt before melts into warm breath, a feeling of ending that somehow... doesn’t... can’t.

I know, somehow.

I feel it in him, too, a surge of familiar.

The feeling is so dense, I can’t see past it. A timelessness lives in that sense of the familiar, something I can’t explain to myself, something I understand without words, without really understanding it at all.

Something is... different.

I don’t know it yet, but it will never be the same again.

Chapter 12

CHANGE

I SAT IN a window, balanced toe to heel on the white painted wooden sill.

My butt had started to numb in the twenty or so minutes since I first fixed my perch, but I liked being balanced on the narrow ledge as I looked out the rain-splattered window. Through the glass lived a world of gray, with charcoal streets and sad-looking trees breaking up long swaths of sidewalk.

A man walked by in a tarp of a raincoat, slowly pushing a shopping cart filled with cans and covered with a blue tarp. He glanced up at the window.

I held my breath, frozen as he stared at me, but his face looked resigned, his eyes blurred by rain. Gripping the cart’s handlebars, he resumed pushing it down the street, his expression unchanging.

A long, slow, questioning tug slid through my belly.

He was looking for me... it grew urgent briefly. Then it faded back, pulled somewhere else.

I glanced over at the bed, without turning my head.

Above him hung the tapestry where an angry-faced blue god rode a lion, tongues of flame circling his head in a bright orange and red aura. My eyes shifted to tapestry nearer to me, the one depicting a gold buddha with multiple faces that formed a high cone stretching above his neck. Crowning the stack of extra heads hung a delicate, androgynous face exuding golden light. I found myself looking at that face a lot this morning.

Revik moved then, and my eyes drifted reluctantly down.

He slept on his back, arms and legs sprawled, his hands and fingers open. I studied the softness of his expression and felt the pulling return, urgent that time, enough to bring the nausea back in a warm flood.

I’d woken to the feeling, and him wrapped around me, half crushing me with his arms and body in sleep. I’d been careful of his hurt shoulder without thinking about it much, but I’d been wrapped around him just as tightly. My face had rested in the hollow of his neck, one of my legs curled around and between his.

I’d been pulling on him unconsciously, as much as he had been me.

It had felt completely natural that his fingers were tangled in my hair, that he’d tugged me closer with that same hand, his other arm wrapped around my back, his mouth brushing my temple in sleep. When I’d stroked his bare arm and chest without thinking, caressing his fingers, he’d let out a low sound, enough to wake me for real... and get me swiftly out of his bed once I realized other parts of him were awake ahead of his mind.

Since then, he’d been looking for me with his light. It wasn’t enough to wake him, just enough to make me sick.

I still hadn’t left.

I couldn’t decide why, but my reasons felt irrational, even to me. I was starving. I needed a shower like I’d never needed one before... I smelled like filthy lake water and my hair had the consistency of matted straw. I wanted clean clothes. I also could be talking to the other seers, the friendlier ones, anyway, and trying to find out more about my mom, Jon and Cass.

Instead I was here, watching him sleep... like some kind of stalker.

The truth was, I couldn’t seem to make myself want to leave, even after I had to go to the bathroom.

Feeling eyes on me, I turned... and nearly fell off my window perch.

Ullysa smiled at me from the doorway, looking like an old movie still with her hair piled on her head and a powder-blue gown clinging to her hips. Turning away from me, she scrutinized Revik clinically.

Without thinking about why, I hopped the rest of the way off the sill and crossed the room, drawing the woman’s eyes back to me.

Ullysa frowned, exuding a faint puzzlement.

That puzzlement didn’t dissipate as she turned to study my light with the same narrow-eyed stare she’d trained on Revik.

“What?” I said quietly when I reached her.

Ullysa shook her head. Then her face broke into a smile of such sincerity that I was taken aback.

“He is better,” she said, clasping my arm with warm fingers. “I am relieved. You did very well with him.”

I blinked into the woman’s violet eyes. “Yeah,” I said. “Good. Look, is there any way I could borrow some clothes? I’m starving too, and a shower—”

“Yes! Of course!” Ullysa squeezed my arm tighter, exuding more warmth. “You may have whatever you wish while you are here, Bridge Alyson! Anything at all!”

“Great.” I smiled back, a little unnerved by her enthusiasm. “I’ll pay you back, once I—”

“No.” The seer waved this off, making a sharp line in the air with her fingers. “There is no need for that... the honor is ours. And Revi' is an old friend.”

My eyes shifted involuntarily to the bed.

I found myself remembering some key details from the night before, things that had somehow managed to skirt my mind all morning. Watching his expression tighten briefly in sleep, along with the fingers of one of his hands, I sighed, more internally than on the outside.

“Yeah,” I said. “I got that part.”

When I glanced back, Ullysa was staring at me again, her odd-colored eyes glowing. She didn’t stare at my face; instead, her focus hovered somewhere just above my head, her eyes holding a kind of wonder. The same intensity and precision shifted back to Revik.

I fidgeted with the doorjamb as she looked at him. It occurred to me that I didn’t want her getting too close to him, not even with her eyes.

Abruptly, Ullysa’s irises clicked back into focus.

She bowed, her expression still holding wonder.

“...Of course, sister. My apologies. Truly.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist, shrugging.

It occurred to me I didn’t know exactly what she was apologizing for.

Ullysa spoke before I could. “How is it that you are feeling yourself, sister?”

I noticed her accent had lost some of its human-like cadence. Maybe she had relaxed some. Or maybe it had something to do with whatever clearly bothered yet excited her about me and Revik.

“Fine.” I tried to unclench my fists, to relax that reflexive but alien vigilance. I couldn’t. “Fine. Just...” I glanced at Revik, stifling the impulse to step directly between him and the woman’s eyes. “I’m fine,” I repeated, succumbing to the impulse by moving a half-step. “...Just tired, I guess. Stinky. Hungry. In desperate need of a shower.”

Ullysa smiled. “Please make yourself at home. We can supply you with anything you need during your stay.”

“Stay?” I felt my face slacken. “How long will we be staying here?”

Ullysa smiled. Her voice turned briefly business-like.

“You two are safe for now,” she said. “...But they found no bodies. In future, if you wish to fake your deaths, I suggest you consult Revi’ first.” Her smile crept out wider, and didn’t seem to have any relation to her actual words.

“...The Rooks know you are here... at least that you were seen together in Seattle. They know about the stolen headset too... it is good you left it in the taxi.” She added cheerfully, “It is better that we wait until they are not watching every route in and out of the city. We are sending seers starting today, to begin to create false trails.”

Watching my eyes, she grinned again.

“Do you have a passport, Bridge Alyson?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“That is easily fixed. Vash also suggested you might use this time to learn more about why you are here...”

I glanced at Revik, feeling his light looking for mine again. I pushed it aside gently, focusing back on the woman.

“Where will I go that I need a passport?” I said.

“There are many places, Bridge Alyson.” The woman’s smile was a grin again. “...Revi’s home is not in this country.”

I flushed, hearing the teasing behind this. The woman must have felt his pull.

“Where does he live? Germany, or—”

“No,” Ullysa said, surprised. “Not Germany... not for many years. He lived in Russia also, I believe... but has maintained a residence in London for over twelve years.” She paused, smiling at me warmly again. “...And it is no trouble at all to keep my light from his, Bridge Alyson. I completely understand.”

My face grew hotter.

Succumbing to the impulse again, I stepped a little more firmly into the woman’s line of sight to Revik.

Rather than causing offense, something in the gesture seemed to touch the other woman immensely. She startled me by touching my face, then kissing my cheek.

She turned as if to leave... then abruptly stopped.

I tensed before my mind supplied me with a reason.

Still polite, Ullysa glanced over my shoulder, a glimmer of asking permission inherent in the brevity of the peek.

“Revi’, darling... did we wake you?”

His answer was low, but made me jump, almost cringe.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

I took a breath, turned... and found his eyes locked on me. The look in them was narrow, cold, with a veiled hostility that took me aback.

It was unmistakably aimed at me.

Ullysa didn’t seem to notice. “Of course you are,” she smiled. “And congratulations, Revi’... I am touched. Very touched. Good hunting, friend.”

Seeing that Ullysa was close to tears above her smile, I glanced again at Revik, feeling my nerves turn into actual fear when I saw his face. His skin had darkened; it was clear he knew exactly what the woman was talking about and didn’t appreciate the comment at all.

He averted his gaze when it caught mine, folding his arms across his chest.

I couldn’t take my eyes off his face.

Was he blushing?

He bowed slightly to Ullysa. “Thank you.”

Wiping her cheek, the woman smiled, then turned to go.

I found I couldn’t follow her out fast enough. Before I made it through the door, however, Ullysa turned.

“Alyson... where are you going?”

I froze. “Passport. Eggs. Shower...”

“Why don’t you stay here?” she suggested. “We will bring food for you both. It is too early for passports... and the shower can wait.”

I felt like a cornered animal. I glanced at Revik. His eyes were trained out the window, as gray as the sky. I looked back to Ullysa.

“No, actually... it can’t wait. The shower, I mean. Besides, I have to go to the bathroom. And I thought I might talk to you... and some of the others. Maybe learn more about how I’m supposed to kill everyone on the planet...”

“I can talk to you about that,” Revik spoke up.

Startled, I glanced back at him.

He continued to train his eyes out the window, and mine fell involuntarily to his bare upper body, taking in the leanness of his long frame and the banded muscle of his arms, a pale lattice of scars that crept up over one shoulder. He had an armband tattoo just above one bicep, I noticed, something I’d glimpsed in the park without really seeing it. It looked like some kind of writing in blue and black lettering.

I saw the edge of what might have been another tattoo on the shoulder of the same side. He also had the standard barcode tat on his right arm, along with the “H” mark he’d shown me in the park, designating his race-cat.

His body without clothes looked somehow older than the rest of him.

I saw his fingers tighten on his upper arm, and looked away.

“Stay, if you want.” His voice remained flat, formally polite. “Shower, then come back.”

“No,” I said. “You should rest. I can bug someone else.” Seeing him about to answer, I said, “It’s fine, Revik. And I know your friends will want to see you.” I glanced down again. “...Especially when you’re not wearing a shirt.”

His eyes seemed to flinch.

Staring at his long countenance, I found myself briefly lost there.

His eyes were still angry on the surface, but I could see the openness beneath, a vulnerability so much the opposite of his usual expression that I couldn’t help but stare. Remembering him pulling on me moments before, the softness of his face as he held me in sleep, I blinked at the two images superimposed over one another, tried to reconcile them, couldn’t.

My eyes shifted first, meeting Ullysa’s in my attempt to escape his.

Her returning smile held amusement. She folded her thin arms, quirking a pencil-darkened eyebrow at Revik.

Turning, I walked wordlessly out the door. I saw Ullysa’s eyes widen in surprise, just before she moved out of my way.

I didn’t stop walking, didn’t slow down enough to realize I didn’t know where I was going until I’d passed another three doors. I stopped dead then, standing in the darkened corridor.

I was having trouble breathing.

Anxiety clenched my chest.

I held the wall, tried to turn it into anger, like he had.

The pull to go back to him was nearly physical in its intensity. My mind tried to sift through details of the night before. We definitely hadn’t had sex. Anyway, most of these people were prostitutes; sex wouldn’t faze them. I remembered what Kat said about Revik in that regard, and a hot flood of... God, something... tried to blow out my doors, irrational enough to scare me.

It reminded me of seeing Jaden in that bar, of finding myself suddenly holding a bottle decorated with a strange woman’s blood...

Christ. Was it jealousy?

I remembered the seers the night before, what they’d said about Revik... and the stories came back, about seers seducing humans, hooking into human fantasies and delusions until the victims lost themselves entirely inside the seer’s mind. Those stories always made it sound deliberate though, and whatever this was, it didn’t feel like Revik had done it intentionally.

In fact, he seemed to blame me for whatever had occurred.

It didn’t feel like we’d had sex, either... and no matter how battered my body was, or the amount of pyrotechnics in the Barrier, I was still like 98% sure I would have noticed. Besides, it felt like the lack of sex—maybe even the lack of sex with him—was at least part of the problem.

The admission made me feel a little queasy.

Images rose from the night before, confusing me more.

Whatever that had been, it hadn’t felt like a dream, either, and my attempts to convince myself it had been a dream rang hollow. He’d been a Nazi... a married Nazi with a death sentence for murdering another Nazi for screwing his wife.

That guy Terian had been there. I was pretty sure I’d seen them meet for the first time.

The pain in my stomach worsened briefly... the other thing, along with the stress of not knowing how to process any of it.

My eyes drifted up, looking for someplace else to focus my attention.

I stared at a nearby ajar door breaking the dark walls of the corridor, unable to make sense of it for the first few seconds.

Then my eyes refocused on the pink tile floor and walls of a bathroom.

Pushing off the wall, I made my way to that same door, limping as my body’s battered state grew more noticeable. I closed the door behind me, only to stand there indecisively, my back pressed to the heavy wooden door.

Finally, I turned around and sat on the toilet. It wasn’t until I’d relieved myself that it occurred to me that through that whole exchange with Ullysa and Revik, I hadn’t been wearing pants.

Clasping my hands between my bare knees, I let out a strangled laugh.

I sat there for what felt like a long time. My body was unbelievably sore. Not sex sore—just run of the mill falling down a hill after being handcuffed to a car then driving off a bridge and smacking my skull sore.

The nausea worsened as soon as my bladder wasn’t full enough to distract me. I gripped the edge of the pedestal sink, afraid I’d throw up if I tried to stand, trying to come to grips with whatever was wrong with me. It felt like some part of me had been broken and smashed... then reassembled with pieces missing.

Or maybe with new ones woven in with the old... I honestly couldn’t tell.

I still sat there, paralyzed, when Ullysa knocked.

After the second knock, she tried the handle. Opening the door cautiously, she handed through clean clothes and a basket with soap and shampoo. I felt her concern, and once she’d placed everything on the tile, I felt her hesitate, about to speak. Preempting whatever attempt she might make, I reached over with one foot to push the door shut.

Even through the door and intervening corridor, I could feel him.

His anger was still there, pulsing at me, but so was the other, unmistakable now, until the two wove together, impossible to separate as distinct feelings.

He wanted me to come back, I realized with a dim sort of confusion. He was having the same reaction I was, and on more than one level.

For a moment I doubted what I felt, then a sliver of his pain hit me again, weaving into some part of me I couldn’t see, affecting me physically, too. My stomach hurt, but it wasn’t just that. I felt my face flush, my chest and thighs warm... I felt myself start to respond, to reach back in his direction, and I panicked, cutting it off.

His pain worsened, turning almost liquid.

It was unmistakably sexual.

I was still sitting there when he dropped the pretense, asking me openly to return to the room. When I didn’t respond, he pulled on me harder, letting me feel the want behind it, until I clutched the edge of the sink.

Stop it, I thought at him, gasping.

After the barest pause, he receded.

Somehow I remained lost in his light; my skin flushed as I realized the flavor of his thoughts.

He asked me again, politely that time.

When I gave a short laugh, his mind retreated. But not entirely.

I felt him thinking again... just before he started to open his light. I felt emotion expand off him, that near-vulnerability I’d glimpsed in the room. It grew stronger as it mixed with the pain, until it slid into my light...

I panicked, pushing him back.

That time, he withdrew until I barely felt him.

Still flushed, I staggered to my feet, buying myself time by examining the bruises that ran all along my legs and arms. Limping to the tub, I felt about eighty years old as I bent to twist the porcelain shower knobs all the way to hot. As water heated in the ancient pipes, I stood in the basin, shivering. I tried to ignore the waiting I felt behind his silence.

Allie, he sent softly. ...please.

The pull behind it cut my breath.

Pain flickered around the spaces between us, and for an instant, I hesitated, staring at that void, feeling it with him. The lost feeling worsened...

Then I stepped under the hot water.

I let my mind go blank as the smell of steaming hot lake water rose off my hair, sliding off my body like a second skin. I lowered my head as the water beat at it, sending brown, brackish water down the sides of the tub and into the drain.

I felt him watch me as I continued to stand there. His light flickered around mine, silent, waiting.

For a long time, it didn’t move away.

Chapter 13

REJECTION

I STOOD BEFORE a silhouette target, trying not to feel foolish as I fumbled with the safety of the gun I gripped in both hands. Ullysa told me twice what kind of gun it was, but all I remembered was what Ivy called it—her Baby Eagle.

Dad had been more of a rifle and shotgun kind of guy.

“Stop stalling,” Ullysa said. “You have only perhaps a few more days before you and Revi’ must leave here, Esteemed Bridge...”

I nodded, only half-listening.

Being here, surrounded by seers, I forgot we were in Seattle most of the time, even as I watched the skyline change from day to night and back again through the windows of the upper floors. It was as though the building and all its contents remained disconnected from their physical location in the middle of the human city. The one thread between it and us was the steady stream of clients for the prostitutes.

I still couldn’t grasp the extent or prevalence of this kind of thing, meaning, seers living under the radar, smack dab in the middle of human civilization without any controls. I was curious about it, sure, but a little hesitant to ask a lot of questions at this point. I’d already made the mistake of mentioning SCARB once, and managed to silence an entire room.

It had been Kat, of course, who broke the silence.

“Why doesn’t SCARB mind our lack of sponsorship?” the Russian seer said. “Well... perhaps, cub, we do them the courtesy of not killing them out of deference for the preciousness of living light. You see, what you call ‘sponsorship,’ we call slavery... unless you know a way to own a seer’s aleimi without owning the seer? If so, please share it with the rest of us. You truly will be our savior then, oh holiest of Bridges!”

Some in the room hid smiles, but I also saw anger aimed in my direction.

“Would you like sponsorship, cub?” Kat asked then, her lips lifted in a cold smile. “Shall we call SCARB for you? Perhaps they mind your lack of sponsorship now, eh?”

Only later did I muster the nerve to ask Ullysa what aleimi meant.

Turned out, aleimi was the seer word for the light bodies I’d seen behind the Barrier, those structures and geometries I’d seen on Revik and other seers when he’d brought me into that other place. They also called it ‘light’ more generally, or ‘living light.’

Ullysa further defined aleimi as, “the ability to carry light.” When I asked if this was like ‘soul,’ she shook her head. She said that humans and seers were equal in soul, but they differed in this ability to carry and manipulate light. No direct translation of the word existed in English, she said. It was strictly a seer word.

I was learning that even their language had a Barrier component, meaning words that contained meanings that required an ability to see with the added structures in their light. Generally speaking, their words carried more compound meanings and nuances in general, with one of their words needing two or three to translate into English. Ullysa said more about this, about words being symbols and all symbols having unspoken layers that exist inside a shared cultural understanding. Since more than half of all shared seer understanding came from Barrier-consciousness—a split consciousness unshared by humans—translation of many of their core symbols to human language remained literally impossible.

I even understood this, in part.

I’m not sure how understanding it helped me, though.

Ullysa and I now stood in a cement, sound-proof bunker that had been built into the hill itself, complete with a firing range and rows of storage lockers that held everything from ammunition to plant seeds to casks of water and enough food for everyone in the building to eat for at least a few years. Ullysa jokingly referred to it as their “ark.”

She stood behind me, looking like a movie star even in protective glasses and with soundproofing mufflers over her ears.

“You should let Revi’ help you with this,” she said loudly over the sound-deadeners, repeating herself for the fifth time.

I nodded, staring at the target.

When Ullysa clicked at me, I glanced over at her face.

“Why will you not speak to him?”

“I really don’t want to bother him right now, Ullysa,” I said.

“Why?” the woman said, exasperated. “Because of Kat? You threw her at him, and now you complain when he uses her to cope with—”

“Hey!” I held up a hand. “Come on! I really don’t need to know about his ‘coping’ methods, if that’s all right with you...”

With Ullysa, I’d given up pretending I didn’t care where he slept.

That very first morning I’d woken up in Seattle, I’d entered the kitchen after my shower, wearing borrowed clothes and following the smell of coffee and faintly burned toast. There, Kat and two others, Ivy and the African-looking seer from the night before, looked up from where they lounged on barstools, leaning on a high, marble counter next to platters of eggs and toast. Ullysa followed me inside the kitchen, too, almost as though she’d been waiting for me to vacate the bathroom.

I avoided Kat’s stare, focusing on the eggs and trying not to notice that I could still feel Revik, like a faint scent in my light.

Briefly, hunger had overshadowed the other thing I felt.

All three seers looked up when Ullysa entered the kitchen behind me, but it was the African-looking one who focused right off on the empty space above my head, presumably noticing the same thing that had captivated Ullysa earlier. After scanning me thoroughly with a sharp gaze, she glanced at Ullysa with raised eyebrows, then at Ivy.

Ivy only smiled, making a shrug-like gesture with her hand before lifting a mug of coffee to her lips.

Kat gaped above my head in open disbelief.

“He’s awake,” I said. I met Kat’s eyes. “You can see him, if you want.”

Ullysa stiffened. Shock wafted palpably off her light.

The African woman and Ivy had exchanged looks as well. None of them spoke, but I felt their minds crackle around me. My words snapped Kat back to her usual hard demeanor.

Even so, her smile had the faintest bit of surprise in it as well.

“Thanks, worm... I accept.”

Her choice of words hit me strangely. Still, I didn’t speak as she rose to her feet. She walked out of the room, not bothering to close her robe as she brushed by me on her way out. The African-looking seer left too, but her eyes held as much puzzlement as Ullysa’s, and it didn’t feel as though she were following Kat.

Ivy stayed.

She and Ullysa remained silent as they piled eggs and toast on a plate for me and poured me a cup of coffee, shoving cream and sugar within my reach.

Ivy finally broke the silence.

“He might not like that,” she said tentatively. “Even if the two of you have decided to wait to complete things... he still might not like what you did.”

I halted a forkful of eggs halfway to my mouth.

“I just meant...” Ivy looked at me apologetically, shrugging with one hand. “You offering him to Kat. Even if you are trying to be generous, he might take it... wrong.”

She hesitated, looking to Ullysa for help.

Ullysa was more direct.

“Ivy is right,” she said. “It is rejection. More than that... for a seer, it is overt insult. Are you angry with him?”

I stared between them, gripping my coffee mug. I cleared my throat.

“No,” I said.

Ullysa finished pouring herself a glass of juice. Not doing a very good job of hiding her puzzlement, she clicked softly, exhaling in a sigh.

“Alyson, perhaps the circumstances are not clear to you. Males are quite vulnerable after. Given his history, Revi’, in particular, will have trouble with this... even without Kat there.” She studied my eyes and face, and her expression softened. That same softness reached her voice. She clasped my arm warmly. “Please do not take him personally right now, sister... or do anything rash. He agreed, the same as you. There are no ‘mistakes’ with these things. Give him time to adjust. He is perhaps not reacting to this in the way you imagine...”

At my silence, Ullysa glanced at Ivy.

Gesturing delicately then, she added, “If he has asked to wait to complete things, as Ivy said, it is likely logistical only. He may wish for a construct in a more secluded location, away from other seers. Revi’ can be quite traditional, in his way.” She exchanged a wry smile with Ivy. “In any case, be assured, sister... the delay won’t be for long.”

I looked between them again, feeling my sense of unreality worsen, even as my pulse turned rapidly into a hummingbird’s.

Ullysa’s smile faded.

She and Ivy exchanged another glance, this one worried.

Ullysa said, “Surely you must sense some portion of... what occurred?”

I felt my face redden, wondering again if Revik and I had had sex in some kind of seer-induced coma. I was about to ask, when Ullysa cut me off.

“No,” she said decisively. “You must speak to Revi’.”

“But you just said—”

“It is absolutely not our place to explain this. He would be furious with us, if the two of you have not spoken of it yet. And rightfully so.”

I looked at Ivy, who only nodded, eyes serious.

“You should do it soon,” Ullysa added. “No matter what he says.” Her violet eyes met mine, hardening as her voice darkened. “Kat will not be able to help him with this for long, sister... and I won’t have you retaliating, not in my home.”

She gestured sharply, as if in judgment.

“...It was an open offer. We both saw it. If you let it happen now, you have absolutely no recourse if he accepts.”

At the serious look in both women’s eyes, a kind of fear grew in me, but not one that impelled me into movement, even though they both seemed to be waiting for me to leave. I had no intention of chasing down Kat.

If he didn’t want her there, he could damned well tell her himself.

What I hadn’t wanted to think about, though, was the other reason. The one where if I did go into that room, I’d have to explain to Revik why I didn’t want Kat there. I’d sworn off the jealousy thing after Jaden... and the possessiveness thing, and the trying to control what other people did thing.

As I pictured Kat in there with him, though, the pain came back in a sharp swell... along with fear, a sudden realization that I didn’t really want to think about why I’d decided not to take him up on his offer of sex before breakfast. For that’s what it had been, I realized blankly. He’d asked me back to the room for sex... and he’d barely had the self-restraint to be polite about it.

When I didn’t move, Ullysa sighed again.

That had been over a week ago.

When I’d finally returned to the bedroom with the orange walls, later that same day, Revik was no longer in it. No one came out and said anything, but it was pretty clear I’d committed some kind of major faux pas.

Ullysa’s voice jerked my mind back to the present.

“Are you going to try?” Ullysa said, exasperated. “Or will you simply stand there? With all respect, I have other things that need doing, Esteemed Bridge.”

I raised the gun half-heartedly, aiming at the dark human outline in paper hanging from a clip attached to a mechanized pulley about twenty feet away. Forcing my mind to a blank, I steadied the gun with my other hand and fired off three shots. Each one threw both of my arms back into their shoulder sockets.

When the sound died, I refocused on the target, lowering the gun.

Only one bullet had even hit the white paper, and that was a tear in one corner that even I had to admit was likely dumb luck.

Clicking at me, seer-fashion, Ullysa held out her hand.

“Give it to me.”

I handed over the gun, swinging my arm to get the kink out of my shoulder. Something caused me to glance back as I did it, and my breath caught.

Revik stood by the door, his long body leaning against the frame. His eyes narrowed, focused on mine, then shifted to the paper target.

He raised an eyebrow.

I felt my face flush. Wiping a few strands of hair out of my eyes, I found I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I finally stuffed them in the pockets of the jeans Ullysa had lent me. I focused back on her, trying to listen.

“Watch,” Ullysa said, raising the gun. “You are closing your eyes... and jerking every time you squeeze the trigger. You are not even looking at the target, Allie! There is no way you would hit it like that.”

I nodded, feeling Revik’s eyes on me still.

“Revi’ told me your father taught you to shoot—”

“Rifles.” I heard the defensiveness in my own voice. “...And I was a kid. I never took it up as a hobby.”

“Well, fine. But with a rifle you also must aim... with your eyes open. And it is normal to flinch, but you must train yourself not to jerk.”

I nodded again, then glanced back in spite of myself.

Revik had vanished from the doorway.

I felt a pang that made it hard to breathe.

I’d never been the mooning type, not even with Jaden, so it made me crazy how I found myself reacting to him. Worse, it felt completely outside of my control. He was even starting to look different to me... and definitely not worse, unfortunately.

Maybe I really did have Stockholm Syndrome.

I felt Ullysa watching me, a curious look on her face. I waved the weapon away with a grimace when the beautiful seer offered it.

“Forget it. I don’t think guns are my cup of tea, ‘Llysa.”

“You must learn, Alyson.”

“Maybe some other time.”

Ullysa frowned, glancing at the door. For an instant, her eyes slid out of focus. When they clicked back, she frowned again, muttering under her breath. She indicated toward the target with her free hand.

“Once more. Please.”

Sighing, I caved, taking the gun. Once more. Right.

I raised it to eye level, pointing it resignedly at the target.

As I concentrated on aiming that time, however, a grid appeared behind my eyes... not dissimilar to the grid I’d seen while driving, the one Revik had shown me. I felt him with this one too, and flinched... but he held me in place, almost as if he stood behind me, gripping my arms.

Just watch, he sent. Trust me.

I bit my lip, but forced myself to relax.

In the middle of that grid, a sharp spot of light hovered near the target.

I fought not to react as his presence retreated, leaving me standing there, shaking and a little sick-feeling, staring at the grid and that sharp spot of light. Once I relaxed a little more, I saw that the grid originated from one of the geometrical shapes above my own head. I aligned the grid and the sharp bright spot with the silhouette on the paper.

“Gently,” Ullysa said.

I glanced at her in surprise. I’d forgotten she was there.

I started to pull out of the Barrier, but a faint pressure told me to stay.

So he hadn’t left entirely.

Aligning the grid once more, I forced a deep breath... and squeezed the trigger.

Inside the Barrier, there was no need to flinch.

Without clicking out of that calm state, I aligned the grid over a different part of the silhouette, firing again. I fired a third time, and a fourth. It all seemed to happen slow, like in a dream, but when I opened my eyes, the corridor between me and the target still drifted with smoke.

Ullysa laughed aloud, clapping her hands.

I stared at the target. Four neat holes punctuated the head, chest and abdomen of the shadowy outline. For a bare instant, I flushed in elation, tinged with a near relief that I’d finally managed to hit something, and that I might even be able to repeat the trick on my own.

Then I found myself really looking at the outline of the silhouette. My excitement faded.

I was practicing killing people.

Behind me, I felt his presence withdraw. It left gradually, almost reluctantly, leaving a faint whisper of nausea in its wake.

* * *

“ANY MORE NEWS of Jon or Cass?” I said.

I didn’t wait for an answer before plopping down on the enormous, faux-suede couch in front of the wall-length monitor. The feeds ran as a gentle hum on that same monitor, the sound low, text running beneath flickering and morphing images.

Mika flopped down heavily beside me, gesturing what I now knew to be a “yes” in seer sign language.

We had just come from the kitchen. She handed me a glass of grapefruit juice and half a sandwich filled with something called iresmic, a chutney-like spread made by seers, so weird-tasting in the extreme. Still, it was better than most of the stuff they’d tried to give me, half of which made me gag outright.

Mika, who was the same, short, Chinese-looking seer from that first night I’d gotten there, gestured at the monitor.

“Your friends have been moved by the government,” she said. “Your mother, too. It is good, Allie... it means they are handling it through the humans.” Mika rolled her eyes, smiling faintly as she finished swallowing her bite of sandwich. “...It is the Rooks’ new favorite toy, to call everyone a terrorist.”

I tried to smile back. I couldn’t quite feel the same relief the seers did at my mom and brother in a federal prison.

“I suppose breaking them out is out of the question?” I said.

Mika laughed, poking me in the ribs with a finger. “You human-borns are all the same. It is all pow-pow with guns...”

“Yeah,” I said, exhaling. “That’s me. Gun girl.”

Mika smiled, but her eyes remained serious. “The Rooks have infiltrators all over the human government, Allie... and in every branch of law enforcement. It would be very dangerous for your family if we were to try such a thing. They will let them out soon. Our intelligence tells us that your mother should be out in a few days... maybe less. And in some ways, they are safer in there. The other humans may harass them once they are out.”

I frowned, not really reassured by that, either.

From above us rose a loud bang, like someone knocking a table to the floor.

I glanced up, then back at Mika.

When the seer didn’t react, I forced a shrug.

“Yeah,” I said. “I figured there was a reason.”

“We will monitor the situation closely.” Mika hesitated, then added, “I know Dehgoies feels very responsible...”

I looked back at the television, keeping my face neutral. “I really don’t know enough about what he could have done differently to blame him,” I said honestly. “Anyway, he didn’t make me a seer. I don’t know why he thinks this is all on him.”

Mika patted my leg. “We will get them out as soon as they are released. Do not worry, Bridge Alyson.”

The banging above us started up again.

It grew louder, more rhythmic, broken by thick female cries.

I glanced up, then smiled wanly at Mika. “Someone’s having fun.”

Mika clicked in irritation, shaking her head. “Kat... always Kat. ‘Llysa should give her a soundproof room, or at least one away from the common areas. Poor Ivy... their rooms are next to one another.”

She noticed my expression then, and her irritation faded.

“Oh. Sorry, Allie.”

I shook my head, taking another bite of the sandwich and chewing.

Mika sighed, staring back at the ceiling. “It is not you, you know. She would never admit it, but she has always been weak for him.”

I let the sandwich drop to my lap, suddenly not hungry at all.

Mika clicked her tongue. “It is no excuse. She would not be doing this if you had been raised seer. If it were me, she would wake up missing an ear.”

Briefly, I was tempted to press it. If anyone might tell me what was really going on with me and Revik, it was Mika. I’d already asked her, of course, but every seer in the place had taken some kind of vow of silence. Mika at least seemed to feel bad about not telling me.

I forced a smile. “Wow,” I said finally. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Mika only made an irritated sound, aiming it at the ceiling.

Hesitating, I started to ask, but she gave me a direct look.

“I can’t, Allie,” she said. “I really can’t. Please don’t ask me.”

I gave her a wan smile, nodding. It had crossed my mind more than once that Revik had made them all take some kind of blood oath not to tell me anything. But that seemed paranoid.

“No,” Mika said, glancing at me again. “It’s not.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.

“I can’t tell you, Allie,” she said, sighing with a soft clicking sound. “We all promised. You will have to ask him.” Mika gazed up at the ceiling when the banging started up again. Her voice grew apologetic.

“It could be a customer.”

“At ten in the morning?”

“It could be.”

I didn’t argue. When the cries got louder, I glanced deliberately at the clock. Placing what was left of my sandwich on the ceramic platter, I nodded to Mika.

“I need to get going. Thanks for the food.”

Mika looked at my barely-touched sandwich, then up at the ceiling. “You going to play with guns again?”

“No guns. Sight training. Ullysa’s turn to make me throw up while I try to block her and can’t.”

“You’ll get better,” Mika said, sympathetic. “It’s like that for all of us at first. Only we’re younger... you know.”

I tried to ignore the sounds coming through the ceiling. “Even Ullysa says I’m learning slow. All those years of human conditioning...”

“She says that,” Mika said. “And Ullysa acts like she is a novice, but she is really good at finding holes.”

The cries above grew louder once more, even as the banging slowed, punctuated by more masculine groans.

I cleared my throat. “Can I practice on you later?” I said.

“Sure. My first customer is at four.”

Nodding, I rose deliberately to my feet. I made a point of moving slow, but still felt like I walked too quickly from the room, heading for the nearest corridor without paying too much attention to where it led. I was about two hours too early to meet Ullysa, so decided to go to the compound’s small temple, look at some of the paintings, maybe read more of the old books they had lying around in there.

As I passed the industrial-sized kitchen, though, I saw movement and paused, peering through the swinging doors.

The kitchen itself was huge, even for the size of the building. One wall consisted of an oven range with ten or so burners, two stainless steel refrigerators and rows of cabinets and counter space. A massive, wooden chopping block crouched by two porcelain sinks, and in the middle of the room stood the high, marble table where I’d sat that first morning, polished to a mirror-like sheen and surrounded by barstools.

Revik stood by one of the cabinets. His shirt hung open on his shoulders as he moved cans around.

I stared at him. I was still staring when he turned.

He flinched slightly when he saw me there, then stared back, his pale eyes shining faintly in the kitchen’s lights. I watched him reach for his own shirt. He buttoned it up while I watched, still not really looking at me.

“What?” he said finally. “What is it, Allie?”

I fought to suppress the feeling that rose in me, couldn’t.

It was relief, but more than that. From his face, I could tell he felt it, too... and that it startled him. His eyes flickered between mine, wary, but I saw something else there, too.

“Allie?” he said. His voice got lower. “Tell me.”

For a second, I hesitated. I glanced down the hallway, then back at him.

I did want to talk to him, though. I didn’t know how, exactly, but I was more tired of the impasse between us than I knew how to express. I heard voices in the corridor, heading in our direction, and glanced at him again, feeling like the moment was about to pass. When I saw the wary look sharpen in his eyes, I found myself thinking about Kat, what I’d told myself about staying out of his business, leaving him alone.

He continued staring at me as the voices got louder. I forced a smile, my nerves rising in spite of myself when it occurred to me he was probably reading my mind again.

I felt a faint whisper of anger on him.

Backing away, I shook my head, stepping away from the doorway.

“Sorry, I just...” I shook my head again. “Sorry.”

I had just let go of the door when his voice rose.

“Allie. Wait.”

I came to a stop, in surprise as much as anything.

He exhaled when I turned, running his fingers through his dark hair. For a moment he only stood there. Then he looked up, meeting my gaze.

“Do you play chess, Allie?” he said.

His voice was low, almost stiffly polite.

I continued to stare at him. “Chess?”

“Yes.” He motioned vaguely towards the marble bar, his accent thicker. “There is a board. We could play. Eat lunch.”

I hesitated, but only for another few heartbeats. “Yeah,” I said. “Great.”

“Are you hungry?” he said. “I could make us something.”

I thought of the sandwich in the other room, then pushed it from my mind.

“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you’re having.”

I just stood there as he poured a large can of soup into a pot. He put it on the burner and lit the flame, then walked to a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen. I remained by the door as he pulled out a wooden chessboard that folded with hinges on the side, the black and white pieces housed within. He opened up the box on the marble bar, and started to pull out the pieces when I took another breath, and walked up to where he stood.

“I can do that,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm. “You’re making food.”

He hesitated a bare instant, then put down the piece he was holding.

“Okay.”

He retreated to the stove while I set up the board. I toyed with asking him other things. Maybe something about the sight training with Ullysa, or the gun range trick he taught me, or more about me being the Bridge. Finally I settled on,

“You want to be black or white?”

When he looked over his shoulder, he surprised me with a faint humor in his eyes.

“You’re the Bridge,” he said. “You have to be white.”

“Really?” I said, smiling back. “Why is that?”

“The White One,” he said. “It is another name.” Seeing my puzzlement, he gestured vaguely, facing the stove. “You know. You mentioned horses. The Bridge is the white horseman.” He glanced back, bowing slightly.

“...Woman,” he amended. “Horsewoman.”

I smiled again, but the comment stayed with me as I sat there. I remembered something about that, actually, about each horse being a different color. White, red, black. Then there was the fourth one, the one I could never remember...

“Pale,” he spoke up from the stove.

I nodded again. “Yeah. Death, right?”

When he didn’t say anything, I just sat there, trying to relax as he finished warming the soup. Pouring the contents of the pot into two bowls, he pulled spoons from a drawer and walked everything over to the bar, setting one of each beside me.

“You want anything to drink, Allie?”

“No,” I said. “...Thanks. This is great.”

When he nodded, his face still, I hesitated, wanting to say more.

I picked up the bowl instead. I was a little relieved to see it was regular old crappy human soup, like I was used to. Blowing on a spoonful to cool it, he motioned towards the board, using his fingers that held the spoon.

“White moves first,” he said.

I swallowed my mouthful, nodding, then put down the bowl.

It crossed my mind that the chances were good that he would kick my ass in this, too, given that there had to be a sight component to chess, just like there was with everything else. Still, a smile rose to my lips as I focused on the board, hearing the soft chink of his spoon as he ate.

Pausing, I glanced around the kitchen. My eyes found one of the embroidered thankahs hanging on the wall, a golden buddha with peaceful eyes.

Under it, on a small shelf stood a lit candle.

It crossed my mind that he’d done that, too, after Mika and I left.

I’ve never been a Buddhist or anything, or even religious, but for some reason, that touched me, too.

I moved my first pawn. Watching Revik’s eyes narrow on the board, the bowl of soup balanced in his hand, I smiled again.

I didn’t let myself think too clearly about why.

Chapter 14

VANCOUVER

HE’D BEATEN ME outside.

I stood in a doorway below the street, blinking against the tired rain of a Seattle afternoon. He threw a leg over the back of a motorcycle as I watched, and my nerves rose even more.

We were leaving.

Almost four weeks had gone by since I’d first woken up in bed with him.

Things were better with us now, yeah, but they still weren’t exactly normal. We were polite to one another. We played chess. In fact, we’d played at least a dozen games by then, although we still barely talked while we played. I hadn’t managed to beat him in a single game. In fact, I suspected playing me bored him in terms of the game itself, but he still offered whenever he saw me, maybe just because it was easier than us talking.

I suppose he did it mainly to try and ease things with us a little.

I’d begun to wonder if we were ever going to leave Seattle. But in monitoring the activity of the Rooks and SCARB and the Sweeps and whoever else, a group of seers somewhere in Asia finally decided it was time for Revik and I to push on. The main news channels still ran “special reports” that showcased images of the car chase up 101 north, along with scuba divers and scows dredging Lake Washington for the GTX and our bodies.

Revik didn’t appear on any of these.

I, on the other hand, was all over them. I’d been the one accused of killing cops and... more oddly... a doctor at San Francisco General. They named me openly as a seer terrorist and showed my true face on the feeds. The one picture I’d seen of Revik showed an avatar only, and called him a “potential accomplice” without using his name.

On the plus side, in not a single report about “Allie the terrorist” did I hear any mention of what happened in the diner, with Jon. If anyone knew or suspected I was telekinetic, they were keeping it really quiet.

Another thing in the plus column: my mother had been released.

Mika assured me that they had people watching her house, to make sure the Rooks left her alone now that she was free. I hadn’t heard anything directly about Jon yet, but Ullysa and Ivy seemed confident that he would come out of this unscathed, too.

Still, I never really relaxed.

It wasn’t all Revik, or even the never-ending physical discomfort since that morning when we woke up in bed together. I was an outsider here, and I knew it. Most of the time, I couldn’t forget it for more than a few seconds in a stretch.

More than that, they all seemed to take the Bridge thing a little too seriously. As a result, even when they saw me as a fellow seer, I wasn’t really one of them. I was something else, and I felt it in every word they said to me, every time I saw their faces grow more closed when I was around, even though Mika and a few of the others, including Ullysa, tried to befriend me.

I’d gotten a lot more on the Bridge thing, though, mostly from Revik, and mostly during our frequent, if one-sided, chess matches. It was one topic he seemed pretty comfortable talking about with me. Revik told me that the symbol of The Bridge was part of their Myth of Three, where they believed some kind of apocalypse happened for each of the humanoid races. Humans, who were nearing the point of their own apocalypse, would be given a group of beings to aid them through that transition, just like the other races had been.

The Bridge supposedly led that group of beings.

Thus the cracks about the four horsemen... which I think Revik meant mostly as a joke, although it was hard to tell with him. I could tell there was some seriousness to his teasing, too. He would drop things, here and there, that let me know he believed in the whole Bridge thing as much as the others, even if he seemed to see me differently.

According to Revik, the human myths were pretty far from those of the seers, in terms of their meaning, but honestly, I wasn’t sure if that relieved me or not, since I didn’t really understand either.

I spent the vast majority of my time in Seattle in my room... that is, when I wasn’t practicing with the Baby Eagle, playing chess, or learning sight tricks with Ullysa. Alone, I found myself drawing mostly, or reading texts about seers that Ullysa translated to English for me via some software program she had on her headset.

Now I stood outside, feeling even more like the outsider.

Ullysa and her band of merry seer-hookers hadn’t been super-informative about the whole thing around me and Revik, but they had a lot to tell me about maneuvering in the world as a renegade seer. I had new passports, visas, local ident cards... even a forged birth certificate saying I was Yolanda Emily Paterson from Phoenix, Arizona, born a few months and four years before my actual birthday, which my mom made up anyway.

I wore prosthetics on my nose, cheeks and forehead, and contacts that turned my eyes brown, all of which were uncomfortable... and sunglasses. My hair had been cut to jaw length and dyed burgundy, thanks to Ivy and the African-looking seer, whose name turned out to be Yarli. Both of them quizzed me about Phoenix the whole time they did my hair and make-up, until they felt I knew enough to be able to pass.

They asked me what languages I spoke, which was none apart from English and kitchen Spanish, and what countries I’d been to, which was nowhere but Mexico as a kid.

Ivy, who was in charge of my paperwork, also asked Ullysa if we wanted to avoid “the usual places,” to which Ullysa said yes.

The usual places, I found out later, was a list of cities and countries in which the Rooks maintained a heavy presence. It included, among others, Romania, Switzerland, Syria, Argentina, Nigeria, Malaysia, South Africa, Guyana and Laos, and the cities of Orlando, Berlin, Bejing, Salt Lake, Tel Aviv, Helsinki, Portland, Nashville, São Paulo, Moscow, Dubai, Nassau, Zagreb, New York, Las Vegas, Barcelona and Akron, Ohio.

Not surprisingly, Washington D.C. also made the list.

Approaching the motorcycle warily, I stared at Revik’s back.

Giving me a bare glance, he motioned for me to get on behind him, so I stepped closer, then threw a leg over and eased onto the leather seat. My fingers touched his jacket for balance as he moved the bike upright. He clicked over the ignition, and I saw him wince as he stepped sharply down on the pedal.

He did it a few times before the motor caught.

“Are you okay?” I said.

It was a lame attempt at an entry point. I couldn’t be sure he’d even heard me over the revving engine. Picking up a dark blue helmet resting on the gas tank in front of him, he handed it to me.

“Revik,” I said, fighting exasperation a little. “Is this really the best way to do this? You were half dead a few weeks ago—”

“Put it on, Allie. Hold onto me.”

Feeling sick already, I tugged my hair out of my face before stuffing the padding over my head. Arranging my bangs so I could see, I fumbled with the straps under my chin.

I considered trying again with him, then gave up, realizing I’d have to focus at least half of my energy on not throwing up while riding with him anyway.

Finishing with the helmet, I slid my arms around him, gripping tighter as he shifted his weight back to center.

The nausea didn’t get worse. In fact, it was nowhere near as bad as I’d feared in gearing up for this. Realizing it must be something he was doing, I went into the Barrier slightly and stretched out my light towards his. Carefully, I felt over the edges of a curved glass-like surface around him... until he used some part of his aleimi to shove me off.

It wasn’t subtle.

I kept my light off his as best as I could after that.

I watched him slide a handgun into a holster in his boot, covering it with his pant leg.

Ullysa approached the bike, laying a hand on his arm.

“Be careful, Revi',” she said as he holstered another gun under his jacket. I knew she spoke aloud for my benefit. “My people will meet you at the airport, but you are alone until then.” She looked at me, pointed at the space between my eyes. “Do not go into the Barrier, sister. Do what Revi’ tells you... this is his job.”

I nodded, biting back annoyance at being spoken to like a child.

They’d been over this with me a hundred times.

Ullysa kissed Revik’s palm in goodbye before he started putting on gloves. I focused on the line of seers standing outside in robes and shawls, a thin veil of moisture on each face.

I recognized Yarli, the African-looking woman with the kind eyes, and Mika under her hood. Then I saw Kat walking towards the bike, wearing nothing but a gold kimono and bamboo clogs. I watched her light brown eyes slide over Revik. A swell of pain hit me; my fingers clenched the thick leather of his jacket. The woman only smiled wider, walking up to him and throwing her arms around his neck.

I barely had time to back away.

I slid to the rear of the long seat, not looking at them or at the line of seers watching as he returned Kat’s kiss. I felt pain waft off him as he fell into it, saw Kat press her body into his, her hand between his legs. Once I saw that much, I turned, staring at the brick of the alley wall until they finished. It seemed to take a long time.

Finally, Kat walked away, but not before she grinned over her shoulder at me.

“See you, cub. Thanks for the loan.”

I bit my lip. I felt Revik watching me, his light cautious. When he didn’t look away, I faced him directly.

“Don’t worry, Revi’,” I said bitingly. “...I’m sure they have plenty of whores in Canada, too.”

That time, there was no question as to whether he had heard. Something rose in his eyes, a kind of furious disbelief, but it disappeared as soon I saw it.

By the time I thought about it enough to regret speaking, he’d already shoved a helmet over his head and locked the strap.

Revving the motor a last time, he took his feet off the ground, forcing me to make a grab at his jacket to stay on the bike as he accelerated out of the alley.

* * *

I CLUNG TO his waist, feeling like my skull might vibrate out of my skin... or simply break apart like sandstone, leaving a pool of wet dust inside the helmet.

Resting my bulky head on his back, I watched the sun begin its descent into the water through a bug-speckled visor, feeling another rush of gratitude towards Ullysa for forcing the down jacket and scarf on me, in addition to the gloves.

Revik only stopped the bike once, and as angry as he might have been at me, I suspected it was for my benefit. After using the cement-block restroom and washing my face, I’d stood in the picnic area swinging my arms while he walked a wide circle on the grass, ignoring me studiously.

Normally, the ride to Vancouver took only three or so hours from Seattle. Because we took back roads for a border crossing further east, it took us closer to seven.

I raised my head as the bike slowed.

He came to a stop, placing his feet on the ground at the end of one of several lines of vehicles. RVs, trailers and cars started and stopped before a widened section of road bridged with glass booths.

Seeing the Canadian flag snapping overhead, I felt a jump in my stomach. Revik lifted his feet, hitting the gas to roll us forward when the line shifted another spot.

He glanced back at me for the first time since we’d left.

“If we encounter a problem,” he said through the helmet. “It will be here.”

I adjusted my arms around him. “How likely is that?”

“They won’t be watching from the physical.” He paused, thinking. “Well. It is unlikely. Canada is too obvious.”

“And if it isn’t too obvious?”

He continued to look at me. I couldn’t see any part of him through the tinted visor. He shrugged.

“So why can’t you use the Barrier?” I said.

“Because it is easy to watch multiple places in shifts from the Barrier,” he said. “There are not enough seers to go everywhere in person... not even for the Rooks... and it is wholly unnecessary. They will watch from the Barrier, circulate our pictures to humans... and wait for me to resurface. They know I cannot stay out of the Barrier forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because eventually I have to sleep,” he said.

I fell silent, watching cars inch forward. A little boy in a minivan gripped his hands into fists as he stared at me and Revik, turning them towards himself rhythmically, lips puckered as he made Vroom, Vroom noises.

“So how do you know they won’t be waiting for us here?” I said.

Revik sighed, staring up at the sky. “I don’t,” he said. “But there are advantages to Canada that made it worth the risk. I am registered through their branch of Seer Containment, what you call SCARB. I will come up green in a regular scan, at least until they revoke my status. Ullysa assured me they had not.”

“So what about me? They must have facial recognition software, right?” My panic rose. “And my implant—”

“Has been altered. We told you this, Allie.” Revik sighed. “We have people on the inside, too. The electronic security doesn’t worry me. It is easy to tamper with... and they told me which lines to use for the crossing. By the time they found us that way, it would already be too late.”

Stumped, I tried to incorporate this information into my more nameless fear. Before I could think of another question, it was our turn. Revik pulled the bike up to the booth.

A man wearing a black uniform stepped out from behind the glass.

He held out a hand.

“Passports.”

Revik reached into his inner jacket pocket, handing them over wordlessly. The guard motioned towards Revik’s face, and Revik unstrapped the helmet, tugging it off his head. I sat back, reaching up shakily to do the same. I kept my expression flat as I pulled mine off, aware at once of my sweat-damp hair as the Canadian-Washington wind blew at the back of my neck. I hoped my nerves didn’t show, but knew from my previous inability to hold any kind of poker face that they probably did.

The guard sniffled in the cold, wiping his nose with one gloved hand. He looked at me. I got a whisper of familiarity as his eyes lingered on my face. He stared at Revik, scrutinizing him more closely. He was probably checking our implants through his headset as he stared, but his expression didn’t waver.

“What is your purpose in Canada?” he said.

“Tourist.” The word was out of Revik’s mouth before I’d heard the question.

“Any food with you? Fruits or vegetables?”

“No.”

“Weapons?”

“No weapons. Only clothes.”

“Why no headsets?” He pointed at Revik’s ear. “No phones?”

Revik smiled, glancing at me. “We wanted to go without. Vacation. Is that a problem?”

The guard frowned again. He stepped closer, looking at both photos, then back at mine. I felt more than saw Revik’s fingers stray to his boot. The man’s eyes were dark blue, kind, a little sad. I didn’t want Revik to hurt him.

“We’re visiting my friend,” I blurted out. “My best friend from school. She married a mountie, can you believe it? He’s got a horse and everything... one of those hats! I couldn’t make the wedding, but the pictures were hilarious, so...” My face warmed. “Well, not to you, I guess.” I laughed, blushing deeper. “Well, I promised we’d visit, but my boss is a dick... you know how it is. I didn’t want him to be able to track us to see if I’m really sick, so I talked Roy here into leaving our ‘sets, and... hey, I hope that wasn’t rude, that thing I said about mounties? They’re just so cute in those red jackets. I didn’t mean anything, honestly...”

The guard’s eyes flickered in surprise.

Revik stiffened, his hand now on my thigh. His fingers gripped me tighter, wanting me to be silent, but I kept my smile on the guard, seeing his blue eyes soften.

“No, ma’am... no offense taken.”

“Do you ever ride a horse?” I asked ludicrously.

“When the mood takes me, sure.” His smile relaxed, his eyes on mine, and now warm with a different kind of interest. He gave Revik a regretful look. “Well, be careful then.” He tipped his hat. “You tell your friend congratulations for me.”

“Thanks!” I beamed. “And you... get some hot chocolate or something. You look like you’re catching a cold.”

He chuckled again. “I’ll see if I can’t do that, ma’am.”

Revik glanced at me. I saw a smile on his lips just before he stuffed his dark head in the helmet, laying his hands on the handles. The guard stepped closer, not looking at Revik at all now. I took the passports and zipped them up in my jacket pocket. I stuck my head in my own helmet. As we pulled away from the booth, I saw the guard looking after me. He raised a hand in salute and I waved back, then clutched at Revik in alarm when he gunned the accelerator.

“Don’t push it!” he said loudly.

I laughed and, wonder of wonders, felt him smile.

He hit the gas harder and the bike leapt forward.

By then, the sun had dipped below the horizon. Fire-red clouds spread out over the ocean, and the sky behind them was dark indigo, almost the color of the Barrier.

* * *

HE BANKED A few hours later, pulling us off a Vancouver city street and onto a small highway. He took another ramp just before the fork to Lions Gate Bridge.

I glimpsed a sign pointing to the forested dark of Stanley Park.

Exhausted, I gripped him in a desperation borne of fear that I might loosen my hold at a critical moment and fall off. He bumped us over the grass to meet the bicycle and footpaths near the water and turned off the headlamp, so we were riding in the dark. My eyes, stinging from fatigue, glimpsed dark trees to our left, a curve of bay and bobbing masts from the boat harbor on our right. Skyscrapers rose behind the docks, curved cylinders of glass that lit up the water, like a wall of green-blue eyes, staring into the mouth of the ocean.

We rounded the peninsula and a shock of cold air hit as wind gusted into the bike, forcing Revik to correct before he gunned it again. Water flew by in a blur, the image vibrating. As the bike’s tires rose to meet the sloping footpath, I saw a small lighthouse with its light off and a swath of moving darkness behind it, broken by reflected glows from slow-moving ships. I could just make out the white paint with the red horizontal stripe across the lighthouse’s base.

Revik parked the bike below two sets of stone stairs that met under the lighthouse itself. Before I realized we were stopping, he’d already turned off the engine, leaving us in an eerie quiet with only wind and lapping waves.

Unfastening the chin strap, he tugged off his helmet. Spikes of sweat-wet hair stuck up over his head.

Using a foot to dislodge the kickstand, he climbed off. I watched him walk directly to the stone base of the lighthouse. By the time I made out the square, metal panel, he was already kicking it in with his booted heel.

Seeing where this was headed, I took off my own helmet and climbed off, shocked when my weight on my legs sent pain from my tailbone all the way up to my shoulders. My arms hung like dead weight and I stood there for a moment, clenching and unclenching my hands inside the leather gloves, trying to get the feeling back.

I watched Revik finish knocking in the panel.

Then he turned, his face a stark white after being behind a tinted visor all day. Behind where he stood, a three by three hole gaped in the cement.

“I suppose a hotel is out of the question?” I said.

Walking back to me and the bike, he opened the motorcycle’s seat storage, pulling out a small, blue backpack and blankets, then a cheap, battery-powered lamp. Igniting the last, he set it down just inside the hole in the stone wall and crawled through, pushing the backpack and blankets in front of him.

Inhaling a last gulp of salty sea air, I crawled in after him.

Once inside, I turned around in the surprisingly large space, and leaned against a curved cement wall.

I watched in disbelief as Revik crawled back to the opening climbed back out of the hole. He lay the metal panel back over the opening... and I had a sudden vision of him hammering it back on, trapping me inside.

“Hey!” I said, close to a yell.

He bent his knees. He met my gaze, visibly startled.

“Where are you going?” I said.

“To hide the motorcycle.”

“Oh.” I exhaled in relief. Then I was embarrassed. “Oh, okay.”

Seeming to feel one or both, he straightened, then disappeared.

I just sat there while he was gone, numb with fatigue. I was starting to nod off when he climbed back through the rectangular opening.

After rearranging the panel door behind us, he sat on the opposite side of the lamp as me and began pulling off his leather gloves. In the yellow lamplight, dark circles shadowed his light eyes, which were glassy with fatigue.

I reached over his lap for a blanket, trying to ignore the faint reek from the empty beer bottles and trash littering the dirt where we sat. I eyed a used condom just past the circle of electric light and unzipped my jacket, running fingers through my matted hair.

He hooked the backpack with one hand and set it by my leg.

Feeling him waiting, I realized that had been a courtesy of sorts, too.

Hesitating only another half-beat, I unzipped the main compartment of the backpack and groped inside, knocking my hand into water bottles before closing on something squishy in a plastic bag. I made an involuntary face.

“Food,” he said.

“Could you be more specific?” I sniffed the contents, grimaced. “Jeez Louise...”

Leaning over the space between us, he took the backpack from me.

“You are used to human food,” he said.

“Do you always have to eat something different?”

“Yes.” Pausing, he shrugged. “Well, no... sometimes.”

Remembering he’d tolerated human food for me on a number of occasions, I nodded, biting back my complaints. Following his lead, I unwrapped one end of what looked like a seaweed burrito and took an experimental bite. I gagged, then forced myself to chew. Even as hungry as I was, it tasted like moldy dirt.

He watched with impassive eyes, then surprised me by smiling.

“Good?” he said.

“No,” I blurted.

His smile became a suppressed laugh. “You’re doing it wrong, Allie.”

I let my hand with the green wrap sink to my lap. “Want to enlighten me? Or are you having too much fun smirking?”

His smile evaporated.

“That was a joke,” I said, feeling my face warm.

His eyes shifted away. “You should be able to feel your light without using the Barrier.” He cleared his throat. “Try with me. It’s easier with someone else.”

He held out a hand towards me.

I stared at it. “Explain more.”

“The sense of motion. Of light. Try to feel it.” His voice remained casual, but a faint tension grew audible as he offered his hand again.

Realizing I was in danger of causing another scene with us, I clasped his fingers. His were warmer than mine.

“Light has a component that is nearly physical,” he said. “It has dimension. It is subtle, but you should be attuned to me, so—”

“I think I get it.” My skin was starting to warm. I wanted my hand back, but I didn’t want to offend him.

“I feel different than you?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Other than skin?”

“Yes.” I gently dislodged my fingers. “I get it, Revik.”

He released me with a shrug. “Then eat.”

My hand continued to tingle after he let go. I lifted the wrap, tried to concentrate on that feeling of motion as I bit down, especially around my lips and tongue.

I was chewing for a few seconds before I could pay attention enough to notice it really did taste different. Well, not taste exactly—although a subtle array of textures lived under that bitter, damp smell. The real difference felt more like touch, but so infused with my other senses it blurred them together, making them hard to pick apart. Absorbing the plant’s light was like inhaling gentle breaths of deliciously scented air.

The feeling was nearly... sensual.

“Don’t go too far into it, Allie,” he warned.

I watched him relax as he chewed, like someone getting a massage. His pale eyes flickered to mine, as if he’d heard that, too.

“I had to learn to eat blind when young,” he said. “To blend with humans.” He swallowed what was in his mouth. “It is not uncommon for the Council to require service of seers born of certain castes. My parents were asked to give one of theirs... as an infiltrator.”

He returned my blank look, coloring slightly.

“Given my blood type,” he plowed on. “I was the logical choice. The food was of particular issue to me. I would fight them on it, which angered my father. He did not want me embarrassing him in front of the Council. I was already...” He paused, then shrugged again. “...It is complicated. I was not his blood child, and moreover, he did not favor me. Raising me was his duty. He was adamant that I do mine.”

I took another bite of the plant burrito, if only to keep my face from showing a reaction.

“That sucks,” I said, awkward.

We continued eating in silence. Finishing the wrap, I rolled the plastic into a ball and stuffed it back in the backpack, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting off the cap before I drank.

“There is more,” he commented. “If you are still hungry.”

Nodding, I finished the water and leaned back, sliding around to avoid sharp spots with my shoulder blades. I closed my eyes.

He cleared his throat. “You cannot sleep,” he said.

Realizing he was right, I felt my heart sink. Sleep sounded heavenly, even on condom-strewn dirt.

“We may as well talk,” he said.

Sighing, I sat up straighter. I stuck my arms back into the sleeves of my jacket.

“No, thanks,” I said. I felt him tense, but ignored it, too tired to play at being polite. Crawling forward, I reached for the metal door.

He sat up. “No. You cannot go outside.”

I craned my neck around, suddenly even more tired. “Really? I really can’t just go look at the water?”

He shook his head. “It is an unnecessary risk.”

“What is?” I said. “Windburn?”

“Come here.” He leaned forward, and I backed away from his hands. “Now, Allie. I am too tired for this...”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“Do you?”

I hesitated, considered lying. “No,” I said.

He shook his head, gesturing. “Then no.”

“Are you going to beat me up if I try to go outside?”

His eyes focused on mine in disbelief. After a pause, they grew openly angry. “I don’t need to beat you... I can tie you up and drive a stake in the ground!”

Realizing I was too tired for this as well, I slid back on the dirt, sitting on the blanket. Watching me, he ran fingers through his black hair, muttering in German.

I caught enough that I flinched.

I saw him notice, and stare. Not needing that all that much either, I rested my face on my arms. Suddenly I was more tired than I thought I could stand.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I glanced up, then wished I hadn’t. The guilt was still in his eyes.

“I did not know you knew German,” he said.

I shook my head. “I don’t.” At his silence, I sighed. “I had a roommate from Stuttgart. I picked up a few words. ‘Immature’ and ‘bitch’ happen to be two of them.” I saw him wince. “...She argued with her girlfriend a lot.”

His skin darkened. Lacing his fingers, he nodded, staring at his feet.

“I apologize.”

“Forget it.”

“I did not mean—”

“I said forget it.” I rested my face on my folded arms. “I know you’re trying. You suck at it, but you’re trying. I’m just not used to sitting in dirt holes, sleep-deprived. And I hate being ordered around all the time. Since I’ve known you, it seems like no one ever wants to do anything else.” At his silence, I added, “But I told Ullysa I’d listen to you... so it’s my fault.”

The silence lengthened.

“Do you want to know more about who you are?” he said.

Grimacing, I shook my head. “No.” I closed my eyes, then opened them again, remembering I really couldn’t sleep.

“Allie,” he said. He waited until I turned my head. “It’s not only to stay awake. I want us to talk. I want to... move past this somehow.”

I nodded, dejected. “Okay.”

His brows drew together. “You would rather fight?”

“No.” I said. “That’s why I was hoping we could just... not talk.”

At his silence, I bit my lip. Looking at his face, I sighed again. He really was trying. I, on the other hand, was being a brat.

I took another breath. “I’m sorry. I really am tired.”

When he didn’t look up, I tried again.

“Look,” I said. “...That whole thing in Seattle.” I felt him stiffen, but went on anyway. “I was avoiding you that morning. I’m not denying that. I felt like roadkill, and you seemed really pissed off...” Feeling my cheeks warm as I fumbled around the other thing, the real reason I’d stayed away from him, I met his gaze. “...But I didn’t ‘offer’ you to Kat. I said she could see you. And...” I hesitated. “...Well, I guess it was the wrong thing to say. I mean, clearly... it was the wrong thing. So I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Revik.”

There was another silence.

Seeing his expression grow slightly less hard, I added,

“No one would tell me anything. I guess I could have asked you, but it seemed a little heavy for chess conversation. I know it’s some seer thing, but that’s all I know.” Waiting another beat, I tried again. “What I’m saying is, I still don’t know anything, Revik.”

He just looked at me. Then he exhaled, clicking softly.

“Thank you,” he said.

I bit my lip, then shrugged, meeting his gaze.

“So do you want to do it now?” I said. “Tell me, I mean. About that thing—”

“No.” He shook his head, his eyes showing a faint alarm. “No... I am too tired to talk about that now. I do want to tell you something, though.”

“Fine,” I said. “Knock yourself out.”

He looked up the cement walls of the lighthouse. I saw his eyes cloud, then focus, as if he were practicing more than one way of saying it. Turning, he seemed to give up.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he said. “Not even that morning.”

“Jesus.” I winced, covering my eyes. “I don’t remember in any way asking about that.”

“I wanted to,” he said. “But I didn’t.”

“Great,” I said, fighting anger. “Good for you.”

He studied my face, then rubbed his own with a hand. His accent grew stronger. “There is no reason to be embarrassed. Seers are naturally possessive... I gave you cause. I didn’t mean to.” Thinking, he reconsidered. “Well. Yes, I did.”

I stared at the floor as I sorted through his words. Finally, I shook my head.

“Yep. Still not asking, Revik.”

He stuffed the remains of the plant burrito he’d been eating into the backpack. He looked tired... and now, angry.

I shouldn’t care. Why did I care about this? Taking off my jacket, I bunched it up for a makeshift pillow, stuffing it under my head.

I felt him staring as I dragged half of the blanket over my body.

“Allie,” he said. “You cannot sleep.”

“I know.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe.”

I sank my head into the jacket. I was angry, too. I couldn’t bring myself to shove it aside, even after I felt him notice, even when he continued to stare at me.

It didn’t help that at least half of my rage came from confusion, an almost cloying inability to understand him. Why had he told me that stuff about his childhood? Why the chess, for that matter? And why had he been so sure I’d want to know about him and Kat? What had he even meant by it, anyway? Did saying he hadn’t fucked her mean intercourse only? Because that left a pretty wide range of inbetweens that my imagination was more than happy to supply with images... especially since he hadn’t minded getting a dick massage and shoving his tongue down her throat right in front of me.

And why the hell did I care about this again?

I heard a snap and sigh of plastic and air, then the sound of him drinking. The backpack rustled, followed by his leather-covered shoulders meeting the cement wall. I closed my eyes, opening them when I remembered I couldn’t sleep.

“Can I please go outside?” I said.

He shook his head, clicking softly. “No.”

“Then talk. Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Anything,” I said. “Who was your real father?”

He sighed, moving so that the leather crinkled again. “My biological parents were killed by humans when I was very young. I do not remember them.”

I closed my eyes, cursing myself silently, then turned to look at him.

“Revik. I’m sorry—”

“I raised the subject,” he said. “It’s fine, Allie.”

I watched his face as his mind seemed to go somewhere else.

“Were you really a Nazi?” I said.

His eyes turned slowly in my direction.

“Yes,” he said. “...In the way you mean it. In the strictest sense... meaning politically... no.”

I wasn’t sure how to follow on that.

“So,” I said. “Did you leave after? When you—”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Averting his eyes, he shrugged. “I don’t remember most of that time, anyway.”

“What do you mean, you don’t remember?”

He sighed, clicking his tongue. “It was a condition of my coming back. A portion of my memory was forfeit. I believe it was partly mechanical... I lost some simply by being separated from the network. Some was a bargain Vash made for my life. With the Rooks.” His eyes remained on his laced fingers. “I imagine I knew things. Things the Rooks needed me to forget.”

Realizing my mouth hung open, I closed it.

“Forfeit?” I said. “How much is gone?”

His eyes grew a touch colder. “I don’t know. I can guess, by piecing together dates with what I remember.” His face smoothed to neutral as he cleared his throat. “...It is very strange that you saw any of it. No one else ever has. Perhaps it has something to do with who you are.” He glanced at me, his eyes and voice casual.

“May I ask... how much did you see?”

Great. I’d just walked into another potential minefield. I tried to be reassuring.

“Not much. You and your wife—” He flinched visibly. “...I saw you in jail, and that guy, Terian. I also saw you in Russia, I think. Something about tanks being stuck in the mud. You seemed unhappy about the way the war was going...” I trailed, figuring that last part was safe at least. “You and some guy talked about who would lead that part of the front.”

His eyes grew calm as he rested his chin on his hands.

“How old are you?” I said, when he didn’t break the silence. “You and that guy Terian... you look exactly the same.”

He laced his fingers together. For a moment, I saw him thinking again, as if considering possible responses. Finally, he shrugged.

“I am young for a seer,” he said.

After a lengthier pause, he leaned his head against the wall.

It wasn’t until another minute or so had passed that I realized that was all the answer I was going to get.

Chapter 15

MURDER

THE DATE WAS May 12th.

I recycled that piece of information from a dropped comment by Revik about our flights, when we would arrive in Tai Pei versus when we left the airport in Vancouver, BC. I didn’t really hear him when he said it; the fact hit me such that I stopped my hand in mid-motion before the white, triangle-shaped skirt of the woman symbol on the bathroom door of the diner where we’d stopped to eat breakfast.

I stood there, frozen, for more than one heartbeat.

I thought of my mom. My eyes lit on a pay phone bolted inside a shadowed alcove to my right. I blinked at it, nearly hallucinating with fatigue, then glanced behind me, watching Revik’s back as he slumped into a red vinyl booth.

Completing the motion of my hand, I entered the restroom.

On my way out, minutes later, I spotted a black plastic tray covered in Canadian coins on an empty table. Scooping it up, I dumped the change into my palm and left the tray on the bar without breaking stride. My fellow-waitress code brought me a twinge of guilt, but I shook it off.

I slid into the creaking booth across from Revik.

“You got me coffee?” I said.

He nodded. I saw him tracking faces and sighed, relieved when I realized he’d barely noticed my absence.

I drank coffee and he used his to warm his hands. Our waitress came back, topped off both of our cups, then lingered, smiling at Revik.

“Know what you want to eat yet, honey?”

He frowned, picking up the menu. “No. Go away.”

The woman froze, her mouth open. I stared at him too, equally surprised, but more amused than our waitress. Snapping her mouth shut, she turned and walked away, taking her coffee pot with her.

I watched her go, then noted Revik’s eyes on mine. I followed his gaze to my hands, which were methodically shredding a paper napkin. I pushed the napkin away.

“They can’t help it,” he said. He seemed to mean his words to be reassuring. “We’ll both distract people for awhile. Humans, too.”

“Distract people?” I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. He took a sip of the dark brown fluid, then grimaced, lowering the mug back to the table.

I smiled. “What? Did you forget you didn’t like it?”

He fingered the mug’s ceramic handle, frowning at me slightly.

Glancing at the bar counter, I said, “Well, you’d better not order anything now. They spit in the food sometimes, you know.” When he didn’t look over, I tried again.

“How will we know Ullysa’s people?”

“They’ll know me. I’ll likely know some of them.”

I nodded, reacting slightly to his words. I didn’t know what triggered my reaction at first. Then my eyes followed a man outside, watching him stare at a woman in a skin-tight miniskirt standing across the street. She smiled at him, her mouth a dark red slash, and I found my thoughts drifting to Seattle.

“So we just get on the plane?” I said evenly.

“Yes.” Watching my face, he added, softer, “There is nothing to worry about, Allie.”

Hearing the second meaning under his words, I pretended I hadn’t... which wasn’t hard, since I had only the vaguest idea what it was about.

I tried to think instead about where we’d be in the next two days. In the course of our awkward “talk” the night before, Revik said the part of Russia where we’d be going remained nearly wild, almost untouched. Bears roamed the tundra and woods, along with wolves, eagles, foxes. I thought about my mom’s fascination with wolves and smiled... then frowned, glancing over my shoulder at the bathroom door.

“Okay.” I looked at him. “I have to go again. I think it’s the coffee.”

I watched his eyes focus out the window, coming to rest on the same woman I’d been looking at seconds before.

His gaze sharpened and flickered down, appraising.

“Okay,” I repeated. I planted my hands on the table and stood. “I’ll be back.”

He didn’t look up as I left.

When I glanced back, he was still looking out the window. He took another sip of lukewarm coffee as I watched, and grimaced.

* * *

I SLID ONTO the wooden bench under the pay phone and lifted the receiver, throwing all the coins I had into the slot. I found myself relieved they even had coin phones in Canada; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen one in SF. I punched in the familiar number, shifting so that my back faced the corridor.

The phone rang.

After a pause, it rang again.

“Come on,” I murmured. “Pick up.”

A click startled my ears. My heart lifted...

But only in the pause before my mother’s antique answering machine switched on, playing a message so old I’d memorized it before high school.

“...We’re not at home right now.” Mom’s voice sang out the words like small bells. “...So pleeease leave a message after the tone... BEEP!” She laughed. “Ha ha, just kidding! Here it comes!”

“Dork,” I muttered, out of habit.

The message machine beeped.

* * *

TERIAN GAZED IN fascination at the metallic box on the tile counter.

He hadn’t known such machines still existed. It was like looking at an old linotype machine, or a working trebuchet and its pile of stones, waiting to be flung over a castle wall. The phone stopped its high-pitched trill and shuddered to life. Silence wafted after the initial message, but from the static, Terian knew it hadn’t finished.

“...Ha ha, just kidding! Here it comes...”

The machine let out a loud, atonal bleep.

Terian’s new body, still unfamiliar in passing glimpses on reflective surfaces, tensed in excitement. After all, he knew who wasn’t calling. The Seven as well as the Org watched the house and its single occupant, so they might even know he was inside by now, but Terian didn’t mind that, either.

He wanted Dehgoies to know exactly where he was.

The background sound of children’s voices rose, and he glanced at the television monitor. Small faces pressed close to the likely-illegal camera, laughing and screaming in delight as that cheerful tune began to sing-song out of bow-shaped lips smeared with white and blue frosting.

“Happy biiiiirthday to you! Happy biiiirthday to you! Happy biiiirthday, dear Al—”

“Mom?” A voice emerged, panicked but low. “Mom, are you there? Pick up! Please pick up! I don’t have much time!”

Terian blinked. Voices came to him in this body sometimes. They sang to him, like the children in the metal box... but this voice sounded real.

Could it be real?

A little girl ran into the room even as Terian thought it, this one neither trapped behind glass nor a hallucination. Paint covered her small hands, and matted her dark hair in clumps. Her bare feet poked out from under a tattered purple dress, scratched and stained from play. A stuffed white rabbit dangled from her sticky fingers, and red had bled into the velvet fur.

Terian waved at her to be silent as he pointed at the machine.

“Mom?” the voice from the machine said.

The girl froze, staring at the box on the counter.

Excitement slid through Terian’s skin, a liquid heat, shared between himself and the girl. He wasn’t hallucinating the voice. She was right there, on the other side of the line. He could simply lift the receiver, speak with her...

“Mom! Please... pick up!”

A symphony lived in that voice. Physical imprints could be so endlessly fascinating, like motes of dust, each containing a singular world. Terian winked at the little girl, who took another step towards the machine.

He held up a hand, warning her.

“Crap,” the voice said dully. “Of all the times for you to actually be out of your cave.” Another silence came and went. “Mom, listen. I can’t tell you where I am. I’m not dead or in a ditch. And I’m not a freaking terrorist, okay? I’m with a friend. He’s helping me figure things out...”

Terian’s smile widened.

“...I’ll be home as soon as I can. Tell Jon and Cass... well, tell them I’m okay. And I miss them. I love you, Mom. Tell them that, too.”

Terian grinned, hearing the ups and downs in her voice as her moods shifted from reassurance to fear and back again. She’d called to reassure her mother, but she’d also hoped to reassure herself. Terian chuckled again.

Dehgoies didn’t know where she was, he was sure of it. Perhaps by now she’d learned more effective means of distracting him, too.

From the wall, a moan redirected both Terians’ focus.

Red lines and small handprints snaked across sun-faded wallpaper, running in places, like rusting metal. Whenever two of Terian’s bodies shared physical proximity they tended to share traits. The doc had said this personality configuration would be creative, and she hadn’t been wrong. At the foot of the same wall, another groan grew audible, meeting the voice still coming out of the answering machine.

“...and Mom?” The voice hesitated. “Don’t let any strangers in the house, okay?”

The little girl giggled. The stuffed white bunny bounced against her chest.

“...There are some people after me, and... well, it would be better if you could just go to Grandma’s for awhile. Or Aunt Carol’s. Please? Just do what I—”

There was a click. The voice abruptly cut off.

Raising his eyebrows, Terian looked at the little girl. Seeing the blank look in her eyes, he smiled.

“Are you finished?” he asked her kindly.

She held up her hands, pinning the bunny to her chest with one short arm. He understood her without words.

“No more paint?” he said sympathetically.

She shook her head, bouncing her dark curls.

Terian clucked his tongue, rising easily to his feet. Following her back into the other room, he lifted a paint brush from the edge of the television stand, using his fingers to wipe away stray hairs. He handed it to the little girl.

“...Let’s see what we can do about that,” he murmured.

Squatting fluidly, he examined the woman. No sound came from the area by his feet, but a single eye stared up, almost childlike in its attentiveness. The woman whimpered as Terian touched her skin. The eye closed, leaving the face featureless under hair and paint.

He checked the belt he’d been using as a tourniquet.

He considered loosening it, then pulled a flip knife from his back pocket instead, scanning options on the marred skin. Both arms had tourniquets already, both legs. The obvious choices had been tapped; to overuse any one would bring an end within heartbeats. He clasped a handful of her hair, speaking to her softly.

She had already given so much.

The little girl fidgeted. “Paint!” she shrieked. “Paint!”

“Relax, dearest,” he murmured.

The woman groaned when he sliced into her scalp. The eye flickered open and she fought to breathe as paint ran past her eyelashes, making her blink and gasp like a panicking child.

“Shhhh,” he said. “Shhh...”

The little girl jumped up and down.

He straightened, watching as she pushed the metal brush into the fresh pool, using one chubby hand to balance on the woman’s forehead and then scraping the brush back and forth on the wall, leaving behind an sweep of broken red lines. Occasionally, she would look back at him, showing him one part of the drawing or another.

“Good,” he said, approvingly. “Yes, very nice work, Melissa... very nice. Looks just like your bunny... yes.”

The little girl beamed back at him, her eyes shining.

* * *

I CLUTCHED THE receiver. Something was wrong.

I couldn’t breathe. This pain wasn’t like what I’d felt in Seattle... it wasn’t...

Cold sweat broke out on my skin. A kind of liquid dread made it difficult to breathe... like someone treading in circles over a rotting corpse, crushing maggots...

“...and Mom?” I fought to swallow. “Don't let any strangers in the house, okay? There are some people after me, and... well, it would be better if you could go to Grandma’s for awhile. Or Aunt Carol’s. Please? Just do what I—”

A hand reached in front of my face, depressing the phone’s silver tongue.

I glanced up and back, still holding the receiver.

Revik stood there, his face blank until I saw his eyes.

He motioned with his hand for me to get up. When I hesitated, he caught hold of my elbow, jerking me to my feet. He steered me down the corridor. The horrible feeling didn’t go away; if anything, it got worse, until I no longer cared whether Revik was angry or even if I’d done something... again... that might get us both killed.

He took me through the glass front doors of the diner and to the street outside. The sun reflected coldly from the windows of high-rise buildings, but it only blinded me, making the sickness worse. I planted my feet when Revik stopped.

Still holding my arm, he pulled out a mobile phone, hit a single key. His message to whoever picked up was brief.

“Yes,” he said. “We’ll need it.”

He clicked the phone shut and threw it at a nearby garbage container, hard enough for the bin to vibrate as the phone rattled against the insides before it came to rest. Jerking me closer by the arm, Revik turned to speak, then stopped, staring directly at my face.

The anger in his eyes faltered.

“What?” he said. “What is it?”

I tried to answer.

“What, Allie?” His voice sharpened, but he didn’t sound angry at me anymore. “What is going on? What’s wrong with you?”

My stomach lurched. I turned away from him, throwing up coffee and part of a danish in a thick sluice on the sidewalk. A family was walking past us, aiming for the diner, and one of the kids gave a sharp cry of disgust.

“Ewww! Mom, that lady’s barfing!”

I heaved again, bent in half. I didn’t think about moving, not even to aim for the potted tree in the cement walk. Revik stood impassively, holding my arm, his eyes sweeping the street. I heaved a third time, gasping. When it started to feel like it might be over, I wiped my lips with the back of a hand.

Revik cleared his throat. “Are you finished?”

“I think so.”

Spitting to get the excess saliva out of my mouth, I plugged my nose with my knuckles when the stench of stomach acid and coffee reached it.

“You need the restroom,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He exhaled. “I’ll wait. But not for long, Allie.”

“I had to call her.”

His voice became a snarl. “So you pick the stupidest way imaginable? You could have asked me!”

“I did ask you! You said no!”

“That was weeks ago! Why here, Allie? Why now?”

“My fucking dad died today, okay?”

He opened his mouth to answer... then his face went blank.

I turned away, pausing on a couple staring at us from where they’d just been about to enter the restaurant. Meeting my gaze, the woman hesitated, clutching her jacket to her throat. Great. Revik and I had just become drunk-domestic-violence couple. I let out a short laugh, still looking into the woman’s wide, concerned eyes.

When I turned, Revik stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“Allie, you realize that anyone could have picked up?”

“I wasn’t in...” I remembered we were in public. “I wasn’t in that other place—”

“It doesn’t matter! You could lead them straight to her... if they weren’t there already!”

“With my mom?” I shrieked. “That’s great, Revik! You told me you could keep her safe!”

“You think you are helping her?” He stepped closer, dropping his voice to a rough whisper. “I listened to you, Allie... you might as well have told them to use her to get to you.”

He seemed about to say more, then bit it back, adding,

“...And you let your voice be recorded. Do you have any idea what that is, to have a recent recording on a target? For an infiltrator this is like... a present! At the very least, they could trace the call. Every branch of law enforcement has Rooks in it, SCARB more than any other...”

“I wasn’t on long enough for that.”

He stared at me, openly disbelieving, then averted his eyes, forcing his gaze back to the diner. His jaw hardened.

“Should I go in with you?” he said.

I shook my head. “No. I’ll come back. Then you can yell at me all you want.”

He released my arm so suddenly that I lost my balance.

Without looking at him, I pushed my way back through the double glass doors.

Our performance hadn’t gone unnoticed inside the diner either; staff and customers gave me a wide berth as I staggered past the cashier’s desk. I retreated into the restroom. My fingers grasped for the bumpy silver handles and twisted the cold water on full. Because of the prosthetics, I couldn’t stick my face in the sink like I wanted.

I cupped water to my lips instead, washing out my mouth, then dabbing my forehead.

I checked my face in the mirror. It looked the same. It still wasn’t mine.

Revik was waiting when I came out, but on the other side of the door, away from my puke.

“Ready?” His voice remained cold.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“You heard me. I said I was alive, and with a friend. Nothing they didn’t already know.”

He stared at the cement, hands on his hips.

When I didn’t go on, he turned, walking in the direction of the harbor, passing the parked motorcycle without breaking stride. I followed him at a distance. Straight ahead, glass buildings blocked my view of the water, but I glimpsed a white complex adorned with sail-like tents.

At the next stoplight, I approached his side warily.

“Aren’t we going to the airport?” I said.

“No,” he said. “We’re not taking a plane anymore.” He looked at me. His voice leaked frustration. “Will you tell me? You say no one picked up. You weren’t in the Barrier. So what is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you felt something?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

“What?” he said.

I started to answer, but the cold feeling rose, forcing me to take another breath.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t.”

When I didn’t say anything more, he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking as soon as the light changed. I followed after he’d gone a few steps. Then the feeling surged back for real, and I knew suddenly... I knew.

She was dead. My mom was dead.

Halfway across the street, everything around me grayed. I collapsed before I realized that the problem wasn’t a sudden attack of freak weather.

It was me.

* * *

WHEN I OPENED my eyes, cars honked loudly, like alarm clocks going off around my head. I didn’t know where I was. Shadowy people stared down at me with blank faces. I didn’t know any of them.

I heard a voice I knew—

“Allie! ALLIE!”

Revik’s face appeared. His eyes, wide with panic, startled me.

He tried pulling me to my feet, then slid his arms under my knees and shoulders. He held me against his chest, murmured in my ear.

“Stay awake... please, baby. Please. Don’t fall asleep...”

I thought I had to be hallucinating. My voice seemed to come from far away.

“I’m here,” I said. “I’m still here.”

I burst into a sob.

He stared down at me, then around at the gathering crowd.

I still lay in the middle of the street, so he tightened his hold on me and stood up. Pausing to adjust his grip, he began to walk, fast, with long strides. He had me across the street and halfway down the block before he spoke again.

“Can you walk?” he said. “We’re conspicuous.”

I nodded. He stopped to set me on my feet, reaching back to unlock my fingers from his neck. Standing there, I wiped my face, wobbling on my legs.

“We have to go under the complex,” he said, his voice nearly a mutter. “...Look for ‘Llysa’s people.”

His eyes tracked faces.

Some paused to stare at me curiously until they saw Revik and blanched at whatever expression they saw in his face.

“I wish you weren’t so damned conspicuous to humans,” he said, still muttering. “It’s not just...” He glanced at me, coloring. “...Us.” I flinched at the intensity in his voice. He was thinking aloud, filling space, but the emotion felt real. “...Like blood on a white sheet. They notice you... then make up a reason why. Even that fucking customs officer. You didn’t just flirt with him. You let him see you...”

He looked at me, his eyes hard.

“You have to stay out of sight on the ship! I mean it, Allie... please. Please do as I say in this. I’m begging you...”

I stared back at him, hearing his accent come out stronger, confused at the expression I saw on his face. Then his actual words reached me.

“Ship,” I repeated dully. “You said ship?”

“Yes.” He watched me wipe my eyes, his accent still stronger than usual. “We need the construct now that you have blown our cover. A plane is not big enough... you need mass for a construct, weight. They take time to set up. Ullysa’s people prepped one as backup.”

I nodded.

He stood there a few seconds more, as if unsure what to do with me. Then he clasped my hand, half-dragging me down the sidewalk that led under the tented complex.

When we stopped at the end of the line for customs, his arm wound around my waist. I didn’t feel any affection in the gesture, though, not even when he held me tightly against him.

* * *

ONCE MORE, REVIK found himself at a loss.

They stood at the end of the security line that led into the customs kiosks, and he still didn’t see any sign of Ullysa’s people.

But that wasn’t what threw him... not really.

His senses remained on high alert, his fingers conscious of the gun nestled in a side holster under his jacket. It was a Glock 18, illegal for civilian use even in the United States; just carrying it risked jail time here, but he needed a full automatic for seers. Her hand clutching his was in the way of him reaching it quickly, but for reasons even he didn’t understand, he didn’t let go of her.

Seeing the row of metal detectors, he resigned himself to the fact that he might have to dump the gun, or risk pushing security to get them past. He spotted a trash can in one elbow of the zig-zagging line and decided the former was safer; he was just reluctant to do so until they’d ID’d the security team and he knew for sure he wouldn’t have to make a run for it with her.

The crowd picked up, thickening as they crushed into the main line leading to security and then customs. He glanced down at the Bridge, saw her staring up at the advertisement screens hung over the zig-zagging lines of people. There was a sort of dim confusion in her eyes as she gazed at a row of pictures of wildlife in Alaska. Grief still wavered below that, and it occurred to him again that he had to get her on board, find those guards before she recovered from her shock and lost control of her light for real.

He needed her inside a construct before that happened.

As he thought it, five beings emerged around him on the causeway.

In different ways they each made him aware of their presence... and despite their casual stances, each in some way blocked him from the ropes leading into security. Revik felt their movements occur as one, a near-perfect synchronization that was not human.

He reached for the Glock, using his other hand, but the female closest to him shook her head minutely, and he found he knew her.

Relaxing his fingers, he opened his palm to sign his question.

Are we inside the construct?

She answered him with her mind.

Yes, brother. We have arranged for you to board another way.

She nodded towards his fingers, indicating his gun.

Revik found himself relieved they were letting him keep it. As he began to follow her away from the security line and down a side passage, he realized two of the Seven’s guard wore United States Homeland Security uniforms.

When Revik next turned to look at the female hunter, Chandre, he caught her studying Allie’s light, a thinly veiled curiosity shining from her own structures. He felt his jaw harden, but knew it was natural... they would be interested in her. Still, he would rather have a few minutes’ breathing space before he had to handle more reactions to her light, whether human or seer. He continued to watch Chandre warily when the infiltrator visibly startled.

She looked between the two of them, her dark eyes widening as she confirmed what she’d seen above each of their heads.

Revik sent a ripple of irritation until the woman’s red-tinted eyes shifted to his.

Manners, Chandre.

Sorry, brother... er, sir. They did not tell us.

Some discretion would be appreciated.

The woman bowed. Of course, sir. And congratulations.

Revik nodded, once. He glanced around at her unit.

Won’t seven be conspicuous? He had expected five. How big is your whole contingent?

Chandre quirked an eyebrow.

It’s a large ship, sir. You won’t even know we’re here.

Hearing the subtext in her deliberate misunderstanding, he gave her a look that made it clear he wasn’t amused.

He brought the Bridge with him as he walked past Chandre and another smiling seer, then glanced back to see if Allie had noticed the exchange. Her gaze took in the other guards before coming to rest on the dark-skinned Chandre. Allie stepped closer to him as she stared, her eyes faintly glazed, still almost not-there as she crushed into his side as they walked.

From her face and light, he knew she was in shock. It made sense that her light would draw to his, as the safest option there... but the ease with which his own light responded made him tense all over again.

In a way, he even understood her reaction to Chandre. The East Indian Sark looked exactly like what she was, a highly paid infiltrator. Despite their reddish tint, her eyes had a hint of cold to them, as if she assessed all objects from a distance; she looked at Allie that way, too.

It occurred to him in the same breath that Chandre had already been briefed on the contingency.

Then it clicked. They would no longer trust him to perform it himself.

He had been effectively removed from duty.

Staring around, another piece fell into place. Having such a large Guard presence was a part of that message; they needed enough seers to take him down if he got in the way.

Meeting Chandre’s gaze, he realized that she was putting the same thoughts together behind her dark red eyes.

His fingers tightened around Allie’s as they reached a small desk, where a lone customs official examined their documentation before waving them through. Revik could tell from the man’s eyes that he was human, and had been heavily pushed into believing some lie. So had the woman who smilingly directed them around the obligatory photo backdrop that the rest of the ship’s passengers were being escorted through in an assembly line, getting their pictures snapped while two photographers danced around, trying to get smiles from the humans and pump up the cruise-goers for their vacations.

“Come on!” he heard one of the photographers half-shriek. “Let’s see some party faces, y’all! There now! That’s better!”

“If either of you need anything, sir,” Chandre said politely, in English, as they neared the gangplank and the line of people boarding. “You need only say the word. We will of course expect you to restrict your movements around the ship...”

Revik glanced at Allie, saw her listening to the infiltrator intently.

He hoped like hell Chandre wouldn’t make some crack about...

“...We have purchased an entire corridor,” she continued, her voice still smoothly polite. “And made some modifications for your comfort. You will be briefed on the rules once we are underway. Clothing and food have already been sent to your cabin, as well as training materials for Alyson. You will not be expected to adhere to ship’s routines...”

“You mean I can’t leave the room,” Allie muttered.

Revik glanced at her again.

Chandre smiled at her faintly, quirking an eyebrow.

“That is correct, Esteemed Bridge... for you, anyway. Dehgoies may leave, provided he follows the rules of the construct, and checks in and out with one of our team.” She smiled. “Vash seemed to feel he might be tempted to break rules if we restricted him too much... but perhaps he can smuggle in anything you need, Esteemed Bridge? Anything you do not wish to ask us for...?”

Revik gave Allie another brief look.

She was studying the infiltrator, her eyes faintly wary.

He saw a faint glimmer of that older look in them, and felt himself reacting to her again. Realizing he was still crushing her fingers, he loosened his hold, gesturing to Chandre that they understood.

He moved them away a beat later, aiming his feet up the ramp to the gangplank, where the velvet-roped corridor joined the line for the other passengers. He entered the crowd thickening before the portal to the ship before looking at Allie again.

Leaning down so he wouldn’t be overheard, he squeezed her hand.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“Who are they?” Her eyes continued to follow the seers who fanned out behind them. Each of the infiltrators let themselves be absorbed into the crowd, but Allie’s eyes found Chandre among the faces. She tracked the hunter’s movements through the crowd with an ease that surprised him a little.

“Friends,” he said. “Ullsya’s people.”

She looked up. Her eyes still shone with that faint light, greener even with the contacts, and a whisper of pain went through his chest.

“You aren’t acting like they’re friends,” she said.

He shrugged. “They are curious about you.” He hesitated. “Do not talk to them, Allie. Stay out of their way.”

“You just said they were friends.”

“I just meant... do not distract them from their job.”

“Did she call you ‘sir’?”

His face grew warm. Her attention to detail was starting to unnerve him a little. “Yes.”

“So we’re in the military now?”

“No.” He stared down at her face, at a loss. “We’ll talk about it later. After we sleep, Allie.”

She nodded absently, clearly hearing the “sleep” part and not much else.

He hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder at Chandre. He needed to get them in contact with the team in San Francisco, as soon as possible. When he looked at the hunter, he saw her nod, just before she signed that they had someone on it already.

Apparently Chandre had done more than look at the structure in Allie’s light that connected her to him.

...We’ll have news in under an hour, sir.

Revik gestured for her to give it to him alone.

He waited until Chandre gestured in assent, but he didn’t miss the appraising look she gave him at the request.

He glanced at Allie again. He suspected she already knew what had happened in San Francisco. Even so, he knew from experience that knowing and knowing were two different things. He didn’t want her receiving verification of some loved one’s death as an emotionless report from an infiltrator who viewed her family as nothing but human collaterals.

He continued to study the Bridge’s face as she gazed up at the ship’s high walls, trying not to care that the guards were watching him look at her, or that her proximity was having an effect on him again... an effect they could probably see in his light.

He had to remind himself that she’d only been awake a few weeks, that she still didn’t understand how she was different.

He had to remind himself also that she really had no idea what was going on with the two of them.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to not let Ullysa and the others explain it to her in Seattle.

He was still watching her face when she leaned on his arm, merging her light overtly into his. Sucking in a breath, he closed his light, glancing reflexively at the seers watching. He saw more than one of them smiling and turned his gaze up the white face of the ship, shuffling his feet forward with the motion of the crowd, willing the line to go faster.

Chapter 16

GRIEF

A WOLF RUNS across the tundra, tongue flicking over black lips, body elongating in rhythmic waves. It extends to full stride and retracts, stretching paws so that none of its feet touch the ground. Insanity flickers behind its eyes, joy in its feet pounding the snow in steady bursts of powder.

It runs at a single dark form marring the white plain.

I scream, my voice torn by wind.

...and again dawn colors the sky, and a dark shape burns in the distance, filling the pale blue with a curl of smoke like expelled ink. My chest feels as if someone’s taken an ice pick to it, hitting it again and again, digging out the tender light at its core.

It is a feeling worse than death.

I JERKED AWAKE. Warm weight pinned me to something soft. I started to struggle... then looked down, saw an arm. It took another series of blinks before I recognized the silver ring he wore around his smallest finger.

Then I remembered.

Grief came without warning, with a depth and intensity I had no way to evade. Days had gone by and it wouldn’t let up... wouldn’t let me forget for more than seconds at a time. Everything amplified, got harder to control. Revik told me that was normal too, part of ‘the awakening’ around me being a seer... and I fought a near-violent reaction towards him and all of the seers as I replayed his words like a dead-sounding record.

He’d been the bearer of a lot of bad news lately.

...found her in her house. She’d been dead several hours, Allie. Most of her blood was gone...

Behind me, his arm tightened around me lengthwise. His fingers wrapped around my shoulder, drawing my back snugly against his chest.

His voice had been soft as he translated for the infiltration team in San Francisco, not leaving anything out, not embellishing.

As he spoke, I’d seen and heard what they found as they picked their way through Mom’s house like shadows among the SFPD. Images accompanied his words... my mother’s eyes staring up from where she lay by the television below a section of wall painted in her blood. A child’s hand print stood out, small and innocuous-looking, like the outline of a Thanksgiving turkey painting made in kindergarten. Someone had eaten a sandwich and left the crusts on Jon’s old Transformers plate on the low coffee table beside the body, along with a half-full glass of milk. The bedroom showed signs of a struggle, sheets half on the floor, a lamp broken.

The cops took pictures of a dark stain on the carpet by the lamp.

They took pictures of another rust-colored hand print on the refrigerator door, that one larger. They photographed the body from every possible angle, then zipped it up in a bag, like the garbage Mom always forgot to put on the curb.

I felt the weight of guilt on Revik as he relayed details ruthlessly... but I didn’t blame him.

My mom’s safety couldn’t possibly have been his priority. It should have been mine.

The news media agreed. Within an hour, the feeds began accusing me of matricide, saying I’d allied with seer terrorists against homo sapiens, arguing on talk platforms about whether other seers brainwashed me or if I masterminded the whole thing. The police claimed to have DNA proof that I’d done the actual killing, as well as evidence that a male seer, possibly more than one, had ejaculated in my mother’s bed while Mom lay dying.

That last part, Revik said, was deliberately crafted to incite public outrage.

It didn’t make it any easier to hear.

We sat on the couch in the small ship’s cabin for hours that first night. He led me there before he told me anything.

Sitting me down, he peeled the prosthetics off my face carefully, throwing them one by one into a small trashcan while I watched. He indicated for me to remove the contact lenses. Once I had, he threw those away as well.

He pulled me to him then, holding me against his chest as if to contain something that might otherwise explode outward, coating the cabin walls with their seashell wallpaper and bland paintings. After he’d gotten the initial reports back from Chandre—the small, muscular, female seer with long black braids and frightening-looking reddish eyes who commanded the shipboard guard—I still hadn’t been able to cry. I had no idea if he drugged me, or used his light to get my vigil to finally end. But eventually I fell asleep.

That had been days ago.

The cruise ship docked at least once during that time, letting human tourists off for shore excursions and kayaking, trips to see wooden totem poles carved as eagles and bear spirits, and authentic salmon bakes with real Native Americans.

Revik parked me in front of a media player with a remote, the room service menu, and a list of pay-per-view channels. I’d flipped through listlessly before settling on a bland comedy with a talking dog and two teenagers who were lost... somewhere.

Now, it was dark outside again.

I heard the sound of water being pushed out of the way by the ship’s prow, churning an inexorable wake. The glass door to the balcony stood propped open, a single orange bulb glowing over its frame, illuminating spray-filled wind.

Revik disliked enclosed spaces, I’d learned, especially while he slept. Air always had to be flowing from somewhere, no matter how cold. He’d sat with me again that night, once he got back from one of his wanders outside the cabin.

After what felt like hours where we curled up together on the couch, he got up, stretched, and left me sitting alone on one end like a posable doll. He went through cabinets, searching drawers and in-built closets along the curved walls and even in the bathroom.

I had no idea what he was looking for, until he emerged with a bottle of vodka and a gun.

I’d laughed aloud.

He aimed a quizzical look in my direction until I motioned for him to pass over the vodka, which he’d done reluctantly. Taking the bottle back as I started to open it with my fingers, he poured me a glass, watched me down it in a single shot. He poured me one more, and while I drank it, the bottle promptly disappeared. I didn’t see where, although I watched him, fighting a head rush from the alcohol, so tired I literally couldn’t make myself stand, though I’d barely moved all day and badly needed the toilet.

Taking my arm, he’d pulled me to my feet.

Opening a series of drawers, he grabbed the tank top, underwear and sweats I wore now before steering me into the bathroom and laying the clothes on the sink.

Seeing him about to speak, possibly to say something more meaningful than I could handle right then, I pointed at the clothes.

“Are those mine?” I actually recognized the shirt.

He nodded. “Ullysa took care of it.”

I felt a strange surge. “Oh.”

He felt where my head was going. “Before, Allie. While your family was still being questioned by SCARB and the Feds.” He hesitated. “Do you need help? You should take a shower.”

After a pause that stretched longer than it should have, I shook my head.

Studying my eyes a few seconds longer, Revik let go of my arm and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Fingering the clothes still on my body, I realized those were mine too. I wondered how long I’d worn them, and replayed Revik’s comment about a shower. That was probably his way of telling me I stank.

I felt broken; I couldn’t believe how broken I was.

My mind tried to wrap around what that meant, to snap out of it, while I showered. The room had filled with steam by the time I finally came out, but it felt like no time had passed at all.

It had, though. He already lay on the bed, his pale legs sprawled on the coverlet beneath gray sweat shorts. His legs were muscular, I noticed, with a fine coating of dark hair. He caught me staring.

“It’ll be cold,” I said. “With the door open.”

He gestured me over, not speaking. I followed the motion of his hands in something like resignation. Other than guilt, I didn’t know what motivated him, but I couldn’t make myself care enough to ask him to stop. I let him hold me, thinking I’d never sleep after sleeping all day, then... nothing else.

He’d been talking to me, even then. I don’t remember anything he said.

Outside, black sky beckoned.

Pulling his fingers off me gently, I slid out from under his arm, shivering at another curl of wind that gusted through the cracked door to the balcony. I angled my legs off the bed, touching my feet to the carpeted floor, trying not to move the mattress as I regained my feet.

Sliding through the gap in the glass door, I walked across our room’s small balcony. My toes curled when they met the icy deck. Gripping the railing, I looked out over white and dark churning ocean before letting my gaze travel up.

Stars met the horizon in a cluster of pinpricks, creating a curved black bowl.

I blinked, tracing the swath of the Milky Way as I listened to faint music from other decks. A whisper from the Barrier showed me bars, casinos, hot tubs, restaurants, a dance club. I saw maps inside the construct I swam through, what might have been tracers of the various guards moving through the ship, some of them on duty, some off.

I didn’t care about any of it.

My gaze drifted a few balconies over, to where a lithe form stood alone by a painted rail. I glimpsed the telltale cheekbones of Chandre framed by thin, black braids. She stood unnaturally still. It wasn’t the stillness of a living being, but that of a boulder, or a parked car.

Then warm fingers touched my bare shoulder and I nearly shrieked.

Feeling him, I turned, relaxing even more when I saw his face.

I watched his gaze follow mine to the adjacent balcony. He stared at the other seer, and I wondered briefly if they were talking... then I remembered Kat and wondered something else.

His pale eyes shifted back to mine.

His fingers ran lightly down my arm, then wound around my hand.

“What are you doing?” he said, quiet.

I shivered, staring down at our joined hands.

Thinking about his question, I pointed up. His gaze followed mine and I saw his expression grow less hard as he took in the wash of stars. He continued to stand there, not moving. When the wind rose, I felt him shift the angle of his body so that it shielded more of mine.

Something in the warmth of having him near brought the emotions back without warning. I felt that kicking at my heart begin again, the feeling I’d woken to, mixed with a silent photograph of a decomposing eye staring through matted, dark hair I used to like to tug on with my fingers when I was a kid.

He wrapped his arms around me.

“You need to cry,” he said. “Why don’t you cry?”

I didn’t have an answer.

“Do you want someone else here? A female?”

“No.” I cleared my throat, then shook my head. “No, I want you here.” I gripped his arm tighter. “But I need something from you.” When he drew back, I studied his face. Seeing the taut look there, I smiled, but without humor.

It didn’t take much to arouse his paranoia, I’d also learned.

“Tracking,” I clarified, releasing his arm. “Shielding. I can’t stand being this helpless... and I’ll lose my mind for real if I spend another day in bed.”

I felt him think. Interest grew in his light.

“Tomorrow?” he said.

I nodded. I leaned into him again and felt him react, as he sometimes did... but he only tensed until the feeling faded in both of us. I knew I was taking advantage, letting things blur so much. I wondered if he’d even give me sex if I asked, if only to distract me.

I felt his breath pause.

“Is that what you want?” he said, low.

His words vibrated his chest against my ear, but I heard every one. I considered pretending I hadn’t.

“No,” I told him instead.

I felt him hesitate, but his relief was palpable... palpable enough to make me feel worse.

I let my embarrassment be there, knowing he felt it, unable to do anything about that, either. Pride became meaningless when everyone could read your mind; you could either accept being pathetic in hundreds of unexpected, unacknowledged ways... or go crazy.

He withdrew slightly from our embrace, then slid his light into mine as if to compensate, merging into me until I couldn’t move. I got lost there, like wandering into a vast space with no walls or corners. No sexuality lived behind it, nothing but warmth and light, like being immersed in steaming water. He relaxed more, willing me further in. I started to react but managed to dull it, aided by the fact that I didn’t feel anything from him other than calm as he leaned into me.

Later, I would remember clouds... giant clouds of light.

There is a valley between high mountains, a red and gold crevasse that opens out onto a sea of liquid gold and diamonds. Here, I’m never alone. My friends surround me, and the water caresses every worry from my mind. My mother swims in that light-filled ocean, open in a way I barely remember. She laughs, splashing me with her hands, and her dark eyes shine with a soft calm, in a way they never did when—

I jerked awake.

The sound of the ship’s prow pushing through water greeted me, along with the motion of his breath under my cheek from where he held me tightly against his chest.

He was breathing harder; I felt him fighting to control it. Without pulling away, I turned my head to gaze at the ocean.

Here, the water stretches only into black nothingness and cold.

Then, out of nowhere, he speaks.

“Allie... I lied to you. I remember my parents. I remember when they died.”

It is a clumsy thing to say. I feel his awkwardness as he looks for a way to re-express it, to give it meaning to me. Tears well in my eyes. He holds me tighter, and I feel his relief as I finally let some part of myself go.

I won’t see my mother again... except in nightmares.

In those dreams, as in life, I am always too late.

Chapter 17

SCHOOL

REVIK STOOD BEFORE me, his height outlined in stars.

The night sky propelled me through its virtual folds, reconstructed in exacting miniature. I extended a hand to one of the fist-sized flames, feeling its warmth, wondering at the detail in the illusion.

“Where do you get these toys?” I said wonderingly.

Seer tech, he sent. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, gripping his shirt because it somehow helped with the illusion of flying.

Do not leave me, he warned. ...Not even a little, Allie.

Control freak. I smiled, tugging on his shirt to get him to smile back. “We’re just looking this time, right? A little psychic tom-peepery?” Feeling him hesitate, I shooed him with my free hand. “I won’t leave you.” I crossed my heart, saw his eyes follow my fingers. “Promise.”

“In Prexci, Allie.”

Thinking briefly, I switched languages. “I vow it!”

He continued to look doubtful.

I had asked for this.

We’d been eating breakfast the morning after that night on the balcony. We were halfway through plates of eggs and toast and ham when I reminded him of what he’d agreed to the night before. Instead of hesitating, or seeming disappointed, as I’d more than half-expected, he nodded at once, as if he’d been thinking about it.

First, though, he asked me what I wanted to learn.

“Everything,” I said, taking a bite of toast.

He smiled. “I’m not sure I can accommodate that—”

“Tracking,” I said. “Can you teach me that?”

A light sparked in his eyes. “Yes.” He leaned closer to me. “Where do you want to start?”

“Who ordered the hit on my mom?”

His pale eyes had immediately flattened, returning to the dull cold of an infiltrator’s eyes. He leaned back in his chair.

I got up when he didn’t speak, found a pen in the drawer of the inbuilt cabinet under the wall screen as I grabbed a sheet of the ship’s stationary. Plopping the paper down on the table in front of him, I bent over where he sat, sketching an outline of the Pyramid from memory. I took a few minutes, delineating the nodes that I’d seen change places, marking tiers I’d seen, too.

Revik watched me draw, shifting slightly in his seat, his arms crossed.

I circled the man sitting on top.

“Him. He’s the guy, right? Who is that?”

Revik met my gaze from less than a foot away. I could tell he was grudgingly impressed, but I wasn’t sure by what. He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, fingering the glass of juice by his plate. He gave a short laugh.

“D’ gaos, Alyson.” His pale eyes flickered up. “The best trackers in the Adhipan can’t answer that question. If you want to learn how to track, start with something small, something you have a connection to. These things go in stages...”

“So you won’t help me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you. It’s just that I really think I—”

“Alyson!” He gave another short laugh. “No!”

“But how is it different from tracking anyone else?” I persisted, leaning my palms on the table. “Personal connection, right? Or a connection to something that’s connected to him? How hard can that be? I met that Terian guy... and you two were friends, right? And aren’t there, like...a million Rooks? You must still be connected to a few of them.”

He stared at me, his eyes horrified, bemused... even a little wary.

Pushing me gently aside with one arm, he stood and picked up his plate, placing it on the room service tray, stacking it on mine with the covers.

“I’ll teach you tracking,” he said after another pause. “But you’re going to have to do it my way.” He glanced over his shoulder, surprising me by smiling. “...As far as the ‘everything’ request, I have some ideas. How open are you?”

Open, as it happened.

Partly to distract both of us, and partly because he had too much time on his hands—he was type A with a capital “A,” I was learning—Revik made me his project. I knew he wasn’t telling me everything in terms of his reasons, but then, after our little talk that morning, neither was I.

He pushed me to learn not one, but several languages, mainly the seer tongue, Prexci, and basic Mandarin. He also wanted me to learn Russian, Hindi and Sanskrit, but apparently wasn’t enough of a masochist to start me on those until I’d made some headway with the other two.

He lectured me on seer history, politics, culture, mythology, biology, law... especially law; he was big on law.

He obtained recordings for when he might be absent or asleep, covering subjects like the entire Sark Codes, a sort of bible for his people. He described the evolution of controls following the death of Syrimne, the only documented telekinetic seer... and let’s just say, Revik’s version differed substantially from what I’d learned in school. He explained how laws for seers under the Human Protection Act evolved to include mandatory registration, travel, employment and residency restrictions, forced implantation, sight slavery and how Seer Containment, or SCARB, grew out of a branch of the World Court.

He tested me, trying to gauge what I could do with my light. He didn’t pull any punches, either, pronouncing me worthless at blocking and not much better at reading, what he called “the basics.” He said my concentration had to improve about a hundredfold before I could do anything in the Barrier alone.

To teach me blocking, he’d taken to hitting out at me with his light when I wasn’t expecting it. A few times, he caught me off guard enough... and hit me hard enough... that I got a nosebleed, like he had in the car.

He also obtained permission to have Eliah, one of the Seven’s Guard, teach me mulei, the seer martial art. When I asked why he couldn’t just teach me himself, he mumbled something about how he wasn’t allowed. I heard the word “penance” muttered somewhere in that speech, but he didn’t explain to me what it meant.

The Seven’s Guard kept regular passengers and crew out of our part of the ship, which also meant seers performed all housekeeping and food delivery. They stripped one of the larger rooms of furniture to make an exercise arena where Eliah could train me in sparring, too. The sparring itself was damned hard—seers had faster reflexes, better hearing and vision, more intolerance to pain because they could detach their light from their physical bodies, and they mixed sight skills in with their physical fighting.

So basically, no matter how much I absorbed, I earned new bruises daily.

Revik taught me “normal” things, too.

Before I was fully awake that morning, he sat on the end of the bed, explaining semi-organic machines to me, and the basics on how they worked. Laying Barrier images over virtual, he also showed me the primary theoretical models or “breeds” of living machine. He explained how they arose from Barrier experiments by seers during that brief period of integration with humans in the early twentieth century, and how seers were banned from scientific research in the forties partly because a handful of renegade seers took to “persuading” the more intelligent organics to turn on their human masters.

He said Syrimne basically invented the wires, too, while experimenting with ways to both enhance and control seer powers using organics and semi-organics.

I’d never heard that version of history before, either.

Some of what Revik taught me was blatantly illegal.

Like how to break keypads and access locked computer networks, pulling passwords and bypassing firewalls with my sight. How to avoid racial tagging systems and blood monitors as well as closed-circuit cameras and other security surveillance. How and when to push humans into giving me things I needed. How to feel facial recognition software and other external scans with my aleimi, and how to fool a DNA, fingerprint or iris scanner into a false positive for human, or a false negative on an ID by my DNA, if I was wanted by SCARB or Interpol.

Others were relatively benign.

Like how to greet strange seers and the rules on asking other seers for help. Legal loopholes such as when and how to claim clan status to avoid certain searches and seizures. Etiquette in seer temples and homes. How to act towards older seers, especially family members or any other category of seer to whom respect or deference was owed.

Revik informed me I would get a new identity and a clan tattoo once we made it to Asia. The Seven would reclassify a dead seer with my stats, and presto... Alyson May Taylor would cease to exist.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

Revik further explained how I could claim proportional citizenship if they set me up with a human sponsor. Meaning, if I gave up some rights of movement and association, including sexual rights, depending on the contract, I would get limited citizenship rights proportionally related to the contractual agreements with whomever I worked.

“Your world is terrifying,” I told him.

“We didn’t make it so,” was his response. He paused then, thinking. “Well. Mostly.”

He went on to explain that contractual citizenship was just one way humans pressured seers to work for the military and in other quasi-legal occupations. Civilian contracts could only grant rudimentary rights... rights which generally didn’t include travel or association beyond specified categories...”entertainment,” including prostitution, being one of those most easily granted.

The military offered, among other things, nearly unlimited freedom of movement when not on the job, coupled with moderate rights of association without the need to sell sex.

Not surprisingly, a big market for seer contracts also existed in organized crime syndicates. But, Revik noted wryly, the life spans of those seers tended to be shorter, and Rooks dominated that market almost exclusively. Even the mafia didn’t make a habit of killing seers indiscriminately, however; trained seers with high sight-ranks were far too valuable.

Seer mafias existed as well, according to Revik, mainly dealing in seer children and organic material, including blood.

I got flickers as he spoke, glimpses of Asian seers on donkeys, leading dirty, barefoot children with dark eyes across the snow, metal collars around their necks like those I’d seen on the prostitutes and other owned seers in San Francisco.

He’d also mentioned casually,

...Even if you are able to legally change identity, you should know that Sark females like you are not legally sentient to the seers, either. If your race were made public by the Council, I would officially be your owner. And if I forbid it, you cannot consent.

We’d been eating on the balcony, and he paused at this, taking a bite of apple as he waved his hand vaguely.

It can be good for us, for they cannot lie and say you have consented where duress was involved. Providing you trust me with this, of course.

I’d stared at that particular mouthful, not sure where to begin.

“Not sentient?” I said. “As in lacks sentience?”

He’d shrugged. “It is a legal fiction, to require ownership.”

“But why females, exactly?” I’d said.

“Not females,” he said, looking at me. You misunderstand. These laws are to control seers with telekinetic powers.

That took me another few seconds to process. Even so, I had to admit it made sense, given the Syrimne thing.

Finally, I shrugged. “So I’m a different race now?”

Revik had startled me, gesturing in the affirmative.

“Well,” he amended, glancing at my expression. “Not really... your blood is somewhat different, but other seers have this genetic anomaly who are not telekinetic. You can reproduce with us... as far as I know.”

He hesitated, looking up at me where I stood by the balcony. He seemed to pick up on the fact that I knew he wasn’t telling me something.

He added, Telekinesis is believed to be at least partly genetic... so with females it could potentially be passed to offspring. It makes you very valuable, Alyson, and in a way that is more real to those who may not care about your significance as the Bridge. It is unclear to me how superstitious some of the higher ranking Rooks are. Although it is believed that Galaith himself is religious...

“Galaith? That’s their leader, right?”

“Yes.” At my continued stare, his colorless eyes had grown impatient. “You must have known they would have recorded what you did in the diner... with Jon. You have no one to blame but yourself, Allie.”

But I’d been remembering something else. The bridge over Lake Washington. The way the guardrail seemed to fold into itself just before we hit. It occurred to me that I must have done that, too... and that the Rooks chasing us must have seen me do it.

When I glanced at him next, Revik’s stare had grown irritated once more. More than that, I got a flavor of angry puzzlement underneath.

“Allie,” he said. “You should not have done that... not while they had access to your light. That was extremely foolish.”

“Excuse me,” I said, giving an outraged laugh. “I believe I saved your ass during that little screw up... Dehgoies.”

“Never do it again,” he said. The anger grew more prominent in his eyes. “Not for me or anyone else. I mean it, Allie.”

Feeling my anger turn real, he clicked at me sharply.

...Whatever story the human media gives, be sure that if the Rooks know you are telekinetic, then SCARB knows what you are, as well. Even if we change your identity to the humans, the seers will want assurances that you will remain docile. And some will want to breed you... consensually or not.

“Docile?” I said, barely containing my fury. “Breed me?”

Focusing back on his food, Revik shrugged, rearranging a cloth napkin on his lap as he looked out over the sunlit ocean.

“We’ll deal with it when we have to. You have protection for now. Vash will do his best... as will I.” He didn’t look up from where he was cutting a piece of meat.

“I won’t leave you in a bad position,” he added, gruff. “And I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful. I’m not. I just don’t understand how you can do these things, Allie... or why you don’t seem to understand how serious it is.”

I thought about pursuing that, as well. But at his warning look, I left off.

Sometimes our minds were way too entwined.

Now we stood in a cluster of virtual stars, and he’d promised to take me somewhere.

In Revik-world, this was probably the closest to a date I’d get.

“Where first?” I said in Prexci.

“Balixe,” he said. “It is a seer city.”

Balixe means water in the seer tongue... my mind recited.

“Yes.” Surprise wafted off him. You know of it?

“Only by name,” I joked. At his flat look, I sighed, thinking loudly that I’d watched a history program on ancient seer culture in one of the vids he’d given me. In that particular program, it said Balixe housed the ruins of the last Elaerian city.

Revik nodded. “That is correct.”

“I know,” I said. I tugged on his shirt. “Can we go?”

He caught hold of my wrist. I barely had time to take a breath when...

* * *

...I’M NOT BREATHING.

A horizon forms as I watch, framed by distant mountains, and I see currents, streams of swift-moving lights of all colors pertaining to dark. The currents flow like water or liquid starlight, level after level, hundreds of miles above and below where I am, and once again, I am forced to fight feelings of insignificance, of being swallowed in the vastness of how little everything about me truly matters.

Beauty overcomes those feelings of smallness, however. Dark clouds hang heavy in the distance, shot through with even more subtle frequencies of light, making me long for a sunrise, for stronger beams of illumination in the churning aliveness of the night.

Then I am looking at him, and I forget all the rest.

Geometrical patterns flow around Revik’s hyper-detailed form, sparking out in small, colorful arcs of current and light. I reach out, touching one of the shapes, and from his reaction, it isn’t dissimilar to poking him in the eye.

Cut it out, he says. Look for the track, Allie.

At my blank reaction, he sighs, sending up more plumes of light and feeling.

You know the theory, he says, patient now, if barely. If you don’t know the thing you want to resonate with, find another way in...

When my confusion doesn’t lessen, he prods me again.

There are three ways seers track, Allie. The first is imprinting... it is what I am doing now, using an imprint given to me by Vash.

He flashes a multi-dimensional image, too quick for me to take in.

...I could also use a personal object, audio or visual recording, blood, fingerprints, urine, hair, even a smell... all of these are imprints. Imprinting is the most common track, as imprints are everywhere. Imprinting is the reason for the image ban, Allie... and the ban on trade in biological artifacts...

...The second way is location track, he continues evenly. This is based on the principles of spatial intersection. In simple terms, if you know the location of something in the physical realm, you can track it in the Barrier. To do so, however, your knowledge must be very precise. It also does not work so well for time jumps, or Barrier echoes...

I have no idea what these are.

The third way, he says, ignoring my implicit question. Is a line track. It denotes having a personal connection with, or “direct line” to the thing you are tracking. Or in this case, something that is resonating with the thing you are tracking... which is me.

He waits for me to follow this train of thought.

Use the opportunity to feel me under a track, Allie.

I am following his logic now. If I resonate with him, and he resonates with the target, I will resonate with the target, too. Simple.

I focus on a current of light I don’t recognize in one of his hands. The vibration immediately changes my own.

...Resonance does not have a spatial or interconnectivity limit, he adds as I play with his light. If you resonate with something that resonates with something that resonates with something... you can track any part of the chain. Distance can muddle the imprint, but it doesn’t have to. The military, of necessity, depends mainly on secondary or tertiary links... sometimes those of much greater distances from the target. Most of the work of infiltration is this. Uncovering lines or “taps,” which can be complex... even tedious. Infiltrating the target’s life, hunting them to get close to their light...

I am fascinated, picking up images from him.

You still do this? Professionally?

Yes, he sends.

For who?

His light sparks in irritation. Try to match my light... or go back and wait for me in the room, Allie.

Touchy, touchy, I send softly.

But I am trying to do what he says, so his thoughts grow slightly less grumpy.

When you track, it is better if the target does not feel you, he advises. He waits for me to adjust, based on his words. When I don’t, he sighs again. This is not subtle, Allie. If I were a target, I would know I was being tapped.

I heard you. Just let me get the hang of it, okay?

He gives in, letting me openly examine his light.

He is cranky today, though. I have no idea if it has anything to do with me, but I decide to do as he says... until I am distracted again by the mechanics of our lights’ interaction. My aleimi really wants to resonate with his. It is less a matter of trying, more a matter of letting it. So I relax, unfurling a fist that I hadn’t known I clenched. My vibration changes.

I feel Revik’s approval.

Good, he sends.

He is closer to me now, and suddenly I am fighting the other thing. The pulling-nausea-pain feeling I get around him is stronger without my body, carries more of an imperative. It occurs to me that pain is likely how my body translates that imperative, like converting electrical signals... then it occurs to me that I’m embarrassed, trying to make it scientific.

Revik politely withdraws his light.

Are you ready? he sends.

I consider, for the hundredth or so time, asking him about that pull, then decide to leave it for when he’s in a better mood.

I let him feel that I am. Ready, that is.

He releases whatever he uses to keep us in place and we shoot across the night sky. There are no vortices this time, and the movement from one place to the next happens fast, almost instantaneously, without a breath between states.

A city bursts out of the dark.

Its many windows reflect the morning rays of a bloated sun peeking over the horizon. I recognize the skyline from my dreams. I see the jagged steel and glass squares sticking out of the ground, the older city beside them, the dense layer of smog over the honking cars and bicycles and auto-rickshaws on the street. People walk down the sidewalk in ragged patterns and stand by coffee shops and older-looking buildings with red and gold facades. I see flickers of the city from all sides... from the ground to a vantage point somewhere in the clouds.

I am afraid, focusing on the enormous metal and glass squares looming out of the dust of a predawn sky, the watery structure squatting closer to the ground.

I see more cars and bicycles and the light brightens, when...

...I am hovering over a different square, filled with people.

The sky in this new place is the opposite of the one over modern-day Beijing.

The curve of the atmosphere looms so high and clear I think it must belong to a different planet. The sun shines hotter here, too, but gentler somehow; it hangs in the sky, a near gold-white, so small and bright I can’t look at it for long, even from inside the Barrier.

The city’s buildings have rounded corners instead of square ones. They crouch around one another, yet have a kind of regal elegance, covered in greenery that makes them appear almost alive under the dense shadows of dark stone. Cut windows without glass overlook the center of town behind balconies covered in moss and dripping sprays of purple flowers. A fountain marks the center of the square itself, and watery creatures decorate the basin, foaming more of that crystal blue water from mouths and fingers.

Black volcanic tiles pave the center of the square, too. The streets radiating outward from that same square are of large cobblestones, but those stones look new, or as if someone polishes them daily. Statues mark the passage into arterial roads that spiral out from the center like spokes in a wheel. Flags ripple in a light breeze like silken snakes.

A portly man who looks to be in his mid-sixties stands at a balcony, giving a speech to a packed crowd standing below. The older man wears dark red pajamas and a long, embroidered tunic that looks Asian yet is not.

The crowd listens raptly as he speaks. I look over the crowd, fascinated by the beauty in so many of the faces I see, regardless of age. Men and women both wear their hair long, I notice. The men’s is wound in wooden clips studded with brightly colored stones, and the women’s hangs loose down their backs, woven through with thin metals and threads with small, embedded stones. More jewelry adorns men’s hands and ankles, compared to the women who wear stones at their throats and hanging from around their ears.

I listen to the crowd murmur, although the language is new to me, and to Revik too, it seems... so different that even my mind’s translations inside the Barrier aren’t quite right. Above the speaker’s head, a three-dimensional Barrier image shows two curved lines with parallel staves, like a crude drawing of one of those impossibly tall Japanese bridges.

Everyone in the square sees it, I realize. The image is painted inside the Barrier, but they all see it over him, and stare at it in some curiosity.

The man’s words grow more distinct, however briefly.

“I do not present this... concept from... ego, for self-aggrandizement,” I hear him say. Words go missing in his speech, words for which my mind cannot find context. “I merely wish for sight... the urgency behind... my plea. It can be peaceful,” he adds, holding up a finger. “There is no wanting to... war. Or... living miseries.”

The man continues to speak.

I hear only some of the words.

He speaks of working through differences, of wars that have come before. He exudes confidence, yet is unsure if they hear him, if they really understand what he is trying to tell them. I feel a lot about his mind, I realize.

My spine prickles as I wonder if it is too much.

This is Balixe, Revik says.

I startle, having forgotten him.

Even so, I look around me as his words sink in, in a kind of wonder. This is more than prehistory. This is history most humans don’t acknowledge having existed at all. This is history before humans.

If Revik is affected by this, I cannot tell. He continues to teach, even here.

This is our history, Allie... not prehistory from a seer perspective, but early history, certainly. The Merensithly Address, prior to the first Displacement...

The First Displacement? I say wonderingly. So these are Elaerian? They are the first race?

I feel Revik acknowledge this, right before his thoughts grow audible once more. Most cannot even see events of this kind. Vash is very generous to share it with us.

Revik gestures towards the podium.

This man... he is famous to seers. History describes him as the final war’s architect... its greatest proponent. It is unknown whether he was a Rook, as we think of Rooks today. But he was definitely some kind of precursor to those that exist now...

His words cut me somehow.

Focusing back on the podium, I shake my head.

No, I tell him. That’s not right.

I feel Revik’s puzzlement, riding the edges of his bad mood. He looks between me and the man.

It is right. He makes an effort to be conciliatory. Do not be naïve about his words, Allie. He was a politician, a rich man who only claimed to be a humble scientist. He used his studies to further his social and political agendas...

It is not his words, I say, pointing. It is his light. Look at it!

Revik barely glances at the man, before frowning back at me.

Light can be disguised in many ways, Revik warns me. Do not be naïve about that, either. It is the oldest game in the Barrier, to impersonate light frequencies of one kind or another... I have done it, as an infiltrator. To pretend to resonate with someone or something safe or familiar to your target is often the easiest way to get them to lower their guard. As a Rook, I did this all the time, Allie. I would adopt the light connections of relatives or loved ones, simply to get the person to open to me...

I try to take this all in, shielding myself slightly from Revik’s emotions. But I cannot just go along, letting his words stand, when they feel so wrong to me.

No, I say finally. You’re wrong about him. You’ve been misinformed.

I feel Revik’s stare, even before I focus on him.

Allie, he says, and I feel him fighting the bad mood once more, the anger I feel under it. These scenes have been studied extensively by the clan elders. I’m not defending my own sight, but that of the greatest seers in the clans. He adds, sharper, I do not say this to cause offense, but you are a beginner, Allie...

Before I can think how to answer, the scene around us shifts.

It is difficult at first to tell where we are.

A dark organic platform has been erected in the middle of a ripped up town square. Looking at the broken pieces of estuary and volcanic glass, the piles of burning bodies and the mountains looming up above the remnants of the ancient city, feeling fills me without warning... it shocks me with its intensity.

Revik grabs my light arm.

Calm, he murmurs. Yes, it is the same square.

It affects him too. I feel his grief, but mostly I feel anger in him, unconnected to this place.

Before us stands the same man on the platform, but he is older now, and thinner. His eyes look haunted, hollowed-out. Someone has tied him to a pole at the center of the platform. Bruised and cut, his face hangs over a dark-colored robe spotted with blood. His feet are bare and look like they’ve been beaten with sticks; blood drops down on them from one leg.

A man on the young side of middle age with a dark beard stands next to him.

Feeling explodes in me... unfocused, irrational.

Love, regret, grief... they tangle my light. I can’t tell if they are my feelings, my memories, or some imprint I carry with me, something handed to me from somewhere else. It is all too strong to sort out, too intense to do anything but try to absorb, or at least let pass through me.

The younger man raises his hands to silence the crowd. They look up at him, and I recognize that look, at least. They love him. They positively adore him.

Haldren, I murmur.

I feel Revik’s light focus on mine.

Just then, the bearded man’s voice rises, whipping in the wind.

“Kardek will die!” He speaks with passion, raising his hands as he shouts. “Yes! He will die... but his death will not save us. It is too late... the sickness will take many more. We will starve. We are almost out of water. Our enemies will kill us!”

Moans rise from the crowd, cries of pain.

I flinch away from them, feeling a part of me crushed into pieces like the volcanic rock, unable to feel without feeling too much. I know myself as connected in some way to what happened here. Not responsible, exactly, but more sad than I’ve ever felt in my life, even after my dad died. Even after my mother got murdered by the Rooks.

“...And for those of us left behind, there is no justice! Not for your families! Not for friends and neighbors! He cannot cure you! He can never bring back your joy!”

Haldren’s dark eyes fill with emotion.

“...But I can promise you this! He will harm you no more!”

Shouts rise from the crowd, screams. Fists raise into the air.

I make myself look at them, at their faces, and at the city that had once been so beautiful. Flowers no longer bloom from balconies, though. The stones are broken like jagged teeth, strewn instead with fingers of dried sticks from dead plants and mud and other filth. Instead of ornate tapestries and curtains, rags are crammed in cracks to keep out the icy wind. Blankets covered in ash and blood flap in smoke-filled wind, warning passersby away from the disease hidden inside the walls of those dwellings.

Blackened holes also scar buildings from some kind of fight. Volcanic glass cobblestones are broken and torn from their moorings; most of what remains lay in chunks and powder. The crowd wavers on its feet: sick, thin, dirty, clothed in rags. Many have volcanic shard knives and spears strapped to their backs, along with branch-like devices that also feel like weapons.

The stone skeleton of the city is all that remains.

“This man,” the bearded man shouts. He points at Kardek. “...He, who has called himself the Bridge! He stands before you, a traitor to our people! A heretic, and a liar!”

I feel Revik’s shock ripple through my light.

His whole attention is on me now. I cannot look at him, though. I cannot even care about his reaction. I am being slowly crushed under the weight of this city’s pain. Like the rest of them, I focus on Haldren to keep from collapsing, the bearded man with the intense eyes and the angry voice. Haldren. He will redeem the old man, cleanse him through fire.

It feels just. Right, even.

Haldren is a friend. The way he speaks is familiar, the way the crowd hangs on his every word, as if in a trance. Moans rise with his voice, emotion-laden screams. People throw things at the old man, hitting him with pieces of ripped up cobblestones. I wince as the lines cross, but feel nothing, in my body or my mind.

The man with the dark beard finally holds up a hand. He speaks quietly, for the old man alone. “You should have listened to me, Liego.” His voice breaks. “How could you do it? You will die the greatest mass murderer the world will ever know...”

With these words, it hits me.

More than that. It annihilates me.

I scream into that blue sky. NO NO NO! Get me out of here! NOW! NOW!

Allie! It’s okay! Revik is beside me, alarmed. No, afraid. It’s all right...

No. I shake my head, my terror crushed by grief once more. No, it’s not all right. Please, get me out of here. Now. Please, Revik... please...

He surrounds me, and then—

I am back in that quiet place.

It is the place he took me when my mom died. We float over a valley of sunset red. Towers of light billow like gold silk before an ocean of liquid diamonds and light. Normally, I think of it as his place... or maybe ours... but this time, it feels like mine. Friends surround me, try to comfort me. So much relief exists in being with them, in knowing it is finally finished, that it is finally over. That I don’t have to go back.

I don’t have to go back until...

Revik is there, too.

He is a different Revik, though, just as I observe a different me standing in waist-high water, in that golden ocean with my friends, relieved to be done. That other Revik talks to me in a low voice, and we are alone together now, and he holds me. He has perhaps been talking for some time, as if parts of us never stopped whispering in the dark.

I feel myself grow calm.

His light coils deeper into mine and the pain worsens.

There is familiarity there, beyond what I’ve felt from anyone... beyond what I’ve felt from him. We know each other here. We are more than friends. It is his comfort I seek, above all the rest. I know he understands. He understands in a way that none of the others can, in a way they never will, no matter how hard they try.

He succumbs to the pull, without reservation, and wishes—

STOP! STOP IT!

Panic fills my light. This time, it’s not mine.

STOP THIS, ALLIE! Please, stop...!

I have not come to this paradise alone. The other Revik’s light flashes out.

The arc blows us apart like dead leaves, until—

* * *

I TOOK A breath. I took another.

Air shocked my lungs. I choked on it, fighting to work the rhythms of my physical body, fighting to align myself, to exist inside myself.

Eventually, I found I was lying on the floor.

Virtual stars met my eyes, flooding the ship’s stateroom and the ceiling above where I lay. Flat-seeming now, those stars shone palely as they ran down pastel walls.

I felt him move next to me.

When I glanced over, he raised a hand, covering his face, but I saw his jaw harden before he did it. I realized only then that I clutched his shirt in my own hand, right before he pushed my fingers off roughly, forcing me to let go.

Some emotional kickback made it hard for me to look at him, but also hard to look away. I watched him sit up, trying to wrap my head around him again, around his familiarity, even through the shield he wore around himself like a wall.

I couldn’t reconcile the impression of complete impenetrability I got off him with the sense that I knew him behind it, somehow.

I tried to push both feelings away, if only so he wouldn’t notice me thinking about him. I tried to pull my mind back into one piece, but could only breathe, watching him as he fought to do the same. I don’t remember moving, but somehow, I was sitting up, too, watching him breathe. I couldn’t seem to unclench my hand.

He looked at me. His eyes held the same expression they had that morning in Seattle.

Even as I thought it, he shook his head.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said.

His voice was hollow, lost-sounding.

Whispers of that other place remained, pulling at his light and mine; I felt him wrestle with it, forcing it out of his light only to be compelled to look at it again. Pain wafted off him, for the first time in weeks, and he didn’t seem to be trying to hide it from me. Without thinking beyond a vague desire to reassure him, I reached for him, touching his face, pausing to finger his longer black hair back behind one ear.

He jerked from the caress, but afterwards he stared at me.

His eyes flickered to my mouth, lingered there.

For an instant, just an instant, he hesitated. Then I saw his eyes change. They grew openly angry... just before the light in them died.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said again. His voice roughened. “I want to sever us. Do you understand me, Alyson?”

I didn’t understand, not really. But he waited for an answer.

“I think so,” I said. “I mean, I—”

“Will you agree to it?”

“I don’t really know what...” I trailed, seeing his eyes harden to glass. I softened my voice. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Revik.”

“Good.” He nodded, once. “Thank you.”

Without waiting, he regained his feet. For a moment he only stood there, over me, as if catching his breath. Then he moved, stepping around me to reach the stateroom door.

He opened it without hesitating, without a backwards glance.

I saw him murmur something to the guard, too low for me to hear, and probably in a language I didn’t know. The man standing there stared first at him, as though he didn’t quite believe what he’d heard, then at me, his expression openly bewildered. The guard continued to stare at me, his eyes a near question, when Revik’s voice sharpened, bringing his eyes back to him. As I’d suspected, Revik didn’t speak Prexci, but something else... one of the languages he hadn’t decided to teach me.

Eventually, the guard stammered a reply, bowing to him.

I watched Revik slip around the guard an instant later and disappear.

After a last, piercing look from the guard himself, the door closed.

I heard the lock glide into the wall with a soft click.

Through all of it, the stares and Revik’s anger, it slowly sank into my awareness that something had just happened... something decidedly more than one of our bantering back and forth bickering matches, or even the fight around Kat in Seattle. Even knowing this, I found I couldn’t move, or think really, not at first. I could only sit there, fighting to control whatever rose in me at his absence.

But I knew. Maybe I’d known for weeks now.

I was in love with him. Like, really in love with him.

Clearly, that wasn’t going to work for him, either.

Chapter 18

BETRAYAL

TERIAN STUDIES THE construct, mesmerized.

Like all constructs, the images that obfuscate the border between it and the Barrier proper contain some flickering of truth. Like now, they show a monolithic parade of living stills that coalesce around certain themes despite how quickly they morph and change. Water figures in abundance of course; given their mode of transport, that is hardly surprising. The construct flashes with waterfalls, waves, cracking ice in metal trays, rivers and streams gushing over dark stones, puddles on city streets, saliva, sweat, tide pools, rain.

Terian recognizes some of these images from providing light to Dehgoies in the past.

Others must belong to Alyson, or one of the Seven’s Guard, whose lights watch over the edges of the construct walls.

Terian has studied the construct for days.

It takes that long to notice differences in the ripples of light. Now he knows the rhythms and moods of its normal state, as well as the range of its oscillations.

Therefore, when a shift occurs in those rhythms, even a relatively small one, he cannot help but taste the new flavor, the faint whisper of something he hasn’t felt before within the churning pulse. The difference weaves into water and ice and cold night skies. The change is subtle, but distinct enough that Terian picks it out before it can be reabsorbed.

A flicker of warmth greets him, a fleeting image of limbs entwined, clouding breath and glowing eyes, gone as soon as he catches the scent.

He has felt masturbation before this, of course.

There are over twelve seers inhabiting this particular construct. Only a few of those seers are female, including the Bridge. Even fewer of them are currently having sex.

Terian even swears he’s felt Dehgoies masturbate... although he can’t be certain of something that specific, of course. Not from outside the construct’s walls.

This feels different.

The images stabilize, enfolded by whoever is currently tasked with monitoring the construct walls. Terian already knows that whoever that person is... it is not Dehgoies.

An old steam engine floats by, whispers of blood and illness, and then back to water and night, ice and mountains, eagles winging silently over cold waves and tastes of Asia and even flickers of Germany and the war, South America and the United States, Russia and the Ukraine.

Withdrawing more of his consciousness from the Barrier, Terian pinpoints the new flavor again, rolling it over his tongue, so to speak, as his light acquaints him with the difference it carries, making sure he understands what it means.

Once he is sure, he snaps out entirely...

...and his blue eyes focused on polished wood.

Alone in the fireplace-heated room, he laughed aloud.

The raw flavor of sex was a new development, clearly.

It could be one of the other seers, of course, but the impact it had on the construct made Terian doubt that very much. No, it had to be the Bridge... or Dehgoies himself.

Probably both of them.

Which meant, first and foremost, that Dehgoies had been uncharacteristically restrained with her. Terian couldn’t help but wonder why. In any case, it was almost a pity he would have to interrupt them so early in their little courtship ritual. If Terian had more information from behind those construct walls, he might choose not to, given the option.

After all, nothing was more vulnerable than a seer in the first stage of a mating ritual. As it was, Terian strongly suspected they had not yet consummated. Likely because Dehgoies did not wish to be that vulnerable, either.

Still, Terian wondered if there was more to it.

Terian had flown several of his bodies to this base in Alaska, to be on the waiting end of their slow excursion through the inside passage up the Canadian coast. Most cruises took a week to make the journey north to Anchorage. Likely to throw them off, Dehgoies and the Bridge followed a route that spent nearly a month on the coasts of the United States and Canada before entering the open seas for Russia. Terian had examined the route carefully, of course, as soon as he knew which ship they would take.

He would take them then, he’d decided... as soon as they had no place left to run.

Once the ship left the shores of Alaska and entered the open ocean, Terian’s people would move on the Seven’s Guard, and then on to Dehgoies and the Bridge.

Which meant they needed to be in place well before.

Despite his careful planning, though, Terian was growing impatient.

Given all the movement in the Pyramid of late, he feared Galaith might be angling another of his squadrons into place to make the collar on the Bridge.

Terian knew how things worked.

One minute your team led a key op. The next, it was relegated to clean up duty. A security mechanism in part, the changes often had a mechanical component, built into the fabric of the Pyramid itself. The rotating tiers formed the primary defense that secured Galaith’s position as Head, by keeping all of the tiers below him in constant flux, and thus all of Galaith’s potential successors in flux, too. Despite the mechanical aspect of the rotating hierarchy, however, Terian happened to know that Galaith still had discretionary control at the top.

Terian would only be pulled if Galaith let it happen.

But Terian didn’t trust Galaith anymore.

In fact, Terian had been getting the feeling for awhile now that the boss wanted to put some distance between himself and Dehgoies... maybe even between himself and the Bridge, too. Maybe Galaith thought he’d pull a stunt like Dehgoies had, try to tie the Bridge to him by gaining access to a more intimate level of her light.

In any case, Galaith had grown secretive again, telling Terian next to nothing about his overall plan. He’d been stalling on the final approach for weeks now. It almost seemed like he wanted Dehgoies and the Bridge to remain free awhile longer.

Terian knew he would never know if he’d been sidelined, either.

All he could do was run his own secondary op, and ignore the edicts from above if they seemed to pull him further and further away from the center of the action.

He wasn’t just any second tier aspirant.

In fact, Terian was pretty sick of being second-tier altogether.

The Org would have grabbed Dehgoies years ago if Terian had been in charge, not left him in the Seven to rot. Terian would have done for his friend what he hoped Dehgoies would once have done for him—help him see reason. Help him realize the depth of his mistake, and that it wasn’t too late to make things right.

He thought of Dehgoies as family.

He was certainly the closest Terian ever had.

Gods knew, his own biological roots hardly qualified. In fact, Terian had most of those early memories of dear mum and dad on back-file, inaccessible unless certain key words triggered their download. The system worked well enough, in that no one had ever stumbled upon those words inadvertently. Terian himself found those memories both useless and uninspiring.

A faint pulse sounded from the implant he had grafted to his spine at the base of his neck.

A voice eclipsed the construct. “Sir? Are you there?”

Terian adjusted his focus. “Yes, Varlan... I see you.”

“Has something changed, sir? Shall we continue to hold?”

Galaith had been unambiguous; he wanted Terian to hold back on a direct assault, to wait until the force could gather in Russia. Terian read additional motives in Galaith’s desire to wait, too—likely so that Dehgoies had time to grow more attached to his new charge—but Terian hadn’t told Galaith everything he knew about that yet, either.

He glanced at the little girl curled up on a stuffed chair, her face slackened in sleep. He knew what that part of him would say, if he asked.

It meant insubordination.

And yet, Terian had a good feeling.

Rarely had his good feelings steered him wrong.

“No,” Terian said to the seer on the line. “No more holding. It is time. Engage silent mode from the hierarchy proper. Report only to me, and wait for an opening. I strongly suspect we will see one, soon enough...”

The seer acquiesced silently, just before his presence faded.

* * *

COLD WATER. IT was exactly what Revik needed.

Unfortunately, the pool water didn’t look at all cold.

Steam rose over shallows filled with splashing kids wearing cartoon-covered flotation devices. Revik stood at one side of the arch leading to the covered, lagoon-shaped pool with its glowing, underwater lights. So far he hadn’t done anything but walk.

He’d contemplated a drink, but couldn’t bring himself to act, not yet.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Hearing him, a woman glanced up as she walked towards the pool, wearing only a bikini and a towel. He didn’t return her look directly, but his body responded to her stare, enough that he tensed.

Feeling his mood worsen, he made up his mind before he’d really thought about where. Somewhere in the background, he ticked through options. He automatically rejected the atrium or any of the casinos. There was a neon affair with a dance floor and padded leather bar crammed with drunk tourists, a poolside bar on the other side of the ship, a few scattered piano bars... and a smaller, faux-colonial British pub, replete with high-backed chairs, bamboo tables, potted palms and a real tiger skin on the wall over a fireplace.

Poor taste, touring the remnants of what had been some of the world’s most stunning glaciers, now a meager white only in the dead of winter, with the skin of an extinct animal nailed to the wall.

Snorting in a dark kind of humor, Revik decided it was perfect.

He walked in that direction, passing the entrance to the salon and gym. He located the pub the next floor down, and after a quick scan, found an empty barstool that placed him with his back to the wall on the far corner.

He hesitated only another breath before extracting a copper-colored clip from his pocket and hooking it to the collar of his shirt.

He hadn’t been careful. The bartender frowned.

Pretending not to notice, Revik waved for a drink, pointing at one of the taps. Reluctantly, the human took a glass off the back shelf, and filled it.

“You got a permit?” he grunted, setting down the pint in front of Revik.

Revik ignored the man’s hostility, nodding.

“The management wanted it discrete. Clips only... no wires.” He lifted the beer, and the thread of the man’s mind.

...we’ll just see about that, ice-blood. Can’t hurt for me to check with “the management,” after all...

The human’s thick fingers were already reaching for his earpiece when Revik brushed the thought from his mind.

Instantly, the large hand dropped.

The bartender stood by the computerized cash register, puzzled.

By the time he’d moved a few steps away, he forgot Revik entirely.

Sighing, Revik moved his stool further into shadow and settled himself in to wait. On a ship of this kind, most wouldn’t even recognize the clip. He might have a long wait before he got approached, if he relied on that alone.

Still, it felt cleaner this way. If he got no interest after a few more drinks, he’d reassess. He let his eyes go to the monitor over the bar, which displayed the day’s news. He got through a few beers watching brightly-colored avatars argue about terrorism and China’s inadequate response to the threat of renegade seers on their own soil.

An hour later, he’d switched to bourbon.

He contemplated a walk to the neon bar to try his luck, when he felt eyes on him and turned. A slender woman in tan slacks and a form-fitting ivory sweater stood a few paces behind him, probably in her early forties.

He’d seen her walk in, but dismissed her when she pulled out a book and settled in a corner to read, an appletini parked on the round cocktail table in front of her. She had money, clearly, but looked the type who wouldn’t go near a seer bar if her life depended on it. The kind whose human husbands tended to be Ullysa and Kat’s most regular customers.

He saw her study the clip on his collar, then glance down the length of his torso and legs. Seeing his eyes on her, she hesitated only a second longer. Clutching a small black purse in one hand and the martini glass in the other, she walked briskly up to the bar, her lips pursed.

Approaching him directly, she leaned against the wood.

He didn’t move his leg when she pressed into his thigh. She glanced up at him cautiously, an odd mix of nerves and daring and curiosity in her eyes.

“Are you what I think you are?” she said, soft.

He nodded, still watching her face.

“Yes.”

She studied his eyes, looking from one to the other as if trying to see past them. It was almost a seer’s stare. He found he was already reacting to her, and kept his mind carefully away from hers. As if she’d heard him, she said,

“Are you reading me now?”

“No,” he said, smiling.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he said truthfully.

When she didn’t move away, he slid down further in his seat, glancing for the bartender. The woman looked down at him, reacting to his mind’s nudge, and reddened. Giving a nervous laugh, she brought her martini glass to her lips.

“I see. How much?” She hesitated. “You charge, right?”

“Yes.” He thought fast. “Five hundred.”

“Five hundred? Are you worth that?”

He dipped lightly into her mind. She waited, as if she knew what he was doing. He pulled out a moment later, shifting slightly on the stool.

“For you, yeah,” he said.

She smiled wanly. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He smiled politely.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, taking another swallow of her drink. “I’ve never even talked to one of you before.” She switched her purse to her other hand, looking down the bar to buy herself time.

Revik didn’t answer. He’d learned more than he wanted in his brief tour. She was lonely. Her husband was on the cruise, too, but with someone else, likely someone he’d arranged to have come on the ship so he could slip away from his wife every chance he got. This woman knew, obviously, but for some reason wasn’t ready to leave him.

Human sexual relationships depressed the hell out of him.

He was about to tell her to forget it, when she nodded decisively.

“Okay.” She downed the rest of the martini, her eyes bright. “What the hell. Do you have a place, or—”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

She pursed her lips. “Really? Then when?”

Revik hesitated. He hadn’t thought this through. Now that he had an actual person to react to, he realized he wasn’t worth anything close to the price he’d quoted. He needed an appetizer first, even if it was just his hand. He nodded towards the fireplace.

“In an hour? There’s something I have to do first.”

She looked doubtful, and he shook his head.

“Not that,” he assured her.

She nodded, but clearly didn’t believe him.

Hesitating another beat, he got up from the barstool, realized he still had an erection and paused, willing it to subside. When it wouldn’t, he felt his face warm. Instead of walking away, she lingered by him, shielding him from the rest of the room. His pain worsened briefly.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment.

She glanced down, a faint smile on her lips. “So the rumors are true, then? Is your kind always this... enthusiastic?” She waited for his answer, then added, “It’s good to know I don’t repel you, at least.”

Bitterness colored the last of her words.

Impulsively, he touched her hand that held the glass, letting his fingers linger on her skin. She shivered as it turned into a caress, and for another instant, he hesitated. He would lose her if he left now, he realized. He made up his mind as he felt her blush under his stare. He circled her wrist with his fingers.

“Forget the money,” he said. “And the hour.”

She blinked at him, and for the first time, he noticed her eyes were green. His cock hardened painfully again, even as nausea slid through his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“We’re not always like this,” he said, watching her look at him. “It won’t be as good.”

She studied his eyes. “It’ll be good enough.”

“Now,” he said, to be clear. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.” She balanced her martini glass on the edge of the bar, following the insistent tug of his fingers. He unhooked the clip from his collar, shoving it in his pocket as he led her out of the room.

* * *

I THREW MY jacket on the floor of the cabin, unwinding cotton wraps from my hands with shaking fingers. A few choice swear words left my lips, loud in the empty room.

Sparring hadn’t helped my mood at all. I’m not sure why I thought getting my ass kicked for the hundredth time by Eliah would help under the circumstances, but maybe I hoped it would distract me at least.

I could already feel Revik hadn’t been back.

Still, a tendril of my light flickered out, examining the room to be sure. Realizing that no amount of scanning was going to change reality, I slumped cross-legged to the floor. Fingering my hair out of my eyes, I fought a sudden tightness in my chest and closed my eyes.

Barrier clouds appeared.

A wolf runs across the tundra, tongue flicking over black lips in a blood-stained grin, body elongating...

But I don’t want to see that again, either.

Clouds hang bright and sharp, still against liquid black.

The Barrier enfolds me in dark and light waves. I can see it now, easily, whenever I close my eyes and resonate with its vastness. More importantly, I can feel when I am inside it, not just looking at it from without, or glimpsing the places where the physical world and the Barrier world overlap.

I’m not supposed to be here.

Even without Revik’s warnings, my gut tells me so.

The construct should keep me safe. I’m in a big fishbowl of protected space, cut off from the Barrier proper... but even I know that what I’m doing isn’t strictly covered by the construct’s shield. It’s not enough to stop me, though.

Not now, and not the countless times I’ve done it before, when Revik wandered out of the room at night or in the early morning, or whenever he thought I was asleep for more than an hour. He thought I didn’t know he roamed the halls while I slept, but I did.

I’d wait for him to leave, and then I’d sit like this. I even snuck in a few jumps after he’d passed out on the bed.

Those were riskier though... he was a light sleeper.

I no longer need to pause at the edge of the sharp clouds. I’ve eliminated a lot of the preliminaries, and even the intermediary steps. I’ve learned to make my jumps economical, due to the time constraints.

Even though I have time now, I do the same.

I don’t screw around, or look at the scenery. I don’t bother to play in any of the currents that flow in the waves above or below where I float in the clouds. I don’t visit nebulae, or stare up at the multicolored stars like I did the first few times I came here on my own. I don’t bother with vortices, either.

I aim directly at the gray wall around the spot at the top of the Pyramid.

Images hit me at once.

Most center on the keys I turned to get this far. The faceless man hides behind door after door, but it always starts in the same place, with a bearded man on a scaffold in a dying city that has a main square covered in broken shards of black volcanic glass. Before the Barrier jump with Revik, the image held no storyline, no meaning to me. Now I know, somehow, that the bearded man on the scaffold is the faceless man.

They are both Haldren, both Galaith.

Somehow.

I don’t understand, but I also don’t care.

Haldren whispers over an old man’s battered body.

Liego... Liego Kardek... why did you do it?

I know now that Kardek is the old man’s name.

Revik blames Kardek for the war that killed the Elaerian... the First Race... but I know better. I know Liego better by now, too. Liego and Haldren go way back, sharing a timeline I don’t understand, but that I am forced to accept on some level, at least enough to find him. I see Liego with Haldren when he is a child in that other world. A squalling, sickly child wearing rags, alone and abandoned. Liego rocks him to sleep, sings songs when the orphanage comes late to pick Haldren up from the school where Liego teaches.

Liego pities the boy. Eventually, that compassion becomes a deeper love.

The boy moves in with him and a man named Massani after no one claims him from the first set of wars. I watch Liego feed the four-year-old. I see him talk to an angry, confused adolescent, hold him as he cries at some disappointment or rejection.

I see Liego teach him in his private laboratory, ready him for exams, introduce him to a society that accepts him because of who Liego is.

Hatred wells up in me, mixed with a love that hurts more.

It is not my life, not my problem, but I take it personally. I take him personally. I crash through wall after wall, following the thread of that gaunt child.

He still exists... somewhere.

Haldren. His name is Haldren.

A recklessness lives in me. I decide I am tired of the slow way, the seer game of hide and seek, step by step, mapping and remapping of lines, all the cloak and dagger bullshit that I’ve tried my best to follow as Revik taught me. I don’t need to understand all the threads that tie me to this place and time. I am looking for the monster who killed my mother. I don’t care that he was once a child in some other version of Earth, except that it might help me find him now.

Dropping the pretense, I envision the child in the front of my mind.

I call to him.

I yell his name through the faceless shadows of a distant Pyramid, and most of the beings tied to that prison do not hear.

I think it is futile, that I am wasting my time, when...

I am with him.

Abruptly, I am there, at the top of all those chafing lines.

I float over the apex of the Pyramid.

Shocked by my success, I see him. He sits alone, in a structured room. Lines of silver and hard, metallic white stick to his head and heart.

The child is one of a thousand whispering masks.

He looks like a machine. The Pyramid has disappeared, I realize. It occurs to me that it disappeared because I am inside it. Haldren doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to see me at all. He rests inside a dream. A flat, pleasant emptiness.

Watching him exist in this state, I find I almost understand.

He is safe here. He is protected, in a way that the old man couldn’t protect him when he was alive. He is protected from feeling, from vulnerability, from caring about anything that might hurt him, or make him feel pain. He can sit in this empty space, untouchable, because the silver light ensures that he doesn’t have to feel any of it. He can give orders, and tell himself he is the cause of none of it. He can be the king of ghosts, of wasted machines.

He can kill my mom.

Or he can let it happen... and not care about that, either.

Anger flares my light.

A white arc leaves me, utterly different from the seething strands eclipsing Haldren on his metal throne. The flame sparks as it comes in contact with the Pyramid’s trembling strands. It finds one of the connecting points.

There is a strange silence.

Then a tangled, silver ball explodes.

I hear the crack below that single pearl of flame. Something totters, begins to fall. I hear voices scream, awakened from their collective dream. I watch that piece of the Pyramid tumble into a void-like abyss. Everything disappears below the connecting point I have broken. I watch lights disappear, erased from the network mind like branches cut from a dying plant...

Haldren disappears.

I fall. I fall for a long, long time...

Until I see only one face, one being.

A narrow, wasted mask looks at me, its eyes like poisoned urine. The face holds a dense knowing, a mirrored depth. The being smiles. I’m not looking at a person anymore. I am looking at one of the Rooks.

I see you, Bridge, it whispers.

I see where you are...

* * *

...AND I SAT up, gasping, batting at my head with my hands.

Just like that afternoon, I found myself lying on my back on the carpet, but instead of VR stars I see the low, white-painted ceiling of the stateroom.

My head hurts. There is sharp pain, but also a feeling of despair.

I realize I am still partway in the Barrier and dig my nails into my arm, trying to force myself the rest of the way out.

My eyes clicked back into focus.

The silver light clung to my head in some undefinable way, so I sparked outwards with my aleimi, trying to get it off me.

All I felt was amusement, laughter as the being left.

I was still sitting there, gasping, when a sharp knock rattled the cabin door. I turned to stare at it, fighting to regain my breath, fighting the fear that wanted to throw me back into the Barrier.

Revik wouldn’t knock.

“Allie?”

I recognized the Irish accent. Eliah.

“What the hell’s on in there, love?”

Only minutes had passed. Seconds, maybe.

White hands on green mirrors. Blood with water.

He was thirsty. So fucking thirsty. Everything hurt, and...

Pain whispered through my fingers. I held my head, biting my tongue as hard as I could to try and keep my light inside my body.

“Yeah,” I managed. “Okay. What do you want?”

I don’t remember saying he could come in, but the door opened. Eliah crossed the threshold into the room and stopped, looking around as if startled by a strange smell. Closing the door behind him, he studied me with cocked head.

“What’ve you been doing in here, love?”

I pulled myself shakily to my feet, wincing at the bruises from our earlier fight.

“Feeling sorry for myself,” I said, forcing a smile. My hands shook, so I clenched them at my sides, not meeting his gaze directly. “Why? Do you want to kick my ass again?”

He smiled wanly, but his eyes didn’t leave my face. “You all right?”

“I’m fine, Eli. What’s up?”

“Orders.” He hesitated, then glanced at the bed, as if he couldn’t help himself. “...To hear tell it, your other half will be out for awhile. I’m supposed to keep you company until he gets back. You know, keep you from being too bored...” Trailing, he watched me rub my temples. “Allie-bird? Seriously. You don’t look so good.”

I flinched a little at the nickname, but didn’t answer.

My mother had called me that.

Still casting around for something to keep me focused on the room, I tried to hold a normal expression as Eliah sat down on the bed. When the pause went on too long, I forced myself to look at him.

Unlike me, he’d changed out of the sparring gear.

I’d never really seen him in street clothes before, not apart from glimpses through the door when he guarded our stateroom. He had two different-colored eyes, one nearly black, the other blue, yet with his hair combed back and the blue sweater he wore, the combination worked well with his square jaw and salt-and-pepper hair. Sitting casually on the end of the bed, hands clasped between the knees of his dark-brown slacks, he looked like a cologne ad, or maybe a television spot for high-end coffee. What was it with these seers, that all of them were good-looking? The men all looked like GQ models.

Eliah had the air of a man who’d never bother with a midlife crisis. He’d be too busy scuba diving the Norwegian fjords or tackling K2.

He smiled faintly. “Cheers, love. Although the ‘midlife’ crack stings a bit.”

Hesitating, I decided the normal thing to do would be to sit. I let my weight sink into the plush armchair across from him.

“So what now?” I said. “You’re on babysitting duty, is that it?”

“I suppose so, yes.” He continued to study my eyes. “That all right with you, love?”

I shrugged, keeping my voice studiously casual. “Sure. Whatever. Not sure why it’s necessary, though. It’s not like this is the first time Revik’s gone on walkabout.”

Eliah flushed a little.

I couldn’t help but notice him glancing at the bed again.

“Yeah, well.” He gestured vaguely. “I guess Chan was worried you might overreact this time. She doesn’t want anything happening. Not with a ship full of human witnesses.”

“Overreact?” I stared at him. “Meaning what, exactly?”

He gave me a shrewder look. “You know where he went, don’t you, love?”

I hesitated, wanting to ask, then didn’t.

“It’s none of my business,” I said after a pause. “If he wanted me to know where he was, he would have told me.” Averting my gaze, I busied myself examining a bruise on my arm. When the silence grew awkward, I bit my lip, then spoke up again. “You want to play chess or something? I need a shower, but then we could play. I could stand to eat, too. Have you had any dinner?”

“I want to ask you something, first,” he said.

I felt myself stiffen. “Okay.”

He smiled. “Don’t say yes too quick, love. It might offend you.”

I nodded, massaging my arm. “Seems to be my day for that kind of thing.”

He laughed. When I didn’t say anything more, he made a vague gesture towards my body.

“All right,” he said. “You and the walking corpse. What’s going on?”

I raised my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I hear his first wife strayed. Is he feeling bitter... testing you, perhaps?”

There was a silence. I fought with how I might laugh off his words, or just avoid the question without it seeming too obvious or defensive.

Then I realized the silence had stretched too long already.

Regaining my feet, I made my way to the bathroom. Eliah got up to follow.

“Allie... wait.”

“It’s fine. I just really need a shower,” I said. “If you want to order food, go for it... or you can leave, honestly. Unless Chan says you really have to stay.”

“Allie...”

I shut the door on him, not quite in his face, but close enough that I felt him flinch through the wood. I had to ignore that too. I would have to think of some way to talk through what I’d just done, but for now, I just wanted to get my mind on straight again. As I tugged the stretchy tee I wore over my head, bending over the tub, I heard him lean against the door.

“...Didn’t want to ask it, love,” he said, his words slightly muffled. “...but I’ve been hearing things. You know. Small ship... even smaller construct.”

The echo of water splashing against the fiberglass tub drowned out his voice as I turned up the faucet. He spoke louder, but I still missed a few words.

“...Most of our females won’t touch him, truth be told. There’s rumors about what he did when working for those Rooks, some of it to women...”

“Eliah,” I called out. “I can’t hear you. Can it wait?”

He raised his voice. “I could see it, if you just wanted a roll. Hell, he sells it, so he’s got to be competent at least...”

Wishing I hadn’t heard that part, I bit my lip, but his voice again rose above the water.

“...But gods almighty beyond the Barrier, Alyson... how in the realms of hell did he talk you into marrying him? Was there coercion involved? Because, love, if so, you have grounds for severance. Even apart from what he’s done since...”

I’d been about to flip on the shower nozzle when I froze, hearing his words as they replayed in my mind. I just stood there for a few seconds more, half bent over, wearing only my underwear. I watched water flow out of the silver tap.

“Allie?” He paused. “You know he’s got no social status to speak of, right? Hell, I think he’s officially still in penance. You’ve basically elevated him about ten ranks, just by agreeing to the bastard... and I don’t see anything in it for you. Then he treats you like this...”

The linoleum blurred.

My mind pieced together words, fragments of conversations, references. I remembered the look on Ivy and Ullysa’s faces in the kitchen when I wouldn’t go to him that morning, his half-assed apology about Kat, the constant, oblique references to whatever happened between us that first night we spent in Seattle...

“You know it’s illegal for seers, right?” Eliah said.

“Illegal?” I repeated numbly.

“Infidelity. You need permission. I’m assuming you didn’t give him that?”

I stood there, unable to answer. Thinking about Jaden, my parole, the look on Kat’s face when she thought I’d offered her Revik...

Tugging my shirt back over my head, I turned off the water.

After standing by the door a second more, I opened it, and found myself meeting the serious eyes of Eliah, one blue and the other a near black. He started a bit, to find himself facing me so suddenly. For a moment we just looked at each other.

Then my jaw hardened, and I nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Order food. I have a few questions.”

For a moment, Eliah only looked at me.

Then he broke out in a grin.

* * *

I CURLED UP in one of the round-backed chairs that passed for comfortable, a half-eaten plate of oysters on the counter next to me. I wasn’t hungry any more, but food and alcohol seemed to be the way to get Eliah to talk, just like it was with most humans.

Eliah himself sprawled on an identical chair to my left, drinking a beer as both of us faced out the balcony door to the sea.

I forced my attention back on the room, and on him.

Mechanically, I smiled at something he said.

“Really?” I said. “...What did you do then?”

He grinned, eyes glassy from alcohol. “I just picked myself up,” he said. “...Dusted myself off. Pretended I’d meant to stick my hand in that letter box.” He returned my grin, seeing me shake my head. “Those poor worms...”

I stiffened and he added apologetically,

“...Humans. We end up acting fairly idiotic around them sometimes, just to avoid the hassle of an exposure threat. It’s a real bitch to get your license back once it’s been yanked. And it’s one thing to move undetected by humans. When you’ve got the Sweeps on your arse, it’s a whole other story.”

He gestured around us, pointing to the television and the stocked bar.

“But hell... this is my home. Living in caves, chanting... not the life for me. I don’t much fancy being sold at auction to some rich dickhead, either. Clan tattoos get burned off, you know. Overambitious Sweeps who want a bit of extra cash and get bought off by the traders. Of course, being in the Guard protects me from most of that. Even the Sweeps won’t mess with the Seven too much. They don’t want to risk the Adhipan on their arses, either...

“...Thank Christ,” he added, leaning over the arm of the chair and swigging more of the beer. “But there’s the flip side of that, too. If I don’t make the effort to act a bit human-ish, the Sweeps would have me living out in the middle of Mongolia somewhere, milking oxen. Not much of an improvement, really.”

“The Sweeps?” I said, puzzled. “But they’re human, right?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’thir li’dare... that bastard Dags doesn’t tell you anything, does he? No. The Sweeps is part of the World Court, yeah, but they’re culled from the clans. They’re the police. Couldn’t rightly be human, could they?”

“You have your own police,” I repeated, a little dumbfounded.

In the human media, the Sweeps were always portrayed as a kind of global Homeland Security. They worked under SCARB, sure, or maybe adjacent to SCARB, tracking renegade seers, but it had never occurred to me they weren’t run by humans, or human themselves.

He flicked his fingers to the right and up, the gesture I recognized as “yes.”

“The Rooks have a heavy presence on the Sweeps, of course,” Eliah said. “They’re sort of a competing nation with the Seven, you could say... but it’s more a philosophical difference, really. The other nations tolerate them because whatever else they may be, the Rooks are good at concealment. Ironic really, as they were the first to advocate dominance over isolationism.”

He leaned back on his elbows.

“Containment’s a real controversial issue with seers these days, love,” he added. “Before, humans were seen more like animals...” He gave me another apologetic glance. “Most of us didn’t even want to interact with them, truth be told. The world was bigger back then, and it was easy to talk about non-interference, live and let live, will of the gods an’ all that. Now humans fly everywhere, go everywhere, want to see everything. Even our most isolated clans are stuck having to deal with them in one form or another... and there’s interbreeding and mixed marriage and all kinds of nonsense on our side, too.”

He winked at me. “We’ve got nasty libidos, we seers.”

I rolled my eyes, but grinned slightly.

“Damn, that’s cute,” he said, leaning back over the arm of the chair. “Fuck. How can he keep his hands off you?”

Feeling myself stiffen, I receded back into the cushion, propping my arms on the rounded back of the chair. “Okay,” I said. “I’m just going to ask. Do you really believe all of this Bridge stuff? About me killing everyone, ending the world?”

He broke into a laugh, spilling his beer.

“Trust Dags to put a positive spin on it. What a morose bastard.”

“Eliah,” I said. “What do you think? Honestly. If it’s true, I think it must have something to do with the Rooks. I’ve been studying their network, but until today, I never really—”

“You’ve been what?”

Eliah raised his head, staring at me. The sharpness of his voice took me aback a little.

“Studying their network,” I repeated.. “I’m interested in how it works. The way the whole top part seems to shift—”

“The succession order?”

It was my turn to stare. When I glimpsed images in his mind however, watching the different pieces of the Pyramid move up and down, trading places with one another under the top spot at the apex of the Pyramid, I found myself nodding. It was oddly reassuring that the thing I’d been looking at had a name.

“That’s right,” I said. “The succession order.”

“Why on earth would you be interested in that?” he said.

His voice remained sharp under the disbelief, and I saw what might have been wariness under that. For the first time in our conversation, I remembered he was an infiltrator, like Revik.

“We’ve never been able to see into that, love,” he said, shaking his head. “Why would you even look there? What do you expect to find, exactly?”

I smiled, but had to fight to keep the anger out of my voice.

“I know,” I said, smiling again. “It’s practically Revik’s mantra. It’s way over my head. I’m just a beginner... I get it. You don’t need to go there, Eli.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant, love.”

“So you don’t understand why I might be interested in the people who killed my mother?” I said, my own voice sharper. At his silence, I bit my lip. When he still didn’t say anything, I asked again, “So what do you think, Eli? Really. About the Bridge stuff, I mean.”

The hard look faded from his eyes, leaving the lighter one a clear blue.

“Love, I know you’re worried about reincarnation and all that,” he said, sighing. “But I don’t think that’s the point, really.”

“Then what is the point?”

“It’s about roles, see. Some are too important... some affect too many people to leave to chance. The Bridge is like that. There needs to be someone overseeing things, when something as heavy as a Displacement goes down.”

For a moment, I could only look at him, replaying what he’d said.

“You really believe all that stuff?” I said.

He grinned, resting his head on the chair’s back. “You sound surprised.”

“For a seer, you’re almost... normal. I had my hopes.”

Leaning forward, he placed his free hand, the one not gripping his beer, lightly on my thigh. “Does that mean you’re warming to me, then, love?”

Smiling, I shook my head, moving my legs out of reach of his fingers. “There’s a serious shortage of female seers on this ship, am I right?”

“Brutally small,” he agreed cheerfully. “And Chandre’s as likely to try for you as I am. But you’d be a peach anywhere, love. And that pain coming off you is simply... maddening. I don’t know how he can stand it...”

I felt my jaw harden again. I considered making a joke, trying to laugh it off, but decided there was no way it would come off.

I shrugged instead, folding my arms.

“Revik said that seer relationships were ‘complicated’... and largely biological. He said I shouldn’t take it personally. Is that true, too?”

Eliah snorted. “Bloody romantic.”

“Is it true, Eliah?”

He shrugged. “It’d be true in a way, I suppose. We’re a bit more biologically wired for monogamy than humans. But that’s not exactly the same thing, if you don’t mind my saying... and doesn’t have anything to do with who we choose as a mate. In fact, you could say the reverse is true.”

At my puzzled look, he shrugged with one hand, seer-fashion.

“The biological symptoms could be unsettling, I suppose. Especially if you didn’t know what was happening. Someone like you, who thought they were human, it’s got to be that much harder...” He frowned, studying my face. Leaning forward, he looked at my eyes.

“Gods. You’re not in love with him, are you, Allie-girl?”

I shook my head, but felt my chest clench a little anyway.

“I barely know him,” I said.

“That’s not what I asked.” Still studying my eyes, he added more cautiously, “The rest of us, we assumed you chose him for protection. Or, frankly, because he was the first male seer you met, and bad luck on you for that.”

He hesitated, laying a hand on my arm.

“But if you are in love with him. Well... that changes things. Won’t be so easy to pull out of this thing with him then, pet. And I’m sorry for that.” He caressed my arm. “I truly am.”

I focused on his eyes. They seemed to brighten strangely in the dim light of the cabin.

As they did, his words faded, as if someone twisted the dial on a radio.

Every other sound in the room seemed to amplify. Ambient noises grew deafening: the sound of the ocean through the propped-open door, the wind lightly banging the hanging blinds, the ticking of the old-fashioned clock on the wall. I heard an odd hitch in Eliah’s breath as he watched my face, his heart beating through his rib cage, slowing as he listened for my answer.

I had time to note I’d been kidding myself, telling myself I hadn’t known where he’d gone, or what he’d intended to do.

I got the chance to think the timing was ironic...

Then everything in the room dimmed.

I should have known I’d feel it when it happened. From what Eliah told me, along with what happened with Jaden... even from what little Revik had said, in his own vague way... I really should have known.

I should have known a lot of things, but they still always managed to surprise me.

Chapter 19

BREAKDOWN

...I STAND ON a rock bluff, above a valley riddled with spider-web cracks. Wind tunnels between chasms. Everything is gone. All trees, animals, plants are dust, blown away.

I’m alone. But not really. Not really alone.

...He raises himself up on his arms, sweating, reading her, watching her eyes as he brings her to the edge. I see the tattooed writing on his arm, sweat sticking his black hair to his neck and forehead as he moves over her, his arms tensed as he adjusts the angle of his body. He holds her still, fingers clenched in blond hair as he arches deeper... deep enough to pause when she cries out, holding some part of himself back, going in with his mind so he can feel it when...

She climaxes, gripping his arms. Pain ripples off him as he watches.

Then it worsens.

Red sunlight shines behind my lids, but that pale, bird-less sky fades.

I feel him fighting. With himself, with me. He loses control and then he’s asking me, winding some part of himself deeper into my light.

He pulls me inside of him, even with her lying between us.

...and he’s inside both of us now, and I feel his relief mixed with frustration, a kind of horror at what he’s doing even as he asks me again. He wants me now, more than he can tell me, more than I can let myself feel. It hurts, that want, but I’m lost inside the conflict on him too. Fear hovers behind desire, masked in anger at me for forcing him to revisit that place, to remember.

I would turn him back... make him into that thing he hates.

He is sure of it. He feels it with every part of his being.

I would turn him back, if he let me.

Above, the Pyramid rotates. There is more to see.

For now, alone... further back, below.

He would remember.

* * *

“HEY.” THE WOMAN fought to slow her breathing. She realized she’d never gotten his name. “Hey... are you okay?”

His pale skin wore the same sheen that matted her blond hair to her neck and shoulders, stuck the cotton sheet to her legs. She clutched at him, unable to help it. Her whole body still vibrated from what he’d done to her... seemingly again and again and again. He’d been unnervingly focused as he brought her to orgasm, but by the end, he’d surprised her by being verbal, too.

A lot more verbal than she would have guessed from their brief conversation in the bar.

He’d warned her it would be fast, and yet, there’d been something vulnerable about him once he let himself go. That vulnerability edged into a near-violence at times, but he hadn’t hurt her. He’d removed her clothes before they were all the way in the room, and she could tell he’d been holding back even then, using his mouth to buy them time, pushing her to talk to him.

Once he’d really started, she doubted he’d been aware of her at all.

When he finally came, he’d been nearly begging her.

Or begging someone, perhaps, to do... something.

Now he just lay there, like a dead person.

She wondered how she’d let him talk her into coming here. Her husband got them separate cabins—his idea, of course, to give them “more space” and because he claimed he couldn’t sleep with her snoring—but he had no compunction about stopping by when the mood struck him, or if he and the dance instructor had one of their spats. She cringed at the thought that she might have to explain a naked, male seer in her bed.

Although, really, it would serve him right.

“Hey.” She laid a hand on his chest. His skin felt cold. She kept her voice light, trying to smile. “Who’s Allie?”

She saw his expression change, just before he closed his eyes. She couldn’t help wondering though. A girlfriend? Did they even date?

Looking away, he shifted his weight on the mattress.

She caressed his hair. “Are you sick?”

He raised a hand, pushing hers off. She watched in disbelief as he wiped his face, doubting what she’d seen. Then his breathing changed, and she couldn’t deny what she heard. He was crying. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Hey,” she said, a little alarmed. “What’s going on?”

When he spoke, his voice made her jump. She’d forgotten the accent.

“I’m married,” he said.

A surprised laugh caught in her throat. She tried to keep it out of her voice.

“So am I,” she said. “I thought that was the point.”

He looked at her. His pale eyes reflected light shining from under the door, almost like a cat’s eyes. Again, she remembered he wasn’t human. He stared back as if she were just as alien to him. Then he sat up. She watched him feel around on the floor for his pants, pulling them up over his legs and looping then hooking his belt. Standing, he found his shirt and drew it over his head, and now she felt emotion waver off him, clear as a scent. It was self-loathing.

She pulled the damp sheet tighter around herself. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want money?” She recoiled in spite of herself, afraid of him once she saw the look in his eyes.

“No,” he said flatly. He didn’t look at her again.

Before she could think what to say next, he had bent down, picking up the shoulder harness that had shocked her when she had first seen it.

He donned it like a vest, velcroing it tight, checking the gun in obvious rote before shouldering on his jacket over it. She was still staring when he turned his back to her, aiming his feet for the door.

The light blinded her as he opened it onto the corridor... but it wasn’t open long.

Following the click of the latch, she lay back on the bed with a sigh. All she could feel was relief that he was gone, that she’d likely never see him again.

* * *

WHEN ELIAH FINISHED speaking, Chandre remained silent.

Eliah shared the construct with her, so he knew she was thinking to herself how ridiculous this was. Further, that it went beyond her job description as infiltrator to babysit two full-grown seers who, in her mind, should be alone in a cabin somewhere, getting acquainted in the carnal sense for at least a month before they were allowed to talk about their relationship in anything but monosyllables. That was the traditional way it was done, and the old forms existed for a reason.

Eliah kept the smile out of his light with an effort.

These two-hundred-year-old seers always groused about the past.

Is she all right? Chandre sent finally.

Well enough, yeah. He let her feel his frown. Threw up when she came to, and she won’t talk about it. Physically she’s fine. She’s out on the balcony—

Get her back inside. Now.

Pardon my saying, sir, but no. She wants to look at the water, let her bloody well look at the water. It’s dark... no one’ll see her. He paused.

Has he checked in?

No. She exhaled a Barrier sigh. Vash said it’s up to us to determine what’s needed to keep the situation under control. You said she won’t press charges. Do we discipline him for breaking vow? She could be waiting for him to come back. To stab him, try to hurt him, whatever...

Eliah gave a humorless laugh.

I don’t think so, he sent. She still thinks too much like a human to let herself go on that kind of thing.

Feeling Chandre’s skepticism, he added,

...And if by disciplining him, you mean shooting him in the head, I’m all for it. His thoughts leaked anger. He didn’t shield it from her at all. If I had to guess, I’d say he pulled her into it deliberately.

Recommendation, Eliah? Chandre sent dryly. Beyond the firing squad for Dehgoies for the crime of wanting his wife?

Separate them, he returned promptly. Keep him away from her. When she’s up to it, I’ll ask her what she thinks.

Fine. I leave them to you. She clicked to herself in irritation, folding her light arms. Watch her, Eliah... and no taking advantage of the situation to talk her into your bed! We still don’t know why he did it. You get Dehgoies coming up here in a jealous rage and we’re going to have ourselves a real problem. That is one piece of bullshit I don’t intend to deal with tonight.

Understood, he sent.

You’d better. Or so help me I’ll let him shoot you.

Eliah was still laughing a little as he clicked out of the Barrier, feeling his legs against the hard padding of a stateroom chair.

He waited for his eyes to clear, then faced the window out to the balcony where he’d last seen her and startled, jumping to his feet.

The balcony, the entire cabin in fact... was empty.

* * *

THE ELEVATOR CAR came to rest on the higher of two main floors, dumping me and seven other passengers into a wide foyer filled with people on red and gold patterned carpet. From human minds milling around mine, I surmised I’d arrived during the later of the two dinner meals served for general passengers... a stroke of luck in that it provided visual cover at least.

I hadn’t had much time while Eliah had been in the Barrier, talking to Chan or whoever else about me. As soon as I saw him shift out of his body, I ran for the wardrobe.

In seconds, I’d yanked on jeans and a tight-fitting tee from a band I’d seen years ago in Oakland. I donned my boots and a sweatshirt to deal with the cold, throwing the hood up to cover my head and putting in the brown contacts I’d fished out of the trash and washed. I projected some of my consciousness out on the balcony while I dressed behind the wardrobe door, just in case Eliah looked for me at any point in his conversation with Chandre.

That was another trick Revik taught me.

Grabbing a pair of mirrored sunglasses I’d found in one of the drawers, I stuffed them in my pocket and headed out the door.

I’d come up with a whole story for the guards at the end of the row of staterooms, but hadn’t needed to use it, because, well... the guards weren’t there.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I walked to the elevators as fast as I could, donning the sunglasses clumsily as I hit the button.

That had been at least fifteen minutes ago.

I got off on a few random floors, ran into several different groups of humans before I decided to head for the lobby and look for a place where I might hide out in public. I figured my best chance of getting even an hour out from under the Guard would be to find a place where no one would be looking at me. Meaning, somewhere where I could disappear into the crowd.

Of course, the Guard might be looking for me by now.

It crossed my mind that I also might run into Revik. Particularly if he went out trolling again, maybe going for round two.

When my light reacted at my own bleak attempt at humor, I shoved it aside, but not before the image of me collapsing on the atrium floor flickered through my thoughts, along with a taste of what it had felt like the first time. I really doubted I would be able to control it any better if it happened again.

Keeping my mind carefully blank, I focused on my surroundings.

The decor hovered somewhere between Vegas, which I’d visited once with Jaden, and a suburban shopping mall. Except here, only about half of the signs and VR projections were speaking English. Most switched languages as they scanned room keys, following customers with higher credit limits and adjusting products until the person waved them off or stopped to listen to their pitch. Corridors twisted off in all directions, making it hard to track which side of the ship I was on until I stood still long enough to feel the whole thing moving.

Even then, it was easy to get turned around.

After the near-silence of the past few weeks, both here and in Seattle, the voices echoing up and down the five stories of glass and metal were both comforting and a kind of psychic attack. A feeling of almost paralyzing aloneness tried to creep back around me, as well. The groups of laughing, shopping and even bickering humans somehow reminded me just how completely isolated from everyone around me I really was.

That aloneness shed some light on something else, too.

It was no wonder, really, that the thing with Revik screwed me up so badly. In the past month or so, I’d let him become my whole world.

I needed to be around other people, even if I couldn’t talk to any of them. Even if it was reckless. Even if all I could do was watch them from a distance. I needed to know I wasn’t the only person on the planet, and that every human being in the world hadn’t been replaced by angry, one-hundred-year-old, mind-reading seers with sexual and emotional issues.

Anyone could potentially recognize me, I knew, at least in theory.

But it struck me as pretty damned unlikely that anyone actually would.

I had my doubts that most of the humans on board would be on the lookout for a renegade seer terrorist in their midst, even if they weren’t on vacation. I suspected they’d be a lot less likely to be looking for me while taking a scenic cruise up the Canadian coastline on a city-sized boat that boasted a midnight buffet table. Half the people around me were drunk, or focused solely on free food and gambling in the ship’s casino, anyway.

And anyway, I looked different from the photos plastered all over the feeds. My hair had changed color and length. My face had thinned. My eyes were a different color. Then there was the other thing: weird as it was, I could swear I had grown taller. Not much, maybe only a quarter or half-inch, but to call it strange was hardly an understatement. I didn’t know many humans who had a massive growth spurt as they approached their thirties.

The truth was, I didn’t completely look like the same person I had when I left San Francisco, except for maybe my eyes, thus the contacts and the shades. The rest of me, I figured wouldn’t stand out as specifically mine to anyone but my mother, and maybe Jon.

From wall maps I got the basic layout of the boat.

I located the main casino, two dining areas and five bars on the lobby floor alone, along with access to a theater and a swimming pool. Thinking about the last of these, I seriously contemplated going for a swim, although it meant going in wearing underwear, which might call a little too much attention to me, even here.

I didn’t have any credits to buy a suit, or even a room key. I wondered if I could push a clerk well enough to get one anyway. Thinking about this, though, I figured I should probably save the pushes for if I really needed them.

Photography stands flashed virtual backdrops of Alaskan coastlines next to people dressed in VR-paneled costumes that used computer-generated images to make the wearers look like everything from bald eagles to caribou to penguins to moose. I even saw a few polar bears standing on that virtual landscape, which as far as I knew had been extinct for years outside of zoos.

Next to the long lines of people waiting to be seated in the dining area for a five course, sit-down dinner, stood a piano bar flanked by two gilded waterfall balconies. Lining the guard rail above the sunken bar stood kiosks that sold everything from jewelry to shore excursions, pedicures and massages, dance classes and raffle tickets, tax-free wires, hiri and tobacco cigarettes, perfume, alcohol and handbags.

I saw a woman holding a brochure on seer services that could be purchased in Anchorage, too, including a trip to what Revik referred to as an “unwilling” bar, and what every human I knew called a whorehouse.

Another surge of sickness hit, that time bad enough to make me stop.

I took a breath, leaning a palm against the corridor wall in a shadowed observation area outside the piano bar. Only a few tables stood there, populated by couples sipping drinks and looking through large windows to the ocean.

Jesus. Whatever was wrong with me, I had to get it under control. I was sweating too much, and I could see in the reflective glass that I was deathly pale. That, combined with the hollow cheeks, made me look like a drug addict.

I couldn’t risk that someone here might care. Security maybe, or one of the cameras. I had to get out of here, away from these people, away from—

Allie?

I stopped in mid-exhale. Scanning faces to my left, I paused on the bay windows overlooking the ocean.

Allie? Will you answer me?

I swallowed, keeping my eyes on the rolling waves. The sky was dark, but a rim of reddish-purple remained by the water. My eyes returned to the dim lounge with its few tables. I didn’t recognize anyone, didn’t feel him nearby.

He wasn’t there, I realized.

I’d been thinking about him, and he’d heard me.

Allie. Please... I need to see you.

I stood motionless by a men’s bathroom. I didn’t move, even when a man smiled at me as he left the swinging doors.

Allie, I’m sorry. I’m really—

I don’t want to talk about this, my mind blurted.

At his silence, I forced my thoughts back to neutral. I breathed in and out, once, forcing myself to be logical about this.

Revik, I thought at him. I took another breath, and my mind leveled more. Revik... you really don’t need to explain anything.

Allie, I do...

No, I sent. You don’t. I’m sorry I pushed before. You can have a divorce or whatever you want—

Not like this, he broke in. I don’t want to talk to you like this. I want to actually sit down and talk to you. Please.

I felt him trying to think how to persuade me.

Please, Allie...

He reached for me with his light and I jerked back, pulling away from him without thought. When he came close to me again, I threw up a wall.

He ran into it... then withdrew all at once.

It happened so fast, I barely understood what I’d done.

The silence went longer. I could tell it shocked him, my forcing him away. I felt pain on him, cloying, hard to keep out of my light. He was still hiding something from me, but I was trying to hide how I felt, too. It never seemed to end with us.

Revik, I sent. Really, I’m not just saying it... you don’t need to do this. I’m cool with us being friends...

Allie...

Eliah told me. So I get it now. I get what happened in Seattle. And I mean what I said about pushing you. I shouldn’t have...

Eliah? His thoughts grew still. What did he tell you, Allie?

Revik. I’m trying to say I’m sorry. Can’t we just—

No, he sent. Pain wafted off his light. Please... gods. Don’t make me talk to you like this... please, Allie...

I felt the vulnerability on his light again, and couldn’t answer.

His thoughts grew quiet, almost a murmur. Please, Allie. Please let me see you... please.

I stared out at the night sky, watching the horizon dip gently up and down.

Okay, I sent, reluctant. But God, Revik. We don’t have to do this—

You’re in the room? Is Eliah with you?

No. I hesitated long enough to find it odd he’d mentioned Eliah again. ...to both, actually. I’m on the other side of the ship. Near that big piano, with all the shops. We could meet out here, or—

What? His light changed. How did you get there?

I walked. The pain worsened again and I clutched my belly, trying my damnedest not to feel anything more from his light. Revik... I’m being careful. Eliah was all pissed off. I didn’t see anyone in the corridor, so—

Allie! Gods, baby, what are you doing... wait right where you are. I’ll be there. I’ll find you...

“Sister?”

I jumped, turning at the new voice.

I was distracted, half-sick from being so close to his light, distracted by what he’d just called me, unsure at first if I’d even heard him correctly, much less if someone really just spoke to me outside of the Barrier.

In any case, I expected it to be one of the guards, Eliah or Chandre or someone they’d sent to find me.

Revik’s presence faded, but I didn’t feel him pull away. Instead it felt like I walked into a dense wall and the wall entangled me, pushing him out. Beacon-like eyes met mine, glowing in the VR projections by the nearest kiosk. The flickering images there distracted me; I saw a woman gyrating in a tall monitor, wearing a sequined evening gown. The real person whose image it projected watched the transformed version of herself as if mesmerized.

“Are you lost, Sister?”

I blinked. A different woman held my arm. I watched her long fingers tighten on my skin. They looked blue in the light of the VR images. I struggled to focus on her face, couldn’t.

I will help you, she sent softly. You look very fatigued, sister.

Relief washed over me. I was tired, more tired than I could express. The woman with the opaque eyes purred a lulling sound...

...and I fell into a complicated strand of light.

The world phased.

It reemerged altered before I could catch it, as if my lenses reflected light from a different angle than they had before. Objects and people grew complex, multidimensional... expanding around me and sharpening from blurry outlines into a series of mathematical equations.

Snatches of music and light harmonized the perfect structure underlying their interweaving strands. A blueprint emerged from the harsh outlines... walls, floors, fixtures, furniture, potted trees, even people. The overhead chandelier exploded in a glitter of lit strands. Physical light broke down into particles, matter and energy, an achievement of base mechanical beauty that literally stopped my mind dead in its tracks.

I and the other seer walked back through the crowded causeway, and all I could do was stare around me, lost in the complexity and beauty of every single thing I could see. Even those banal VR projections grew fascinating... I could see now, how they were made, the technology infused with nonphysical light, framing each message like the projection screen behind a movie’s shifting frames. The minds behind each concept, the way in which those concepts formed building blocks into more and more detailed messages... all of it grew visible to me.

A group of humans pass us, jerking my mind off the cleaner lines of the virtual program.

I hear their harsh laughter as if from far away. They feel like children, puppets caught in lit strands, surrounded by a complexity that dictates their every move, while remaining wholly invisible to them.

Yes, the blue-skinned woman sends. You feel it, don’t you? Even you. You feel how wrong they are. How... incomplete.

I watch atoms dance among the beams of the causeway ceiling, light shower down in golden rainbows as the lit strands cross and change overhead. I gaze into the eyes of the woman holding me... and she is beautiful.

More than that, her words feel right to me. True.

The humans really aren’t much above animals. As insentient as the fake jewels on the women’s necks, the dogs they drag around on leather leashes. I wonder how it is that I never saw it before, the gaping holes in the pictures that surrounded me, day after day, week after week...

It’s not only the humans, I realize as I look around.

It’s all of it. The world feels half-formed. Incomplete.

It is broken. Somehow, we let it be so. It struck me then...

Like any equation, it could be changed.

We will show you, the blue-skinned woman purrs. We will show you such wondrous things, Sister. You will understand so much of what has been hidden from you. The world will never be so small to you again as it is at this moment.

I close my eyes.

I can see what she offers me. It is clear. It is without pain, without ambiguity or aloneness. I would have a purpose. My life would mean something... something other than pain and death to those I loved.

It is such a relief to give in, to just let it all go. The sickness and pain I felt just minutes before is already gone.

The woman is right.

Nothing could ever be the same again. Nothing.

* * *

ALLIE! REVIK SCREAMED her name into the Barrier. ALLIE!

He shoved at the space where she’d been, trying to force his way through. He tried again, fighting a rising panic. He knew what had her, recognized the flavor of the metallic strands that forced him away from her light, taking her away from him. He didn’t understand how yet, or who, but that didn’t matter, either, not now.

He slammed against that wall, using all of his light.

The wall started to give.

Then something rose up. A sharp pain hit him over his right eye. He fought back, tightening his shields, when something bigger lashed at his light. The dark shape threw him sideways, knocking him out of the smaller construct, knocking him out of his body, too, enough that he lost himself...

When his vision cleared, he’d come to a stop in the corridor, fingers splayed on one of the wallpapered walls.

He wiped his nose, stared at the blood on his fingers.

He didn’t let himself think. He began to run.

Dread pooled in his stomach as he pushed his legs to move him faster down the hall, fighting to build momentum, to cross the distance between himself and her, even as he threw part of his mind ahead of himself, and back into the construct.

It would take him at least ten minutes to get to the atrium, even at top speed.

Too long.

He scanned options.

He tried their cabin. It was empty; he got the equivalent of Barrier static. No Chan. No Eliah. No guard. How the hell had she gotten out of the room, much less out the secured corridors on the seventh deck? Someone must have noticed she was gone by now. And who had her? A unit of the Rooks? Ship’s security? A lone infiltrator looking for the bounty on her... or worse, to sell her?

Had facial recognition software picked her up, or something else?

He tried a general channel, Guard security.

Nothing. He slid more of himself back into his body, where he ran towards the bow of the ship, fighting to think.

His head hurt. Something dark clung to it, and to his right arm. The hole over his eye was the most serious. He attended to that first, reweaving his light, but the something there fought to hold on, hiding in parts of him he didn’t access as often. He’d lost where she was. He continued to search, but his shields were up now, in hunting mode, which slowed him down. Still, if they broke too much of his structure, he’d be useless to her.

How in the gods’ names had she gotten to this side of the ship?

His adrenaline spiked as his mind put the pieces together.

They were under attack. This was coordinated. He was being hunted, and it had to be by the same people who had her. He felt them searching for weaknesses in his shields almost openly, trying to penetrate his mind even as they distracted him from making his way towards her.

They must have been in place.

They saw their chance, with him and Allie separated... maybe they even coordinated her escape from the seventh deck, knowing she’d be more willing to leave, if...

He cut off the thought. Blaming himself wasn’t going to help her, either.

Whoever they were, there were a lot of them. They’d likely been in place for some time, which meant they’d been on the ship, waiting for an opening.

He’d given them one.

He recalled one of his reference memories, a detailed map of the ship, found an aberration in the Barrier that matched what he’d last felt from her. Hitting another shield around where he expected her to be, he searched for openings, making his light resonate with hers.

He remembered how she’d felt when she finally agreed to meet him... how his light had responded. His throat clutched and he shoved it off angrily. He had to concentrate. He was fucking losing it...

“Dehgoies Revik.”

He landed the rest of the way into his body, coming to a dead stop.

Four men stood a dozen yards before him, dressed in long coats.

Revik scanned in reflex. Seers. Well-shielded. He didn’t recognize any of them, so they probably operated mainly out of Asia. Hand guns, infrared, tissue extractors, some kind of propulsion device, grenades, flares, a shotgun...

Something stung his throat. He reached up, jerked a sharp point from the side of his neck. He stared at the thumbnail vial for a beat of his heart, scanning the clear liquid. His chest clenched. The dart trembled from his fingers even as he felt one of the seers lock on him with an extractor. He leapt for the opposite wall.

It all happened within seconds of his first scan... but he was still too slow.

The glass tube slammed him midair.

Knocked sideways, he missed his mark and crashed into the wall short of the alcove he’d been aiming for. He landed in a heap and pulled in his limbs, fought to drag himself back to his feet when the cord pulled, making him lose his balance.

They still had him. The cord left a hole in his jacket on the right side. He grabbed the braided metal with his bare hands, scanning the glass vial embedded at least a thumb-length into his flesh, right through his jacket. The cord went taut. The teeth closed. Before he could let go, the vial slid out of him in one quick pull, the braided metal ripping skin off his hands as it went.

Revik screamed, clutching his abdomen. Blood poured out between his fingers, soaking his pants and jacket. He mashed his hand over the hole. Fighting shock, he picked himself up, stumbled backwards.

That time, he practically dove into the Barrier.

Everything grew crystal clear. Ripping the Glock out of its holster, he fired, blindly, running in the opposite direction. The first shot cut a dark hole in the wall, but did what he intended, forcing them behind cover. He switched to his mind, knowing it would be overheard, no longer caring. He sent up a high, sharp blast of alarm.

His warning cry slammed against something before it reached the main construct walls. He watched it dissipate, useless. Looking around in the physical, his eyes lit on a pull mechanism for a fire alarm. He caught it in the hand holding the gun and yanked it down. Immediately, a shrieking bell went off.

Doors opened on several sides.

Dehgoies? Eliah’s thoughts rose, as if coming through smoky glass. Where are you? Can you hear me?

Eli... have you got her? Revik blinked back pain, clutching his side. His mind shifted sideways. It threw off his balance, forced him into the forward part of his consciousness.

Gods, the drug. He’d forgotten about the dart.

Eliah... someone’s trying to leave with her. The truth hit him again, bringing a near panic. Look for boats, anything big enough to land a helicopter. They’ll want her off the ship as soon as possible...

Brother, calm yourself... where are you?

Find her, goddamn it! Start with the atrium. Last I saw, they had her there.

Where are you? I’ll send someone...

No. I’ll come to you. He stared at the blood soaking his jacket, realizing the truth. ...Eli. Please... I can’t get to her. You have to do this. Please. Please...

Deghoies—

He kicked the other seer out of his mind. The hunters were regrouping.

Limping backwards in a half-jog, he held up the Glock, mashing his other hand into his side. He scanned behind him, looking for doors. He had to stop the bleeding, or he’d be even more useless. If it meant draining humans from the Barrier like a fucking ridvak, he would get the light he needed to do it. He thought about Allie again and it got him moving, propelling his legs faster.

He’d asked her for a divorce.

He’d asked her for a divorce and let her see him with someone else.

If he had to kill everything between here and the outside decks, he wouldn’t let that be the last thing he’d said to her.

* * *

I AM OVERCOME by wonder, lost in it.

The complexity of light astounds me, and makes me realize how little of the Barrier I truly saw before, even when I used Revik’s eyes. I never would have seen this on my own. Not for years... if ever. I realize, too, how abstract it all seemed to me before now, how dreamlike the Barrier and everything in it appeared to me.

Now, for the first time, I see its power.

I had never known the visions inside this space could be so sharp, so utterly dense, so filled with information and functionality. I saw only glimpses inside the woman’s vision... and yet, those creations she showed me made the construct-shields I’d seen at Ullysa’s and on the ship seem like child’s play, like crude forts constructed of children’s blocks.

The art alone I could create with this... gods.

It blows my mind, to think how much more even my meager sketches would contain. Yet art itself seems so trivial here. It strikes me that I have a responsibility in seeing this, to use what I know, to change things somehow. To make them better... somehow.

I rise above the crowded causeway.

I ignore bodies and faces entirely now, tracing maps of every connection, every interaction and intention and pattern...

They are so lost. The people I see, they blunder around and into one another, blaming each other for the endless collisions. There is no direction, no purpose, no awareness, no understanding of what drives them. Anything can fill that vacuum.

Anything.

A voice purrs from beside me, You begin to see the problem. Can you guess the solution, Esteemed Bridge?

I find myself back with the female seer, frowning, but not at her.

Meeting her wise, sharp eyes, I lean my flesh and blood hands on a painted guardrail while I try to answer her question.

I was always a bad student, though. I don’t know why everyone wants to school me... using teacher’s tricks that never seem to work on me, or do anything but close me down. I don’t want leading, trick questions. I want solutions. If they don’t exist, then I want to know why, and where to go next. I want to know what has already been tried, what works and what doesn’t. I don’t see this as a mental exercise. I have zero interest in feeling clever.

There are fucking lives at stake here.

So I ignore her question, rising higher into the complicated light, examining the patterns I’ve already found from different angles. When I focus on a particular aspect of the world-Barrier interface, it amplifies, then rotates into different angles.

It’s like I have access to a hundred different minds at the same time.

Not a hundred minds, the female next to me purrs. Thousands. When you are with us, you have access to every aleimic body in our network, Alyson. Every ability, every piece of knowledge, every skill-set held by every seer who has chosen to align with us...

I try to understand.

Irrationally, I want to free all people, everywhere, even though I can see along with the woman that they would simply use that freedom to destroy themselves. I am still thinking about this, watching them... when I am distracted by something going on in another part of the Barrier.

With it, I feel fear... a taste of violence.

I focus there.

Yes, the woman purrs. You know this being. You know him well by now, yes?

I do know him. I know who he is... even under all of those shields. I touch his light through the wall, and the recognition strengthens.

The woman’s perfect lips curve to a smile.

The Seven went to a lot of trouble to hide him. Even from himself. But they cannot hide him from you. Not from you, Esteemed Bridge...

“Revik.” I smile in recognition, remembering only fleetingly that I had been angry with him once, that something wrong had happened between us, what felt like a million years ago now. Whatever it was, it doesn’t seem important now.

A beat later I frown, though, scanning his aleimi.

What’s wrong with him?

He is under attack. Those seers will kill him, if you do not help him.

What? I look up at her, alarmed. Kill him? Why? Where is he?

The images around me waver, lose focus. I pull back, returning to the complicated light strands that weave overhead, and everything grows easier. I see him again, this time as if he were right in front of me. I stare at him, fighting to understand.

Then my stomach drops. Pain expands over my heart.

He’s been shot! I have to go to him... now! Please!

You are the Bridge, Alyson. You can help him from here. Do you not see?

I struggle with fear, a fevered helplessness as I watch him run down a distant corridor, leaving footprints of blood. I believe her now. He is outnumbered, injured, bleeding from multiple wounds, losing light and structure.

He could die. He really could die.

I see what the woman shows me, too. His light is broken somehow, ensnared by a thousand crisscrossing strands, holding him in place with a hundred tiny walls. His attackers are not doing this to him. The walls I see are old... they strangle his light, cutting him off from whole parts of himself, leaving pieces of his aleimi dark from lack of use.

I see the imprint of the Seven on those walls.

A soft memory flickers, dies.

Who did this to him? My heart hurts more, and my head. Vash? Did Vash do this?

The female’s bright eyes remain motionless.

Why? Tears sting my own. Why would they do this?

They fear him, she says simply. That fear will kill him now, if you do not intervene, Esteemed Bridge. Help him, Alyson. Set him free. He is not one of the lost ones. He needs only to remember who he truly is...

But I am already looking at the structure encasing him, using the myriad eyes of the Barrier seers who surround me. Focusing on where those dense walls meet, I touch him with my light, trying to soften the intersection.

I feel Revik react. I feel his fear.

I send reassurance, and when he realizes who it is, he lets me in.

His relief is palpable, his warmth overwhelming as he floods my light. Affection comes with his presence, longing... for a moment it is all I can see. He wants to know where I am, how I am, but I am focused on keeping him alive, so I extract myself, looking for how I can help him. I zero in on the part of the structure that holds all the rest in place...

...and crack it easily with my light.

The walls around him begin to dissolve.

Very good, Alyson.

I barely hear her. Smiling, I watch Revik’s light shift. Inexplicably, tears come, blurring everything I can see outside the Barrier.

Gods, he is so beautiful.

He rises as I watch, his light flooding structures I’ve never seen in him, twisting around his head, around his whole body, expanding in high, white flames. His whole being flares, shaking the Barrier, trembling the nonphysical space with a burst of light.

Without knowing I am doing it, I rise with him.

For a breath at the top, we are together, really together.

I break free of the finely-woven silver light the woman has shared with me, and instantly I feel lighter; a pressure evaporates from around my heart. From this height, the metallic strands that seemed so fascinating and dense now look fake. More than fake... they look clouded, dirty, rigid and small. I see the rotating Pyramid below my feet, with thousands of beings chained to its immovable lines. Leeched of light, they dance like frail puppets made of wire.

I am still staring at it all in bewilderment when Revik falters.

Something jerks at him, hard, pulling him down, bringing me with him. I fight back... fight to stay above the smoke and silver clouds. My own light recovers and I try to catch his, grappling with him in the Barrier’s waves. I can’t hold him. His light curls sideways. As it does, a dark mass lights up around his head, turning that portion of his aleimi solid black.

He falls inside the Pyramid and disappears.

NO! I scream. REVIK!

Around me, humans mill in the casino. No one looks up at my screams. No one hears me as they hang over tables, drinking foul-looking cocktails with colored umbrellas and fruit dipped in formaldehyde. They all look dead to me, like corpses going through the motions of life. I scream again, and the image ripples like a pool after someone throws in a stone.

NO! REVIK! COME BACK! REVIK...!

I can’t feel him anymore. I look for him, like a diver feeling blind through pitch dark water, looking for something they can no longer see, but my hands and light come up with nothing.

No one. He is gone.

He will adjust.

I turn, sweating, gripping something in my hands.

He will live now, Alyson. You have saved his life.

I feel the silvery light creep back around mine, pulling me into its complicated strands. I am still above it, but only just. From where I am, those metallic clouds look like filth. Mirrors and death, stolen power... a lie that coats the Barrier like an oil slick. I focus on the woman’s opaque eyes, and they no longer look wise. They look dead to me. Cold.

My vision clicks into focus.

...and I found myself staring at Ivy.

Ivy. The same girl who bandaged Revik’s shoulder in Seattle, who I laughed with while she dyed my hair, who arranged for all of my IDs and passports along with Yarli. But instead of the young, happy person I remembered, Ivy looked gaunt to me now, her head too large, her skin too thin, making her appear skull-like. Her platinum-blond hair stuck up on her head, making her look more like a goblin than an elf.

She smiled at me, her eyes studying my face as she touched my arm.

Sister. Do not be afraid. Do not doubt that we are your friends.

I looked around at the physical world.

The casino, the crowds, none of that had been real, either. I stood on a deserted piece of the ship’s top deck, buffeted by a cutting wind. My hair whipped my cheeks as I looked up, where a rock face cut the sky, dark and still as it passed the port side of the ship.

Ivy and I were alone. The entrance to the metal stairs to my right hung with signs showing it off-limits to any but crew.

You work for him, I manage. Terian.

She smiles. The smile is cryptic, but cold. No, she says, surprising me. I work for someone far older than he. Far more knowledgeable than he.

Galaith? I ask.

No, she says, her eyes still on mine. Not him, either.

Who then? I say.

She only smiles, but I feel somehow, that she would like to tell me.

By then, I decide I don’t care.

Clutching the handrail, I look down. The sheer, white hull stretches below to where a row of lifeboats hang over the water. Jumping is not an option.

A whisper-thin thread still holds me out of the Pyramid, but I feel Ivy chipping at it, trying to distract me from it, to convince me it lives somewhere else, inside the silver waves. A part of me has already started looking at the patterns, finding them fascinating again.

It is too late. Revik is gone. Just like mom. Just like dad.

Allie, a voice whispers, and it’s not Ivy’s. No.

It sounds so much like him it stops my heart. But it also snaps me out of that place of no hope. I haven’t used up all my options. I still have one left.

I force my way out of the Barrier...

...and pivoted my body in a fast, hard arc.

My hips snapped with my shoulder. Before I’d let out a breath, my fist hit Ivy in the sternum with a satisfying jar, exactly as Jon and then Eliah had taught me.

Ivy stumbled into the guardrail, nearly fell... and then recovered faster than I would have imagined possible.

Grabbing the top rail with both hands, she aimed a kick at my head.

I avoided it, barely, but it was misdirection; she caught me with a lower, sharper heel to the knee, knocking me into the guardrail by a circular vent. Pain bloomed sharply up from my knee up to my groin, making me gasp, but I didn’t let it drop me. I grabbed slats in the round opening of the vent, managed to regain my balance right before the Rook’s fist came down on the small of my back, half-crumpling me to the deck.

The second shock of pain brought a sharp, white moment of clarity.

I’d reconnected Revik to the Rooks.

I’d just fed him to them.

Pain rose in me, a darker grief that turned into rage.

A scream ripped out of my throat.

Ivy hissed at me like an animal as I turned, back-fisting her face. I broke something. Without stopping, I kicked down, aiming hard for her femur. A satisfying sound brought my other fist around, hitting the Sark in the temple, driving her to the deck.

A sharp stab of pain lit up around my face and neck.

Ivy was going after my light. I threw myself at her as she tried to crawl away, putting all my momentum and weight into a kick to the face.

The seer’s nose exploded in a spray of blood. I grabbed her hair as her light faltered, slamming the back of her skull into the guardrail. Her eyes rolled up and I grabbed hold of her long jacket. Regaining my balance against the railing, I hoisted her up to the top rail.

For an instant I felt the Sark’s light, beyond that of the Rooks.

Looking into the eyes of the girl who’d sent me a pulse of warmth that night in Seattle, I saw a flicker of fear, a deeper understanding.

A half-beat of hesitation made me pause.

Then Revik’s face swam before mine.

My heart clenched into a hard fist in my chest.

I threw Ivy over the railing, nearly going over with her.

She snatched at and grabbed my arm, screaming a terrible sound, like a giant bird. Silver light exploded around my head, and I felt those other beings, beyond the Pyramid itself, something larger, more frightening, like massive clouds of metallic light. I felt them screaming at me, fighting with me, trying to save Ivy from me by threatening me and slamming pain through my light, telling me I would be dead. Agony ripped through my mind as they beat against my aleimi, fighting for her... or maybe through her...

Panting, bleeding on her hands, I wedged my legs against the guardrail. I fought my way free of her attempts to save herself, disentangling her slippery fingers.

A half-second later, the hands were gone.

I watched her fall.

Ivy receded into darkness as the ship slid forward into night, but I saw her body hit the edge of a lifeboat on its way to the water. No screams echoed up as she broke the surface foam. Darkness swallowed the splash and I fell to a crouch by the guardrail, gasping.

The whisper and pound of the ship’s wake was deafening.

They’re coming for me.

I feel it now. I feel all of them.

They fight alone, held together by silver threads. They fight one another, even, but it doesn’t matter... it all serves their greater purpose.

A helicopter approaches, flying low over the water...

...I grasp for him, blind. I can’t see. Darkness spreads over the ship, breathes into my skin. I look up as the Pyramid descends, blotting out the sky. Wire-like strands snake out from all sides. I call for him...

...and find myself alone in a green, glass-tile room.

It is silent. My clothes are gone. A flat metal collar rings my neck. Against the back wall, three metal cages stand.

The image shimmers, breaks apart...

Red water runs on green glass, pools in dimples by the drains, dries in spots and smears on the ceiling. Hooks have instruments attached to them as wires spark close to the wet floor.

I scream, and I can’t stop screaming.

Barrier winds shriek and tear; I clamp my hands over my ears, but it’s not enough. It’s not outside of me at all, I realize, as the Pyramid fills the sky...

7, 10, 9, 33, 1099, 20, 41, 9883, 231, 87, 284, 2, 23, 66, 66, 994, 1, 1, 1...

I scream at the sky, feeling Revik and the man with no face, but he only smiles, and I...

...opened my eyes.

I found myself hunched in a ball on the wet top deck, freezing in a raw, cutting wind, gripping the handrail, wearing a spray-wet hoodie and jeans and combat boots. I knew the helicopter was not here yet, but it is coming. I could now feel them all around me now. I could feel them closing in on both of us.

Even as I think it, fear exploded in my chest. It wasn’t for myself.

The realization got me to my feet, got me stumbling, then running for the stairwell.

* * *

REVIK RIPPED A light fixture off the wall with his fingers. He laid his palm on the bare bulb, biting back a scream as hot glass seared his flesh. Mashing the hand against his side, he cooled it reflexively in his own blood.

The trick worked, briefly. His mind cleared.

Sliding up the wall on his good side, he regained his feet.

They’d trapped him in a floor of staterooms. He could no longer remember which floor. He’d counted twelve more infiltrators in the Barrier, plus the four he’d seen... but they could be obscuring their numbers in either direction to confuse him, and to make him hesitate. He hadn’t seen any humans since that first volley of shots. He may have inadvertently cleared this section of ship for them by pulling the fire alarm.

Something had happened.

Whatever it was, it blew out the overhead lights.

It almost felt like he’d done it... but he couldn’t remember how or even why. The dart made it difficult to think in straight lines, to put the pieces together.

He’d felt Allie. For a moment, the briefest instant, she freed him.

She carried him high on wings of light... and he’d been alone with her, out of all this mess. She’d forgiven him. She’d even healed him.

Then she was gone, and all of his attempts to find her since only made him sick. He couldn’t feel Chandre, Eliah, or even Vash, who always seemed to have a thread to him, no matter where he was.

He walked faster, holding the wall.

Images flashed, turned the blackened tunnel to a stone cave with rough walls. Silver lights dripped from moss-covered boulders. His neck was swollen, heavy with chains. He could smell death... all around him...

It was like being buried alive.

Depression tried to steal over him, to blank out his mind. He couldn’t breathe. The space closed, thick and heavy. A man’s voice whispers in his mind... Uncle.

Wasted hands, holding a red-tipped dart.

This is your enemy, Nenzi. Not the guns, this.

Merenje stands over him, mashing the gun to his temple, an old revolver from the early colonials. The human clicks through chambers, telling him to disarm, yelling at him to disarm.

You little fuck... you think he’ll let you live if you don’t? What about your girlfriend? How many of us do you think it would take to break her?

A sob came to Revik’s throat, a sick, dying feeling. He is there again, trapped. Faces swim past, fear washing through his skin like a tangible force. He remembers getting so hungry he ate dirt, hands locked to his feet so he stank of his own urine, woke to insects and animals crawling on him, screaming at first, eventually so hungry he tried to trap them...

This is what humans do. What I teach you can save you.

The gun clicks by his ear, louder with each turn.

Disarm, you fuck! Disarm or I’ll blow your head off...!

A bright light flared behind him. He remembered Allie and a part of him fought back. The Rooks were fucking with him, trying to break his mind. He’d fix it. Allie would help him. Allie would find a way.

Irrational, the thought repeated.

He felt an opening in the corridor ahead, and a faint hope reached him. They weren’t desperate enough to gun him down in a crowd of human tourists. No matter how many they pushed, they couldn’t be that desperate to bring him down. Besides, if they wanted him dead, they could have done it by now.

They were trying to bring him in.

He would have put the gun in his mouth already if it wasn’t for his wife.

The thought echoes, paralyzing him.

He feels another sting, this one on his chest. He yanks at the source and stares at the dart, half-blind with pain as he understands.

He’d been wrong. They did want him dead. They were going to kill him quietly, where the tourists would see him collapse. They could explain it any way they liked... the blood-drenched seer, terrorism threat averted, SCARB coming to the rescue...

The helicopter that takes off in the night, holding Allie. Taking her.

They didn’t want him.

The world tilts into darkness as he fights to focus his eyes, and once more he finds himself in the cave, alone. Silver clouds mass overhead, metallic wardens to his prison in the dark. They watch, biding their time.

They left him there. They left him to die.

Sound jerks him out... back into his body, into another darkened corridor that moves lightly beneath his feet. He feels them, behind him, stalking him.

But it is the rumbling sound that gets his feet moving.

When a flash lights up the pastel walls, Revik breaks into a run.

Chapter 20

SURPRISE

I AIMED FOR the seer segment of the ship.

I knew the basics of where that was, even before I’d left the cabin. All of the cabins of the Seven stood at roughly mid-port, decks seven through nine, although none of us used any but deck eight, sandwiched between two empty rows of cabins and cut off by bulkheads on both sides, but for the entrances and exits guarded by Chandre’s people.

I couldn’t reach Chandre, Revik or Eliah through the private channels they drilled me on.

I considered a public kiosk, but a fire alarm had gone off on deck five and I heard disjointed thoughts about gunshots in the crew. Given that no announcements had gone out, damage control on one or both sides must already be in play. Anyway, since no one in the Seven would likely be hanging out in their cabin, watching pay-per-view, a public kiosk would be useless. No one in the Guard even wore headsets.

I considered heading for the fire alarm itself.

But even if Revik was there, I wasn’t sure what I could do. I was alone, unarmed and pretty much useless in terms of the seer stuff.

My other option was to find someone in the Seven on foot... or go to the humans for help. Since the latter would probably get me tranked and stowed in the brig, I chose the former. The Rooks were likely controlling the human crew by now anyway.

I rounded a corner on a family of humans as I thought it, and found myself watching them as if they were wildlife from the Serengeti in their tennis shoes and baseball hats, holding shopping bags and soft drinks. Glitter speckled the hair of one of the little boys. His father brushed it off absently, still talking to the woman, who laughed at something he said.

Then I saw them.

Five men whose faces fit together like differently shaped puzzle pieces were coming up fast from behind the family of humans. The men all looked young, late twenties to early thirties, yet their expressions were older, their eyes sharper.

One saw me. Within a heartbeat, all five were staring.

Turning so fast I wrenched my back, I bolted down the hall, back the way I’d come.

I hit a fork and turned. I turned again... and again.

I began trying doors. They all needed card keys. I pounded on one. When I turned, I found myself face to face with two humans.

The man blinked at me with watery blue eyes, clutching a woman’s hand tight enough that it whitened her skin dimpled around his tan fingers. In his other hand, he held a card key.

“What are you doing?” he sputtered. “That’s our room!”

His wife gaped at me, as if expecting me to launch into a speech a la confessional television. Then I felt the seers. I couldn’t tell where they were exactly, but I knew they were on their way, not far behind me. Looking for me. Hunting me.

I raised my hand to a gun-like position.

The woman’s eyes bugged out further. The man grew very still and pale, his eyes on what he saw as a black muzzle.

I showed him an image of Ivy’s Baby Eagle.

“Open the door,” I said, motioning towards the door.

Both pairs of eyes went blank.

“I’m not here,” I said. “Open the door.”

The man’s face calmed. He smiled at his wife, waggling his eyebrows at her suggestively. She laughed, squeezing his hand. They kissed, then he slid the key card into the lock to the right of the door handle.

It opened with a click. I followed them in and stood inside while they shut the stateroom door, pushing the man to flip the dead bolt lock. Stepping around the woman as the man trundled over to turn on the television, I walked to the balcony, drawing back the curtains with a sharp yank as the woman disappeared into the bathroom. I glanced back as the man straightened his crotch, adjusting his seat in the round-backed chair facing the main monitor.

Another ripple of warning touched my light.

They were coming.

Pushing my way through the opening in the glass door, I ran to the balcony railing, peering around the etched-glass partitions on either side. A line of lit windows greeted me on one side as I looked out past the wind barriers that sandwiched the balcony where I stood. On the other, a twenty foot span separated me from the next set of balconies.

Damn. I’d assumed it would be like our section of staterooms on the eighth deck, where all the balconies were attached.

I felt my breath start to come in short pants. They must know where I was, after my stunt with those humans in the corridor. Now it turned out I’d picked the wrong couple to hijack.

Gripping the railing, I swung myself up on top of it. Even in the dark, I could make out white balconies stretched below me in a long row, separated by those glass dividing walls. The balcony directly below me was ten or twelve feet down. If I hung from this one, the railing itself would only be about six or seven more feet to my toes—but there was no way to jump and not kill myself when I tried to land.

I would have to swing inward enough to land on the balcony itself.

Something pushed at my light again, bringing a fresh shot of adrenaline to my blood. Realizing the heavy sweatshirt restricted my movement, I ripped it off my arms and threw it over the rail. It flew sideways with the motion of the ship and got stuck on one of the lifeboats. It remained there, flapping in the wind.

Fuck.

Nothing I could do about it now. Before I let myself think, I climbed down to the lower rail and dropped my weight so I was hanging from my hands.

Almost immediately, this felt like a mistake.

My hand slipped, barely holding on. The other throbbed, bruised and bloodied from the fight with Ivy. I stared down between my combat boots at the railing below. If I let go right now, I’d probably hit my head and end up in the water. I would have to get some momentum... and try and remember to tuck my head. This was starting to feel like a really stupid plan, but I’d just negated all my other options.

Pushing off from the wall with the toes of my boots, I started to swing, lightly at first, testing my grip, then more vigorously, using my legs as a pendulum. In a few seconds, I was getting as much height as the range of motion allowed. Reaching the bottom of the arc, I let go, using my arms to propel me down and back towards the ship.

It happened fast. I remembered to tuck my head... but not my arms.

My elbows smacked the railing hard, throwing my upper body forward. My arms wouldn’t rise to shield my head. Something dark approached.

My face slammed into what felt like rock.

I lay there, unable to move. My mind repeated, like a skipped record.

I couldn’t sleep. He’d told me a hundred times I couldn’t sleep...

Even so, I think I lost some time. However much it was, as soon as it was over, I jerked where I lay, my nerves jacked up.

I opened my eyes with an effort. My legs were splayed. One arm lay bent under my chest, throbbing. When I raised my head, it seemed to unstick from the deck.

I stared at the dark stain where my cheek had been, then raised a hand to touch my face. I bit my lip to stifle a cry as I tried to move my legs. My right knee screamed, enveloped in a fire-like pain.

I could only lay there at first, feeling like a broken toy.

Creeping in like a bad smell, that urgency came at me again, and I moved my limbs gingerly, testing as I went. My cheek had already started to swell. From what I could tell, I’d been lying there closer to a minute than an hour... maybe seconds before my consciousness switch flipped back to on. My left arm felt like ligaments had been ripped out of the elbow and shoulder joints with pliers.

I forced myself to a sitting position. Then, gripping the wall, I sucked in a breath and lurched to my feet. I stood there, trying to focus my eyes, when I heard voices on the balcony above. I froze.

“Here?”

A silence. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

“Could she jump that far?”

I heard a faint clicking sound, carried by wind.

“She was in and out too fast to pinpoint.” The male voice paused, grunting. “Whatever she did, she hurt herself.”

“Check the deck. I don’t see evidence of a fall.”

There was another silence. I stood there, still not breathing, focusing on my body like Revik taught me so I wouldn’t inadvertently fall into the Barrier in reflex. He said it was normal for a seer to go to the Barrier when threatened. He said that sometimes the hardest thing for a seer to do was to stay out.

I pressed my back to the glass door, hoping I was out of their line of sight, when the second Rook cursed.

I heard the crackle of a radio.

“She jumped. Confirm, she jumped. Looks like she hit the lifeboat on the way down... but she might have landed there, too. Bring the boat around, have them check the water on the port side. And if anyone’s close, have them check deck...” He must have been counting. “...Four. If she made it onto the lifeboat, she would have tried to get back in there.” A pause. “No, there’s no blood. She might have bounced right into the water.”

Seconds later, the balcony door above me closed.

I was still standing there, fighting to keep from passing out, when the light came on in the room behind me. I turned my head, terrified out of my mind.

A little old lady stared at me, her wrinkled mouth ajar as she gaped at a face I could barely see reflected in the glass. She clutched a pearl handbag, still holding the drapery cord she must have pulled to get a view of the night sky out her west-facing balcony. I had what looked like two blackening eyes, a swollen cheek, cut and bleeding lips. I touched my forehead, forgetting her briefly as I focused on my reflection. My hairline was bleeding too.

I contemplated a story to get her to let me in, then simply turned, limping for the opposite balcony wall. Gripping the glass divider, I climbed, fighting not to cry out as I put part of my weight on my swollen knee to boost myself up.

Gripping the glass divider, I slid around it with one leg, then eased down until my butt rested on the railing of the next balcony over. I placed my feet on the terrace floor and staggered to the glass door. After trying the handle and finding it locked, I walked the length of that balcony and did the same on the other side.

I repeated this again seven more times.

Finally, I had to rest. I leaned on a glass door leading into a darkened stateroom... worried I could pass out from the pain in my knee.

As soon as I’d regained my breath, I yanked myself up, teeth gritted, shielding my light more thoroughly than I could remember doing.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t tried the door yet.

I gave it a tug. The glass slid smoothly on its track, unlocked.

My brief elation flattened as I thought through my options once I was back inside the ship. I had no way to get off, short of trying to drop one of the lifeboats, which didn’t seem like a realistic option. Whether I left the cabin or stayed, I ran the risk of being caught by roving bands of infiltrators... or clubbed to death by Frank and Norma Jean from Great Falls once the Rooks convinced them I’d tortured and killed their pet poodle, Mr. Bigglesworth.

Giving a dark kind of laugh, I eased through the gap in the balcony door.

The room was empty.

For a moment I just stared at the darkened space, fighting to catch my breath. Even if there was a way to do it safely, I couldn’t leave the ship. I needed to find Chan, or Eliah. I needed help.

I’d take the stairs.

If they already had Revik—

But I couldn’t think about Revik yet.

* * *

TERIAN STARED AT the VR shadow of the squad leader.

“I am confused,” he said. “Please explain, ‘you lost her’... I am not following.”

“Sir.” The squad leader grew audibly nervous. “We made visual contact and she rabbited. We tracked her to a stateroom—” He cut himself off, sensing the other’s impatience. “We’ll find her, sir. We’re doing thermal scans of the wake now, in the event she jumped or fell—”

“Fell. As in, fell off the ship.” Terian’s lips twisted in puzzlement, replicated in painstaking accuracy by his virtual avatar. “Really. So that’s a possibility? The planet’s only living telekinetic seer may have accidentally ‘fallen off’ a moving vessel into freezing cold salt water... to be chopped into small pieces for the seals to eat? We are exploring that option, yes?”

“Sir, I—”

“Do you have any idea what I will do to you, if that scenario eventuates?”

The infiltrator’s shadow fell silent.

Terian said, “Yes. Good. Now, I would like you to explore options other than the ‘falling off’ one you seem so fond of...”

“Yes, sir. Of course, we—”

Terian terminated the link.

As his physical vision cleared, he found himself staring around at a damaged segment of corridor on the fifth deck, illuminated only by the sickly glow of an organic yisso torch.

It looked like what it was—the scene of a prolonged gunfight in a relatively tight space. They’d locked him down in one segment of corridor, but it took more than an hour to subdue him from there. The pastel and gold ship’s interior was barely recognizable.

As the torch panned, the swath of light illuminated holes in plaster walls. One still smoked, but they had finally gotten the last of the guns away from him, too.

Terian’s extraction team stood in an uneven half circle now, staring down at a being that was finally on the ground, although still not fully unconscious. Two of the med techs hunched over him, trying to assess the damage to his nervous system, if any, from the third dart they’d finally hit him with.

“He wasn’t to be killed,” Terian muttered. He looked at the leader of the extraction team. “He wasn’t to be killed, Varlan... I said two darts. No more.”

“He was threatening to kill himself, sir,” Varlan replied. “It was a calculated risk.”

“He threatened to kill himself...?” Terian stared at his lead infiltrator, fighting to incorporate the new piece of information. “Why? Why would he do that?”

Varlan didn’t answer. Turning, he focused his eyes back on the downed seer.

Terian watched as Dehgoies raised his head, groping for a med tech, his eyes glassy from the drug. The young seer blanched, backing off. All of them had been unnerved by Dehgoies’s apparent imperviousness to the darts.

But Terian was familiar with his friend’s biological quirks.

Impatient, he pushed his way forward, kneeling by the dark head. He listened briefly to his muttered words, then clicked his fingers at one of the seers in the back.

“You... Legress. You are from Asia, yes? What language is this?”

A different voice answered, from closer. “Magadhi Prakrit, sir.”

Terian’s gaze swiveled. The male tech knelt behind the two working on Dehgoies’s abdomen. They lay a patch on his bare skin, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Is that a human language?” Terian said.

“Yes, sir. Old, though. Very old.”

“From where?”

“Nepal.” The Sark paused, seeing all eyes on him. “I recognize it from the camps, sir... they used some of the older languages as codes.” He smiled wryly. “That one was a particular favorite with the kneelers.” Seeing Terian’s gaze sharpen, the tech let his smile fade. “...It was supposedly the language the Buddha spoke. When he was alive.” He looked down at Dehgoies. “He must have learned it while he was imprisoned there. He’s about the right age.”

Terian raised an eyebrow. “Imprisoned? Why not a slaver, like yourself?”

The tech caught the edge in Terian’s choice of words.

Losing the smirk, he met Terian’s gaze. Swallowing, he glanced around, noting the flavor of hostility from the seers around him before he said,

“Smugglers didn’t use the language, sir. The prisoners did... so we couldn’t understand them. We learned enough to prevent them from organizing, but it was never in common use in the barracks.”

Terian motioned him forward. “What is he saying?”

The Sark crouched by the floor, lowering his head as Terian indicated.

After a pause, he said, “He’s apologizing to someone, sir. Saying he’ll do better... something about wanting to serve, that he’s ready to serve now.” The man lowered his ear to another broken stream of words. “No cave... he doesn’t want to go to the cave. A name... Merenj? Merenged? And something about wanting light, to touch light... I don’t fully understand that phrase sir, iltere ak selen’te dur... that’s old Prexci. I think something about the old God...”

The man leaned closer, straining to hear.

“He’s mixing languages... arendelan ti’ a rigalem... destiny is harder... isthre ag tem degri... to lead is... I think the word is sacrifice. It’s some kind of scripture.” Giving Terian an apologetic look, he said, “I’ve heard things like this before, from more arcane versions of the myths. I wouldn’t swear by the translation, though. It’s likely something local.”

“And you say Magadhi Prakrit is a human language?”

“Yes, sir. Human. The other is a bastardization of old Prexci... but I don’t think they spoke that at the camps. He must have gotten it somewhere else.”

Terian focused back on Dehgoies.

Slave camp. That didn’t fit anywhere in the biography of Dehgoies Revik he’d read, and Terian had read them all. Nor did he really believe his friend would have worked in one, either. Whatever Dehgoies’s ability to adjust ethical systems when it suited him, he never would have aligned with the worms to that extent.

Not for any amount of money.

He studied the angular face, noting its pallor. The blood on his hands shone a dark red, almost black in the light of the yisso. He’d lost so much his skin looked gray. He likely wouldn’t last the night, no matter what the techs did.

Still, caution seemed warranted.

Reaching into a pouch under his cloak, Terian pulled out a thick, organic, sight-restraint collar he’d commissioned specially for the purpose. Catching hold of Dehgoies’s hair, he lifted his head, sliding the collar around his neck. He clicked the ends together at the base of his skull, then bent down, opening a thumbnail latch to access a retinal scanner. He let the device scan his eyes, which it did, turning the skin of his friend’s neck briefly red.

When it clicked off, Terian tugged at the collar briefly, checking that the lock activated.

Feeling the stares, Terian looked up.

The lead tech looked affronted. “Sir, he’s hardly in a position to—”

“Continue to listen,” Terian told the other, ignoring the tech. “I want a record of everything he says. Translated and original. Every word... understood?”

The Sark gestured affirmative.

Terian started to rise to his feet when Dehgoies caught hold of his wrist. The long fingers clenched, ghostly white with streaks of blood.

“Terry.” He swallowed thickly. “Don’t hurt her.”

Terian could only stare, his jaw slack.

“Please, Terry. Don’t hurt her...”

Terian grinned. He couldn’t help it. He patted the other seer’s arm.

“Now, now, brother Revik. No need to beg this early in the game. We’re all friends here. I won’t hurt your best girl...”

The light eyes met his. His voice half-filled with liquid, a near whisper.

“I’ll kill you. Turn if I have to. Rip you apart. Feed you to yourself...”

Terian flinched, drawing back in spite of himself.

“I’ll remember,” the pale-eyed seer breathed. “All of it. I’ll find Feigran. You were afraid of me once...”

But Terian had heard enough. Using his headset, he activated the pulse.

Two, needle-like prongs slid out of the collar around Dehgoies’s neck, sinking wetly into the flesh at the base of his skull. The sensor lit up, the metal vibrating against white skin. Dehgoies blinked rapidly, wincing in pain as the prongs dug deeper into his neck. He tried to move his jaw.

Then he cried out.

The irises of his eyes ignited, like a spark to a pool of gasoline. The faint, almost invisible glow brightened rapidly to a shocking hue, turning a sharp, pale green that flickered like candle flames in the dim hall.

Cries sounded in the corridor as the other infiltrators reacted.

Terian heard yelled instructions, movement as guns were raised, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the glowing eyes of his downed friend.

Just when it occurred to him that the collar might not hold...

Dehgoies collapsed, as if all of his muscles in his arms and shoulders unclenched in the same instant.

The silence in the narrow hall grew deafening.

Terian glanced up. White faces stared at him from against the corridor walls. Several hunters stood with guns raised, fingers frozen near triggers.

“His eyes,” one said. “Did you see his eyes?”

“He’s mate to the Bridge...”

“He can’t be Sark, not with eyes like that...”

Mutters erupted from the group. Terian saw a few gestures warding off evil. He snapped his fingers at the techs.

“Stabilize his vitals. Now,” he added sharply, when they didn’t move.

Movement erupted around him as his words sank in.

Terian rose to his feet, glaring around at the group until guns lowered, and the murmuring ceased as they went back to work. The seer medical techs hunched back over the unconscious Dehgoies, fighting to keep him alive.

Terian watched as Varlan approached where he stood. An older seer, he had a wide, Asian-looking face that sported a long, jagged scar in a diagonal line from his chin to his almond eyes. He was one of the old ones, an infiltrator since before the time of humans. Terian had even heard rumors that Varlan was once trained by the Adhipan.

“General Advisor, sir.” Varlan eyed Dehgoies’s crumpled form. “You must be aware. Galaith had a particular interest––”

“Tell him he’s dead.”

Varlan didn’t blink. “And if he survives?” he said.

Terian gazed out over the group of infiltrators clustered by the far wall. His eyes came to rest on a tall Sark who stood at the back among the rest of the extraction team. Squinting up at the seer’s body proportions, he motioned him forward.

“What is your height, Endre?”

“Six-foot four, sir.”

“You have a clan tattoo?”

“Yes, sir.”

Terian plucked Varlan’s Mossberg casually from his fingers. Pointing it at the tall, black-haired seer, he shot him in the chest.

The hollow bullet blew out the back of his spine, spattering the wall with blood and bone, right before the seer crumpled, falling to his back.

One of the techs cried out in shock.

They stifled their own cry, getting a hard look from Terian. The others moved quickly out of the way, leaving Endre’s body alone in a cleared space of floor.

Terian handed the rifle back to Varlan.

“You have your answer,” he said. “I’ll take care of the labs, just make sure you destroy his face. Remove his teeth, if you can... and his hands.”

Terian saw Endre’s fingers convulse for his weapon. Stepping forward, he kicked away the gun, motioning to one of the other seers, who raised his own weapon, shooting Endre in the head. The seer’s arm stopped moving.

“Make sure he’s got the clan mark,” Terian added, glancing over his shoulder at Varlan. “That’s documented somewhere... and the sun and sword too.”

Varlan bowed, his eyes expressionless. “Yes, sir.”

Terian looked down at Dehgoies, frowning at the blood, the pallor of his skin.

He faced the others.

“Get him ready to be moved.” His eyes darkened as he stared around at faces. “I’ve decided my friend will survive this ordeal. You will make certain that he does.” His voice grew cold as ice. “If he dies... you all die.”

Chapter 21

FIRE

I LIMPED DOWN a darkened aisle, head low. I’d picked the movie theater because it was dark, and close to where the crew stairwell let out on the first floor deck.

Now I felt a little too Lee Harvey Oswald.

I reached a side exit, glancing up at the movie playing on the white screen as I grasped a door handle. I opened it, only remembering then that the light on the other side would make my outline visible to every person sitting in the dark theater.

I needn’t have worried. The attack didn’t come from behind.

Strong hands grabbed me, pulling me through the opening before my eyes could adjust, swinging me around and slamming my back against the wall. I heard the door close behind me with a bang.

The seer holding me turned me around, shoving my chest against the wall to bind my wrists. I jerked my elbow back, missing his face and he smacked mine against the same wall, stunning me. I managed to kick backwards a few seconds later, but he grabbed my leg and deliberately bent my hurt knee the wrong direction.

I screamed. Before I could get very far, he clamped a hand over my mouth, shoving me to the floor. I fell hard to the deck, sucking air.

It all happened so fast I couldn’t move at first.

Standing over me, he reached over his shoulder, pulled out a black metal rod. An arc of current sparked from one end.

Staring up at it, I gave a kind of choking laugh. “Jesus...” Gripping the floor with my fingers, I tried to crawl away. He kicked me in the stomach. As I crumpled to a fetal position, gasping for air, he lowered the prod, aiming it for my back.

Shots echoed in the small corridor.

Two volleys followed, one after the other, barely a breath between them.

I flattened myself to the deck, flinching as bullets pushed air in a rush over me. The guy who’d been on the verge of jabbing me with a cattle prod lay sprawled on his back. I didn’t have to look for long to know he was dead.

Down the hall, another seer lay on the floor, one I hadn’t seen, although he must have stood there, watching as I failed to fight off the first guy. He lay on the floor too, holding his chest, making choking sounds. I stared at his blood-covered hands.

Then I turned. Briefly, my heart lifted, sure it would be him.

But the man who lowered the gun had two different colored eyes. His full lips curled into a frown as he released the empty magazine from the still-smoking Berreta, replacing it with a fresh one. Locking it into place, he motioned for me to get up, holding out a hand.

“Come on, love,” Eliah said. “No time to get teary.”

I tried to comply, but my knee wouldn’t cooperate. I got halfway up before it crumpled, and I let out an involuntary cry.

Walking closer, Eliah slid a shoulder under my arm, still holding the gun. He brought me to my feet, then through a side door marked “Crew Only.”

I stumbled onto a metal, mesh deck that started just past the door.

“Where’s Revik?” I said.

Eliah gazed at a fork in the corridor, surrounded by exposed pipes. He paused only long enough to glance at me.

“Sorry, love. He's gone.”

I felt the world gray, like it had in Vancouver.

My breath stopped as I forced it back, biting my tongue until the lines sharpened once more.

“Gone? What does that mean?” I said.

“Quiet.” He said in a whisper, “I’ll tell you everything. But you have to be quiet now, love. Or we’re dead.”

He waited for me to acknowledge him when I didn’t answer, shaking me until I nodded. Then he brought me through the narrower of the two passages and down several flights of stairs. I let him support most of my weight as we passed through a few more sets of doors to emerge in the main storage bay of the ship’s stern. Still holding me up, he led me through a long, towering row of boxes and covered crates, between one-seater forklifts and bolted-down vehicles being transported to Anchorage and the Russian coastline.

He finally stopped at a low ramp that ended in a massive roll door.

Leaving me by the pulleys on one side of the segmented metal sheet, he jogged to the bottom of the ramp and hit a red button. I gripped a segment of wall in my hands and just watched as the massive door opened, gears grinding, with a rattle of rusted chains.

Churning ocean roared through the gap.

The opening sat low enough in the water that curls of spray shot up the sides of the ship, wetting the deck and me along with it. Wind and spray plastered my shirt to my skin. Pale light framed the clouds, illuminating edges.

Unbelievably, it was nearing dawn.

Eliah looked at his watch. He held one of the chains by the roll door, swaying slightly in the motion of the ship. He caught my eye, smiled reassuringly.

“You all right there, love? That knee looks like it smarts some.”

“Where’s Revik?” I said, loud enough to be heard over the wind.

He hesitated. Letting go of the chain, he walked over to me, digging a hand into the front pocket of his dark pants. Once he had whatever it was, he held out a hand, motioned for me to take what he held.

“Go on.” He motioned for me to hold out my hand until I did, palm up, under his.

Something cold fell into it.

I focused on the silver ring.

He didn’t have to tell me where he’d gotten it.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said again.

I stared at the ring, unable to make my mind react.

“He was ambushed. Five of them, at least. It looked like they tried to save his life after they shot him down... probably to bring him in alive. But he was dead when Chan and I finally broke through.”

When I didn’t speak, Eliah caught hold of my arm, his eyes serious.

“Allie... love. I know this is a shock. I know it. But I need you to focus right now. Put him out of your mind, love. Just for now, okay?” When I still didn’t answer, he shook my arm lightly, forcing my eyes up to his. “If it gets down to the wire, you and me, we might have to jump. Now I know you’re wounded, but you’re a seer, so that’s not as bad as it sounds. You’ll live, easy. But it’ll hurt. And that cold’ll be something you remember to your grave...”

I stumbled when he released me, catching hold of one of the hanging chains.

The wind tore at his words.

“There, now, love. I’m sorry, I truly am. But we can’t fall apart. Or we’ll end up like him. Then his sacrifice would be for nothing, right? You can hold it together for him, can’t you? Just a few minutes more. Then we’ll be in the clear.”

I stared over the side of the ship. The water churned, white foam and dark blue beneath an overcast sky. It looked like liquid ice.

Eliah blew on his hands, checked his watch again.

“We can’t wait much longer, love,” he said. “Why don’t you—”

The rhythmic thud-thud-thud-thud of helicopter blades erupted low over the water, making both of us jump. I heard Eliah curse as one set of propellers joined another, then another... until a fleet of dark gray Apaches was passing by and over the cruise ship, riding over the light of first dawn. The sight was so surreal that all I could do was stare, watching them go by like a fleet of metal hornets. Eliah grabbed my arm just as they were nearing, pulling me into shadow behind the lip of the square opening...

And I found myself with him, inside his mind.

...Flashes fill the Barrier sky.

Lightning cracks downward from overhead clouds. All over the ship, bursts of staccato charges fall, plummeting around military helicopters as they fly past in formation, shining with a faint silver light. The bursts don’t come from the helicopters, but from the metallic, cloud ceiling above, falling like bombs.

I’m still staring upwards as a light-bomb falls from almost straight overhead.

Eliah grabs me with hands of light, pulls me away to narrowly miss being hit by a second bomb I hadn’t seen...

A net, he tells me. They are looking for you, Allie. And for me.

Looking for you, I repeat numbly.

I wince from a sudden, sharp pain at the back of my neck.

Eliah stares at my hand clutching that pain, at my fingers rubbing my own neck in reflex. Then, unexpectedly, he grins, his eyes shining with moonstone light.

Well, he says. That’s good news, at least.

When I look down, I find I am gripping the silver ring so tightly it digs into the skin of my palm. Through the Barrier, I gaze down the length of the ship, no longer caring who sees me. I let myself fall deeper...

...and without warning, he is there.

Revik lies broken on a patterned carpet, his neck at an odd angle. A metal collar circles it, and the skin there twitches, dancing under a coarse electric charge. He is covered in blood. His chest isn’t moving...

We’re losing him! A doctor kneels beside him. Goddamn it! He really will kill us. Did you see his face when those eyes lit up—?

Eliah grabs my arm.

Turning me towards him, he punches me right in the face.

* * *

...AND I GASPED, clutching a chain hanging from a roll-down door in one hand, the ring in the other, the ocean wetting my back. My jaw hurt where he’d hit me, and my skin felt flushed, almost fevered. I faced Eliah, who held my wrist to keep me from going over the side. He gave me an apologetic look... but I knew.

That hadn’t been the past.

Which meant everything he’d just told me had been a lie.

“You did this,” I managed. “You’re him. Terian.”

He blinked at me, his different colored eyes widening in surprise.

Then he broke into a smile. A smile that turned quickly into a chuckle.

“Allie, my dear... I am endlessly impressed by you. So many surprises...”

When I tried to jerk away from him, he slammed my back against the edge of the roll door, his different-colored eyes hardening on mine.

“You’re hardly in a position to fight me now, though, love,” he said.

The man who’d killed my mother smiled at me affectionately, his thumb absently caressing my upper arm. He held the beretta in his other hand, aimed at my middle section. I hadn’t seen him reach for it, but I stared at the end of the barrel now, wincing as he tightened his hold on me.

“I suppose it is fortunate that I met you before you were fully trained,” he said. “How on earth did you find Galaith...? I am so impressed. So very, very impressed.”

I tried again to yank my arm away, but his fingers gripped like talons, pulling me closer, then slamming me back against the metal wall, and into a sharp protrusion on one of the beams. I gasped, the air knocked out of me.

“You know,” he said. “...you’ve put me in a bit of a bind, dear heart. I really had hoped to be out of here before der Fuhrer showed up. He was quite fond of your mate.” Terian/Eliah sighed, gazing out over the water. “I suppose I’m in for a bit of a spanking on that score. I’m afraid your dear Dehgoies isn’t long for this world. And I really had hoped I’d get the package deal...”

I threw myself at him.

I grabbed his hand with the gun, trying to force the barrel towards his face. I don’t know if I thought I could do it without being shot, just push him over the edge and it wouldn’t affect me, or if I just didn’t care anymore.

There was a loud sound in my ears.

Eliah jerked forward, nearly into me, as if sharply pushed. When I looked up at his body, he had a bleeding wound in his chest. The gun had left his fingers, clattering to the deck like a broken toy. I watched the red expand over his gray sweater in a numb confusion, then looked around and past him for the source, knowing that it hadn’t been me.

I focused on a high pile of wooden storage crates right as Chandre stepped from behind them, raising a gun towards my face.

“Move away from him! Allie, step back!”

Eliah burst into a laugh.

“Move away!” Chandre said, louder.

When neither of us moved, Chandre fired a shot past our heads that clanged when it impacted against the metal hull.

I don’t think I even flinched.

Eliah ducked his head, then grinned around at Chandre. When I released him, taking a half-step back on the ramp, Chan aimed the gun directly at my face.

“Stay where you are!” she said.

I held up my hands, but my mind remained indifferent.

“Kill him,” I said. Tears ran down my face, but I barely felt those, either. “Please, Chan... kill him. Do it now.”

“What are you doing with him?” she demanded. “Why did you leave the cabin?”

I didn’t answer.

It wasn’t stubbornness. At that point, I could barely make sense of her questions. I didn’t understand why she wasn’t shooting him.

Chandre fired off another warning shot, and I felt it whiz by my head. I continued to look at her, still thinking only the same repeating thought.

“Just shoot him, Chan. Please.”

“Do not mistake me for him!” Chandre warned me, her voice coming out emotional, angry. “Do not mistake me for your husband the Rook, Alyson! I don’t kill simply because you tell me to. I demand an answer! What are you doing with him?”

“I do believe I’ve made her angry, Chan,” Eliah said. Smiling, he pointed from where he held his hands above his head, gesturing towards my face. “Look at her! If I didn’t know better, I’d think—”

“Shut up!” The hunter aimed the gun back at Eliah. “Get away from her, you piece of shit! We know what you did.”

“He’s not Eliah.” I surprised myself again by speaking. My voice sounded strangely calm in my ears. “He took his body. He’s not real, Chan...”

Chandre rounded the gun back on me.

“You too, Bridge! I would just as soon shoot you as well... dump your body right over the side. For all I know, you were in on it. For all I know, this is you starting your fucking war...”

Eliah laughed louder. “Are you crying over Dehgoies, too, my sweet, sweet, Chandre? I would never have guessed...”

“Eight of my people are dead! Three of them had mates, families. Dehgoies at least carried the karma of such a death... that and a hundred times over...”

I stared at the other woman, feeling her grief, her anger, even her fear. I wondered at her ability to feel so much. My own body felt like stone.

I couldn’t see through the light in my eyes but the woman’s outline shone there anyway, a shadow with two hands gripping a desert eagle I recognized from a different set of long, white fingers. Chandre took another threatening step in our direction, stopping when I didn’t react, or change expression.

After a pause, she exhaled, pointing the gun at Eliah without taking her eyes off mine.

“Gods,” she said to me. “You’re even starting to look like him.”

Under my feet, the deck trembled, just before I heard a hollow booming sound that shook the metal.

Eliah lost his balance on the edge of the doorway.

I saw my chance.

Without thinking, I lunged towards him, helping gravity and the shaking metal under our feet along.

It didn’t take much. He’d been standing too close to the rim.

Before I could think about what I’d done, he was falling, and I tumbled with him, tangled in his limbs. I groped backwards for the metal chain... but it slipped through my fingers, leaving a hovering instant where it occurred to me I wouldn’t be able to get free of him.

I plummeted through freezing wind and spray. I was sure I would die in those few seconds it took to fall, numb to everything but his hands on me and the deafening roar of water.

I hit the dark surface and it was like being thrown into a wood-chipper.

Tossed downwards, Eliah and I were ripped apart.

I felt his hands clench then leave my skin. A curl of wake threw me upwards and I surfaced, gasping.

Not far from me, another body slammed into the water. Then another.

I fought to keep my head above the white foam.

My leg hurt so badly I could barely force myself to breathe. Next to me, a dark head surfaced, and I began backing away, using my arms. I recognized Chandre, braids plastered to her head. Another head breached next to hers. In confusion, I stared at the face of another of the Seven’s Guard that I recognized.

I tried to paddle backwards, but I could barely stay afloat; my legs wouldn’t cooperate. I looked down the lines of the ship at the ship’s wake and saw what looked like another person, their face white above dark water. I watched the body struggle against the current, sucking downwards towards the lower stern and the propellers...

“You’re fucking crazy, Bridge!” Chandre yelled.

I tried to work my arms faster, to get away from her, but Chandre swam after me, groping for my limbs. “Bridge! It’s okay! It’s okay, Bridge!” Once she had ahold of me, her eyes followed the body caught in the ship’s wake.

“He’s gone!” she shouted above the spray. “You killed him!”

“Are you going to kill me?” I said.

“No,” she said, spitting water. Unbelievably, she smiled. “No, Bridge. You won’t be dying today. I wouldn’t kill the mate of the man who exacted the only revenge anyone on my team got against those bastards. And anyway, if you’d been working for him, I don’t think you would have wanted him dead so badly.”

Hearing her words, I looked up the steep sides of the ship, and my throat closed. I looked down at my hand. Somehow I still clutched the ring.

...15, 2, 1, 111, 99, 3326, 1, 42, 47, 15, 15, 12, 996, 651, 222, 231, 244, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 27, 13, 15, 15, 21, 66, 24, 89, 97...

At that exact moment, the sky caught on fire.

* * *

THE EXPLOSION FLARED out of darkness.

It blew back the nearest of the helicopters, causing it to careen into the one flying alongside it. The propeller clipped the vehicle’s hull, splintered like dry kindling.

Galaith watched in a kind of slow fascination as the bird in front of him fell in a nearly straight line, breaking apart as it slammed the dark water.

The booming from the ship continued.

Shock waves from the second explosion reached the part of sky where Galaith’s larger transport helicopter maintained a safe distance. It shook the metal under his legs, forcing the pilot of the craft to compensate. A third explosion rattled the glass. Galaith heard his own pilot curse through his microphone, forgetting himself momentarily as he leaned on the cyclic, moving them sideways below the cloud deck.

Frowning in disapproval, Galaith decided to let it pass, gazing down at the long, white cruise ship, which had unmistakably come to a halt on the dark water.

Plumes of fire rose to the low deck of clouds, staining them red and gold.

Galaith watched the flames mix with the early dawn’s light, reflecting against the falling rain. Another blast lit the nearby land mass, illuminating dark, featureless hills, and his eyes studied the scrub evergreens and broken boulders, blinking against the sudden brightness. People the size of ants jumped off the tall sides of the ship as he watched. Even under the steady pulse of the helicopter’s blades, Galaith heard screams, and impact sounds as they hit.

Feeling the other occupants of the helicopter looking at him expectantly, Galaith made the sign of the cross.

Then, fixing his brow and mouth in the proper display of anger and grief, he signaled to the pilot with his hand, pointing towards the shore.

It wouldn’t do to be caught gawking at the scene.

Anyway, for all intents and purposes, his work here was done.

Alyson’s last known location was the starboard end of the stern, where his team set and detonated the first set of explosives. Galaith would have his seers look for her in the aftermath, of course, and retrieve her body if at all possible, but it was over.

That was a decision he’d made before he arrived. Better to send her back to those beyond-the-Barrier shores of which she was so fond. Better that, than to let her go alive to Terian and whatever dark scheme he’d concocted.

It was a good thing Galaith had that second team in place, watching Terian.

Even so, he’d almost reacted too slowly.

Whatever had been set in motion on the ship a few hours previous, it had been less of a plan by Terian as it was a reaction to an unexpectedly opened window of opportunity. Perhaps Terian had even imagined it would be so. It was the only way he could have moved his team swiftly enough to avoid any ripples of warning through the network Pyramid.

As he watched smoke billow out the bottom decks, Galaith knew any hope of her survival had to be slim. He retained a glimmer of optimism that the temperature of the water might preserve some bio-samples, however.

Ironically, it was she who called him here.

It was a genuine pity he’d arrived too late to reason with her.

As for Terian and whatever he’d been up to...

“I’ll be back for you, old friend,” he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t let himself think too closely about the loss of Dehgoies. That would have to be contemplated on another day.

“Sir?” the pilot shouted.

Galaith met his questioning look, wiping his face with one hand. Luckily, the gesture fit the moment, and played all the more convincingly for its sincerity, whatever its true cause. One of his secretaries, Martha, touched his arm in sympathy, and he clasped her fingers, letting his face show a flicker of gratitude.

He told the pilot, “Take me to the airport, Gene. We’ll coordinate the rescue teams from there.”

“Aye, sir.” The man saluted, grinning with obvious pleasure that Galaith had used his first name. Popping the wad of gum jammed into one corner of his mouth, he let out a half-shout above the rotary blades, “Wow! What a day!” Seeing Galaith’s dark look, his smile faded. “Of course it’s terrible, sir... terrible. All those people. No one deserves to die like that.”

Galaith did not give him a reassuring smile.

Still, he found the man’s comments amusing in their blatant insincerity.

Pity there was no way he could let any of them live.

* * *

ABOVE ME, ROSETTES bloomed in a bland sky. Clouds shone red and gold in billowing tongues of reflected flame.

I was still pretty sure I was dead.

Then a wave rolled up, filling my mouth with salt water.

I choked, only to be fully submerged. Physical pain brought my world sharply into focus as my head and mouth once more broke the surface. Salt sank into cuts in my skin. My knee felt like it had been pulverized. I forced my limbs forward through the blue liquid ice. I gazed at the fire and a dense wave of pain hit me again, not all of it physical.

Water filled my mouth and I spit it out.

Then, it hit me. It really hit me. For a moment, I disappeared.

Shouts overhead and nearer screams snapped me out. Another wave submerged my head as I groped around for something to hold on to, something to support me. I grabbed at something as it floated by. It turned out to be a soaked life jacket.

I let it go, paddling like a wounded dog with one leg.

Trying to follow the others, I gasped out steam, glimpsed the burning white hulk behind me as I pumped my arms harder. The ship continued to belch smoke, but it no longer produced a churning wake. Instead it sat lower in the water, like a child squatting in a stream.

I had to find Jon.

The thought repeated, irrational.

Rain had begun to fall, along with soot, white ash, pieces of fabric and paper. I heard screams all around me... I closed my eyes, still trying to get my limbs all working in the same direction, when someone grabbed my arm.

When I turned, Chandre’s reddish eyes met mine.

She looked afraid. I gazed up at black-tinted clouds, a white tower rising from the middle of the ship where a blue, tail-like fin rose to meet the sky. A burning figure stood on the fourth deck, fighting to climb the railing. The wind flared the fire on his body.

Chandre yanked harder on my arm. “Come. This will get ugly, and fast! The Rooks are exterminating witnesses...”

She began to drag me through the water, and I let her. A plane skimmed overhead, lights ablaze. No one paid any attention to us.

Revik’s face rose in my mind. My sight flared, bringing even more pain. More death. Images of falling bodies ripped apart by ice-cold water. Mom’s face. Dad’s. I missed Jon so badly it hurt.  I needed him, had to find him. I floated, fighting to push past it, dragged through the current. Chandre didn’t stop pulling on my arm. It felt like she’d pull it out of the socket.

“There’s some chance,” I managed, talking to her, or maybe myself. “I saw him alive. Terian could have him. He could still have him...”

Chandre looked at me. She struggled words out between breaths as she stroked hard with her free arm, pulling me with her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No. Bridge... you must face facts. I am sorry. Dehgoies is dead... different light signature. We tracked it... we saw him die...”

I shook my head back at her, trying to free my arm, but she only pulled harder.

“You must feel it.” She looked at me. “...Separation sickness... it will get worse. You have to stay out of the Barrier. Do whatever you have to, only don’t go in. He will have died for nothing. Don’t let them see you...”

I didn’t answer, remembering Eliah saying the same thing.

When I didn’t fight after a few seconds, her expression softened.

“I am sorry, Bridge,” she said.

I didn’t look at her again.

We remained a few hundred yards from shore when a sudden, sharp boom jerked both sets of our eyes back towards the ship. Like something from a dream in the rising light, yellow and orange plumes billowed upward. The ship sank fast after that. I saw glass blow out as windows exploded, pouring water, flames... more smoke. The wind changed, bringing us more screams, the smell of charred flesh and burning plastic.

Chandre resumed swimming.

Between strokes I heard her speak through clenched teeth.

“Hopefully they will believe we are dead, as well...”

A wolf runs on the tundra, tongue lolling past its blood-stained grin—

When I came to, I was aware of hands on me, people pulling me out of the water. Rough gravel and dirt met my bare skin, and nothing ever hurt so much. My legs dragged like dead weight. I couldn’t move my knee and my thigh felt like it was bitten to the bone by some kind of sea monster or shark. Someone wrapped a coarse blanket around my back, talking over my shoulder to Chandre.

I felt grief on the man holding me and realized I didn’t know him, or the woman standing next to him, watching me with pity in her dark eyes.

Only Chandre’s voice remained.

The rest stood silent, emotional despite their weapons and training, unable to tally what they’d lost.

...and the wolf still runs, his feet sending up puffs of white snow.

I want to tell them it’s all right, I know I’m safe.

For now, at least, my body at least. The wolf is no longer looking at me, but runs at a single dark form marring the white plain. Again it is dawn, and a black shape burns in the distance on a flat horizon that sparkles like diamonds... and my chest feels as if someone has taken an ice pick to it, hitting it again and again, digging out a pale light at its core.

It is a feeling worse than death.

Chapter 22

INDIA

NEWS FEEDS RAN nonstop in the background.

I tried not to look at their fast-moving images, or hear anything the avatars said. Still, broken pieces reached me, burning me like heated stones.

“...dead now tallied at four hundred and sixty-two... with over a hundred still missing, most of whom are also believed to be dead...”

“...believed to be the work of the terrorist Alyson May Taylor and her organization of renegade seers. Initially thought to be killed in the attack, it is now believed Taylor escaped alive and is still at large, following...”

“...where she was last seen in Europe, at a café in Spain where she...”

“...eluded authorities outside a train station in Munich, now believed to be headed east as she reunites with the larger terrorist cells that placed her all those years ago as a sleeper agent, somewhere in the depths of Asia...”

I heard my name, over and over, and saw my face.

I saw pictures of people I loved, heard strangers argue about how many of my family and friends were already dead... until my brain fuzzed over, counting floor tiles in a hotel bathroom while someone pounded on the door, trying to get me to unlock it.

I traveled everywhere in a faceless cloud of seers.

They bought me wigs, wrapped scarves around my head, gave me earpieces to wear, make-up, prosthetics of various kinds, contact lenses. They forced me to eat, drugged me when I wouldn’t sleep in the constructs we hopped in and out of, shoved me into vans and cars and trains to move me every few days, scolded me when I drank too much or stood next to windows without the curtains drawn. I stared at the landscape of different cities across land masses I didn’t recognize through the windows of whatever vehicle they put me in, sometimes for days at a time where I couldn’t sleep, where I could barely tell where I was.

They treated me differently now. All but Chandre, anyway.

Despite their attempts to keep me alive, most of the seers seemed afraid of me. It was a reverential kind of fear, like they saw the end of the world reflected on my face.

At that point, I wasn’t sure I disagreed.

When Chandre came in alone to talk to me on the third day, telling me the latest news from San Francisco, my mind cut out entirely.

The static remained for days... flavored in flashes of moving scenery, movies shown on flights between Calgary and Montreal and Berlin, images on the vid player one of the seers gave me, hotel rooms and, let’s face it... a hell of a lot of alcohol.

Through it all, the feeds ran.

I couldn’t block it all out, no matter how much I tried to kill my mind.

Some cult started worshipping me. The cult’s followers petitioned for space on the US feed network and got denied because of my terrorist status, causing a wave of sensationalist headlines both for and against. There had been protests. At least one actual riot happened, too, apparently in Los Angeles and mostly between Christians and human Third Mythers.

Seers got dragged into it, too, of course. I saw pictures of a young female seer being beaten with tasers and pipes. The newscasters on the feeds clucked about it in regret, but none put down their cameras long enough to stop the men doing it—men who would never be able to afford a seer like her, even for a few hours.

Rumors spread about me being the Bridge.

Black market feeds had whole sites devoted to me and Revik. Human women loved Revik, especially after it got out that we’d been married. It didn’t seem to matter that he was dead.

World governments were already negotiating over rights to my telekinetic “powers.” The United States and China dominated the discussions, of course, but Russia, Germany, England and Japan vied to be allowed at the bargaining table too, hiding behind the veneer of scientific curiosity. Speculation erupted that I might have been impregnated. Telekinetic rumors and rumors of sightings spread, more so after I was officially blamed by SCARB for the sinking of Royal Faire cruise ship, The Explorer. People who lost loved ones in the bombing posted bounties, wanting me neutralized... dead or alive, but preferably dead.

The feeds fed on the hysteria, fanned it.

More people went missing, presumed dead.

One was my brother, Jon. Another was Cass, who I’d known almost as long as my adoptive brother. Cass and I had finger-painted together while Cass’s mom worked and her father drank. By high school, Cass had her own section of my closet. Every year she celebrated two of every holiday, one at my place and one with her mom and dad and her deadbeat Uncle Phan.

With the last two people in my family gone, I didn’t much care what the world thought of me, or even if I survived it.

Weeks passed. Longer.

I wait for sleep. I crave it, but it doesn’t help.

I can’t reach him, no matter how often he asks. The asking hurts, more than the other ever did, and I feel him in pieces... a darker feeling that is self-hate, emotions that are infinitely more complex.

Still, he doesn’t feel alive.

The numbers return. They are separate from him, but connected somehow. I dream of my father, the engineer. He jokes that numbers are our secret language, so we can speak to one another in code. They are an autistic’s mantra, a broken song I can’t get out of my head.

...17, 10, 42, 12, 1, 57, 12, 20, 332, 178, 12, 102, 9, 13, 15, 2, 2, 2...

* * *

I AM SOMEWHERE else.

I’d never been here before, but it felt familiar somehow, or maybe just closer in feel to places I recognized. After the clean, picturesque towns, mountains and chateaus where we’d spent the last few weeks in Europe, the grittiness of this new place felt almost... welcome.

Circling cities to avoid detection, we’d been traveling through farmlands and villages for months. We’d stopped in safe houses to sleep. Churches, warehouses, hotels, mosques, a winery in the hills, a bombed out Jewish temple. I told myself I didn’t know what was worse: the nights I wasn’t able to sleep, or having to suffer through the dreams and waking when I could.

But that was a lie, too.

I missed him by the time we hit the next construct, by the time I could dream again. I missed him, looked for him, and when I found him, we would...

Here it was dirty, loud, colorful, hot, poor, crowded.

I walked up a dirt and stone street where a mound of brightly-colored trash covered an open sewer grate, stinking already at seven o’clock in the morning. A shrine draped in winking Christmas lights and gold foil stood in a crack between buildings, a monkey god cavorting among flowers and stick fruit covered in buzzing flies. A caramel-colored cow stood chewing over a pile of rotting greens and egg cartons and chicken bones.

When I paused to pat its backside, it didn’t look up.

Most of my face was wrapped in gauzy cream cloth, but I nodded anyway to a monk in red robes on his way up the street, wearing sunglasses and carrying an espresso in his hand. I felt oddly content with the horrible smells of human excrement and rotting melon and maggot-covered meat. Even with the stench slowly heating in the morning sun, for some reason I felt like I could almost breathe here.

I chuckled at the next shrine, which held a picture of me covered in pink flower petals surrounded by white, paraffin candles. It was my high school end-of-year picture, and my hair had a streak of lime green in it... me and Cass’s idea of rebellion, which infuriated my mother at the time, since she’d already purchased a photo package to give pictures to all of our relatives. Because of the ban, real pictures were expensive as hell, and needed special permission. She still had a job back then, working for the post office, and she made me pay for the photos out of my meager tip money from an earlier crap job I had, which had taken months. It was probably the last time we really screamed at each other since my father...

I made my way up the hill, using the cane.

The mountains loomed over the town, breathtakingly tall, draped in snow and wisps of low-lying, fog-like clouds. Colorful prayer flags flapped in the breeze, hanging from wires sagging between buildings painted in bright greens and blues.

Most windows had no glass, just wooden shutters and tarps covering square openings. A black paw emerged from one of these as I watched, a second story window in a hotel with tables and chairs on a roof where people sat and drank hot chai, speaking Hindi and Tibetan and seer pidgin. Following the paw came the rest of a squat, tan-colored monkey. Its furred face remained etched in a frown despite the sticky piece of mango clutched in one paw. Gripping wooden slats with its free hand and feet, it climbed nimbly up to the roof.

When it reached the railing a yell pierced the early morning quiet, and a white-haired Indian woman swung at the monkey with a long-handled broom.

The monkey screeched and held his ground, still clutching the mango... and I laughed, watching the grumpy thing vault to the roof of a shack that housed the steaming chai pot from which a girl maybe twelve-years-old ladled tea.

“You’re awfully chipper,” said a voice beside me. “I’d have thought you’d be hung over after the quantities of bourbon you drank last night.”

The seer’s dry tone snapped me out of my view of the mountains behind the fat, ill-tempered monkey and the people on plastic chairs. I turned to see the same red-brown irises I’d been looking at for weeks.

“Yeah,” I said. “Guess I’ve got good genes for drinking until I black out.”

The female seer with the dark braids sniffed, but seemed content to have received an answer.

She folded her arms, gazing around us with some distaste.

“Didn’t Dehgoies explain how alcohol affects your light?” she said, for possibly the four hundredth time. “It’s a wonder the Rooks didn’t find us, with the flares you send out. Between that and...”

The lecture continued, but I heard little of the rest.

The pain slid forward as soon as she mentioned his name. When I allowed myself to go there, briefly, to look for him, a migraine sharpened behind my eyes, forcing me to stop and lean heavily on the cane I’d been using to help out my knee. I waited for the pain to pass, breathing in garbage and incense from a nearby storefront.

Chandre didn’t notice the change in me at first. She stopped when I stopped, still complaining to me about me as she glanced around at the wooden buildings. Another cow, this one a chocolate brown, wandered past, grinding its long jaw sideways. It lowed plaintively, twitching its tail.

“Welcome to Seertown of Himachal Pradesh, Bridge,” Chandre said after she’d finished her catalogue of my wrongdoings and ignorant, human ways. “...Sewer of the Himalayas.”

Seeing me leaning against the cane then, breathing unevenly, she snatched my fingers off my neck.

“Stop it. The humans are staring!”

I laughed, unable to help it when I realized it was a variation of the crap my mom’s status-obsessed sister would spew at me when she visited us in San Francisco. I saw a man in a doorway looking at me, holding a straw broom that looked handmade and wearing a sweat-stained fedora. His upper body was wrapped in a colorful shawl.

He shook his head at me ruefully, clucking his tongue.

“They think I’m high,” I said. “I’m a bad Buddhist... a decadent white woman. Who cares?”

Chandre’s mouth hardened. “I am sorry for your family, Bridge. But you cannot continue to dwell on the loss of them, or of your mate. You must focus on the task at hand.”

“Which is what, exactly?” I said. “Avoiding ringworm?”

But my words just filled space while my eyes rose to take in the mountains.

Even here, I felt it. The world was dying.

It might even be more pronounced here, where remnants of the old remained, where I could feel how things used to be, even if I’d never experienced them myself. I gazed down to the street below, where a nun in dark red robes herded a cluster of Asian kids in black and white uniforms across the cracked blacktop. I assumed they must be human, anyway, since I’d still not seen a single seer child, and had been told I wouldn’t, not here.

The numbers rotated over the woman’s shaved head like a disjointed countdown, floating in and out of the lights of the children.

6, 6, 120, 123, 2, 8, 88, 99, 40, 4, 2, 4, 6, 29, 29, 32, 4, 2...

I forced myself to speak, although I didn’t look away from the nun. “How far is it?”

“You tell me,” Chandre said. “Use your light for something useful for once.”

I frowned, glancing at her. “My light? The town is a construct?”

Chandre rolled her eyes. “No Rook comes here, Bridge. It is by treaty that they stay away. We are safe now... I told you that.”

I gave her a skeptical look, but kept quiet.

The Seven certainly put a lot of stock in treaties, for all the good it had done them.

Hearing voices raised nearby, I turned, saw a cluster of men dressed in Muslim garb talking excitedly to an Indian man on a bicycle who shook his head, making broad negative gestures with his hands. It took me a second to realize he was a seer, and owned. The metal collar around his neck was so filthy I almost hadn’t seen it under his stained shirt. While I watched, a man in a police uniform came up, waving what looked like a homemade nightstick. The seer cowered, holding up his hands. Watching him pedal away on his bicycle, I frowned.

“Well?” Chandre said. “Will you lead us, or not?”

I looked at her, startled, then realized what she meant and laughed.

Limping away from her stare, I maneuvered the cane up the hill.

The number of storefronts diminished as we climbed higher, and the mud-brick apartment buildings and houses grew piled one on top of another, colorful and strangely cave-like against the hills. Prayer flags waved beside shrines for gods with aura-like headdresses. I saw more pictures of me, even a graffiti drawing of my profile with words in Tibetan and the art-like, slanting characters from the seer language, Prexci.

Paths wound up into the forest and back into the town on either side of the road as we climbed higher into the Himalayan foothills. The street deteriorated from crumbling asphalt to packed dirt, and the trees hung closer to the buildings.

The flavor of the town began to change as well.

Seer religious graffiti grew more dominant, along with a greater number of plastic bottles, used condoms and broken glass. I saw groups of Asian-looking girls in clusters on wooden stoops, drinking beer and wearing torn silk dresses next to men with greasy hair and jeans stiff with dirt. Most of the men wore plaid, long-sleeved shirts and scarves around their heads. It took a few minutes of looking before I noticed the metal collars. They laughed, passing bottles as the occasional Indian or Tibetan tromped up the wooden steps, leading one of the females inside, or sometimes one of the males.

As we passed, those left on the stairs noticed me and Chandre and stared.

We were nearly all the way past the building when a handsome man who looked to be in his twenties spoke up.

“Freedom is good, yes?” He spoke loudly, in heavily-accented English. “Tell your friend Vash that, eh?” He thumbed his collar towards me. “See what his peace love shit has gotten us.” He raised his voice as Chandre and I walked further up the hill. “Tell him to bring the Bridge here, yes? Tell him we need some of her justice in India!”

The others laughed. One woman made a violent hand-gesture in my direction, then slapped the man next to her on the back of his head for staring at my body through the dark pants and scarves I wore.

The man sitting next to the couple laughed harder, spilling his beer.

A few seers in our contingent walked over to them, speaking that pidgin seer tongue and offering them cigarettes and vodka. I knew it was partly to distract them from me, but I couldn’t stop myself looking back over my shoulder at those seers sitting there, on the dilapidated stoop. I got a sudden flash of Revik lounging on those steps, a younger Revik maybe, with a rounder face and eyes that hadn’t yet developed the same faraway look.

Chandre clicked at me to stop me staring.

“Vash feeds them,” she said. “He does what he can.”

I nodded, glancing back a last time as I trudged up the hill.

She added, “Fighting the humans overtly would only worsen their situation. It would bring death and pain to all of us, Bridge.”

“Sure,” I said, not wanting to argue.

“You don’t know anything,” she snapped. “You are a child... raised by worms! What could you know of this? You have not seen war yet.”

I didn’t bother to answer.

When we reached the top of the rise, I stopped before a storefront with cracked windows and wooden steps with peeling, sky-blue paint. I stared through the dusty glass, knowing only that I felt compelled to stop there, not really thinking about why yet.

Moving to stand beside me, Chandre folded her arms, giving me a grudging nod.

“Good,” she said. “Your tracking has finally improved.”

My eyes fixed on a picture of a guru-type old man in sand-colored robes with hands at prayer position at his chest. A handwritten sign said in English, “Hot Meals 20 Rupee! Free meditation and yoga!” Under the sign stood a three-foot Ganesha statue with a garland of pink and white flowers. More petals stuck to statues of Indian gods, only a handful of which I recognized or could name. Wooden prayer beads draped the back wall of the display case beside a painting of a blue and gold sun intersected by a white sword.

I saw a Buddha sitting towards the back, too, and smiled.

Part of it belonged to the mish-mash that is India, I knew, but the absurdity of mixing a godless religion with a multi-theistic one struck me as a uniquely seer mistake.

It occurred to me to wonder if seers believed in gods, or a God.

Revik had said “gods” or “d’ gaos” like someone might say “shit,” which didn’t tell me much about his actual beliefs.

My eyes went back to the picture of the man in the sand-colored robes. His dark eyes shone from an aged but somehow unlined face.

“Vash,” I muttered. “Jesus.”

“Not quite.” Chandre’s quip had an edge. “Do not let his face to the humans deceive you. The rent must be paid. Even in Seertown.”

She yanked open the wooden screen door.

Without answering, I followed her into a larger and cleaner foyer than I’d expected.

Tiled in black stone, the room stretched deeper out over the side of the mountain than I’d expected, as well. Wooden baseboards and paneling accented the white walls with deep-toned hardwood, water damaged in parts but gleaming from recent polish. An old-fashioned fan stuttered in a window next to a mural of the Tibetan Potala in Lhasa, done in painstaking detail and with another of those gold and blue suns shining over the plateau. A green copper lamp hung from the ceiling before a wide staircase.

Directly inside the door stood a low desk, crafted of the same heavy, dark wood as the baseboards. A bowl of river stones and a candle were its only ornaments.

Behind it, a young Caucasian man with a shaved head and orange robes sat in a folding chair. The way his eyes lit up in wide-eyed eagerness told me he was probably human.

“Can I help you, sisters?” He looked at me first. Spotting Chandre then, he did a double-take, and grinned. “Sister Chandre! India has missed you, my friend!”

I raised an eyebrow in Chandre’s direction, fighting a smile.

Ignoring me, she bowed to the human, her hands at prayer position.

“Hello, James, and peace. We have an audience with the Teacher.”

James beamed. “Lucky you! Shall I call ahead?”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “But thank you.”

I stared at her, mouth open in disbelief.

Chandre called humans “worms” most of the time, when she wasn’t ordering them around like robots programmed to do her bidding. She gave me a cold look, motioning for me to follow her up the stairs. I bowed awkwardly to cousin James right before I did. The whole bowing thing was pretty weird to me still.

Once we’d climbed a few steps, Chandre spoke under her breath through gritted teeth.

“We are in a construct now. I would appreciate if you kept your thoughts civil.”

“Sure,” I said agreeably.

I felt her irritation through the construct and smiled.

At the top of the stairs stood an opening in the wall covered with a tapestry of yet another sprawling blue and gold sun, bisected by a white sword. Grasping one edge of the heavy cloth, Chandre slipped through the opening she created and vanished.

After a bare hesitation, I followed.

I straightened inside a low-ceilinged room covered in bamboo mats.

Open windows revealed a dramatic view of the Himalayas and a tree-filled valley housing the rest of Seertown, covered over in prayer flags like a roosting flock of brightly colored birds. Against the wall, a handful of collar-less seers wore Western clothes, talking silently amongst themselves and gesturing with their hands.

Closer to me and the door, another group of seers stood in a loose ring, wearing sand-colored robes. The man from the framed picture stood in the middle.

He turned as I dropped the tapestry behind me, staring at me. His eyes shone a piercing black, utterly still, yet carrying so much light I found it difficult to hold his gaze.

Without waiting, he crossed the ten or twelve feet to the door.

I took in his angular, unlined face, a little taken aback by his height. I didn’t move until he pulled me in his arms, lifting me off the floor. Squeezing me tightly and then letting go, he laughed aloud at my strangled sound, his teeth straight and white, dark eyes bright with tears as he drank in my face.

“You are here at last!” he said in perfect English, patting my shoulder in an awkward overflow of emotion. “I am very, very pleased! Very pleased!”

I could only nod, stunned by his tears.

“You are welcome here,” he said. “Most welcome!”

I felt my face warm, fumbled with something to say that wouldn’t be completely inappropriate...

And heard a derisive snort.

I turned my head towards the sound.

Amongst the seers wearing Western clothing and sitting by the wall, a male in a black T-shirt with shoulders like a gymnast watched me with Vash, his full mouth curled in an ironic frown. I felt his light on me and flinched. My cheeks flushed at what lived in that single, darting probe. Feeling my reaction, that same male gave me a sideways smile, glancing at the two seers sitting beside him, who stopped staring at me long enough to smile with him.

The first one’s light stayed by me though.

I felt him explore, felt a flicker of surprise from him at what he found, but couldn’t interpret its meaning. When I met his gaze the second time, his chocolate-brown eyes shifted away. He nodded to Chandre in passing as she sat among them, and the moment ended.

Glancing up at Vash, I saw a hint of a smile in his black eyes.

“You must be very tired,” he said kindly.

“You have no idea,” I said.

* * *

THAT NIGHT I curled up on a foam mattress on the floor.

A sheet lay over me, covered in sheep and cow skins, soft and warm and smelling comfortingly of animal. Through the wooden slats of the windows over where I lay, I could see mountains framed by moonlight and white clouds, stars just visible at the edges of the moon’s glow. Monkeys called to one another occasionally in the trees, screeched and scuffled over the roofs, their black paws scoring the bamboo.

Mostly, though, it was quiet.

Lying there in the dark, feeling crippled me, more than I’d had to contend with in what felt like months. Maybe being in the home of a bunch of monks, stationary at last––and sober for a change––I should have expected for things to come crashing down on me. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been stripped naked with a paring knife and left to feel every breeze and drop of sweat over my open wounds.

The construct exuded a simple warmth that worsened the feeling. Even the Himalayas amplified it, until something inside me started to unclench, so quickly and effortlessly that I couldn’t pull back the threads.

By the time the monkeys’ footsteps receded, the middle of my chest throbbed as it had on those cold shores in Alaska.

I couldn’t breathe, but my mind remained dead silent.

The moon rose, and I was still awake, despite being exhausted. I lay there and watched as the valley filled with a soft, penetrating light.

Somewhere in that silence, I started to cry.

Once I started, it was difficult to stop.

* * *

...YET SOMEHOW, I am asleep.

I find him easier this time.

He seems almost to be waiting for me.

He is alone here, as he always is. Just like every time before, I feel him, but I can’t quite reach where he is. He floats like a corpse surrounded by gray curtains, and we touch one another through the morphing fabric, fighting to get closer, but we can’t.

Before I understand where we are, we are kissing, like we are most of these nights.

I feel him more once we start, but it’s not enough... it’s never enough. Our mouths are careful, hands and fingers deliberate through the same thin fabric. When I slide into his light this time it is fast, a slow groan before he opens, letting me nearer than usual, until I almost feel him, until he seems almost real. He is pulling on me then, asking me, but I can’t...

I can’t give him what he wants.

A kind of desperation grips me. He wants to give me things, too. He tries, in his own way. Images and sensations weave into his light, his legs between mine, his weight on me, until it feels like he’s inside me, like we are...

But it will only make things worse when he leaves.

I’m tired of this. Tired of fighting and losing him. Tired of looking and never being sought. He left me. He left me before he left. He enters me now like a thief, because I’m all he has.

He pauses, raising his head.

...and the man with the chocolate-brown eyes stares back, only now he isn’t smiling.

Lowering his head, he kisses me without hesitation, picking up where Revik left off. It feels different, and not only because I don’t know him. The curtain evaporates, revealing warm light... a different body, less-cautious hands, unambiguous intent.

His arms and chest are larger, his hands smaller, his lips fuller, his tongue thicker. The way he kisses is different. He doesn’t wait for me to ask, barely waits for my answer. His hand slides into the crook of my knee, fingers caressing my thigh as he pulls my leg around his waist. He is inside me, and I hear him groan. He kisses me again...

I feel him breathing hard in the dark, in another room, naked under rough skins, and I know suddenly that it’s not all a dream.

Somewhere, Revik watches. I know it’s not real, that he’s not here anymore.

He’s dead... I know that.

Yet somehow, it still feels like a betrayal.

Chapter 23

CHALLENGE

I GOT UP before dawn.

When I left the empty sleeping quarters and wandered outside into new light, the man with the chocolate-colored eyes was the first person I saw. He sat on a wooden step, smoking a hiri, one of the seer cigarettes, a cup of chai resting by his thigh.

I’d spent the night in a sort of cottage, one of many rimming a wide courtyard just below Vash’s main house. Most of the complex lived in a hill directly beneath the main entrance through which I’d entered the day before. Before me now, the courtyard spread out on a large clearing of grass and dirt below the largest of those street-facing buildings. In the center stood a circle of flat white rocks surrounded by crab grass and white-painted stone cairns. Paths dotted with smaller shrines and shade trees radiated outwards. Even in the dawn chill, milling seers littered those same paths, talking in a mixture of languages and hand gestures.

I wondered why they bothered to speak aloud at all, and why there were so many more men than women... then noticed the man with the brown eyes staring at me.

Watching those eyes linger on my bare feet, I made up my mind.

I approached him deliberately, walking straight up to where he sat on the wooden stoop. He didn’t stand up when I reached him, and I didn’t sit, but we eyed one another silently.

Unwillings, a voice said in my mind.

I jumped a little. “What?”

You wondered why there are no women. They are sold faster. A bigger market for unwillings. You should know that, Esteemed Bridge.

He took a drag of the seer cigarette, blowing out a perfect smoke ring as he waited for me to catch up. His smile turned wry.

And we speak for the same reason all beings speak, Esteemed Bridge. To be heard.

“Do you speak English?” I said. “Aloud, I mean.”

His lips slid upwards in a perceptible smile. “Yes.”

He had an accent, but I couldn’t place it beyond Asian.

He studied my face, right before his brown eyes flickered down over the thin cotton pants I wore, pausing again on my bare feet.

“Did you...” His smile widened. “...Sleep well, Esteemed Bridge?”

I folded my arms tighter. I motioned towards his sidearm, visible under his jacket. “I take it you’re not a complete pacifist?”

“Does this offend you, Esteemed Bridge?”

I ignored his smile. “You know how to fight, then? Mulei?”

He smiled again, nodding once. “Yes.”

“Could you teach me?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the other seers in the courtyard. It hadn’t escaped my notice that a number of them stood closer to us than they had a few seconds earlier, that they continued to inch closer to listen to me and the brown-eyed seer talk. Feeling my jaw tighten a little, I looked back at the smoking seer, shifting my weight on my feet.

“...I need lessons,” I added.

Curiosity flared in his eyes, just visible beneath the amusement. “Why me?”

I sighed, then answered honestly. “You seem like you’d like to hit me. I figured I’d try harder.”

The male seer stared at me. Then he burst into a genuine laugh. He stood up, and while he wasn’t as tall as Revik, I stepped back in alarm.

His smile widened. “Yes,” he said. “I would like to hit you, Bridge. But I need to know if you are worth teaching, first.” He flipped the jacket off his muscular shoulders, exposing a worn gray shirt that stretched over his chest.

When he caught my stare, his smile grew into a grin.

“What do I get, if I put you down?” His eyes flickered down over my body again. He gestured towards it vaguely. “Will you let me take care of that thing of yours? The problem your Rook mate left you?”

I didn’t ask what he meant.

“No,” I said. Thinking, I added, “You’ve got two minutes. If I’m still standing, you’ll teach me. You’ll also stay the hell out of my head at night.”

I hesitated, then figured what the hell.

“...Everything else has to be negotiated separately. Clear?”

His eyes lit up at my words, but he only nodded, stubbing out the hiri with the toe of one threadbare yellow sneaker.

“Okay.” He stepped towards me, bouncing a bit on his heels. “I accept.”

“What’s your name?” I said, when he began to circle me.

“Maygar.” He glanced up from where he’d been looking at my body again. “I should tell you. I was assigned a new job today, Bridge.”

“And what was that, Maygar?”

He darted forward, moving so fast I didn’t see anything but a shadowed blur before my vision went red, then abruptly white. I reeled back, fighting to recover from a solid left cross to my right cheek. I ducked as he went for me again, then kicked out, catching him in the stomach hard enough to push him back with the ball of my foot.

He laughed, but gave me the ground.

When he got closer again, I looked for an opening... any opening.

“...I’m your new bodyguard,” he said, winking.

He darted forward again, even as it occurred to me that I’d just made a really big mistake.

* * *

“MORE TEA?” VASH said, raising the dented pot.

I sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. My face hurt. My arms, hands and legs were bruised, too, and even my tailbone where it perched on a bamboo mat. Two seers had brought in a platter covered with tea, cream, honey and a plateful of small sandwiches, laying everything out on a dark red cloth spread between me and the ancient seer.

I fought the impulse to touch my face in places I could feel the flesh rising. I wanted ice, but hadn’t asked for that either.

Looking out at the rain falling lightly over the mountains, I glanced reluctantly at the seers sitting around us in a symmetrical ring.

Against the far wall sat Maygar and his friends. Amusement showed on more than one face. I felt their lights flicker around mine like curious moths, woven through with faint flavors of sexuality. When I caught Maygar’s gaze unintentionally, he winked at me, kissing the air before tapping his temple with a forefinger.

Tonight, he whispered in my mind.

Taking a mouthful of cucumber sandwich, I chewed, gripping a tea cup in my other hand. More than anything, I wished it held coffee.

Vash laughed, startling me.

“Of course! You are American now!”

He glanced at another seer, who rose at once and disappeared through a cloth-covered doorway.

“Is this Indian breakfast?” I said.

His lips twitched in humor. “Elevenses, perhaps.”

Fans rotated overhead with round, leaf-like blades, pushing cool, rain-smelling air through the room.

Vash patted my knee. “How do you like India, dear friend?”

“I like the cows.” I looked around at the smooth-faced seers, avoiding Maygar’s corner. “Am I a prisoner here?”

Vash swept his smile away. “Not at all.” His voice grew troubled. “Do you wish to leave?” Leaning closer, he asked in barely a whisper, “...Or perhaps you would like some ice?”

I glanced around at the expressionless seers. “I want to find my brother,” I said, reddening. I plowed on. “And my friend, Cass. They’re missing.”

“Are you so sure they are not dead?”

He didn’t say it to mock me, or to screw with me, I could tell. Even so, my jaw seemed to stick in my sandwich. Setting my tea cup down on the tray, I forced myself to swallow what was left in my mouth. I cleared my throat, looking directly into Vash’s eyes.

“No. I need to know for sure, though. Maybe that’s stupid, but—”

“Ah.” Vash’s dark eyes grew thoughtful. “I was not implying that.” He paused. “Do they have meaning, these numbers? The ones I see around you now?”

I glanced away from Maygar, looking up at Vash.

“What?” Watching Vash’s nearly black eyes stare intently over my head, I felt my chest constrict, even though I saw nothing but curiosity in his gaze. “No. Well... I don’t think so.” I paused, then tried to be more honest. “Really, I have no idea.”

“Ah,” Vash said. “Pity.”

He smiled at me, and his long, white face erupted in fine wrinkles. “Your husband mentioned to me that your prescience often expresses itself in your art.” He paused, as if waiting. “Is that true, Esteemed Bridge...?”

“My...” I repeated numbly.

“...Husband, yes. Dehgoies Revik.”

He smiled again as I fumbled for a facial expression. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d misunderstood me on purpose.

His eyes grew kind.

“Of necessity, we spoke often of your latent abilities,” he said, patting my knee affectionately. “Truthfully, we often argued about this, too. He had difficulty understanding why you were not pulled for training sooner.” Noting my bewilderment, he smiled wider. “Ah. This surprises you! Yes. Revik was not always the most forthcoming man.”

Before I could answer, the seer with the bare feet reentered the room, holding a steaming cup that smelled deliciously of dark roast coffee. He set it down by my bent knee, bowing to me with one raised palm, like a salute.

“Thanks,” I said to him, and then to Vash, meaning it. Taking another sniff of the coffee, I raised the paper cup and sipped carefully. “I draw pyramids,” I told him. “Chandre tells me it’s a depiction of the Rooks’ network. You want me to go get them?”

Vash continued to study my eyes. “Perhaps later.”

For a long moment, we just listened to the rain. I sipped more coffee.

Eventually, I cleared my throat.

“So, this Pyramid,” I said. “Can you explain that? Revik, he...” I cleared my throat. “...Dehgoies. He told me some. He said you would tell me more.”

Vash seemed almost to have been waiting for the question.

“A pyramid,” he said at once. “Being a three-dimensional shape, can be only a symbol, of course. The actual network is of the Barrier and contains a form of shifting dimensionality that marries properties of both partial and non-dimensionality.”

My fingers clasped my hurt knee. “Ah,” I said. “Sure.”

Vash smiled in understanding. “The Rooks’ seers live in a construct, Alyson... all the time. Unlike the constructs you’ve seen my people use, theirs is not anchored in the physical world. It lives with a race of beings who aid them from the Barrier.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, understanding that part, at least.

He looked at me inquiringly.

“I met one,” I explained, setting down the coffee. “On the ship.” I held up my hands with hooked fingers, like a movie monster. “Booga-booga... you know. It tried to freak me out.”

“Indeed?” Vash chuckled. “Fascinating.”

He smiled as if I’d just told him I’d solved a Rubik’s cube on my first try.

“We call these beings the Dreng, Alyson,” he said. “They are, in truth, the real Rooks. It would be more accurate to call the seers down here slaves of the Rooks. Or, more generously, their followers. Of course, they call themselves ‘The Brotherhood,’ ‘The Organization,’ or ‘Org,’ for short. They title missions ‘Operation Blackout,’ ‘Operation Great Hope,’ and so on. The Dreng encourage these fantasies. They often frame their goals in terms of the greater good.”

I nodded, listening. “So... they’re brainwashed.”

“In a way, yes.” Vash took a sip of tea, nodding. “In return for the power they provide through the Pyramid construct, the Dreng collect light from the seers in their employ. Those seers in turn parasitize other seers and humans, to supply the Dreng with light. It is the Dreng’s primary motive and function down here, to steal the light of living beings, as they cannot generate their own. The Pyramid collects this light in large feeding pools for use by the construct... but their primary customer is still the Dreng themselves.”

I frowned, picking up images from the old seer as he spoke.

Vash added, “In short-term, everyday usage, the Pyramid provides individual seers with an almost limitless supply of light. Especially those at the top. The shape of the Pyramid symbolizes the hierarchical nature of the macro version of the living resonant construct. It is known by us that the alpha tier shifts at irregular intervals, but—”

“Okay, wait.” I held up a hand. “Time out. Could you at least try to translate that part?”

Vash smiled. “We are unable to see the workings of the structure from outside of it,” he said. “We know it is made up of beings...”

A Pyramid made of silvery-white light appeared in the space above where we sat, a kind of Barrier-generated mirage. Illuminating dots making up the Pyramid’s walls, floors and corners, Vash connected them with silk threads.

“...Represented by nodes. We know that the leadership changes, but not how. Or why. We can speculate on the latter. But we cannot be certain our theories are correct.”

I glanced around, saw all of the seers staring up at the Pyramid, too.

“Those dots are people?” I said to Vash. “Seers?”

“Yes.” Vash nodded. “Incidentally, your husband was quite obsessed with determining the identity of those seers at the top.” Vash highlighted the top spot, the one I’d circled for Revik in my untidy sketch on ship’s stationary.

“He thought he might know the leader of the Rooks on Earth,” Vash added. “But he could not remember. It was a function and condition of leaving the Pyramid that he lost much of his memory of the time he spent inside of it.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “He mentioned that. Convenient.”

“Yes,” Vash said seriously. “Very. He would never have survived otherwise. As it was, he was quite suicidal. He struggled with those feelings for years.”

“Suicidal?” I didn’t hide my surprise. “Revik?”

“Yes.” Vash took another sip of tea, his expression serene. “Quite a normal response, if you think about it. As you may have gathered from my description, living inside the Pyramid carries some very specific advantages. Servants of the Rooks are in a kind of trance. What they do in that trance makes perfect sense to them as long as they remain inside. But, break the spell, and suddenly they are able to see what they have done in quite a different light.”

“In other words,” I said, thinking aloud. “When he was a Rook, what he did seemed normal. Moral even. And when he left...”

“It seemed less so, yes.” Vash placed his palms on robed knees, nodding. “Further, upon leaving the Pyramid, one experiences a severe loss of power. The Pyramid culls skills and raw talent from all of its members, creating a sort of ‘library’ by which any of the beings inside can access the skills of all the others. Losing access to those shared pools of light and skill can be quite difficult... even painful. It is another reason seers don’t often leave. The Pyramid acts as a great amplifier... and also a distributor according to moment, status and need... of light and its structures, or aleimi, as we call it.”

“So,” I said, fighting to keep up. “Inside the Pyramid, you can access the ability of any seer inside it? Even if you never had it before?”

Vash nodded, taking another sip of tea.

“Wouldn’t that make them all, like... super-seers?”

“In a way... yes.” Vash set his cup on its china saucer, clearly amused by this idea. “There are limits, of course. One must know how to access particular skills in the first place... so knowledge is required, especially for more complex abilities. We strongly believe skill sets are further stratified by the hierarchy itself, with some being reserved for use only by those at the top.

“Your husband was a strong seer in his own right... but he was much, much more powerful when he had access to the light and abilities of tens of thousands of other seers.” Patting my knee once more, Vash smiled. “You can see now, also, why a telekinetic seer might appeal to them, Esteemed Sister...?”

I nodded. “So why did he leave?”

Vash sighed. “Do you really need to ask me that?”

“Well, yeah. If he was brainwashed, then—”

Vash waved a hand. “Suffice it to say, it is possible to experience moments of clarity no matter where you are.”

At my silence, he shrugged.

“...The Rooks have been quite shrewd in recruiting seers who fill out those skill sets they lack. Like any beings, we each have our own gifts and aptitudes, and they vary. Imagine if you could paint like DaVinci, have the mind of a Marie Curie or an Einstein, the oratory skills of a Martin Luther King. For seers, it is much the same. It is a tremendous loss to give this up.” He added, “It can also debilitate the minds of lesser seers to realize that what they had come to think of as their own was indeed never really theirs at all.”

I nodded. “Got it. So as Rooks, they’re über-strong. And if they leave—”

Vash laughed. “Alyson! You misunderstand. I was trying to tell you that this power of theirs is, in the main, illusory. It comes from the symbiotic nature of the Pyramid itself. It does not belong to the individual seers, who are themselves quite ordinary.” Vash gave a graceful shrug, his dark eyes studying mine. “I also wished you to understand something of your husband... and the kind of man he would need to be to leave them, after he had been living inside that structure for over thirty years.”

I felt anger from Maygar’s corner and ignored it.

Outside the open windows, rain pattered on bamboo and slate tile roofs. A golden-colored eagle wheeled past one window, dark against the sky. When I looked at Vash, he was watching me with compassion in his eyes.

I cleared my throat. “If he were reconnected with them. To the Pyramid. Could he, well... be stuck?” My face warmed when the old man’s gaze didn’t waver. “...Even if he died?”

Vash looked up at the ceiling, eyes thoughtful. “It is a good question.” He leaned back in his seat, holding his knees. “What do you think?”

My throat closed. “I don’t know. It feels like he is.”

Vash studied my face. “I see. Well, it would not be ideal to leave him there, would it?”

I didn’t answer. After another beat, he laid a hand on my leg.

“Alyson,” he said. “I understand from Chandre you have found the Head of the Rooks’ network.” He paused, his silence questioning. “Is that true?”

I looked up. Glancing around, I was a little startled to see fear... even wonder... in the eyes of the seers sitting in a wider circle behind Vash. Even Maygar stared at my face, his expression showing a kind of dumbfounded shock. Only after I noticed the eerie glow of reflected light on the surface of my coffee did I realize how I had managed to scare all those seers so badly. My eyes glowed the same iridescent green I’d seen reflected in Revik’s more than once.

“Yeah,” I said, without looking up. “Yeah, I did. More or less. I don’t know who he is outside, though. Outside the Barrier, I mean.”

“Could you show us?” Vash said.

I sighed, feeling incredibly tired suddenly. I looked at Maygar, and saw the skepticism that had returned to his eyes.

“Yes,” I said, watching him stare at me. “Sure I could. Why not?”

Chapter 24

HUNT

LESS THAN AN hour later, I lay on a beat up recliner in the same building, staring up at a water-damaged ceiling. Beside me paced Maygar. Another seer attached electrodes to my face and arms. I winced as he pressed down on bruised parts of my skin.

“Tell me something,” I said. “This war...?”

“It is the most likely of outcomes,” Maygar said, giving a dismissive wave.

“So not inevitable?”

“No.” He gave me another look, that one slightly less hard. “I would have said differently before. I would have said it’s not about death, but rebirth. That the Bridge doesn’t cause war. That her being here merely signals it’s time for it to begin.”

He ran a thumb lightly over his bicep. I noticed a tattoo there, what looked like writing. His knuckles were bruised too, probably from connecting with my face.

He cleared his throat. I looked up.

He was focused on my mouth, not hiding the meaning behind his stare.

When I rolled my eyes, he only smiled.

“There’s even some who say Death comes,” he added in a light voice. “Syrimne d’ Gaos... ‘Sword of the Gods.’ It’s where that other seer got his name, the one during World War I. It’s also the meaning of the sword and sun you see drawn on the temple door. And on me...” He lifted his shirt’s sleeve, showing me a tattoo of the bisected blue sun on his arm. “This is a terrorist’s mark, Bridge. A real one.” He grinned at my unimpressed look.

“The real Death,” he added. “The real Syrimne... he’s supposed to be a creature like you.” He gestured with one thick hand.

“...A brother, as it were.”

My hands tightened on the chair.

Maygar didn’t notice, but only shrugged again, his voice bored. “I’ve also read interpretations that perhaps he’s the one as causes the shift,” he added. “But Bridge, the end of every cycle is a mystery. There are too many variables... and even humans have free will.” He glanced to where James, the robed follower from reception, stood talking to Chandre by the door, smiling at her with obvious adoration in his eyes.

“...In theory, at least,” he muttered.

I frowned, glancing at James, too. “So what are you doing to fight the Rooks? Your people... the badass terrorists?”

Maygar snorted a laugh. “You wouldn’t understand, Bridge.”

“Try me.” When he raised an eyebrow, I said, “Unlike you, I don’t have some macho trip going, Maygar. And it’s not just revenge for me, either, despite what you seem to think. I want them gone. I want a break in the clouds. A real one.”

He just looked at me, then gave another grunting laugh.

“A break in the clouds... I like that, Bridge.” His face opened a bit more, until his expression turned almost friendly. “If you really want to know, right now, we are trying to crack their hierarchy... the one Vash described to you. We look for ‘the break in the clouds,’ too.” He smiled down at me. “There are rumors that an order exists behind the rotating top tiers. That the succession order is mapped... not random. Do you understand this?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Maygar’s eyes grew sharper when they met mine. I recognized that look from Revik; it was a hunter’s look. Moreover, it showed more perception than I’d given him credit for.

Realizing I had been holding back on him a little, I shrugged.

“Eliah might have mentioned it,” I said. “The succession order. When he found out I was screwing around with the Rooks’ network, he seemed convinced that’s what I was after.”

Seeing Maygar’s eyebrow go up, I rolled my eyes.

“I still don’t know what it is, Maygar,” I said flatly.

He gave me another half-smile, shrugging with one hand.

“It is exactly what it sounds like, Bridge,” he said. “It is a map of the succession order for the Rooks’ hierarchy. A map of the succession order would detail when and how each individual Rook ascends in that hierarchy to the spot above. Like when your American president dies... there is a list of who takes his place, right?”

“Sure,” I said, annoyed at his condescending tone. “Whatever.”

Maygar smiled wider, clicking at me softly. “This thing you seem so uninterested in, Esteemed Bridge... it is something every Rook in the network would pay all of their fortune to obtain. Hell, any in the Seven would.”

“Why?”

Maygar rolled his eyes. Unfolding his muscular arms, he used his light to draw an image of the Pyramid in my mind. Thrusting it forward invasively, he highlighted the node at its apex.

“The Head, understand?” When I nodded, he said, “This man at the top, he is the only one who connects directly to the Dreng. The only link between the Dreng and Earth.”

I nodded again, to show him I was following.

“He connects the rest to the Dreng,” Maygar added. “He also distributes the light, the skill sets, everything. To randomize the succession order, it is his protection, right? Without that, what’s to stop one of the other Rooks from stealing this top spot from him?”

I waited, figuring it was a rhetorical question.

Maygar smiled again, maybe because he heard me.

“The top of the Pyramid, it has a rotating hierarchy.” Using his light, Maygar highlighted the top tiers. They began a jerky dance.

I recognized that, too.

“You see how at any moment,” Maygar continued. “...A different seer falls into the position directly below the Head?”

I nodded again.

“This is to prevent assassination, Bridge. If you are big number two Rook, and you kill the Head but don’t take his place, you can bet whoever does is going to take you out. But...” He lit up the top tier once more. “...If you know the succession order, you can coup the big honcho right when you are about to take his place. Or make a deal with the one who does.”

He smiled, clicking again softly.

“But Bridge,” he said. “...We could do the same. There is a gap after the Head dies, when the Dreng are not connected to our world. The Pyramid is vulnerable then.”

“How long?” I said.

“Two... maybe three minutes to connect the new Head.”

At his meaningful stare, I sighed.

“Two minutes isn’t very long,” I pointed out.

Maygar laughed. “It was long enough for me to smack you down this morning!” When my face warmed, he smiled. “Of course, for any of that to be feasible, we would need to know who the current Head is. That is his other protection, Bridge. Anonymity. We think very few Rooks know the Head’s true identity in outside.” He pointed at me, his lips curling in a frown. “This is where you come in. Providing you can deliver what you say. Your Rook husband never could... despite all his bullshit.”

My jaw hardened. “I already said I don’t know who he is in outside.”

“Well, you should, if you found him in the Barrier.”

“Who the hell are you, to tell me what I should know?” I said. “From what I can tell, none of you jackasses could find him at all. And I’m untrained, worm-raised Bridge girl... so what does that make you?”

Maygar stared at me, his dark eyes holding disbelief.

Vash’s voice rose in my mind, clear as a loudspeaker.

We are ready, he said. You are on point, Maygar.

Maygar leaned closer to me. His voice grew soft.

“A little touchy about the husband, aren’t you, Bridge?” he whispered.

Alyson? Vash said. Are you ready?

Maygar straightened back to his full height, a grin tugging at his full lips. His eyes met mine, a dark eyebrow quirking in a silent question.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing my anger. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

* * *

SLOWLY, THERE ARE stars.

Earth appears, a pale blue dot.

It zooms closer, until it dominates my view. But I barely look at the Earth on its own; instead, my mind finds the Pyramid, and the larger beings I feel behind it. Even now, above all else, it is their presence I feel... for they are why I have come. Metallic threads cross and intersect over land masses in thick, silver piles. The Pyramid moves like a mechanical toy, deceptively peaceful despite the pain and deprivation I feel within. I watch the dance as the pieces change hands, change places, until I hear a faint whisper of—

Well?

The voice startles me. I had forgotten I am not alone.

Maygar floats beside me. We are waiting, Bridge.

It happened differently before, I explain.

His tone turns acidic. Is this your first jump?

No, I say, unthinking.

Then you should know nothing happens the same way twice in the Barrier, Maygar says, his thoughts cold. For that to be, all other creatures would need to be static. You must do as we do. Follow the thread, Bridge. Hunt.

By the end, he is indulgent, condescending. It sparks a faint anger in me, in my light, until I realize it is because he is reminding me of Revik.

But I have done this without Revik.

I’ve done it without Chandre or Vash... or this asshole, Maygar, who wants sex with me and to beat on me only because he has some kind of monster grudge against Revik.

Maygar hears me, and his amusement returns.

Not only for that, Bridge, he says.

Pushing his mind aside, I remember Haldren, why I am here.

I concentrate on his face, on the clear, confident voice that rises above the crowd, the darkly burning eyes, his laugh. I remember other things, too. The things that no one else sees. Shuddering sobs in the middle of the night in the orphanage when no one comes, his crush on Kardek’s lab assistant, Massani, his fear of the other children, his need to control them, to make himself feel safe. I remember the details, the way he snorts when he laughs, cracks his knuckles when he’s nervous, recites equations under his breath to not be afraid...

Slowly, the Earth begins to rotate beneath my feet.

I do not notice at first, but it is rotating backwards, in the wrong direction.

The sun and planets revolve backwards as well, moving with oiled precision, west to east, instead of the reverse. I half-expect to hear beautiful music, like when my father and I viewed a miniature version of Earth’s constellations sliding in rich ovals on smooth brass rails. In my mind’s eye, my father laughs there still, delighted by the beauty of the kinetic sculpture.

“Music of the spheres, Allie!” he says, patting my back with his large hand. “Music of the spheres! Isn’t it wonderful!”

I hear his voice, and as time unwinds again, I smile.

A lightness coincides with the wires of the Pyramid growing less around that little blue and white world. The dark threads unwind even faster, like a ball of yarn teased by a cat, and I can breathe again, in a way I never can in that other place...

Abruptly, the motion stops.

Earth begins revolving forward once more, with effort at first, like gears grinding back into their natural motion. It is slow, like I say... yet fast, too. Regular time, which passes changing everything, so that we lose ourselves, so that we don’t recognize one another.

So that we must find one another, again and again.

Instead of the Pyramid, a gray cloud masses over Europe.

There, I say to Maygar, pointing with my mind.

I feel him acknowledge me.

...Then he and I stand in that other version of our world. This time, I do not know the exact place; I have never been here before, either in the Barrier or the flesh. We perch on a grassy, leaf-strewn hill dotted with aspens shedding white bark.

Below us, a circle of black mud runs before a row of whitewashed buildings. The mud is thick, grooved with wheel ruts. In the distance I see more of those same buildings, what look like barracks, and below that, men in gray-green uniforms and cloth caps march in formation through the same dark mud and horse manure, carrying guns.

I recognize the uniforms in a vague kind of way, not well enough to—

SS, Maygar sends my way. Contempt drips from his light. Didn’t your husband teach you? They are Schutzstaffel, Frau Dehgoies.

I flinch at his words, but I don’t answer.

This is all very interesting, Maygar adds. But what is it?

I feel my light spark as I lose patience with his arrogance. You’re the one who said this isn’t an exact science. So why don’t you tell me where we are, big infiltrator man?

Maygar sends with mock politeness, Perhaps you miss your Nazi husband? You thought of him, and it brought you here?

I am about to answer back when I stop, staring through trees to three men standing on the same muddy hill. One I recognize at once as Terian. The second I know only because he has no face. Like when I saw him before, he is well-dressed in a formal, dark suit, and tall.

...Though not as tall as the third man, who is Revik.

I blink somewhere in my mind.

He is still there when I return.

I can’t take my eyes off him, even knowing Maygar is watching... even feeling his disgust when he notices my stare.

Revik wears what likely passed for casual in the time period—dark brown pants, a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suspenders, boots—but his clothes look well-made, and he is clean-shaven, still on the thin side but significantly healthier-looking than when I saw him last in this timeline, wasting away in a Berlin jail. The bruises have faded from his jaw and face, although I still see scars on his neck, one in the shape of a question mark, another on his hand that I recognize. He wears the silver ring on his smallest finger, just like he did when I met him in San Francisco, and my light hand moves reflexively to my light throat.

I wonder again if the ring is from his wife, Elise.

He combs fingers through his black hair, clearing his throat.

“What are we doing here?” he says in German.

The shock of seeing him alive paralyzes me.

“...I thought we were done with this,” Revik prompts again. “Why are we here?”

Terian laughs. He is pleased with his new friend. The pleasure sparks clearly in his light. “You see, sir?” he says. “He’s barely here a minute, and already we are wasting his time!”

“Manners, Terian.” The faceless man claps Revik on the shoulder. “I would like to challenge you, Rolf, to think about this war differently. Until now, you have approached your role in this conflict as a slave does. I would like to persuade you to change that vantage point.”

Revik folds his arms, shifting his weight in obvious irritation. “I adhere to the Seven’s doctrine of non-interference, if that’s what you mean by ‘slave.’ Humans as a species must be allowed to mature undisturbed. The rules are quite clear about—”

“Spoken like a true believer,” Terian mutters.

Revik turns, raising an eyebrow. “Are these schoolyard tactics meant to persuade me to abandon Code?” He glances at Galaith. “Because I find them a bit tired... sir.”

“We do not mean to insult you, Revik. Far from it.” Galaith gives Terian a thin smile. “But I do wonder when is the last time you really thought about those words you just recited?”

Revik frowns, looking between them.

“I have had plenty of time to think about it,” he says, his real emotion coming out that time. “...Believe me, I have. This is not the first war of theirs I’ve fought. I understand well the argument for interference, but it doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

I see that his pride is pricked, though, especially at the silence after his words.

“I curbed their excesses where I could...” he said.

“You did nothing,” Galaith says calmly.

Revik stiffens. “I disagree.”

“You were a Nazi, Rolf,” Terian laughs. “They were gassing your people and you watched disapprovingly from a distance, at best... cleared the way for them with your panzers at worst!”

“Don’t be offended, Revik,” Galaith says, raising a hand to silence Terian. “It is not you that is the problem. The Seven certainly mean well, but they are judging my race as if it were their own. But humans are not seers, Revik. Humans... the ordinary mob of humanity... do not need more freedom. They do not even want it. What they want, more than anything, is for the world to make sense. They want their lives to have some greater purpose... a meaning.”

The faceless man smiles wanly, looking out over the muddy exercise yard.

“They want someone to provide that for them, Rolf,” he says, quieter. “They want this in part because they do not trust themselves... much less their fellow man. Which means, more than anything, they want to be led by someone greater than themselves. They don’t want a committee of their peers. They don’t want the truth to shift with the sands of opinion, or time, or perspective. They want an absolute reality. One that makes sense to them year after year, no matter what occurs outside of them. Whether they control this or not is irrelevant to them. They wish the illusion of control... without any of the responsibility.”

I glance at Revik’s face, watch him thinking about this.

I can tell he doesn’t exactly disagree.

Hell, I’m not even sure I do.

Galaith watches Revik too. After a pause, he smiles wanly.

“Rolf, my dear friend... humans are, quite simply, made to be dominated. If not by seers, then by more powerful humans. In truth, they prefer it.” He gestures broadly over the whitewashed buildings, the rows of uniformed men. “This war is a case in point,” he says. “Is it the honest leader to whom the masses flock? The one who gives them greater freedoms? More responsibility for their lives?” He smiles, shaking his head. “No. It is the one who gives them purpose, Rolf. An enemy. A beautiful dream that tells them all of their problems can be solved. Do they care that this dream is borne of countless lies? No. They do not. No modern human leader has ever been loved as the Germans love Hitler, Rolf. Not Churchill, not Roosevelt. Not since the last of his kind... Napoleon, Caesar, the Emperors of old Asia.”

Revik stands there, blank-faced.

Then he laughs.

“You yourself are human!” he says.

“Yes.” Galaith smiles. “I am. But I am also one who sees this truth... and accepts it. Would you condemn me for this? Call me a race traitor to choose reality?”

Revik pauses, looking at him. “No,” he says.

Revik is in pain. I feel it on him. I feel it through him, even though it makes no sense that I should. It will be decades before I am even alive in his world. I realize the pain is for Elise and something crushes the small bones in my chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to remain where I am. The craziness behind this feeling doesn’t escape me.

I am jealous. I am beyond jealous, and of two dead people.

I follow his eyes to the muddy tracks below. Men in gray-green uniforms roll a tank of gas onto a wagon tied to a wooden yoke laced to a mule. The soldiers cluck at the mule, pulling at its bridle until the mule, the wagon, and the tank stand in the middle of the mud ruts in a circular drive. Two more tanks are loaded, pulled by another mule and a horse. The animals halt where men line up in formation, in the center of the circular drive.

Around them, I count over a hundred people.

“Why are we here?” Revik says again, but this time I hear uneasiness in his voice.

“I want to cure you, Rolf. Of obedience. Of being a slave.”

I feel my stomach roll over. I know suddenly, what I’m going to see.

I don’t want to see it. I turn to Maygar.

Let’s go. You were right. This is a dead end.

But Maygar is focused on Galaith.

He does not see what I see, or if he does, he does not care.

The separation pain worsens, mixes with a grief too thick to think through. The resonance is too strong; I can’t change my vibration enough to pull myself out. I am locked here, tied with steel cords to this past Revik and his grief for his dead wife.

That is him? Maygar says of Galaith. He is human, Bridge!

A silver channel opens up above the three of them, feeding directly into the cloud of the Rooks... the Dreng, I think, remembering Vash’s explanation. Terian’s light body shines with wire-like threads, but many fewer than existed when I glimpsed that side of him in San Francisco. The widest channel of all opens between the Dreng and the faceless man.

That same channel then opens to Revik.

Sharp, silver light ignites through his aleimi like molten sparks. The sickness I feel worsens as I watch his light change. The silver overtakes the softer gold-white, seems to strengthen it, but I see it as a covering over, a slow eclipse of something I realize I still love, that I can’t seem to stop loving, no matter how hard I try.

Seconds later, the auras around Terian and Revik gleam bright with metallic, silver light, emitting lightning-like flashes. An even brighter aura pulses off Galaith.

I hear Maygar mutter beside me.

...Impossible.

Terian winks at Revik. “You see, my cantankerous, Heer friend,” he says with a smirk. “Galaith, here, he is like a great, big mirror. Anything that lives in the network, lives also in him. Which means, if any of us has a present for the network, he is the first to unwrap it...”

Terian’s eyes turn slightly colder, and just for the barest instant, more predatory. I see the covetousness in him, even back then, but he turns it into a smile.

“...We only get tastes, right Mr. G?” he jokes. “Scraps and bites?”

Galaith doesn’t respond. He watches Revik carefully. “Are you all right?”

I feel Maygar’s shock expanding, pulling on me.

What? I send, irritated. I cannot take my eyes off Revik.

Did you not hear me? Maygar hisses. That man... he is a human being! He is not seer at all...! It is impossible that he can do these things!

Galaith’s outline keeps getting brighter.

Revik steps back warily as the human’s light body flashes out in a hard arc. Galaith raises a hand towards the field, and I see a Nazi soldier’s eyes flash silver, just before he bends to light a torch on one of the loaded wagons.

Galaith turns to Revik. “This war can be over in months,” he says. “Already, two million have died in the camps. Should we wait until it is four million? Ten million?”

Revik hesitates, staring out over the field.

“Hitler needs to die,” Terian adds. “If the humans want a leader, we’ll give them one... we’ll give them all the dreams and laws and bullshit racial policies they desire. But why should seers die for the madness of humanity? Why? When we can bring peace so easily?”

Revik stares down the hill.

I remember Russia, the frozen bodies, the smell of burning flesh, and realize Revik is remembering, too.

The first gas tank detonates. An inexplicable grief expands in my light as fire blows back the line of soldiers. They are murderers, too, I think. But my thoughts and fears and rationalizations are all caught up in Revik’s, the wanting to believe he can be a part of something, that he can make it better. That he can be more than simply a bystander, helpless as history unfolds.

Terian ducks as the fireball expands, then starts to laugh.

Screams fill the clearing, along with smoke and fast-moving shrapnel. Seconds later, meat comes crashing down. I realize it is from the mule that pulled the cart and feel another surge of nausea as legs and arms rain down, too, some of the feet still wearing boots.

“Revik?” Galaith watches him, waiting. “Are you ready?”

Revik hesitates. He almost looks afraid.

“How many seers did they kill?” Galaith asks. “How many burned in the gas chambers as you watched from the Barrier, cousin?”

Revik holds up his hand. Seeing his fingers shake slightly, I will him to lower it. I know this is past, that it’s already happened. I know I cannot change any of it now, that it’s too late. I even hear the logic in Galaith’s words. I want the same revenge Revik wants for all those who died, but I will him to hear me anyway, to not do this.

A blank-eyed soldier lowers a second torch.

When it explodes, I flinch along with Revik.

Shock rips holes in the turf, throwing wood and iron as shrapnel into standing lines of men. The SS don’t move out of the way, even when burning metal embeds in their flesh, or catches their hair or clothes on fire, or splatters hot oil across their skin.

I see Revik’s jaw harden. Without being asked by Galaith, he focuses down the hill again. The third soldier lowers his torch.

There is another hollow boom.

Terian is laughing again, jumping up and down as black smoke plumes outward in a mushroom-shaped cloud. Revik stares down the torn-up field in angry shock as Terian hits him playfully on the chest, then starts down the hill to view the carnage up close.

He leaves Galaith and Revik to stand there alone.

“What are you?” Revik says, looking at him.

I feel Maygar beside me, tensing for the answer.

Galaith smiles. “Perhaps you should ask yourself that question, Rolf.” He smiles, squeezing Revik’s shoulder. “I’m very, very proud of you, my son.”

Revik stares down at the field. His eyes still show a dim shock, but I recognize the predatory curiosity there as well. The intent focus accompanies a fire that powers a hotter engine beneath his controlled veneer.

Interesting choice for a mate, Maygar says. ...Esteemed Bridge.

I turn on him in fury.

He reformed, okay? Just let it go!

I watch as Maygar grunts, looking at Revik with utter loathing.

His self-righteousness infuriates me.

Whatever your trip is with him, it’s infantile, I tell him. He’s dead!

Real anger flashes in Maygar’s light.

Infantile? He catches my light arm in his hand. I saw it, Esteemed Bridge. I fucking saw it! I looked at all of the records from when Dehgoies Revik ‘reformed.’ I saw what happened when they brought him in. Half-dead, beaten to a pulp by his own and then our men... you should have heard the litany of garbage he spewed, as the Adhipan worked to detach him from that Pyramid filth! It took them days to get it off... weeks even. And all the while, the whole construct was treated to the lovely things your husband did while in the Rooks’ employ...

Maygar’s eyes flash colder as he looks down the hill.

...The things I saw as they unwound those structures made me physically ill, Bridge. I did not sleep. I could not want anything but his death for days. So do not tell me I am infantile. Do not tell me anything about that man, not until you’ve seen what he is for yourself...

I stare at Maygar through the Barrier, but my mind is blank.

Do not kid yourself, he says. They recruited him for one reason. At his core, he was an evil fucking bastard. That’s all he ever was, Esteemed Bridge...

I look at Revik.

Revik from the past, but still the light I know.

He is looking at me, too, I realize.

I am still standing there, watching his face, when roughly, Maygar uses his aleimi to change our frequency. As soon as he does, the past around me unravels.

The last thought I have as I lose him yet again is that I’m thirsty.

More thirsty than I’ve ever been in my life.

Chapter 25

WIRE

HE FEELS HER, feels her skin, the ends of her fingers as she caresses him, touches his face, his arms, his chest, his cock. He thinks of all the times he wanted her to touch him, that he fantasized about her touching him... all the regrets about what he should have done in Seattle, on that ship, even in the dirt that night in Vancouver. She’s already driving him crazy and they are kissing again... his tongue thickens, pain rising in his belly.

She reaches for him, and he opens at once.

But something twists his light, forcing him back.

His wanting turns to aggression, frustration, a bleak hopelessness when she returns, lets him feel her... but it’s never enough.

Gods... she’s fucking with him. She’s teasing him, trying to make him insane. She knows he’s in pain, that he can’t go to her.

But something darker lingers there.

Someone else is with her.

She isn’t alone.

* * *

HE GROANED, UNWILLINGLY awake. Lying on a wet tile floor, he couldn’t move. The pain sharpened as he lay there, worsening as the ache in his arms and neck returned. He was shivering, naked, freezing cold, so fucking thirsty he couldn’t think about much else once he noticed... but the pain on his neck and back felt like fire.

It occurred to him then. Water still ran over his bare skin.

He hadn’t been asleep. He’d passed out.

The other seer dropped the water spigot. Crouching down, he stared into Revik’s face.

“Feeling better, Revi’?”

Revik threw out his light in reflex and the collar around his neck tripped, bringing another blinding jolt. His head snapped back, then fell back to the tile. He groaned, unable to stop it.

“Apparently so,” Terian gazed down Revik’s body. “Missing her again, are we?”

He fought to go unconscious again, willing it.

“Let’s go over it again...”

Revik tried to remember the line of questioning they’d been on, couldn’t.

“Who has the succession order, Revi’?”

The sickness worsened. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Really?” Terian walked around where he lay. “Shall we pull your friend out of her cage again? Maybe if I played with her a bit, that might jog your memory?”

Revik clutched the chain where it attached to the floor.

He avoided the female with his light, but he couldn’t help looking for her with his eyes. Her naked body lay slumped in an iron box against the far wall, her eyes half-lidded, catatonic. The slack look on her face was more than he could bear, worse than the long cut that bisected her delicate features. He remembered the last time Terian brought her out here, felt his stomach lurch even as his eyes drifted to her feet bleeding through the dirty gauze he’d used to staunch the blood. He’d taken two of her toes that time, one from each foot.

“No,” he said, hoarse.

“No?” Terian said. “Say please, Revi’.”

“Please.” His eyes returned to the floor. “Please, I—”

“All right.” Terian smiled, waving him off. “...Since you’re being a good boy.” His eyes narrowed. “The succession order, Revi’... the truth this time. I have it from very reliable sources that you were the only one who had it after Galaith.”

When Revik hesitated, trying to think, Terian kicked him, hard, aiming at the muscled part of his thigh. Revik gasped.

“I don’t know,” he blurted. “...I swear it’s the truth. You can read me. You know I’m not lying. If I ever had it, they wiped it when I left—”

Terian kicked him again. Revik shifted half to his side, fighting to breathe.

Rocking on his heels, Terian touched his lips with a finger, gazing up at the ceiling.

“Yes,” he said. “That memory loss is most irritating. But you know I don’t fully believe you, don’t you, Revi’? Your light is different, you see... ever since that day on the ship. I know you can’t feel it with that restraining device around your neck, but take my word for it... it is. Quite different. You feel much more like my old friend than you did in San Francisco. So much so I have a hard time believing you, when you say you don’t remember.”

Revik just lay there, breathing into the tile.

They’d been over this.

He’d lost track of answers he’d given, contradicted, lied about. He knew Terian likely no longer listened for details anyway. By now he knew exactly what Revik did and didn’t know. What he hadn’t said aloud had been ripped from his mind... about Allie, every intimate detail, every lie and truth and half-truth. Work he’d done under Vash. His job in the Guard. It wouldn’t be enough. This had become an endurance game, and he would lose.

Even as he thought it, the rod jabbed at muscles in his back, just enough that he reflexively tried to block it.

“What were you dreaming about, Revi’? Just now?”

Images swam forward. He saw Allie again, her hands on his chest, holding his arms. He remembered her pulling on him and hardened painfully.

Now that he was powerless to block it, the separation was like a drug... it brought wanting, but also regret, memory in sharp relief, emotions he could barely comprehend, much less control. The sickness worsened. For a moment, he could only lie there, half-gasping.

The collar sparked.

Terian bent down, gripping his hair, pulling his head back.

“Every time. You know, Revi’... your eyes glow every time I mention her. You really are a mess, my friend.” He relaxed his hold, adding casually, “It’s not like I have a lot of telekinetic seers to study, to see the effects they have on their mates. But the glow eye thing of yours intrigues me. So do those lights you managed to shatter on the ship...”

His eyes turned clinical, studying Revik’s with a faint edge.

“Incidentally, I was with your wife while you were fucking that human.” A half-smile tugged at his lips as Revik looked away. “If your goal was to hear her beg, I think it was working, my brother. Truly. So much so, I considered mounting her myself...” He gripped Revik’s hair tighter, forcing him to look at him. He bent closer to his ear, his voice a murmur. “The images coming off her... gods. I could have called in the whole Guard. We could have taken turns. I don’t think she would have minded a bit, Revi’... not a bit.”

Revik fought the image out of his light and the collar tripped, sending white fire down his spine. When Terian released him, he lay his face against the tile, breathed into the cold floor.

His eyes caught those of the other human in the room, who squatted in a cage next to the one where Cass lay broken against the wall. The man there looked even skinnier and paler than he was, if that were even possible. Seeing the sympathy there, Revik closed his eyes.

He felt Jon’s light reach for his, a pale comfort.

Bright... so bright for a human.

Too bright.

The yellow eyes swiveled in Jon’s direction.

“Interesting.” Terian rose, starting towards the row of cages where Jon was already moving, scurrying to put his back to the wall, as far away from the cage’s door as possible.

Revik lifted his head, writhed to his stomach.

“Fucking dirt blood,” he gasped.

Terian halted, halfway to where Jon hunched in the corner.

Revik fought for breath, pushing out words. “...You’d give your cock to be me. That’s the real reason you’re doing this. Not to find Allie. Not to learn more about any fictitious ‘succession order’... but to pretend you’re stronger than me, that you beat me. It’s pathetic, Terry...”

Terian turned. Behind him, Jon waved Revik off, his hazel eyes rounded in horror. But Revik’s gaze fixed on the human’s bandaged hand. His jaw hardened.

“It speaks.” Terian folded his arms, cocking his head with narrow eyes. “Wow, Revi’. Did you just... insult me?” His smile widened. “I confess, I didn’t think you had it in you. Not after our last go around.”

Revik’s throat was so dry he was hoarse. “You still can’t stand the fact that Galaith made me second over you. He’d still take me back, Terry... in a fucking heart beat.”

Terian smiled, gesturing him forward. “Go on.”

Revik saw the hardness beneath the smile. He’d reached him.

But not enough.

He blurted, “Feigran, right? Wasn’t that your name?”

Terian’s smile grew leaden.

“I remember.” Revik’s fingers tightened around the chains. “A shit-blood from the Ukraine. Dugress, right? A town I destroyed... on accident, I admit. I don’t remember.” He barked a laugh. “I was drunk a lot back then, but there’s no way I’d destroy a crap town of beet farmers on purpose...”

Terian’s full mouth thinned.

Behind him, Jon had gone rigid, as still as death.

“I had to study files on all of my...” Revik barked another hoarse laugh. “...subordinates. You’re one of those inbred seers with an inferiority complex, is that it? Saw too many of your relatives go to the gas chambers? I guess that would hit at your self-esteem... supposedly superior race, and you’re exterminated like rats.” He coughed, tasting blood. “Tell me, did your father really get so poor he sold his wife? Did he sell you, too, Feigran? Is that how the Rooks acquired you? For a few dead animals and—”

The rod came down hard, in the middle of his chest.

Revik stopped breathing, losing all sense of where he was. The pain whited out his vision. He blocked it and the collar flared around his neck. Before he could go unconscious, Terian stepped forward and kicked him in the face. The shock yanked Revik out of his mind just as the mixer hit him lower with the rod, low enough to bring a scream.

For a long moment, Revik thought he was dead.

Terian lifted the pulse.

Groaning, nauseous, Revik tried to crawl away.

Terian stepped forward, kicking him in the stomach.

“You’re damned lucky I want this body for myself, Revi’.” The yellow eyes shone cold, lifeless, when Revik looked up. “I might find more creative things to do with it, if that were not the case. You should be thankful I have not yet run out of questions for your mind, too, because once I have, it will cease to exist...”

Revik tried to clench his muscles when the Rook kicked him again, but couldn’t. He cowered, gasping, when Terian approached him next, but that time, the other seer walked right up to his head. Crouching, he grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking Revik’s head back.

“...And do you know what I’m going to do with this body of yours once it is mine, Revi’? Do you know the very first thing I will strive for? I’m going to find your darling Alyson, and I’m going to thank her properly for not coming for you. She won’t walk right for weeks, I promise you...” Seeing the barely concealed look in the other’s eyes, Terian grinned. That time, it reached the rest of him.

“Yes... you don’t like that. I bet you’d like to take an axe to me now... eh, Rolf? But hear me on this, old friend. One of these days, I’ll get my chance with her... in one way or form. I promise you that. That is my vow to you, brother.”

He let go of his hair, but didn’t move away. He continued squatting there instead, watching him with narrow eyes.

“I don’t know why you care so much all of a sudden, anyway,” he said, studying his face. “You were hardly the model husband, Revi’. Selling your cock to humans. Getting blow jobs from Seattle hookers while she slept alone. If she’d been raised seer, she would have stabbed you in your sleep by now, my friend.”

Watching Revik avert his eyes, he folded his hands between his bent knees, letting his voice grow thoughtful.

“I can’t help but wonder just how long it took her to act on that separation pain, once she didn’t have you around to screw with her head...” Watching Revik’s face, he clicked at him softly. “You could have popped that cherry, my friend. Can you imagine? Being the very first inside the Bridge, and as a mate, no less. Instead you waste it, acting like a sulking adolescent instead of being a man and accepting responsibility. And you call me pathetic...”

Revik stared at his hands. Blood dripped on them from his mouth. He remembered the presence he’d felt around her, and the sickness in his gut worsened. Terian’s words replayed themselves in his mind, and he couldn’t even disagree with them.

Terian laughed aloud, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Ah, that reassures me, Revi’... you know I’m right!” The seer leaned closer. “Hey! Revi’!” A smile lit up the handsome features. “Do you think that’s why she hasn’t come looking for you?” Reaching down, he massaged Revik’s genitals. He smiled when the other man groaned. “...Maybe she doesn’t even want this in her anymore, eh Revi’? Or do you think she’s the type to get off on mass-murderers? Tell me honestly. Are my chances with her better or worse wearing this body?”

Revik writhed as far away as he could with his wrists bolted to the floor. He fought to contract his light, but the collar only flared again. Terian gave his testicles a brief, hard squeeze, laughing, then let go. Revik nearly blacked out.

Turning, Terian smiled at Jon, winking. “Want to help him out this time, sport-o?”

In the cage next to Jon, Cass rattled the bars. “Stop it!” she screamed. “Leave him alone!”

Revik raised his head. Not now.

Cass couldn’t get his attention now, not when Terian was—

“I think you have fans, Revi’.” Terian glanced down at him. “Shall we reminisce about the old days? Or simply act them out? I'm sure they would love to hear about how we used to get our kicks, you and I... how much alike we once were.”

“I hope he kills you!” Cass screamed louder.

“Oh-ho!” Terian laughed, squatting by Revik again. He tapped him on the head. “Remember that French girl in Bangladesh? The one Colonel Harding was so fond of? How long did you manage to keep her alive? Was it two weeks? Three?” He glanced at Cass. “You were a lot more fun back then. You had better taste in friends, too, as I recall...” His yellow-gold eyes went flat, studying Cass.

Revik shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Rocking his weight back to rest on his heels, Terian cocked his head. “You know, I can’t even tell if I believe you. You so clearly want to believe yourself.”

He rested his arms on his thighs, his voice serious.

“You know, don’t you, Revi’... I have only the purest of motives in bringing you here. You are sick, you see... you have lost your way. I want my friend back. Back on the side of non-hypocrisy, of fun, of ideals with practical application...” He smiled wider, glancing at Cass before he looked back at Revik. “...Barring that, I might have to peel your skin off in little strips like one of those ingenious devices we used in Prague... do you remember, Revi'? Just to deal with my disappointment, you see.”

Revik swallowed, not looking up.

Terian grabbed his wet hair. “Are you telling me to flay the girl instead? Or maybe the pretty young boy?”

Revik’s eyes found Cass and Jon without his willing it. The seer was pushing him to focus there, but he thought about them anyway.

Maybe he could make it quick. If Terian tried to fulfill one of those fantasies, it would be the easiest thing in the world to break Cass’s neck. The thought made the sickness worse, enough that he lowered his face.

He wondered how much of it was his, and how much Allie’s.

Laughing, Terian released him. “Oh, Rolf. You are the clever one. I suppose I may have to wait on my fun, then... at least until you learn it’s bad manners to break the nice toys I give you.”

Still squatting beside him, he studied Revik’s eyes.

“Tell me honestly,” he said softly. “Tell me the truth, Revi’, and I’ll leave the girl alone. For today, at least... I won’t touch her. Are my chances with your wife better or worse wearing this beat up body of yours?”

Revik closed his eyes, wiping his jaw with his hand. He glanced up, feeling the sickness lodge somewhere in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Terian just looked at him for a moment. Then his smile hardened.

“You really don’t. And you may not believe this, Revi’, but I find that sad.” He straightened, regarding the man lying at his feet. “The Dehgoies I knew wouldn’t have played those games with someone he was courting, much less his wife. Your first wife seemed to think you were a good husband... when you weren’t off gassing your own kind, that is.”

Prodding him with a foot, he sighed then, hands on his hips.

“Enough. Just looking at you is making me tired.” He glanced around the green tile room, the splashes of bloody water on the walls and floor. “For your touching display of loyalty to Alyson’s childhood friends, you have sustained a break.”

Stepping back, he wiped his hands on his pants, grinning at him.

“I’d like to reward you, though. Your humans, too... once I’ve washed the shit smell off me from you. So expect another visit today, all right, brother?”

Without another word, he walked to the mirrored wall.

Touching a panel, he disappeared through the opening that formed in the organic metal.

Once the hole melted shut, Revik slumped to the floor. He pressed his mouth to the wet tile, trying to inhale blood-tasting water, but the floor sloped in the wrong direction, leaving it slick but almost dry. The attempt only frustrated him, made his thirst desperate.

Jon’s voice came at him jaggedly from the nearer cage.

“Revik.” His English was hoarse. “Revik! Listen to me, goddamn it.”

Revik turned, fighting his eyes clear, his voice. “What, Jon?”

“Keep pushing him like that and he’s going to kill you. Stop it, alright? Just stop! I mean it, man... stop.”

“Yeah.” Cass’s voice slurred. “Stop it.”

Revik said, “It’s okay. We’re fine, Jon... Cass.”

“Don’t give me that shit!” Jon said. “You can’t go suicidal on us, man! You can’t! We need you...”

“We’re okay,” Revik repeated. “We’re okay, Jon...”

He lay there, willing his mind blank, wishing more than anything he could go back to where Allie slept. She didn’t always find him. There were gaps that went for days. Eventually she’d stop looking. At the thought, pain blinded him briefly. He rolled over onto his stomach.

His eyes closed when Jon’s voice jerked them open again.

“God.” Jon stared at him, eyes hollow. He licked his lips, staring still, as if examining the damage. “Thanks... okay?” He clutched a bar with his mutilated hand, twisting on the metal. “Thanks. I mean it. Just take it easy. Don’t provoke him any more. Don’t let him kill you. We need you, man. We need you...”

“We’re okay...”

“Are you listening to me?”

Revik acknowledged the human’s words with a nod, then let his head slump to the tile. He promptly fell unconscious.

* * *

REVIK! WAKE UP! Come back... come back to me!

He reached for her with his light. Fire shot into his neck, gritting his teeth.

“Dehgoies.”

A different voice.

“Dehgoies Revik?”

He tried to lift his head. His tongue had dried into his mouth. He couldn’t swallow. His temples pounded. He tried to clear his eyes, watching as a man placed a chair more than a body length from where he lay on the tile. Middle-aged with dark skin. Likely a seer from his physical appearance and the expression in his eyes.

His human-based ethnicity was closer to Indian than Eastern European or Chinese. He wore his wood-brown hair wound into a clip, and clothing reminiscent of Terian in the 1940s.

Revik focused on his own hands, feeling his pulse rise.

“What shall I call you?” the new body said.

Revik glanced at the far wall, saw that the cages that normally housed Cass and Jon were empty. Feeling his breath shorten, Revik tried not to let his panic show on his face. The new body regained its feet, walking closer to where Revik lay. Revik recoiled, but the seer only set something on the floor, within reach of his hands.

It was a glass of water.

The body returned to its chair, sat.

Revik stared at the water... but only for an instant.

Throwing his upper body forward, he reached for the glass, pulling the container closer with his fingers. He sniffed it... and ducked his head before he could come to anything conclusive, tilting the glass to his mouth as he sucked the liquid down greedily. When it was empty, he licked condensation off the sides.

He was still pressing the cold glass to his face when the body regained its feet and strolled closer to Revik once more, plucking the empty glass out of his hands. Revik watched in disbelief as the body carried the glass to the spigot on the wall, using the thin, high-pressure hose to fill it again. When the seer walked back, he placed the new glass on the same section of floor.

He stood there, watching Revik drink.

“You never answered me about the name,” the seer said. “Is it Revik now? Rolf? What does your new wife call you?”

“Dehgoies.” Revik tilted the glass for the last swallow, then pushed it carefully toward the other’s feet. “Where are Jon and Cass?” His voice was thick, but he could speak again.

The seer smiled. “Would you like another?”

“Yes,” Revik said. “Where’s Jon? Cass?”

The body bent for the glass. Walking back to the spigot, he replied,

“Cassandra required medical treatment.” He refilled the glass and walked back, setting it on the floor. “And I wanted to talk to you alone, Dehgoies.”

“You’re Terian?” Revik brought the glass closer, lowering his mouth to the cool liquid. He’d never tasted anything so good.

He drank with eyes closed, slower this time.

The body smiled. “Terian. Well, that’s an interesting question, Dehgoies. Yes, I am Terian.” He paused, watching Revik drink. He said, quieter, “Jon is right. You are pushing the drone too far, old friend. I can only control him so much...”

Revik laughed. He didn’t lose a drop of water.

Watching him, Terian clicked mildly.

“Must I put you on suicide watch again?” He watched Revik gulp down more water. “Relax, my friend. Slow... I will not take it.”

Revik tilted his head, finishing off the last of the water. He used his lips to take the condensation, cooling his face.

“You don’t look very well yourself,” Terian observed. “And yet, you still haven’t met the worst of my personas, Dehgoies. Trust me when I tell you, the Terian I’ve been using to interrogate you is a petulant child compared to the ones I have for less... delicate exercises. I call him Terian-6. I am Terian-2.” He spread his hands. “It simplifies things.”

Revik made his face expressionless.

“Are you willing to talk to me?” Terian said.

“Sure.” Revik set down the glass. “Can I have more?”

The body made a line in the air with one finger, a seer’s “no.” He added, “You obviously don’t trust me to not kick it over or make you piss in it... so I will pace your consumption for you. You don’t seem to believe me that you’ll get sick if I don’t.”

He folded his hands, tilting his head as he continued to examine Revik. His handsome face appeared greenish in the overhead light.

“You present us with an interesting puzzle, Dehgoies,” he said finally. “You see, I do not wish for anyone to know you continue to exist on this plane. So I am unable to utilize the Barrier the way I would normally. Inducement wires would be tricky, at best...”

The seer ticked off the list with his fingers.

“...Drugs must be avoided for the same reason. I do not want to kill you... and I would prefer you with limbs and organs intact. If I scan you outright, you will fight me, whether you mean to or not. If I scan deeply enough, there is a very good chance the telepathic restraint will kill you. Or destroy your mind, and I do not wish for that either. I obviously cannot deactivate the restraint.” Terian-2 spread his hands wider apart, smiling. “Truly? I wish I had my friend Dehgoies to ask. He was always so very good at puzzles of this kind.”

Revik kept the irritation off his face.

Terian-2 added, “You always had a bit of a dark twist in your methods, Revi’. I wonder now, was that from the wars, also? Did your creativity blossom questioning French prisoners? Or was it the Nazis themselves who sparked this in you?”

Revik stared at his thin hands clasped on the floor.

He could feel something trying to get at him, a pale, silvery thread, hovering over his light. Paranoia bit at the edges of his mind, a vague memory of being lost, of being broken. Worse than that, he felt the buttons the seer was trying to push, a flicker of pleasure that tried to insinuate itself, to flex into parts of him that lay dormant but unlocked. Memories tried to coalesce, to remind him of other things he’d been good at, once.

It occurred to him that his sight reflex ought to have kicked in. The collar should have ignited when he flexed his light.

But his mind felt relaxed.

Too relaxed.

He stared at the empty glass.

“Yes. Well. I did say drugs should be avoided, Revi’,” Terian-2 said apologetically. “...Not eliminated altogether. They must be handled with care, of course. You always did have that odd tolerance.” Terian-2 studied him as though he were an insect climbing wet tile. “It may help you to remember, you know. That would be good for you, yes? Less confusing?”

Revik’s fingers tightened on the glass.

“You see, I have a theory,” Terian-2 said. “I think that you have been remembering for some time, Revi’. I am curious to see how much of you is awake ahead of your conscious mind.” He watched Revik’s eyes. “I also truly do believe you have the succession order, my friend. Or perhaps you did something with it, yes? Something you forgot?”

When Revik continued to stare at the glass, Terian sighed, clicking.

“I confess, I still find it very difficult to read you. Even now, when you are ostensibly under my power, I feel I know you less, not more.” His dark lips thinned as he studied Revik’s face. “Some of this is act, yes. But not all. You hide behind a veneer of obedience. Obedience to Galaith, to me, to the Seven... your Ancestors. It does make me wonder what lies beneath.”

Internally, Revik rolled his eyes.

Smiling, Terian lit an expensive-smelling hiri stick, exhaling a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. Revik’s hunger worsened.

“I suppose I understand,” Terian said. “...In part, at least. The way you were raised, you would have had plenty of practice in both lying and submission.” He bit gently on the end of the hiri, sucking resin. “And yet, in all of these months, I find it astonishing that I have yet to see a response from you that did not feel amazingly well-scripted. I believe all of this actually bores you on some level, am I right?”

Revik stared at his hands.

When the silence stretched, he gave a sort of barking laugh.

Terian smiled, settling his weight back in his chair. “If you do not wish to speak of the succession order, perhaps we can speak of other things. Tell me about Elise, Rolf.” He ashed the hiri. “How did you come to marry a human? How did you come to be in Germany at all?”

Revik’s mind remained lax. Images seeped through cracks. Her dead eyes grew into her living ones, smiling at him, laughing as she waded through blue-green grass, trailing dark hair. He caught her fingers, then the rest of her, and it was familiar, so familiar... but deadened somehow, far away. She was taking off his clothes before he’d caught his breath, asking him, and he lay on her, could barely hold it once he was inside.

Time rushed forward. He was older, bigger. She looked small to him now.

She blindfolded him, taking him into her studio. A wall of their house, painted with the sword and sun...

Everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes, he lay on the cold tile, naked, shaking with pain.

Tears poured down his face. He didn’t know where he was. He felt Terian with him briefly, his friend, laying an arm on his shoulder, laughing as he told another story about that hooker he’d loved in Paris...

Terian-2 clapped his hands. “Wake up, Revi’! Wake!”

He opened his eyes. He heard her voice, but too far away this time; he couldn’t make out her words. Walls dripped like liquid mercury around him. He was afraid he’d get some in his mouth, but he was so thirsty still, he almost didn’t care.

Terian set down a new glass of water. He stood, watching Revik drink. Revik calculated the length of his arms, the range of motion provided by the chain.

He mapped out every centimeter, every millimeter...

“...like Alyson?”

Revik opened his eyes. He blinked. “What?”

“Elise, Revi’. Do you remember?”

“She slept with him,” Revik managed. “Had his child.”

The light evaporated. He dug frantically in the dark, his fingers broken and bleeding. He was starving to death slowly, so thirsty he can’t swallow. Laughter came from outside the iron door, a shock of light after the lock screeched from the wall. Merenje opened the door, drunk, stumbling at the top of the stairs. He had a woman with him, her eyes were green—

“Want to play with an ice-blood, girl? A real one?”

Revik yanked on the chain, yanked, and his wrists bled...

Terian slapped him, hard. “Who did you report to, Revi’? In those years?”

Revik saw a black swastika on a white circle, blood red behind. Bodies piled in pits, like bleached white dolls. Out of bullets. He was out of bullets. They wanted him to beat them to death now, hit them with gun stocks in the back of the head, rocks, run them over with panzers. Memories slithered forward. She ran through the field, trailing dark hair. Brown eyes laughing, teasing him to follow, to chase her.

Leaning down, Revik sank his teeth into his own wrist, holding the vein right where his canines would pop it.

He rolled his eyes up, fixed his stare on Terian.

The Sark chuckled. “You would not.”

Revik bit down, hard.

Blood squirted into his mouth. He was hungry, so fucking hungry. He drank his own blood, feeling sick, strangely relieved. It would be over now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the seer rise, saw his mouth move just before everything started to gray.

* * *

HIS EYES OPENED. Time passed, or not.

He couldn’t move his head. He tried to lift it, then his arms. Terian squatted beside him, his yellow eyes calm.

“You will remember more now, Revi’,” he said. “I can’t say I envy you, when you do... but perhaps you will feel free again, yes?”

Revik saw a tube running down, dripping liquid, mingling with his blood.

Something squirmed on his neck and throat. Something alive.

He remembered Allie feeding him light, curled up in his arms when he first woke up in that bed in Seattle. Pain hit him, worsening as he wondered why he hadn’t kept her there, why he let himself fall back asleep, why he hadn’t followed her when she left the room. He remembered her fingers as she sketched, her jade green eyes concentrated... telling him she wanted to go after Galaith, the light in her eyes dying when he said he wouldn’t help her.

Terian was right. Gods, Terry was right.

Why hadn’t he asked her? Why hadn’t he asked her, in all of that time?

A rusted metal building loomed over him, standing alone in the middle of a field. He looked up, and saw windows smashing outwards, glass shattering, pulverized to the consistency of sand. He heard his own voice, laughing into the sky, laughing, imagining that fucker Stami’s face if he saw him now. If he saw...

Cass sat near him, chained to the wall. Giant insects crawled by her feet, touching her skin with softly probing antennae.

“Cass,” Revik managed. “Don’t move. Be careful...”

She grinned. Hey, big guy. You want one?

Raising her foot, she smashed the hard brown shell of a fist-sized beetle with her bare heel. She picked it up, stuffed the whole thing in her mouth, crunching noisily.

He watched her, feeling sick, faintly envious. Hunger tugged at the edges of his light, making his head sink lower, making it feel as heavy as metal.

“They gave me too much,” Revik told her.

It’s the wire, brother, she told him. The wire on your neck...

Cass laughed, her mouth full of jointed legs. She flattened another insect, popped that one in her mouth, too. Jon stood over her, making chopping motions in the air with his hands. He wore a robe like the monks wore back home. Revik got dizzy, watching his flailing arms.

Stop screwing around, Jon told him. Clock’s ticking, man...

“...Do not misunderstand me,” Terian-2 was saying. “Over the years, I have found it patently not useful to judge the contradictory natures that arise within myself. Where they occur, I simply create a new vessel in which to house them.” He leaned closer, clasping lizard-like hands. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and Revik recoiled. “...You can see the symmetry behind this, can you not, my friend?” Terian’s teeth lengthened. “All parts culminating in their most authentic expression? There is no need for repression, Nenzi. No need to hold back any desires housed in the darker corners of your attic...”

Revik swallowed, staring up at him. “I’m really fucking hungry,” he said. “Can I have some food?”

Terian laughed. “Now that... that sounded like my friend! Is it possible I am reaching him at last? No, no... do not sleep. You have slept enough, Revi’...”

Revik glanced at Jon. “Do you believe this guy?”

Jon laughed. Him? What about you, man? He’s right, you know. You can’t just spend the rest of your life asleep...

“What choice do I have, Jon?”

You need to get laid, man. I mean bad. I hope Allie’s been exercising.

“Gods.” Pain clenched in his chest “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s my wife, Jon.” Blood darkened the water by his hands.

Someone slapped his face, disorienting him.

“Why were you in Germany, Rolf?”

Revik fought to see, couldn’t. His eyes were light, just light... he couldn’t see past it. Terian flicked his fingers impatiently. “Yes?” He tilted his head, as if listening. “You killed some humans? Really? Well, I ask you... so what? How many millions of seers have died at human hands, Revi’?” He leaned closer. “Tell me. Do you really care, even now? Or is this an act, too?”

Revik looked at Cass. “I care, Cass. I do care...”

I know you do, big guy. That’s why you’re talking to me. She grinned, making the crazy symbol by her head. Better than remembering that shit... right? Maybe you were right to wait with Allie. She’s going to rip it open, you know. She can’t help herself...

Revik pressed his face to the floor. The cold tile felt good.

He was ravenous, so hungry he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make himself want to. When he glanced up, Jon was throwing pieces of meat in the air, catching them in his teeth. He worried each one before he swallowed them, flecking the green walls with blood and Revik felt himself getting hard, watching him. He stared at his fingers, broken and bleeding, digging in mud.

He was almost there. He could see daylight...

Terian’s eyes were dead, burnt glass. “You see,” he said. “I am becoming increasingly certain it wasn’t by accident that Galaith and I stumbled upon you in Germany like we did, Rolf. Nor a coincidence that you exactly fit our most desired recruitment profile. Estranged from family, few friends, no strong political beliefs, willing to kill humans... willing to follow questionable means for morally justifying ends. You could have guessed we’d concentrate our initial efforts in the Reich...”

Terian smiled, waggling a finger at him.

“You always were the clever one, Rolf. Were you Vash’s man, all along? Were you, Nenz?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” he managed.

“Do I need to bring her here for real? To get you to talk? I seem to recall you were at your most malleable when you thought I had your wife in custody, too...”

Revik saw her then, and his heart clenched until he couldn’t breathe. Allie watched him from where she lay twisted on the floor, her neck broken. Her green eyes stared at his, dead-looking, a smoky gray.

He let out a groan, reaching for her. “No. Gods... please.”

“So when did their plans go wrong, Rolf? Was it when we killed Elise?” Terian leaned closer, his amber eyes hard. “Did you blame the Seven for that, too? But that was your fault, wasn’t it, Rolf? Dragging a vulnerable human into the middle of your very dangerous game? A bit arrogant, yes?”

Revik tried to concentrate on his words, couldn’t. “Give me food. Please.”

“Will you talk to me, if I do?”

His sickness worsened. “Yes.” He fought tears. “Just don’t hurt her. Please.”

Terian regained his feet. Revik clutched the empty water glass to his chest. When he was younger he could size someone’s range and limbs in a single look. Back then, he’d always known what space his body possessed, what he could do in that space, limitations, strengths, possible weapons... in case anything bad happened, which it frequently did.

Terian reached down, leaning over him.

Revik waited until the seer started to tug the empty glass from his fingers.

...and caught his wrist.

He whipped his legs around, smashing them into the back of Terian’s calves. Throwing his torso backwards as far as the chain allowed, he yanked him forcibly to the floor.

His other hand shattered the glass.

The seer fell on him. Revik rolled, half-pinning the Indian seer under his chest. Working his fingers quickly into strands of his hair, he jerked the head back. The Sark’s eyes showed white.

“Rolf, no! This won’t help you...!”

Revik ground the shard of glass into the seer’s throat.

A thin spray of blood hit him in the face. Sliding the glass in as far as he could, he gasped, crying out, seeing himself covered in blood and fresh wounds and scars, naked, bearded, in a hundred mirrors. He tore through muscle, veins and skin, then ripped the shard out. Blood sprayed upwards in a hot arc. The white throat pulsed, pouring thick fluid.

Revik stared down, watching, feeling his mind clear as...

The seer’s eyes gradually lost light.

Gradually, the blood pumped more slowly from the jagged hole in his throat. Revik continued to stare down, but the seer felt dead. He smelled dead.

Realizing he wore more than a collar, that it wasn’t only drugs affecting his mind, he ripped the inducement wire from around his own throat. He stared down at the twisting, organic coil once he had, then flung it to the ground, looking in the room’s corners.

Gasping, he fought to clear his head, to think.

Jon wasn’t there. Neither was Cass. All he saw was his own reflection, replicated over and over. This might be more inducement dream, too.

If not, he had minutes, maybe seconds.

Flipping to his side, he brought the back of his neck down to his hands, fumbled his fingers over the length of the organic-metal collar he still wore. It took him a few tries to activate the thumbnail switch. By the time he got it open he felt light-headed.

He thought he heard a noise in the outside corridor and grabbed the dead seer’s hair. He flipped back to his side, turning on the slick tile, angling the body’s face towards the back of his neck, trying to align it with the retinal scanner.

Nothing happened.

Revik craned over his shoulder, saw the corpse’s eyelids half-open, smeared with blood. He picked up a smaller shard of glass, slicing his fingers as he fumbled with it. He used the edge to shave off the body’s eyelids, careful to not puncture the eye, wiping blood off each iris. The lids kept slipping from his fingers but he got most of it, prayed it was enough.

Shifting to his side again, he struggled to grip the blood-soaked hair, to hold the eyes in position. Dread, adrenaline and fear nearly made him black out.

He wrenched the head back, then fought to concentrate, crying out when it tripped the collar’s anti-sight mechanism enough to cause a jolt of pain. He nearly let the body drop.

He felt the click as much as heard it.

The prongs retracted, receding from his neck in one smooth pull. Gasping, he raised his head. The old reflex kicked in and that time it felt so good he groaned aloud.

Without waiting, he focused on the chains. He already knew they were tied into the organics of the room. He looked for the right organic being... he remembered doing this before, as well, although he hadn’t done it in years. Within a few seconds, the being had stopped listening to the artificial intelligence that normally directed it, and was listening to Revik instead.

He heard footsteps. They sounded real this time.

Regaining his thread with the organics, Revik tried to talk to the damned thing, to coax the living metal to open. He was breathing in so much oxygen he nearly passed out.

His vision cleared as an opening morphed in the wall, revealing a man with long, auburn hair. Terian-6 paused, seemed to take in the entirety of the scene—Revik contorted and cuffed to the floor, the dead body lying in a pool of blood behind him.

“Oh, Revi’...”

Terian-6 held the edges of the opening, his liquid eyes shining. “You have no idea how much fun I’m going to have with you.” He finished entering the room and Revik jerked back, startled when his arms moved with the rest of him.

He looked down. The chains lay open on the floor.

Terian-6 halted. He stared at Revik’s hands, his muscular body suddenly tense.

“Revi’...” he said warningly.

Revik threw himself at the seer, using the water on the tile floor to slide across the meters between them. He saw Terian fumble for a pocket, moving frantically so that he jerked his elbow into the wall. Their bodies collided just before they slammed into the green organic surface together.

There was a loud crack as they hit, but Revik didn’t stop grappling for the seer’s neck. Grasping hold of his throat, he slammed Terian-6’s head against the glass, then again... and again, until the light eyes glazed.

He didn’t realize the glass shard remained clutched in his hand until blood seeped through his fingers from the seer’s throat.

Revik reached for the pocket the seer had been groping for, ripped a serrated knife from the cloth jacket. Without a pause, he flipped it open, plunged it into the seer’s chest to the hilt and cut downwards, sawing like he was dressing meat. Hitting bone, he pulled it out and stabbed him again, going deeper into the chest cavity. He did it again.

And again... until he felt the shift in the other seer’s light.

Revik held the dead weight against the glass wall, staring at its face.

Hesitating, staring between the Sark’s eyes, he flipped the knife in his hand, letting the body slide down the wall to the floor before he knelt over it again, taking steps to ensure it wouldn’t come back.

It wasn’t until he’d severed the head from the neck that he felt the urgency and adrenaline in his limbs begin to abate.

He looked at the mutilated body, feeling light-headed. Ripping the deactivated collar from his neck, he leaned on the glass wall.

He couldn’t pass out... couldn’t.

He felt light again, his and others... a flood of presence so near and warm it shocked him, brought tears to his eyes. For a long moment, he let it hold him, trying to pull himself out of the dark, to feel something different.

Slowly, he felt himself grow almost calm.

There would be more bodies. Terian built redundancy after redundancy into every system he created. There would be more. Maybe a lot more.

He remembered Jon and Cass then, and dragged himself up the wall to his feet.

Chapter 26

RESPITE

REVIK LIMPED DOWN a narrow, military-green corridor. He felt a larger room at its end. Naked, he still had only the knife he’d gotten off Terian-6 and the drone’s belt wrapped around his knuckles. Hitting the panel to open the second set of doors, he slid behind the wall before peering out, using his sight to glance lightly over the room’s landscape.

His head felt clearer with the wire gone.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t all right, though. He could still feel something else, drugs probably, clouding his mind. Now, with the sight-restraint collar off his neck, and having left the green tile room that shielded his light, the drugs fought to take him out of his body, to make him too visible in the Barrier. He fought it, fought his mind back into reasonably straight lines, fought to stay in his body, took a breath.

Stretching out his light, he located a weapons locker, looking obsessively in the background for other seers, for any ripple or touch from the Barrier. His light detected a few more bodies behind glass or maybe embedded in the organic wall.

Once fully in the Barrier, he can tell his sight is still blurred from the drug.

He feels strangely alone.

Even so, he knows his scan is only long subjectively.

He clicked out as the door to the next room finished opening, and found himself staring at what looked like an enormous fish tank hanging from steel and organic cables in the ceiling. Hookups for at least three living beings floated in the jelly-like liquid, but only one had an actual body attached to it. Revik focused on the man floating inside, felt his heart stop as it occurred to him it might be Jon.

But it wasn’t Jon. He studied the man’s features. He didn’t recognize him, but he was young, in good shape, handsome. It must be another Terian. He looked at the other three hookups. One seemed to be rigged for a body the size of a dwarf.

Or a child, perhaps.

The thought sickened him a little, but even that was muted by the drug.

He didn’t flinch until the remaining body moved in the tank, opening its eyes to stare at him. Gritting his teeth, Revik walked around the transparent window until he found the control panel. Using his sight to discern keystrokes... then to speak to the organics... he gained access to the main computer. He turned off all of the functions supporting life support he could find.

When he looked back at the tank, the tubes leading into the suspended body were no longer pumping liquid.

It took a few seconds for the man in the tank to comprehend the change.

Then Revik watched him start to suffocate. He banged on the plexiglas... sharp at first, almost a demand. Then he thrashed, screamed, beating against the transparent wall.

Revik felt sick, wondered if he should try to break it, to snap the creature’s neck. He could feel more of them now, somewhere.

But no other seers. Terian didn’t seem to have housed anyone here but himself. Before he could confirm this by looking physically, a voice nearly made Revik jump out of his skin. He slammed his back into the plexiglas tank, hard enough to hurt himself in his effort to get away.

“Jon! Look! Look!”

Revik fell into a half-crouch, wishing he’d started with weapons.

Unable to comprehend at first what he was seeing, unable to get over the fact that they could have shot him if they’d been armed, he didn’t move at first, fighting to get his equilibrium back.

He found them then, with his sight.

Still, he couldn’t make himself relax.

He crossed the room, knelt down in front of the low cages he hadn’t seen buried in a military gray wall. He peered inside, confirming with his eyes what he’d already felt with his sight.

“Revik! Holy shit!” Jon banged on the hard plastic of the kennel. “You got out! How’d you get out, man?”

Revik barely heard.

He jumped into the Barrier the second he verified their appearance.

...and now he is lost there, scanning their light... something he hasn’t been able to do since he got here. He studies every structure and segment in their aleimi. He works carefully, risks going deep, needing to be sure. He checks it twice, then rechecks it. After a few moments, he feels his shoulders begin to unclench for real.

He checks each of them again, just to be thorough. No threads are leaving them into the Barrier, no sign or flavor of the Pyramid, the Dreng, Terian. Nothing lives in their light but themselves, their ties to him and each other, their ties to Allie and their other friends and family... everything dampened by the overall fog of this place. He checks them again, going over every inch of their aleimi a last time.

Then, he lets himself smile.

Clicking out, he met Jon’s hazel eyes.

“It is you,” he said.

“Well, yeah. Who did you think it was?” Jon grinned at him, though, banging on the glass. “Come on, man! Get us out!”

Revik glanced at Cass. She clutched the transparent wall of her four-by-six box, staring up at him. Her splayed fingers reminded him of a tree frog in a glass aquarium, especially with her wide eyes in a too-thin face. A mixture of fear, hope and another emotion he couldn’t identify shone from her eyes.

Revik barely hesitated, then rose to his feet.

Crossing the room, he opened the weapons’ locker, where he found four custom Berettas M9s with organics, a Steyr TMP, and six SCAR-H fully automatic rifles. Stacks of magazines for all of the weapons filled metal shelves above and below the main locker, which had hooks on the back wall for the handguns and slots for the rifles.

Grabbing one of the Berettas off the wall, Revik loaded a full magazine of 9mm shells, chambered a bullet, and walked back to the cages. He motioned Cass back first.

“More,” he said, until her back was pressed to the wall. “Cover your face.”

The mixture of relief and fear and... gratitude, he realized... returned to her gaunt face.

“Did you kill him?” Her voice was muffled, but raw.

He nodded, barely meeting her gaze.

Raising his arm, he aimed the gun at the lock, and fired.

* * *

LESS THAN AN hour later, Revik sat at a desk chair over a flat computer console, chewing on a piece of canned meat with his back molars and thinking he’d never tasted anything so sharp, salty, tangy... and just so damned good in his entire life.

He exchanged grins with the two people sitting across from him, who were chewing with equal enthusiasm from separate containers.

While Jon and Revik hunted down the remainder of the bodies and deactivated their stasis chambers, Cass had found them food... and clothing. With the dozen or so different bodies, there had been more of both than they possibly could use.

Extending a filthy arm in a designer wool shirt, Revik pointed at a juice carton sitting on the table next to Jon, making an unintelligible noise. Jon threw him the carton, laughing when Revik missed and it went spinning to the floor. Scooping it up, he ripped the paper open with his teeth and drank deeply, washing down the meat and belching.

“What is it you said?” he gasped. “Holy fucking God... that’s good.”

Cass laughed, shaking her long, black hair with the dyed, bright red ends. It was still thick with sweat, blood, water... gods knew what else. Both Jon and Revik had beards. Jon’s red-blond hair fell past his shoulders, still streaked with black and green at the ends.

“So why are we still here, man?” Jon said. He propped up his bare feet, wearing pants from one of the Terian bodies. He was so thin they bunched up baggily around his waist, held there by an expensive-looking leather belt.

Revik took another long pull of the juice. He motioned at the console.

“We need to figure out where we are.” He belched again. “...Find a shower, maybe. But not here.”

Jon laughed, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with my plan?”

“What’s your plan?”

“Getting the hell out of here now... walking out. Now.”

Revik motioned towards the metal ladder built into one wall, and the round, submarine-looking hatch that stood at its top.

“Be my guest,” he said. “You might want a jacket, though.”

Hearing this last, Cass frowned.

Before Jon could move, she dragged herself to her feet, and crossed the room to the green metal ladder and its circular cage. She climbed up it with her bare feet, dwarfed in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of jeans left by one of the female bodies. Revik watched her carefully. She had barely spoken since he’d gotten her out of that cage, but she felt open to him still, strangely clear in her mind. Clicking out, he was still watching when she reached the top of the ladder and twisted the locking mechanism counter-clockwise to open it.

“Careful,” Revik warned. “Hold on to the rungs.”

She opened the door. Immediately, sound filled the metal chamber. Bits of white were blown in through the open portal. Wind echoed down, filling the small space, beating against the walls, penetrating Revik’s clothes.

“Jesus.” Jon stared up as Cass yanked the metal door shut, spinning the wheel to close it. “Where are we? The North Pole?”

“The North Pole is water, Jon,” Revik reminded him.

“That’s not what I—”

“My guess would be Russia,” Revik added, stretching his arms. “Maybe the mountains in Norway... or Asia. Could even be Greenland, but that’s a bit much, even for Terry.” He grunted. “I don’t think he’d risk the Himalayas... even in winter. But there are many places to hide on the southern border of China.”

Jon looked at him. “You could feel that out there? The snow, I mean? You knew what it was like?”

Revik shrugged. He stuffed another piece of meat into his mouth, chewing. Both humans were staring at him now.

“So what do we do?” Jon said.

Revik hesitated. He’d thought about that, too, but he doubted the humans were going to like what he’d come up with. “We have to walk, Jon. But we’ll need to gear up. And we might have to go the long way, in case Terry’s sent for reinforcements already. Cass found us heavy jackets... and boots. You’ll both need guns. At least two... and a rifle, if you can carry all that. We need to leave within the hour. Less, if you think the two of you can be ready.”

Cass nodded in agreement, returning from where she’d finished descending the ladder. She sat cross-legged on the floor and began to eat again, silent.

Revik checked her mind. He clicked out seconds later, exhaled.

“We’ll need water,” he added, turning to Jon. “As much as we can carry. And food, of course.”

Cass looked up at them suddenly. Her eyes widened, grew bright... as if a light had just gone off somewhere in her head. Revik didn’t read her, but both men watched as she got to her feet and crossed the small space. She opened one of the lockers she’d explored earlier, began rifling through the back of it. Revik took another drink of juice, still watching her warily.

She turned then, jingling something in her hand.

When they only stared, she jangled the metal harder. Revik’s eyes snapped into focus. In her hand dangled a set of keys, clearly fitted for some kind of vehicle.

“Shotgun,” Cass said, grinning.

It was the first time Revik had seen her smile since watching her and Allie together in that diner in San Francisco.

Meeting her gaze, Revik grinned back.

* * *

CANDAR WAS A poor city, even smaller than its sister city of Mestia in Upper Svanetia, the higher half of the Svaneti region in the country of Stalin’s birth.

Georgia is smaller than most people imagine, at the southernmost tip of what had been, once upon a time, the Soviet Union, and closer to Tehran than Moscow. In the winter, like now, the Caucasus Mountains were buried in snow and ice, more so since the climate started changing and increased the average snowfall across most of Asia, at least in the past few centuries.

Historically speaking, the town of Candor was also new, grown up from the slave trade between Asia and Europe that erupted after the second world war.

Trade in young seers remained the town’s only real industry.

Sight slavery was, of course, legal in Georgia.

Ironically, the dearth of visiting free seers made it easy to slip past racial checkpoints unnoticed, even in the heightened paranoia caused by rumors of a telekinetic seer terrorist.

No one expected a free seer to walk into Candor willingly.

At present, Allie was supposedly training seers in India, readying her nascent army to wage war on the United States and China. While no one in Candar was overly fond of the governments of either place, purges had occurred there as elsewhere, in reaction to the news of a telekinetic seer in their midst. Bids on her blood and any genetic “samples” were whispered on the sidelines, too, of course, but Sark settlements in places like this were work camps, or else holding pens... and recruiting grounds for the Rooks.

They wouldn’t get any real bounty hunters sniffing here.

Revik was able to think through this much just from his own knowledge of the area combined with what they heard on the live news feeds. The snowmobile was fitted with organics like their prison had been, in this case to give it satellite capability. Even so, the weather interfered at times, and he avoided any feeds with two-way capability, which meant most of the majors as they tended to cull demographics for ads.

Jon and Cass didn’t look like seers, so that would help. Revik’s blood type would help them fly under the radar, as well.

No one stopped the snowmobile as they approached the town.

At the registration checkpoint, the guards seemed bored. Dirty, horny and bored. They only noticed Cass with any real interest. They wanted to know race-cat, local contact, settlement preference... the usual for clan-based systems. Revik knew they’d bother him less if he was specific, so after giving them all the ID info they asked for, he told them he wanted the 4th, nearest Multe markets, hoping they hadn’t burned down in any recent riots.

They hadn’t. The human took their blood on the spot, and Revik waited, the snowcat’s engine still on, while they ran it.

In the pause, he assessed his two charges, who still looked dazed and dirty, which luckily wasn’t unusual up here. Their condition couldn’t have been helped by staring at nothing but snow for two days straight. It occurred to him how thin all three of them really were. The same thing seemed to have occurred to Cass, who had wrapped her face and neck in a thick scarf just before Revik rolled down the window to speak to the guard.

Thinking about this, he smiled at her again. For a human, she wasn’t stupid. Neither was Jon, for that matter, who kept his hand by his gun the whole time the guards were gone, his hazel eyes alert even through their fatigue.

The guard returned. He motioned towards Revik’s arm.

When Revik held it out, the man clamped a white wristband around his bony wrist. The guards continued to look bored, and now slightly drunk. Cass and Jon followed Revik’s lead, sticking out their arms. Revik watched them look at the wristbands, dazed, and realized again it was probably the first time they’d ever seen anything like them before.

The guard motioned to Revik again, speaking in heavily accented Russian.

“...You know where to go?” He glanced at Cass.

Revik nodded, giving him a quick three-finger salute in thanks.

He pressed down the clutch, shifting down to first and hitting the gas before the man could ask him anything about Cass’s status. Women got sold here, too, seer and human. He’d rather not make his companions any more paranoid than they already were. As they slid past the entrance to the mountainous town, Revik pointed up at the skyline.

“Mount Shkhara,” he said. “Over 17,000 feet, I think.”

Jon’s eyes didn’t leave the band on his wrist. “You speak Russian?” He glanced up. “Any other languages?”

Revik shrugged. “A few.”

Cass laughed. When Revik looked over at her, she was smiling at him, but her eyes were clear. He returned the smile, shaking his head.

“Are you ready to sleep?” he said.

“Can you sleep?” Cass asked.

“No,” Revik said. He glanced at her, again surprised. He wondered just how much they’d picked up in their months with Terian. “...I can’t,” he said. “Not yet. But you can. I thought we’d get cleaned up and you two could rest while I do some scouting. I’m hoping we can get a small plane here, go to T’bilisi in the morning. We can probably get an international flight from there.”

Cass was staring at him again. “Have you been here before?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

Revik glanced over at them. Jon was looking at him too, waiting for an answer. Revik shifted slightly in the seat.

“Awhile ago,” he said finally. “Seers have photographic memories,” he added. “I’m not unusual in that.”

“So what next?” Jon said. “After that place that sounds like a skin fungus, where do we go?”

Revik had been thinking about that, too.

He knew where he wanted to go, but he also knew he’d be a fool to risk it. He could think of only one other place with constructs close enough and safe enough that he could reach within a reasonable timeframe. Even with that location, there were complications.

“England,” he said finally. “London.”

“London?” Jon stared. “Didn’t you say Allie was probably in Asia by now?”

“Yes.” Revik glanced at the two of them, then sighed, clicking softly under his breath. “There are things I need in London.” Seeing Jon’s frown, he added, reluctant, “...and I don’t want to go straight to Allie.”

“You don’t?” Cass’s voice held genuine surprise. “I thought you’d want to go there first.”

Revik nodded. “I do. It’s just—”

Jon said, “You think we’d be followed?”

Revik glanced at him.

Again... not dumb.

He nodded, shrugging with one hand. “Yes.”

Cass was watching his face. “That’s part of it.” She hesitated. “Is it also because of the stuff Terian said? About you cheating on her or whatever?”

Revik sighed, but felt his body react regardless. Waiting for the nausea to pass, he turned the wheel of the snowcat slowly, navigating around a stone fountain in the middle of the town square. Then he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “...Not exactly.”

“But that was true? You did cheat on her?”

Revik glanced at the human, flinching slightly at the look in her eyes. “Yes.”

Shaking her head, Cass folded her arms. “Figures.”

But Jon looked between them, his eyes holding a faint wonder.

“So you guys really are married, then?” he said. “That wasn’t just Terian being a dick?”

Revik didn’t answer at first. Feeling both of them looking at him again, he turned, blowing air out from his cheeks.

“Yeah. We’re really married.” Hearing the silence this produced, he glanced over at the two of them again. “Seers are different. It can happen like that.”

“Like what?” Cass said, snorting a little. “Like... overnight?”

“Yes.” He made a more or less gesture with his hand. “Well. What I meant was, before the rest of the mind catches up with it. Ours happened fast. A little too fast for us.” He shrugged with one hand. “Well. For me, anyway.”

She frowned. “Terian said you hadn’t slept with her.”

Revik hesitated, feeling himself tense a little. Then he shrugged again. There wasn’t a lot of point in keeping secrets from the two of them. Not now.

“We haven’t consummated, no.” He glanced at her. “That’s complicated, too, Cass. For seers, I mean.”

She folded her arms, giving him an openly skeptical look.

“So you didn’t want sex with her?” she said. “With Allie?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, giving her a warning look.

“So what, then? You slept with someone else, so sex isn’t the problem, clearly.” Her frown deepened. “Is marriage more of an arranged thing with seers? Some kind of social contract... like a business thing?”

“No, it’s not a... a business thing.”

“So what’s your issue with Allie?”

He looked at her. “There is no issue, Cass.”

“Is she not your type? Isn’t she pretty enough for you?”

He felt his jaw harden a little. “You are getting too personal for me, Cass. I don’t want to talk about this, all right?”

Anger touched her eyes. Then she exhaled, and he could feel her thinking. Folding her arms tighter, she frowned a little, but nodded.

“Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Jon was looking at him, too, his hazel eyes thoughtful. “You think Terian let us go. To find Allie for him.”

Revik hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I do.”

Both of them fell silent. Revik saw them exchange glances.

“So we can’t go to her at all?” Cass said.

“We can,” Revik said. “First I need to go somewhere where I can jump safely... see what’s going on with the Rooks... the seers Terian worked for. It’s pretty clear he and Galaith aren’t working together as they used to. I want to know how many people might be looking for us. I also want to talk to the Seven...” He cleared his throat. “...the seers who have Allie. I can’t do that here.” He squinted through snow on the windshield to see the sign for the hotel.

“England could be complicated. I was owned...” He paused, letting that part sink in. “I don’t know if my employers will have my place under surveillance or whether they would turn me in to SCARB. My guess is no...” He glanced at Jon before the human could speak. “...It’s more likely my stuff has been destroyed, my space given to another seer.”

There was a silence. Some of the sharpness left Cass’s light.

“Oh,” she said. “That sucks.”

Revik smiled at her. “Not really.”

“So what would we do then?” Jon said. “If that happened?”

Revik blew air out from between his lips. “I know people in London. People who’d let me use their places to jump. People who would help us.”

“Other seers, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Jon nodded, leaning back in the seat and folding his arms.

“All right,” he said. “London it is, then.”

Jon closed his eyes. Watching him lean on Cass’s shoulder, it occurred to Revik that Jon really thought he had a vote.

In the same moment, Revik wondered if maybe he did.

It took him another few breaths to realize that what he felt for the humans was more than just responsibility for having indirectly gotten them into this. They felt like friends. More than that. They felt like family.

Gazing up at the whitewashed sky, he forced the tense part of him to relax as he thought about the reasons that might be. He thought about Cass’s questions about him and Allie, and realized he already knew why that was.

She was more seer now, he could feel it.

Pushing the thought from his mind, he downshifted in front of the wooden hotel sign hanging from the edge of a steep, slate-tile roof. Bringing the snowmobile to a slow stop where it wouldn’t hang out in the faint outline of road, he stepped on the foot brake, turning the wheel to wedge the tires into a line of rocks.

He turned off the engine. The silence once he had was strangely disorienting. All he could hear was the wind through the thick glass, and the faint squeak of the chain holding the sign from the roof overhead.

“Hey, Revik,” Cass said, watching him pull the keys out of the ignition.

“What, Cass?” he said, not looking over.

“I’m sorry about what I said.”

He glanced at her. She looked timid, lost inside the bundle of blanket and scarf. She touched his arm with her bony hand, and he flinched a little, feeling the emotion behind the gesture.

“I just don’t get it, I guess. You seem like one of the good guys.”

Looking at her, he felt his fingers grip the steering wheel, still holding the keys. He glanced at Jon and saw the male human looking at him, too.

Revik exhaled shortly, rubbing his face with a gloved hand.

“There is nothing to get, Cass,” he said. He met her gaze, his jaw hard once more. “...And I’m not that good.”

Jon spoke up, surprising him.

“Do you love her?” he said.

Revik looked at him. Focusing back down on his hands, he watched the leather crinkle around his fingers. After another moment, he exhaled again.

“I love her,” he said. He nodded, half-surprised he’d said it. “Yes.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. When he glanced up next, Cass smiled at him. Jon clapped him on the shoulder with his good hand, shaking him lightly in the same gesture. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

“All right.” He smiled wider, tugging at his shoulder a little harder, to get Revik to look at him. “Come on, man. Let’s find that shower.”

Watching Cass fumble with the door handle, Revik nodded, wiping his face before he turned to do the same.

Chapter 27

LONDON

I AIMED MY body down a London street, scanning faces.

I took in buildings as well, and the occasional car as we strolled past yet another wooded park, a different park from the one we’d first passed as we’d left the tube station.

I stopped at a newsstand and stared blankly at the morphing feed headlines blaring from a monitor over the stand window. My eyes took in the actual words beats later, which went something like this:

“NEW SYRIMNE KILLS 28 IN PAKISTAN BOMB BLAST! TERRORIST PLOT LINKED TO CHINA!”

Even after months of travel and India, I still commanded the front page.

I read details as they ran out under the headlines. Apparently I was believed dead again, I noted. I was still reading about how I’d died when Maygar came up from behind me and took my arm none too gently in his thick fingers. He led me down a street lined with white houses that looked to me like they’d been torn from the pages of a London storybook.

Flags from different countries flapped over our heads.

A limo slid by with tinted, bullet-proof glass and small square flags on the front of its hood, too, then another flanked by military police.

It struck me as interesting that Maygar had brought me here, where representatives from at least a dozen countries seemed to have taken up residence, most of whom would pay top dollar to see me collared and stuck in the back of a windowless van.

Still, it was pretty, where we were.

The park flourished in the background, dense with green, filled with strolling men in suits who held the arms of women wearing hats and gloves, giving it a strangely timeless feel. I looked down at my own hands, which were dyed darker than my normal skin tone. My stubby nails made me look like a drug addict, or some kind of street kid. Touching the silver chain necklace I wore around my neck, I shoved those same hands into my pockets.

For the plane ride over, the seers used everything but surgery to disguise my appearance. I flew out of Kolkata wearing facial implants, skin dye, blood patches on all my fingers in the event of a random racial screening, colored contact lenses, a wig, a hat, several scarves. My fingerprints and DNA matched my ident, which was that of an East Indian woman traveling for business with her merchant husband.

My current attempt to blend was a bit more West than East, and consisted of men’s mirrored sunglasses and a hoodie. Pretty low-tech, but surprisingly effective against the street-level facial recognition software employed by cameras that dotted most London public areas.

I still wore the black wig and skin dye, blood patches and contact lenses under the dark shades, but the facial implants had started to hurt, so I took most of them off. Maygar seemed to think we could avoid the higher grade facial-rec stuff as long as we weren’t picked up... and as long as we stayed away from banks and private residencies in the more exclusive areas.

The Seven employed seers in London who could intercept a breach, as well.

According to Maygar, they would pick up any flags well in advance of the humans... if not perhaps in advance of the Rooks.

Still, despite all the precautions they insisted upon, most of the Seven’s Guard seemed fairly comfortable with my proposed trip and destination. London remained a Seven town, at least in terms of operational majority.

My clothes were men’s, oversized and shapeless, and I wore tennis shoes, making me look like a punk American tourist. On the other hand, considering the multiple versions of my face now in papers and feeds, I figured it was as good a disguise as any. I glanced at another gabled house with high windows when Maygar thrust a carton of juice into my hand.

“Stop looking up,” he said. “And drink. We’re not far.”

“Have you been here before?”

He grunted. “No, Bridge. Your husband and I were never on ‘dinner guest’ terms. Sadly.”

I focused down another row of attached houses adorned with white pillars. Each one had a main story above the road that stretched up double the usual height, with heavily curtained windows. I found myself thinking about seeing Peter Pan as a kid, in the theater.

“Maybe you got the area wrong,” I said.

“And maybe I didn’t,” Maygar said. “You know who he worked for, don’t you?”

I focused on a bronze lion’s head with a ring in its mouth. It stood on a pole in front of steps leading to an entrance framed by more white pillars and perfect, corkscrew shrubs before a heavy oak door. I saw cameras on both sides of the door, but otherwise, I half-expected Mary Poppins to walk out, singing a song.

“No idea,” I said.

Maygar clicked at me softly. “Bastard didn’t tell you anything.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you want me to tell you, Bridge?”

I had to think for a minute. “No.”

He shrugged. I could tell he still wanted to tell me.

“Vash had to approve it,” he said, trying to tantalize me instead. “Dehgoies was still officially in penance, so the work he did remained under scrutiny.” Stopping then, he pointed up the street. “There. That’s the one.”

I swallowed when I saw where his finger pointed.

The corner building dominated half of one street block, also white, but taller than any of those we’d passed. Given the height of the windows, at least one of the eight floors came equipped with 20 foot ceilings. Ionic columns of a similar height supported that floor, with smaller versions of the same on two of the other floors, each with ornate capitals in the shape of four-cornered scrolls. Flags rippled above the main entrance, displaying a distinctly British-looking coat of arms. Small trees decorated the upper balconies, cut in precise shapes.

“He lived there? Seriously?”

“Yes.” Maygar let out a quiet snort. “His employers let him have it for security reasons... and because their main buildings are nearby. The penthouse flat was his. It takes up the entire top floor. The rest is leased out to rich humans and foreign dignitaries.”

I focused on the doorman out front, who stood with clasped gloved hands over a fitted jacket. He bent to open the rear door to a stretch limo that pulled up to the curb, taking a woman’s hand to help her out a few seconds later. Watching as more doormen bustled around to remove packages from the inside and trunk, I swallowed.

“Okay,” I said. “You’d better tell me who he worked for.”

Maygar smiled, his light exuding a warm flicker of triumph. “This building, my dear Bridge, is owned by the British government. Around the corner, on that square we just walked through... which is the famous Belgrave Square, by the way... is the Royal College of Defense Studies. Your husband worked there as an instructor.” He gave an odd kind of laugh, shaking his head. “Dehgoies taught worms how to fight seers.”

I turned slowly, staring at him. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Maygar assured me. “From what I understand, his addition to the faculty upped the international student count considerably.” Again he grinned. “His name wasn’t given out, of course. Hell... for all I know, he only taught from VR, using an avatar. He contracted for them on the side, as well... but a good seven months of the year he taught tactical inter-species warfare to rich military brats from all over the world.”

By then we were approaching the high-rise building. I stared up at it, gave a half-laugh.

“Then the big secret is... he was legit? He had a real job?”

“A real job?” Maygar’s mouth hardened from its previous glee. “Bridge, do you have any idea how many seers would have actively tried to kill him if they knew he did this ‘real job?’ If there ever was a blood-traitor job, that was it.”

Grabbing the juice from me, he took a long drink. Once he’d lowered the carton, he gave me another look, humor once more teasing his full lips.

“...The joke among those of us who knew was that Dags was a worm fucker.” He grinned wider before clarifying, “...that he preferred worms to seers. Given that he married one, and the Kraut daughter of a Nazi General, at that, I don’t think it’s such a stretch, do you?” Tilting his head back to drink more of the juice, he swallowed as he lowered the carton, his eyes still on me. “Come to think of it... he picked a human over you, didn’t he, Bridge?”

“And a seer,” I said.

He grinned. “Yeah. That’s right. But he fucked the human, yes?”

I felt this as a sucker punch to somewhere in the navel region. The irony should have struck me, but it didn’t.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, he did.”

Maygar grinned again, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Don’t be so sensitive, Bridge. He’s dead.”

By then we’d reached the front door. The doorman opened for us once Maygar showed his ID, but not before giving me a down-the-nose disapproving look for my attire. A security guard walked us to an art deco elevator and stepped inside after motioning us ahead. Stepping just inside the door, he inserted a key, twisted it sideways, then punched in an access code before pressing the top button labeled ‘Penthouse.’ Watching all this, I felt a little sick.

“Maybe you were right,” I muttered to Maygar.

“About what this time?”

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”

The security guard gave me a questioning look, but I barely registered it. Did I really want to see where he’d lived? I was pretty sure I’d find out yet more things I didn’t want to know. My stomach continued to hurt the higher we traveled, until I started to wonder what the hell was wrong with me. Maygar apparently wondered the same thing. He nudged me with an elbow.

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “What is wrong?”

I shook my head, giving him an irritated look.

The elevator let out a soft ping, and the doors slid open. The security guard used gloved fingers to point us down the hall. He smiled at me as we exited, giving me a wink as he hit the button to go back down.

He needn’t have bothered with directions. There was only one door. It had no markings, no identifiers of any kind. A small eye of God stuck out of the ceiling, one of those cameras with a darkened bubble guarding the lens.

“Do we knock?” I whispered it for some reason.

Maygar held up a set of keys, jangling them. “Why?” he said. He bent to the lock, but the door suddenly opened, revealing a small, wiry man in his thirties with a wide face and thinning brown hair. Maygar and I both lurched back in alarm.

The man appeared startled too.

Looking at him, I wondered if they’d rented out the apartment. The man stared between Maygar and me, then focused on me, almost like he knew me.

Hesitantly, I stepped forward.

“We’re friends of Dehgoies Revik,” I said. “He used to live here. We’ve only just now come around to pick up his things. If we’re too late, maybe you could tell us where they’ve been moved...?”

“I know who you are,” the man blurted.

I felt Maygar tense behind me.

Taking a breath, I said, “I don’t think so, Mister...?”

“Eddard,” he said. He stepped out of the doorway, moving almost gracefully. “Please follow me.” When I hesitated, Eddard said, more insistently, “Please... ma’am. Come with me.”

I glanced back at Maygar, who was shaking his head minutely, eyes adamant. When I indicated with my head that we should follow, he shook his head again. When I stepped forward, however, he did the same, only pausing to hold up his hands as if to say, Fine, but this is a terrible idea.

I knew I was being reckless. Neither of us could risk using our sight; the apartment was likely to be under surveillance no matter who this guy was. But, I figured, we could either risk going in now or bolt out and hope they let us leave. With the former I at least had a chance of getting what we’d come for.

So I followed Eddard inside.

When the human got a few paces ahead, Maygar stepped closer, lowering his mouth to my ear.

“We’re in a building owned by the British military,” he murmured. “Following a man who says he knows who you are.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I told him.

“Really? How reassuring.”

“Just trust me. Please, Maygar.”

He looked at me like I had brain damage, but shrugged when I didn’t flinch, falling in step behind me.

I focused so intently on the man in front of us that I barely took in the house itself. Once we’d reached the first staircase, however, I found my eyes pulled off his back, and suddenly I was seeing the high, wood-paneled walls and ceilings, bronze sculptures, paintings and stone floors. Hanging tapestries the size of my apartment floor covered one of the high walls of the main hallway. Faded with age, they looked like they belonged in a museum.

Even the walls had been polished recently. A blanket-sized thankah of that Buddha with the many heads drew my eyes as we passed to the left of the giant marble staircase. Staring at the thankah, then up to the landing below the second floor where I saw another Asian vase, I found myself thinking that maybe these were Revik’s things after all, waiting for auction. I let my eyes travel further up, taking in the domed cupola above the stairs, an oval window with smaller but equally ornate ionic columns ringing it like the bell tower of a cathedral.

Eddard led us into a room with built-in, floor to ceiling walnut bookshelves and worn but expensive-looking leather furniture planted before a marble fireplace. The walls were paneled like the others, but I saw another Asian-looking stand in one corner, a heavy, hand-painted Chinese cabinet and a number of Japanese vases. Olive green drapes as old and expensive-looking as the rest of the furnishings hung beside tall sash windows.

No pictures decorated the room, I noticed... then paused. Well, only one. A small, normal-sized photograph sat on the mantle in a wooden frame.

As I walked towards it, I felt something constrict in my chest.

“Wait here, please,” Eddard said.

“Hey,” Maygar began. “Wait a...”

But Eddard was already closing the double doors, blocking us off from the main hall. Folding his arms, Maygar turned on me.

“Great. This is brilliant, Bridge. He’s probably calling his pals in the Sweeps.”

My eyes remained on the photograph, tracing the lines of an image I knew so well I found it difficult to look at. In it, my father held me in his arms, smiling. He’d already lost weight from the MS, but he looked happy, and strong.

My mother’s face shone from the other side of the frame, so young it shocked me, and between them, I leaned against my dad’s chest, grinning, one arm clamped around his neck as I played with my mom’s hair. The picture hit me like a punch in the face.

Maygar finally seemed to have noticed. “What?” he said. “What is the matter?” He looked at the mantle over the fireplace, where the picture stood. “What, Bridge?”

“I want to go,” I said.

“Did you feel something?” Wariness sharpened his voice.

“No.” I shook my head, looking away from the photograph.

The doors slammed open. I turned, but couldn’t see past the clouds in my eyes, couldn’t take in the form running at me across the Persian rug. When she finally reached me, she threw herself into my arms, nearly knocking me over, then squeezed me so tightly I couldn’t breathe.

But gods, she was so thin... like a ghost. Even in my shock, I was afraid I might break her.

“Allie!” she shrieked. “Allie! Allie! Allie! Allie! Allie!”

I stood there, feeling like I’d been repeatedly hit in the face. Cass snatched the sunglasses off my eyes, yanked the sweatshirt hood and the wig off my head. When I saw her without obstruction, my heart seized.

I saw Maygar jerk in our direction, unholstering his gun.

“Stop!” he said.

His tone of voice shocked me, jerked my eyes off of her.

“Take your hands off her!” he said. “Now!”

“No!” I held up a hand to him. “No! It’s okay!”

Then I saw my brother in the doorway, and lost my voice.

I barely recognized him. His black and red and blond-dyed hair had grown out in a streaked tangle past his shoulders. His face was paler than I’d ever seen it, his eyes too large, his cheekbones too prominent. One of his hands wore a flesh-colored bandage, but he didn’t look like Cass, who... I turned, staring at the scar that split her face, feeling sick for staring but unable to stop. I wanted to touch it, to see if it was real, when she grinned, shaking my shoulders to get my eyes back to hers.

“Hideous, aren’t I?” She grinned, but I saw a denser pool of sadness there. No, not sadness, a kind of brokenness that disappeared even as I glimpsed it. “Forget that! You’re here! You’re here!” She squeezed me again, jumping up and down.

I hadn’t managed to make my mind emit so much as a single coherent thought, but when she grinned at me, something in me seemed to break. I gripped her, pulling her against me. I held her as tight as I dared, still afraid I would hurt her.

“How are you here?” I managed. “How did you get here? Cass! How are you here?” I clutched her tighter. “Cass...”

“How did we get here?” Cass demanded, shoving me playfully. “We heard you were dead! That you blew up in a bomb! In Pakistan, no less!”

By then, Jon reached me, too, and he pulled me away from Cass, crushing me in his thinner but still strong arms.

“Damn it, Al.” He kissed my face. “I can’t believe it. I’m so glad to see you.” He choked, and when I saw him fighting not to cry, I felt myself do the same, although my mind still hadn’t caught up. I could barely look at him.

“Jon...” I managed. I clutched his shirt. “Where did you come from?”

“Where?” He gave a strange kind of laugh, wiping his eyes. “We finally caught a plane from Istanbul. Revik’s going to freak, you know... like, lose it.”

I froze in his arms, but Jon went on talking, not noticing.

“We had to dig ourselves out of some hole in Georgia... as in Stalin, not banjos.” He let out another strangled laugh. “Since then, he’s been moving us in circles for weeks, worried we would lead them to you, and now you come to us, like some kind of...” Seeing my face, he trailed, as if confused by what he saw. “Your picture was all over the news. We thought you were dead... they said you were dead! Revik’s been talking to Vash since we got here, but no one’s heard from you since they dropped you off in Kolkata...” He wiped his eyes again. “They couldn’t say where you were going... some security thing.”

“Revik?” I managed. “Did you say—”

“Shit.” Jon stared at my face. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’d given up. I really had.”

“Revik?” I repeated.

“Yeah.” Jon did a double-take on my face. “You don’t know! He’s with us, Al. Terian got me and Cass in San Francisco. They brought Revik in a few weeks later. He looked like hell...” Jon gave a humorless laugh. “...Still does, if you want the truth. But he saved our lives... more than once. Of course, he nearly shot us dead, thinking we were more Terian bodies. Terian had him drugged, and we were all a little crazy by then...”

He paused, thinking. His eyes grew puzzled as he looked at me.

“Al,” he said. “You’re not here for us at all, are you?”

Cass laughed. “Who cares? She’s here!” She yanked on my arm. I stared at her again, unable to take my eyes off the scar. I looked at Jon’s bandaged hand. It looked too small.

I reached for it, and he pulled it away, smiling at me wanly.

“Don’t trip, sis. We’re okay.” His eyes remained on me, carrying an odd intensity I didn’t recognize. “And what the heck happened to you?” He held out my arms, looking at me. “Even in that get-up, you look like you should be carrying an uzi. You actually look... taller. What have those crazy seers done to you?”

I couldn’t force out words. I stared between them, feeling like I might pass out. Just then, Maygar seemed to have come to the end of his rope.

“Bridge,” he hissed through his teeth. “Who are these fucking humans? What is going on? If you don’t tell me, I’m going to start shooting people... starting with myself!”

Cass and Jon’s eyes swiveled, taking in the muscular seer who, I realized suddenly, still hovered over me, trying to decide if he should intervene.

Cass spoke first, looking Maygar up and down. She nudged my elbow, giving me a wan smile.

“Who’s the cutie?” she said. “You two-timing, girl?” Lowering her voice, she murmured by my ear, “...I hope he has insurance.”

I glanced at Maygar, baffled, not sure at first what she even meant... when the look on his face brought me up short. Maygar’s eyes were trained out through the study doors. As I watched, a deep scowl lined his features.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “That son of a bitch has nine lives.”

Without thinking, I followed his gaze, and my eyes connected solidly and without warning with Revik.

He stood several yards back from the doorway, wearing a dress shirt and black pants, arms folded tightly across his chest, talking to Eddard. From his face and profile he looked about forty pounds lighter than the last time I’d seen him. I felt him notice my stare, even as I realized he wasn’t going to return it. I watched his hand comb long fingers through his black hair, noticed the absence of his ring, and suddenly the chain I wore felt heavy around my neck.

Averting my eyes, I clutched the back of the leather couch.

My hands actually shook. I gripped the couch harder, but it didn’t help. Cass caught my arm, her voice excited again.

“You won’t believe the crazy shit we’ve seen!” she said. “We were in Russia, Allie! In this town of slave traders in the mountains! Some guy tried to buy me! It was freakin’ psychotic. And Revik speaks Russian, so he basically told the guy—”

“Not now, Cass.” Jon patted my shoulder when I didn’t look up. Taking my hand, he rubbed my fingers with his. “You all right, little sis? Your brain’s not going to explode, is it?” Once my eyes flickered up, he smiled. “Surprised to see us?”

I nodded.

“Did you think we were dead?” he said.

I nodded again, feeling tears come to my eyes.

“And Revik?” Jon prompted. “You thought he was dead?”

Fighting the impulse to turn, to confirm what I’d seen standing in the hall, ignoring me, which should have been confirmation enough... I gave Jon another nod. I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, then sank to the leather couch. Cass and Jon sat on either side of me, each with an arm slung around my back. I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually, I took a hand from each of them. I cleared my throat.

“We haven’t eaten,” I said. “Maygar’s probably—”

“Yeah.” Cass’s voice was quiet. “They’re talking right now... him and that other guy.”

“Oh.” I didn’t look towards the door.

“So I guess Terian wasn’t lying about you and Revik?” Jon smiled, punching my arm. “You’ve got a frickin’ husband, Al? How did that happen?”

“He really did save our lives,” Cass added. “He’s a nice guy, honestly... if a little scary at times.” Her voice grew tentative. “Is he still your husband though, Allie? He thinks you’re really mad at him. It sounded like he deserved it... but, well... I like him, Al. A lot.”

I stared at the pattern in the rug.

After a few seconds, I let out a short laugh. It sounded like a seal’s bark.

“I think she’s in shock, Cass,” Jon said.

“Well, where is he?” she said, sounding angry. “I thought he’d come in here at least. What’s he doing out there?”

“Hiding.” Jon laughed, poking me in the ribs with his fingers. “Turns out Rambo might be afraid of his wife. Are you going to talk to him, sis? Or let him stew out there?”

I raised my hands, using my fingers to comb the hair out of my face.

“Is there a bathroom?” I said.

I felt them look at each other.

Then Jon’s voice grew matter-of-fact. “Yeah. Sure.”

He stood me up, steering me gently towards the door of the study... then right past Revik and Maygar, both of whom I felt looking at me now. I followed Jon to the base of the staircase without returning their stares, and he pointed up.

“Bathrooms are bigger up there. You can even take a bath if you want... in fact, I highly recommend it. There’s clothes, too. Cass has bags of new stuff... second door down, I think. He took us shopping a few days ago, and man does that guy have an expense account.” Jon grinned when I glanced up, but the grin faded when he saw my face. “Al. Are you all right?”

I nodded. “Don’t wait for me. I won’t be long.”

He pulled me into his arms. I felt his heart, a warm flare in his chest.

“I’m so glad you’re all right, Al. I’ve been worried about you. For months. I was beginning to think...”

Tears stuck in my throat. “Me too.”

He let me go. After standing there awkwardly for a few more seconds, I turned and began to climb the stairs. When I glanced down from the half-floor landing, Jon still looked up at me, his eyes worried, his hands resting on his hips below too-thin arms decorated with tattoos. I noticed new scars, fading bruises, and looked away.

I need a bath, I thought. Then I would feel normal again.

Then I would be all right.

* * *

IT TOOK ME longer than what I’d told Jon.

I didn’t know whose bedroom I was in, didn’t want to think about it too closely when I saw women’s shampoo on the rack alongside men’s.

Wrapped in a towel once I’d finished, I wandered into two different rooms before I found the bag Jon mentioned. I was over two inches taller than Cass by then, with a chest about two sizes smaller, but I finally settled on low-hung silk pants and a stretchy tee. After scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror for far too long, contemplating make up, then abandoning the idea, I tied my hair in a loose knot at the base of my neck and made myself go downstairs.

Jon and Cass were alive. My best friends were alive. By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, that much had finally penetrated.

My smile as I entered the dining room even felt real.

I sat in the chair closest to the door without making eye contact with anyone other than Jon, who, seeing my smile, grinned back. I looked for Cass, found her sitting next to Revik in the opposite corner. He had an arm draped over the back of her chair, and she laughed as she told him something. He smiled, tugging the ends of her long hair. I stared at his hand where he touched her, saw more affection in his eyes as he looked at her than he’d ever aimed at me.

Then I heard Maygar’s mocking voice as we’d approached the building.

...prefers humans.

Revik’s eyes swiveled to mine. For the first time, he looked directly at me, and the look there was... christ. It was guilt.

I moved before my brain could process a complete thought.

“Allie.” Revik’s chair squealed on the hard wood. He stood almost as I did. “Allie.” He held out a hand, what looked like a peace gesture, or something you might do to calm an animal. “Allie... where are you going?”

Silence fell on the room. I swallowed, looking around at faces.

Maygar sat back in his chair, arms folded. He raised an eyebrow at me, but I flinched when I saw the pity in his eyes. Jon gave Revik a warning look I couldn’t interpret, and Cass just looked confused.

I couldn’t make myself look at Revik.

“I...” I cleared my throat. “Sorry.” I waved vaguely at the spread on the table. “Go on, eat. I’ll be right back.” I was lying. I knew I was lying, that I was running away, but I couldn’t do it, not even for Cass. I’d just walk away, I told myself. Pull my shit together. Then I’d come back. They’d obviously been through hell. I had no right to begrudge anyone anything that might have come of it, especially since I was—

“Allie!” Revik’s voice was sharp.

When everyone looked at him, he cleared his throat.

“Can it wait? We need you here. Maygar didn’t want to speak for you.”

I looked at Maygar, who nodded, indicating for me to sit. “We need a plan, Bridge. Your husband...” He said the word with open contempt, and I felt Revik’s eyes shift to him. “...Seems to believe they may have been followed. That they were allowed to escape in the hopes he would lead the Rooks to you.” Maygar looked to Jon. “Did I get that right?”

“Yeah.” Jon glanced between Maygar and Revik, wary. “Yeah. That’s right.”

I stood there, feeling trapped. I looked at Cass, saw that Revik had moved his chair several feet from hers. Feeling sick, I looked at Jon. His eyes openly asked me to stay. Noticing again how thin he was, I swallowed, nodding. I glanced at the scar on Cass’s face, saw her looking at me with worry in her eyes, and hated myself more. Gods, what was wrong with me?

“All right.” I lowered my weight to the chair. “Sure.”

I felt everyone around the table exhale.

Cass was the first to smile at me. “Maygar said you’ve been in India this whole time?”

I nodded. “Yeah. For the last few months, anyway. Learning. Training. You know...”

“Why are you here?” Revik said.

Before I could stop myself, I looked at him.

His face had fallen back into the infiltrator’s mask, his eyes focused on the table. He really was thin. Thinner than Cass or Jon, although all three of them looked like concentration camp victims. When Cass shoved a plate at me, I tugged it closer with my fingers, picking at a pile of what looked like fried potatoes with a fork.

“I was looking for clues,” I said. “Imprints, I guess.”

“Of what?” Revik said. He didn’t raise his eyes.

“I’ve been tracking Galaith... I got as far as you.”

Cass shoved a forkful of salad in her mouth. “What’s a Galaith?” she said.

“The head of the Rooks’ network,” Revik said. “Terian’s old boss.” His voice aimed back at me. “Why him?”

I shrugged, not answering. I felt him react to my silence, a near flinch.

“What about the bomb?” Jon said. “Was that you?”

I felt the illness worsen, realized Revik was actually scanning me with his light. “No,” I said. I glanced at Jon, forced a smile. “No bombs lately.”

There was another silence while everyone ate. I watched Revik cut up a piece of meat and stare at it. Jon and Cass ate like they were starving, like they might not eat again. I saw Cass nudge Revik to eat then, and looked away.

“Allie,” Revik said, still not looking at me. “What do you want with Galaith? You know he’d only be replaced, if—”

“Yeah, I know, I...” Realizing I’d cut him off, I stopped. I felt my face warm, but kept my voice neutral, almost businesslike. “The seers in India, they had a plan. I’ve been able to help them some...” I shrugged, looking back at my plate. “...The plan is kind of a long shot, but anything would have been. I had my own axe to grind, I guess... and more of a direct line to Galaith than a lot of them, so...”

Feeling them all staring at me again, I glanced at Maygar, maybe for help.

“Look, maybe I shouldn’t involve any of you in this,” I said. “We should separate. They probably know I’m in London.”

I felt a pulse of something, realized it came from Revik. Whatever it was, it was intense enough to startle me. I glanced over at his face, but his eyes were fixed on Maygar.

His voice flattened. “You should know... there’s a factional struggle happening within the Rooks. Terian’s making a play for the top spot. My guess is, he wants you to do it for him... or to use you as leverage, maybe. Maybe even to do whatever it is you’re planning to do...”

“I doubt that.”

“Allie,” he said. “All I meant is—”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off again. “I got it, Revik. You think he’s playing me. That he maneuvered me into whatever I’m doing. You think I’m part of his little game now.”

There was a silence after I said it.

I felt my face warm, but didn’t look at anyone around the table. Replaying my own words, I realized again how what I’d said probably sounded to them, after everything. A kind of futility washed over me.

Revik broke the silence.

“I didn’t mean what I said as an insult, Allie,” he said, quiet. “He’s good at that. Manipulating events. All I meant was—”

“I understand,” I said. “It’s all right, Revik. Really.”

I felt my jaw harden when I realized I’d cut him off again.

Avoiding his eyes, I looked around the table, forcing myself to take in their physical condition, to really see it. I replayed Revik’s words in my head, looking at Jon’s hand, the cut on Cass’s face, whatever was wrong with Revik’s neck. Suddenly, everything I’d been doing with the Seven seemed pretty childish.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, speaking into the silence. “You probably are right, Revik.” I hesitated, looking around at them again. “...I guess I went after the wrong Rook.”

I felt my face warm again when I replayed my own words.

Shaking my head, I fought my voice.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I’m not saying anything right. I guess I don’t know how to say how terrible I feel about what happened to all of you...”

“Allie,” Cass said, softly.

I glanced at her. Seeing the brightness in her eyes, I looked at Jon. “The truth is, it’s still not safe, being near me... you must realize that now. I wish that were different. I really do. But it’s not. It might not ever be.”

When no one said anything, I cleared my throat, wiping my eyes.

“When we’re done here, Maygar and I’ll clear out.” I hesitated, glancing at Revik. He wouldn’t return my gaze. Looking past him, to Cass, I said, “Revik can probably get you somewhere safe. I’ve got money now. Vash promised me funds... I could...” I glanced at Revik. “...Hire him, I mean. If that’s all right.”

Another silence fell. I felt them staring at me, everyone except Revik.

Then Maygar grunted in amusement. He glanced at Revik, tossing his napkin to the table.

“Hear that?” he said. “You’ve been dismissed, Rook-boy.”

“Shut up, Maygar,” I said.

“Oh, don’t worry... I approve, Bridge. And you’re right. He’s probably screwing the redhead...”

“What?” Cass stared at him, then at me. “What did he say?”

I shook my head, giving Maygar a hard look. “He didn’t say anything, Cass. Please, just forget it.”

I saw her open her mouth, then look back at Maygar. Her eyes narrowed at him, right before she seemed to make up her mind, folding her arms.

“Whatever.”

I stood up, unable to look at any of them now.

“Look, this isn’t personal. Maygar was assigned to me by the Council, so he’s stuck... but none of you are.” I looked at Jon. “I don’t want to leave any of you. I love you. I hope you all know that. I’m serious about the danger, okay? Revik knows... he’ll tell you.”

There was a silence, this one longer. Revik didn’t move in his chair.

The human servant, Eddard, finally broke it by walking into the room. He glanced around, one eyebrow arched in question at the silence.

Then he cleared his throat, looking directly at me.

“Ma’am?” He waited for me to turn.

For a moment I couldn’t take my eyes off the others around the table. Jon was staring at Revik, as if willing him to say something. Cass was looking at me, her eyes holding a kind of disbelief, but I saw anger there, too. She glared at Maygar then, but he only smiled, winking at her before he kissed the air with his lips.

When I glanced at Revik, I found I couldn’t look away. He was staring at the table, his face completely devoid of expression.

“Ma’am?”

I turned my head finally, realizing the words were aimed at me.

“What?” I said. “Eddard? What is it?”

“The military is outside.”

“What?” Maygar leapt to his feet, shoving his chair back. “Which one?”

Eddard looked only at me. “I believe all of them, sir.”

Chapter 28

DESCENT

I CROUCHED IN an alcove by a long row of chimneys.

None of us were really talking, not anymore.

Without anyone saying much, Revik and Maygar took over once the military showed up. Within seconds they were using Revik’s secure network, contacting people in the Seven’s Guard, calling in a team to get us out through the roof.

Still, the silence was deafening.

I don’t know what the others thought, I didn’t want to read any of them, but I felt a kind of futility when I saw the line of military cars blocking off the street at the base of Revik’s building. Someone down there had a voice amplifier, too. They were shouting instructions we could hear more than eight stories up. I heard other languages besides English, so it was a good bet that SCARB and the Sweeps were down there, too.

I saw the feed vans pull up right before Maygar grabbed my arm, tugging me away from the window. I let him drag me up the stairs along with the others, then to a smaller, hidden staircase behind a small bureau in the master bedroom. Above that one, an even more narrow staircase lived, one that led up to a metal plated door and out on the roof.

All six of us now squatted in a low line, gazing at the same expanse of gray sky.

Revik leaned on the white-painted wall beside me. I hadn’t really thought through the order in which we walked that last piece of stairs, but now he was clearly too close to me. Clutching the edge of one brick by my face, I managed to close off my light from his, but my eyes drifted to him again and again.

He didn’t return my glances.

I focused on a fading welt that showed above his white collared shirt.

“I’ll tell you, Allie,” he said. “Anything you want. But not now.”

My throat tightened. He’d felt me looking at him.

He still had a construct over this place. Given our connection, he might even be able to hear me apart from that.

Maygar’s voice rose behind me and I turned, saw him talking on a headset. He used the seer language mixed with what sounded like French.

“They’re closing off the street,” Revik said, translating.

“Didn’t Maygar tell them we’d blow up the building?”

“Yes.” Revik still wouldn’t look at me. “They’d expect that.” I saw him glance at Maygar again. His jaw tightened.

Just then, Eddard shouted, “Sir! They’re coming!”

I followed the human’s pointing finger. In the distance, black, insect-like shapes rose above the skyline. For months I had them burned into my brain as things that brought death and guns and capture, but this time, I felt my heart lift as I watched the black dots grow larger. Maybe we really would get out of this.

I glanced at Eddard, studying his light inside Revik’s construct. Definitely human.

“Who is he?” I asked Revik.

Revik’s eyes followed mine. “He works for me. He said he wouldn’t tell the military unless I did something ‘untoward.’ He’s clean,” he added, preempting my next question. “...and I’m paying him well.”

I nodded, watching the approaching helicopters.

Seconds later, sound came pounding into the alcove where we crouched. At first it came from the helicopters alone, then a whooshing noise ricocheted between buildings, soft at first then deafeningly loud. Revik tensed beside me. I barely recognized the flash of a pair of U.S. fighter jets, right before they fired.

The first missile hit the front helicopter and exploded.

I flinched back, unable to tear my eyes away even through Revik’s shielding arm. I watched as black smoke mushroomed up out of the tilting cockpit. Fire billowed out even as the second one came to its end a breath later.

I watched uncomprehendingly as gravity began to take its toll only a few hundred feet from the roof where we perched.

Rising abruptly to his feet, Revik withdrew towards the small stairwell, motioning the others back towards the access door even as I heard the crash and grind of metal and glass. I still sat there, numb, as the two helicopters completed their falls, smashing down into whatever had the misfortune of lying on the street below.

I could feel the seers inside the cockpits, dying.

I was still standing there when someone grabbed my arm, dragging me towards the open metal door. I didn’t realize until then that they’d all gone inside, that I was out there alone. When I glanced back at Maygar’s face, he only yanked on my arm harder, his eyes and mouth exuding impatience.

With a last look at the sky, I retreated back indoors with the rest of them, even as the jets’ trails flashed by in tandem overhead.

* * *

INSIDE THE BARRIER, winds whip, throwing to and fro the lit strands of billions of interconnected beings.

The height of the Pyramid stands over London, bending and crushing living lights as members of the Org, the Brotherhood... the Rooks... dive in and out of buildings, through lights and connections, in and out of military and paramilitary and homeland security agents for three different nations. SCARB ran operations by now, even over the local authorities... and even over the Sweeps, their more bureaucratic counterpart tasked with enforcing the Human Protection Act. Both departments had more seers than humans in their ranks these days, of course, but even the human authorities wanted that fact kept from civilians.

Human beings could be so reactionary, after all.

Above the mass of uniforms, vehicles and weapons, two light bodies stand alone, watching.

One directs no small part of the larger organism.

He does this in the background, using pieces of his mind and light that no longer need to pull from the bulk of his waking consciousness.

The other, standing next to him, is his oldest friend.

She’s shielded, Xarethe comments. Likely by Elan’s boy, Maygar. Or those kneelers back in Asia. Maybe even by Dehgoies himself, by now...

You are sure that Dehgoies is here? Galaith says.

Her only answer is a shrug as she stares out over darting forms.

He is alive, then, Galaith breathes, unable to hide his relief. Terian only took him from me. Likely to use him to get what he’s after...

The other seer doesn’t answer.

Both of them watch as drones weave a dense, Barrier structure over the tall, white building, focusing primarily on the top floor. The net will push the Seven out. It will keep any out who might try to help them from the Barrier. They will tackle Dehgoies’s construct, following that. Everything done by the Org is systematic, by the numbers.

It is the reason they are so rarely taken by surprise.

Xarethe asks, Isn’t it more of a risk, to kill her now? What if she simply returns? She studies Galaith’s light through the Barrier’s dark. We could bring her in alive now. Dehgoies, too. If we have her mate, she will have little choice but to cooperate with us. We could use her to bring the war when we’re ready. On our own terms...

Galaith smiles wryly. You are assuming this war can be controlled. War can rarely be controlled my friend... and a Displacement even less so than most. His light follows the swarm of drones. And anyway, the Bridge and Alyson are not precisely the same creature. Beneath her surface personality there exists a drive... a pre-programming, if you will. It is very difficult to persuade such an influence. She is not the Bridge so much as possessed by it.

...Still, he shrugs, gazing back out over the cloak woven by his drones. She was the first choice to fulfill this role. That does mean something.

Xarethe thinks about his words. Can it be stopped? In your opinion, Protecting Shield... is it able to be restrained?

Galaith nods slowly in return, pensive. Yes. I think so.

And Dehgoies?

Galaith chuckles. Ah, Dehgoies. What will we do with him? The smile turns affectionate. He deserves partial credit for all of this... He extends a hand over the cloud of drones. But Terian was wasting his time. It was not a temporary shield that we put on Dehgoies’s mind when he left... we broke him entirely.

He sighs, exuding pale light in a fountain.

He is purely an invention of the Seven now. More dead than alive... at least in relation to that which he once was. No... he says almost regretfully. We have nothing to fear in him, old friend.

Xarethe doesn’t answer.

Peace, Galaith says. It requires constant work, yes? His dark eyes burn like coals. ...I want no more talk of Displacements, or prophesied wars.

And Terian? she ventures. He is one of the Four, is he not?

Galaith’s eyes flash as he turns.

He is, he says, watching her face. Does that surprise you, old friend?

Somewhat, yes, she says. Does he know of it?

Galaith’s light form smiles cryptically. I believe he is beginning to suspect...

And what will you do with him? Xarethe persists. Does it not worry you, that he might start this war, even without your Bridge?

Galaith smiles once more, clasping his light hands at his back. After a pause, he turns, meeting the gaze of the other.

I promised my friend Xarethe that I would not exterminate all of her creations.

His smile grows harder, even as the black eyes turn sharp.

...But Terry, he says gently. Your time is up. It is fortunate for me that you are as obvious as you are insane...

The being calling itself Xarethe turns, its glowing eyes suddenly predatory.

Galaith adds, I hope, at least, you got the explanations you were hoping for, old friend...

A bolt of light strikes from overhead.

Terian sidesteps it, severing his connection to the Pyramid even as he leaves the false imprint of Xarethe behind.

The darkness disappears...

* * *

...AND TERIAN JERKED open yellow-gold eyes.

He lay in a cream-colored seat on a private plane, a middle-aged woman with a tennis player’s body. She was on her way to the Hamptons for a week, with husband number two and kids. When she blinked her eyes to clear them, a man appeared over her, holding a gun.

It was not her husband.

“Did you really think he wouldn’t hear what you’d been doing, Terry?” the seer asked.

The woman held up a hand. A diamond wedding ring sparkled from her third finger. “We can talk about this, my brother—”

The infiltrator fired. The skull of the slim woman in the five thousand dollar Chanel suit blew back from an entry point just at the inside of her right eye, decorating the seat’s upholstery with a sickening thump.

She slumped forward in the soft leather seat.

...just as a different man on another continent approached a girl patiently brushing a pony’s dark mane. She looked maybe sixteen, but the expression in her eyes flashed older as the infiltrator approaching her fit a silencer to the end of his pistol. Her long hair caught in a gust of wind as she struggled to mount the small horse. Before she could get her leg over, he fired...

...and now they are aware. All Terians, everywhere. He is on the run, in all his various forms, but Galaith had planned for that, too.

...A man in his twenties bolted down an aisle of slot machines, his eyes wide as he scanned for exits. He’d just about reached the cordoned entrance to the cocktail lounge when a security guard stepped directly behind him, stabbing him in the kidney multiple times with a straight-edged knife. Before he could cry out, the same guard jammed a syringe against his neck and hit a button to depress the stopper.

A crowd gathered as he convulsed on the carpet, but only the guard saw his eyes flash yellow before he expired...

...A businessman in Italy stepped out of his church, looking around frantically for his family’s chauffeured car. He crossed the street with his coat collar raised, lifting a hand for a taxi when unknown persons gunned him down in front of ten witnesses, including the secretary he’d met an hour earlier at a nearby apartment building, and who he’d been banging behind his wife’s back for over three months...

...even as with a jerk and a gasp, the Vice President of the United States, Ethan Wellington, sat up in bed.

For a long moment, he didn’t know what had wakened him, didn’t know what was wrong.

Then, receiving a number of flashes from the Barrier construct he’d erected over the room, he felt in the bed beside him for the body of his wife, feeling a faint rush of panic when he couldn’t find her. Seconds later, he remembered she was out, touring the Southern states on free school lunches, or one of the other social programs he’d asked her to support. As parts of him whispered in the dark, he found himself thankful for her absence.

He threw back the covers, shoved his feet into plush slippers and reached for the drawer where he still kept a small gun, like in that apartment he and Helen shared when they lived together in graduate school.

The door to his bedroom opened.

Ethan tensed, blinking up into the giant eye of a Maglite flashlight.

“Good,” he said, exhaling as he recognized Wes, the lead of his security detail. “Have them bring my car around. There’s been a family emergency, and—”

“Sir,” the agent said. “That won’t be necessary.”

It occurred to Ethan that he’d made a mistake, even as his eyes adjusted enough to see the gun his security chief held beside the long flashlight. Ethan’s mind toyed with regret—that this wasn’t a seer’s body, that he might have acted faster, that he hadn’t remembered to call Helen that night.

The agent emptied four chambers into his chest.

Ethan’s brown eyes flashed yellow as he slid to the bedroom floor, bleeding on the new silk carpet his wife found for them in Dubai during their last trip with President Daniel Caine, Lisa Caine and the twins.

The last thing Ethan heard was the elongated scream of a siren outside his window, and then everything went dark.

Chapter 29

CONTACT

I WATCHED REVIK check a security panel by the study doors. Eddard hovered near him. Jon and Cass stood out of sight of the tall sash windows, looking down onto the street where I could hear the activity ramping up once more. Maygar did the same by a third window, an automatic rifle gripped in his hands.

While I watched, Jon shoved a gun in the back of his belt, holding another in his good hand, what looked like one of Revik’s Glocks.

My brother the pacifist.

I glanced back as Revik passed by where I stood, aiming for the china closet. He moved aside a vase on a nearby accent table and slid a key off the wood with his fingers. I watched him unlock the double hutch doors, pressing a button concealed behind a faux wooden panel.

The panel slid back, pushing out a velvet-cushioned tray.

I could only stare as he pulled another handgun off the blue, velvet cloth, checking the magazine for how many bullets remained, then the chamber before handing it to Eddard. He picked up a second gun, then a third. He checked them all, shoving one in his belt before passing the other to Eddard, as well.

I saw him motion towards me then, still muttering to Eddard in a voice too low for me to hear, and I looked away.

I held my stomach with one arm. I was having trouble breathing. My brain seemed to have short-circuited somewhere between the conversation over lunch and the two helicopters exploding over the London streets below. Some kind of delayed reaction, maybe... to being fired on by jets, prolonged stress, almost zero sleep in two days, and finding out my best friends were alive and that I was still married to a guy who couldn’t bring himself to look at me.

I felt a push to move my limbs. I think I meant to walk over to Jon and Cass, but my body must have had other ideas, because I only got as far as the china closet and the exposed tray of guns. Revik no longer stood there. I don’t know when he left, but by the time I reached the tray, he bent over another wall panel on the other side of the room.

“They changed all my codes,” he said. “We’ll have to take the stairs.”

I stared at a gun on the tray I recognized. It looked just like the one Revik held all those years ago in Germany. I picked it up, hefting the weight of the metal in my hand. It was so small. It looked like a toy.

“We can’t take the elevator,” Revik said. I felt his attention on me, but I didn’t turn around. “We have to get to the stairs... now. There’s some chance we can still make it to the basement.”

“Revik.” Clearing my throat, I shook my head. “No.”

Everyone paused.

I thought they’d forgotten me in their panic, but when I turned around, the whole room seemed focused on my face. Even Eddard stared, his expression a mixture of curiosity and pity. It occurred to me that he probably thought I’d snapped. I didn’t look at Revik, but felt his mind slide past my words, still thinking about how we would get out of the building.

He turned to Eddard. “Get the charges from my room. If I have more clips—”

“Revik,” I said. “No. We won’t get out that way.”

He didn’t look at me, but I watched him put a hand on the wall. He turned towards me, still without looking at me, his face closed.

“Allie. We don’t have any choice.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not that way. Please.”

I saw his jaw harden. He still wouldn’t look at me. “Please trust me on this, Esteemed Bridge. I am not being disrespectful... but I know our options here. This is my home. Let me protect you in it.”

I saw Jon and Cass stare at him, as if they didn’t recognize him. Then they both, seemingly at the same instant, looked at me.

“I do trust you,” I said. “But I can’t let you take us out that way.”

“Allie!” Cass said.

I looked at her. My whole body was shaking. I stood there, in the middle of the room, barely able to stand upright from the pain in my chest.

“Allie, what are you doing?” Jon said. His voice sounded shocked.

Revik stared at me, his eyes flat now, wary.

I didn’t realize at first I was pointing the gun at him. It wasn’t until I looked at Jon, saw his mouth hanging open, his hazel eyes wide, that I realized something was wrong. I looked down at my hands. They gripped the gun, steady.

“Allie.” Revik held out a hand. “Please. Give it to me—”

“No.” I took a step back. “Please, Revik. You have to listen to me. He expects you to do this. He’s counting on it.” My voice lowered, growing angry, but not at him. My eyes blurred as they filled with tears, but I couldn’t care about that either. I knew I was right. I had no idea how I knew, but I did.

“Please,” I said, my voice thick. “Please, Revik. Please... just listen to me.”

“I’m listening, Allie,” he said. “Put the gun down...”

I shook my head, gripping it tighter. He wasn’t listening to me. I could feel it. I’d become a threat in his eyes, a dangerous animal. But I knew he wouldn’t listen to me if I gave him the gun.

“He wants to shoot at you,” I said. “He knows I’ll do something. Fold something, or break something... or light something on fire. I can’t control it. He must know that, too. It’s gotten worse, Revik...”

“Allie!” Jon’s voice rose, pulling me to look at him. “Jesus, are you going to shoot Revik? He saved our lives!”

“Who, Allie?” Cass said. Fear leaked into her voice. “Who wants us to do it? Do you mean Terian? Is Terian here?”

“No.” Revik’s voice sharpened. He held out a hand towards Cass. “We’re all right, Cass.” He looked at me, and now he felt angry. “Put the gun down, Allie!”

I heard all this, and it affected some part of me, but I didn’t take my eyes off his face.

“Please, Revik...”

“Please, what?” he said. “What do you want me to do?” He looked at Maygar, and the anger in his face worsened. “What do you want from me, Allie?”

I shifted my weight, and felt my resolve falter. “Did you give me those numbers?” I said. “On the ship. I thought you were dead... but you did it to keep them from Terian. That was you. It had to be you...”

Revik’s eyes drew a blank.

I saw Maygar turn, startled. He stared at Revik.

“It’s important,” I said. “It’s really important, Revik.”

“Allie, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I would tell you, I swear I would! But we have to go now... please!”

“You helped design it,” I said. “The rotating hierarchy.”

He blanched. Then his jaw hardened more. “Even if I did. I don’t remember...”

“None of it came back with Terian?” I said. “That’s what he wanted from you, isn’t it? The succession order? So he could go after Galaith?”

Jon and Cass’s expressions grew openly startled, just before their eyes swiveled almost in unison to Revik’s face. It was enough to confirm what I’d suspected. Then Jon’s voice rose, angry.

“Did Terian help him remember? You mean when he was beating him unconscious every day? Is that what you’re asking, Al?”

I turned, staring at Jon.

I saw Revik look at Jon too, telling him to be silent with his eyes. I focused on the bruises on Revik’s neck, how his clothes hung on his long frame. I lowered the gun slowly, staring between them, then down at my hands, holding the gun.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said. All the resolve and tension left my limbs. “I don’t want to hurt anyone...”

“Maybe not shooting us would be a first step,” Jon snapped. “Jesus, Allie. Have you lost it completely?”

“Jon,” Revik warned. “Stop.”

I looked at Revik, startled. Then Maygar spoke up from where he leaned against the wall, out of sight of the high window.

“Yeah, Jon,” he drawled. “Take it easy on little sis. We need to know what we’re up against..and Rook-boy here used to be evil. Or did he forget to mention that in all of your touching inter-species bonding?” He nodded towards me, his voice openly approving.

“...About time someone went to the source for answers.”

I felt Revik turn before I saw him, felt his anger flare into something closer to hatred as soon as it found a target. His voice nearly shook.

“You’re right,” Revik said. “...she’s not completely wrong. I do remember more now... Maygar, is it? Your mother, for instance. Does she still work for them?”

Maygar’s expression turned hard as glass.

“Watch your forked tongue, Rook...”

“I remember you,” Revik said. “You were a little shit when they brought you in. A thief... half-recruited yourself. Are you the reason my wife’s got a gun on me now? Didn't I stay dead long enough for you?”

“As a matter of fact...”

“Just stay away from her!”

My eyes swiveled to Revik. I stared at his face in shock, saw his jaw clenched, his hands in fists by his sides so that the long muscles in his arms stood out. I felt my breath stop when I saw his expression. I’d only seen it on his face once before, and that was before I’d been born.

Maygar burst into a laugh. “You must be joking!”

“I’m not. Don’t push me, boy. I’ll rip your dirtblood heart out...”

“Revik!” Jon said.

“Boys!” Cass said, sharp. “We don’t have time for this! Military outside, remember? Revik, calm down—”

“You broke vow,” Maygar said to him. “You have no rights, you worm-fucking retard. I can court her if I want!”

“No. You can’t.” Revik clenched his hands. “You interfere with an attempt at reconciliation, and I’ll press charges... if I don’t kill you first.”

I blanched, looking between them. Court me? I stared at Revik, unable to look away from the expression on his face.

“Reconciliation?” Maygar snorted. “You brought your human whore here!”

Revik’s face drained of blood. He looked at me.

“Whore?” Cass broke in furiously. “Would that be me?” She turned on me. “Is that what the martyr crap at lunch was about? You really think I’d skank on your husband, Al? You’re my best friend! And for your information, he hasn’t been with anyone since you saw him! We were with him the whole time. He didn’t touch anyone for months, unless you count Terian and his—”

“Shut up!” Revik was breathing harder, staring at her. “Shut up, Cass! Right now!”

I looked between them, feeling sick. “I really don’t—”

“No!” Maygar said, holding up a hand to me. “Don’t accept anything from him, Bridge! You owe him nothing!”

Revik and Maygar were looking at each other again. Neither dropped their gaze, nor relaxed their stances.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Revik’s face, seeing the anger there, but more than that, him fighting to control himself, to remain standing where he was. Suddenly, my mind seemed to click back on. Lowering the gun the rest of the way, I placed it on the table. Giving Maygar a disbelieving look, I closed the distance to Revik.

I grabbed his arm, harder until he looked down.

“No... Revik. Look, he’s protecting me, but not the way you think.” I yanked on his arm again to get his eyes off Maygar. “Revik! Listen to me! There’s nothing going on with me and Maygar!”

Revik turned. His eyes locked on mine.

“Are you with anyone?” Pain wafted off him.

I stared up at him, momentarily speechless.

“Allie.” He gripped my arm, hard enough to hurt. “I would understand. I know I’m not acting like it, but I would. Tell me to back off, and—”

“No.” I shook my head, still staring at him. “No... no one.”

He didn’t move. Realizing I still had him in a death grip, I let go of his arm.

After the barest instant, he released me, too.

We just stood there, staring at one another. Then it occurred to me that I’d walked up to him. Before I could move away, though, he caught hold of my wrists. His fingers tightened, pulling me closer to where he stood.

For another moment, he seemed to be trying to speak.

He looked so damned thin. I watched his jaw harden, his eyes brighten as he looked at me, holding out my hands slightly, almost like Jon had when he first saw me alive. He looked longest at my face, then down the rest of me. I felt his light on mine then, cautiously at first... growing stronger the longer we stood there.

I tried to decide if I should say anything, when an intensity rose to his eyes. He met my gaze again and I nearly flinched, but I didn’t look away.

I’d seen that look on his face before, too, but never aimed at me.

Tugging at my hands, he pulled me carefully between his arms.

I let him guide me up against him, following his pull to wrap my arms around him once I stood close enough. He let go of my wrists once I had, curling an arm lengthwise across my back, gripping my shoulder in his hand and squeezing before he wrapped his fingers into my hair. I didn’t move as he pulled it out of the soft knot, caressing it away from my neck. He slid his other arm around my waist, pulling me tight against his body before he lowered his head, pressing his face against mine.

I relaxed against him. I forgot all of it in those few seconds—my mother, all those months of believing he and Cass and Jon were dead, even the military outside. He held me tighter, tight enough that I could barely breathe. My throat closed as he pulled me deeper into the curve of his body.

Then he opened... and his light nearly flattened me.

I felt him hold his breath as he wound it deeper into mine... and then I couldn’t breathe... I breathed too much. I clutched at him as he leaned into me more, and I felt him asking me, willing me to open, asking me again. I held him tighter, unable to see as his hands clenched my back. His light slid deeper, pulling on me... I think I made some kind of sound.

Then everything seemed to happen fast.

We were kissing when someone’s arms grabbed me from behind.

Revik’s hands were under my shirt and around me as someone or several someone’s dragged him off. Yet another person held my waist, pulling me away from him.

I glanced behind me, barely recognized Maygar.

“What the hell are you doing?” He was staring up at Revik, his eyes and voice furious. “Are you trying to kill her?”

I felt Revik react to Maygar’s hands on me.

I saw pain on his face, confusion as he looked at me, almost like he didn’t know where he was. My own pain worsened as I stared back, and suddenly I couldn’t bear being held away from him. I had to fight not to shove all of them off me, just so I could touch him.

“It’s okay,” I said, holding up a hand. “Revik, hey. It’s okay...”

Then my light, everything about me that was me, was ripped away from my body.

* * *

“NO!” CASS DROPPED her gun, running for Allie as she collapsed in Maygar’s arms. Revik got there before she did. Maygar tried to shove him back, but the taller seer grabbed the front of Maygar’s shirt in his fist, and suddenly a gun was in his hand. He pressed it to Maygar’s face.

“Let go of her,” Revik said. “I’ll do it. I promise you.”

Maygar released her, removing his hands. His voice shook.

“If she dies, so help me, I’ll skin you—”

“Stop it!” Cass snapped. “Both of you!”

“What happened?” Jon crouched over Revik, but it was Maygar who answered in a snarl.

“Rook-boy couldn’t keep his hands to himself! He just fed her to them...”

Cass watched Revik pull Allie into his lap. He stroked the long hair away from her face, caressing her cheek with his hand. His voice shocked her. It was quiet, but a near anguish trembled on the surface as he spoke.

“Allie... gods. Can you hear me? Allie!”

“Hit her!” Maygar snarled. “Do you think that’s going to do anything but make it worse? Hit her, or let me try!”

But Revik’s hands had gone still.

Maygar shoved Cass out of the way, grabbing Revik’s shoulders. When he turned the other seer around, looking him full in the face, he cursed, releasing him. Bending down, he slid his arms around Allie, pulling her roughly out of Revik’s lap. Cass watched in disbelief as Revik made no move to stop him. She was still staring at Revik’s unmoving form when a loud crack of flesh against flesh jerked her eyes back to Maygar.

She watched in disbelief as he backhanded Allie again. A red mark flared on her friend’s cheek, but Allie’s eyes didn’t flutter as her neck rolled with the blow. Maygar wound up to hit her again when Jon held his own gun to Maygar’s head.

“Do it again, and I’ll shoot you, you piece of shit...” Without turning, Jon aimed his next words at Cass. “What’s wrong with Revik?”

“I don’t know.” She gripped his arm, kneeling beside him. His pupils remained pinpricks, his face a wax doll’s. “He’s just... gone.”

Maygar pushed the barrel of Jon’s gun out of his face angrily, as if it were a pointed stick.

“He’s gone after her,” he snapped.

Jon looked at Cass, then back at Maygar. He lowered the gun.

“Explain to me how that’s not a good thing,” Jon said.

“Stupid worm! The construct is gone! They’re all around us... everywhere, as we speak! Staying out of the Barrier was their only protection!” When Cass and Jon continued to stare at him blankly, Maygar raised his voice. “They’re going to die! She was already dead when he pulled her in... now he’s gone to die with her!”

Seeing the anger and frustration on the seer’s face, it occurred to Cass that maybe he wasn’t the bad guy in all of this, after all.

A jet slammed by the window, rattling the glass. The roar of its engines followed, deafening in the narrow corridor between houses. Looking across the street, Cass saw the tiny figures of men in black kevlar climbing the building across from theirs, and a kind of despair reached her.

There was no possible way they could get out of this, not anymore.

* * *

NEAR TO EARTH, the faint lines of the physical can be seen from the Barrier like a lit room through water. A swarm of beings hover over three ghosting human forms. The Rooks know a third seer exists there, too, but they cannot see him as long as he remains outside the Barrier.

It doesn’t matter. The hovering shadows are little more than sentries, left behind as the real work screams above.

I barely feel this... then it is gone.

I am the real work.

I streak through a star-filled night sky, running for my life. I try to make myself invisible but can’t, so I jerk and jump, reappear and am hit, slammed, run over... all lines leading to my body snarled and confused, broken and dead-ending. Prisons appear around me, mirages that look like hard walls, bright lights, even distant stars. They pull at me, tempt me with inviting vibrations, darting closer before I manage to twist away from their hard fire.

I am not sure how I came to be here.

I remember Revik. I remember us kissing, his hands pulling me tighter against his body, the feel of his light, him asking me...

But now everywhere I turn, silver eyes glow at me, chasing me through an endless-feeling night. They appear all around me as I try to move faster. They are looking for a way in, even as I look for a way out. I try desperately to get ahead of them, looking for any door or passage or tornado-like tunnel that might lead me out of this place. I try to feel Vash... Revik... even Maygar and Chandre... but the more I call to them, the more silver bodies converge around me.

I am too late. They are closing.

All around me rustle glimpses of presence and chiseled light.

Eyes and hands appear and disappear... they belong to more beings than I can count. Precise, lifeless, they slam into me, knocking me further off-balance. I turn, change course, change the vibration of my light, disappear... reappear. I look for resonance with something beautiful, something not-them, but more appear all the time, until I feel...

ALLIE!

Relief floods my light. He comes at me so quickly it shocks me. His light collides, then coils into mine, and briefly, we are alone.

Allie!

I feel him... all around me.

Shield! Disappear!

He hands me imprints, keys to lead me out through this winding tunnel or that one. I feel his intention...

No! I twine my light deeper into his. No! I’m not leaving you here!

They don’t know your light! You haven’t spent enough time with them...

They know yours!

Allie, I have ways to evade them on my own. You need to listen—

No! My anger flares. Don’t leave me like you left Elise!

Laughter echoes around us.

I hit a wall, one I did not see, and come to a painful stop. Before I can reverse, I lose him. He is pulled away from me so fast it is like mist evaporating from my fingers. Then I am inside a blank room with four walls. I can’t feel Revik, but I hear him, for one last—

Allie! Don’t wait for me!

I throw myself in the direction of his voice, but another wall separates us. I crash into that one, too, end up bathed in stinging threads. Red eyes surround me, shimmering hands and torsos. Dozens of them hook into my light, but Galaith’s is the only presence I feel.

Let us go! Please!

I know how futile my words sound, how meaningless. There is nothing else to say.

Please, please…let him go! Please!

Galaith’s face appears, alone. The silver bodies and red eyes recede.

I focus on him as the grayish space around me grows silent. Galaith’s features flicker like candlelight. His dark eyes meet mine, without precise color or form, yet I see hints of teeth, stretched lips and facial creases.

He is smiling.

Hello, Liego, he says.

Chapter 30

GALAITH

GALAITH WAITS PATIENTLY as I stand there, studying his silver-white form.

I stall for time in a timeless space, looking for a way out of this featureless box. In the Barrier’s shifting dark, Galaith doesn’t look like a seer... but he looks even less alike to the blurred, sheep-like lights with which I now associate humans.

Watching currents move through his hands, face, neck and legs, I don’t know if I feel fear, calm, anxiety, anger. Coloring it all, an odd feeling of familiarity lives in our stares back and forth. I know I am being influenced by the silver light in this... but it is different than when Ivy had me. Here the influence is easy instead of fascinating.

The normality of him, of being here, is almost cloying. Calm seeps in, the desire to entwine with the silver strands... or, rather, the lack of desire to fight them. The landscape looks different to me too, almost serene. I know I am being influenced, but I can’t seem to—

You worry yourself needlessly, he says to me.

He waves a fluid hand, breathing out that same soft indifference.

Every construct carries its own flavor, Liego.

I feel the part of me that slides down that path with him. I try to come at it logically and fail.

What do you want? I say finally.

His light body changes from pure aleimi to the semblance of matter. In a heartbeat he stands at perfect ease, a faceless, tailored blue suit, elegant on a muscular form—middle-aged, from the shape of his torso, and in very good shape. Dark hair grows on hands with manicured nails, interspersed with a few strands of gray. He wears a ring bearing an iron cross.

The cross disappears as I notice it.

What do you want? I say again. ...Haldren?

I feel his smile at my childish attempt to even the playing field. My pretense of knowing as much as he does is meaningless... I have no cards here. Inside his world, my mind is laid bare. He knows I don’t really remember.

I don’t believe the seers’ view of me. He knows that, too.

Ah, he says. But I do remember, Liego. I remember it all so well...

His voice pulls at me, the coax of mutual dialogue, but that familiarity just irritates me.

When I fold my arms, I am distracted.

My hands are now gloved in cream-colored satin at the end of bare upper arms. I wear an emerald ball gown with thin straps, similar to what Revik’s wife wore at a party in Berlin, only dyed green to match my eyes. A wedding ring adorns one gloved finger. It affects me to see it, which I’m sure is his intention... or maybe a Rook’s attempt at humor.

I look over only to see myself in a wall-length mirror. My hair is piled on top of my head in elaborate curls, studded with diamond pins and peacock feathers. The reflection shows a cavernous room behind me. High, carved ceilings arc over pillars that stretch off into the distance, diminishing into darkness.

Only the swastikas are absent.

Cute, I tell him. Did you bring me here to critique my wardrobe?

Galaith laughs. Strangely, it sounds genuine.

I have missed you, Liego, he says fondly.

I look down the cavernous hall. Paved now in black volcanic glass, the corridor is draped in thick curtains of purple and green vines. Water drips down from a cracking ceiling above a rectangular reflecting pool. Ancient, cypress-like trees grow through one of the walls. I see a bird alight on a massive root. It sings a song that stirs something in my memory. At the nudge of Galaith’s mind, I look up. A high, blue sky is visible through the crumbling stone.

He wants me to remember. But I don’t remember, not really.

I frown. What do you want? I say again.

He shrugs with a manicured hand, seer-fashion. I want to relieve you of the burden of your so-called destiny. He smiles. I am trying to stop a war, Liego. A war you seem as determined as ever to bring.

My feeling of unreality worsens. You think I want war?

Galaith’s eyes remain serious through the shifting mosaic of his face.

I think you will bring it anyway, he says. I realize it likely would not be intentional, old friend. Believe me, I do. Probably more than anyone, I understand this. I know it tears you up, each and every time. I know you dread coming here.

His eyes flicker between the moving panes of his face.

I can help you, Liego. Do not doubt that I can. You can live life outside that singular role. You could be married... really married. Without having to worry that your mate or children will be tortured or killed simply because of who you are...

My light seizes around a vision of Revik, one I realize Galaith is providing me, but one that is so recent I flinch at how real it appears. I see his neck, the clothes hanging on his long frame, the slight limp in his walk as he crosses the study floor.

The image morphs.

I see my mother’s graying, staring eye, lost in a face covered in blood. I see the scar bisecting Cass’s beautiful face... Jon’s bandaged hand.

My silk-clad arms fold tighter, cutting off air I don’t even need in this place.

There is a moment where I hear only the distant trickling of water on volcanic stone.

Galaith refrains from smiling out of politeness.

Do not worry about your mate, he says. He will not judge you for taking this road. He has seen too many wars to welcome another.

...and I am in a dim room.

A single hanging lamp sways above dirt floors. The room lives underground, smelling of mold and blood. White-washed walls like pale skin bleed dark rivulets of mud leaking from badly patched cracks. It is hot, and insects flicker over sweated flesh near a metal table.

The dead body of a young Asian man slumps in a chair.

I don’t see him at first, but I am not surprised when he is there. Revik’s arms lay folded across a broader, more muscular chest. His black hair hangs longer, and he wears a Rolling Stones T-shirt and jeans with motorcycle boots.

Terian, the same Terian I know from Golden Gate Park, is there too, hunched over the body of the dead Asian boy, trying to saw off one of his ears. Cursing, he tosses aside the knife, which is rusted where not covered in blood.

“Damn it, Revi’... hand me that razor, will you?”

The taller seer takes his weight off the wall.

Picking up a sling blade from a nearby table, he flips it open and hands it to Terian wordlessly. Revik doesn’t move away but continues to watch Terian work, tugging a hand-rolled hiri out of his pocket and lighting it after a few tries with a silver lighter. Exhaling sweet-smelling smoke, his expression doesn’t change as Terian saws determinedly through skin and cartilage to remove the dead man’s ear.

Terian grumbles at him as he works.

“...You could have let him live long enough to give me a turn,” he says. “What, did he remind you of someone?”

Revik shrugs. “The maggot wanted to die.”

Terian glances up, chuckles. “So this was a humanitarian gesture, then?” He turns his concentration back to the ear. “I hate to tell you, my friend... but most humans who meet you grow to feel that way in time.”

Terian straightens an instant later, a triumphant look on his face. He shows Revik the mutilated ear. Already the blood coagulates, barely a trickle from the stopped heart.

Revik’s voice holds a thread of disgust.

“Why do you keep those?”

“Are you kidding? The press eats this shit up. ‘Vietnam’s own Jack the Ripper’... or hadn’t you heard?” Reaching into a coat pocket, Terian pulls out a playing card, the Jack of Spades. Flipping it over in his fingers, he sticks it in the dead man’s mouth.

“That’s you?” Revik shakes his head. “Jesus, Terry.”

At the grin on Terian’s face, Revik snorts a half-laugh.

“We need to get you a pet.”

“Yeah, speaking of that.” Terian cocks an eyebrow at him. “Remember that jaguar you picked up for me in Brazil?”

Revik grunts another laugh. “I don’t want to know.”

“Anyway,” Terian says, as he raises the ear to the light. “It’s not only me... Galaith wants me to plant this stuff.”

“Why?” Revik says.

I hear only curiosity in his voice. His eyes rest empty, flat... I barely recognize him. Yet, oddly, he carries a kind of easy male confidence that makes him look almost handsome, despite his angular features.

I tell myself I knew what he was.

He’d been a Nazi before this.

But even working for the Germans, feeling lived in his eyes, something with which I could relate, even sympathize. I’d been told by the rest of them––Maygar, Vash, Chandre, even the seers training me back in India––that what Revik had done under the Rooks was exponentially worse than anything he did as a Nazi. Even so, it unnerves me beyond what my mind can articulate, seeing him this way.

It also occurs to me that I cannot unsee it.

Terian shrugs as he answers him.

“Why?” he says. “How should I know why? Why does Galaith want us to do anything? Recruitment? Fear? Shits and giggles?” Wrapping the ear in a clean, white handkerchief, Terian shoves the whole thing in a pocket and claps Revik on the shoulder. “Let's get a drink. I need a fuck before we do the next bunch, and I know you do...”

The dark, blood-smelling room fades.

I find myself back in Revik’s London study once it has.

Galaith sits before me on the worn leather couch, drumming his fingers on a creased arm. The picture of my parents still sits on the marble mantlepiece. One of my sketches stands next to it, a charcoal I did of Revik while he was still following me in San Francisco. More of my drawings spill out of an open drawer in the nearby desk, spread out on the floor in a fan position.

I see more images of Revik, of my brother, of the Pyramid.

I recognize all of them.

I was kind, Galaith says. You must know I could have shown you far worse.

Yeah, I say dryly. ...Very kind. If you’d shown me anything too over the top, I could have dismissed it as pure insanity. Instead you show me a rational version, knowing I’ll never forget it.

Galaith chuckles in genuine pleasure, slapping the end of the couch.

Very good, Alyson! Perhaps you have some intelligence in this life, after all.

My light clenches, knowing this is a jab, too.

He knows I am aware of the gap between me and the other seers... and especially between me and Revik. I know how slow I seem to all of them, how stupid because I can do so little with my light. I remember playing chess with Revik in Seattle, him showing me how to drive, how to shoot, how to talk to machines... how to see anything at all with my light.

As I think about him, his presence grows stronger.

I also feel what Galaith’s show and tell has done to my light’s ability to find his.

Reluctance hovers there, doubt. I focus back on Galaith, find him watching me carefully. I fold my arms tighter around my light body.

I thought Terian was the one who liked these stupid games, I say angrily.

Galaith makes a dismissive gesture with one hand.

These are not games, Liego, he says. And you are wrong... I do not judge you for your newness. Nor do I confuse this for lack of intelligence. Nor does your mate.

I don’t argue with him, but I don’t believe him, either.

So where is Terian? I say. Out torturing more people in your name?

Galaith’s countenance darkened, meaning the tenor of the shifting planes of his face. He looks at me, and I feel the warning in his light.

Terian is dead, he says. An unfortunate necessity... but he was out of control. There will be others like him, Liego. They will do the same and worse to get to you... and I won’t be able to reach them all in time.

Drumming his fingers, he lets out a long breath, as if to calm himself.

Do you honestly believe you owe allegiance to the Seven? he says, his voice accusing. Or to that seven-hundred-year-old seer, Vash? Their myths and superstitions mean nothing to you... do not lie to me or to him by pretending otherwise.

His voice sharpens. I feel the pull strengthen behind his words.

If you think Vash will keep you and yours safe, Liego, you should speak to your husband. He could tell you a few things about the Seven’s willingness to sacrifice the loved ones of others for their precious Code and its ‘higher’ goals.

The eyes inside that endlessly moving face stare up at me.

Don’t you ever wonder how he was able to work for the Nazis and also be a member of their nonviolent club? he asks. Hasn’t this ever struck you as a bit hypocritical, Liego?

It has.

Yes, I say, unnecessarily.

Galaith smiles, but I feel no humor there. Well, perhaps this will give you more reason to forgive your mate for what I showed you before...

An image appears out of the dark.

I see Vash and Revik sitting on a sandy floor, inside what looks like a high-ceilinged cave. They are talking seriously, hunched together over food and drink, with papers strewn about them on the sand. I cannot hear their words, but Revik wears a German infantry uniform, a swastika band around his arm. A third seer is with them, a middle-aged male with sharp, gray eyes, chestnut hair and chiseled features. He is handsome, almost startlingly so. Handsome enough to be a movie star, if one a few years past his prime.

It was all planned, you see, Galaith says. Vash and the Adhipan deliberately planted Dehgoies in Germany. He encouraged him to work for the Nazis... to fight for them, even if it meant watching his own people be put to death.

He smiles, and the mirage disappears, to be replaced by the image of a gothic church.

I feel my light tense as Revik appears in the doorway of that church. He is wearing a tuxedo, smiling, holding the hand of Elise, who wears a wedding dress so stunning she looks like a living doll. Her hair is sleek and filled with what look like tiny diamonds.

They both look so happy it is difficult to look at their faces for long.

Revik raises a hand, waving at a crowd throwing flower petals.

He was placed there to be recruited by me, Galaith continues. To infiltrate my burgeoning network. But then the Seven stood by while his wife was killed...

The image of Revik and Elise fades, leaving Galaith and I in the dark.

As a result, your husband rethought his allegiances, and who would blame him? The Seven could have intervened. They did not... believing interference to be “immoral.” Dehgoies realized that no matter what the method, it is better to try and make things better, to not stand idly by while atrocities are committed...

I am fighting my own emotions, staring at Galaith’s morphing face.

He shrugs with one hand, and I feel sadness on him.

Something happened to make him want to return to them, he says. I do not know what. I even considered sabotage by the Seven themselves. What I do know is this: by then, I thought of Dehgoies as a son. I was devastated when he left me.

The image of Revik in that tux won’t leave me. He looked so... happy. I’ve never seen him happy like that, not in person. Not even in the Barrier.

Galaith pats my light arm. He shakes his head in sympathy, clicking his tongue.

Vash and I made a pact. After we separated your mate from that part of his life, we each agreed to leave his mind alone. His voice sharpens. You broke that promise, Liego. I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to give him back some portion of what he lost...

His voice turns grim, openly accusing.

I sincerely hope you have not hurt more than helped him in this, Liego...

Looking up, I glimpse the dark clouds of the Barrier.

I ask for a nudge in one direction or the other, something to tell me what to do, what will do the least harm. I know this is childish too... but I feel lost in all of this, all of these things I only partly understand.

Revik was right. Anything I thought I was doing was likely just me being manipulated, me falling for the same machinations as everyone else. I would never be smart enough to beat these people. I’d been kidding myself. Or distracting myself, maybe.

But I still cannot bring myself to give in. Even if I should, I can’t. I know that I’ve been wrong about almost all of it so far... but it doesn’t make any difference.

I cannot give in. I cannot.

I realize this, and it is almost a relief.

...and then I am somewhere else.

It is not where I would have hoped.

No great flash of insight or understanding greets me. Instead, it is ordinary, mundane memory. I stand before a leaking espresso machine. Wet coffee grounds cover the front of my waitressing uniform as Revik watches me from a corner booth. He looks tired, and I know him now, so I see it in him. Still, he is watching me, and I see other things there, too.

He watches me minutely, I realize.

I make him nervous, fascinate him, but he feels he knows me, too. He wishes he could approach me. He wishes he could just tell me who he is. I still manage to embarrass him. Hearing me and Cass speak to one another, he feels foolish for having bought the shirt he saw me admiring in that shop, and something in this touches me deeper than I can express.

Over me, the television blares.

Suddenly, I know what I am supposed to see.

...and then the image vanishes.

A stone holding cell morphs around me in its place.

Dark and dirty, it feels more mundane to me now, too, as if I am there in a less emotional reality, one that lives outside of Revik’s subjective mind. Two men enter that dim, dank-smelling space, pausing at the door to stare at the prisoner chained inside. One of them has no face. Revik raises shackled hands, blinking against the shock of light. As I watch, the blurred lines of the faceless man begin to clarify.

Features appear behind a sheen of liquid light. I see the outline of a handsome face, not completely young, but a young middle-age.

He studies the man on the bench, smiles.

“Rolf Schenck?”

...and then the four of us stand on a hill above lines of SS, where the third of three gasoline tanks already burns. When it explodes, the shock rips holes in the turf, throwing wood and iron as shrapnel, tearing into the bodies of the standing men.

Terian hits Revik playfully on the chest, then starts down the hill at a run.

“What are you?” Revik asks Galaith.

“Perhaps you should ask yourself that question, Rolf...”

I know who you are, I breathe, softer.

...and again, I fight with an espresso maker. A television blares over the bar, where the President of the United States smiles at a press conference. Young, charismatic, the whole world looks up to him. Cass walks up to me in her waitressing uniform, and she looks incredibly young to me now, an overgrown child compared to the woman I was jealous of in London.

“Jon's here,” she says. “So is your buddy.”

...and I stand in Revik’s study, pointing a gun at Revik.

My eyes glow a pale green, faintly visible in the sunlight from the windows.

“Allie.” Tension vibrates his words. “I would tell you, I swear I would—”

Revik! I step closer to him, inserting myself between him and the version of me holding the gun. I remember that moment in Germany, where the younger Revik seemed to look at me, too. I had thought he was dead then, but he wasn’t.

He’s not dead now, either.

Revik, I’m here! I wave my arms idiotically. REVIK! Look at me!

“...Even if I did,” he says to the other me. “I don’t remember—”

REVIK! I scream, desperate. I slam into him with my light. LOOK AT ME!

He turns, staring at me. The echo fades.

For an endless pause, he just stands there, looking at me through clear eyes, staring at me from a few meters away. His eyes shift between the past me and the present...

For the moment, Galaith is gone.

It is only us.

Revik... I’m here! I run forward, grasping hold of him with my light. When he tries to look at the past me again, the one holding the gun, I shake his arm. No! This already happened! Where are you now? Can you show me?

The London apartment melts. I feel him slowly come back awake...

Positive flashes to negative.

He hangs in a dark space, immobilized by silver strands. They feed on him. Eyes roll back in pleasure as they draw on his light, a near sensual repose. In terror, he cries out...

...and in the study, Revik staggers.

I hold his arm tighter, supporting him with my light. He looks back at the version of me frozen in time, the determination on my face as I grip the Lugar in my hand. Cass, Jon, Eddard and Maygar all stand frozen in various poses as they react to a scene that can no longer be played out, that is already over. Then Revik looks at me, and his eyes change.

This time, he sees me. He really sees me.

Allie? Where are we?

Revik. You’re really here... Looking at him, my happiness fades. I feel the weakening of his light, the hunger of the beings behind him. He is dying. I clutch his arm tighter. Revik, listen to me. Can you get out, if I distract them?

Allie, he says. No. No, I won’t leave you...

I kiss his face. You won’t have to. The succession order... do you remember how it works? How the pieces fit together?

Confusion darkens his features. I don’t have it, Allie.

I have it, I tell him. You gave it to me, remember? On the ship? But all I have are the numbers. I need you to make sense of it. Can you remember enough to do that?

His eyes shine with a faint light. But something is there, some glimmer of recognition. I can only hope it is enough.

Yes, he says. ...I think so.

I kiss him again; I can’t help it. As I do, I hear it, the whispering of the numbers, the sound I haven’t stopped hearing for months.

I look up at Revik. Seeing the distance in his eyes, I shake his arm, gripping him tighter. Revik, listen to me. You were working for Vash. You were a Nazi for Vash. Do you remember? You let them recruit you. You’ve carried the succession order ever since... for Vash. For all of us.

Doubt fills his face.

After a pause, he shakes his head. No, Allie.

Don’t argue with me, Revik, I send. I know this is true. Just trust me. Trust me on this, please. You’re one of the good guys. Don’t let yourself die... please.

I slide my light into his, and feel him react as I show him the numbers. Even inside his confusion, his light connects with them easily, with a familiarity that is clear in the space. I watch him unlock the key to the succession order, until I can see it, too. It expands around us in clean, geometric shapes, rotating with a visual mathematical dance I cannot look away from.

Relief fills my light. Awe, too. I see it. Do you?

When the numbers light up around us, a faint wonder touches his eyes.

Yes, he says.

They’re ready, I tell him. Vash and the others. I think I can get a signal to them. Wait for me. I kiss him again. I love you. Wait for me... please.

His eyes change. Then, before he speaks, his outline fades.

Terror reaches me, that feeling of being ripped in half. I feel it fleetingly in my heart, that I may never see him again.

Then I am alone, in an endless chasm of dark... but light lives in the tiniest of fragments, and I finally know exactly what I’m supposed to do.

Drawing the numbers, Revik’s numbers, up and out of my light, I superimpose them over the model of the Pyramid itself...

...and imprint the succession order simultaneously into every seer in the Rooks’ network.

As I do, I realize I know.

I’ve known all along who the Head is.

* * *

ONE SEER WATCHES quietly, from a dark, remote corner of the Pyramid where he hides.

There are crevices even here, even in the group mind. Places to hide inside the inter-connectivities that the Pyramid cultivates. Places where the others don’t often go, where constructs live inside constructs and one can disappear into the silver strands, become a bare whisper inside the intricacies of the landscape.

The structure rotates in a prismatic dance, every light connected to every light... from Galaith to Xarethe to Dehgoies to himself.

He hides here, still as death.

It is not easy to remain unseen while crouching inside these lit strands, yet the Pyramid is his home. It encompasses everything he knows, terrifying and magnificent. It keeps him from the void. The shining, silver strands play a slow, intricate dance, one he knows better than the beats of his own heart. Its music lulls him, singing to him in the dark.

For the same reason, he feels it when she comes. Her music is different than his... so different, he knows the precise instant when she enters his home. He feels the conflict, the chaos she evokes... but at base, she is a tourist. Her husband is all that truly connects her to them.

Then, out of nowhere, he sees it.

The succession order is laid out neatly before him, a map of light connecting one Rook to the next, spread before him in perfect, beautiful lines. Like his brothers and sisters, he looks for the Head, tries to count how many steps he is from that highest, most coveted spot.

The Pyramid shakes.

Reflexively, he makes his light even more dim.

It takes him another moment to understand the cause of that instability, too.

They are killing one another. All around him, seers are attacking seers, hammering blows at one another, trying to destroy one another. Lower-level seers attack the lights they see above them, pausing only to defend against those seers who strike at them from below.

He sees lights flicker and snuff out. He sees death and pain. He sees fighting and screaming... but also silence and rippled light, places where Rooks are dimming themselves as he has, trying to disappear. Already, though, more than half have joined the fray.

Terian is lucky. Lucky he will not be missed.

Lights flash brighter, then wink out. He feels the structure tremble, shuddering more seriously that time, more dangerously. He still cannot see the successor’s chair, but he is getting closer, rising higher all the time as he seeks it, ever-groping through metallic dark. He counts each place in the hierarchy, follows each place as one fits into the next. He ignores the chaos in his single-mindedness, as he traces them all the way up to where his light hovers...

Until he can see no further.

It is quiet there, and he is alone.

Eventually, the reason dawns on him.

Excitement flares his light, so that Terian makes himself briefly visible. He barely feels the ensuing blows, barely hears the cracking in several branches of his aleimi. They can’t touch him... not anymore. A smile lights up his being.

He occupies the successor’s chair.

He. Terian alone.

As the realization hits, he is already giving the signal.

Chapter 31

PYRAMID

PRESIDENT DANIEL CAINE blinked to clear his vision.

Frowning, he stared around at the mostly older faces. Something was wrong. He could feel it, with every particle of his living light. He needed someone else at the table who felt it, too. Someone besides Ethan, who was, for obvious reasons, in absentia.

Caine barely noticed the silence as he surveyed the room.

That is, until the Secretary of State broke it.

“Sir?” As usual, the man sounded as if he were about to go into cardiac arrest. “Sir,” he repeated, as Caine knew he would until he turned and met the man’s gaze directly.

Once he had, the Secretary resumed in the same, caught-breath voice.

“The terrorists have been isolated, sir,” he said, flushing a darker red. “They no longer appear to be fighting back. The Prime Minister is asking whether you still recommend an air attack, sir. They now estimate twenty to fifty-five possible civilian casualties from that approach,  sir, even with the evacuations... and they no longer feel it’s necessary. Their Home Office Security is now recommending gassing the top floors, prior to any gunplay. I really think you should consider this approach, sir. I really do...”

Caine rose to his feet. Normally he would smile here, even tell a joke, but his ability to play that role evaporated about thirty minutes earlier, when the Pyramid network reported that his friend, Doctor Xarethe––meaning the real one––could not be located. He was now forced to assume that Terian, in one form or another, had killed her, too.

The thought more than displeased him.

To call Xarethe irreplaceable was an understatement in the extreme.

Other complications remained as well. Alyson managed to evade him somehow within his own network. That left the outstanding issue of what to do with Dehgoies if Caine found himself backed into a corner, forced to kill yet another of Revik’s mates.

Further, as much as he hated to admit it, Terian was right.

The entire cycle would be disrupted if he killed the Bridge now.

Making up his mind, Caine walked to a telephone sitting on an antique wooden cabinet to the right of the conference table. Without thinking, he picked up the old-fashioned receiver, held it to his ear and waited. Feeling eyes focused on the back of his head from the direction of the oval table, Caine realized only then that he could have used his earpiece to make the call. Or, more efficiently still, his newly implanted impulse-activated network receiver chip, or IAN.

He ignored their collective stares anyway. At least, until it struck him that the old land line might be purely decorative.

It was one problem with long life. Old habits had a tendency to return under stress.

Caine lowered the handset to hang it up, when a voice rose, sounding tinny and far away. He returned the receiver promptly to his ear.

“You needed something, sir?” the voice repeated.

“James?” Caine felt his shoulders unclench. “Where’s Ethan?”

“Sir?” His security chief’s puzzlement wafted through the line.

“Ethan. Our Vice President. Where is he?”

“The Vice President is still housed at his residence, sir,” James said. “You said not to wake him.”

“Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind. I want him brought here. At once. To the bunker.”

The bunker. It was what his wife nicknamed the Cabinet’s main conference room when she first saw it, and the moniker stuck. She also called it the War Room, after that Peter Sellers movie mocking the 1950s paranoia about the Russians hoarding telekinetic seers.

Like a faraway strain of music, Caine felt something crack. He knew it was another piece of the Pyramid fissuring off. He realized James remained on the line.

“Wake him, will you?” Caine said. “As soon as possible. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

He was in the process of hanging up the old plastic handle, when the door to the bunker slammed open.

Caine’s eyes swiveled with all the rest. He found himself staring at the leaning, gasping figure in the door’s opening. For a long moment, nothing else broke the tense silence of the room. Everyone watched him clutch his chest, but like Caine, they didn’t move.

“Ethan,” Caine said at last. He cleared his throat, recovered slightly. “Ethan... my god. You look terrible. What happened?”

Ethan Wellington, the Vice President of the United States, gripped the door frame, leaving a smear of blood on the white-painted wood. He still breathed in pants, holding his chest with one hand, wearing a trench coat over what looked like bare feet and pajamas.

How the hell he had gotten there, from the Vice Presidential mansion through security, Caine’s mind began...

Then, in the same set of breaths, he dismissed the lingering doubt.

This might work even better. Let the whole Cabinet see the terrorist attack with their own eyes. Whatever Ethan said at this point could hardly matter, when Caine could simply have his seers manipulate the memory of every human in the room.

“Ethan.” Caine’s voice emerged stronger. “I just called James to fetch you. Are you all right? What happened?”

Ethan gave a half-gasp. It resembled a laugh.

He raised his head to stare at the President, and the expression on his face took Caine aback. A lot more of Terian lived inside that single body now, Caine realized. A lot more.

Caine’s infiltrators had been busy.

Turning from Caine, Ethan addressed the others, his brown eyes flashing amber in the reflected light.

“I have ordered the Secret Service to arrest President Caine.” He gasped, forcing out words. “I’ve asked for him to be detained...”

The Secretary of State laughed nervously.

“What charge?”

Galaith turned. Rogers had spoken, his Chief of Staff.

“Attempted murder,” Ethan said. Wincing in pain, he clutched his side. “Conspiring with enemies of the United States.” His eyes flickered up like spotlights, meeting Caine’s. “I’ll probably know of a few more things he’s done by the end of the day... he’s mentally unhinged.”

Caine shook his head in bewilderment. “What possible benefit can you see from this, Ethan?”

The question meant more than anyone at the table could possibly know.

Taking a step towards the door, Caine snapped his fingers at the porter standing at the back of the room. “What in god’s name are you waiting for?” he snapped at the man. “Call for medical help. Now! The Vice President’s obviously been hurt!”

Caine walked towards Ethan, thinking he would just use the Barrier to knock him out...

Ethan backed away with another short laugh.

Before Caine could reach the door, Jarvesch, the Secretary of Defense, got to her feet and inserted herself between them. She approached Ethan’s bent form, touching his shoulder even as a kitchen staffer wheeled in their breakfast on a pushcart stacked with silver trays and crystal juice containers. Caine heard the porter ask for the White House physician over the central speaker as the wheels of the cart squeaked jerkily across the floor.

The kitchen staffer brought everything to the long cabinet nearest Caine and began unloading trays laboriously.

The secret service agent by the door clicked his fingers to get the staffer’s attention, frowning when the man didn’t turn.

Caine only noticed this peripherally.

Tensing, he watched Jarvesch take Ethan’s arm, looking into his face. Then she cried out, opening his coat.

“He’s been shot!” She turned to the rest of the room. “He’s been shot several times! God, Ethan! What happened?”

The kitchen staffer stood stock still, gaping, holding a towel in one hand and the handle of the cart in the other. He stared at the Vice President along with the others.

Then he turned, facing President Caine.

Before anyone could move, before Caine glanced at him really, the staffer raised the towel and squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession.

Caine turned towards the sound, but too late. The slowed-down vision of the Barrier allowed him to witness the last shot, almost as an abstraction.

It didn’t allow him to get out of the way.

Smoke came from the gun’s end, the hand jerked, and then...

Panicked yells fill the bunker.

Caine is somehow on the floor.

He fights to breathe, but he’s got a frog in his throat. He tries to clear it, chokes. He hears them, hears the shots echo in his ears well after the fact, but really all he sees is the towel, the blank look on the man’s face, the strange clarity in his eyes.

Caine stares at the ceiling, wonders that he felt no warning from the Barrier. He breathes in labored inhales and stuck exhales, breathing as if through water. He hears a struggle, the breaking of glass, but that’s far away, too. He wonders how anyone could have gotten past his security, that of the Pyramid more than that of the human compound, although that’s not inconsiderable either.

Then he remembers.

Something was wrong. Something happened to the Pyramid.

Liego disappeared, and then...

Ethan is there. Ethan kneels heavily, still clutching his own side. Ethan Wellington, Harvard graduate and decorated soldier, is an entity almost separate of Terian in Caine’s mind. Their wives are best friends. Their kids go to the same school. They vacation together, stood up at each other’s weddings. As Ethan crouches next to him, Galaith and Caine bleed over as well; for an instant, he believes his friend is there to help him.

Then he sees the gleam in Ethan’s eyes, the yellow glow behind brown irises, threads of those other fragments woven into the stable facade of his friend from Massachusetts.

The Pyramid shudders in those eyes... and the threads cross.

Caine feels grief. Fewer bodies exist in which Terian can hide. Fragments of his aleimi crystallized into darker stains weave in with the rest, looking through the same amber irises. Caine knows insanity lives there. He feels responsible.

Ethan leans closer. Anyone watching would see a concerned colleague reassuring his mortally-wounded friend.

“We may indeed prove to be the inferior race,” he breathes to Caine. “...But at least we can shoot straight.”

Gazing up at the antique lamps hanging over the war room table, Galaith chuckles, in spite of himself.

Then, emotion overcomes him, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Feigran,” he chokes through fluid. “Forgive me.”

He can no longer see the Bunker. Lying on the grass, he gazes up a dense clouds. He is surprised when an opening presents itself there, where for the barest instant, he sees the flames of a blue-white sun. But the sun does not brighten his eyes for very long.

Through that same gap, a glint of asteroids beckon, cold but beautiful. Below, in a room filled with humans, the body Galaith used in this very long lifetime finally gives out.

As it does, the Thousand roll over, claiming him for their own.

* * *

I FEEL HALDREN expel his last breath. A flurry of lines and pulleys unravel as he does, leaving with what remains of him. I watch the Dreng gather up those fragments, pulling him into the cold, flaming center of their silver clouds, claiming him as one of their own. I watch his aleimi... or soul, or whatever is left of him now... as they take it away, disappear him into those dense, metallic strands.

I am shocked by a sharp flicker of grief.

But I cannot dwell on that for long, either.

His absence leaves a hole at the top of the Pyramid. The structure loses its silver sheen as the cold of the Dreng’s light evaporates. They disappear like inhaled smoke from the physical world, leaving an oddly full silence.

I send up a flare.

I don’t have long to wait. Vash and his seers: Yerin, Jalar, Mutkar, Fley, Maya, Itru, Tarsi, Samantha, Inde, Argo, Jet, Anale, Keeley, Maygar, Naomi, Hondo, Dorje, Tan, Inge, Derek, Ullysa, Mika, Chinja, Alex, Garensche, Tenzi, Cohen... they all come. They come separately and together, along with countless lights I don’t know, faces I’ve never seen in outside.

Late to the party, Revik joins us, too.

He is battered, beaten up, but he is there.

They greet me and one another, lights interwoven, combining and recombining in new patterns. I flash the plan, the plan they created, and we unite in concert... a single vision.

Human lights shine with us, too... Jon, Cass, Jaden, Sasquatch, Frankie, Angeline, Sarah, Nick, the man at the toll booth on the way into Canada, the couple who paused at the door of the diner because they were worried Revik would hurt me. The people on the Royal Faire cruise ship. My mom and dad. My uncle Stefan.

Feeling them all there together brings a wash of hope, a sudden laugh.

And then, in a flash, we disperse.

* * *

“NO!” TERIAN SCREAMS.

He watches the receding cloud of the Dreng, realizes the danger too late. He feels the shift below his feet, and struggles to counteract, to weave himself into the void above.

“NO! NO! NO!”

Out of nowhere, seers surround him.

These aren’t the seers of the Rooks. These wield a sharp, white, painful light, one that burns everything in its path, everything it touches, ripping through strands and connections that hang dead and lifeless, temporarily inert without the Dreng.

And not just seers... he feels humans among his attackers.

The Pyramid fights to reform, to pull him up and out, to align him with the top spot, but the murderers intervene, again and again, ripping apart threads each time they touch his light, killing or disconnecting more and more of his drones.

He feels her. She laughs at the carnage... laughs.

His hatred rises, a crushing need to kill, even as the last whispers of light connecting him to the Dreng’s clouds snap and fray.

The Pyramid teeters.

Pieces unlock, above and below. Terian hears it, as the cracks build momentum, as the fissures move from segment to segment, tearing through dark, quiet structures, one by one. More and more of them fall, breaking apart like compressed ash, until he can only stand there and watch, unable to believe what he is witnessing.

Thrown clear, Rooks scatter like so many rik-jum cards, ripped from their moorings like birds thrown from straw nests. Light from the feeding grounds disperses, dumping power from the Pyramid’s base. The seers of the Rooks begin to panic.

Those still hooked into the network begin feeding off one another, killing one another for light. Terian watches in horror as more pieces fall, crushing panicking seers, tearing abilities and knowledge from the communal pools. Lifetimes’ worth of accumulated structures crumble to dust, no longer able to hold to the shared mind of the Pyramid, useless without it. Terian’s own structures begin to flicker, too, then to crack, dimming more as the pools unravel.

He feels it as a drop in power so severe that at first he thinks he is dying.

Then, it gets worse. He feels the Pyramid detach.

It breaks away, Headless.

Terian feels her again. She laughs happily above that whispering dark, and he hates her for the sheer joy he feels in her light.

He screams into the reaches of the Barrier, calling the Dreng back.

But it is too late. The gap between the silvery clouds and the creation stretches too long.

The Dreng are nowhere to be found.

* * *

I SPIN THROUGH a weave of multicolored light, laughing without knowing why, tears flowing down my light face. I have never been so happy. Light dismantles the Pyramid while I watch, tearing it off from its broken moorings.

Souls disperse like leaves freed by a warm breeze.

I feel humans on different continents blink, come awake.

Even in their pain, their innocence brings up so much feeling I laugh again, unable to help myself, with no other way to express it. Light pours from the Barrier itself, a cleansing torrent that blasts away the dusty, broken remnants of the Dreng.

The lynchpin pulled, I have only to watch.

It is the break in the clouds... sunrise without annihilation.

Then, I feel something else.

Allie, he says. It’s time to go. We’re in danger...

I open my eyes, fighting to see through the light...

* * *

...AND FOUND MYSELF lying on something hard that jutted into my back. I was in a dust-filled space, colored only by light from a small, square window with rose-tinted glass.

I looked around, trying to get my bearings.

Revik’s long body lay next to mine. A low boom trembled the floor beneath my back. It brought down dust, and the sound of coughing around me, some male and some female. I saw a broken lamp swinging from the ceiling above, and realized I lay in a stairwell.

Voices grew audible above me.

I heard Maygar first. “Well, we can’t stay here!”

“You heard what Eddard said,” Jon said. “The next floor is completely blocked! We’ll have to...” Jon held a gun when his eyes swiveled to my face and widened. He nearly dropped the gun. “Allie... jesus! You’re awake!”

I looked over at Revik, whose chest rose and fell as he lay on his side on the same wooden steps as me. His eyelids flickered, enough that I hoped he’d come back half-conscious. I fought to sit up, to force myself upright, when I got hit with a sudden rush of dizziness.

Before I could fall, arms slid around my waist, catching me.

I glanced up, surprised to see Maygar.

“You’re back,” he muttered. He held me against his shoulder. Plaster drifted down from the ceiling as the building shook, dusting his hair. Maygar looked up as another booming sound rattled the windows.

“Is Cass okay?” I asked. “Where’s Cass?”

Her voice rose, shaky. “I’m here.” I saw her gripping her own shoulder, leaning against the stair’s handrail as she peered down at me. “What are we going to do?”

Maygar’s voice shifted into the tone of a military report. His words were directed at me, I realized, as if I was in charge.

“They’re blowing up entrances and exits... presumably in case we try to take control of their people,” he said. “I’ve counted at least twenty inside. I can’t feel any below the ground level, but it’s only a matter of time. They’ve got seers with them, and the elevators are all down, as well as everything in the building fitted with organics. They’ve got trank guns too, and gas.”

Maygar grunted, motioning his head towards Revik.

“Rook-boy taught them well,” he added sourly. “Eddard still hopes to get us out through the underground tunnel. He thinks it’s not on any of the plans, but they may have collapsed it by now. They could gas us at any minute. These two...” He nodded at Jon and Cass. “...Made us carry you both. It slowed us down too much.”

I smiled at him, shaking my head. “You want me to feel sorry for you because my friends wouldn’t leave me behind to die?”

His eyes flickered, once. “I wouldn’t have left you,” he said.

“Allie!” Cass said. “We have to get out of here!”

I looked at Revik. Remembering Terian’s scream of rage, I clutched his arm, sliding into his light to see how he was. He was weak as hell, but most of his aleimi had returned to his body. The pressure built behind my eyes as I felt Terian searching for us both.

Cass was right. We didn’t have much time.

“Get him up.” I clicked my fingers in Maygar’s face. “Now, Maygar! And wake him up more... he’s still in the Barrier. Give him some of your light!”

Maygar let go of me and crouched over Revik.

After shaking him once, he slapped his face, harder than absolutely necessary, I thought, but it seemed to do the trick. Once Revik’s eyes were open, Maygar grabbed his other arm, grunting as he hoisted him upright. He slid a shoulder under the taller seer’s arm, motioning for Jon to help him by supporting his other side.

Then I saw Maygar’s expression turn puzzled. He looked back at me.

“Something’s different. It feels like chaos. Like—”

“I know.” I studied his eyes, startled by his seeming unawareness of what had occurred. He didn’t seem to remember what we’d done to the Pyramid at all. “We have a window,” I told him, keeping my explanation short. “From the Rooks, at least. I don’t know for how long. And I don’t know exactly how it’ll affect them.”

“What about the barricades?” Jon said.

“And those soldiers on the stairs?” Cass said.

I looked around at all of them, hesitating. “Yeah. Okay. Maygar and I are going to need your help. You’re going to get tired. If it gets too bad, tell us, okay? We’ll lay off.”

“Allie?” Cass said. “Lay off what?”

I met her eyes. “We’re going to be draining you. Taking your light... as soon as things start,” I said. “I’ll take as much as you can possibly spare. Don’t ask me to stop unless you’re desperate. The main thing is going to be speed. Once we get closer to their humans, I’ll switch to draining them.” I looked up the stairs at Eddard. “Those charges Revik mentioned wouldn’t hurt either. The more we can distract them, the easier it will be to knock them out before they start firing...”

I trailed when Eddard held up a black bag. He shook it, to show me it was empty, then lifted some kind of hand-held remote device.

Getting the gist, I nodded, glancing around at the others.

I considered saying something else. Something encouraging, maybe, something inspiring or leader-like. But seeing the glazed looks I got in return, it struck me that we didn’t have time for that, either. I motioned for Maygar and Jon to follow with Revik, even as another booming sound brought dust sifting through the floor above.

Already, I can barely see for the light in my eyes.

“Stay behind us,” I hear myself say to the humans.

I feel Revik react, reaching for me, but only just.

* * *

THE FIRST EXPLOSION rocked the whole of the penthouse apartment, raining debris down on the crowd of onlookers standing in the street below. Windows shattered, car alarms went off as chunks of metal, plaster, paper, fabric, bits of wood furniture and wainscoting along with broken appliances, powdered glass and paint showered onto the street alongside the pieces of helicopter and smashed up cars that had been moved to the side to help reinforce roadblocks.

Detective of Home Office Security for England, Ronald Clement, spilled his coffee over the front of his shirt when the windows blew, ducking down behind a military van.

He touched his earpiece, but his eyes found his partner, Detective Henry George, first.

“What in God’s name was that?” he shouted. “I thought we had them trapped in the stairwell?”

Henry pointed to the penthouse, as if the smoke billowing out the top floor windows was explanation enough.

Clement tapped his headset pointedly. He felt the other detective click over, and immediately began to speak. “Henry? What happened?”

“Dunno. Where’s the head Yank? That’s their people, right?”

Another explosion blew out a set of windows on the penthouse floor.

Clement ducked, then watched in disbelief as furniture rained down, including what looked like a four foot head from a Buddha statue. It caved in the front of a police car as it landed, crushing windshield and bonnet neatly into the asphalt.

Clement barely had time to be grateful no one sat inside when the muffled sound of gunshots grew audible once more. Automatic rifles.

Henry motioned Clement to follow him behind a row of vehicles out of range of the falling debris. A woman in a dark, civilian suit stood there, drinking from a cup that came from a gourmet coffee chain and nodding to a man wearing the black uniform of the Sweeps. She didn’t stop speaking as they approached, although Clement saw her glance at them.

“Director Raven?” Henry said.

“...I don’t understand it, ma’am,” Clement heard the Sweep say to her. “Our people... half of them just collapsed. They won’t fight. The other half are completely out of control. They won’t listen to orders. Some even started shooting each another...”

The woman took a drink of her high-end coffee, her face unperturbed. “Gas the building with cyanide. If that doesn’t work, we’ll nuke the damned thing.”

Henry and Clement gaped at her, then at one another.

Even the Sweep looked confused. “Sir?”

“Kill them,” she snapped. “Do you hear me? This is no time to play footsie with her, not after what that bitch has done! Kill all of them!”

The man wearing the Sweep uniform saluted. Right before he turned to walk away, his face seemed to crumple strangely, turning almost childlike.

“How did this happen?” he said. “What will we do, now that we no longer have—”

“Pull yourself together, Agent,” she hissed. “Or you’ll join her.”

“Director Raven?” Henry said, louder.

Clement gave Henry an irritated look, mainly for interrupting his eavesdropping.

The woman, Raven, the hotshot seer they sent down from Central to run the iceblood units, turned. Her blue eyes glinted shockingly light, and she stood taller than Clement had realized, at least an inch taller than he did himself. She wore her hair long, unlike any other breed of agent Clement could recall. It hung like a dark curtain around her porcelain, Asian-looking face, nearly black in color. Her high cheekbones and almond eyes hinted at her seer blood, but apart from her height, she could have been human. A really beautiful human, for sure.

On her index finger, Clement saw a ring glint in the few wisps of sunlight.

It looked German to him. A six-pointed cross.

“I think you understand what needs to happen here, soldier,” she said to the Sweep, still staring at Clement. “It’s time to clean up. That means our side, too.”

The Sweep nodded, his eyes still holding that dense, childlike grief.

Clutching his helmet in one hand, he wandered back towards the building, as though lost.

Director Raven smiled at Clement, her shocking blue eyes still holding that odd focus. She held up the paper cup in a kind of salute.

“Coffee?” she said, raising a charcoaled eyebrow.

A chunk of cement hit the street, flattening a letter box. It broke in two, sending up a plume of white spray after the larger piece crushed a yellow fire hydrant.

Then Clement saw Henry freeze, his face drain of blood. Turning away from the woman and from Clement himself, he clutched his earpiece as he listened.

“Can you repeat?” he shouted. After a pause, he cursed. “So it’s a sure thing. He’s really dead...”

“Who?” Clement said, bending closer. “Who’s dead?”

“Ron!” Henry shouted, not hearing him. “They shot the U.S. President! Gunned him down in their own White House! Looks like the VP’s not going to make it either...”

“What?” Ronald Clement stared at his old friend.

Behind him, another explosion rocked the white building.

He and Henry both ducked. When Clement turned, looking for the person who had been standing there, drinking her designer coffee and smiling at him with that striking face, he couldn’t find her. He scanned the nearby crowd, looking past uniforms and the crush of onlookers gawking from the first set of barricades.

But Director Raven was gone.

Chapter 32

BRIDGE

A FEW BLOCKS from Eaton Place, a manhole cover lifted softly from its resting place flush with the asphalt, revealing pale but dirty hands. As the cover rose higher, an equally dirty face grew visible, fitted with chocolate brown eyes and dusty black hair. The hands pushed the manhole cover to one side, planted themselves on the cement and hoisted up a muscular torso.

Maygar sat on the lip of the hole just long enough to get his balance.

He pulled up his legs behind him, then immediately reached back inside, clicking his fingers impatiently for someone to hand something up to where he could reach it. He glanced around as he caught hold of the clothing, then the arms of another, taller man and dragged him through the same opening. He pulled him clear, then laid him down on the pavement, frowning.

Bending over his inert form, he slapped him sharply on the cheek.

“No sleeping now, Rolf... wakey-wakey.” He slapped him harder, and the other man’s eyes flickered open. Once the clear irises could focus, he frowned.

“That’s right.” Maygar smiled. “It’s me, dickhead.”

“Oh, give it a rest, will you?” The girl climbing out of the hole had a long scar splitting her face and hair dyed bright red with several inches of black roots. She was helped up the last rungs by a long-haired man in a very dirty jacket that might once have been expensive, and a middle aged man with thinning hair and wire-rim glasses.

Behind them, another woman followed. She looked exhausted.

“Do we know where we are?” Cass said.

Maygar said, “No. But we’d best assume—”

“Wait,” Jon said. “Look.”

They all watched the woman who’d climbed out last.

Allie walked out into the middle of the street, aiming her feet towards a stretch limousine that had just turned the corner onto the small cul-de-sac where they all stood. She held up a hand... and the car came to a screeching halt.

The others exchanged looks, but only hesitated an instant before they picked up Revik and ran for the car. Maygar handed him off to Jon once they reached it, walking around to the driver’s side door. Sitting in the front seat, a man in a black suit and cap stared up and around at all of them, fear and confusion in his eyes.

“What the bloody hell—” he began.

Then his eyes went dead, like the power had been cut.

“Get out,” Maygar said.

The man obeyed.

Maygar, Eddard and Cass slid into the long front seat without waiting, locking the doors behind them. Jon climbed in the back with Allie and Revik. Putting the car in drive, Maygar wrenched the wheel, making the wide turn to get them flipped around and aimed towards the main road beyond the narrower stretch of buildings. Once he had, he saw a London police car pull up to block the entrance of the cobblestone road.

The eyes of the two cops looked crazed as they got out, like Night of the Living Dead crazed, and Maygar hesitated before craning his neck to look back at Allie.

“Two more, boss,” he said. “They’ve blocked the road.”

Allie glanced in the direction of the police car.

...and both officers fell to the ground in mid-walk.

Maygar stared, bewildered by the efficiency with which she’d done it, and to two seers, no less. Dehgoies couldn’t possibly have had time to train her so well.

He’d heard mates could sometimes take on one another’s skill sets...

Maygar pushed that thought from his mind as well, but not before it tightened his jaw, bringing a low surge of anger.

“Can you just knock it out of the way now?” Allie asked him.

He continued to stare at her.

“The police car, Maygar,” she said. “Can you knock it out of the way?”

Maygar nodded, turning back to face the wheel, and the road. “Aye, aye.”

He reached the parked cruiser a few seconds later, driving fast enough to feel a little reckless. The limo passed through the opening by slamming into the front end of the cop car hard enough to push it out of the way, crushing in the right fender and losing a long gouge of black paint in the process.

Allie said, “Guns only. At least for the next few hours.”

They all gave the woman in the back seat a nervous look.

“Sure thing, boss,” Maygar said, clicking in dark humor.

* * *

I GRIPPED THE armrest of the limo we’d stolen as Maygar began to wind his way through roads and turnpikes leading out of the city.

Funnily enough, I didn’t think much about the stealing part until then. It shocked me a little to realize how indifferent I’d gotten... even as I wondered whether the bar had anything to drink in the refrigerated compartment.

“Where are we going?” he said.

The voice asking was deep, with a German accent.

I glanced up, saw Revik looking at me. All of us had taken turns giving him light, but his eyes still looked glazed, faraway-seeming.

“India,” I said. “For now.” Remembering the others then, I looked between Cass and Jon, who sat in the front and the back of the car. “I have enough on my ident to send you both back to San Francisco, if you want.” I saw Cass’s eyes go flat just before I glanced at Jon. “...Only if you want. You can go anywhere.”

Jon said neutrally, “Anywhere but with you. Right, Al?”

I looked between them. “You know why I said that. God! You’d think I was the antichrist for not wanting to see either of you hurt again.”

Watching Jon’s mouth tighten as Cass gave me an outraged look, I exhaled in a sigh.

“You really want to come with us?” I said. “Hang out with a bunch of terrorist seers in the ass-end of a Third World country?”

Cass grinned. “What do you think?”

I looked at my brother, who only nodded. Seeing me beginning to relent, he leaned over to shove at my arm playfully.

“Besides... brother of terrorist. Hello? They’d put me in jail.”

“Me too,” Cass said cheerfully. “I’m a sympathizer.”

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “Okay. But so you know... India smells bad. I mean... open sewer bad. The water’s not right. No matter how many showers you take, you never really get clean like at home. I can’t promise we’ll be doing anything but hiding, either, so don’t expect this kind of excitement on a daily basis. And wait until you try seer food...”

I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t relieved though, and Cass laughed.

I glanced at Revik, wondering how he’d take to the idea of my friends coming along, but he wasn’t looking at my face. As I’d leaned down to open the refrigerator, the chain I wore fell out of my shirt. Following his eyes down to the silver ring that dangled there, I felt my face warm. Before I could tuck it back into my shirt, he reached out and cupped it in his hand.

There was a silence as he fingered it.

I took a breath when he didn’t speak.

“Terian gave it to me,” I said. “To convince me you were dead, I guess.”

Hesitating again, I reached back to unhook the clasp. Before I could find it with my fingers, though, he caught my wrist, stopping me.

I glanced up. Seeing his face tighten, I swallowed.

“Don’t you want it back?” I said.

“No.” His eyes left the ring, meeting mine. For a moment he only looked at me, then he gestured vaguely, clearing his throat. “...It was my mother’s. My real mother’s.”

He paused again, as if unsure what to say next.

“I’d like you to keep it,” he finished.

I processed that information, feeling another whisper of pain when his eyes didn’t leave mine. Embarrassment reached me, but I couldn’t tell if it was his or mine, or both of ours. Maybe it was just an inability to deal with him that close, looking at me the way he was.

He let go of my wrist. Forcing my eyes away from his, I focused back on the small refrigerator, fighting to catch my breath.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I said. “You should eat something, Revik. It’ll help replenish your light.”

“Yes.” A second later, he reconsidered, gesturing negative. “...No, Allie. Not right now.”

“No?” I glanced back. “Are you sure? They probably have something in here you can eat. Even if it’s just juice or peanuts, or...”

I trailed when his arm coiled around my waist. Gently, he pulled me upright, then back into the corner of the leather limousine seat by the door. Leaning over where I sat, he half-trapped me there with his arms, turning to shield most of me from the rest of the car. For a long moment, with his light encasing mine, it felt almost like we were alone.

He just looked at me, his colorless eyes clear.

“Are you all right?” I said.

He shook his head. “No.”

He looked like he wanted to say more. He lowered his mouth to my ear, speaking in a near-murmur.

“I missed you, Allie,” he said. “...so much.”

Fighting a tightening in my throat, I braced against a sliver of pain that hit at my chest. I felt it in my fingers.

“I missed you, too.” My voice came out soft, lower than a whisper. “A lot, Revik... every day.”

Warmth pulsed off his light, but I felt him pull it back, restraining it.

I felt him wanting to say more. Finally, he caressed my face, his fingers gentle as he brushed hair out of my eyes.

“You saved my life,” he said. “...again, Allie.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t know why. I heard you. With Galaith. You have no idea how wrong you are... about what I think of you. You couldn’t be more wrong about that, Allie...”

Glancing up at him, I smiled a little, in spite of myself.

“Just a little slow, right?” I said, my voice teasing. “...A little worm-like?”

He gripped my hair. “You saved my life. Again, Allie.”

My smile faded as I looked at him. I watched his mouth harden, felt his fingers tighten on me as he searched for words.

“You’re all I’ve thought about,” he said. “For months, Allie... even before.”

I didn’t ask him before what. I was staring at him again, a little thrown.

Cautiously, I let my fingers trace his jaw. For a long moment, he didn’t move, letting me touch him as he held me against the seat. I caressed his neck, even his fingers, before going back to his face. I didn’t hide my reactions to how thin he was. I felt his light start to respond, coiling deeper into mine as he lowered his mouth. My hand tightened in his shirt as his lips touched my throat. I jumped when I felt his tongue glide over my skin.

He raised his head, his eyes glassed. He swallowed, staring at me.

I met his gaze, fighting disbelief.

“Are you going to leave me?” he said.

I stared between his eyes. Clearing my throat, I shook my head.

“No,” I said.

I saw tension leave his face. I could feel him wanting to say more. It hung there, between us, as he thought through words, as if practicing different ways to say it.

Then, he seemed to give up.

He leaned closer. His lips brushed my mouth, a near question.

I held my breath as he kissed me again. His light remained cautious, coiled around his body... I felt him feeding on me still, too, probably in reflex since he was still low on light. At my thought, he took my hand, placing it on the center of his chest. For a moment both of us just hung there as he pulled light through my fingers.

Then he made a low sound, lowering his mouth to mine.

We were kissing then. I felt nothing but restraint on him at first, a near caution as his fingers touched my hands. I was holding back, too, I realized... but when the pull grew stronger, I found myself opening. My light changed. I’d barely touched my tongue to his when I felt him react. He kissed me again, parting my lips, gasping a little against my mouth. I touched his face again, and he closed his eyes, leaning into my hand, sliding his fingers into my hair.

Then he had me pinned against the seat.

He kissed me harder, leaning his weight on me. When I clasped his neck, he made another low sound. I felt him asking me then, felt everything about him grow soft, melting into my light, against my body. Pain slid through me, almost debilitating, and he let out a groan, his hand clenching on my hip. He kissed me again, using light in his tongue. I realized he was hard, even as he started to open for real, to unfurl his light—

“Hey!” Jon thumped Revik on the back.

Both of us jumped.

“Chill out,” he said. “You guys are like teenagers, I swear.” He punched Revik’s arm. “That’s still my sister, man. Married or not... no way am I going to watch you two go native in here.”

I let go of him at once and Revik raised his head.

His eyes were out of focus, almost drugged, but he nodded to Jon’s words. I felt another set of eyes on me and glanced forward as Maygar looked away from the rearview mirror.

Only then did I realize how quiet the car was.

My eyes found Cass’s and she grinned at me, shaking her head. The scar pulled at her face when she smiled, changing its shape.

Even Eddard looked faintly amused in his one glance backwards.

Jon patted Revik on the leg. “Sorry, man,” he said. “Just wait until we get somewhere, okay?”

When the silence stretched, Maygar cleared his throat, leaning down to punch in the car’s audio feed.

“...This just confirmed,” the announcer’s tinny, avatar voice blared in an English accent. “...The President of the United States is dead. The White House physician issued a statement minutes ago, outlining how a series of gunshot wounds proved fatal after severing not one but two major arteries. The unidentified attacker first broke in and shot the Vice President, Ethan Wellington, in his state room at the Vice Presidential mansion, leaving him for dead before...”

I glanced over to see Cass gaping at the radio. Jon, on the other side of Revik, wore an expression that mirrored hers. Then all five of them were staring at me.

Maygar was the first to break the silence.

He snorted, glancing at me in the mirror.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” he said. “Galaith. El Presidente.” Reading the assent in my silence, he focused back on the road. “I don’t know what scares me more,” he said. “The idea that you’re on my side... or that you may not always be.”

“I didn’t kill him,” I said.

Maygar laughed. “No. You just made sure every seer who wanted him dead knew exactly where he was.” He muttered, “Brilliant, really. I’d have thought more would be loyal.”

“Some were loyal,” I said.

“Well at least one wasn’t,” Maygar retorted.

I glanced at Revik. He reached into my lap and took my hand, clasping my fingers tightly.

“You did the right thing,” he said.

I nodded, looking at our entwined fingers.

I glanced out the window. The sun finally peered through the overcast England sky. Even through thick pollution and clouds, columns of fogged gold cascaded down to illuminate discrete pockets of humanity and green lawn.

I thought about going back to that high perch in the Himalayas, with the monkeys and chai and golden eagles floating over strings of prayer flags and snow-covered mountains and trees. I thought about being there with Jon and Cass, hiking with them and hanging out in the markets, going swimming and exploring and making friends with the other seers.

I thought about being there with Revik... and I smiled.

When I glanced up, he was staring at me. He touched my face when I averted my gaze, and I felt a pulse of warmth off him, affection that slid into something else, that grew almost tentative as it expanded soft tendrils through my chest. It strengthened as I gripped his hand, until I was sending the same back to him, tugging gently on his fingers.

He pulled me closer, letting me into more of his light.

I could feel it by then, what he’d wanted to tell me.

That time, when he stared at me, I didn’t look away.

Epilogue

ETHAN

ETHAN WELLINGTON STOOD on the steps of the U.S. Capitol Building.

A crowd of several thousands... likely tens of thousands... flooded down the steps and into the parkway below, filling every empty space for as far as his physical eyes could see. He saw them standing on streetlamp bases, on curbs, in the street, on the grass. They filled every spot not taken up by another physical object, or cordoned off by the legion of secret service and military who blanketed over half the city in the wake of the President’s assassination.

The vast majority of those in the crowd were human, of course.

Still, he’d received well-wishes from several of the seers’ delegations prior to his arrival for the ceremony, as well. They apologized for their inability to come in person, but Ethan understood better than anyone why no recognizable seer would be safe on the streets of DC today, or perhaps the streets of any major city in the United States.

Three weeks had passed since his friend Daniel Caine had died.

Since the assassin had been identified as a seer who did contract work with the Chinese, as well as who had been involved in terrorist attacks in Europe and the Middle East, the country had been in an uproar.

Still, fear and hysteria had their uses.

The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court stood opposite him now, wearing full dress robes. She had only been newly appointed to the role, in the wake of the mysterious death of her predecessor, and since she was new also to the Court itself, the appointment had surprised a number of people. It broke protocol for an Associate Justice to rise to the top spot so quickly, but no one seemed willing to question precisely how it had happened, either. Of course, it would have surprised people even more to know that she wasn’t the same person who had been appointed to the Court the year previous.

The few who knew her well now all appeared to be unavailable for comment, however... one more advantage to the image ban in place for all public figures.

A few well-planned eliminations, some reconstructive surgery and a number of more thorough mind wipes and re-patternings, and no one asked any more questions.

Ethan approved the action.

Hell, it had been his idea.

Few in his inner circle even questioned it. Then again, that circle had grown smaller in the past weeks as well, by necessity as much as design.

On one thing they all agreed, civilians and government alike. The country needed to be in firm hands right now.

When the Chief Justice looked up, Ethan smiled, meeting the older woman’s eyes.

Hey doc, he thought at her with his human mind. What’s up?

Xarethe’s expression did not flicker.

“Sir,” she said. “Please raise your right hand.”

Ethan did as he was told. His left hand, which still poked from the end of a dark blue sling, the color of which perfectly matched his suit, he placed on a King James Bible.

The Chief Justice, in her outdated glasses, flashed the slightest bit of warning from her lizard-like eyes. All trace of the German accent evaporated when she said,

“Are you prepared to take the Oath, Mr. Vice President?”

Ethan glanced out over the crowd as they burst into cheers of ecstatic applause. He’d broken a conspiracy in the heart of the White House, even tried to save Caine’s life as he lay dying on the conference room rug. The applause grew more frenetic, more emotional. It was amazing how quickly they forgot.

But humans always loved a good story.

“I am,” he said. “...Ready, that is.”

She smiled, raising her right hand. “Very well, sir. Please repeat after me...”

He only half-listened as he intoned the phrases after she spoke them.

His eyes scanned faces in his nearer audience, where his wife, Helen, stood by a little girl in a purple dress with a stuffed white rabbit clutched to her chest. The rabbit was brand new, its fur gleaming a pristine white. The little girl gazed up at him, oblivious to the screams and cheers of the people flooding the steps below the balcony below her. Her small body remained entirely erect, dwarfed among the crush of staffers, family and Justices on that higher platform, along with the Speaker of the House and members of his Cabinet, cushioned on either end by a generous array of Secret Service agents.

“I cannot believe he wanted to do this outside,” the Secretary of State muttered to Ethan’s right, within the girl’s earshot.

The Secretary of Defense stood beside him, wearing a navy uniform covered in medals. She smiled, flipping back long, dark, mahogany-colored hair.

“It plays well for the press,” she said. “Especially with him injured.”

“Do we know yet, who is responsible?”

Her well-formed lips curled a little. “The same fringe group Caine was working with, we think. Wellington’s already declared war. Of course, it won’t be official until tonight.”

The Secretary of Defense’s eyes flashed a pale yellow as she glanced over the crowd, pausing to wink at the little girl before she smiled at Ethan.

“Caine did us a favor,” she added, giving the other man a disparaging look. “If nothing else, it is clear now, what we must do to survive.”

“Really?” The Secretary of State said. “...And just what is that, Jarvesch?”

“Exterminate the enemy,” she said. “Before they are strong enough to do it to us.”

Beyond them, Ethan Wellington continued to speak into the small but powerful microphone, using the words that would make him the next President of the United States.

“...will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office in which I am about to enter,” he said forcefully.

“So help me, God,” the Justice prompted, her hard eyes smiling faintly.

The crowd erupted behind him in emotional cheering. The feed cameras ran, capturing faces and waving hands, tears wiped from the eyes of watching humans, banners waving back and forth as Ethan gazed out over the Washington Monument.

In the distance, tanks could be seen parked at either end of the mall.

Jets flashed in the sunlight overhead.

He had made it, in spite of everything.

He had reached for it, and he had finally made it.

Ethan smiled, and the cheering grew louder still, more emotional.

“...So help me, God,” he said.

* * *

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THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

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THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

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DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

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THE LOST QUEEN

The Portal

BY ANGEL LAWSON

Copyright © 2015 by Angel Lawson

When Liam Caldwell’s plane makes an emergency landing at Nomad Airlines, Nadya is quick on the scene to help. Her family has managed the airport for generations and Liam is one of their most important pilots. Things shift for Liam and Nadya when Liam is pulled from the plane after an emergency landing, bleeding and injured. No one, including her father, seems too concerned. Liam disappears before 911 can show up, piquing Nadya interest, so much that she follows him home. This decision ignites a dormant connection between Nadya and Liam, one that spans from this world to another.

THE LOST QUEEN
by Angel Lawson

The Lost Queen copyright © 2015 by Angel Lawson

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publication

Text Copyright 2015 Anna Benefield/Angel Lawson

Chapter 1

Nadya

I CAN’T REMEMBER the first time I saw Liam Caldwell. Like many others that came in and out of our tiny offices at Nomad Airlines he’d always been there—like a hazy ghost or vague shadow ingrained in my earliest memories. When he finally, truly, landed on my radar it wasn’t from fondness or shared pleasantries or even quirky gestures like our other customers. It was the opposite. He wasn’t very nice. Not that he was mean, but around here, to be anything other than friendly was an abnormality. Like everything else in our small town, the customers and staff at Nomad Airlines were a tight group.

Liam Caldwell clung to the edges like fringe.

“What’s his problem?” I asked my dad one day after it was safe to gossip. Liam’s four-seater had taken off right on schedule filling the early morning air with a familiar buzzing hum. The sun glinted off the tinted windows and I wondered for the millionth time what he did on these trips. Most of the pilots shared their lives with us—giving a glimpse of the world outside tiny Wuakegen, Illinois—the only place I’d ever been.

“Mr. Caldwell is very private, Nadya,” my father replied, eyes trained on the paperwork on his desk. I hopped up on tiny corner of clean space on the desktop and flipped through a couple invoices. “He pays his bills. He’s polite. Never causes me trouble. It doesn’t bother me that he doesn’t want to chat like a gaggle of women.”

My teeth ground at the borderline sexist comment, but arguing was pointless. My father had always been a traditionalist and completely overprotective. I can’t blame him after what happened to my mom, but really, was it fair to stifle your only daughter out of fear?

“Don’t bother him,” he added, shoving some papers into a file and slamming the metal drawer shut. “I know how you get.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that he never talks to us? Even Mr. Peterson shows me pictures of his grandkids and he’s pretty rough around the edges,” I said, referring to the old man that no longer flew his plane but still came out to the hangar three times a week and kept her in pristine condition. “My interaction with him today included one head nod and a grunted, ‘thank you.’”

“You’re complaining about him saying thank you?”

“No. It’s just weird. How long has he been coming here? Years, right? Why can’t he carry on a normal conversation? I wonder if he’s married, although I doubt it. He’s too cranky, plus he’s never brought anyone with him on a flight. I checked the logs.”

“Maybe you scare him,” he suggested, eyeing my clothing.

I rolled my eyes in reply. Pop wasn’t a big fan of my wardrobe. Or my hair. I wore it long, straight, and black with thick blunt bangs across my forehead. Colorful highlights ran down my face. Sometimes pink, currently purple. He also didn’t care for the way I fixed my makeup.  Witch-girl was what one of the jerks at the diner in town called me. Whatever. If it gave me a little breathing room, I’d take the slander. Plus, whoever said being a witch would be a bad thing? I’d decided years before that maybe if I looked the part, I would inherit my mother’s gifts, after all.

If they actually existed.

“I doubt he’s worried about a little eyeliner and a few piercings.”

Pop leaned back in his seat and sighed. “Do you have a crush on Mr. Caldwell? Because we’ve talked about this. No—”

“Dating. I know.” My father had come a long way since his ultra-religious upbringing. He grew up in a strict God-fearing background and had renounced it for my mother. Unfortunately, after her death he’d reverted back to more conservative ways, including no unsupervised dates, which pretty much meant no boy around would ask me out as soon as they heard that.

I was twenty years-old, for Christ’s sake. He had to have to relent at some point. Otherwise, I’d end up married to the stupid airport.

“I’m not interested in Mr. Caldwell like that. He’s just very mysterious.” And fine, he was handsome, I conceded. Thick black hair. Piercing green eyes. A strong profile, marred by a slight lump in the bridge of his nose. Broken? I wondered how he got it more than once while he filled out paperwork at the desk.  I didn’t actually say anything out loud because I could sense my father’s disapproval and almost see his frown and narrowed eyes. He’d pull me off the front desk if he suspected anything more than a curious interest.

Pop rubbed his hands over his eyes. “So much like your mother. You can’t just leave anything alone, can you?”

“Good thing she didn’t, or we wouldn’t be here right now.”

He smiled, somewhere between happy and wistful. He gave up everything to be with my mother. Left his family and the church. Thirty years ago, at age nineteen, he rolled into town on a pilgrimage to determine if he thought he should go into the priesthood. Instead he met my mother, Claudia, who was only fifteen at the time. “One look,” he told me. That’s all it took and he left his family, his culture and way of life. Pop settled in this tiny town by the waterfront, got a job at the airport working maintenance and wooed my mother into submission—eventually. The tradition didn’t work with her. She was a modern woman and she made him work for it. Five years later they were married and five years after that he bought the airport. Once I arrived they basically raised me behind the counter.

“Well,” I told him, hopping off the desk and moving to the office door. “I’ve decided to crack him.”

“Crack him?”

“Yep. I’ll make him smile. Find out something personal. It will be a challenge.” Something to keep me busy, I said to myself.

“Good luck, honey,” he said, focusing back on his papers. I could tell by his tone he thought I was being silly. “Make sure you get the maintenance schedule up, okay?”

I left the room, well aware that I’d been dismissed. The airport lounge was empty, so I sat behind my counter and pulled up Liam Caldwell’s records on the computer. I was twenty years-old, worked in a tiny airport with my father, and had no real future. The way I saw it, I had nothing to lose but time.

* * *

“HOW’S THE OUTLOOK today?” Colleen asked from her spot across from my counter in the tiny coffee shop. She pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear and continued refilling the napkin dispenser.

I opened the paper, scanning over the local news before settling on the daily horoscopes. “Other than this poor guy murdered down by the dock, things are looking pretty good.” I grimaced at the description of his slashed throat. “Here’s mine: Swimming in the deep waters of your own imagination can be a luxurious and refreshing experience. However, it's critical to understand that an inner symbolic journey might trigger a deep longing for meaning that cannot be easily found in the outer world.” Reading the horoscope was our daily tradition.

“Such a Pisces.”

I shrugged and left the paper on the top of the counter to greet my first customer of the day. “How are you today, Mr. Johnson?”

“Wonderful, Nadya. You?”

“I can’t complain,” I replied, smiling. I kept my eyes trained on Mr. Johnson and not out the glass the door where I’d seen the flash of Liam Caldwell’s black car arriving in the parking lot.

“Weather should be perfect for your flight today.”

“Yep, weatherman said everything should be clear blue skies.”

He strode in with quiet confidence and I stole a glance in his direction. He paid no attention to his surroundings, his eyes firmly cast down at the newspaper he carried. My goal was to get something—anything—out of him.

After double checking the paperwork, I finished up so I could give Mr. Caldwell my full attention. “See you this afternoon, Mr. Johnson, have a safe flight.”

“Thank you, Nadya. Have a good day.”

Mr. Johnson left through the side door, toward the hangars. Each pilot had to check in with me before they departed the airport. We went over any last minute weather issues, scheduling concerns and updated take-off procedures. On a normal day, there was no more than one plane taking off at a time, but safety was our priority.  One accident and Pop could lose the whole business.

“Good morning, Mr. Caldwell.”

“Hello,” he said in a quiet voice. He passed over his flight plan and I skimmed the meticulous handwriting. “Everything cleared for my take off at 9 AM?”

“Yes sir; I got your message this morning. Brayden has already been out to ready your plane. You should be able to take off on time.”

“Thank you.”

I located the clipboard and flight plan he needed to sign before leaving the lounge. Instead of handing it to him I took a deep breath and asked, “Headed anywhere exciting today?”

“No,” he replied, checking his watch. “Not particularly.”

“Has to be better than this,” I joked but stopped when his eyes met mine and I felt a cool chill. Okay then. I passed the clipboard over the counter and placed the pen on top. “Please sign here.”

My heart sank when I realized today was not going to be the day for me to break through the wall Liam Caldwell had erected around himself. His exterior was too tough. I needed something to go on. Something personal. I scanned him, searching for anything that could work.

Hair: Neat and tidy.

Jacket: Worn leather, looked soft. And expensive.

Shoes: Same as above.

Jewelry: None. Well—the watch, which again, looked pricey.

Clothing: crisp blue button up, dark jeans. He’d worn this same outfit in a million times before. Too casual for a desk job. Too expensive for something less.

Black leather bag, slung over his shoulder; no tag. Nothing identifiable. He carried it each trip, regardless of how short or long.

Nothing. That’s what I had. No wonder he reminded me  of a shadow.

Twice I had noted a variation. The first was several months before, when he arrived with small bruise under his eye. The kind you get from being punched or from walking into a door. A couple of weeks later his knuckles bore red, inflamed scrapes.

Neither of these were anything more than pieces of a puzzle I desperately wanted to solve.

He signed his name, neat and graceful on the form, and laid it on the counter. I’d blown my chance, so I went back to the business of ignoring him, filing away the form and checking the schedule.

“Have a good fli—” I started to say, like I do to every customer, but stopped short when I saw what he was looking at. What he was doing.

His eyes, the blue ones, were staring at my newspaper—at the horoscope page. This was unexpected.

“Um, would you like to take the paper with you?” I asked, moving to hand it to him.

His face jerked upward and our eyes held, longer than ever before. He shook his head and turned quickly, leaving me in shock as he exited the building.

* * *

LIKE ALL OBSESSIONS, the one with Liam Caldwell snuck up on me. One day I was simply trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation with him, to learn a little more about him, and the next I had his entire internet history printed out and hidden in my desk. And by entire history I mean one page, including his driver’s license, pilot’s license, and other paperwork we kept in his file.

Oh, and I might have started taking notes in a small pink notebook with glitter on the cover. At least it wasn’t Monster’s High.

I’d like to say he came in like clockwork. Every two days, carrying the same bag, wearing a trench coat and dark glasses, but that’s not how he operated. His flights were erratic, sometimes lasting for days, and once for two weeks. Each time he charted his small plane into the city. Did he work there? Have an apartment? He listed his employment and employer as himself, chair of the Caldwell Foundation. It sounded classy, but the information I found on it sounded vague. Something research-oriented that became boring two paragraphs in. Plus, it seemed a little odd for a twenty-seven year old to operate a business of such caliber.

His schedule seemed odd, as he often left for several days at once…but then other times his return time was quick. And why not just live in Chicago? Why fly back and forth? The distance was minimal. I had too many questions—none of which were my business.

Yet, I considered a dozen times over the following days, he’d lowered his guard that one time with the paper; I knew it was something I could use. I was sure of it.

“Maybe he just wanted to see if his plane would crash,” Colleen offered during our lunch break the following week.  She’d started working at the airport  around the same time my mother passed. At first I thought she’d try to mother me—maybe try to take her place. Instead she was more like a crazy aunt that lived in the spare bedroom.

“No, I think it was something more than that.” What that something was I had no idea. I knew I was stretching.

“What’s his sign?”

“Sagittarius.” November 27th, 1988.  Colleen raised an eyebrow and I sighed. “I know. Makes sense, right?”

“No wonder he’s so aloof,” she said. Sagittarians are well known for their love of freedom and truth. Rarely committed to someone. Bingo.

I’d started reading my horoscope when I was ten. This was around the time I learned about the rumors following my mother’s death. People in town liked to gossip that she was a witch. Stupid, I know. It wasn’t like we lived two hundred years ago in Salem. But the rumor persisted, and instead of fighting it, I just embraced it.  I’d always known my mother had different ideas about life, and in some ways it was comforting. At my lowest points I pretended she died fighting some sort of evil, not from an aneurysm that went off in her brain like a bomb.

Around twelve I began dressing the part—or what I thought was the part. Delving into the miniscule number of occult books at my used book store and whatever I could find online that wasn’t blocked by my father’s security measures. Dark makeup and clothes became my uniform, including the required goth-like dresses and funky boots. Everything had to be black, with a dash of red or purple for color. I was skinny as a rail, no boobs to speak of until later in my teens, so the tighter the fit the better. After a while my father’s strict dating rules were something of a joke. No one wanted to date the witch-freak anyway.

I cornered my friends and demanded to read their palms. I took a glass ball from the garden and a sheet from the linen closet and studied runes on Google. With a flair for the dramatic, I predicted disease and death and romance. I learned all the astrological signs and gave knowing glances when the kids celebrated their birthdays at school. But my main talent was predicting the truth. For some reason I had a sixth sense when it came to lying.  I could smell it on a person like coating of sulfur.

Witchcraft, or my lame version of it, was my first true obsession, and even though I moved past the fake parlor tricks, it became a persona I couldn’t shake. When Liam Caldwell looked at that page in the Waukegan paper, it was like a lightning-bolt shot between us. What started off as a simple curiosity, a challenge to get the man to engage had turned into something else. That glance at the newspaper wasn’t a coincidence. I didn’t believe in them.

I had to know more.

“Well, good luck getting cracking him” Colleen said, drinking the remains of her pop.
“From what you’ve told me, getting a Sagittarius to do anything they don’t want to is close to impossible.”

He had flown out that morning without even a glance at the paper I had left visible on top of the counter. Nothing. In fact, he was extra gruff today, uttering only a single grunt when I gave him the paperwork. I didn’t approach him otherwise. Instead I studied him. Searching for something to go on.

His records showed he was in his mid-twenties, but he appeared older—not physically. Maybe wiser? A thin scar slashed through his eyebrow. A thicker one crested his chin.

“Have a good trip,” I said to his back, as he left the building for the tarmac.

* * *

“POP, HOW LONG do you plan on staying tonight?” I asked, packing up my stuff. I learned a long time ago that if I wanted to sleep in my own bed not to wait for my father to leave the airport.

“Just a couple of hours.”

“Colleen left you some food in the microwave. Do you want me to get it for you?”

“No, sweetie, I’m fine. Just finishing up some work.”

I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He patted my head and I left him there, by the dim lamp light. I locked the door behind me as I exited the building. The empty parking lot felt cool and I tugged my sweater around my shoulders. There was no way to ever get used to the chill that blew off the lake.

I got in my car, an ancient Honda from the mid-80’s, and cranked the heat. Okay, not totally ancient, but it has more years than I do. It’s one of the relics left over from my mother—one of those things neither my father or I could bear to give away. The harsh winter air had cracked the paint over time, leaving rust spots near the taillights, and the heat made the car rattle and shake at stoplights.

My fingers were pressed against the heat vents when a beast of a car sailed through the yellow light. It took a couple seconds to sink in but, the rumble of the muffler shook me to my senses. That was Liam Caldwell’s car.

It did not take more than a couple of seconds for me to decide what to do.

I followed him.

The streets were dark and fairly empty, as it was already past ten. Liam’s car moved swiftly, the muffler echoing with low rumble against the buildings. My car seemed to wheeze and groan each time I accelerated, but I managed to keep him in sight—that is, until he turned into a waterfront neighborhood. I’d been here once before, at a party for a friend from school whose father was very wealthy. The lots were huge, most surrounded by high gates. I followed the red taillights until they disappeared behind evenly spaced, black metal bars. A grand home stood behind the gates.

Pausing the Honda, I peered at the bars, trying to catch a better look at the home, and maybe of Liam himself, but I was unable to see much of the house—no, mansion—at all, other than an imposing stone chimney bathed in moonlight. A call box sat next to the driveway and two cameras were mounted on the fence.  Red blinking eyes stared down at me, as if daring me to do something other than gawk.

With a quick glance over my shoulder I pulled away—the cameras enough to scare me off—the last thing I wanted was for Liam to know I’d followed him.

* * *

THE NEXT TIME he came in we had a plan. It was stupid and juvenile, but working at the tiny airport was enough to drive us all batty at times. Colleen, of course, was game.

His car flashed by the front door, going for his usual spot. It was possible he had a case of OCD, something I’d noted more than once in my journal. Same outfits, same perfect hair, same parking space. Rarely, if ever, was there any sort of variation.

Maybe my father was right. Maybe I scared him.

The moment the door swung open I caught Colleen’s eye and she said, “Read mine please.” Her words came out one octave too high but I sat casually behind my counter and pretended everything was normal.

“What sign again?” I asked.

“Leo.”

“Right. Of course.” I smiled, pretending Liam Caldwell wasn’t walking in my direction, aloofness plastered, as usual, on his face. I read the horoscope out loud. “You could have an amazing vision today, and by exercising patience and follow-through you might even be able to produce something special.”

Colleen nodded. “I had been thinking about painting my bathroom.”

“Sounds like the perfect day to do it.”

Liam approached my counter and I flashed him a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Caldwell.”

“Hello.”

“Beautiful day, don’t you think? Colleen and I were just reading our horoscopes.” I swallowed my nerves and asked, “Want me to read yours?”

He blinked, as if seeing me for the first time. “Excuse me?”

I held up the paper and kept on the fake smile. “Your horoscope. Want me to read it? I know it’s silly but it’s something we do to pass the time.”

“Uh…” He frowned, eyebrows pulling tight together. For the first time he appeared unsure. Just for a moment. Then his face returned a normal, blank expression. “Just the paperwork please.”

I handed over the clipboard and read the horoscope out loud anyway. “The day's events might not cooperate by falling in line with your planned agenda today, but divergence only becomes problematic if you are overly concerned about exercising your authority.”

The frown reappeared and Liam scratched his jaw with the end of the pen. “Are you reading that to me?”

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “Sagittarius, right?”

“Yes, uh, how…”

“Oh well, I have your birthdate on your file here, with your license and stuff.”

This time his eyebrows shot upward. I’d triggered his stalker alert. Shit.

Like divine intervention my weather radar started beeping and a report printed from the computer. I snatched the sheet from the tray and skimmed it. “Looks like storms are coming in this afternoon.” My fingers grazed Liam’s as I gave him the report and a shiver ran down my spine.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I won’t be flying back in this afternoon.”

“No?” I asked, hoping to drag this conversation out. It was the longest one we’d ever had.

“No.”

Okay then.

“Have a good flight. Let me know if you need anything.”

He turned to leave without another word.

* * *

THE SLASH OF lightning and rumble of thunder almost made me miss the signal coming from the Flight Services Station. Colleen and I were in the middle of an intense game of poker when my father called out from his office.

“We’ve got a plane coming in.”

“Did you tell them no?” I asked, dropping my cards on the table. “There was no one on the schedule!” The sound of rain overhead beat like a drum against the steel roof. It was only 4 PM but the sky was dark gray. Coming in during a storm like was suicide.

“It’s Liam Caldwell—I’m not sure he takes no for an answer,” Pop answered, tugging on his rain jacket.

“Pop! Don’t go out there,” I shouted, chasing him to the door. The crash of lightning drowned out my voice. It didn’t matter, he’d already run out the building, walkie-talkie at his ear, calling Brayden to meet him at the hangar.

I rushed across the building to the control room. Daniel, a man close to my father’s age who managed the flight plans, hovered over his monitor. “He’s crazy,” I said, more to myself than Daniel. I settled in next to him and watched the greenish blips representing Liam’s plane as he approached.

Fifteen minutes later, the plane was on track to land according to the monitor. A quick glance out the window showed no sign of the plane—but the visibility was next to nothing. My stomach twisted. “Do you think he’ll make it?” I asked Daniel.

“Mr. Caldwell is an excellent pilot.”

I wanted to believe him, fearful of what would happen to Liam or to any of us if there was a plane crash at the airport. Before I could think too hard on it, the nose of his plane pushed through the steel gray sky. The plane’s wings bobbed up and down, a sign he had little control.

“He’s going to crash,” I whispered.

He landed hard, wheels skidding to a desperate stop toward the hangar where my father and Brayden waited.  I covered my eyes and waited, but the crash never came. I blinked and saw the plane sideways on the tarmac.

“Told you,” Daniel said, with a relieved grin. “Mr. Caldwell is an excellent pilot.”

My heart hadn’t stopped racing, fear being replaced by rage. How dare he risk the safety of the airport on something so insane! I’d told him about the weather before he’d left that morning. He’d been warned and completely ignored me. My father could have been killed.

I stood, knocking my chair back and left the room. I walked past Colleen and two of the maintenance guys waiting out the storm and marched outside.

“Nadya,” Colleen called. I let the door swing shut behind me.

I avoided as many puddles as I could, but more than once I stepped in water ankle deep. The cool rain soaked my boots and then my socks. I ran toward the plane, which was still on the runway. I spotted my father and Brayden’s fiery red hair at the pilot’s door and I raced toward them.

“What are you doing?” I shouted. My father was soaked. “Go inside and get dry, you’ll catch your death out here!”

“Nadya, I’m fine. Mr. Caldwell needs assistance.”

“Bullsh—“ I stopped myself from cursing in front of him. “He landed that plane. He can come in alone.”

“He’s hurt.”

I spun and looked inside the cockpit. Liam sat in the seat with a huge gash on his forehead and a busted lip. His head slumped against the headrest. “Is he conscious?” I asked, looking between the men. Brayden shrugged in reply. “How the hell did he land the plane?”

Again neither man spoke, and I realized I had little choice but to take control. “Pop, get in the hangar. Brayden, carry Liam to the maintenance office and put him on the couch.”

Brayden sprang into action and I followed my father into the cavernous hangar. I was thoroughly drenched by this point, my hair plastered against my cheeks and forehead.  My jeans stuck to my legs like glue and my black Nomad Airlines polo shirt hung heavily down my sides.

I grabbed the first aid kit off the wall and met the others in the office. “We should call an ambulance,” I said, but my father shook his head.

“No. He wouldn’t want that.”

I looked at the unconscious man on the yellowing couch. “Doesn’t look like he gets much of a say in the matter.”

“Nadya, trust me. Patch him up, he’ll be okay. But no ambulance.”

“Pop!”

He fixed me with a stern eye. “Nadya.”

“Fine.” I sighed, waving my hand toward the break room. “Get me an ice pack.”

I opened up the first aid kit and took out some disinfectant wipes. Leaning over, I dabbed them on Liam’s forehead, wiping the blood off the cut. The wound had swollen, jagged edges. Thankfully, it wasn’t bleeding too heavily. I moved to his face and cleaned his lip, which was more puffy than bloody.

Brayden came back with the ice pack and I laid it on his forehead, wondering how long it would be before he woke up. Once everything seemed under control, Pop and Brayden left me to watch him alone to go check on the plane.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered to his unmoving body. “I’m not a nurse or a doctor.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall and determined if he didn’t wake up in fifteen minutes I was calling an ambulance.

“Crap,” I said, jumping into action again. Blood seeped through his shirt from an injury I’d missed before. I lifted the hem, noticing, even in his current condition, how defined his body was. Who was this guy and why did he have the body of a professional athlete? I exposed his entire stomach and chest to examine the wound. Blood oozed like the other one, but this one was bad; the flesh was mangled. There was no way he’d survive that injury without medical attention. “Dear God, Liam. What happened?”

My knuckles grazed the taut skin on his belly I stopped cold. I saw a flash—a vision, of someone or something attacking Liam. Long blades sliced at his flesh and a huge fist cracked into his face. The image flickered, gone as fast as I’d seen it.

I walked out of the office and dialed 911.

“911—What is your emergency?”

“I’m at the airport on Stratton Road. We need an ambulance.”

“Can you describe the problem?”

I looked over my shoulder and back into the office. To my surprise the couch was empty. I stepped through the doorway. The entire room was empty. Nothing remained but the first aid kit on the floor and the ice pack lying on the arm rest. Bloody footsteps crossed the room but disappeared under a small window. I raced over and looked outside. Nothing but rain and wind.

What the hell?

“Ma’am?” the woman asked on the other side of the phone.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Liam Caldwell was gone.

* * *

I LIED TO the 911 operator. I lied to my father and Brayden and Daniel and Colleen. I told them all that everything was fine. That Mr. Caldwell wasn’t as injured as he looked and that he left through the side door. Nothing to worry about.

I don’t know where the words came from, or why I felt this…compulsion to cover Liam Caldwell’s tracks, because that surely was what I was doing. The evidence was in the bloody rags I threw in the dumpster behind the hangar.

Colleen gave me a side-eye that said she had a lot of questions. My father, on the other hand, was decidedly unconcerned, which definitely made me suspicious.  I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything, so I wiped up the blood and put away the first aid kit before driving home in the unrelenting rain. I climbed into bed, ready to be done with this day.

My room was the same one I’d lived in since I was three and my parents moved in this home.  The walls were no longer lavender and my bed covers weren’t pink. When I turned eighteen and realized I wouldn’t be leaving the house anytime soon, I painted the room slate gray. Brown and blues accented the décor. I was determined to have the room of a grown-up, despite the location.

My room should have comforted me, but sadness cloaked every inch of our home. We should have moved when my mother died, but my father seemed to want, or need, to wallow in the past, living among the ghosts of her flower printed wallpaper and framed family photographs above the fireplace. My father gave up his family for my mother and then he lost her. I knew this was the reason for his protectiveness for me. He had no intention of losing me as well.

I’d have liked to say the thunder kept me awake, but the image of Liam’s plane weaving erratically down the runway kept replaying in my mind. The vision I’d had lingered like a hazy memory. Perhaps I made it up. The wounds on his body implied I didn’t. I tossed and turned, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling. Maybe if I hadn’t spent the last several weeks stalking him I wouldn’t have cared that much. But I did care. I wanted to know if he was okay.

Or whether maybe I was just going crazy.

The questions finally got the best of me and I tossed on some clothes and ran into the wet night for my car. The rain still came down in heavy sheets as I drove through the city, dressed only in yoga pants and a hoodie. Did I have a plan? No, but I knew where Liam lived, so what the hell. It was like the events of the evening broke down any rationale or decorum.

I was owed an answer. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I hung out the window of my still running car and rang the buzzer on his monstrous gate. The red camera lights blinked down on me like God.

“Mr. Caldwell,” I yelled through the pounding rain. “It’s Nadya. I came to check on you.”

Unsure if anyone heard my plea, I reached out to press the buzzer again. Before I could do so the gate swung slowly backwards, as if offering a reluctant invitation. Summoning my courage, I put my foot on the gas and drove down through the entrance.

* * *

AN OLDER WOMAN waited on the front steps of the house with a large black umbrella. She walked to the driver’s side and waited for me to exit the car. “I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t expect someone to be out here. I was just worried about Mr. Caldwell and—“

“No worries, dear,” she replied. “This is part of my job description. Let’s get inside before we’re both swept away.”

The hem of my pants dragged through the rain as she rushed us inside the arched wooden door. I stared at the opulence around me, the massive chandelier to the wavy leaded-glass windows. I waited as she shook out the umbrella and pointed to a spot to place my shoes. “This way,” she said, taking off down the hallway at a brisk pace. Like a drowned, barefoot rat, I shivered and followed her.

“Is he all right?” I asked.

She didn’t reply, instead stopping at the open double doors of a great room—no, I thought, spotting the rows and rows of books. A library. Finer than the one we had in town. I felt the dry heat of the roaring fire. Taking a moment to make sure no one was watching me, I pinched the tender flesh on the inside of my arm. Motherfu— okay. I was definitely awake.

“Following me again?” I heard, over the rustle of newspaper. He stood and tossed the paper into fire, igniting a flash of bright flames. Liam Caldwell’s frame appeared hulking in the flickering light. The t-shirt he wore accentuated muscles I did not know existed until earlier that day,  the ones normally hidden by his conservative daily outfit.

“I…”

“I guess I understand,” he said, cutting me off. His eyes gleamed green and shiny—clearly a reflection from the fire, but something about it left me unnerved.  “I left the airport quite abruptly.”

The shadows of the room kept most of his face dark and for a brief moment I was afraid—no, terrified. But I drove here by myself—no one forced me. I swallowed my fear and asked, “Are you okay?”

From my spot in the doorway I couldn’t make out the injury on his face. Curious, I took a tentative step into the room.

“I’m fine. Looked worse before I cleaned myself up. There’s no need for concern.”

Something across the room caught my eye—a painting. The colors dull with age, but it looked familiar, like I’d seen it in a book. That’s when I noticed the shelves, not the ones lined with books, but the ones filled with artwork and trinkets. Small statues and framed photographs. Everything had the feel of age but seemed well cared for. Not a speck of dust lingered in the air.  And even though I’d never experienced it myself, I could sense great wealth in every object in the room.

“Do you like art?” he asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Sure, I guess,” I replied. “I don’t know much about it though.” I pointed to the one I’d noticed first. “That one looks familiar; where have I seen it before?”

He looked at the painting, studying it almost. “I don’t know. It’s been in my family for generations.”

Maybe that was where all this wealth came from: family.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, eyeing the painting once again. Bold, heavy strokes created the impression of a watery landscape. Liam didn’t respond, but looked expectant—like someone waiting for an unannounced guest to leave. “Okay, well, if you’re all right, then I guess I should go.”

Liam offered me a tight smile. “Let me walk you to the door.”

He passed me and entered the hallway, and escorting me back the way I came. The house was silent, no sign of the woman that escorted me the first time. When we reached the foyer he paused. “As much as I appreciate your concern, please do not follow me again, Nadya. It isn’t safe.”

“Safe? What do you mean?” From our close proximity I could see that the injury on his face had fully healed. I dropped my eyes to his chest, but there was no evidence of a bandage under his thin shirt. Without thinking I reached forward, more curious than I’d ever been, but he stepped deftly away and my hand grasped nothing but air.

“Goodnight,” he said, opening the door. The rain had finally passed and I stepped out into the muggy night. I turned to say goodbye, but instead heard the loud snap of the solid wood door as it closed in my face.

Chapter 2

Liam

THE HOUSE REEKED of wet hair and nerves long after she left.  I watched her , navigate the driveway and front gate on the security monitor, but it wasn’t enough to satiate my curious nature. I’d kept away from Nadya for many years—as instructed. But now? She had been the one to cross the well-maintained truce established between our families.

I left through the kitchen and took the stairs down to the garage. I picked a car different from the one I normally drive to the airport—something less noticeable than my antique Chevy. The truck was made in this century and looked common enough. She wouldn’t notice. I would make sure of it.

“Liam,” I heard my name from the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think this is wise?”

“No,” I replied, opening the door. I flashed Helen a bright smile. “Since when has that ever stopped me?”

“Be careful, you’re playing with a fire that could burn us all if you don’t watch yourself.”

I slammed the door and revved the engine. Careful wasn’t something in my vocabulary, but fire? I liked it very much.

* * *

NADYA WAS RUSHING from her car to the house when I caught up to her. I knew she lived here, of course, but I hadn’t been here since that day so many years ago, when her father and I made our first arrangements. He’d done everything to protect her and I respected that, but her arrival at my house tonight stirred up basic instincts I’d managed to suppress for a long time.

She entered the wooden clapboard house quietly; the only light visible was upstairs in her bedroom. Her movements created shadows on the curtains and I exited my car, moving to that side of the house.

The lingering effects of the rainstorm caused a steady drip from house gutters, but otherwise the street had a silence that came only at night, when the majority of the world was asleep.

I stared up at her window until the light flicked off and then for a while longer. I couldn’t help but wonder what her room looked like—if it still had a childish motif. My sixth-sense told me that her father clung to the past like a child to a blanket. A false sense of security from things that go bump in the night. Real things that tore his family apart. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to hold onto better times.

Mr. Tolbert’s arrival drove me from my spot perched on the wall between her house and the neighbors. Dimmed lights flashed down the driveway, pushing me further into the darkness. I retreated to my car. Coming here had been foolish and Ms. Graves was right, I shouldn’t do it again.

* * *

MY ROLE IN Nadya’s life had always been the same. Above everything else I had been assigned as her protector. My position came from birthright and demanded that I act as a guardian to all of our kind, but beneath that universal role was a stronger connection with Nadya. She and I were bound by our bloodlines and the symbiotic nature of our existence. Without the other—we simply did not exist.

As parasites, our people fed off one another and occasionally, according to legend, a perfect match like ours existed. I should feed directly from Nadya, but because of our truce, due to the unfortunate death of her mother, I agreed to stay away from her. I told her father years before that he could attempt to keep the distance between us, but as a human, he didn’t comprehend the intensity of our bond. Regardless of rules and agreements, Nadya would eventually crave me too.

Her recent interest confirmed her primal desire for me and now the flimsy barrier established between us had a fissure, gaping and jagged.  I won’t pretend the idea didn’t fill me with excitement. I was exhausted from staying away from her. In the grand scheme of our world, she was rightfully mine.

“Hopefully,” I said, wiping the back of my mouth with a handkerchief, “This will be the last inferior feeding I must endure.”

The woman lounged across the leather couch gazed at me with clouded eyes. Her face appeared drained and tired. She tasted fine, I supposed, but she never quite diminished my hunger. Sidhe guards required regular feeding from other Sidhe and in a normal situation this girl would be enough. But the bond made things different. The only one that could satiate my particular craving was my mate.

“Is that really necessary?” Ms. Graves asked, taking the soiled handkerchief. We took nourishment from the blood or, for back of better human term, their essence. Pure energy gave me strength. “This waif made herself available to you, at the very least you could show your appreciation.”

I turned and bowed to the girl addled in a drugged out bliss. “Thank you for your services. Ms. Graves shall compensate you accordingly.”

My companion rolled her eyes but shut the door behind us so the girl could have time to sort herself out. Alone Ms. Graves said, “I wouldn’t dismiss her just yet. Again, you’re playing a dangerous game. Do you not recall the terms of your agreement with Nadya’s father?”

“Of course I do. I drafted them. I am not to engage her in any way other than protective services. I shall not touch a hair on her head or taste a drop of her blood. In return, he allows me to use his airport to come and go to do my businesses.” I scoffed at the idea. “As if he has much choice. Every one of those creatures I capture and destroy seeks Nadya’s blood as much as I do. They just want it on their hands.”

“So what makes you think he will relent?”

I smiled at the woman who had stood by my side for the last fifty years and who had counseled my father before that. “Nature will take its course, Ms. Graves, regardless of treaties and truces. Nadya will figure all of this out soon. It’s in her blood. When she does, I’ll be here waiting.”

Chapter 3

Nadya

THREE DAYS PASSED, during which nothing extraordinary happened. No plane crashes. No injured pilots. Just the typical take-off and landings that occur on a standard day at Nomad Airlines. I stayed in my bed at night, restless, consumed by odd dreams of my mother but other than that everything was normal.

In fact it was absolutely boring.

Two things got me through the day. The first was trying to get information from my father about Liam Caldwell. The second was the idea of seeing Liam Caldwell again. It wasn’t unusual for him to miss several days in a row at the airport, but I knew he’d return. He always did.

“Have you heard from Mr. Caldwell?” I asked Pop one afternoon. I had cornered him in the back office while filing maintenance reports.  He’d been acting weird since the accident on the runway, and I was tired of tip-toeing around it.  “You know, about his injuries? He’s not planning on holding us responsible or anything, is he?”

“No, he won’t do that.”

“Why not? Has he even filled out an accident report?”

Pop looked me up and down. “What are you getting at, Nadya? Do you want us to have trouble?”

“No, sir, but I just want to make sure we’re prepared if he decides to make a claim of some kind.”

“Mr. Caldwell and I are on good terms. He’s not filing any sort of report.”

I moved over to his desk and push aside a stack of paperwork to sit down. “What happened to him? How did he get those injuries?” I didn’t mention the fact they’d were healed by the time I saw him hours later.

“He has a dangerous job. The less you know the better.”

Dangerous. Liam had said that same word to me at his home. How did my father know about his job? “What does he do?”

Pop peeked at me over the edge of his glasses. “Nadya, you know better than this. Do not pry in affairs that don’t concern you.”

“But they do concern me! And you! When he landed in here during that storm torn up like some sort of animal attacked him. It’s crazy, Pop, why do you cover up for him all the time? Why do you let him fly in and out of here?”

“You want me to tell him not to use our airport? Our best customer?”

I shook my head. No. That was the last thing I wanted. What I wanted was to know everything about him—not push him further away.

“It’s really not fair for you to treat me like this,” I said, hopping off the desk.

“Like what?”

“A child. You want me to work and live with you. You want me to obey all your arbitrary rules. And I do. But if I question anything, you clam up and act like I have a problem. Like I’m ruining your business, even though the other day, when Liam was injured, I was the one that took care of it. I was the one who—” I cut myself short before I said, “Went to his house to check on him.” I knew better.

Pop stood and circled the desk. He took my hand and said, “Nadya, you are full of such life. I hate that you feel stifled here, but it’s the only way. The world is dangerous. I can’t lose you like I lost your mother.”

A shiver ran between our hands and again, I felt the jolt of a hazy vision. My father standing above my mother, blood dripping from a cut in the smooth skin of her neck. A man kneeled next to her. Liam Caldwell. I shook my head—terrified of the image—and snatched my hand from his.

“Nadya, are you okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said, but bile rose in the back of my throat, and I wondered for the first time how my mother really died.

So the rumors were true, I thought, flipping the lock to the office in the hangar. I was a witch.

It was the only logical explanation, because otherwise I was crazy. As if thinking you were a witch wasn’t crazy. I sat on the couch and took a deep breath, trying to sort this out.  Had I seen the past? Maybe, but how? And why now?

“This is insane,” I said to myself, but my eyes traveled to the pinkish-red blood stain on the couch. Liam had recovered from his injuries so quickly. Impossibly fast. Deep down I never believed in the witch games I’d played as a teenager, and I’d never, not once, bought into the crazy stories people whispered about my mother. But then again, rumors were often rooted in the truth.

If those visions were real, then my father and Liam were both present at the time of my mother’s death, which, clearly from the blood pouring down her neck, was not from an aneurysm as I’d been told. She’d been murdered.

Outside the office I heard Brayden order the ground guys to prep one of the planes. I thought back but no one was on the list for departure this afternoon. None of our pilots fly last minute—no one but Liam Caldwell. I crept to the door and leaned close enough to see his plane pulling out of the hangar toward the runway.

I took a moment to compose myself, hoping to get the timing right. Someone else would have to check him in and I wondered if he would be disappointed not to see me? Doubtful. If my vision of him with my father and mother held any truth then that would explain a lot about his behavior toward me.

Brayden greeted him just outside the hangar door, loud and respectfully. Everyone at the airline always approached him this way—everyone but me. He’d always been a game for me.

“Mr. Caldwell,” I said, approaching him as he walked around the airplane.

“Nayda.”

“How are you feeling? We haven’t seen you since your accident.”

“I’m fine,” he said, eyes holding mine.

“Good.” I glanced at Brayden, who carried a wrench over to the plane to adjust something. In a lower voice I said, “We need to talk.”

“I doubt that.”

“Make it happen.” He raised an eyebrow and I caught the hint of an amused smile, so I added, “Please.”

He didn’t agree. He didn’t say or react to my request at all. He simply brushed past me, and his arm grazed mine. I nearly stumbled but caught myself and watched him climb into his plane, sealing the door between us.  His reply seeped into my mind, spreading out like a spider-web, a memory or a vision, I didn’t know which.  I did know what he wanted and where he would meet me. He communicated that and more in one simple touch.

Now I had to wait.

Chapter 4

Liam

TWICE SHE HAD approached me directly. Twice I’d felt the connection between us. There was no denying her gift was expanding. She became more powerful each time we interacted, and it was only a matter of time before she experienced the full onslaught of our bond.

When she asked to speak with me I should have said no. Instead I said nothing, but I showed her enough, and now I stood in the dark outside her house.

She waited at the window, silhouette outlined in a warm yellow light. The curtain fluttered shut and the room fell black. Moments later she emerged at the back door, her bright blue eyes flashing beneath her blunt cut bangs.

“Get in the car,” I directed. She crossed her arms over her chest. She wore black jeans and clunky boots. If she was going for street tough it worked—except she reeked of anxiety. I sighed. “Please?”

“Are you going to murder me?” she asked, leaning into the car where I waited behind the wheel.

“No.”

Nadya’s fear smelled like churned dirt. Her nervousness a little mossy. Neither of these masked the scent of her person—her body, which gave off the aroma of something sweet and ripe. Something I’d never tasted before—but I wished too, badly.

She closed the door quietly, to keep her father from waking. At least she had an awareness to keep this secret. The car started with a low rumble, and before she could change her mind we were gone from her driveway.

We rode in silence as I took us back toward the airport. Just before the driveway I turned on a service road. The runway stretched along the waterfront, as did almost everything in this town, and I stopped the car overlooking the lake. I didn’t make a move to leave the car. It was windy and cold by the shore and Nadya looked wary, one hand clutching the door handle.

“Again, before we get started, are you going to murder me?”

I frowned. “No.”

“Rape? Assault of any kind? Because I left my dad a note and I’ll fight.”

She didn’t leave her father a note, I knew that much. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then why are we way out here?”

“Because we aren’t supposed to be together. And what we’re going to talk about is strictly off limits. I’m not going to hurt you, but I wasn’t exaggerating when I said being with me was dangerous.”

Her wariness turned to frustration. “What’s happening to me?” she finally asked, eyes never leaving the water.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know because the alternative is that I’m crazy. And I’m not crazy. I know I’m not. I saw you land that plane even though you were half dead and then I watched you heal in a matter of minutes. I’m having dreams and…” she looked down at her hands, twisting in the fabric of her shirt. “For lack of a better term, visions. At least one involved you.”

She only confirmed what I suspected. I’d had many roles in my life: hunter, guardian, peacekeeper…but this was one I had no experience with.  I inhaled, tasting her very essence, and centered myself. What I was about to do wasn’t wrong. What we had been doing was the actual crime.

“I will tell you what you want to know,” I said. “But you have to understand that once I do, your life will change forever. You must listen to my words carefully and then you have to decide if you’ll trust me.”

“I get a choice?” She laughed darkly.

I run my hand over the steering wheel, wishing we could get out of this car. I want to get Nayda alone and show her what this is all about, not just tell her. “You can leave now and we’ll pretend this never happened. Blank slate.”

“And my visions, they would go away?”

“If I left and we never encountered on another again, I think they would taper off.”

“So this is about you.”

I pinned her with a hard, direct look. “It’s about us.”

“Okay then,” she said, adjusting herself in her seat and leaning back against the door.  “Tell me. Everything.”

Chapter 5

Nayda

“ASK ME A question,” he said.

Without hesitation, I blurted, “How did you heal so quickly?”

“I’m not human. It takes a lot more to injure and kill us.”

Okay. Wow. I forced the next words out of my mouth. “Are you a witch?”

“No.”

“Am I a witch?”

He shook his head. “No, but you’re not entirely human, either.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means that your father is human and your mother was not. She had powers also and now that the time is right, your abilities are increasing.”

“God, what is all this tip-toeing around? You just told me I’m half-human or something. I’m not freaking out or having some sort of breakdown—even though I really, really should. I just want to know the truth.”  Okay so maybe I was freaking out, just a little.

Liam leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. “You and I are bound through our bloodline. We can communicate without words and your touch helped me heal. I’m here and have always been here to protect you.”

“From what? What do I need protection from? I live the most boring life ever. No real friends, no social life. Definitely no dating, even though that’s more because of my father than anything—” I paused. “What does he know?”

“He is aware of who I am.”

“And my mother?”

“Her death was a tragedy.”

“You were there,” I whispered.

“I was, and it is my biggest regret that I was unable to help her.”

“Did you kill her?”

“No, but I didn’t protect her either.”

Right then that was enough; I didn’t want to know more. It was all too much, except one thing. “Show me.”

He tilted his head. “Show you what, exactly?”

“The bond and how it works.

I thought he would say no, but to my surprise he nodded. “You have to trust me. And we’ll take this slow, because you have zero resistance built up.”

“Resistance to what?”

“I need your hand.”

I offered it to him and he linked our fingers together, cool and smooth. Immediately I was overcome by a surge of energy. “Oh,” I said, biting my lip. It spread through my limbs and down into my belly. It didn’t just feel good, it felt amazing and I wanted more.  I shifted in my seat, wanting to get closer to him. If there hadn’t been the gear shift between us I think I would have crawled in his lap. My eyes landed on his mouth and I considered that if our hands felt this good touching one another, how amazing his lips would feel pressed to mine?

He tensed his jaw and jerked his head to the windshield. I dragged my eyes away from him and looked out over the water.

“Holy shit.”

Hovering over the airport was a swirling mass of clouds. Or I thought they were clouds, but really, I had no idea what that was. Streaks of red and blue churned together like a hurricane. My fingers tightened around his.  “What the hell kind of storm is that? We should call my dad!”

I dropped his hand and grabbed my phone. Liam stopped me. “It’s not a storm. It’s a portal and it’s always there. Your father knows about it.”

“A portal?”

“Yes. The airport is centrally located on a millennia-old portal. It’s almost like a transportation hub that has been used since the beginning of time to move from one world to the other. Your father—or really, your mother’s family historically, has managed the portal.”

“And you fly in and out of it, in your plane?”

“Traditionally, no, but when this area became developed your mother’s family created the airline as a feasible cover.”

“So everyone coming in and out of the airport goes through the portal?”

“No. Not everyone. Most are humans. Your father monitors the non-humans carefully.”

Unable to hold back any further I asked, “And by non-human, you mean?”

He sighed and did that thing where he rubbed his jaw. That thing that I found increasingly attractive. “The common name is Sidhe.”

I frowned and looked him over, trying to figure out how this man, who looked very much like a man, wasn’t human.  I glanced at my own hands and the portal over the airport and shook my head in an attempt to absorb it all.

“Are you okay?” Liam asked, taking my hand.

The rush of warmth filled my body, this time stronger than ever. I licked my lips and my mouth watered. I wanted him badly. I wanted to taste him. I swallowed back the desire and said, “I want to go through the portal.”

Chapter 6

Liam

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Why?” she asked, glaring at me with the most brilliant eyes. I needed her to stop licking her lips or we were going to have a problem. A bigger problem.

“First of all my entire job is to keep you safe, and going through that portal is absolutely, positively not safe.”

“And second?”

I shifted the car in gear and backed out of my makeshift parking space. “You and I aren’t supposed to be together. Or even remotely near one another. I’ve just violated several laws and a promise to your father.” I glanced over. “I’ve put you in danger, however inevitable.”

It didn’t take long to return to her house. I stopped two houses away—far enough to thwart her father, but still a red flag if the right people were looking.

We sat in silence for a moment. I did not want her to leave and it thrilled me that she also appeared to want to stay. I knew she had further questions. Questions I was unable—or unwilling—to answer right now. Finally, she opened the door, just enough for the overhead light to turn on and bathe her in a warm glow.

“If this is so dangerous why did you tell me?”

“You can’t fight destiny, Nayda. It will happen one way or another.  The day you entered my home everything clicked into gear, and being honest with you may help keep you safe.”

“What should I be afraid of?” she asked.

I shook my head. “That’s for me to worry about.”

“So I just have to place my safety in your hands? Liam, I barely know you.”

“I’ve been taking care of you my whole life—haven’t I done a good job of it so far?”

She didn’t respond; she just leaned over and, to my surprise, placed a warm kiss to my cheek. The feeling spread across my flesh and warmed the pit of my stomach. My instinctive desire was to claim her but she slipped quickly from the car. I touched the spot and the want quickly turned to something else, a feeling of sadness. Nayda had left me with more than a kiss. She’d imparted a memory—not her own, of course, but a scene she’d gleaned from her father.

Her mother, bloody and dead and me, watching over the scene. The message was clear. Nayda didn’t trust me to take care of her; after all, I’d already failed once.

* * *

“SO YOU TOLD her.”

I swept past Ms. Graves, who stood in the kitchen. She’d made a huge breakfast, high on protein, something I’ve found necessary to supplement the lack of feeding from my bond.

“Some of it, yes.”

“How did she take it?” she asked, handing me a plate and the newspaper.

“Astonishingly well.” Actually, I wasn’t surprised. Nadya had never appeared weak, just confined by the strict, over-protective rules her father had set up after her mother’s death.  “If anything, I’ll have to be even more vigilant with her. She already asked to go in the portal.”

“You obviously said no.”

“Obviously.”

Ms. Graves made a tsking sound and gave me a suspicious look.

“What?” I asked her.

“How much did you…share with her?”

“I had to open her mind to show her the portal,” I replied, knowing well she wanted more information than that.

“Are you going to make me ask?”

“Ask what?” I scanned the paper, looking for any inconsistences—any potential problems.

“You’re such a brat. Did you feed on her?”

I ignored her, instead focusing on an article about a murder several days before. The police had finally identified a suspect and I squinted at the grainy photograph.

“I asked you a question,” Ms. Graves persisted.

“I heard you and I’m not answering that question.”

She sniffed. “You’re too cranky to be well fed. Would you like me to prep the feeder?”

I folded the newspaper in half and stood. “No time. Looks like I’ve got work to do.”

* * *

EQUIPPED WITH IMMENSE strength and speed, I had the responsibility of protecting other Sidhe, in particular Nadya’s family and the portal. My work came easily, and I made sure travels from one side of the portal to the next were on the level and approved. Things weren’t always so complicated but once the humans evolved, it became tricky. They claimed this dimension, unaware it was shared space. Early on, our people made arrangements, keeping a balance between worlds, but there were always those on both sides attempting to disturb the peace. Sometimes they managed to succeed in getting past me and causing destruction. Those were the Sidhe that killed Nadya’s mother. The knot in my stomach was evidence that he might be back to finish the job.

“Mr. Tolbert, can we speak in private?”

I’d parked around back and avoided the main entry, although I spotted Nadya working at the counter. As much as she called to me there was no need for her to know I was here, not now. Her father and I had business together that didn’t concern her—at least I hoped.

“Have you seen this?” I asked, tossing the paper on the desk. I waited while the read the report.

“I heard it mentioned on the news.”

“This is the person that attacked me the day of my accident. I believe he’s here for a reason.”

“How did he get through? It’s your job to keep the portal safe.”

“I’m well aware of my job, Mr. Tolbert,” I said, biting back annoyance. “We fought and admittedly, I blacked out for a moment. I thought I’d managed to block his passage but apparently not.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” The level of concern rose in his voice.

Why? Other than the fact I’ve been occupied with your daughter? That I’ve been breaking all of our agreements? “I’ve had other issues to deal with. I apologize.”

“Your apology means nothing if Nadya is harmed.”

“I assure you, I will do everything in my power to keep her safe.

He nodded and ran a hand over his graying hair. He’d aged substantially over the few years.  He’d taken his wife’s death hard, not to mention meeting me and finding out the truth about her and his daughter. “I’ll flag his file and make sure the crew is on alert.”

“Hopefully I’ll catch up to him before he makes an attempt to leave. I don’t want him here anymore than you do,” I assured him. “Failing your wife is the lowest point in my career. Losing Nayda is not an option for me—you understand that, don’t you?”

Mr. Tolbert sighed and sat in his chair, pushing the paper aside. “She’s been very focused on you lately. I’ve told her to leave you alone, but she’s determined. I hope she doesn’t bother you.”

I staved off a laugh. Nadya’s father doesn’t truly understand my bond with her. He loved his wife and she loved him, but only because her bond with my uncle was broken due to his death. Claudia developed a fancy for this human and created a family. Something that ultimately put a price on her head. My connection with Nadya will only end with one of our deaths. And I will do absolutely anything to make sure that doesn’t happen. “I told you this day would come.”

“You don’t get to make that call. We had an agreement. She isn’t to know about her mother or who she really is.”

I stood and made my way to the door, unwilling to argue this point. “You can’t keep Nadya’s true nature contained. I’ve been willing to go along with this for her safety, but to protect her I will have to have contact with her. Our bond is strong, which is why her interest has been piqued.”

“I’ll take her away.” His threat came out weak. He knew it was fruitless.

I opened the door and said quietly, “I’ll be in touch,” and left the office.

Chapter 7

Nadya

LIAM TRIED TO sneak out the back door of the airport. Did he think I was stupid? Or clueless? I’d sensed him the instant he entered the property. It was almost like the land (or was it the portal?) hummed at his presence. How I’d never noticed it before seemed strange, because now it was annoyingly obvious.

“Hiding from me?” I asked.

“Never.”

“You came to speak to my father? About last night?”

“No, not exactly.” He laid one hand on the hood of his car and I knew he was grounding himself. He felt it too; the buzzing between us. “You should know I will not be traveling through the portal in the near future. I have business to attend to here.”

“Business?”

“Yes, but I’ll be nearby.” He pulled a card from his pocket and gave it to me. “Do not hesitate to contact me if you need something.”

I glanced at the card. It was simply his name and phone number. “Is this about the danger you mentioned?”

“Yes.” Liam took a step forward. “I need you to be careful, Nadya. Anything that seems unusual, please call me.” I laughed. “What?”

“Everything about this is unusual, Liam.”

His lips twitched and curled into the smallest of smiles. The action turned his handsome face into a breathtaking one. That cord of energy tensed between us.

“I’ll be close,” he said, squeezing my hand. I watched, the cord pulling taut but never breaking, as he got in his car and drove away.

* * *

“READ YOURS,” COLLEEN said, carrying over a fresh cup of coffee.

I thanked her and took a sip, then held up the paper and read aloud, “We may not be satisfied today until we have heard all sides of a story. In fact, we're easily distracted as the curious Gemini Moon puts us in touch with our need for a variety of experiences. Additionally, sensual Venus' rendezvous with excessive Jupiter in heartfelt Leo stirs up good will and optimism in love.”

“Sounds about right.” She laughed. “You’ve been distracted all day. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I lied. In reality I was growing increasingly angry at my father, not to mention sort of freaked out by what Liam had told me. I’m only part human. Part. What does that even mean?

“Sure, honey. If you say so. Although, you do look sort of different.” She glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Are you seeing someone?”

“What?” I asked. “No, you know Pop would freak out.”

“He may, but he’d also get over it. He can’t keep you from experiencing life, Nadya. If you are seeing someone, and I’m not saying you are, you could trust me. I can keep a secret.”

“I know. But I’m not seeing anyone.” I had no idea what I was doing, but Liam hadn’t made an appearance in two days. I felt the pull between us though. True to his word he was around—somewhere. Colleen looked so eager, like she wanted to share a moment so I said quietly, “I did meet someone though.”

“I knew it!”

“Shhhh…” I hushed her. “He’s interesting. And mysterious. If anything comes of it, and I doubt it will, I’ll let you know.”

A customer walked in the door: Ms. Jacobs, one of our few female pilots. Colleen scurried back to her concession area but gave me a wink when she caught my eye. I thought she might be more excited about a man in my life than I was, mostly because I wasn’t sure how to handle any of this at all, much less a handsome non-human, guardian of two worlds. A guardian that had declared his job was to protect me.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, WHEN I arrived home, something was wrong. It was more of a feeling than anything else, like something had been disturbed. I checked the kitchen, turning on all the lights, then the living room. Everything looked the same, but I stopped in front of the photos of my mother on the mantel, one hanging askew. I adjusted it but paused, trying to see the Sidhe in her. She and Liam had the same sharp bone structure, but that was the only similarity. I closed my eyes and tried to remember her scent or her voice. Both were now just a whisper I couldn’t quite grasp.

A thud from upstairs snapped me from my memories and I quickly turned off the light before sinking into a dark corner. Thud, thud, thud, my heart beat like a relentless drum. Footsteps triggered the creaky floorboards above my head and if someone came down here they’d find me based on the sound of my heartbeat alone.

I waited, terrified, as the intruder came down the stairs. “Where are you, Little Sidhe? I know you’re here.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and sniffed, eventually turning toward the mantel. “You smell like your mother, Little Sidhe.”

I tried to disappear into the smallest ball I could manage, holding my breath to keep quiet. He turned anyway, as if on instinct and gave a mean, snide smile. His face—it looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember why. I closed my eyes and hoped the end would be quick.

Heavy footsteps mingled with a loud crash, jarring the silence. My eyes flew open and the window next to the fireplace lay in smashed pieces across the floor. Cool air rushed into the living room, and a dark figure stood before the intruder with broad shoulders and a familiar presence.

“You have balls to come back here,” Liam said, hands clenched into tight fists.

The other man scoffed. “She was well hidden until you triggered her gifts. You led me right to her.”

Without warning, the two flung themselves at one another. They fought feral, like two cats, moving faster than I could comprehend. Liam settled a fist to the man’s chin, then another, pounding so hard that his head snapped back on impact. The man wasn’t deterred, coming after him with fingers forward, like claws, slashing at Liam’s flesh.

“It’s rude to make someone wait for their dinner,” the man taunted. “I can smell her and she’s delicious, pure and sweet.”

Liam reacted with volcanic rage, tremors shuddering down his arms. He attacked with ferocity, pushing the man into the wall so hard the plaster cracked. A silver blade appeared in his hand like magic, glinting in the dim light. I watched him, snarling and possessed, take deliberate steps toward him. “You will never speak of her like this again.” One hand landed tight on the man’s throat and the other pressed the knife against his skin. “Do you understand that? She’s mine.”

The man cried in pain before crumpling into a heap on the ground. Liam turned to me and his green eyes flashed cold and mean.  Everything about him, from his expression to his scent felt unfamiliar. “What does that mean?” I asked. “What you told him?”

He took a step in my direction and I flinched when he wrapped a hand around my wrist. “It means you’re mine and no one else will have you.”

I opened my mouth to argue back but he placed his free hand on my forehead. The pressure was firm, but pleasant. “What—” I tried to ask, but the room shifted, spinning around and everything went dark.

Chapter 8

Liam

NADYA RESTED ON a bed in the guestroom adjacent to my personal study, sleeping off the events of the night. She wasn’t frail, nothing of the sort. I’d resorted to a bit of magic to ease her to sleep. Her mind fought against the intrusion harder than anyone I’d encountered. In fact, I had to double my efforts before she finally slipped under. Maybe it was the human in her, or maybe, I considered, it was just her.

“You’re exhausted,” Ms. Graves declared, bringing me a drink and a clean shirt. I pulled off the other one, torn in the fight, and paused to down the warm glass of bourbon. Alcohol was something the humans had excelled at over the years. Plus, there was little chance it had been spiked it with a charm or curse. She took one look at my chest and frowned. “And injured.”

“I’m fine.”

“You need to feed. Let me prepare the feeder downstairs.”

“No.” I tugged the shirt over my head and grimaced as it rubbed against the sore wounds. “Release her. I’m done feeding on others.”

Ms. Graves lifted a judgmental eyebrow. “Nadya has not agreed to this.”

“Nadya has no choice, but I won’t force her. There is an army coming after her and I have only killed the first soldier. To fight them she and I must unite.” I walked across the room and studied the bruising on my cheek. I’d had worse, but Ms. Graves was right. If I didn’t feed soon it would take longer to heal, making us both vulnerable. Even so, my loyalty was to Nadya now that she knew about us. I would never feed from another again.

Ms. Graves sighed. “Let me prepare some food for when she wakes.”

“Thank you. Oh, and notify her father that she is with me and safe.”

“I already have.”

She left and I opened the door adjoining the rooms. A fire blazed in the stone fireplace, and to my surprise Nadya waited with her back to the headboard on the bed. “You should still be sleeping.” I’d given her enough mystical juice to knock out a 200 pound man, at least until the following day. The fact she was already awake rattled me.

“What time is it?”

“Late afternoon. You’ve been asleep since last night. How do you fee—“

“You’ve kidnapped me?” She cut me off. I smelled the tinge of fear again. As much as I approved of all her scents, this was my least favorite.

“You are not a captive.”

“So I can leave?” Her legs slid off the bed.

“No. Not until it’s safe.”

She crossed her arms but remained seated. Her jaw set and it made her lips pucker slightly, which caused a barely controllable attraction. One that made my wounds ache as well as the rest of my body. Being in her presence was increasingly challenging.

“Liam, I need you to explain what happened back there. Everything.”

“Fair enough,” I said and gestured to the seat next to the bed. She nodded her approval, as though she had much choice. I supposed it was good to make someone feel like they had choices even when they had few. “Our kind, the Sidhe, have existed since the beginning of time, and your mother’s people have always been the gatekeepers of the portal. It is a very noble and important position between our worlds.  In general our worlds maintain peace, but there are those that cause harm in their quest for power.  It is my job to make sure those people are not successful.”

Nadya nodded and said, “Are my mother’s people good?”

“Very much so,” I told her. “Operating the portal requires honesty and integrity, but it is also a very powerful position, which made your mother a target.”

“How?”

“Groups are always looking for any reason to target a powerful person,” I said, uneasy about continuing. I wished she would leave it at this but the look on her face confirmed that wasn’t enough of an explanation. “When your mother mated with a human and then bore a half-breed that was enough to gain the attention of detractors.”

“Did you just call me a half-breed?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, pulling the blanket over her legs. “So they killed her because of me.”

“Because they wanted power; you were just the excuse.”

“So what happened? Why do we still have control even though my father is human and I’m a,” she made a face, “half-breed?”

I leaned forward in my chair. “It is my duty to protect the Sidhe. I failed your mother. It became my purpose in life to protect the portal and you. As long as you are alive, the portal is still in your family’s control. They cannot take away your birthright even if you are only half Sidhe.  Even so, the dark fae that want to rule the portal have not stopped their efforts.”

“Holy shit. Is that who came after me tonight?”

Finally, she understood the significance.  “I have fought these dark fae for years. The only reason you remained undiscovered is due to a spell of protection. As long as you were unaware of your heritage and your Sidhe abilities were suppressed then they could not locate you.”

“What broke the spell?”

Ah, here was the question she’d wanted to ask all along. She just didn’t know it. “You and I broke the spell, Nadya. We are bonded. And when that that bond was reestablished they were alerted to your presence.”

“Holy shit,” she said again. She settled in the plush pillow on the bed and looked at the ceiling. “So this bond, what does that mean?”

I stood and moved to the bed, sitting gently on the edge. “Our bond makes us strong—incredibly so. We can heal one another. When we feed from one another it makes us more powerful, whereas if a Sidhe feeds from someone that is not their mate the result is one-sided. One person is drained. That will not happen to us. We will both grow more and more powerful.  This is another reason there is a target on your back. They’re afraid of you.”

Nadya scooted closer and my heart hammered erratic against my chest.  She touched her fingers to my cheek, where the soldier left a bruise. A warm heat tingled across my skin as the cells repaired. “It worked.”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?” A glint of curiosity flashed in her eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I want to try this.”

I stood and lifted off my shirt. Slashes of red crisscrossed my chest and abdomen from the sharp claws of the soldier. They had healed slightly, enough to stop bleeding but they were still raw and sore. Nadya lifted to her knees and placed her hand over the wounds, but not touching my skin. “This is crazy.”

“Please,” I asked, overcome by her proximity. I took her hand and laid it flat across a wide strip of red. I closed my eyes at the feeling, the surge of energy and hope. “I’ve waited so long.”

“Because I’m yours?”

Her hands explored my chest, touching each cut and stroking every scar I’d gathered over my lifetime. I swallowed hard and ball my fists, fighting base instincts as every molecule in my body wanted to claim her. I struggled because it was too soon and if I let loose, gods knew, what would happen. Instead, I inhaled, taking in her scent and relishing the feeling of her hands on my body.

Recharged, I confirmed, “Because you’re mine.”

Chapter 9

Nadya

I STOOD IN front of the large gilded mirror and took in my flushed cheeks and bright eyes. The energy Liam took from me bounced back, making me feel amazing.

“Because you’re mine.”

Those words echoed in my head long after Liam left. Creepy? A little. Hot? For some reason, yes. It went against every feminist bone in my body, but it wasn’t the words, not exactly. It was the feeling. It was watching the wounds heal on his body. The scars faded back to smooth, perfect skin. It was the power that coursed through my veins. Being Liam’s didn’t take away my power; it only made me stronger, and there was a warm tingling spreading through my chest that told me I was right. For the first time after the pain and hollowness of my mother’s death, I felt safe again.

“All dressed, dear?” Ms. Graves asked through the door.

“Yes. You can come in.”

She came in quickly, business-like and eyed my pants. “Those are a little large. Would you like me to take them in?”

“No,” I said, rolling over the waistband of the soft gray pants. “I’m just glad you had something for me to change into. Thank you.”

“We’ll get the rest of your things tomorrow.”

She offered me a hairbrush and comb, as well as a small pack of other items. “How long do you think I’ll be here?”

“I can’t answer that, although Mr. Caldwell will make sure everything is safe before you return home.”

“How hard will this battle be? Do you think he’ll win?”

The older woman gave me a hard look. “I don’t know. Mr. Caldwell will secure the portal and eliminate any threats to your life, but this is only one group, Nadya. Surely there are others out there.”

I swallowed. “Groups that want to kill me?”

“You’re an anomaly of our kind. No one knows what to do with you, and you’ve been hidden for many years. Some will want to test your abilities while others will want to eliminate them.”

That information was enough to make me want to pack up and run away, but where to? I didn’t want to encounter another soldier on my own. Liam claimed I had my own powers, but even if I did I had no idea how to use them.

“I don’t mean to scare you. I just believe in honesty.”

I smiled. “So do I; thank you.”

“It’s one of your identifying traits and why your people monitor the portal.”

I ran the brush through my hair and looked at her through the mirror’s reflection. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“What do you know about this bond thing, Mr. Caldwell says we have between us? Is it real?”

Wrinkles creased across her forehead. “Does it not feel real?”

“It does, but I’ve never had a relationship with any boy—or man. I don’t know what is normal or not.”

“It’s real, Nadya, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to learn to protect yourself and your heart.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated and looked toward the door. “Mr. Caldwell has waited for you for a very long time, but he is a man of quick temper and impatience. His life has been solitary and singularly focused—on protecting you and the portal. I anticipate your transition into our world will be difficult. I can’t imagine how you two will manage the complexity of romantic entanglements while fighting for your lives.”

With that she left the room, leaving me with more questions than before.

* * *

STILL ATTEMPTING TO wrap my head around everything, I declined dinner with Liam that night.  My stomach was full from the late afternoon meal Ms. Graves had provided, and I felt a distinct but conflicting need to be away from and with Liam at all times. For the sake of my own sanity, I chose away. The information from the last forty-eight hours was a bit more than I could mentally handle.

Ms. Graves nodded when I said no thank you, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She found me amusing, like a pet or something they’d rescued from the street. At least she was honest with me.

I climbed into the enormous bed and settled in the thick blankets that were so soft they must have cost a fortune. The mattress was heavenly. The sheets smelled like flowers. The pillows were soft and plush, but no matter how hard I tried to sleep it was useless. I’d slept more than half the day and admittedly, with every passing moment my obsessive need to know everything about Liam Caldwell was coming to a head. I was in his house. We were “bonded,” whatever that meant (I sort of thought it meant hot for each other but that seemed to undermine the situation). He knew everything about me and I still had limited information on him.

I slid off the edge of the bed and my toes sunk deep into the carpet. Quietly, I opened my door to the hallway and peeked outside. Nothing but a long hall, framed artwork mounted to the walls and five closed doors, including a set of double doors at the end. Crap. I stepped back in the room and looked around, my eyes finally settling on the dark wooden door that Liam had come out of earlier in the day.

I walked across the room and grasped the brass knob. The door opened easily, and immediately I knew this room was much more interesting. The room, a study or office I determined from a fast glance, held everything I needed to know about Liam Caldwell.

Shelves lined the walls with ancient books stacked neatly and in clearly in some sort of unrecognizable order. The lettering on the sides looked like hieroglyphics and the bindings were all cracked and torn. I ran a finger across a set and I would’ve sworn they shivered under my touch.

“It’s just a book, Nadya. Just a book,” I muttered to myself, but the Sidhe world was unfamiliar and there was so much I needed to learn.

I moved on a grand apothecary desk sitting on one end of the room. Tiny drawers covered the front, all labeled neatly in script. I tugged on one of the handles but it didn’t budge. Locked. Liam was smart.

On top of the wooden cabinet, three jars held what looked like a cluster of feathers and small bones tied in a bundle. Then, I spotted something I couldn’t believe I missed in the first place. A glass case filled top to bottom with shiny trinkets, displayed with the utmost care. I approached the cabinet and felt a hum—a warm vibration in my limbs. The charms were made of silver or gold, some etched with intricate designs. There were even two crowns and a ring, mounted with a magnificent green stone sat in the middle. I’d never wanted to possess a piece of jewelry so badly in my life. I reached for the lid but another ripple of energy shivered across my body.

“Rule number one,” a voice said from behind. I spun to find Liam standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He wore an untucked button down with jeans and a pair of dark boots. I’d never seen him dressed so casual before. “Never touch something that belongs to a Sidhe without testing it first.”

“Why is that?”

“Nothing is ever as it seems. Drinks can be spiked, ingredients charmed and jewelry is most susceptible to spelling.”

“Spelling?”

“All Sidhe or fae can cast magic. It just depends on the nature of the person whether or not it’s good or bad.”

“How do you tell?” I asked. I followed his every movement. It was almost too good to be true, having him here amongst his things.

He opened the case and plucked out the ring. The light glinted off the green stone. “There are a variety of ways. Other spells, the occasional liquid. Many of us have a heightened sense of smell.” He sniffed the ring and held it out to me. He nodded and I sniffed too. Man, everything about this was weird. “What do you smell?”

“Metal? But I guess that’s obvious. Maybe a hint of dirt.”

“Dirt?” he asked.

“Yeah, like the ground after it rains.” He nodded again and placed the ring back in the case. “Was I right?”

“You weren’t wrong. Curses tend to leave behind a foul odor—like sulfur or something rotten. A basic spell, which isn’t as harmful, but still annoying, is usually sweet—sickly sweet like—“

“Cotton candy,” I interjected. “It always makes my head hurt when I smell it.”

Liam stared intently at me—too intent. I felt exposed. He didn’t have x-ray vision did he? He placed the ring back in the case and shut the door. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

“No,” I said, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “If you want the truth, I was snooping.”

“On me?”

I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“You could always ask.”

I skirted around him, focusing on the shelves that surrounded the room. On anything but him. Liam had many paintings and the occasional photograph mounted for visibility. “You’re not the most forthcoming  person I’ve met.”

“It’s a lot of information for you to take in all at once. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“You’re hiding things.”

He tilted his head. “Like what?”

“Like whatever this is between us.”

“The bond? I’ve told you it joins us and combined it made us very powerful. You’ve seen the healing abilities.”

“There’s more than just that. I feel very…intense. It’s something I’ve never experienced with someone before.”

His eyes had never left me, not once as I moved around the room. I stopped in front of him and tentatively placed a hand on his chest. The current ebbed and flowed between us. He swallowed and said, “It’s a unique connection.”

Just being this close to him made me feel bold—powerful. My muscles tensed and something inside, confidence maybe, bubbled beneath the surface. God, I wanted to kiss him. I tilted my head upward and asked, “If we’re to challenge this group coming for the portal, what do we need to make ourselves strong enough?”

“Nadya, you’re not ready to fight in this battle. It’s too dangerous and it’s too soon to test your abilities in a situation like this.”

Normally, I would have fought him. I had no interest in taking a backseat in this fight, not when I could feel the change inside of me, but even I knew needed more information, and I needed Liam to let down his guard. “Then what can I do to help you become stronger?”

His jaw tensed and I felt his hands move restlessly on either side of my body. His eyes would not meet mine. “I will become stronger if I feed on you.”

“How? I’m assuming that does not actually mean eating me, since you know, you’re not a zombie.” The truth was that I felt the hunger myself, churning deep in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to consume him. Taste him. “I already did the healing thing. Isn’t it like that?”

“No,” he said, without humor. “It’s a way of passing energy to one another. It feeds our souls as well as our body. It happens every time our flesh meets.”

With that information I took his hand and spread his fingers wide with my own. Warmth flowed between us. “Like that?”

“Yes.”

I reached behind his neck, brushing against the soft skin just below his hairline, before working my fingers into his hair. Liam dropped my hand and pushed the hem of my shirt up, grasping the flesh above my hip. A tingling sensation rolled across my skin. His other thumb grazed my lip, leaving a trail of heat.

“More?” I asked, licking my lip, seeking his taste.

He bent down slowly, painfully so, and pressed his lips to mine. Liam’s touch was gentle but firm. Hunger tested my will and I deepened the kiss, parting my mouth, feeling his tongue on mine. The air between us turned warm and to my shock, tinged with the colors gold and blue.

“What the—“ I said, pulling away to see what was happening. A trail of visible light passed between us and I was overcome, mind and body, with the intense feeling of euphoria. “That’s not normal is it?”

“No. Well, for us it is, but for others, no.”

I looked up at Liam and noticed with surprise that he had color in his cheeks and the final scars on his chin had disappeared. I wasn’t sure but it seemed like this energy sharing went both ways. I felt stronger too—unfortunately, like Liam said, I had no idea what to do with it. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re stronger.”

“I am. Thank you.”

“Do you need more?” He appeared hesitant, frowning slightly. I pressed myself to him. “You can if you need to.”

“Maybe, that isn’t such a bad idea,” he agreed with a small grin. He lifted me in his arms as though I was light as a feather. My mouth found his and again I fell into the depth of his kiss, of his mouth and arms and everything. Yeah, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Chapter 10

Liam

THE AIRPORT WAS quiet, other than a quiet rumble of thunder near the mouth of the portal. It was 3 a.m. and the storm signaled enough trouble that I’d called the guardians to meet me. The others were in position when I arrived, but I’d called them over to fill them in on the situation. None were truly taken by surprise. Once Nadya’s cloak of secrecy fell it was only a matter of time before the soldiers made an attempt on her life and for control of the portal.

“Is everything secure?” I asked, tossing the bag of weapons on the floor of the airport lobby with a loud thud.

“All of the wards have been increased,” Brayden said, reaching for a long sword.

Daniel bent down and rummaged through the bag, looking for the weapon of his choice. He took a long blade out and then began handing various objects to the guardians standing behind him. Ten guards worked at the airport; the rest had assimilated into the town, preparing for this day. “There is definite activity on the other side, though. Several of my alarms have been triggered. That thunder and lightning is just the beginning of it. They’ll attack by dawn.”

“We’ll be ready,” I told them, presenting more bravado than I truly had. Yes, I was stronger after feeding from Nadya—stronger than ever before—but I was also burdened with an additional distraction, the girl herself. I’d left her in the care of Ms. Graves, who was more than capable, but now that I’d experienced the bliss of feeding with her my ability to think of much more was impaired.

“Was it worth it?” Colleen asked. I looked up at Nadya’s friend. She wore battle armor and attached two blades to her wrists and held them up. She was one of our strongest guards. “Risking all this to finally have her as your own?”

“Fate made that decision,” I refuted. “I am merely accepting it. She couldn’t hide forever.”

Colleen rolled her eyes and mumbled low under her breath. I heard the word selfish. “I will not deny my selfish motivations in this situation, but Nadya opened this wound, not me. I discouraged her. You were there as she picked at the scab, Colleen; don’t pretend you made any efforts to stop her.”

She took a step in my direction. “I agree Nadya needed to embrace her destiny—her own power. She should be here protecting the portal. It is her fight, not yours, Liam, that’s what bothers me. That you’re feeding from her for your own gain and nothing else.”

I narrowed my eyes and clenched the dagger I was holding tight in my grip. “How dare you presume to understand the gravity of my bond with Nadya and to this place? Everything about her is mine and everything about me is the same to her. This is not simply for my selfish gain, Colleen. Understand that or leave now.”

We faced one another, tense and ready for a fight. Her eyes narrowed with hatred and distrust but there was no backing down. Colleen might be a worthy guard but she was not up to my strength, not today. A bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by an earthshaking roll of thunder.

“Liam,” Daniel called, pointing to the sky.

The soldiers were near. It was time to assemble the guard.

Chapter 11

Nadya

THE SKY LIT up like the fourth of July as we raced across town toward the airport. Now that I was “aware” I could see clearly and the impending storm coming directly from the portal, not the surrounding sky.

“How pissed is he going to be that you brought me here?” I asked.

“He’ll be furious, but don’t worry about me. I can handle Liam.” The glint in her eye told me she spoke the truth. “This is your fight as much as his and once you asked it was my obligation to bring you here. Good luck, dear.”

“Thank you.” I exited the car and quickly ran to the employee entrance of the airport. Using my key I entered the building and slipped into my father’s office. I kept the light off and listened to the voices the lobby. Liam spoke in a loud, tense voice. I peeked out the square window in the door to see who he was commanding.

To my shock and surprise I saw Colleen inches from Liam’s face. Her forehead was lined and she had a mean set to her jaw. I heard the accusation she made toward Liam about me—about his selfish motivations. Collen was a guard? How many people in my life were lying to me? I pushed back anger and listened because I wasn’t without my own suspicions.

The thunder cracked overhead and Liam directed the guards into position and the men in front pushed through the doors to the runway. I spotted Brayden and Daniel among the leaders in the group, but there were other familiar faces, some from the airport and others from around town.

Once more my reality spun and I realized my entire life had been a farce. Every person, place and thing in my existence had been a sham. A cover up for a greater universe that I’d barely scratched the surface of. Anger coursed through me and I bit back my rage as lightning flashed outside and thunder shook the ground under my feet. Papers toppled off my father’s desk and I swore I heard the sound of hoof beats echoing across the runway.  I pushed through the office door and searched for Liam, only to see the back of his head as he charged into the storm.

I raced across the room and stopped short, barely recovering before falling over a large canvas bag. Metal glinted from the inside and I reached in. Careful not to cut myself, I pushed aside several blades until I found one sheathed in leather. I revealed the blade and saw there were two—one to strap to each wrist. The metal hummed for me and I sniffed it, finding the familiar and comforting hint of earth.

I had no way to prove it or any reason to think so, but I knew those weapons belonged to me. I strapped them on, tightening the leather cords, just as the sky cracked open with a flash of yellowish-green light. Tiny dots filled the sky and I watched, mesmerized, until they hit the ground running. They were Sidhe, soldiers identical to the one in my home, and they were on the attack, claws slashing at the guards.

I took a deep breath, channeling my confusion and rage until I harnessed the newfound power that filled my veins. I charged the doors, chanting to myself for courage: this is my home. My work and my destiny. These bastards will only take it over my dead body.

Chapter 12

Liam

THEY CAME FROM the sky like a swarm of bees, their claws poised like a multipoint stinger. The guards went on the attack, cutting the soldiers down swiftly. They were little more than clones of the original soldier—expendable in their leader’s eyes. Eleanor, the commander, never liked to get her hands dirty when she could have an army do it for her. That’s the beauty of being a Queen. I didn’t have such luxury.

I rushed through my men and flung myself into battle, ears ringing from the sharp clang of clashing metal. My own blade found purchase in a soldier caught off guard, and again, as another attempted to impale Daniel on a sword.

“All right?” I asked, breathing heavy.

“Yes,” he bit out, lunging over my shoulder. I heard a cry and a thud as another soldier hit the pavement.

“How many do you think she’ll send?”

“This is only the first battle of many,” I predicted. “Keep killing them and we’ll see what else she has to offer. The portal isn’t her only interest.”

“Nadya?”

“Now that she’s awakened, Eleanor will want to see her for herself. She’ll sacrifice the portal if she gets her chance.” I stabbed a man in the gut and watched him fall before wrenching my blade sticky from his body. “She’s secure at my home. Once we slay these men, we can reestablish the wards.”

Another wave of soldiers come our way and with a fast wipe of my brow I dove back in, hacking and gutting my way through. I heard a grunt, high-pitched and familiar. Spinning on my heel, I found Nadya fighting three men, each too stupid to realize who she was.

I started in her direction but was pulled back by a heavy hand on my shoulder and the feeling of a blade at my neck. Warm, sticky breath wafted across my ear and my captor snarled, “If only the Queen wanted you dead. It’s unfortunate she has a soft spot for you and has declared you be taken alive.”

I kept my eyes on Nadya, half entranced by her fighting skills and half terrified for her life. She moved gracefully, slaying one of the men with ease. Her eyes focused on the men around her, never once straying from the battle. Lean muscles lined her arms and it was hard to believe this was the same scrawny girl working the counter at the airport days before.

Colleen, wiping blood off her forehead, noticed the two of us, eyes shifting in assessment. I jerked my head, directing her to the other fight. Regardless of our lives, it was our job to protect her at all costs.

The soldier behind me tightened his grip and I felt the warm trickle of blood oozing down my neck.  “I’ll be rewarded richly for bringing you in,” he gloated.

I heard the clink of chains meant to bind me and mustered all my strength to level a blow to his abdomen with my elbows. He grunted, stumbling backwards, giving me time to spin around.  I slashed at his claws, lopping them off with a clang to the ground. With his final battle cry, the soldier bared his teeth and lunged forward. “Your reward is death,” I declared, slitting his throat with my blade.

A quick assessment revealed that the battles were slowing and my men appeared to be overwhelmingly victorious.  Colleen fell beneath a heavyset man and I raced to pull him off. He was already dead and Nadya beat me to it, rolling him off with little effort. She was strong and so powerful.

“Are you okay?” Nadya asked her friend.

“Yes, just a little bloody. I’ll be fine.”

Nayda glanced with annoyance in my direction before saying to Colleen, “You have a lot to explain.”

“I know.”

“Colleen,” I directed, stumbling slightly on my feet. “Take her home. Immediately.”

“You’re wounded Liam,” Colleen said, pointing to my neck. I raised my hand and felt the sticky blood.  Nadya’s eyes widened and she stepped forward.

“Let me…” She made a motion to heal me. I waved her away.

“It’s fine. Take her out of here. Now.”

“No! You don’t get to make that decision—” Nadya’s argument was drowned out by the final wave of soldiers. The loss of blood made me woozy but I stood firm, waiting for the onslaught. Shadows fell by my side and through my pain I saw the two blades first, glinting off the light of the fiery portal. Dark hair plastered against her neck while dirt and blood smeared across her cheeks.

“Ready?” she asked, glancing at me and then over at Colleen who stood on the other side of her. They nodded to one another.

I swallowed back my fear, my love and devotion. “Ready.”

Chapter 13

Nadya

AT LAST THE soldiers retreated and the portal returned to its normal state. I could still see the ripple in the air; in fact, it was more like I couldn’t unsee it along with the information that my coworkers and friends were all part of this. They were also Sidhe.

“What about my father?” I asked Colleen as we limped off the runway. The bodies and blood evaporated behind us, leaving no trace of their existence.

“He’s human, Nadya. He understands little of our world and only knows what we’ve told him. He’s under our protection and care, just as you have always been.”

“And my mother? She was killed by these soldiers?”

“By their leader, Eleanor, yes. She’ll come again.”

I nodded, processing the details. “For me. She’ll come for me.”

“And the portal. Yes.”

I searched the runway for Liam and found him assessing the other guards. “And what about him?”

“Liam is very powerful, but power is a complicated thing, Nadya. Always remember that.” She gave me a sympathetic grin and walked away, passing Liam on his way over.

“Can I take you home?”

“Your home or mine?” I asked suspiciously. I didn’t know where this was going or what it all meant for my future.

“You’re injured and exhausted. Let me take you to my house while you recover.”

I was too exhausted to argue. He slipped his hand into mine and I felt the warm tingle of our bond, I couldn’t help but wonder exactly what recovering involved.

* * *

WE’RE HALFWAY UP the stairs when Liam, pale and weak from his wounds, collapsed against the railing.

“Help me,” I cried out, hoping Ms. Graves would hear. The older woman appeared fast, and together we hauled his large frame to a set of double doors down the hall from my guestroom.

We entered a bedroom—Liam’s, I assumed— although there was nothing personal to identify it as such. It smelled like him though, warm and woodsy. I supposed all of his things were in his study. “Let’s get him to the bed,” she said. Once there, with his head back on the mattress we could see the severity of the cut along his neck. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

She stepped closer but I held her back. “Let me do this.”

Ms. Graves looked like a mother bear being asked to step away from her cub, but after a moment of hesitation she relented and walked to the door. “Call if you need me.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The door closed with a click and I went to the bathroom and found a fresh white cloth to dampen. On the bed, Liam eyes fluttered, in and out of consciousness. When I approached the bed he turned his head and smiled. “We survived.”

“We did.”

I sat next to him and gently removed his shirt, tearing it along the neck to remove easier. His chest heaved and his abdomen clenched, revealing the firm muscles normally hidden from view.  I wanted to touch him, but his serious wounds came first so I titled his head to get a better view of his neck. The cut was jagged and the clotting thick. With the cloth I removed the blood and dirt. Then, like he showed me, I bent down and kissed the salty, coppery flesh, bathing him in a glow of bluish light.

“Mhmmmhmm,” he hummed, twisting his fingers into my hair. With each kiss and every touch he grew a little stronger.  He pulled me forward, toward his body. “Come here.”

I straddled his waist and with a quick motion he removed my shirt, buttons popping across the hardwood floors.  Warm fingers ran over the cuts and bruises I’d sustained in the fight. I shivered as they stitched and repaired, wholly mesmerized as they vanished under the blue light that enveloped us in a safe cocoon.

Fully recovered, Liam propped himself up to reach me better.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

His lips pressed against mine and a spark flew. He closed his mouth over mine and his tongue tasted so good. Energy swirled around us and between kisses I panted, “Will it always be like this? Always so intense.”

“I hope so,” he replied, hands moving across my back and traveling down my sides. Beneath me he felt hard and strained, encouraging me to rock against him. I obliged, proud that I not only had power but I had power over him. I’d never experienced anything like it.

“What happens,” I wonder aloud, the connection making me bold, “If we joined completely?”

“Then we rule the world.” I looked to see if he was joking but every crease, every line on his face, told me that he was deadly serious. “The portal will be ours—anything we want will be ours. And I’m not sure, but it’s possible that we may even self-heal.”

“Become immortal?”

“To an extent, yes.” He kissed me behind the ear and a shiver ran down my spine. “It would be amazing, right?”

“I… I don’t know,” I confessed. I fought against the blissed out haze and struggled to get some air. Liam trapped me with his arms.

“What are you afraid of?”

“You,” I said honestly. “Being  Sidhe. The power and newness of everything and…”

“What?”

“Your motivations.”

He frowned. “You don’t trust me?”

I think back to the conversation I overheard between Liam and Colleen and once again, my head became clearer.  “Liam, I don’t know you.” He flinched like I slapped him and pulled away. Ouch. “Okay, wait. Listen. You’ve waited for this for a long time but this is moving really fast for me. I mean, I haven’t even ever had a real boyfriend before and now I’ve got some sort of soul mate. It’s a lot to absorb.”

“Then how do we do this, Nadya, because I am all in—I have no choice.”

“Give me time and patience. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Time I’ve got. Patience is not my strong suit.”

“I’ll try my best not to be too tempting.” I laughed, leaning closer and giving him a kiss. I did like him, maybe even more, but I didn’t want to lose myself in him entirely.

He leaned back against the headboard and laughed darkly in return. “Then you may want to put on a shirt, because I’m strong but not that strong.”

* * *

AFTER A DAY of recovery at Liam’s, I returned home. My father, along with several people I now recognized as Sidhe guards repaired the damage from the fight.

“Nadya,” he cried, looking me over for injuries. “I was so worried.”

“I’m fine, Pop.” He attempted a hug but I held back. The hurt in his eyes was hard to swallow but he deserved it. “We need to talk.”

I led him to the kitchen and sat at my spot at the table. He sat across from me and like always, the remaining chair left a hollow ache. Now I knew so much more about the mother I’d lost and why.

“Did you always know about mom being Sidhe?”

“Not at first, but when things became serious she told me the truth.”

“Just like that? So easily?”

“We loved one another and had no plans to separate so she had little choice.  She couldn’t leave the portal so I stayed with her. I never realized how dangerous it was for the two of you until she was killed.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was afraid,” he confessed, looking down at his wrinkled hands. “I asked Liam to hide you from that world.”

“Which he only did because of the guilt he had over mother’s death.”

Pop’s eyes narrowed and his face turned red. “He should feel guilty. It was his job to protect her and he didn’t. It’s his fault.”

“I don’t believe Liam didn’t do his best.”

“His best wasn’t good enough, and I refused to allow the same to happen to you.”

“So you hid me away from both worlds, tying me to the airport, to a life with no friends or dates. You had no right, and because of your fear I could have been killed.” Feeling bitter I added, “Liam didn’t fail me that time, did he? He’s the reason I’m alive.”

“Liam Caldwell is a dangerous man. He brings death and destruction to all things. Stay away from him, Nadya.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “And you’re no longer making these decisions about my life. I allowed it to go on longer than necessary because I felt bad about mother, but not anymore.”

“Nadya, I am only trying—“

“No, Pop. Listen to me,” I said carefully. “I love you and will continue to stay with you, because this is our home, but I am an adult and you’re not in control of my life, do you understand?”

“Yes.” He sighed and I noted how he looked several years older than he did just a few days before. “I still think you’re making a mistake.”

“That’s what growing up is all about, making mistakes and growing from them. I’m ready to grow up, Pop, and you can’t stop me.”

* * *

WHEN I RETURNED to work, everything looked normal, other than the eerily calm portal hovering over the airport. It looked normal but obviously that wasn’t true. My entire life had been tossed upside down.

I settled behind my counter and looked over the schedule. Deep breaths, I told myself. It was just work, no soldiers were going to fall from the sky. No battles or ancient fights over land. Just when I was about to have a meltdown over the whole thing, Colleen waved from her spot in the diner. She held up the coffee pot that I took as a gesture of peace. I found my cup and nodded.

“How are you?” she asked, pouring the steamy hot liquid into my cup. The scent was strong and strangely, it grounded me.

“Good, I guess. At least physically.”

“That healing thing is pretty handy.”

“Can you do it?”

She shook her head. “Nope, that’s pretty unique for you and Liam.”

Silence bloomed between us other than the typical noises of the airport. Everything was weird. Colleen was my friend but she’d kept a lot from me. How could I reconcile that? Finally I said, “I told him we had to take things slow.”

Her lips twisted in amusement. “Oh yeah? How did that go over?”

“I’m not sure he has any choice.”

“Good girl,” she said, this time with a genuine smile. “You’ll figure all this out, Nadya, and if you need any help I’ll be right here. Like always.”

Colleen walked back to the snack area. A flash of light passed over the front window and a shiver ran down my arms. Liam was on the flight list for today. He would be flying out as though everything was normal. I wanted to laugh. As if anything was ever going to be normal again.

Colleen called out, “Read me your horoscope.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m dying to hear what it says.”

I picked up the paper and flipped past the front page with photos of the storm that rolled through two nights ago. The city was still cleaning up.
“Okay here we go: Although close partnerships may be on your mind today, you're not satisfied with simply meeting your commitments. You want to increase the intensity and depth in your intimate interactions, and won't be completely satisfied until you do. But don't place all your hopes in one basket or you could miss out on the possible pleasure that's right in front of your nose. Cultivating your relationships methodically creates the environment necessary for the kind of emotional connections you crave.”

Colleen raised her eyebrow and I folded the paper back up, shoving it under the counter. The front door opened and Liam walked through it, clean and unblemished. Like he’d never fought an epic battle two days ago. Or that he and I hadn’t shared a level of intimacy that went beyond the laws of nature. He wore his same dark pants and dark sweater. His leather jacket was still looked smooth and expensive. His bag hung easily over his shoulder. Everything about this moment was the same as every other moment he’d walked through that door. I pulled out my clipboard and checked the weather for the day. For the first time since I met Liam Caldwell I was confident that today would be a different day.

I was right.

Chapter 14

Nadya

THE BAG SWAYED reluctantly in front of me, heavy with sand. Sweat pooled on the floor beneath my feet. My sweat, specifically, produced from endless hours of training inflicted by Colleen at Liam’s instruction. He’d notified me that I was “weak” and had the muscle tone of a “twelve-year-old-boy” before tossing me a new pair of sneakers and workout clothes that left little to the imagination.

Sometimes I suspected my father was right, that Liam Caldwell was very dangerous. Just not in the way he thought.

“Five more minutes,” Colleen shouted. I pounded away on the punching bag, arms wobbly like jelly. Colleen lived three doors down from an old-school gym on Main Street. A sparring ring stood in the middle of the gym and there wasn’t an elliptical machine in sight. To my dismay, the owner thought Colleen was an amateur boxer and gave her unlimited access to the equipment. This allowed us to come and go at all hours of the day and night.

“I hate you,” I spat, wiping my forehead. Insults only encouraged her, but it was the only thing I had left. Insults and crying, which I planned to do later that night in the safety of my own bed.

“Is all of this even necessary?” I asked on the way out the door. My clothes were drenched in sweat and I smelled like the inside of an athlete’s gym bag. “I don’t get why turning me into a warrior is so important. You guys are in charge of guarding the portal. Not me.”

“All Sidhe learn basic fighting skills as a child. It’s time you caught up. Plus, the extent of your impact on the community is still unknown. You should know how to protect yourself if you’re ever alone.”

I snorted. “That’s unlikely. I haven’t had a moment to myself in weeks.”

“Liam thinks that testing you will be the best way to figure out your exact abilities.”

I was pretty sure my abilities were nothing more than being able to see glimpses of the past, which so far hadn’t been very helpful other than to prove everyone around me was a liar. Oh and the weird bond-connection I had with Liam which felt more like some sort of strange sex curse than anything else. “What if I don’t have any grand abilities?”

“All Sidhe have abilities—to some extent. Sure, some are weaker than others, and some—like Liam or the royals—have extreme power.”

“What kind of power?”

“Most draw from the elements. Water or fire. Some use materials from the earth, like being able to infuse magic into precious metals. Others can take plants and turn them into potions. There’s really no limit. Sidhe have the ability to charm and manipulate, use glamours to change the environment or compel others. It’s why you always have to be on the alert. Anyone could be a threat. Like you. All you have to do is touch someone and you can read their past.”

“Yeah, like that’s scary.”

“It is! The Sidhe operate on half-truths. Someone like you can cut away all of that and extract the real story.”

“Maybe,” I said, trying to wrap my head around everything.

Colleen dodged a group of inebriated men and women walking down the sidewalk toward a waiting cab. “Drunk humans are the best humans,” she declared, watching them laugh and stumble their way home. Her tiny efficiency apartment was located directly over a crappy bar. This suited her fine, she said, since she required little sleep and the humans below amused her with drunken antics. “It’s a little bit like being back home.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Otherworld is famous for its parties and feasts. Spirits flow freely, as well as magic-infused potions and sweets. The kings and queens hold court and the goal is for everyone to have a good time.”

“So this happens often?” I’d told Liam when we first met that I wanted to go to Otherword and see where my mother was from. So far he was opposed to the idea. Like everything else that sounded fun.

“If you live in Otherworld it’s common, but that is not the life of a Sidhe Guard, though. We’re sent to Earth where it’s all work and no play.”

“So you’re implying I’m no fun to be around? Because that wicked grin on your face when I’m crying in pain makes it seem like you’re having an awesome time.”

She gave me a sideways look. “I don’t enjoy your pain, Nadya, but I do know it’s good for you.”

I stopped near the corner of her building. The bar had closed an hour before and the street was dark and deserted. “It’s not my fault I’m exhausted all the time. I’ve never worked out this much in my life.” I pushed up my sleeve and revealed the long row of bruises. Dark purple ones covered lighter fading ones from earlier. I had bruises on bruises. “My entire body looks like this. All I want to do is eat and sleep.”

“There’s a way to fix that, you know.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Yes, there is.”

“It’s not an option.”

“Why isn’t using Liam to heal you an option? Better than a bottle of extra strength aspirin and that disgusting smelly stuff you keep rubbing all over your body.”

“Because I don’t need him to fix me,” I said. I didn’t add that I had the feeling these intense workouts were just another way for him to get me in a compromising position, make me come crawling to him. He wished.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson by now that part of being Sidhe is the need to feed and that regular people food isn’t going to cut it. You need Liam whether you like it or not. It’s okay if you use him to heal your body. I’m sure he’d understand any conditions you set.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, I bet he would—“

My sentence was cut short by a sharp whack against the back of my knees, and I collapsed forward, scraping my knees. Recovering quickly, I spun to face my attacker. His face was cloaked by a dark hood, but I saw the glint of a blade near his hip. We jockeyed, dancing in a tight circle before I kicked him twice, once in the knee and the other on the hip, hoping to knock him off balance. He lunged instead.

“Colleen,” I cried but a quick glance to the alley confirmed that, she was fighting another attacker. Looking for her had been a mistake. I lost time and felt the tips of the blade graze my side as they caught the fabric on my jacket, shredding it like tissue.

My attacker was fast and big; even in better conditions it wouldn’t have been a fair fight. With the sound of my own wheezing breath and the fight behind me clamoring in my ears, I made one last attempt at his weak spots, jabbing at his knees and eyes. A leather gloved hand caught my wrist and spun me around, capturing me against his body.

“Do it,” I dared him, wincing at the pain in my side. “I’m not afraid.”

“Do what?”

The voice rolled over me like honey and ignited a fire to the low lying anger simmering in my veins.

“Bastard!” I yelled, lifting my foot and slamming my heel down as hard as I could. At the same time I rammed my elbow into his gut, spinning to kick him directly in the balls. He regained his balance just in time to avoid my assault but not fast enough to keep the hood over his head.

Liam Caldwell rubbed his stomach and grimaced. “Better,” he declared. He was so freaking smug. “But I could have killed you ten times over.”

“And I could have mangled your balls for the rest of eternity. You’re lucky I realized it was you before I unleashed my wrath.”

“I’d like to see your wrath someday,” he snorted. “And if you mangle my, uh, man parts, there’s only one way to fix that and I’m pretty sure you’re not ready for those consequences.”

I thought about how healing Liam involved touching his body and running my hands over his flesh. The familiar buzz of energy rolled through me at the thought. Healing and feeding equaled increased power between the two of us. The more we fed, the stronger we became, to the extent, Liam theorized, we could possibly become invincible. A chill ran down my spine.

Okay. Right. No mangling.

I tried to make a snappy comeback but I felt a little dizzy. My fingers brushed the rough brick wall for support but slipped. “Nadya!” I heard Liam call through a foggy haze.

“Come quick,” he called, and I heard footsteps pound against the pavement. My eyelids felt like weights so I let them close and fell into a deep, heavy sleep.

* * *

I WOKE FLAT on my back, staring at the cracked and peeling ceiling in Colleen’s apartment.

“Hey.” I propped myself up and found Liam’s concerned green eyes. Yellow daylight slashed into the room through the edge of the curtains. “Wait, what time is it?” I asked.

“Eleven.”

“In the morning?” I fumbled with the blanket, but Liam had already moved to the end of the couch and stopped me. “I’ve been asleep since last night?”

“Yes.”

“Crap.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’m late to work.”

“I notified your father that you wouldn’t be in today.”

“I’m sure that went over well.” The room tilted sideways and spun in a circle. “Whoa.”

“Rest. You’re dehydrated and exhausted. Plus those cuts on your side are worse than I’d intended. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t argue. I wasn’t really sure I could without passing out again or puking. “Colleen’s been kicking my ass lately.”

“I take responsibility for that. I pushed you too far, too quickly.” He picked up my hand and a warm tingling sensation rippled through my body. I eyed him warily, taking in his soft, pink lips. One taste and I would feel a thousand times better. “Let me help you, Nadya.”

I felt the tacky blood on my ribcage. “You didn’t do anything while I was out of it? Not even any of that sleeping mojo?”

“No. I won’t heal or touch you without permission again. But please let me heal you now.”

His proposal was no different than asking a junkie if they wanted a fix. God yes, I wanted it more than I could express. But like an addiction, there had to be a downside to this, even if I hadn’t figured out what it was yet. Liam’s eyes darted downward as my tongue wet my lips. “Only to make the cuts and bruises go away,” I said. “My father will freak out if he sees those.”

Liam leaned close and ran his finger over the purple spots on my arms. They turned red and then back to the normal pale white of my skin. I lay flat on my back and lifted my shirt, just enough for him to take care of the cuts. “You got a little rough with that blade,” I said. I felt his warm breath first, then his lips as they kissed the wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I just want you to be ready for the next fight.”

I inhaled and my fingers gripped the edge of the cushion. Every kiss sent waves of energy through my body and as my body healed, my strength returned. My fingers wove into the fabric of Liam’s shirt and I pulled him from my belly closer to my face. “This will never be easy for us will it?”

“It’s only as difficult as you want to make it.” His nose brushed against mine and his hair tickled my forehead. His mouth opened again, ready to speak, something smart I suspected from the glint in his eye.

“Don’t ruin this,” I suggested, stopping whatever asinine comment he wanted to make with my lips. Energy boiled between us, like a hit of meth to a junkie. He had me. He knew it. I knew it.

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t care.

Chapter 15

Liam

NADYA’S BODY REPAIRED quickly, perhaps faster than my own. There were no signs of our fight and the ongoing effects of her workouts had vanished. The connection lingered long after we’d completed feeding, and I felt the bond between us stretch and pull as she left my car and entered her house.

I couldn’t deny the impact feeding with Nadya had on my own body. After a lifetime of using standard fae feeders that I did not share a bond with, the experience with Nadya was hard to define. Her energy made me faster, stronger and more powerful than before. With each encounter our power increased. I wanted to push the limits and eventually, Nadya would, too.

“Is my schedule ready?” I asked Mrs. Graves when I entered the house.

“You need to be at the airport at 4 PM to assist in a transport,” she said, following me to my office with a tray of tea and two local papers. I picked up one on top and noticed the bend at the corner of the paper. She’d already read through them.

“Anything out of the ordinary?” I asked.

“Nothing in particular that could be attributed to unaccounted-for Sidhe activity, but right now is not the time to be lax. I did find this interesting.” She pointed to a small article on the right side of the paper. “A dozen windows broken on two different homes on Barnes Street.”

“Sounds like vandalism.”

“Possibly. The police found no rocks or signs of trespassing.”

I read over the article but there wasn’t much more information. Just that all the windows shattered at once. The authorities were blaming it on everything from some sort of noise frequency to a practical joke. They could be right about the frequency thing; the houses were in an industrial area. Or it was just vandalism? From the photographs the houses had a shabby look about them. “I’ll check it out when I get back.”

Mrs. Graves left and I walked to the closet to change. Stripping off my shirt, I tossed it into the laundry basket and flipped through the neatly arranged row of shirts. I found the blue one I liked. I had just slipped it over my arms when I was startled by a voice behind me.

“I see some things do get better with time.”

I had the blade in my hand before I turned around. Fiona, the Bronze Queen, stood before me, regal and beautiful. She’d come alone. I studied every inch of her with a quick sweep, but found no visible weapons. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, did we have a meeting scheduled?” I glanced over at my calendar to prove a point. “Mrs. Graves should have reminded me.”

“Since when have I needed an appointment?”

I placed the blade on the desk and returned to dressing. Her bright, emerald green eyes watched as I buttoned the front.

“You’re looking quite…fit.”

“What do you want, Fiona?”

“Just checking to see how our girl fared after Eleanor’s attack.” She circled the room studying my collectables. Her hair tumbled down her back in soft, white-blonde waves. Black leather boots came all the way over her knees, stopping midway up her thigh. A thin cord held a platinum charm at the center of her throat. The jewel was green like her eyes. Her velvet jacket was certainly out of place for this realm. I doubt she cared.

“Nadya is fine. Progressing with her training. I know she’s important to you, but there must be more for you to visit the human world.”

She shuddered at the word human and ran finger ran over the edge of the glass cabinet where I stored my most valuable possessions. Silver jeweled rings sat on display. The Queen’s abilities came from precious metals and stones. The energy coursing through the set of rings would call to her. “I want you to bring Claudia’s daughter back to Otherworld to meet her people. Well, her other people.”

I laughed and tucked in my shirt. A thin line creased between her brilliant green eyes.

“Does something amuse you?”

“Absolutely not.” I was not amused, nor would I take Nayda to Otherworld.

“Why? She should learn everything about the Sidhe, and the Sidhe should learn everything there is to know about her.”

“You want to test her.” For my suspicions, I wanted to add but did not. It was unspoken. We both knew it.

“I’ve already seen what she can do. She should see her mother’s home.”

The skill Nadya showed at the battle was only a portion of her true power, or at least, that was my theory. Colleen’s training was just one manner of finding out exactly what Nadya could do physically. I hadn’t even begun to make concrete attempts on her magical abilities. Beyond that I had to consider her weaknesses. Did being half-human allow for additional flaws? I needed more time to be sure. “Your concern for her lineage is appreciated but it’s out of the question. Nadya belongs here. Guarding the portal. That is her duty.”

“What’s the point if she doesn’t know what she’s guarding it for? Who she is guarding it for? Claudia’s choices may not be shared by Nadya. There is much more at stake here.”

Fiona approached the desk and a scent of sweet fruit wafted over me. She’d coated herself in a charm before she came, something that would ignite from skin to skin contact. I steadied myself from the intoxicating scent. At least I knew she didn’t trust me anymore than I trusted her. She reached for me and I held the blade between us. “I can smell the charm on your skin. Don’t even think of touching me.”

Amusement glinted in her eye and she lifted a finger and licked the tip. “Just a little protection. A girl can never be too safe around you, Liam Caldwell. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. In fact, I learned it from you.”

“I think you should go.”

She pouted. “We’re not finished. Tell me, do you think Nadya is the one?”

Yes. I wanted to tell her but I couldn’t. It wasn’t true, and if it was it was dangerous. “I don’t know.”

“Very well.” Fiona blew me a kiss and the room shimmered. A moment later she’d vanished. I picked up my phone and hit a number in my contacts. Daniel picked up on the first ring. “We have a problem. Bring your kit.”

Daniel walked around the room sprinkling ash on the doorway and windows. From my desk chair I asked, “How did she break the wards?”

“They’re still in place and active.” The lines of his forehead creased in confusion. “Technically she shouldn’t have been able to enter, either through the portal or into your home without permission.”

“Double them up—and add something about royalty and powerful Sidhe. She must have found a loophole. Then go to Nadya’s and do the same.”

“Do you think she’ll go to her house?”

“Eventually—unless I stop her first.” I leaned back in my seat and propped my feet on the desk. “Which I will.”

“Do you think she’ll harm Nadya?”

“I’m not sure, but Nadya is special. More than I ever could have expected—the energy she possesses is greater than anything I’ve ever seen. She could be our best ally or our biggest enemy. Neither Fiona or Eleanor need that information, not yet. It’s important that we continue to protect Nadya as though our lives depend on it.”

“Will you tell her about Fiona?” Daniel brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes. “You know—everything?”

“When you live for an eternity it’s hard to confess to all your sins.”

He nodded and packed away his tools. I’d hoped Fiona would sit this round out, let me focus, but obviously that was not her intent. It was my job to make sure the Queens were contained. They were going to be a problem, in more ways than one.

Chapter 16

Nadya

I HAD BARELY made it to my desk when I spotted Colleen walking over from the snack bar. I accepted the cup of coffee she had in her hand and said, “Thanks for the help the other night.”

“You had everything under control.”

“I passed out.”

“In capable hands.”

I rolled my eyes and walked behind my counter, flipping on the computers and setting up for the day. The weather forecast rolled out of the printer. “It doesn’t count when he’s the one that attacked me.”

“Normally, that would be true, but you look better now. A lot better.”

I felt better, like a new person, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction by saying so. With each feeding I better understood the hungry glint in Liam’s eye. I felt like a mythological vampire, consumed for the need for his very essence.

“I’ve been wondering something. Do you think I’m at a disadvantage being part human? Do I injure more easily?”

“That’s sort of the big question around here,” Colleen admitted. “What are your powers and their limitations? Will your humanity make you stronger or weaker? That’s part of the reason Liam is being so hard on you with these workouts. He’s testing your limits.”

I glanced around, not wanting anyone else to hear what I had to say next. I’d learned at the battle that many co-workers and associates were actually Sidhe. Because of this I was not sure where loyalties fell. With me or with Liam? Or where they the same? I didn’t know enough about my Sidhe history to judge. Not yet. “Do you think Liam’s motives are pure? Being with him is very…intoxicating. Each time I grow stronger but so does he. It makes me uncomfortable.”

Colleen nodded in understanding. “I think you are smart to have reservations. Jumping into this is scary—for all of us. Liam has spent a lifetime protecting the portal and protecting you. He works very hard to maintain balance between here and the Otherworld. I’m not telling you not to trust him—do trust him, but also rely on your own strength. That is the Sidhe way and how your mother would have raised you. Just make sure you don’t lose yourself in him.”

“Good advice.” The problem was that I wasn’t clearly defined before I discovered my bond with Liam. My father had protected me to the point that I had few friends or interests outside the airport.

The door swung open and our first customer of the day came in with a rolling suitcase trailing at her heels. Colleen slipped away to her station. I smiled and said, “Mrs. Cameron, I see you have a 9 AM takeoff scheduled?”

The rest of the day was spent busy in work. Liam passed through late afternoon, checking in quickly. We played it cool with one another even though my body reacted wildly to his presence. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, making sure both Colleen and I were aware. “Be careful.”

I watched his plane take off and head toward the portal. I could see it now, unlike before, and sure enough, the bluish-red swirls swallowed him whole, taking him from this world to another. A sharp worry twisted in my gut. Colleen caught my eye and gave me a sympathetic look.

“Any idea what that’s about?”

“No clue. I’m not privy to his schedule.”

By the time my shift was over I was determined to behave like a normal twenty-year-old girl again. One not hung up on a supernatural bond or squelched by her overprotective father. I stopped by Pop’s office on the way out the door.

“I’m going to the diner for some food. Want anything?”

“No, sweetheart. Colleen left me something. I’ll meet you at home.” He glanced over his glasses to confirm.

“I won’t stay out late,” I promised. “Dinner and then the gym.” He had relented a little on his rules since I’d found out my history—but not much. Instead we sort of had a don’t ask, don’t tell situation. It worked so far.

The diner was busy so I took a seat at the counter. The waitress, Gail, was one of the regulars. Gruff and a little hostile. I ordered quickly, making sure I didn’t ruffle her feathers. She seemed the type to spit in your food if you pushed too hard.

The daily paper sat on the counter and I flipped to the horoscope page. I hadn’t had time to read it that morning.

Your fantasies seem to be blown out of proportion right now. The Sun makes it even trickier to handle the erratic relationship dynamics that could catch you off guard. Nevertheless, you must maintain a healthy perspective on your dreams by behaving rationally in spite of your strong feelings. Instead of stressing about making any long-lasting decisions now, put them off for a day or two until you have regained clarity. In the meantime, throw your worries out the window and enjoy the spiritual ride.

“Oh horoscope, you never let me down,” I muttered and folded it into a tight square and accepted my plate from the waitress.

“What’s your sign?” asked a bright-eyed girl around my age sitting next to me. She had short blonde hair with purple streaks. A tattoo was visible just behind her ear.

“Pisces.”

“Oh, a water sign.” She jabbed her thumbs to her chest. “I’m a Cancer. What did it say?”

“Just the truth, that my love life is a hot mess and I’m a little bit of a hot mess and I need to keep my head on straight. Which is easier said than done.”

“Tell me about it. I feel like I’ve spent my entire life following around one bad guy after the other.” She slammed her fist on the table and I jumped. “But not anymore. I’m swearing them off. Forever.”

“Forever?” I said through a bite of hamburger.

“Well, this week at least.”

“Good idea. Me too. No more guys for a least a week.” I offered her a fry but she shook her head. Gail appeared with her notebook ready to take her order.

“I’ll take a piece of cherry pie.”

“We’re out of cherry.”

The girl frowned. “Are you sure?”

Gail rolled her eyes. Oh boy. She was not known for her patience. “Positive.”

“Hmmm…” The girl ran her finger down the menu but shook her head. She caught the waitress’s eye and said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d go look in the back. I really want cherry.”

I sucked in a breath, waiting for some sort of backlash but Gail spun on her heel and walked into the kitchen.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“One time I asked for extra cheese on my hamburger and it came with no cheese and a lecture about wasting her time.”

She shrugged. “Eh, we’ll see. Hopefully no one spits in it.”

Two minutes later Gail returned and slid a plate with a big slice of cherry pie and ice cream across the counter. The blonde picked up her fork and took a huge bite. “Oh yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Now,” she said through a mouthful of pie. “What was this about you and swearing off guys?”

“Uh, yeah well, easier said than done. The guy in my life is a little persistent.”

“In a bad, stalkery kind of way?”

“No, not like that, not really. It’s just that a month ago I didn’t think he knew I existed and I was pretty determined to change that. I’ve definitely got his attention now and I have no idea what to do.”

“I have the opposite problem. The guy that I thought was into me definitely isn’t. In fact, that’s why I moved here. Just looking for a fresh start.”

I looked down at my dinner and tried to figure out how things got so complicated. Before Liam dropped the Sidhe bomb on me I was just a normal girl with a normal life. In fact, it was less than normal because of being so sheltered. I wanted something in the middle. Screw training and meeting Colleen. I was taking a night off. “Do you want to go do something? Like see a movie or something? I need to take my mind off some stuff.”

“That would be really great.”

“By the way,” I said, offering my hand. “I’m Nadya.”

She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Nadya. I’m Grace.”

Grace and I went to the dollar theater on Main Street. The seats creaked and it smelled a little bit like mildew, but the screen was huge and they played awesome retro movies for a dollar. There were only four other people in the theater, so no one cared when we said the lines to Goonies out loud. “My dad loved this movie; we watched it at least once a month,” I said on the way out of the theater.

“Too bad Josh Brolin turned out so ouche.”

“Right? Movie stars from the 80’s should always stay the same. No aging. No altered life. Everything needs to just remain perfect like the final scene of the movie.”

“Thanks for thinking up this idea,” Grace said as we stood beneath the theater awning. The rain from earlier had let up. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything fun.”

“Me, too. Things have been super crazy for me lately.” She raised her eyebrows in question and I added. “You know, with the guy and stuff at home with my dad. Plus, I feel like I’ve been working non-stop.”

“Well, I think we should do it again. Soon.” Grace pulled a pen out of her bag and took my hand. On the inside of my arm she wrote her phone number in loopy black ink. “That way you won’t stash it in your pocket and lose it in the wash.”

I laughed, thinking Grace was just the thing I needed in my life. Nice. Normal and absolutely harmless. Maybe I could even introduce her to my father. We separated at the curb and I waved one final time before her blonde hair disappeared into the night. Yes, it was nice to have a friend.

The drive home only took a few minutes and I parked behind my father’s beat up truck. The house was dark, and I was surprised to see he’d gone to bed already. I don’t think he’d ever gone to bed before me, especially if I’d been out. My suspicion grew when a tingle spread down my arms as I entered the kitchen, met with the smell of cut wood and paint from the repaired window. Was it the memory of the fight with the Otherworld soldier or the idea of Liam that made my skin itch?

The top step of the stair creaked underfoot and I paused, hoping I hadn’t woken Pop. He snorted and mumbled under his breath but never fully roused. Maybe there was nothing out of the ordinary and he’d finally begun to trust me. I slipped into my room and my body surged with heat. I didn’t need to turn on the light to understand.

“What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“I got back early. It was just a standard transport. There and back.” He said from the dark. “You missed your training.”

“I decided to go out with a friend.” My eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. Enhanced eyesight may be one of the benefits of my evolving Sidhe powers. I took off my jacket and shoes.

His green eyes watched me closely. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you.”

“What? You haven’t put the fairy equivalent of a GPS on me yet?” I glanced over at the cross over my bed. Guess it didn’t protect me from the likes of Liam.

“Should I?”

“Liam you’re being creepy.”

“You’re being foolish. It isn’t safe for you to go missing for hours on end. Something could happen and I wouldn’t be there to help you.”

I lifted my fists and punched the air like a boxer. “Isn’t that why you’re training me? So I’m ready for a fight?”

He ran a palm down his face and I noticed for the first time how defeated he looked. “There are some fights you do not have the skills to win, Nadya. You have to be careful at all times.”

“Going to a movie isn’t dangerous. Stop being paranoid.” I gave him a stern look and he held it until the waves of anger shifted to something different something that ebbed through my skin and settled into my bones. Fear. “Who or what are you afraid of Liam?”

He closed the space between us and reached for my face. Caressing my cheeks with his thumbs he said, “You’re so special. I wish you understood that.”

The closer I was to him, the stronger my feelings became. To his credit, he waited for me to do it—to kiss him. He didn’t force me or even make the first move. His touch was gentle and when I pressed my lips to his, my fingers tucked into his waistband, pulling him close.

Heat flashed between us, bathing us in the familiar blue light. When we healed one another, all the energy went to repairing our bodies. When we fed, like this, simple and physical, it was like attaching myself to a human sized battery. The power surge was beyond intoxicating, and in that moment I knew Liam told the truth: that I was special, and so was he.

My fingers sought his skin, pushing up the hem of his shirt. His breath caught at contact but his reaction was to bring me closer, kiss me harder. I bit down on his lip, tearing the skin. Liam pulled away, eyes flashing and half feral. He licked the wound.

“I’m sorry—“ I stammered. Heat rose to my cheeks, humiliated by my reaction.

“Don’t be,” he replied. With impossible speed he grabbed my hands and spun us to the bed. The springs creaked when he landed on his back, and again when I fell on top of him.

In a haze of blue, I healed him, gently repairing the skin. But the action was mixed with lust and want. My body ached with a type of need I’d never experienced before. I pushed at his shirt, revealing his taut stomach, and it was only a matter of seconds before my own blouse landed on the floor with a soft drop.

Liam’s hands gently explored my exposed skin. Goosebumps rose down my arms and I pressed against him—seeking heat. “It’s rare for me to see you like this,” he said, thumbs brushing past my navel. I squirmed, fighting off a shiver, but his hands clamped down on my hips and held me in place.

“Like what?”

“Whole. Strong. Normally I only get to see you in a weakened state. I like this just as much.”

I bent over to kiss him, halfway to shut him up. His words scared me. The weird feeling in my chest scared me more. The blue light faded and I pulled away. Liam’s cheeks had a reddish tint and his eyes shone bright. I ran a hand over his chest, brushing over the weird symbols and etched runes. A flutter of power soared through my body. I needed to find out what those runes meant.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“God, this is exactly why I need balance in my life and privacy. There’s all this blue energy and pain and sex and lust and I don’t know, Liam,” I rambled. “I don’t understand any of it. We have to come up with something that works for both of us.”

He replied with a lifted eyebrow.

“I’m serious.”

“Was that unsatisfactory in some way?” He stared at my chest and I looked down. I was in nothing but my bra, and my skin was flushed. I was obviously aroused. He continued, “Because I feel like that was working for you.”

To prove a point (maybe more to myself than him) I lifted myself off his body and the bed. I turned to my dresser and tugged on a shirt. In the mirror I saw how much of a hot mess I was: disheveled hair, necklace and charm twisted at around my neck. I straightened myself, refusing to look at him. I touched the cover of one of the books from Liam’s library—Sidhe history books—and felt his eyes on my back. “That’s the problem. I have no control around you, and you know it.”

“I’m willing to cooperate as long as you’re honest with me.”

“No stalking.”

“No lying.”

“No showing up uninvited in my bedroom—things are a little too confusing for that right now.”

Through my dresser mirror I watched him get off my bed and tidy himself. “Fair enough. I won’t intrude in your private life, but you have to make your training sessions or at least notify me or Colleen if you can’t make it. I need you to take my concerns seriously.”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll respect your home—no more unannounced visits,” he said, halfway into the hallway. “But please understand that if you show up at my home, in my bedroom, all bets are off.”

He left with a confident smirk on his face. I sat on the edge of my dresser, knocking one of the books to the floor, and swallowed. He and I both already knew who would win this power struggle—I just needed a little more time before it happened.

Chapter 17

Liam

I LEFT UNDER a guise of cool confidence. In reality I was barely holding it together. She shook me to the core, bringing out an animalistic urge I fought valiantly to suppress. Between the surging adrenaline and the pure lustful desire I had for Nadya there was no reason to go home to rest. I turned toward Barnes Street to check on the vandalized houses, using the time to calm myself.

The drive didn’t take long. I parked the car near a small corner store and got out. Teenage boys stood around the outside of the shop, eating chips and drinking soda. I nodded my head in their direction.

“Nice car,” one of them said.

“Thanks.”

“How much you want for it?”

I ran my hand down the long lines of the car’s body. “Sorry, she’s not for sale.”

“Aw, man. You sure?”

I’d had this car since it was new and rolled out of the factory. It was my baby. No way I’d ever let her go. I shook my head at the kids and gave the one with the questions a hard look, daring him to touch my car. He blinked and that was enough to confirm he understood.

The houses on Barnes Street were small bungalows dating back to the 1920s. Many appeared empty, no light spilling through the leaded glass windows. A few had ramshackle cars in the driveways. I stopped in front of one of the houses with shattered windows and assessed the scene. Three houses in a row had their windows blown out, the one in the middle showing the most damage. Scorch marks ran up the exterior walls, but there was no other sign of fire damage. I inhaled. Beneath the stench of poverty, a scent made up of oil, grime and rotting, deteriorating wood, I searched for an accelerant. Instead, I caught a hint of something sweeter. A fruit tree, maybe? I looked around but came up empty.

A shimmer or movement on the porch of the middle house caught my eye. I kicked the gate back and heard my phone buzz from my pocket.

“Hello?” I stepped back onto the street.

“Liam, it’s Brayden. Can you come to the airport? Daniel has something to show you.”

“Be there in ten minutes.”

Back at the car I asked the kids, “You notice anything weird down there? The houses with the broken glass?”

“Nah,” the one from earlier replied. “Mostly just junkies in and out of there. Some old ladies.”

“Did you see what happened to the windows?”

A different kid with a dark blue hoodie steps out of the shadow. “I did. It was messed up. Everything was all quiet and then, well, it’s like the glass just slid off the windows.”

“Slid off?”

“Yeah, you know, like, normally when a window breaks it makes a loud cracking sound? This was different. It was like music. Tinkling and stuff, it all just slid down in neat little piles.”

Fae or not, it was definitely weird. I shook the kids hand and gave him twenty bucks for the information and not messing with my car. Then I headed back to the airport.

Brayden let me in the back door, even though he gave me a wary glance. Ignoring him, I continued on, seeking Daniel in his office. “Tell me you’ve found something,” I said, sitting in one of the desk chairs.

“Actually, I have.” He turned the computer monitor so I could see the screen. The image was similar to a radar, swirls of red and orange. I noticed several distinct spots of purple. “I had to go back and do a reverse spell on the wards—to see if there was something we missed. I did find a small wisp of disturbance in the portal last week.” He pointed to the purple.

“The day Fiona showed up?”

“Possibly. It’s almost like finding a fading footprint. The outline is there and I can’t tell exactly when it happened, but I did find more than one footprint.”

I looked at my two men and fought back the tide of anger. “You’re saying we’ve allowed more than one unapproved Sidhe through the portal? Now? When things are particularly dangerous?”

“It would appear so,” Daniel said. “Although to be clear, the break seems to be coming from the Otherworld, not over here.”

“Unacceptable.”

“I know you’ve tried to remain closer to home, like your short trip today, but you’re probably going to have to go over there and assess the situation.”

“So we possibly have unauthorized Sidhe loose over here and the Queen herself showing up unannounced, and you want me to leave Nadya to go to the Otherworld? I don’t think so.”

Brayden cleared his throat and tried, unsuccessfully, to banish the fear from his eyes. He said, “If I may be bold, it is your duty to protect the portal first. Nadya is not your primary concern.”

I opened my mouth to set him straight but Daniel cut in. “He’s right. Colleen will guard Nadya. You take care of the portal.”

As much as I hated to admit it, they were correct. The portal was my assignment—Nadya a self-chosen duty. She wasn’t safe as long as it had been compromised. “I’ll leave in the morning. Let me go home and pack. I’ll leave instructions for Colleen.”

The airport was bustling at 8 AM. The wait behind other pilots gave me the opportunity to observe Nadya at work. Even after her late night, she looked bright eyed and red cheeked—a benefit from our brief feeding. I wondered if we took things further if she would become impossible to look at. Like an angel in her true form.

I stepped forward and her eyes swept over me, pausing on my travel bag. I’d like to kiss her one last time before I left. I wondered if she would be agreeable. We didn’t go over goodbye kisses last night.

She frowned at the schedule. “I don’t have you on the departure list.”

“Last minute trip.”

She handed over the flight materials. My shirt sleeved pulled up, just enough to reveal the new rune etched on my wrist. I tugged it down, but not before Nadya noticed. To her credit she didn’t say anything about it. Instead she asked, “How long do you plan to be away?”

“I’m not sure. I need to handle a security situation.”

Her frown intensified. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Colleen and the others will be here if you need them.” She nodded but the worry line between her eyes remained tight. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. I just have to do a little extra work to fit you in last minute.”

She busied herself on the computer, the clicks and clacks of the keyboard sounding a bit tense. I glanced down at the counter and saw her beloved horoscope open on the top page of the paper. “May I?”

“You want to read your horoscope?”

“Why not? You seem enthralled by this particular habit.” I held up the paper and read, ‘Avoid coercive tactics since they add power to what’s not being said. Shedding light on your emotions minimizes unnecessary confusion later on. Engaging in an honest dialogue is the first step to being your authentic self.’

Rubbish,” I declared. “What am I supposed to get from that?”

“I suppose you need an open mind to understand horoscopes, or even yourself.”

“Is that supposed to imply something?” If I read her tone right, any hope for a goodbye kiss was quickly evaporating.

Nadya handed over my flight papers and gave me a bold smile. “Have a nice flight, Mr. Caldwell.”

I gathered my paperwork but hesitated before walking away. “Can I speak to you for a moment? Privately?”

She gave me a short nod and turned toward her father’s unoccupied office. “Is there something wrong?”

“No—not really. This trip may take a bit longer than I’d like. Please go to Colleen or Brayden if you have any concerns.”

“Okay.”

“I left you something at your home.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you break in? I thought we talked—“

“No. I didn’t break in. I gave it to your father this morning. You’d already left.”

“What is it?”

I smiled. “Something I think you’ll like. Something from your history.”

The hard lines on her face softened. “Oh, well, thank you.” Her hand reached out to mine. Energy flared between us. “Be careful.”

“I will.” I lifted her hand and pressed my lips to the soft skin in the middle of her palm. “You too.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and again her mood shifted. Back and forth with this girl, I couldn’t keep track. We exited the office and I walked out the door toward my plane. The runway was loud this time of day, with so many planes coming in and out. The weather was perfect. I glanced toward the portal and everything looked clear.

“Is the plane ready?” I asked Brayden, opening the fiberglass door and placing my bag inside.

“You should be all set for passage to and from Otherworld. We’ll keep an eye on Nadya.”

“She’s smarter than she appears. Don’t let her manipulate Colleen.”

“Got it.”

Brayden dared to look as though he was humoring me. Dear Gods, the girl’s allure had me out of sorts. No wonder the guards wanted me out of the way. Perhaps I did need to go home, get a little distance. Maybe space would make Nadya understand the importance of our bond.

“I’ll send word when I plan to return. I’m counting on you to keep things tight, do you understand?”

“Yes, Liam.”

He slammed the door and I cranked the engine to life. Taxiing down the runway I kept my eyes on the portal in the sky. Next stop, Otherworld.

Chapter 18

Nadya

THE PUNCHING BAG swayed gently, back and forth, probably more from my heaving breathing than from any actual impact. Colleen’s phone rang, pushing past the insufferable sound of my panting and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“Hello,” she said, walking toward the back door. The rest was muffled but I didn’t care. My only concern was getting through the final thirty minutes of my workout before going home to soak in an ice bath.

“That was Daniel. I’ve got to run by the airport for a minute.”

I paused. Liam made it sound like I would be on house arrest until he returned. If Colleen was leaving me alone, something big must be happening. “Is something wrong? Liam?”

“No, just some basic guard duty, nothing to do with Liam.” She grabbed her coat and gloves. “Finish and lock up. After that go straight to my apartment. I’ll take you home later.”

I forced my suspicions down. Liam was hiding something, I was sure of it. When he kissed my hand nothing happened. No visions. No memories. The normal surge of energy was there but something felt off. The taunting, ancient history that bubbled to the surface with little prompting. But not today.

Whatever. I cranked up the music, getting back in the groove. The bag swung a little harder and my triceps screamed with each punch. “Take that, you claw-faced bastard,” I shouted, pretending the bag was the soldier that attacked me last month. I slammed into the bag with a hard hit. Too hard. “Ow! Dammit!”

I complained a lot and made a big deal about the training, but I was starting to like it. I felt the change in my muscles and an increase in speed. In fact, it was possible I liked it a little too much. My wrist burned from that last hit and I adjusted the wrapping tighter. Taking a swig of water, I dove back in for another five minute round of kicks. I’d fallen completely in the zone when the music quieted and I heard, “So this is where you hide out. No wonder you never called.”

I spun and saw Grace in the doorway. “Hey! How’d you get in?” I ask. “The door was locked.”

“No.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t.”

“Weird.” I reached for a towel and wipe my face. Sweat poured down my face and neck. Colleen must have really been in a hurry not to lock the door behind her. “How did you find me here?”

“I was just walking by and saw you whaling on that bag. You do this a lot?”

“Yeah. More than I’d like.”

“Yeah?” She frowned.

“I’m just doing some extra training. Working on my speed and stuff.”

“The only thing I work on is lying around and cake.” She rubbed her flat belly as though it were big and round. It wasn’t.

“Whatever, you’re gorgeous.”

“Yeah right, guys in this town are totally into girls with purple hair,” she said, but attractive people know how they look. There was no denying Grace was a beautiful girl. Purple hair or not. “You want to grab a bite or something?”

I looked at my watch. Colleen shouldn’t be back for another hour or so. “Yeah, let me clean up and we’ll go.”

An hour later we were at a booth at the diner. I had a hamburger and fries in front of me, but all I wanted was the meat. My craving for protein had intensified over the last couple of weeks. The workouts had increased my appetite, but there was something else—a deeper hunger beneath my desire for food. I had a feeling I knew what, or who, it was for.

“So what have you been up to lately?” Grace asked. She had a thick piece of cherry pie on her plate.

“Nothing much,” I said. “Working out. Work. Sleep. The usual. You?”

“Just trying to get used to being in a new place. I found a job at the coffee shop on Third Avenue.”

“That’s great! I’ll come by and see you sometime.”

“I’ve got the early shift.” She checked her watch. “In fact it starts in about 6 hours.”

“Ugh, that sucks. I work a lot of mornings, too. I feel your pain.”

“Speaking of pain, how’s the wrist?”

She must have noticed how I wrapped the tender part of my arm before leaving the gym. “Just sore. It’s no big deal.”

“You need to be careful.”

“I am. A little aspirin will make it all better.”

“How about that boyfriend of yours? Maybe he’s a doctor?” Grace gave me a sly grin. “Or at least he plays one in the bedroom?”

My cheeks heated. I tried my best not to think about Liam in the bedroom. His or mine. “Yeah, he’d like to try—but no. This will be fine on its own. No doctors needed. He’s out of town anyway.”

“Oh well, then maybe we can hang tomorrow? There’s a shitty bar on Main Street I’ve been wanting to check out.”

I had never been in a bar. Or had a friend to go to one with. I smiled. “I get off work at six.”

“Meet me at my place first—we’ll get glammed up.”

“For a shitty bar?”

Gail, the same waitress we had the last time, approached the table with a coffee pot. As she refilled our cups, I noticed the red-stoned ring on her finger and said, “That’s a beautiful ring.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me see,” Grace demanded. I waited for Gail’s reaction—some sort of retort to the rude way she’d been spoken to, but it never came. The waitress gave her a brief, hard look but offered her hand anyway. Grace fingered the silver ring and said, “That is pretty. It would look really nice on you, Nadya.”

“What?” I frowned.

“Don’t you think that ring would look amazing on Nadya?” she asked Gail. I watched, mesmerized as the waitress put down the coffee pot and slipped the ring off her finger.

“She’s right. It would look great on you.”

“What?” I asked again. “No. I don’t want your ring.”

“Take it. I don’t even like it.”

“See? She doesn’t like it. Nadya, you should take it.”

Gail placed the ring on the table and the red stone glinted in the hazy diner lights. I found myself distracted by the noises of the diner. The way plates clinked together and muffled voices reverberated around the room. With a final shrug she left with the half-filled coffee pot and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Uh, what the hell was that?” I stared at the ring on the table. “Why did she do that?”

Grace slid it across the flat surface with a finger until it was right next to my plate, her hazel eyes boring into mine. Her voice sounded far away. “Take it.”

Ridiculous, I thought. I would give it back. But I watched myself, as though separated from my body, pick up the ring and slide it down my pointer finger. It fit perfectly.

“So tomorrow night?” she prompted.

The fog lifted and my eyes snapped up, meeting Grace’s. She smiled eagerly, waiting to hear my reply. I grinned in return and said, “Your house. 7:00.”

Chapter 19

Liam

“UNANNOUNCED VISIT?” COLIN asked, as I arrived at the outskirts of Fiona’s kingdom. He was a Guard, too. We’d even trained together. He’d worked his way up through the royal ranks to serve as head Guard. I was bound to my own path. Just as in our life directions, Colin and I looked as different as night and day. His uniform reflected common Otherworld garb. Made primarily of leather and other animal skins, it served functionally enough. A metal helmet covered his head and a long bronze sword hung from his belt. Guns and other human weapons were forbidden in Otherworld.

“I doubt this is a surprise,” I said, allowing myself to be checked for weapons. I handed over my daggers and knife. “She’ll see me.”

Fiona and I have a long history, and she’s never refused my entry. Sure enough, as we entered Solar’s palace, a grand structure made of dark stones bound together with massive amounts of gold and bronze, no one stopped my passage. That visit the other day was just the beginning of a conversation between Fiona and me. I hoped to finish it today.

I followed the guards down the long hallway toward Fiona’s chambers. We passed the throne room, empty of any of her followers. No chance she’d see me in a public court. I doubted they were aware of all the recent developments. Nadya’s awakening had the potential to change everything for Otherworld. Hence Fiona’s increasing fear.

We approached the doors of her chamber, large and heavy with rare metals. An escort walked me through the doorway and to the small sitting area adjacent to Fiona’s rooms. I passed double doors, swung open wide to reveal a muscular man asleep in the sheets.

She lounged on a chaise while a servant ran a wide-toothed, onyx comb through her golden hair. The scene was a picture of opulence. Sheer entitlement, but unlike the human world the Sidhe didn’t evolve very much. Without modern invention the kingdoms were able to keep things at a slow pace. It suited their needs and people were generally happy and fearful of change. None of them understood my ability to move with ease from one world to the other. It didn’t matter how I felt about it. It was my job.

I stood in front of a velvet covered chair, but she beckoned me to the chaise. I did as she asked—it was her kingdom after all—and waited as the servant placed a sparkling platinum crown on her head. Fiona waved her off and we were alone.

“Liam,” she said, spreading the folds of her purple gown. The neckline plunged, revealing her voluptuous figure. As the queen of riches from the earth, she existed in a realm of gluttony. Food and wine flourished. Parties and feasts were a common occurrence. She traded in the precious metals other kingdoms needed to make weapons and charms. “How lovely of you to travel to see me, although I can’t say that I’m surprised. I figured you’d find your way here after our last visit.”

“Thank you for allowing me entry.”

“You are welcome to come home any time you choose. You know that.”

The pleasantries were ridiculous. Neither of us were fond of one another, not especially. Fondness wasn’t required though for all relationships. Other aspects came into play. Aspects that were not only common in the Sidhe world but encouraged. As if she read my mind, Fiona ran her sliver flecked fingernails over her collar bone and down the gold edging of her neckline. I set my eyes on her face and not to the creamy skin of her neck and chest. “It’s my turn to ask, why are you here, Liam?” She craned her neck and peered behind me. “Did you bring me a present?”

“If you’re suggesting I brought Nadya to your doorstep, then you do not know me as well as you think you do.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Your loyalty is your finest virtue. Which is why I know that despite our differences you’ll always be steadfast to me and my kingdom.”

I nodded, unable to argue. I would always be faithful to the kingdom and the Queen of this part of Otherworld. That was what made Fiona so nervous. “I need to know who and how fae are transporting between worlds without approval. There is a defect in the system and I fear I cannot protect either world fully until the portal is secure.”

“Eleanor pushed her soldiers through without warning or permission, correct?”

“Yes, but an assault is an entirely different situation. That was a complete breach of our system. We’ve repaired the damage and established new wards. These recent crossings were made by individuals.”

“Eleanor rules under darkness, Liam. Think outside of your strict Guardian mindset. There are many dark fae that are willing to break rules, especially if the groundwork was already laid.”

Fiona couldn’t come out and tell me what I needed to know. Where was the fun in that? But I considered the information. The invasion may have been about more than taking over the portal. It may have been a bold attempt to poke holes in our system. Eleanor knew she couldn’t beat the Guard in a battle but she could establish chinks in our armor.

Lost in thought, I didn’t realize Fiona had moved closer until her hand moved to my thigh and I froze. “I’ve missed you. You’re spending too much time there and not enough in the kingdom.”

“I’m only doing my job, Your Highness.”

She leaned back but left her hand on top of my leg. Her fingers stroked the fabric of my pants. “Once upon a time, you considered my pleasure part of your duty and made your visits a priority.”

“That was many years ago, Fiona, and you’re the one that sent me to my post.”

“It’s not my fault you’re the best choice to guard the portal.”

“And Nadya.”

“Yes, and Nadya.” I said her name with intent, but it didn’t keep Fiona from tracing a finger down the back of my neck. I struggled to keep my eyes level with hers. The minute I entered her quarters I gave up any semblance of an upper hand. With her so close I could easily smell the waft of familiar sweetness that tempted my senses. I took a deep breath. Facing Fiona alone was a struggle for any male. If you’d tasted her, even once, she was hard to resist. Manipulation came in many flavors. Fiona excelled in them all. “Tell me, how powerful will she be?”

“I don’t know.”

She applied pressure with her nails, slicing into the skin beneath my collar. “Give me a guess. Just for fun.”

“Very powerful—her gifts will rival your own.”

I expected a violent reaction. All Fiona did was lean over and moved to brush her lips against mine. Sweet heat rose between us—compelling, but I turned my head and her lips landed on my cheek. In the past I would have fallen for such tricks. Now, with Nadya’s power mingling with my own, the Queen’s manipulation didn’t go further than the surface. She pulled back and frowned. “You have until Beltane to bring her to me.”

“That’s two weeks away.”

“Bring her to me or I will go get her myself,” she said with authority. I knew there would be no further negotiations.

I stood and said, “Thank you for your insights on the portal. I will look into the matter of darkfFae immediately.”

Fiona beckoned me and I leaned close. She wrapped her hands around the front of my shirt. “Protect her at all costs,” she said. “Close the gaps in the portal. Take whatever you need. I will not lose her to Eleanor.”

“Nadya will be safe,” I replied, resisting the urge to strike her down. Fiona was strong but with the bond flowing in my veins it was possible I was stronger. She didn’t need to know that. The timing wasn’t right. Not yet.

Chapter 20

Nadya

THE HOUSE WAS small and dark. Halfway covered in vines. The bottom step to the porch sagged and the screen door had a rip down the middle. Not keeping many flies out that way. Grace waited just inside the foyer with a giddy smile. Warm yellow light spilled out behind her.

“You made it!”

“You know, I’ve passed this place a thousand times and never noticed it before. Uh, wow.”

I had stepped through the threshold and stopped short. Everything about the house was perfect. Everything. From the furnishings to the decorations. Even the way it smelled. I felt like I’d stepped into an issue of Martha Stewart Living. Vintage wallpaper hung on the walls and beautiful, shiny, hardwoods lined the floor. I glanced back, out into the overgrown yard.

“The yard is a mess, right?”

“Uh yeah, but this?” I spread my arms wide. “This is beautiful. Did you decorate it yourself?”

“I added some touches but I really lucked out. The former owner was some sort of decorating genius.”

“For real.”

She shut the door. “Come on. Let’s get ready. I can’t wait to hit the town.”

The word town felt like an overstatement for how small Waukegan seemed at times. Maybe it was just how small my world had always been—although I could no longer claim that. Sure, things still appeared small here, but according to Liam and the other Guards there was an entire other universe on the other side of the portal.

“Oh, I just got the best lotion.” She thrusts a bottle into my hands. The lotion shimmered and smelled almost edible. I spread a little over my arms. Grace took the bottle back and poured out a generous handful. “More than that girl, don’t be shy.”

I felt her hands on my back, slathering the lotion down the skin exposed by my black dress. I’d pulled my hair up, in a bundle perched like a horse’s tail, long tendrils down by my ears. “Just so you know,” I told her. “I’m not very popular among the men of this town.”

She gave me skeptical look. “You’ve got the one guy, right?”

“Yeah, but before him, nothing. They think I’m a freak.”

“Whatever. They’re probably intimidated.”

I laughed. “Intimidated. Good one.”

She stood before me and looked me up and down. I wore no jewelry other than the necklace from my mother and the ring on my finger. The dress was tight but not slutty, I don’t do slutty, but it showed enough to count as “glammed up.”

“You need better shoes.”

I glanced down at my comfortable shoes. “I don’t like my feet to hurt.”

Grace turned and stepped into her closet. I heard the sounds of her rummaging through what sounded like a mountain of clothing, and she reappeared holding up a pair of wicked boots with spiked heels and a long zipper that landed in the inseam of my thigh.

“No way.”

“They’re the most comfortable shoes ever. I promise. Try them and see.”

To prove her wrong I tried them. The leather was soft and supple, the sole cushy like a pillow. I stood, like an amazon, five inches higher and said, “Okay, where did you get these? Because normal shoes do not feel like this.”

“I keep telling you to trust me. When are you going to believe me?”

My face heated from the pleasant rebuke. There was truth in her words. I don’t trust anyone, which could be why I was twenty years old and had no friends. I took a bold, balanced step forward and declared, “Starting now.”

Grace led me through the crowd of people, pushing to the middle of the dance floor. I followed her blonde hair that blazed like a torch.

“I don’t dance,” I shouted over the thumping music. How had she even found this place? Again, when we arrived at the basement level club, entering past a bouncer, I felt like she knew my city better than I did.

“Of course you do.” She twirled around and my feet, despite a million reservations, moved to the beat. Grace clapped and laughed. “See?”

“You’re crazy,” I said, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Her every movement, every look, was filled with fun and energy. She was everything I’d never been. Everything, I considered, that with my new life, I could definitely become.

“Nadya,” she called, coming closer, so close we were almost touching. So close that hunger I’d been repressing roared in my belly. She smelled delicious, like the strawberry gloss I watched her coat across her lips. She’d given me my own blend, honey, she said. I ran my tongue over my lips to recall the flavor.

I wondered if I tasted her, would that energy rush through my veins like it did with Liam.

“What?”

“Let’s set this place on fire.”

I had no idea what that meant but the words sounded like music rolling off her tongue. Her fingers ran down my bare arms and the skin ignited with heat. She placed my hands on her shoulders and said, “Feel me.”

I did what she did, running my hands down her arms, feeling the slick coating of lotion that sparked. An image flashed in my brain, Grace kneeling before a gorgeous black-haired woman. Long, red, aggravated welts traveled the length of Grace’s back.

“Holy crap,” I muttered, trying to focus. It was futile as in front of me Grace’s skin began to glow, warm and soft. She looked like glitter that had come alive. “You’re shimmering.”

“You too, sweetie.”

I spun around and trails of light followed me. I too was aglow. A quick look at the crowd told me they could see it, too. They wanted to touch it. Touch me.

I wanted to touch them.

Feed.

“Take whoever you want,” Grace whispered. She danced in a loop, across the floor from where I stood, but her voice tickled my ear. I looked into the crowd and spotted him. Dark spiky hair. Shadowy eyes. Hot. Very, very hot. He knows it, which makes his essence even more delectable. “He’s perfect.”

I lifted my finger and beckoned him to me.

Chapter 21

Liam

THE SCENE IN front of me could only be called a massacre. Or at the very least a rave gone terribly, terribly wrong (or would it be right?). I made my way over the discarded bodies, each in a glassy-eyed stupor. Even in their current immobilized state they should be happy enough.

“Fan out,” I called.

“Someone had a good time.” Daniel said, picked his way through the carnage.

Brayden checked the vital signs of each human. “Everyone is alive—just drained.”

“What kind of Sidhe goes on a feeding frenzy like this?” Daniel asked. “It looks like the spring feast of 1487. But that was the result of an entire village.” He ran his finger across a man’s neck and held it up. Glitter reflected off the tip. “I get the feeling this was maybe one or two Sidhe; this substance is on every person.”

Upon my return Daniel had tracked an unusual blip of magic to this section of the city. We combed the streets until Brayden suggested we look in the basement level club. Bingo.

“I agree.” I stepped over two women huddled together, both with blissed out smiles on their faces. One blinked and I lifted her chin, tilting it toward me. I grinned pleasantly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she slurred, eyes attempting to focus. “You’re pretty.”

“Thank you. Do you remember who did this?”

“It’s a little blurry.”

“I’m sure it is.” I stroked her cheek and her eyes perked up a little. “Men or women?”

“Women, so pretty. Like you.”

“Anything else?”

“They tasted so good.” She licked her lips. “Like strawberries and honey.”

Her eyes lolled to the side and she fell asleep. I stood and met Daniel and Brayden in the middle of the dance floor. “They’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

“Who—these people or the Sidhe?”

“Both,” I said, grinding my jaw. The scene before us was not how we operated. Not how we fed and lived among the humans. It was risky and dangerous. A betrayal to our kind. “But for the Sidhe it will feel like nothing compared to the justice I will serve.”

“Should I contact Colleen?” Bradyen asked.

I nodded. Nerves twisted in my stomach—a type of worry I’d never experienced before. “Update her and make sure Nadya is safe. We’ve got a rogue fae running around here. I can’t assume there isn’t a connection.”

Chapter 22

Nadya

“NADYA, RUN!” GRACE called through the hazy light and I raced toward it. The spiked heel of my boot caught on something and I looked down. I squinted, trying to figure out what it was. A leg? A foot? Who did they belong to? Her voice, urgent, cut through my confusion. “Come on!”

“Slow down. I may puke.” I couldn’t remember how many drinks we had, but it was obviously more than enough. My head spun and my vision was blurry. Grace led me down the back hall, past the bathrooms and out an exit that pushed us into an alley.

“You won’t puke, but we’ve got to get out of here.”

“Why the rush? That was amazing, well, from what I remember. It’s all a little confusing.”

“The bar is closed,” she said, tugging at my hand. The golden light that had followed her all night dimmed until it was barely a faint glimmer. “But you’re right, that was amazing. Best night of my life.”

Three blocks away we rest against a brick wall. “I’ve never felt so good,” I told her. The nausea passed now that we were in the dark, away from the loud thumping music. Euphoria pulsed through my veins. I’d never used drugs or had sex before, but something told me that the feeling of exhilaration coursing through me was similar. And just as addictive. Already I wanted more.

“Never?”

“Well, maybe once or twice before. With Liam. He makes me feel the best.”

“Liam’s the guy?”

“Yes, he can do that to me and more. When we’re together it’s like we become one person. Together anything is possible. Oh crap. Did I kiss someone in there?” I’d never been close to anyone else. Did this feeding thing work on other people? On humans?

She shook her head making the glitter sparkle on her cheeks. “I wish I could tell you what all happened back there but I can’t. I got a little caught up myself.” Her words buzzed in my brain, tickling that part of me that discerned reality. I reached for it, waited for the blast of truth, but nothing came. The strange part was that I was there too—and I should know, but I couldn’t remember either.

“Answer one thing, why the hell are you out with me if you could be at home fucking a guy that made you feel like that that all the time?” she asked.

“Fu—oh no. We’re not doing that. Not yet, at least.”

“So you’re getting all that “connection” stuff from what? Kissing?”

“Yeah, kissing and other stuff.” The foggy mist hovering over my brain lifted a little and I realized I’d probably said too much. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated? It sounds awesome. If it’s that intense from kissing, I can’t imagine what would happen if you take it further. You need to be careful.”

“It’s not a big deal. I have no plans on getting that involved with him,” I declared with absolute certainty. Of course, Liam clearly had other ambitions. There was little chance I would get away so easily, or when the time came, that I would want to.

“Be careful,” she said, again. “I’ve given everything to a man before and watched others do the same. You have to protect yourself.”

“Thanks, Grace.” I stepped through a puddle on the street and pulled her into a tight hug. “You’re a really good friend.”

* * *

SOMEONE WAS FOLLOWING me. I first noticed them after Grace and I separated close to her house. I wanted—no needed—some fresh air to clear my mind. The street was quiet, my house three blocks away. A shadow lurked in the background, ducking behind cars, hiding just out of the reach of light.

My first inclination was to run, but a calm voice whispered in my ear. “Assess the situation. Figure out a plan. Make your first move—even if it isn’t an actual move.” Colleen had said these words to me at each of our lessons. She’d drilled them into me, like a mantra, and I’d expected another test. The timing made sense. Jealous bastard. He’d probably been following me all night.

There was no way he would get the best of me again.

Even on my best night there was no way I could beat him—not fully. I needed to get away. Get to safe ground. That would be my way of winning this round.

My house was two blocks away. If I got inside the wards would keep a real soldier out. All I had to do was get home before he caught me.

Tiny nerves on the back of my neck tingled with anticipation. I walked casually, as though I had no clue I was being tracked. From past experience I knew he’d try to catch me in a weak position. Might as well get this show on the road. I bent down to adjust my shoe.

“Tick tock,” I muttered under my breath when he took too long. Oh well, I had another shoe. Switching over and tugging at the fine leather, I bided my time. I’d about given up, thinking I had made up the entire situation when a dark shadow crossed over the street. I stood and faced a hooded figure. “Took you long enough. I thought you’d given up.”

I heard a low rumble in his chest. The silver of his blade flashed in the streetlight. “Don’t cut me up this time, okay? That hurt like a mother,” I said, shifting to one side. I didn’t have a blade of my own. Maybe I should get one? I was confident in my increased speed and my ability pack a pretty hard punch.

Tired of waiting, he lunged at me and I moved away fast, jabbing him twice in the side. His claws scared me, exact replicas from the battle at the airport. I kicked him in the knee, hard enough that he stumbled, his razor sharp fingers scraping the ground. I took the time to inch backward. Closer to safe ground. He leaped from his spot, faster than I’d ever seen him, and tackled me. My head smacked hard against the pavement and both my arms were pinned to the ground.

“Dammit Liam, if you want to get me in your bed, buy me dinner and some freaking flowers first.”

That made him stop briefly, and in a swift move, he tugged the hood back. My attacker revealed a shaved head and dark, almost black eyes. A red line scarred his cheek and a dark tattoo covered his temple. With his sharp claw he drew a painful line across my throat. “You’ve got the wrong fighter, little girl.”

No, no, no…I shivered. Adrenaline kicked in and kneed him square between the legs.

“Gods,” he cried, but I used the diversion to shift and kicked him in the chest using the spike of my heel. I made a break for it—scrambling on the pavement, I ran. Fast and hard, down my street, past my neighbor’s houses. One more. One more house and up the stairs, through the door and I’d be safe behind the wards.

Pain flared up my legs from the stupid boots, but I kept going, ignoring the footsteps pounding on the street behind me. Legs pumping, I got to the curb, jumped over the sidewalk and made the final dash to the door. The soldier was behind me, so close I felt his breath on my neck, smelled the sweat coming off his body. I had to get inside but there was no way, with the door being locked. He was too close. I ran past the front door, arching past my father’s car, pushing though the back gate. A faint glow filtered through the back door window, and with heightened senses I reached for the wooden handle I knew from memory hung there and ducked behind the tool shed.

I only had seconds, but I used them to wait for the soldier, my back pressed against the scratchy siding. “You can run…” he mocked. Why did he talk so much trash? Who am I to him?

That was what I planned to find out.

He stepped into view and I swung the heavy pitchfork across his stomach and again against the back of his head. He fell to the ground gasping for breath. But I was done with this bullshit. I shoved the long, hard, metal tines into his stomach, all the way through, and pinned him to the ground. He struggled, baring his teeth in a snarl.

“Shut up,” I said, standing above him. I positioned my tired, worn out foot on his crotch, heel strategically placed. “What do you want with me?”

“Kill me if you want, I’m not at liberty to discuss my mission.”

I leaned on the pole, twisting the tines. The soldier grimaced and fought back a cry. “I can do this all night,” I lied, feeling my body wearing down. How long ago was it that I was at the bar with Grace? What had actually happened there? “Who sent you here? What is this all about?”

He refused to speak and I bent over, pressing my hand to his chest. The vision rolled over me like a freight train. The same throne as before, ruffled dark robes and blue-black hair, dark as a raven. She sat behind a long table filled with the remains of a feast, servants hovered around the edges. I heard my name, spoken with a vengeful whisper. “Nadya,” she said. “Bring the girl to me. Alive.” The soldier bowed, clawed hand at his side.

My mind cleared and I looked down at the soldier. “Who is that?”

“Eleanor. Our Queen.”

Ah, the same that attacked the portal. “What does she want with me?”

He made a feeble attempt to struggle. A trickle of blood fell from his mouth. “I don’t question her demands. Neither should you.”

“I don’t have a queen, asshat,” I said, knowing I had no idea if this was true or not. If I did, and she wanted me brought to her using this type of force, it wasn’t good. Not good at all.

“You do, and she’s requested your presence. You have little choice.” He exhaled a shaky final breath and his eyes glazed over. I watched his head fall lifeless to the side.

I kicked his hip but he didn’t move. I reached for my phone and dialed.

“There’s a soldier in my yard. I killed him.”

Chapter 23

Liam

“SHE REALLY DID a number on him,” Brayden said, struggling with the dead body. He pulled the pitch fork out with a sticky jerk. “When did she get so strong?”

I had the same question, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for Nadya to come down. I’d knocked ten minutes ago. She had two more before I broke our agreement and went inside.

“Get rid of him,” I said. Brayden opened a pouch and sprinkled it over the body. The soldier’s flesh turned gray and disintegrated. “I’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you just go inside—make sure she’s okay?”

“Because we have an agreement and I’m trying to respect that. She’s not making it easy.” I sighed. “And she’s okay—physically at least. I can sense it through our bond.”

“This one—she’s got you by the balls? Never thought I’d see it happen.”

I shot him a look, a hard one, and he gathered up his tools. I was contemplating the way to break in with the least damage to the door when Nadya appeared, hair wet, smelling of soap and shampoo. Her thin frame was wrapped in a blue robe. Her pupils pulsed in the dark—dilated. A thin, bloody line ran the length of her neck. I reached for her. She flinched and backed away into her kitchen. “Let me see,” I said.

“It’s fine.”

“He cut you.” Rage boiled beneath my skin and if he wasn’t already dead and destroyed, I’d have found him and ripped his head off. “She’ll pay for this.”

“Who, the Queen?”

“Yes.”

“He told me she wanted me. Alive. They aren’t going to kill me. They just want to take me to her. Maybe I should just go?”

I ran a hand through my hair. Gods, she was so infuriating. “You aren’t going.”

“Why not? It’s my decision.”

“No, it’s not.” A flash under her ear caught my eye and I brushed a finger across the skin. Glitter. “Where were you before you ran into this guy?”

“Don’t change the subject, Liam. I want to know more about Eleanor.”

I took a step forward, assessing her flushed cheeks, her strung out eyes. “Tell me where you were.”

“It’s none of your fucking business. I didn’t ask you to come over here for an inquisition about my evening.”

“No!” I shouted. “You asked me over here to take care of a dead body. A Sidhe solider, Nadya. That death will not come without consequence. I need you to be honest with me, so I can help you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw, like a petulant child. “How did you get the strength to kill him? How did you fight him off?”

“You trained me. I did what you told me to.”

“It’s more than that. You’ve fed. Recently.” She shook her head but her eyes stayed down. I stepped closer and lifted her chin. Her lips were puffy, and swollen. I ran my thumb over her bottom lip and lifted it to my mouth, tasting it with my tongue. I shook my head. “Dammit Nadya.”

“What?”

“You taste like honey.”

“So?”

“So that means we’ve got a problem. A big one. Bigger than one Queen.”

“What? Is there a King after me too?”

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “The King is your least concern. There isn’t just one queen, Nadya. There isn’t just one land in Otherworld. There are many, each ruled by their own royalty. You’ve got one queen that wants your head and another…”

“What does the other one want?” Her eyes were wide with curiosity. They should be. I’d just dropped a bomb on her.

“I’m not sure what she wants. Not yet. Even if I did, it’s not my place to tell you.” I nodded toward the house. “Get dressed. You’re coming home with me.”

Colleen sat in the chair opposite mine. Her chin jutted defensively. She knew why I called her here, but I asked anyway. “Want to explain what happened while I was gone?”

“Last night?”

“From the beginning.”

“Nothing eventful happened until you came back—that scene at the bar.”

I shook my head. “Nadya has been unaccounted for two nights in a row. Why is that?”

“Two?”

“I’m aware you left her alone at the gym.”

Recognition lit up her eyes. “Daniel called me because there had been a disturbance in the portal.”

“What sort of disturbance?”

“The same blips as before.”

“And he felt it was necessary to take you off the training schedule with Nadya?”

She shifted an inch to the left. “Yes.”

“And you felt it was necessary to disobey a direct order from me to go check on a “blip?”

“I report to him.”

“No,” I said, in a steady voice. “You report to me.”

“Nadya is very capable. I don’t think you give her enough credit—“

I held up my hand. “Nadya was attacked tonight by a solider. You’re correct. She is capable of handling herself. Unfortunately, she’s unpredictable and unknown. Dangerous. Because of her we’ve sent another dead soldier back to Eleanor.”

“She killed him? By herself?” A small grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Go Nadya.”

A similar sense of pride filled my chest, but fear and anger surpassed that emotion. “Please understand that this will not happen again. You are to stick to her like glue, if she knows it or not. Do not leave her side.”

“Where is she now?”

“Down the hall. She didn’t want her father to see her injuries.” Injuries that had already healed—and not with my assistance. A result, I imagined, from binge feeding on a room full of unsuspecting humans. “I’ve reactivated the locator charm on her necklace and reestablished the wards; we can’t risk another situation like this. Things are already too tense with the Otherworld.”

“You had deactivated the charm? When?”

“When she asked me to give her some space.” I leaned back in my seat. “It was a bad idea. She’s a wild card in a very precarious situation. Neither Eleanor nor Fiona will rest until one of them gets her hands on Nadya. It’s my job to make sure this doesn’t happen.”

“Why not just take her? Let Fiona get a look for herself? Maybe she can tell Eleanor that Nadya isn’t the threat she thinks she is?”

I drummed my fingers on the desk. “Because I’m not convinced that Eleanor is wrong. Nadya may be the biggest threat yet. To all of us.”

Chapter 24

Nadya

LEANING OVER THE sink, I inspected my neck. Smooth, pale flesh reflected back from the massive guest room mirror. How, I wondered, because I only agreed to come back to Liam’s house to keep my father from seeing the injuries from the fight. When we left I looked like hell. Now? I ran my fingers over the nonexistent line. The wounds were almost gone and I hadn’t even let Liam touch me. The nervous feeling in my stomach that I’d had since I parted from Grace continued to grow. Something happened in that bar. Something I didn’t exactly remember or fully understand. Unfortunately, the frown on Liam’s face when he tasted the honey on my lips made me even more concerned.

And scared.

As soon as we arrived at Liam’s home he retreated through the adjoining door to his office. I couldn’t hear much through the thick wood—just muffled voices—but I did know Colleen had been summoned to a meeting. We hadn’t really spoken since my workout at the gym two nights ago. It felt like much longer than that. I barely recalled being at Grace’s house the night before.

I left the bathroom and pressed my ear to the door, trying to catch a word here or there from Liam’s study. Whatever Colleen had been called in for, I had no doubt I was somehow involved. Liam shifted easily between his positon with the Guard and my—whatever he was to me. Protector? Hookup? I didn’t allow myself to dwell long on the word that wanted to trump the others. Mate.

His roles were so different that sometimes I had to remind myself that he wasn’t a normal man, that his concerns were more than just for my health and safety. They reflected something greater to our world. One I knew little about.

I knew I should have felt trapped as a prisoner to all of these things. Tucked away in Liam’s massive home, wasting time in the luxury of this room, but something had changed in the last couple of days. Something reached beyond the chains of my regular life and the complexity of the new, Sidhe, one. I didn’t feel trapped. I felt empowered. Grace had shown me I could have more. I felt it in my nerves and on my lips. It trembled in my stomach and down my limbs, lurking in the back of my shadowy memory. Everything changed when I killed that soldier on my own. I could take care of myself.

Whatever these two royal Sidhe had planned for me wasn’t good enough. I needed my own plan. I wanted to control my life. Not some fairy queen in Otherworld. Not Liam.

Retreating from the door, I pulled out my phone and found Grace’s number. I sat on the bed to plot my next move. I came to Liam’s home to protect my father. I would leave to protect myself. All I needed was the right moment, and when I found it, I would take it.

Liam’s home sprawled, with long hallways and enticing closed doors. A wrong turn could end up in a second floor ballroom. Antiques and artwork filled every bare space. The house was spotless, but increasingly, I noticed a sense of clutter. It was possible that Liam, for all his simplicity in work wear and business function, could be a hoarder.

That hoard of knick-knacks was my problem. My attempt to exit quietly downstairs had been thwarted when I bumped into a large curio cabinet at the top landing. Figurines tumbled, crashing like dominos. The ruckus echoed down the hall.

I braced myself and the cabinet, hoping no one heard. I needed a better feel for the house. I didn’t plan on leaving yet, but soon. Grace and I had worked out part two of the plan, where she would pick me up outside the gates. As for getting out of the house unnoticed? Well, that part was up to me.

True to his semi-stalkerish form, Liam stepped into the hallway, brow furrowed. “Everything okay? Do you need something?”

A little space, I wanted to say, but as he came closer I felt that familiar tug connecting us beneath the surface. As much as my brain wanted me to tell him to back off, my body reacted traitorously.

“Just poking around. I don’t need to stay in my room, do I?”

“Of course not. You’re welcome to use the library or media room. There’s a gym downstairs as well—off the garage. You know where the kitchen is right? Mrs. Graves is probably down there planning lunch. She’d be happy to get you something.”

“Great.” I flashed a smile.

He bent over and studied my neck. “You healed quickly.”

I touched the smooth skin. “Yeah, faster than I thought.”

“Strange, since neither of us has fed in days.”

The statement was thick with unspoken intent but I didn’t owe him an explanation. Did I? On the way to his house from mine I’d asked him about his trip to Otherworld. He’d told me little in return, but when his hand brushed mine I caught a glimpse of something more. Worry, perhaps. I wasn’t the only one with secrets. Despite that, the look on his face left me confident that he definitely thought he was owed something. “You obviously have something you want to say. Go for it.”

“What happened last night?”

“Uh, I killed that soldier.”

“Before that?”

I stood across from him in the wide hallway, knowing exactly what he wanted. The problem was I wasn’t exactly sure myself. I didn’t want to admit that. “I was out with a friend.”

“A friend.”

“Yes. I do have some,” I lied.

“What did you and your friend do together?”

“It’s really none of your business.”

“Nadya,” he said, in a low, ultra-calm voice. “What did you do?”

I’d been focusing on his chest. Not his face. Not his eyes, but the tone of his voice made me glance up. It was clear he wasn’t angry. If anything he looked concerned—slightly panicked. “I was out with a friend,” I repeated. “Other than that it’s a little hazy.”

Liam ran his hands over his face. “Maybe I can fill in the blanks.”

I followed him to his office and he told me everything. The carnage at the club. The enchanted honey and glitter left at the scene. The same honey and glitter I wore on my body, that he tasted on my lips. With every word the picture cleared, until it was no longer a story he told me, but a solid memory.

“I didn’t know. You have to believe me,” I said, but the words felt like tiny lies.

“I believe you’ve been manipulated.”

“Manipulated? By who?” He replied by lifting an eyebrow. “What happens now?”

“Brayden and the others cleaned up the scene. No one is injured, but it was sloppy and dangerous. It’s the kind of behavior that could have gotten us all in trouble.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nadya, you didn’t do this on your own. Someone gave you that lip gloss and lotion. Another fae. I need you to tell me who it is.”

Grace. My only friend outside of this mess. Or so I thought. I guess I knew there was something different about her. The way she always got her way. How she manipulated the waitress at the restaurant.

I chewed on my lip, a lame attempt at buying time, and watched as Liam leaned against his desk and pushed his hand through his hair. Purple smudges ringed his eyes and I spotted the tail of his rumpled shirt sticking out. For the first time since our relationship began, he looked tired. “Hey,” I said, moving closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Stop avoiding the question.”

I ignored him again and ran the pad of my thumb under his eye. Energy pulsed and the skin cleared a little—but not completely. “When was the last time you fed?”

He shrugged. “When was the last time we were together?”

“I thought you had feeders or something?” He shook his head.

“You stopped using them?”

Wow. I’d listened to him describe the process from before we met. The volunteers who sold themselves to feed the Guard. It sounded weird and a little disturbing, but something they all did, unless they had a mate to feed with. Had he really cut that out for me? His eyes held mine, exhausted and hungry.

Linking my fingers with his, I pulled him close enough that our bodies touched. I knew he wouldn’t ask. Not with so much unanswered between us, but he needed to feed and I had a boatload of extra energy to spare. “You’re always there for me. Let me return the favor.” I kissed him. He didn’t react, which was surprising, but I placed a hand on his chest and felt his heart racing. I kissed him again, slipping my tongue in his mouth. His hands moved to my waist and he gripped tight. A spark of blue flared between us. He may not want to react physically, but like my own primal reactions, he seemed to have little choice.

“You’re bad for me,” he said, deepening the kiss. Hazy blue light enveloped us. “Like, incredibly dangerous.” With a swift move, he picked me up and set me down on the desk. He pushed my legs apart and stood between my thighs. He combined with the light and the space between us ceased to exist.

I tasted him, overcome by individual flavors. Hot and spicy defined his anger. Bitterness revealed his fear. Lust and desire tasted sweet and I couldn’t get enough. Each flavor was unique. His hands blazed hot down my arms and I realized that even though I’d binged the night before, what Liam gave me wasn’t the same. It was different. He was different.

This was the addiction, I thought, kissing his chin and neck. The drug I couldn’t get enough of. Every human I’d consumed last night had been an attempt to find the kind of energy Liam and I shared. One kiss from him was like ten from a human. My hands explored his solid arms and hard stomach. Energy, clean and bright, flowed between us. He was made perfectly for me.

“Oh my god,” I said, pulling away. He leaned forward, bending me back over the desk. One more second and he’d be on top of me. Two more and he’d be in me. I wouldn’t care in the least.

“What?”

“I get it now.”

“Get what?” He frowned but already the bags under his eyes had disappeared and pink color had returned to his cheeks. His arms felt stronger, his muscles harder. We buzzed with light, with pure energy, and I found myself threading my fingers through his hair as his lips left a hot trail across my collarbone toward my chest.

I closed my eyes, sinking into his touch, feeling this weight and the way his body moved to get closer. In this moment I realized he didn’t have the upper hand—not at all. We completed one another, like a circle. The energy from my feeding the night before poured into him. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and I pushed it back, brushing the back of my hand across his forehead. The vision swept over me like a wave.

A flash, the memory of him walking into the bar and seeing all the bodies. Anger burned in his eyes. The image shifted. In a uniquely different room, I saw the face of a woman with brilliant blonde hair. A crown sat atop her head. She had red lips, turned up in a wicked smile. Her nose brushed against the strong bridge of Liam’s.

This woman. She wasn’t the same from my visions with Grace, but there were similarities. Fiona. Eleanor. They kept circling around and I couldn’t catch the truth.

I stumbled back, gasping for air.

“What?” he asked, hands still firmly planted on my sides.

“I just—“ I wanted to twist away, push him back, but I stopped. A strange feeling itched under my skin. Instinct, that was what it would be called. In an instant I knew what I had to do, how to protect myself against my biggest foe.

“Liam,” I grunted, gripping the collar of his shirt. Fast—faster than I’d ever moved before, I swapped our positions. He fell backward into the chair and I leaned forward, using both hands to remove his shirt. The fabric ripped and buttons flew across the room, bouncing off the hardwoods with tiny, echoing pings. His eyes widened, but a curious smile lingered on his lips. The grin grew bigger, wolfish, when my hands moved to the top of his pants.

“Gods,” he whispered, eyes glued to my hands. I struggled with one leg after the other and pushed his pants to his ankles and admired the tight black shorts that clung to his muscular thighs. It was impossible not to notice the hard lines beneath the cotton, how pleased he was with my change of course.

I noted marks on his chest and the one low on the defined muscle on his abdomen. They were different than before. The altered tattoos, or runes, implied a sort of magic I hadn’t fully grasped. I did understand myself better now and licked each one. Tasting the power they gave him. Heat surged through my body, and I knew the functions they served. One for protection. One for strength. Another for cloaking. Faint reminders of these mingled with the magic that coursed through my body, one that coated the room in ever growing purple tinted pheromones. Lust was my superpower, which would explain the dazed look on Liam’s face, and the fact he hadn’t stopped me.

Crawling in his lap, I stroked his skin, kissed his mouth, and pressed myself against him. The temptation to linger overwhelmed me, like a spider caught in her own sticky web. The shade of blue that engulfed us normally disappeared completely, leaving a lustful mist of dark purple. “This,” he said, searching for words. “I knew, I knew but not like this. This is...”

“Perfect,” I cooed, the lie tumbling easy off my tongue. I moved my hands lower and felt a surge of power when he gasped. “Let me take care of you, the way you’ve taken care of me.”

He nodded, completely pliable in my hands. I took a deep breath. “Kiss me,” I demanded, lifting his chin up. Our lips and tongues touched, falling into the steady rhythm of one another. I was lost in his senses, his taste and touch. Heat scorched my flesh. Desire boiled in my stomach. The exchange of power warred between us. In the past one of us had given to the other. Tonight I was stronger than him. Infinitely. I opened my eyes and the purple light vanished. I sat up, and frowned. Had I lost him? Where did the energy go? Liam shifted beneath me, eyes closed, his body seeking mine. I laid a hand over his heart and whispered. “Liam?”

The response was a blast of blinding light—flashing bright and red. A different kind of instinct took over and I placed my mouth over his and inhaled. Red light traveled between us and with one last look in his pretty, dark blue eyes, I took it all. I took everything.

“I thought you were going to call?” Grace asked from the doorway. She peered behind me and frowned. “Where did that come from?”

I glanced backward at the shiny sports car. Red, because even Liam couldn’t be a douche when it came to Italian cars. “I borrowed it.”

“With permission?”

“Sort of.” I wanted to say that the owner was currently indisposed and that I could still taste him on my lips, feel him in my veins, but the less Grace knew the better. It wasn’t like she’d been truthful to me this whole time. “Can I come in?”

She opened the door wider and I entered the house. Not the quaint, adorable place I’d been the day before, but a hovel. The inside matched the outside. Grace had used a spell to trick me into thinking it was more. With Liam’s pure essence inside of me I absorbed all his abilities, including the one to look past the tricky glamours.

Grace eyed me with suspicion. “You’re acting weird. Is everything okay?”

I wasn’t in the mood to play games, so I just dove right in. “What do you want with me? Or rather, what does she want with me?”

“She?”

“Really? You’re going to play dumb?”

“What?” she asked. “I’m not playing anything.”

I moved quickly, taking her hand in mine. Liam’s powers bubbled beneath the surface and my reactions were more his than my own. I felt his cold, aloofness. His confidence. I liked it. “What does she want?”

“I c-c-can’t—“ she stammered. Her fear was palpable. Interesting. “She’ll kill me.”

“What makes you think I won’t?” With two hands I pulled her closer and did the only thing I knew how. I pressed my lips to hers and inhaled. She weakened quickly and I pushed my way into her mind.

Black crown. Black hair. Purple flowing robes. Grace stood on one side and whispered in her ear. Her hand rested on the head of a black dog on alert near her feet. A ring on her finger sparkled. A soldier with sharp claws stood at the edge of the throne. Their eyes were transfixed on something just outside the frame.

The same image, just each time a little bit more. One piece of a larger puzzle that I had no idea what it meant. I released Grace, shoving her away.

Fury tinted her eyes and she wiped the back of her mouth with her hand. “Find what you wanted?”

“Some, but not enough. What does Eleanor want from me? Or the other woman, Fiona?” I asked. “One of them sent you here for me. Is it Eleanor? She sent soldiers for me and Liam is trying his hardest to hide me from her. Why?”

Grace’s face hardened. “She just wants to meet you. Liam’s been blocking her as well as Fiona.”

“If Eleanor only wanted to meet me, why send an army of soldiers to stalk me through the streets? I would think she has plenty to do other than harass one fumbling, clueless half-Sidhe girl in Illinois.”

She laughed. Giggle-snorted even and shook her head. “You have no idea, do you? He never told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Liam’s handsome but he’s a total prick. I’m sure you’ve figured that out now, even with that whole bond-thing you have going on.”

“You know about that? Why does everyone know everything but me?”

“Nadya,” she said. Her eyes actually conveyed a bit of kindness. “Eleanor isn’t like Liam. She’s not full of secrets and lies. She doesn’t want to keep your powers away from you. If anything she wants you to rise to your fullest possibility. You’ve got all that energy coursing through you—so much power. It’s ancient and deadly and you have no freaking clue what to do with it. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“Come with you where?”

“Otherword, of course. Our future may very well depend on you.”

I held my ground and pretended I wasn’t terrified. “You tricked me into being your friend. How do I know you’re not manipulating me like that waitress or the people in the bar? You act like you’re better than Liam, but I don’t believe it.” Why did everyone around me feel the need to lie? What was everyone hiding? Until this very moment I’d believed most of what Liam told me. But now? I had no idea.

“Illusions are our currency,” she said, waving her hand over the air. The walls blurred, shifting back to the glamour from yesterday. The satin-lined walls and comfortable furniture. I blinked and it wavered. She smiled. “It’s all about opening your eyes to the truth. What’s real and what isn’t. You have the power to know the difference. You always have, deep down. It’s the gift your mother passed on to you.”

“You knew my mother?”

“Of her.” Her eyebrow lifted slightly. “Eleanor knew her well.”

“Of course she did.” I sighed. All roads lead back to the Queen. “Tell me about the other one—Fiona?”

Her eyebrow inched, just a little, but I saw it. “Fiona is not to be trusted. Liam is in her servitude. He is most loyal to her.” Grace must have seen how that statement rattled me. “Oh, you thought he was loyal to you? And the rest of the Guard? That is Fiona’s guard. Don’t think she won’t use them against you if she doesn’t get what she wants. Liam can only hold out against her for so long—unless he’s successful first.”

“Successful with what?”

She gave me a confused look. “Power, of course. Liam needs your power to overthrow Fiona and Eleanor. He wants to control Otherworld. The only way to make that happen is to take yours.”

Hours ago I would have thought this a lie, but after absorbing most of Liam’s powers for myself, and the gluttony of the night before, I wasn’t sure what to believe. “Why hasn’t he done this already?”

“Oh, Nadya. Use your head. Your abilities aren’t fully realized yet. If he took them now it would be a drop in the bucket compared to what he and everyone else speculate that you will be capable of. His entire focus has been on keeping you safe so you can train and cultivate your skills.” Her eyes sparkled as she explained his motivation. “He’s not the only one that realizes this and it’s why Eleanor has been trying to remove you to the safety of her kingdom. She may be the only one not attempting to exploit you.”

The information hit me like a ton of bricks. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “She sent an army through the portal and attacked me and my family. She sent soldiers to my home. My mother is dead, because of her.”

“She sent soldiers through the portal to rescue you! And the ones that tried to kill you? That’s a testament to the fear they have over your manifesting abilities. You don’t know everything that happened and why,” she said. “Don’t you want to find out?”

What I wanted to do was go back to my life before I’d pursued Liam and discovered the truth about my family. I’d give anything to run away and pretend this had never happened. Royalty fighting over my power? I couldn’t even face the fact that a man I’d come to trust and was unequivocally connected to, physically as well as emotionally, was only using me for his own ambition.

A fleeting urge to run crossed my mind. I’d gotten the upper hand on Liam using his desire for me. His hunger and base instinct and the bond we shared. Sure, I’d gotten into Grace’s head but I had a feeling seduction wouldn’t work on her.

Past the fear and concern, Grace had piqued my interest. I wanted to know more about the Queen and why she had gone to so much trouble to try to find me—including sending an army through the portal. Maybe it was time to find out exactly what was going on and not the biased, self-serving version Liam was feeding me.

I stood, dusting the grime off my hands from the filthy house.

“Well?” Grace asked, her hands clenched at her sides, unnecessarily ready for a fight.

“I’m probably a fool, but whatever. Fine, let’s go. Take me to Eleanor.”

Chapter 25

Liam

“WAKE UP.”

“Gods, he’s out of it.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think that he was right, Nadya is a force to be reckoned with.”

The voices broke through the dream I’d been having. The glorious, too real one, with Nadya seductively straddling my hips. She hovered above me in her thin white blouse that barely hung onto her shoulders and I burned for her. I clenched my eyes shut, attempting to reclaim the dream and mumbled into the pillow. “Get out.”

I tried to catch a glimmer of her again. Her skin. Her hair, the way her breasts looked pressed into my chest. The way she smelled. Fresh, like the earth. Her eyes held mine, fiery and…

“Liam.”

“There’s going to be hell to pay when he finds out she’s gone.”

I stiffened and blinked. Struggling for my voice I asked, “What did you say?”

“Oh look, he wakes. Finally.”

I rolled over, my hand bound tightly. I flexed my fingers and looked down. A silver chain had been tied around my fist. Nadya’s necklace with the locator spell. Fury replaced the confusion of my dreams.

Colleen’s wary eyes weren’t on my face but lower. I looked down and grimaced. The dream felt as real to my body as my brain. I covered myself. “Someone explain now.”

“Sir, really, we don’t know,” Brayden replied. “Mrs. Graves found you in your office and fed you. Enough to gain consciousness, but you’re still very weak.”

I rubbed my face, trying to regain my senses. I felt like I’d spent the night at a feast in Otherworld. Drinks and food and women except infinitely weaker. “Where is Nadya?”

“Gone.” Colleen replied. She looked at the ground. Nadya was her responsibility. And again she failed. This would not end well for her. “She took off some time ago. Left you in quite a state. What do you remember?”

“Not much—or rather, I’m unsure what was real and what was a dream. Gods, she did something to me.” I clutched my head and in the mirror across the room I saw the marks on my chest had faded. A quick glance down proved the rest were missing, too. “My runes have been removed.”

“What could do that? Did you eat or drink anything?”

“No.” Red lips. Red light. Skin pale and smooth. I felt a nudge in my head—something else. “I think maybe she got in my head?”

“She had a vision or read a memory?”

“No more. It was intentional. It’s like she pushed herself in my brain and felt around.” That would explain the headache. And the necklace. I flashed to her lips and her body over mine. Hazy or not, that was no dream. “Whatever she found could be dangerous. I had had my memories cloaked, but if she saw bits and pieces, we could have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“The kind that ends with Nadya revealing herself to Eleanor. Something that cannot happen. Not yet.” I stood but swayed, losing my footing on the carpet. Colleen lunged forward to help. I shrugged her off.

“Can you handle this?” she asked. “You really don’t look well.”

“Get me a feeder.” I rested a hand on the bed post and stood again. “Now.”

“Thank you, dear,” I said to the woman on the bed. Unlike Nadya, the woman didn’t gain strength from my feeding, but she did feel a drug-like rush. One she enjoyed, from the lazy grin on her face. She’d provided me nourishment and enough energy to get at least some of my memory back. Not only had Nadya unlocked my brain and rummaged around my thoughts but she’d come close to killing me. I had to wonder if that was her true intent.

I re-marked my body, adding the runes of war, another cloaking spell and another for travel. I had a feeling this wouldn’t end on Earth. Nadya had too much of a head start, extreme power, and a guide more than willing to take her to Otherworld. I changed into battle clothes, strapping my arms with leather guards and lacing my boots. Blades slipped into sheathes next to my calves. Two more hidden up my sleeves. If Eleanor dared touch a hair on her head…

A knock on the door distracted my thoughts and I shrugged on my coat. “I’m ready,” I said, exiting the room. Mrs. Graves waited in the hallway and handed me my bag.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” she begged.

I strode down the hallway, past the spot I’d been with Nadya when she’d begun her seduction. “She tried to kill me.”

“I don’t think she meant to. To be fair, you’d been keeping a lot of secrets from her.”

I spared her a glance—worry lines crossed her forehead. “I hardly think it matters if she wanted to or not.” With a heavy sigh I faced her. “We knew there was a chance it would come to this. Her loyalty was never a sure thing.”

“Maybe if you had told her the truth. People don’t like being in the dark about their lives. She feels confused. Possibly betrayed.”

“She told you that?”

Mrs. Graves fixed me with a cold eye. “She didn’t have to. She’s scared, Liam, and you’ve done nothing but give her a taste of her power and frighten her more. She’ll go to the person that she thinks will give her the truth.”

“She’s not ready.”

“Ready or not, it’s happening, dear.”

How did this turn into such a disaster? I had her. I had her in my home, safe and working with me. I trained her. I exposed her to the Sidhe abilities and how to protect herself, and now all that hard work was in the hands of an enemy. “If the Queen gets her, especially now that she’s learned how to rummage through a person’s mind…” I couldn’t complete the thought. Mrs. Graves laid her hand on my arm and squeezed. “Otherworld will continue its decline and Nadya will never claim her destiny.”

“You’ll get to her first.”

I leaned down and kissed her on the both cheeks. “Not if I have to deal with Colleen. Her performance has been disappointing.”

“Let me handle Colleen.”

“You?”

She gave a sharp nod. “I think I’m more than capable, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I agreed. I checked my watch. Time was running out. “Thank you.”

“Make sure you stop her, Liam.”

I left through the side door without another word. I wanted to promise that I would, that after all these years we finally had Nadya in our reach. We had a chance to make things right. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too many variables and too many of them not in our favor.

Chapter 26

Nadya

GRACE MANEUVERED THE the car through the Nomad parking lot toward the back hangar like I directed. We had no choice but to use the portal—the trick was doing it without getting caught.

“How did you enter last time?”

“Well, you know how your gift relies on the ability to seek the truth from people? How you can read the past?”

“I guess so.” She didn’t need to know how I was still working it out.

“I’m skilled in the use of travel magic. The portal is able to monitor most Sidhe coming in and out, but well…” She stood and from her back unfurled a set of beautiful blue wings.

“Oh my god. You have wings.” I reached forward to touch them but she shied away.

“I’m a fairy,” she said with a shrug. “Some of us actually have wings.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Do I?”

“No.”

“Huh.” I was unreasonably bummed by this. “So you can just fly through?”

“With a little spell work, yes.” Without warning, her wings retracted and disappeared. I peered around her shoulder but saw nothing but the smooth lines of her back. “You’re aware that your people monitor the portal, right?”

“Yes, my mother’s people.”

“Well, my people—those of us with wings, used to be the ones that assisted transport. In modern times, when the humans became prevalent in this area, we were no longer able to fly freely from one side to the other. Human transportation took over and everything changed.”

“Like Liam and his plane?” I interrupted.

“Yes, the Guard over took the system using modern machinery to reach the portal, and we were basically shut out.”

“That stinks.”

“It does.” She grabbed a bag from the car and we walked close behind the hangar—out of sight. “But just because times change doesn’t mean I don’t have my ways of beating the system. I just have to be sneakier about it.”

Trying to process the information, I asked, “So just to be clear, you’re going to fly us out of here. Like, you’re going to carry me.”

I saw her laugh, but the sound was muffled by the loud buzz of a plane taking off. I shaded my eyes and saw Mr. Johnson’s white and red plane lifting toward the sky. My father would wonder why I wasn’t at work—again. And Liam? Surely he would wake up soon. I absorbed a lot of his juice but he was strong. I had no guarantee on time. “Not exactly. Ever heard of fairy dust? Peter Pan?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, with zero trace of humor.

“Most things come with a speck of truth.”

Two months ago I would have thought this entire conversation was insane. I’d have been inside that airport reading my horoscope and planning what to make my father for dinner. Nothing new, maybe curious looks at Liam as he came in and grunted a hello. Instead, over the last 48 hours I’d danced and drunk my way through a bar, killed a Sidhe soldier sent to track me down by some crazy queen named Eleanor, and screwed up whatever legitimate relationship I had with Liam by going succubus on his ass. All to travel on my own to Otherworld with a scheming fairy and her pixie dust to confront this Queen Eleanor on my own. What the hell had become of my life and when did I get so stupid?

“We better get moving,” Grace said, fastening a satchel around her waist. I slung my backpack over my shoulders.

She moved into the sunlight and held up a small pouch. A sudden burst of nerves flared in my stomach. I grabbed her hand and said, “Wait. What’s going to happen to me over there? What if you’re lying to me?”

“Don’t be afraid, Nadya. Otherworld is a wonderful place. It’s your home—your mother’s home. But if you want, you can do that brain scanny thing you’re so great at.” She tilted her head forward. “Go ahead.”

I wanted to believe her. Well, I did believe her, but I also knew my mother lived on this side of the portal. For my father, and they both sacrificed everything for my safety. But what if he was wrong? What if Liam filled his head with lies? “No, I’m just confused. I’m ready.”

“I need to mark you with cloaking runes,” she said. “Or the workers in the tower will see us enter the portal. Doing so breaks a multitude of rules, on both sides of the portal. We can’t be seen exiting or entering either side without a proper escort.”

She held up a dagger, one with a sharp tip. Liam had a similar one that he kept strapped to his side. “You make them with that?”

“Yes, they’re burned temporarily into your skin.”

“Liam had those markings on his body before I…” I searched for words. “Drained him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you absorb the power of the markings as well?”

“I don’t know.” Grace lifted her the blade and took my hand but paused when blue jeweled ring on her finger lit up like a beacon. “What is that?” I asked. “Where did that light come from?”

“It’s a signal. They’re coming. We must go before the Guard arrives.” I heard the squeal of tires and the familiar roar of Liam’s car as it approached the hangar. The old car, the one with the rumbling muffler.

“What about the runes?”

“We have to take our chances that you absorbed them from Liam.” Increasingly wary of this entire situation, I glanced quickly at Grace, whose bright eyes held mine. She looked sure and in return my confidence, some I had stolen from Liam, surged. Again I watched in wonder as her wings unfurled, the tips grazing the pavement. She opened the pouch and poured dark, chalky looking sand in her hand. “Ready?”

I held out my own hand and replied, “Yes.”

The car came to a screeching halt and Liam’s head popped out of the open door. “Nadya,” he yelled. I looked over, even though I didn’t want to. He looked better—but not whole. He was missing something, something that brought fear to his eyes, a hesitancy to his step. The confidence that I now possessed.

I had it. It was mine.

“Don’t do this,” he said. Brayden and Daniel chased at his heels. “You don’t understand the Otherworld. I’ll take you if you want. Don’t go with her.”

“You’re all liars. I don’t trust any of you, but I’m going.” I glanced at Grace. “At least she’s giving me the chance.”

Grace dumped the powder over my head and snatched my hand. A gust of wind knocked me off my feet, but my hand was clutched tightly in hers. Grace’s wings caused a backdraft and looking down I saw Liam’s hair caught in the breeze. Even from the increasing distance, I saw how his blue eyes begged me to stay. Daniel drew back and a flash of silver spun through the air.

“Grace!” I yelled in warning, but the sound of her wings flapping was too loud. The blade sliced across my wrist and landed in her side. She cried out in pain, and blood sprang from the wound. I looked down and saw Liam turn on Daniel, pushing him to the ground. “Can you make it?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I’m almost there—the portal will do the rest.”

We were far from the ground. Too far. Grace struggled to push forward, but I was weighing her down. I slipped the straps of my backpack off my shoulder. The bag dropped quickly, crashing to the tarmac, landing mere feet from Liam.

“Hold on tight,” Grace called. Slippery blood seeped from her side and dripped down my fingers, coating my hand and arm. I strained to keep from slipping to my death.

“I’m falling,” I said, looking down, but a draft caught my legs and breathed life into Grace’s wings and we flew upward. Something shiny caught my attention. Liam’s plane, which looked like an ant from up here, rolled down the runway. In my heart I knew better than to think he wouldn’t come after me. I turned to the sky, terrified and exhilarated at the same time, and found myself in the middle of the cloud that hovered over the airport. Blues and reds swirled around me like a moving rainbow, and we floated in the air around the portal. I pulled Grace into my arms.

“We made it,” she said. Her eyes shone, glassy and weak. Blood oozed through her shirt, making a wide, dark stain. He wings beat slowly against the warm air in the portal. We’d made it into the portal but not through, and I had no idea how long we could stay here. “But I don’t know if we’ll make it back down to the Otherside.”

I brushed back her windblown hair and touched her cheek. She felt clammy and cold. Her skin pale as ash and lips turning blue. On instinct I ran a thumb over the bottom one and watched it blush pink. “Hold still,” I said, as the wind circled around us. I pressed my hand against her side and she gasped, seizing from the pain. I pressed my mouth to hers, lip to lip, and her eyes fluttered shut. Hazy light passed between us, reflecting the colors of the portal. I kissed her, encouraging her to respond, to absorb the energy I was offering. With a little coaxing she returned the kiss. Color spread across her cheeks and I felt her wings flap with strength. Pulling back, I inspected the wound, now nothing more than a fine line.

I had healed her.

With renewed energy Grace took both my hands and dove through the air like a bird hunting prey. I shrieked, fear bubbling in my stomach from the dips and turns. She made a beeline toward the horizon, colors zipping past us, and I shut my eyes as we burst through the clouds.

I opened my eyes and blinked.

We had arrived. We were in Otherworld.

Chapter 27

Nadya

AS REACTIONS TO new places went, I had no idea where mine fell on the scale of normalcy. Nothing about this moment could be considered normal. The view of Otherworld as Grace and I burst through the portal had felt like waking in a dream. Acres of green, fertile, rolling hills with small buildings dotted the horizon. The treetops looked like small green cushions while narrow, reddish-brown paths crisscrossed the way our own highways marked the land back home. From this vantage I was able to get an impressive view, including the fact that passages stretched in four distinct directions.

“Where do those lead?” I asked.

“Various towns throughout Otherworld,” Grace replied. “There are two major kingdoms in this part of the world and several large towns designated in both. The roads to these cross here, at the entrance to the portal.”

The wind from Grace’s wings blew my hair into my eyes and I brushed it back, afraid I’d miss something. Too soon, Grace lowered us to the ground in front of a small stone building with ease and precision. The hair on the back of my neck prickled as several people approached us.

“Who are they?” I asked, eyeing their uniforms. Long sheathed swords hung from leather belts. They wore leather coats and baggy trousers.

“They’re guards. Like Liam, but for this side of the portal.”

“Oh.” At the mention of his name I wondered how quickly Liam would catch up to us. He’d been taxiing his plane as we crossed the portal.

A guard with a long red beard laid his hand on the base of his sword. His eyes shifted back and forth between the two of us but his focus lingered on me a little longer than felt comfortable. “Stand down,” he declared. “There is no approval for transport like yours on the schedule.”

“I’m here on orders from Eleanor,” Grace said, wings retracting. She pulled a roll of paper out of her pocket. “You can read them yourself.”

He took the paper and skimmed it. He glanced quickly at me, the weariness from before changed to outright curiosity. Guess they don’t get too many humans around here. Or half-humans. Without another word he passed back the paper and Grace rolled it back into a tight tube. He waved over several guards and said, “Escort these two to Ravenwood.”

“Escort?” I asked.

“It will make the journey go faster, as they know the roads and we won’t be stopped.” She looked at the sky behind her. “We need to leave quickly. We were being followed on the way here.”

The bearded guard frowned. “By who?”

“Liam Caldwell.”

His eyes widened. With another movement to the guards he said, “Get the horses and start on the road. You need to move swiftly.”

“I’m sorry, did you say horses?” I asked. Everyone moved quickly around me and sure enough, two horses were brought from behind the stone building. “Can’t we just do that flying thing again?”

“Nope, not without attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

“I don’t ride horses.”

“You do here,” Grace said with an amused smile. “Otherworld doesn’t have the same advancements as you do at home. No electricity. No automobiles. You’ll get used to it.”

“I doubt it,” I mumbled under my breath. Moving to the horse, I looked up at the giant gray and black flecked beast and tried to figure out the best way to get on. It didn’t matter; one of the guardsmen assisted me and I mounted the horse easily.

“Thank you,” I said.

“At your service,” he replied, eyes on the ground. I assessed the other guards. Several were openly gawking at me, but shifted their eyes quickly. Only Grace and the head guard would look me in the eye.

“We need to go,” Grace said, snapping her reins. I did the same, pretending to know something about riding a horse. It worked and the instant her horse started off, mine followed. The two guards and their horses traveled in the front and rear.

Once I’d sort of adjusted to my transportation, I called out, “So what’s Ravenwood?”

“That’s Eleanor’s Kingdom.

“Ravenwood? That sounds a bit ominous.”

“If anything it’s probably a little obvious. The whole dark/light thing. There’s no such thing as black and white in my opinion—it’s all varying shades of gray.”

“Light and dark?”

“It will all make sense when you meet the Queen. She’ll answer all your questions.” She flashed me a grin. “Trust me.”

As we rode through the thick forest, lush with vibrant life, I had time to question the blind faith I was putting in Grace. I knew coming here was risky but at the same time, comprehending an entire other world with different landscape, politics and rules wasn’t easy. I didn’t have much choice but to rely on her. A worrisome thought crossed my mind.

“Do you have indoor plumbing?”

“No, but we have servants.”

Any response to that was cut off by the guard at the back of our group rushing forward. “Someone is coming,” he said. “We need to move faster, Ravenwood is just over that hill.”

The sound of racing hoof beats echoed down the trail and the guard raised his hand, smacking the backside of my horse. It leaped forward and my body followed, lurching forward unexpectedly.

“Hurry,” Grace called, her body bouncing up and down on the horse. She had a measure of control, unlike myself. Each movement jarred my body sending shocks of pain down my arms and legs. This would suck later and I wouldn’t have Liam around to heal me.

I had a feeling if he caught up to us, healing me would be the last thing on his mind.

Grace turned around and looked over my shoulder. She threw powder into the air, much of it showering over me and my horse. “What was that?” I yelled.

She placed her finger to her lips to shush me. “A glamour. To cloak us visually. It will only last a couple of minutes and if Liam catches a hint of us,he can break it. I’m just hoping we can make to the Ravenwood gates first.”

Fear flittered through her eyes and I realized how afraid she was. Afraid of Liam. Personally, I knew he’d be pissed at me but would he hurt me? Doubtful. Would he hurt the girl that took me? In a heartbeat. Her fear was contagious but I fought against it, spurring the horse along with my heels.

We reached the top of the hill, and I almost fell off my horse at the sight before me. Ravenwood Castle stood before us, surrounded by a large stone wall. I could spot the peaks of the rooftop hulking behind the gate and a strong shudder rippled through my body. Ravenwood held the promise of power. I could feel it in every inch of my body.

“Nadya!” I heard my name called from behind us. “Do not go behind those walls.”

I looked behind me and saw Liam had caught up, barely three horse lengths behind. His beast, something between a horse and a dragon, burst through the glamour, scattering dust in all directions. He caught my eye.

The guard nearest me rushed at him with extreme speed. Liam reacted to his sword with one of his own, swiping it at the man. The blade cut the guard across the arm and Liam used his foot to kick him from his horse. He flew off, tumbling onto the dusty ground while his horse ran forward. Liam charged in my direction.

Once he was close enough he said, “Don’t do this.”

“I have to!” I cried. “I need to know the truth!”

I heard the metal gate wrench open, anticipating our arrival.

“You do. I owe you the truth. Let me give it to you.” His eyes shifted to the castle. “You will not get the truth there—not the kind you want.”

His voice contained sincerity—something I’d never heard from him before. Liam was always confident. Strong. Right now he looked terrified, from the strain in his face to the rigid tension of his muscles. To the contrary, I felt immense power course through my veins and every step my horse took toward the castle it wove deep, like vines looking to root. It clung to me like a dark cloud. The only thing that cut through it was the surging energy I received from Liam.

“You feel it,” he said, over the stampeding horses. “It’s not the kind of power you want. I may not have told you everything, but I haven’t lied to you. Not yet.”

But I’d made up my mind. I would go to Eleanor and hear her story. I would find out more about this power she had to offer and why her land filled me with a dark craving. I picked up my reins, prepared to lash them once more, but something flashed in my peripheral vision, a blinding light. My horse reared and threw me off. I fell hard on my side and heard the crack of bone. Grace shouted my name, but she was far away. I opened my eyes and saw her on the other side of the wall. She’d made it to the castle.

“Grace!” I shouted, hoping she’d come get me, but from my dazed spot on the ground I saw an enormous guard holding her back. Liam strode to the gate. The guard held his ground, but his fear was palpable. I rose and rushed forward on wobbly legs, just as the gate groaned and crashed with a ringing finality.

I lunged to the gate, feeling the magic coursing through the metal. It shocked like electricity and I jumped back, my hands blistered. Liam used the distraction to grab me grabbed me and flee.

It’s not like I had much choice. Ravenwood had closed its doors on me.

Chapter 28

Liam

TO BE HONEST, I’d have expected more of a fight from Nadya when she was separated from Grace. The determination in her eyes along with the way Ravenwood’s magic identified her made me think this was a battle I would lose. The darkness called her in a way even my bond couldn’t compete with. I had to try, though. I couldn’t let her walk through that gate, so I bluffed.

I had approached the guard like I possessed the power to dominate him. I knew my reputation. It was well earned, but even I couldn’t enter Ravenwood without an invitation.

To my surprise, the gate shut her out. In the magic, even though it spoke to the blood in Nadya’s veins, there was something that pushed her away. What did Ravenwood fear?

Whatever it was it gave me the chance to take her back into my possession. I brought her back to the dwelling. My dwelling.

My Otherworld home.

The structure was tiny—the opposite of my home in Illinois. I rarely came here; it was mostly for sentiment that I even retained it. At the very base level it was a reminder of where I’d come from before I’d followed my father’s footsteps and entered the Guard. The dwelling was little more than one room with a fireplace, bed and a table. But it was close to Ravenwood and well camouflaged.  No one would find us here.

Nadya sat across from me in a straight-backed, wooden chair. Her hands were bound behind her back. I couldn’t trust her after the last time we were together. When she’d almost killed me by sucking out every ounce of my essence. In my defense, she had been straddled across my legs and had her shirt off. I can’t say I wouldn’t be susceptible again under the same circumstances.

“Are you ready to do this?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Be honest with one another.” Her eyes narrowed. She trusted me very little. Who knew what sort of lies Grace had told her. “I should have realized Grace was your friend, or at least that it was someone from Eleanor’s kingdom. She’s bound to do Eleanor’s bidding.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “It’s how things work here. You’re aligned with one kingdom or the other, unless you’re a Guard.”

“Then who are you aligned with?”

“The land itself. I am loyal to Otherworld, not to either kingdom. Specifically, I protect the portal, which is used by both kingdoms as an entrance to your world.”

“So you’re Switzerland.”

“That’s a fairly accurate description.”

The fire in the fireplace cracked and popped and Nadya shifted her eyes from mine. “What is this place?”

“This is where I was born.”

“Like actually born?” I nodded. “Do you not have hospitals or doctors?”

“We have midwives and those gifted in healing.”

“Our kind of healing?”

“Similar—but it’s their true gift. Not one created by a bond.”

“So this is your home.” She studied the room closely, eyes lingering over the minimal space. Quite the opposite of my other home filled top to bottom with possessions. “Where is your family?”

“They’re gone. I am the only one left.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been alone for a long time, Nadya. I’m used to isolation other than in my work.”

She’d looked sad when I said I was alone. Even sadder when I mentioned my isolation. Her emotion made me uncomfortable. She straightened up, wincing at the binding on her wrists and said, “Tell me about the kingdoms.”

“Okay,” I replied, trying to figure out the best way to summarize. “Currently there are two, Ravenwood and Solar, but that has not always been the way. Long ago we were united under one kingdom.”

“What happened?”

“The Queen was born of the original Goddess, a perfect division of light and dark. For centuries this type of balanced ruler commanded our land, until she sired a daughter. Once the girl came into her full powers, she would replace the Queen.”

Nadya asked. “So like the yin and yang of royalty?

I had no reply to that so I continued. “In Otherworld magic is the determination of power. The more you have the more respected you are. Those born from the line of the original Goddess have the strongest powers of all the Sidhe, although it can vary. It is usually not much of a challenge. Abilities manifest over time and the Queen prepares to hand over her throne to her daughter. This way of crowning a queen lasted for many generations, but then the unthinkable happened. The Queen birthed triplets.”

“Three at once!”

“Three incredibly strong choices and due to this, Queen Celeste watched them closely to see who carried the right balance of light and dark. One in particular caught her eye. Her magic was strong and pure, whereas the other two battled between light and dark. Each a little too heavy on one side or the other. You see, the strongest Sidhe balance the two. Too much dark leads to deceit and destruction—it’s like a drug addiction that cannot be sated. Too much lightness and the kingdom loses itself. Fun and gaity can be a wonderful thing, until there isn’t enough food for the people. Celeste had no choice but to choose the daughter with the best balance between the two.”

While I spoke Nadya stilled, listening to the story of her Sidhe background. I wondered if she could tell where the story would end—or rather, how it would end.

She asked, “How did Celeste decide?”

“She never got the chance. The night before the girls were supposed to exhibit their talents, she died.”

Nadya rolled her eyes. “Awfully convenient.”

“Wasn’t it? The kingdom awoke to find everyone in utter distress. People demanded that a new queen be crowned immediately, but there was on final problem. The princess expected to win the crown had gone missing—vanished completely from Otherworld.”

“Was she murdered, too?”

“No, not then, at least. The other two princesses were safe and sound. Their mother’s land refused to recognize them and they created their own kingdoms.”

Nayda’s eyes gleamed with interest. “So now we’re down to two heirs and we’ve got two kingdoms. Light and dark, Grace mentioned this. So where do Eleanor and Fiona fall in the legacy of all this?”

“Fiona and Eleanor are two of Celeste’s daughters.”

“Oh wow.” She slumped in her chair. I could see the wheels spinning. “I thought we were talking about ancient history.”

“Well, in human terms we are. Sidhe live much longer than humans; they have both been ruling for several centuries.”

“Neither of them have had daughters to take on the throne.”

“No.”

“So that’s how it is here, you live in Ravenwood or Solar and follow one queen or the other. What happened to Celeste’s kingdom?”

“The Goddess’s kingdom was magnificent. People respected the land and in return, it flourished and gave back to the Sidhe that lived there. Once Celeste died and Fiona and Eleanor left, it turned into a wasteland. It’s now called the Deadlands and every year the desolation and despair of the region inches closer and closer to the other kingdoms. The original kingdom must be reclaimed by the heir of the original Goddess.”

“Good luck with that,” she said.

“It’s not so farfetched. There’s a group—the Rebels—that have been searching for the third princess all these years with a wish to bring back a unified order and peace,” I explain.

Nadya snorted. “What kind of fool would come back to this? Surely she’d be killed on the spot by Eleanor and Fiona—I have a feeling they’re not keen to give up their kingdoms.”

“No, they aren’t. Not at all. It has always been dangerous for the princess to return home and those of us who guard the land have vowed our protection to her. We no longer have much choice. The Deadlands are encroaching on the other kingdoms, and if it continues our entire land, a large portion of Otherworld, will cease to exist.

The inclusion of the Guard and therefore myself brought curiosity to Nadya’s face. “You’ve been protecting the third princess?”

“I did. Until I failed.”

She tilted her head. “How did you fail?”

I moved for the first time from my seat to kneel before her. “Claudia was the third princess. Sister to Eleanor and Fiona.”

“Claudia? My mother? But she protects the portal.”

“She did once she left Otherworld and crossed over. My father swore allegiance to her and offered her safe passage. When he died it became my duty.”

“And when she died?” she asked, warily.

“You became my duty.”

Chapter 29

Nadya

I TOOK A deep breath and fought against the ropes that bound my hands. If Liam hadn’t tied me down, I would have bolted halfway through his story. Long before he got to the part about me being Sidhe royalty.

Wanted royalty. With a price and bounty on my head.

It was pretty clear that I needed to get out of Otherworld and back on my home turf—maybe even a little further than that. If Liam’s fairy tale was true then I’d been a sitting duck at the airport for years. At the very least since my mother had been murdered. “So what you’re telling me,” I said to Liam, who still knelt before me, “Is that my mother was first in line to rule Otherworld and that’s why she was murdered?”

“Yes.”

“These are the same people that have been after me?”

“Yes,” he said. He had the nerve to look worried about me. He needed to worry about himself.

“And at no time did you think you should tell me this?”

“Of course I wanted to tell you. I promised your mother I wouldn’t.”

I laughed. “That’s rich. You’re blaming a dead woman for this?”

“Nadya, it is very dangerous for you to be here. I tried to explain that to you and I’ve done everything I could to keep you safe.” He raised an eyebrow. “Which has been made more difficult and absolutely infuriating by you doing everything you possibly could to disobey me.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” I snapped.

“Obviously.”

We stared at one another for a long, static filled moment. The rope binding my hands dug deep into my wrists. He finally asked, “If I untie you, will you stay put?”

I considered it. I wanted to run, but where would I go? To Solar or Ravenwood? Before Liam stopped me I’d almost walked straight to my death with Grace. For once in my life, I realized, I needed to think rationally. I eyed Liam, handsome as ever, staring at me expectantly. I needed to get back home and Liam’s transport was probably the only way back. “Yes, I’ll be good.”

A smirk tugged at his mouth. “I didn’t request that. Just that you wouldn’t run.”

Even as my world crashed down he couldn’t help but flirt a little. At least some things in my life were consistent.

“So they both want to kill me?” I asked, as he untied the rope. Released, I moved my hands forward. Liam caught them between his own and kissed the insides of each wrist. The painful red marks disappeared.

“I’m not exactly sure if they want to kill you, Nadya, but they do want you.”

“Why?”

“You’re family,” he said. “Something that’s hard to come by over here. Despite the political situation, Fiona and Eleanor are your aunts. And they aren’t bad people. Fiona is gentle and kind. Eleanor is strong-willed and powerful. But they rule opposing kingdoms and it never hurts to have an ally on their side.”

“Then why approach me with violence and lies?”

He shrugged. “You’re the unknown, and your mother was very powerful. They do not understand that you were raised unaware of your true nature. In their mind you could be planning an attack on them to take back your rightful throne.”

I considered the training and everything Liam and the other Guards had taught me over the last couple of months. The shared moments between Liam and me—the feeling of power that surged between us when we were together. How that power made both of us stronger. Was this his ultimate motivation? To use me to take over the kingdom?

“What?” he asked, eyes narrowed in concern.

“I’m just really confused. I have no idea who to trust and what anyone wants from me.”

“You can trust me.”

I tilted my head. “Can I?”

Hurt flashed behind his ice blue eyes. In a swift motion he pulled me from my seat so we were standing, face to face. His hands cupped my face. “I’ll tell you for the last time, Nadya, I will support, protect and fight for you until my death. That is the oath I took the day I became a Guard. You and the portal are my only concerns. Never doubt that.”

“Okay, I get it,” I said. “I’m your job.”

He lowered his face toward mine and I felt his breath on my cheek. “Three months ago you were my job. Now? Gods, Nadya, you’re my everything.”

His lips pressed against mine and the room burst with blue light. My knees buckled but he caught me, pulling me closer. My skin prickled with heat and the intense desire to be touched. To touch him. I fumbled with the hem of his shirt, reaching beneath the fabric to feel his stomach before moving to his chest. Quickly he removed his shirt and I ran my hands over the hard muscles bathed in the bluish tint of our shared energy.

I kissed the sensitive skin on his collarbone and then the runes marked on his shoulder. Liam shuddered and pulled back, catching both of my hands in one of his own. In a husky voice he said, “You’re not going to try to kill me again, are you?”

“Sorry about that.”

A small smile ghosted over his lips. “I love your strength, but in the future let’s fight together—not against one another.”

I nodded, aching from the distance he’d placed between us. “It won’t happen again.”

“I doubt that.” Liam laughed, releasing my hands. His upbeat demeanor quickly disappeared when I used my newfound freedom to unbutton my shirt. The fabric dropped to the floor and I took another step backward, toward the bed. “Don’t play games with me, Nadya. Not now.”

I saw the struggle on his face and it was more than obvious that his body wanted the same thing I did. He ran a finger between my breasts, down to my waist. “It’s not a game, Liam. There’s something about this place, the way the magic flows that…” I took his hand so we were both next to the edge of the bed. In a wave of blue, I fell back and sank into the thick, feathered mattress. Liam stood over me—the final traces hesitation disappearing as his eyes roamed my body.

“I’m ready. I trust you. I want you.”

A low rumble sounded in his chest, beneath the hard muscle and protective runes. He joined me on the bed and I waited, eager for him to make the first move—this experience was entirely new to me. I was left in his hands. His capable, powerful hands.

He kissed my lips, the spot just below my ears and a hot trail between my breasts. The pace surprised me—slow and thoughtful. Every other encounter between us had been fast—filled with intensity and need. Not this time. The way his fingers and mouth roamed my body, lingering in each spot long enough to wind me tighter and tighter, made it clear he was determined to make it last. Heat spurred between us, spreading across my body, eliciting a reaction I’d never quite felt before.

He moved lower, spreading my thighs. His tongue flicked against the inside flesh of my legs, inching so close…I clutched his shoulders, nerves warring in my belly. He stilled and looked up, eyes darkened with hunger. With that touch a vision or rather a word washed over me. Not the past or the future, but now. The endless chant running through Liam’s mind and heart.

Mine.

The word, repeated endlessly between his brain and mine, wasn’t filled with simple possession. The emotion behind the word was relentless. Consuming.

Mine.

I opened my mouth to speak but no words formed, just the sigh of his name. My cheeks burned hot with awkward embarrassment, which got even more humiliating when a wicked grin lifted the edges of his mouth and I saw a flash of his tongue, pink and wet. I could fight him. I could turn this around, but I knew with certainty I did not want to. I arched my back for him and braced myself when his mouth met my flesh.

Bless the Gods, indeed.

Chapter 30

Liam

ROLLED ON MY side, I faced Nadya, taking in her flushed cheeks and the whisper of a grin on her lips. Beneath the thin linen sheet her chest rose and fell as she steadied her breathing with shallow, satisfied inhalations. With her eyes firmly glued to the ceiling she said in a quiet voice, “That was unexpected.”

“Was it? I’ve waited patiently to get my hands,” I reached for her and kissed her palm, “and mouth on you. I hope it was worth the wait.”

Her eyes cut in my direction. “I just thought…you know.”

“That we’d make love?” She shrugged, eyes back on the low ceiling. The beams were solid oak, built by my grandfather many centuries before. “When you trust me fully is when we’ll combine our bodies and unite our strength.”

“I do trust you.”

“More than before, but I understand better now that I have to earn your trust.” I glanced to the precious area below her stomach. “That was an act of good faith as well as affection.”

She turned to face me, sheet tight around her chest. I could see the dip between her breasts and longed to devour them, but the serious expression on her face stopped me. “Thank you,” she said. “For being careful with me. I do trust you, but yeah, it’s going to take a while for me to really get my bearings here. I have no idea what to do. Should I leave? Should I try to talk to Eleanor or Fiona?”

I considered the question. “I think you should meet them on some sort of level ground. Protected if possible.” An idea lit up in my head. “Your kingdom. That is where you should meet them.”

“My, uh, what?”

“Kingdom. Celeste’s castle has been empty since her death.”

“You mean neither Fiona or Eleanor took her castle?”

“No, the land will only accept its rightful heir. Typically it will accept the person that the Queen names, or the rightful owner upon her death. When Celeste passed, followed by Claudia leaving Otherworld, the land did not accept either of the remaining sisters as its ruler. The assumption was that Claudia was the rightful heir and the castle was abandoned. “

“Just because my mother had this power doesn’t mean that I do, too.”

I took her chin in my hand and kissed her soft on the lips. “You may not, but I would be willing to bet my finest sword that you do.”

She frowned. “You’d bet a weapon? Like, not your life or home or something?”

“A Guard is only as good as his best weapon, Nadya.” We both glanced at the bronze blade leaning against the fireplace. My father gave me that sword and his father before him. It had killed many men in many battles. I wouldn’t give it up lightly. Nadya may not have faith in herself but I had a feeling—no more than that, that she was destined for greatness. “Would you like to test the theory? See how the land reacts to you.”

“Now?” An eagerness spread across her face. I was crazy to let her out of this bed without taking her first. Gods knew when she’d give me another try.

“Get dressed,” I said, already reaching for my trousers. She hopped from the bed and picking up her discarded clothes. I kept an eye on her, half aroused and a hundred percent smitten. Little did she know how much I cared for her, equal to the way my body craved her. So much that, at times, the flame between us burned so hot I could see no outcome but getting scalded. Buttoning my shirt, I considered how to my knowledge there were no runes to protect a heart, not from the kind of damage Nadya would inflict on me.

A glutton, bound by fate, I hung my sword from my belt and handed Nadya her own blades. Whatever the outcome, whatever the pain, she would be worth it.

Nadya followed me out the door and around the back of the cottage to the small, hidden shelter, enclosed in a hillside. “The best way to live peacefully in Otherworld is to do it quietly. There are many cottages hidden throughout the kingdoms. Some people prefer the larger towns and many want the glamour of court life, but not everyone. My family always lived on the fringes, even after we swore our lives to the Guard.”

I opened the barn door and found my beast waiting. I lured her out by her harness.

Nadya stood back and eyed it warily. “What the hell is that, anyway?”

“My horse, Camelot.”

“That is not a horse,” Nadya declared with a look of displeasure and fear. “I rode a horse yesterday with Grace.”

“Yes, and look how easily I caught up with you.” I patted the head of my beast. “There are variations of animals here. This one a hybrid of sorts—a horse bred with a dragon, but for lack of better term it still performs the function of horse. She’s stronger, faster and incredibly loyal.”

She stared at the horse’s feet, which instead of standard hooves had sharp talons. “Will it hurt me?”

“Not if you don’t hurt her.”

“Her? You named your female dragon-horse thing Camelot?” She looked as though she was having second thoughts about me.

“I like the name.” I shrugged.

“And she lives in that cavern?”

“It’s not a cavern. It’s a safe shelter and I generally keep her at the stable near the portal when I am not here,” I said. Catching Nadya’s hand, I brought her closer. “You’re afraid of a horse but not a soldier with a claw for a hand?”

“I’m not afraid, it’s just…different. And for the record, I am afraid of those soldiers. Terrified.” Tentatively she reached out and stroked the horse’s head.

“She’ll get us there quickly; I estimate by tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s that far away?”

“We’re deep in the Ravenwood forest. We must pass through a portion of Solar before we get to Celeste’s kingdom.” I lifted a bag I had stashed in the barn and strapped it to Camelot’s back. “We’ll camp overnight.”

“I had no idea Otherworld was so large.”

“It’s the same size as your world. This is just part of it. Travel here isn’t as easy and people are more likely to stick close to their homes. If we were traveling by car we would be there by twilight. On beast it will take a bit longer.”

I mounted the horse and assisted Nadya to a sitting position behind me. She pressed close, automatically wrapping her arms around my waist. Our bond tingled, sending energy through my body, and the horse shivered, feeling the charge.

“She feels the power between us,” I explained, using my heels to get her moving.

We hadn’t gone far when Nadya said, “I can’t find your cottage.”

I glanced back. “No, it’s well hidden. There are times I have a hard time locating it. Luckily, my mother placed wards around the house that allows it to recognize me.”

“Clever. Like a security system.”

“Yes, and only I hold the code.” She chuckled softly in my ear and tightened her grip around my waist. I could think of worse ways to spend the day.

We traveled down a well-used road, dusty with dark sand. I explained to Nadya that the landscape was typical for this part of Otherworld. Ravenwood was surrounded by dense forests filled with beasts. The people that lived here were strong. Many were hunters who aligned with dark magic, which was evident by the slight chill in the air.

“So magic has different feelings?” she asked.

“Eventually you’ll be able to recognize it. Darker magic brings cool air and a metallic scent. Lighter relies on warmth and the earth.”

“And using dark magic is bad?”

“No, not exactly. As I’ve said, it’s best to carry a balance of both kinds. Dark magic is more parasitic. Feeding from the land and its inhabitants. Eleanor lives in constant paranoia and fear which requires a large army and focus on the military. She requires her subjects to be unwaveringly loyal. She gains this through fear.”

“Like Grace.” I feel Nadya’s breath on my cheek. “In a vision I saw terrible marks down her back.”

“Eleanor can be a harsh queen, there is no doubt about that.”

“What about Fiona? Is she a wimp or something?”

I snort. “Hardly. Although Fiona is quite the opposite of her sister, she is still very strong. She lives for beauty and passion. She doesn’t demand loyalty, but her subjects are bewitched by her. They feel complete in her presence. She can charm almost anyone she meets with a spell or gift.”

“Actually, that sounds more like Grace. She was really nice to me.” I said nothing more, keeping my suspicions to myself. Camelot moved at a quick pace and the landscape changed from the stark, wintery forest to a more moderate environment. “We’re nearing the border; things are a little more weather friendly around here.”

Nadya lifted a hand in the air and waved her fingers. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“I can feel it. The magic. The oppressive weight of darkness is lifting and there’s more of the light.” I turned and saw her bright smile. “This is amazing.”

“The longer you’re here the more you’ll sense it.” And the stronger she’d become, I wanted to add. This was all moving faster than I wanted. I had hoped she’d have more time to train in the human world, but we were here now and there wasn’t much I could do about it.

“We’re almost to Solar, right?”

We were very close to the border. “Yes.”

She let out a relieved sigh. “That’s good, we’ll be safer there.”

“Don’t underestimate Fiona,” I warned, feeling the change in magic myself. We’d managed to get through Ravenwood unchallenged but I suspected that was intentional. Eleanor already knew we were here. She was probably trying to figure out why the castle closed itself on Nadya and was waiting to make her next move. Fiona? Only the Gods knew what she had planned.

Chapter 31

Nadya

OTHER THAN LIAM’S information about Otherworld, our travels through Ravenwood and into Solar were uneventful. I was happy to enter Solar though, as the cool, oppressive magic I felt in Ravenwood wove around me like the arms of an octopus. Frightening, yet bearing the promise of immense power. My own thirst for magic prickled at the opportunity, but I had no control over anything like this. Not yet, at least.

As Camelot swiftly ran down the road, I listened closely to the stories Liam told and tried to glean what he was keeping from me. I did trust him more, but he had an unrelenting habit of keeping secrets from me. It was all for my safety, he would’ve argued, but they were still secrets, or at the very best “omissions”, and I needed to know everything about this crazy land my mother came from.

Liam’s tale about the three princesses was eye opening, and none of it aligned with the woman I grew up with. She was kind and fun. She worked hard and doted on her family. My father worshipped her, and her death had caused a gaping hole in our home. At no point did I get the idea that she was royalty and possibly the most powerful queen in Otherworld. I never knew she was on the run. I couldn’t help but wonder if my father knew all of her secrets.

Secrets. It seemed to be the Sidhe way.

Solar had an expected brighter feel. Green trees, warm air. Wildflowers grew on the side of the road, this time made of hard, red clay. From the woods that grew up around the road I heard the twittering of birds and other animals. A fox slunk into the brush just before we passed by. “What’s with all the wildlife?”

“It’s part of the landscape here. Both light and dark can manipulate animals, but over here it’s more likely to be Snow White stuff, like birds and squirrels.”

“What about in Ravenwood?”

“Cold weather animals. Bears, elk, moose. Birds too, but not the ones that like warmth.”

It was all starting to make a little more sense. I leaned forward and said, “I could get used to living somewhere like this.”

“That’s Fiona’s plan, you know, make it so appealing you’ll never leave.”

“And Eleanor’s?”

“Make you so scared you never will.”

Camelot pushed forward and I inhaled the sweet scent of flowers. The sun baked on my cheeks and I laid my cheek against Liam’s back. “It’s hard to feel scared here. In fact, it’s making me feel a lot of things.” Liam’s back straightened and he replied with a grunt. I ran my fingers through the fringe of hair on his neck and pressed my lips against his skin. “Scared isn’t one of them.”

He tugged on the reins and slowed the beast’s pace. “It’s the flowers. You have to be very careful with everything here. Smells, food, drinks…anything can hold magic.”

“Like the honey flavored lip gloss?”

“Exactly.”

The thought nagged in my head but Liam spurred Camelot with his heels. “Why are you immune to all this?” I asked.

“I’m not, but I’ve had a lot of training for this kind of thing. Eventually you’ll get better at identifying risks.”

I tried to zero in on the scent that was making me so…amorous, but everything about this place overwhelmed my senses. I caught another scent. Tree branches hung over our heads, dotted with birds and large white flower blossoms. I inhaled and was struck by a wave of drowsiness. “Oh man, this place is crazy,” I said but wasn’t able to finish another thought. I scooted closer to Liam and wrapped my legs tight around his hips. My head dropped to his back. Okay, maybe a nap would make the journey faster and the effects less.

I dreamed of Liam’s cottage and saw ghosts of him as a child. He was with a woman—presumably his mother. They had the same dark hair. The dream shifted, and this time he jousted and fought in the front yard with a man who had the same intense blue eyes. A feeling of love and happiness filled my chest, replacing the ones from earlier. I felt grounded.

In the middle of chasing the hazy tail of the dream, Camelot came to an abrupt stop, jarring me awake. I heard the sound of Liam’s sword being pulled from the leather sheath, and a firm hand gripped my thigh and squeezed. A warning to remain alert and quiet.

I heard a man speak and I froze. “Do you have permission to travel this road?”

“Callum, is that you?” Liam asked. I fought the urge to look.

“Liam Caldwell?” The other man made a surprised sound.

“Yes, it’s me. How are you? Your family?”

“They are well.” I heard the sound of his horse’s hooves on the ground. “What are you doing here? The road from Ravenwood is closed.”

“Why would it be closed?”

I placed a hand on Liam’s back and felt his heart racing. But his voice did not betray unsteady nerves. A flash of the man filled my mind. Similar in age to Liam. Reddish-yellow hair. A thick beard of the same shade. He wore the crest of the Guard, just like I saw at the portal house. A co-worker of Liam’s? Was this a good thing?

“There was a breach in security at the portal yesterday,” he explained casually but then his voice tensed. “Out of your side of things, but you know that. That’s why you’re here.”

“Yes, I do. It’s under control.”

Callum’s horse shifted once again and I heard a tittering from up in the trees. Rows of birds sat on the branches. They looked like they were watching the scene unfold. “Who is that with you?”

“A prisoner. I’m taking her to back to the guard house.”

“What did she do?”

“A thief. I picked her up down the road, trying to escape into Ravenwood’s forests.”

“There is a notice for a human girl involved with rebel activity. That somehow she crossed the portal—that wouldn’t be her, would it?”

I gripped my own blades, terrified of being discovered. What would they do if they found me? Hand me over to Fiona? Eleanor? I needed to get to neutral land.

“This girl is Sidhe through and through; she used a cloaking spell to get into barns and steal food. She had couple of tools in her bag as well.” Liam spoke in his normal calm tone. “I need to get her processed and then back to the Otherside. Can’t delay too long—it was good to see you though.”

Liam kicked his heels into Camelot and we started off. I kept my face turned and held my breath as we passed by the Guard. I exhaled and released my grip on my blades, but noticed the tension in Liam’s back. He was still on alert.

“What?” I asked in a whisper.

“This isn’t over,” he answered. “Stay down.” We traveled forward another beat or two but a shout from the forest brought me to a sitting position. Soldiers poured from the woods. I heard a commotion behind me and looked back. Callum charged at me from behind.

Liam cursed under his breath and commanded, “Prepare yourself.”

In an instant we were surrounded by men in brown and green uniforms, atop huge horses. Camelot’s long, scaly tail swished defensively and my eyes were on everyone but especially Liam, trying to figure out how he was going to get us out of this.

“Liam—“ I whispered, but my words were cut short by the sound of hoof beats and the sensation of being dragging off Camelot’s back. Liam drew his sword and lunged in my direction, but it was too late. The other soldiers had begun their assault.

“Fight him,” he growled at me, before charging toward his attackers on Camelot’s back. His blade shone bright as he sliced through the soldiers. They didn’t falter but continued with a fierceness I hadn’t seen since Eleanor’s men breached the portal.

While Liam fought a handful of soldiers, I struggled against the guard holding onto the back of my shirt. I gagged, the fabric choked me. He was too strong.

“Submit,” he commanded and I fell limp against his side, seeking air. His knuckles brushed against my skin and a quick image flew into my mind. A jagged scar over his left knee. A weak spot. It was all I had, all the information I could get, but it would give me the upper hand. I kicked back with all my strength and landed a blow against his knee. He cried out and stumbled, releasing me.

“It’s you. The Lost Queen,” he sputtered, getting his first good look at my face. “Have mercy on me.”

Another freaking queen? If Liam withheld information from me again… I pushed the thought away and focused on the man on the ground.

“Run if you don’t want me to kill you,” I said, holding my dagger over my head. I realized though, he couldn’t run. His knee was busted for good. I figured I should question him about this Lost Queen thing. Did he think I was Claudia? I turned to face him but was distracted by the grunts and the sharp clash of swords behind me. The guard on the ground couldn’t fight but he could distract me while the battle between Liam and the other soldiers raged on. I glanced back and saw he’d felled three men, but he four remained, circling him like a piece of meat. A gash of blood trailed down Liam’s arm and he favored his right leg.

“I will kill you if I see you again,” I said, lashing my blade in Callum’s direction. I missed on purpose but he shied away, realizing the truth to my threat. I spun and raced toward Liam.

“Stay back,” he barked, but there was no way I’d leave him to fight this alone.

“Yeah, right,” I said. “You know me better than that.”

I charged forward and punched the nearest soldier in the kidney. His body was thick, rippled with muscle, and my hit was as effective as I’d been against the punching bag at the gym. I doubled down, crouching for balance.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyes sweeping over me. “A thief isn’t worth a guard’s protection. Caldwell’s hiding you for a reason.”

“You talk too much,” I said.

“And you lack appropriate fear.” His eyes narrowed. “I imagine Queen Fiona will want to know why you’re fighting with your captor.”

“Caldwell doesn’t own me,” I said, brushing past the series of “mine’s” he’d thought during our earlier, personal encounter. “He doesn’t fight for me either.”

I swiped at him with my blades, barely grazing his arms and legs. He was fast, too fast, and I realized quickly I was out of my element. He slapped my hands and both blades fell to the ground. A vison flooded my mind and I barely suppressed a shudder. He didn’t just want to kill me. He wanted more.

“Feisty, eh? You must be something special if he’s willing to die for you.” Behind him heard Liam grunt as he took another punch. The solider took a step forward, copper blade waving back and forth. One move and he’d easily run it through me.

Back home, Colleen had instructed me to flee if I got in over my head. Liam told me the same thing. Never take on an opponent that will kill you. From the look in this bastard’s eye, I could tell that was exactly what he planned to do—only after he’d done far worse.

He reached out with a giant, filthy hand and clenched it tight around my neck. He pulled me close and I turned away from his rank hot, breath. He’d obviously been drinking recently.

“Skinny, but it will do,” he grabbed the front of my shirt and tore at the fabric. The heat from his hand around my neck brought another vision. I shut my eyes to block it out, but it was inside my head.

Small villages. Girls. Women. All ages, all sizes. Bit lips, bruised skin. Dirty hands against clean flesh.

I shivered, seeing a series of faces, each filled with the same terror. The fear inside me twisted and burned, turning into something beyond my own rage. It multiplied into the anger of everyone he’d ever assaulted.

My eyes flicked to the trees above us, branches laden with birds. My head leaned back and I screeched, inexplicably calling them into my service. They cried and cawed in response flying through the air, diving toward the soldiers. The pig that held my neck dropped me at the sight of the birds and I saw the flicker of fear cross his face. He looked back at me, mouth agape and realization struck.

“You—“ he said, but the sound of his voice was drowned out by the thousands of birds coming our way. The soldiers pummeling Liam released him and gaped at the sky. He fell hard to his knees. Blood dripped from the tip of the sword at his side.

“Liam!” I ran toward him, toward the birds, but they parted, leaving me clear passage. The men cried, the first birds making their attack—gouging eyes and pecking exposed skin. Their screams echoed through the woods, but soon the only sound was the incessant beating of wings.

I gathered Liam up and called out, “Camelot!” The beast came running to our aid and bowed to her knees so Liam could get on her back. We raced down the road, Camelot blazing our trail. I had no idea if she knew where we were going but we had to get away from there. She veered off the road following a sense of direction I didn’t understand. Just before we disappeared into the thick green forest, I looked back and saw a cyclone five stories high, spiraling downward. The birds would take care of it.

The sound of screams and beating wings rang in my ears long after we’d left the road and entered the woods. The ambush had almost been the end of us, or would have if the birds hadn’t intervened.

Under the canopy of trees it was shady and cool. Regardless, Liam’s wounded body burned hot. The fuzzy echo of flapping wings was replaced by the overanxious beating of a heart, pressed tight against my chest. Liam held onto Camelot’s saddle with the limited strength he had left. I cradled him against my chest and as we traveled, I healed him with my hands and mouth.

We’d followed the same path for quite a distance when we reached the river. The sound of Camelot’s hooves sloshing through the water roused Liam from his haze.

“Better?” I asked.

He turned and touched my cheek, no doubt smearing dirt across my face. We were both filthy. “Yes, thank you,” he said, now holding my face in his hands. He leaned forward and kissed me. When we parted he asked, “Did you do that back there?”

I nodded. He looked as confused as I felt. “I think so. Who were those men? We’re they part of the rebel group you spoke of?”

He didn’t answer but said, “Hopefully there were no survivors. If that kind of information got out…”

“What? What would happen?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I doubt it will be good. There’s a reason I wanted to keep your abilities concealed.” He picked up the reins. “I do know we need to get to safe ground and then get you back home.”

“It’s getting dark.”

The sun slipped behind the trees. “Camelot took us the right direction. There’s shelter ahead. We’ll be safe for the night.”

The beast trudged across the river, wading deep enough for our feet to get wet. Twilight was in full effect as we dismounted, and Liam secured Camelot to a tree close enough to the water for her to drink.

“This way,” he directed, heading down a small, overgrown path.

“Where are we going?”

“I told you, somewhere safe.” He grinned in a lame attempt to reassure me. I wove my fingers with his, feeling the bond hold tight. We came to a wall of thick growing bamboo. “Just through here,” he said. He twisted to the side, squeezing in between the shoots. I copied his movements, searching for fresh air in the muggy trees. A firm yank on my hand pulled me out, and the cool air I sought met me on the other side. I took a deep breath before stopping short in surprise.

“This…what is this? It’s beautiful.”

We’d emerged in a green valley of plant and animal life. All around us stood a sanctuary of soft mossy ground and smooth boulders. A small creek ran through the land and vines with pink and red blossoms hung from the trees. Across the water I saw a woman with long blonde hair tied back in complicated braids. She spotted Liam and smiled.

“Liam,” she called. She strode over and looked between the two of us, eyes lingering on our gripped hands. I found myself tightening my hold, which only earned me an amused glance from Liam.

“What a surprise!” the woman said. She had tiny features and perfect skin. She came closer and her smile was replaced with a look of concern. “You’re injured!”

“I’m okay,” Liam assured her. He gave her his weapons and gestured for me to do the same. Reluctantly, removed my blades, hesitant even with Liam’s direction. “But we do need rest and sanctuary.”

“Of course.” She looked at me. “I’m Merida. Welcome to the valley.”

“Thank you.”

“You look weary and wounded. Please, follow me so you can clean up.” She whistled a long, clear tune. A half-dozen blonde, blue-eyed women appeared at our sides. “The others will assist you immediately.”

I looked to Liam. “What is this place?”

“Sun Valley, home of the Sidhe Maidens,” he replied, helping me up a large rock. “It’s a place of refuge. Neither Fiona or Eleanor can enter here. Neither can their men.”

“Why can you?”

“These women are like me—servants of the land.” He raised an eyebrow. “Plus they like me.”

Instantly we were surrounded by women, a half-dozen at least, tugging me away from Liam. “Wait, I want to stay with him,” I argued.

“Just go,” he said, eyeing the women closest to him. “Ariana, I’ve missed you.” Jealously flared in my chest, but I had little choice. We were dragged in opposite directions. I tried my hardest to ignore his laughter and their hands on his body as we parted.

The Maidens went right to work, reaching for my tattered clothing and leading me to a spring of warm water. “Let us do this, Miss,” one said, as I fought against them.

“It would be an honor,” said another. Her voice was kind but strong. Determination shone in each of their eyes. In a heartbeat I was stripped bare and I moved to cover myself. I grabbed the hand of the Maiden coming after me with a scrub brush. A sensation of warmth and security washed over me, and all of my modesty disappeared.

“Oh,” I mused, realizing quickly that caring for others was their gift. And I was their newest patron.

I entered the pool of water by going down steps made of stone. Pebbles lined the floor. The Maidens went to work, scrubbing my hair into a lather with the most delicious smelling soap. The water soothed my aching muscles, unraveling the knots and tension in my shoulders and back. I wasn’t even aware I’d felt so bad. All of it disappeared under the bubbling surface. One Maiden poured clean water over my head while another combed through the tangles. My black hair was in sharp contrast to the lightness of this place, but their eyes held no judgment, just servitude.

When my bath was completed they wrapped me in soft, hand-woven blankets and gave me clean clothes to wear.

“This is for me?” I asked, holding up the gauzy white dress. It was similar to their own, but nicer, as theirs were made for work.

“For the night, while we repair your other clothing.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

The Maiden smiled and held up a glowing lantern. “Will you follow me?”

I had little choice, so I followed her across a path of flat stones. Full night had come to the valley and in the dark we passed a garden of vegetables, ripe and fragrant. Along the way, I saw small groupings of women and girls, eating and conversing together. I never saw any buildings or homes. They gathered on blankets surrounded by candle light or lanterns.

She turned abruptly down a path with a sandy trail and I trotted to keep up. We passed other trails that led in various directions and I asked, “Where do those lead?”

“This is the way to our sleeping areas. We don’t have rooms, exactly, but we can offer comfort to weary guests.”

We came to a dead end and she held her arm out to reveal the sight ahead of us. I gasped in awe. “It’s lovely,” I said, taking in the area beneath an enormous tree. Small lanterns hung from the branches, casting the area in a soft yellow light. Sheer fabric gave the impression of walls, but they were filmy enough to see a padded mattress at the base of the tree and pillows that lined the edges. A tray made of vines held food and drink. “This can’t be for me.”

I turned to get her reply but she was gone—the fringe of her dress disappearing behind the grass and into the dark. I heard the sound of metal clinking and faced the tree. Liam stood underneath the boughs in a pair of white linen pants and a loose tunic. In his hands he held the decanter of wine and a silver cup. He offered it to me.

“Where did you come from?” I asked, taking the cup. I sniffed and inhaled the rich scent of wine.

“I was waiting for you.” He wrapped an arm around me. Wow, he smelled as clean as I felt.

“Is this safe?” I asked, holding up the cup.

“The Valley is a sanctuary. No outside magic is allowed. If you’re allowed entry, then you will be protected the entire time of your stay. So yes, all food and drink is safe.”

With that I took a huge gulp of my wine and moved closer to the food. My stomach rumbled in anticipation. “Is this for us? Can we eat it? I’m starving.”

“Of course, it’s been almost a day since we last ate. And to answer your general question, all of this is for us. It’s where we’ll stay tonight.”

Relieved, I dropped to the ground and piled a piece of bread with a variety of cheeses and meats. Liam sat across from me and did the same, although a little less like a wild animal. Maybe they ate less here?

“You know,” I said, swallowing an unladylike bite. “I don’t think we’ve ever eaten together before. I mean, Mrs. Graves brings me food at your house but we’ve never had a meal at the same time.”

“Who would have thought our first real date would take place here?”

“In the Valley or Otherworld?” I asked. “And wait, you think this is a date?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t it? We don’t get much time off from training and well, lately, fighting. This is the first time I’ve felt like I could relax with you.”

“You worry that much?”

“Constantly.”

I watched him as he ate a handful of berries. They were pink—not a kind I had seen at home. His lips stained red and I felt the familiar tug between us. The tug that started out as a reminder but quickly wound into a tight coil in the center of my belly.

“How did you find this place?”

“The Guardians of Otherworld have a link that connects us. My father used to bring me here. Merida and I have known one another since we were children.”

“She’s very beautiful.” He nodded but never took his eyes off mine. I picked up another piece of bread and plucked small bites off to eat. “I suppose this is the part of the date where we attempt to find out more about each other,” I said. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I never had much of a dating life, but you know that.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve never had much of one either.”

The intensity of his job and duty were etched into his face. I had no idea what Liam’s experience with women was—human or Sidhe, but dating didn’t seem like it would be high on his list of priorities.

When we’d eaten most of the food he pushed the tray aside and gathered me in his arms. A move, like the one we shared at his house the day before, that made me think he had some experience with the opposite sex. Together we snuggled into the soft mattress and pillows, and again I felt the hum of our bond. I took a peek at his face, the strong lines of his jaw and high, sharp cheekbones and realized I wanted more. I wanted all of it. With him.

I untangled myself from Liam’s arms and rose to my knees. From his spot leaning against a pillow he asked, “Going somewhere?”

I used his confusion to make my move, shifting to the spot between his legs. I approached him, still kneeling and lifted my dress over my head. Bare beneath, I waited for my typical embarrassment and modesty to take over. The look of awe and desire on Liam’s face wiped away any hesitation. He wanted me. All of me, as much as I wanted him. If our powers united, so be it. I didn’t care.

With no reason to hold back, no soldiers chasing us, training lessons to complete or wounds to heal, I felt free. More so than I had in months. With typical inhuman speed he removed his clothing and sat before me with the body of a god. I should have looked away—taken my eyes off the runes and markings. Off the etched lines of muscle. The dips perfect for my thumbs. I should have, like the inexperienced woman I was, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

We were bare. Vulnerable. Equals.

Gently, Liam moved me to my back, hands roaming over my body, exploring my lines and curves. I touched him in return, feeling the hard planes of his muscles, aware of how much he wanted me. He hovered above me, mouth close to my ear and murmured my name, “Nadya.”

“I’m ready,” I told him, brushing the hair off his forehead. I said it as much for myself as for him.

He locked his eyes to mine, positioning himself. The curtains around us rippled with a soft breeze, but inside this place—our place—it felt like we were in our own universe. That feeling of safety and security overwhelmed me as he pushed inside. I arched my back, accepting him with ease, as if joined by the gods.

I thought I knew what the bond between us meant. What it felt like. Until Liam entered me and joined our bodies, I had no idea. My fingers clamped against his back, nails tearing against his flesh. Sweat clung to our bodies and sweet, painful tension bundled in my nerves. He pressed his slick forehead against mine and pushed his tongue in my mouth. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted it all, the sweat, the pain, the exhilaration. On fire, I pushed back against his hips, rolling mine against his weight. The friction burned gloriously and his hands clamped around my waist.

The word I’d stolen from his mind tumbled from his lips, a breathy chant against my mouth. “Mine,” he breathed, until he gasped, fulfilling the promise of his words. Warm and deep inside, he possessed me, and I him.

He rolled off but not away, and I pressed my nose in the dip of his neck to catch my breath. I’d wondered what it would be like but never had I expected… I stopped my thoughts abruptly. Something was wrong. Missing. I sat up. “Where is the light? The bond?”

He sat up took my hand and laid it on his chest. His heart thudded wildly inside. “Do you feel it?”

“Yes.”

He laid his own hand just over my breast. “Yours is the same. That is the bond.”

Now that I noticed it was missing, darkness lurked on the edge of what we’d just done. “But the light?”

“I told you, there’s no magic here—not even between us. The light is a manifestation of the magic that binds us together. The power that gives us the ability to heal. This,” he pressed his lips over my heart, “is the truth beneath the magic. The truth about us.”

“So the way I feel about you right now is real.”

He slid his hands down my back and covered my face in tiny kisses. “It is absolutely, undeniably, very real.”

Those words were all I’d needed to wipe away the lingering fear and question I’d had about Liam, he wanted me at my base, human level—not for the power I could give him. “You knew you couldn’t absorb my power?”

“I don’t want your power, Nadya. Only what the Gods choose.” The look of desire was back in his eyes. “I want you in any world, with or without magic. I love you, every part of you.”

My heart bubbled with an intensity that could only be accomplished by something unique. If it wasn’t magic, there was no other word for it but the one he just gave. “I love you too, Liam.”

Wrapped in one another we settled in the soft padding of the mattress, hidden under an ancient tree. I felt his lips on my neck, warm and reassuring.

“If we do this again, out there, what will happen?” I asked, the thought still with me as I dozed.

“I don’t know,” he replied, holding me tight. “But the Gods are on our side. I think it will be unearthly.”

Chapter 32

Liam

I WOKE EARLY, well rested for the first time in weeks. In Nadya’s world I worried constantly when she was away from me. Here, we’d shared a bed two nights in a row. Last night she shared her body. Safe in the Valley I felt something I hadn’t in years: contentment.

She shifted next to me, pressing her body close to mine. She’d done this over and over through the night, each time her movements eliciting a rise of out me. I tried my hardest to not come off as some sort of degenerate, one of the sex-obsessed fae, but she did things to me. To my body, heart and soul.

It took every ounce of self-control to restrain myself.

Nadya’s eyes fluttered, blinking away the sleep. “Hey,” she said with a small smile.

“Good morning.”

“Comes early here,” she said, holding the sheet to her chest. “You know, with no walls or a ceiling to block the daylight.”

“We should get on the road quickly. We’ve got quite a bit to go, but we must get there today. I think any further delay will end badly.”

Food and our mended clothing waited at the edge of the curtain. We ate and dressed quickly. Once we emerged from the curtain a Maiden waited near the path. We followed her back through the Valley. Merida stood near the bamboo wall. She handed us our bags and weapons.

“Thank you for the hospitality,” I said, strapping on my sword and knives. Nadya did the same, and I knelt to buckle the straps of her sheath tight around her thigh.

“You are always welcome, Liam.” She smiled warmly at Nadya. “You as well, Your Highness.”

“My what?” Nadya asked, looking between us. “How did you…”

“You resonate with this land, child. It embraces you and eventually you will embrace it back. You are part of us but not entirely, which may be more valuable than expected. Be careful. The Maidens are here if you ever need our service.”

I ducked through a break in the bamboo and led Nadya out of the Valley. Camelot waited for us by the stream, well rested and watered. It took a moment to strap on our bags. I had just finished fastening the last one when I felt a hand on my waist. I turned and came face to face with Nadya, black hair shining close to blue in the early morning light. She lifted her chin and pressed her lips to mine. Blue burst between us.

“Oh thank god,” she said, pulling apart.

“For?”

“The magic is still here. I was freaked for a minute.”

“I told you—“

“I know you did, but I needed to test it myself.” She stroked Camelot’s head. “I didn’t realize how much I’d come to depend on it.”

“It’s part of you. Part of both of us.”

She nodded. “Now that we got that out of the way, what’s the plan?”

“Directly to the Deadlands; we’re running out of time. Once we get there we’ll call Fiona and Eleanor to a meeting.”

“And what if we’re attacked by more rebels or whoever those people were?”

“We’ll fight them off, but keep the magic to a minimum. The last thing they need to see is how strong you are. Good thing the birds took care of all the men yesterday. There’s probably nothing left but bone and blood.”

A deep line creased between her eyes and she asked, “Won’t they wonder where they went? Why they’re missing?”

“Probably, but it’s not like they have cell phones or email to check. It will take some time to figure it out. We’ll be safe by then.”

I mounted Camelot and helped Nadya to the spot on her back behind me. The ride through the woods was quiet. I pointed out several animals, focusing on the differences in this world from hers. Many of the animals were the same, although some had different colorings or sizes. Our foxes were the size of a medium sized dog. Squirrels were closer to that of a cat. And black.

“I have a question,” she asked, as we approached the edge of the woods and neared the road.

“Ask away.”

“Why do you think Ravenwood didn’t allow me to enter the castle grounds Obviously Eleanor went to great trouble to get me here—why shut me out? I could feel the pull of dark magic. One minute it embraced me—the next? Slam.”

“That’s a very good question,” I replied. I’d thought a lot about this and I had no real answer either. In fact, the only answer I had brought more questions than anything else. I decided to be truthful. “I have a theory that possibly the gate closed on you as a measure of protection.”

“The gate protected me? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does though—if you use Sidhe logic. The gate was made of stone and metals mined from the ground. The same ground that recognizes you as Claudia’s heir.”

“So inanimate objects can make decisions?”

“Ah, that’s your first mistake—thinking anything here is inanimate and without motive.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, I’ll never get used to that.”

“Look, you called the birds to protect you and they came. Other things could have had the same reaction. The properties making up Ravenwood did not want you to enter. Trust me, it’s a good thing. Only the Gods know where you’d be if that had happened.”

The trip was uneventful, our way passing through Ravenwood once more before we finally approached Celeste’s abandoned land. “There it is,” I said, stopping Camelot at the top of a ridge. The land was barren with nothing but sand and brush for miles. “After Claudia disappeared and Fiona and Eleanor created their own kingdoms, this area was called the Deadlands.”

“Um…wait, you’re trying to tell me this is the territory, appropriately titled the Deadlands because it looks like what would happen after a zombie apocalypse, is the one you think I’ve inherited? Is this like one of those jokes about selling ice water to an Eskimo?”

“I told you before, the land takes on the features and desires of the current ruler. This is what happens when there is no queen around to cultivate it.”

I watched Nadya take it all in. The seemingly endless miles of harsh, unfertile land. There was a spark though, something that flickered in her eyes beneath the surface. I felt it in our bond. The kingdom called to her, like the others. The question remained, did this one embrace her fully? Was this her land?

“So what now?” she asked, turning to face me.

“We travel to the center and then I’ll send out the call.”

“How do you do that? Some kind of Sidhe telegraph system? Carrier pigeon?”

A shadow crossed over us and her eyes flicked upward. I did the same and saw a familiar pair of dark wings soaring through the gray sky. I pushed Nadya behind me and drew my sword.

“Don’t,” Grace said, landing several feet away. Far enough that I’d have to abandon Nadya to make an attack. “I’m not here to hurt you. I need your help.”

“That’s a bold request,” I said, not dropping my guard or sword. Nadya attempted to get around me but I held her back with my free arm. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“She’s hurt,” Nadya pointed out. I heard the compassion in her voice and it made me uncomfortable. Grace seemed to be a soft spot for Nadya. I had no choice but to view this as a weakness until I knew more about the situation—or how to exploit it in our favor.

Upon further inspection I confirmed that, yes, feathers were missing from the wing on her right side and red, blistering welts made a ring around her wrists. “You’ve been held captive,” I said. They must have held her in iron chains. “For your failure to bring Nadya to Eleanor?”

“Yes, but not just for that. I’ve been a prisoner this whole time.” She turned to Nadya and fell to her knees. “I’m sorry for betraying you. Eleanor is not my queen. I am from the Solar kingdom and she used me to get to you. I’m so sorry.”

“Eleanor wouldn’t need to bring someone in to do her bidding.” I searched the sky and roads around us. The Queen and her army must be nearby. I sensed nothing other than a slight breeze.

“No? Her soldiers were defeated. You had her under constant supervision, tracked and monitored all the time. Eleanor couldn’t get close. So she snatched me off the streets of Solar, tortured me and sent me to the human world to bring Nadya back.”

“I had a vision,” Nadya declared, laying her hand on my arm. Her eyes glazed and she went somewhere deep inside herself. “You had welts and marks all down your back. You sat at the feet of the Queen.”

“As her slave, and yes,” she said, tugging down the collar of her shirt. Harsh scars blazed off her pale skin. The wind picked up and ruffled her feathers. “She did this to me. And worse.”

“Your use of glamours and the honey lip gloss,” Nadya said, her eyes sharp and refocused. “I knew something was off about you working for Eleanor. The more Liam told me about this world the more you didn’t fit the description of Ravenwood.”

“Part of what they do is trick you, like the glamours and spells. This could also be a trick. We need to continue to safety,” I hissed.

“What do you want, Grace?” Nadya asked. I threw my hands in the air. We were this close from the center of Deadlands and she wanted to check on her friend. Her betrayer.

“I need your help.”

“Sorry,” I said, walking away from the girl. I needed to get Nayda to our destination. I grabbed her by the arm and got her moving. If I was right about her and her powers once we got to the center of the kingdom, she’d be safe and could worry about her friend then. “We have a meeting to set up. Grace’s welfare is the least of our worries right now.”

“Eleanor is going to kill me and she’ll kill you too. She knows about the birds and how you slaughtered those men,” she blurted. “Fiona does, too.”

“How?” I asked. The girl followed us, limping on one leg. She’d definitely incurred some wounds to get here. The problem was I didn’t know if they were real or not. That was the problem with liars. “There were no survivors.”

“One,” Nadya said, realization taking the coloring from her face. “Callum must have gotten away.”

“Callum? You took him down first. I saw you.”

“He had a busted knee. I figured the birds would catch him!”

“If they know…” I said.

“They know,” Grace interjected. “They want to eliminate you, Nadya. I can help you. I may be the only one that can.”

I shook my head. “We need to go. Now!”

Another gust of wind from the north blew sand across our backs while a dry heat rolled in from the south.

“The sky!” Nadya cried.

Above us the sky was a clash of contrasts, dark gray storm clouds rolled toward the seemingly benign puffy white ones. The storm was enough to finally get Nadya to move. I led her to Camelot and helped her on her back.

“They’re coming,” Grace said, flying next to us. “They’ll kill us both.”

“Why didn’t you return to Queen Fiona?”

“To her I’m a traitor and a failure. They both want me dead and now that they know the Lost Queen has returned they want her dead, too. Don’t fool yourself.” I glanced forward and finally saw our destination come in view. The wind blew the layers of sand away to reveal the stone foundation. As the storm closed in it became obvious the platform would be the place where light and dark would meet. Her words were drowned out by the sound of animals on our heels. I glanced to the side and saw a fury of creatures and Underworld fae storming our way.

“What the hell is that?” Nadya asked, her eyes glued to a boar-like beast with six horns.

“The Queens’ minions. Their reach goes beyond the Sidhe and humans. They also have forces in Underworld. Hold on, we’re close!”

Sharp toothed wolves and snarling beasts raced toward us on one side while dark versions of fox, boars and birds swarmed on the other. With every step closer to the platform they gained on us. Grace flew overhead, fighting her own battle against the lashing wind and sharp clawed birds. She hadn’t lied—they were out to get her, too.

“Listen,” I shouted to Nadya over the furious sounds. “I can’t step on the platform, but you can. I need you to jump off Camelot and run up the steps.”

“What if they catch me?”

I turned, letting Camelot lead the way. “You’re our only hope. For me and the rest of the Guard, for Merida and the Maidens. Even for Grace.”

“Okay. Just step on the platform?” She sounded terrified. Wary. She should be both. If there was any other way I’d do it myself. History has proven this is her duty—her destiny.

I took her cheeks in my hand and kissed her hard, ignoring the screeching battle cries and growling beasts. “I love you, Nadya.”

“I love you, too,” she said, her voice drowned out by the impending onslaught. A ring of dark figures stood around the platform. I drew my sword.

“Liam look!” Nadya cried. “It’s Colleen. And Daniel!” Brayden and the other Guards waited at the edge of the ancient stairway. Wearing hooded cloaks, they stood on alert—fighting always for Otherworld.

I made eye contact with my crew. Nadya’s odds just got a little bit higher. “Why are they here?” she asked.

“That, sweetheart, is the rebellion. The Guardians, rebel and other, are here to protect you.” Camelot came to an abrupt, skidding halt and I nudged Nadya off her back. “Go! Now!”

She jumped to the ground, her tattered shirt hanging loose at her back. Her hair whipped in the wind and she futilely swiped at it so she could see. Colleen moved to protect her back. It wasn’t necessary. Grace had flown down, wings spread wide, and shielded her from assault. The gesture showed her loyalty, but ultimately no one could follow her up the stairs anyway. They weren’t worthy. None of us were.

Daniel cut down a wolf at the base of the stairway and demanded the beasts to back away. The Rebel Guard held their weapons high, allowing her safe passage. Everything shifted to a dull roar as I watched her take a step up the crumbling, ancient stairs. Her boot touched the stone and a ringing hum vibrated through the air. The roar of beasts filled my ears and their sharp claws wrenched me from Camelot’s back. With her second step the ground rumbled like an earthquake. The dry dirt rippled under our feet, starting at the platform and stretching behind us for miles. Fearful she’d topple off, I searched for her, but my worries were groundless. Nadya had made it to the top step of the platform, strong and stable.

She stood in the center, small but powerful. The might of the land shook beneath her feet and the swirling clouds wound into a cyclone, twisting high above Nadya’s head. Energy flared through her body and I felt it from my spot on the ground, charging like a volt of electricity through our bond. So powerful that the beasts holding me back jumped away, yelping, their teeth and claws burning from the connection.

A crack of lightening zig-zagged above the cyclone, splitting the sky in three parts. A chorus of terrified beasts howled in reply. Fiona and Eleanor were coming.

For them, it was too late. I had been right all along.

Nadya was our Lost Queen.

Chapter 33

Nadya

“THAT, SWEETHEART, IS the rebellion. The Guardians, rebel and other, are here to protect you.” The words rang in my ears as I climbed the steps. Grace flew down behind me, her wings protecting me from behind. Colleen whispered words of encouragement. They wanted me on that platform. They needed me there.

I just didn’t understand why.

Part of me thought this was just an intricate dream and I would wake up soon, snug in my bedroom. I’d see the iron cross over my bed and hear my father downstairs. But other things, like the way I felt with Liam at the Valley…I couldn’t have made that up. And right now, with the sand whipping across my cheeks and the sound of howling beasts at my back, everything felt real. Too real.

I had no idea what to do next, but my body felt differently. I didn’t know if it was the bond or something else, but I took one step toward the platform and energy jolted through my body. The good kind of energy. The powerful kind. I took another step and felt the surge roll across my limbs. The action created a chain reaction, the ground trembled like an earthquake, and the sky threatened to engulf us all.

As terrifying as it all seemed, it also felt undeniable.

Liam had been right. The land accepted me. All the warring magic, dark vs. light, meshed together into something that consumed me. The combination filled every sense, every pore, and I now understood what he had tried to prepare me for. I needed to be strong. To be fit, just to contain the energy and power coursing through my body.

“Hold on,” Grace shouted. She hovered mid-air, just outside the platform. The guards were all engaged in a fight with the beasts outside. Blood sprayed and splattered, soaking the ground red. Liam had been pulled from Camelot’s back. I tried to find him—find his eyes, but he was lost in the crowd.

The air above me turned electric and I saw a spike of lightening, branched in three directions, followed by a quick, furious roll of thunder. I looked over my head and saw a dark cyclone curling in my direction. The storm was sent by Fiona and Eleanor as their final attempt to stop me. I saw their shadows far across the land. They wouldn’t try to take me down themselves. No, they wanted their minions to do it for them, not because I was beneath them but because they feared me.

They should.

My body moved on instinct, crouching low to the ground. My palms spread flat, feeling the cool, stone dais. There’d once been a castle here, something magnificent and grand. I could feel the energy where the walls once stood. The ghosts that lingered from past lives. The spirit of the original Goddess herself. The cyclone shifted down, its tail twisting toward me. I waited, grounded by hand to the kingdom. The cyclone wrapped around my body, darkness and light, dirt and air, magic and nature, engulfing my entire frame. I inhaled deep, clenching my teeth, absorbing everything.

The storm raged in my ears and filled my lungs. I peered through the debris and saw the beasts fleeing, racing off in all directions. The ground shook beneath them, the Deadlands coming to life. Vines heavy with life exploded from the surface. Long, green grass and thick, flowering trees pushed through the earth. Hedges lined emerging walkways. Ivy grew and stretched, reaching for scattering hooves and claws, yanking them back into the earth, back to the depths of Underworld.

The storm reached a frenzy and I stood, holding my hands up high. In a sudden whoosh, the cyclone unraveled and thousands of birds flew into the bright, cobalt sky. With a deep breath, I inhaled this new world, this kingdom, feeling the power of the original Goddess in my veins.

It was then that I surveyed the full extent of the Deadlands’ transformation.

“Come here!” I called, waving the Rebel Guards and Grace closer. Brayden offered a hand to Liam, who was still dazed on the ground. One by one they mounted the dais.

My partner—my soulmate—pressed his body against mine and whispered in my ear, “May the Gods have mercy. The Lost Queen has returned.”

We watched as the land grew fertile around us. Branches and leaves sprouted on the trees. It was like watching a nature film in science class; petals unfurled, roots twisted deep. “How far will it go?” I asked.

“Right now? A couple miles, circling the palace. After that the growth will be slower but eventually your plentiful land will connect with Ravenwood and Solar,” Colleen replied.

Grace flew upward and circled over us. “It’s magnificent!”

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I’d done this. It was true, I was the Lost Queen. Heir of the original Goddess.

“One thing left,” Liam said, fingers intertwined in mine.

“What’s that?”

“You have to build your castle.”

I glanced around for a Home Depot. “Um…with what?”

“Whatever you want—however you want.”

He was talking crazy, but what about this was sane? The others looked at me with expectation, but I still had no idea what to do. Colleen leaned close and said, “You can always ask the castle to restore itself.”

“How do I—“ I started, but I knew. Everything came from the ground. All of life, all the Sidhe. I understood that now. Liam’s assignment made so much more sense to me.

Once again I knelt to the floor and touched the stone with my palms. I closed my eyes when the earth shook around us, fearful I was asking too much. The ground shifted, roaring with life, the sound of rocks and stones grating across one another. I pressed my forehead to the dais, breathing in and out.

“Open your eyes,” Liam said, his hand clasped around mine as he helped me from the ground. Once standing, he didn’t let go.

I blinked and my jaw dropped.

An entire structure had risen around us, white marble walls with ornate arches leading from the room we were now standing in. I spied a staircase off the main room, winding up the wall to another floor. Large windows allowed in bright sunlight and a view of the gardens surrounding the castle. I spun and found the castle fully equipped with fixtures and furnishings. “This was Celeste’s castle?”

“Yes, and the queens before her,” Liam said. “You’ve restored it to its original glory.”

“It’s breathtaking.” I took in the throne and luxurious carpet of furs that lined the floor. A large fire pit sat in the middle of the room and various cushions and seating areas lined the walls. The entire concept for the room was foreign to me. I paused, taking in a long row of people standing straight and still against the fall wall.

“Who are those people?”

“Your staff,” Colleen replied.

“My what?”

“They come with the kingdom. They’ve waited decades for the castle restoration.”

Everyone surrounding me spoke as if any of this made sense. As though there were logic surrounding a castle that sprung from the ground because I touched it with my hands. The staff, the furnishings and everything else about this situation was absurd. I looked back at my friends, the men and women I’d known since childhood back home at airport, and waited for them to tell me this whole thing was a joke. Daniel smiled at me warmly.

“Well done, Your Highness. I’ve waited so long for this day.” Oh god, not him, too.

I took a deep breath and held up my hand. “All this “Your Highness” stuff is not cool.”

“But you’ve reclaimed the kingdom. The Lost Queen has returned.”

I wanted to deny it, but I felt the power in my veins. I knew I belonged here and I knew this castle was my home. There was no argument. I just had no clue what that meant for me. For my father and my life back in the human world.

Grace gave me a sympathetic look and said, “You’re understandably overwhelmed. Things will get easier.”

“Yes,” said Colleen. “We will help you adjust. Make it as easy on you as possible.”

The others nodded, well, everyone but Liam. His face held a look of concern. I would have been shocked if he had any other expression on his face. “What?” I asked, ready to get it over with.

“There are still urgent matters to deal with,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Like Fiona and Eleanor. They’ll have returned to the safety of their kingdoms by now, most likely to unify their armies.”

Grace’s face paled and I swallowed back the immediate surge of fear. I’d never met either woman but if the storm and beasts they sent for me today were any indication of their strength, I was okay holding off on the introductions for a while longer. “Against me?”

“Before, they hoped to control you, thought maybe you’d pick one side or the other. Worst case they’d kill you. But now? You’re the enemy.”

Even with my newfound power this made me very uncomfortable. I wasn’t in the position to lead an army in return—not even the rebels, who seemed willing to fight in my honor. Even if everyone else was convinced I was royalty and had amazing magic abilities my actual skill was limited. Even with these concerns, something different nudged at me: the desire for revenge. For my mother and grandmother.

I just needed more time.

“How do we hold them off—at least for now? Can we do that?”

No one said yes. No one said anything, but Liam’s head tilted just enough to say no. It wasn’t possible. In that moment I longed for the quiet normalcy of my home and father and job. I sighed and ran my hands through my storm-disheveled hair. “I guess it’s time to face them, see what I’m really up against. You’ll help me?” I asked Liam.

“Of course.”

I turned Grace. She looked nothing like the girl I’d bar hopped with at home just days before. Her hair was a mess and her wrists were still red and swollen from her binds. If it was possible she looked smaller than before, but she was already tiny. Right now she gave the appearance of someone who wouldn’t cause a problem. I knew differently. I knew what kind of damage she could do on both sides of the magic. This girl was going to be a problem and apparently she was going to be my problem to deal with. “Thank you for warning me and protecting me today. I think you may be a good person, but I’m not sure I can trust you yet.”

“Please don’t send me out there,” she begged. Grace grabbed my hands with her own. “They’ll kill me. Or worse, torture me again. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You can stay here for now, but under supervision. You can’t leave the grounds.” I looked at Liam again and was surprised he didn’t look upset by this decision. I ran my hands over her wrists and the wounds disappeared. The least I could do that before locking her away. If I didn’t would I be any different from Eleanor? “Is there a way to do that without putting her in prison or something?”

“I can think of something,” he replied and waved over a guard. “Take her to Nadya’s parlor and wait with her there. I’ll return with further directions later.”

Before she left, Grace pulled away from the guard and said, “Thank you. I’m sorry for any betrayal. I didn’t have a choice. Above anything else, I’m at your service.” She curtsied, sweeping low to the ground. Oh, for goodness sake.

“Please never do that again,” I said, not even hiding the cringe on my face. “I’m absolutely serious. I hope once this is cleared up, you can be my friend, not my servant. Like we were before.”

“I’d like that,” Grace said and I saw a flare of the Grace I’d known at home. She and the guard walked out in search of my parlor. A parlor? What the hell? I turned and crashed into Liam’s chest. He’d moved that close to me, that quickly. The massive amounts of energy rolling under my skin left me raw and edgy. The castle held its own unnerving power and it sought me out a conduit or something. Everything felt intense, including the constant eyes of my “staff” waiting for direction. All of these emotions warred with one another until Liam wrapped his arms around me, and for the first time since we left the Valley, I felt stable.

“How do you do that?” I asked. His lips pressed against my neck and I ran my hands over the cut under his eye. The blood dried and the wound healed instantly.

“Do what?”

“Make me calm. Feel safe.”

“I don’t know but you do the same for me.”

Face to face, his eyes darted to my lips. He wanted to kiss me, but needed permission. The power I’d just inherited—all of the magic from the original Goddess and the land—surged through my body. If I kissed him what would happen? Would I lose something? Could he handle it?

“You don’t have to,” he said, following my unspoken thought. “We can wait until you’re sure.”

I linked my hands at the back of his neck and glanced sideways at the servants lining the wall. “I’d rather wait until we were alone. Do they just stand there all the time?”

“Unless you give them something to do. They’re dedicated to your needs. They will not reveal any personal or private details of your life. Even your time in the bedroom.”

I studied their healthy faces and grooming. Even their clothes seemed well kept. They didn’t look like they’d spent decades tied to a castle beneath the ground. “How did they survive all this?”

“It’s Sidhe magic. Never underestimate it.”

“You keep telling me that,” I said, removing my hands. “As much as I’d like to spend time with you exploring the physical ramifications of my new status, I think Fiona and Eleanor take precedence, don’t you? All of this is bad enough, what the hell am I doing to do when they get here?”

Liam, the fierce man, or rather Sidhe, I’d watched in battles and command his guard, replaced the gentle one I knew as my lover. Confidence straightened his shoulders and an intent blaze flared in the back of his blue eyes. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

I returned his contagious smirk, my own assurance building in my chest and said, “You always do.”

*Liam*

The ride to Ravenwood went quickly traveling by main road. I told Nadya I would be back in two days. That gave her time to prepare for the meeting and two days for me to convince both Eleanor and Fiona not to go on attack but sit down with the Lost Queen instead.

Nayda needed more time to develop her skills—that we both agreed on. Now we just needed to convince the Queens our intention was to unify the land, nothing more.

I approached the gate at Ravenwood at a slow pace, arms raised in a sign of peace. Two soldiers approached Camelot and I said, “I come to speak to Queen Eleanor, under terms of sanctuary.” One soldier lifted his clawed hand, while the other searched the area behind me to make sure I was alone. “My crew is back at the first pass. They’ll only come if they’re needed.”

The soldier with the claw said, “You’ve revealed yourself as part of the rebellion. We cannot offer sanctuary to a traitor.”

I fixed him with a hard stare. I had no interest in fighting my way in—it would take too much time. I swallowed my annoyance. “Tell the Queen I am here and what my terms are.”

I waited by the gate in the gloomy cold long enough that I had plans to gather my men and storm the castle, but the soldiers returned with sour looks on their faces. As I expected, Eleanor allowed me entry. I tried not to gloat on my way through the entrance.

Patting Camelot on the head, I left her tied near a trough and entered the imposing black slate castle. Just inside the front doors I handed over my weapons, which was a condition under the guidelines of sanctuary. I couldn’t be harmed while I was at Ravenwood but it also meant I couldn’t be armed. Fighting wasn’t my purpose today.

I wiped my boots on the bristly rug by the massive wooden door and followed the guard down a long, imposing hall to the Queen in her throne room. Her long black hair curled down her shoulders, grazing the edge of her dress. The black dress stood in sharp contrast to her pale skin, and from the doorway I could see her magnificent curves and alluring cleavage. Her lips twisted seductively as I entered the room. She wouldn’t make this meeting easy, a fact that was confirmed by the large black dog that sat at her feet. He bared his teeth as I approached the edge of the rug. I had no doubt he’d rip out my throat if I gave him a reason.

Bowing, I said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such tenuous terms.”

“So this is what it takes to get a visit from Liam Caldwell? A civil war? If I had known that, I would have made an attempt on your girl years ago.”

“If only you’d been able to find her,” I said.

Eleanor smiled and laid her hand on top of the dog’s head, stroking him gently. “You did a commendable job keeping her hidden. Excellent spell work.”

“Thank you, but all of that is in the past. She’s here. On her own terms—“

“In my castle.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I disagree on that last part. The castle has remained unclaimed since Claudia left.”

“Oh, I’m sure you disagree, but this girl has no real claim to the land.”

“It recognizes her.”

“Because you’re a traitor and you used your connection to Otherworld to lead her there. I’m not stupid, Liam. Neither is Fiona. We both know you plan on getting your paws on as much of the Goddess’s power as you can and you’re going to use a naïve fairy to do it for you.”

I shook my head and took a step closer. “This has nothing to do with me wanting the Goddess’s power and everything about unifying the land of Otherworld. Nadya can make that happen.”

“To what end? Her taking over all our kingdoms? Controlling all of us? You know we can’t let that happen.”

“I don’t think she has any desire to control your land, but you and I both know our people have suffered from the curse of the Deadlands.”

This stopped her and she blinked at me before standing up. She took measured steps away from the throne until she stood before me. Eleanor didn’t use glamours like her sister, Fiona. She didn’t have the patience. She’d reach through my chest and tear out my heart and while I watched. Then she’d feed it to her dog. As if he read my mind, the black dog at her feet licked his teeth with his pink, fleshy tongue.

“Have you spoken to my sister?”

“Not yet. I came to you first.” I lowered my voice and said, “I know this is difficult for you. It’s going to be hard on all of us, but you know it’s the right thing to do. I have no choice.”

This seemed to mollify her and I saw her red lips twist into a small smile. “I’ve missed you, Liam. We could have made quite the pair, but no, you had to go and protect Claudia’s girl.”

“You know my loyalty is—“

“To the land. Yes, I’ve heard that a thousand times. Even with you quaking beneath me, naked and raw.” She reached forward and pushed a piece of hair off of my forehead, making sure it was exactly in place. “My sister tells me you said the same thing to her.”

“I won’t deny we’ve had similar conversations.”

“And Nadya? Have you had this conversation with her? How you can’t belong to any of us because your loyalty belongs to dirt we walk on? Sounds like the stuff of human fairy tales.”

I held my chin level and looked her in the eye. “Just because your relationship with magic is dark and unwavering does not mean that mine is inauthentic. My relationship with Nadya is none of your concern.”

“No?” she said, running a sharp, lacquered nail down my cheek. I saw the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out her next move. Killing me wasn’t it. That was never going to be the right answer, as long as there was even the slightest chance. “So you haven’t told her.”

“She didn’t need to know. I wasn’t even sure if she was the one.”

“But you do now. The land recognized her, rebuilt and restored itself for her. I saw it myself. She is the one. She’s the Lost Queen.” She walked back to her throne and sat with flourish, legs crossing over the other. The dog followed and she petted him on the head. “So now we know the truth about her, but she doesn’t know about you.”

I said nothing, but held her gaze. Eleanor lifted a finger and beckoned me to her. I hesitated, but her dog stood and growled with deep warning. With little choice, I approached the throne, one step at a time, until I came face to face with the Queen.

“Do it,” she said, shifting so I had a perfect view her cleavage. Her body didn’t sway me but the way her hand clenched around the handle of a blade did. “I’m just curious. Do it.”

I lowered my head and placed my hands on her wrists, pinning them and the weapon to the chair. She struggled against me but I squeezed tight, forcing her to release the blade. “You don’t control me.”

Eleanor jumped up, eyes blazing with fury, and slapped me hard against the side of my face. As I stood dazed from the force of her blow, she caught me off guard and covered my mouth with hers. Her lips were cold and hungry. I fought against her but again, her dog growled threateningly at my feet. Her tongue slipped into my mouth followed by a magic that cloaked the two of us, powerful and dark. The energy twisted between us and tasted foul, invoking darkness from my very core.

I shoved her away but Eleanor only laughed in response. “How did that compare to the little princess? Do you bring out the best in her, too?”

I wiped my mouth and spat on the floor. “Never do that again.”

“Or what? I can only imagine what you’ve told her about your role in all this. I doubt she would have sent you if she’d known.”

I turned away, done with this conversation. Finished with Eleanor. “I came to offer an invitation from the Lost Queen. Day after tomorrow. Noon. Do not bring your army.”

Again she laughed, cackling like a woman gone mad. Just before I crossed the threshold of the throne room she declared, “When do you plan on telling her the truth, Liam? If she’s all that you claim, she’ll figure it out. That she’s nothing without you by her side, that to unlock the ultimate power of the Goddess she’ll need a God by her side?”

Her crazed laughter followed me out of the room. One Queen down, another to go.

Chapter 34

Nadya

“SO, EXACTLY HOW is this meeting with Fiona and Eleanor supposed to work?” I asked Mrs. Graves. She’d appeared shortly after Liam left for the other kingdoms. Within minutes of her arrival she’d begun preparations for the meeting, thankfully, as I was definitely out of my element.

Now, we sat across from one another in what everyone called my parlor. Basically it was a small room with fancy couches and chairs, adjacent to my rooms. The fabrics all looked extremely expensive, as did the artwork on the wall, the linens and china we ate on. It had a similar feel to Liam’s home back in the human world.

Mrs. Graves scribbled notes on a sheet of parchment. I noticed a stamp pressed into the paper. Three lines slashed down with three dots hovering at the top.

“What is this?” I asked. “I’ve seen it before.”

“It’s the mark of Awen. The symbol of the original Goddess.”

I blinked. “Liam has one of these on his chest.”

“Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

“The two outside rays represent the opposites in harmony—male and female. The middle one is for the balance they bring together. The dots are for mind, body and spirit.”

“Why does Liam carry the mark of the Goddess?” I asked, running my fingers over the raised stamp.

Mrs. Graves stared at me with incredulity. “Do you really not know?”

I shook my head.

We were interrupted by a servant. Isla was in her upper teens and had spent the morning presenting a variety of dresses for me to choose from for the event.

Isla held up a gold and bronze gown. It had intricate beading across the bodice and a long train flowing from the back. “Um,” I said, trying to come up with the right words. I’d learned pretty quickly that being blunt worked, but then no one would speak to me for an hour. The servants were terrified of disappointing me. That wasn’t the image I wanted to project with these people—not that I wanted to project any image at all. “It’s lovely, Isla. I’m just afraid it’s not right for me.”

“Of course, Your Highness. I’ll try to find something more to your liking.” I smiled hopefully, but it rang with falseness. I’d given Isla specifications on my clothing taste but unfortunately my style didn’t seem to translate to the current fashions of Otherworld.

“Okay,” I said, focusing back on Mrs. Graves. “What were you saying about Liam and this symbol.”

“It is not for me speak for Mr. Caldwell. You should talk to him. Soon. Clear the air on this.”

“But why hasn’t he already?”

She chuckled. “Men, even those from this world, fear nothing more than the woman they love.” She went back to her notes and said, “Now, back to this banquet you’re hosting. With you reclaiming the Deadlands it is required to commemorate the claiming of lands. Most will see it as a sign of goodwill and celebration but they will also see it as a gesture of confidence toward the other kingdoms. Fiona and Eleanor need to respect you.”

“A dinner party. I can do that.” Of course I probably couldn’t. I’d never had dinner with anyone other than my father or occasionally Colleen at the airport diner. I blinked back tears thinking about Pop. He must be worried sick, despite Liam’s assurances.

“You can, it’s in your blood.” Mrs. Graves said this anytime I came up against something I didn’t like or want to do. Tired of arguing, I half-listened as she proceeded to talk about menu and table settings.

“Mrs. Graves,” I said, finally building up some courage. “I’m really not sure this is such a good idea.”

“What? The pheasant? I know it’s not what you’re accustomed to, but it’s really quite good.”

“No, not the dinner. This whole thing. Me as some sort of leader. I worked in an airport. What qualifications do I have for running a kingdom? I don’t even want the job.”

Lowering the paper she’d been writing on she reached over and gave me a sympathetic pat on the hand. “I know it’s all very overwhelming. It’s a difficult situation, one that your mother desperately didn’t want to inflict on you.”

“Then why am I here? Why did Liam insist on this?”

She gave me a hard look and I dropped my eyes to my hands. “Liam did his best to keep you away from here. You are the one that entered the portal. You set all of this in motion, Nadya. Don’t blame him for your actions.”

“He could have taken me back home.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Once you set foot in Otherworld there was no choice. Eleanor and Fiona would have continued their attacks, eventually harming humans to get to you. They need you. Even if they don’t want to admit it, you’re the life blood of this land.” She narrowed her eyes and asked. “What do you know about your mother’s death?”

“Only that she was murdered by Eleanor’s soldiers. I know that Liam was there.”

“But do you know why they killed her?”

“No.”

“Claudia spent years managing the portal but never stepped foot back into Otherworld. I know Liam has told you how the Deadlands came to exist and how they are growing wider and bigger every year. Soon they will take over everything in Otherworld and the people here will die. Without fertile land our people cannot survive. We cannot grow crops or hunt. Things were already getting bad when you were young, and Claudia had finally agreed with the Rebels to come back and take her place at the throne. Fiona and Eleanor fought about the best way to handle this. Don’t underestimate either of them and their seeming independence from one another—ultimately they have one goal, to preserve their kingdoms. Claudia returning home was a risk neither felt they could survive, and they had her killed. They thought her death would end the curse of the Deadlands. Their ignorance and disdain made you unworthy in their eyes. They never considered you’d be an actual contender for the throne.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re half human.”

“Oh. Hooray for me.”

She smiled. “Liam and the Guards put up the wards and protective spells. He hung the iron cross over your bed to keep away any intrusion in your dreams and charmed the necklace your mother gave you. He kept you cloaked from them for years until you felt the tug of the bond.”

“And now we’re here anyway.”

“Yes, but it is on your terms. Not theirs.”

I glanced at the menus and the new stack of dresses Isla had brought into the room. On the surface nothing about this felt like it was on my terms, but I knew Mrs. Graves was right. I’d made the decision to come here and find out more about my family. I’d fought for my life, absorbed magic and laid myself bare for Liam in the Valley. The Deadlands embraced me, and now I had to figure out how to embrace it back without losing the humanity that my mother and father blessed me with.

Isla walked in the room carrying a gown made of blue silk. I stood and approached her, feeling the soft, shiny fabric. The skirt was straight and had an empire waist and a gathered bodice. Silk and beads made up the thin straps. Isla kept her eyes low, refusing to look at me directly, so I took the dress from her hands and held it up to Mrs. Graves. She raised her eyebrow but gave me a short, approving nod.

“This is the one,” I said, taking the first step— one of many.

* * *

THAT NIGHT I asked Grace to join me for dinner. She arrived with a guard moments after the kitchen staff left plates of delicious smelling food. I instructed the guard to leave us alone.

“Those are not my instructions,” he said hesitantly. I realized he had the unfortunate problem of either going against my wishes or Liam’s. I appreciated his predicament and told him as much.

“Wait outside the door. That way if I call you can hear.” He hesitated again and I gave him a stern look. “I’ll take care of Liam. This will not land on you.”

When we were alone I gave Grace a quick hug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Her blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and she wore a basic linen dress. “A little bored, but it’s better than the alternative.”

I offered her the seat across from mine at the small dining table. When she reached for her fork I noticed a thin metal bracelet around each wrist that I hadn’t seen before. “Where did you get those?”

“From your guards. They’re made of iron and they keep me from using my magic.”

I considered her ability to compel and manipulate. It wasn’t a bad policy. “Do they hurt?”

“No. Colleen gave them instructions to give me these bracelets instead of chains. I appreciate the gesture.”

“Good. I don’t want you to feel like a slave here.”

“I don’t. This feels like a weekend at the spa in comparison to my fate at Ravenwood or Solar.” She gave me a small smile. “Really, Nadya, I’m okay with this. I mean, hopefully one day we can work together, but I’m thankful you’re taking a chance on me.”

We focused on our food. The kitchen had prepared a delicious roast and a variety of vegetables, some I recognized and others I didn’t. A question popped in my mind. “Mrs. Graves pointed out how the Deadlands were taking over all of Otherworld. Now that it’s been reclaimed does that mean the invasion into the other lands will stop?”

“I’m not sure. It should.”

“Then why would the other kingdoms care? Although I’d like to see Eleanor and Fiona punished for what they did to my mother and grandmother, I won’t do it at the expense of everyone. I’m willing for us all to share the wealth of my return. Why can’t we each keep our tracts and live peacefully?”

“The original Goddess didn’t intend for there to be three kingdoms. There is only supposed to be one. This one. This is why Fiona and Eleanor have spent decades trying to decide how to handle the situation. Their land is dying, but they could lose their rule if it was reclaimed. Once your abilities evolved they hoped to bring you here as a slave—not as a queen.”

“They would force me to take back the land but give it to them?” I pushed my plate away, no longer having an appetite. “Could that still happen?”

She didn’t reply but kept her eyes down, moving the food around on her plate with her fork. She wasn’t telling me something. Something important.

“Grace…”

“They can’t take your title. It’s yours by right, but they can try to fight you.”

“You mean kill me.”

“Yes.” she looked away again.

“What? What else?”

“There’s a fourth player in this, Nadya. A strong player that could change everything.”

“Who?” I asked but the uneasy feeling that had been nagging at me for weeks rose up. I’d been unsure from the start. Questioned loyalties. Squelched suspicions. Only one person seemed to know everything and everyone. The one person who had more ambition and undeniable power than anyone I’d met so far.

“Tell me Grace, is he working with me or against me.”

Grace finally looked up with her pale blue eyes but she bit her lip, unwilling to say his name. Fear and concern weighed heavy on her face and slumped shoulders. “It isn’t so simple, but remember he doesn’t hold all the cards, Nadya, even if he’s trying to stack the deck.”

I thought about our time in the Valley, when he couldn’t use his magic. The way the bond between us still existed. Surely, he was on my side. He had to be.

Chapter 35

Nadya

I SAT IN the parlor all night, waiting for Liam to come back to the castle, plotting what I should do next. Grace had offered no suggestion but sat across from me, drifting in and out of sleep. I was afraid to mention it to Mrs. Graves or Colleen, both unconditionally loyal to him.

Daylight broke, creeping through the leaded glass windows. A messenger appeared at dawn predicting Liam’s return at noon. Our guests should be here several hours after that.

Isla appeared with tea and coffee on a large silver tray. She laid it on the table and fixed my coffee the way I liked it. I’d only been here three days and she already knew. With an intense wave of emotion, I was reminded of the airport—how I knew the routines of our customers so well. I wanted to go back there. Away from all this. I didn’t even know how to make that happen.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the cup.

“At your service,” she replied with a small curtsey that made me roll my eyes.

“Isla, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Where did you go when Celeste died and my mother left Otherworld?”

“I am bound to the castle. So when it went away, I went with it.”

“Where is away, exactly?”

“Hmm…” She tilted her head in thought. Her features were small and I marveled at her tiny hands and feet. “It’s hard to explain. Sort of like a holding place. We were waiting for the land to be reclaimed.”

“So you just sort of were trapped in some sort of purgatory?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. It wasn’t unpleasant, but I do prefer this. I enjoy serving—it’s my duty.”

“You can’t do anything else?”

She frowned. “Why would I want to?”

I sighed and leaned back into the soft couch. Grace roused, rubbing her eyes to fully wake. Isla handed her a cup of tea. Apparently she knew her preferences as well.

“Anything else?” Isla asked. “Ariana will be here in a moment to clean up your nails. Then you can take a bath.”

“Uh, okay.” She lifted the tray and walked toward the door. I grabbed her arm to stop her. “One thing. Uh, what do you think about all this? Between me and the other kingdoms. Is this a bad idea? Am I in over my head?”

“Oh no,” she said. “Don’t underestimate yourself. I had the honor of serving Celeste and your mother, Claudia. They were both incredibly powerful Sidhe. They truly connected to the balance of nature, just like you do.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it. I can feel your energy, just like I felt theirs. You are the rightful heir to this land and you came at just the right time. Without you Otherworld would have wasted away.”

“But what about…” I wanted to say the other Queens or Liam but she cut me off.

“If I can be so bold to speak freely,” she said, and I nodded. “Do not be afraid of the others. They should be afraid of you. Make them beg for your mercy. Have them plead for your benevolence. This land is yours to command. All of it. Take what belongs to you—to your mother and her mother. Make them pay for their sins.”

“They killed Celeste,” I said.

“And your mother,” Grace added from across the room.

“What do I do?” I asked, not liking this change in tone. I thought I was here for peace. Not tyranny. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of—fought soldiers in self-defense. I’m not sure I could hurt people that are technically my family.”

“No,” Grace said, warming her hands on the tea cup. “But that’s not the only way to win this battle. I told you last night. Liam is a big part of this. You have to decide how to use him.”

Use him.

That didn’t feel right. One thing was for sure. Before this banquet I needed to speak to Liam alone and finally lay all the cards on the table.

* * *

I SENT GRACE back to her room with a stack of dresses and instructions to join me at the banquet. I needed whatever support I could get. Once my nails were dry Isla convinced me to take a bath, my first since leaving the Valley. The idea of baths was foreign to me. We were a shower-taking family back in the human world.

The process of filling the tub took time—I could have taken several showers in the same amount of time—and I thought about how much slower things went here. Traveling on horseback or by a fae beast like Camelot instead of cars. News traveled by messenger, not text or email. Oil lamps and candles provided light. It was quaint, but exhausting. The reliance on others felt awkward. I didn’t like it, but I also didn’t seem to have much choice. All of this intensified my homesickness.

I was in my room, waiting for the tub to fill, when I heard a knock on the door. Isla rushed to open it and I saw Liam on the other side. From his disheveled hair to the dark marks under his eyes, it was clear he was exhausted.

“Hi,” I said, noting Isla exit the room quietly. “How was your trip?”

He unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it on the back of a chair. Next he worked his way out of his boots. “Successful. They should both be here this afternoon willing to listen. Hopefully they’ll also be prepared to cooperate.”

“Did you have any troubles on the way?”

“No, I think everyone has hunkered down. The rebels are either here or on their way, and the soldiers at the other kingdoms are busy figuring out how to handle this.” He wiggled out of the last boot and kicked it aside. “Not that they have much choice.”

Liam crossed the room, bare feet padding across the cool stone floor. The information I learned about him earlier should make me wary, but now that he was back I was just happy to be near him again. Would this connection to him make me a weak leader? He reached for me and pressed his lips to mine. He smelled of sweat and dust, but tasted like the man I loved.

He eyed my robe. “We’re you getting ready to bathe? I’d be willing to join you.”

His fingers tugged at the belt tied to cinch my robe. The urges in my belly overwhelmed me, but I fought back, focusing on my goal. I kissed him again. The light flared between us and I offered enough power to restore his energy, enough to distract him. I pushed a little, trying to get a piece of his mind and concrete evidence of his actions during the time we’d been apart.

In a swirling flash of images I saw Liam on the road, riding Camelot into Ravenwood and Solar. I saw him meet with each Queen. One with coal black hair and the other golden yellow. A snarling black dog and a plate full of cherries. Both women cooed and taunted, leering with red lips and sharp nails. From the speck of memory I saw, he rejected them both. At least that was how it seemed. The images disappeared into a strangely familiar haze of black and silver light.

Liam’s hands gripped me tight and he kissed me hard, harder than ever before. Heat rose in my belly and I kissed him in return, passion fueled with something else. Distrust? Fear? I struggled against him and broke free.

Liam raised an eyebrow and he said, “If you wanted a summary of my visit you could have just asked.”

“Not that I got a clear picture anyhow,” I said, arms crossed in defiance.

“Do you think they’d let you rifle through my memories? They are both too paranoid for that. I’m sure they managed to alter or cloak anything important.”

“Then tell me, Liam. What happened that I can’t see? What do I need to know?”

“Nothing happened. I delivered your message. They accepted. I came back to you.”

I stared at him trying to determine from his face if he thought I was that stupid. He looked sincere enough and the thought made me burst out laughing. “I may be naïve about a lot of this Liam, but you’ve taught me a lot of things. I know you went to Fiona and Eleanor marked. You’re the one blocking me from your memories.” In a quick move, I pulled apart the front of his shirt. I ran three fingers across the dark rune tattooed over his muscular chest. “This one is for cloaking right?”

“Very good.”

“And this one,” I said, touching the symbol of Awen. “What does it mean?”

“It means harmony. Balance between men, women and nature.”

“It’s the symbol of the original Goddess,” I said. “Mrs. Graves told me. Why do you carry that on your flesh?”

Liam tilted his head, trying to read me. It was time for him to play his cards. All of them. In a low voice he said, “I fear you are not ready to know.”

“That isn’t the choice you get to make, Liam. Not now. Not with me.”

Without warning, I swiped my nails across his skin, tearing at the flesh. The skin seared and burned and he jumped back, shouting in pain.

“Nadya!

I held up my freshly manicured nail, sharp and pointed. “Now show me the truth.”

To my surprise, Liam relented, allowing me to kiss him deeply. His mouth parted and our tongues touched and blue light burst between us. While he used the opportunity to heal his wound, I reached into his mind, into his memories and found what I was looking for. The flood of information hit me hard, first Eleanor and then Fiona. Both women used seduction handily. Both seemed to know Liam intimately.

“I can taste my sister on your lips,” Fiona said, nibbling on Liam’s bottom lip. Her blonde hair held dozens of sparkling jewels. “Although I see you rejected her. Why? Are you coming back to me?”

“Hardly.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve convinced this little girl she’s something special.”

Liam froze, his face a mask of passivity.

“You have. And she believes you. I can tell.” She walked around Liam, eyeing him carefully. “Did she give you everything? Did she let you bury herself in her innocent body? Did she give you her strength? Her energy? She has no idea does she, of what you can do? How ultimately you have to choose.”

“Shut up, Fiona.”

“And you…you waited all this time. Was she worth it? Was it worth the years of game play and leading us on?” She tilted her head and ruffled the hair on the back of his head. Liam jerked away. “Was she better than me? Eleanor?”

“I’m only here to deliver a message. Nothing more.”

Fiona pouted and leveled her face to his. His chin jutted forward but she whispered close to his mouth. “Just one more taste, for old time’s sake.” He turned his head but she demanded a kiss anyway. Silver light burst between them, coating the two of them like a shining star.

Liam pulled away, just like he’d done with Eleanor. “Tomorrow afternoon,” he said, walking out of the room, away from her taunting accusations.

The memory ended and I pushed him away. He looked down at the wound on his chest. It hadn’t healed all the way. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell, Nadya. I’ve never been untruthful with you.”

“No? You didn’t think it was relevant that the energy we share, the connection isn’t as unique as I thought?”

“It is unique. What I have with them isn’t the same—not by any measure. You’ve used it on others before. The humans at the bar. On Grace.”

“Bullshit. None of those had power to give in return.” I steadied myself in an attempt to protect my broken heart but it was useless. We were connected. He could feel it as much as I could feel the desperation and fear building in him. “So is that what this is all about? Seeing which Queen can get you the furthest?”

“You really have no clue, do you?”

That statement sent me in a rage and I screamed and picked up a vase, throwing it his direction. Liam dodged it easily and it smashed into pieces, shattering all over the floor. “Of course I don’t, you won’t tell me everything.”

The blood on his wound began to ooze again, soaking through his shirt. It should have healed during our kiss. I glanced down at my fingernails but he’d already closed the distance between us. “I love you, Nadya. I will fight by your side, always. I will love you and heal you and give you everything you desire.” He took a deep, wheezing breath. “Many years passed while we waited for you to ascend to the throne. Waiting to see if you would be the one. I never doubted it. Not once.”

“So you waited for me because you thought I would be the most powerful. Get you the furthest.”

“I have a role in all this just like you do. My fate hasn’t always been clear, and obstacles had to be faced to get us to today.”

“You had to make sure neither of them could give you what you wanted? That I was truly the most powerful?”

“It’s not like that. Otherworld is complex. We do not always have free will like humans do. There are prophecies and legacies…I have my own destiny which has always been tied to another.” He reached for my hands. “You are my true destiny.”

“Is your destiny waiting for the right time to take advantage of our combined powers and become the most powerful Sidhe in the land?” I asked. “Who needs a Queen when there’s an even more formidable King?”

“Not a king, dear Nadya. I am your true half. The God to your Goddess Once we consummate our relationship for real, outside of protective sanctuary, we shall revert to our predetermined fates.”

“A God,” I whispered. “You’ve lost your mind.”

Liam opened his mouth to react but no words came. His hand moved to this chest, to the bloody spot where I’d scratched his rune. He slumped forward, sliding toward the floor and I ran forward and caught him before he hit his head.

“Liam!” I pressed my mouth to his, seeking the connection that ran through us during healing but found nothing. I took a deep breath and screamed, “Help! Someone help us!”

A moment later a guard burst through the door, followed by Colleen and Brayden. They raced over and tore off his shirt, looking at the bloody wound. Colleen asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t know. He’s not healing. I think he’s been poisoned.”

Brayden and Colleen shared a tense look. Isla ran over with a cloth and a small clear glass bottle filled with salve or cream. A guard pulled me away from his body and I watched as they cleaned the wound. It only opened up again, this time bleeding more profusely. It wouldn’t work, I wanted to tell them. I knew it wouldn’t. If I couldn’t heal him no one could.

* * *

“MAYBE WE SHOULD take him home and have a doctor look at him,” I said, pacing Liam’s suite. Guards, loyal to their commander, surrounded the room, while healers, summoned from around the kingdom, did what they could. I could barely look at him lying unconscious on the bed. What had I done?

“Human doctors do not have the necessary tools to heal this kind of Sidhe inflicted wound,” said Mrs. Graves. Deep lines of worry crossed her forehead. “He’s in capable hands. Do you have any idea how this happened?”

When everyone rushed in and pulled me away, I’d done the unthinkable. I swiped the nail polish from the tray in the bathroom and dropped it in a vase holding flowers near the bathtub. What else could it have been?

Either one of the servants did this to him or Grace—someone that had been in this room during my manicure—but I wanted to find out who first. And why? Did they intend for this to be used on Liam or someone else? Maybe they’d wanted to assassinate me.

“No,” I said to Mrs. Graves. “He was bleeding when he got here.”

She pursed her lips into a thin line but also beckoned Isla over. “The banquet will begin soon. Please help Nayda get ready.”

“We’re still having this meeting?”

“Of course.”

“But…” What did I plan to say? That I needed him by my side? I’d already accused him of betrayal. With Liam out of the way, this meeting may be even more successful.

“You’re wasting precious time,” Mrs. Graves declared. “Take her to her room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Isla said, looking toward the door. I left, followed by two guards and Isla, and walked down the dark hallway to my room where she immediately pointed to the bath. In all the commotion I’d never actually taken it.

The guards stood outside the door while I undressed and slipped into the still warm water. Someone must have heated it. Or maybe someone had the kind of magic to heat the water. There was so much I didn’t know about this world. And now, with Liam injured and possibly dying… I dropped my head to my hands and cried.

“Your Highness?” Isla peered into the room. “Are you injured? Hurt?”

“No,” I said, wiping my nose with a cloth. “Let’s just get ready for this event.”

After bathing, I got ready in silence. Isla assisted, buttoning the long row of buttons up my back, while another girl came into fix my hair. I didn’t care how it looked but was impressed when she revealed intricate braids winding around the sides and back of my head until they fell into a long tail down my neck. Tiny jewels were scattered through the braids that sparkled off the purple highlights when the light hit the correct way. Another girl emerged and completed my makeup, something I’d never done much more than using massive amounts of black eye-liner and mascara to complete the goth look that drove my father mad.

“How do you like it?” the girl asked.

I faced the shimmery mirror and held back a gasp. My eyelids were coated in a glittery light blue that matched my dress and my lips were a pale pink. The entire look was ultra-feminine, the complete opposite of how I normally dressed. “It’s lovely,” I said. “But, um, sort of girlish.”

“If I may,” Isla said, approaching the dressing table.

“Yes, you may speak freely. You don’t have to keep asking me that, you know.”

“Thank you,” she said, blushing. “This look, it will provide the desired effect from members of the kingdom and the visiting Queens.”

“How? I look twelve years-old.”

“Oh no,” she said. “It’s hard to explain, but I think it will make more sense once you see the other Queens.”

I’d seen images of these women in Liam’s memory. They looked like powerful, seductive women. Not like a little girl. I wondered if this was part of a larger plan to take me down. Isla had been there when my nails were painted. For all I knew, she may have orchestrated all of this.

“I think you should wear this, just in case,” she said, handing me a knife attached to a leg holster. Just like that, she shattered my fears. I lifted my skirt while she attached the sheath to my thigh.

Before I could argue with Isla, Mrs. Graves swept past the guards and into the room, unannounced.  She stopped when she saw me and clasped her hands together. “You look outstanding, Nadya. Just gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Maybe Isla was right about this look and I’m just being paranoid. “Any change?”

“No, I’m afraid not. The wound is still open and he’s unconscious.”

“Maybe I should try healing him again?” A panicky feeling rose in my stomach. “Maybe we need to postpone this whole thing?”

“Absolutely not. There isn’t time now to heal him or to back out. You must get in position. Fiona and Eleanor will be here soon.”

I followed her from the room, shaking off Isla and the other girl as they tried to make last minute adjustments to my dress and hair. Mrs. Graves and I were escorted by two guards through the castle to the grand hall. Just before we reached the doorway I stopped and said, “I’d like Colleen to accompany me.”

“She has an assignment.”

“Well, give her a new one. I’m not going in there alone.”

“Fine,” Mrs. Graves said, her voice a shade cooler. She turned to one of the guards. “Cover her position and send her in. Dressed appropriately.”

I approached the grand hall and peered in. The room sparkled as though it had been scrubbed clean. The lamps shone bright from brass fixtures, the marble floors gleamed, and the tapestries on the walls looked freshly cleaned. A roaring fire blazed in the pit, giving the cavernous, stone room a warm feel. Nothing about this place implied it had recently been trapped in a purgatory type vacuum and considering the lack of modern cleaning devices, the result was impressive.

To my surprise, the room was already filled with groups of people—or Sidhe to be more accurate. They sat in groups around the fire and at small tables arranged around the room and were dressed in various states of finery.

“Who are these people?” I asked.

“Your guests. Supporters of your kingdom. Some are members of the rebellion. Others have worked quietly in honor of your grandmother and mother for years.”

“Oh, should I meet them all?”

“No,” Mrs. Grave said. “Not today. Today is about you making an appearance and meeting with the other Queens.”

“And we do this in public? That seems…strange.”

“Maybe in the human world, but here things are a bit more transparent. Plus you’ll dine at a private table. You can take care of business there.”

Isla and the hair and makeup team emerged from nearby and immediately began adjusting my dress and hair to their liking.

“Stop,” I finally said, slapping them away with my hands. “God, I feel like I’m on Real Housewives or something.”

“Real…excuse me ma’am?”

“Never mind.”

“Television,” Colleen said, entering a side door. “These Sidhe will never understand it. Don’t even try.”

“You made it. Thank goodness,” I said, taking in her “appropriate” outfit. She looked stunning in green sheath dress. Not exactly formal, and definitely not a gown or even military uniform, but it looked like the type of outfit a political aide or personal assistant would wear.

She gave a curt nod to Mrs. Graves, who turned to leave. “After you’re announced, you’ll walk to the throne. As your confidante, I’ll follow at your side and then stand to your left. Once the Queens arrive you’ll offer Eleanor and Fiona one of the seats to your right or you can just go directly to dinner.”

She nudged me forward and a servant stepped forward and rang a bell, gaining the attention of room. The crowd hushed and stood. In a smooth, loud voice he announced, “Nadya, the Lost Queen, Daughter of Claudia, Granddaughter of Celeste, Niece to Eleanor and Fiona, Heir of the Original Goddess.”

“That’s you,” Colleen said, pushing me into the room. She followed closely behind, whispering encouragement and information in my ear, including the directive to “look royal.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I hissed, keeping my eyes forward and a plastered grin on my face. I didn’t want to look at the people bowing as I walked by. My people, as Liam would say. Liam. I hoped he was improving.

“Perfect.”

I’d only been seated for a moment when a commotion at the door caught my attention. “They’re here,” I heard from an unknown source. My stomach churned with nerves.

After all this time I would face them. Fiona and Eleanor. My mother’s sisters. Her murderers. The ones who set all of this into motion.

I swallowed and lifted my chin. “Send them in.”

* * *

IN A FAST whisper, Colleen prepped me for their entrance. They would be announced in order according to their birth. Yes, they were twins (or triplets, including my mother) but Fiona was still two minutes younger. Thank goodness Mrs. Graves prepared me for announcement of their titles. I was able to keep a straight face. Sometimes this place was too much.

“Fiona, Queen of Solar, Daughter of Celeste, Sister to Eleanor and Claudia, Heir of the Original Goddess,” a man dressed in formal clothing announced, followed by the Queen’s entrance.

The guards and staff stood at alert, only moving to bow as she passed. Two handmaidens in equally beautiful gowns followed close behind. Fiona wore a dress made of gold and white fabric, her hair long and flowing with an exquisite crown resting on top of her head. My god, she looked like Cinderella. I expected birds to come and carry the train of her dress. Absolutely star struck, it took a moment to gain my composure and proceed as I was instructed. I moved to stand just as she arrived in front of my throne. Then I bowed. Fiona’s lips twisted into a gracious smile.

“Your Highness,” I said, repeating what Mrs. Graves had taught me to say. “Welcome.”

“Nadya, child, aren’t you gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“May I approach?”

I glanced at Colleen and she gave me a tight nod. “Of course.”

Fiona stepped forward and I was hit by the delicious scent of vanilla. She caressed my cheek with a gloved hand. “Yes, I see the resemblance. You’re definitely part of the family.”

“Please, have a seat,” I said, and a servant ushered her to a high backed seat near the fire. I didn’t like the mention of family, seeing as how she’d played a part in my mother’s death. But I would address that later. From the noises coming at the entrance to the hall I had a feeling Eleanor was tired of waiting.

“Eleanor, Queen of Ravenwood, Daughter of Celeste, Sister to Fiona and Claudia, Heir of the Original Goddess.”

I braced myself for the woman who thrived in the land of cold and darkness, hunters and soldiers. On first sight she didn’t disappoint. She strode down the hall, shoulders back, chin up. Her dress was black and close fitting, trailing dramatically at the cuffs and down the back. Her crown was made of a black metal in the design of vines twisted together. She was a goth’s dream. I never could have imagined a more stunning dress, and her makeup—heavens her makeup. Her eye-liner was dark and heavy. It almost looked like paint. But my eyes were glued to the black-red shade of her lipstick. Divine. Three servants trailed her, dressed in what looked like military garb.

Without averting my attention, I whispered to Colleen, “I feel like I’m in some sort of Disney movie.”

“Shhh…” she replied, with a choked laugh.

Eleanor stopped in the same spot as Fiona, who was lounging in her chair down the way and made no effort to stand when I did. Okay, then. I was getting a feeling why these two identified separately with dark and light. It was in their nature.

“Welcome,” I said, feeling the cold wave of hostility.

“Nadya.”

“I’m glad you came,” I said, searching for the right words. If Eleanor’s intention was to intimidate me then she was doing a good job.

She glanced behind me and said in a quiet voice, “That was my mother’s throne.”

I looked down at the fur covered seat. “Oh, I didn’t know…”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Ignore my sister,” Fiona said, from her chair. “She has no manners. I, for one, am thrilled to be in the old castle. It’s been ages.”

Eleanor’s eye twitched, betraying the annoyance her sister caused her, but did not address her. Mrs. Graves appeared in the side door way and gave me a quick nod. “Um, I think now would be a great time to have dinner, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, wonderful,” Fiona said, finally rousing off her seat. Colleen followed us to the table on the far side of the fire pit. She carried herself with such a professional aloofness it was hard to reconcile her with the woman that worked with me for years at the airport. The good news was that she showed no fear, and that bolstered me a little. Thank god, there was no room for fear tonight. Not from our side of the table.

When we sat down, one associate of each queen sat with them. Colleen sat by my side in the seat Liam should have occupied. His absence was obvious to everyone and finally Fiona asked, “Where is Liam?”

“He’s, uh, occupied with some work.”

“Something more important than this?” Eleanor asked. Her eyes swept across the table at her sister, reminding me that even though they were different they had a shared interest.

“Yes, I expect him back soon, though.” They didn’t need to know he was injured. Or that I had done it myself. Sort of.

“Good,” Fiona said with a small smile. “I can’t wait to see him.”

“I’m sure he feels likewise,” I replied trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone. I wasn’t sure I succeeded. I reached for the silver goblet filled with wine and took a deep swallow. That must have been a signal of some kind, as maids and servers swooped down on the table and began filling it with platters of food and carafes of wine. I was happy to see them both dig in. Even with my nerves I was starving.

Like Mrs. Graves said, the pheasant was delicious. Both Eleanor and Fiona kept their tone pleasant, although I suspect it was the wine more than anything else.

“Tell us about your time in Otherworld. Where have you traveled?”

I thought for a moment, trying to ascertain if this was a trick question or not. They both had kept tabs on me for most of my time here. “I had the opportunity to travel through both of your kingdoms. They are both lovely. I can see why you are so protective of your land.”

“We’ve sunk our souls into Otherworld. Centuries of hard work and sacrifice to our people.”

“I can tell; your personalities are linked so closely to the landscape. To the people, too—they are very loyal.”

“Most, at least. Is that loyalty why you chose to kill my soldiers?” Fiona asked, nonchalantly.

“I didn’t choose to. I was forced to when they attacked me.”

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “Tell me more about your use of the birds. Very inventive.”

“That was an accident.”

“Was it?”

Colleen gave the slightest shake of the head. She was right. Eleanor didn’t need to know I didn’t have full control over my magic. “Can we talk about something else?”

“If we must,” Eleanor said, eyes narrowed. “Let’s talk about your plans for the castle and land surrounding it.”

“Well,” I said, trying to measure my words to sound informed. “It’s my understanding the Deadlands were encroaching on your kingdoms, threatening your vegetation and animals. I’m hoping that will stop now.”

“That is true,” Fiona said, reaching for a chocolate covered strawberry from a bowl a server had just placed on the table. “But it’s more complicated that. Everything in Otherworld works on a fine equilibrium. You coming here upsets that balance.”

Eleanor gave me a patronizing grin. “For example, the dark magic in Ravenwood balances the light magic in Solar. Warmth versus cold. Positive energy against negative. We’re two sides of a coin.”

“We’re just not sure where you fit into this equation.” Fiona glanced at me after inspecting her nails. “There aren’t three sides to a coin, after all.”

“And it’s my understanding that there should only really be one queen. Yet Otherworld has three,” I said.

“I’ll give you another example,” Eleanor said. “If a subject from Solar came to me with the intent to betray her Queen, I would take her in…just to keep an eye on things. I’d punish the traitor, of course, but then use her for the greater good of our kingdoms. Using her skills to bring me useful information. In the end she would suffer for her original duplicity.”

A small smirk appeared on Fiona’s face. Her eyes cut between me and Colleen. Eleanor continued, “You betray my sister, you betray me.”

“That is, until a third party gets involved,” Fiona added. “Some people need to mind their own business.”

“Are you talking about Grace?” I asked. Neither woman replied. I had a feeling they got off on vague accusations and manipulation. Plus they conveniently failed to realize the hypocrisy of their involvement with my mother’s death. As though that wasn’t a betrayal of its own. “Because I’m pretty sure she did what you asked. Why did you torture her?”

“Not everything we asked,” Eleanor said, dryly. “Or we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“She brought me to your castle. The gates slammed shut on their own accord. That wasn’t her fault.”

“But she’s here, correct? Living with you?” Fiona asked.

“If I may,” Collen interjected, “Why don’t we talk about traitors later? There are many issues between the kingdoms that need to be discussed.”

“Right,” I said, happy for the focus. Colleen nodded and I removed the small slip of paper I’d tucked into the small pocket of my gown. It was a list of ideas I didn’t want to forget. “You both know I am new to this and it is not a job or title I am exactly comfortable with yet. But I won’t pretend I don’t feel a connection to this land and to the castle and even the people here, including you both. I would like to work with you on a reasonable truce for the time being.”

“Why would we consider a truce?”

“Because you know this land rightfully belonged to my mother. And you not only killed Celeste but you killed my mother, too. I don’t know how the law works around here but in the human world there is a severe punishment for that level of crime. My mother cared enough about Otherworld to spend her life monitoring the portal and keeping both worlds safe. And from what I understand, she was willing to return to Otherworld and you were willing to kill her to keep her away. That is enough motivation for me to stake my claim. And that scene with the birds and the soldiers I have taken on in this world and my home world should be enough to motivate you to back off. At least for now. Otherwise all this talk about how you care for your people isn’t very meaningful.”

“Aren’t you smug?” Fiona said with a snarl. “I see a little of my sister in there. I wonder if you’ll look the same begging for mercy.”

I tapped my sharpened nails on the table. “I will take you out before you get the chance to kill me.”

Fiona’s eyes widened, unused to being spoken to that way, but Eleanor just laughed. “You’re a strong little girl with some definite potential, but fighting with birds and stealing the energy of the dead can only take you so far. I will admit that losing Claudia was probably a mistak—“

“You killed her.”

She shrugged as if the semantics were unnecessary to justify. “We acted rashly. You are correct about the land. We need the entire kingdom whole so it can begin to repair itself. The three of us need to work together—equally—to make this happen.”

Fiona opened her mouth to argue but Eleanor shot her a firm look. She didn’t look happy about the admonishment but remained quiet. Increasingly, it became clear that Eleanor wasn’t just the older sister. She was the dominant one as well.

“How do you propose we work together?” I asked.

“As far as a truce goes…we’re willing to discuss, but on our terms.”

Colleen spoke up and said, “Explain.”

“We agree to recognize Nayda as the Queen of this land. We will remain peaceful with the intent of healing the land, making it fertile and habitable for all. We will trade with one another and maintain a healthy economic relationship.”

“So far this only really benefits Solar and Ravenwood,” Colleen said. “What is the value for Nadya?”

“We will maintain this truce for three years, giving you time to build your kingdom, an army and any allies. We will have time to heal and fortify ourselves. The Guard will maintain the portal like they have since the beginning of time.” She smiled without a trace of bitterness. “After that we can reassess. I mean, it’s possible by then we’ll all be friends.”

To my surprise Fiona nodded in agreement. I wasn’t even sure she’d been paying attention. “We’ll think it over,” Colleen said.

“Of course,” Eleanor replied. “And please, add in any additional criteria you have. Should we meet again in three days?”

She looked directly at me and I nodded. “Three days sounds fine.”

I realized during all of this discussion the table had been cleared. The servers came forward with delicious-looking dessert of chocolate cake covered with berries. I lifted my fork and took the first, sweet bite, hoping maybe things would work out after all. When I looked up from my plate I saw Eleanor watching me, fork poised gracefully at her mouth. My father always said, “Don’t make a deal with the devil.” I never fully understood it. Not until now.

* * *

“HOW IS HE?” I asked the moment dinner was over. My guests had retired to their own quarters. The journey back to their own kingdoms was too far to go at this time of night. They would leave in the morning.

“No change,” Mrs. Graves said.

“I have one last idea.” I’d already walked away, headed in the direction of Grace’s room. She sat on her bed reading a book. The security bracelets were visible on her wrists. “Tell me you didn’t poison Liam.”

“He was poisoned? What happened?” she asked, obviously out of the loop. “And no, Gods, no, I didn’t poison him. The last person I want to think I wanted him dead is Liam Caldwell.”

She had a point.

“I scratched him and something in the nail polish must have been charmed or poisoned. He’s unconscious. Do you know how to help him?” I knew she had a gift in this type of spell work.

“There are several antidotes to this type of infection. Can you direct me to the apothecary? I may be able to work something up.”

Apothecary? Of course this place had its own pharmacy. I nodded and took her to the hallway where I found a guard. “Escort her to the apothecary and give her anything she needs.”

“Your Highness, are you sure that’s wise?

“Did you just question me?” I snapped. I was on the verge of really snapping big time. Exhausted and worn out from the meeting with two conniving queens and poisoning the man I loved—the man who’d possibly betrayed me. “Take her to the apothecary.”

“Yes ma’am.”

They went the opposite way and I managed to find my way back to Liam’s quarters without any assistance. He was surrounded by a group of people. Healers and guards. Colleen had returned and Brayden stood vigil. Standing over him I said, “Everyone leave. Please.”

“Are you sure—“ Someone had the gall to ask.

“Yes!” I shouted. “I’m sure. Positive. Absolutely.” I took a moment to look every person in the eye while inhaling deeply. Several paled in fear. Others returned my look with confidence. “You’ve asked me to stand up for you all and take the title of your Lost Queen. I’ve left my home. I’ve met with the opposition. I’ve possibly lost the very soul that binds me to the universe. I have done everything you’ve asked of me yet when I ask something of you, all I get in return are objections and questions.” I paused and lowered my voice. “From now on you will do as I ask, the first time.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I addressed the healers. “Go to the apothecary. I sent a girl down there to work on an antidote. Assist her.” The women nodded and scurried out of the room. “Everyone else, leave.”

Once they were gone, I approached Liam. They’d left him on the bed shirtless and with no bandage covering his wound. Blood wasn’t flowing, but the scratch marks hadn’t scabbed over either. It was obvious that the injury was magical and that only magic would solve it. I just didn’t understand why I couldn’t heal him. I sat down on his mattress, fighting the skirt of the dress to get as close to him as possible.

“I can’t believe you’re missing me in this dress,” I said. “You’re probably the only one who would truly appreciate it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful, but I’d rather be in a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt.”

He lay silently, lost somewhere beyond consciousness. Tears sprang to my eyes and I wiped them away. “I’m so sorry. I was mad. So mad. And scared. Really, really scared. The idea of you betraying me—it’s something I’ve carried since we met. It’s a fear I’ve allowed to fester even when you’ve shown me time and time again that you’ve got my back.” I couldn’t hold back the sob anymore and let loose, resting my head on the side of his chest that wasn’t injured. “They want a truce, Liam. For three years. But how can I believe them? Look at what happened to you. I’m sure they’re behind it. And my mother and the attacks back home.”

I sat and ran my hand down his arm and across his stomach, just in case he could feel me. “But what if I don’t take the offer and they attack? It could be worse for all of us. I don’t know what to do and I need you here to help me.”

I pressed my lips to his. The normal rush of energy wasn’t there although there was a small thread that still connected us. The part that was missing left a hole in my chest. An ache. I missed him—that thing between us—and I would give anything to get it back. I kissed him again. All over his face and neck. I kissed him near his wound, using the tactics that have always worked in healing. Nothing worked.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again, curling into his side, eyes closed. I whispered close to his ear, “I love you. I’ll do anything to get you back, I’ll fight for you. Promise.”

* * *

THE HEALERS RETURNED just before dawn. Grace followed them into the room, and it was clear from her disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing she hadn’t slept all night. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “Anything?”

“We tested the nail polish. It wasn’t poisoned.”

“What? How can that be?”

“I don’t know but we created a couple of potions. We’re going to try them, but I’m not optimistic,” Grace said.

I moved away from the bed and watched as the healers applied various salves to the wound. We waited in the silent room, hoping for a miracle. It never came.

“What do we do now?” I asked, Grace. “I can’t lose him.”

“There’s one alternative, but you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m willing to try anything.”

She sighed, not hiding the wariness on her face. “Fiona may be able to help him.”

“Then let’s get her! She’s in the castle.” I moved to the door, ready to wake her. Grace grabbed my arm and held me back.

“Having Fiona save Liam puts you in a position of debt you may never be able to pay. Consider this carefully.”

“His life is worth any debt,” I argued. “I can’t let him remain like this or die because of their petty politics.”

“They aren’t petty. I don’t know what happened in your meeting tonight, but they surely are working out the angles to gain the upper hand. You can’t trust them.”

“They want a truce! They’re working with us. Maybe they appreciate my power. It’s possible they fear me.” Even as I said the words, I believed them. I was powerful. More and more so every day.

“Oh they fear you, alright, but not in a way that gives you power in this situation. I can’t predict their next move but you must be careful.” She looked at Liam, pale and lifeless on the bed. “Sacrificing Liam may be the only way to handle this.”

Did she just suggest I sacrifice Liam for the kingdom? She did, and the result was a burning rage that bubbled hot and swift. It’s the same feeling I had when I confronted everyone the night before. I had no control over it and wasn’t sure I wanted to have any. “How dare you suggest I sacrifice Liam, the one I am bonded to, because of some feud in a land I’ve been in for less than a week. I don’t know any of you, but I do know him. I know his heart. I know that my own fears created this situation in the first place. I’ve betrayed him once. I will not do it again.”

I rushed past her with a wave of my hand and to both of our surprise she flew backward against the wall, landing hard. She gasped and held her stomach in pain. I spread my hands and felt the tingle of energy.

“How?” I asked, making no move to help her. “How did I do that?”

“This place is changing you.” She grimaced and picked herself off the floor. “You know it. You can feel it. I can, too.”

A guard stood just outside the door and I called him in. “Take her back to her room. Make sure the bracelets are secure.”

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in the direction of her room. She looked back and cried, “Nadya! Don’t do this.”

“I have no choice,” I said, walking toward the guest quarters. The halls were quiet, no servants wandering around. It was still early and as much as I didn’t want to wake Fiona, like I’d just told Grace, there was little choice.

I entered her rooms and found her aide awake in the parlor. “I need to see Fiona. It’s important.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t say anything. Maybe word had gotten around that I had lost all patience. She disappeared to the darkened bedroom and I heard soft talking and finally they both emerged. Fiona wore long, flowing lingerie. The fabric was sheer and thin, revealing much of her body. I tried to keep my eyes level, but she was a beautiful woman. A knowing smirk twisted on her lips.

“This better be good,” she said, settling into the velvet chaise.

“I apologize for waking you. This is an emergency.”

She yawned, clearly only half interested. “What sort of emergency? You didn’t kill my sister did you? I suggested she sleep with a blade.”

“What? No I didn’t kill Eleanor.” I sighed. “It’s about Liam.”

“What about him?”

“I just…I wasn’t completely honest about him last night.”

His name roused her from her apathy. “How so?”

“He’s injured. Somehow…I don’t know. I thought he’d been poisoned. But now…I can’t even explain what is going on, but the healers can’t do anything and he’s unconscious. He’s not responding in any way. I fear for his life.”

“And you came here?”

“I know you’re powerful with the use of spells and potions. Is there anything you can do to help him?” I swallowed and managed the following words, despite the bitter taste, “I know you’re close to him. I know he cares for you.”

She stood abruptly and said to her aide, “Get my robe.”

“You’ll come?”

“Of course. Take me to him.” She wrapped the belt white velvet robe around her waist and once we left her rooms she said, “Tell me everything that has happened so far.”

I lied. I told her Liam arrived back from his trip with the scratch on his chest, unable to communicate about what happened or who had hurt him. I didn’t tell her I did this to him—I couldn’t. She didn’t need any more reason not to trust me more than she already did.

“I tried to heal him,” I said, unsure of how much she knew about the bond Liam and I shared. Could they heal one another, too? Or did they just share energy?

“But it didn’t work?”

“No. Nothing. The wound just continued to fester.”

In his room, Fiona approached the bed, kneeling next to Liam’s head. She touched his red, irritated skin and carefully inspected the wound. Leaning forward she sniffed the injury and frowned. “You said you healed him before?”

“Yes. Liam and I can, uh, heal one another?”

“How do you normally perform this?”

I assessed her face and found her expression sincere. Grace had made me paranoid. Everything about this place made me paranoid. “Usually it involves a level of intimacy.”

“Of course,” she said, knowingly. Did she know? From personal experience? “And you tried these methods?”

“Yes; he was unresponsive.”

She turned back to Liam and investigated the wound further. I watched as she ran her hands down his arms until she reached his hands, studying his fingernails and lifted his eyelids. Fiona bent closer to inspect his pupils. Finally, to my horror she ran a finger over the oozing sore and licked the tip with her tongue.

“Oh my god,” I said, holding back a gag. “What are you doing?”

“You’re right, he’s been poisoned. But not by a potion. It’s venom.”

“What? Like from an animal?” My mind spun, trying to grasp what she said.

“These marks look like talons or claws. It must have been some kind of predator. The problem is that we don’t know exactly what attacked him and obviously he can’t tell us.”

I swallowed. Venom. From my nails? I needed to tell her. I couldn’t. But what if it saved him? I struggled with the idea, fighting mentally. She approached me and took my hand roughly. Lifting my fingers under her nose she sniffed. With narrow, amused eyes she said, “You did this.”

“By accident. I promise.”

“I’m sure,” she said, looking between us.

“You should have told me. I have an idea for a cure.”

“What? What is it?”

“Your blood.”

I looked at this woman. This queen in her luxurious white velvet robe with gold embroidered trim. She was gorgeous, like a supermodel or a contestant from the Miss Inner-World Pageant, and she was telling me to use my blood to cure Liam from venom I infected him with. I needed to go home.

Aware I struggled with the concept, she said, “I suspect the usual way you heal Liam isn’t strong enough to deal with the venom. The venom is in his blood stream, something that even your very powerful healing techniques may not be able to penetrate. I think if you inject him directly with your blood it may help cleanse his system.

“Holy crap,” I said, shaking my head in wonder. “That almost makes sense.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Of course,” I said, turning to the guard and demanding that he get us the medical supplies from the healers. He was only gone for a moment and returned followed by Mrs. Graves, Colleen, Grace and the other healers. The room was suddenly packed with people, but I pushed their presence out, focusing on the antiquated looking syringe.

“Let me,” Grace said, stepping forward. I exposed my arm and she picked up the syringe. Fiona stepped forward and ran her hand over my arm. The air shimmered over it and I felt a tingling sensation.

“What did you do?” I asked, but I already knew. My arm felt numb and I closed my eyes when Grace pushed the needle into the soft flesh near the crook of my elbow. Due to whatever spell Fiona conjured, I felt nothing. I opened my eyes and along with the rest of the room, watched quietly as she extracted a full syringe of blood.

“This should be enough,” Grace said, holding the syringe in the air. “Do you want me to do it?”

“No. I can do it,” I said, thinking back to the time I had to give my diabetic cat shots. Not that it was the same but…well, I wanted to do this alone with Liam. I needed to be alone with him when he woke up. For my safety and his. “Do you all mind if we have some privacy?”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed, just barely, but she turned abruptly and left the room first. I guess her work was done. Everyone else followed her lead, although Mrs. Graves lingered with deep lines of concern etched in her forehead. I noticed her tired eyes and said, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll fix this. I have to, you know that, right?”

“I know,” she said, closing the door behind her.

With the syringe clutched tight in my hand I approached the bed. Even in pain he was beautiful. Unearthly. I should have known all along he wasn’t human. How could he have ever been?

“It’s just you and me,” I said, standing above him. “Like the time you almost bled to death in the airport and then healed right before my eyes.” Without another thought I held the syringe over his wound, whispered a quiet prayer and stabbed the needle into his chest. Nothing happened, not even a gasp, until I pushed the end, plunging the vial of blood into his body. The reaction was instant, blood snaking away from the wound. The anti-venom, my blood, boiled under his skin, leaving dark lines as it traveled through his body.

I watched in silence. Jaw dropped, eyes wide. I didn’t breathe or move. I just watched the wound heal, skin knitting together, until his chest was perfect again.

“Liam?” I asked. I took his hand and squeezed. His fingers returned the motion and I nearly squealed when his eyes popped open blue and burning. I leaned forward but he sat up, muscles taut, eyes pinned to mine. “I was so scared. I thought I’d lost—“

Before I finished my thought he was off the bed and kissing me, hands cupped around my face. I plunged into him, his mind and thoughts, seeking his center. His self. I found all of that and more.

Chapter 36

Liam

THE FIRST THING I saw was Nadya. Her dark hair and the smooth exposed skin of her shoulders. Even before I opened my eyes I felt her near me. I felt her in me, tiny heartbeats rushing through my veins. I had no memory of what happened, how I got here, but I only wanted one thing. Her.

With a burst of energy I leapt from the bed and kissed her. Gods, she tasted so good. So perfect. I felt like a man taking his first breath—his first drink. Light sprang between us, buzzing with energy. I tugged at the straps of her dress, the beads snapping between my fingers. I glanced down and realized it was styled for the women in my world. “This is a sight to wake up to,” I said against her mouth, taking in the rest of her—the braids and eye decorations. Everything about her had the allure of Otherworld. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her commit to. She looked beautiful. Royal.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m better than okay.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, pressing her mouth to my neck. A shiver ran down my back and I kissed her again, harder. She sank against the wall, dark hair against white plaster. Never have I wanted a woman so badly. The desire burned in my belly, hardened my body.

“Everything is heightened,” I said. Her eyelashes looked a mile long. Her scent was overpowering—delicious. I wanted to taste her. “I feel so…”

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

“I healed you.”

I paused. Well, my mouth. My hands continued to roam, my brain was too distracted to recall my last memory. “You did? From what?”

“A wound. In your chest. It was bad, Liam. I almost killed you.”

“But you healed me.”

“I did, but not in our usual way.”

I didn’t exactly care. Nadya and I had saved one another from a dozen injuries at this point, but to be fair, I’d never felt like this afterward. I never felt like I had more energy than my body could contain. I mean, I’d considered something like this could happen, but only if we—

“Did we…” I searched for the words. No need. She shook her head in the negative. “Then what? No,” I said. “I don’t care. Gods, I just don’t care. I should care, but I don’t, Nadya. My body is going to burst if I don’t release this energy and I’d prefer to release it with and in you.”

She grinned. “You’ll have to wait for alone time. There are pressing matters.”

“You can’t convince me anything is more important than you, right now, with me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the two of us? That together we’re Gods,” she asked. Those were the last words I remember saying to her. “How is that possible?”

“I was afraid you’d run if I told you. That you would think I’m insane. Or,” I said, with great hesitation, “That you would believe I was using you to assert my own power. Without you I am just a Sidhe Guardian, nothing more. But what you do not understand is I am willing to be only that to share a life with you—any life.”

“Liam,” she said, taking my face in hers. “You are already larger than life—a god among men. There is no “just” when it comes to you.”

The longing for her intensified. I kissed her hard—desperate. I’d do anything for her. Including deprive myself for eternity. “I love you, Nadya.”

“Even though I almost killed you?”

“Gods yes. I love your strength and power.”

She looked up through a tangle of dark lashes and sighed. “Everyone is outside waiting to hear if you survived.”

“Oh.” Regardless I pressed my mouth to hers, tasting her warm breath. “They can wait. You’re the Queen and I’m, well…me.”

A loud banging shook the wooden door. Nadya smiled as I cursed. “You’ll pay for this later.”

When she turned away, I said a quick prayer, thanking the Gods for her. At the door she lamely attempted to fix her strap. Another loud knock and I heard her name shouted through the thick door.

“Are you ready to face them?” she asked, eyes roaming over my body. I situated myself appropriately.

I flashed her a smile. “With you, I’m ready for anything.”

Chapter 37

Nadya

“HE’S OKAY. THE antidote worked.”

This announcement was met with a mixture of expressions. Several matching my own relief, Colleen and the other Guards, primarily. Grace had a small, sly smirk on her face, and Mrs. Graves, well her disapproving grin seemed even more disapproving than usual as her eyes lingered on my broken dress strap. She pushed past me to find Liam, who I’d left cleaning up in the bathroom. Fiona was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did she go?” I asked Grace, once the crowd dispersed. I’m sure half to spread rumors through the kingdom. This was a really weird place.

“She didn’t stay around after you closed the doors. I guess she figured it would work and went back to bed. Or maybe she was jealous. Or needed her beauty rest. Trust me, I have no idea how that woman’s mind works.” She pinched my arm and asked, “How is he?”

“Okay, I think. He had a lot of energy from the cure. Like it didn’t just heal him, it revitalized him.” I studied her carefully, trying to decide, again, if I could trust her. “We’ve always known that together we are stronger. This seems to confirm it.”

“So what now?”

“Now? I’ll let Mrs. Graves fuss over him and Colleen fill him in on everything he needs to know about the meeting with the other kingdoms. I’ll be in my room. Asleep. Go back to your room too, Grace. Thank you for your help.”

Back in my room, I undressed and put on a t-shirt from back home. Everything from the past week crashed over me and even though I wasn’t exactly relaxed, I fell asleep. I woke once, maybe. I recalled growling at Isla when she approached me on my way to the bathroom. Later, I did feel the bed shift under me and I rolled toward the movement and found myself wrapped in strong, warm arms.

“Go back to sleep,” Liam whispered, and I drifted.

I dreamed of the castle, the rolling, green hills that surrounded it. Fruit trees and lush crops. I walked through the gardens until I found a path, surrounded by shady trees. I inhaled the scent of rich, fertile land. It seemed endless, until I came to a muddy river. I crossed it, knee deep in the water, holding the fabric of a blue cotton dress bunched in my hand. The hem dipped in the water but I made it to the other side where the landscape changed. I was back in the Deadlands. Just ahead was a tree. Barren and dead but a long branch grew to the side with a long rope hanging, tied like a noose.

“This is what they fear.”

I turned and found Liam by my side. The bottoms of his trousers were wet. “What do they fear?”

“Me and you.”

“Why? I want to live peacefully.”

He grimaced. “It’s not that easy.”

“Then make it easy. Fix this.”

“Please don’t make me,” he said as though I had all the power. That was silly. If I’d learned anything, Liam was the one with power. Over me. Fiona. Even Eleanor.

I looked at the rope, a nervous feeling creeping up my neck. “Who is it for?”

“You have to decide.”

“Between them?

He frowned. “Between us.”

I woke with a start, coated in sweat, clutched tight by Liam’s arms. The room had the light of dawn seeping through the windows. I saw Liam’s face. His frown and furrowed brow. “What? A dream?”

“A nightmare,” I said, seeking his face with my hands. I felt his jaw and along the lines of his cheekbones. He kissed my fingers.

“What about?”

“It didn’t make sense. It was just weird.” I blinked, feeling groggy, like I couldn’t shake the lingering effects of the dream. “How long was I out?”

“Since yesterday morning. You lost a day.”

“Wow. Okay, well, what did I miss?” My stomach growled. I clasped my hands over it to squelch the sound. “Besides food.”

He hopped out of bed and brought me a tray of fruit, cheese and meat. “Your little handmaiden made me promise to give this to you. She’s probably got her ear glued to the door right now to make sure.”

“Probably,” I said, through a mouthful of bread. “So right, besides food, what did I miss?”

“Eleanor and Fiona left yesterday morning. Colleen and Brayden got me up to date on the treaty. Mrs. Graves fussed over me. She’s much more in her element here than back in the human world.”

“Did you see Fiona and Eleanor before they left?”

“Briefly. They know I’m okay.”

“Fiona helped save you. She told me how to do it. I never would have figured it out on my own.”

He grimaced. “Ah, so I owe her a debt?”

“We owe her.”

“Even worse.”

We ate quietly for a moment and then I asked, “What did you think about the terms of the treaty?”

He rubbed his chin. “I think it’s okay. I’d rather it be a bit longer than three years—I don’t know why they set the time limit, other than they’re hoping to come up with a way to bend your will to theirs.”

“I have no intention of bending any time soon.”

“I know, and I love that about you.”

I look into his eyes. “I love you too.”

“Are we good?” he asked.

“Sorry about that,” I mumbled, looking down at my hands. “This place makes me a little crazy. Definitely paranoid.”

“You have to trust me.”

“I do. There was a moment I thought I may lose you and that was enough to push aside my worries. But I do need to know one more thing—something important.”

“Go ahead.”

“How did you know you and I were the match and not Eleanor or Fiona? Could you have picked one of them? They seemed to think so.”

“It’s like fitting a key in a lock,” he said taking my hand in his. “There is only one key that will fit in a particular lock. It was never a choice; it has always been about fate binding us together. I am a Guardian of the land—a role created specifically by the original Goddess. The true Queen must have a companion, not necessarily of her choosing, but one destined for her. This is my destiny, and apparently yours. Together our power will be unrivaled.”

“Fiona and Eleanor thought they could win you over?”

“They stole their kingdoms. They thought they could steal me too.”

“But you knew better?” I asked.

“I had a feeling, one that was realized the day your abilities were revealed.”

A question. The question nagged at the back of my mind. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth all along?”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “As much as you had to learn to trust me, I had to trust you. I had to train you and make sure you were committed. I had to know once you got here you would be willing to take all of this on. It’s why I panicked when Grace brought you earlier than I expected. What if you had balked? What if you had run directly to Fiona or Eleanor—or they got to you first? It could have been a disaster. I was hoping to explain all this to you gradually, but life doesn’t always work out the way I want it to.” He touched my face. “I’ve had decades to deal with Fiona and Eleanor and know their true intentions. My time with you has been very intense but so overwhelming. I had to make sure.”

I nodded. “What happens next?”

“We hand over that signed treaty and go home.”

“Home?” The thought of home brought a pang to my chest.

A smile crept over his lips. “I protect the portal. So do you.”

“What about the castle?”

“The day-to-day can be handled by others. I’m sure Mrs. Graves will make the sacrifice. We can make regular visits and,” he shrugged, “If you decide you want to live here you have every right to reassign me.”

For the first time in weeks I considered that everything would be okay. “So that’s the plan? Having our cake and eating it too?”

“Yes. That’s the plan.” He laughed. “Now, I think you agreed to revisit something from yesterday?”

“Something?”

Liam leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were warm, and for once we were truly in synch. No injuries or warring emotions. No race against death, evil queens or soldiers breathing down our necks. The only breath I felt was his mingled with mine.

“Should we do this?” I asked. He pressed against me, I had no idea how “no” was even a possible answer.

“We should definitely do this.”

“You said once we consummate our bodies outside of the protective sanctuary then we’d fully merge—I’m not ready for all of that.”

“Trust me?”

I nodded, even after he held up his blade.

“I’ll make it quick,” he said, rolling me to my side. Heat boiled in me as he worked. With a tense jaw and concentrated eyes, he marked the soft flesh of my hip. Energy sourced between us, the intention of the mark spreading through my limbs. By the time he finished, pressing his mouth against the symbol and whispering ancient words warm and commanding, I panted. Desperate for him.

“There,” he said. “It’s like mystical birth control.”

“That’s why you carry the mark?”

“Among other reasons.”

His mouth covered mine and like that I submitted. My t-shirt and both of our shorts fell to the floor. I had no desire to fight him. My only wish was to be with him. My blood ran through his veins. We were already joined. We’d joined in the Valley, and just as I knew then, his feelings were pure. He was my destiny and I was his.

For the first time I gave myself to him fully. No mind-tricks. No magic. Just his hands on my body, his body in mine, joined, sticky and slick. Letting go allowed me to fully embrace the moment in a way that eluded me before. My stomach tensed and my brain shut off, falling into a haze of ecstasy. Colors danced between us, blue and purple. Through the pleasure, I felt him—all of him—as he moved hard and swift. My hands clenched his back, pulling him closer.

“Gods,” he murmured against my cheek. He still prayed to the very entities that he was nearly one of himself.

I felt the rush of him in me and my body complied, tightening around him, pleasure painting our colors deep red.

I lay beneath him, wiggling away as he kissed my sensitive inner thighs.

“How do you feel?” he asked, kissing his way up my belly.

“Happy.”

He looked up, a wide grin on his face. “Me too.”

But there was more—something greater rolling beneath the surface. Power, but we already knew that. This feeling, it anchored us together, to this place and to one another. I knew why Fiona and Eleanor wanted it so badly. It was the one thing they could never have, set aside the day they murdered Celeste.

The strength and rewards of unconditional love.

Chapter 38

Liam

WE RODE OUT of the kingdom toward the meeting point. This time we had an entourage. Several guards including Colleen and Brayden. Nadya had requested that Grace come along. Servants carried our bags, as we planned to leave for the human world from the meeting.

Mrs. Graves stayed back at the castle, pleased with her role of caretaker. Colleen would stay back as well to serve as a liaison between the kingdoms. It seemed like a stable set up. If not, Nadya and I would be only a portal-hop away. I had faith we could make this arrangement work—at least until I figured out what Fiona and Eleanor planned. Of course they had something planned. Didn’t they always?

I glanced at the woman beside me. Nayda insisted on wearing her human clothing to the meeting. Some sort of attempt to stand her ground. Whatever she wanted. I trusted her instincts. She gave me a small knowing look, a smile on her lips, before focusing on the trail ahead. Our time in bed was intense. I could sense her desire to join with me again. Or maybe that was just my own want. Her horse moved forward and she gave me a fast glance, eyes narrowed, lips playful. No, she wanted me too. Gods, we just needed to get through this treaty signing and I’d take her home and keep her in bed for days.

Camelot picked up her pace to stay close. I kept my eyes on her hair, the way it swung back and forth from the knot Isla had arranged it in. Her bangs lay blunt across her forehead, purple streaked down the sides. Small studs sparkled in her ears, the necklace from her mother hung around her neck. I noticed the glint of the red, jeweled ring on her finger as she gripped the reins.

The lush lands of her kingdom faded away and we met the place unclaimed by the Deadlands’ revival.

“Is this the furthest the vegetation reaches?” she asked. Deep lines marred her forehead.

“It will happen, eventually. Total reclaiming will take time—years even.”

We came to a river and the guards crossed it first. Nayda waited at the edge and I eased Camelot next to her. “Afraid to cross?”

“No,” she said. “I dreamed of this place.”

“A nightmare?” Dreams held significance in Otherworld. Often they were more than a restless mind. Any disturbance Nadya had I should know.

“Sort of. Nothing happened in the river—it was more about what we find on the other side.”

“Did anything bad happen? Dangerous?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m being silly.”

Grace’s horse came along side ours. She’d heard Nadya and the same concern I had was evident on her face. She frowned and looked between the two of us. “I’m sure it was just nerves about the meeting.” I prodded them along and followed behind them. The remaining guards brought up the rear.

“Eleanor and Fiona picked this spot because it was a crossroads for the kingdoms,” I explained to Nadya. The lands meet here, which gives you all even footing. It’s symbolic more than anything else.” We rode over the small hill and the clearing of green grass was visible. The ancient tree sat in the middle, the true middle of our three kingdoms.

As we approached, the tension never left Nadya’s face. Her eyes were locked on the tree. I felt stress in our bond. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t trust them.”

I took her hand. “Don’t worry. We have everything under control. This is a good deal for them too.”

“I hope so, Liam.” She gave me a final look and rode toward the tree.

Chapter 39

Nadya

THE TWISTED FEELING in the pit of my stomach grew with every step my horse took toward the tree. I may be a believer of horoscopes and even more recently magic, but dreams becoming real? That scared the heck of out me, and there was nothing I wanted more than to turn tail and run all the way back to the secure walls of the castle.

As I approached the tree, I reconciled the fact the grass was green and not brown and brittle, like my dream. No rope or noose hung from the low-hanging branch. Just a shady, flat stone platform had been built at the bottom, I assume for meetings like this one.

As if they were waiting for our approach, Fiona and Eleanor strode on handsome horses toward the tree. “Dismount,” Liam said behind me. A wave of emotion passed over me as he helped me down. Fear that he was here, like in my dream. Relief that he would assist me.

“Nadya,” Eleanor said in greeting. Fiona simply nodded. “You look well, Liam.”

“Let’s get this done,” he said, unrolling a long sheet of paper. I had a brief longing for an iPad or something.

“I see you added some stipulations,” Eleanor said, looking over the details. “You’ll be returning to the Humanworld?”

“For part of the time—to continue my mother’s work at the portal.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Of course.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve left the castle in capable hands and we will return often.”

Fiona eyed Liam with equal measures of wanting to harm him and just wanting him. Increasingly I wasn’t convinced of her stability. They read the remainder of the treaty, pausing to ask a trivial question here or there. Liam answered them all in short, clipped replies. I saw Eleanor’s black polished fingernail stop at the final notation. “This isn’t possible.”

“What?” I asked leaning forward. I knew what that stipulation had been.

Grace.

“Grace doesn’t belong to you, dear. She’s my sister’s property.”

Fiona nodded as if she cared. I suspected she didn’t. I looked behind me and found Grace waiting on the hilltop with the others. “Grace is my friend. I gave her sanctuary at my kingdom.”

“You really have no choice. You do not get to interfere with the ways of our people. She is a traitor and must be punished.” Eleanor flashed me a condescending grin. I hated her. “Unless you have something of equal value to trade for her life?”

I turned to Liam seeking advice, a suggestion—anything. He shook his head. “There has to be something.”

“There’s not, and Eleanor’s right. She’s from Solar. We have no right to keep her.”

“Liam! She helped save your life!”

“So did Fiona,” he whispered, as though he didn’t want to remind them. As if they’d forgotten. “I need to go get her.”

“No, I’ll go,” I said.

I walked away from the others. Away from the snarky grins on the Queens’ faces. The frown on Liam’s. I walked back up the hill, thankful for my jeans and boots. Halfway there Grace caught my eye and ran to meet me.

From her expression she’d already guessed. “They want me.”

“They do.”

“It’s okay, Nadya. You’ve been so good to me.”

“It’s not okay.”

“Yes it is. Please let me go. It’s for the best.”

“But they’ll hurt you,” I said, fighting back tears.

Her blue eyes sparkled. “They may, but I’ve got some fight in me.”

I flung my arms around her and squeezed tight. I felt the thin lines in her back from her wings and wished she’d just fly away. “No,” she said, following my train of thought. “I will not be the reason to break this treaty that hasn’t even started yet. You’re going to do great things. Let me be part of that.”

I nodded, unable to speak. Hand in hand we walked back to the tree.

Grace wiped a tear from her eye and faced the guard that wrapped chains around her wrists and across her back so she couldn’t unfurl her wings. Liam stood by my side and the bond ebbed between us. He felt my sorrow. I used his strength.

“There,” Eleanor said, amending the portion about Grace. She signed her name in black ink and sealing it with a hot stamp of wax. Fiona picked up the same pen and signed her name in loopy gold ink. Freaking magic. She handed me the pen I looked at the tip, glinting with silver ink.

“Your turn, Your Highness,” Eleanor said, voice thick with amusement. Her tone made it click—the fact she didn’t respect me. This was all another move in the game.

It was time for me to make my play.

I bent to sign the paper but turned fast, stabbing the pen clear through the pale flesh of Eleanor’s hand, nailing her to the table. She screeched and Fiona jumped up, a second too late. Liam had her from behind, bronze sword at her neck.

“Little girl,” my black haired aunt declared, “You have no idea what you’ve unleashed.”

The pen was nothing for a woman of Eleanor’s strength; she muttered words and the metal dissolved into dust. I unsheathed the blade attached to my thigh and she held a long black, jewel encrusted scepter in her hand.

“Take me on,” I said. “I dare you to without your magic.”

“You want a cat-fight? Hair pulling and slaps across the face?” she sneered.

I shrugged. “I just want to punch you in the face.”

She pulled the end of the scepter out and revealed a long blade that glinted in the afternoon light. “Take your best shot.”

I charged her, making the first move. It was risky, something Colleen had warned me about many times but the rage and fury under my skin had pushed me to the brink.

She blocked me easily, our blades clinking with a fiery spark. I dug into my wheel-house, fighting like I’d been taught. Knees, elbows and fists. Eleanor’s style was graceful, but not enough to escape a debilitating jab to the gut.

“Oof,” she exhaled, distracted, and I kicked her sword out of reach. She went for my face, tearing at my skin with her claw-like nails. Leg out, I swept her ankles, pushing her back with my palms. She landed face first in the dirt, rolling over quick, dress tearing at the hem.

My feet tangled in the fabric and I stumbled, her ribs breaking my fall. Crack! Her elbow slammed into my jaw. Dazed, I swung. My fist grazed her eye. She pulled at my hair, yanking me off. When I pressed a thumb to her still healing hand, she screamed painfully.

I rushed to my feet and grabbed her sword and my blade. I held the point to her throat.

“A flick of my wrist you’ll be bound to that tree.”

I took a deep breath, allowing my essence to flow from my limbs. Blades of grass moved as though the wind blew, the roots from the ancient tree quaked and the leaves rustled, trembling under my command. Vines wove around Eleanor’s ankles and wrists and birds screeched from the treetop.

“That tree answers to me,” I said. “This land heeds my call. I will use it against you if you break the treaty—the original one.”

“The traitor belongs to my sister.”

My eyes flick to Fiona, still held by Liam.

“I’ve spared Fiona because she’s saved Liam’s life.” I said to my fair-haired aunt. “Give me the girl. I will keep her close and she’ll never enter your kingdom again.”

“If she does, the payment will be fierce,” Fiona replied.

I nodded to Liam and he released her. Eleanor waved her hand and the chains dropped from Grace’s body with a loud clink.

“Three years,” Liam said, handing me the clean contract. Grace’s addendum had been scratched through. He offered me the wax to stamp with my own seal.

“Three years,” Eleanor agreed. “Until then, make your presence infrequent.”

“I will not abandon my people,” I said. “But I have obligations in the human world. I will not interfere with your kingdoms.”

A chill passed over my spine as Eleanor and Fiona held my eye. Peace was tenuous. Liam gently pulled me away, both of us aware the battle was far from over.

* * *

ENTERING THE HUMAN world’s atmosphere was almost as exciting as Otherworld’s. The plane was a little less dramatic than flying in the arms of a dying fairy, but at least we didn’t have someone chasing us. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say the majority of people were happy to see us go. I’d brought as many problems into their world as solutions, and Liam? Well, they were just afraid of him. Rightly so.

Liam marked Grace with a rune, binding her to his home. She gave us both hugs and flew into the sunlight, crossing the portal on her own. Once on the other side she would report to his estate. We hoped she would be an ally, not a prisoner, but only time would tell.

As we landed, I caught sight of my father, small and human on the tarmac. I nearly tripped on my way out of the plane’s tiny door in excitement. Pop’s hands trembled when he caught me. He pulled me into a swift, tight hug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Pop. Promise.”

He looked me over and I couldn’t help but notice the extra gray hairs and lines around his eyes. “Don’t do that to me again. I thought I’d lost you. Just like your mother.”

“I won’t.” I hugged him again, so tight he squeaked. I loosened my grip. “I’m doing a lot of the things mom would have wanted me to do. A lot of things that help preserve her memory.”

He finally let go and his eyes shifted to Liam standing next to me. I’ve seen many expressions on Liam’s face. Confident, angry, lustful, but based on the tension in his jaw and the obvious attempt he made to appear calm, I assumed he was freaking out. I held back a laugh. Liam Caldwell, Guardian and God, was afraid of my father.

“Sir,” Liam said, formal like. He offered his hand. My father eyed him warily. Did he know? Does a father know when a man has claimed his daughter? From the way they squared off with one another, I’d say yes.

“You brought her back,” Pop said.

“I gave you my word.”

Pop shifted his eyes to me, glancing down to see our hands entwined. “You sure this is the route you want to take? Your mother left that life behind.”

I nodded, fighting back tears. My mother had left to spare her life and in turn had stifled mine. She knew she couldn’t run from her destiny and eventually it caught up to her. The same had happened to me, I just wanted better results. “It’s not going to be easy, but I’m determined to make this work.” I squeezed him once more. “Now, show me everything I’ve missed. I’m sure the whole place fell apart without me.”

Liam left me at the airport. I needed time to spend with my father and he needed to go home.

“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to my work counter. A stack of folded papers were piled high.

“I saved them for you,” he said. I looked closer and saw they were all of the horoscopes I’d missed. The one for today was on top. “This may be a frenzied day for you, Pisces, but it’s likely to settle down as evening sets in. It will be a tender night in which you should stick close to home.” They sure got the first part of that right.

Pop stuck close the rest of the day and that night made me dinner, which was a first. Maybe I should go away more often. It wasn’t until I cleaned up, washing off the dust and grime of Otherworld, and buried myself under the covers on the bed I’d had since I was sixteen that I allowed myself to think about the fact I now had two homes. Two very different homes. Sure it was familiar and known, but I considered, taking a survey of my room, incredibly small. This home had always felt like a noose around my neck—tying me to the sadness of my mother’s death. Otherworld provided me with something else—another life.

I’d nearly fallen asleep when I felt the buzz of energy. The mattress sunk and a very warm, very naked man slipped under the sheets next to me. It was only a matter of seconds before his lips were on my neck and his arms wrapped around my waist.

“I recall a specific conversation between the two of us about you needing an invitation to come to my room.”

“I vaguely remember something like that.”

“So what? You think previous agreements don’t apply?”

“You think that after you’ve let me into your bed I’m not coming back? You’re crazier than I ever suspected.”

I twisted around until our noses touched. “Did you just call me crazy?”

“Never,” he lied. “Anyway, it’s just the Sidhe running through your veins. We’re all a little “off.””

He kissed me and I kissed him back. The faint light shimmered between us. “My father will catch you,” I warned, but he’d already removed my shirt and shorts. I pressed myself against him.

“He will have to get used to it.”

“Doubtful,” I said. “It will be hard balancing both worlds.”

“This is who you are now. You’re part Sidhe. A Queen. You’ll fulfil your destiny.” He lifted my chin so our eyes met. “But most of all, you’re mine.”

He found my hand in the dark, a faint blue glowing between us. I felt the ring before I saw it, slipped carefully down my finger.

“What’s this?” The question half-lodged in my throat. I held my hand up to see. A glittery diamond sparkled in the pale light. “It’s from the case in your room.”

“Made for you—centuries ago. This ring was handed through the family line, given to me when the story of my future was told.”

“Your future.”

Me. Us. Together.

With his mouth in my ear and his body glued naked and warm next to mine, he asked, “Will you marry me?”

I saw the mark on his chest, the one that matched the one on my hip—the one that made us immortal, a shade lower than Gods. I craved that life with him. I wanted to share it all with him and then one day, when we were ready, we could ascend higher. Bound for eternity.

“Yes,” I said, breathing the word in his mouth. Energy flared between us, twin souls, shared minds. He kissed me, hard and heated. I sunk into his flesh.

Together we would claim our destiny and rule the Lost Kingdom.

* * *

About the Author

Angel Lawson lives with her family in Atlanta and has a lifelong obsession with creating fiction from reality, either with paint or words. On a typical day you can find her writing, reading, plotting her escape from the zombie apocalypse and trying to get the glitter out from under her nails. For updates on Angel’s books please join her mailing list.

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http://www.amazon.com/Angel-Lawson/e/B0076KRWY4/
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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM

BY NOREE COSPER

Copyright © 2012 by Noree Cosper

Cursed with Immortality. Surrounded by Madness.

Demons, werewolves, possessed bikers, madness spreading like a virus, and a revenge that has waited for over 500 years. What more could Gabby look for in a vacation spot?

Ninety years ago, Gabriella di Luca promised to protect the family of her dying lover. She failed to keep that promise.  She was too far away to stop the devil that murdered the eldest Van Helsing son. Years later, Gabby learns the devil has resurfaced. She arrives in Hampton, TX, determined to stop the devil before it can lay a bloody hand on the remaining three brothers.

However, madness is spreading through Hampton. She suspects the devil is using this madness to test a drug which has a side effect of demonic possession.  Gabby rushes to end the source of the madness only to fall victim to it. For a woman cursed with eternal life, dying is no threat. However, Gabby must stop the devil's plot or risk losing her most precious possession: her mind.

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM

© copyright 2012 Noree Cosper

The book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the permission of the author. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

Prologue

Rome, 1536

THE IRON SPIKES in the manacles pricked the wrists of the boy Ose inhabited, causing his very essence to burn. No mortal pain could compare to the agony that seared him to his core. His control over the body slipped again, and he slumped back in the chair to which he sat bound with sweat pouring down his face and his breath coming in small pants.

Incense clogged the air of the tiny stone basement of the church, leaving wisps of intricate and meaningless designs as remnant. The priest stood a few feet away, his head bowed so the tendrils of white hair fell before his face. He held a crucifix out before him between both his clasped hands as he prayed. A circle of candles surrounded him and the priest, another barrier to prevent Ose from escaping.

Damn Vittorio. The human wasn’t worth the flesh he’d been sculpted into. Ose almost had him at the threshold of giving up his soul with promises of riches until this priest had arrived in Rome. Ose had come to the church thinking to seal the contract with Vittorio. Instead, he’d been caught in the trap.

“God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, I appeal to your holy name, humbly begging your kindness, that you graciously grant me help against this and every unclean spirit now tormenting this creature of yours; through Christ our Lord,” the priest chanted in Latin.

How dare this ape call him unclean? Their existence depended on flesh and soul, so easily manipulated and controlled. They existed only to feed their urges, their desires. He was pure spirit, pure thought. He manipulated.

“Gabriella, the holy water.” The priest glanced behind him.

A small figure stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the room, carrying a glass vial. Everything about this girl spoke peasant, from the white linen dress and sandals to the calluses on her hands to the coif that covered the braids of her black hair. Her gaze burned into him as she set the holy water at the edge of the circle. The skin of her face tightened as her upper lip curled away from her teeth.

Ose smiled at her. It was a shame he was about to be exorcised. She would have proven a delight to toy with. The priest patted her on the shoulder and picked up the holy water. The droplets he sprayed on Ose seared through the flesh to his spirit.

“I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every satanic power of the enemy, every spectre from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of Lord Jesus Christ, be gone, and stay far from this creature of God,” the priest murmured in a raspy voice.

Why should these humans have the right to cast him out? He’d walked this world in their flesh before they were even aware enough to know their Creator. Ose shuddered, his fingers contorting in a twisted claw motion, and concentrated his will on keeping control of the boy’s body even as the words pushed at him to depart. It couldn’t end like this. He was one of the First. How dare this human presume to have control over who he chose to inhabit?

“For it is He who commands you, He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell. It is He who commands you, He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm.” The priest grimaced and clutched his chest.

Why must he suffer, be eternally forsaken by his brothers and Father for a decision he’d made? He’d been given the will to choose. If it had been wrong, why give any choice at all? The body convulsed, jerking him out of the chair and onto the ground. The spikes dug into the flesh as he strained against the chains.

“Hearken, therefore, and tremble in fear, Ose, you enemy of the faith.” The priest fell to his knees, wheezing. “You foe of the human race—”

The priest choked; his fingers clutched at the sackcloth robe he wore as his face drained of color. He stumbled forward, knocking the candles over and causing them to roll about the circle. Ose straightened from his hunched position as the jarring of his spirit subsided and the body once again began to obey his will. He laughed at the holy man. The frailties of humanity. If the priest intended to die, Ose was keen to help him do so. He strained against his bonds to pull the priest closer and wrap his hands around his neck. The vial of holy water skidded across the floor in their struggle.

“Padre Ricci.” Gabriella’s voice rose in a panic.

“I’ll be right with you, my dear,” Ose said.

The padre’s face flushed a purplish red, and his hands batted at Ose’s hands. The spikes dug into his wrists, and for a second, his hands fell limp on the armrests. He forced his will over the boy’s body and tightened his grip. The key to his shackles had to be on the priest. Once free, he would deal with the girl at his leisure. She ran back to the corner, shifting objects around in a bag until she pulled out a journal. What could she do? She was only female.

The girl flipped through the pages. “I exorcise ye, and powerfully banish ye, commanding ye with strength and violence by him who spake and it was done; and by all these names.”

Impossible. How could the girl know the Hebrew incantations of Solomon? They were supposed to be lost and replaced with lies written by the very demons Solomon bound. Ose let go of the priest, who lay back coughing. The devil dug through the holy man’s robes. There had to be a pocket or chain that held the key. He had to stop the girl before she continued.

“El Shaddai, Elohim, E–Elohi, Tzabaoth, Elim, Asher Eheieh, Yah, Tetragrammaton, Shaddai,” Gabriella said, “which signify God the high and almighty, the God of Israel.”

The Father who had forsaken him, all because of Lucifer’s plan to reach the Celestial Throne. The body shuddered, as a grip, colder than any glacier, pulled at him, and he fell forward on the priest. He struggled to maintain control. The key had to be beyond the circle. Ose pulled at the chains, and the chair scraped against the floors with a grinding squeal as he tried to drag it with him. Damn, this iron inhibited his power.

“Through whom undertaking all our operations we shall prosper in all the works of our hands, seeing that the Lord is now, always, and for-forever with us, in our heart and on our lips,” the girl said.

She’d stumbled over the words. The banishment wouldn’t work, yet why was the pull becoming stronger? He collapsed, unable to move the boy’s body any farther. Wisps of greenish black light flared before his eyes. The cold burned him. This couldn’t be happening.

“And by his holy names, and by the virtue of the sovereign God, we shall accomplish all our work.”

With Gabriella’s last words, the body jerked upright. The green and black surrounded him as he rocketed from the earthly world at a speed even beyond his own thought. The light faded into a black void. This wasn’t his home in hell, where he should have ended. Instead of his legions of demons, emptiness surrounded him. Or perhaps not. A shadow pulled itself from the blackness.

“Welcome, little brother,” it said.

Chapter 1

Hampton, TX, Present Day

NOT FIVE MINUTES in this backwater town, and I had a demon sniffing my trail. He scanned the room with narrowed dark eyes and the nostrils of his wide nose flaring. His hair lay plastered against his forehead in greasy brown locks. He towered over everyone, even the people standing, as he squeezed between the large round tables and the gathering at the bar. The frayed threads of his jeans and his leather vest matched the dress of the rest of the roadhouse.

I lifted my drink to my mouth and shifted to my second sight. Most people say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Those people can’t see auras. The lights on the walls dimmed, and the air took on a gray haze, like seeing things under water. Colors bloomed out from each human in the building, blending together in a rainbow. The demon was another matter.

The shaggy black dog the size of a pony stood semi-imposed on all fours over the form of the man. Flames blazed from its eyes as it perused the room with its nose wiggling. Was there really a dog walking through a busy Texas bar? No. Demons had no corporeal form and had to possess physical bodies, and this one chose a werewolf. Dio, I had a hellhound on my ass.

Talk about bad timing. Ose already had some of his minions patrolling. If it found me, it would go running to its master to let him know I was in town. My hunt was in danger of ending before it even started.

Breathe, Gabby.

I leaned forward and let my black curtain of hair obscure my face and twisted the lid of the salt shaker off. With a flick of my hand, I knocked it over, allowing the grains to spill across the table and onto the floor. The salt should cover my scent. I slid closer to the group at the next table until I looked like I belonged with them.

One of the men grinned at me, his aura a happy yellow-orange. “Hey babe.”

I nodded and raised my glass before returning my attention to the hellhound. He paused by a man at the bar who had caught my attention, or more his aura did. A ghostly image of a woman leaned over him, whispering in his ear. My hand tightened around the beer mug, but the mutt moved on. I relaxed. The colors around the people in the bar faded, as did the ghost woman when my sight returned to normal. The haze remained but more from cigarette smoke than any after images.

I glanced at the front of the bar and let out a long sigh. One window and a door were not much of an escape route. Fifty feet of inebriated patrons stood between me and freedom.

A familiar tingle ran down my spine as two of the three men I had been waiting for walked through the door. For a moment, I flashed back to a dressing room, staring down another Romanian hunter. We’d come across the same prey, though he thought it was a vampire and I knew it was a demon. It had been the beginning of something almost magical, both thrilling and painful. I inhaled, bringing myself back to the present. This wasn’t the twenties, I wasn’t in Paris, and these brothers weren’t Dimitri.

Both had his chiseled features and his straight nose, though their hair was more of a burnt sienna. The one in front wore his cut short, had a tuft on his chin, and a pair of square, black framed glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. He towered over his brother, which meant he would be a mountain compared to my small height. The other’s hair brushed against the nape of his neck, and he kept tucked behind his ears. He stood with his arms crossed, wearing a smirk to let the world know he knew everything. They cast their eyes over the room. The tall one adjusted the glasses on his face and approached the man sitting at the bar.

Several women watched them as they passed to which the shorter boy gave them a wink and a grin. A soft chuckle escaped my lips. The boys were dressed to impress. Their leather coats and slacks spoke of sophistication yet still provided enough flexibility to move if needed.

I stood and nodded at the men who’d been trying to talk to me. Rude, but it was time to work. Besides, they were too young for me. I straightened my red tank top and brushed any wrinkles from my jeans. I couldn’t approach them looking like a guttersnipe.

A stool opened up on the other side of them, and I took the seat, trying to look casual while listening in on the brothers’ conversation. The bartender stood in front of me, waiting for an order. I pointed to a beer and leaned back to get a better look at the third man. His back remained mostly to me, giving me a glimpse of his bearded cheek and a ponytail a shade darker in color than the other two. Brother number three. I inched forward to hear better over someone’s bad rendition of “Bad Moon Rising.”

“Ader.” The tall man spoke in Romanian. “Your prison sentence hasn’t ended yet.”

“I got out for being brilliant,” the man at the bar said without turning around.

“Does the warden know that?”  the third one asked.

If I remembered correctly, this generation of Van Helsings had four boys. Adam, the oldest, had passed away ten years ago. So that left Esais, Adrian, and Tres. The smirking boy had to be Tres; he looked the youngest. Was Ader short for Adrian?

Ader chuckled. “The warden didn’t have much of a say.”

Esais, the tall one, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He shook his head, letting out a long sigh as he looked at his brothers.

“Honestly,” he said. “First you end up in jail, and now you’re breaking out. You haven’t changed.”

“You expected me to?” Adrian asked.

"Why are you here?” Esais asked.

“Same reason as you. Revenge.”

Tres crossed his arms. “Why do you even care? You were never around when we needed you.”

Adrian turned to face his brothers, causing both of them to gasp. A patch covered his right eye while the other stared hard at Tres. Esais reached out to touch Adrian’s arm, but he pulled away.

“What happened?” Esais asked.

“Not important.” Adrian turned back to the bar. “Who were you told to meet?”

“A woman named Gabriella Di Luca.”

“Any idea what this woman looks like?”

Esais glanced in my direction with hesitation and opened his mouth.

That looked like my cue. I cleared my throat, raising my hand in a small wave. “Buna seara.”

Adrian and Tres turned their heads with near identical expressions of distrust. They didn’t expect someone to speak their native language here, yet here I was, a stranger invading their family circle. Tres’s gaze traveled down my body, and his gaze softened and became more warming. Adrian continued to regard me with a hard, narrowed eye.

“Who are you?” Adrian asked.

“Gabriella.”

“Convenient.” The word dripped with sarcasm.

As much as I loved a verbal battle and the opportunity to win over someone’s distrust, I preferred it when I didn’t have a hellhound sniffing me out. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my gaze traveled to the table-filled area farther in the room. The hellhound’s wiry form had disappeared through a large door to the right, the source of the atrocious singing. Now would be a perfect time to exit.

“We need to speak, but not here,” I said.

“We’re not going anywhere with you.”

“Ader,” Esais said.

Adrian looked back at his brother. “We have no proof she is who she claims to be.”

“He’s right. You could be a demon,” Tres said.

“You choose now to be cautious? Where was this when you were talking about revenge in a crowded bar?” I crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know a lot about demons, do you?”

“I’ve read several books on the subject,” Esais said. “That question doesn’t answer our doubts.”

“Do I fit the description you were given of Gabriella?”

Esais cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses before nodding.

I waved my hands toward the front door. “Then, can we leave? I may not be one, but there is a demon here.”

Esais and Tres turned their heads, their muscles tensing as they scanned the bar while Adrian kept his eye on me. The hellhound stepped back into the room and turned his head in my direction. His gaze locked on me, and, with a mix between a snarl and a grin, he began shoving his way through the crowded tables and chairs.

I stood. “Too late.”

Chapter 2

I PICKED UP my beer. The amber liquid sloshed around as I tested the weight of the glass. “Get outside.”

“We aren’t going to fight?” Tres clenched his fists; the muscles in his back tensed.

I nodded to the five feet of space between the full tables and the bar. “This isn’t the best place. Besides, he’s not after you.”

“What about you?” Esais’s forehead wrinkled as he followed my line of vision.

“I’ll be along shortly.”

He sighed and pushed his younger brother toward the door. Tres’s jaw tightened, and he squared his shoulders so the push bounced off with no effect. Adrian snorted and moved ahead of the other two.

“Come on. Let’s see what waits for us outside,” he said.

The corner of my eye twitched at his words, but I focused on my approaching prey. He wasn’t thick, but the skin around his arms stretched across muscle. It didn’t matter, the extra muscles were more for show. The demon added unnatural strength and reflexes without all the mass. I sat up straighter, with my heart running a marathon in my chest.

When he moved between two round tables full of people, I hurled the mug at him. He saw it coming, of course and batted it away with the back of his hand. The drink bounced off the head of a man sitting at the table to the hellhound’s right. Golden liquid dripped out of the man’s hair and down his neck. Perfect.

The man hefted his bulk out of his seat and caught the demon by the shoulder. The mutt’s head turned slowly to the offending hand and its owner. The music and the chatter of those surrounding me drowned out the words exchanged, but it must have been insulting. The man’s scowl deepened, and his fist slammed into the hellhound’s face.

The mutt’s head snapped back from the force of the punch. He tossed the local over his shoulder with one hand, sending the man soaring past me and onto a table full of men. Wood broke, glasses shattered, and fists flew. The cacophony of yells and flesh hitting flesh replaced the music. Predictable.

Esais pushed his brother through the front door before the fight could reach them. My heart raced as I climbed on top of the bar. The bartenders paid me no attention as they moved to break up the brawl that had spread throughout the room.

The man’s friends gathered around the hellhound. He swung out his arm, and two were tossed into the table they had stood up from. Spittle flew from his mouth as he bared his yellow teeth at me with the canines longer and pointer than a normal human. I gave him a wave and ran down the length of the bar, scooping up several salt shakers as I passed.  A group of brawlers looked up in surprise as I leapt over their heads. I landed in a roll only a few feet from the door. It swung closed behind me as I departed.

The gravel crunched beneath my feet as I hurried through the parking lot. I lifted my head, letting the breeze cool the perspiration on my face. The tightness dissipated from my shoulders as I breathed in the night air.

Ah, freedom.

The brothers stood at their car watching me as I approached. Esais stepped in front of the other two with his hands in his pockets and a pensive look on his face. He took three of the salt shakers from me. I twisted the top off of the fourth and spread salt on the ground.

“Forgive me. We don’t have time for introductions. Could someone start the car?” I asked.

“We’re just going to run?” Tres asked.

“Get in the car,” Esais said.

I smiled as I took the other shakers from him, and he moved to the passenger door. At least one of them believed I knew what I was talking about. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“You owe us an explanation soon, though,” he said.

“Soon.”

Adrian watched me, not bothering to move to the car. “What are you doing?”

“The salt should confuse his sense of smell so he can’t follow us, which will be pointless if we are still here.” I opened another and tossed it about in the air.

He muttered but got in the car. I climbed in the backseat beside him and opened the remaining shakers. The salt drifted on the air as we exited the parking lot. Hopefully, this would screw the hellhound’s sinuses so much he wouldn’t be able to smell straight for a week.

“I can’t believe we're running,” Tres said. “What kind of hunter are you?”

“A smart one. Try to choose your battles when you can.”

He pressed his lips together and glared at me through the rearview mirror. Adrian sat with his arms crossed and shoulders hunched, but a smirk formed on his lips. Esais remained quiet, as if waiting for the right moment. The bar disappeared from the back windows as we drove away. Darkened buildings passed in a blur; most had closed hours ago.

“Turn in here and head around back.” I pointed to a motel we were approaching after several minutes of driving.

The motel had the doors on the outside, with metal stairs leading up to the second floor. A chain-link fence divided the back of the parking lot from the forest that seemed to be at battle with this entire town. We parked. The chitterling of cicadas was the only sound as I strode to the door of my room. I stepped over the line of salt and held the door open for the brothers. Adrian paused after the others had entered.

“Salt again,” he said.

“It deters demons.”

“Hmph.” He stepped inside and scanned the room with his eye narrowed.

Esais moved in front of me and held his hand out. “Esais Van Helsing.”

I took his hand and squinted until I could see the shades of color surrounding him. A gold and white light flooded my vision, causing me to avert my gaze and blink away the afterimages before returning to him. The light extended to a winged figure and obscured any details. The being’s hands rested on Esais’s temples, indicating a gift of the mind.

While I inspected him, he did the same. It started as an itch on the inside of my brain, and I resisted the urge to lift my hand to my head. It would do no good since this wasn’t physical. I gasped as my time in Paris with Dimitri flashed through my mind. We’d spent weeks searching for that demon. I almost felt his arms around me when I’d revealed my past to him. He’d been so caring, so understanding of the loss I had endured. I could almost feel the soft caress of his hand on my cheek, the heat of his kiss…

No, Esais had seen enough. That was private. I imagined a steel wall surrounding me, blocking all entrance. The digging stopped, and Esais’s eyes widened.

“Buna seara.” I tried to keep the surprise off my face.

I turned my attention to Tres as he followed his brother’s lead. This one had issues. The emerald green of his core shifted into a muddy forest hue. It mixed with a dark pink. He had the potential to be a healer, but he stunted it by his own immaturity and jealousy. Three shadowed females surrounded him. Their hands were joined while the two on the sides held each of Tres’s arms.

I nodded as we shook hands and turned to Adrian. He remained in his position by the door. His aura ranged from a deep red to an orange-yellow but mixed with dark yellow and brown. He was intelligent, with a scientific mind, but I could see a lot of disbelief and distrust in him. The woman resting her hands on his shoulders smiled at me, and she whispered in his ear. Her golden hair flowed from its elaborate design at the top of her head into small curls. Her skin gave off a pale glow, softening the edges of her face. My heart beat faster by just looking at her beauty.

Tragedy tinged all of them with the muddy red of anger. Like me, each had been touched by a spirit. However, none had the blackish red lines denoting demon taint. These boys had their issues, but they were human, for the most part.

I waved to the chairs and the bed. Esais and Tres took the two seats at the small table beside the television. Adrian remained standing near the door with his hands in his pockets. His gaze followed me as I walked to the window and looked at the perfect line of salt on the sill. We were safe for now.

I picked up the sword from the bed and let my fingers play along the golden, etched designs of the sheath. The muscles in my shoulders relaxed, and I let out a long breath. All I had to do was touch it and close my eyes, and I could see Dimitri’s face the day he gave it to me. He’d been the one to offer a trade to the collector who’d owned it. Dimitri had gone out of his way to help me and continued to do so while we were with each other. All I’d ever done was cause him more trouble.

Now, I had his descendants to worry about. If it wasn’t bad enough I had let Andrei, Dimitri’s grandson, and his wife die to a demon attack, I had left the same fate to Adam as well. This would not happen to the remaining brothers.

“That sword,” Esais said. “It looks familiar.”

“A gift,” I said, “from your great-grandfather.”

“Then you are that Gabriella,” he said.

He knew from searching my memories. What was he playing at? “You were expecting another one?”

“Wait,” Tres said. “You knew my great-grandfather? Honey, you must be the mother of all cougars.”

A laugh spilled from my lips. Something about this brother made it easy to smile. Maybe this hunt wouldn’t be so hard.

“So, what are you?” Adrian asked.

I stiffened. “I'm human, just cursed.”

“Really,” he said, “humans don’t live this long.”

“We should listen to what she has to say,” Esais interjected. “Our great-grandfather trusted her, and she helped him many times.”

“We’re not him,” Adrian said. “That was decades ago; she could have fallen by now.”

“She stepped over the salt.”

“Something she introduced.”

Esais shook his head. “In the books I read, salt is a pure material that protects against evil, including demons.”

Adrian turned his gaze in my direction. “How did you know there was a demon in the bar?”

“I have the ability to see them,” I said.

“Yes, that’s real normal.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

I tightened my grip on my sword and counted to ten. If I had been in his position, I would have suspected me, too. I pinched the bridge of my nose to try and cut off the coming headache. There had to be a way to solve this.

“Do you have holy water?” I asked. “It will burn a demon.”

Esais pulled a flask from his belt. Adrian took it and poured the water over my head. I pushed my hair back and flicked the droplets off of my hand.

“Satisfied?” I asked.

“We’ll trust you,” Esais said.

“You can’t be serious,” Adrian said.

“What more do you want, Ader? She’s been accommodating, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“But she’s—”

“That’s an order, Ader,” Esais said.

“Order? We’re a family, not the military.”

“Stop being a prick for a few minutes so we can hear what she has to say,” Tres broke in.

Adrian shook his head, throwing his hands up. “This is insane.” He looked to me. “Well, what great information do you have for us?”

I tried to keep the smug look from my face. “Ose has resurfaced.”

The boys’ shoulders straightened, and their bodies leaned forward. Tres gripped the armrests until his fingers turned white. Adrian tilted his head, his eyes narrowing, but the suspecting look changed to a guarded interest. I had them now.

“Where?” he asked.

“Here in town, as is his daughter Malantha. She’s the seer who killed Adam.”

“Seer?” Adrian asked.

“She uses fortune-telling powers to eliminate her enemies and further her goals. From what I understand, she was the one who led Ose to your parents.”

Esais ran a hand through his hair. “All because Papa wanted to create a network of hunters?”

“Ose saw it as a threat to his plans.”

“He failed to get the rest of us,” Esais said.

Malantha had tried to get to the remaining brothers, but thanks to Lucy Harker, they remained hidden. Of course, that would change now. Lucy and her father, Jonah, had worked to keep Andrei’s dream of a network of hunters alive. They’d enlisted me when Malantha started killing hunters when she couldn’t get to the Van Helsings. Jonah planned to hand the organization to the brothers when they were ready. Ose was their test.

Tres stood up and moved to the door. “Why are we waiting, then?”

Esais touched him on the shoulder. “We need a plan first.”

“And more information,” I said. “They probably sent the hellhound.”

The boy’s shoulders slumped, but he sat back down. I relaxed. The last thing I needed was for him to go running around without a clue of what he was looking for.

“Hellhound?” Esais asked.

“The demon at the bar. They’re used as guardians, sometimes trackers. They like to possess werewolves,” I said.

“So, what’s the deal?” Tres asked. “You’re a demon hunter, why didn’t you kill it?”

“My sword can kill a demon, but the werewolf’s healing prevents me from making a fatal wound. And a demon can still control the body it possesses even if it’s dead, so killing the werewolf won’t help,” I said. “Have any of you fought a werewolf?”

Esais shook his head. “It seems we’ve walked in on a powder keg.”

Wonderful. No experience with demons or lycanthropes, which meant these children had no weapons. I needed to start with the basics. If we faced Ose now, he could mop the floor with us with one pinky of the body he. In my five hundred years, I’d never fought a devil—an angel who fell from heaven—on my own. I’d only killed their offspring, the demons. I needed to rethink my strategy and pick up some more firepower.

“If you can’t kill this hellhound, what use are you?” Adrian asked.

I cut my gaze to him and gritted my teeth. “I can get an alchemical compound that will take care of the issue. I’m meeting with a contact of mine, John Roda, tomorrow to get more information on Ose and his setup.”

Esias cleared his throat. “I’d like to come along.”

“Not alone with her.” Adrian crossed his arms.

He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m a grown man. You and Tres need to set up the house anyway.”

“Fine,” I said. “I will meet you at Rickie’s tomorrow at nine o’clock.” I wrote the address on a slip of paper for him.

Esais gave me a small bow. “Goodnight then, Miss Di Luca.”

Tres bowed as well on his way out the door. Adrian left with the barest of nods. I shut the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. Tonight had gone well, despite the nasty surprise, but we had a lot ahead of us. I needed sleep for the battles to come.

Chapter 3

THE SHEETS CLUNG to my back as I sat up and sucked down the cool night air for several moments. Murmurs from the program on the television competed with the buzz of the air conditioner. The light played over the bed and table in eerie flickers of white and gray while a triangle of yellow peeked through the gap in the curtains. Right, this was my hotel room.

As my feet touched the floor and the cool air blew across my bare legs, I shivered. Water would be best to clear the scratchiness in my throat. The faucet hissed as the water filled the cup, droning out the babble of the television. I leaned against the counter, wiped my cheeks, and stared at the wetness on my fingertips. I’d been crying in my sleep again. Strange, after five centuries, the dream could still do this to me.

Using my aura sight, I stared in the mirror at the figure behind me. It floated inches above the floor with thick black chains with red cracks covering it from head to toe. It writhed and twisted, trying to break free of the chains and, every so often, a flash of white light leaked out from behind its bindings. A length of chain extended from the figure to a collar around my neck. How long had it been since I had seen its true form? Centuries? I could barely remember what she looked like, just bits and pieces like a flash of bright light. Warmth and protection from the creeping darkness in the middle of the night. No, the Van Helsings weren’t the only ones touched by a spirit. Mine had to pay the price of my curse.

“I’ll free us both,” I said. “I’ll kill the demon bitch that has us.”

Allegra. My reason for existence. She’d taken my husband, my son, my life, and left me with nothing. I remained alive as part of her punishment while she stayed beyond my grasp. If I had learned more about the spirit that had gifted me with, would things have been any different? I had pretended it didn’t exist for fear being called a heretic. The church tended to look down on things they couldn’t control, or that they could attribute to God. So, I had gone through life practically ignoring the being. Her touch had granted me the power to see Allegra for what she was, but that had just caused me to get involved in something I hadn’t understood. Now, I existed in this half-life.

I gulped down the water and crushed the plastic cup in my hand. Little pricks of pain flared behind my eyes, and my heart pounded in my ears. It looked to be another sleepless night. After failing to catch me, the hellhound had run back to his masters for the night. I could spend the time tracking him down or stay here and brood.

I pulled on my clothes and lifted the hood of my jacket over my head. My hand ran over the hilt of my sword. I unsheathed it, letting the light glint off the two feet of sinuous blade. It was called a sundang and was made of iron, good for cutting the connection between the spiritual and material world. Its creators had not stopped there. Kali, the Hindu goddess, blessed certain families with the power and weapons to slay demons. They had died out, leaving only a few reminders of a time forgotten by most, like this sword. My hand ran over the flat from the wide base to the rounded point. It wouldn’t pierce, but the blade would cut through flesh like butter.

I set out with the sword strapped across my back and a butterfly knife fitted in a sheath on the inside of my pants. Laughter and heavy base from rock music coming from the rooms facing the road broke the silence that should have pervaded the motel. A row of motorcycles was parked outside. They must have come in the middle of the night. The occasional headlights of cars from the highway broke the darkness as I walked. The parking lots of the two restaurants and the jewelry shop lay bare with their streetlight flickering in some struggle for continued life. The world slept while I was denied rest.

A meteorite shot across the sky, fallen from its place in the heavens. Many would still believe it was an actual star, but it was just a piece of rock floating lost in in vastness. Stars remained out is a mostly stationary orbit until they died. Did stars feel the burden of eternity in the deep black? Did they yearn for warmth besides their own burning intensity?

I rubbed my arms and continued on to the bar. The bar had not drifted off to sleep like the rest. Lights flashed ahead of me and a crowd gathered around one police car and an ambulance. The demon had lost his temper and hurt someone. Merda, the last thing I needed was the police sniffing around.

I slipped into the empty lot next to the bar and lay on my stomach, hidden by the high grass. As I crawled forward on my elbows and knees, the blades tickled my face. When I reached twenty feet away, I stopped and poked my head up, making sure to remain out of the light.

Two officers, a man and a woman, were talking to the large man the hellhound had thrown. He waved his left hand in the air while talking with his face so bright red that it shone like a beacon. He might have used both, but his right was bound in a sling.

Damn, there’d be no tracking the hellhound with this crowd. But he could have left a spy behind. Someone I wouldn’t recognize as a demon, or so he would assume. Little did he know I had a gift.

I closed my eyes, and something in my head shifted, like a joint popping into place. The night was lit up with an array of reds and oranges as the crowd pulsed with anger and excitement. They hadn’t had this much fun in months. Behind them, a different demon looked on with its arms crossed. Barely anything about this creature resembled a human or a particular animal. Two large, bat-like wings grew out of his back. Its head had an acorn shape with its snout extending to a point several inches past its jaw, and two spikes protruded down from the sides of the head. A hard carapace covered his body, with horns protruding from the joints.

I shivered and closed my eyes, but the image remained burned in my mind. I needed to see what human this thing paraded around in. Six feet of biker leaned against a motorcycle not unlike the ones parked outside of my hotel. Tribal tattoos covered his shaven head, surrounding his right eye, and traveled down his neck to disappear under his leather jacket.

Two in one night. Lucky me, though he was neither Ose nor the fortune-teller, since she preferred women. So where did this one fit in? The muscles in my arm cramped as I lay there, waiting. It didn’t take long for the police to finish their questioning.

“Go home and sleep it off!” The police woman waved off the crowd. “We’ll handle this.”

A few of the men shouted and whistled, but they still made their way to their cars. Tattoo climbed on his bike and drove off with the rest. I remained still. I knew where he would end up.

The patrol car exited last, following the ambulance. Finally. I stood, stretching my arms out and rotating my shoulders. A short jog had me back at the hotel in minutes, and I paused in between two trucks to catch my breath. Warmth spread to my fingers from where the cracked asphalt had baked in the sun. The night had done nothing to cool the air, nor did it lessen the stench of oil and hot rubber that surrounded me. The demon’s motorcycle rested among the others, just as I thought. Ten of them. How many were demons? It looked like I would spend the night scouting a different group than the one I planned on.

A truck door slammed, and a woman marched to the biker’s door with a shotgun in her hand. Her blonde hair bounced against her shoulders with each step. She would have been pretty if not for the scowl the wrinkled her tiny nose. She paused at the first of the bikers’ doors, taking a deep breath, and widened her legs to be just even with the width of her shoulder and slightly bent—a taekwondo stance. The door gave way with a crack from the kick she delivered to it. My jaw hung open as the woman stepped inside.

Her Cajun accent traveled clear on the night air. “All right you sons of bitches, I have some questions, and you’re gonna answer them.”

Chapter 4

SHOUTS AND CURSES followed the woman’s words, and the curtains in the window ruffled. She had to be a scorned lover of one of the bikers. The roar of the shotgun echoed across the parking lot. She had plenty of fury but was no match for the demons, even with the shotgun.

We didn’t have much time until the police showed up. I tapped my foot on the ground and stared at the doorway and the window. I would just go in, assess the numbers, and get the woman out, unless she was one of them. I took a black ski mask from my pocket, slipped it over my head, and pulled the hood of my jacket back up. They didn’t need to see my face until I chose to strike.

I drew my weapons as I walked towards the door. The window exploded outward, and a bloodied biker landed a few feet from me. He groaned, struggling to get up as he favored his left arm. She wasn’t doing too bad for herself.

I pulled my knife and paused just inside the doorway. The mattress had been half pushed off of the bed, and the blanket lay splayed across the floor, partially covering one of the fallen chairs.  Actually, it looked as if someone had thrown the chairs. On the far side of the room, the woman stood with her back to the bathroom. Two bikers picked themselves off of the floor while a third leaned against the wall, holding his abdomen.

My vision blurred as my second sight kicked in. The reddish black lines of corruption extended from every aura in the room, including the woman’s. This taint on the soul was different from demonic possession. A human could gain power without actually letting a demon ride them, and most of them did this by making contracts and selling their souls.

“How do you like the iron, asshole? Bet you want to jump out of that body now!” She reloaded the gun and aimed at one of the others.

“That’s not a demon,” I said.

The woman swung her gun in my direction with a glare. One of the bikers took a chance and lunged at her. With a muttered curse, she raised the shotgun and smashed him in the face with the butt. He staggered back, holding his face with a groan. I stepped back on to the porch. The door to the next room slammed open and four more bikers boiled out like angry ants followed at last by Tattoo. His gaze traveled from my feet to my head, and he sneered at me.

“Come to rob me?” he asked in a Cajun drawl.

I unsheathed my sundang as a grin came to my face. Fortune stayed with me tonight. He was the only demon. The rest were human lackeys who sold themselves for power. I could use a little exorcise to help me sleep.

“Oh, you’re one of them ninjas.”

“No, I am death wrapped in a small package.” I swung my sword at the others. “The rest of you should pray to God for forgiveness. You still have time.”

His friends hooted as they fanned out around me. They cracked their knuckles and made kissing noises. They thought I would be easy. No one respected swords anymore, but after I finished with them, they would. The woman’s shouts carried from the room, followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh. She seemed capable on her own. The potbellied one on the end bent his knees and kept his arms loose at his sides. He planned to rush me. If I positioned it right, I could send him tumbling into the two who would attack from the other side when I dealt with him. That would leave Tattoo and the pock-faced biker playing bodyguard.

Potbelly rushed me. I pivoted forward in my stance and slid my blade across the back of his leg to slice through his hamstring. His momentum carried him into the other two. Down they went. The pock-faced boy raised a handgun at me with shaking hands. Tattoo’s sneer traveled from the tangled mass of his minions to me.

“I suppose you’d be the bitch following us since N’awlins. What the hell you want?”

“Oh, hell no.” The woman stomped from the room. “Some crazy burglar isn’t gonna claim my kill.”

Tattoo threw his head back, his laughter echoing through the parking lot. “You girls are pretty tough to take down my boys.”

He dug a cigarette out of a wrinkled pack. The lighter clinked open and made several click sounds before a flame flared to life. The world around me dimmed. Tendrils of darkness stretched out from his shadow, consuming all other light.

“I hope you don't sleep with the night light on,” he said.

“What the fuck?” the woman said.

“Stay where you are,” I called to her. What the fuck, indeed.

“I can smell the rage on both of you.” Tattoo’s voice floated around me. “I think I’ll be taking an added bonus home.”

I froze, trying to pinpoint him, but it proved impossible to do through all the yells of the bikers and the scrambling. The crack of a gunshot blared ahead of me. The flash of light lasted less than a second before the dark swallowed it. What the hell kind of demon possessed a power like this? The wind ruffled my hair as the bullet passed close to me. I jerked back, and my hand brushed against leather behind me. Damn, he moved fast. I leapt forward and stumbled over a body on the ground. My knee jarred as it caught the brunt of my fall.

Tendrils, colder than ice, wrapped around my ankles and wrists. The weapons slipped from my numb fingers, but I didn’t hear them hit the ground. The bonds lifted me into the air and threw my back against the wall of the motel. My arms were pulled above my head, yanking the right one out of its socket. I screamed as pain raced through my shoulder. I twisted my other arm, trying to slip it free, but the bonds held me tight.

My heart sped up, and my throat constricted, making my breath come in small gasps. I had to calm down. I stilled and closed my eyes. What good were they at the moment? I inhaled, counting to ten before releasing, and rubbed my fingers together, relieved when they began to tingle.

Tattoo’s body pressed against mine. His hot breath on my face reeked of tobacco and just a hint of sulfur. Most people missed the sulfur, but I’d been in this position before. This is where they became cocky.

“So, sweetness, why are you hunting us?” he asked. “Have you come for Ose, too?”

Too? So this one wasn’t working for the devil. What had brought him here?

“Not much of a speaker, I see. Come on, how about you sing me a song.”

I kept my voice even. I wasn’t about to let some no-name demon get the best of me, unknown power and all. “Sorry, I’m a better dancer. Release these bonds and I can show you.”

He laughed. “You talk a lot. Why don’t you tell me about Ose. Be a good girl and I may even let you live as one of my boy’s bitches.”

“Interested in joining up?” I asked. “I don’t think he’s taking applications for street trash.”

The tendrils twisted around my arms and jerked painfully, eliciting a small gasp from me.

“He is my prey.” He whispered in my ear. “Looks like you want to play hard. You’ll wish you’d sung by the time I’m done with you.”

Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the panicked voices. The blackness faded, and the night returned to normal. Tattoo stood a few feet in front of me, inhaling the last few drags of his cigarette as he stared off in the direction of the sirens. He blew the fumes into my face, and I coughed, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. I started when he stumbled into me. He staggered back with a grunt, his hand going to his lower back, and he spun to the mystery woman behind him. The woman stepped back in a fighting stance with a smirk.

“Don’t forget about me, asshat,” she said.

“Bitch!” Tattoo said. “You’ll pay for that.”

“You gonna make me ugly?” Mystery Woman asked.

A growl rolled out of the Tattoo’s throat and he lunged at her. The woman moved to the side and held her foot out. Her leg came up in an axe kick that hit the back of the demon's head as he bumbled forward. My bonds disappeared, and I dropped to the ground. I landed on my feet, swallowing a whimper as I jarred my shoulder.

Tattoo backed away from both of us with a scowl on his face. “This isn’t over.”

He ran for his bike with his lackeys blundering after him, at least the ones who could move. I gathered my weapons, fumbling with one arm as I tried to sheathe them. The woman chased after the bikers but stopped short when pock face raised the gun at her. He held her there until Tattoo disappeared down the road in the opposite direction of the sirens.

I moved up behind the woman, holding my useless arm to my body. “Do you even know how to use that?”

“S-stay where you are,” he said.

The woman moved, but I grabbed her arm. She swung her head in my direction with her eyes narrowed. Pock-face hopped on his bike and started it up.

“He’s not the demon, and a rather pathetic biker,” I said. “Too easy for you.”

“And I’m supposed to listen to the masked avenger because?”

I blinked at her odd comment. “Do you wish to get arrested?”

She mumbled.

“Grab your gun, and let’s go.”

I led her through a hall that cut between the front of the motel and the back. No one followed us. The bikers were too busy trying to get themselves out of this mess, and the other guests didn’t want to get involved. The door to my room clicked shut behind her, and I flattened her against the door with my knife to her throat.

“If you move anything but your mouth, I will bury my blade in your neck,” I said. “Who do you serve?”

Chapter 5

THE WOMAN’S HANDS twitched, and she glared at me. I pressed the blade into the tender point of her throat. She stiffened and raised her arms up in a position of surrender. I could hear her teeeth grind as her jaw clenched.

“Did Ose send you after that gang?” I asked.

“Who the fuck is Ose?” Her brows drew closer together. “I don’t serve any demon.”

My vision blurred as I concentrated on her aura. She was a study in reds. The deep, clear reds of her strong will and passionate nature were muddied by the rage she carried with her. Blackish-red lines, glowing like blacklights, encroached inward from her outer aura. Other colors pulsed and shifted, but no deceptive ones. She spoke the truth.

I stepped back and slid my knife into my belt. I pulled off my mask and used it to fan my burning face. She stood upright, turning her neck from side to side until it cracked.

“Your salt line’s screwed to hell,” she said.

“Gabriella Di Luca.” I held my hand out to her, which she just stared at until I dropped it.

“The hunter?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“As usual, my reputation precedes me.”

“Yeah, you’re supposed to be this big bad demon hunter. Didn’t see much of that tonight.”

The more this woman spoke, the more the ache in my temples overcame the throbbing in my shoulder. I touched the side of my forehead and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

“And you are?” I asked.

“Marguerite Devereux.”

She lifted her chin to look down her nose at me, and I chuckled. For having such a foul mouth, she acted like she was nobility. Still, something about her reminded me of stories I’d heard. Blonde hair, bad disposition.

“I remember something about a new hunter in New Orleans. Nice work on that fake medium,” I said.

She shrugged again as she moved the salt back into a sort of straight line by the door. I pulled my right wrist to my stomach, squeezing my eyes shut. I gritted my teeth as I inched the arm out to the side. My arm resisted the movement, and my joints begged me to stop, but I kept going.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just give me a moment.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard as I worked to pull my arm back in its socket. My stomach roiled, threatening to eject the beer I’d had earlier. I pushed out again. The muscles in my face twisted in impossible directions as I fought not to cry out. My shoulder popped back into place, and I threw my head back, panting. I swayed, my legs almost giving out.

“That’s better,” I said. “Now, where were we?”

She leaned against the door and crossed her arms. “That was kind of hardcore.”

“Why are you here, then?” I asked.

“I’ve been tracking the D-boyz since N’awlins”

“D-boyz.”

“I know. They don’t have the brains to come up with something better.”

I snorted. Typical of demon worshipers. Either they became too pretentious or didn’t bother with any creativity. One thing remained the same. They all loved showing off the fact they bowed down to hellspawn and the power it supposedly gave them. There had been a few throughout the centuries that had truly been masterminds, but most weren’t intelligent, and it made them easy to track, even for someone like Marguerite here.

The sirens blared from the parking lot, drowning out the low buzz of the television. Marguerite stiffened, glancing to the flashing lights through the window. I gritted my teeth as an itch ran through the inside of my muscles. I would have to question the woman more later. I dug through my duffel bag, past the glass jars and linen sacks to the neat rolls of clothing. I pulled out a pajama set and stripped off my clothes.

Marguerite scowled. “I don’t owe you that much.”

“The police will come to ask questions.” I ran my hands through my hair and tangled it more. “It works best if they think I was asleep.”

“And where am I supposed to be in all this?”

“The bathtub. Can you manage to keep your mouth shut until they've left?”

Her eyes burned into me as she opened her mouth. She shut it again and formed a sour little smile. “Sure.”

I nodded to the bathroom, and with a roll of her eyes, she moved. She was probably planning something as revenge. She seemed the type to remember the slights more than what people did for her. My life would be much simpler if I just tossed her out and left her to her own devices against the police and demons. Unfortunately, she seemed the type to have no problem blazing forward on her own, and I wanted to know why she was tainted. I had too much work to do to add breaking her out of prison to the list.

A corner of the red and pink paisley comforter half-covered a yellowish stain on the carpet and covered my bag in its spot underneath the bed. I tucked my sword under the pillows, which left me with my knife in a calf sheath hidden by my pants. The sirens were replaced by muffled banging on doors. I sat on the bed and watched the window, my heel tapping against the floor in rhythm with my heartbeat. I started when the automatic air freshener hissed out a spray of freesia. I could say a car backfired, but that wouldn’t explain the glass or shouting.

After twenty minutes, there was a knock on my door and a woman’s voice. “Hello? This is the Hampton Police Department. We have a few questions we’d like to ask.”

“One moment,” I said in my best groggy voice. I answered the door, rubbing one eye. “Yes?”

The same woman from the bar, human and all, stood outside. She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but we had a disturbance here tonight. Did you see or hear anything?”

Her obsidian hair cupped around her face, and her skin was dark as chocolate. She stood tall, with her shoulders straight, and held herself with tautness, as if she was prepared to handle any threat that opened the door. Her uniform remained neat despite the night’s events.

I pursed my lips, running a hand through my hair. “Well, I heard a lot, actually. Woke me up, with all the yelling. Was that a gun?”

“Yes, ma’am, there were reports of a gunshot.”

“I thought this motel was safe.”

She narrowed her umber eyes, studying me for several moments. I coughed and blinked at her as I mentally went over what I looked like: my messy hair, my sleepy blue eyes. I knew I looked tired because I felt it. Had I missed something? I had wounded one of the bikers. Was there a spot of blood I didn’t wash off? She moved her head to peer into the room. I opened the door wider for a better view.

“Looking for something?” I said with a slight edge to my voice.

She smiled at me again and shook her head. “No, ma’am. So, you didn’t see anything?”

I shook my head. “Never left the room.”

“May I have your name?”

“Gabriella Lucco.”

“And what brings you to our town, Ms. Lucco?”

“Family business.”

She handed me a business card. “Okay, ma’am, if you remember anything else, please contact us. Will you be in town for a few more days? We may have more questions.”

I raised an eyebrow, palming the card in my hand. “What more would you need to ask?”

“You never know what might come up.”

“I’m not sure.” I rubbed my arms. “If there was an incident, then probably not long in this hotel. What others are there?”

“Well, there’s the Hampton Inn downtown. But I wouldn’t be too worried, ma’am. We don’t get a lot of trouble here. It’s been a weird night.” She studied me for another moment before giving another wave and moving to the next door.

I shut the door and let out a breath. Marguerite stood in the doorway of the bathroom. I held my finger to my lips, and with a sigh, she crossed her arms, tapping her foot as we waited. The officer’s voice faded into the distance. I flopped down on the bed, rolled my neck from one side to the other, and rubbed some of the soreness from my shoulder, relieving some of the tension that had built up.

I pulled my sword from its hiding place and grabbed my bag. I had spoken true when I said I wasn’t staying here. This motel was compromised, but moving to the Hampton would allow the police to find me easier. I needed to assess my options. There had to be another place to stay. Maybe John could put me up for a few nights. My heart raced at the thought.

“So Ose’s some demon in town?” she asked.

“Devil, actually,” I said.

Marguerite whistled. “Big game, then.”

She rocked back on her heels. I knew the look on her face. The hunger for new prey burned inside me often over the years. She still had her own problems, and unfortunately, they seem to have compounded my own.

“Why are these D-boyz here?” I asked.

“I don’t really care why. Not what I’m after.”

“You’re looking to get revenge on a bad deal?”

She glared at me. “What?”

“You’re tainted. So now you’re looking to back out on your contract.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I have amazing observation powers.” I pushed the clothes deeper in my bag and scanned for anything in the room that was forgotten.

“What? You got a demon detector or something?”

I moved to stand directly in front of her and held her gaze. “Perhaps, but I’m not going to share my secrets and let you keep yours.”

She threw her hands up and stomped to the door. “Fuck the police. I don’t need this shit.”

“Right, because getting detained by the police will help your case. You might as well sit down and wait. While you do that, you can tell me about your contract.”

She glared at me and slammed her body down in one of the chairs, crossing her arms and stretching her legs out straight. “It’s none of your damn business.”

“Very well. Good luck to you,” I said. “Try not to get in the way of my own hunt.”

Her fingers tapped against her arm as she stared at the television. I continued to pack. In a few hours, she would be safe to leave, but I doubted tonight would be the last time I saw her. The D-boyz and the reason they were here worried me more.

Chapter 6

I SWIRLED THE last dregs of coffee in the bottom of my cup as I debated ordering a refill. It would be my third. It tasted like burnt ashes, but I needed the caffeine to stay alert. I rested my head on the back of the booth seat, longing for a cappuccino from home. Italy had never been my home, though. I’d been far away, hunting one demon or another, when they officially became one country in the 19th century. I’d grown up in the kingdom of Naples. I closed my eyes, replacing the smell of eggs and grease with the scent of the sea. The roar of the waves supplanted the sizzle of the grill. I would take my son, Marco, to the beach and sing to him as I watched the sun rise on the horizon.

The bell above the door jingled, and I jumped, opening my eyes. A woman holding a baby carrier entered. She set the carrier on a table close to mine. The child, no older than a few months, waved his hands about and stared off at something no one else could see. I bit my lip and waved to the waitress as I blinked back the tears. No, Naples hadn’t been my home for a long time. Still, I missed the coffee.

The bell rang again, and Esais stepped inside. I slid out of the booth and held my hand out to him. He smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but return one. It reminded me of youth and sunshine.

“Mr. Van Helsing,” I said.

His fingers wrapped around mine with a gentle squeeze. “Ms. Di Luca. Please, call me Esais.”

“Gabby, then.”

We slid back into the booth. He picked up the menu and adjusted his glasses as he scanned it. His broad shoulders filled out the white buttoned shirt but not in a muscular way. He wasn’t the “in the thick of melee” type of hunter. Instead, he had a bookworm type of charm. He glanced up and caught my stare. I ducked my head, clearing my throat, and opened my own menu.

“Have you been here long?” he asked, slipping into Romanian.

“A few hours,” I said.

“Why so early.”

“Too much excitement to sleep,” I said with a sour smile.

“Grandfather Dimitri said you had trouble sleeping.” He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I know you thanks to his journals.”

My heart fluttered and a shiver traveled through my body. “He wrote about me?”

“Often. I don’t think he ever got over you.”

My eyes stung. I had remained in his heart despite the fact he found a wife. If only. No, I had traveled down that road too often. Life for him turned out better this way. Allegra had almost killed Dimitri when we found her. My past had nearly ended a legacy before it could flourish. So I’d left, freeing Dimtri to continue the duty his father had sworn to after Dracula’s defeat. Neither of us had known of the curse Dracula had laid on his family. After the birth of Dimitri’s son, the vampire had risen again. Dimitri had died in battle, and I wasn’t able to fight at his side. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“I have so many questions,” he continued. “I’m not sure where to start.”

I pushed my regrets away and smiled at him. “You want to pick my brain?”

He nodded.

“Well, what do you want to know about most?”

“You mentioned this last night and the journals talked about your ability to see things for what they truly are.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Mad visions would be another. Or witchcraft, but I had not been accused of that in centuries.

“Where did it come from?”

“I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”

His brow furrowed. “But do you know where it came from?”

“Such gifts come from the spirits of the Eclipse, and from what I have found, there is a name for us. Your brothers do not know about yours, do they?”

His gaze met mine, and he held it for several moments. His lips parted as though to speak, but then pressed shut again. Tres does, but Adrian is a different matter.”

The waitress came with pad in hand. “Have y’all decided?”

“I’ll have the Tuesday Special,” I said

“Same and a coffee,” Esais said.

After gathering our menus, the girl walked off. I stirred cream and a mountain of sugar into my cup, giving him time to gather himself. Murmurs from the other patrons and the sizzle of the grill in the kitchen filled our silence.

“My home doesn’t accept things that are different,” he said. “I don’t think I could handle my family judging me as well.”

He glanced at a young man passing our table on his way out. His eyes filled with desire. Telepathy wasn’t the only thing he hid from the world. One secret at a time. I patted his hand, and he jumped, looking back at me.

“The world never seems to understand. But you have a gift, and in our work, you use what you’re given. And this sort of thing doesn’t stay secret forever.”

He smiled but pulled his hand away. “I just don’t know the right time to tell them.”

“You’ll figure it out. If you want help, let me know.”

“So what is this name we are called?”

“Emissaries.”

“And this Eclipse you mentioned? Like the solar and lunar eclipse?”

“No, the Eclipse is the home of the spirits.”

“Can you see it?”

“I can see where it overlaps with this world.”

“Exactly how old are you?” he asked

“Don’t you know that’s not something you should ask a woman?”

He laughed.

I scanned the patrons and staff for the fifth time. Rainbow waves radiated around me. Blues, reds, and yellows. Joy, sadness, ambition, but no demon taint. The bell jingled as the officer from last night stepped inside and nodded hello to the waitress. I stiffened. She sat at the counter and smiled as the waitress came to fill her coffee cup.

“Long night, Nancy?” the waitress asked.

“You have no idea.”

The waitress patted her on the hand. “Well, we all appreciate your hard work.”

Nancy sighed. “I just wish the sheriff did.”

She brought the cup to her lips and turned to scan the rest of the diner.  She nodded to a couple in a booth with a smile, and they gave her little, half-handed waves. An old man walked by her and paused to pat her on the shoulder. Her eyes landed on me and filled with recognition.

Well, this was awkward.

“Is something the matter?” Esais glanced behind him.

She walked to our table and smiled at us. “Hello again, Ms. Lucco.”

I returned her smile. “Hello, Officer. Are you just getting off duty?”

She nodded and glanced at Esais. He stood and held out his hand to her, his boyish smile back in place.

“Esais Arcos,” he said. “A pleasure, Officer?”

“Parkins, Nancy Parkins.” She took his hand. “So what brings you to Hampton?”

“My brothers and I just moved here. My cousin Gabby–he waved his hand to me— “came to help.”

“That’s an interesting accent.”

“From Romania.”

“And you moved all the way to this tiny town?” She chuckled and looked at me. “Have you remembered anything else?”

I shook my head. “Like I said, the sound woke me, but I didn’t go outside,”

“We also had a fight down at the Grindstone. Someone mentioned a girl looking like you.”

I blinked at her slowly, hoping she would take it for confusion. “Grindstone?”

“It’s the bar near the motel.”

“Oh, well, I did stop by, but I left when it looked like things were going to get rough.”

“But you saw the beginning of the fight?”

“I saw a man go flying into a table. I left after that.”

“Mmm hmm.” She stared at me with her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “Well, Ms. Lucco, you seem to be at the only two places where we had action last night.”

“I’m lucky, I guess.”

“I hope your luck doesn’t hold up.”

“Did I show up at the wrong time?” a man asked from behind her.

I grinned at the sound of his voice. Both Officer Parkins and Esais turned to look at the intruder. His hair had grown since the last time I saw him. It now hung over his ears with the ends bleached and the roots dark. He rested his hands in the pockets of his sports coat. His cobalt blue eyes sparkled as his easy smile spread across his tanned face.

“John.” I slid out of the booth and moved to greet him, kissing him on both cheeks. He pulled me into a hug, and my skin tingled at the touch of his hands on my back.

“More family?” Nancy turned her head at Esais. “How many people do you need to help you move?”

“Actually, I’m doing an article about festivals in small towns in Texas. Gabby mentioned she’d be here, so I decided to stop by.” He held his hand out to her. “John Roda.”

She shook his hand. “You’re a journalist?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was hoping to look in on the Autumn Festival.”

“We’ve decided to do it a little different this year. We have the carnival running throughout the month of October.”

“Interesting. I’ll have to check it out.”

She nodded to the three of us. “Welcome to Hampton. Let’s hope you’re the most exciting thing that happens.”

“Most likely we won’t be,” I said after she walked off.

Esais stood up. “Esais Van Helsing. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Roda.”

John’s arm around me tightened as he took Esais’s hand. I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, but he focused on Esais. His smile grew to match the other man’s.

“A pleasure,” John said.

The waitress cleared her throat. She held our plates and raised one to indicate we were in her way. We settled back in the booth. My fork scraped against the plate as I scooped up a pile of scrambled eggs. I wrinkled my nose as the taste burned and grabbed my glass of water. The cook had tried to compensate for the blandness with too much salt.

“You want anything, hun?” the waitress asked.

“Pancakes and coffee,” he said.

He ran his fingers across the back of my hand, leaving a trail of heat behind. I leaned closer, letting our shoulders brush. His warmth relieved the tension in my back and made the ache in my chest fade. Esais watched me from over the rim of his coffee cup. I coughed and crunched into a piece of bacon.

“So how did you meet Gabby?” Esais asked.

“She saved my life, actually,” John said. “I’ve been trying to pay her back ever since.”

I could still remember the look of pain and loss on his face as I stood over the body of the fallen demon that had been his wife. Here would be another person to hate me. Instead, he had been grateful, offering whatever help he could. I had caused him to lose something precious, and I don’t know how he ever forgave me. His friendship was a rare gem with so few people I could depend on.

I scanned the diner with my aura sight and nodded at the sight of only humans. “John has a lot of contacts that keep track of the movements of demons. What do you have for us?”

“There’s a reason the festival here is running so long. The devil’s daughter is running the main event, the carnival,” John said.

Malantha. It figured she would be running such an event. After ten years of chasing her down, I had her within my grasp. The game would end here for both her and her father.

“He’s not the same as when you fought him.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Wait, you fought Ose before?” Esais asked.

“A long time ago. He’s one of the few who escaped.” I pushed away the images of the mentor I had lost with that fiasco. “So, what’s different?”

I leaned back and cleared my throat as the waitress came back with John’s food. He winked at her. She gave him a parting smile and walked off with more of a sway in her hips than she’d shown all night.

John cut into his pancakes with his fork. “You know he’s one of the Goetia, right?”

I nodded. “I’d found a copy of one and came across that little gem.”

“You mean the first part of the Key of Solomon?” Esais asked. “It lists the demons that King Solomon supposedly bound.”

John cut his eyes at Esais, and his smile faltered. He kept forgetting Esais was part of the conversation. I elbowed him, and he jumped.

“The Key, including the Goetia, was one of the books created by demons to trick humans into summoning them,” I said. “They claim King Solomon himself wrote it. They wanted to make sure no one else could bind them like he did.”

“I have one at home,” Esais said. “It’s an interesting read.”

I looked back to John. “So, is that it?”

“He’s not following any of the Thrones.”

My fork fell from my still hand and bounced across the table. “That’s not possible.”

At the same time, Esais said. “You must be mistaken.”

John glared at him. “I’m not. He’s no longer a part of the Throne of Greed, he hasn’t been for a while. I think they’re still a little upset about it.”

Dante and Virgil didn’t have the infernal world quite right. Hell was divided into seven Thrones, each with its very own devil to rule. They played off of the Seven Deadly Sins. Pride, of course, sat at the top. The names had changed, but the concepts had remained the same since well before I was born. The Thrones held on to what they had with iron grips. What had Ose done to break away?

“Well, it seems like someone’s caught up to him.” I explained my ordeal last night with the biker demons.

John scratched his cheek, contemplating. “Hmm, I’ll see if I can find anything about these D-boyz or the new demon hunter.”

Esais cleared his throat. “I have some books. I can look into this demon with darkness abilities.”

“I’ll assist,” I said. “But back to the original question. What is Ose doing?”

John shrugged. “You should probably start at the Carnival.”

I tapped my fork against my plate. “He has a hellhound. I’m going to need a little something special to take care of it.”

“Name it, and I’ll see what I can do,” John said.

I leaned under the table to my bag and pulled out a piece of paper. I winced as my shoulder throbbed. John watched me scribble a list before I handed it to him. He whistled, looking over the list.

“This may take some work,” he said.

“Can you get them?” I asked.

“Probably. Give me a few days.”

I nodded and returned to playing with my food. “Is Ose truly mad?”

He hesitated before nodding. I sighed. This complicated things. I had enough jet in my bag to make charms. I hoped they would hold strong.

“Well.” I put my fork down. “I think we all have work to do.”

“I should get to work on this list.” John waved a hand to the remains of our breakfast. “Should I?”

“Please, let me,” Esais said with a ghost of his smile. “You’ve done enough.”

John smiled at him and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

As I watched him go, the realization hit me that I hadn’t asked to stay with him. Damn, it looked like I was still homeless.

Chapter 7

ESAIS HELD THE door open for me as I adjusted the large bag on my shoulder and stepped out onto the sparsely crowded sidewalk. A few cars were parked at the meters, and a mother and her teenage daughter stared into the window of a boutique across the street. I put my hand in front of my face as the sun reflected off one of the windows of the boutique and right into my eyes. The world wanted to remind me what a wonderful morning this was while I just wanted to crawl into a bed somewhere and slip into oblivion.

“So you and John are lovers?” he asked.

I dropped the bag on the sidewalk. “What? No, just friends.”

“Hmm, he wasn’t acting that way.”

“I’m sorry for that. I don’t know what it was about.”

“He seemed to play the jealous boyfriend.”

“He’s not.”

Not that I hadn’t thought about it. John tried to lightly push for more every time we met, but I’d always rebuffed him. He made me smile in the direst of circumstances. I didn’t want to lose my confidant, and if we became intimate, this would take a tragic direction. My love life was cursed. Truly.

“If you say so.” Esais watched me lift the bag up again. “Where are you going?”

“I need to find a new hotel. Though we need to make plans for the carnival.” I chewed my lip.

“Stay with us.”

“Won’t he have something to say about that?”

I nodded to where a white car sat parked several buildings down. Adrian watched me from the driver’s seat with a narrowed eye. He probably had a gun ready to shoot me if I made any untoward moves at his brother.

“Probably,” Esais said. “Tres and I will outvote him, though.”

“Where is the little brother?”

“He’s not in danger, so probably chasing after a girl.”

“Your range is that good?”

He shook his head. “I have a special connection with Tres.”

I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

Adrian stepped out of the car as we approached him. He placed his hands behind his back and gave me a glare before turning to his brother. “Well, did you find out anything useful?”

“You couldn’t wait at home?” Esais asked.

“He was concerned about you.” I couldn’t keep the small bit of smugness from my voice.

Adrian cut his eye at me. “We don’t all believe your little story.”

“We can discuss this at the house,” Esais said. “Gabby will be staying with us while we are here.”

“What is wrong with her hotel?”

The roar of a motor prevented me from answering. A midnight blue truck towered over the rest of the cars as it sped towards us. Marguerite’s face flashed by as she passed us. The truck swerved, almost riding up on the curb, and parked with the squeal of tires. She hopped out of the car and marched over to us.

“That would be what’s wrong,” I said.

She said, “I have lost the D-boyz trail, and I need to hurt something. Where’s this devil?”

“This is your partner?” Adrian asked, his voice cold. “Funny, you didn’t mention her.”

I licked my lips as my heart sped. Fencing came in a variety of ways, and I excelled at several. I missed having a good opponent, but perhaps I’d found one in Adrian. His words sometimes proved to be as sharp as mine.

“I just met her early this morning, fighting a new demon,” I said.

Adrian’s gaze bore into me. “New as in you didn’t bother to see if it had a hand in this?”

“If I could keep up with every demon on Earth, well, let’s just say we wouldn’t be here today.”

Esais sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Adrian, not now.”

Marguerite crossed her arms. “Who the hell are you two?”

“Marguerite, this is Esais and Adrian Van Helsing,” I said, waving a hand at the brothers. “Boys, this is Marguerite.”

“And what does Marguerite do?” Adrian asked.

“Would you like me to show you?” She brought her hand up with her fists clenched and stepped back with her left foot.

“By all means, try it.”

I stifled a yawn and blinked my eyes. “As amusing as this is, we all have things to do.”

“Wait, you crossed the salt, but these two could be demons,” Marguerite said, looking at me.

Esais’s eyebrows drew together. “I see trust is going to be an issue on all sides.”

The corner of Marguerite’s  mouth lifted up.

“I have some of your holy water,” Adrian said. “Maybe she’ll turn out to be a demon, and we can kill her.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she said with a snort.

“I believe I already offered you that challenge,” he shot back.

“Marguerite has demon taint. I’m not sure how much we can trust her.” I pushed my thought out, hoping Esais’s telepathy would pick it up.

He blinked with his eyes widening in surprise, and he glanced at me. ”You want me to check?”

So, he could pick up thoughts sent to him—good. I nodded, crossing my arms and pretending to watch the two continue to bicker. He sighed and kept his gaze steady on Marguerite. He needed to concentrate to scan the thoughts of others.

“You know, I could just find this devil on my own,” she said.

“How are you planning to do that? You don’t know anything about him,” I said.

“Fine,” she said, and she pulled out her flask.

She stepped up to Adrian and flung some of the liquid in his face. She jumped back, readying her stance with a look of anticipation. When he took the handkerchief out and wiped his face, her shoulders slumped. She moved to Esais and did the same.

“She’s not working for any demons. The opposite, actually.” Esais’s voice echoed through my mind.

“So what’s her story?”

“That’s for her to tell.”

I kept my face neutral. “Now it is your turn.”

The woman held her arms out, looking at the brothers. Adrian pulled a flask of his own out and splashed the woman. Water dripped from her hair onto her face, running down her cheek like teardrops. She brushed them away with a scowl.

“Happy?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “But you aren’t a demon.”

I moved to the rear door of the car. “Can we go now? Marguerite can follow us to the house.”

“I didn’t agree to let you stay.” Adrian remained standing by the hood of the car.

“Let’s talk about it off the street, eh, Ader?” Esais said. “I’ll ride with Ms. Devereux.”

Marguerite shrugged and walked with him to her truck, leaving Adrian and I to our silent battle. Her tires flung up dirt and gravel which rained down on the surrounding cars and the sidewalk as she squealed away. Cars flew by, and people stared as they passed us in the street. Yet we remained, each of us not willing to give any ground.

“You have lost this one,” I said. “By now your brothers are at home with Marguerite.”

He unlocked the car and slid in. The engine started as I threw my bag in, and he sped off as I slammed the door. I stared out the window as we passed buildings. This time I wasn’t looking at the souls of the people but the soul of the town. Humans had a deeper influence on places than they thought. Their emotions bled into the land around them, leaving an impression that faded slowly. Instead of colors, I saw the time of the strongest impression.

A saloon stood where the diner was. A dirt road replaced the paved streets and sidewalks. Men and women dressed in regalia of past times walked the streets, chatting among themselves. These spirits were bound to this place and a time long gone, unaware of the humans that now inhabited the world. Sometimes, I envied them. They were completely unaware they were trapped. The town itself appeared to be normal. The sky, however, was a different matter. A sickly, brown-yellow cloud mixed with red-black lines swirled like a funnel to the north of the town, and a smaller funnel gathered to the west. I rubbed my eyes and leaned back. I was betting one of those places was the carnival. So, what about the other one?

We turned onto one of the back roads. Brick houses lined each side of the street, each almost identical to the next with their manicured lawns. Adrian parked in the driveway of one home that stood one story and was several shades of brown, from the bricks to the siding.  He walked to the trunk and pulled out a large crate as I strolled by the bushes that hugged the house just under the windows.

“What sort of protections do you have?” I asked.

“We haven’t placed any yet.”

A chill ran down my spine. The hellhound could have come in and killed them in the night, and I wouldn’t have known. I marched to the door and yanked it open, letting it bounce against the outer wall with a bang. Esais was in the living room with his brother and Marguerite. Tres sat on the couch, leaning forward with his thighs pressed together and his eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled down his blotchy skin.  Marguerite stood by the window with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. Esais looked up from the book he held in his hands.

“I brought the Key with me,” he said.

I glanced from Tres to Marge. “What happened?”

“I’m just teaching little boys to keep their hands to themselves,” Marge said.

I glanced at Esais. “I’m surprised you don’t have a problem with that.”

“He’s a grown man.” Esais pinned Marge down with a stare. “However, you only get one.”

That’s was something I had no business stepping in the middle of. Back to the important things. “Why do you have no protections? Any demon can come in here,”

He pushed his glasses up. “I’m not sure I have any.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. ”I see you haven’t gotten that far in the Key.”

To come here without anything to protect themselves was just inviting Ose to take them. I thought at least Jonah or Lucy would have shown them something, but it looked like they had expected me to do so. Esais continued to stare at me with his eyebrows knit and his lips pursed.

Lucy had taken care of everything after Ose's initial attack on their family, so Esais probably never knew what was needed. I sighed, rubbing my temples in a circular motion with my thumb and forefinger. Adrian brushed past me and set his crate in the living room. They all turned their gazes to me expectantly.

“Can you tell them about the carnival and whatever it is that Marge chased here?” I asked Esais. “I need to make sure we are safe.”

He nodded. I grabbed my bag from the car. No rest for the wicked, so I couldn’t get any, either.

Chapter 8

I EXAMINED EACH room. The house lay open with doorways connecting the halls and the five bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. A stack of worn, leather-bound books sat on the dining room table with one open in front of a high-backed chair. The air conditioner rumbled to life, blowing cold air into the already chilled house, and I shivered, rubbing my arms. I carried my bag into the first of the bedrooms. They could blame me for breaching privacy when we were safe behind protections.

I pulled out a small vial of ink and shook the bottle. Almost full, but it wouldn’t be after I finished tonight. I had to pick up more of the alchemical mixture when I had the chance. I scooted the furniture away from the eastern corner and pulled up the carpet. I bent over the concrete and started scribing the symbol. The spiral pattern of the tiny markings would pull in and dissipate demonic energies and the iron and mercury in the ink would strengthen that power. I moved to each corner, until I had finished all four in an hour’s time. The whole house would take all day. I stood and massaged my shoulder as I craned my neck to stretch the muscles. Work like that had aggravated it from last night.

“That looks like it hurts. I could help you with it.”

Tres smiled at me from the doorway. I nodded, and he motioned to the bed. His hands ran along my shoulder blade. Warmth flowed from his hands into my arm, and the soreness faded like it had never been.

“Do your brothers know you can heal people with your touch?” I asked.

“Esais knows, but I don’t think Adrian ever paid attention.”

His fingertips trailed down my back to my waist. I caught his wrist and turned to face him. His cinnamon skin radiated heat under my hand and contrasted with my own olive color. It was a shade lighter than Esais but a few shades darker than Adrian’s. His white teeth flashed at me in a grin, and a lock of his hair fell in front of his face.

“Didn’t you learn from whatever it was you tried with Marguerite?”

“Worth a try,” he said.

“This is your bedside manner?” I asked. “I should file for harassment or something.”

He chuckled. ”Good thing I’m not your doctor. Besides, you’re pretty irresistible.”

“Dig deep for that inner resolve. You’re too young for me.”

“Well, if you knew my great-grandfather, then anyone alive is too young for you,” he said with a smile still on his face.

I returned his smile, thinking of Dimitri’s laughing eyes. Tres’s grin lifted a little higher on the left side, like his. I released a small bit of sadness welling up in me with a long breath.

“I was too old for him, too,” I said. “So how powerful is your healing?”

He raised his left hand. “I can heal any wound I’ve come across, but there are consequences. If I do too much, I start to feel pain. It only subsides when I hurt someone with this hand.” He lifted his right hand.

“The ability to harm and heal. Interesting.”

“I suppose. I try to stick to regular medicine for most injuries.”

“You’re a doctor? Aren’t you twenty?”

He chuckled. “Twenty-two, thank you. I received my degree in Romania. I think most of my practice will be from my family. Hunting and all.”

“Such an achievement.”

“With my family, being mediocre gets you killed.” He stood and walked to the corner of the room. “What are these?”

“Babylonian devil traps. They work on demons too. I’m surprised none of you know this. What has Lucy and Jonah been teaching you?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I haven’t seen either of them in years. It’s mostly just been Esais and me.”

Strange. Maybe Lucy wanted to keep the demons away from them. “Where is everyone else?”

“Marge and Esais are out investigating, and Adrian is in his lab, working on god knows what.”

“Marge?”

He scratched his cheek and snickered. “Yeah, Esais started calling her that, and it stuck.”

My shoulders shook with the laughter I tried to hold in. I could imagine Marge’s face turning red and her lips thinning every time someone used the nickname. I wondered how long it would last.

“So, I hear you’re staying with us,” he said.

I nodded.

Adrian leaned against the frame of the door with his arms crossed. “For the record, I’m against it.”

His good eye narrowed at me, blazing with heat. If he could burn me with a look, I would have been on fire. He wore a black tank top that showed a hint of muscle. He wasn’t a body builder, but he definitely worked out. He kept his beard groomed, allowing it to grow along his jawline. The dark contrast to his pale skin pronounced his cheekbones.

“I’m sure your protest was noted,” I said.

Tres stepped between us. “Come on, Adrian, both women have information we need.”

“Then they can provide information and live someplace else,” Adrian said.

“Esais thinks we need to be protected, and we can’t do that separated.”

The younger one stared at his brother with earnest eyes. He laid on the charm, but his brother wasn’t swayed. He shook his head, his face a mask of cold disdain.

“She isn’t one of us,” Adrian said.

“Like you have room to talk.” Tres clenched his fists, his smile slipping from his face.

“First of all,” I said, “stop arguing about me like I’m not here. Second, Esais has a point; we have too many enemies to live separate. Third, you may not see it, but I actually care about your family.”

“Why?” he asked, letting his gaze bore into me.

“Because I made a promise,” I said, my voice softening.

“Supposedly to my great-grandfather, yes. I don’t know how you fooled him, but I’m not falling for your tricks, and I won’t let you sway my brothers,” he said icily.

“I’m not trying to trick you,” I said.

“Most monsters would say that,” Adrian said.

“I’m not a monster,” I said.

“Well, you’re certainly not human.”

I stared at my hands with my face on fire. I should have felt angry—and a part of me did—but it didn’t account for the nausea that rose in my stomach nor the tightness that restricted my chest. I grabbed my bag and the ink.

“Excuse me, I have the rest of the house to finish.” I pushed past him and into the hallway.

Tres followed me into the next room. “I’m sorry Adrian is an ass. He always has been.”

I looked into the hall. If Adrian heard, the argument would just be moved into here, and I was finished listening to any more insults for the day. I jangled the knob and waited for him to show his face so I could slam the door in it.

“Don’t worry. He’s gone to the garage. Most likely working on a new weapon and brooding.”

“He’s entitled to his opinion.” If only he could keep that opinion to himself. “I’ll leave once I’ve finished protecting your house.”

“No, we want you here. He’ll come around.”

“You don’t seem to get along with him,” I said.

Tres shook his head, throwing his hand up. “He’s always been this way. He complained about having to take the Oath, though he ended up doing it. Then he and Papa had a big fight about going to America for college.”

“College?”

“He was offered a full scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology when he was sixteen. Something for robotics, I think.”

“He’s two years older than you, right?”

“Four. Not that it really matters. He’s never acted like my brother.” He gritted his teeth and gave a derisive snort. “He hasn’t been back since he ran off to college in America, not for Mother’s and Father’s funeral. Not even when Adam died.”

I crossed my arms. “You seem a little bitter.”

Tres’s hands clenched around his pants, bunching them up at his knees. “I don’t see why he’s here now. He’s never cared before.”

“People change.”

“I doubt it. Besides, what’s he going to do? Get arrested again?”

“What happened?”

He smirked. “He made some naughty weapons. Pissed some people off.”

I chuckled. “Well, maybe he can make us some. We need all the help we can get.”

He took a deep breath and looked at my vial of ink. “So can you explain these traps to me?”

“Sure,” I said. He didn’t want to take this any deeper. I would have to be patient. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s the ink?”

“It’s an alchemical compound with crushed agate. Good for repelling hostile spirits.”

“Did you make it?”

I chuckled. “No, alchemy is too involved for me. I tend to dabble in the other areas of magic.”

“Other areas?”

“The magic that we humans can do comes in five forms: alchemy, talismans or charms, incantations, symbols, and rituals. Anyone can do them, but the magic is precise. One incorrect word or symbol and…” The banishing of Ose flashed through my mind.

I’d been unused to doing such rites then. Now, however, he wasn’t leaving this town alive, and there would be no exorcism for him to come back from. He would meet the sharp side of my sword.

“So what are we doing now?” Tres asked.

“It’s a symbol—the counter-clockwise spiral of the words blocks demons and their energies from entering this space.”

“How long does it last?”

“Until the symbol is destroyed.”

“I’ll watch you do it for a while, then. We want to make sure they’re perfect right?”

I smiled at him and moved to the left corner of the room. He came to stand over my shoulder as I painted. We spent the afternoon working on the traps. Adrian came in and watched from a distance. Tres managed to grasp the concept quickly, and he finished a room with the help of a journal I kept.

I flopped on the bed of my new room with a sigh. My eyelids drooped at the sight of the pillow and blanket. They beckoned to me to crawl in and let sleep take me, but I still had work to do. I wasn’t going near the carnival without a protection against madness. That yellow cloud meant the area was ripe with it. I emptied out a small bag into my hand. I had five pieces of jet, one for each of us. Carving the Hebrew symbols would take my complete concentration, so I plugged my ears and prepared for a long night.

Chapter 9

THE SMALL TICKET booth and metal gate of the carnival entrance remained a good twenty people away. The smell of exhaust wafted on the air from the street behind us. I stepped back under the shade of a nearby tree and fanned myself with my hand. A girl of four or five clenched her fists and stomped her feet, her red face upturned to her offender, her mother. I rubbed my ear at the wail that emitted from such a tiny person.

Adrian stared at the family in front of us with his nostrils flared and his mouth pressed in a thin line. The mother put a hand in front of her, rubbing her temple with the tips of her fingers. When the line moved forward, she yanked the screaming child forward by her arm. I smiled. My own child hadn’t been old enough to throw a tantrum, but he’d had some lungs on him.

“Why have you decided we need to waste a day standing in lines?” Adrian asked.

“What, you don’t like children?” I asked.

Tres snickered. “Adrian has never been a family man.”

The middle brother turned his one-eyed scrutiny to the younger one. Tres’s grin faltered, and he cleared his throat, shifting closer to Marge, who stood with her arms crossed and one foot tapping a steady rhythm on the sidewalk.

She growled under her breath. “I wanna know why I was dragged here, too.”

“Didn’t Esais explain this?” I asked.

Esais nodded. “Though I think they were too busy arguing to pay attention.”

“I get it,” she said. “Devil’s hiding place, blah, blah, blah. But why do we have to do this with them?” Marge waved her hand at the crowd surrounding us.

“It is easier for us to move unnoticed,” I said.

“And we have to wear these ugly necklaces because?”

“So you don’t go mad. But if you hate it that much, by all means.” I held out my hand. “I can always use the spare.”

“Tres,” a woman’s voice called behind us.

Adrian stole a glance over his shoulder, then sneered at his brother. “What was that about not attracting attention?”

The woman crossed the street from the parking lot and jogged up to us. She pushed the tiny red braids out of her face and nodded to us before turning her attention back to Tres. She smiled at him, her amber eyes gleaming under her sooty lashes. Her espresso-colored skin glistened in the sun and pulled at the collar of her button up shirt. She leaned her head to one side as she panted a little.

“You didn’t mention coming here,” she said.

“I didn’t know when we met.” Tres turned to the rest of us.  ”Everyone, this is Charlotte Dixon.”

Esais held his hand out to her. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Dixon. I’m Tres’s brother, Esais.”

I moved up once he finished and introduced myself. Adrian gave her a nod, and Marge looked her up and down before going back to her foot tapping.

Charlotte waved her hand to them. “Is this your first time here?”

Officer Parkins crossed the street and walked to us. “Don’t run off like that,” she said to Charlotte. Her gaze moved to me. “We meet again, I see.”

“Officer,” I said.

“Oh, she’s off duty now. Call her Nancy.” Charlotte tilted her head in Nancy’s direction with her eyebrows raised. “And she promised me she would leave work behind.”

“Right, a day filled with fun.” Nancy put on an exaggerated smile, eliciting a laugh from Charlotte. She gave the group an once-over. “So, this is the rest of your family?”

Marge scowled. “This is boring. I’m off.” She stalked off into the entrance of the fair.

“She’s not. Just met her.” I nodded between Charlotte and Nancy. “What about the two of you?”

“Cousins,” Nancy said.

“How about we show you around?” Charlotte asked the rest of us.

“Well, I believe Adrian and Gabby wanted to have some time to themselves,” Esais said. “But Tres and I would be delighted.”

“You have to be joking.” I pushed my thought to him.

Tres held out his arm to Charlotte. “Now I can get to know two beautiful ladies.”

“I don’t want my brother anywhere near the police, and she’s already suspicious of you. Go scout the carnival.”

“We’ll meet up later.” Esais nodded to both of us before turning to Nancy. “So, what can you tell me about the carnival?”

Nancy gave me one last look before turning back to Esais. The group walked through the gates, leaving me alone with Adrian. I could think of worse ways to spend time, like torture or the forced guest of a demon, but this came close. I closed my eyes and inhaled, letting the warmth of the sun bathe my face. I could do this. I wouldn’t lose to the arrogant prick. I had already overcome many in my lifetime.

I shifted my mind to the pleasant thoughts of Shakespeare’s sonnets, exhaled, and imagined my anxiety and annoyance floating away in small puffs of smoke. Adrian watched me with an unreadable expression, his hands clasped behind his back. I showed him my pearly whites.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Your sudden lightheartedness is suspicious,” he said with a raised brow.

“I’ve decided I’m not going to let you affect me. We have a job to do.”

Before he could get another word in, I headed into the crowd. I spun to the side, avoiding two children as they ran by laughing and covered in ice cream. The scent of roasted corn and fried foods wafted past me on a breeze. My stomach growled, reminding me I should have eaten breakfast before we left the house. I bought a sausage-on-a-stick and leaned against the stand, waiting for Adrian to catch up to me. I took my first bite. The hot grease burnt the roof of my mouth, and I sucked in air to cool it. I savored the spiced meat as I chewed.

“This is work?” Adrian asked as he approached.

“No, this is breakfast that can be eaten while we work,” I said.

He studied me as if I was some small reptile he wanted to dissect. “You eat, you sleep, and you get hurt. You certainly play well at being human.”

“Because I am human. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Just because you say it, doesn’t make it true.”

I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger and sighed. This man would never believe my words without proof. If I didn’t gain even a small amount of this man’s trust, our animosity could get us killed. I needed to be the bigger woman.

“What will it take for you to believe me? Do you want Tres to perform a full physical?” I asked.

He opened his mouth as if to make another comment, but when he met my gaze, he stopped. He must have read the earnestness in my face. He tilted his head and furrowed his brow as though he couldn’t quite figure me out. I kept my face straight. I still had a few surprises in me.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because one of us needs to call a truce. Hell, if you want, I’ll tell you my life’s story, but not here and not now.”

The muscles in his jaw moved. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded. I wanted him to accept me. I would never admit it aloud, but the opinions of Dimitri’s descendants meant more to me than anyone else. The other two would be easier, I hoped. This one, however, remained the exception to everything I knew about the Van Helsings. He always wanted to go on his own.

“I suppose that is acceptable,” he said.

I clapped my hands. “He can be reasoned with! All right, let’s get to work.”

“And how do you propose we do this search?” he asked.

I finished my sausage and tossed the stick in the trash. I moved close enough to murmur to him without being overheard, touching his shoulder. He stiffened. Though we made a semi-truce, trust would be a long time coming. Still, we couldn’t act as strangers.

“First, we need to pretend we’re friends. Otherwise, they’ll see us coming,” I said.

He nodded and relaxed. “How are we going to find them?”

“Leave that to me.”

I tucked my arm in the crook of his elbow and pulled him forward. As we walked, I inhaled and let my senses expand, once again activating my astral sight. A rainbow of colors greeted me. Bright reds and light yellows emanated from happy fair goers and mixed with the grays and muddy browns of others of a more downhearted nature. All human as far as my eye could see. The yellow cloud funneled in several directions. I followed it to its closest source.

“What are you doing?” Adrian asked.

“Searching auras for demons,” I said.

“What you’re doing now disproves your claim.”

Funny he should say that, considering his brothers’ and his own situation.

“We are called emissaries and we are still born as a human,” I said.

“So are vampires.”

“Vampires are undead,” I said, holding a finger up.

“Demons, then.”

“Possess a body. If it is still alive, the person they ride is human.”

“Interesting. There is still a human in there.”

I nodded. “Most aren’t willing.”

“What about what you did yesterday?”

“Ritual magic? Anyone can do it as long as they have the formula.”

He refrained from replying and started into the distance with narrowed eyes. It hadn’t won him over, but he’d gained information. I continued to scan the carnival. Between the glow of pink and green, I saw the red black. The boy wore a leather jacket with the head of a demon on its back. He turned his head, flashing his pocked face.

“We need to move,” I said, darting in the direction before I lost my mark.

“What?” Adrian asked as he was yanked behind me.

“I found someone.”

I pushed aside a tall man, standing in the middle of the walkway. I didn’t stop to apologize. I quickened my steps, my eyes never leaving the black tendrils as they floated past the roller coaster. Adrian caught my arm. I couldn’t hear what he said over the roaring whoosh of the cars as they passed us on the ride. I shook my head and pulled away. Had to keep moving.

The yellow I’d been looking for filled my vision as I passed a building. I closed my eyes against the moment of vertigo. The second man I ran into pushed back and I stumbled but regained my balance before I fell. The man looked down at the remains of the chili pie dripping down his Metallica T-shirt then back to me. His face twisted in a scowl.

“Watch where you’re going, bitch!” he yelled.

I peered past him, but my quarry had vanished. Damn. I let out a huff and turned my attention to the mullet head in front of me.

“Sorry,” I said, not meaning it.

“You’re just gonna say sorry? You owe me a new pie!” He towered over me, his belly peeking out from under his shirt.

“I believe we can compensate you,” Adrian said from behind me.

He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and held it out. The other man stared at it with a look of confusion.

“I’m sure this is more than enough to help widen your girth,” Adrian said, keeping his voice cordial.

The man walked off after shooting me one last glare, unaware of the insult. He didn’t matter. I turned my attention to the building that had surprised me and covered my mouth, fighting to keep the bile down. The outside of the building looked like a wooden caravan, but the putrid yellow infected everyone who passed it. Traces of black mixed in with the yellow and spiraled up into the air. My funnel. The gypsy woman painted on the wall leered at me; her grin seemed to divide her face.

“What is wrong with you?” Adrian asked, his voice filled with cold annoyance.

Before I could reply, the door swung open, and a group of teenagers flooded out. They chattered with each other, passing us by without a glance, unaware their happy auras were marred by tiny mustard spots. The dots spread to people they passed like a virus.

“This place,” I said.

“I’m not going to rely on cards and tea leaves to find a demon,” he said with a snort.

“No,” I said.

I kneeled down, putting my head between my legs. I sucked in several breaths of air and let my vision return to normal. It was too much. I could feel the slimy yellow tendrils reaching out to me. They wanted to touch in a place I could not heal. My mind.

“This place; it’s demon touched,” I said once I could speak again.

He studied the building, as if memorizing every inch of the place. His lip turned with disgust as his gaze reached the gypsy woman.

“Then perhaps a reading would be useful,” he said.

I grabbed his arm before he moved too far. “We need the others.”

“I believe we can deal with one fortune teller.” His voice was filled with confidence.

A flash of leather disappeared behind the roller coaster. Marge followed, hot on his trail, with a wild grin on her face.

“That will have to wait,” I said. “Marge has found something to entertain her, which means trouble.”

Chapter 10

I PULLED ADRIAN through the crowd as I kept sight of Marge’s back. She slipped behind one of the wooden fences at the edge of the carnival and into a copse of tress so thick it made the inside look like twilight instead of late morning. The carnival workers were busy dealing with customers, so they didn’t notice as I slid halfway through the fence.

“Coming?” I asked Adrian.

He waved me along and pushed himself through the fence. I scanned the trees and saw a flash of blonde heading farther into the woods. I grabbed Adrian’s arm, pulling him along. A man’s yell echoed through the tree line, and I broke into a run. The branches cracked under my feet, and my heart pounded in my ears.

Maybe she’d found the demon. I didn’t have my sword, but I had my knives and a vial of holy water in my pocket. If Marge could keep him busy, I could exorcise him. I preferred Solomon’s words to the standard Catholic practice, mostly because the latter required a priest. As a woman, I could never be a priest. Besides, the Church and I hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

I stopped short as I came upon Marge holding the biker hostage against a tree. She pressed her foot into the throat of the biker as he lay on the ground with his head propped against the trunk. He struggled to knock her off balance, but she just pushed harder.

“You’re pretty weak without your gun,” she said. “Now where’s your boss?”

He coughed and gagged, wrapping his fingers around her boot.

“I don’t think he can answer your questions like that,” I said.

Marge spun around, her hair ruffled in the slight breeze. The snarl on her lips lessened as she saw who spoke.

“What do you suggest?” she asked.

“Tie him up and question him. Or hold him at gunpoint,” I said.

She patted her jeans. “Damn, I seem to be all out of guns and handcuffs.”

I pulled a handful of cable ties from my purse. John had shown them to me a few years back, and the nylon strips had proven useful for a lot of things. I held them out to her, and she smirked.

“I like the way you think,” she said.

She snagged them from my hand and turned back to the cowering man. The biker struggled to stand as she moved her boot. She kicked him in the face, causing his head to slam back against the tree and fall forward again. He winced with a groan as blood gushed from his swelling nose. She made quick work of him, putting him in a sitting position with his arms tied between his legs. He blinked up at her, the side of his face already puffing up.

“You can scream and yell, but with the carnival, no one will hear you,” she told him.

He glared up at her. “Fuck off, you crazy bitch.”

“You have no idea. Now, answer my question.”

“What question?”

She bent down and grabbed one of his fingers. She jerked it back. The snap echoed through the woods, followed by his cry of pain. Adrian sighed and walked away.

“I will check to see if he has any friends nearby,” he said.

“Where is your boss?” she repeated.

“Around. Fuck, I don’t know.”

This would take forever. Time for me to step in. “Why were you at the fair?”

“Do you crazy bitches tie people up often? You can’t get a real fuck?”

Crack. Scream. Crack. Scream.

“Answer the damn question,” Marge said.

“Looking for Ose,” he said.

He leaned against the tree and panted. The reddish purple bruise contrasted with the growing pallor of his face. I swallowed and turned my head away. It was only a few broken fingers. He’d be fine with a bit of tape if things ended here. We still had more questions to ask. I rubbed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, trying to kill the bitter taste that had risen.

“Why are you looking for him?” I asked.

His mouth clamped into a thin line, and he stared at the ground with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.

Marge raised her foot up and brought it down on his ankle. The boy managed to choke back his yell this time. I turned my head and shifted from one leg to another. The boy had willingly sided with demons. He served them for power and deserved no sympathy from me. He would get none from the demons when he filled his purpose. They would do much worse.

“Ow, ow. Okay,” Pock-face said. “There’s some sort of contract on him. He’s making something big.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

He hesitated, and Marge raised her foot again. He cringed, bunching his shoulders up. “Some sort of drug, OK?! It’s supposed to be with him, wherever he it.”

“So, where are you meeting up with your friends?” she asked.

Pock-face stared at a tree behind us. He feared the demon in Tattoo more than our capacity to cause pain. Marge chuckled a dark, gravelly kind of laugh. The fact he didn’t talk seemed to please her. I crossed my arms and rubbed my biceps. Marge took out a switchblade and flipped it open, a look of anticipation on her face.

“Tell me,” she said.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was as if the blade was traveling across my flesh like others did centuries ago. The boy’s screams intermingled with my own. I hadn’t resisted the clergy when they’d taken me from my home after my family’s death. They’d dumped me in a cell with nothing but a blanket. For days I’d lain there in a daze, wishing for death.

The inquisitor came not long after with his questions and devices. He restrained me in a special chair. It reeked of old blood and other body fluids from previous occupants. He hadn’t liked my response when he asked who I served. Every time I responded with the name of God, the restraints tightened and the blades on the armrests dug deeper. That had just been the beginning. I could still feel the cuts in my arms, the tightening on my wrists, and the burning of my flesh.

“Stop.” I stumbled forward and pushed Marge away from her victim. She glared and shoved back.

“What the hell?” she said.

“This is not working.” I straightened and put as much calm into my voice as I could muster.

“It’s working great. He’ll keep talking.”

“We can find out what he knows in different ways,” I said.

“And what do you suggest?” Adrian asked from behind me.

I spun around and bit my lip. When had he returned? Hell, he didn’t know about Esais’s abilities yet, and I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell him. Both he and Marge stared at me, waiting for my answer.

“What we were doing before was working,” I said.

“Seems like a waste of time,” Marge said. “Besides, this is fun.”

“Why bother with a human lackey when we can question a demon?” I kept my gaze on Adrian. Surely, he would see the best option.

The skin around Marge’s eyes tightened. “This seer isn’t the demon I want.”

“He’s not your demon, either. Just a human.” I raised my voice to meet hers, moving until we were inches apart.

“He’s sided with him. Just as bad.”

“He still has a chance to change that.”

Pock-face groaned and stared up at me with one good eye. Blood ran over the other from a cut on his forehead.

“I’ll take the demons over you any day,” he said.

I sighed. He’d made his choice. Marge moved forward and slammed her knee into his face. His nose crunched beneath the force, and he slumped, unconscious. She kicked him in the gut several more times.

“At least give him a swift death.” I moved forward and pulled out my knife.

“He could be useful. If he’s still alive.” Adrian pushed both of us aside. He knelt beside Pock-face and put three fingers on his throat. He stood and dusted himself off.  ”Let’s head back. I don’t want to be caught at the scene of an assault.”

“We’re just going to let him go?” Marge asked.

“For now. Besides, we have to get our fortunes read.”

“How is he going to be useful?”

“Wait and see,” he said.

Marge threw her hands in the air. She muttered and cursed the entire way back. I’d spoiled her fun, but the violence turned my stomach. I was no stranger to anger, and I enjoyed seeing a demon die, but her anger ran deeper and darker than mine. I would have to make sure it wasn’t turned on me or the brothers.

Chapter 11

THE CARNIVAL CROWD paid no attention to us as we slipped back in through the fence. The metal of the roller coaster we stood behind rattled as the car sped its screaming passengers along the tracks.

Marge crossed her arms. “So, where is this fortune-teller?”

I nodded in the direction where the crowd thickened to a sea of bodies. Families stood in the food lines, staring up at the menus with almost glazed expressions. Children yanked at their parents’ arms and pointed to cotton candy and treats on display at the small, metal stands. This would be a nightmare to get through.

“Through the food court,” I said.

“Let’s get on with it. Maybe one demon will die today,” Marge said.

Adrian scoffed. “I doubt that.”.

I sighed and pushed forward into the crowd. I didn’t want to hear more of Marge’s bitching or Adrian’s criticism. Neither of them had the experience to contend with a demon like Malantha on their own. He spent his time in prison instead of hunting. Marge’s tactic was to rush in and beat whatever opposition lay in front of her. Malantha liked games, and both could fall easily into her traps like I’d fallen for a few over the years.

“Wait up,” Marge called as I pushed farther in.

I glanced back. A small girl ran full tilt into her legs and stumbled back. She blinked up at Marge and gave her an angelic smile.

“Sorry,” the girl said.

“Watch where you’re going, kid,” Marge said, the scowl on her face softening.

A balding man hustled to them from one of the food lines. His beefy hand reached out and yanked the girl away from Marge. His jowls wiggled as he spun the girl to face him. The man’s face glowed red and his eyes protruded from his face.

“I told you not to run off.” He punctuated each word with a shake.

The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Get off of her.” Marge shoved him in the shoulder.

“Mind your own damn business,” the man snarled.

“I’ll mind what the fuck I want to. Don’t treat your daughter like that.”

The man loomed over Marge, his face turning a deeper red, almost purple. She didn’t seem impressed with his size. She tilted her chin up, waiting for him to make a move.

I looked to Adrian and raised an eyebrow. He waved his hand at me as if to say “all yours.” Great. Once again, I would have to get between Marge and a fight.

“Why don’t you take your nosy ass on,” the man said. “What I do with my family is my right.”

“The hell it is. Maybe you should feel what you dish out.”

Marge stepped back, going into her stance. Her eyes were narrowed, and the smile I’d seen earlier came to her face. The man raised his fist. I moved up next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Behind the man, Nancy was approaching fast.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked.

The man turned to her, dropping his fist. His shoulders hunched, and he dug his hands into his pockets. The redness drained from his face.

“No problem, Officer,” he said.

“It looks like a problem. It looks like the two of you are disturbing these people who are trying to enjoy the carnival.”

He pointed a finger at Marge. “It’s her—”

“Lloyd, am I going to have to call Deb to pick up your daughter so I can take you to the station?”

The man grabbed his daughter’s hand and dragged her behind him towards the Ferris wheel. Marge took a step in that direction, but I grabbed her arm and shook my head. I met her glare with one of my own. Didn’t she understand we had bigger problems to worry about? She was spoiling for a fight.

Charlotte came up to Nancy with Tres and Esais trailing behind her. Her lips pursed together, and her eyes narrowed. “I thought we agreed no policing on your day off.”

Nancy waved her hand at Marge and me. “I wouldn’t, but they were disturbing the peace.”

“That ass was hurting his daughter,” Marge said. “And you just let him go.”

Nancy rubbed the back of her neck. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any evidence that he’s actually hurt her, so there’s not much we can do.” And that doesn’t excuse you from trying to start a fight.”

“Anyone here saw what he did to her. Whatever, this town is just fucked.”

She stalked off in the opposite direction of the man towards the exit of the carnival. She’d probably double back after the biker.

“Your friend’s got a real problem,” Nancy said.

“She’s not the only one,” I said. “You didn’t even question that man.”

“I know him. I don’t know you.”

“And you know there are rumors,” Charlotte said. “He used to be the nicest guy, except for the last month.”

“Perhaps you should look into it, Officer,” Esais said. “If the rumors are true, you will have prevented that girl from being hurt further.”

Nancy gritted her teeth. “How about you strangers stop talking about things you know nothing about?”

“My, you seem to be a bigger attraction than anything I have to offer here,” a woman’s voice rang from behind us. “Perhaps I should hire you.”

The owner of the voice stood with her arms crossed. Her mahogany hair flowed down her back in waves with golden rings braided into it. Multi-colored scarves made up her skirt, and she wore an off-the-shoulder blouse. Malantha looked every bit the part of a fake gypsy fortune-teller.

Her demon form was altogether different. Black smoke swirled inside a crystal ball. In the center, a pair of eyes with crimson irises gazed out at me. My chest tightened as they stared into my soul.

My hand twitched, but I kept it at my side. I’d left my sundang in Adrian’s car anyway. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled at me before moving her gaze over the others. She paused on each of the brothers and flashed me a look with a raised eyebrow. Esais stiffened beside me.

“And you are?” I asked.

Nancy waved her arm toward Malantha. “Briana is in charge of the carnival.”

“Interesting place you have here,” I said.

Esais took a step forward to introduce himself.

“Don’t touch her,” I thought to him.

He stepped back, moving in front of Tres. ”This is her?”

She looked at Esais’s protective position. “What lovely men. Are they yours?”

“Yes,” I said.

Adrian snorted behind me. Charlotte looked at Tres in confusion. He took her hand.

“Oh, but you two are together?” Malantha asked Tres and Charlotte.

I dug my fingernails into my palm, resisting every urge to go after her. There would be no explaining it to Nancy and Charlotte. “Do you ask personal questions of all your customers?” “I am a fortune-teller. You have an interesting accent. European?”

I nodded. She knew that already. This was just another game for her.

“Where are you from?”

“I have traveled all over,” I said.

“Have you visited Prague?”

My last stop before coming to America. I’d been searching for another hunter she’d targeted last year. I remember slipping through the broken window of the safe house. The stench of blood and decay had wafted through from the back rooms. The body of another hunter had been rotting in the house for days. I’d been too late again.  That seemed to be my story with Malantha. She seemed to make it her mission to wipe out the hunters from around the world and used her powers to take many by surprise. Thanks to her, we were a dying profession.

“It stinks there,” I said.

“I hear it’s lovely in the spring,” Malantha said.

“Plenty of danger.”

Her smile widened. “There is danger everywhere.”

Tres cleared his throat. “A fact we all know too well.”

Malantha chuckled and pulled out a deck of cards from the sash at her waist. She shuffled them with both hands as she peered at each one of us. A wave of dizziness shot through me. The yellow sickness drifted off the cards.

“I hope you enjoy yourselves. And if you ever want to run away, just let me know.” She held a card out to Charlotte. “A small fortune for you. Perhaps it’s a bit of romance.”

I reached up to knock Charlotte’s hand away, but Nancy moved faster. She snatched the card from Malantha and stared at it. It shook in her grip before she dropped it with a gasp. It fluttered to the ground, landing face up. The Devil. She shook her head and walked off, her aura turning from the pumpkin color of distrust to a deep charcoal. Small spots of yellow clung to the outer edges and began to eat their way in.

“Where are you going?” Charlotte called after her.

“Well, I suppose she didn’t like what she saw,” Malantha said to Charlotte. To me, she said, “I look forward to our future meeting.”

“I’m sure it will be more entertaining than this one,” I said.

She winked at me and spun on her heel, slipping through the crowd with ease. I balled my hands into fists. Was I so little a threat to her she could turn her back on me?

Charlotte looked to Tres, biting her lip. “I should go after Nancy.”

“I can come with you,” he said.

“No, I need to handle this.” She kissed him on the cheek and left.

“I believe we are finished here,” Adrian said. “Unless you would like to chase her down now.”

“Too many people,” I said. “Besides, we lost the element of surprise. She knows who you are now.”

I glanced back to the ground and blinked with a chill running down my spine. Feet kicked up old wrappers and plastic cups, but the card had disappeared.

Chapter 12

I LEANED AGAINST the wall of the brick church across the street from the carnival grounds with a small duffle bag resting by my feet. The sun had sunk hours ago, and the lights of the Ferris wheel and other rides lit the night. The families had exited through the gates, laughing and holding their prizes as they headed home for the night. The crickets were the only things that remained to keep me company.

I sighed and crossed my arms. This was going to be a long night. I doubted Malantha would even leave her fake little wagon, much less leave through the front gate, especially since she knew I was out here. With less people around, I could take a look at the outside, though. John stepped out of the gloom of the night and under the street lamp with a smile lighting his face. I stood and gave him a smile of my own.

“You don’t plan on staying out here all night, do you?” he asked. “She probably knows you are here.”

I shrugged. “Most likely, but I need to scout around.”

“So you called me because you wanted some company?”

I chuckled and jabbed him with my shoulder, playfully. “Yes, and I wanted to know if you’d gotten any information on that gang.”

He shoved his hand in his pockets. ”Walk with me?”

He held out the crook of his arm. I gave one last glance to the gates of the carnival before grabbing my bag and slipping my arm through his. As we strolled down the empty sidewalk, I let the world fade to the gray of the Eclipse.

Once again, the buildings were replaced by much older ones. The yellow cloud of madness swirled above the carnival, its murk obscuring what lay inside. I peered up into the sky, in search of its twin.  A small pinprick of pain formed in the inner corners of my eyes. I could only keep this up for so long, but I wanted to find where the other funnel led. If I found it, I would find Ose.

“So, have you learned anything?” I asked as I studied the sky.

“A little,” he said. “The D-boyz are big in New Orleans. They apparently sell themselves out as supernatural muscle.”

“I think Marge mentioned chasing them from there. How many are actually demons?”

“I think it’s just their big wigs,” he said. “From what I hear, it’s pretty cutthroat. They’re trying to stab each other in the back so they can get some recognition.”

I shook my head. “Of course. I’m sure the demons perpetuate that. It gets them souls faster.”

“Yeah, well, they get plenty of extra strength. They are better than normal humans.” He took my hand in his and gave it a small squeeze.

I stopped and smiled. “Are you worried about me?”

He brushed my cheek with his thumb, and I shivered at the warmth it gave. “Maybe a little. There are a lot of demons here.”

“This place was probably dead before Ose showed up.” I started walking again, pulling him along with me. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve handled people like the D-boyz before.”

He sighed. “Yeah, but I always worry about you. Especially now, with Ose. Maybe one day, one of them will get lucky and find a way to permanently get rid of you.”

My laugh echoed through the night. “I doubt that can happen. Allegra may have cursed me, but it’s powered by the Throne of Lust. The only two that can break that would be those higher on the totem pole. Pride or Greed.”

“Ose was once from Greed,” John said in a quiet voice. “What if he has the power? Or what if someone actually killed Allegra? It’s her that holds the connection, right?”

I shook my head. “Yeah, if she’s the conduit. If she dies, the curse ends, but I think I would know if that happened.”

“Just be careful, all right?” John stopped again and pulled me close. “I mean, Ose can drive people crazy. I don’t want to lose you, any part of you.”

His heat radiated all around me, making this hot night steamy. I stepped back and took a deep breath to calm my swiftly beating heart. “You won’t lose me. Though, I’m not sure where some of this is coming from.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling lately that you mean more to me than just a good friend.”

I sighed. “John, you know that can’t happen. It never turns out well.”

He gave a sad half-smile. “Does that mean you’ve just given up, because you’ve had a few bad incidents?”

“Yeah, I have. Anyone I get emotionally involved with ends up dead. That tends to turn a girl off of relationships.”

“They just needed to know what came with it.”

“Dimitri was a hunter.”

“And he didn’t die because of you.”

“No, but he almost did.”  I shook my head. “Let’s talk about something else.”

He sighed. “Fine. What else do you want to talk about?”

“Did you learn anything else about Marge?”

The yellow funnel drew closer as the buildings began to fall away to trees and a few sparse houses. We were nearing the woods that surrounded the town. The crossing between the street and the two lane highway was mostly empty and only illuminated by the street lamps.  The cone floated up the right like a great mustard beacon in the night.

“Well, she had a good bit of money. Family was rich,” he said.

“OK, so?”

“Her dad died under mysterious circumstances a few years ago. The family covered it up, but there were a lot of rumors going around about it in our little circles.”

“Any word on the demon that did it?”

John shook his head. “No one’s coming up and claiming it. Though they say it was someone in Wrath.”

“And I take it the D-boyz work for Wrath?”

“You got it, sweetheart. “ He grinned. “So, I guess this Marge chick is out to renig on her deal.”

I shook my head. “I’m not so sure. She seemed pretty pissed. Then again, that may just be her standard personality.”

“Maybe they screwed her over somehow. It’s not like they’re known for being completely up and up with their deals.”

“True. Too bad Marge won’t talk about it.”

“You just need to gain her trust. You know, use that winning personality of yours.”

“It’s not that winning. The Van Helsings don’t really trust me. At least not all of them.”

“How many is not all of them?’

I smirked at him. “OK, one. Adrian.”

“The criminal?” He snorted. “You got the better two. Why does it make a difference if he doesn’t?”

I shrugged. “I guess I just want Dimitri’s descendants to like me.”

“I think you put entirely too much emotion into that family. Give him time. If he doesn’t come around, he’s just an ass.”

I chuckled and shook my head and pointed in the air. “What’s over there?”

He looked over with narrowed eyes. “I think that’s the Mental Institution.”

I blinked. “There’s an asylum in this town? I didn’t think it was that big.”

He shrugged. “It’s been around since the turn of the century. It’s one of those creepy ones, though I think the current head tried to modernize it a bit.”

“Makes sense.” I turned to head in that direction.

“He chuckled. “You take me to all the great places.”

The street lights were our only guide as we walked along the deserted sidewalk. To our left, the darkness of the woods loomed, filled with the cricking of insects and the croaks of the frogs. I shivered and sped my steps. It felt as if something was watching us from inside the forest, yet my sight didn’t pick anything up but more shadows. I came upon the edge of a brick wall that loomed over us by at least ten feet. I metal rail lined the top of it.

“May I present the Hampton Mental Institute,” John said. “It’s a medium security kind of place. No criminally insane.”

“You really know a lot about this town.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, a small smile coming to his face. “A good reporter always does his homework.”

I peered up into the sky. Beyond the gate, the yellow conduit hovered in the air, like a great whirlwind, sucking away the sanity in the area. “Looks like this is the place.”

“You think Ose’s here?”

“Something’s here. And this would make sense. Let’s go take a look.”

I walked along the wall, looking for some sort of way up and over. The gate and driveway was a few meters away. Beyond that, the wall extended towards the woods. Maybe there was a tree close enough to let me cross over.

John caught up to me with a small huff. “You’re not actually thinking of going in there now, are you?”

“Why not? We need to scout around.”

“But are you equipped?”

I pointed to the bag I carried. “I have my sword. Maybe I’ll get lucky and take care of Ose tonight.”

Two figures loomed up ahead of us. I put an arm out in front of John and stepped in front of him. Ose hadn’t left his place unguarded.

Chapter 13

I SLID MY bag off of my shoulder and reached behind me to unzip it. One of the shadows advanced on us, and I could see the reddish lines in the corona of their aura. My hand wrapped around the hilt of my sundang.

“If you’re looking for a beat down, I’ll be happy to give it to you,” a woman’s voice rang with a familiar Cajun lilt.

The tension in my shoulders relaxed. “What are you doing here, Marge?”

Her shadow deflated and stepped closer into the light. “Oh, it’s just you.”

I tilted my head and nodded to the figure behind her. “Who’s with you?”

“The least useless one,” she said. “If what he says he can do is true.”

“It was more than you were able to do.” Adrian stepped up beside Marge. He studied me for a long moment before letting his gaze rest on John behind me. “Out for a romantic stroll?”

“Hardly.” I glanced behind me. “John, this is Marge and Adrian.”

John cleared his throat and stepped forward to hold his hand out with his easy going smile.

“No, point,” I said. “They apparently have an aversion to touching people.”

He glanced at their faces—Marge’s bored and angry and Adrian’s impassive—and his chuckle died before it could really start. “Well, it’s great to meet some of Gabby’s…would I call you co-workers?”

“Yeah, whatever, Blondie.” Marge looked to me. “So what are you doing here?”

“Following our devil’s trail,” I said.

“Interesting,” Adrian said. “We were following the boy.”

“How’d you know he was here?”

Adrian’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and his eyes narrowed at John.

“He’s trustworthy,” I said.

Adrian snorted. “Because you are an excellent judge of character.”

John squeezed my elbow lightly. “Hey, I should probably head back, anyway.”

I bristled, the hair rising on my arms. “He has not right to chase you off.”

“We were here first.” Marge smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll send some pics of me kicking this Ozzo’s ass.”

“Ose.” I let out a sigh. “And you’re really going to resort to laying claim?”

“It’s no big deal.” John raised his hand up to point to the light sports jacket. “Besides, I didn’t exactly come dressed for B and E.”

He gave me a light kiss on my cheek and headed back. I watched him go, biting my lip. He was capable enough, but this night was full of demons and madness. I turned back to Adrian with a glare.

“Tu sei veramente e stronzo,” I said in Italian. Yes, he really was an asshole.

“It’s kept me alive this long,” he responded in my native language.

“It won’t last forever.”

“No one has forever,” he said.

“Some of us do.” I walked past them, scanning the wall for an easy way up.

At the end of the wall near the woods, one of the trees from the woods grew close to the corner. With a few swift huffs, I climbed it, perched on the limb, and gazed over the brick wall at an asylum. The building looked like an estate built around the turn of the century. Barred windows lined the three stories, and search-lights rested on top of the roof, their beams trailing across the large yard. A gravel driveway extended from the metal gate I had passed earlier.

“Are you going to tell us how you know, or are we suspect as well?” I asked.

“You’ll always be suspect, but since I know where you sleep.” Adrian shrugged. “I attached nanomachines to him in order to track him.”

“You attached what?” Marge asked.

“They’re machines measured in nanometers, built from molecular components. Most of the research is still in its infancy compared to what I have been able to accomplish. I have set up an interface between them and my brain.”

His explanation swirled around in my head, and I tried to make sense of it. He spoke English, yet the words were foreign to me. I chewed the inside of my cheek. Marge looked as lost as I was.

“So, nanomachines are?” I asked.

He sighed. “Tiny robots.”

“I didn’t see any robots,” Marge said.

“They are microscopic.”

“So, invisible tiny robots you control with your mind?”

“In very simple terms, yes,” Adrian said.

“So, what else can these magic machines do?” I asked.

A vein throbbed on Adrian’s temple. “Not magic, science.”

It sounded like magic to me, but most science did, so I would take his word for it. These tiny robots led us to the biker, so they were useful. That’s all we needed at the moment. A light flared in one of the corner widows on the first floor, one with no bars. It flickered off, and a shadowy figure climbed out. It stuck close to the building until it arrived at the corner, then darted across the yard, ducking to avoid the lights when they passed.

“Unless someone lost their keys, I’d say the boy is on the move,” I said.

“Round two should be fun,” Marge said. “You’re not going to get in the way this time, are you?”

“Wait until he gets closer to the edge.”

The figure climbed the wall at the corner closest to the wood line of the forest that encroached on the northwest side of the asylum. A howl split the night. I waved to the corner not forty feet away from us.

The biker spun in a circle, his head turning back and forth. The hellhound leapt from the trees and dashed toward him. Even hunched, its wolf-man form stood over eight feet of muscle and fur. Its snout peeled back into a snarl. The boy broke into a full run, but the hellhound caught him in moments.

Merda. I had my sundang, but I still didn’t have anything to deal with the werewolf part of the problem. It would heal most of the wounds before I could kill it. John had yet to come through with what I needed. We would have to wing it.

“What the fuck is that?” Marge asked.

“Hellhound,” I said. “Adrian, get the boy out of here while Marge and I distract it.”

“We gonna kill it?” Marge asked.

“No, this is a hit and run.”

The hellhound clamped its jaws around the biker’s arm and tossed him into the air. He flew a few feet closer to us. I pulled out my sword and hopped out of the tree. I hit the ground and came up in a roll. I ran behind the beast and cut a deep gash in his side. He snarled at me and swung his arm for a backhand. I rolled out of the way.

“Hey, Furry,” Marge called.

Her foot slammed down on its knee, and a crack echoed through the yard. He yowled and snapped his jaw down at her face. She hopped out of the way. The hellhound hobbled after her. Her eyes widened as the bones reknitted.

“What the fuck?” she yelled.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re sticking to the plan,” I said.

“What plan? You didn’t say shit.”

“Then just follow my lead.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Adrian groaned behind me. It had to be from the weight of the biker. The hellhound’s ears perked, and it rumbled at him. I moved to stand between them and pulled out a glass vial of holy water. My last one—the Van Helsings had better have more.

I moved in and slashed its leg. The hellhound couldn’t give chase if we kept working on its leg. Its attention shifted from Adrian’s retreating back to me. It growled, saliva dripping from its yellowed fangs.

“You are a beast of few words,” I said. “Did Ose take your tongue with your freedom?”

“Shut up, Food,” he said with a rumbling voice.

“Sorry, I’m a little tough.”

“And I’m bitter,” Marge said.

She brought her leg up for a kick, but he grabbed it. His claws sank into her calf as he dangled her in the air. I slammed the holy water into his snout. He snorted and reared, slapping at the glass shards. He swung Marge at me, and I had to leap to the side to avoid getting hit. That didn’t help. He threw her into me. The force of his throw sent us flying into the nearby tree. We bounced and tumbled to the ground. I rolled back toward my sword and sprang to my feet in front of the hellhound.

“Run,” I told Marge. “I’ll catch up.”

Blood matted the fur where I had slashed him, but the wound was closed. I spun to the left until I came up behind him to sever his hamstring. His leg buckled under his mass. He turned, balancing himself on his arms and good leg.

He lunged at me, roaring. I sidestepped and raised my sword to catch him in the side as he went by. He lumbered on the ground, struggling to get up. Time for me to run. I dashed through the trees until I reached the road where Adrian’s car waited with its motor rumbling. Marge hopped into the passenger seat. My feet pounded on concrete. I flung open the back door and threw myself in. Adrian sped off.

“Where’s the boy?” I asked.

“He didn’t make it,” Adrian said.

I hunched my shoulders, crossing my arms. “So that was all for nothing.”

“Not entirely. That was on him.”

Adrian tossed an orange bottle of pills with a white cap. The label listed the address and phone number of the hospital. It had no patient name but listed the doctor as Charles Navotny. The name of the drug was typed “Menrazine.”

Chapter 14

TRES HELD OPEN the door to the house as Marge limped inside with her arm flung over my shoulder. He stared down at her blood-soaked pants with the side of his lip twitching.

“Looks like I missed all the fun,” he said.

Adrian shut the door. “We didn’t want to disturb your date.”

Tres scowled at him. “So, you’re just going to leave me out?”

“No, you do that all yourself.”

“You’re one to talk,” Tres snapped.

I set Marge on the couch and dragged the foot rest over to prop up her leg. She glared at the brothers as they entered the room. They only had eyes for each other as they continued to trade veiled insults.

“How about helping now,” I said.

Tres stopped and blinked at Marge’s leg as if he’d just seen it for the first time. “Oh, let me get my first aid kit.”

I slid to the floor and leaned against the foot-rest. The bottom of Marge’s boot blurred and came into focus. The treads were lined with some sort of white material. It looked like bone, but what person would put bones in their boots?

“What’s in your boot?” I asked.

“The bones of a Saint,” she said.

I snorted and coughed. “That’s…”

“What’s more useful, idolizing the bones in some vault or using them to kill demons?”

“Where did you get them, and have you actually killed any demons with it?”

She leaned back in the chair with a smirk that defied the pain she must have felt. “I met a few people who deal in questionable artifacts. And yeah, they’ve worked out well for me.”

She proved a resourceful girl. Most of me cheered her on, but a small portion was horrified. To have such a revered person used in such a base purpose poked at part of me that believed in the sacred.

Tres came back with his kit, and I moved. I backed up to the doorway. He pulled out a roll of bandages, antibiotic spray, and scissors. “I’m going to have to cut the pants’ leg off.”

“Sure,” Marge said.

“Where’s Esais?” I asked.

“Asleep, I think,” Tres said.

“I’m going to wake him. We have a lot to discuss.”

I handed the prescription bottle back to Adrian and walked to Esais’s bedroom. He lay in the middle of his bed, with one arm flung to the side and another above his head. The blanket lay in a pile on the floor. A red leather book sat on the nightstand. His forehead creased, and his eyelids twitched while his hand jerked at his side. His skin had taken on a grayish tint, and sweat reflected from his forehead in the light of the lamp.  I sat on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder gently. He jumped, his eyes flying open.

“Sorry to wake you. We found something, though,” I said.

He groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “It’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping well anyway.”

“Bad dreams.”

“Mmm, more like a pressure from all around. A sickness.”

I moved the collar of his T-shirt, sliding the cord around his neck until the piece of jet lay in my hand. Hairline cracks formed along the outer edges and strained to meet in the center.  The structure of the gem remained whole, and the symbols were still intact. The necklace did a good job of protecting him. We just needed to finish this before it crumbled under the strain of too much power.

“Make sure you keep this on you,” I said.

He nodded. “What did you find?”

“The biker decided to break into the asylum. Get dressed.”

Tres’s yelling traveled down the hall to us. Marge leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. Not a mark remained on her leg. Adrian and Tres glared at each other from across the room. I glanced at Marge, and she just shrugged.

“What seems to be the problem?” Esais asked.

Tres stiffened and forced a smile on his face. “It’s nothing. So, I guess it’s time for the meeting.”

“It’s not nothing.” Adrian spun on Esais. “Were you aware our brother has the miraculous ability to heal wounds?”

Esais cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’ve always had it. You were just too busy being brilliant to notice,” Tres said.

“He’s not the only one.” Esais took a deep breath. “I have power, too.”

His voice reverberated through my mind. Marge jumped and snapped her head in his direction. The color drained from Adrian’s face, and he stared hard at his brother. His lips pressed in a thin white line.

“Well,” Marge said. “I didn’t know freak shows came in Euro-trash.”

“I can’t believe both my brothers have been corrupted,” Adrian said.

“They aren’t. They have been gifted by spirits. His”—I pointed to Esais—“is most likely an angel. I’m not sure about Tres.”

He glared at me. “Not more of this emissary nonsense.”

“You’re one to talk,” I said.

“Meaning?”

“Let’s just say you weren’t left out when the gifts were given to the Van Helsing family.”

“And you know this how?”

“I can see it.”

He smirked. “Of course, your special vision. Well, I guess you’re wrong, because I don’t have any power.”

I rubbed my temples. I knew he wouldn’t believe me. He’d wrapped himself in his cocoon of being human so thoroughly that he probably locked his own abilities. He probably couldn’t even hear the woman whispering in his ears. The three of them needed to work this out among themselves. Anything I could add would just be fuel to Adrian’s engine.

“Fine, let’s just deal with what happened tonight. This won’t take long,” I said. “Then you can get back to your family issues.”

I described what happened at the asylum, with Marge dropping in an occasional comment. Tres ran his hands through his hair, tapped his foot, and sighed the entire time as if he didn’t find my story interesting. Esais, on the other hand, never took his eyes off me.

“So, what’s the connection to Ose?” he asked.

“I saw something, same as what I saw at the carnival. I think Ose has his fingers in that asylum.”

“The mental institution?” Tres asked.

“The one we’ve been discussing for the past half hour,” Adrian said.

Tres shot him a dirty look before turning back to us. “Charlotte works there.”

“Great. Help from the girlfriend.” Adrian set the bag on the coffee table and walked to the door. “Have at it, then.”

Esais looked to me. “We can go to Charlotte’s tomorrow and talk to her.”

“I’m coming, too,” Tres said.

“We’re done, then?” Marge stood. “Then let me know how tea time goes.”

Chapter 15

CHARLOTTE OPENED THE door wide to let us in. “Good to see you.”

She led us into the living room and motioned to a brown couch with patches of strings on the seat cushions. It sat between two tables with the finish worn off around the edges. Pictures of Charlotte and Nancy along with other members of their family covered the wall. Someone had recently vacuumed the carpet, and the smell of lemon permeated the room.

She disappeared into the kitchen and came back carrying a pitcher of iced tea and some glasses. “Please have a seat. Tres said you had some questions?”

“Charlotte, do you know a Dr. Navotny?” I asked.

She blinked. “He’s the head of the mental hospital I work at. I’m surprised you know of him. He really doesn’t deal with patients.”

“I saw a prescription bottle with his name on it. I found it weird since I’d never heard of the drug,” Tres said.

“You know a lot about drugs?” she asked with a stammer. “Where did you find this prescription?”

“We found them with someone we don’t think they belonged to,” I said. “However, shouldn’t there be some sort of approval before a drug is distributed to patients?”

“I really can’t say. I’m just a nurse.” She cleared her throat, her voice becoming stronger. “But, you know it illegal to possess a prescription that isn’t yours, don’t you?”

I straightened up and met her gaze. If she wanted to try and intimidate, so could I. “What would the authorities have to say about you hospital testing unapproved drugs on patients?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. We aren’t testing any new medications.”

Tres leaned forward and put his hand over hers. “Charlotte, you’ve noticed that people in the town have been acting odd?”

She stiffened, her eyes going wide as she swung her gaze at him. “I…”

“We think Dr. Navotny is responsible, somehow,” I said.

“Are you police?”

I chuckled. “No, the police wouldn’t understand this.”

Esais leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern. “We want to help your patients. Protect them. “You want to help them as well, right?”

Her head tilted as though weighing his words. I tried my best to look concerned by crossing my arms and biting my lip. Her eyes shifted to the side, and she clutched the couch pillow tighter. She looked scared and not just afraid of losing her job. She had genuine fear. She acted as if she couldn’t talk about the head of a department without some sort of secret police coming after her. What went on at this hospital?

The door slammed open in the hall with a bang, and Nancy marched into the living room. She froze when she saw us. Her head jerked in Charlotte’s direction, and her lips pressed in a thin line.

“You didn’t say anything about people coming over,” she said.

“I thought you were going to be working until tonight,” Charlotte said.

“You know I don’t like people snooping around our house.”

“They aren’t snooping. And you’ve never had a problem with visitors.”

Nancy whirled on me, her eyes wide and red rimmed. “What are you here for? Why are you causing our town so much hell?”

“That’s enough.” Charlotte stood up and walked to her. “They haven’t done anything.”

“You’re going to take their side over mine?”

“You’re acting irrational.”

“I think I’ll take my irrational self on.” She turned on her heel and slammed the door on her way out.

Charlotte sat down and punched the pillow, muttering to herself. She blinked, looking up at us, and sat back. Her forehead rested on the tips of her fingers, and she just shook her head.

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know what has gotten into her.”

“How long?” Esais asked.

“Ever since the carnival. She’s been driving me crazy, claiming there is a conspiracy going on and hell has come to visit.”

Charlotte looked at him, biting her lip. She struggled with something more she wanted to say. Now might be the only time I had to snoop around.

“Where’s your restroom?” I asked, trying to look a little desperate.

“Oh,” she said, pointing behind me. “Down the hall on the left.”

I paused at the first door I came to. The room was neat and clean, like the living room. A lingering scent of cinnamon drifted in the air. The walls held pictures of family. A picture of Charlotte laughing with a small child stood on the nightstand.

I passed the first door on the left, the bathroom, and stopped at the last door on the right. The room was in shambles. Clothes were pitched around the floor and piled on the bed. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of perfume and old food.

I glanced at the shattered bottles on the floor, then to the stain on the wall. Had she thrown the perfume? Posters had been ripped from their places so only ragged corners remained. This had to be Nancy’s room, and it looked as though she’d had a fit of rage.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again. I scanned the room, trying to find any demonic energy. Yellow light flickered in and out of my vision. The afterimage flashed in my mind of a horned devil tarot card. A hard knot formed in my stomach. Damn Malantha.

The front door opened again with its slam against the wall echoing down the hall. I hopped out of Nancy’s room and met her coming down the hall. She froze, her eyes narrowing as she saw where I had come from. Her aura was almost subsumed by the yellow sickness. It undulated and fed into the anger and suspicion that had already been there. She had reached a state of full paranoia.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I pointed behind me. “Bathroom.”

“No.” Nancy waved her hand to the side. “You were in there. That’s my room. Find anything interesting?”

I straightened. “I thought it was a little odd, since the rest of the house is so neat. Did you get into a fight?”

“And that gives you the right to snoop?” She glared at me. “I should take you in on trespassing.”

I took a deep breath and calmed my voice. “Nancy, have you been experiencing strange sights, or moments of violence?”

“That’s none of your business.” Her scream echoed down the hall.

She came at me, her arms wide in an attempt the shove me against the wall. I stepped back to avoid her grip. She gave a frustrated growl and took a step toward me. I raised my hands to indicate I didn’t mean to fight. The bathroom was only a few feet behind me. I didn’t have much more room to move. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my heart fluttered in my chest. The light from the other end of the hall disappeared as Charlotte, Esais, and Tres crowded the entrance.

“Nancy, stop,” Charlotte yelled.

Nancy snarled. “She’s spying on me.”

“Please think about this. Who would I be a spy for, and why you?”

“Them.”

“That’s not going to work. She’ll just rationalize it.” Esais turned and spoke aloud in a soothing manner. “Nancy, listen to the sound of my voice.”

She turned his direction, her body shaking so hard I could see it in the gloom.

“It’s been a rough day, and I apologize for invading your privacy,” Esais said.
“We will leave, and maybe you should lie down and get some rest.”

She nodded almost placidly, and her body relaxed. “Right. A nap will probably help.”

She shuffled into her room with her head down and shut the door behind her with a soft click. I let out a deep breath and tried to calm my pounding heart. That was too close by half. She almost had me trapped. I hurried down the hall to the others as they stepped out into the foyer.

“I think we should take our leave,” Tres said to Charlotte in an apologetic voice. “I think we’ve done enough here.”

She nodded in almost a daze and looked to Esais. “How…did you calm her down like that?”

Esais gave her a kind smile. “I have a way with words.”

“Please don’t say anything to anyone. She could lose her job.” Charlotte held the front door open for us. “I can handle whatever she is going through.”

Tres moved closer and patted her on the arm. “We’re here to help, even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on.”

“That’s right,” I said. “So, is there anything else you can tell us that will help?”

She looked at all of us again and shook her head. “Please, just go.”

Esais stepped outside. “Let’s go.”

“But,” Tres said.

“Charlotte needs some time to think.” Esais nodded to her. “Thank you for seeing us. Please let us know if you need our help.”

“What did you find?” Tres asked as we walked home.

“Nothing we didn’t already know,” I said. “Malantha.”

“I could feel it in her mind.” Esais shuddered. ”All slithering and slippery. It tried to invade me.”

“Nancy’s going mad, and Charlotte’s too afraid of her job to talk.” I sighed. “That’s not going to end well.”

“And it doesn’t get us closer to Ose,” Tres said. “So, what now?”

“I’ll call John,” I said. “He still needs to bring my supplies. Maybe he can get some information on this drug.”

Chapter 16

I SHIFTED FROM one heel to another as I peered down the street, waiting for John to pick me up. The streetlights glowed in the encroaching darkness. I straightened the straps of the black lace dress and rubbed my arms. This was a business meeting, but I took every opportunity to dress up when I could. When you lived a life of blood and death, looking pretty was a rare treat.

John pulled his silver car up at the curb and stepped out. He held the door open and let his gaze travel down my body as I approached him.

“Nice dress,” he said.

Warmth rushed through me and up to my face. “Thanks.”

“I was thinking about this Italian restaurant.” He grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes. He knew how I felt about Italian food in this country. We played this game often. “This town wouldn’t know real Italian if Giada De Laurentiis came and slapped them in the face with fettuccini.”

He laughed. “What would you like, then?”

“Somewhere that matches the dress.”

“A steakhouse.”

He drove fast, taking the curves and turns with practiced ease. The scent of leather surrounded me as I leaned back against the seat, letting the city pass by me through the window with its streetlights blurring into bright lines. The town yawned and blinked its heavy-lidded eyes, still railing against laying its head on the pillow to sleep.

There were several cars in the parking lot for a weeknight. The steakhouse sat near a small pond, and music drifted on the air from the back patio that sounded like a live band instead of recorded songs. I walked in step with John over the loose gravel to the double doors of the entrance. The hostess led us to a small table for two, lit by a small candle.

“I don’t have your stuff yet,” he said.

I met his gaze over the edge of the menu and then turned my attention back to the list. I blew a tuft of my hair from my eyes and slumped my shoulders.

“You used to be so efficient,” I said.

His eyebrows lifted, and he flashed his white teeth at me. “Hey, some of what you wanted is hard to get.”

“That’s not why I asked to meet you.”

He put a hand over his heart. “You couldn’t live me without me. I know, I’m pretty irresistible.”

I tapped my chin trying to hold back my smile. “You are tempting, but I think I’ve done a good job so far.”

“There you go breaking my heart again.” He gave a loud sigh, but his smile remained, letting me know he was jesting. “I guess I’ll just have to wait patiently for the day you do come around.”

“That may be forever.”

He chuckled. “Then I’ll have to learn how to be immortal.”

“You don’t want that,” I said softly.

He coughed, and his smile vanished. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

I dropped the menu on the table and leaned back, crossing my arms. My throat had tightened; I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. John, like so many others, didn’t see that immortality wasn’t a gift. Not only had I outlived my loved ones, but any new bonds I made would be dust before I knew it. Perhaps others who only had room in their hearts for themselves and sought only power would enjoy it, but I would never be one of them. That felt too close to a demon to me.

My fingers tapped against my upper arm as I studied him for several moments while the waiter brought our drinks and took our orders. I lifted my glass to my lips and swallowed several gulps of water. I smoothed the napkin on my lap as John placed his order. I watched the waiter leave and took a deep breath.

I pulled out the bottle of pills and slid it across the table. “I need to find out about this drug and the doctor prescribing it.”

He examined the label. “You think it might be Ose?”

“You missed the action the other night.” I smiled. “That bottle came from the asylum.”

“Sounds adventurous. How are the Van Helsing boys working out? Are they everything you expected?”

I shrugged.

“Not Dimitri?”

“They have their family issues.”

“And you need to remember that.”

“What?”

“It’s their family.”

I gritted my teeth. “What are you implying?”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Our food arrived. I picked at my potato. Was it so odd to have concern for Dimitri’s bloodline? The man had shown me love and life at the point when I had just been existing. The least I could do was help avenge his grandson and look after his progeny, especially since Ose was unfinished business for me. I didn’t expect to be a part of their lives after this. I couldn’t be a part of anyone’s life.

“I know that look.” John reached over and squeezed my hand. “Stop thinking that. I’ve told you before.”

“John, I…”

“I know, but it’s still the truth. After Maureen, there’s no one else but you.”

I stared at my plate and bit my lip. John and Maureen had been happily married for years until a demon had possessed her. I’d come across them on a beach in Florida one day. It’d been one of those private places with palm trees surrounding it. I’d thought I’d been tracking Allegra. Instead, I found a demon using Maureen to drown her husband. I saved him, but she hadn’t been so lucky.

“It’s just hero worship,” I said.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure what I can do to prove it’s not.”

“Find someone else.”

He sighed. “We’re going in circles. How about we forget this and dance?”

He pulled me to the dance floor and wrapped an arm around my waist. The band played Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.” He swayed with the music, pulling me with him. I chuckled and let the stiffness in my back fade away. Soon my rhythm matched his.

He grinned. ”That’s better.”

He pulled me closer, and I let my head rest on his shoulder. The scent of his aftershave, so much like the sea, filled my head, making my heart beat faster and my cheeks flame. I tried to pull away, but he shook his head and swung me into a dip. My head swam and laughter escaped my lips.

“I think I’ve been privileged to witness something no one has seen in years,” he said.

“Hmm, you seem smug.”

“Maybe I am. Your laugh is truly beautiful.”

He drew me closer, our gazes locked together. Our breaths mingled as our lips brushed. A shiver ran through me, except instead of being cold, my whole body was on fire. As my eyes closed, I saw Dimitri’s face. His dark eyes pierced my heart, and I pulled away. My feet wanted to stay while my mind said go. I stumbled back to my seat. John followed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I can’t,” I said. ”Too much of the past—”

He held a finger to my lips. ”Just think of now.”

“But this can't go anywhere. You know about my curse.”

“Now has nothing to do with that.”

“You’re talking about a one night stand?”

“Maybe more than one, but we can keep it casual.” He winked again.

I bit my lip and looked to the ground.

“Let me guess, you don’t do casual. Have you had anyone since that Van Helsing boy all those years ago?”

I crossed my arms and avoided his gaze. “Of course there have been others.”

Few others, to be honest. After Dimitri, I concentrated on hunting. Funnily enough, violence is a great relief for sexual tension. However, it is only temporary, so there had been a few men, but none who had ever truly known me. That was too dangerous. John was too dangerous.

I shook my head and grabbed my purse. “I think it’s time I headed back.”

I stared out the window of the car on the way back. He didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he switched on the radio and let the blaring rock music fill the silence. I marveled at how much had changed over the years. Cacophony of sound replaced the harmony of horns, strings, and wind instruments. Electricity had replaced fire, such as the street-lights. The world had grown smaller thanks to technology. Yet, here I remained the same.

“Drop me off here,” I said as we passed a familiar figure with reddish brown hair.

He pulled the car over and waited for me to get out, with his shoulders stiff and his jaw set. He kept his eyes averted, and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

“Call me when you get the supplies,” I said.

He nodded.

I sighed and stepped out of the car. Relief came with a soft breeze that ruffled my hair.

Chapter 17

“SHOULD YOU REALLY be patrolling in your condition?” I asked Esais as he caught up to me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

“I call it more of a business dinner.”

He raised an eyebrow. “In that dress?”

“What, I can’t look pretty?” I chuckled. “Nothing happened.”

“Not for lack of trying on his part?”

I fell into step beside him. The stiffness between my shoulder blades eased, and I found myself smiling. Esais was easy to talk to, like John, just without all the sexual tension.

“You noticed? It’s not that I don’t find him attractive, just…”

“Then perhaps he’s not right for you.”

“I sense you don’t like him.”

“Something’s not right. I’m not sure what.”

“He’s been through a lot. He had to deal with his wife’s demonic possession.” I paused. “Have you?” I tapped my finger to my head.

“No, not really. It’s just a feeling I have.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Define not really.”

Esais shook his head and kept walking with his shoulders stiff. The bushes along the side of a nearby house shook and the shadows moved, casting a doglike image along the side of a house. I stiffened and unlatched my purse. Esais nodded to me, slowing his pace.

“It’s been following me for the past ten minutes. I can’t get a grip on its mind, but it feels like the one in the bar.” The choir from his contact was an undercurrent to his words.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“It faded back when you arrived. It keeps slipping.”

The hellhound was stalking us. It was probably waiting for us to lead it to the others. I didn’t want to play into its paws, but I’d left my sundang at the house again. I longed for the days when swords were common-place.

“How is your head?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation casual.

“Better,” he said. “Less cluttered.”

Sweat beaded down his forehead, and his eyes glassed over. How much of that statement was true and how much bravado? Judging by the small lump under his shirt, he still wore the amulet, for all the protection it was providing him. I was starting the think it wasn’t enough.

“Do you think you can attack its mind?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I can try to play distraction until you can. Try for a kill. If you can, knock it unconscious, and we run.”

“We really need to take care of this thing.”

“I will when John comes through for me.”

“We need to find another way in case he doesn’t.”

I stiffened. ”He hasn’t let me down yet.”

My steps quickened, and Esais matched my pace. I reached in my purse and grabbed the handle of the knife I’d put in there. I tried to keep few items inside so I didn’t have to dig around for anything. You know, everything a woman needed: knives, pills, lipstick. Too much would make it take forever to find my knife, and in this situation, that could get someone killed, possibly me.

The street was empty. Parents had called their children in from the growing darkness hours ago. Street-lamps stood sentinel through the night while a few lights dotted windows through the neighborhood.

“We need to get somewhere private,” I said.

A growl echoed from the side of the next house we passed. Yellow eyes reflected from the glow of the street light, and a shadow separated itself from the rest. The hellhound leaped at us. I shoved Esais to the side. The beast’s weight took me to the ground, and the concrete scraped against my bare legs as its teeth buried in my forearm. I swallowed the pain as I flicked the knife open and buried the blade in its side only to have the wound heal almost immediately.

This time it attacked in wolf form. I think it had now come at me in all shapes. Thank god it wasn’t as strong in this form as in the wolf-man hybrid. Otherwise, I would’ve lost the arm with the snap of its mighty jaws. It was the size of a mastiff with shaggy fur. It looked almost the same as the demon I’d seen in the bar. The hellhound had taken the werewolf’s body long enough for its true form to take physical shape. Was it too far gone to be banished? When a demon remained in a host this long, it was almost impossible to remove them by the sacred words alone. When that happened, only death could release the soul of the body it possessed.

I stabbed the hellhound several more times, not caring that the wounds sealed in seconds. The world faded around the edges, giving off a blurred view. Damnit, I wanted this beast’s blood to run down my hands, and this just wasn’t working. Esais grabbed the beast around its middle and yanked it back. It released me to snap at him and caught him in his shoulder. I rose to my feet as he tossed the hellhound to the side.

“Focus on its mind,” I said.

It jumped at us again. I tackled it in midair, and we tumbled into the grass with me on top this time. I drew my fist back and punched it in the nose. The beast gave something between a snarl and a yelp. It snapped inched from my face with a resounding click. I leaned back, brought my knife under its muzzle, and buried the blade in its neck. The damned creature could heal around three inches of steel.

“I exorcise ye, and powerfully banish ye, commanding ye with strength and violence by him who spake and it was done; and by all these names,” I murmured.

The beast shuddered and shoved me back with its front paws. I landed on my back a few feet away with the air knocked out of me. Even in wolf form, the beast was damn strong. It stood and shook its head, as if trying to clear its nose of a noisome smell.

Esais kept his gaze on the beast with his fist clenched and sweat dripping down his forehead. The beast snorted, tossing it head to and fro one last time before focusing its gaze on me. I crouched on the ground, scanning the grass for the glimmer of my knife. A blur of red and blue flashed in my peripheral, and a siren gave a short wail.

“Freeze,” a man’s voice yelled.

“What in God’s name is that?” Nancy said.

The hellhound turned it gaze to the two police and gave me a toothy grin. A sound rumbled from its chest that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Esais stood to the side, his eyes narrowed in concentration mixed with frustration.

In one smooth motion, the beast launched itself at the police car. Hellhounds were never the most intelligent of demons, but when you have the power to heal almost instantly, I guess you didn’t worry about things like cops with guns. Nancy pulled her pistol out and fired. The shot echoed through the air followed by several others.

I flattened myself against the ground as the bullets passed over me. The hellhound yelped as it was caught in midair. It slammed into the hood of the car with a resounding crash. We would definitely be the news of the neighborhood now. It stood and shook its head as it stumbled to the ground. Its body moved from the impact of the bullets, but it paid them little attention. Its shoulders bunched, and its lips pulled back in a snarl. Nancy kept firing with her eyes wide and her face colorless. Esais pressed his back to the house and kept his gaze on the hellhound. Nancy’s partner backed from his position around the car to her side. He kept his gun trained on the beast.

“Nancy,” his voice was almost drowned by the gunfire.

The hellhound whined and growled, shaking its head again. It swung its head at me, and its eyes bored into mine. It winced again and dashed into the narrow opening between the two fences, disappearing into the alley.

Esais and I stayed in place, trapped by the flying bullets Nancy continued to fire. Her finger kept pressing the trigger after she emptied her clip. Her partner grabbed her arm. She slammed her other fist in his face, and he tackled her to the ground. I stood cautiously, holding my arm to my chest.

“Nancy, get a hold of yourself,” he yelled.

She tossed her head from side to side. “It’s the end. Monsters, demons, we’re all going to burn.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The world is twisting.” Her gaze settled on me and didn’t waver. “And you’re to blame.”

Chapter 18

I HATED HOSPITALS. Yes, over the centuries, modern medicine had improved. Medication replaced herbal concoctions and leeching. Cleanliness prevented wound infection, and diagnostics actually became something more than just guessing, but underneath the sterility lay the scent of disease and death. Not the swift death gained by combat. Those deaths are pure and simple. This one lingered, hung on gasping breaths filled with suffering and fear.

Once, in the sixteenth century, I contracted malaria in Italy while tracking a demon. I had been new to hunting then, still filled with the rage of losing my family and being cursed. I didn’t stop to pay attention to the sickness that had spread through the town. I was a week away when the fever hit me.

For days, I lay under a tree, sweating and frozen at the same time. I fought for every breath and my chest ached at the labor. My arms and legs felt like boulders when I tried to lift them. What little food and water I consumed did not stay down. Eventually, I’d been found and taken to a local convent. The nuns cared for me, but could not cure me. After weeks of agony, I died. Every time I entered a hospital, I still smelled that room in the convent.

I tapped my foot and crossed my arms as I sat in the waiting room, trying to figure how anyone found taupe a comforting color. Esais was still with the doctors in the emergency room. A white bandage covered the twenty-three stitches that ran the length of my forearm. Grass stains along with my blood covered my dress, the lace ripped in several places. One strap dangled, broken. This was why I could never wear anything nice. I was doomed to an eternity of T-shirts and blue jeans.

The doors slid open, and Tres rushed over to me followed by Adrian at a more leisurely pace. Tres looked at my arm and scanned the rest of the waiting room while Adrian tossed clothes at me.

“Where’s Esais?” he asked.

I nodded to the double doors in the back. “Still getting stitches.”

“What did you do?” Adrian asked.

“We were attacked by the hellhound.”

“I see. Once again you let it get away, and Esais was hurt.”

I flung my arms out wide. “I would love to deal with it. Do you have any alchemical silver? Silver bullets blessed by a priest? I didn’t think so.”

“Stop,” Tres broke in. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

“The police called the ambulance.”

His right hand twitched. “I’m going to find this thing.”

“Once again, no silver.”

“I could make it hurt.” He clenched his right fist.

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Really what?” Esais asked from the doors of the emergency room.

Charlotte stood beside him. Her arms were wrapped around her shoulders as though she was trying to hold herself up. Deep shadows indented her red-rimmed eyes.

“How is Nancy?” I asked.

“They took her to the institution,” Charlotte said.

Esais cleared his throat. “I feel like coffee.”

“Let me change,” I said.

We rode in two cars to the diner Esais and I had met John at. Country music blared from a small radio on the counter. The ceiling fan spread the smell of grease and meat throughout the room. The waitress eyed my tangled hair and the smudges on my face that only a large amount of scalding water, soap, and scrubbing would remove. I met her gaze, daring her to say something. She cleared her throat and hurried away after taking our orders. I sat up straighter and crossed my arms with a small smile.

Charlotte played with her silverware as we waited for our drinks. She straightened the knife until it was perfect, then moved on to the fork. She barely met our gazes, instead focusing her attention on the table. The color faded around me as I scanned the diner, from the waitress and cook to the couple sitting in the back and laughing softly together. All human.

“It should be safe enough to talk,” I said.

Her shoulders stiffened as she lifted her head. Her eyes shifted to the left and the right before she took a deep breath and nodded.  Adrian sat with his hands resting on his knees, studying her as if she was an interesting specimen. Did he actually see anyone as human?

“All right,” she said. “I’ve been thinking of our conversation a lot in the past couple of days. I know y’all know things aren’t right. Nancy thinks you’re responsible, but she didn’t see what happened before y’all got here. She doesn’t work at the institution.”

“When did the trouble start?” I asked.

Charlotte pushed the salt shaker against the wall so it was even with the pepper. “He used to be a good guy, until his son was diagnosed with some neurological disease six months ago. I really felt bad for him.”

“Who?” Tres asked.

“Dr. Navotny. He became obsessed with his new experimental drug.”

“So, the drug is his baby,” Adrian said.

Esais sighed. “All to save his son.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t know. Patients are selected for an experimental run. I haven’t seen anyone return from the third floor.”

“Tell us more about this drug,” Adrian said. “Has it been approved by the government?”

“He’s restricted information on it and access to the third floor.” She took a deep breath and met her gaze with Esais's. “I’m scared Nancy is going to be used.”

“Won’t you have a say in that?” Tres asked.

“Because we’re related, they won’t let me treat her.”

“I’ll go in,” Esais said.

“What?” Tres said.

“Why?” Adrian asked. “She’s not really our concern.”

I looked between the three of them to Charlotte’s look of relief and hope. I knew where this was going, but why did it have to be Esais? He’d be behind barred windows surrounded by madness and open to any traps Ose laid. The amulet was already having difficulty fighting against the ambient madness that his gift had compounded.

“We need someone to see what is happening there,” Esais said.

“And how are you the best to do that?” Adrian asked.

“I’m the oldest.” Esais met his gaze. ”And because I can read minds.”

Adrian stiffened, his eyes narrowing.

“I can go instead,” I thought to them.

“No, you’re the best we have for handling the demons we’ve seen.”

“And if you run into Ose?” Tres asked.

“I’m only a thought away.”

Charlotte moved her head between the stare down. “I can keep an eye on him.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Esais asked.

“Even if I did, I doubt it would be followed.” Adrian stood and walked out of the café.

Esais watched him go and shook his head. He turned back to Charlotte. “I guess I will check myself in tomorrow.”

“Are the two of you riding with Charlotte?” I asked, and they nodded.  ”Good, then I will catch a ride with your brother. Excuse me.”

Adrian had made it halfway down the block by the time I stepped out of the diner. I slipped off my broken heels and ran to catch up to him. He paused, watching me approach.

“I can push the issue,” I said. “Make sure I go instead.”

“Why do you care?” he asked.

“I don’t want to see anything happen to him, either.”

“He’s the best option we have with his—.” Adrian set his jaw. “—ability.”

“They still make you uncomfortable.”

“They’re unnatural.”

I bit my tongue. He barely tolerated the fact of his brothers’ emissary status and was still in denial of being one himself. “They’re still your brothers.”

“Are they?”

“You really need to reconnect with them.”

“What would you know?”

“I know someone blessed enough to have a family shouldn’t squander it.”

He stopped at the car and stared up at the moon. “Too many years have gone by. I doubt it will ever be the same.”

“How did you end up in prison?” I asked.

“You don’t know? I thought you knew everything about us.”

I bit my lip. “I seem like a stalker?”

“Suspicious. No one ever spoke of you.”

“Like I’m the dirty little secret.” I chuckled. “Well, your grandmother hated me. I’m not surprised she buried my name.”

“You have competition now.” He offered a bemused smile. The first bit of emotion I had seen in a while. “Arms dealing.”

I tried to imagine Adrian selling guns to street thugs. The images didn’t match. “Really?”

“I made the weapons.”

“Is that what you have shut yourself up in the garage doing?”

“Holy water grenades, actually,” he said. “You and I need to deal with these demons soon. I don’t want Esais staying longer than a few days.”

“What about Tres?”

“We can’t really rely on Tres.” Adrian shrugged. “I don’t think he even knows what he wants. He jumps from one extreme to another.”

“I’ll get to work on tracking down the hellhound.” I opened the passenger door and tapped my fingers on the roof. “It seems to be guarding the asylum. I think it spends most of the time in the forest between that and the carnival.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“It should leave trace energies I’ll be able to see.”

We rode in silence as he came to terms with what needed to be done.

Chapter 19

TRES SLAMMED THE trunk of the car as I stepped out of the house. He ran a hand through his hair, mumbling to himself.

“Esais is all packed?” I asked.

“Ready to go to the funny farm.” Raw emotions rumbled beneath the control of his voice.

“You two seem close. Closer than Adrian,” I said.

“Yeah, after our parents died, Adam went off to hunt their killer, and Adrian was in America for school. Esais raised me.”

I didn’t say anything, just let him continue.

“Of course, Adrian ended up in prison for arms dealing, and well, Adam…” He took a deep breath. “Adam is the reason we’re here.”

“We won’t lose Esais, like Adam,” I told him.

He turned to me with his lip quivering. His gaze bored into mine. “Can you promise that?”

My heart raced as I remembered making a promise to protect the Van Helsing line to the best of my ability when Dimitri died. This proved difficult since Dracula had cursed the bloodline. I tried protecting Dimitri’s son, Alexander, but I found no way to break the curse, and he’d died at the hand of the vampire his grandfather defeated. After his death, I’d been told by his widow to stay out of her son Andrei’s life. She blamed me for her husband’s death, which I could understand. They’d only been married for two years. So I stayed away, though in my heart, I felt I’d betrayed my promise. In the end, Andrei and his oldest son Adam died not to the curse but to demons. Something I could have prevented. I wouldn’t fail again.

I stood up and took his hands in mine, rubbing my thumbs across his knuckles. “I promise to try my damndest to make sure all of you leave this town sound of mind and body.”

He laid his forehead on my shoulder and trembled. We stood in that position for some time. If this was the comfort he wanted, then I would give it to him. I couldn’t see Adrian as the type to give comfort to another. Poor child. He was born into a family that couldn’t allow for a normal life. For now, a promise to save his brother and a shoulder to lean on would have to be enough. He pulled away and straightened his shoulders with a deep breath.

“Thanks,” he said.

Esais and Adrian stepped out of the house. I stepped away from Tres and walked around to the passenger side. Esais walked to his youngest brother and squeezed his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

I twisted the hem of my shirt in my hands. The jet necklace remained intact despite the tiny cracks. So far, Esais’s mental fortitude had held up. We had to trust it would continue. The radio filled in for the words we didn’t have during the drive. We passed streets, nearly empty after the morning work rush. The carnival was closed, resting in preparation for the final weekend. The forest separated the carnival and the asylum. It was the perfect place for the hellhound to roam.

The yellow funnel had shrunk over the carnival, but the one over the asylum had grown. In the light, the building still looked like something from a gothic novel, but maybe I was biased. A new coat of paint had been applied to the bricks. Artful bushes lined the well-manicured lawn along the driveway. We passed an unmanned guard station and traveled up the driveway to visitor parking. One of the nurses at the greeting station took us on a tour of the facility, at least for the first and second floor.

“The third floor is for our more critical patients,” she said.

“That’s where Charlotte said the experiments are,” I thought to Esais.

He nodded to the door marked “fire escape” as the nurse led us outside. He already had a plan forming. Several patients were enjoying the morning sun with orderlies watching over them. I paused as we passed the fat man Marge had argued with at the fair. He sat on the bench, rocking back and forth and staring at nothing. His daughter clutched the hand of a tired looking woman a few feet away. The little girl’s lip trembled as she stared at her father. The yellow on the man’s aura blocked out other colors. I winced and moved on.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I waved the rest forward and stopped near the place we fought the hellhound. Its trail had faded to almost nothing. What little I could pick up led to the woods.

“Ciao,” I answered.

“You love me,” John said. “I have your stuff.”

“Good. Meet me outside the asylum in half an hour.”

Tres opened the car for me so I could get my backpack carrying my sundang as well as a few other items. I walked down to the gate to wait for John. It didn’t take long. He handed me a large paper sack as I slid into the car. I sorted through the items before putting them in my bag. The only thing I needed today was the small canister of silvered salve to put on my sword.

“You look worried,” John said.

“Esais is checking into the asylum.”

“And?”

I frowned, staring out the window as we passed the yard. “He might get caught by Ose.”

“He’s a hunter, part of the great lineage. He can take care of himself.”

“But…”

“I wish you’d show this much concern for me.” He kept his eyes on the road and his voice neutral.

“You don’t put yourself in danger like that.”

“You barely know them and you moved into their house.”

“I didn’t have a place to stay.”

“You could have stayed with me.”

“Stop the car.”

He pulled to the side and killed the engine. We were back to the point I’d been trying to avoid since he came to town. Before Hampton, I could laugh these comments off, but something about the Van Helsings caused him to push our relationship beyond the friendship wall.

“I don’t want to have sex with you,” I said.

“Liar.”

“It will lead to something more. I can’t deal with another Dimitri.”

“But you’re willing to risk that with his family.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Where are you getting that?”

“I can see the signs. You’ve only known them for a few days, but you’re worried.”

“They’re his family.”

“But not yours. Don’t expect Christmas cards.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “You don’t send me Christmas cards.”

He laughed. “That’s because you don’t have a permanent address.”

I opened the door. “Thanks for the order.”

“I’ll let you know when I get any information on the drug.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. His lips brushed against mine. I pressed my thighs together as heat spread from them to my entire body. My legs trembled, and I was grateful I was sitting down. His tongue trailed across my cheek to my jawline and down my neck. What was one night?

No, it would never be enough for John.

I pushed him away.

“Liar,” he said.

I gripped the handle of the car door, not looking at him. “Just because I want you, doesn’t mean I will go through with it.”

I headed into the woods. I hoped I would be fortunate enough to find a hellhound. I needed to relieve some stress.

Chapter 20

I DRAINED THE bottle of water and crushed the plastic, savoring the crinkling sound it made. The last rays of sun turned the sky a pinkish orange. I swatted the mosquito buzzing around my face. Sweat ran down my chest, soaking my tank top even further. The hellhound had been all through these trees. Fading trails crisscrossed newer ones. I had to come to terms with the fact I was lost. Now I had to trudge back and face Adrian. He would probably take his bad day with committing his brother out on me.

“Don’t worry about that,” Esais said. “Marge has found her demon.”

“Has she? Good for her. Shouldn’t you be settling in?”

“No reason I can’t do both at the same time. I’m going to give you a hand with this.”

“Where is she?” I asked.

“About half a mile from you. I’m sending Adrian and Tres as well. They need the experience.”

“How are things since you told Adrian?”

His thoughts filled my head with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. ”This does not seem like the time.”

“When is it ever?” I asked. ”I doubt we’re going to get another chance for coffee anytime soon. We need to take what we can get.”

He laughed. ”It’s strained, but that’s normal. Actually, I feel relieved. I’ve been hoarding that load for about ten years.”

“That was around the time your parents…”

“When they died, yes,” he said.

He blocked any images, but I could still feel the sadness that permeated his mind. Losing someone always left a void in you. I wanted to tell him the pain faded with time, but it would be a lie.

“And it would be demeaning to lie to a telepath while he is mentally connected to you,” Esais added.

“I’m hoping finding the bastard that killed them will help.”

Esais guided me to Marge. She and the brothers were already among the trees at the edge of a clearing. A one-story cabin stood in the middle. Rounded wooden logs made up the outside and the roof. Steps led up to a porch where three rocking chairs sat in front of a window.  A row of motorcycles was parked in front on the gravel driveway that disappeared into the woods.

“Glad you could join us,” Tres said.

“What do we have?” I asked.

Marge nodded to the wooden house in front of us. “The demon and his friends decided to squat in the cabin.”

“Do you have a plan?”

Marge lit a match. In the flare of the light, her grin split across her face, and she resembled the demons she preyed upon. “We lock them in and burn it down.”

“That could spread across the forest. And people may come. Then your demon won’t be killed.”

“I don’t expect him to get killed.”

“What about the humans with him?” Esais’s voice reverberated through our minds.

She sneered. “They chose to follow the demons.”

“I’m sensing frightened minds in there. Did you check to see if they had hostages?”

I waited for Marge to answer. Her open mouth skewed, the upper lip moved to the left while the lower went right. She threw her hands up .

“No,” she said.

“Then we’re not burning the place down until we can get the bystanders out.” Esais’s words drifted.

“Can you see them?” I asked.

“There’s a family of three, mother, father, daughter. They’re unconscious.”

We looked at each other, silently drawing lots to see who would go. Soon I found all gazes turned in my direction. I had won. Damn, ganging up on me. I think I liked it better when they weren’t united, at least against me. But, they had a point. Out of the four of us, I would be best suited to get a closer look. I had my vision, while the others didn’t really have anything to detect demons. We needed to work on that when danger wasn’t so imminent.

“Fine,” I said, trying to sound more annoyed than I was. “I’ll make a sweep of the place. Stay out of sight if anyone comes out.”

The gravel crunched beneath me as I moved in a half-crouch to the building. As I drew closer, the bass from the music pounded in the ground below, sending little shivers up my legs. I pressed against the wall just below the window closest to the door. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, permeated with the stench of booze. I slid up and peeked in, gazing with my second sight at those inside.

A sea of leather and ugly cracked faces filled the living room. They sat on the couches, laughing as they slurped down liquor from their bottles. Tattoo sat at a table with three others playing a card game. This was ridiculous. They’d come all this way to play cards?

Slow, quiet steps took me around the side. I paused to glance around the back, to ensure no one waited outside. All clear. I moved to a window near the back door and peered through the crack in the curtain. A full-sized bed sat in the dark. Shadowed figures stood together in the middle of the room. They were all tall, with their arms stretched above them.

Wait, they weren’t standing; they were hanging from the ceiling.

“I think I found them. Three, right?” I asked.

“Correct. How do you plan to get them out?”

“Working on it.” I snuck back around the house to the others.

“So, can we burn the damn thing down?” Marge asked.

I shook my head. “Esais is right.”

Her shoulders slumped, and the perpetual scowl deepened. She crossed her arms in a huff. This woman only seemed to be pleased when she was hurting someone. Her home life must have been twisted.

“Don’t look so sad. You’ll still have your chance to fight,” I told her. “We need a distraction to get most of the bikers out of the house. Then we can sneak the people out the back.”

“Okay,” Tres said in a doubtful voice. “How do we go about doing this?”

“What have we got?” I asked.

“Kicks,” Marge said. “But this would still be easier if we burned the house down.” “Besides Marge. I know what she can do.”

Tres held his right hand out. “I can hurt like I heal.”

Adrian shifted his eyes to his brother with a frown. I shook my head at him, and the ice mask slipped over his face. I let out a breath of relief. We didn’t need an argument now.

“I have developed a grenade that disperses holy water,” Adrian said.

“How does that work?” I asked.

“The water is converted into mist.”

“There’s only one demon. Do you have anything else?”

I laid out the plan I’d been forming. Adrian rose from his sulk and helped tweak the plan so it became workable. I could fight and argue with him all I wanted, but I couldn’t deny his logic. Despite his attitude, the man was a genius.

Chapter 21

“WE IN POSITION?” I asked everyone through our link with Esais.

“Let’s do this.” Tres’s voice drifted in my mind.

Time to begin the show. I covered my ears and counted to ten, waiting for Adrian to make the first move. With a roar, a fiery ball consumed the first bike, turning the black sky orange. Tongues of flame devoured the next cycle with mere licks. Its hot breath blew against my face, fluttering my hair even from this distance.

It took less than a minute before five bikers busted out of the house. They ran toward the blazing wreckage with panic and alarm painted on their faces. Tres pulled the pin on the gas canister Adrian had given him. He threw it in the window, shattering the glass. There were shouts, and three more piled out the door. Tattoo broke them with his shoulder as he held his face in his hands which were red, covered in blisters, and still sizzling.

Marge charged out from behind a tree and ducked behind the motorcycles as the bikers opened fire on her. Adrian returned fire from his hiding spot in the trees. He’d positioned himself at an angle to the house so he would have a clear shot at anyone coming out. Tattoo removed his hands from his face, which was the color of a boiled lobster.

Marge moved straight for him, cracking her knuckles with a grin. Three of the bikers impeded her, so she played with them first. She was beauty in motion. She spun out of the first two attackers’ reach and let her leg fly up to kick the third in his stomach and send him stumbling backward.

The bikers were well distracted. Time for me to get the people out. I dashed to the back and busted the lock on the door with a kick. I slipped through the hall and came face to face with one of Tattoo’s cronies. Damn.

He blinked at me as his mouth fell open. I slammed my fist up to meet his chin. The shock reverberated through my knuckles and down my arm as his head jerked back. He straightened and glared down at me.

I drew my sword and backed into the doorway. The hall provided little room to fight, but I might be able to keep him cramped and still give myself room, if he was as smart as the rest of his friends.

He sneered. “Running away, girlie?”

I looked from my sword to him. “Yes, I pulled out the sharp weapon because it makes me run faster. You obviously didn’t sell your soul for brains. Pity. You might have made it out alive.”

He scowled and punched a hole the size of my head into the nearby wall to show me just what he’d traded his immortal soul for. I smirked at him and held my sword ready. I didn’t have to wait long. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues.

With a roar, he rushed me. I stepped to the side and let him cross the threshold past me. My blade flashed in the light and slashed through the tendons of both his legs. His momentum kept him moving, but he had no support, so he ended up tumbling into the gravel and grass. Small black stones glittered around him in the dim light of the cabin.

“You seemed to have collected several years,” I said. “They don’t hold account for me.”

I finished him with a swift strike and turned back to the cabin and my main goal. No one else was there to impede me, and I walked into the bedroom, flipping the light switch. The family of three hung from ropes attached to the beams of the ceiling.

I pulled my knife out and cut the girl down first. I caught her before she fell to the floor. She groaned and stiffened at my touch. Her T-shirt was ripped at the collar and her shorts so shredded they looked more like a loin cloth. I gritted my teeth at the bruises covering her arms and legs. Part of me wanted to run outside and make those men feel what they had done to this girl.

I counted to ten, taking a deep breath. I needed to get these people out first. Then, I’d take out their pain in the bikers’ flesh. I removed the man’s gag. He was thick with muscle, not fat, and his nose hung at an odd angle with blood dripping from it. His left eye was swollen and purple, barely opening when I touched his shoulder.  He blinked several times, trying to focus on me.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m going to get you and your family out. Can you stand?”

He nodded. His gaze moved to his daughter, and he began to cry. “What have I done?”

“Don’t think about it now. Let’s worry about getting out of here.”

I cut the ropes. He landed on his feet and rubbed his wrists. I moved to his wife and touched her shoulder. Like the daughter, her clothes were ripped. A purple bruised covered the left side of her face. Her head lolled to one side.

“Can you help me with her?” I asked.

His hands shook as he lifted her up. I cut her ropes, and he cradled her in his arms, kissing her on her forehead as tears poured down his cheeks. She stirred, moaning, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Bob?” Her voice came out in a whimper.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he said.

“Can you walk?” I asked her, and she nodded. “Good. Bob, carry your daughter and follow me.”

I led them outside and along the side of the house. An old blue truck sat parked close to the house. Bob lay his daughter in the passenger seat as I held open the door. The yells and gunshots could be heard from the front, but the cabin blocked my view. Tres backpedalled into my view followed by two of the bikers. A shot rang out from the trees, and one of the bikers dropped to the ground.

I yelled to Bob over the cacophony of battle. “Take the truck, and get out of here. Call the police.”

I pulled my sword and knife as I sprinted to the fight. Tattoo and two of his minions stood against Marge on the porch. The bikers swung their knives at Marge. She dodged the man to her left, but the one on the right caught her in her arm while Tattoo slammed his fist in her stomach. She doubled over, coughing before she looked up at him with a grin. The first biker had his back to me. I brought my knife low and jabbed it into his calf as my sundang sliced across the back of his upper leg. The man tried to turn, but the wounds had bitten deep, and he couldn’t stay on his feet. His head slammed against the porch as he fell.

“I want the demon alive,” Marge said. “Don’t go using your pretty sword swings.”

“No playing around,” I said.

Tattoo smirked at me. “Ah, the little girl with the sword, claiming to be my death. You weren’t that last time.”

I struck, letting my movements speak for me and my blade sliced into his upper bicep. This demon was too dangerous to engage in banter. I planned on keeping him on the defensive to prevent him from using his powers. He grabbed for me, but I sidestepped him, hitting him in the in the soft spot under his ribs. Marge spun to his right, swinging her leg in three blurring kicks. Tattoo flew back and hit the ground. She grinned and took a step back, bouncing defensively as he stood back up. From the side of the house, the truck’s engine gave a grinding whine, sputtered, and died.

The other biker came at me with his arm reaching to pull me in. I blocked his arm with my knife and cut open his stomach with my sword. Tres touched one of the bikers and blood burst from the man’s skin. Adrian stood beside his brother with a smoking gun in hand. Three bodies lay around them, dark pools spreading out before them.

A howl rode in on the wind, rising over the roar of the fire. The hellhound bounded from the woods in its wolf-man form. Its muscled hind legs propelled it in the air and onto the hood of the pick-up truck. Bob’s eyes widened, and he worked at something behind the wheel of the car. The lights blinked and faded, but the engine did not start.

I hopped the railing on the porch and ran towards the truck. The hellhound smashed its hand through the windshield and crushed Bob’s head. His wife screamed, her wail filling the night air. The hellhound ripped the top of the truck off and slammed the jagged metal piece into the cab. The screaming stopped. I stopped short at the gory mess inside the truck. The hellhound grinned at me, drool dripping from its pointed teeth before it took off into the woods.

Chapter 22

I RACED THROUGH the forest after the hellhound. The orange glow of the blaze behind me and the moon provided enough light to navigate. My heart pounded in my ears. If anyone could see me now, they would have been disconcerted by the wild look in my eyes and the grin I knew was on my face. I didn’t care. This was what I lived for. The hellhound wouldn’t escape. Tonight we would meet in battle, and he would die by my sword. Of course, I needed to make sure my sword could kill him.

The beast’s bulk crashed through the underbrush, causing branches to snap with resounding cracks. I fumbled in my pocket for the jar of alchemical silver and paused at a tree, panting. The hellhound’s form disappeared into the darkness, but I could still hear him. I would catch up, but I needed what little light I had to be able to do this without slitting my fingers open. With the jar braced against one arm, I unscrewed the lid and scooped a glob onto my fingers. I spread the gelled substance on the blade and peered into the forest with narrowed eyes.

A growl rolled from behind me followed by the snapping of wood. The trunk of pine careened through the air and straight for me. With a muttered curse, I threw myself to the side and tumbled between two trees. The wooden missile collided into its siblings. The hellhound laughed as I came with a huff of breath, then took off again.

The bastard was playing with me, but I was going to end this game my way. I grabbed my sword and dashed after the beast. No way in the Seven Thrones of Hell was I letting it get away again. I cleared the forest into a graveyard and had to duck as a rock flew at my head.

My laugh bounced off the gravestones and filled the night air. “You missed.”

The hellhound glared at me amongst the crumbling monuments with its long snout twisted in a snarl. In its hybrid form, it towered over all of them. I scanned the cemetery, huffing to catch my breath. The civilized world had forgotten this place. Grass grew over the tombs and mausoleums with tattered remains of ribbons blowing in the slight breeze. The moon’s reflection shimmered in a lake that encroached on the graveyard. The grounding of stone cut through the night as the hellhound ripped the head from a stone angel and tossed it up and down.

“The seer wants me to bring you. She didn’t say how though.” Saliva flew from its mouth as it growled that out. ”I’m sure she won’t mind a missing arm or leg.”

“You’ll have to fight for this meal.” I drew my knife with my other hand.

His fangs flashed white against his black lips. “Just the way I like it.”

“I told you. I don’t make a good meal. Not that you’ll get a taste. You’re just going to die here.”

It growled and hurled the head at me. I ducked and darted to the right, only to find the hellhound leaping at me. I threw myself to the side and rolled, coming up into a crouch. It crashed into one of the trees with enough force to push the trunk halfway out of the ground. I rose to my feet as the beast snorted and turned my direction. Its roar echoed through the night as it rushed at me again.

Ose didn’t choose the smartest watchdog. I stepped to the side and put a gravestone in between us. It shopped short with a low growl. It could learn from its mistakes. It leaned over and swiped at me with its giant paw, black claws barely visible. I pirouetted around the tombstone and aimed an attack at his lower leg. My blades flashed in the moonlight, and blood gushed from his wounds. It laughed a deep rumble until its flesh began to sizzle.

“Silver compound,” I said. “Makes a great hellhound-killing combination with the iron.”

The hellhound snarled and swung its arm at me. Its fist caught the top of the monument as it traveled to me and caused the stone to smash to pebbles. I bobbed down and sliced into the side he’d left open. I hopped back several steps, feeling a wild smile still on my lips. My breath came in short pants, and my heart hammered in my chest. The hellhound yanked the remainder of the headstone from its place and chucked it at me. I dived behind another grave, and the stone crashed into the ground several feet behind me.

“That didn’t work the first time,” I called. “Did you really think you would catch me this time?”

The beast’s chest rumbled as it limped in my direction. The blood loss from its wounds was beginning to catch up to it. A few more good shots would wear it down enough to strike a killing blow.

I darted out from behind my cover and ran through row of graves. The beast gave a howl and loped after me. The sound of dirt and rock shifting echoed from behind me, followed by the whoosh of something flying through the air. I dodged to the side, but didn’t quite make it. The boulder-sized missile slammed into my left shoulder and sent me tumbling through the dirt, almost into a tree.

The tendons in my shoulder popped, and numbness traveled down my arm. I was almost grateful considering the multitude of aches that screamed at me. I stood with a wince and grabbed my sword from where it had fallen a few feet away. The hellhound crouched with its muscles bunching up and charged me in a limping gait.

I was lucky this creature only had a handful of attacks. I dived to the side, and it opened its maw and attempted to sever my sword arm in one bite. Its teeth snapped together, and it snarled, turning its head in my direction. I dashed closer and landed two quick slashes into its shoulder. It snapped at me again with a bark, and its teeth caught the edge of my shirt.

I took several steps back, but it continued to advance. It raised its unwounded paw and struck at me in a quick swipe. It dipped around a tree, and the claws tore deep into the bark, leaving jagged gouges almost halfway through. I suppressed a shudder. I had pissed the hellhound off enough that it had moved beyond all thoughts of trying to maim me and was going for outright murder.

The hellhound stepped back and kicked the tree, causing it to topple in my direction. I jumped forward and hit the ground in a tumble. I rolled and came up to slash the beast in the front of its good leg.

It hunched and stumbled, falling to one knee with its sides heaving. I whirled, letting my sword follow the momentum up into a slash across its throat. The blade bit deep into the fur and flesh. The beast raked its paw across my bare flesh and sent me flying back several feet, where I landed hard with an “oomph.” It made a gargling growl as it clutched its neck and toppled to the ground while its body was wracked in convulsions.

I stood with a long groan and limped over to my fallen enemy. The snout disappeared as the hellhound’s form shrank. The fur shortened, revealing the tanned flesh of the man I’d first seen at the bar.

His eyes stared up at the stars, now blinded in death. As the adrenaline faded, pain returned in a rush. My back and left shoulder throbbed where the stone had hit me earlier, and I had a mass of other small scrapes and bruises. I hissed as I poked at the long cuts in that same shoulder. Luckily, no arteries had been hit.

I wrapped my arm with the remains of my shirt. I would be all right. As I moved to pick up my sword from where I had dropped it while flying through the air, a high-pitch whistling sound filled the air, and I jumped back. A small knife embedded itself in the corpse.

“Oh, no. I can’t have you armed with that again.”

Malantha stepped out from between the trees.

Chapter 23

SHE WORE A yellow sundress with two thin straps holding it up and no shoes. Her hair was pulled back from her face but hung loose around her shoulders. Her feminine appearance hid the evil that squatted in her. She held her hands behind back and rose on her toes to peer at the body behind me.

“You have slain my hound,” she said. “Impressive. I’ll make you regret that.”

“He wanted me to regret things as well. You see how that turned out,” I said.

She giggled a light, airy sound. “I thought you would be taller.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be so damn girly. It looks like we failed each other’s expectations.”

“You are going to die tonight. I’ve seen it.” She smiled gently at me, which was like a shock of ice water over my body. “It will only be a small death, of course. Lust has seen to that.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What do you know about my curse?”

She swayed from side to side, digging her toes in the dirt as she tilted her head to study me. I needed to get to my sword. I blinked at the blurriness in my eyes and swallowed at the roiling in my stomach. My arm still bled, but I could manage to fight. If only I could read what she planned. Did she have a knife behind her back? If I jumped to the side, I could grab the sundang and avoid anything she threw at me. I took a step closer.

“I always wondered why they went through so much effort for you,” she said. “Lust could almost have anyone they wanted.”

I glanced at my sword and inched closer. “You can’t see why?”

”Now I can,” she said. “Your light is so bright.”

“So, all your visions don’t come true,” I said.

“You’re referring to London? I learn from my mistakes.”

“You never did try to go after the Harkers after that. Imagine, a human fortuneteller could best you. But it still wasn’t enough. You’re still playing this game with me after ten years. I’m winning.”

“Are you?”

“You never found the Van Helsings.”

She tittered. “Not until you brought them here, wrapped in a pretty bow. Now we can destroy them and have you for our cause.”

“You’re insane if you think I’ll ever help demons.”

The tinkling of her laughter screeched in my ears. “Perhaps. But you will be as well, once I deliver you to my father. Then it will take one touch, and you will be ours.”

I darted for the sword, but she was on me in seconds. As she grabbed me, the metal tips of her finger claws dug into my arms and left tiny slits in my skin. With the flick of her wrists, I was flying through the air. I landed hard, and the night turned white as pain shot through my shoulder. She wagged her index finger at me.

My head swam, and I swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising up my esophagus. I pulled myself to my knees and reached for the knife tucked in my boot before I stood. As paltry as it was to fight a demon with, it would have to suffice until I could reach my sword.

She came at me, her fingers aimed for a strike at my throat. I evaded back and aimed a cut to the tendons of her right arm. She caught the blade one handed with the tips of her claws while her other claw slashed at my abdomen.

I pulled away from her, bowing my back and sucking my stomach in. The claws sliced through my shirt, and blood welled up from the shallow gashes she left behind. I hissed at the sting they brought with them. She grinned at me as her tongue flicked out over her red stained blades.

“Bitter with just a hint of sweetness,” she said. “How close are you to giving in?”

I growled, a sound reminiscent of the mutt I’d just slain, and spun, kicking my leg out in an attempt to knock her to the ground. She hopped up and forward so that she tackled me in her descent.

My lower back slammed into a low mounted gravestone, and a jolt rose to meet the one that came from my shoulder. I swallowed hard, panting to try and recover the breath that had been knocked from me. My chest ached from the lack of oxygen, and my muscles burned from the intense amount of work I had put them through tonight. In an instant, she was straddling me,   her claws brushing against my cheek. My throat closed up, and my chest tightened as the world shrank around me.

“I can see you. Every move you make,” she sang.

“I’ll just have to take out your eyes,” I said.

I jabbed at her face with the point of my knife, aiming for one of those deep brown orbs in question. Normally, I wouldn’t tell my enemy how I planned to attack, but she’d seen what was coming all night. She ducked her head to the side with a click of her tongue. At the same, I slammed my fist into her solar plexus, and her tsking turned into a choke. It was worth the spasm in my shoulder to see that shocked look on her face.

I shifted my weight to one hip, brought my knee up, and dislodged her hold on me. I scurried out from under her and gave her midsection a kick on the way to my freedom. Sucking in deep breaths, I pulled myself up with the help of a marble angel.

She rose to her feet in a smooth motion, rubbing her abdomen, and waved her fingers at me. Your move, the gesture said. She wore that easy smirk I knew I sometimes wore when I was winning, which wasn’t happening now. I needed an upper hand, and this knife wasn’t cutting anything.

My sword still rested near the edge of the lake several feet away. I flung the knife at Malantha and rushed for my sword. A clang of metal against metal rang through the cemetery. She slid in front of me, crouching low, and her claws raked the back of my calf. A sharp sting traveled up my leg as my jeans soaked through with my blood.

Her leg tangled with mine, and I tumbled into the lake. I splashed about, trying to right myself as I sputtered. She stepped into the water, her dress floating about her.

Her hand snaked out and clasped my throat. “You know murder is a sin. Let’s wash it away.”

“She lifted me into the air and slammed me into the water. My back hit the bottom, and all the air rushed from my lungs. The water covered me, filling my ears with that muted flow. I wrapped my hand around her wrist, digging my nails into her flesh, but she held me down.

I was trapped. No way out. The darkness filled the edges of my mind. My lungs screamed for air. She smiled down at me, her face distorted by the surface of the water. My right hand brushed against the sediment in search of something. Anything.

My fingertips grazed the jagged edge of a stone, and I thought a desperate, silent prayer as I traced the edge to a point. My heart pounded as my body begged me for much needed oxygen. I grabbed makeshift weapon and jabbed it upward into her throat.

Her eyes flared with yellow light like the funnel I’d seen earlier. Her grip tightened around my throat. Blood flowed down her dress and clouded the water around me. I kicked and slammed my fists against her. She didn’t even move.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. My mouth opened, and water filled my lungs. The clouded water continued to spread, darkening to match the blackness in the edges.

I saw nothing.

Chapter 24

I KNEEL BEFORE the altar with my head bent. My hands clasp together as my arms rest on the pew in front of me. Where there would be a statue of Cristo instead is a naked woman. She has a slew of other men and women embracing her legs with looks of yearning as her hands rest on two heads. Her marble lips are parted in a smile of licentious satisfaction. Along the walls, stained-glass windows depict men and women in various lewd acts. Incense drifts in the air, filling the room with a spice of cinnamon and ginger.

She walks to me, a red light shining down on her from the windows. The nun’s habit clings to her curves with the skirt shifting against her thighs as it moves. Her face is perfection, high cheekbones and a tapered nose on flawless skin. She kneels beside me and places a hand on my thigh. My loins tighten and heat spreads up though my body. I draw in a shuddering breath, and her musky sweet scent invades my senses, causing a wave of dizziness.

“You are lost again, my daughter,” she says.

I blink. How did I get here? I gasp, the air freezing in my chest. Somewhere far away, I hear water lapping around me. I start to choke. She places a finger on my lips, shushing me. I sigh at the soft caress and barely manage to stop myself from running my tongue along that perfect digit.

“I know you’re tired. You have done much.” She holds her arms wide. “You don’t have to fight anymore. Come and rest.”

My eyes grow heavy, and my head nods. Her bosom invites me like soft pillows. My son’s screams fill my ears, and I squeeze my eyes shut, but the tears still fall.  For so long, I’d fought and bled, trying to hold my tears back, yet the wound in my heart continues to ache. It can all end if I just say yes.

I look into her reddish purple flaming eyes and stop myself from touching her. The beauty and peace are wrong. I blink, covering my face with my hand to block her out if just for a moment. I’m forgetting something important. The water laps louder.

Her lips pinch together. “Why do you continue to deny me?”

The image of a boy’s twisted grin flashes through my mind. The demon inside him eviscerated me with knives. My fists clench. “Do you really need to ask that?”

“It only ends in misery for you. Like your last lover.”

Dimitri’s face fills my eyes. He lays bleeding and dying at Allegra’s feet. My last hunt with him. The world crashes down on me, and my shoulders slump under its weight. My eyes flutter. I long to close them. What was the point of all this? I would never win against Allegra or this woman. The waves crash in my ears.

I stand and move to the water basin near the double doors. The liquid is still and dark. A man’s voice calls my name, a tenor filled with sarcasm, but not now. Adrian. I step towards the door.

She stands in the aisle, looking sad. “How many times must we do this, daughter? You should accept you are mine.”

“I’m not your daughter.” I turn my back and open the doors.

Chapter 25

THE MOON CAME into focus first, sitting bloated in the night sky. Adrian kneeled beside me with one hand on my wrist. I blinked up at him, and his name escaped my lips in a hoarse whisper. His shoulders stiffened, and the concern in his gaze disappeared into an icy frown. The pale, lunar light shone on the sharp contour of his cheek as he turned away from me and stood up. The waters lapped over my numb legs. He’d pulled me from the water. I sat up with a groan, half-covering my face with my hand. My whole chest ached, as though I’d been coughing too much.

I ran my hands over my abdomen and shoulder. Smooth skin replaced my wounds. My hair clung to my elbows and the small of my back. I would have to get it cut again. Death had reverted me back to the way I was when Allegra had cursed me.

Naamah had visited me again. She came to me at every death, offering peace and an end to my curse if only I would submit to her. If only I would become her daughter. Over the centuries, the scenes had changed, yet she was always there.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, staring down at the water as it lapped against the shore. The ache in my chest grew and changed to something less physical. I longed to see my son again, but that wouldn’t happen by giving in to her. Her words were empty promises and sweet lies whispered in the dark. The only way I would be free would be to break the link. Allegra. Naamah may be the power behind the curse, but Allegra was the conduit. However, neither were here, and I had another devil to deal with. I put them from my mind and scanned the graveyard.

“Did she get away?” I asked.

Adrian pointed to the body still floating in the water. I stood and rested my hands on my knees as I waited for the dizziness to fade. Coming back always took hours to adjust to. I’d never gotten used to it, even after all this time. After I could walk without my vison blurring, I dragged the body to shore and rolled her over.

Her eyes were glass, and her face frozen in a look of shock. The girl, Brianna, must have come back to herself to feel her death. Malantha was petty enough to hold the girl’s soul long enough to feel it. Most victims of possession were trapped in their own bodies, able to experience their life but unable to control it. I pulled the dagger from her throat with a sigh.

“Damn.” I turned back to Adrian. “You came looking for me?”

“You’ve been missing for a while. Even Esais couldn’t find you. The police are at the cabin. You killed both demons?”

I pointed to the girl’s body. “She escaped.”

I moved to the hellhound and pulled my sword from its chest. I had to rest one boot on its body to get it out. I’d buried it pretty deep. I flicked the blood on the ground and used the girl’s dress to clean both blades. Adrian watched me in silence, his face betraying nothing. I turned to him with my shoulders stiff in defense.

“We’re not going back to the monster argument, are we?” To my relief, my voice came out calm.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Coming back from the dead isn’t natural. I tried to resuscitate you, but too much time had passed.”

I shivered as I thought of Adrian’s lips on mine. Maybe it was just from being wet in the cool night air. It wasn’t like I was attracted to him. Even if I was, it was probably just because of the parts of Dimitri I could see in him. He had his strong jaw underneath that trim beard that traced the edge of it. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms.

“Why?” I asked.

“We still need your expertise.” He turned back to the forest. “We should leave before the police make their way here. Neither you nor the hellhound were covering your tracks.”

“With all the dead bodies, we’re going to have to be more careful.” I sighed. “How can we get out of here?”

Adrian pointed to the cemetery entrance. The gate hung halfway off the post. “We’re going to have to take the long way around. You think your path through the woods can get us back to town?”

I stared down the dirt road leading from the graveyard. I’d passed this way in my search for the hellhound, but everything looked different in the dark. The road traveled opposite from the way I’d come in my chase.

I nodded west of the road. “That should lead us back to the carnival. I hope you’re up for a hike.”

As we walked, the woods remained silent except for the crunching of our boots and our heavy breathing. We’d disturbed the natural peace enough that all of the creatures had hidden. The shadows played across Adrian’s face. He kept his jaw set and his mouth a straight line.

“Where is your car?” I asked.

“One of the churches across from the carnival.”

“I guess you didn’t expect to get this exercise when you came here.”

He let the flashlight he brought with him splay in front of us. “I didn’t expect a lot of things.

”He quickened his steps and moved ahead of me a little. I was the one supposed to lead us out. I doubled my pace, giving up on any conversation at all. The lights of the town showed through the trees, and I walked to the edge of the forest. A few cars passed along the road. I waved him in front of me. He moved with quick steps across the street and onto the sidewalk.

I slid into the passenger side. “So, where are we headed?”

“Marge took him back to her hotel.”

“I guess she plans on moving out after this.”

“Not with us.”

Marge’s hotel was across town from the one I’d stayed at. Her truck sat parked outside one of the rooms, with the bed closest to the door. Tres stood outside with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his forehead puckered as he stared down at the sidewalk.

When the car’s headlights flashed over him, he popped his head up. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. It disappeared as I used the roof to pull myself out of the car.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I waved him off. “I’ll be fine with rest, but we have work to finish.”

Tres shifted from one foot to another. “Marge said she wanted to have some alone time with the demon.”

I swallowed the lump stuck in my throat. It was a demon this time. Marge’s tender mercies could get us the information we needed. But my stomach protested at even the thought of stooping to their level.

Adrian opened the door, and I stepped behind him. The tables and chairs were pushed against the walls. Tattoo lay in the center of the room. On the floor, two concentric circles surrounded the Star of David. Astrological and planetary symbols filled the spaces between the points of the star.

My chest swelled upon seeing it. They’d drawn the binding circle exactly like I’d taught them. Marge stood over him with a knife in one hand and a bag of salt in the other. He rested his head on the floor. Sweat dripped down his skin, mixing with the blood from the cuts along his arms and face. His leather jacket lay draped over one of the chairs.

“Where’s my contract?” Marge demanded. She glanced to us, her look of anticipation turning to a scowl when she saw me.

“You look like you’re getting ready to eat him,” I said. Yes, my mind goes to dark places.

“And you look like a drowned swamp rat,” she said.

“Close enough. Let’s get this over with so I can wash this junk out of my hair. What have you found out?”

“Haven’t had enough time with him yet.”

He laughed. “This girl can’t break me. I’m an alastor.”

I whistled. Wrath had sent an alastor after Ose. He must have pissed one of the Thrones off thoroughly. And the alastor had just made a telling mistake. He had no idea who I was. I moved to kneel beside him, and he looked up at me with a grin.

“I’m going to break you before I kill you,” he said.

Definitely had no idea.

“Who are you working for?” I asked. “What do your employers want with Ose?”

He spat in my face. Tres lunged toward the circle, but I held my hand up. This I could handle. I stood and wiped my face off with a towel from the bathroom. I turned back to him and let a smile hover over my lips. He sneered at me.

“You won’t be laughing back at the Throne.” I shook my index finger at him in mock thought. “Now, I believe alastors who return unsuccessful have to pay a heavy price. A lot of pain, yes?”

The grin dropped from his face, and Marge’s scowl deepened. Once again, I’d taken away her fun. As if she hadn't gotten enough action for the night. I know I had. I took a deep breath as a wave of exhaustion passed through me. I strained to keep the smug look on my face. I only had to keep this game up a little longer.

“You’re bluffing,” he said.

“El Shaddai, Elohim, Elohi, Tzabaoth, Elim, Asher Eheieh, Yah, Tetragrammaton, Shaddai,” I said, “which signify God the high and almighty, the God of Israel.”

Red light filled his eyes, and he rolled on his back, his legs and arms jerking hard enough they bounced off the floor. I stopped chanting, and he slumped. The rise and fall of his chest were his only movements.

“Who are you working for?” I asked.

He glared at me, but a look of fear had replaced the look of derision that had been in his eyes before.

“The big man downstairs,” he said through several gasps for air.

“Lucifer?” I blinked. “What does Pride want with Ose?”

“That’s above my pay grade. All I know is he and his bitch of a daughter has been stealing from the Thrones.”

“But the demons that work for Ose still have an affiliation to one of the Thrones. They have to.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Check again, Sweetmeat.”

I sat on the bed and rested my chin on my hands. Ose had the ability to free demons from their Thrones. John had said Ose had been liberated, but I didn’t know he could do that to others. Not only did it take the power from the Thrones, but it threw the hierarchy of Hell into chaos. It would make sense that Pride would be the first to come after him. It was on the top of the food chain. It didn’t make sense. What did the drug Ose was working on have anything to do with separating demons from the Thrones?

“Why is Ose here?” I asked.

The alastor snorted again. “How should I know? Vacation spot?”

I stood and drew my sword. “You’re in for a disappointment. Ose is ours. Don’t worry, you won’t make it back to hell to receive your punishment.”

“Hold up,” Marge said. “I’m not done with him.”

“No, not your way,” I said.

“Why the hell not? He’s a demon.”

The alastor stared at Tres, a slow smile spreading across his face. His eyes shifted to Adrian and back.

“What are you looking at?” Tres asked.

“Don’t feed the bears,” Adrian said.

“Shut up.”

“We don’t have to sink to their level,” I told Marge.

She gave an ugly laugh. “They’re not human. Hell, the human he’s in gave up his body.”

The alastor laughed, still looking at Tres. “Your daddy would be disappointed in you.”

Tres’s face twisted in a scowl. “What do you know about my father?”

I glanced over at the alastor. “You shut up. Tres, don’t listen to him.” I turned back to Marge, holding a finger up. “So, you’re willing to dirty your soul. It’s already in danger.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

I tilted my head down but kept my gaze on her. “I think you know.”

“Your daddy was proud of his family’s work. But you’ve fucked it off. You’re the least favorite son.”

Tres lunged at him. Adrian grabbed his brother’s arm. Tres spun and slammed his fist in Adrian’s face, causing him to stagger back. His eye patch slid to the side, revealing small raised lines of pink scar tissue that surrounded his eye. He returned a punch of his own. Tres tried to put him in a headlock. Both wrestled, moving back and forth. The heel of Tres’s boot rubbed against the line of the binding circle, smudging it. The alastor laughed.

The room flashed red for a second. It was so fast that, if I’d hadn’t been a skilled hunter, I would have mistaken it for a trick of the light. I moved to the circle, my sword ready.

Too late. Tattoo lay on the ground, groaning.

The alastor had fled.

Chapter 26

I DABBED THE damp rag around the cut on Tres’s forehead. The wound ran from under his hairline to the left eyebrow, but looked shallow. He’d received it when his head had met the corner of the nightstand in Marge’s hotel. The punch Adrian had given him had swelled his eye shut. He winced, sucking in his breath at the sting of the alcohol. He glanced at the towers of books stacked on the dining room table with pursed lips. We’d relocated after our debacle with the alastor to what I’d come to refer to as the safe house.

He grinned when his gaze met mine. “Looks like our roles are reversed.”

I smiled despite the fact I should be chiding him for his actions. “I only know the basics.”

“Well, the basics have gotten you this far.”

My smile faded a little. “They’ve worked at times.”

The times when it didn’t work, I’d died. I kept from saying that part aloud. My humanity was already in question. Adrian kept dragging his gaze to me throughout the night. I didn’t enjoy these deaths. Each time I had to fight against my own urge to give up, to follow Naamah’s words. Then, when I won that battle, I had to worry about where I awoke. I shuddered and shook my head.

“Ugh,” Marge said from the doorway. “All right, to avoid seeing more of this, someone tell me what the fuck we are supposed to be doing? Thanks to the two bumbling brothers here, I lost my demon.”

“We’re all to blame for that,” I said. “We need to move forward.”

She waved a hand at the brothers. “These three came here without a fucking clue about what they were dealing with.”

“Then we will solve that issue now,” Adrian said from behind Marge.

He moved around her and sat on the couch. The puffed-up skin rose around his eye patch. He wore his usual emotionless mask as his gaze traveled over the three of us. I kept my focus on wrapping Tres’s head in a bandage, glancing at Adrian occasionally.

“We have been here for a week and still are no closer to finding Ose,” he began.

“A lot has happened, though,” Tres put in.

The choir began their song as Esais joined in. ”Yes, which is why we need to stop and consolidate what we know.”

“Let’s start with tonight,” Adrian turned in my direction. “What is an alastor?”

“It’s an avenging demon that serves the Throne of Wrath. The other Throne will hire them against rival demons. When on Earth, they like to visit the sins of the fathers on their sons.” I nodded to Tres. “That’s what he was doing to you.”

Marge snorted. “And you fell for it like any newbie.”

“Like you’re any better,” Tres snapped.

“I am better,” she said. “I know what I fight.”

“And now we do as well,” Adrian cut in.

Marge narrowed her eyes at him. “Look, just because you learn fast doesn’t mean you’re skilled. I’ve been killing these bastards for a while now.”.

“Why?” I asked.

She jumped, and her mouth closed on her tirade. She blinked at me. “What?”

“Why do you hunt them?” I asked. “You seemed to take a lot of pleasure in causing them pain.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you don’t? Why do you kill them?”

Allegra’s catty smile flashed in my head. Once again, I was sucked in, forced to watch her lick my husband’s blood off each of her fingertips. My child screamed as the smoke of his burned flesh choked my lungs. Ice filled my veins, rushing to every part of my body and leaving no room for anything other than hatred. I would see that fiend dead by my hand. It would probably be the last thing I did.

Marge smiled, watching my face. “Now, cut and paste different names and dates. You’ll have my story.”

“Except for the part where you made a deal with a demon,” I said.

“What?” Tres stood, pushing me away from him. “You’re working with demons?”

She sneered. “I didn’t make a damn deal. We can’t all be cursed with immortality.”

Five steps took me to Cajun girl. My fist flattened against her cheek, and she remained as firm as the wall she leaned against. I pulled back, shaking my hand. The split skin stung worse than I remembered. The bitch was tough. Her tongue pushed out her cheek as she ran it along her jaw. Her smile twisted into a scowl. Tres looked on, his mouth hanging open, while Adrian smirked. Both did nothing to get between us. They waited to see what happened next.

“Children, could you stop, please?” Esais said.

She ignored him and planted her foot in my abdomen. The kick sent me flying into the table, toppling the stacks of books. Tres stumbled out of his chair to avoid a tower falling on top of him. I pulled myself up, rubbing my hip where it had hit the edge. The mess spread across the floor, all bent bindings and wrinkled pages.

The choir’s volume doubled, and their pitch rose, echoing through my ears until I couldn’t hear anything else. Esais’s voice thundered above it. Each syllable was a dagger to my head. Wincing sent more jolts of pain through my head.

“Enough,” he said. ”We don’t have time for this ridiculous fighting.”

Marge slid down the wall, holding her forehead. Adrian rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples while Tres fell forward on the chair he’d vacated. After what seemed like an eternity, the cacophony receded and sound returned to normal. The pain became a bearable throb.

“We have already failed to protect people tonight,” Esais continued at a manageable level. ”Let’s try not to lose anyone else due to our negligence.”

“Casualties are bound to happen,” I said.

“It could have been prevented,” he said.

We had a bleeding heart as the head of the Van Helsings. It surprised me, especially with his family history, that he hadn’t learned not everyone could be saved. Of course, this wasn’t a concept that could be explained; it had to be experienced.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten what it’s like to care for the wellbeing of others,” his voice whispered.

The others didn’t notice the last one, so I thought back at him. ”Some thoughts are private. Besides, I helped that family.”

“But you were more intent on the demon,” he spoke only to me. His next words reached everyone. ”I can say Marge is not working with the demons. Now, can we move on?”

Adrian gave a short nod. “We still need to find Ose, and we still have two demons at large.”

I bit my lip and concentrated on Adrian’s words, pushing any self-contemplation away until later. “What have you found on the hospital, Esais?”

“I met with Dr. Navotny one on one today.”

“And?” Tres asked. “Was this whole thing worth it?”

“If it’s not Ose, it’s someone close to him. The man exudes a miasma of madness. It was hard to stay in the same room with him.”

“How is your charm?” I asked.

“It’s fine. Tomorrow I will scan the orderlies, especially the ones that work the third floor.”

“That leaves us with dealing with the two demons,” I said. “I’d say Malantha first. She is the most dangerous as Ose’s second.”

“How do we blind the seer, though?” Adrian asked.

“Actually, she is blind to you. Lucy performed a ritual for you and your brothers. It’s why Malantha never found you for ten years. I had a similar one on me but…”

But she had found me at the graveyard tonight. She’d known I would be there. My ritual hadn’t been strong enough. It must have broken when she’d seen me at the carnival. I shivered, remembering the eyes behind that crystal ball.

“I’m going to have to cast the ritual on myself again before we can do anything. Otherwise she will know. It’s going to take me three days.”

“Three days?” Tres asked. “That’s inconvenient.”

“Rituals take longer than symbols or charms, but they’re a little more powerful.”

“We know what we need to do. Now, I’m going to sleep. You should all do the same,” Esais said to everyone.

He barely kept the exhaustion in check as the choir faded away. I sighed and began to pick up the books. He’d had a long day. Not only had he been admitted into the hospital, but he’d stayed in mental contact with us up until the fight. It was just stress. Still, if he continued to push himself, he’d make it easier for this madness to take hold.

“I think I’m going to get some pain pills,” Tres said, heading to his room.

Marge walked down the hall with a wink at me. She even took pleasure in the one kick. I didn’t show it, but she somehow knew I was still hurting. The woman was twisted. An itch formed in between my shoulder blades from Adrian’s gaze. I crouched down and stacked the books in a pile, ignoring him. The air conditioner clicked on.

“Do you think he will last the three days?” he finally asked.

“He’s strong. Have faith,” I said.

“That’s something I’ve never excelled at.”

He shook his head and moved into the kitchen. The door leading from the kitchen to the garage slammed shut. I walked to the hall and paused at Tres’s door, still cracked open. I knocked lightly and opened the door. He had his back to me and his shirt off. Wide scars started from each shoulder and ran down his back until they crisscrossed in the middle. He spun around and glared at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just came to check on you.”

“Did you get a good look at what Ose left me?” he asked.

“Ose did this to you?”

“During his last visit.”

“You were with your parents.”

Tres’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “He thought it would be fun to play with me. I’m lucky Esais showed up.” He covered his face with his hands and ran them through his hair. “I still don’t know how he did it. He was supposed to be in America with Adam.”

The power of an emissary was a strange thing. If an angel gifted Esais, then it made it very possible for him to travel there in time. Tres slipped his shirt back on, avoiding my gaze. I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he pulled away from me.

“You can’t heal the scars?” I asked.

He laughed. “Ever since that night, I can’t heal myself.”

“Oh, Tres.”

“I don’t want your pity. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime. I just want Ose dead.”

“Done,” I said.

I paused at the door for one last glance, but he kept his back to me. I headed to my room with my shoulders slumped. The weariness I’d held off for hours refused to be ignored any longer. It dragged me into unconsciousness.

Chapter 27

THE DOOR SWINGS open, allowing the light to spill on the dirt. The burning oak Dario had cut drifts on the air. Home invites me in from the cold night. Yet, my feet cling to the cobblestone, and my hand remains glued to the handle. My husband and son wait behind the door, but still I hesitate.

The stars blink out above me, until only the Dog Star remains as my guide. Its light fills my vision. Soon all that remains is me and the light, alone in the cold emptiness.

My vision clears, and the door opens wider. I step inside. The basket of veal and grain I carry drops to the ground.

She lounges in my chair with my babe resting in the crook of her arm. Her black hair coils atop her head like a sleeping snake. The red of her gown clashes with the mauve of her skin. Her lips curve up as I enter, giving a flash of pointed teeth. She trails her claws down my husband Dario’s cheek while he rests his head on her knee.

“Welcome home, Gabriella.” Allegra’s lilted voice rings through the room.

I freeze, my breath stuck in my throat. My eyes remain on my son. He lies sleeping, his soft face pale and relaxed.

“Surprised to see me alive?” she asks.

She stands, knocking my husband to the ground. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and crawls after her with his tongue hanging out. He presses his lips against her feet. I turn my head and clench my fists as Allegra’s laugh fills the air. Blood drips from my palms onto the ground.

“Stop her,” a voice, like a roaring fire, whispers. “Do not abide this evil.”

I try to move, but my feet stick to the ground and my hand slows in its reach towards the scene in front of me. Allegra leans down and Dario takes our baby from her. He cradles him, crooning a lullaby, and looks back up at Allegra. She is the only thing he sees as he places our child into the fire.

My screams mix with the baby’s wails. I lurch forward, but my feet are lead. Smoke fills the room, gagging me. I cannot look away from the tiny figure writhing in the flames.

“Marco.” His name falls from my lips with a sob.

Allegra laughs, reaches down, and helps Dario to his feet. He laughs with her, his face still holding that slack look of bliss. In that moment, I hate him for his ignorance. She runs a hand down his cheek. He closes his eyes, leaning into it. They kiss, slow and deep, savoring every moment, and he wraps his arms around her waist. Her claws trace dawn his chest and dig into his abdomen. He gives a small grunt and pulls her closer. With a quick motion, she snatches his heart from his chest. She holds it out to me with a smile, letting his body drop to the ground.

“You tried to stop me, but your husband’s heart is still mine,” she says.

The demon leans over me, still holding my husband’s heart. I try to claw at her eyes, but she knocks my hand away. She grips my jaw in her hand and forces me to meet her gaze. An amaranthine flame flares from her pupils. I fall into her gaze.

“I will reward you for your ingenuity,” Allegra says. “I will make you ours.”

The purple intensifies, encompassing her eyes. It slips into the cracks in my mind and fills me. Nothing else exists.

Chapter 28

I WOKE WITH my sheets soaked in sweat again and Allegra’s voice still ringing in my ears. The afternoon rays shone through my window. Unconsciousness had held me captive to my dreams for most of the day. I wiped my face and pushed down the feeling of sorrow. My cell phone sat on the bedside table, a gift from John, who convinced me it was useful to keep in touch with people. No calls. He must still be upset over what had happened yesterday. In my fear of losing him by starting a relationship, I may have lost him anyway. I sighed and sat up. Lying in bed wouldn’t help anything, and I had a ritual to perform.

When I entered the room, Marge sat with her feet propped on the kitchen table. One of Esais’s books balanced on her knees, and she flipped through it as she ate a sandwich. I breathed in the scent of real Columbian coffee and walked to the counter to pour a cup.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Tres has run off to his girlfriend, and Adrian’s locked himself in the garage.”

“So, how long do you have on your contract?” I asked.

Her head jerked to me, and she narrowed her eyes. After another minute she nodded. “About five years.”

“Why’d you do it?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” she snapped. “My mother tried to get us out of the hell we were in and made things worse. She traded my soul, not hers, because I was the one suffering.”

I frowned. “I didn’t know others could sell your soul to demons.”

She shrugged. “Something about legal guardians being responsible.”

“That’s just wrong. There should be a way to fight that.”

“I’m trying. If I kill the demon that holds my contract…”

“Do you even know who it is?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“So you’re just traveling around, killing whatever demon you come across?”

She shrugged. “I’ll find one eventually who knows.”

This sounded familiar. My mind flashed back to a young angry widow carving a swath of demon flesh in Italy. I’d had a mentor though. Good Father Ricci with his balding hair and watery eyes. He also thought every dead demon was a boon to humanity. Because of that, it had taken me centuries to get on the trail of Allegra. Marge didn’t have forever. This woman had been through a lot. She’d come out damaged, but she still stood at least, and I had to make sure she remained so.

“Marge, you need to have a plan. Otherwise, you’re just wasting what little time you have left.”

“So what do you propose I do?”

“We’ll research. I’ll check with a few of my contacts to see what they know.”

“Mine led me here. You see how well that worked out,” she said.

“I doubt the alastor has left. He won’t risk failing a mission if he can help it. By killing the hellhound, we may have made things easier for him.”

She finished off her sandwich and stood up. “Well, I’m going out to look for it.”

I nodded. “Good luck.”

The front door slammed, and I moved the curtain, watching her until she was out of sight. Good, she wouldn’t be here to stop me for the next part.

In the living room, I found the bloody remainder of Marge’s pants still in the trash. Tres had been upset enough from his argument with his brothers to forget about them, and we’d been too busy since then to think about emptying the trash. As much as Marge claimed to be skilled, she was still lax in certain things, such as leaving her blood lying around for people like me to use in ritual magic.

I walked to the den with my bag and closed the wooden door behind me. I moved the furniture to the edges of the room and rolled up the carpet. From the bag John had given me, I pulled out a jar of alchemical paint made from quicksilver, the reason he had taken so long in getting my ingredients. Most people mistook quicksilver for mercury. It took the most skilled alchemist to tell the difference. I wasn’t one of them, but I knew a few. Quicksilver remained a mystery in alchemy, but was still one of the most powerful components. Many an alchemist had theorized on the origins of the substance, but nothing had been proven. I never really cared. I preferred using it for its ability to channel magic in ritual work.

I painted a circle on the concrete that took up most of the free space in the room. Inside the circle came a triangle with its points touching the circle. Within the triangle I painted a square and in that I painted a smaller circle. I set a small table into the innermost circle and placed my sword, a bowl of herbs, two wax dolls, and a mirror on it, along with several black candles. The color black repelled or blocked energy. I laid out a small brazier with burning sage to purify the room while I cleansed myself.

I let the water from the shower run down my body. My stomach was doing flips, and the muscles in my back bunched together. I breathed out my anxiety, imagining it to be viridian smoke leaving my mouth. These emotions would taint the energy I intended to channel for this ritual. I envisioned my body surrounded by a Prussian blue aura. I stepped out of the shower in a focused state of tranquility and slipped on a white robe. I was ready.

By the time I came back into the den, the sage had burned itself out. I placed small bowls of angelica incense on the three points of the triangle. The herb was attributed to the archangel, Michael, and the fumes would dispel evil or hostile magic. I picked up my sundang. Many Hermetic ritualists liked to have a special sword for working their magic. My sword was an extension of me and so it allowed me to channel energy easier.

I raised the blade to my face and closed my eyes. I envisioned myself growing larger and larger until I floated in space, with the planets floating around me. A star hung above my head, blazing with white light. I raised my sundang and pierced the star. Its energy flowed through my sword and into me. I opened my eyes and walked to the outer circle. I moved clockwise with the tip of the blade pointed along the edge of the outer circle. A blue light tinged with gold-white trailed from the sword’s point.

I stopped at the eastern point and drew a five-pointed star. It hung in the air, its white light playing shadows along the bare walls of the den. I pierced its center and projected my energy through it until the star glowed cerulean.

“Ihvh,” I chanted.

I continued my path until I reached the southern point. I drew another star and pushed my energy through it as I chanted. “Adni.”

I walked until I reached the western point and did the same. “Ahih.”

The last star was at the northern point. “Acla.”

The circle closed around me with an audible hum. A cylinder of blue white light rose to the ceiling. I breathed deeply and moved to the altar, facing east. I held my sword in front of my face with the tip facing up.

“Before me, Michael,” I said.

Michael, the Sword of God, led the seven archangels and was the general of Heaven’s Host. His element was air, and he was the Guardian of the East.

“Behind me, Gabriel.”

Gabriel was the Word of God, another of the seven archangels. He led the trumpet angels. His element was water, and he was the Guardian of the West.

“To my right, Raphael.”

Raphael was titled God’s Heal. Many miracles were performed in his name. His element was earth, and he was Guardian of the North.

“To my left, Uriel.”

Uriel was the Fire of God, the punisher. He took great pleasure in his work, supposedly. He was the Guardian of the South.

“About me flames the Pentagram.” I touched the blade to my forehead and the four stars flared. “And in the column shines the six-rayed star.”

I set my sword on the altar and let out a breath. The circle had been cast and the divine entities called for protection. Now came the actual ritual. I picked up the mirror and arranged it so it pointed down on the table. I wrapped the scrap of Marge’s pants around one of the wax dolls. I cut my hand, bled into a white cloth napkin, and wrapped it around the second doll.

“I name you Malantha, and I constrain you by the most holy names of God, Eloy, Adonay, by all the sacraments, by him who has forsaken you. No more shall you do us harm.  No more shall your eyes spy us,” I said.

I let my will and energy flow into the dolls as I spoke the words. On their foreheads, I carved pentacles, five pointed stars surrounded by a circle. I set the dolls into a bowl of herbs consisting of salt, bay laurel, angelica, and garlic. All were used to protect against evil. I placed a black cloth over the dolls, imagining Marge and me being hidden from Malantha’s eyes.

The mirror rattled on the table, and tiny cracks appeared along the edges. Smoke obscured the surface except for a pair of eyes that glared at me. Malantha could sense the magic I was working against her and she was fighting me. The devil’s traps I put around the house would keep her from entering, but if she broke the mirror, she could cause my own magic to backlash upon me. I steeled myself with a deep breath and pressed my hand harder on the dolls, as I kept the image of blinding those demon eyes.

“I command you, by the power of the Eucharist, which redeemed mankind from sin, no more shall you interfere in my life, nor in the lives of my loved ones.  By the power of God and by my will, I command you.”

The smoke in the mirror faded, leaving only a black surface with hairline fractures making their way towards the center. I smiled. The black meant I had weakened her enough with this ritual. I stood and walked counter-clockwise, releasing the energies of the circle. I would return the next midnight and the one after to repeat the words enough to completely blind her foresight of us. Then came the real battle.

Chapter 29

MARGE GRIPPED THE chain-link fence, looking up at the top several feet above her head. Small wisps poked out from under the black cap she’d worn to cover her strawberry blonde locks. I snickered. Marge would probably kick me if I ever referred to her hair as golden locks. She looked over at me, her brow wrinkling.

“What?” she mouthed.

I shook my head, waving her on. We all looked like sneak thieves in the tight black shirts and pants we were wearing. The rest of us hadn’t needed to cover our hair; mine was black and the boys had dark brown. Tres said we looked like a group of teenagers on their way to vandalize property. I’d failed to understand his excitement, but all my trespassing had been done after my marriage. I didn’t feel the nostalgia of my youth.

The fence clinked every time Marge put her foot on it. She paused at the top to survey the area below before hopping down. I watched for any guard approach as I waited for my turn, which came last. The impact of the landing jarred my knees, but I kept my balance.

We’d entered into the food court. Streetlights bathed the boarded stand in a yellow light. The ground was cleaner now than it’d been during the day, thanks to the cleaning crew that swept the place after closing. I wrinkled my nose as a breeze brought the smell of stale popcorn. Still, it felt good against my damp face. The air remained humid, even at two in the morning.

We slipped in between the stands, peering around corners before scurrying to the next safe haven. At this moment, security became more dangerous than any monster. We couldn’t kill a human if we were caught. We’d have to abandon the plan or end up in jail. I preferred to stay away from the law. Nancy’s suspicions and the incident with the dog attack had already put us under enough police scrutiny.

“How much farther?” Tres asked, keeping his voice low.

“Past the Ferris wheel, across from the roller coaster,” I said, pointing.

I shivered as we crept past. The wheeled monstrosity loomed above us with its caged seats rocking in the wind. Metal scraped against metal as they moved. A shadow that looked almost human moved in one of the cars, and I stared hard at the car, but it remained motionless. With a long breath, I moved on. We weren’t here for a confrontation.

I stopped in front of the wagon, facing off with the gypsy woman. Gloom shrouded the painting, but I felt her smile. Heaviness weighed the air down as if it was water.  It closed in on me, pressing on all sides, and I took a deep breath and let it out, counting to ten. I jumped at Tres’s hand on my shoulder.

“This is it?” he asked.

I nodded. My tongue felt thick in my mouth. I didn’t trust myself to speak without stumbling over the words.

Marge hopped up the steps and jiggled the handle. “Locked.”

“I got it,” Tres said.

He pulled a silver Swiss army knife out of his pocket and unhooked a thin pick from it. He bent over the lock with a penlight in his mouth. After studying the lock, he straightened another lock pick on the knife and set to work. In a matter of moments, the door swung open.

“I didn’t know your brother had such talents,” I murmured to Adrian.

He shrugged. “Did you think Esais would learn how to do it?”

I shut the door behind us as we crowded into the tiny room. Tres played the light over the room. A circular table stood in the center of the room, draped in layers of scarves and surrounded by three chairs. A crystal ball sat atop it. Tasseled scarves adorned the walls, their colors muted by the lack of light. With the right light, this would have given off a gypsy feel.

Goose pimples rose on my arms as a chill swept over me. This place was wrong. The walls crept closer. I bumped into Adrian in my haste to search a small table near us. The gloom obscured his expression, but from the jerk of his head, he was annoyed.

“Okay, this place is too small for all of us,” I said. “Two can do this with no problem.”

Marge snorted and pushed past me to the door, leaving the rest of us to stare at each other. I wanted to join her, but that would leave Tres and Adrian. They wouldn’t know what to look for and might bumble on something harmful.

“I should stay,” I said, straightening my shoulders.

“I will, too,” Adrian said.

I blinked, staring at his semi-obscured form. Was this some sort of torture he wanted to put me through? I could think of no other reason why he would volunteer to be in my company. Great, not only did I have to scan this place again, but now I had alone time with my least favorite Van Helsing.

Tres handed me the flashlight with a shrug. “I’ll keep watch with Marge, then.”

I turned to the table, putting my back to Adrian. I took a deep breath and looked beyond what normal people saw. A small pressure built up in my head and released. Instead of the usual gray, the cabin was filled with the sickly mustard color. I gulped back the bile rising in my throat, which caused the burning in my stomach to increase. The same yellow from outside swirled around me, filling the wagon. It reminded me of water I’d seen spill from a sewage plant. I swayed, wiping my damp forehead.

“Are you all right?” Adrian asked. He almost sounded concerned.

I nodded, letting air out through my mouth. After a few minutes, my stomach stopped trying to rebel against me, though the burning remained. I focused trying to find the source of this. I noticed that the tiny black lines created spirals in the yellow. They floated together, forming a picture if I unfocused my gaze.

“About the symbol you used to protect the house,” Adrian said.

The swirls formed the face of a catlike creature, a large predator. It looked a lot like those pointillism paintings created by Monet, confusing up close but could make sense if you stepped away from them. The fangs of the cat were bared in a grin. I had seen that face so many years ago.

Ose.

”What about it?”  I asked.

“Is it possible to combine the symbol with another to form something that can kill demons?”

I stared at him, taking in the cool emerald and yellow-orange that surrounded him. Even the muddy red of the anger comforted me. I shut my mouth and shook my head, trying to concentrate on his words. Still, I didn't take my eyes off of him.

“A symbol?”  I asked.

“Yes, like the ones around the house.”

“I’ve never heard of using them that way. Symbols like that are very specific in their creation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I distracting you?”

“No, it’s just…”

“You usually seem capable of talking while doing your scan,”  he said. “What is different?”

I sucked in more air. “This place is intense. I’ll be fine. Why do you want the symbol?”

He cleared his throat, placing his hands behind his back. “I have an idea for a weapon that will harm demons.”

“Based on a symbol you’ve never seen before?”

He chuckled. “Which is why I asked if you had a symbol. You, at least, seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Is that a compliment?” I asked, a smile pulling up the corners of my mouth.

“Maybe.” He turned his head away.

I walked to the center table and sat on the single chair. The black began to move once I took my gaze from Adrian. My eyes focused on the scarf. The biggest concentration came from under it. I lifted the tasseled cloth away and revealed a small table. A rectangular object sat wrapped in red silk. Not that I could see the red with all the black and yellow that radiated from it. This had to be the source. My hand paused in midair. I didn’t want to touch it, but I had to see inside.

Adrian turned from the table he was inspecting. “Did you find something?”

I laid the object next to the crystal ball. A stack of cards lay in the silk, their edges yellowed. On the topmost card, a goat-headed figure crouched on a pillar, his clawed feet digging into the stone. In his hand, he held a torch, and his wings spread out behind him. A man and a woman stood chained to the pillar, naked with small horns protruding from their heads. The card lay upside down, but I still knew the name printed at the bottom. The Devil.

I’d had my tarot cards read by a fortune teller once. Dimitri had introduced me to Lucy, the daughter of his Uncle Jonathon. After a few months of cajoling, she’d convinced me to let her read my fortune. I still remember the terrified look in her eyes when she’d scanned the cards she’d laid out in what she called a Celtic cross spread. The third card she’d drawn had been the reversed devil. A pure evil in my past. She’d almost kicked me out right then, but I’d begged her to continue for even the possibility of finding Allegra. Now, I stared down at the same card.

Touch me, a voice whispered.

My chair tipped backwards in my haste to get away. Every card held a piece of that black and yellow, and it reached for me. Adrian’s face appeared in my view as I lay on the ground. Concern flitted across his face before he covered it with a smirk. I glowered at him and pointed to the cards, where they sat so innocently on the table.

“Those are the cause,” I said.

He looked from the cards to me. “You sure?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes.”

“So what do we do with them?”

“You have a match?” I asked.

He felt in his pockets and pulled out a Zippo lighter.

“That works,” I said. “Now we need something to burn them in.”

I moved to the table near the back door and lifted a small cauldron. Tiny scratches adorned the inside, as if it had been scrubbed by a Brillo pad. This thing had seen some use. The fortune-teller may have been a Wiccan before being possessed. Not that it mattered. Demons didn’t care what religion one followed. I’d seen some of the most outwardly pious of priests become vessels for hellspawn. If you weren’t strong of will, they had you. Well, I would use it to prevent more damage the demon could do.

I put the cards inside, making sure to touch only the silk covering. Adrian’s lighter clicked in the silence and caught the corner of the cloth. The flames raced down and licked the edges of the cards. I watched the blackened edges fleck away as the fire consumed the Devil. A flash of yellow smoke erupted as flames consumed the entire deck. The smoke formed in the face of Ose’s cat grin.

“That should get her attention,” I said. “We should join the others before she gets here.”

Adrian pulled out one of his holy water canisters. “Then we find a good place to ambush them.”

Muffled shouts came from outside. I opened the door in time to see Marge and Tres running in two different directions. I sighed. I may not have wanted to fight the demons here, but I certainly didn’t want to be split up, either.

“You get your brother,” I said. “I’ll go after Marge.”

Chapter 30

MY FEET POUNDED on the concrete as I passed the Tilt-o-Whirl. I paused long enough to scan the shadowed space in between the game stands. Though Marge was capable of dealing with several demons at once, I didn’t think she was a match for Malantha. That wouldn’t stop her from trying, though. No plan and no ambush meant we were in for a hard fight. The best idea would be to find the Cajun woman and make a hasty retreat. We could plan a strategy when were safe and could prepare. If only I reached her first.

The first strains of music passed me on the breeze. It sounded slow, strained like a player on its last leg. I squinted, staring at the flashing lights a few hundred yards away from me. The tension roiling in my chest and the hairs on the back of my neck screamed trap. But if I noticed this, the other did as well. She would probably be there.

I stopped in front of the fun house. It was painted to look like a castle, with two towers, dripping with black vines. At the top were the words Enchanted Castle. Out of one of the windows, an animatronic maid waved a cloth down at me. The bridge leading into the castle was motorized, with one track running in the opposite direction of the other into the small dark doorway. A chill ran down my spine.

I shifted to my other sight and gazed up at the house. I didn’t reel as the yellow and black spiraled out from the ride, stronger than the tarot deck. I blinked back to my normal sight and bit my lip. It was in there, waiting.

Marge’s head appeared in one of the windows on the second floor as she passed by. Dio, I had to go. I wouldn’t leave her to be surprised by the monster lying in wait. With a huff to catch my breath, I crossed the bridge into the dark of the castle. Red lights lit a jagged stepped walkway. The walk was set on two tracks that moved back and forth in opposite directions. The walls pressed at me from both sides. I gulped and focused on the ground in front of me, keeping my arms tight to my sides.

Light flared on as I stepped onto a platform from the stairs. The walls appeared to be painted in a castle stone pattern. Opposite me, I could see the doorway to the hall. Then the room began to spin. The hallway entrance flew past in a blur. If I timed it wrong, I could break a limb. I walked in the opposite direction that the room spun, keeping my eye on the doorway. I counted in groups of ten. The door passed the hall on every six. At the next seven, I hopped into the hall.

“Ridiculous,” I muttered.

Pistons pressed the walls close together and then pulled them apart. I took a deep breath before I moved in. Halfway through, I couldn’t go any further. Every time I tried to shift forward, something held me from behind. I looked back to see my jacket caught on the corner of one of the walls. I pulled hard, ripping the fabric. I rushed to the stairs at the end as the last wall came hurtling toward me.

I ascended to the third floor and ran into a stretched version of myself. She gazed down at me, panting each breath I took. I’d reached the mirror maze. A high pitched giggle filled the room, overtaking the static-filled music. The hairs rose on the back of my neck. That wasn’t Malantha’s voice.

I pulled my sword out and a knife from my boot and moved down the path the mirrors led me. A squat version of me raised her eyebrows as I passed a mirror. Some sort of mist filled the room, covering the floor and fogging my perception. All around, reflections stared back at me.

I stumbled into one. Warm flesh met my hands instead of cold glass. I jumped back and craned my neck up at the man before me. He wore a lab coat with the name tag of “Navotny” visible. His cheek bones jutted from his face like his skin had been stretched over his skull. Tears streaked from his sunken eyes, leaving a well-worn path down his face. Yet, he bared his teeth at me in a lopsided grin.

“Enjoying my home, Gabriella?” he asked.

“I think you need to move,” I said.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

Ose’s leopard face of the demon continued to grin at me. The pupils of its eyes were heavily dilated until they were completely black. The yellow of his mangy fur resembled that same sick color. The last time I’d seen him, it had a more golden tone.

“You look worse.”

“You don’t see the beauty? I was like you. Before I’d been chained by the blind, but now I serve something greater.”

“You lost your chance to serve something higher. You rebelled against God.”

His face twisted in a scowl. “My siblings and I should not have accepted punishment from such a pretender. He gave us free will so we could choose to love him. And when we didn’t, he punished us. What kind of mercy is that?”

“You tried to make yourselves higher and failed. You knew there would be consequences.”

“Thanks to you, I have found something better. I will show you.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I like my sight just the way it is.”

He shifted, and a bit of yellow caught my attention. Marge lay in a heap behind him. I glanced from her to him. There was no way I would be able to get around him in the narrow hall, unless I could break the mirrors. If they were hollow, I could slip through some to Marge.

I moved to the closest mirror, holding my sundang and knife in a defensive position. He shrieked in laughter and took another step forward. His slow movements were deliberate, like he was trying to draw the whole thing out.

“Sharp objects won’t hurt me, they only make me bleed,” he said.

“You haven’t been the best of hosts,” I said, nodding to Marge.

He turned his head back. His voice took a mournful quality. “She did not like what I had to show her. Some people can’t understand my world.”

In seconds, he was inches from me. Faster than the hellhound; I didn’t even see him move. He dangled the necklace that hung around my neck between his spread fingers and laughed as it shattered. Some of the shards embedded themselves in my chest. His hand covered my face, and he slammed me into one of the mirrors. The glass shattered around me, and my back hit the wall of the funhouse.

“I can smell your fear of this place,” he said. “You are ripe now for what I have to show you.”

The world spun. I lay in a glass coffin, cradling the burnt husk of my child. Allegra’s face filled my head, laughing as she shoveled dirt on top of me. She blew me a kiss before she covered my vision. I cried out, slamming my fists against the walls of my prison. It broke, and I fell into darkness.

Dimitri floated above me, his hand reaching out to me. My fingers brushed against his, tickling my skin with his warmth. A woman’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he turned from me before I could get a grip. Still, I fell.

My bones ached from the utter chill until I couldn’t feel anything. I wouldn’t feel anything ever again. Esais’s face passed in front of me with blood dripping down his forehead. His eyes, pale with death, stared at me with an icy nothingness. Behind him, an army of the dead kneeled. Tres threw his head back, laughing, mad with power. Bone horns protruded from his forehead, leaving jagged pieces of flesh where they had ripped through. Adrian held my own sword, glaring at me.

“This is because of you,” he whispered.

He swung the sword at me, slashing me in the chest. The force of the blade made me fall harder. Blood flowed from me, and the darkness filled me. I’d lost all sensation in my body. I no longer knew whether I still fell or if I had hit bottom. The cold emptiness of the dark surrounded me with no end.

Still, something burned inside me, an ember. It lay sleeping deep within me. If I could wake it, I would feel again. I could be something. I reached for the ember, willing it to spark. It shuddered. No, it couldn’t go out. I would be lost then.

“Gabby!” a voice called.

Who was Gabby? What was it? It sounded familiar. My cold lips moved, playing over each syllable. The ember brightened at the word. Yes, I knew that word; I’d always known it. It was a part of me. That name was mine.

“Gabby, come on. I can’t pull you out of there,” the voice said again.

Shapes began to form in the darkness, and dim lights appeared. I could feel the wall against my back. Warmth returned to my body and my cheek stung. I blinked several times at the blur in front of me. It formed into John Roda’s face. He frowned at me and slapped my cheek again.

“Ow, stop,” I said, smacking his hand away.

“Finally,” he sighed. “Now do you think you can get up?”

I had slid into a sitting position with my knees digging into my breasts. My feet were pressed against the frame of the mirror. How long had I been like this?

“What the hell happened?” I asked, wiggling my legs out of their cramped position.

“Ose caught you,” he said.

He pulled me up and out from the mirror. My legs shook when I put weight on them, and I had to grab his shoulders to keep my balance. I didn’t let go immediately. I rested my chin on his shoulder and closed my eyes, breathing in his scent. He smelled like the fresh scent of men’s aftershave with a hint of rain underneath. I loved it. It was nothing like dirt and darkness. He cleared his throat, and I pulled away, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.

I crossed my arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you here,” he said, scratching the back of his head.

“So, you came to spy,” I said.

His eyes met mine. “I was worried. With good reason.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I wanted to apologize for what happened a few days ago.”

I looked at Marge, who lay in a fetal position, whimpering. Her eyes were squeezed shut on her wet face, and she trembled. I’d forgotten about her. I knelt next to her and touched her shoulder. She jumped and rolled away from my touch.

“Not again,” she cried. “No more, Dad!”

She held her fists in front of her, not nearly as strong as I’d seen her before. Poor girl, Ose had brought her past up as well. She’d said her mother had made a deal to get them out of a bad situation. I guess the person she’d been running from had been her own father.

“Marge, you need to snap out of it,” I said. “What happened to the hardcore bitch that likes kicking demon ass?”

She screamed, struggling against me, and her fist connected with my shoulder. It bounced off after jarring my shoulder bone. I grabbed her wrists before her panic could actually hurt me. She struggled even more, now fully screaming. Her necklace of jet lay down the hall several feet away. It must have been torn off in her meeting with Ose. I glanced down at the broken remains of my own jet.

“Grab that necklace, and help me get it on her,” I said.

John grabbed the necklace. She thrashed her head from side to side as he tried to slip the necklace on her. Her screams grew louder, changing from fear to fury. She glared up at me, snapping her teeth in my face. The look of rage twisted her face so it barely looked human. I shivered. Was I seeing the true Marge?

“There,” he said, finally getting it on.

The effect was immediate. The struggling stopped, her eyes rolled up in her head, and she sagged with a moan. I held onto her wrists, watching to see if this was some sort of trick. I looked up at John, and he shrugged.

“I didn’t expect it to knock her out,” he said.

“Help me get her outside,” I said.

I stood and rubbed my upper arms. This place still made my skin crawl. The sooner I stood in the open air, the better. He lifted her up and headed down the mirrored hall. I followed behind him, wrapping my arms around me for comfort. A metal slide awaited us, glittering in the night. It had a rounded top as a cover.

“You’re joking.” I looked from it to him.

“You’re just a spiral slide away from freedom,” he said, grinning for the first time tonight.

I sighed. “I’ll go first, then you can push her down.”

I gulped and sat on the slide, closing my eyes. In a few seconds, it would be over. Those seconds lasted an eternity as I slid down the thin tube. I reached the bottom and hopped up as fast as I could. The wind on my face never felt so good. He waved, and I gave him two thumbs up. Down came Marge. She slid feet first with her arms hanging above her head. Footsteps pounded on the concrete as I pulled her away, and I looked up as Adrian and Tres approached.

“What happened?” Tres asked, moving to Marge.

“Ose,” I said. “You?”

“A dead end,” he said with the shake of his head.

Adrian turned as John came sliding out. He held one of his grenades in his hand. I stepped in front of him before he could toss it.

“This is my friend John,” I said. “He came to help.”

He looked from me to John and straightened up, placing his hands behind his back. “Very well.”

I walked to John, smiling at him. “Thanks for your help.”

He played with a lock of my hair. “I couldn’t let it get you.”

“We need to get out of here. Do you need a ride?”

He shook his head. “I need to talk to you, though. Meet me tomorrow?”

I nodded and he pulled me against him. His lips brushed my cheek, causing a tingle to run up my back. I shivered. He pulled away, with his easy grin, and headed into the shadows. I turned to find both Adrian and Tres staring at me.

“What?” I asked defensively.

“Nothing,” Tres said with a smirk.

“Let’s go home then,” I said. “I want a long soak and a bed and to get this glass out of me.”

A shadowed figure stood near the gates as we passed. I did a double take at the worn sackcloth robes and frayed white hair. Tres turned back as I stopped at stared. He placed a hand on my arm, and I jumped, turning my wide eyed gaze to him. He peered at the gate with a puzzled frown.

“What is it?” he asked.

I glanced back at the empty space. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

That’s all it could have been. Nothing, just one hellish long night. Because I surely wasn’t seeing ghosts of long dead priests without using my aura sight.

Chapter 31

PADRE RICCI FOLDED his hands on the table of the diner. The sleeves of his sackcloth robe dangled off the edges. He blinked at me through watery eyes surrounded by wrinkles and gave me a thin-lipped smile. The lunch crowd paid us little attention. The waitress came and dropped off my tea before moving on to more demanding customers.

“This is dangerous territory you stepped into, bambina,” the padre said.

A light fluttering filled my stomach. The world blurred around us until all I could focus on was the man in front of me. It had been centuries since anyone had called me child. Of course it had been centuries since I’d spoken to this man before he’d died. Alarm bells rang in my head, but I still wanted to feel his warm hands resting on mine. I gripped my tea cup tighter to prevent myself from reaching out to him.

“Nothing we haven’t been through before.” I took a sip on my tea and stared down at the table.

“He’s different from the last time we fought him. Even then, the exorcism did not work correctly.”

“And we know how that ended,” I murmured.

I’d been ready to give in to the inquisitors. If they’d found a way to end my existence, I would have gladly accepted it. Father Ricci had found me shaking and rocking on the dirt floor of my cell. He’d taken me under his wing and showed me I’d been given a chance to take evil from the world. I’d learned a lot about demon hunting from him. He’d given me the purpose of tracking demons down for him to exorcise. Ose had been our last hunt together. It had ingrained itself on my mind forever.

We’d spent months searching out Ose to find him in the heart of Rome, hiding in an altar boy and taking pleasure in inciting the cardinals to sin. We’d caught and bound him. However, the exorcism on a devil as powerful as Ose had been too much on Padre Ricci’s heart. When he’d dropped to the ground, I’d panicked and pulled out a book of chants from the padre’s bag. My mouth fumbled over the words of the banishing incantation. A wind filled the tiny room and yellow light surrounded Ose before he went limp. I rushed to the father, but I couldn’t save him. He died in my arms. I’d been left to explain to the church how once again I’d been the only one alive. The words had been wrong, but Ose had been banished. To this day, I never understood how.

“Have you come to give me guidance?” I asked.

He patted me on the hand. “You are the teacher now, bambina.”

“I don’t feel like it,” I said. “After all this time, I still feel lost.”

“How could you be lost? You have a family again.”

“Not my family. They’re dead.”

“All die, bambina.”

“Except for me,” I whispered.

“Your work is not complete. The Lord still has need of you on this world.”

The bell above the diner door rang as John walked in. Padre Ricci stood and gave me a warm smile. He passed John with a nod, but John didn’t look at him. John’s eyes were on me. He slid into the seat the padre had vacated.

“Morning,” he said.

I nodded and peered around for Padre Ricci, but he had disappeared. ”Buon giorno.”

John glanced behind him. “What are you looking at?”

I shook my head. “What did you want to tell me last night?”

“I got information back on Menrazine,” he said. “The drug resembles some basic antipsychotics with a few subtle differences.”

“Such as?” I asked.

“The sulfur used has been compounded differently than normal. Probably brimstone.”

Ah, brimstone, another rare element that was mistaken for a common one, sulfur. I’d come to be quite familiar with the smell since demons reeked of it. It became especially strong after exorcisms. I’d even found trace amounts of sulfur left behind after the demon had vacated its host.

“So, what does this drug do?” I asked.

John shook his head. “Without a blood sample of someone taking it, I couldn’t tell you for sure. For all intents and purposes, it’s an antipsychotic.”

I crossed my arms and leaned on the table. “So this got us nowhere.”

“Well, I did find an interesting reaction,” he said.

He pulled out a small Petri dish and put one of the pills in it. He held his hands out, as if doing a magic trick. With a flourish, he produced a vial of holy water. He poured a few drops onto the pill. The reaction was immediate. The pill began to sizzle. Soon, it became a white fizzing mess. I jumped back when one of the bubbles popped and flung its contents at me.

The waitress rushed over. “You can’t do that in here.”

John smiled up at her and covered the dish with a lid. “Sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to show my friend here my science project.”

“Well, take that outside.”

“I’m done for now.”

A chill crept up my spine as he pushed the covered dish to the side of the table. The contents continued to bubble and pop until the entire pill had dissolved, leaving a small residue at the bottom. There had to be a highly concentrated amount of brimstone for that kind of reaction. What was Ose attempting with Menrazine? One thing I knew for certain, I didn’t want Esais anywhere near that drug.

“Listen, Gabby, I want to apologize for the way I’ve been acting.” He scratched the back of his head. “I guess I’ve been a little jealous. I mean, you always go on about Dimitri.”

“What?” I tore my eyes away from the dish. “Oh, don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

I smiled. “Apology accepted.”

“You’re distracted again.”

“Just trying to wrap my mind around the drug.”

He sighed and nodded. “It’s pretty insane. I wonder what he’s using this for? What’s even more interesting is there were no traces of sodium on this at all.”

I looked at him blankly. “So?”

He chuckled. “You really should study up on some of this.”

I waved my hand at him. “You know I don’t keep up with alchemy.”

“This would be chemistry.”

I pointed to the slightly bubbling goo. “Brimstone? That’s alchemy.”

“Well, sodium is used in a lot of medications.”

“So, sodium would have the same effect as salt itself?”

“If that was the case, there would be a lot less possessions with as much salt as people eat. But it probably has a small effect on the demons.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose. Bob and his family walked down the street and stopped at the large window of the diner. Their clothes were slick with blood, but they had no wounds. They stared at me with dead eyes through the windows of the diner. A woman stepped through Bob’s daughter and hurried along as if nothing had occurred. I swallowed hard as a chill traveled down the entire length of my spine.

Why was this happening now? I wasn’t even using my second sight. They turned and continued down the sidewalk. I craned my neck until they passed the last window. I stood, causing my chair to scrape across the ground with a grinding squeak. I dropped a few bills on the table.

“I need to go,” I said. “I’m not feeling well.”

He half stood, one leg resting on his chair. “What’s wrong?”

I gave John one last glance as I darted past our waitress. “I’ll call you later.”

I rushed out the door and down the sidewalk. People glared at me as I pushed past them, but I was too late. Bob’s family had disappeared.

Chapter 32

THE SETTING SUN blazed against my back as I held my sundang out in front of me. Beads of sweat ran between my shoulder blades. Even at twilight, the heat threatened to drown me in its stifling presence. I drew a long breath and focused. The back-yard of the safe house receded. Soon, nothing existed besides me and my weapon. We became one. I let my body go through the motions as my mind traveled elsewhere.

I was starting to see the dead. I’d seen ghosts throughout my long existence. Restless spirits existed all over the world, and their temperaments depended on each individual. However, I’d never seen personal ghosts. Padre Ricci should have received his eternal reward four hundred years ago. Had he returned because I was fighting Ose? This afternoon had been the first time I’d seen him, though. And what about Bob and his family? They had only been dead for a few days, with the police still investigating what had happened in the woods that night. Could Bob have become a ghost that quickly? My knowledge of ghost was lacking as I could never speak with any of them.

Ose’s hand covering my face flashed through my mind along with the sound of shattering stone. He’d crippled my defenses. I had to face the fact that he’d had a deeper effect than I first perceived. So how would I be able to tell reality from delusion? Father Ricci was most likely not real, as was Bob and his family. However, my next vision might be less obvious. Perhaps Esais was skilled enough to aid me in getting rid of this insanity.

Someone cleared their throat. I spun around with my sword raised. Tres leaned against one of the pillars that held up the porch awning. His arms were crossed, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

“You’re truly a thing of beauty,” he said.

I straightened and wiped the sweat from my brow. “I hope you didn’t come to flirt, because I’m not in the mood.”

He held up his hands. “Easy. I just came to see if you wanted to visit Esais.”

I frowned. “At the hospital?”

“Unless he got out and you didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t think that is wise right now. If Ose sees any of us, it could lead him right to Esais.”

He scowled. “Well, how will we know if he’s all right?”

“You could mentally reach out to him.”

“That doesn’t work out so well. He hides things from me.”

“It’s the best we have at the moment.” I closed my eyes and sent out my thoughts. “Esais?”

The choir blared with a sforzando and gradually lowered until I could hear an almost whisper. ”Yes?”

“Are you all right? You sound weak.”

“I’m fine. It’s just…trying being in this place.”

“Tres is worried. He wants to see you, but I’m afraid that will lead Ose to you.”

“Good point. One moment.” The choir faded, briefly. “There. I believe I have everyone?”

“You couldn’t use a damn phone?” Marge’s voice sounded like she was shouting into a microphone.

“This is currently the most secure option,” I said.

“When are you leaving that place?” Tres asked.

“Not yet,” Esais said. “They moved Nancy to the restricted ward two days ago.”

I sat on one of the patio chairs and drank the bottle of water I’d brought out. Tres came to sit beside me, folding his hands together. His brow was furrowed at his brother’s response.

“What have you learned?” Adrian asked.

“Whatever is on the third floor has the orderlies frightened. Their thoughts are chaotic and jumbled. I can’t make a lot of sense of them.”

“What about the drug?” I asked.

“Navotny’s keeping it tightly locked away. He prescribes it only to the third floor. The nurses don’t even know what it is. Security has been a lot tighter since a bottle was lost last week.”

Pock-face had died during his break-in last week. We’d obtained the drug instead, but I could see Ose wanting to take precautions. We needed to find out what he was doing with that drug.

“Do the nurses administer the drug?” I asked.

“No, they think it’s odd that only Navotny does,” Esais said.

“I checked out the doctor’s house. Looks like no one has lived there in months.” Marge’s voice pounded in my head. How she could be louder than everyone else was beyond me.

“We need to get into the third floor,” I said. “He has to be developing the drug there.”

A chill raced down my spine at the thought of facing Ose alone in those dark hallways. His hand rose to cover my vision again, and I plunged into darkness. My chair tipped over. I landed on my back, gasping as the air in my lungs rushed out. Tres rushed to kneel beside me. I pushed him aside and sat upright. I pulled the walls up on my thoughts so only what I projected would get out.

“I’m fine,” I said. ”Does Navotny ever leave?”

“For the past few days, he’s left around midnight. He stays gone until four am.”

He was probably at the carnival with his lackeys, like we’d seen the night before. “That’s when we do it. Tonight, then?”

“So, how do we get in?” Tres asked.

“The less people we have in there the better. I’m going alone, with Esais to help me get in,” I said.

“You’re not leaving me out of this. You can’t even sit in a chair without falling out of it right now.”

“I don’t want a repeat of what happened at the carnival. Besides we need people on patrol for Ose and the two demons that are unaccounted for.”

Tres glared at me for several moments before getting up. He slammed the door behind him as he entered the house. A few minutes later, the front door slammed shut as well. I think he did it just to make more of an impression on how mad he was.

“I’ll talk to him,” Esais said.

“Babysitting as usual,” Adrian said. ”If you can spare me, I have a project I need to finish. Something special I have planned for Ose.”

“Fine,” I said. ”Marge, can you handle patrolling?”

“Yeah, whatever. Now get the fuck out of my head.”

“Gladly. Everyone get some rest.” I waited until the connection between all of us had been severed and sent my thought out to Esais. ”Are you sure you can handle this?”

“I’ll be fine, Gabby. Besides you’re going to be doing most of the work.”

“True. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

I headed inside the house. I needed to center myself for the mission. Despite what he said, Esais sounded strained. I couldn’t let him waste energy on me now when he may need it later. My mental issues were small at the moment. I just had to be on guard for any slipping. I would be fine.

Right?

Chapter 33

AT TWELVE-THIRTY in the morning, I walked through the front doors of the asylum with my sword strapped to my back. Thanks to Esais, the guards had turned off the security system and cameras. Then they and the orderlies decided to take a nap. I crept down the dark hall to one of a slumped man in a white uniform and took his keys. My nose wrinkled at the acrid taste of medicine and pine cleaner that clung to the back of my throat.

“I’m in,” I said. “I’m heading to the third floor now.”

“I’ll watch through your eyes,” Esais said.

I felt no change, but I knew he would be able to see what I saw. I opened the door to the inside emergency stairs and stared up. The inside of the stairwell was as silent as a tomb and just as tight. I swallowed hard as sweat beaded on my forehead. I gripped the railing as I headed up. The door to the third floor opened with a creak, and I peeked into the hall. The lights were dim, and besides the buzz of electrical equipment, silence filled the hall.

A map of the floor covered the wall of the nurses’ station that took up the middle of the floor. All roads led here. If I continued down the hall, I would run into a set of doors. Past the doors was a hall set in a U-shape blocked off by another set of doors. Ose’s lab was probably behind the blocked-off section of the floor. The rest appeared to be open.

One of the orderlies lay with his head against the corner, snoring away. I pulled his set of keys off his belt. They jangled as I sifted through them, testing for the right one. The click of the lock echoed through the hall. The doors swung in, and I stepped through. Names were posted on the middle of the doors I passed. D. Martin, L. Brickman, N. Parkins. I stopped at the last door and opened the small window above the name tag on the door. The room was made up as if no one had stayed there.

“Nancy isn’t here,” I said.

“They couldn’t have released her early. It’s only been a few days.”

“Maybe they moved her to the lab. We’ll keep an eye out.”

I stopped at the next door, labeled M. Navotny. The sliding window in the door was bolted closed. I took the clipboard that hung on the wall and scanned the papers. The name read Mark Navotny, age eight. Almost everything else was blacked out except for one line that read: “Patient in sole care of Dr. Navotny. Do not open door.” I put the clipboard back and turned to the doors across the hall. Each of them had a bolted window as well. Interesting, but not what I was here for. I’d come back if I had an opportunity.

“I think we’ve found the son,” I said.

“Most likely,” Esais said.

I shivered as the choir echoed through my head. ”Do you want to rest? I could slip in and out.”

“I’m not going to leave this all to you. What if something goes wrong?”

“Just don’t push yourself too much.”

“I won’t. Don’t think I didn’t notice you’re hiding something from me.”

“We can discuss it later. When this is over and you are rested.”

I pushed any worry to the back of my mind and continued down the hall, passing more rooms with names. How many patients was he experimenting on? Surely someone had to notice this in this little town, besides Charlotte.

The hallway turned right and presented one metal door with no handle and small bolts along the edges. On the wall beside it was a plastic device that had a slit running vertically along the middle. I held up the ring of keys. All were metal and too thick to fit that slot. Trying to break in would be like storming a castle. I’d come all this way to be foiled by a door.

“Well, hell,” I said. ”What now?”

“Hold on, I’ll contact Adrian.” The choir faded.

The sound of squeaking metal, like a rusty hinge, echoed down the hall. I peered around the corner I’d come from, but it remained empty except for the sleeping guard at the end of the hall. I moved to the other end of the hall. That side was empty as well.

“So you’re having trouble with a door.” Adrian’s mental voice sounded amused.

“It’s connected to a key card scanner,” I said, annoyed he could pick up on my defeats so easily.

“Move closer. Esais is showing me what you see.”

I moved back to the machine, taking in every detail with my eye. ”Is that enough?”

“It should be simple to break in,” he said. ”Do you have a screw-driver? We could try to short the electrical current.”

“No. Would this involve wires?”

His exasperation resonated through my mind. ”Never mind. I don’t think you have the time nor do I have the patience to guide you through it this way.”

Heat rushed through my face. ”I could probably figure it out.”

“Tthis is supposed to be quick and quiet, right? Hmm, the nanites could do it.”

“The tiny robots.”

“Yes.”

“So, we can’t do anything tonight. This was a waste.”

“How long will it take to break into the machine?” Esais asked.

“I can have it finished in a few hours,” Adrian said.

“We try again tomorrow,” I said.

I spun around at the sound of slithering. My arms fell to my side, and a dull roaring filled my ears. The creature shuffled down the hall, one shoulder hanging lower than the other one. His right arm extended down into a tentacle instead of a hand. His skin was an inky black. The frame and torso remained a boy, but his face had no eyes, no nose, and no mouth.

“What the hell is that?” Esais exclaimed.

A chill ran up my body, and the hairs rose on the back of my neck. My heart pounded in my chest.

“Something that shouldn’t be,” I said. ”The demon’s true form has mutated the boy.”

“What? How?” The choir faded as he faltered.

“It takes more years than the boy has lived.”

The demon child shuffled forward. It paused, its body going into a shaking convulsion. A whistling wheeze came out. He hunched over, his limbs twisting in odd directions. I took a few steps back as he reached for me.

“He’s in pain,” I said.

“We have to do something,” Esais said. ”We have to save him.”

“I will try to banish the demon, but I don’t know what that will do to the child.”

“Oh, God. Is this what Menrazine does?” The choir hit a crescendo that reverberated through my head.

“Esais, I need you to calm down so I can concentrate.” I rubbed my temples. “El Shaddai, Elohim, Elohi, Tzabaoth, Elim, Asher Eheieh, Yah, Tetragrammaton, Shaddai, which signify God the high and almighty, the God of Israel.”

Nothing happened. My stomach plummeted. Banishment didn’t work. I’d heard about this phenomenon from books, but in all my time I’d never come across one. When a demon spent time in a human host, the body started to take its aspects. The longer they squatted, the more the body became their home until the flesh resembled the demon’s true form. However, demons rarely stayed for so long, and the ones that did stayed out of public sight. They tended to set up cults around themselves in third world countries, the heavy religious kind of cults, not the sophisticated ones like the Hellfire Club or even the D-boyz.

I shifted to my aura sight and choked back the small scream that rose in my chest. Instead of colors, I could see the spirit form of the boy. He reached for me with his left hand, his face a mask of agony. His right shoulder melded with the black form of a faceless demon. It writhed, trying to tear away from the child. It was no use because from the waist down, they were one. I tore my gaze away, allowing my vision to return to normal. This couldn’t be real.

“Is this a delusion? It has to be one, right?” I asked

He didn’t answer immediately. The child moved closer. ”No, it’s really there.”

“Dio è misericordia,” I whispered.

“Gabby, we need to do something.”

“There’s only one thing left to do.”

I took two steps forward and drew my sword. His tentacle hand elongated and attempted to entangle my legs. I sidestepped and moved close.

“He’s just a child. What are you doing?” Esais’s voice pounded in my head.

“I have no choice. The child’s soul is becoming part of the demon. If we don’t stop it, we will never get another chance.”

The arm lashed out at me again. I leaned to the side, letting it pass by me. I wrapped my arm around the child’s shoulders and drew him to me. This close I could see the tiny slit where his nose should be. This was the source of the wheezing. I fought to keep the lump down in my throat.

“Shh,” I said. “It will all be over soon. No more pain.”

“I can’t watch this.” The choir disappeared along with Esais.

The sword slid into the demon child’s chest with little resistance. He sagged, and the wheezing stopped. I lifted him in my arms, biting my lip. I couldn’t leave him alone in the hall. I carried the body back to his room. The door hung open. I lay him on the bed and pulled the cover over him before heading to the first floor.

Esais wouldn’t look at me when I entered his room. His skin had taken an almost gray color, and his cheek-bones protruded from his skin. Bags drooped from his reddened eyes. I swallowed, blinking back the tears.

“I didn’t have any other option,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “You should leave. I can’t hold them asleep much longer.”

I took the long walk back to the house. Emptiness greeted me. Even my bed was cold as I curled into a ball with the blanket pulled over my head. The tears I had fought to keep back trailed over my nose and onto my pillow as sobs escaped my lips. The boy’s tortured eyes stared at me every time I closed my eyes. The two had been so melded together I wasn’t sure if killing the boy had freed him or sent him to oblivion with the demon.

Chapter 34

THE TINY FIGURE writhes in the flames as the black smoke fills the room. Its fumes gag me. My nails splinter as I dig them into the wooden floor, screaming.

“Marco.” I say his name through a half sob.

Dario turns back to Allegra with the look of a dog waiting for praise. She smiles and holds her arms out to him. He goes to her. They kiss. She makes sure it’s slow, so I must witness every moment. She yanks his heart from his chest. Another scream is pulled from my throat. She lets his body drop and holds up his heart, letting the blood run down her arm.

“You tried to stop me, but your husband’s heart is still mine,” she says.

Allegra leans over me. I raise my hands to claw her face with my broken nails, but she bats my hands away. Her grip on my chin is like steel, and I am forced to meet her gaze.

“I will reward you for your ingenuity,” she says. “I will make you mine.”

The purple flames in her eyes fill every part of me. They are all that exist.

“Ah, Gabriella, still in this place I see.” Her voice penetrates the flames.

I blink and find myself back in the living room of my home. The fire burns without my son in it. My husband is absent. Allegra sits in the same chair with the demon child in her lap. His tentacle is wrapped around her shoulders, and his head rests on her breast. She caresses his cheek.

“This one was different, wasn’t it?” she asks. “Did he remind you of your son?”

I say nothing. She rises from the chair, setting the boy down. She walks to the hearth and runs her finger along the mantel. She gazes up at the painting of Dario’s father.

“How many times have we returned here?” she asks.

Over the centuries this dream had occurred time and again. This was the first time I’d been cognizant of it being a dream.

“Even that Romanian boy was not enough. You still come back here.” She turns to face me. “You’re never going to be reunited with your son and husband. I won’t let you.”

“Haven’t you had your fill?” I ask, my throat still aching from the screaming and crying.

“Not nearly. You tried to kill me.”

“You seduced my husband and tried to corrupt his soul.”

She laughs. “Oh, I succeeded. His sins were not absolved at his death.”

I hang my head, letting tears fall down my cheeks. “I failed. You have him, you live. What do you want from me?”

“You’re special.” She smiles. “It’s so wonderful to see my game working. All this anguish you have. Even if your husband was an unfaithful louse, you still cling to his memory. You won’t let another man touch your heart.”

“I loved Dimitri.”

“You let him go so easily.”

The demon child moves to the hearth and steps into the fire. The flames darken, taking a purple color. It spreads along the walls of the house, consuming everything. It surrounds Allegra and me, casting shadows on her face.

“Let’s face the truth,” Allegra says. “You will always remain here with me.”

Chapter 35

I GASPED AWAKE. I pushed my pillow away from my face and sat up. The clock beside the bed read three-thirty a.m. Less than two hours of sleep. I lay back on my pillow with a moan and closed my eyes. The image of my child burning in the fire flashed in my eyes. My throat constricted, and I sat up with an annoyed sigh. The point in between my eyebrows ached, and the world was unfocused, but I was awake.

I slipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. In the bathroom, I let the water run as I stared at my reflection. The bird’s nest at the back of my skull caused the rest of my hair to stand out from my head. The shadows under my eyes could hide a person in them. Another sleepless night lay ahead of me. I hadn’t had much rest since I’d arrived in this town. Maybe it was because Ose and I had a past, but something about the demons sparked old memories.

After splashing some water on my face, I attacked the tangled mess on my head with a brush. I glanced in the mirror at the girl behind me. She glared at me, her beautiful form a mangled mess. I tried to save her only to have the hellhound slaughter her with her parents. I spun around and stared into empty air. The mirror held only my reflection. I set the brush down and rubbed my eyes. This lack of sleep had me seeing apparitions.

Classic rock blared from the garage. Adrian must be working hard there. I wandered through the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. My gaze played over the lunch meat, milk, and leftover Chinese food before closing the door. A guitar riff dragged my attention back to the door that led to the garage. My hand paused on the door handle as I looked back on the hallway, cold and empty. The door creaked as I opened it. I couldn’t hear it as much as feel the vibration it made.

Adrian hunched over a workbench with his back to me. Styx’s “Renegade” played from a radio sitting on the corner of the workbench. I moved closer to see what he was working on. On a cloth lay pieces to several different guns. A handle from what looked to be a flintlock sat beside the bullet cylinder of a revolver. He looked up from examining the metal cylinder when I cleared my throat.

“You should be in bed,” he said, turning back to the barrel.

“I couldn't sleep,” I said.

“So you decided to come bother me?”

“I didn’t see a ‘do not disturb’ sign.”

“What do you want?”

“I came to see what you are working on.”

He pointed to the wall where a series of sketches hung. They were circles from my sketch book. I recognized the banishing circle and the demon-binding circle. I rested my hand on my chin as I studied the largest one in the center. The symbols along the outer edge were for the binding circle, but the design was used for the banishing circle. Padre Ricci stepped up beside me and squinted at the symbols.

“This could destroy a demon,” he said.

“Where did you get this symbol?” I asked Adrian.

“I created it from the others. I’m surprised no one has tried it.”

“It’s impossible for humans to do. If the symbol is incorrect, the magic doesn’t work or there are disastrous consequences.”

Ose’s banishment from so many years ago flashed in my mind. He’d said my mistake at the words had changed him, shown him the truth. I’d driven him mad, and now he intended to do the same to me. I shuddered, and Padre Ricci placed a hand on my shoulder. I smiled at him and stiffened as I remembered he wasn’t real.

Adrian frowned over at me. “Someone had to create them in the first place.”

“They were secrets whispered by spirits. Only they…” I trailed off as I stared hard at Adrian with my aura sight.

The ghostly woman leaned over his shoulder, still whispering in his ear. She touched his hand as he picked up a metal tube. Humans couldn’t make a new circle, but spirits could. And emissaries, those touched by spirits, always broke the rules of magic. Spirits were the ones who taught magic to humans. Adrian’s inspiration from this spirit allowed him to accomplish something I’d never seen before, the formation of a new Hermetic Circle.

“So, how does this all work?” I asked.

He held the tube in my direction. “This propels gas into the chamber and burns the symbol onto the bullet as it is fired.”

“So, no tiny robots?”

“No.”

I wandered over to the radio and fiddled with the dial. The music became replaced with static as I searched for another station. He paused and set the tube down, turning his whole body in my direction.

“Is there something else you want?” he asked.

I shrugged. ”This is the only part of the house that didn’t seem empty.”

“So you came here looking for comfort.”

“No,” I said, defensively. “Why would I need comfort?”

“I don't know, perhaps you’re sentimental, like my brother.”

“He told you about the boy?”

“I was still connected to the two of you.”

“You disapprove?”

He turned back to the table and picked up the barrel again. After examining it in the light, he took a file and began working on the inside. “Esais believes in the good of everyone. That is going to get him killed one day. If you think the same thing, then I’m surprised you’ve survived as long as you have.”

I’d seen plenty of examples throughout my life. One man killing another over money or a woman. The main reason most people obeyed the law was because they were afraid of getting caught. It made tempting humans so easy for demons. What better way to use a soul than to sell it for a wish?

“I have seen it, but maybe there is something to what your brother believes. Why do you do this if not to help people?” I asked.

“You know about the oath.”

“You mean that is the only reason you hunt?”

“It is the family business.”

I snorted. “One you haven’t been involved in for years, from what I’ve heard.”

“Maybe you should stop listening to stories.”

“Maybe you should start listening to others.”

He rolled his eyes. “And the monster lectures the hunter.”

“Back to the insults.” I threw my hands up. “l guess I was lucky for a few days’ reprieve.”

He set the barrel back down and let out a deep sigh. He moved between the radio and me, changing the station back to classic rock.

“I agreed for us to work together. That doesn’t mean we need to have any heart to hearts.”

I stepped back from him, but he continued to meet my gaze with his glare. I must have been addled in the brain to think I should seek Adrian out for comfort. Strangers would have offered more solace.

“You’re right,” I said. “I shouldn’t have thought there would be anything more.”

“That is your mistake.”

“I won't make it again.”

I pushed the door shut and leaned against it. The air conditioner clicked on, replacing the silence. The dark hallway yawned before me. To hell with it. If I was going to feel sorry for myself, I might as well do it with alcohol and not alone in this house. I called John.

Chapter 36

“WHERE DO YOU want to go?” John asked when I closed the car door.

“Does your hotel have a minibar?” I asked.

“I have some beer and a bottle of bourbon.”

“Your place, then.”

I turned on the radio. The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated” blared out at me. I hummed along as the houses passed by. If I ever needed sedation, tonight would be the time. John chuckled.

“Do you like anything modern?” he asked.

I shrugged and started to sing. Music was one of my joys in life. If a song moved me or fit my mood, I treasured it, despite its time period. I stared out the window. The town’s bedtime had passed long ago, but Bob and family had forgotten that. They stood outside Rickie’s Diner. A chill ran down my spine.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

I started, glancing back at him. “What?”

“You stopped singing.”

“Nothing.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. Whatever I saw was in my own head. I concentrated on the blackness and cleared my mind of any thoughts. John’s hand on my arm woke me. I blinked the blurriness from my eyes. The white brick of the Hampton Inn stood before our parked car.

“Living the high life?” I asked with a smirk.

“Are you expecting a five star hotel in this Po-dunk town?” he asked.

We took one of the side doors and traveled up to the second floor. A porcelain vase sat on a white marble table. Replicas of classic paintings hung on the walls in gilded frames. I followed the flower design on the thick red carpet to John’s door. He unlocked it, and I slipped under his arm as he held it open for me. I sat on the four-poster bed, playing with the pattern on the white bedspread while John opened the small refrigerator. I took the bottle from him as he sat down. I twisted off the cap and took a long drink. Little bits of ice clung to my esophagus, making me cough.

“So, you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked.

I took another sip of the beer, smacking my lips at the bitterness. This was my reason to come here. So why were the words stuck in my throat? I’d known John for years, and he’d always been supportive. Persistently so. After I’d killed his wife, I told him to pick up the pieces of his life. Instead, he’d followed me everywhere, claiming to want to help, but he’d gotten in the way more than being useful. I’d had to be abusive almost to the point of hurting him. He’d disappeared for months, long enough for me to think I was finally rid of him. When I saw him again, he’d brought me information. Reliable information. He’d used his background in journalism to build contacts. From then on, he’d been a pillar of support. And here I was, having trouble divulging my problems. I opened my mouth and shut it again. I held my index finger up to him and downed my beer.

“I’m seeing things…people,” I said. “Ones that have died.”

“You see dead people?” he asked with a grin.

I tilted my head to the side and pursed my lips. “Didn’t I just say that?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. So, ghosts?”

I held up the remains of my amulet. “That night at the funhouse, he affected me more than I thought.”

He stood up and pulled another beer from the refrigerator. Our hands brushed, his warmth contrasting with the frostiness of the beer. I shivered, wanting more. I opened it and took a deep gulp.

“Thanks,” I said.

“So, you’re having delusions? Of who?”

“People from the past and from here.”

“The past like Dimitri?”

I took another drink. Allegra laughed and leaned against the wall near the window. She crossed her arms and blew me a kiss.

“I told you,” she said. “Always.”

I covered my face with my hand. Tears spilled from my eyes, and my throat closed up. I whimpered, my face contorting into a grimace. John put his hand on my shoulder, but I moved away. The bed shifted as he stood. I heard the hum of the refrigerator and the tinkling of ice. He replaced my beer with a glass.

“It’s time for something stronger,” he said.

I drained the drink, enjoying the burn as it traveled down. I sniffed and held the glass out to him, waving for another. He brought it to me. By the fourth, the tears had subsided. I stared down at my hands.

“In my time, a woman was supposed to be docile and chaste,” I said. “She tended to her family and supported her husband. It was a woman’s honor.”

He handed me the refilled glass. “Sounds nothing like you.”

“Mmm. I was an honorable wife until my husband strayed. Even beyond then. I waited. But he stopped coming home. Our livelihood was in danger, and when I found Allegra, I had to do something.”

“You killed her.”

“I failed.” I traced my finger along the rim of the glass. “I wonder if I should have taken the woman’s honor and done nothing. Would that have been better? I would have had my son.”

“You tried to do what was right. To stop the demon.”

“Then I should have called a priest.” I drained the glass and let it fall to the ground. I lay back on the bed.

He lay down beside me, propping his head up with his hand. His brow wrinkled, and he worked his jaw in thought. “What about all you’ve done over the centuries? All the demons you killed.”

I snorted. “I think the Church would have handled it eventually.”

“I would have died without you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Were all the people I saved worth my unhappiness? If these delusions continued, I wouldn’t be able to save anyone. I covered my eyes with my arm.

“What use am I if I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not?” I asked. “I’m losing the only thing I have of worth.”

He pulled my hand from my arm and stared into my eyes. “Do what you came here to do. Kill Ose.”

“What?”

“It’s his power. Kill him and you get your mind back.”

“But what if I fail?”

“You won’t. You’re the invincible, Gabriella Di Luca.”

I smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. At the scent of his aftershave, I shuddered. Allegra’s husky laugh filled my ears. I pushed his shoulder until he lay flat on his back and straddled him, my heart pounding in my chest. He smiled up at me.

“I thought you didn’t want to have sex with me,” he said.

I quieted his voice with my mouth. His lips opened, and our tongues twined together. I played with the edges of his shirt before yanking it up. He moaned as I gently raked my nails down his bare chest. I ground my pelvis into his, savoring the warmth that spread from between my legs every time I pressed into his hard cock.

He pulled the buttons of my blouse until they came undone. I tossed it away with my bra. He leaned up and caught my nipple in his mouth. I gasped, my breath coming out in a hot sigh. My whole body tingled deliciously. It had been too long.

He rolled us until he straddled me. His gaze traveled down my body, his eyes dark with desire. I let my sight change and watched our auras as they began to meld, both iridescent pink with passion. His was tinged yellow with triumph. He’d been waiting for this.

He leaned his head down, trailing kisses along my breasts and to my stomach. His tongue circled my belly button. I shivered. He unbuttoned my pants and slid them off me. My panties came next. He ran his tongue along the side of my lips before pressing it against my clit. I arched against him, burying my hands in his hair. The air was thick and hot with the musk of our passion.

His fingers dug into my hips as his tongue plunged inside of me. I raised a hand to my mouth, biting down on my finger. I writhed beneath his ministrations, building more and more until I could almost burst. He pulled away, and coldness washed over me. Eternity passed in the mere seconds he was gone. He returned, his hard shaft pressed against me.

His eyes were almost black. “You’re beautiful.”

He rammed his hard cock into me. Our flesh radiated with searing heat. Allegra had disappeared. All that mattered was this man filling me. Our hips met and pulled away in a fast needy rhythm, our moans mixing. The colors of our auras swirled together. I exploded, shattering into a thousand pieces. He stiffened and throbbed inside of me, burying his face in my hair.

He rolled off me, and lay on his back, panting. I rested my head on his shoulder and yawned, my eyes fluttering. John’s warmth had filled me and given me a moment’s respite from the cold reality and illusion of my life. Everything else faded to the background.

Chapter 37

AS THE EVENING sun shone in my eyes, my problems returned with a headache. I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. My arm patted the other side of the bed. Empty.

I threw the pillow aside and looked around the room. John had left me alone. On the table sat a tray with a bagel and orange juice. Allegra sat at the table, dangling a note in front of me.

“He’s adorable. So good you found another distraction,” she said. “It doesn’t make a difference.”

I stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I let the faucet run, the hot water steaming up the mirror. Every fiber inside me wanted to kill her, but she wasn’t really here. I would just end up attacking a chair or the wall. She had disappeared when I walked back into the room.

I picked up the note from the table and scanned it. John had gone to try and find something to stave off my madness. A smile touched my lips. He was starting to remind me of a knight, trying to slay the dragons I couldn’t. I had to do my part, too. I was the one with a sword after all.

I called a taxi to take me back to the house. Adrian sat in the kitchen. He watched me enter as he stirred his coffee.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“Out, nothing to do with business.”

He frowned. “Out playing then. While my brother is lying in the hospital.”

“Are you trying to guilt trip me?”

“This isn’t the time to play around.”

He was back to finding reasons to blame me again. I’d had a respite since the night of the carnival. I must have annoyed him very much last night. Or perhaps he was taking his frustrations out on me.

“What is your issue with me now?” I asked. “Is it the fact I came back to life?”

He moved to the sink to wash his cup. “Humans can’t do that.”

“It’s part of my curse.”

“Immortality doesn’t sound like much of a curse.”

“It is if I can’t be happy. I’m forced to stay as I am. I can’t grow old…I can’t have children. I just die over and over again.”

He paused, glancing at me over his shoulder. “How does it work?”

“I’m not certain. For all purposes, I’ve been told I was dead. Over time, my body heals, and I return to life.”

A thoughtful look crossed his face. “To what extent?”

I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

“You can be drowned. What about shooting? Decapitation?”

“I was trapped in a burning building once.”

I could still remember the lick of flames on my skin and the smoke that choked my lungs. Allegra stood laughing over me as I lay tied on her floor. I’d found her in a brothel in Sweden. She had once again been seducing men and leading them astray. As a demon of lust, she was adept at this. I’d snuck in there expecting to catch her unaware. She’d caught me instead. The incense she had used knocked me unconscious, along with the rest of the people in the house. When I’d woken, smoke and fire surrounded me. Her parting laugh rang through my ears as the flames consumed me.

“And you are still here,” he said.

“I woke up someplace else months later,” I said.

It had been my old home, the one my son had been born and died in. Of course, this had been over a century later, and the house had been rebuilt with a new family living there. They’d been shocked when I had shown up in their kitchen. They suspected me of being the very beings I hunted. I’d had to flee the entire town that night, but I’d made sure to own that home eventually.

“So, you recuperate. Is it always in the same place?”

“Yes.” My voice warbled at bit.

“Why?”

I glanced up at him, confused. “Why what?”

“Why did it curse you? You said it was a demon, correct?”

“I tried to kill her. I thought I had, but she showed me how wrong I was.”

I could see her again, smiling with her hand covered in my husband’s blood. My baby’s screams still filled my ears. I blinked back the tears, forcing the memory to fade in the background.

“Then, why didn’t she just kill you, like Malantha did Adam or Ose and my parents?”

I met his gaze. In the last question, I had actually heard emotion. His eyes held resentment. He wanted to know why I was so special. More deserving. I wasn’t. At least I didn’t think so, but I never had a say in anything that happened. Not with me, and not with Adam.

“I think it was because I could see what she was. It caught her attention. And maybe I was the first to hurt her in a long time.”

“As usual, the humans get the short end, while the monsters get rewarded.” He set the clean cup down with a loud clink.

I bowed my head. “I wish it had been different.”

“Wishes don’t come true.”

He walked down the hall, away from me. I followed, unsure of what else to do. There wasn’t much of a distance he could put between us.

“This is no gift to me. I can’t change, I can’t die, and I can’t be happy,” I said, my fists clenching.

“But you are still here,” he snapped. “We don’t get to be happy, either. Do you know what happens when a Van Helsing has a child? We die. Hopefully, we get a few years to spend with that child. My father was lucky. He was able to have four of us. But he still died and my mother with him.”

“At least you have the hope of peace. I have a choice of sitting alone somewhere and losing my mind or doing this.”

He sighed with his shoulders slumping. “This isn’t a game of who has it worse.”

“No,” I said, lowering my voice. “But I’m tired of you resenting me for something that I don’t want.”

He looked down at his hands, and for once, I had a glimpse of what he was feeling. I even agreed with him. The world was bad enough with sickness, poverty, and humans killing each other. Add the supernatural on top of that, and it was amazing anyone could find a bit of happiness. Most of humanity did it by disbelieving in anything that didn’t fit into their idea of reality. They forgot or found convenient explanations for the otherworldly. Those of us who couldn’t, we fought it, but we were never happy. Marge was right. Our stories remained almost identical except for the names and minor details.

Adrian had a right to be angry. It wasn’t just this generation that had to deal with the creatures of the dark. His family had a legacy and a curse. And after generations, they were known. Vampires across the world would pay to see the entire bloodline wiped out. Now, the demons were trying to accomplish that goal as well, and the Van Helsings rarely ever hunted them. It was all because Andrei wanted to create an organization for hunters. If we survived this, it was a dream I would make damn sure came true.

“Adrian,” I said and stopped, looking around the silent house. Was he the only one here? “Where’s Tres?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t seen him.”

A chill ran down my spine. “All day?”

I ran to Tres’s room, throwing the door open. Empty. The bed was made, like it hadn’t been slept in. I turned and started when I found Allegra standing directly behind me.

“One down, two more that you will get killed,” she whispered.

Adrian watched me oddly as I skirted around her and headed back to him. “What are you doing?”

I held a finger up. “Esais, have you seen Tres?”

“No, why?” He still sounded exhausted.

“I think he’s missing.”

There was a pause. “I can’t sense his thoughts.”

“What does that mean? Is he dead?” It felt as if a hand closed over my heart. Could Allegra’s words be true?

“No, I would have felt that. He’s unconscious. I can’t pinpoint exactly, though.”

I shivered again and looked to Adrian. “I think Ose has Tres.”

A mask shifted over his face. “Where?”

I spoke aloud this time so Adrian could be included. “Did anyone at the asylum see him?”

“No,” Esais said after a moment. ”Not even the third floor.”

“We’ll check the fair, then.” I nodded to Adrian. “Call Marge. I’ll get my things. Oh, and bring your toys. I want this place taken out permanently.”

I headed to my room and closed the door behind me. Tres was still alive. We had to hurry to make sure he stayed that way.

“You’re just going to get these boys killed.” Allegra sat on my bed, with one leg crossed over the other.

She was taunting me now. As always, she wanted me to doubt myself, to break. That wouldn’t happen. For over four hundred years, I hadn’t broken. I certainly wouldn’t due to a facsimile from my own mind. I changed clothes and sheathed my knives.

“You can keep ignoring me, but I won’t leave,” she said. “I’ll always be with you.”

I picked up my sundang, examining the blade. The sharpness hadn’t worn down. How I wished to plunge it in her heart and watch the life drain away.

“You’re going to fail your Dimitri again,” she said.

“Don’t talk about him,” I snapped, spinning around.

Her smile widened. Now she had elicited a response from me. “Oh, but it’s true. Even if you fight Ose, these children will die.”

“Stop saying that,” I said. “It won’t happen.”

“Your track record says otherwise.”

“They’ll all get though of this,” I said, “even if I have to sacrifice myself.”

“How would you do that?” Allegra asked. “You can't die.”

I looked down at my sword, unable to answer.

Chapter 38

AGAIN I STOOD before the Enchanted Castle in the dead of night. This time, I carried two gas cans in my hands. Adrian and Marge stood beside me. I stared up at the painted stones and trembled. The drawbridge beckoned us in. Wisps of shadows danced on my peripheral, and it felt as if my mind itched. I didn’t want to look at this with my second sight. It would be the same.

“How do you want to do this?” I asked.

“You spread the gas, and I will set the charge,” Adrian said.

“Charge?”

He held a small cylinder. “It only took a few moments, while you moped in your room and Marge came back from whatever she was doing.”

“I wasn’t moping.”

“Just like you’re human. Not the point now; we need to douse the inside and outside. Once we are a safe distance, I will activate the charge. It will create a spark to start the fire.”

“I’m not going back in there,” Marge said. “I’ll do whatever you need out here, but I sure as hell am not going inside.”

My grip tightened on the handle of the gas can as I turned back to the funhouse. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t go back in, either. That would leave Adrian alone in there, however. Despite my wanting to ignore them, Allegra’s words stuck with me. I would not let this Van Helsing be killed. Nor his brothers. I hadn’t been there for Adam, but I would for them.

“I suppose that leaves the two of us,” I said. “Do you need to set the charge inside?”

He nodded.

“I’ll go with you and pour the gas.” I hesitated, looking up to the second floor. A cold sweat broke over my skin, and I smacked my lips at the dryness in my mouth.

“Would you like me to go first?” Adrian asked.

“Since you volunteered.” I set one of the gas cans in front of Marge. “We’ll meet back here.”

Adrian snorted and took a step toward the bridge. Marge grabbed the gas can and headed for the back. I pulled a flashlight out and shone it at the dark hole. The funhouse was powered down this time. I sighed with both disappointment and relief. I’d hoped Ose had been the one to have Tres, but he wasn’t here. We would have to deal with him later. For now, we needed to get Tres and remove this as a base of operations. Adrian stopped at the entrance and looked back at me. His finger tapped on the side of the building with a steady rap.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

I gave the building another glance before catching up with him. He shook his head at me and stepped inside. With no power, the first trap remained motionless. I splashed the gasoline on the wall, the stench swirling around me. My chest tightened as we walked. I kept my focus on Adrian and ignored the fact I could touch both walls. I’d conquered this room before; I could walk through it again.

“Why are you staring at me?” Adrian said.

I jumped at the sound of his voice. Even though I had my eyes on him, I hadn’t actually seen him. Heat flooded my face, and I shifted my gaze to the ground.

“Nothing,” I said. ”Are you ready to move on?”

He turned and headed to the stairs. They remained dark. I inhaled, counting to ten before following him up. The walls in the next hall stood frozen, staggered throughout. Some were widened normally while others looked as though you couldn’t fit a small child through.

Adrian continued on without a pause. He weaved through several walls, proving my perception was off. I gulped and followed suit. Halfway through, I couldn’t go any further. I turned my head again and stared at the wall in front of me. It almost touched my nose while the back of my head rested against the opposite wall.

Had it moved closer? It was so tight.

The fumes of the gasoline lightened my head. It looked as if the walls were angled, making the move forward even tighter. The way back looked the same. I was stuck.

“What is the problem?” Adrian asked from the end of the room.

“I’m stuck,” I called.

“Nonsense,” he said. “I made it through.”

“The walls tightened.”

“Oh, for…”

Sounds of his return echoed down the hall, scraping at times as he slid through the tighter spots. I tried to focus on the sound instead of the fact I was being crushed to death. He just shook his head when he caught sight of me. I imagined I looked pretty pathetic with my eyes all wide and sweat pouring down my pale face.

“Give me your hand.” He held out his hand for me to take.

“It’s too tight, I’ll never fit,” I said between pants.

“It hasn’t gotten any tighter since I went through. Now, do you want to be caught by the police?”

No, I didn’t. Once again, it would lead to too many questions and charges for trespassing and arson. That was, if Adrian didn’t decide to blow up the funhouse with me inside. He was the type of man to do it. After all, I was just a monster to him.

I took his hand, and he yanked me out. The wall scraped my chest, pulling my breasts in directions they didn’t belong, but after a few seconds, I was free. I stood there for several seconds, sucking in a lungful of air before nodding that we could move on. We made it through the rest of the hall without another episode from me. He held my hand the entire way.

I froze when we reached the mirror maze. My reflections stared back at me from under the black, hooded jacket. Adrian merely shrugged and moved on. I rubbed my arms and followed behind him.

“Where is all that confidence?” he asked.

“I had a bad experience here,” I said.

“Get over it.”

It was like nothing fazed him. He feared nothing and expected the same from those around him. Well, he did distrust and dislike. It was infuriating. I glared at him, blowing a lock of hair from my eyes.

Allegra smiled at me and waved her red-tipped fingers at me as I we passed the next mirror. I shook my head and stepped back. A stretched reflection of me stared back. I rubbed my eyes and fought the panic that rose in me. Her laughter filled the room. I jumped, looking around.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

Adrian looked behind him. ”Other than your incessant chatting?”

I turned to glare at him, but stopped when she laughed again. It was warm and sultry as always and, as always, it roiled my stomach. I spun around and caught sight of her in all the mirrors. She held baby Marco in her arms. She tossed him at me. He slipped through my hands and hit the floor, his tiny body flopping.

I screamed, pulling at my hair, and backed into the corner. My chest tightened again, and my breath came out in short gasps. The room spun as my heart pounded in my ears. I had to sit down. She towered over me, all around me. They drew closer, allowing no escape. I wrapped my arms around my head and whimpered. I snapped my eyes shut. These were just more visions, more evidence of my madness. I counted to ten in hopes they would be gone when I opened my eyes again.

I opened my eyes and met my own reflection. I lay my head back against the mirror and panted for several minutes. This was wrong. I was supposed to be the bad-ass demon hunter. They feared me. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around. Yet, here I was, huddling beside a mirror like an adolescent.

“What are you doing?”

And that clinched everything else. My nemesis had witnessed my breakdown. I’d never hear the end of this. His gaze traveled down the hallway then back to me.

“Did you run into something?” he asked.

“I’m not well,” I admitted. “Ose got to me.”

It was the hardest thing to admit out loud to him. I was supposed to be the skilled one, the actual demon hunter, and I had been compromised by a devil. I expected more ridicule. He stared at me for several moments and closed his eyes with a sigh.

“How long has this been going on?” Esais demanded.

Damn, Adrian had called his big brother. “Since the last time we were here at the carnival.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I could have helped. Now you are too far away.”

“Because you sound exhausted just defending yourself. And the others need their talismans.”

“Stop playing martyr.” Adrian pulled his talisman from around his neck and held it out to me.

“That works for now. After you find Tres, come see me. I don’t care about exhaustion. We need you sane.”

I gaped at him holding the necklace out to me. This had to be some sort of trick. With trembling hands, I took it, savoring its warm weight, and slipped it around my neck. My heartbeat slowed, and the lump in my throat dissolved. The world became a little clearer.

Adrian helped me to my feet. I picked up the gas can and began splashing each mirror three times as Adrian set the charge. The fire marshal would probably find multiple hotspots in this room, but it needed to burn. I kept my gaze away from the reflections and Adrian. I just focused on the task at hand.

Adrian stopped at the slide and shook his head. “I am not using that.”

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Too fun?”

He pointed to a small stairway in the corner. Oh, I had missed that the last time. Of course, I’d been a little preoccupied the last time. A shiver ran down my spine. Hell, I was a bit preoccupied now. Good thing I had Adrian to point out the obvious, because I would have missed it. To be thorough, I sprayed the stairs behind me as I followed him. This would be a great blaze. Too bad we couldn’t stay to watch it. Since joining up with the Van Helsings, I’d become a firebug.

“How far away do we need to be?” I asked.

“We should probably be outside the park.”

“How much is it going to hit?”

“The funhouse will go up and maybe a few of the surrounding rides.”

I blinked at him. “That’s some device you made.”

He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked, like we weren’t about to commit a felony. “It’s nothing really. The gas main is going to do most of the work.”

Right, he probably had a lot in his arsenal as the weapon-maker of the group. I wondered if he had invented anything that wouldn’t kill something. Even when he didn’t want to do the family business, he’d sold his creations to men who wanted to make war. Violence was in his blood, and he hadn’t seemed to escape it.

Marge stood with her arms crossed and her foot tapping in front of the funhouse. “Took you long enough.”

I ignored her. “We should head for the fortune-teller's wagon. She might have Tres there.”

Our footsteps echoed through the empty carnival. I peered into dark corners between rides and behind stands for hidden attackers, but I found nothing. She had to be holding him in a trap. A large, round figure stood on the steps of the wagon, shrouded in shadows. The light over the wagon flickered on and revealed the fat face of the man Marge had fought with over his daughter.

Chapter 39

LLOYD ROCKED BACK and forth on his heels on the steps of the fortune-teller’s wagon. He held the limp form of his daughter by one of her arms. A few pieces of trash rolled around the courtyard that divided us.

“Took ya long enough,” he said. “Sorry, but your prince is in another castle.”

Marge surged forward. “You son of a bitch.”

I caught her arm and studied the man in front of me. My vision blurred as I switched to my aura sight. The alastor’s eyes bore into mine from below its horns. Goose pimples broke over my flesh. The man’s soul was starting to combine with the demon, like the boy’s but to a much lesser degree.

I let Marge go. “This is the one you’re after.”

A malicious grin spread over her face. “Even better.”

“So, you decided to join Ose,” I asked him. “What happened to your mission?”

He sneered. “Thanks to you, the hellhound is dead. With Ose, I avoid punishment and break the chains that hold me.”

“You’ve forsaken your Throne.” I shook my head. “I always knew demons were deceitful bastards, but at least they could have been counted on to be bound by something.”

Marge closed the distance. “Does this really matter?”

The alastor gave a sharp whistle as she moved. He held the girl in front of him like a shield and ticked his head toward Marge. With that, six men stepped out from the game booths surrounding the wagon.

“Wonderful, more lackeys.” I put my back to Adrian’s. “Can you handle yourself?”

He pulled out the gun he’d been working on. Now assembled, it looked strange, like something out of a science fiction novel, yet ancient at the same time. The handle was curved and connected to a chamber big enough for six rounds. The long barrel had a point at the end of it. On the point, two metal tubes traveled back to where the barrel and the chamber met.

“I need to test this out anyway,” he said. “I’ll help Marge. Keep the rest off of us.”

I covered Adrian as he found a good shooting position in one of the empty stands. Six humans and the alastor, not bad odds. I readied my stance with my sundang and knife drawn. Three closed in on me before the others. My blade flashed in the moonlight as I slashed the side of the first man. The other raised his fist to swing at my head. I sidestepped him and delivered a jab to his spine with my knife. I swung to the side and cut the last man in his abdomen. They fell to the ground, groaning and bleeding. I turned to face the three remaining lackeys.

“Is demon power so important that you would die for it?” I asked.

Two looked at me and each other with uncertainty. They backed away a few steps and took off into the darkened park. The last man pulled out a gun.

Merda.

I ducked behind the man with the side wound, who was getting up. I dropped my knife and swung him to block the gunshots coming in. The explosion of the gun echoed through the night, drowning out the moans of the men around me. My human shield jerked with each bullet that hit him.

“Adrian,” I called. “Could you handle the man with the gun?”

A shot rang out from behind me followed by a cry from the lackey and a thud. He didn’t get back up. I dropped the man I held and turned to the wagon. The alastor raised the girl’s body in front of him as Marge aimed a kick to his side. From the look on Marge’s face, he’d been using this tactic throughout the fight. Typical of a demon.

I grabbed my knife and stepped over the dead and dying. Marge and the alastor had fought their way down the steps and halfway across the courtyard. I snuck behind him and raised my sword to attack. He spun around, holding the girl between us. Marge planted her boot in his backside. He stumbled and glared at her. The minute he looked away, I sliced through the tendons in his arm. The girl dropped to the ground as his arm curled up. Marge landed a kick to the back of his knee, and he lurched several feet before hitting the ground. She planted her boot on the side of his face, pressing it to the ground.

“Once again,” she said. “Where is my contract?”

“I don’t know who owns it.” He coughed, and the darkness started to pour from his eyes.

I ran forward. “Marge, grab him.”

A tendril formed out of the darkness surrounding him and slapped me. I flew back and landed on my ass. I groaned, getting to my feet. Tomorrow, my backside would be covered in purple and green. In the blink of an eye, darkness encompassed me, killing the lights. I could hear Marge’s grunts as she struggled with the alastor. I froze as I tried to pinpoint their location. If I attacked now, I may hit Marge. She was smaller than the body the demon wore but it sounded as though they were in a tangle on the ground.

“I have it,” Adrian said from close behind me. “Just give me a clear shot when you get light.”

A white fire flared up behind me with a small roar. Adrian held a flare in his hand. The darkness receded to the corners, and the tendrils around me disintegrated. I started at how close they were to me without knowing it. I dashed to Marge and grabbed her around her waist. We rolled to the side, my momentum tearing her from the alastor. Adrian’s gun roared, and a red light flared in the alastor’s chest where the bullet entered. Lloyd fell limp to the ground.

I stood, panting, and helped Marge to her feet. She rushed to the girl and knelt down beside her. Her hand pressed to the side of her neck before she scooped the child up.

“I’m taking her to the hospital,” she said. “You two do what you need to do.”

She sprinted into the darkness with the girl in her arms. Adrian walked up the stairs of the fortune-teller’s wagon and swung the door open. He sighed, pulling out another charge and placing it on the frame of the door.

“Empty,” he said.

“He has to be at the asylum. Esais must have missed him.”

“No one knows anything of him. Ose must have snuck him in,” Esais said.

“Figures you would be listening,” I said.

“You said my name, it caught my attention. I will be waiting for you here.”

“Let’s burn this place first,” I said. “One less place for them to go to ground. This ends tonight.”

I emptied what gas I had left on the wagon, and we hurried back to the fence. Adrian was already halfway up the fence when I started my climb. He stopped at the top to help me up. I hopped down the rest of the way, the shock jarring my bruised backside. I rubbed it as Adrian landed. He sprinted for the car with me hot on his heels. He had already started it up as I slid into the passenger seat.

“Ready?” I asked.

He pressed the button. The gunfire from tonight couldn’t compare to the boom of the explosion. The car rocked from the shock of it, and the sky bloomed a brilliant orange.

“Which way do we need to go?” he asked.

“The police will be coming from the west. There shouldn’t be more than two or three yet. It’s a small town with a usually low crime rate.”

He peeled out, heading east. The sound of the fire mixed with the sirens. Their response time seemed to be quicker. We’d really caused a disturbance in this litttle town. After several turns and twists, the blare of the sirens faded, and we both let out the breaths we’d been holding.

“Take this street to the bar. We can act like we’re heading home from there,” I said.

He nodded and turned left. We didn’t see the police car until we were at the next stop sign, mostly because it had lain in wait, dark and silent when we passed it. Its lights flared behind us. Adrian cursed and pulled over.

“We got lost coming from the bar,” I said.

“Right, let’s hope he doesn’t want to search me.”

The cop knocked on Adrian’s window, and he rolled it down. Nancy poked her head in and smiled at us. She giggled, holding her hand to her mouth. Cold sweat broke over me at that action; it was so familiar. An image of a girl in a sundress and metal claws flashed in my head.

“It looks like I will be able to claim the prize instead,” Malantha said with Nancy’s voice.

Chapter 40

THE CAR BUCKED as it ran over a pot hole. The force lifted me off my seat and caused me to plunge into Adrian. He glared at me but kept control of the wheel. I gave him an apologetic look and sat upright. Behind us, the siren of the police car wailed and the lights flashed.

“Do you really think we’re going to get out of this?” I asked, buckling my seat belt.

“I’m not going to be taken in, by hellspawn or human.”

He glanced at the rearview, then accelerated until we were practically flying down the two-lane road with only the trees watching us pass. The demon had had two seconds to laugh before Adrian had taken off. It had been almost funny watching her scramble into her car. I guess she hadn’t seen that one coming. Adrian had taken a quick route to one of the farm roads and headed out of town. The dark lay ahead of us and the blazing red and blue behind.

“What if she calls backup?” I asked.

“They’re too busy dealing with the explosion. I doubt all of them have been roused.”

“I meant Ose.”

The corner of Adrian’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “Even better.”

“You think we can deal with both of them at once.”

He spun the wheel, and the car jerked to the right onto a dirt road. I gripped the armrest on the door and slammed my left hand onto the dashboard to keep from sliding. The trees started about ten feet from the road and created a massive wall that traveled on for miles. In daylight, it was almost impossible to see the roads until you were right on them. How Adrian had seen it in the dead of night baffled me.

Malantha sped past the turnoff, and her tires screeched down the road. She didn’t have Adrian’s reflexes. Still, she could move the car pretty fast. A few minutes passed before she was on our tail again. A cloud of dirt and dust flew back in both wakes of the cars. Tonight, I was glad Texas had so little rain recently.

“So, what’s the plan here?” I asked.

“You have your sword, and I have the gun. Seems simple to me.”

“Wait, that’s Nancy she’s in.”

Adrian shrugged. “An acceptable loss. Exorcism didn’t work last time. We take this demon out permanently.”

“What about the oath?”

“This is not the time to get into morality and ethics. I killed the fat man at the carnival and some of the bikers, yet I’m still fine.”

He spoke the truth. The oath his family swore dictated they must protect humans from supernatural evil. Actually, it was a long list stating what they were protecting them from. This meant they couldn’t sacrifice a human just to kill a demon. Bad things were said to happen if they consciously broke the oath. Consciously broke it, so they could try and fail to save someone and only feel guilt in the end. Or in Adrian’s case, the need to work on his next weapon. Nothing bad had happened to him, so the others had been beyond saving. I would have to ponder later.

“There,” he said and swerved the wheel to the left.

I had enough warning this time and leaned so I wouldn’t slam against the door. My heart raced, and my right hand twitched. I could feel it through my body, the adrenaline. There was a fight coming. Everything grew a little brighter in my eyes. I could hear the gravel grinding against the tires under the wail of the siren. The tree around us shook in the wind. The branches swayed in the headlights.

The road ended in the cemetery on the lake. Adrian slammed the car into the iron gates without bothering to slow down. The rusted metal screeched as it buckled, and we were in with a new hood ornament. Thank god this cemetery was old or the fence would have given us more trouble.

“Grave to your left,” I said as he skidded on the loose gravel. Like I said, old graveyard.

He sped along the main road and fish-tailed the car into a stop by a mausoleum. We both sat there, panting. Our gazes met, and I grinned.

“Nice to know you’re a crack driver,” I said.

He chuckled and stepped out of the car while I grabbed my sword from the back seat. Its touch sent a tingle through my arm. I shivered in anticipation and joined Adrian in a crouch on his side of the car. He had his gun ready. The police car came to a screeching halt thirty feet away from us. When Malantha opened the door and stepped out, he fired. She ducked behind the door of the car with a muttered curse.

“Drop your weapons, and come peacefully,” she yelled at us.

“Do you really expect us to fall for that?” Adrian asked.

“No, but it was fun to say. Why don’t you just give up? You’re not going to win.”

“We have the gun,” Adrian called.

“It’s not going to do much good. Besides, I have one, too.”

She shifted against the door. I strained my neck to see her peering through the crack between the door and the car. I ducked back down and nodded to Adrian. He motioned his head around the car. He wanted me to go around behind and catch her unaware. I crab-walked around our car and paused to peek around the edge.

“I doubt you even know how to shoot,” Adrian said. “I am clearly at an advantage.”

“If so, why don’t you stick your head up?”

She popped up at the same time he did and fired off a shot. It went wide, not even hitting the car. His shot would have hit her, but she ducked, and it shattered the car window. I crept to the opposite side of the car and made my way around.

“As I thought, you can’t aim,” Adrian said.

“Which brother are you?” Malantha asked. “The bookworm, the baby brother who Daddy maimed, or the one who didn’t care enough to return home? I’m betting on the last. You have that arrogance.”

She was peeking through the shattered window when I approached her from behind. I switched to my aura sight as I continued to creep upon her. My heart squeezed in my chest, but I kept any noise from escaping my lips. Nancy’s soul and Malantha’s were joined. I couldn’t save Nancy with an exorcism. The best I could do would be to give her a swift death. Just a few more feet and her head would be mine.

Malantha swung the gun around and aimed at my head. “I thought you were being a little too quiet. No quips tonight, Gabriella?”

I started to move, and her hand tightened on the trigger. I froze.

“I may not be a good shot, but even I can hit you at this distance.”

“It wouldn’t last,” I said. “Like the last time.”

“But it would leave your dear Van Helsing child alone.”

I smirked. “He can handle himself.”

A metal can flew through the air and landed a few inches from us. White mist billowed out of it. Malantha winced, covering her face. She screamed as her flesh wrinkled like burning plastic and turned red. She threw herself away from the car and the holy water grenade. I grinned and moved in for the kill.

“Wait,” she yelled. “You wouldn’t kill this girl you were supposed to protect?”

I held my sword a breath away from her neck. It was still Nancy. “I don’t see another way to save her.”

Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she convulsed. She coughed again and looked around with a look of frightened confusion. She looked down at her hands, and a hissing wail escaped from her lips. She snapped the gun back up to me.

“What is all this?” Nancy asked.

I didn’t have anything to tell her but the truth. “You’re possessed by a demon. I think the effect may be permanent, and the only way I know to free you is to kill you.”

Her hand began to shake, and her eyes widened. “I…is that where these dreams are coming from? All I see is death…and rot.”

“She made you insane first so you would be sent to the asylum. You were part of an experiment.”

“I don’t want to see this anymore. I can feel her rot eating away. Please make it stop.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. I pressed my blade to her chest. “I’ll make it quick.”

Her eyes filled with gray smoke, widening further. “Wai—”

I pierced the girl’s heart before the demon could finish her word. She wouldn’t escape me this time. She dropped to the ground, silent and staring. I closed her eyes with a murmured prayer. Adrian’s cry pulled me from it. Ose stood on top of the car, holding the Van Helsing’s limp form by the neck with one hand.

“You just keep causing trouble,” he said.

Chapter 41

MY ENTIRE BODY stiffened except for my gaze, which moved between Ose and Adrian, and my heart pounded in my head so hard it echoed through my ears and vibrated my tongue. If I moved, he might snap his neck. If I stayed where I was, he still might snap his neck. Choices, choices.

He tossed Adrian to the ground. “I’ll deal with him later. For now, you and I must speak.”

“The only thing you will be speaking with is my sword.” I held it in front me as I took a defensive stance.

He moved in a blur. Before I thought to swing my weapon, he grabbed me by my throat and slammed me against the trunk of a tree. He stared down at me. My chest constricted with each gasp for air I tried to drag from my lungs. I wouldn’t, no couldn’t, think about how he had his hands on me. I was trapped with no escape. Like the human whose body he wore.  Yes. I grabbed at the train of thought like it was my only life raft. Did Dr. Navotny regret the choice he had made? I wasn’t sure if he knew what Ose was doing. With other demons, I could still feel the human inside, but Ose’s presence filled the entire body.

“You not only burned my home, but you killed my daughter,” he said.

“You won’t need a home after I am finished,” I said. “You can join your daughter in oblivion.”

“A lot of bravado for your position,” he said. “I have already touched you once. I will make you completely mine.”

I jammed my knee into his groin. Demon or not, he still had a man’s anatomy. He grunted and buckled slightly, but did not let me go. I clawed at his hand, digging my nails into the flesh deep enough for blood to well around them. His grip on me tightened. I wheezed tiny breaths through that vise that almost crushed my throat. He would leave bruises if I survived this.

The edges of my vison darkened, and I started to float. I was drowning again, but this time there was no water.

“Get off of me.” My struggle for freedom began anew.

I jabbed my fingers at his eye, but he just grabbed my wrist.  He squeezed until the bones crumpled with a crunch close to my ear. The burn raced up my arm in a flash.

I choked back a scream. The harder I fought, the more he constricted. Without any leverage or a good weapon, I was no match against a demon’s strength. Hell, in this position, I wouldn’t have been much against a normal man, though the groin thing would have worked on them. That didn’t mean I would give up fighting.

He grabbed my waist and lifted me in the air long enough to slam me into another tree. He pulled me down, raking my skin against the bark.  I panted, cradling my wrist close to my chest as my stomach cramped into a hard little ball.

“I can be violent, too. But I prefer you give in. You will replace the lieutenant I lost because of your people,” he said. “It’s time to show you what I have planned.”

His palm covered my face, blocking out the moonlight. The graveyard melted away, and skyscrapers rose from the ground. The streets were filled with demon hybrids like the boy in the asylum. They moved to gather around a circle. It was composed of two concentric rings with script between them. The writing writhed and changed, loops went straight and lines twisted. A violet mist filled the center and rose to join the clouds in the darkened sky. A figure rose up from its slumped position inside the circle and began to spasm . The creatures hissed, falling to their knees and raising their misshapen arms. I tore my gaze away, closing my eyes. When I opened them, the graveyard returned.

Ose’s lips twisted in a snarl, and his eyebrows drew together. His finger brushed against the cord around my neck. With a muttered oath, he pulled Adrian’s pendant out from under my shirt. He glared down at the tiny piece of stone resting his palm.

“How many of these do you have?”

I laughed, hoarsely. “Thousands. I’ll just keep coming.”

“I never said I would kill you.”

He ripped the cord from my neck, leaving a stinging lash behind, and tossed it into the grass. The stars whirled above me as he yanked me away from the tree. It was pretty for a moment before I slammed into to a tombstone. It crumpled under the force. My breath escaped in a swift whoosh, and stars exploded in my vision again, except this time they were in my head. Bits of stone dug into the scrapes on my back. I swallowed my cry so only a weak moan escaped.

I tried to scramble away from him and gain my footing, but the ground floated above me. Or was that below? I was able to get to my knees a few feet away. Dirt scraped against stone, and he was in front of me, surrounded by a cloud of dust. He grabbed the top my head and lifted me up. I pulled at his fingers and kicked my feet at him, hitting only air. I panted. I had to get away. I couldn’t do this.

My teeth gnashed the flesh of his wrist, but his grip remained firm. I wrapped my good arm around his, brought my legs up, and slammed one into his face. His head jerk back, and he staggered, but his grip on me never wavered.  With a growl, he lifted me up and slammed me into a headless angel. His breath warmed my face, and I wrinkled my nose at the smell of blood and brimstone.

“Just give in,” he said.

The world shifted, and I was back in the ruins of the city. The symbols lit into a violet light, and the group spun like a dial counter-clockwise. The mist in the center swirled in the opposite direction, speeding up until it represented a small tornado. All other lights dimmed and the wind picked up, blowing old newspapers and candy wrappers against windshields of abandoned cars. The demon hybrids raised their heads to the sky. The air became so thick, filled with the stench of brimstone.

The figure in the center of the circle stopped in gyrations and stood straight. He adjusted his tie and stepped toward the edge of the circle. I gasped a rancid breath down and raked my hand in front of me, clawing Ose’s face. One of my fingernails caught his eye and plunged in deep. With a shout, he flung me off of him.

I flew through the air and crashed into one of the mausoleum’s gates. The hinges broke with a creaking sequel, and I landed on the lock. The gate and I skidded into the mausoleum several feet. I groaned, struggling to get to my feet while still clutching my broken wrist to my chest. Its throbbing was just one constant reminder of how bad I was losing this battle. The walls flickered out of focus and into the dilapidated buildings and demon hybrid horde. I shook my head. It wasn’t real.

Focus, Gabby. Get up.

Ose stepped over me to walk to the raised stone coffin that stood in the center and slid the lid open. Oh, hell no. I jumped up and sprinted for the doorway. I made it to the threshold before he grabbed my hair and yanked me back. I tripped over the bars of the broken gate and sprawled out from under me so I was dragged by my hair. I imbedded my nails into his inner wrist, drawing a few drops of blood. I should have known that was a lost cause.

“I see you need time alone,” Ose said.

He slammed my head against the edge of the coffin. White light exploded in front of my eyes, and blood gushed from my nose. He tossed me into the coffin. I rolled onto my back, holding my face. Blood continued to flow from my face, down my cheeks, and drip onto the coffin. I swallowed back the bile that rose up and tried to life my head.  The coffin spun so fast the mosaic looked like a spiral. Just like the violet smoke.

I lay my head back with a groan. The scraping of stone filled my ears. My breath caught in my throat. I had to get out now. I reached for the edge of the coffin, and Ose slammed his fist on my fingers. I yanked them back out of instinct. The gap and my freedom became just a mere sliver.

I pounded my fist against the top. “No.”

“You ripen here while I deal with the Van Helsings,” he said.

My light disappeared as the stone lid grated into place.

Chapter 42

I CLAWED AT the lid of the coffin while my shrieks bounced off the walls, filling my ears. The stone scratched my fingers and tore my nails. My head swam, and I lay back panting. This couldn’t be happening. Something splattered on my face. Was that dirt? I couldn’t be buried again. I was in a mausoleum above ground and not in a coffin, like before. One of my earlier mistakes had left my body to be discovered by locals. I’d awoken in a coffin with six feet and hundreds of pounds of dirt separating me from freedom. For months I had lain trapped, dying from lack of air over and over again. No one had searched for me, and no one would now. I would be here for months, even years.

I choked out another wail and pounded against the lid of the coffin. My voice dissipated into hoarse cries as my hands drops to my sides. The burning in my arm had faded to a dull throb that matched the one in my head. The air in the coffin thinned. I only had a few breaths left before my lungs would start screaming, and then there would be nothing but Naamah. My last visit had only been days ago. Who knew how many times I would see her during my imprisonment? I could resist her, but that time in the coffin had nearly broken me. Ose’s poison in my mind had weakened me. Between the two of them, I would fall, but to whom? The grit and stone underneath me faded away as I began to float. My hands felt twice the size of my head.

Light flickered in my eyelids, soft and yellow. The candles flickered and the curtains of my bed fluttered with the soft breeze coming from the staircase leading up. I lay in my burial chamber. Dimitri had it built for me so I wouldn’t have to go through another grave incident. After his death, I’d hadn’t return, but instead made arrangements with Jonathon Harker in case my body was discovered again. I stood and walked to the full-length mirror, shivering at the cold stone under my feet. Rubies and diamonds glittered from the silver and gold inlaid frame. I frowned. Since when had such opulence been added?

The neck of the black dress came to a V that connected at the waist, and the skirt brushed against the tops of my toes. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ears. A small scar marred my right cheek. Strange. I’d never had a scar there before. My deaths had always left me without any physical wounds. The mental ones were countless. I ran my finger across it. It cracked and widened under my touch, traveling down my jawline. Chips of my skin fell off with the tinkling of glass. Mauve flesh peeked out from underneath. I shrieked and backed away from the mirror, covering my face with my hands. My forehead itched, and more flesh fell away. This couldn’t be happening. I wouldn’t be like her.

“Gabby, you have to get a hold of yourself. This isn’t real.” Esais’s voice echoed through my head.

“Esais?” His name fell from my lips in a halting lilt.

I lowered my hands and caught my reflection again. My face had fallen away, supplanted by angular cheekbones covered with a pinkish hue. Black orbs replaced my once blue eyes. Two silver horns rose out of my forehead at the hair-line, curving inward. I wore Allegra’s face.

I screamed again and grabbed at the mirror. It toppled over and shattered on the ground. The lights winked out, and I returned to the darkness of my stone prison. What little air the remained stifled me. I slammed my fists against the lid repeatedly, ignoring the burst of agony from my wrist. A light appeared above my head.

“Will you stop that wailing? It’s damn annoying,” Marge said.

I gaped up at her, my eyes straining against the light she held. Someone had come for me. I wouldn’t lay here forgotten and alone. But I was a demon now, so it didn’t matter. I sat up with my head hung low, avoiding her gaze. Why hadn’t she yanked me from the coffin and proceeded to kick my ass yet?

“You’re too late,” I said. “You’ll have to kill me.”

“I would love to take you up on that offer just to shut you the hell up, but I just saved your ass.”

“I’ve become a demon. Look at me.”

She looked me up and down. “I don’t think you’d say that if you were a real demon.”

“It was a hallucination,” Esais said. ”Ose got to you again.”

I pressed my fingers to my forehead. Smooth skin greeted my touch. My breath came out in a long whoosh. I still felt dirty inside, but there were no horns and my skin remained pale. However, even if I was a demon, no one would be able to tell from the body. I hadn’t been forced to consume Menrazine, so I hadn’t changed that way. Either way, with my last bit of humanity I would see the Van Helsings safe and Ose dead.

I climbed out of the tomb and ran through the door. Ose’s treatment of me had taken its toll on the cemetery. Chunks of shattered gravestones lay strewn about the grass, but it was otherwise empty. A knot formed in my stomach. Adrian was gone.

“Ose has Adrian and Tres,” I said. “We need to move.”

“Are you all right to do this?” Esais asked.

Marge came outside. “Yeah, not seconds ago you were freaking out.”

I shivered, still feeling Ose’s touch brushing across my mind. He’d gotten inside of me. He knew my worst fears and how to play me like a puppet. But I couldn’t let him do what he did to me to Tres and Adrian.

“Can you help me when I get to the hospital?” I asked.

“I can try, but I don’t know how much I can do,” he said.

“Just enough to keep me going. We’ll see you soon.”

I walked to where Nancy’s body lay and closed her eyes. The police would eventually find her body and bring her home. I retrieved my sword from near the lake and sheathed it. Adrian’s talisman lay a few feet from the cars. Deep fissures covered the stone. It may be possibly be good for another direct attack but anything to keep me going. I slipped it over my head and exhaled as my mind cleared. No, I wasn’t a demon. I hadn’t died and gone to hell at all. I hadn’t been locked in the coffin for very long. I grabbed Adrian’s gun and tucked it in my waistband. He’d spent time creating it to use on Ose; it would be a pity if it was left behind.

“You should hurry. I’m sensing something strange. I’m sensing—” Esais’s voice and the choir vanished from my head.

“Esais?” I called.

No answer.

“We need to go,” I said.

“Just us storming the castle?” she asked.

I pulled out my phone and dialed John’s number. “I’m calling for a little back up.”

Chapter 43

JOHN STEPPED OUT of his car when Marge parked behind him. She pulled out her shotgun and strapped it to her back while I climbed out of her truck and walked to him. His brow furrowed as his gaze traveled from my face down to my dirty, torn clothing. He lingered on my arm, now bound to my chest in one of Marge’s shirts.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Ose has the Van Helsings,” I said. “We need to get them back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We?”

I held his gaze. “Will you help me?”

“You actually want me to help you?”

“Is he going to be of any use?” Marge asked. “I already have your crazy ass to deal with.”

“I can handle myself.” John pulled out a few vials of liquid. “I have holy water and a good throwing arm.”

“Just don’t get in my way.” Marge turned and walked to the gate.

“Were you able to get anything to stop the hallucinations?” I said.

“Not enough time,” he said.

I touched John’s arm, and he tilted his head to me. I pulled the talisman from around my neck. I held it between us. John wasn’t used to this kind of thing, but I needed someone to free the Van Helsings while Marge and I dealt with Ose. My throat tightened at the thought of Ose’s hands on John. No, that wouldn’t happen. I pressed the cool jet into his hand. Better me than him.

“It should help against the madness effect,” I said.

He frowned. “I think you need it more than me. I’ll be fine.”

“No, take it. We can’t all be crazy.”

“I won’t go crazy. Besides, there is Marge.”

I snorted, a smile coming to my lips. The image of Marge as a pillar of support was absurd. I slipped the cord around my neck as John reached in his car and pulled out a flashlight and a handgun, which he stuck in a holster at his waist. He let a long breath and gave me a thumb up. I kept my smile, despite the twisting in my stomach. He did have a strong will; perhaps it would be enough.

“Ready?”  I asked, and he nodded.

“Gate’s closed,” Marge said when we joined her. “We’ll have to go over the wall again.”

“You’d think this place would have more security,” John said.

Marge smirked “They probably think all they need in this small town is the gate.”

I walked along the wall to the corner and to the tree we’d used during our first visit. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I stared up at its height. There weren’t enough grips to scale in one-handed. John rested his palm on my shoulder.

“I got you,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose that?”

“Marge, go first.” He waved her in front of us before turning back to me. “If I carry you on my back, do you think you can keep a grip with one arm?”

Marge snorted, walked past us, and began her climb.

“Maybe,” I said. “But are you sure you can carry me?”

He grinned. “I think I can manage.”

He hoisted me onto his back. I pressed my knees into his sides and wrapped my good arm around his neck with my fingers digging into the tender part between his collarbone and shoulder. He grunted and began his assent. John was a lot stronger than I had believed. After a few moments, and a couple of slips, he helped me get my footing on one of the stronger branches that ran close to the wall. Marge smirked back at us from her perch and hopped over into the yard of the asylum.

“I’ll go next,” I said.

I darted along the branch, leaped, and landed on the top of the wall with a soft thump. I stepped over and braced myself for the impact. The force jarred my legs and jolted to my arm. My fingers dug into the grass as my head swam. I gritted my teeth to and breathed out through my nose. I could do this. There were miles to go and monsters to fight before I could rest.

After my arm had settled back to its dull throbbing, I scanned the yard and whistled. John came over and rolled a few feet. He came up panting and rubbed his left shoulder.

Marge nodded to the asylum. “No lights.”

“They should at least have the flood lights in the yard,” I said.

She shrugged. “Makes it easier for us.”

I shook my head. “Or it means something is wrong.”

She trudged up the hill. I motioned John to go ahead of me. I didn’t want any nasty surprises sneaking up behind him. The windows in the doors had been broken. Glass lay strewn across the porch and the sidewalk. Marge bent down and peered in the dark hallway.

“I can’t see anything in there,” she said.

She pulled a flashlight from her belt and attached it to a plastic clip on her shotgun. She reached through the window to open the door. It swung inward. With her gun raised, she strode inside. I grabbed John’s arm when he started to follow her and shook my head. If she ran into anything, I didn’t want John in the middle of it.

She whistled. All clear. I gave him a nod and a gentle push forward. The welcome station at the front was empty except for a pair of legs stretched out from behind it. I moved around the desk. The orderly’s head was twisted around backwards, and parts of his skull were crushed in.

“They’ve gotten lose,” I said.

“Who has?” John asked.

“Ose’s experiments. Whatever did this is very powerful.”

“It couldn’t be Ose?”

I shook my head. “He’s strong, but not like this.”

“I’ll take point again,” Marge said.

She kept her shotgun trained down the hall as she crept along. The thin beam of light from John’s flashlight played over the floor and the ceiling. The tables of the visitors’ area had been smashed. Splinters and plastic cushion covers were strewn about the floor. A nurse’s body lay sprawled against the wall with one shoe hanging off of her foot. Marge checked for a pulse and shook her head.

“Let’s keep going,” I said. “Esais’s room is on the second floor.”

“Stairs?” Marge asked.

“Would be best,” I said.

I tightened my grip on my sword, my heart pounding in my chest. Both Malantha and the alastor were destroyed. I’d killed the boy my last trip here. Still, how many of Ose’s experiments roamed the halls? How many doors had been bolted on that floor?

Marge stopped again when we were ten feet away from the emergency stairs. Fragments of the door littered the hallway and the frame itself was missing pieces. Something had burst through. Marge moved the barrel of her gun, allowing the light to pass over the stairwell.

“We’re clear,” she said. “Ready?”

Goose pimples ran over my skin. The darkened portal yawned open before us. If the creature came up behind us, we would be trapped in that tiny hallway like a tomb. I took a slow breath to keep my throat from closing up. There were other doors we could get out of. Besides, I couldn’t let my claustrophobia get in the way of helping the brothers.

“Ready,” I said, and John nodded.

I led the way up the steps with Marge taking the rear. The remains of this door dangled from the hinges while several large sections lay on the steps. Whatever this demon was, it didn’t like doors.

Muffled shrieks echoed through the hall. At least one person was alive up here. I doubted it was any of the Van Helsings. They would shriek like that. I peered in both directions in the hall, keeping my back against the side of the doorframe. No signs of movement. Esais’s room was several doors down. I tapped against the door frame with my sword to motion for Marge and John.

The door to Esais’s room remained intact. I let out a breath I’d been holding and moved into the room. The mattress lay half on the floor with the back end still on the bed. The two armchairs lay overturned.

“Looks like he put up a fight,” John said.

“He’s a Van Helsing,” I said. “But I doubt it was with whatever is roaming the halls now.”

“What now?” Marge asked.

A scream from the hall answered her. I pushed John to the back of the room and grabbed his flashlight. I moved behind Marge, where she stood in the doorway. Charlotte ran down the hallway at full tilt. A hulking shape closed in on her at a speed that belayed its size.

“Looks like you get your first bit of action for the night,” I said to Marge as I stepped into the hall.

Chapter 44

MARGE SHONE HER light in the creature’s face. It recoiled, rearing up until its head bounced against the ceiling tiles, and held its arm in front of its face. It glared down at me with beady eyes almost hidden by puffy cheeks and roared at us. Its hot breath ruffled my hair, and I gagged at the stench of rancid meat. I stepped in front of Charlotte and backed her into Esais’s room. The hallway narrowed, and the creature took on an almost slow motion. All my aches faded to the rushing of blood in my veins.

“Stay there,” I told her. “John, give us more light.”

Marge’s shotgun boomed, and the wall shook. I stood in front of her.  The shots didn’t keep it from coming at us. “What the fuck is that?”

“An abomination,” I said.

“Can I kill it?”

“Only if I don’t first.”

With another roar, the creature charged us. Its muscles bulged in its arms twice the size of my waist as it used them to balance the gait of its stunted legs. It raised its fist to smash me into the doorway. I dodged under its arm and slashed the tendons. The demon faltered as its appendage constricted. It grabbed me with its other hand and tossed me. My right shoulder slammed into the wall before my head did. A star exploded into a supernova in front of my eyes, and I fell to the ground with a moan. I sat up and blinked, trying to clear the double vision in my eyes.

Marge fired her shotgun and caught the demon in its lower jaw and neck. Blood exploded out the back of its head.  It staggered before it righted itself. Its eyes, now glowing bright red, focused on Marge. If the thing still had a mouth, it would probably be screaming at this point.  Marge gaped at it.

“What the hell?” she sputtered. “That was iron shot.”

“Demons don’t need the human to be alive to use the body.” I pulled myself up with my good arm and ignored the screaming in the other one. “It’s bonded with the human’s soul. It has to be using it as some kind of shield.”

“So iron is useless.”

The demon swung at Marge, missed her by several feet, and slammed its fist through the wall. It yanked it free and stumbled back to crash into the opposite wall.

“Not completely useless,” I said.

Marge cocked the gun. “Then let’s fill this asshole up.”

Her shot boomed through the hall and filled my ears with a high pitched squeal. I darted forward and sliced through the muscles of the creature’s legs. It tried to use its good arm to pull itself up, but slid flat on the floor again. Marge pressed the barrel of her gun to the back of the demon’s head and fired. Its body jerked in several shot spasms before falling still.

John peered out from the door. “Is it dead?”

“One way to be sure,” I said.

I hacked my way through the remainder of the neck. Even with the large hole in the middle, there was still a lot left. When I finished, I stood and moved back into the room with Marge. John had wrapped the bed sheet around Charlotte. She sat in a chair and stared at the floor, rocking back and forth. I kneeled in front of her. Her gaze remained unfocused, and her body trembled.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “Charlotte.”

She blinked and looked at me with her teeth chattering. “G-Gabby?”

“Where is Esais?”

“I don’t know. The whole hospital went down, and those things came out of nowhere.” She covered her face with her hands.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. They had to be in the third floor lab with Ose, and God knew what he was doing to them.

“All right,” I said. “John is going to get you out of here.”

“I am?” he asked.

“Wait, what about the others?” Charlotte asked. “What about Nancy?”

I bowed my head. “Nancy’s not here.”

“She’s safe?” Charlotte’s shoulders relaxed.

I bit my lip. The woman had been through a lot tonight. She looked on the verge of a breakdown. Would now be the best time to shatter the hope in those mascara-smeared eyes? Still, if I waited, it could make this worse for her.

“She didn’t make it,” I said. “She was becoming something like the thing chasing you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I had to kill her.” My voice grew softer. “I had no other way to save her.”

Charlotte jerked as if she’d been slapped. Her head fell forward, and her shoulders slumped. I put my hand over hers, but she slapped it away. My head drooped as my chest tightened. What had I expected? She wouldn’t want comfort from the one responsible for her cousin’s death. I hadn’t tried hard enough to save Nancy, and she knew it. With a sigh, I turned to John.

“Get her out of here,” I said. “Marge and I will deal with Ose.”

“I’m not leaving these people here,” she said. “You can’t be counted on to help them.”

Marge snorted as she leaned against the doorframe with her gun trained on the hallway. I could imagine the smirk on her face. She had no conscience about the helpless bystanders that were hurt in the wake of demons. Except for the little girl. Marge had dropped everything to help her. There was hope for her yet. I turned back to Charlotte.

“You have nothing to fight these things with,” I said.

She stood up and flung the blanket from her shoulders. “Then I suppose I will die. Better that than living as a coward.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Charlotte stared at me with narrowed eyes and her jaw firm. She wasn’t going to give in. The minutes ticked away as I argued with her. More minutes Adrain and his brothers spent with Ose. The less time I had to save them from dying, becoming mad, or worse, demons. My stomach clenched.

“Fine,” I said. “Where are these survivors?”

“Hiding in a doctor’s office in Ward C. It’s on this floor.”

“Marge, go with them. Clear out the remaining demon hybrids. Charlotte and John can organize the survivors and escape. Does that sound good to everyone?”

“What about you?” John said.

“I’m going after Ose and getting the brothers back.”

“Alone?”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have the Van Helsings.”

If they were still alive, and human.

Chapter 45

I TOOK THE stairs two at a time. The faster I got out of the staircase, the better. The keys from one of the orderlies jangled in my hand as I unlocked the door. Darkness and silence greeted me as I entered the hallway. It was as if I’d entered a different hospital by climbing one staircase. Nothing had been broken or destroyed in the hall. The double doors stood open. I headed down the hall and used Adrian’s key card. The metal door slid open into the wall with a swoosh.

I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the light. The smell of chemicals pervaded the room, and it traveled down my nose and throat, leaving a burning sensation. Three medical beds, each holding a Van Helsing, filled the center of the room. I.V. bags, filled with yellow liquid, were hooked to the boys’ arms. I moved to the closest table, which was Adrian’s, and began inspecting the leather straps. Adrian groaned, and his head rolled to one side when I touched him. His eye half opened before closing again. Ose’s fingerprints had left a fading mark on his throat. I probably had a matching set. Esais’s eyes fluttered opened at the sound of his brother’s voice. Tres didn’t move. A yellow bruise decorated half of his face. None of them seemed capable for walking and I couldn’t carry them before Ose found us.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I whispered to Esais. “Think you can stand on your own?”

He coughed. “Help my brothers first.”

“Can you wake them?”

He nodded. I sheathed my sword, pulled a knife from my boot, and slit through the top strap. My hands remained steady despite my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest. I slipped his gun in his hand and shook him. He groaned again, and peered at me, blinking rapidly. The door swooshed open behind me. I spun halfway around before a rush of air slammed me into the lab table on the opposite side of the room. Bottles broke underneath me, their shards jabbing into my back.

“You’re supposed to be in the tomb.” Ose clamped his hand around my neck. “I’ll have to get another bed.”

I reached back and grasped one of the glass bottles on the table. I threw it at him. He moved his head to the side, and the bottle flew past him. It shattered on the ground. Steam rose from the liquid with a hiss. Ose shook his head with a sigh. He raised me up and slammed my head into the table. The room spun, and I crumpled to the floor. I lay on the floor panting and trying to keep the contents of my stomach in place. Ose kneeled over me and brushed my hair from my face with a soft caress.

“There’s no fighting it. In a few hours, you will be my new daughter,” he said.

“I already told you others have tried,” I said.

“They were fools to think your curse would break you. You’re too special. I’ll do it in time for you to help me choose which Van Helsing to take as a host.”

“You’re not going to touch them.”

“Yes, yes. You’ll stop me.” He waved his hand. “Now, which one? The one touched by fate or the one touched by inspiration?”

He looked over his shoulder at Esais. I struggled to sit up, but Ose laid his hand on my shoulder and held me to the floor. A sharp jolt raced through my arm, and I went limp.

“That one is dangerous. I should kill him now, but the idea of taking one an angel has chosen is delicious.” His grin spread across his face.

“Your doctor is not going to be happy.”

“He’s outlived his usefulness. I have the drug perfected. I can take it to a bigger venue.”

“So you can turn people into demons?”

“No, those are failures. You killed the perfected forms, including my daughter. But you will make up for that.”

He took the talisman in his hand and squeezed. Dust poured out of the bottom. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I looked deep into his eyes, and the world faded away to black. Only he and I remained.

The dark crowded around me until there was nowhere for me to go. I squirmed under him. I had to get out. It was too tight here. His laughed echoed in my ears as my fists pounded on his chest. I tried to turn my head, but my gaze strayed back to the depths of his eyes. I began to fall.

Ice crept along my skin, sinking deeper until my bones ached. I reached out, trying to find some surface to break my fall, but my fingers met air. I tried to scream, but the darkness reached in my throat and stole my breath. Allegra’s laugh surrounded me.

“I always knew you would be one of us,” she said. “You could have been great at my side, now you will just be a slave to another demon. Either way, I won.”

Tears pricked my eyes again. Maybe she was right. I had chased her for over five hundred years. Every time I had gotten close, I failed. The exorcisms, the sigils—everything failed against her. Even with the sword I’d sought in order to kill her, I’d failed.

“And of course, you’ve gotten people killed,” Allegra put in. “Innocents, your husband, your lover.”

And now Esais, Adrian, and Tres would die as well. They would pay the price for my mad need to kill demons. I slid down the wall and turned my head in their direction. I choked back a scream. The brothers’ forms had changed.

Tres’s pretty face had peeled back to reveal his skull. The teeth had been replaced by fangs, and tiny spikes lined his cheek-bones. Two black ram horns curled around each side of his head. Tanned leather replaced his once smooth skin, with bony ridges running along his shoulders and forearms.

Adrian’s face had elongated to that of a lizard with ridges running up both sides of his snout. Green-brown scales, like bog muck, covered his face until they reached the hair line. Course tufts of chlorophyll-colored fur covered his body.

Bat-like wings wrapped around Esais’s body like a cloak.  Some sort of black bone mask covered his face, coming down into a point at his chin. I sobbed, bringing my hand to my mouth. The drug already had them in its grip. I’d been too slow. I stood and walked to them, with Ose following behind me.

“So, which do you choose?” he asked. “I want the best host.”

I stared down at Adrian’s hands. Creator’s hands, now covered in hair and long, jagged claws. I placed my sword over his neck. If I couldn’t save them, at least I could free them to the best of my ability. Esais’s blue-gray eyes stared at me from behind the sockets of the mask.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I did this to you. I always bring death to your family.”

“No,” Dimitri said. “You don’t.”

I faltered as my head started spinning. The world faded to nothing. Candle-light flared up, the only source of light in the dark. I reached toward it and found myself sitting at a small table. The tables around us had their chairs resting on them. The stages lay darkened and the black drifted on forever. We were the only two people.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

I nodded. “The bar in Paris. We met here. You thought the demon was a vampire.”

He chuckled. “And you showed me different.”

“Then I almost got you killed.”

“Gabby, I almost died many times. And when I did die, it wasn’t because of you.”

He took my hand, and his warmth spread through me, easing the ache in my bones. My heart slowed to a steady pace, and for once, I felt at ease. I took a deep breath and wiped the tear from my eye.

“They can only win if you let them,” he said. “Show them you have strength and can overcome this.”

“I don’t know how,” I said.

He looked around. “You are already doing so. The sword is in your hand.”

My sundang was still in my hand. I hadn’t released it in all this time. I filled my eyes with Dimitri before I closed them. I stood over Adrian, beautiful and human again, with my sword at his throat. Ose stood inches behind me. I spun before the insanity caught a hold of me again, my blade swinging in an arc. A deep gash opened in a diagonal line across his chest. He hopped back in surprise before I could get another hit in. He looked down at the wound and laughed.

“You think you can still beat me alone?” he asked.

Then came Adrian’s voice behind me. “Who said she’s killing alone?”

Chapter 46

ADRIAN SAT UP and pulled the trigger. Ose dodged back in a blur of motion. He glared at his shooter, walking toward him. Not in the Seven Thrones of Hell. I intercepted him, my blade swinging in an upward arc. He sidestepped me, and my blow glanced off of his hip. Ose paused. He touched the wound and looked at the blood on his hand before looking up at me in puzzlement. He should have been fast enough to dodge that.

“I’m making him think he’s using his speed, but he’s not,” Esais said.

Esais lay on the bed with his head lifted and his brows knitted together in concentration. Adrian kept the gun trained on Ose as he moved to Tres. The youngest brother winced as he raised his head. I dipped down to catch Ose in his calf. He spun his leg out of the way and ended facing me. Now would have been a good time for a comeback, but I had no words for him.

He grabbed for my wrist, but I dipped my hand back and out of his reach. His other hand darted forward to catch me in his favorite attack, the chokehold. I ducked, but he was too fast. He lifted me and tossed me into the desk in the back of the lab. The computer caught my fall. I bit back a scream as my shoulder slammed into the edge of the monitor. I staggered to my feet, panting.

“I’m tired of being tossed into the scenery,” I said.

Ose grabbed a scalpel off of the lab table. “Allow me a little bloodletting instead.”

“Denied.” Adrian stood beside a now freed Tres with his gun aimed at Ose.

The shot reverberated through the room. The air shimmered around Ose, and in a second, he was beside Adrian. He raised the scalpel and brought it down along Adrian’s jaw. Tres grabbed the devil’s arm with his right hand. Blood burst out as the flesh split open. Ose pulled his arm free and backed away. He looked from the two brothers to his arm, his scowl deepening. He still hadn’t figured out what was wrong.

Tres slid off the bed and stood in front of the beds, putting himself between his brothers and Ose. Adrian moved to Esais to free him from the leather straps.  I stepped beside Tres with my hand tightening on the grip of my sword.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“A bit lightheaded,” he said.

“I know the feeling,” I said. “We can rest later.”

“There will be no rest for you,” Ose said.

Ose came at me in a rush, but I still could see him move. Esais’s trick seemed to work half the time. I ducked and cut the devil across his gut with my sword. His eyes widened, and he leapt back. Tres darted forward.

“Do you remember the boy you maimed after you killed his parents?” he asked.

Ose sidestepped Tres and grabbed him by his neck. “Still weak, I see.”

“Not as weak as you think,” Tres said.

He pressed his right hand to Ose’s chest with his fingers formed into a claw. At the same time, I attacked, aiming for the back of his neck. In another blur I flew through the air with Tres. We bounced off one of the beds and landed in a heap on the floor.

“You’re supposed to be stopping that,” I thought to Esais.

“I’m trying,” he said.

He kept his gaze locked on Ose as he climbed off the bed with Adrian’s help. Tres’s weight disappeared as Ose lifted him in the air and slammed him on the bed hard enough to dent the metal. There was the sound of cracking bone and Tres’s scream. Ose had twisted Tres’s left arm back at an odd angle.

“I started with your back before,” Ose said. “I think I’ll just take the arm this time.”

I scooted to him and slit open his ankle. He jerked his foot back with a yell and brought it forward to kick me in the face. I ducked. He yanked Tres’s shoulder, and there was a loud pop followed by another scream from Tres. He dropped the boy and scanned the room with a frown. His eyes fell on Esais, who was staring at him with his brows locked in concentration.

“You are doing this,” Ose said.

He slid the middle bed out of the way and stood beside Esais in an instant. He grabbed him by the face and lifted him. Adrian raised the gun, but Ose held his brother in front of him. Esais thrashed as the devil’s fingers tightened around his skull.

“Your little trick won’t work if you can’t concentrate,” Ose said.

He slammed Esais’s head against the corner of the bed, letting the boy fall to the ground in a heap. He swung his arm in a backhand and sent Adrian flying. Adrian landed, and Ose was already waiting for him. He crushed the hand that held the gun. Adrian yelled. I had to get Ose off him.

“El Shaddai, Elohim, Elohi, Tzabaoth, Elim, Asher Eheieh, Yah, Tetragrammaton, Shaddai,” I said.

Ose snapped his head in my direction, the veins in his skin bulging. He rushed me, but halfway he froze. His momentum sent him stumbling past Tres and me into the opposite wall. Esais stood, his eyes glowing a soft gold-white light. He moved to help Adrian to his feet. Ose snarled as he turned around.

“You should have stayed unconscious,” he said.

He ran straight for Esais. On his way by, I slashed his calves with my sword, causing him to stumble. Tres leapt off the bed and grabbed Ose’s shoulder, near his neck. The skin split, and more blood rushed out. The demon staggered forward, right in front of Adrian’s gun, now held in his other hand.

“For my family,” Adrian said.

And he pulled the trigger.

Chapter 47

YELLOW LIGHT EXPLODED from the barrel. Ose tried to move, but his body seemed to refuse to obey, and he ended up making a stiff jerking motion. The bullet pierced the temple near his left eye. A sickly yellow light flared from his eyes and the wound. He collapsed, dead. Adrian stood over the body with his gun trained on it. Esais and Tres moved to stand beside him. They formed a circle around the body. I stood, rubbing my lower back. I threw my head back and took a deep breath. The room snapped into focus around me. The blurred effect of the lights disappeared, and the wall glared under their glow. The astringent smell of sanitizer lost the battle to the sulfur that now permeated the air. I hadn’t noticed how hazy it’d become while I’d been under Ose’s power.

“Mama, Papa,” Tres said in Romanian. “Justice has been done.”

“May your spirits rest in peace,” Esais said.

They bowed their heads; even Adrian looked respectful. I inched away from the scene. This was their time. They didn’t need an outsider like me intruding.

I moved to the table on the opposite wall. Several crates were stacked in two rows to the side of the table. I opened the lid of the top crate of the first row. I.V. bags of yellowish liquid lay on top of each other in neat stacks. The next crate held bags filled with little capsules.

“Find anything interesting?” Tres asked.

“Ose’s drugs,” I said.

He walked to stand beside me, holding his shoulder the entire time. Adrian and Esais joined us.

“He had quite a stash,” Adrian said.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Tres asked.

“Destroy it,” Esais said.

“So, another fire?” Tres asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know what burning will do to it. I’ll have to take it to someone who handles things like this.”

“You know someone that handles demon-made drugs?” Tres asked. “Does this happen a lot?”

I smiled. “Jonah knows a few people that handle cursed objects. I think this is apt to fall under that category.”

Tres blinked. “Uncle Jonah?”

“He’s a lot more influential than you think,” I said. “Speaking of which, he’ll probably want to see the three of you now that this has been taken care of.”

“Why?” Adrian asked.

“About the legacy your father left you,” I said.

I stepped out the door and into the hall. I breathed in and smiled. The weight I’d been carrying for centuries lifted. If I didn’t know better, I would say I could fly. The boys had proven themselves capable. Together, they would be a force to be reckoned with. I could see Jonah’s proud smile, though he would probably try to hide it behind a stern look.

Marge and John waited outside on the tailgate of her truck. Someone had managed to unlock the gate. I told them of the fight and Ose's demise. During my retelling, the brothers came out. Tres wore a sling over his left arm. He wouldn’t be healing anyone for a while. I sighed. I was going to have to get my wrist looked at and take things the old fashioned way. Charlotte stood with a small crowd about twenty feet away. She and the remaining nurses surrounded the patients in a circle.

“Can you do something about them?” I asked Esais.

“They won’t remember us when we leave,” he said.

Tres walked to Charlotte and pulled her aside. From the look on her face, she was not happy about it. I updated Marge and John on what we needed done. Marge had taken out the two remaining demon hybrids stalking the halls of the asylum. We piled the bodies along with the crates in her truck.

Tres walked back over with a sigh. “Well, that’s done. She doesn’t want anything to do with us anymore. She said if she sees us again, she’s telling the police everything.”

I sighed and glanced over at her. Her gaze met mine with a look of cold fury. The numbness had passed, and it looked like she’d found someone to blame. Me. Us. I hadn’t been fast enough to save Nancy, and it’d been my hand that had slain her. I felt bad it had to be done, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty over it. Death had been a better fate.

A blank stare replaced Charlotte’s glare. She and her group began to sway in sync with each other. Esais turned from them and let out a long breath. John’s car pulled up beside Marge’s. The clouded sky rumbled above us.

“We should get these bodies burned before it starts to rain,” I said.

“Who am I taking where?” John asked.

“I need to get my books and our car,” Esais said.

We met in the woods outside of town. The bodies caught fire quickly, and soon a bonfire rose in the night’s sky. I threw some angelica into the flames, and Esais said a prayer over the pyre. He was the best suited for doing it. After all, according to Ose, he’d been blessed by angels. I never trusted the word of a demon, but it made the most sense that Esais was an emissary of an angel from what I’d seen in the past week. He had a large purpose to fulfill with both his father’s legacy and whatever the angel wanted.

My own purpose was still out there, probably screwing over another soul. Perhaps it was time I found her trail again. With Ose dead, my obligation had been fulfilled. I glanced at Marge, who kept her gaze on the flames. The shadows played over her face, giving her a look of primal vengeance. I had forever. She only had a few years.

“Have you thought about what I said a few days ago?” I asked her.

She stared at me for several minutes. “Sure. Why not. You’re not that annoying.”

“We’ll have to drop the crates off first,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” Tres asked.

“I’m going to help Marge find the demon she’s after,” I said.

“You weren’t going to invite us?” Esais gave me a hurt look.

“Don’t the three of you have bonding to do?” I asked.

“We can bond while helping, Marge,” Esais said. “We owe her for what she did for us.”

“Besides,” Tres said. “The family that slays together—”

“Don’t even finish that lame ass line,” Marge said.

“What do you say?” I asked her.

“Do I have a choice?” she asked. “If I say no, they’ll probably just follow like little lost puppies anyway. Saying it’s for my own good or some shit.”

“Then we should be on the road,” Adrian said.

I raised a brow. “Not going off to start your arms empire?”

He smirked. “I left once and look what happened.”

Tres snorted and walked to the car. John stood with his hands in his pockets, separated from everyone else. He gave me a ghost of a smile as I approached him.

“Running off to your next quest?” he asked.

“Duty calls,” I said.

He ran a hand through his hair and smiled. “I should head home as well. I actually do have an article to write.”

“With all of the good parts left out.”

He laughed. I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him. Fire flooded through me, leaving me breathless. I pulled away with an ache lingering in my chest. He ran his thumb across my cheek with a sad smile. The first drop of rain splashed on my forehead.

“You should get going,” I said.

He climbed into the car and started it up. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”

As if that was a signal, the rain began to pour. It sizzled on the dying embers of the fire. I turned back to the others as John drove off. Warmth spread through me, replacing the ache. The road may still have been my home, and these people weren’t my family–they weren’t Dimitri, but for once in a long time, I wasn’t alone.

* * *

If you plan to continue with this series, there’s an epilogue…but I suggest you stop here if you don’t like cliffhangers and don’t plan to continue.

Thanks for reading!

Epilogue

THE SUN GLEAMED off the silver convertible as he sped down Highway 10. “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by the Charlie Daniels Band blared from the speakers, and he tapped his fingers with the beat. Some woman in Mobile, Alabama, had offered herself along with the car. He’d enjoyed her, then taken the car, which had been the best part of the offer.  His cellphone chirped.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“How is your progress?” a sultry female voice asked.

“It’s been handled. We have the drug, and Ose is no more.”

“Do you think you can recreate the effect?”

“It should be simple.”

“Excellent. We have a buyer who is interested. Get a perfected sample to New York.”

Faust chuckled. “Big city lights, here I come.”

“And Gabriella? I hope she wasn’t too much trouble for you.”

“She is still our tool, if that is what you mean.”

“Excellent.” The voice filled with a pleased purr.

“One thing, though, she seems to have developed friendships with the Van Helsings and Marguerite Devereux.”

“That is unfortunate. It can interfere with our goals for her. Wasn’t the Deveroux woman one of yours?"

“Her mother made the deal.”

“Then we should make these friends ours. Bring your puppet to trade me Deveroux’s soul.”

So, Allegra wanted to raise her head out of the hole she’d been hiding in. This would be interesting, but it could interfere with his own plans. Allegra always complicated situations. He passed a car full of a group of teenage girls. He nodded his head with a smile as he passed by.

“No need to get your hands dirty,” Faust said. “I can handle this issue, and I’ll continue to watch Gabriella. I know where she is headed.”

“Be careful. If she discovers you—”

He laughed. “I know. But what’s existence without a little danger? Ciao Allegra.”

Amusement bubbled in her voice. “Very well. Good bye, Faust.”

* * *

Continue with The Van Helsing Organization Series in book two, A Dose of Brimstone
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0121E9QMU

* * *

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About the Author

USA Today Bestseller, Noree Cosper loves writing about magic in the modern world. While growing up in Texas she constantly searched for mystical elements in the mundane. She buried her nose in both fiction and books about Wicca, Religion, and Mythology. Everyday became an adventure as she joined a group of role-players, acting out her fantasies of vampires, demons, and monsters living in the world. She embraced her nerdom wholeheartedly.

Noree grew, but never left her love for fantasy and horror. Her dreams pushed her and her hand itched to write the visions she saw. So, with her fingers on the keys, she did what her heart had been telling her to do since childhood. She wrote.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

REAPER

Inkubus #2

BY K. DE LONG

Copyright © 2015 by K. De Long

All's fair in love and war.

The Reapers maintain the delicate balance between the many factions of the supernatural world, and Abel and Imogene are among their most effective duos. Forbidden from fraternization, love, and traumatized by their own past lives, they exist only to reap rogue entities who threaten the peace. With possible death concealed in the most innocent forms, only their own instincts and faith in their partner stands between them and a gruesome fate.

When an assignment pits Imogene and Abel against each other, with a persistent but in-the-dark detective on their trail and innocent incubi's lives in the balance, it'll take all their wits to survive. Imogene and Abel's commitment to the job could inadvertently doom their burgeoning love, and expose a conspiracy among demonkind that others would kill them both to keep silent.

Reaper

K. de Long

Copyright 2015 Katie de Long

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Reaper, Imogene

IT’S UNSETTLING, SEEING through the eyes of a corpse. I've never been to Ann Arbor, Michigan before, as improbable as that sounds considering the town I grew up in is maybe an hour away. Still, Ann Arbor feels like home. The body I'm in must have lived here his whole life. It's burned into his DNA, along with a few scattered remnants of his grandmother's childhood abuse.

I take a deep breath, try to clear the new corpse smell from my lungs. My mouth still tastes like vomit; my meatsuit died of an overdose. The waitress has been great about keeping my glass full, but the water can't wash away the aftertaste, and she keeps shooting me anxious glances. I can't blame her—I don't doubt I look like I've gone to hell and back.

Mind you, that's not terribly far off. I just call it 'home' now.

Abel catches my eye, piggybacking the energy needed to continuously manifest himself off a successive stream of passersby, as we scour the Briarwood crowd for our mark. His rakish grin is infectious, but if I smile back, it'll look strange, since for the moment I'm a fifty-something year old man. And I've got more important things to focus on than his ass as he walks.

At two-twenty last night, Jennifer Brankevicz, University of Michigan undergrad student, high school jazz band member, and future dentist dreamed of fire, death, and a murder twenty years old. A murder we believe the creature inside her committed in cold blood. He knows his people won't welcome him back, that he'll have to hide out in the human realm. That's all Abel could glean without exposing himself to her passenger's attacks and risking him running to a new host. But then subtlety's never been Abel's strong suit.

Now, she'll return to the scene of the crime, driven to return for the money her passenger hid in the lockers here, for just this occasion. And we'll be ready, waiting to make sure it ends here. She won't understand why. She'll cry, she'll plead for mercy, not realizing the words leaving her mouth aren't her own.

Abel's smile is toothy, and a little bloodthirsty. He's got a mean streak, and I kind of love it. Let the rest of the incubi bask in their herd immunity, leaving the psychopathic dirty work to the Reapers and the Hounds. Let them screw each other, and themselves, into eternity, so long as we have murderers' and hunters' scents in our heads, and their blood on our hands.

There's a particularly heavy presence several shop fronts to my left. Jennifer is breathing hard, more than a little scared, though she can't entirely say why.

No doubt, she's flustered by the man behind her, tall, blond, and more than a little lupine. Handsome, under any other circumstances. She'll have the sense he's following her, though she can't prove it. Abel's subtle like that, in the flesh. She'll begin to walk faster, begin to look over her shoulder more.

And her passenger will overlook me, thinking the weight of my soul in this body exactly the same as the other humans flitting around the foodcourt. I tense myself, wait for her anxious footfalls, and spring, as she looks behind her to track Abel.

Her eyes widen, that blond hair falling away from her neck and her trembling, panting mouth. But it's an act. The creature inside her lets loose with a stream of liquid electricity, searing both of our flesh.

The damage is done. Her soul shivers under my psychic touch as I latch on, hard, and pull her free from her body. She's dead before she hits the ground, those hazel eyes glassy and already losing their luster.

His moorings torn loose, her passenger fights to seize a mental foothold in a bystander, but finds only me, clinging to the threads left from his sudden exorcism. He can't disengage fast enough, and I release and channel the energy in my own body's chemical bonds to force a tear into Limbo. I throw myself and the threads connecting us into that rent fabric.

I don't have to do much from here. Limbo knows its own. And in his weakened state, he can't defeat it, not here in the plane's outskirts, where the entropy is strongest. Were he in cahoots with someone, they might attack me. They might guide him, carry and protect his essence as the incubi do for their own during their rebirths, get him back to the relative safety of the settlements.

But no one here will vouch for him. They won't even bear witness to his death. Only me. Abel left a book here for me earlier, a blank tome with hunger etched into its pages. I dig it out of the sand, open to the first page, so that at least my victim's toxicity won't bleed into the landscape.

As he screams, I sit myself on a dusty mound, stretch my shoulders to adjust to my natural form. Nothing to do but watch as he fights to move, fights to hold himself together. The landscape warps around us as it drains him, pulling memory and ability from him, pouring it into the book. A flash of skyscrapers one moment, a forest fire the next, flitting across the landscape, superimposing themselves just long enough to burn into my head.

He likes fire.

Most of the visions are familiar, from the months Abel and I have spent tracking him. But not all. I linger on a particular image, a Colombian factory fire that killed several seamstresses.

His list of crimes is longer than we thought. It makes it easy to almost enjoy his cries, wordless though they are.

I salute him sarcastically as the last of his broken form is absorbed into the landscape. It's almost time for me to go home. I only have one thing left to do.

I scoop a shadow off the ground; it's the last of his supernatural essence. His soul, so to speak, or what's left of it with everything that made him him gone.

His essence in my palm, I trek back to the archives so he can be reborn, hopefully removed from his sins. I don't even like holding the sticky bastard that close, but that's the job. Physical goods can't travel between realms, except through the most skilled incubi. That's why I have to do this shit naked, too.

At least a full-blood inky can form clothes. They control their shape and substance, instead of hijacking whatever is there. My human nudity marks me as a stranger here. And makes my incubus charge's demise all the more ignominious, at my hands.

I don't expect a thank-you for this. But I could certainly do without the incubi elders awaiting me, unable or unwilling to meet my eyes as they ask, “Is it done?”

I drop the book at their feet, plop the freshly flashed e-inkubi's remaining substance into an outstretched hand shaped like a serving ladle, and nod.

Goddamned nymphos. And make no mistake—that's what they are, at least the ones who fit in best into their hierarchy. Give me a good hunt any day.

Chapter 2

Tin Star, John

THERE’S SOMETHING OFF about the corpse, and not just that this isn't our first time scraping him off the floor. Narcisso was there last time, no doubt stepping lightly to avoid getting foamy vomit on his shoes, as the paramedics fought to kickstart his heart. He still swears he smells it on his feet.

Aside from a handful of discolorations and burns, his skin looks normal: non-thermogenic makeup. Since I don't believe he was stolen from his funeral services, that points to someone with knowledge.

“You're sure this is the same guy?” I have to ask. This scene is too weird not to. And I wasn't there last time—I'm in Homicide.

“Yeah; bet if you look on his chest you'll see the marks from the defibrillation.”

I look to the medical examiner, and he carefully separates the buttons on our ghost's shirt, pulling them aside to show bruised and burned skin now covered in elegant and eerie dark markings.

“What the—” Narcisso mutters. “That definitely wasn't there before.”

I wait for them to continue photographing the markings, and commit them to memory. “How long would a tattoo like that take, to get?”

The examiner shakes his head. “Uh uh. No redness. This isn't a fresh tattoo. And see the fading there?” He points to a slightly paler expanse of line. “This is a temporary one. Likely henna, since it's not sitting on the skin like an adhesive or painted false tattoo.”

“How long has it been there?” Gerald Krieger only died a week or so ago, and disappeared from the morgue two days ago.

“Do I look like I know how to apply henna?” He cracks swollen knuckles, and the liver spots on his hands seem all the darker against his pallid flesh. I make a mental note to ask Casey about the marks. And then I put it out of my head, watch him continue his examination.

We've still got one more body to get to, burned just like this. If I didn't know better, I'd say this was an electrical burn; I've already talked to the witnesses, and they swear they didn't see any fire, or any chemical involved. Just two bodies colliding, and both falling to the ground in spasms as their flesh burned together, one of his hands still clenched around her forearm as it melted and bubbled. Of course, jury's still out on their reliability; they also said that this guy was moving of his own accord, and that can't be right.

At least since none of the bystanders have shown symptoms, it's not likely to be an airborne biological or chemical agent. That's a small blessing;  I'll take what I can get. That kind of attack would be far above my pay grade.

They move on to the girl. She still has her ID in her pocket, thankfully.

Jennifer Brankevicz. I hope I'm not the one who has to tell her next of kin, even though I'll eventually have to interview them, just to make sure this is a one-off homicide. I've never been especially a people person, and handling conversations with the recently bereaved brings out the worst of my awkwardness.

A missing persons report for her hasn't crossed my desk. I raise my eyebrows at Narcisso, and he takes the hint. “No, no reports on her. Nothing in the system.” So things were fairly normal, right up until the end.

Dealing with corpses is hard enough, but her youth makes it even worse. It's not the most gruesome scene I've ever walked, but it still rattles me in a way I can't fully explain.

Those marks are familiar, if I can just remember where.

The examiner moves one of Jennifer's limbs to scrutinize burn marks on her clothing. As he does, her shirt rides up, and the word leaves all three of us at the same time. “Shit.”

Marring that taut flesh are angry red marks—a fresh tattoo, in the same design as the dead man with her.

The talk with the Brankeviczs just became progressively more awkward and volatile.

Fuck me.

Chapter 3

Rude Awakenings, Gene

ABEL SMILES AT me as he settles on my couch. There's a decanter of wine open, special-ordered and delivered through the Hub's network of black-market smugglers. He swears it'll taste best if we wait a half hour to drink it, but to be honest, I've always had a hard time caring about that shit. Still, his attention to detail over the little luxuries like that, it warms me through, chasing away some of the psychological taint that comes from witnessing a murderer's memories.

Today's target was one of the more awful ones: he actually kept his victims' memories, too. He started with a fixation on the elderly, on the plethora of memories offered by a long life. That was before he moved on to quantity, though, taking out as many people as he could in freak accidents, or picking them off during natural disasters.

I've learned better than to examine those kinds of remembrances while in Limbo, or else it becomes steadily more tempting to lie down by my prey and let Limbo wash me clean, too. Between the physical agony of my work, and the mental drain, nonexistence would be a minor price to pay for not seeing the worst of what humans and demons alike are capable of. Perhaps it's partly out of concern for the high percentages of Reapers who give themselves to Limbo post assignment that it's become our ritual for Abel to meet me in Limbo and escort me back, for a night of decompression.

This time's like any other. The moment the weight of our prey's essence was gone from me, the aches and pains of a long chase came back in force. Bits of that walk still vibrated through me, as scattered sections of memory that didn't connect in a linear progression, but disoriented me. I was out-of-body for most of it, and I'm only just beginning to come down. Abel led me away from Limbo, carried me home. He showed me worlds of tenderness that one so harsh and full of bloodlust shouldn't be able to offer. Abel's got a soft side, though I don't think anyone but me's seen it since his days as a working incubus.

He doesn't bother making small talk while he sets the bath to filling. He doesn't even look offended that I can hardly focus past the sound. The benefit of the bath is mostly psychological, since I don't exactly have the kind of biology to receive the full weight of warmth on sore muscles. At least, not outside a borrowed mortal body.

But every little bit helps. And anything that keeps me from lashing out at him over the pain and limitations of my own existence is better yet.

Being an incubus is the divorce of any real 'self'—being shaped by a host, shaping their own forms, their own metaphysical environments, acting without boundaries or consequences. Being a Reaper is the triumph of the self, clinging to decaying form after decaying form, restricting yourself to the physical even at the expense of your own suffering. The incubi teach themselves—and us—that Reapers are inferior, restricted by our own ideas of being. They say our need to return to some recognizable semblance of life, is a form of self mutilation or self-flagellation.

He's done his best not to rub my nose in his power, in the weightlessness of his own being, but I'm aware of it anyways, every time he latches his mind to mine and bits of him drift through the psychic rapport we're not supposed to be sharing, strictly speaking.

Abel teases a strand of hair on my forehead, and his mind bumps against mine like a bunting cat. It's an intimacy that would enrage the higher-ups, see him either reassigned or sent back to Limbo. One that they might be willing to flash me over, as the less senior and thus less valuable member of the partnership. He wouldn't offer this kind of closeness out in public, but as helpless and vulnerable as I am after the kill, I'll take what I can get. I arch into his touch, and close my eyes, let him ease his consciousness into mine and share the pain clinging to me from my old meatsuit. His presence in my head diverts some of it, cushioning me somewhat. And for what remains, his subtle touch in my head pushes a soft euphoria to the surface.

See, jacking a corpse is... excruciating. Your pain doesn't degrade. You stub your toe, and you'll be feeling it until you leave that body. Worse yet, their pain doesn't degrade either. And I think they were midway through embalming that last guy. My internal organs feel too swollen for the cavity they occupy, and it's hard to stand straight. With every footstep I took out there, I felt his organs flopping around in his torso, smashing against his pelvis, his ribs, yanking tendons still attached to the spine.

The tattoos covering my torso and arms still bind me to the corpse, and will continue to until the ink used to sketch them on the other body has worn off or been removed. As painful as this is, it's better than the alternative.

Hidden in the designs are letters and words: 'One from Many'. It's the only thing that helps me control each and every cell in that body, despite them already having lost their unifying consciousness. It's a rather pretty piece of work, though in my girlhood I used to think that only insecure brats got tattoos that large.

Funny how time changes that shit, though. Right after I turned, they sent me on two training missions. I refused to let them ink me during the preparations, and while I got through intact, the experience whupped any resistance I had to utilizing every tool to make my work easier. Not working wasn't an option; if I wasn't permitted away from the Hub, I wouldn't be able to have the hope of running into any of my still-living family.

It gave me a reputation, though, as a real headcase. The one who could be utterly unstoppable, able to work through any kind of pain, tackle any target, no matter how innocuous looking. If your average Reaper is a revolver, I showed myself to be a semi-automatic. Even when they realized how uncontrollable I was, they still chose to invest their efforts in me, by assigning me to Abel. Had I been your average newly-turned Reaper, we never would have been paired together. I might have even been Reaped, myself.

Looking back on it today, I don't know that I could do it again. See, Reapers are cousins of the incubi, in that we live and breed as mortals, before turning, or being reborn, after our human days end.

I had an incubus ancestor somewhere in the past several generations, and thus was reborn as a Reaper when my ex boyfriend ended the final act of his abusive obsession. But, especially with the head trauma of what happened, I was scrambled, for quite some time.

The kind of violence he heaped on me before that fateful afternoon scrambles a person enough. But the head trauma stuck with me at my turning, made it impossible to tell friend from foe, or to believe that a single being I came in contact with would abstain from killing me, if I gave them the opportunity. In my head, I couldn't leave my old living room, with him on top of me pressing a gun to my head and reaching for my skirt, convinced that if he could just have me one more time, I'd understand our love and come back to him. When my first partner tried to tattoo me, I put the needle through his eye. It wasn't a permanent injury for him, but it certainly didn't make me any friends.

I went through those early missions high on fight-or-flight adrenaline, and it didn't hit me until later that my first target never even attempted to attack me, and the second target was barely more than a child, whose hand trembled holding the holy water.

Holy water, in this case, is an affectionate nickname for a concoction of herbs, and poisons designed to be irritating but non-deadly for humans, but devastatingly painful, even debilitating, for demons. I've still got scars from the last time someone threw it at me. And Abel's got scars, too, over the back of his ribs and shoulders. I tended them, cleaning the infected tissue away until they were healed enough for me to stitch them. There's nothing like the smell of supernatural flesh rotting.

But I'm sidetracking myself—regardless of whether there was a real threat there, on mission, they felt like threats just the same. Every grimace or tensed chin was an enraged snarl, every hand movement an attempt to find or use a weapon.

“What's your damage” is a perfectly acceptable question—even polite—when assessing a new Reaper. The last one I saw can't even go on missions; he was caught in an IED's blast, but retained enough memory of what it did to his corpse that nothing could convince him he actually had limbs again.

He lays on one of the paths near the main walkway, where they left him after concluding him untrainable. He doesn't need to eat, can't die, but can't convince himself he's alive either. Some of the younger demons taunt him, throw dirt at him, joke about burying him, or make ghost moan 'woo's at him. And most of the incubi and Reapers avoid him.

But his name is Shawn. Every conversation with him came around to the one thing from his life he was sad was gone; a picture of his wife and children. And since I passed him every day, it annoyed me until I asked Abel to infiltrate the woman's hard drive for the picture, and push the memory into Shawn's head. Now, he just mumbles to himself, his eyes closed, memorizing every pixel in it. He won't even open his eyes. He no longer remembers my name, or responds when I talk to him. My morning walks are quieter, and I tell myself that he's happier, too. Abel still teases me for my soft heart. But what would an eternity like that even be like?

A hand settles on my shoulder, and then hovers in front of my face to help me up. I hadn't even noticed Abel had stood up, but the bath water has been turned off and is waiting. Abel's grip is reassuring as he takes my hands, and leads me.

He settles me in the bath, and sits next to me on the floor, his fingers still tangled in my hair. “I've got you, Gene.” He bends over me to brush his lips against my forehead, though I'm barely aware of the gentle touch.

His presence in my head eases the pain, and I shift in the tub to lay my head against his chest, rather than the chilly rim.

We don't talk love—incubi can't love, and Reapers don't. It's friendship and sex. Nothing more. But this connection, this us-against-the-world reflex that keeps us taking care of each other, it's everything. By the time his lips graze mine, and he pulls me out of the tub to steer me to my bedroom, we've ceased to be hunter and hound.

When we metaphorically clean our prey's blood off ourselves, we'll be cleaning it off each other, too.

Abel's deeply in my mind, pulling me into his so I can see through his eyes. My own lashes flutter shut as his lips taste me lower, lick off the moisture beaded around my nipples and dewing my mound. And he sees through mine, sees the little twitch his nose has when he thinks I'm getting close and is trying to remind himself not to change pace. And the way his brow creases, something that never ceases to make me want to smooth it out with my thumb.

His presence moves through my limbs, directs one foot to his thigh to caress him, remind me that part of our arrangement is the refusal to take our pleasure separately. I sigh and shift my hips, letting him push me to the edge, but not letting him tip me past it. It's the most delicious kind of torment, with every sensation magnified by the way our souls have blurred together in the telepathic merging.

When he finally sits up and wraps my legs around him, slides into me, we are a single entity, a single embodiment of the most brutal kind of justice that keeps the world in order, savaging each other with teeth and nails to get each other's blood up for the hunt.

There'll always be another hunt.

And until then, there'll be the wolf in my bed, devouring me to the bones, taking us from our own broken consciousnesses and shaping us into something beautiful, something giving, something forbidden. Finding perfection in violence and pain.

His eyes hold mine, our perceptions fragmenting between each other's, but both of us unable to tear our gazes away. Each sensation feeds through each other on a loop, softly degrading like echoes in a cave and amplifying the next touch.

And then comes the knock.

A cut cord as he retreats into himself, lets me retreat into myself, and dispels his form while I scramble for a robe and answer the door. I bite back the resentment. Not just for the interruption, but for the fact that him pulling away breaks the connection, destroys my illusion of unity. It might not be shame that prevents him from being with me, but that doesn't make it sting any less. And without his touch in my head, the pain comes roaring back, so fast that I go from afterglow to blinding agony in the space of a blink.

A young succubus, on her first errands, stands on my doorstep, barely holding her physicality together. She hands me a paper. I nod, and she's on her way.

Abel's behind me before I've closed the door, taking the paper from my hand and unfolding it. It's wrapped around three wallet-size photos, of two children and a middle aged woman with hard eyes. There's only one name on the paper, but the follow up message—kill everyone in the house—makes it apparent why they're there.

I look up to Abel, and he presses his lips to mine. “I'll go get the rest of our intel,” he says, his face unreadable. I want there to be some kind of yearning, or for him to tell me it can wait—I'm more important. But that'll never happen. We're already going back to work.

He's gone, leaving me with the imaginary reek of sex, disappointment, and soon-to-be-spilled blood.

Chapter 4

Six Degrees, John

“AND WAS YOUR daughter acting strangely in the weeks before her death?” I offer a kleenex to the woman across the table, trembling in the circle of her husband's arms, and sobbing. Sandy blond hair mingled with grey falls across her face, hiding me from the sight of her pain, if not the sound.

“No—she was, she was a little withdrawn, but she always got like that around midterms.” Robert Brankevicz's voice is raspy and hoarse, though he's no less emotional than his wife.

I slide a picture across to them. “Do you know if Jennifer knew this man?”

His eyes slip across the jowls, and sunken eyes. “No. Who is he?”

How to articulate this to make it the least macabre and crazy-sounding? “He was with her when she died. Witnesses saw him grab her hand.” Don't mention that he was already dead.

Robert's jawline tenses. “He killed her?”

“We aren't yet sure what killed her,” I keep my tone as calming as I can, recognizing that he might well deck me. “We don't believe he did, though we believe he may be connected to her death. May I see Jennifer's room, or her computer? If she did know him from school, there might be evidence of it there, on a class syllabus or a facebook post.”

Elaine Brankevicz nods, and leaves the room, though her sobs barely follow her. She rustles in the next room for something.

With her gone, I have only one more question, one that I suspect she wouldn't handle well. “And when did Jennifer get tattooed?”

Robert's eyebrows fall down over the bridge of his nose almost audibly. “She what?”

Shit. He doesn't know what I'm talking about. And it's not like I can show him crime scene photos of his daughter's freshly inked midsection, raw flesh segueing into fourth-degree burns. I think carefully, and sketch the design as best I can in my notebook, devoid of any context on body placement. “There were marks on her, tattoos. Like this.”

He looks at the notebook, and passes it back to me. “Never seen them before in my life. And Jen hated tattoos—called them 'tramp stamps' and 'ho tags'. You can't convince me she got any of those marks willingly.”

“And you're sure that she actually felt that way? Wasn't just toeing the line because she knew that daddies sometimes have problems with their little girls making adult decisions like that?” It's a horrible thing to insinuate right now, that he didn't really know his daughter. But the question has to be asked.

“I mean, as sure as any parent ever can be.” His brow furrows, and he sighs. “But every time she saw a picture unveiling a celebrity's new tat, she'd roll her eyes and mutter under her breath. And my sisters both have tattoos. She knew early in that I didn't care what they did with their bodies. I don't think she'd have a reason to lie to me about it.”

I nod. “Just had to be sure.”

Elaine returns, with a laptop. She offers it to me, and I flip it open and hit the power button. It loads to a sign-in screen, and I purse my lips rather than swear. “Do either of you know her password?”

They trade a look. “No. We felt it was more important for her to have privacy. We trained her what to look for, and avoid to stay safe, when she was twelve, and then let her have free reign and her own space.”

“I'm sure she appreciated it.” Even if it does make my job that much harder. “Can you show me to her room? Perhaps she had it written down.”

Robert pats Elaine's hand, and stands to show me. From her posture, she can't go back again.

I smile at her as reassuringly as I can. “I won't disturb anything, ma'am. Thank you for your grace. I know this is an awful situation for you two.”

Her lips twitch, but she offers no other response.

Robert sighs as he opens a door with a dry erase board mounted on it. There's still a note on it—Home late. Don't wait up.—followed by a strange character that's a mishmash of a heart and the letter 'J'.

The door creaks, and I step in. Robert doesn't attempt to follow.

Jennifer's room isn't particularly neat, but I've known enough college students to know that's par for the course. Her desk is cluttered with papers, post-its, some decoratively framed photos, and a handful of anatomical models of teeth. Between the jaws of one of them is a Post It, with a stream of characters. Please, let this be it. There's nothing to link her to Gerald Krieger in any of the other papers scattered around, and her phone got fried in her hand when she was killed.

It wouldn't even boot up, though the casing was barely warped, only superficially damaged. The phone company won't play ball without a warrant, and the local judge has a hard-on for civil liberties so big he won't issue a warrant unless I've practically got everything I'd need for a conviction without it. Which is beside the point, since my captain won't okay a warrant without a likelihood of charges, and since both of them are dead, that means we'd have to stumble across a third party, somehow.

I know the investigation is as much of a toetag as our vic, but none of this sits well with me.

I sit at that little coffee table, doing my damndest to tune out family photos that are now overpopulated, and enter the characters into the laptop. It boots up, and I heave a sigh.

At least that's working in my favor.

Jennifer's facebook is still logged in, but there's nothing suspicious there. Her search history is strange, though. A series of scanned documents emailed from the library, tracking press coverage of a minor fire that demolished one wing of a mall, after a homeless man lit a fire in a garbage can, and lost control of it.

I click through to her email client, and she's still signed in. One message from a new contact, showing a chain of replies. The signature links to a site for a property company, I recognize it from the signs that went up after they bought Briarwood Mall.

Reply, Yesterday:

Apologies for the crossed wires, but I might have something that could help you. I spoke with the head of our maintenance, who was part of the remodel, and he said one of our long-running janitors kept the lockers from that portion of our storage. It is possible that he might know what became of your locker's contents. Again, I would reiterate that your items were most likely disposed of already. But if they were still there, he would know. I am unable to provide his contact information, for confidentiality reasons, however you can fill out paperwork at the mall between 9-5 on business days, and I will forward it to him. The kiosk is between the food court and children's play area. Please let the customer service personnel know you are there to fill out paperwork.

Thank you for your patience.

Response, Two Days Ago:

Yeah, I suspected that was the case. I know it's a long shot, but you wouldn't know the name of the company that removed the lockers, would you? I appreciate your taking the time to try to help.

-Jen

Reply, Three Days Ago:

To answer your question, anything remaining would have been disposed of, especially items that had been left there as long as you estimate. It likely would have been gone even before the renovations. We do not maintain storage facilities appropriate for long-term storage, and the lost and found is emptied regularly.

I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance.

Response, Six Days Ago,

I'm not surprised. I know it's been a long time. Do you know what would have been done with anything left behind? I know it's a long shot, but the item had great personal significance to my family.

-Jen

Reply, Seven Days Ago:

I'm terribly sorry, but we renovated in 2013 when we purchased the property, and all of the old lockers were removed.

Please let me know if I can answer any other questions for you.

Original Message, Nine Days Ago:

Hi, this might sound like a dumb question, but I was wondering about something left in one of our lockers a few years ago. Apparently grampa left a family heirloom in one, and didn't remember it until recently.

-Jen

I'm not entirely sure what to make of any of it, but it does tell me what she was doing at the mall. I jot the name down to follow up on their discussion from the other end.

“Do you know what your daughter might have been looking for in storage, at Briarwood Mall?”

I know it's a dead end, but I was always taught to leave no stone unturned.

Robert and Elaine trade sideways glances. “No, but she stopped going to the mall with us years ago. She only ever went with friends.”

“It might have been there for years, from the sounds of it.”

Elaine shakes her head more vehemently, inhaling a breath that must have contained more tear-snot than oxygen. “No, that doesn't sound right at all.”

I nod, as my phone beeps. I glance at it and skim through the text. Ready for the autopsy? We're starting at 1500.

“Thanks for your assistance, sir, ma'am. And once again, my condolences on your loss.”

I put my card on the coffee table next to Jennifer's laptop. “If you remember anything else.”

Chapter 5

Rise and Shine, Gene

I POLISH MY nails while I wait for Abel to report back. See, he's a strong enough e-ink—an incubus who manipulates data on the internet—that we don't have to call in reinforcements, even if the brass doesn't actually tell us the reason for our assignment. He's shaped aspects of himself around the technology in the mortal world, and has digital roots I can't even comprehend. Can't so much as shape a wet dream, or an erotic story the way that the straight 'inkubi' can, but hey—no one's perfect. He tried seducing me in a dream once—the attempt was so laughable, my stubborn will alone was enough to break the scene he tried to create. We laughed about it and then just cuddled in the broken landscape. It's a moot point, though; the more specialized inkubus abilities, well, those abilities aren't useful for our work anyways. Both half-blood Reapers and incubi Hounds need to be stronger in person, using what telepathic rapport we can to get information, manipulate our target, or latch on hard to bind our soul to something, to haul it to Limbo, or possess it. It's a completely different skillset.

I get general visions from a name, and a loose connection with my target. Not that different from a pigeon following magnetic fields home. But he can get the goods, infiltrate someone's computer or phone, send them messages to flush them out, even if he can't build a strong enough connection to finish things without tipping them off. That's why he needs me there, to do the dirty work. I am the blade; he is the hand that wields me. He'll be able to figure out the exact nature of their threat.

All I'm getting from the name on the sheet—Loretta Jonas—and the pictures is different views inside their house. A high chair and a cutely ornamental baby-food spoon. So, it's a good thing that Abel is hounding down specifics.

They have a perfectly good reason for assigning us these targets, I'm sure. It doesn't really make me feel much better about the gig, but it wouldn't be the first time a demon wearing the skin of a five-year-old took chunks out of me.  It's an ugly world out there, full of genocidal demon hunters, rogue demons, and those who would drive their own people to nuclear annihilation rather than risk a single one of my kind becoming a threat. Once, I even had to take out a Reaper gone wrong, a joyrider who took corpses out on mayhem sprees once the brass stopped giving him bona fide assignments.

Finally, my computer beeps with an incoming email. Technically, the internet doesn't work, here. The computer is basically a conduit representing Abel's presence in my life, allowing him to manifest images on the computer screen through his telepathic connection to me. I can almost hear his voice in them, all warm honey and primal rasp.

Looks like it's a nest of demon hunters, each one of them, to the last, already seasoned. I think I know your reaction already, but please hear me out. They may look like kids, but they'll douse you in holy water before you've finished cooing. Meet you topside, in Tecumseh, Michigan? Or you want me to come visit you in the hospital.

I open my mind, knowing the thought is more important than the muscle-memory, and type a quick response to Abel.

Sure thing. Give me a sec to get dressed.

His response comes thirty seconds later.

Don't spend forever worrying about how you look. You know that's my job.

I smile, and push my mind to the surface. They usually limit our geographical reach, as a Reaper like me has so much more difficulty manifesting clear across the globe, unlike the incubi Hounds.

And it's summer, so, comparatively pleasant for Michigan. My mind brushes against empty shells, easing itself into foreign limbs. I open my eyes in the first meatsuit I can find, and hear doctors around me, their voices tense with fear. Their voices warble in ears clogged by wax and disuse.

I smile at them as placatingly as I can, as the monitors beep.

A woman next to me wails, “I thought you said he wouldn't wake up,” and I force my consciousness to a whisper within my shell, waiting for my meatsuit to tell me what reaction she provokes in him.

A feeling of familiarity and love. I make myself speak, though the meatsuit's tongue is stiff with atrophy. “Did you miss me?”

Tears well in her eyes, and she hugs me, weaving her arms around the mess of cords that have been sustaining this meatsuit intravenously.

Guilt stabs me, but not enough to overwhelm my joy at the physical connection. She's built like my mother, and for a moment I almost feel my own mom's hug, as she helped smuggle me out of the house while Mark screamed and swore at me outside. She locked me in her trunk before opening her garage, bitched him out when he insisted on looking for me, or any luggage in the car before letting her pull out.

She drove me to the state line, gave me a prepaid debit card, and told me that she'd rather never hear from me again, but know I was safe, than to hear my name every day in a conversation about women murdered by their partners.

It wasn't enough. He tracked me down six months later, by breaking into her home, installing spyware on her phone while she was in the shower, and combing over her records until he knew which number was mine, where the new area code was, and had an idea of what my new job was.

The last time I saw my mom was when she opened that trunk, helped me out, and stripped the many layers of my clothes she'd put on her own body off. She tied them into a bindle, shoved it in the top of my nearly-full backpack, embraced me, and turned the car around, before Mark could worry about how long she'd been gone, and conclude I probably wasn't home anymore. She'd left my uncle there, a man just burly enough to make him think twice about breaking in to see, while she was gone.

Something about hugs just feels final.

I make a show of yawning, listen to the doctors talk to my meatsuit's companion. “It'll take some time for his recovery to stabilize. He may relapse, yet; we honestly didn't expect him to wake up. He might seem strange, or confused. Please, please, don't get your hopes up that your husband is truly back with you. We honestly didn't think he'd be able to talk, if he ever woke. He's not out of the woods. We need to do a battery of tests to tell whether the sudden recovery's sustainable—”

I sigh. I don't think I'll ever get used to the gender that other people react to being so different than my own. It underscores, again, the invisibility I feel when I'm on the hunt. But I almost prefer possessing men, rather than have the link to my own innate femininity.

Traumatic work is all about your ability to dissociate, to draw the lines on how far it can affect your identity. This is just one of those lines.

She kisses me on the lips, her tears wet on my cheek, and I want to cringe away.

But the hunt awaits. I'll sneak out of the hospital tonight, get on my way.

Chapter 6

Within, John

I BITE BACK nausea as I watch the coroner work. A weak stomach isn't exactly a mark of confidence in my profession, but it takes a long time to get over watching people handle corpses. Or, particularly, watch people cut them open and shove their hands inside them. I've seen more than my share of toe tags, in homicide, but I'm not usually present for this part. Generally, it's obvious what killed the person, and more often than not, it's obvious who did it.

Jennifer is on the table in front of me me, and it's so much the more awkward with this happening after spending time with her folks. She has her mother's jawline, and her dad's lips. Of course, death tends to change those features, and I'm counting on that alien distinction to get through this intact. The burns don't quite reach up to her face. They're worst around her midsection, and arms, but her hands are more or less intact, and the discoloration of the inside of her lips and mouth is the only mark on her face.

“Internal organs are fried; this isn't a chemical burn. Your hunch was right.”

I get out of the way as he turns his attention to Krieger's body, and plunges his hand into the stapled incision, pulling until the prongs give way.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm doesn't sound good. What's hmm?”

“A few of the organs are definitely gone, consistent with the paperwork from his first stay here, but the burns, and the damage to the organs that are left definitely show that he had contact with the same current that killed her. We still don't know where that would have come from, though. These aren't 'stuck a finger in an outlet for a fraction of a second' kinds of injuries. And he most definitely was not walking. ”

I shrug. “It was a busy day at the mall. Cameras got him, or a lookalike him, sitting there, alone. No one near to huck the corpse at her, and vanish.”

Weirder and weirder. But sometimes that's how it is. I should set it aside, accept that I answered what questions I could about it.

I nod a quick goodbye, and step out into the hall. I do have one lead I can follow. The henna. Casey picks up on the first ring. “John. Who died?”

Admittedly, I'm not the most social person in the world, but that still seems like bad luck for the beginning of the conversation. “No one you know. Do you know anything about henna?” My sister, Casia, works in a lab refining cosmetic compositions. If anyone has an idea, it will be her.

“Substance used for temporary tattoos, some kinds of natural hair coloring. Fades within a few weeks of application, depending on the wearer's shower habits. Why? We both know you've got the balls for the real thing.” She never liked my tattoos.

“No reason I can talk about. Background for a case. Thanks, though.”

So I'm back to the markings, but the henna only confirms that it's new since Krieger's death.

I go back to my desk, pick my brains and my old case files.

Eventually, I find it on a different corpse from thirty years ago, and on several cases in neighboring police departments in the same time frame. One of them was cited during my training—I've got a vague memory of it. Homicide doesn't tend to respect departmental jurisdiction, so I've liaised with most of the departments in the area. I have friends who are sometimes willing to help out, when it looks like a case might be wider than my net.

But the markings are the same, and no one has deciphered them yet. A gang marking? Some kind of religious thing? I want to find someone who was actually there for those investigations, but no detectives' names are listed. Just initial evidence from the crime scene, and then... nothing.

I tell myself I'm being crazy; likely a particular tattoo artist had a hard-on for the design, or someone saw it on one of the other bearers, and requested it without knowing why. I've seen more than enough characters on college girls' backs, and tribal armbands on twenty-something frat boys to know that not everything has the meaning it seem like it should.

I haven't been sleeping well lately. The security video of my dead man walking haunts me, as I try to pinpoint the exact moment when he was replaced with a half-embalmed corpse. The mall contact is a dead end. I went to her home address, and discovered that her body was already cold. The only lead on that one was flakes of something brown and powdery, almost the same color as the stains on Krieger's skin.

A hunch hits me, and I send an email to the higher ups to request that I be allowed to pursue outside testing on a few of those flakes. Casey won't be happy for the extra workload, but I have to hope she'll come through, without asking too many questions.

I've only been with Homicide here for a year, a bumpy one, and this is the largest case I've had. Guy who had my desk lasted half as long before he caught his first big fish of a case... screwed it so bad he'll never get off the street beat they exiled him to. And he was at least twice as well liked as me. So if I bungle this one, I'll be sidelined the rest of my career.

To be honest, it's not the idea of riding that desk that bugs me, or even walking a beat.

It's the idea of letting myself down, and the people counting on me to connect the dots. People fundamentally want connection. I'm a shut-in, outside of work, and a misanthrope besides. But those moments of rapport, with the survivors, with the victims, they provide something more intimate than any partnership or mentorship. Jennifer's parents deserve to know why she died.

This is why I hate doing the meet-the-family bullshit. When you have to look people in the eye through an experience like this, all of that rhetoric about learned or professional distance just evaporates.

It flees, leaving all of us naked, holding ourselves for comfort.

Exposed.

Chapter 7

Little Pig, Little Pig, Gene

ABEL SHOWS UP after the last round of physician checks. He's hooked to the night-shift nurse, reading as she waits for the phone to ring. He helps me remove the tubes the doctors insisted be kept in, and offers me a set of scrubs. Normal clothes would tip the night shift staff who don't recognize me off, and the hospital gown would be disastrous for all involved.

I try my best to avoid looking at myself as I change. Somehow it feels disrespectful. Plus, wrinkly old man balls. Not exactly my finest moment.

Abel smiles at me as I emerge from behind the curtain. “Beautiful as ever.”

I roll my eyes. “Let's get this thing going, shall we?”

I focus on keeping my steps even on the way to the car, despite the limitations of my current form—weakened muscles, a flawed sense of balance, and heavily slowed reflexes. Abel shunts his presence from person to person, until at last we're alone in front of a car. He offers the keys to me, and I climb in the back and turn on the overhead lights.

There's a small piping bag full of dark paste in the front seat, still warm from the mixing. I strip off my scrubs and recline in the seat as best I can. Abel leans over me awkwardly in the cramped confines, etches marks on my meatsuit to match the marks on my own body. The clefts and hills the paste makes on me dance in the light and shadow as he moves.

The paste is warm against my skin, and I'm momentarily relieved we didn't get a stiffie meatsuit for me this time. For those, we need a hair drier, or hand drier, to get the mixture to sink into my skin better. And it is so much more calming when it's just his fingers on me, and the little wax piping bag.

He traces his fingers along the bare patches of skin, as they become fewer and further in between. “Soon we'll make your outside match your inside. Breathe gentle, okay?”

It's old habit, at this point. But his tenderness is touching, and I'm a little mortified to realize that my meatsuit has picked up on that too. The warm ones are so much more responsive to my underlying state, as though they're still hungering for the connection they used to have with the spirit inside them.

He carefully avoids making eye contact with my burgeoning erection, though the little smile lets me know he's well aware of it. His fingers linger on my hipbones, over birthmarks and liver spots. “Don't lose that thought; that's for after we get done.”

I smile, chapped lips stretching painfully with the sensation of a thousand shards being ground into them. But with every piped line of paste that Abel applies to my skin, the pain fades somewhat. We take care of each other.

He adds the finishing touch, stroking lightly down my happy trail, and draws a little heart on the last mostly bare patch of skin. “So that you don't forget that train of thought.” My balls tighten and my cock flexes, though the desire in my head is not one we can execute with me in Grandpa Saggy's body.

I blow Abel a kiss and flip him off. We have to wait for his work to set before I can drive, as he won't have anyone else in the car to piggyback off for the trip. His hand rests on my knee as we wait. “It's still so beautiful to me that I can see you in there, no matter how you're clothed. I've worked closely with, what, five Reapers, over the years? None of them has manifested themselves that sharply.”

I am the weapon. I never thought I'd be proud of that. It's a weird world.

“I'd just rather not be here. His wife hugged me.”

Abel laughs. “And you didn't defenestrate her?”

“Well, I couldn't, not if I wanted to be on time for our work tonight.”

“Such restraint.” His fingers tease higher, toward my inner thigh. But the sensation of all my meatsuit's hair there just makes it tickle. “You look dry enough for the drive. I might just leave your shirt off 'til you're closer, if you're worried. You ready?”

I nod. “As I'll ever be.”

“I'll see you on the flip side, then.” He squeezes my fingers one last time, and is gone, leaving me to slide my scrubs and shoes back on, and climb into the driver's seat.

As I lean to start the ignition, the movement isn't as fluid as it should be. It's somewhat better than the walk to the car, but not what I'd have expected for having done full bindings. This will be fun, in the most sarcastic sense of the word. Sometimes, when the body is too warm, or hasn't fully separated from its original occupant, there's a passive resistance.

This guy must not have been out of it that long—either that or he was trying really hard to come back. His body doesn't like me inhabiting it, unity rituals or no. It won't last long, not once the action gets going. Any physical exertion, including gripping the steering wheel, feels like it's happening against a massive pushback. I swear under my breath.

I drive to the address listed on the half-full piping bag. It's not far off, though in a quiet commuter community about an hour outside the city. Since I'll be noticed if I actually wait here, I backtrack a bit, and stare at the sky until the sun comes up. Every breath rattles in my throat, and my control over this form's muscles is getting progressively more difficult to maintain.

Finally, around ten AM, it's late enough that I can start 'er up.

I stand on the doorstep, and knock. The moment someone is within range of the door, on the inside, Abel can draw on them enough to manifest. He appears next to me, tensing to begin our work. We share one last smile, not daring to say a thing lest it break our work focus.

A woman only beginning to gray opens the door, her face concerned but guarded. She leaves the chain, though. This area is secluded enough that probably no one ever drops by who doesn't belong here. She hasn't noticed Abel draining her yet, that her reflexes are a hair slower, and that her eyes are drooping a little.

“Pardon me, ma'am, my car started smoking on the main road, and I pulled it over as soon as I could, pushed it along. Do you mind if I borrow your phone?”

Her face shows her distrust. “We're several blocks away from the main road. Why push the ailing machine that far?”

I knit my brows together and set my jowls, ready to play the old curmudgeon. “I don't trust someone not to steal it while we walk for help.”

Abel rolls his eyes, every bit the tolerant son. “This is the middle of nowhere, Dad. Who do you think is going to steal it?”

I prepare a reply, trying to think of the most egregiously out-of-date yet ineffective slurs I can think of, but the door squeezes shut, the chain slides away, and she lets us in.

Abel's grin turns wolfish as we step over the threshold, shut the door behind us, and start the show.

There's two kids in the room behind her, looking at us curiously. One's barely eight or ten, and the other must be somewhere in her teens. Abel starts toward them, as I slam their mother into the wall, my arm braced against her throat.

Every colorful word I can think of escapes my sore lips—I never got to tell Abel that this form was one of the resistant ones. He should be the one engaging the more difficult target.

Her hands scrabble at the wall, my forearm, and the endtable. She seizes a picture frame, one of those steel-edged modern ones, and smashes it over my head, corner first. It lodges in my skull, but isn't enough to kill me, though it hurts enough that I wish it would.

Children's screams assault my ears, and from the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Abel's blood spattering them, a fierce acidic burn that somehow doesn't cauterize. He's looking for the easiest way to incapacitate them, get it done, with as little attention as possible, and his blood is as malleable as the rest of him. He's already storming the next room, checking for any other presence we need to deal with.

The younger boy flails on the ground as it melts into his face and his mother fights to let out a scream. Something drops from his hand, the familiar smell burning my nose. The girl throws herself at me, a similar vial in hand. The moment it hits my eyes, I nearly lose my grip on my body.

The little hellion has good aim, and the holy water probably hurts as much as the substance burning through her shoulder and ribs. If she lives, I hope someone pats her on the back for it.

They may look like kids, but they'll douse you in holy water before you've finished cooing.

Fuck this. I drop the mother, and elbow the girl, right in the deepest section of burned muscle. Her rib cracks audibly, and she drops to the ground, wailing, the acid still eating into her.

It's beginning to burn me, too, and I whip my coat off, drop it, before it eats through the scrubs underneath, too.

Jonas is less dazed now, without me suffocating her. I pluck the picture frame from my head, and smash it over hers, knocking her to the floor. She's still, and I turn my attention to Abel's footsteps upstairs, waiting for an all clear.

Something isn't right here. They have the armament, but not the discipline. If these are demon hunters, they're the least coordinated ones I've ever seen. Shouldn't this sort of lackluster aggression be punishable by haunting or a warning, rather than a bloodbath? They must be keeping something from us. I don't have time to think about it now, since whoever's still comparatively in one piece is gonna attack us before I might get a single question out. And I've seen this rodeo before. I may not know the missing information, but it's there. The story'll come out eventually, and I'll be relieved I've gone through with it, instead of risking their wrath and my future assignments with stupid questions.

Jonas's hand flutters over her son's cheekbone as she manages to get her weight to her knees. His cries have stilled, as have his limbs, his skull burned clear through, and his blood soaking the floor.

I step into the kitchen, look for a knife to finish the job. She is, and likely always was, the most threatening one, and having a moment of doubt is no reason to let her get in a position to hurt me. My grip on my form is already failing me, my knees watery, and I only have a few minutes left before I'll have to figure something else out.

The girl's eyes widen as her mother leans over her, and I hover over her mother. I can hear the girl's breathing getting weaker. The woman has no time to let out a scream as I slice the back of her neck, across her spinal cord, and hack until I know it's severed.

I listen to the last remaining wheezes a moment, before looking for Abel. “Any others?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. All clear. One bedroom looks like someone might have been there, but hasn't been, in a while. All good here?”

“I'm losing it. This is the most stubborn meatsuit I've ever worn.”

He pats my hand. “Why not swap it out, before you bat cleanup, make sure there's no one in the shed, or the rest of the property.” His dying leash won't stretch that far.

I nod. It's been bugging me since we walked in, but now that we've got a beat I can put a finger to it. The ages are wrong for these to be the kids in the photographs—the boy was older than the girl, and here that's reversed. “That should've been more of a fight. Something's not right.” I can see it in his eyes. “You know it, too. Give me a sec. I can see if she can give us any hints.” I release my form, latching tight onto the woman at my feet.

Abel settles with me as I push myself into Loretta Jonas's slumped body. I sit to a kneel, though her limbs don't want to obey me just yet.

His knees touch mine, and he takes my hands as we rest. From the girl's breaths rattling in her lungs, and her choked sobs, we may not have much time left before Abel stops being able to draw from her to maintain his physical being. We've gotta make this fast.

He knows I likely couldn't stand, even if I wanted to. Skins this fresh are always more... acute. Touch, pain, every sensation is amplified. Without the markings, the difficulties are already starting. My hips feel like glass shards are being ground into them, and with every breath, the battered muscles surrounding my new windpipe threaten to spasm shut.

Our best bet now is largely down to instinct. See, you walk around every day in your favorite dress and some parts develop wear soonest, depending what you do in it. Bodies and minds are like that. Mild changes to junk DNA, difficulty replicating particular genetic patterns based on chemical buildup from relatives' experiences or high-stress situations. A truly good Reaper can tap into that, access some of these reactions to glean somewhat of a presence in their meatsuit's former head.

It's difficult to read, but possible, especially with a fresh body like this. Almost like meditating. It's a combination of us relaying concepts to it, and reading its reactions.

Home: a momentary vision flashing between several houses. Old home. One of them, specifically, just a short distance back from a city limits sign. Abel whispers the names from the envelopes to me.

“Owen.” A vision of a young man in a graduation cap—most notably, a young man we haven't seen in the house.

We run down the rest of the list.

“Protect.” Abel's voice is harsh, and touches off an instinct in her that makes my hands shake. Stress, and depression, and the kind of fear that crosses generations. I'd bet that mark's in the little 'uns, too, if I were to test them.

I bite back her urge to hit him, and focus on the visuals. Her giving her daughter a vial of holy water, and saying, “Remember—we must protect your brother.”

We must protect your brother.

We must protect your brother.

We must protect your brother.

Her inflection creates an avalanche of other memories and ideas, and Abel looks at me, to prompt me. I whisper the sentence to him, and when he repeats it back, it touches off another flash. “They might try to use me to hunt you,” she says, eyes wide, and he nods. “If I ever come for you without the safe word, run.”

I grit my teeth, focusing on the safe word. But no matter how many times Abel and I pass it back and forth, nothing is forthcoming.

“Anything else, dear?” Abel's voice is affectionate, but for her instincts, the crime far outweighs the sin. She must have a particularly unpleasant association with the endearing nickname.

“Don't call me dear, please.”

He nods, recognizing that we've knocked something strong loose in Jonas's stagnant associations. “Take it that the whole nest isn't here right now?”

I nod. “There's a boy—well, a young man, really. He was in our pictures, but you know they don't always watch the passage of time very attentively. So they didn't realize he moved out, or that she gave him a little brother. How old is this intel?”

Abel shrugs, puts a hand on the back of my neck. In the moment, it's as though I'm his hunting dog, squirming to be let loose, and he's the pack master.

I look around the house, memorize all of the pictures, and again, the corpses. Abel waits, somewhat impatient. “Think that one's the father?” There's a man in the pictures who is conspicuously absent from our little gathering. Olive skin, long hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Gotta be.”

“Think it would kill him to look at the camera once in a while?” In every picture, he's always looking down, or blinking. Just like Owen, actually. They're both awkward enough to make it look endearing, but it's still not good for giving us a good scent.

“Light 'er up once you check the shed?”

I shake my head. “Makes it more likely they'll show the area on the news, and that'll scare him, make him go to ground.”

He smiles, at least somewhat a proud mentor watching his pupil. Time was, I never would have thought that tactically. “See what they want us to do. I'll finish up and clear out.”

I echo his grin, and he leans forward to kiss me. Before his lips touch mine, the girl's last breath whistles out, and he vanishes.

The room's full of bodies, and I don't look much better. I scramble to put on the first thing in Loretta Jonas's bedroom, to hide the bloody wound. I pick up the laptop in the front room, and leave through the front door. Since I look like the woman of the house, not the stranger dead on her floor, so no one will think twice. No need to sneak.

I pretend to be weeding while I scour the place. There's no one in the shed, or elsewhere on the property. Not in her residual instincts, and not in a very thorough physical search. I take her car, and hit the road.

I wish she hadn't gotten so very injured. My head is pounding trying to force her heart to beat, and electric daggers cut into the back of my neck. What should be a minor ankle sprain is a major limp, and every step makes me wish I could fall over.  But falling over would only add bruises on palms and knees to the tally, possibly others if I hit my head, too. Strangely, though, it's still far more comfortable than Grandpa Saggy was.

I drive to the most isolated spot I can find, along a country road south of the city.

I don't have the flexibility needed to ink myself, so I curl up on the seat of the car, in a private drive in the woods, and try to focus through the pain. Abel will send me a message, soon. I open the laptop, though I can't log in, and wait for him to check in.

Finally, the message comes. The laptop screen lights up with a few brief sentences. Gotta burn out the whole nest, runners and all. I'll come back to you once you're in civilization. Don't miss me.

I chuckle, and type a reply. I never do.

An emoticon of a raspberry flashes on screen before it goes dead.

I try to will myself into a trance, because anything's better than the pain. I need to gather my concentration and strength to get somewhere Abel can paint me up. And to do that, I can't crash the car or get arrested on the way there.

Chapter 8

Tangled Web, John

I'M BEGINNING TO assume that everyone in this state enjoys lying to me, just to perplex me.

Loretta Jonas' next door neighbor swears he saw her step out, do some yardwork, and leave. Nothing unusual.

But that doesn't explain my scene, mine on account of asking the unis to keep a lookout for odd markings. Entirely too much blood for two dead children and one man whose heart appears to have stopped. A woman who walked away, at the least, near the time that it started, if the estimated time of death is right. And even watching the examiner go about his gruesome business with the children, first, I can see the dark marks on the dead man's neck, peeking above his shirt, right where the uni said they'd be.

Initial reports are coming in, saying that at least some of the blood on the scene is Jonas'. And expressing confusion over what kind of chemical would behave the way that the one covering the children did.

But at least there were flakes of some kind of paste on the inside of the man's clothes—it looks like the same stuff  I found at the mall administrator's house. I note the resemblance in my paperwork, and tune out the noises of the beat cops going about their duty. I never imagined myself at the center of this kind of shitstorm.

Everyone is staring at me like there's some thread I should have connected already. I tell myself it's in my head, that no one actually gives that much of a shit about how I do my job. But it doesn't hold.

When you get called special, to travel an hour and a half out of the city for a case, people are gonna notice.

“Got you some coffee. You look like shit.” Narcisso glances over my shoulder, and his eyes widen. “Holy—do you know who that guy is?”

I shake my head. “John Doe, I guess. No ID.”

“Well, of course he wouldn't have one. He's a Rip Van Winkle. Been asleep fifteen years, until last night, when he woke and walked clear out of the hospital. His wife'll be happy to see him found, even if he does seem to have relapsed. Doctor's thought that might—”

I shake my head, cut him off. “He's dead.”

“Really? Shit.”

“Had those markings, too.”

His eyebrows raise. “Ride shotgun while I notify the widow?”

I can't think of anything I would dislike more. But the job's the job. “Sure. So long as we can stop off and see my sister first. Want her take on something related to the case.”

“Sounds good, man. You know I love seeing Casey.” His eyes twinkle.

“You know, I really hate it when you hit on her. Do you have any idea how awkward that is?”

He shrugs. “She seems to like it well enough.”

“She's a single mother with her first child. She likes that she doesn't associate the sight of you with poop in her hair.”

“I'll take what appreciation I can get.”

I roll my eyes, and stand to put on my coat.

Chapter 9

Instinct, Gene

I RING OWEN’S number through his mother's phone. There's no answer, but if he reacts to it ringing, that may be enough to give Abel a lead on him. Abel isn't as astute with technology as some of his more prodigious e-ink brethren who live and breathe their digital presences, but sometimes the simplest methods are the most reliable. And he can't focus on that too much without losing his flexibility in tracking, not just stalking. So I've learned not to question his methods, or tease him for being out of practice.

He manifests in front of me as a crowd of young parents pass us by, hand in hand with their kids. Even the sight of him is enough to ease my tense muscles, make me smile, despite the stabs of pain pulsing through me with every labored breath.

“Nothing. He's gone dead. Do you think he'd have made a run for sanctuary, tried plying those assholes at the Well?” He shakes his head in annoyance.

We're sitting in a public park, with a giant wood dome for children to climb on. Plenty of people around for Abel to pull strength from, and I look like I could be any other mother here. At least half of Abel's stolen energy is being funneled into my skin to keep me intact. We haven't had any privacy to put on my makeup.

“So we're sniffing, then?” I think his question through. The Well could keep him safe and hidden, but I doubt he has anything that interests them enough to pay his room and board. “I doubt he'd know about the Well. If we can't find anything here, we'll try there, then.”

“That's for the better,” he says, with a relieved sigh. “It's been so long since I've been there, I haven't met the new owners since Dalila passed. But I doubt Reza'd be keen to see my shadow on his doorstep.”

He nods. “It makes more sense to run him down here. Have at it.”

I shut my eyes, preparing myself for another scrying session. This is my least favorite part of this whole shindig, as it means taking entirely too much of Loretta's baggage as my own, as well as potentially exposing too much of my own to Abel.

“Safe.” He takes my hands, stroking his fingers along my palm.

I shut my eyes and focus on Loretta's reaction. Safety, for her, is a stuffed animal, one that I vaguely remember sitting on a shelf in her home.

“Hunt.”

Her out in the woods with a young Owen. He showed her how to fire the gun, and when she demanded to know who taught him, in a panic, he paled and twitched away from her touch.

I scour through the visual to try to figure out where these woods are.

The common-sense wisdom for when you're being stalked—stay in public places, in crowds—is a death sentence when you're marked for Reaping. If he knows we're hunting for them, the woods might be a prime hiding spot.

But that's assuming he knows exactly how we hunt. And I'm not convinced. When the girl threw holy water on me, she threw it into my face. Had she thrown it at the back of my neck or my chest, I could well have been paralyzed, or shaken loose from my form completely.

“Hide.”

A young Owen hiding in the fireplace, and trekking soot on the floor. He looks so much like his father, triggering a sense of loneliness, and she cries as she washed it off him. His brown eyes fill with tears, thinking she's angry, and he cries too. She lies and swears it's the soap in her hair dripping into her eyes, to calm him down. And then he cries about that. A moment of anxiety hits her—do kids normally cry that much?

“Chase.”

A much older Owen, arguing with her as they move boxes into an apartment in downtown Ann Arbor. A U of M flag is on the wall, twitching limply in the breeze from the open window. She fights to keep her mouth shut, even though on some level she fears it's the last time she'll see her son. Such worries are paranoid, though. It's a harbinger of the onset of empty nest syndrome, nothing more. Owen's posture is cold, every bit the impatient kid waiting to be left alone.

Might try the university, if we get desperate.

“Work.”

A conversation with the manager of the Ugly Mug, an old friend of hers, about whether there might be space to train Owen as a barista. Her friend grudgingly agrees. Owen grumbles about the work, and his sister mocks him, saying “it's so easy a girl can do it.” He fixes her with a look, and asks “Why is that an insult?” Her mom jumps in with a discussion of feminism, and he gets away in the aftermath, the teasing thoroughly diverted.

A tense grin steals my lips. “Bingo.”

Abel puts his hand on my hair, leans in to kiss my cheek. He rests there, his lips against my skin, a little too long. If I didn't know better, I'd say he wasn't eager for us to jump on our lead. But eventually, he breaks the moment. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

“Let's get your war paint on, gorgeous.”

I accept his help getting me to my feet, and try not to hobble too much on the way back to the car, parked in the most secluded area I could find, lest it be spotted by police looking for Loretta's plates. I doze off as he caresses my breasts, and traces my real shape into the unfamiliar curves of my side, the paste cold and less pleasant this time. Aside from the residual thrumming ache, I could almost be home, in my bed, with him memorizing every feature and singing softly to me while I paint my nails. He plugs the adapter into the phone charger, and blow dries the paste over me, to secure the pigment better. The dull whir drags me back to earth, ruins the moment.

It should burn me. But that's not really a concern anymore. I almost wish I could feel that pain existing as firmly as I felt Abel's fingertips. With how often I'm out on assignment, sometimes it seems I have only half a life.

His fingers slide between my legs, a promise of things to come, and I take his hand and pull it away. I slap his shoulder, lightly. My skin's still unnaturally warm from the blow drier. “No getting distracted. We're on the hunt.”

As he smooths my shirt back down, he puts his head on my chest, and squeezes me against him. “Thank fuck you lost the balls.”

Chapter 10

Outside Help, John

CASEY SMILES AT me across the coffee table. “You have weird timing. I was just about to head out.” I'm relieved that she looks less tired than the last time I saw her. Of course, she had just had a baby, then, and was still working through the postpartum survival period. She had damn good reason to be haggard.

“I'll try to keep it fast—we've got places to be, too.”

“Is this about the other day?” She glances toward the kitchen, where Narcisso is fidgeting around to get himself a mug of coffee. Since he's not technically on this assignment, I shouldn't be giving him access to all my information. The coffee grinder's shriek drowns us out nicely.

I nod, and push two baggies of ruddy powder to her. “From two crime scenes. Ideas?”

She raised an eyebrow. “And it's not dirt?”

“Maybe, but this one,” I tap the bag with the crustier chunks, “was still flaking off someone's skin. I thought it might be a cosmetic, since it left this kind of a mark on its wearer.” I offer her a picture, though it's been carefully cropped to obscure that she's looking at a corpse.

She raises an eyebrow. “It could be—the powdery one is a bit too reddish in color. Maybe they mixed something in with it? I'd have to think on it, take it to work.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“Give me a bit? We've got a deadline for the spring collection, so I have to make damn sure that lipgloss doesn't separate again.”

“In your own time. Whatever you can tell me helps.”

She smiles and bounces the baby on her hip. My nephew, Sammy, is coming up on a year old, and this is only my second time seeing him. “You want to come along with us? We're not doing anything fun, just grocery shopping, but it's time out of the house...”

I shake my head. “I wish I could. But we're on our way to an interview.”

Her smile turns tight. “That's too bad. Hopefully one of these days you'll set aside some time for me. It's been pretty lonely since...”

I try to ignore the guilt. She doesn't need to say it for me to know she's thinking about her husband's death, abroad. She hadn't even gotten to tell him she was pregnant. Just, one minute he's home on leave swearing he's not enlisting for another tour, and the next, he's dead of some illness caught oceans away.

“We'll figure something out.”

Narcisso comes back in, his travel mug full of fresh coffee. “Thanks so much, Casey. Got a long and hard day ahead of me, and this hits the spot nicely.”

I grit my teeth and stifle a groan.

She smiles at him tolerantly. “De nada. I know how cranky you men get when you miss your naps, or aren't properly caffeinated.”

“So how's the rugrat?” He puts his cup down and reaches to take Sammy from her. She smiles in gratitude, and continues packing her baby bag.

“A little off his feed right now. I won't be in the least surprised if he's coming down with something.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. I know. And they're gonna be pissed if I have to take time off work for it. I shouldn't be talking about this, but,” she sighs, pressing forward, since she knows neither of us could care less. “We're working with a fairly big celebrity right now on this one, except that she never makes up her mind. So for every batch we send her, she sends it back with notes, and we've explained several times that sometimes her requests just aren't possible. You can't make a lipgloss with that consistency have that many reflective particles in it without having it feel itchy on the lips, or gum up on the wand. An eyeshadow with that much mica and glitter in it is going to have fallout in application. Consumers deal with it the same way her stylists do—with a coat of powder to catch the fallout and prevent it from sticking to the skin. Or by doing the eyes first. And then she says 'oh', and makes the same request again four days later.”

Narcisso jiggles Sammy with practiced movements. His own nieces and nephews aren't that far removed from the kid. And his family is close-knit, so his desk is covered in pictures, and he talks like he spends every weekend with them. Put a kid near me, I just get awkward, and shut down. “Fallout? The nuclear kind?” He smiles at her, to let her know he's not that obtuse.

“No. The kind where it doesn't adhere to the skin it's applied to or the brush it's on, and instead falls on other skin, outside of where the wearer wanted it.”

I pace, and let them talk behind me. I'm relieved to let him be the outgoing one here. Most of the time when I'm around people, I never know what to say.

Narcisso's phone beeps, and he glances at it. “Shit.” He looks at me. “Got to go for that talk; we want to be the ones to talk to the widow, before anyone else tips her off. Which probably won't be far off, since it seems reporters are already asking questions. It's always a pleasure, Casey. Until next time?” He offers the baby to her, and stands. Her face falls slightly, either at our departure, or at him letting slip that someone died.

I give her a one-armed hug and kiss her cheek, and we turn to go. “Let me know what you find. Looks like we're off.”

She nods, and juggles baby and gear as she shows us out, the bags of grit sticking out of her purse.

Narcisso claps me on the shoulder. “Sorry to hurry you out like that.”

I shrug. “Work waits for no one.”

“Maybe I just would have liked to procrastinate longer. I don't really want to be the messenger for this.”

I nod. “So do you think that Jonas knew him? Or the others?”

“Doubtful. He's been asleep fifteen years. Too long to know the girl. Any clue how long Jonas or Krieger have been in the area?”

I shake my head.

“Well, if she didn't know him, why was he in her house when he died?”

“Fuck, I'd just like to know how he died.”

“You and me both. Hopefully the autopsy will give us something new.”

Chapter 11

The Ugly Mug, Gene

I FIND DIRECTIONS to the Ugly Mug, and make my way there. Abel's likely here ahead of me, trying to case the area. He can't ask about Owen directly; that would make him too memorable. But I should be able to. I am the guy's mom, after all. And if he's actually here, I have to hope I can play this part well enough to get him to forget her safe word, since I still don't have it.

I sit outside to collect myself. Tentacles of pain rattle my brain around, stemming from the gaping wound at the back of Loretta Jonas' neck. I discreetly stretch and itch the back of my neck, and sink my fingers into the torn flesh to see if there's any muscular spasms I can ease. But it just makes me feel like someone is fucking the stab wound, and throws me into a round of nausea.

Abel walks past me, into the coffee shop. I pause and sit down, both waiting out the nausea, and preventing us from being seen entering at the same time. Finally, I stand, and prepare to go in. Before my fingers touch the push-bar, the door flies open, knocking into my face and sending me onto my ass in a particularly muddy spot of ground.

Owen meets my eyes a split second as he flees, but it doesn't seem to have been long enough to recognize me. I detour to the car, keeping a careful note of which way he went. Abel appears by my side. “Bastard was watching for me.”

“Then you shouldn't get caught.” I rub my butt, both wiping what water I can off it, and trying to ease the new ache roaring through me.

“Smartass.”

I smile, and he vanishes as I pull out of the lot, and into the flow of traffic.

Owen only made it a few blocks on foot, but he knows his way through the alleys here. I take my best guess of where they'll come out, and manage to loop around quickly enough to note his twists and turns. But a spate of pedestrians dodge out in front of me, and I lose him in the chaos.

Goddamn college students. Acting like they're invincible, jaywalking like they own the place, and slowing all traffic to a crawl.

The thought of college touches a stream of ideas from Loretta, taking her children to see the U of M band practice and perform, and a host of other outdoor concerts.

It's worth a try.

I ditch the car in a no-parking zone. This rat warren is full of them, and I don't think Loretta's body will hold me much longer. I'm not going to be coming back to it.

The band is practicing in the field, with scattered bystanders in the bleachers. There's no way to move quickly here. But that works against Owen as well, and I'm far more used to moving in awkward environments.

He doesn't see me until it's too late for him to run, and he freezes. “Mom?”

I give him the best smile I can, and lean in for a hug. I don't have any weapons on hand, except for my knife, and I don't trust my reflexes right now. I need him to lower his guard. “You expecting someone else?”

“There was this asshole following me.” His face turns guarded. “Black eyes, too.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I ran, like you told me to. The police think you're dead.” There's barely concealed tears in his eyes, but beyond that, is something else. I stare harder, trying to pin it down. I wish Abel was here, to pull the knowledge out of his mind.

“Well, I'm not. And I wanted to know you were okay.” He already knows about his siblings' deaths, and is looking for some reaction from me. I sniffle and start thinking through every sad thought I have to cry on command.

I think I have a more likely than not chance of successfully killing him, if I dig the knife out of my waistband and lunge. But he could be my only lead for locating the last one in the nest, his dad.

“I wasn't sure if you'd go to your dad's to—”

Wrong words. He tenses and backs away from me. “What the hell are you?”

I try to put hurt on my face. “What the hell does that mean?”

“What the fuck are you? How do you look like her?”

Tears well in my eyes, and pour down my cheeks. “You have no idea the kind of day I've had, how scared I've been. And you don't so much as pick up to tell me you're safe? And now this?” I sob, as convincingly as I can. “They're gone, Owen. And the least you could do would be to show me a little fucking compassion.”

His hand works out of his pocket with a flask. Even from here the holy water's tang burns my nose. I drop the act.

“Fine then. None of your business.” I let my usual mannerisms take over, and flip him off. His eyes widen. I brace myself for burning pain that never comes.

“Of course it's my business. What have you done to her?” His eyes search mine as though he's expecting to see Loretta in there, if he looks deep enough.

I wonder how much he knows about our world, what he thinks the options are. I put on my most gentle expression. “What do you think?”

He glares at me, and as he vocalizes it his voice breaks. “You killed her.” It's barely more than a whisper.

I keep silent, but watch him closely in case he attacks me.

“Why?” This is louder, more forceful. But it's the futile anger of a dog in a cage. Not an immediate threat.

An unexpected flash of pity washes over me. I lean over to pat his hand, grateful my scarf and hair covers the wound. “You hunt the biggest game, sometimes they fight back.”

“The biggest—” He stumbles over the words, and I roll my eyes.

“Demons. You hunt us, we fight back.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

I take a deep breath, roll my head around on my shoulders. I'm sure the movement doesn't look natural, not with my severed spine. “You think that flask is just full of champagne kisses? Who taught you?”

“My—my dad.”

“Then blame him. Because if he hadn't recruited you lot to hunt my kind, your mother—” I know I'm being mean, but can't help it. I scoot a little closer. “Your sister,” I bite my lip, tugging it between my teeth. “Your brother,” I lick my lip in a way that will probably take him years of therapy to get past. “Would still be alive.” I give him a wicked smile and lean close to him, dropping my forehead onto his shoulder.

He stares in confusion, brings his hand to the back of my neck, though I can't say whether it's to push me away, or respond to my touch. Then he sees the top of the wound as my hair falls away, and his hand starts trembling. I smile to myself as he presses his finger to it, hardly believing it. His reaction makes it worth the pain.

Maybe hitting your crush on the playground is an inappropriate way of expressing something, but the more on edge he is, the more information I can glean from him. And in the meantime, when he touches me, it makes it easier to probe him a little, look for anything in his bleed. If only Abel was here, I'd have everything, already.

“So tell me,” I whisper as I tilt my chin up to him, my lips inches from his. “Where is daddy dearest.”

His tears leak, and his finger pushes deeper into the wound. He wonders whether he can make it hurt enough to get an advantage, no doubt. But in the end, his trembling fingers stay where they are, not pressing further.

He knows he's already dead, if I so much as thought about seeing him so. His eyes widen, then harden. To throw a little more wood on the fire, I press my lips to his, and nick his lower lip with my teeth.

He shoves me back, but not before his barriers evaporate, unveiling a world of distress, confusion, and a very very keen urge to throw up at the feel of my lips on his. A moment of vulnerability that lowers his defenses. Bingo.

I drink in his bleed a moment more, but see nothing useful. And he's well on his way toward recovering, wondering whether he should attack me, but not quite being able to commit to that action. I stare at him, wondering what he's hiding, and how to pry it out.

His eyes flash black.

Well, shit.

The photos on the mantel make sense. His, and his father's effacing awkwardness, the averted eyes and coincidental blinks. Obviously, not a reborn inky, though, since he still has form, and doesn't need a host. He's a demon, not a demon hunter.

Someone fucked up. I knit my brows together, wait for his move. Now that I'm no longer in his personal space he's frozen. I take the time to think, curl around myself and breathe while I do.

I didn't see inky flashes in the rest of the Jonas family. Possibly the kids were weak, and it would have been missed. But the purifications I sketched on their bodies would have eradicated that essence, if it was there. It would mean that they never had a chance to develop into their full power.  But I've never met an incubus able to fool me that they were human.

Owen sits down, still shaking.

I review my orders—Kill anyone in the house. Burn out the whole nest, even its runners.

And more than anything, I want to talk to Owen's dad, find out why the incubi think he's raising demon hunters. Did Abel mess his information up, or did someone else intentionally feed him bad information?

But it's possible Owen's deceiving me. I can't let myself get cocky. And that is the simpler answer. Still, if there's even the possibility that his family shouldn't have died, I can't compound the crime by adding him to the body count.

I look at him. “Run. If your dad contacts you, don't answer. I'll make sure they keep looking for him, not you.”

He looks at me, scared rabbit eyes clouded over. “What?”

“I don't repeat myself.” I roll my eyes, half in denial that I'm doing this. Reapers are already second-class citizens; they've dropped the hammer on us for less. Maybe they like the irony of it, but the incubi seem to enjoy giving a death sentence to a Reaper. “Run. Before I change my mind.”

No point in continuing this hunt. I can cut ties with the meatsuit, and tell Abel and our bosses that it was too injured to be sustainable, and he got away. Or, if I'm brave—or maybe suicidal—I can put them off the trail entirely, tell them he's dead. Unless they go out of their way to follow up and scry for him, that would ensure at least a period of peace for him.

I sever the first handful of mental ties, much stronger with the freshness of the stained marks. My control over Loretta's muscles goes, and she collapses, falling into her seat, then out of it.

Owen runs forward, sobbing. He takes his mother's hand, not knowing I'm still connected. I seize the next bundle of ties and pinch them shut. A panic seizes me, same as it always does when leaving a body unattached, in the mortal world. Only, without a mark to drag back home, my mind latches onto Owen.

I feel his breath sobbing through my lungs. And every bit of hurt holding his mother's dead body.  Every memory, including those he can't consciously recall. London streets around the end of the 19th century. Moscow some time before that. Maybe those memories are a trust, some kind of time capsule left by an inkubus who really wanted to be remembered and transferred that knowledge to him through stories. Or maybe Owen isn't as young as he looks.

Finally, someone notices what's happening, and several people start yelling to Owen. He jumps, remembers my words, and runs. As I sever the last ties with Loretta, I get her chiming in with a barely remembered recollection, too.

The man in the pictures and Loretta, sitting across a table. “I've got a son, still an infant, really. His mom died, and it's so hard taking care of him on my own. My work doesn't really let me stay still.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Single parent households are hard, especially if the job involves travel.”

“Yeah. I want to visit him, want to know him, but I can't raise him.”

“What makes you think  I will?”

His eyes are bottomless, pupil subsuming iris and leaving her with the idea that the whites of his eyes aren't exactly white either. But she can't see that, just sense it. He reaches across the table and touches her forehead. “Because I know who you are.”

She bows her head to conceal her expression. “What's his name?”

“Owen. I'll come find you, whenever I can.”

He leaves, and she sits at the table with the burbling infant for an hour before she leaves.

My mind reels and I grasp at the fabric of every alternate reality I encounter on my way back home.

Incubus, definitely.

Demon hunter, definitely not.

Why would they lie to us?

Chapter 12

Hide And Seek, John

“FUCK ME,” I mutter, and kneel to look at Loretta Jonas' corpse.

I'm not surprised that she is a corpse; twelve hours ago the blood-spatter specialist determined that enough of the blood in the carpets was hers that he didn't think she left that place alive.

But that doesn't explain how she ended up in the bleachers over here. We put up her picture, asked for anyone with any information to come forward. And got several calls saying they saw her walking around in Ypsi.

Then, an emergency call from the band's conductor, after one of the musicians saw a woman in the bleachers collapse. The EMT reported it, and that got me from the scene, to see this for myself.

Other officers found her car already—tried to ticket it, actually—and are dusting for prints, to see who had the body.  There's got to be an actual, concrete lead there. Corpses don't just go chauffeuring themselves around.

That same paste is on the inside of her clothing, those same markings peeking out of her loose blouse. I make a note to get it tested, see if it's the same as any of the other samples I've collected. It has to be—the pattern is just too clear.

The only thing that's not is why someone is going through the effort of abducting corpses and leaving them around.

Loretta died by violence; that much is plain. There's a knife strapped to her waistband covered in dried gore. I vaguely remember seeing the wooden holder in her house missing a knife, and make a note to doublecheck that. It looks like it should match, though.

We've got no real cause of death so far. There's hand-shaped bruises on her throat, but not severe enough to indicate strangulation. Some evidence of blunt force trauma to her head. But not enough to do more than maybe concuss her. I grit my teeth as the medical examiner snaps a few more photographs, and finally nods at me to help turn her over.

From this view, it's only too clear. The flesh on her neck is mutilated, the spinal cord completely severed. But there's not enough blood on the body. Someone cleaned her up, changed her clothes. Why bother? Where are the clothes she died in?

I hope that a security camera around here has more for me. Because these witnesses are unreliable. The man with her when she collapsed was here before she got here. They swear she was walking around perfectly normally on her own—just like her neighbor.

But just like Krieger, there's no way in hell that's the truth.

My phone rings, and I nod apologetically and step back to answer the call.

“John?”

“Casey?”

“I only have a minute; I'm in between meetings right now. Wanted to check in, though.”

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. Just—I tested that stuff for you against some readily available henna, and while it's mostly henna, there was something else. You remember Annie, my college roommate?”

“Kinda? Should I?”

“To be fair, not really. Anyways, she's working for a green nonprofit, doing land surveys and such.”

“So?”

“So I showed it to her, and she tested it, too. The missing stuff is local clay and soil. Last time she saw it that dense she was a half hour outside Jackson. And there were some other particles in it that she determined were grass, a particular kind usually used in cemeteries.”

I lower my voice. “So our perp is marking his victims with henna and grave dirt? And might operate or commute from outside town?”

Her voice is tense and uneven, now that she's not talking hard science. “Looks like.”

I mentally slap myself for talking to her like a cop; she's probably upset enough about this without feeling like she has to stay in this rabbithole. “Thanks for running that down for me,” I say, and stall out trying to think of a way to comfort her. “That's a huge help.”

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many victims?”

“I don't know, yet—” and I don't want to upset her more. “I can't really talk about it. But we'll get the guy. I'm sorry I dragged you into this.”

Casey sniffs, as if wiping a tear away. “Happy to help. Just, please, take care of yourself.”

“I know, and I will.”

“Good. I love you. And Sammy does, too.”

“I love you, too, but you really don't need to worry.”

“I will anyways, though.”

I sigh. “If you insist.”

She hangs up, and I lower my phone.

I guess I'm spending my night canvassing graveyards, watching for someone to try collecting grave dirt.

But it's a lead.

Chapter 13

Weapon, Gene

I KNOW I should lay low, in case my bosses suspect that I let Owen live intentionally. But I have to know why we were sent there.

The father is my best bet. Inkies generally don't make friends outside of work, so she's probably a former mark of his. A woman he was assigned to impregnate. From the pictures, he stuck around somewhat, and helped raise her kids, and his. That's a big no-no of theirs. If I tell Abel, he'll know it's too important to keep to himself, and the incubi themselves could decide they want Owen's—and his anonymous father's—blood.

Out of all the inkies I know, who can I trust? It's a very short list, one that gets shorter as I cross the ones I parted on bad terms with from the list. I've only dealt with a handful of them over the years, and most of that hasn't involved any kind of mutual respect. In the end only one face comes to mind.

Cole is the exception. To be fair, last time I saw him, I wasn't really in a state to make friends. But he treated me with kindness when I needed it.

He was the incubus who was assigned to bring me here for training when I died. I haven't seen him since I was recruited to the Reapers, not long after he pulled my essence out of the place I died, and brought it to Limbo. But he was kind. He talked to me while we made the trip, and his voice anchored me. And he checked up on me when he heard they were ready to send me to the Hub for Reaper training.

Cole hasn't been around Limbo much lately. And he's antisocial and difficult to find, at the best of times. My best bet is to track him into reality, when he goes on assignment.

I edge around the Hub, testing how far I can reach. Normally, I can only cover a state or two unless I have a very clear idea of where I'm going. Since that rarely happens on assignment, it's a leash. But I know exactly where I need to go, so the distance is less of an issue now. I fixate as hard as I can on my dim memory of him bringing me to Limbo, on his voice, and a connection to him blooms bright in my mind.

Several droplets of my self skitter along it, testing its strength and thickness to figure out where it's strongest. It would be stronger if I knew him better; what's there is barely enough for me to go on, and it takes me a long time to build it up so it won't flicker the moment I lose concentration. When the cord is as thick as my arm, I'm in the closest geographic area I can get. I shove myself along the connection, and jump out before my consciousness collides with his.

At the very least, I'm in the same city, so I let the nearest dormant meatsuit pull me in, and go for a walk. I can't use the marks; they're too identifiable should anyone else have noticed my departure. Word might make it back to the Hub.

I ease myself into my new body, a thirty-something year old woman whose body is still cluttered with the cancer that killed her. And I shut my eyes, walk only by following the bond connecting me to Cole.

It leads me to an apartment in a somewhat run-down neighborhood. I knock on the door, and a baby squalls. A woman hollers “Coming—” and the door cracks open. Her eyes narrow; she doesn't recognize me. But there's something roiling in her eyes; she's not the only consciousness in that body.

She ducks her gaze, swiping brown hair back behind her ear with a hand smeared in what appears to be baby food. The new shadows blot out a light smearing of freckles across her cheeks, and the tightness of her lips. Obviously she's not the social type.

“Cole around?”

He'll be confused to be called out, but he'll manifest, and pull heavily enough from her that she passes out and forgets the whole thing. Still, I feel bad for the inconvenience.

She looks at me in confusion. “Um, are you a friend of his?” Now that's weird. She knows her passenger.

“Yeah. Imogene. Nice to meet you.”

She undoes the deadbolt and lets me in. There's a toddler in his high chair, making a mess of his meal. “Cole? Imogene wants to see you?” She calls it out tentatively, but with affection. She turns back to me, and gestures at the worn couch along the far wall. “You want to have a seat? I'm Tabby, and that's Adam.” Tabby's lips tremble, from trying to be a good hostess in a strange situation. I try to put her at her ease with a smile. But it only seems to unnerve her further. How much like death do I actually look?

Tabby stiffens, and a thick, dark smoke pours from her mouth. I know it's all in my head; that smoke is merely a representation of the other spirit within her.

“Imogene?” It coalesces into a man, with his arm around Tabby's shoulders. A man with a deep voice that whispers in my mind like a half-heard message from god. It's what I imagine people sound like, when heard from the womb. At least half of that must be in my head, since he's talking normally. It's just the memories it evokes.

My eyes narrow. “Cole? Got a question.”

“I don't do politics.”

I sigh. “I'll spare you the details, then.”

So much for that. What's the best way I can ask what I need to without dragging him in on the particulars of my assignment? Or without letting him know that Abel and I are closer than we should be. “Got a family, a nest of demon hunters, so far as the bosses knew. But the man of the house is inky.”

He raises his eyebrows. “No one's actually forbidding fraternization anymore.”

At least that explains why he's playing house with the woman making noises and weaving a spoon toward the child's mouth. Still, some notice would have been nice. Does that mean Abel doesn't have to hide that we're friends with benefits? Or that I don't have to be his filthy, little secret?

I snort. “Really? And no one thought to tell us? Think of all the guys I haven't screwed. I'm sure you guys aren't taking hits out on your own, though. At least one kid there was inky, but orders still marked him.”

His brows pull together. “You go through with it?”

Tabby glances at us, catching onto his apprehension.

“Nah. I figured I can always find him and finish it later, if needed, but that it was better to ask around. I wanted to see if you might know the dad, so I can talk to him.” I catch Cole's dubious look, and amend that. “Literally.”

Cole steps toward me, puts his hand on my head. My meatsuit lingers between us, a warm barrier. He draws close, seeking entry to my mind to see if I'm telling the truth.

I open my mind to him. It's nothing he hasn't seen before.

His touch is gentler than Abel's. He dislikes that I even know he's there. He's much older than Abel, and the old ones take particular joy in their craft. And unlike Abel, there's no two-way bleed. Only his tone and expression tell me what he thinks about the memories he's sifting through.

I pull him through the chase, the hunt, though his jaw tightens when I think on Loretta's kids. “They've made you a weapon,” he whispers.

I cock my head without dislodging his touch. “That's not a bad thing.”

Tabby glances at us—is she jealous to have her companion standing so close to me we're almost sharing breath? I turn my mind back to the task at hand, and guide him through the pieces of Owen's mind I touched, and Loretta's revelation.

Finally, he steps back, avoids my eyes. “I'll put my ears to the ground.”

His reaction to my recollections makes inexplicable shame well inside me. I bite my lip.

“How do you two know each other?” Tabby fights to keep a polite face on.

“Old friends,” I say, just as Cole says “I watched her rebirth.” I flush, not liking her having that piece of me.

“So you're one, too?” Her eyes are sharp on my face, seeing if she can recognize something in me.

“Not really. Distant cousin.”

“Oh?”

Cole's voice is filled with loathing. “I seduced people. She kills them.”

I glare at him. “I wouldn't put it that way. I protect supernatural entities, and keep them in line. I only kill when they refuse to get back in line.”

But the protestation is hollow, with childrens' blood on my hands.

Cole still won't look at me. “Do me a favor, and take your meatsuit far away before you ditch it. Tabby doesn't need any extra attention. I'll let you know when I find him.”

I nod, and hurry away from the shame and unhappiness in Cole's voice. Tabby's voice follows me, tense and confused. “Meatsuit? What'm I missing here?”

Cole's voice is low enough I can't hear the exact words.

But she drops the jar of baby food on the floor, just as their front door falls shut behind me.

Chapter 14

Old Nests, John

THE LEAD IS good, but there's no way this is my jurisdiction. I don't have time to wait for the locals to get caught up on the situation and decide that maybe they'll help. I hadn't planned to let Casey or Annie help further, but Casey was indignant that her work might still not be enough, if they couldn't watch. So we're all off the clock, poking through the cemeteries dotting the small communities in Jackson county. Most of them are old, really barely more than Civil War era relics. Too overgrown to yield the type of soil we're looking for without much more grass in the mix.

The women are under orders not to try to detain anyone they suspect, just to snap a camera phone shot, and stay out of sight. We don't want to spook our artist yet, not without evidence to convict. And so far all the prints in the car seem to be Jonas'. There was a little baggie of paste, with her home address written on it, but we don't yet know whether it was her handwriting. The man she was with when the police were called was her son. He obviously wasn't present for the initial attack, as the professor I spoke to when I tried to locate him was surprised he was out of class, but showed attendance rolls that placed him in class while his family was being attacked. He's yet to be found, and until he surfaces, the dirt is my only lead.

Annie and Casey sit together on a bench at the other end of the graveyard, two stones on the seat next to them, a remembrance for a grave they've yet to visit. As disguises go, it's about the best protection I can give them. This place is our best bet, the only one with soil loose enough for someone to be able to remove a handful without attracting attention, provided they scratched at the side of the markers.

I shiver, and sift through headstones. I haven't done this since high school, when the bullying was bad, and feeling a connection with those long-dead was a way to make up for not feeling that connection with people.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a man walking. He's not dressed for a funeral, and there's something familiar to his gait.

I follow him discreetly, watch him kneel in front of a grave, and scrabble at the ground until he loosens some soil. He shoves it into a bag as I get near enough to see his face. I snap a picture and tail him at a distance, until I can photograph his license plate.

I text Casey and Annie to go home. I think I've got what I needed.

Just to be sure, I return to the graveyard and looked at the upturned ground. I scoop a little dirt into a bag of my own, for Annie to look at and make sure our hunch is right. My skin crawls to be scratching at the sides of an unknown gravestone. I should at least know whose grave I'm mucking around with.

I memorize the name on the headstone. Imogene Sophia Taggert, 1981-2002. It's inlaid with a brass casting of three roses, one fully blooming and two broken off. For as much time as I've spent staring at this woman's grave, it seems a little disrespectful leaving without offering some token of respect. I pick up the biggest gravel rock I can find in the path between markers, and place it on her headstone.

Once I get to the car, I look up the license plate, and the ID that comes up matches him. What's more, I realize why he looked so familiar; he's a morgue worker, one I've seen the medical examiner speak with before. I vaguely remember being introduced to him, being told to call him Ronny, rather than Ron.

I shiver. We'll go into overtime, now, waiting for him to make a move. But it makes sense; access to corpses, collection of grave dirt. I search for the grave's owner's name on my phone, as well. I don't know if he picked that particular grave, or just picked a grave, so better safe than sorry.

A sob story comes up, following the death of a Jackson county girl who was forced to flee several states evading an abusive boyfriend, only to die at his hand. Her family spent everything they had to ship her body home, so that she could at least be with those she loved in death. Aided, in part, by some vigils and events in their community. It was huge news at the time, as the girl had done everything right, according to the law. Active restraining order, ample documentation of the violence, the stalking reported to his parole officers in an effort to deny him future bail...

After her death, her mother went damn near insane working with non-profits in multiple states to put forward the type of legislation that might have protected her daughter, and to help domestic violence survivors raise attention to loopholes in the laws that enabled their continued victimization.

The story shouldn't phase me anymore. I see way too many of these. I can't imagine it has anything to do with the case, unless she was a childhood friend of Ronny's, or something. Her mom still lives in the area, and a quick search nets me her address. The house is easily identified by the flowers adorning one side of the porch, a vigil her mom couldn't bear to release, long after the community had.

I knock on the door, and put on my most respectful face. A tired looking woman whose eyelids droop so heavily they barely seem to be open peeks through the glass pane before opening the door. Her skin hangs off her bones, the only reminder of the sturdy, passionate woman from my research.

I can hardly recognize May Taggert from the last time she was in front of the cameras. “Pardon me, ma'am. I won't take much of your time.” I flash her my badge, though I hope she won't make a note of it, since I'm not on the clock. “Do you know Ronny Lafayette?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Name isn't familiar.”

“Do you think your daughter might have?”

Her lips tremble. “No. I wouldn't think so.”

I shrug. “Thanks for your help, ma'am.” I turn to go.

“Sometimes it's hard to believe she's gone.” Her eyes are glued to the mess of flowers overtaking the railing. “It still feels like she's here, like I could wake up one morning and hear her come down the stairs again.”

I freeze.

“My beautiful little Genie. The wind rattles through the lilacs and I hear her, arguing circles around me. Sometimes I could swear I see her in a passerby's eyes.”

She steps out, letting the door fall shut behind her, and reaches for the lilacs on the other side of the porch. There's nippers on a little table by her outdoor chairs. She cuts a branch for me with them. “These were her favorites. Since she was little. She used to sing when they came in bloom 'Lilacs, always come back, chase winter away with a smell attack—'” she voices the little singsong riff rather tunelessly.

Tears well in her eyes. “No one even mentions her anymore. It's not just that she's gone—it's that they choose to forget her, rather than accept that every one of us failed her.” She cuts three more branches, and walks to the half-wilted pile of blossoms. She deftly weaves them into the center of the arrangement, where they bloom tall and fragrant above several limp dahlias.

“I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am.” I have no clue what in the seven hells to say, and regret coming.

She turns away, to hide her emotion from me. “Do you believe in life after death, Officer—?”

“Detective John Camden. And I really couldn't say.”

A month ago, I would have said 'of course not'. But that was before corpses started playing hide and seek. The thought raises my hackles.

“I want to. I want to believe Genie could come back to me.” Her voice is empty, devoid of any of the buried devastation that had crept into her, previously. I rub my arm to smooth away the goosebumps.

I offer her my card. “Please let me know if there's anything I can do, or if you think of anything, Mrs. Taggert.”

She nods, but doesn't face me. My eyes sweep past the newly freshened arrangement as I turn to walk away. I miss the sound of the door shutting as my thoughts wash over me.

The wind shakes the lilac tree, and its smell rouses me. As I get back into my car, I fancy I hear Mrs. Taggert's singsong voice sobbing through that rhyme.

Chapter 15

Trust Issues, Gene

ABEL IS WAITING for me when I get back to the Hub. “Didn't realize you had errands.” His smile disarms me. Shit, he probably waited for me in Limbo.

“Just nipping out for some stuff.” I flash him a little smile of my own.

He hooks his arm around my shoulders. Bitterly, I note that no one else is around—that's probably the only reason he did it. “I got the next batch of paste mixing, for when the dad pops up.”

I don't let myself stiffen; he'll notice that. Some part of me wants to say “About that—” and plead with him to not look for the incubus. But it's my death if I do that. Our bosses don't brook dissent or insubordination. And whatever there is to our partnership, I don't know that I trust it enough to put my life in his hands.

While Abel shares incubus blood, he's socially so far from the rest of them, I don't know if he would spare the rogue incubus for loyalty alone. My best bet is to stick close to him, follow his scents, and interrogate the captured demon back in Limbo, rather than letting the world outright erase him. I don't like the idea of deceiving Abel or lying to our handlers, but I'm not sure what else to do.

Abel leans down to me, nuzzles into my cheekbone. “I'm glad that hunt didn't last longer.” His hand slides lower, to my waist. “Now I get you to myself. Hopefully for a while, once word of that nest gets around. The other hunters are gonna go to ground.” He sounds like he believes it, like he doesn't know they weren't hunters.

I wrap my arms around him, and let his cool flesh surround me.

“That happy, huh?”

I bite my lip. “Yeah. I don't like having to follow traces that much. It's—vulnerable.”

“I know, but you're good at it. Better than most, even.”

I roll my eyes. “You sure know how to craft a compliment, don't you?”

“There's my girl.”

“Dick.”

He stares at me, probably parsing my bleed for some clue where I've been. “Gene, were you peeking again?”

I know what he'll have to say, but it does divert attention from where I really went. I slide my eyes to the side awkwardly, rather than voice a lie he might see through.

“You know you're not supposed to do that. It weakens you, ties you to limitations you've grown past.”

I shrug.

“I swear, Imogene, I will be happy in a century when they're all dead and you're free to focus on your life.”

That gets a rise out of me. “I was 'free to focus on my life' and avoid seeing them when I was alive. What's the point of being reborn when you can't make up for lost time?”

“A fresh start. Growth. Change.”

I pale, recognizing the implication in his words. “So basically, you're saying I should be happy to abandon who I was, because you don't think that the old me was worthwhile.”

“No, I—You're the one saying that. But you only died when you did because—”

I stiffen my spine and glare. “Because I attracted the wrong man's obsession, and couldn't get out before it became fatal. And I should see that as something I did wrong?”

His jaw clenches, having his ideas spoken with that tone. But before he's put on a more damn placating one, I put my back to him and storm off, walking through streets that are cobbled one moment, paved the next, toward my apartment. His footsteps sound behind me, but he doesn't try talking. Not with a handful of other demons milling in the streets I've turned onto. And I slam my door shut in his face when he tries to come in with me.

I set a pot of tea on the burner, my hands shaking. The judgments are nothing new. Everyone in my life, at some point or another, asked me why I stayed. And even explaining the failed attempts to break up or leave, how Mark scared me worse after, how I was genuinely convinced that if I was a little less stubborn, a little less sarcastic, a little less independent he wouldn't lose his temper... I thought that love should be unconditional, and we both should compromise. And I couldn't see that I was the only one moving and changing; he had already driven knives into my friends' metaphorical backs, 'inadvertently' 'letting slip' lies about what I said behind their backs. For years, no one mentioned anything to me, only to each other, until he tried it on my last childhood friend, Heather, who immediately came to me to talk it out.

I refuse to accept guilt for another person's actions. And early after my rebirth, I was militant about refusing to let this opportunity pass me by, refused to let my loose ends go untied. When my step-dad died, I was between missions, and I felt it right away. I immersed myself in his body before the doctors noticed he flatlined, and I had five blessed days eating my mom's cooking. I wore his form until I couldn't hold it anymore. And then I just clung to it, right through the funeral services. They buried my soul in his coffin.

Abel came for me, hauled me back home. I was distraught, so close and yet so far from normalcy.

I think he interpreted my reaction as evidence that any scrying for them would be harmful to my well-being, and I've never managed to disillusion him of that.

I know he means well. I know he wants me to be happy. But we've never been able to accept each others' ways of going about it.

“It's rude to storm off, you know.” His voice makes me jump. Goddamn inkies. See, when you don't really have a physical form, even in realities where your form is physical, it's fluid. If I had to guess, he turned himself liquid and poured himself under the door.

“It's rude to enter a woman's home without permission.”

He sighs. “Look—I don't want to fight.”

I raise my eyebrows. “That's not an apology.”

“You know exactly what it is.” He steps up to me, his hair falling into my face, and tips my chin up to him.

He's right. He never apologizes with words, only with affection. I purse my lips, and then relax them as he kisses me. It's so much easier to just accept it, stop fighting, stop looking for more from him than he's ever going to be willing to offer.

His mind touches mine, metaphorical roots spreading through my soul, warming me with the bleed from his own tenderness and desire.

As they tumble through my consciousness and I open myself to his sensations, memories jostle to the top: Cole's words—they've made you a weapon, and my meatsuit's lips on Owen. I slam my barriers up and stagger away from him.

“I'm not in the mood.”

He flinches. I haven't rebuffed him so soundly since the old days. I should have been less forceful. Or I should've done what I could to just erect barriers, even though that'd only make it worse when he noticed them and realized I was trying to deceive him. No—second-guessing myself won't do any good. Stomping hard was the only way to get him away before he could catch on.

I keep my back to him, and fight to bury the memories, since I can't tell how deeply in my head he was. I have never more than now wished to be a full blood inky, to have some assurance that my defenses would hold against him.

His voice is hurt. “Okay then. Sleep well.”

He's gone when I turn around.

Chapter 16

To The Ground, John

I WAS ALWAYS told that only the guilty run from the cops, but I'm enough of a realist to know that's just not true.

Owen Jonas has gone to ground. He stopped attending his classes. His roommate says he's seen him once, and he was terrified, but that he didn't make sense. Said someone was trying to kill him. Paranoid delusions strong enough to make the other youth question whether the next time he heard Jonas was going to be in coverage of a shooting spree or something.

No one I've spoken to has anything questionable to say about Jonas' mental health, so either it's undiagnosed, new, or he's telling the truth.

I'm not sure what to believe.

Reilly, the chief detective, is getting impatient to see results. So I buckle down to staking out Ronny, the morgue worker.

His motions are normal, as near as I can tell. No sign of why he wanted that grave dirt. Nor any sign of where he put it. I'm beginning to question whether he did have innocent reasons for collecting that dirt after days of nothing, when I finally track him to a car rental place. I eavesdrop on the conversation, listen to him rent a car under a name that definitely isn't his.

He heads back to the morgue, parks in his usual spot, hurries inside. I squint into his car window, and can barely make out a piping bag on the seat. Bingo.

It's a waiting game, now. I settle in for a long night watching. Sooner or later, I'll catch him stealing a corpse, and the hybrid henna mix will be enough to connect him to the other scenes, get a warrant to search for other evidence that will secure a conviction.

I slam the door shut on the voice in my head saying that some of the marked corpses' files are older than he is. He's copying whoever did those, and the two are otherwise unrelated. But the coincidence could be enough to lead to obsession, if I let it.

I'm so close. I can almost taste it, an electric tang in the air.

Soon now, I can walk away from this whole ugly business, get back to bar brawls turned deadly, and drive-bys.

Chapter 17

Showtime, Gene

ABEL DOESN’T AVOID me long. I've barely woken up and buttered a lackluster bagel for myself when he again appears in my home. “C'mon. Showtime.”

“What?”

“Just found out who the last guy in that nest is staying with.”

I flinch. “What?”

He gives me a paper, and I memorize the address. Cow pie country north of Ann Arbor again. I'm beginning to hate that city with more than just the animosity of a lifelong Michigan State University fan. And that's saying something, since the rivalry between MSU and U of M is the stuff of legends.

“Come on, woman. Get your game face on.” He reaches for me, catching me on my way to the door.

I sigh, and let him hold my hand for the rest of that short walk. He lets it go the moment we're in the Hub's streets, looking for the nearest gate for me.

I put my mind through the tenuous barrier between realities and probe for a good body.

And this time, one latches right onto me, old enough that the old owner has vacated, but not so old that the body doesn't remember what a soul should feel like. I open my eyes and sit up, pressing bloodless lips together and stretching while I wait for Abel to get close to me.

Finally, he walks into the room, controlling one of the morgue workers. He can't possess the fellow for long without potentially compromising him in the future, so we should get out fast. “It's all set,” he says, and grins at me through his host's yellowed teeth.

“Good,” I say, my voice coming out raspy, but feminine. I glance at my reflection on the steel table, and raise my eyebrows. It all comes full circle, I guess. I am Jennifer Brankevicz, and my burns itch. Lucky me. At least the tattooed bindings will save Abel some work. That's a surprising blessing.

Abel passes me the bag with Jennifer's effects, and I slide into her jeans and shirt. He nods, and walks toward the door. I hurry over there when I'm dressed, and when he meets my eyes, he opens the door.

We start forward. Look like you have a purpose, and no one will notice you don't.

But a man looks up as the door opens, and his eyes widen as he sees me. I glance at Abel, but he doesn't react. The man steps closer to us and I elbow Abel to make him look. His eyes widen, and he says “Come back for you in a bit.”

The words have barely left Abel's lips when he's gone, leaving the morgue worker collapsed on the floor, groaning. Then the remaining man is reaching for my arm.

“What the hell is this?” The words fall from tense lips and a clenched jaw. Why's he so freaked out? Did he know Jennifer? Does he recognize us? His eyes narrow, and his hand strays toward his holster. Yep, he definitely knows us. And has no intention of letting me leave.

“I don't know. Why don't you tell me?” I sneer at him, and jerk my arm out of his grip. I run for all I'm worth. The pain of it nearly makes me dissociate from my meatsuit; each foot hitting the ground feels like I jumped from a several story building and landed flatfooted.

But my movements are uncoordinated, yet, and I want to know what the hell is going on. He catches me around the waist, hard, and we plummet to the floor. He restrains me as best he can as the befuddled morgue worker finally regains enough sense to call for help, Abel's presence completely gone.

“Who are you?” the man on top of me asks, as several security staff run into the hall to help him hold me down.

“I could ask you the same.”

“What are you?”

The morgue guy stammers to them, saying that he did my autopsy, and finally makes them understand that they have to stop me, keep me here, to run tests, figure out how the hell a team of doctors that thought I was dead managed to cut me open and shuffle me around without actually killing me.

I chuckle to myself, and let them engage in their little games. I've got a little time to kill. I can duck out into a different meatsuit and leave them fluttering around this one, if need be.

Chapter 18

Connection, John

I THOUGHT I was being overcautious by making myself known to the security team ahead of time, but I can only imagine how strange this would look if I hadn't. And that's to say nothing of how difficult it would have been holding the struggling woman down, myself. It takes four of us, and I still get the feeling she's letting us win. She writhes under me as though looking for a foothold, but as her thigh pushes between my legs, it feels somehow... fluid... bendable... as though the bone isn't actually bone.

I have to feel bad for the poor young woman pinned beneath me. But something in her eyes is wrong and I can't trust that it is a poor young woman.

I was there at her autopsy. And here she is, humming to herself as two security officers guide her arms into wrist restraints, and two more get her ankles.

Worst yet, that tune is familiar. My hands still smell like May Taggert's lilacs. But May Taggert's rhyme is leaving not-Jennifer's lips. “Imogene? Imogene Taggert?”

Her eyes snap to my face, the humor and tolerance in them gone. “How the fuck do you know that name?” It comes out with force, less a question than a demand.

My voice breaks as I whisper her name again. “Imogene? Genie Taggert?”

Her last unrestrained foot whips up between my legs, and I fall off her as white-hot pain scalds me from balls to belly button. I swear to god, I feel it in my leg bones.

But with three limbs tied up, she's not going anywhere. They take their time trussing her up tighter, and wheel her, with me following, to the nearest empty room a floor up, to await instructions. They only let me stay after I whip my badge out, and remind them of my name and authority.

She laughs, an eerie, cutting sound that makes me more convinced than ever that she's some kind of hellspawn. The security staff stare at each other, and mumble something about waiting outside the door. When the laughs die down, she raises an eyebrow at me, something hypnotic shifting in her eyes' depths. “So are you going to tell me why you mentioned that name?”

I bite my lip. “It's yours.”

She nods. “So where did you hear it?”

I know better than to say my suspicions, since Ronny is still largely blubbering, and doesn't seem to know how he ended up on the floor while I wrestled a corpse. And there was a sudden change between how she looked at him when they first emerged together, and how she glanced at him as she turned and ran. Tender one moment, and utterly unconcerned the next. “I asked your mother about a guy visiting your grave. The guy you were just walking with. You wanna say how you know him?”

Something flits across her face. “Oh yeah?” I can tell the real question she wants to ask from her jaw's tension.

“She's fine. Misses you, but is fine.”

“Of course she is.” She rolls her eyes, and I wonder what I said wrong.

“So do you want to talk to me about... this?”

She gives me a patronizing grin. “To be honest, I couldn't care less. This chapter of the story is just for shits and giggles.” Her voice lowers until I can no longer understand it.

I raise my eyebrows at her and lean down, to try to make sense of her whispers. Her lips graze my earlobe, deathly cold. “You think these restraints could hold me?” Her teeth close on my lobe, firmly enough that my instinct is to pull away. But I know she won't hesitate to bite down. I'm really too rattled to be interrogating her right now.

She lets me up, and her tone returns to normal. “You're entirely keeping me here because I want to know what the hell you thought you were doing.” She laughs, rich deep chuckles with a cadence that makes my heart speed up. Her wrist jerks against the restraint, and I put my hand over it to force it flat against the bed.

“Playing whack-a-mole, apparently.” I have no idea how I'm going to write this shit up. “So tell me. For my own peace of mind. Did you kill Loretta, Eliza, and Ethan Jonas?”

She stares at me, for a moment an exhausted child forbidden its naptime. “This line of questioning bores me.”

“Not me. Did you?”

She licks her lips, her parchment-dry tongue sliding along them in a way that's nonetheless enticing, with my own shadow blotting out the damage to the inside of her mouth and tongue. Her lips twitch into a lopsided grin that makes me think of the picture framed on May's porch. The features are different, but there's something in her carriage, something in the eyes. The meat is different, but the person... can it be the same girl? Maybe I'm going crazy.

I feel more pity for her than anything else. And her non-answer is telling. “Why did you kill them?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is that ever the right question?” Her eyes flick to mine.

I look for any distinction she might be fighting to articulate. “Who told you to kill them?”

She grins so widely I swear Jennifer's face might split trying to contain it. “That, Johnny baby, is the right question. You, uh, wanna plunge down the rabbit hole?”

She arches her back sensuously, the motion tugging on haphazardly stitched skin still mottled with burns. My bile rises in my throat, and she laughs, the voice of that crazy homeless guy outside my apartment when he actually finds someone willing to listen.

Somewhere under the violent mania might be the hint of charisma her mother saw.

But I have not a doubt in my mind that Imogene Taggert, or whatever thinks its her, is completely unhinged.

“What are you?”

Her lips tremble. “I am their weapon.”

Something crashes against my skull, and I'm barely conscious as my head hits the floor. A pair of men's shoes is in my field of vision as I pass out.

Chapter 19

Hunting Wabbits, Gene

“ABOUT TIME,” I tell Abel as he reaches for my restraints.

“You looked like you were having fun, and I thought you might want to blow off steam. Seemed like you were amused fucking with him. Although—” He pauses, one wrist's restraint half undone under his fingers. He slides the pads of his fingers slowly up my arm, to my collarbone, and down between my breasts. If my heart was truly beating, it'd be beating faster. I've never had the courage to let him restrain me, and he knows better than to ask. Apparently he's not above a little teasing, though.

“No way in hell we're blowing off that kind of steam.”

“No?”

“No.” I shut my eyes, and wait for him to finish loosing me.

“Your loss.”

He kisses my forehead, and helps me stand. I look at Homicide Detective John Camden's prone form below the table. Homicide Detective John Camden. Wonder how that happened. “Wanna fuck with him a little?”

He catches my grin, and nods.

“Then get his legs.”

He helps me haul John onto the bed, and fasten his limbs in the restraints mine were just in. I chuckle, just a little.

There's a medical chart at the foot of the bed, though no one has put anything in it yet. I dig in John's pocket for a pen, and scrawl out 'hunting wabbits'. To add insult to injury, Abel offers me the piping bag, and I scoop a small amount off the top. I rub it on my lips like lipstick, and kiss the sheet to leave a print. I wipe the rest of it off—it tastes awful and I don't rightly know whether it's poisonous in other circumstances.

But Abel and I chuckle as we leave, an entire floor of hospital covered in sleeping nurses whose energy is still being channeled into Abel's refreshingly sturdy from. After being restrained, I'm almost giddy to be free. If it wouldn't draw attention to us, I'd grab his ass and kiss him, savor the opportunity for some forbidden PDAs.

In the parking lot, the night air turns my euphoria to full blown laughter, and I settle in to drive to our inky loverboy. Abel glances at me, and there's something stiff in his expression. But when he sees me looking, he turns it to a smile, and blows me a kiss before relinquishing his form. No doubt he noticed the tattoos peeping above my neckline and knows I don't need him to stain me, after all. It's probably disappointment at not having the excuse to flirt, especially after our fight. It unnerves me a little; I wish he would reach for me, or act like he's having fun near me. Is he waiting for me to apologize?

The drive goes fast, as I'm preoccupied. I actually kind of enjoyed picking on the good detective. And it was nice to take a meatsuit and have someone other than Abel recognize me. It makes me feel like I exist. And Abel'd be hurt if I said that. Both because of how much he's invested in me over the years, and because he'd worry I was getting addicted to wandering and peeking at the world. And that'd be another fight I don't want.

I park outside the house, and take up a watch. Even if my mark isn't going to manifest to seduce the occupant tonight, I should still be able to rush in and take him when he puts enough of himself into her consciousness to read her.

But the air here has a weight to it much greater than I'd expect from a single incubus doing background reconnaissance. Where's Abel? Why hasn't he joined me? There's still a handful of people he could easily piggyback on doing yardwork. And I want to run the curious heaviness in the air by him, get his opinion on it.

I say his name to myself, over and over again, demanding his attention. And in time, he takes the hint and comes to me. Who says prayer doesn't work?

He manifests in the seat next to me. “Gene? What's wrong now?”

“Doesn't smell right.”

“So? Probably a booby trap or something. You're a big kid, so pull up the big girl panties, and do your job.”

His expression is off. I stare at him, and cock my head. Why the fuck is he so cold? “And here I thought we were partners.”

“Partnership has its limits.” His eyes are guarded, and while I know I hurt his widdle feelings turning him down before, he's not usually this pissy about it.

“Well if I mean that little to you.” I bite my lip to hide the hurt. The lesson's clear. And now, more than ever, I know that everything Cole said, all the hopes it sparked... it's never gonna happen. Abel's interest in me was purely a little taboo nookie. Maybe he cared about me at first, but he's long-since decided he's in it for the pleasure, and nothing else. Fuck having each other's backs, us against the world. Fuck being connected in a way that few lovers or friends ever are. He was only screwing me for his ego, even though he knew it meant something to me, for how close we got along that path.

I don't dare let him see the frustration in my eyes. I don't dare ask him why, or what I did wrong, or what changed. I don't dare accuse him of misleading me, or taking advantage of my vulnerable state when we met. I don't dare try to articulate the feeling of betrayal at his harsh words, and uncaring demeanor.

I get out of the car, and don't look back as I step toward the house. The pavement barely makes a noise underfoot; Jennifer's body has a strong connection, one that is almost as natural as my own body. What the fuck is Abel's problem? Could he suspect that I let Owen live?

Abel manifests behind me again and seizes me, pulling me back behind a row of hedges.

I'm tense in his grip, instinctively trying to pry him off me. He knows better than to manhandle me like that on assignment. At home, as equals in a place of safety, horseplay is fine. But when I've spent hours putting on a veneer of bravado in anticipation of a kill-or-be-killed fight, it just drags me to an unhappy mental place, where I can't tell friend from foe.

“You don't. You mean everything to me. And you're right.”

But whatever was waiting for me has been tipped off. Black pours from the mouths of the gardening suburbanites. Incubi, obviously ones not trained as Hounds, given the tactics. And they're here for me—otherwise they would have revealed themselves sooner. They're not backup, or allies.

I turn to leave, and look back to Abel. But he isn't preparing to run, or even fight. His shoulders slump, and he can't even look at me. He sold me out.

“Sonofabitch. You walked me into a set up!”

“Well you're trying to kill your own. And we are the same, even if Reapers are cut from a weaker cloth.”

I swing a mighty punch into Abel's face, and to his credit he doesn't drain his substance into immateriality to avoid it. To my credit, I don't drain my substance to prevent my abilities from tearing into him, creating threads I could use to force him to Limbo, and flashing, if I wanted to see him dead. My fist pounds agonizingly from the impact, and he winces, our eyes meeting each other for an instant. His are pleading and sorrowful, and mine are blazing with fury and fear.

I release Jennifer's body, and force myself through several random rents into an unfamiliar dream. If Abel's hunting me, it seems safer than the Hub right now.

Chapter 20

Whack-a-mole, John

IF YOU TOLD me earlier that I'd spend tonight talking to a dead woman, I'd tell you I wanted some of what you were on. Right before I arrested you for possessing it, if I was on the job.

I have a lot of time alone before one of the security personnel in the hall responds. He's yawning, and something about that pisses me off. Maybe there's some truth to the rumor that security people are failed or wannabe cops. After three hours chained spread-eagled to a hospital bed, I'm not exactly able to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He blinks, seeing me, and yells to the others to get in. They refrain from laughing at me too much, but I can't let that small kindness set the tone, not with Jennifer/Imogene missing.

“Did the girl go past you?”

They trade looks, no doubt wondering how to cover their asses. The others are yawning, too. Damn grave shift incompetents. They probably crept off to sleep in a supply cabinet or something.

“No, no one's left the room since you got up here.”

“And you were here, not sleeping somewhere.”

He draws out the word “yes” in a way that tells me more than it should.

“Which part of that is bending the truth?”

One of them grits his teeth. “Think we were drugged. I was there, and then I passed out. Looks similar for these assholes.” His buddy elbows him, but nods.

I growl and stand, stretching feeling back into my limbs. The lump on my head doesn't feel too bad, and I don't want to take time to check it.

“And you didn't see anyone out of place?”

They all shake their head, and I scan the room for whatever was used to knock me out. At the foot of the bed is a clipboard, with a large dark mark on it. I pick it up for a closer look, and every swear word I know, in every language I've been exposed to falls out of my mouth.

Hunting Wabbits.

And a crusty lip print, mocking me.

“Security cameras. Where?”

Three of them leave for their rounds, but the last stays to show me around, pointing out the camera encasements in the hall and at the nurse's station, and to lead me to the monitoring station.

“Um, it doesn't actually record.”

“What?”

“We monitor. I don't think it actually records because that would be expensive. In the main hospital, yes, but not the morgue and administrative areas.”

I swear. So much for that.

I'm not entirely sure how to proceed from here, but I know I have to report the missing body.

As I pick up the phone to make the call, it rings. Narcisso is on the other end. “Hey, man, got another body for you.”

“Let me guess—Jennifer Brankevicz.”

“How'd you know?”

I swear. “Long story. Where is she?”

“Most of the way to Brighton.”

“Shit. I'm on my way.”

Chapter 21

Two-Faced, Gene

THE DEPTH OF Abel's betrayal sinks in as I slide through a reality where rabid crows attack irradiated dogs picking through fleshless human corpses. Or is it a dream? They exist in similar spaces, and sometimes it can be hard to tell them apart, until the dreamscape cycles into something else when another dreamer enters it, makes it their own.

It barely takes a thought to barricade all I have at the shriveled base of what used to be my connection with Abel. I might not feel him probe for me, but at least he won't be able to enter my mind without permission.

I race back to the Hub the back way, and don't go home. It's all I can do not to cry and collapse, let myself break down a little, knowing that no one's gonna catch me or help me to my feet. For the first time since those early days after I was turned, I feel alone.

Go down the right alley in the Hub, and you can find anything. To my left is a demon who largely makes his living as an art thief. And he's built for it, too, with a form of teeming insects, able to separate and wiggle through any barrier. He's received two warnings already for murdering security officers in the course of his thefts. One more, and he could be my next contract. Until then, he's my neighbor.

He waves at me, makes an obscene slurping gesture. It's an informal way of telling a Reaper 'you can suck my soul anytime.'

I close my fingers into a rabbit face, and wiggle it at him, my way of saying 'you're a scared little bunny, so hope along before you're prey.'

He laughs, and each of his individual insect components shouts a different insult, come-on, salutation, or farewell at me.

I step free of some sort of sludge. It could be someone's sweat, someone's spunk, or a trap to play a prank on a rival. Best to not find out.

Another Reaper looks at me with dead eyes. He asks, quietly, “Papers?” I shake my head and leave him.

See, as much pain as there is to be out in a meatsuit, it's a privilege. And like any privilege, it can be abused. Faced with the isolation of the Hub, knowing we might have to take out any of our neighbors at a moments' notice, unable to form close friendships or bonds, there's a release to being out in the world, acting somewhat consequence free. So long as you can act well enough to not piss the humans off, you can get away with a lot of shit on assignment. And that can become intoxicating, an obsession, that leaves you feeling all the more dead when you're home again, in your lack of life.

I've known his type. It gets to be a drug, and unfortunately one that we can't let him indulge, lest too many bodies start walking around and convincing the Pope that the end days are upon them.

It's also why we police the inkies, too. There's a certain amount of trust when you're possessing someone's body, dead or alive. Only done in the gravest of situations. And unfortunately, when one with our kind of power goes bad, they tend to go really bad. Not just hijack a corpse to eat a few family meals bad.

Abel worried for me, worried that our reliance on me as a hunter would lead to me getting hooked on the mortal reality, and acting out even more to claim a physical life for myself.

And to be fair, I came close for a while. So that concern felt reassuring, that he'd tell me if I was doing anything crazy, or anything that would ultimately hurt my remaining family. I thought I could trust him. That so long as he defined our reality, he'd keep me safe. He encouraged that. He made me feel like we were partners. Like our presence in each other's lives mattered. Even though we weren't even public fuckbuddies.

But I'm not family. Not like that fugitive bastard Abel baited the trap with. If Daddy Inky was even there. Abel's probably never talked to the asshole in his life, and yet that motherfucker has his undying loyalty.

Fucking manipulative backstabber.

Despite my anger, I know it's my own damn fault. I bite my lip until it bleeds, desperate to wash the bad taste out of my mouth. I let his gentility toward me lure me into thinking he cared for me more than his stoic incubus socialization would let him say.

When someone tells you their true colors, you should listen.

He deceived me, but I let him, because I wanted to believe it. How could an incubi who'd fucked queens and geniuses ever find something of value in a newbie Reaper who'd only fucked one man in her life? How could I have even thought he'd see something special in me he hadn't seen in any of the other people he encountered over the fifteen hundred or so years of his life? Selfish. Narcissistic. A victim of my own wishful thinking and desperation.

A black mood haunts me as I scour the streets for Morena, the Reapers' head.

Finally, I find her, nursing a set of plants in a public park with her blood.  She raises an eyebrow at me, and says, “Don't stand and stare. Open a vein, if you want roses here next month.”

I roll my eyes and obey her, tearing my nails into my flesh to spare a few drops.

Everything here survives on our life essence, and if we hog it to ourselves, the whole community suffers. The fabric of this reality is not conducive to life or growth, but its placement makes it the perfect port-of-call for the vast majority of dreamscapes.

Satisfied with my contribution, she barks out, “Report.”

I try to figure out where to start, especially without incriminating myself. “The incubi seem to be forgetting alliances. I was ambushed by them while trying to carry out your last order.”

A pause, to collect myself. I know I'm going to hate saying this next part. Even if I wasn't the one who started this war. “Abel is compromised.” I nearly choke on the words.

Her eyes wrinkle with restrained laughter. “Of course they are. Their elders are gone; their people are running in every direction stirring up problems.”

I raise my brows. That's news to me. “That would have been good information to be aware of.”

She stares at me, putting the dunce cap on me without saying a word. Finally, “No. It's kept close. The remaining elders work with us to contain the damage.”

“Damage?”

“They are going to bring scrutiny, start a war we can't finish, unless we bring them into line. Better than you are working on it already.”

“So what are my new orders?” I know there's no point to protesting about a system that keeps secrets so close that its workers walk into traps. Morena'd probably rip a thousand pieces off of me.

And so long as I keep busy, I won't have to imagine another team going after Abel, as he did me.

I can't let Morena see how much it's upset me. She doesn't have any kind of psychic leanings, so it's all down to body language. I don't bother wiping all the hurt off my face—that would be far more suspicious.

“Finish burning that nest out, down to the roots.” She looks at me, scouring me for a reaction. “Contrary to Abel's after-action report, the young one survived his encounter with you. I'm sure it was just an oversight, one you will immediately rectify.”

I nod, fighting to keep my face clear of guilt. “We didn't have time to catch up, for me to appraise him, before he reported in.”

“And to be on the safe side, I would hide away from the Hub. Do not let Abel know where you are.”

I shudder. “Don't have to tell me twice.”

“Then go. You've been here too long, already.”

Surprisingly, she hasn't asked any questions about whether him acting as a traitor wounds me. There's been no attempting to discover if I was aware of his double-dealing. That means her mind's already made up, without my input.

I nod, and force my mind into the closely wrapped fabrics of realities, pressed together like bolts of fabric. I find the furthest one away and weave myself into it. I'll worry about a form when I get there.

Chapter 22

Bloodhound, John

REILLY GLARES AT me across his desk. “What the hell happened, Camden?”

I can't think of a way to describe it that won't make me seem completely crazy. “I believed that by tracking the markings, I could find more about the killer and how he steals corpses.”

“And somehow one got away, right from under your nose.”

“I'm still investigating it, sir.” I don't want to throw Ronny under the bus, since the security personnel swore that he had fallen unconscious with them, and he was still there fast asleep when they woke up. But Occam's Razor is a bitch. Maybe he hid the corpse while I was out, and came back to play possum. I take a breath to suggest talking to him further, but Reilly holds up a hand to stop me in my tracks.

“No. You're not. I'm reassigning this.”

I start to argue with him, but he cuts me off. “End of discussion. Just got a call about a homicide off N. University. Surely you can't fuck that up. Get out of my sight, and I'll get you the address.”

I ball my hands, and stand to leave.

He's delusional if he thinks anyone else is going to get further on this one. We're not goddamn superheroes, or Buffy. Because I know what I saw, and what I heard.

I scan the information on my new assignment, and take off. It's not terribly far away, but I want to get there before they finish with the examinations and cleanup.

The apartment looks like normal, mid-range student housing. But inside, the unis are still gathering evidence, interrogating a trembling young man with a black eye. I pull one of the officers aside, and he catches me up.

“Open and shut. He says it was self-defense. We've been here twice this month when the neighbors filed noise complaints. Says that his boyfriend assaulted him when he refused to turn over the password to his phone. Said that it was a sign of guilt, that he was obviously cheating, hiding things. Punched him, put a hole in the wall, choked him. One thing, to another, and—” He jerks his chin toward the floor, where a section of carpet is soaked in blood, and the body is splayed.

The dead man's clothes are in disarray, his torso twisted where he fell. And there's marks on his hip, I get my hands underneath the body and roll him, and sure enough, I've seen those markings before. As I pull my hands away, they catch on something, and it comes loose in my hand.

It's that moment I realize everyone except for the crying survivor is staring at me.

One of them takes my arm and hauls me to my feet. I follow his gaze down to my bare hands, caked in blood, holding onto the murder weapon.

“I'm afraid you have to leave my crime scene, Detective,” the CSI tech in charge says. He holds out a gloved hand to take the evidence from me, and puts it in a bag. I try not to make eye contact as I slink out of the room.

Shit. I'm never going to hear the end of this. And that's if I wiggle out of anything worse than a suspension. The scene's contaminated, maybe bad enough to provide a lawyer an argument that evidence from the scene is tainted, too.

I take statements in the hall, and try to let CSI work. Before they've finished dusting for prints, my phone beeps with a message. Reilly, informing me that I am suspended pending an investigation. Paperwork to come, but effective immediately.

Where the hell did this go wrong? I used to feel like I knew what I was doing; homicide is a fairly straightforward thing to investigate, on my level. It's not like I'm supposed to be tracking the dude from Se7en. Or ghosts.

I'm rattled, and more than a little adrift with the suspension. Maybe I can talk Casey into letting me watch Sammy, try to keep myself busy.

But even without the professional imperative, I know I have to do this. Not just that I need the murders to stop, but that I need to know the who and the why.

I have to put my nose to the ground, find Owen Jonas. There has to be something the victims had in common, some way they knew each other.

But first, I have to talk to May Taggert, get a sense of the spirit I'm up against.

I can't explain how I know it, but I do. This isn't the last time I'm going to meet Imogene Taggert.

Chapter 23

Navelgaze, Gene

I DON’T REALLY see a point to delaying things. I wander along planes of existence, testing their tensile strength and the weight of the souls residing in them. I don't want to be around others right now—it would make it too easy for an incubus to sneak up on me or track me. And I don't want to choose a dimension Abel's been with me, lest it make it easier for him to pick up my trail.

As soon as the air is light enough, an indication of my isolation, I stop and kneel. There's even rosemary here. Maybe it's anecdotal, that it aids memory and connection, but I like the way it smells, and I like ritual. I put a sprig under my tongue, and crush the rest of the stem in my fingers.

The marks on Loretta Jonas' skin haven't been washed enough to fade, and her body hasn't been cremated. I still have somewhat of a connection to her, if less of one than I'd have residing in her corpse. I grab a stick and lean over the dirt in front of me, ready to draw.

I release my mind, force it to empty. I wipe the sting of Abel's betrayal from its surface, the anxiety about the political horseplay I'm mired in. The cruel irony of nearly dying a second time by the actions of a lover. In my more bitter moments, I can't help but worry that something's wrong with my taste in men. That it's not sheer bad luck. Mark may have been bad luck, but Abel's bad judgment.

I force back the memories of my own self and mortality. The less me there is in this picture, the more of her there will be.

With my fingers on the stick, I relax my hand.

“Owen—” An urge to twitch my fingers that isn't motivated by my own physical comfort.

“Hiding.” My fingers close around the makeshift writing implement, trace abstract lines onto the dirt. By the time I look down, there's a sketch of a tree house in someone's back yard; not hers, though. A stick figure woman walks underneath the treehouse, as a child crouches in the treehouse smiling.

I wipe the dirt clean.

“Emergency.” My improvised pen dances over the ground, to shape a rue plant, and an osha, two of the herbs used in holy water. So very helpful. But I can almost smell their roots, and even that much connection to the sensory experience of being attacked with the cursed liquid makes me queasy, and makes my scars burn. My connection with Loretta is strengthening as I let her speak. I clean my workspace, and brace myself for the next word, one that will almost certainly provoke a reaction.

“Demon.” My fingers clench around the pen as though held by an invisible hand, I blink at the sketch in confusion as the grip relaxes. Owen's face stares at me from the surface, eyes shaded black with harsh circles of the nib. “Yes, I know demons are looking for him.”

I swipe the drawing away again, and once again Loretta sketches Owen with my hand, a solid representation except for the blackened eyes. I wonder if I've misunderstood her, or if she's simply trying to scare me away from him.

“Help,” I whisper, solidifying my true intentions, making them binding. And that does it. Something shifts into place, giving me an opening to push past the remnants of her consciousness, and latch onto his. I don't think I could do it if he didn't want me there so desperately. Well, not me, but anyone. He's never been so alone and scared.

He's dreaming, night terrors of blood and fire. He wishes someone would wake him, would make the world normal. I can't blame him—I'm right there, too. What I'd give to wake up in my mom's arms and realize the past two decades have been a bad dream. Or to wake up in Abel's and discover that the last few days were the nightmare.

Owen sees himself as a crying infant, rather than a grown man. His mother's silhouette looms tall above him, and he fights to find something comforting in it. Instead, he sees the telltale marks on her, and something pushing through her, perverting her every motherly touch into a succession of tentacles, claws, and teeth. He doesn't know what I look like, so his mind is filling in the gap with the most horrific things that lurk in his subconscious.

Even in dream, he looks sickly. How much more unhealthy will he be when I find him?

Her motherly instincts have gotta be stronger than I thought, for her to bleed into me like that.

I hold tight to his presence in my head, begin the trek back to a point close enough to push into his reality. My steps are rather quicker than normal. I've never been this intimately acquainted with the aftermath of my work, and every emotional pang that I suffer keeping even a thread of that connection open makes me feel more human, more on my own.

I can't trust anyone. And without that connection, that safety net, I have to trust myself. So for the moment, my intentions are to do no harm.

And somehow, knowing we're both suffering, albeit for such different reasons, it makes me feel I'm not alone. It's exactly what I need, with the prospect of Abel on my tail, looking to kill me.

Chapter 24

Rogue, John

NARCISSO LOOKS AT me above the rim of his coffee cup and a sheaf of papers. I technically shouldn't be around work stuff while suspended, but there's only so many hours in the day, and entirely too much paperwork to fill out. “What happened, man?” It's a little flattering that he's giving me the benefit of the doubt; I doubt anyone else is.

I shrug. I don't think he'd believe me if I told the truth. “I got careless. Messed up. I admit that...”

“I don't believe it, though; it takes too much to rattle you.”

I shrug. “Well, rattled I was.”

“I meant to ask; what was that shit you were talking to Casey about?”

No real point to keeping it to myself, other than preserving the appearance of my own sanity. And that's not a high priority right now. “Tracked the fake tattoos. Casey got me the composition of the paste used. And we tracked it to a morgue worker. Ronny Lafayette. You know him?”

His eyes are sharp, and I wonder what the others have been saying about my stint at the hospital. Nothing good, I'm sure. An entire floor drugged or incapacitated, me restrained, an outrageous story about why I was there in the first place... I didn't do a very good job of covering my ass, at the time.

“So that's why you were there. What'd you see? Before...”

I laugh, but there's an almost hysterical edge to it. Anyone else would call me a pussy, but Narcisso keeps his mouth shut. “Exactly what the eyewitnesses who found Krieger, Jonas, and the Brankevicz girl's body did.” It doesn't feel right to call her by name, when I saw something—someone—else looking at me through her eyes, as well. “A person moving around normally, who I wouldn't have believed was a corpse if I hadn't seen her autopsy myself.” I get defensive. “I wasn't the only one though—”

He shakes his head to defuse me. “Spare me. Not questioning. Just, Casey's been really far on edge lately, thought that her help might have gotten you suspended. You should talk to her—”

“You've been seeing Casey?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. I think she was coming by the precinct to visit you, but you were always busy or out. It's been going on for a while now. We started talking, and...” He cocks his head slightly, a strange combination of apology and bemusement.

I shake my head. “Whatever. Just don't let her down.”

His mouth twitches, and he passes a file over to me, mostly to change the topic, I think. “What do you think of this?”

I scan over the photos in the file, and the written description of the incident. Teenage girl, eighteen, committed suicide just before graduation after prolonged harassment from her classmates. “Why ask me kindergarten shit? This one's open and shut.”

He chuckles. “I just thought it might make you feel included.”

I punch his shoulder. “Don't bother. I'm gonna go make some house calls.”

He smiles, but there's a little relief in it. Even me being in the room while he does his homework could be his job. “Anything I can do, to make you feel better?”

I take a chance. “Let me know if you locate Owen Jonas? Just want to know he's okay.”

He hesitates. “Sure thing.”

I give him a one-armed hug and turn to leave. As I juggle the door and my car keys, my phone rings. I glance at it, but don't recognize the number. Still, I'm expecting some calls that might come through like that—IA, mainly.

I answer. “Hello?”

A voice comes through, a little distorted. An authoritative male voice. “Good afternoon. Is John Camden available?”

“Speaking. Who is this?”

“I'm Bruce Levitt, Internal Affairs.” My blood runs cold, and I remind myself to be polite.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Are you free this afternoon? I need to interview you about the events of last week.”

“I can come by the station any—”

He cuts me off. “For reasons I'm not at liberty to disclose, the station is not an option.”

That doesn't sit well with me, but I have far more to lose if I turn him away and he is IA. I can verify his identity at a coffee shop or something. “Okay. Where and when?”

He names a diner a half a mile away, and asks when I can be there. “Right away. Give me ten minutes.”

I give myself a once-over, smooth down my tousled hair with some water and gel, and replace my worn t-shirt with a button-down. I still make it to the diner with time to spare. I grab a booth, and wait for Levitt.

Finally, a man sits across from me and holds up his badge for me. Looks right. Shit. His eyes are sharp, wolfish. Not just the aggression, but a wildness that's more feral than I'd expect to see in a bureaucrat. And his hair's nowhere near as close-cut as I'd expect.

May as well jump in, head off the difficult questions. “I understand you're here to discuss the actions under investigation. Yes, I touched an active crime scene. I saw a mark on the corpse I believed might connect it to a larger case, involving several people recently deceased—”

He cuts me off. “Why?”

“Marks have been found on several other bodies, either tattooed or in a special paste—”

“Paste?”

“Henna and grave dirt. From a grave in—”

“And the hospital incident?”

I bite my lip. “I believed I had a suspect, a morgue worker who had collected dirt from a grave matching the chemical composition of the stuff mixed with the henna. I was surveilling him.” Something about his gaze rattles me, but I put it aside; I've dealt with worse interrogators. At this point, the only thing making me anxious is my desire to keep my job. He's intense, sure, but nothing I haven't seen before.

“What then?”

“I witnessed him walking out of the morgue with a young woman. I recognized her and tried to question her.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Imogene Taggert?” The name leaves his lips sharply, as though he doesn't want to be saying it.

I clam up. “Jennifer Brankewicz. Though she did say her name was Imogene Taggert later.”

He straightens, and stands. “If Taggert tries contacting you again, call this number.” He takes my phone and puts a number in. “And trust me; it won't go well for you if you don't.”

I shake my head. What the hell is this?

“Happy to cooperate with IA. If you could just tell me what—”

“No.” He walks through the diner door as a crowd of people enters, and I can't see which way he goes.

Chapter 25

The Trail, Gene

I WAKE UP in a morgue. In Detroit, if I remember this one well. I wait for the halls to clear, and sneak out, following the tenuous connection toward Owen. Whoever I'm in now, he lived a very full life, and wasn't walking around on his own toward the end. I don't have time or materials for a binding, either. My feet ache, and my muscles are atrophied in this form. I can hardly put one foot in front of the other. If it looks like I'll be here a while, I might have to sneak out for the dirt, but otherwise...

The connection's not as thick as it was with Cole, and I take several wrong turns, my stolen recollections scrambled by a memory of a brunch at that deli, or a show at that theater. I probe for more feedback from Owen's connection, but get nothing more than the sensory experience of plush couch upholstery pressing against my nose. It smells disgusting, like weed and ball-sweat. It's tinged with Loretta's disapproval. I shouldn't be able to get any of that.

But the further I walk from the morgue, the thicker the connection, the more a sense of unease hits me. I make my eyes stay open as I move, so as not to attract attention, but relax my mind, letting it seep somewhat out of my stolen body.

A flash of a heavier presence to my right, one that shifts to be far enough away that I lose it. The air warps around it, though, barely perceptible waves rippling through like a purse dropped on a waterbed.

A block later, another to my left. This one I get a look at. Shit. I know him, an incubus who escaped flashing by pledging to be one of the Whirlwind's big guns, the demonic bounty hunters who handled the game they feared even Reapers couldn't take down. Violent, with no regard to casualties, and no qualms about long-term possession, the kind that ruined their living host permanently. Imprisoned on other planes to prevent them from spreading anarchy and death on the more active ones, and driven insane by that isolation.

But they're so corrosive, they have difficulty moving between realities. They can only operate in one at a time. It takes a strong team of demons to pull onto a trail. And if those demons are near, especially if they're incubi, they may well follow. The Whirlwind's too unwieldy to be good trackers, across dimensions. It's my only hope, if they're on my scent.

There's no way they're here by accident. They're following me. Morena put them on me, or spoke to those who did. That means she doesn't trust me, and likely means she'll want me out of the picture as soon as I get her where I'm going.

I seize every bit of energy from the air around me, pulling it into my meatsuit as I tear a hole for myself to dodge through. I tear the bonds between every atom in the meatsuit, to cause a little confusion and maybe a few wounds to slow them down. As the hunters close in, my body immolates behind me, exploding forcefully enough that there's probably gonna me more casualties than I want to consider.

I weave the hole shut behind me, before opening another, and another after that, and another after that. This should muddy the trail some. I travel through the second rent, and leave all three open. I repeat the same thing in two more worlds before I stop to rest my aching bones.

Loretta's wounds still bother me, still twinge when I turn my head. But the pain gives me focus.

I'll lose them, and then come back to Owen.

Damn you, Morena. Damn you, Abel.

I'm alone. And without Abel I feel like I'm fraying at the seams.

Nothing for it, but to run.

Chapter 26

She's Not There, John

MAY LOOKS AT me over a cup of lavender tea. “I didn't expect to see you again, Officer—”

“John Camden. Detective. Though who knows for how much longer.” She raises her eyebrows, and I elaborate, “Rough week.”

She's tactful enough not to comment. I let the silence settle between us a moment before I continue.

“Has—I know this will sound strange, but... has Imogene ever tried to contact you?”

Muscles tighten under her eyes as she fixes me with a shrewd look. “Genie is dead.”

“I know, but has she ever contacted you?”

She bits her lip. “No—I don't... I get flashes, times where someone reminds me of her. But all mourning people do. And they haven't come in a long time.”

“Okay then, anything strange? Strange people, strange objects?”

She sighs, and shakes her head. “Not more than the usual. Fellow a few blocks up claims his home is a monastery, and the woman who runs the grocery store spins her dogs' fur into yarn.” She chuckled. “She was so upset when Genie died. Wanted some of her hair to make me a remembrance. Said they did it all the time, Victorian era. But,” her voice falters. “Most of Genie's head was gone. Closed-casket and all. She was so upset, I found one of Genie's old hairbrushes and let her have it.”

I bite my lip at the absurdity of it. May steps away from her cup, into another room. She comes back with a small, shallow box. She rummages inside it and finally pulls a pendant out and offers it to me.

I snort when I look at it. Glossy, dark hair, braided in a Celtic knot, and preserved in some sort of acrylic. Mounted on a pendant and chain. Chills go over me, to be handling a dead woman's hair so fetishistically preserved.

Still, I need all the help I can get. I mutter “Beautiful,” and press on. “What was Imogene like?” Anything I can use to identify her again, no matter what she looks like.

“I don't know—” Her lips twitch, and she wipes away a tear. “She was stubborn. Nothing could get her to budge. When she was a nine or so, she decided she hated baths, screamed at me when I made her take one anyways. Eventually, she started sneaking and just sitting on the floor with the water running when she was supposed to be bathing. I missed it, until she got a urinary tract infection that hospitalized her for a month when it went into her kidneys.”

I fidget in my seat, and let her continue.

“It was the same, with her hair. She hated combing it so much, insisted she wanted dread locks.” She shuddered. “Even giving her ugly hair cuts to remove the snarls wasn't enough; the argument only ended when I buzzed it all off.

“Things started to change, at fifteen or so. She started going steady with a boy a town over. Her friends started avoiding her, and she got much more withdrawn. I talked to her about the importance of not neglecting your friends for a boy, and she smiled and nodded. But it kept getting worse, until the only one coming to see her was that boy. But he was so sweet to her, so sad every time he dropped by and she was alone. I was glad she had him. He was so nice, so respectful, and I knew how rare that could be.

“He moved to college a year ahead of her, and she got even more withdrawn. I thought it was the distance, him being around less. But that didn't actually help me shake her out of it. She decided to go to the same college as him, to be close. I begged her against it; 'if it's love, it'll keep,' I said. She got accepted so many places, places she'd dreamed of going since she was a girl; her heroes taught at USC and she had talked about studying there since twelve. It was out of character. But she wouldn't hear of it.”

She pauses, and bites her lip, stifling a sob. “My first inclination something was wrong, was three weeks into her freshman year. I got a call from her, begging me to come pick her up. She wouldn't say why. I went, of course, used a tank of gas I couldn't afford to replace. She came home with me, not caring about whether she returned to class, and it took me a week to talk her into going back. While she was packing, I walked in on her, and noticed bruises on her arms.  She insisted they were from a dance class, and I believed her.

“Three of those calls later, when they appeared on her neck, I stopped believing her. I thought someone must have raped her at a party. I tore into her for not watching how much she was drinking, for behaving so irresponsibly. She confessed, that Mark was angry that her dance classes were co-ed, didn't want other men touching her, even to lift her up or interact. That they'd been fighting about it for months, and that it was to the point where her teacher arranged the choreography to avoid giving her partnering sections, because he'd follow her to class and stare in and harass whoever she was with. She asked me to come to report it with her, and I did. Her father hit me once; she wasn't around at the time, but knowing that she might have been was enough to make me leave on the spot. I stayed with my mom until the divorce was final, and that was the part Genie remembered. I'm—I'm sidetracking, though.

“She said she had tried taking it up with the campus administrators, as he was following her on campus, and she was living in an on-campus dorm, and they had done everything possible to prevent her from reporting it short of physically restraining her. They'd made her feel she was overreacting, crazy, inconveniencing him in ways that might hurt his education. Or they threw so many options at her at the same time that she couldn't remember them all, not with as sleep deprived as she was from propping a chair against her door every night when her roommate was asleep, and removing it before her roommate woke. She was terrified he might try forcing his way in.

“I asked her why she hadn't told me, how things could have gotten that bad, and she said that early on, he'd roughhoused with her, choked her into unconsciousness. It wasn't aggression, wasn't a fight, but it did convince her that if he wanted to kill her, he could. She said she'd believed that unless he wanted to kill her, she'd be fine.”

May pauses again, sobs into an embroidered handkerchief. “I—I can't really talk about the rest. Things got worse, she dropped out of college to go into hiding, he found her. She moved back home, he stalked her again. Legal scuffles, him doing a stint in prison for assault, and her getting more and more eroded, less and less herself at every turn.”

She sniffs wetly. “I thought, if I could just get her far enough, she'd be fine. If he was watching me to find her, I'd stay away from her. I helped her escape that one last time, and never saw her again. On the phone, she was different: colder, more aggressive. Even a minor question like 'do you want me to send you Christmas money' terrified her, as though I'd intended it as an attack. We fought more and more, and called each other less and less. But I knew she was safe, and took comfort in that. She had a restraining order, and he hadn't contacted her in so long.”

Her shoulders hunch together as she fights to maintain some kind of composure. “Then, a year after I hugged her goodbye, the call came. He'd found her, driven cross-country to reconcile, and started stalking her. The law enforcement in her new area couldn't find the old restraining order, and thought he was still in prison. Just another hysterical woman crying at shadows. She made one last panicked call to the police, claiming he was at her door, trying to force his way in. It took them an hour to respond, and when they didn't hear a disturbance, they didn't push further.

“No one knows what happens; everyone was at work, no one even around to hear the gunshot. Her neighbor got suspicious when he didn't see Genie leave for work that night, and noticed damage to the door. He called the police, and they opened it up to find her body.

“They found him in a motel an hour away. He claimed he'd done nothing; they'd had makeup-sex—” her face wrinkles, though I can't tell whether it's with rage or disgust. “But that she'd been alive when he left. The coroner said the evidence was more in line with sexual assault, and that there was a strong chance she would have died from other internal injuries had he not shot her in the head.”

I try to remember how I even ended up dragged in on this thing. May doesn't seem to notice—her speech doesn't slow or falter. “I don't know what Genie was like. Because by the end, she wasn't even there. I don't know that the woman in that grave is the same child I raised. I don't know if I'd recognize her.”

I sigh. That gives me basically nothing. I press a little further. “A favorite song, or color? Favorite movie?”

She stares at me a minute, then shrugs. “Who can say?”

I sigh, and stand to leave. “I'm sorry to have upset you, ma'am. I'm sure Genie is at peace.”

She doesn't move as I head for the door. I let it fall shut behind me, and look at my phone. This was a waste.

But there's a new message, from Narcisso.

CI says your man turned up, needed a couch to stay on. He's letting him stay til you talk to him. Keep this quiet, okay?

I text back an affirmative, and start toward the address, happy to finally have a direction. The place is in Dearborn, nearly two hours' drive away, but it's early yet. Finally, I'm getting somewhere. I begin to relax, even to sing with the radio. My nerves are shot with my eagerness, and I have to remind myself to keep my eyes on the road. I want to scream as rush-hour traffic piles around me, but I let myself accept this as my first true down-time in weeks.

Finally, I pull off the freeway, take the first turn toward the neighborhood the house is in, then I do a doubletake. There's a young woman walking along the sidewalk too quickly to be recreational. And she's familiar. At a stop sign, I glance over again. Though she's wearing a high turtleneck, I can see deep bruising showing through makeup. And that brings it all home. Narcisso's suicide victim.

Another MIA corpse, moving.

Imogene.

I roll down my window and prepare to shout at her, but a hand claps over my throat, and another over my mouth. “I wouldn't,” a rough voice says, and I tense as I try to place it. The hand backs off my mouth after I roll my window up, and a lanky man climbs into the front seat next to me. Levitt, Internal Affairs. I glance back, and the girl is waiting for a car to pass, and dancing in place.  She flicks her skirt around her legs, and whips her leg around into a skillful, if uncoordinated, spin.

“Just drive; follow her.”

How the hell did he get in my car?

“I'm—”

“Yeah, yeah. Your informant. You two are going to the same place. Just drive.” His eyes aren't even on me, but I can tell that at any moment, he could act. As he looks at her, his expression is a mix of anger, fear, and affection. There's a slight tremble to his lips that wasn't there when last we talked.

Why the hell did he get in my car? And who the fuck is she?

“Why would she—”

“Just drive.”

She glances toward the car, and there's a sense of pressure against my face and head. But he's gone, no longer in the seat. No longer touching me. But I can't scream, can't move beyond movements he allows. What the fuck?

“You were there. At the hospital. The night we restrained Jennifer Brankewicz.”

A voice rumbles through my head: Just drive. And then he's next to me again, long fingers stretching as though he'd only love to break my neck. Or hers. What the fuck did I hear?

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Chapter 27

Standoff, Gene

I STARE AT another street sign—Dearborn isn't terribly familiar to me, though I think I had a second cousin who lived here or something. I shouldn't be in a terrible rush; my current form is surprisingly pleasant, feels almost natural, despite the lack of bindings. But I only have a little time here before the big guns find my trail.

In and out, and dump my body somewhere far away, to lead them away from him, if Owen won't come with me.

Without Abel's help, I have to actually steal cars, which requires tools, which I also don't have. It means a lot more care selecting forms, and a lot more walking. I couldn't have made this trek in the old man's form. But it's hard not to feel alive, with the wintry sun on my skin, and normal traffic around me. I need that now, since I'm never gonna feel that again with Abel touching me, inside and out. I need to find my own comfort, not look to him for it. That's how he got close enough to hurt me.

I pause at a crosswalk, waiting for a car to pull past, and I sing to myself and practice a few of my old dance steps. It was always habit; every moment of practice builds muscle memory, and it used to be such a joy to move.

The area around me is quiet, with nothing like the weight of that last ambush, or even the little zips of the sneaking predators. For the moment, I seem to be alone. There's a whisper of something, but it's so far off that I can't focus on it.

I relax, and do a cartwheel, when I'm sure no one's watching. A security camera might capture my underwear mid-flip, but no one else will. I laugh, to be doing something so reckless. And then tears prick in my eyes, knowing what Abel'd say if he saw it.

Next time I see him, one of us is gonna die. I need to convince myself it won't be me. I need to convince myself that I'll be strong enough to kill him, if I have the chance. No worries about how I'd face whoever he might become after I've erased his soul. No possibilities of fear, or guilt, or regret.

Or the loneliness of returning to an always empty apartment, should killing Abel be enough to redeem me to the powers that be, in the Hub.

The connection is stronger, thick enough that it almost pulls me along. Owen's still stressed, but soon I'll be able to comfort him and protect him. Maybe I can even make some sense out of why his own people are trying to exterminate him. So long as I can fix his life, I don't have to think about how broken mine is.

And I feel Loretta in my head, too, mainly as the sense of relief she'd have to know help's on the way. After this all settles down, and after she's cremated, it'll be a relief to let her presence go.

I sidle up to the two-story cookie cutter home that feels most familiar, and knock. A nervous looking kid of about twelve or thirteen opens it, stares at me. After a moment, he calls to someone in back. “Dougie, this one's for you.”

I raise my eyebrow. A different man, unkempt but cheerful, replaces the kid. “Whacha want, sweet thing?” I open my mouth, to answer, but he continues before I've gotten a word in. “Aderol? Mary Jane? Molly?”

I shake my head. “I'm a friend of Owen's. Is he in?”

He looks temporarily flummoxed. “Well, then. If you're visiting friends, why not visit me?” He lets me in, and puts his arm around my shoulders.

I dig my nail into the base of his thumbnail as I remove it. He shakes his hand and shrugs. “He's in. Didn't mention anyone visiting, though.”

I smile in as appeasing a manner as I can. “He wouldn't.”

“Why not?” He reaches to touch my hair. “Girl as pretty as you, a guy's gotta brag about.”

I smile sharkishly at him. “You think you can weigh out your pot with only one hand?”

He withdraws. “Can't blame a guy for trying, can you?”

“Yes, yes I can.”

Owen comes down the stares, blinking back sleep. He sees me. “Dougie? Heard voices.”

I smile as welcomingly as I'm able to; I can't frighten him away.

“You got a friend, man. Cute, too.” Dougie slaps my ass and dances out of reach as he backs out of the room. I flip him off.

Owen stares at me. “I don't have friends. Who are you?”

Dougie rummages in the kitchen—he's still listening in.

“I'm Gene. Just here to talk.”

His eyes flash black, and I realize mine probably do too, to him. His eyes linger on the bruises on my throat, and he pales.

“You were—” He fumbles at how to describe our last meeting.

I nod. “And we've got some shit to talk about.”

“Yeah,” he says, but his eyes flick toward the doorway Dougie retreated through. There's a click as a trigger cocks. A second later, Dougie emerges with a pistol pointed at me.

I laugh. “Seriously?”

Dougie's hands are shaking; I doubt he's so much as taken that thing to a range.

I step toward him. “You don't want to do that, Dougie, do you?” I approach him slowly, until the muzzle is pushing into my breastbone. “You don't want to shoot little,” I inhale, to push my breasts against the gun, keep his eyes on them. Thank fuck I'm wearing eye-candy today. “Old,” I bite my lip, and lick it, drawing his eyes upward, away from the gun. “Me?” I shove his arm to the side, away from me and Owen, and whip out a nasty punch, breaking his nose and sending him reeling temple-first into the wall.

He's down for the count. I grab the pistol; don't want him reaching for it when he comes to.

Owen scrambles up the stairs, and I point it at him. “Stay. I wanted to be peaceable. We're just talking, unless you try to end the conversation.”

He says, “You aren't going to kill me,” and takes another step back.

“No, but I've got a lot more experience with guns than you. Do you want to gamble that I can't shoot your knee out? Right picture, with the kids in the pool.” I flick my eyes upward long enough to sight in the shot, and pull the trigger. The frame shatters. I have the gun back on him in an instant.

He raises his hands. “Okay, let's talk.”

Chapter 28

Hounds, John

I CAN’T TELL if Levitt is even there, half the time. I keep turning to look, and finding him gone. Every time, I wonder if I'm going insane, and prepare to pull over. But when I do, his hand comes back on my neck, reminds me that he could break it before I got my hands off the steering wheel. There's something wrong with his eyes, too, beyond the ugly expression in them. “Who are you? You're not IA.”

He laughs. “Well, kinda.” His way of talking reminds me of Genie's. The defensiveness, the focus on the right question. Hell, his eyebrows even twitch the same way hers did. I have no doubt that these two were close, at one point. Two psychotic peas from the same evil pod.

“Seriously. What are you?”

“A friend.”

“Whose?”

He shrugs. “Yours, for the moment. You're looking for her too.”

I don't know if I should be protecting her, or cheering him on. “Why? Are you, I mean.”

“We protect our own.”

“Who's we? Her we?” He's not a corpse, so they can't be the same. At least, I can't see any injuries or marks on him.

He shakes his head. “You don't need to know. And you wouldn't understand.”

“Are you going to kill her?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Are you going to kill the Jonas kid?”

He rolls his eyes and falls silent. The girl disappears into a house. I pull over. “I'm not leading you there for you to hurt anyone. I just want to talk to him. She's irrelevant.”

He shrugs. “Have it your way.”

“I'm not moving a fucking inch until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

A little bemused grin flashes across his face. “Fine then. I'm a demon trained to track other demons. You are following a demon. Good enough?”

I open my mouth to laugh, argue, something, but am interrupted. A shot rings out, near enough that it could be—no, probably is—from the house we're watching. Levitt can wait.

I get out of the car and run toward the noise. The door is locked, so I prepare to kick it in. Though Levitt wasn't behind me then, he is now. “I mean it. You don't fucking move.”

He laughs, again. “Have it your way.”

Chapter 29

Rattle, Gene

AT FIRST, I wonder if a muscle spasmed and made me shoot again, as the door crashes open. Johnny Law is there, and behind him is Abel. My heart twinges. Shit.

If I can rattle the cop, Abel might lose his grip. “How'd you know it was me, John?”

“I know the girl you're hiding in.”

Abel hangs back; he knows I know how to hurt him, and he's waiting for his moment.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Saw pictures of her suicide.”

Owen pales, and even Dougie, stirring at our feet, mutters a confused swear word.

But I have an opening. She's indignant at the implication, and both the flutters in my stomach, and the strong, masculine hand pushing into my mind from her show me why. I laugh, as harshly as I can. “Not a very good cop, are you?”

His eyes flick between me and Owen. “What's it to you?”

“Oh, not to me. To the poor—” I break out the Jessica Rabbit again, forming my face into a frightened but attractive rictus. “—Scared girl who only wanted her baby-daddy to acknowledge her in public, but was fake-suicided for it.”

His face falls. I let one hand drift off the pistol, onto my midsection. Guys are always a little more reactive to the realities of the female body with visual examples. And in the process, I can twitch my finger suggestively, pointing it straight down, and massaging my stomach in light circles.

Put on a show, and they'll drop their task to come watch.

But he doesn't. The gun stays high, so I return my other hand to the pistol. Dougie tries to grab my ankle, and I kick him away.

Abel seizes that as his moment, starts up the stairs toward Owen, his form already warping to let him loose blood into his palm, almost ready to fling. Owen is moments away from dying the same way as his siblings. I react instinctively by attacking Abel's host. A shot rings out, nearly deafening me, and a bullet tears through the good detective.

Abel wavers, struggling to maintain his form. I could easily rip him out of there, return for Owen later. But others hearing my shot might expose Owen to danger and... I can't do it. I can't latch myself to Abel and drag him to Limbo. I can't watch everything I was attracted to in him—everything he was to me—bleed away into the unforgiving landscape. I can't take away even the good memories of us from him, any more than I'd give them up, myself.

I can't do it.

Dougie, and the other boy hiding in the living room swear, and I tell them, “Get him help. I've still got a conversation to have.” I jerk my chin at John.

Abel is gone from John's mind on my way past. “Sorry about that. Pick your teammates better next time.” It's the best apology I can offer, under the circumstances.

He manages to raise a middle finger to me, and I squeeze it and shake it affectionately, as I continue up the stairs.

I reach as deeply into the likely dying detective's mind as I can, as well as the dazed boys in the house, and pull energy to make us an exit. I need enough to take my meatsuit with me, and the longer they're out, the sooner before anyone can find me. I widen my net, seeing how much strength I still have, and pull spirits from the entire block. It'll be a week before the shockwaves calm enough for the Reapers to track me, or cue a Whirlwind in to my position, once I've unleashed that energy. And Dearborn's residents will sleep soundly. I hope I don't cause too many car accidents, or house fires.

“We only have a minute before they're back, and we've gotta be gone by then.” I seize Owen's arm and propel him down the stairs. He stumbles over the cop's legs, in shock. “Time for hellos later.”

Chapter 30

Hunt, John

I WAKE UP in the hospital, confused as fuck. There should be itchy carpet beneath me, not a soft bed. And the blankets and gown against my skin are much lighter than my jacket and jeans. I look around, fight to get my bearings. My effects are on a table next to the bed, and I lean over to pick up my phone. It hurts like nothing I've ever felt; lines of fire spread from my ribs, to my groin, spark dots in my vision.

There's a shadowy shape sitting in the chair next to me, but only when I don't focus on it.

A message appears on my phone. You're too weak for me to talk to you, but we can do this in the meantime.

I jump. “Who are you?”

Bruce Levitt, last we talked. Call me Abel, though; Imogene will, and if we're going to have a hope of catching up to her, we can't be dithering over nomenclature.

“What happened? Why do we want to catch up to her?”

Because otherwise, they'll kill her. Her, and the kid. The powers that be are distracted, looking for his dad now. But they'll be back to those two eventually. Or do you want to kill her yourself? She intended to do the same to you, after all. Both when she shot you, and when she ripped your remaining life force away for her own getaway. You're lucky she pulled from others, too, to spread the burden out. It's the only thing that kept you alive.

“Who'll kill her?” I don't know how to respond to the last bit; seems like my near death should be more of a priority in my head than it is. But I don't know enough of what was at play here to know why she acted as she did. Maybe whatever pain meds they have me on are making it impossible to see anything wrong with my own mortality.

The Reapers.

“Why?”

Because she didn't follow orders. Even the incubi want her dead; everyone's disavowed her, so it's easier to clean up the mess.

“What mess? What about you? Incubi?” I can only understand every third word; he can not be talking about reality, here. Am I hallucinating?

A mess of mortals and incubi, reaped on false information. A crime both against demon-kind and mankind. And to your other question, about me—they blame it on her. That's partially my fault. I bear responsibility for both; I made them believe the worst.

“So why chase her?”

To set things right. Her information made the Reapers suspicious of me, so I am not a part of the team hunting her. But I don't want to be a party to this kind of murder, either. And she's my partner.

The letters take forever to appear on the phone, but when they do, I'm a little upset at the jolt that the last word gives me. I've only spoken to the woman a handful of times, none of them pleasant. Maybe it's just that I'm possessive of her memory, and everything 'Abel' says seems like a corruption of it. Or maybe it's that his facial expression is nowhere near as unconcerned as his words.

I'm in your head, asshole. Work partner. Among other things. But keep her in your spank bank for all I care.

“I wasn't—” A visual comes to me, I have no idea from where. A beautiful, tattooed woman who looks akin to Imogene Taggert's senior photograph, before the strains of fleeing the state and starting her life over wore her down. But she's older than that childish picture, with somewhat less roundness to her cheeks, and torso's covered in very familiar tattoos. She's smiling, pulling away, all bare skin, slender limbs, and aggressive energy. Her lips part and she arches her back. Dimly, I realize someone's touching her right before a moan escapes her lips. I feel her skin under my fingers, taste her sex on my lips.

I shut my mind to it. That doesn't seem respectful at all; am I looking at telepathic revenge-porn? “Stop. Stop that.”

Abel—if that's what he chooses to be called—has a look on his face that on a different man might be called masochism. Tight jaw, hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes, with just the wrong amount of self-recrimination. Another visual overtakes me. She smiles and leans forward, her small breasts bouncing as she writhes. All lean curves and rosy areolas tightened to peaks. Her skin is soft—so soft—and cool under my hands, and I'm drowning in her body wrapped around me. I'm drowning in her scent, her touch, her kiss. Her hair falls against my face, soft, loose, a thousand feather brushes.

I force myself to remember May's pendant, that hair knotted in a funeral memento.

More letters on my phone. Fine then. Have it your way. If you're done sidetracking us... Abel shakes his head almost wistfully, that same bitter set to his expression. The way he pokes at that wound, pushes it into me makes it perfectly clear; those're his own memories of her, and with her in danger, he's overwhelmed keeping them to himself. I don't know whether he's trying to devalue them in case she dies, or in case there's just no repairing the bridge he burned, or if simply having them seen means having them acknowledged in some new way. It's almost heartwarming to know that an apparent demon can still be brokenhearted and petty.

But god, the balls of him, demanding I watch—no, feel—him fucking her, just hoping that it's twisting the knife in someone other than myself.

I roll my eyes. But the next note is finished. I know where the boy's father is. We're watching him, but we can't visit, lest we tip off the Reapers. You need to go help. Watch him, watch for them. You know what you're looking for already.

“I'm fucking shot, asshole. I'm not going anywhere.”

It's only a flesh wound. And how much blood do you want to get on your hands because you were too much of a pussy to give up your naptime.

“Fuck you. Fuck you.” My shoulder twinges, and the words become a mantra.

The choice is yours. At exactly eight PM, I'll distract the hospital staff. If you want to help, get out, get clothes, and wait for me. Otherwise, you'll get to attend Gene's second funeral.

I swear. But his words sting, hit nerves. I've come too far to let this play out without me.

Chapter 31

Trust, Gene

I HUSTLE OWEN through the first rent, into a nightscape dream mainly populated by sentient bats. One skitters around him, staring in between its wingbeats. “Calm down, a minute, buddy?” I address it, and it settles on a branch a ways away. “Gracias.”

The bat looks me in the eye, and says, “Move along, bitch.”

I nod. “That's what I'm doing, cocksucker.” Give them an inch, they'll take a mile. If he wants to be rude, I need to respond in kind.

Owen is shaking.

“Buck up. We've got a ways to walk to get them off our trail.”

“Why? Who—”

“Those dudes? Not your friends.”

He snorts, a little life coming back into his pale cheeks; the redness of anger. “And you are?”

I tug him a little harder on our way to a weak spot. The less the motion carries when I cut across worlds, the better. “I'm the closest to a friend you have right now. Don't take that for granted.”

“What are you?” he asks, as I find my spot and focus on it, tugging threads apart to make a crawlspace for us into our next plane.

I pull him through. “I'm a Reaper. A demon charged with keeping the peace. A cousin to the incubi, specifically.” His face contorts in confusion, so I clarify, “That's you.”

“What?”

“We don't kill our own if we can help it. Why do you think I let you live? You'd have to be a mass murderer or something to warrant the contract they put on you.”

I tuck his hand into my elbow to keep him with me, and pretend not to notice how clammy it is. He accepts my direction, but protests. “I'm not an incubus. That's not—”

“Real? What about this is real, according to the rules you're playing by? I know what I saw; we're more or less psychic, you know.”

“No. I'm not.”

“Believe what you will. I've got better shit to do than argue it.” I almost feel bad for being so curt, but I've got to get us to safety, and get him hidden before we sit down for the hard conversations.

“Where are you taking me? What are you doing?”

“We're hiding, dipshit. We've got to lay a false trail, blaze it so fucking wide an idiot could track it and then backtrack to go off it with barely a ripple. They're regrouping, but that only buys us so much time.”

Violet light bathes him as luminescent birds flutter above us. For the first time since I pulled him away from the dying cop and his unconscious buddies, he shuts up to take in the view. The silence is welcome.

Two more massive tears, and I lead him to the 'quiet' part, searching for subtle shifts I can use, rather than breaking open new paths. I don't have time to look around, aside from memorizing the weight and heft of the world around me in case another Reaper enters it. But Owen is entranced with each change in scenery.

I move him quickly enough that he can only wheeze, keep his questions to himself. So far so good.

Finally, in a temperate if drought-stricken rainforest, I decide it's as good a time as any to stop for the night.

This body is gonna get worn down very fast, if I have to wear it much longer. And I do need it, since I have no doubt that the Reapers will be watching the morgues. I shove Owen into a sitting position, since he seems too preoccupied to answer to my voice.

When I have his attention, I make him look at me. “Watch this while I'm gone.” I gesture down my body, and though his eyes trace along my curves, he doesn't understand. “I'm going to leave my shell with you. Watch it, make sure nothing happens to it. We'll need it later, and they'll track it if it stays here when we leave. Don't move. Not even a step. Trust me when I say that's life or death.”

In the end, he doesn't understand 'til I lay down and temporarily sever my connections to my body. I pour myself out of it, and his eyes widen in fear. Right up until he realizes that I'm a full foot shorter than him, and butt naked. A smirk twitches across his face before it falls off as his eyes drift back to the corpse at our feet. He snaps his look back to me, gets an eyeful, and looks away again.

“Oh, for fuck's sake. We're all grownups here. And I can't take clothes into a shell.”

He flushes. “Still, where am I supposed to look?”

“Like I care.”

I put out a mental tendril, bind a piece of myself to him, and to the body, so I can find my way back. Truthfully, my efforts are at least partly to distract myself from worrying whether Abel's already in my footsteps.

I couldn't do it. I could have removed the threat he presented, ensured he never could hurt me again. And I couldn't.

What the hell kind of Reaper am I? When did I get so soft?

I don't really need help to get materials together for a fire; there's enough of that on hand that I let Owen rest, and take care of our comfort myself. Finally, after he's warming himself, I sit on the other side of the fire, and push more mental roots out, to let me know if any natural predators get too close.

“What now?” he asks, subdued.

I sigh. “Well, Abel was the only one there. That means, likely the rest are watching someone else. I'd bet it's your dad. Are you sure you—”

He cuts me off. “No, I can't help.” There's a flash of pain in his expression, haphazardly buried. “I don't even really know who he was. He just came by sometimes, but I never even heard Mom call him by name.”

I've forgotten what it's like to talk to people who actually carry their history with them. “I'm—I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better, that wasn't what I meant.” I know I'm about to ask something huge of him, and I don't have the option of getting it wrong.

“What did you mean, then?”

I shake my head. “Later. Just tell me about him, what he was like.” Every bit of connection helps.

He shrugs. “He was nice. Quiet. Didn't talk about sports, didn't talk about movies. Absolutely nothing except whatever was happening with me in the here-and-now. But sometimes I had these weird dreams...”

He stares at me. “Who are you? No offense, but, I don't really want to rehash family history with a freak demon.”

I snort.

“Am I going to be like you?” There's an actual fearful undercurrent there.

I don't think I turned out that bad. “Like me?”

His eyes search my face. “Is this what you really look like? When you're not...” He trails off, but his gaze drifts to the body on the ground.

I raise an eyebrow. “As much as anything is. Look, if it'll make you feel better—” I hold out my hand. His eyes work their way up to mine, slowly, taking in my curves. I cross my arms over my chest at the scrutiny, my hand unshaken. “Gene Taggert.”

“How did you end up like—”

“End up like? It's natural, man. You finish one kind of existence, and begin another. One kind of my existence finished, and the next began.” Just to scare him a little, I add, “Just like it will for you, too. I ran with it. You will, too.”

He pales. “I—I don't want—”

“Who really does? But I'm just pulling your leg. You'll be immortal. If you're full incubus, you'll be able to look like whatever the hell you want to look like. If you're only part incubus, you'll look like yourself.”

It doesn't hurt to hide my confusion from him; I've never seen the bloodline show so clearly in a mortal's eyes, but he plainly hasn't been reborn, since he's not psychically dependent on a host in the mortal plane, like the others are. So I can't really tell what the hell he is, much less tell him. “Now will you tell me a little more? You mentioned dreams? Many full-bloods work in them. I can't. What'd you dream?”

He leans a little further into himself, and against my better judgment, I scoot closer to him and put my hand on his. His flesh is warm, almost burning me, compared to Abel's. “It's important, or I wouldn't press.”

He sighs, and turns to look at me, starting slightly at our newfound closeness. “Just, weird things. Things that could have come out of a period movie. Only he was there. Or someone with eyes like his. Or other people with eyes like his.”

“How far back? What time period? Any specific places that recurred?”

He thinks. “I don't know. I always hated history; it bored me.”

I sigh. “Can you show me?” There's no reason he should be able to; he's not yet reborn. Our abilities don't manifest until after our mortal life's finished.

“How do I?”

I imagine my communication with Abel, and with my meatsuits, trying to figure out how to explain the mechanisms that are mostly instinct, at this point. “Well, it works different ways for different people. Open your mind, stop thinking, and just say or experience whatever comes to mind.”

I take him through every trigger word I can find, but there's nothing. Obviously it's not some subconscious thing. But—I connected to him to find him, and I connected to him when I wore Loretta's skin.

“Let me try something.” I take his head in my hands, and he flinches. “What?”

He sighs. “It's just—after Dougie agreed to let me stay, one of his friends, he can hack shit sometimes; he found the file from Mom's...” He stalls out, swallows anger and hurt. “You killed them. And I know every detail, at least every one the police had. How can I be close to you without wanting to hurt you the way you hurt me?”

I sigh. “I am a weapon. I only hurt who I'm directed to.”

“Except when you stalk me, and then drag me into some hellish nightmare.”

I roll my eyes. “I'm trying to be as patient as possible, but it's never been my strong suit. You'll want to get off my bad side now.”

“How can I trust you?”

I have to hope it works; I won't get another chance to prove myself to him, and without his cooperation, I'll have a difficult time indeed preventing more bloodshed.

I lean into him, kiss him for connection, and open my mind to him the way I used to for Abel. I push my consciousness into him, though I can't actually maintain a presence in his mind. The thread blossoms into a rope, strong enough to feel him in my head. Not knowing how long it'll take, I throw as much as I can at him: the incubi and the Reapers, the psychic trails, the subtle battles for dominion. But since that's not actually what he's asking for, I add a little something extra.

I add myself. Pinning lilacs into my hair to form a halo, practicing ballet barrework on the kitchen counter, chasing my dog when he was freshly bathed and his fur clung to him. I used to tear through the house shrieking 'wet goat', because that's what the puppy's long, bony limbs looked like once his fluffy fur was slicked to his skin. I fight to hold some stuff back, but it escapes me. My first kiss. And my last kiss, too.

He pulls his lips away from mine and shoves me away. Though it's much more shoving himself away, to find a clear place to vomit. I steady my shaking hands; I don't like sharing that much. I shouldn't have been able to share that much.

But it's a two way feed—a testament to his lack of control. And I know what's what, from the bleed.

“You already were reborn. No one ever told you, though.”

He looks at me like I've sprouted whiskers. “Someone would have told me if I'd died. I'd remember it.”

I shrug. “I'm just guessing. But it explains a lot. If you are, and you've been on your own this whole time, it just points to something else. I guess I could mumble some new age-y crap about our limitations being in our head, but you shouldn't be here without leaching from someone. And that—what I just did—that shouldn't have worked.”

I feel lighter, though self-conscious about the vulnerability he saw. I do my best not to notice his tense shoulders and shaking hands. “It might mean that we can actually help though. That you can give us more mobility, and better tracking than I can.”

He raises his eyebrows, and shakes his head. “You're fucking crazy.”

“Well, yeah. We're all mad here and all that.”

“No. Literally crazy.”

“If I can talk you through some stuff and it works, will you at least try?”

He shakes his head, but says “It won't work. I don't see why not.”

There's a weight in my mind that makes me uneasy; some manner of presence, nearer than I'd like. “Open your mind to me again; look into mine.”

He flushes as I lean close, in case he needs the extra connection proximity and shared breath offers. But he averts his chin slightly so his lips don't meet mine, and I keep talking, out loud, rather than in focused bursts of thought. If I stop to think about it, I'll lose myself wishing the lips so close to mine were Abel's. He trained me, much like this.

“Shut your eyes, feel the texture of the world. The molecules in it. Feel each one tumble down your throat as you breathe. Memorize the texture, vibration, and density of it. Every world is different, but you know you'll have that world's signature when you find something that's not there to the eye; maybe it feels like a color, or has a taste that gets stronger. You're going to find that something, and then feel for where it's weakest.”

His breath rattles in his throat, a small catch amplified by our nearness. It's warm on my face, and almost distracts me from my own direction.

“Do you feel it?”

His head turns in a slight shake, rubbing softly stubbly skin against my jawline.

“Slow your breathing, relax your mind; you're still tense, and that'll make it harder.”

I trace light fingers down his arm and neck, pointing out the worst of the tension to him.

“I'm not tense.” He's indignant about something; I don't understand why the hostility's there.

“My dance teacher always said, tense it all, tight as you can, then relax, to reset the muscle memory.” I squeeze my hand tight over his, tightening all of my own muscles until I know he can feel it where my arms brush against him. I wait until he follows suit. When he releases the flex, he's much more relaxed. “Better.”

I try to avoid thinking that the other presence feels closer. No point in scaring Owen. That and if it is stalking us, it'll be looking for my presence, which would be stamped into every molecule of the rent I might create. Better to talk Owen through it.

“Try it again.”

I feel it when he finds it, feel a subtle spark from the dreamscape shift to him. He curses in disappointment. “I—I had it. And then I lost it.”

“It's a start. Visualize it again. Lean on me, if you need to.”

I push my own perception of the world's fabric to the forefront of my mind, try to put it in his. But he's not reaching out for me again, so I fall far short. He swears as he can't find it, and finally admits defeat. His mind wraps around mine, warm if insecure, and I press that mental tapestry into him. He seizes it, clinging so hard I can't release it, his own obsession forcing me deeper into mine.

“Now, where it's weakest, imagine your mind as fingers tangling in the gaps, pulling them apart to make space.”

With him opening the connection and not being as guarded as he should be, I have a lot more leeway now. I tug him along with me as I show him what I mean, forcing an opening for us. “Feel forward, until you hit something different, something without this texture. Focus on that texture, and pull it open the same way. It'll kick back a bit; it wants to close. But we have to go through, first. We have to hold it, until we're gone.”

He shivers, and reluctantly stands. “What about the fire?”

“It's small, closed in, with no growth near. It's not going out of control. And wildfires are natural for this kind of place, since they clear out the weakest plants and add nutrients to the soil. Come on.”

I bend to pick up my abandoned body. I don't really want to heft it on its own. It's unwieldy, and I might need my hands to fight. His manners get the better of him, despite the context, and he takes the feet, though he has to stifle a shudder.

Through the tear, our minds are still connected, and he's not able to conceal his revulsion, confusion, and a strong sense of alienation. His whole world, everything he thought he understood... gone.

The edges aren't as neat as they should be. I force a few tendrils back into place as we pass. Between worlds feels cold, suffocating. Like death. I've learned to tune it out, but it comes to me through the mental connection with Owen; he is scared shitless, and can barely make himself press forward. But it barely lasts a few heartbeats. Owen fixates on the opening over my shoulder to get through, and then there's a chilly sun on our shoulders that feels inexplicably warm for its presence. Goosebumps raise on his skin, and I put my end of the body down. He follows, staring.

“Okay—we're through. Now, pull pieces of the edges to the opposite edge; you barely need to do anything; they want to weave back together.”

His mind tangles with mine as our metaphorical fingers collide during our work. But the path behind is sealed.

“Good.” I look around. “You reached really far ahead; that's good. They won't expect us to have gone this far.”

I don't mention that's because most of us couldn't, and even those who could wouldn't, lest they lose focus and accidentally trap themselves between worlds. His mind knocks a bit against mine as he bumps against the barrier I've put up to keep that from him.

“See? You wouldn't have these powers if you hadn't already been reborn. I don't have the faintest clue why no one brought you home to be trained...”

He sighs. “Dad—he had a distrust of authority. Referred to my schooling as brainwashing.”

I nod. “That explains it then, makes a bit of sense. Your dad hid you, prevented you from being taken back to learn about your birthright.”

His eyes are wide, as I set about making another campsite for us, and pull back from his mind. He doesn't attempt to keep the connection open, or to close it. “That felt—strange. But familiar. And you think there's other things I can do, too?”

I shrug. “Well, full-blood incubi can read minds, even use that for tracking. They can alter brain chemistry to amplify reactions, change their form as needed—even their substance. I can't teach you any of those, though I don't see a reason for you not to try.” I rethink that. “Okay; I know nothing about that stuff, so I just might not know the reasons you shouldn't.”

His lips twitch—without me pushing, he's not going to experiment. He needs some kind of plausible deniability on this whole thing. That's fine. Probably better to play it safe for the moment. If Abel was here...

I slam the door on that thought process, hard. Abel's not. He betrayed me.

That thought shouldn't sting, as much as it does. Of all the people who might confuse lust for love, I'd have thought I was low on that list. Apparently not, to have thought Abel actually cared for more than just the sex. That he'd at least talk to me before selling me out.

Then again, I didn't talk to him, either. I shut him out and held my secrets close. I'm strong enough to get us through this. And I'm not gonna waste mental real estate on wishes and if-onlies.

“I don't know why I'm surprised.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts, and the dirty blond, angular asshole occupying them.

I raise my eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“I dunno; I've just never really felt at home. Everyone else seemed too easy; I went through things wondering why life wasn't harder. If I got in trouble, I never needed to worry, because I could talk them out of writing me up. Or somehow they wouldn't recognize me as the kid who had thrown a ball through their window or whatever. I never really got picked on, and every time I had some kind of confrontation, it just... fell flat. Grown-ups said I had an 'old soul', and kids couldn't really connect with me, but liked me anyways. I needed them to like me, and the more strongly I needed it, the more they did. I always felt lonely, and I never understood why. And I always felt afraid, and never understood why.”

“Looks like you already knew the basics, then.” That he could subconsciously have control of those powers is a slightly frightening thought, knowing how hard it generally is for the incubi to learn their skills. A new incubi might be in Limbo for a century practicing. Just how long has it been since he turned, anyways?

He falls silent, his eyes on his knees. “I—I don't want this to be true.”

I think through some reaction, some comfort I can offer. “I can't blame you. Things haven't exactly been peaches and rosy for me since my rebirth, either.”

He glances up at me, but his eyes are hard, wary. I'm not surprised he doesn't trust me.

“It's not a bad thing, though. You can defend yourself more than I'd planned. Means you've got a better chance of living long enough to deal with it.”

He sighs. “How?”

“Well, like you said. Getting out of trouble; making people hesitate or walk away. Or maybe just confusing them enough to buy you an opportunity. Plus, now you know how to get away.”

He shook his head. “No way I can do that on my own. My head is still ringing.”

I shrug. “With practice. Or with desperation, maybe. We'll need to try picking up a trail in the morning, so it wouldn't hurt you to practice reaching out to people, reaching out to the world, if you feel up to it.”

“I wouldn't know where to start.”

“Well, try feeling your way into the neighboring planes, so you have their patterns in your head in case we need to leave in a hurry. Or try connecting with my mind, so that you have the habit. Only rule for that is no date rape.”

“What?”

“If you're gonna practice on me, only rule is you can not try to up my endorphins, up my arousal, try to make me have sex with you.”

There's almost enough disgust on his face to outright offend me. But he hasn't been shy about sneaking glances at my bare flesh, so his outrage isn't a statement on my attractiveness. “Ew. No. Why would you even—Who does that?” I raise my eyebrows, and he doesn't finish the thought. “Okay, fine. Rule accepted, then.”

“If you don't mind, I'm going to lay down for a bit. Walking in life takes a lot out of me, and I must have opened ten gates today alone.”

He sighs, and nods. “Okay. You don't mind if I try connecting while you sleep?”

“I'm not sleeping. Just resting. It's fine.” I lay down near him, and shut my eyes. I focus my breathing and let the hum of the ground under me relax muscles that are entirely too tense.

As he rustles next to me, the motion passes through the ground. I ignore it.

“Um, can I?”

I open one eye to look at him, guess what the hell he's talking about.

“I don't know why, but it was easier before. Can I take your hand or something?”

“Whatever you think will help.” I shut my eyes and go back to my breathing. “What are you trying to do?”

“I don't know—I hadn't gotten that far. Maybe make you sleepy?”

I snort, and quip “Remember the rules.”

“Ew. I don't know why you think that needs to be said.” He takes my hand, and then he sees it. My second incubus partner, who manipulated me into letting him seduce me, entirely to prove he could, and that my mental barriers were weak. It had taken Abel a lot of pain and error to earn my trust after the trauma that guy left me with. I blush slightly when I realize Owen's in deep enough to see Abel, too.

“Moving along?” I wait for him to push for some kind of reaction, so I can evaluate the stretch of his touch. But instead, he's pausing.

“Imogene?” His voice crackles with anger. I open my eyes and brace myself.

A memory is pushed to the forefront of my consciousness, Abel's blood sizzling as it splatters across a wall.

“Yeah, you can do that too.” I'm not really focusing on him, so it isn't until the rest of the memory unfolds that I realize what's coming. But by then Owen's hands are around my throat, and his cheeks are wet with tears.

Chapter 32

Blood Loss, John

I TRY TO remind myself why I'm here as I walk through the quiet hospital. Workers are passed out over their desks, sleeping against walls, and my arm aches where I removed the IV. The very act bit into my side, even the tiny bit of effort tensing muscles nearly enough to make me black out. I still feel its aftershocks, even now. Not to mention there's always gonna be something gut-wrenching about tearing a needle out of your own vein.

As I pass the last of the loading zones outside, 'Abel' catches up with me. I didn't even see where he came from.

“Better, yes?” he asks.

“What?”

“Than telephone tag?”

I shoot him a glare. I'm still half convinced he's a hallucination. “I don't know how you figure.”

He shrugs. “Look; the man we're looking for, he could be anywhere. But she's seeking him, too. And in order to have a decent shot at getting to him, she'll have to work with full bindings. That means grave dirt. A handful will do.”

I should be taking notes, just in case I'm allowed to return to work. But that ain't gonna happen, and just the thought of it puts me in a foul mood. “So? Not a lick of that makes any sense.”

“So they'll be waiting to ambush her there, or follow her and then attack her. If we—well, if you—get it for her, the other Reapers won't be able to target her. It's gonna take me forever and a motherfucking day to find her with it, but it's our best chance.”

I shrug. “Lead on then.” I'm lightheaded. “I don't think I can drive.”

He shrugs. “That's fine. I already brought your car around, from the house. And grabbed a set of clothes for you.”

I shudder, remembering the world swimming around me on that threadbare carpet. “Thanks.” I change into the somewhat too big shirt and cargo shorts on the seat, then doze off.

The graveyard is much as I remember, but we aren't alone. May Taggert is sitting in front of her daughter's grave. Something about that seems off to me, even though she has as much—no, more—right to be there than we do. Well, than I do. Abel is nowhere to be found.

I sigh and sit next to her, in the frost-rimmed grass. “Aren't you cold?”

Her eyes are blank, wide, but her lips move constantly, soundlessly.

“May? May Taggert?”

She looks up to me, and there's a swirl of something foreign in her eyes. Finally, I figure out the shape her lips are forming. Run.

I don't question it. I scrabble at the side of the headstone for my handful of dirt, and shove it in my pocket as I run. Footsteps break the grass behind me, and a woman shrieks—May? Shadows emerge from behind trees, moving in what has to be the most seamlessly coordinated formation I've ever seen. May Taggert rocks on her daughter's grave, sobbing and clutching her head, as the shadows overtake her and pull her forcibly after me.

Abel appears next to me. “Told you. Felt them there. Give it to me, and I'll lead them away.”

I empty the pocket of dirt into his hand, and shudder as his face changes to mirror mine.

“Hide, and then go here.”

An address imprints itself in my mind, and I only have a moment of confusion before accepting the knowledge. “Who am I looking for?”

“You'll know him when you see him.”

May's strange behavior sticks to the inside of my eyelids, but she's still looking for me with them, though woozily, not in proper control of her own movements. Much like Ronnie, when Imogene was next to him. “Are they going to hurt her?”

His eyes are cold—I've asked the wrong question. “Are you going to hurt her?” I correct myself.

“They might burn her out. I might need to burn her out to get some space from them.”

“What? No. Don't.” I don't honestly know what he's talking about, but I sure as hell know what it sounds like.

He gives me a threatening look. “Don't tell me how to do my job.”

“Please—for Genie, if not for me.”

Something softer flickers in his eyes, and he bites his lip. “I'll try to see she's not in the crossfire.”

“Thanks.” It doesn't really feel like it's enough, but it's all I can offer.

He nods. “Meet up later. Keep an eye on this man—so far as I know, it's his preferred appearance.” Another visual burns into my lids. “—But stay in the background and do not engage. He might not look like that, if he has a lick of sense. Even if he looks different, you'll know who you're looking for when you see him.”

Some part of me chafes at the orders, but I know I'm in well over my head. At least he made a promise that means I'll be less likely to end up in someone else's murder investigation.

“Stay safe.”

Chapter 33

Touch Someone, Gene

OWEN’S HANDS TIGHTEN around my throat, but since I don't really need my breath, there's no actual threat. I let him take out his aggression on me, and numb myself, focusing past the pain and discomfort. Some part of me is disgusted that I fall into that pattern so easily, that Mark could have trained me that well. But I know this isn't about Mark, it's about Owen. It's about my memories opening in his head like blossoms, of his family's final moments. Adoptive they might have been, but blood is the thinnest tie there is. Affection's far stronger.

And the bond is two-way. When this moment is over, I'll have to teach him to correct that. But for the moment, it means I'm only too happy to let him abuse me as a form of self-flagellation. I kill people; it's what I do. But I don't usually have to bear the memories of a lifetime's holiday dinners with my victims.

When he realizes the choking isn't actually phasing me, his hands leave my throat and ball into fists. He punches me, hard enough to knock my head back across the ground. “Fight back, fight back,” he growls as the tears stream down his cheeks. But when I don't, the worst of his violence leaks away; no matter how much he knows I deserve it, he's still uncomfortable beating an unarmed woman to death. Of course, he doesn't know all my weapons. Without so much as raising a hand to him, I could kill him, and he'd have no ability to stop me.

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry.” My throat rattles as I draw breath into aching lungs; it's not comfortable being choked for a long period, even if it's not life threatening.

“It's not worth shit,” he sobs, and collapses next to me.

I sit up, sore muscles pulling and making me wince. “That's fine.”

I put my arm around his shoulders, and hold him. His hands clench; he wants desperately to hit me again, but realizes he needs the comfort more, and that I'm still the closest he has to an ally right now. Whatever my sins are, he needs me, needs to believe in some sort of redemption or forgiveness. And, for my part, I need him to believe it, too.

“For all our strengths, we're not infallible. The Reapers, I mean. We're supposed to be the arm of justice, but justice is only as just as those who execute it. And from the political bullshit I've seen in the past few weeks, even the idea that those commanding us know what they're doing is a little laughable. I mean, think about the amount of mistakes that happened here. You being the main target, but not even being in the house anymore. Abel's intelligence backing up their claim that your family was demon hunters, because they had holy water and could fight.” I swallow, hard, at the thought of Abel kissing me before the hunt. Is it ever gonna stop hurting, when his face pops into my mind? I could lower the barriers, let him find me, try to talk it out—

No. If that thought was even slightly more forceful, I'd take it to mean Abel'd eroded my barriers enough to implant it, and was just looking for a slightly stronger connection to track me. I can't think like this.

And it's disrespectful, worrying about my clusterfuck of a love life when we're trying to figure out why this kid's family died. Maybe it's disrespectful of me to call him a kid, since he's probably the same age I was when I was killed, but he still seems so young.

“The whole thing was a shitshow, one I hope to fuck I can see unraveled, and the guilty punished for. You can hate me—when you've come into your powers you can fight it out with me, even. But for now you need to trust me.”

His arms wrap around my ribs, holding him to me tightly.

“If you feel like it, you should try to sleep. I don't really need to, but you still might. And we've got more to do in the morning.”

He nods into my shoulder, and detangles just enough to lay on his side. But he pulls me down with him, and weighs me down with his tears as he cries himself to sleep. Apparently seeing his family's demise for himself, the distance he's felt since he found out they were dead has evaporated. I might not be able to make him move until the grief's subsided.

He's forgotten the connection is open, if weak. A steady stream of images leak into my head through the night, connecting a framework of reminiscence and nightmare all bookended by those bitter stolen memories: his little brother and sister dying, burned by his blood—metaphorically and now literally, since he might find himself growing into that ability, too.

Finally, I push as hard as I can to shove a few of my memories into him, to give him a proper fucking restful dream.

Chapter 34

Family Feud

IN THE MORNING, Owen stirs in my arms, his eyes still red and swollen, but alert.

“You're up.” I reclaim myself slowly, inch by inch sliding away from him. “We've still got a lot to do. I've got to teach you a few more things before we can get through a scrying session, try to—”

“Scrying session—you mean spying or prying?” The hostility is back, and I sigh wearily.

“Either. Both. Besides the point.”

“I don't want—”

I put my finger on his lips to shush him. “Doesn't matter what you want. It's the only way to help you, or to find your dad.” I remove my finger, when he's stopped arguing. “First things first. You know how you closed up our pathway? You need to learn to do that with your head.”

“What?”

“If you're going to push into other people's heads for our defense or research, we can't have you leaking yourself into them when you do. So, when you reach for someone else's mind, weave a little bit of your attention around your own. I'm not a very good teacher, and it's not something Reapers are very good at. Abel could—”

His gaze darkens. “Abel? The one whose intelligence said a house of kids was a threat? Who betrayed you?”

I drop my chin. It makes it hurt all over again, knowing Owen's seen it, too. “Forget I said anything.”

He glares into the coals from last night's fire. “Probably best.”

I shiver, as a presence resonates through our landscape. “You feel that?”

“No, what?”

I seize his hand again, fight to push my perception into his head. Finally, he accepts it, before dropping my hand like burning embers. “Now I do.” He flashes a tense smile to me. “Now what? Run again?”

I focus on it, try to decide how far off it is. There's something familiar to this particular touch. “No. If it's who I think it is, he'll be better at tracking us, and will still catch up. Only you'll be tired and worn down.”

“So what, then?”

“We fight. You latch on to his mind as soon as you can—try to make him confused, or sluggish. If you can get in deep, push every other memory to the front so he's overwhelmed.”

“And you?”

I wink at him. “I have tricks.”

That makes him blanch.

“I'll beat the shit out of him. And if I can get a foothold in him, myself, I can drag him to another plane.”

“And what would I do?”

I fight to push something into his mind, but the connection's too weak. I lean up to him, and kiss him, to get in close enough to make up for my own lack of power. He opens his mind to me reluctantly, but parts are sectioned off. He learns fast. I force a texture into his head. “Feel for that. That's what you need to get home.”

“I have no home.” His voice is bitter.

“You know what I mean. Shush.” Only then does it occur to me that our lips are barely an inch from each other's, but the intruder is much closer than he had been. “Brace yourself; it won't be long now.”

Owen hunkers down near me, and squeezes my hand. I could fight better without it, but his touch in my mind is a warm fizzle, and I don't want to complain.

His eyes shut, as he focuses on the intruder nearing, the world warping and bending around the weight of our follower's power. I try to smile at him reassuringly when his eyes open; he's too weak yet to listen for it without closing his eyes, but it does come with more vulnerability.

I stand straight, and brace myself for a fight.

Abel appears in the underbrush, though one might not recognize him since he's still wearing the good cop's face. How the hell did that happen? His form shifts, his features blending back into his own. For a moment, I'm paralyzed by the urge to run into his harms—he's leaning on me, hard, to make that option seem appealing. “Good; I found you.” He grins lopsidedly, flashing me an exhausted grin, as though he hadn't previously lured me into a demonic ambush.

Owen can't get a grip on Abel's mind, but still seems to be trying; I didn't expect he could, but he's putting up a hell of a fight. I go in to work, myself, little sharp attacks on Abel's psyche, to pull fragments I can use to bind him to me and run.

He repels me sharply, advancing on me and pulling me into his arms for a kiss. I bite his lip and knee him down low. Not as crippling as it would be on a human opponent, but painful nonetheless. I latch onto him, and reach for a rent. “I'm on your side, idiot,” he gasps, and I punch him, breaking his nose before his flesh rebuilds it. I tighten my grip on him, leaning harder to keep him immobilized while I find our getaway and seal him away from Owen.

Suddenly all of his barriers are gone, dropping my presence unnervingly into his. I'm deeper in his head head than I've ever been, even during our trysts. My mind is a swirl as I relive every affectionate moment we've shared in the decade we've been hunting together. Every tender touch, every wicked grin, every heart-to-heart talk. The enormity of it is almost enough to knock me on my ass, as echoes of his hands, tongue, cock overwhelm me in sensation.

I'm subsumed in him, unable to pass messages between mind and body, unable to lash out at him.

He takes advantage of my hesitation to put the brunt of his control into Owen, still his muscles and mind. Owen's eyes are wide, terrified at his forced petrification. But they flick between Abel and me, and it occurs to me that this probably erodes some of the trust I thought we were building.

If I drag Abel away now, pieces of Owen might come with him. I've got to separate him from Owen, so Owen won't be hurt.

“Owen, hun? Give me a sec. Mommy and Daddy need to have a conversation away from the kids.”

I bend down to kiss Owen, and when I do, reopen his link to me, shoving as much reassurance as I can his way. His mind thrashes in mine, with a combination of relief and agitation. But that's the best I can do. I send him a silent plea to be calm.

“You've gotten stronger, Gene.” Abel looks at me with a little admiration, and more than a little jealousy. “You've never been able to get that deep in.”

I shrug. “Necessity breeds invention and all that. Tell me why I shouldn't flash you right now.”

“Because you need all the friends you can get.”

“You aren't my friend.”

He averts his eyes. “I'll grant that I haven't been the best friend. But I'm trying.”

I snort, and brace myself for another attack, while his guard is lowered. But as I whip my attention out, he counters it with a memory.

Him and the detective, running in a graveyard. Several shadows attempt to maneuver them into a corner, acting with a precision I've never known an incubus to have with others. My mom is behind them, her movements uncoordinated enough that I can only assume she's been possessed. The detective darts left with slightly wobbly steps and a fresh bloodstain wearing through the shoulder of his shirt, and every time the demons make to follow, Abel lashes out at them, strongly enough that they stumble and turn back toward him.

My mom is graying, as they drain all of her strength. But Abel is connecting spiritual strings, and right as she falls to her knees, her tired heart beating overtime to carry the weight they've thrust on her, Abel pulls himself into a tear, and takes the pack of hounds with him.

He's not good at traveling with this kind of encumbrance, but he does it anyways, giving pieces of his own mind to Limbo. I see the pieces as they fall away, growing into the landscape and then vanishing, a drop of dye disappearing into an ocean. It's his own boyhood; stuff he held closely enough to never even show me. The only stuff he whips away from the world is his memories of me. He clings to those hard enough that they can't be stolen. I know from my own rebirth how much that must hurt him.

He swears, realizing he no longer remembers his mother's name, but holds the hounds there as their own consciousnesses are purged. Strangely, their memories coagulate into a single tome, a sentence beginning with one shadow, continuing into another, and finishing in a third. Somehow, they're pieces of the same thing, the same entity, simply split tenfold. But in the tome, they become one.

He shows it to the incubus librarian. Several sections particularly, hold his attention. The Hound he caught witnessed the former incubi elders making a deal with the demons who command the Reapers for help, in exchange for keeping their demotion  quiet. As part of that deal, they reaped some incubi, imprisoned them, then fragmented into these packs of hounds.

Abel knew this fellow's name, worked with him closely on a number of other assignments. And they chose him to silence Abel, ensure that even if he was defeated, his memories wouldn't be recovered. They hadn't anticipated the entire creature being unwound at the same time, though.

He lets himself feel a stab of pity for the fellow as the tome is archived. But he knows he has to get back to us, to stop this, protect both unborn and reborn incubi from their own elders' treachery.

And he has to apologize to me, for even suspecting that I might have been helping attack those new incubi intentionally. He has to find me, to reassure himself he hasn't broken something he can't bear to lose.

“Well?” I process it, shove the relevant bits on to Owen. I doubt he'd understand the whole thing, but I want to remind him that I'm still on his side.

“Well what?” Abel flashes me a look of annoyance, still braced for an attack.

“You haven't apologized.”

He leans in and kisses me, but I push him away. “That's not an apology.”

“You know exactly what it is. And I'm just relieved you're intact.” His anxiety at the thought rumbles through me. “I've brought you a gift.”

I raise my eyebrows as he takes my hand and guides it into his pocket. “Honey, not in front of the kids.” I try to pull it away, but his grip tightens, until I know what I'm touching. Dirt. Dirt that calls to me, that knows me.

“Let's put on your war paint.”

“Meatsuit's over there.” I nod, and turn back to Owen.

Owen's face is closed off, but his emotions bleed into me.

“Let him go, Abel.”

Abel shrugs, in the middle of removing my body-in-reserve's shirt to begin painting bindings on her. Owen stretches, tenses, looks for an attack, but almost immediately realizes that I'm warning him away from it. Abel wouldn't have let him free if he had reason to worry about one. He's gotta know that. He's gotta have some indication of Abel's strength; if he does fight him, it won't go well.

“He's on our side. Has some good information, too. We know why they're attacking you two. And he has a lead on your dad, to get him to safety,” I explain to Owen, keeping my voice low in the hopes that neither of them will hear any tremors.

When I have more time to process, maybe I'll be okay with how hard Abel fought to keep our memories intact. But for now, I want to keep that to myself until I know how to handle it. If I can keep this to expediency, I don't have to confront the chills that ran through me at Abel's devotion.

Owen's expression changes to relief and confusion. His eyes flick from Abel to me. “And you trust him?”

I kiss my fingers and touch them to my temple. “As much as I trust anyone. I was in deep enough that I don't think he could have lied to me.”

Owen's mind probes mine, pokes around for associations with Abel, and nudges a very x-rated recollection.

“That's just rude. Why do you care?”

He bites his lip, and falls quiet, his eyes drifting back to Abel. Abel has been largely ignoring us, but taps my hip, and interrupts us. “This is so much weirder when you're not in there. Ready to suit up, Gene? We've got an incubus to hide. I sent the Well a message asking if they'd take him, but they haven't responded yet-” His expression is tight; he seems to be talking business purely for the sake of talking. That means there's no point to me troubling myself to respond.

I release my physical presence into the corpse. I open foreign eyes and inhale from strange-feeling lips.

Owen shudders. “I'm gonna miss you looking like, well, you.”

Abel shrugs. “A rose is a rose is a rose.”

Chapter 35

Stalker, John

THREE DAYS I’VE been here. I know I should get a phone, or a charger for mine, and call Casey, but it seems like there's too much else to do. Abel was right; I knew who I was looking for when I saw him. At the address, a young woman with darkness in her eyes was cleaning a car, and when I blinked, there was a man behind her, waving and kissing her cheek hello.

When he was with her, the darkness wasn't in her eyes. They were the crystal blue of Casey's sapphire wedding ring. He said goodbye and she turned back to her task, and when I blinked, he was gone, and her eyes were dimmed.

Just like Abel.

I tell myself I'm acting crazy, that I'm letting delusions pull me into stalking an innocent girl. But after his second appearance, once again out of nowhere, I give up trying to rationalize it.

I haven't seen or heard from Abel. Hopefully that's a good thing, but it's hard to actually say. Last I saw him was the graveyard, with the shadows closing in. One moment they were there, the next all were gone, and I was hauling an unconscious woman to the hospital. They said May Taggert would be okay, that it was a mild cardiac incident, nothing more. I know better, though.

I don't feel right leaving her alone. But I don't know what choice I have. I'm two states away, sleeping in my car and following a twenty-six year old graphic designer to work. And even had I stayed with May, I don't actually think I could make a difference; I have no clue what those things that attacked us were, or whether a punch would even phase them. My best bet to ending this is to stick with Abel.

Or at least follow his directions, since he can't be arsed to be here.

I don't even know her name. She seems nice enough, though. Smiley as all hell. I remind myself I'm protecting her, and whatever hides in her eyes. There's a coffee shop across from her office suite, where I can discreetly wait for her to leave, and observe her.

She does, but something's wrong. Her passenger isn't there at all.

I follow her the rest of the day to be sure, but it never goes back into her eyes. Settled back in my car, and there's nothing to do but watch, and take periodic naps.

Abel is suddenly next to me, appearing fast enough my sleep-crusted eyes can't adjust. “Where is he?”

“What?”

“Where is he?”

I shrug. “The woman's in there, but I haven't seen anyone weird visit her since earlier today. Her eyes look empty, too.”

He swears, and it's several seconds before he explains. “Shit, you were noticed. He rabbited.”

“Rabbited?”

“I'll need to get Gene on the scent, see if she can get a new lead.”

I'm too tired for this shit.

Abel notices my surliness. “Otherwise, it's waiting for him to pop out again and starting from scratch.” Then his head jerks, and his brows pull together. “Run. I don't give a shit where, but hide.”

“What?”

“Someone's coming; someone powerful. Guess he didn't like you watching him.”

I pull away from the curb, and notice a shadow seeping through the tree behind me. “Is that—”

“Think so. I'll talk to him, try to stall him. But you've got to get out of his range before he learns your name, takes control of you. Don't look back; if you give him mental energy, he can use that.”

I slam on the accelerator as Abel vanishes. I fight to not look in my rearview as I drive, not knowing where to go.

Chapter 36

In Memory, Gene

I TRIP SLIGHTLY, but ignore the way it jars my stomach. I have never been less happy to return to a meatsuit. Long walks are for chumps. But it's been easy to fade into the background, let Abel talk to Owen. There's sparks, and Owen doesn't want to trust him, but I was right; Abel knows far better how to push Owen's abilities into something useful. It gives me a slight pang—how many people died so that Owen wouldn't be given a Limbo education? All that and now he's getting one, secondhand.

He keeps giving me sheathed glares, and I wonder how much of the incubi condescension toward Reapers is Abel passing on. It makes me feel isolated, even with a man I once considered a friend, a lover, and another I have had to get entirely too close to to be able to brush his opinion of me off.

But isolation is nothing new. Neither is guilt.

I wish I could take some time out, talk to Cole. I think I understand him a little better, now. Swapping memories with Owen made me feel closer to who I was, and his lips on mine reminded me that there's still life in who I am. At the time, it was easy to brush the little touches off as facilitating his education, and our survival. Maybe that was what I looked for in Abel, and in my peeks at my family.

But now that Owen can touch my mind without the little touches, I miss them. The physical contact made things seem less dire. And I hate the distrust in his eyes every time he looks at my duly bound meatsuit.

As the pattern grows clearer, as Owen's world approaches our focus, Abel gives my shoulders a quick squeeze. “I'm gonna pop over, make sure things are okay with my eyes on the ground.”

I nod. “We'll stay here then.” The obvious unless goes unspoken. And that discomfort hides the real  source of my awkwardness: I don't want to be alone with Owen.

Abel is already gone, pulling himself through, before I've managed to sit cross-legged, and start stretching the kinks out of my meatsuit.

Owen grudgingly sits next to me. “Do you have to...”

I raise my eyebrow, but wait for him to finish. It takes him a while. “Your—” his eyes flick over me. Finally, he sends an image over to me. My natural face, eyes closed in relaxation.

“I can't go out there on my own. I don't exist out there, unless I'm housed in another form. I'm not even a ghost.”

“Oh.” He hesitates. “Don't take this wrong, but it's so much more awkward. I think I understand you; I don't think I can hate you. But I see you in a dead body, and it's hard not seeing all of the harm you've done, too.”

I shrug. “There's no true heroes. Everyone leaves a trail of ruination. It only varies how wide.”

He shakes his head. “I don't believe that.”

I raise my eyebrow. “You're also still building that trail, too. How do you know where your breaking point is, how far you have to be pushed before you would do the exact same as me? Or Abel.”

His eyes darken at the sound of that name. “I don't like him.”

“Few people do. He's thorny, even for an inky.” I smile, tolerantly.

“I don't know why you l—love him.” He changes the word mid-sentence, I think to test me.

“I don't.”

He doesn't seem convinced. “Then why—” I don't even need the telepathic visual this time. And him sending it back to me just feels like a little bit of a rebuke. I'm not as shy about my nudity as most, but it feels like a judgment.

“Because he's the closest I've got to family. You may have gotten the idea that the rest of you guys don't look kindly on half-bloods like me. He accepts me, even when he doesn't agree with or understand me.”

“But he—”

“He had reasons to do what he did. I don't agree with him. I don't forgive him, and I do fault him for how he acted on it. But I've got other shit to work through right now.”

He ducks his head, and accepts my warning. “You know, it seems like I should be hungry or something. I mean, I miss the taste and texture of food, but I'm not actually hungry. And we've been here for days.”

“I know. More proof that you're already in your powers.”

He closes his eyes, likely reaching for my mind, but since he hasn't gotten through, he holds his hand out to me. I offer it to him, and his presence blooms in my skull, warm and comforting. “I know this is a huge ask, but—” his presence quivers, something like insecurity making its touch fade intermittently. “You were in my mother. You said you got things from her. May I see?”

I think it through; for the first time, I think I understand Abel's conviction that where now-distant loved ones are concerned, there is a such thing as too much information, too much connection. “I'm not sure it's a good idea.”

His other hand drifts to my cheekbone, traces it, meatsuit or no. “Please?”

I take a moment to revisit those memories, and then shove them through the connection. The associations Abel and I pulled to track him, the rosemary-covered dreamscape where I/she drew him, eyes shaded black. Even the last memory I gleaned from them, as I severed ties with her, and with him, and left him in the stadium seats.

I pull back, leave him staring, processing. He doesn't care about the tears on his cheeks, so I won't worry either. I stretch out on the floor and turn on my side. I breathe, ready myself for what's ahead while we wait for Abel. As much as I wish he'd get back soon, I also want him to take his time. It's confusing being around him, torn between forgiveness and wariness. I miss the days when I could simply act, and look in his eyes, and see his pride in me.

After an hour, Owen curls up behind me, wraps himself around me. I assume it's to tell me he's not mad. I pretend not to feel his hands shaking, or his sniffles, muffled by my hair.

Chapter 37

Bond

I DON’T BOTHER disentangling when Abel's movements ripple through the world, but simply being back isn't good enough for him. He shakes Owen awake, and only my knocking his hand away prevents him from grabbing me, too.

“Well, isn't that comfy.” His jaw clenches, and I know it's more than just imaginary jealousy. If I ever doubted he cared, I've been proven wrong. Incubi are generally used to sharing, and public displays of jealousy are a weakness—like my own attachment to my mortal life.

Still, I'm not in a mood to humor him. Not when he might betray me again, if I let my guard down, if I let myself fall into his arms like nothing could split our friendship apart. “Fuck off. What'd you find?”

“He's gone. I need you two to come through, help me track him.”

“What?” Owen asks.

“He fled, abandoned the chick he was with. And the others thought my eyes on the ground were hunting him, and scared him away. We've got to get back there.”

There's enough anger to him that I don't argue. I help Owen to his feet, and Abel opens the rent for us, his mind brushing against ours with the force of his agitation. Stepping into the physical world hurts, opens a new realm of pain in my partially decomposed form. I heave a gasping sigh at the renewed aches, and Abel reaches for me instinctively, tucking me under his arm. I let him for a moment, then duck away. As much as I need the comfort, I don't want him to hurt me again. He could be manipulating me while I'm wounded.

We're in an ill-lit hotel room now, and I wait for Owen's eyes to adjust. We aren't alone.

“You remember John Camden, right, Gene?” Abel asks, casually.

I bite my lip, look for a non-smarmy response. “Of course.”

John tips his chin up to look me in the eyes. “Surprised you didn't kill me?”

I roll my eyes. “A little. But apparently your dickitude overwhelmed your body's frailty.”

Owen fumbles for a lamp or lightswitch, flicks the light on, and looks around.

“And, I'm not sure if you've formally met Owen Jonas yet.” Abel waves at him vaguely.

John hesitates, still wanting to antagonize me, but also not wanting to poke at Owen's dead family. “I knew you were bringing Genie, but why is he here?”

“To help me, and because it's his fight, too.” I set my jaw and wait for his challenge, but none comes.

“Okay. It's your move, then,” John said, giving me a hard look.

I turn to Abel. “Start ASAP?”

He nods. “If you and Owen are willing. Please don't mind if John and I wait behind. If they're watching, you two will be far less conspicuous than us, since you each have a one-body-one-soul balance.” His jaw works; he isn't happy about sending us off alone. Whether it's fear for our safety, or possessiveness over me, I can't be sure, with how he's been acting since he found us. If I trusted Owen not to shove me away, I'd try testing Abel a little, grab Owen's ass on the way out. Just to make Abel squirm.

I take Owen's arm and make to leave. “Got an address to start?”

A vision blooms in my head, along with a series of numbers and a street name. Then, a set of car keys whips toward my face, from John. “Thanks.”

Owen resists slightly, and I can't tell if it's some kind of social anxiety or desire to not just be my lapdog, or if he's actually apprehensive. The door shuts behind us. “Genie, hunh?”

I bite my lip. “When we first met, he mentioned talking to my mother. It was what she called me.”

He chuckles, and I don't need telepathy to know he deserves a smack. “And if you make a Genie In A Bottle joke, you will lose very important man-parts.”

Even without giving in and vocalizing it, he keels over in a string of almost hysterical chortles.

“Asshole. Come along, wickle Owie.” He stiffens, and I realize that someone probably actually did call him that. Someone whose memory I don't want to dredge up, at least not yet. Damnit, can't you keep your foot out of your mouth for ten minutes?

The camaraderie is gone as we find John's car in the parking lot. I talk to him on the way, keeping my voice quiet and calming. “This is like meditating to feel for worldly stuff, only you're looking in yourself, not outside. I'll be giving you words, ideas, and if you want I can be present to help you clarify things, since I'm used to spotting these cues.”

He bites his lip and pats my hand. “Don't take this wrong, but I'd rather you not. I'm—I'm not sure I can handle you being that deep in my head right now.”

I nod, and focus on the road.

We pull over outside the last place John saw Owen's dad. “Do you have a name, or anything? That might make this easier.”

Owen shakes his head.

“Well then, just focus on him, on your memories. Cast your mind wide and see if it reacts to anything.”

I fight to not fidget while he concentrates. After ten minutes, he opens his eyes. “Nothing. Maybe I just don't know him well enough.”

I squeeze his hands. “Maybe you just aren't relaxed enough. Tell me what you need from me.”

A mischievous glint burns in his eyes, and I glare. “Not that.”

He laughs. “I know, but I knew you'd respond to that, too. I wouldn't mind getting out of the car. It's hard to feel I'm really here, without even a connection to the ground.”

I hesitate, and nod. “It's a little risky, but I can't feel anything around us, so we should be okay. It does look like their attention shifted when he fled. Worst case, you run. I can take care of myself, and I'll make my way back to you, though I might look different if it gets too rough.”

He flinches at the thought of seeing me wear someone else. Knowing his luck, I'd accidentally grab his best friend's body. I'm amazed the guy didn't try to strangle me more than the once. I would have, in his shoes.

We get out of the car, stroll a few blocks, and then I bend down to ostensibly tie my shoe, and he sits on the pavement. I pretend to fidget, take the shoe off and look for a splinter, so it looks like we have a reason for pausing here.

He shakes his head again. “I'm just not good at this.”

I put my arm around his shoulders, and lean my cheek against him. “It's a hard thing to learn. You're doing fine.”

He tries focusing again, and I withdraw my arm.

“Nope. Nothing. That didn't help at all.” He looks at me, and his eyes are awkward, full of a conflict he hasn't come around to articulate to me yet. “I need your help.”

“I'm here.” I put my hands on his cheek, and let him into my head when he presses forward. Given his anxiety, I focus entirely on my own scrying experiences. I keep my head clear, but wait for him to pull back. Instead, he hooks me, pulls me deeper into him. I look through his eyes, and through my own lips, begin whispering words to him.

“Father.”

A young Owen and a man on the swing next to him. But beneath that, an acrid, smoky smell. He pulls back slightly from me; he hadn't even caught the tang.

“Dad.”

The same memory, but without the tang. That's a little strange. What man rearing a kid in the past seventy years doesn't answer to 'dad'?

“Family.”

His sister staggering under a box almost as big as her while helping him move in to his dorm. His brother spitting up on his back while he babysat. A mixed set of resentment and faith, newly compounded with guilt and confusion. And beneath that, nothing.

“Hide.”

The dark-eyed man talking to him in a low voice, strange stories of demons who could find you when you hid. And beneath that, a child shrieking at him in a rough British accent. One his overall self recoils from for its strangeness. I can feel his thought as though it was my own; where did that come from?

“Safe.”

A baseball game, and a really good play, one that scraped his leg badly. His mom thought he might need stitches, but it seemed to heal just fine with only a bandaid. Fast, too. He was thrilled, and couldn't understand why she wore a pained expression for days after.

Beneath that, a different man, red haired and dark eyed, talking to his dad. “Please, keep him away from them. He has a chance for something better than this.” The two hug, and a shadow shifts from the red haired man to the other one. The red haired man's clothes are bloodstained and antiquated, and Owen's nausea bleeds through to me. Was his dad an actor? Does he just not remember seeing him in whatever performance that was? The blood must be fake.

No, hon, I sincerely doubt it, I think to myself, but take pains to withhold that from him. I don't need him freaking out to realize the world's so damn brutal.

We're getting closer. I shift the focus from Owen's recollections, to the ones that seem to have been placed there like ornaments.

“Owen.”

His response to his name comes naturally; a bashful smile hearing it fall from a beautiful girl's lips, all of the frustration of never really connecting right, but everyone thinking the opposite.  But it's distant. There's a cord, dormant in the back of his mind, and I steer him to it, help him follow it with tendrils of ourselves, outside his flesh.

I open my eyes to see him looking into mine, our faces almost touching. “Bingo.” I smile, and guide his gaze to the line running ahead of us, laying over roof, fence, and road as though placed there from the sky.

His lips tremble as he smiles back, and his arms wind around me and tighten. “Thank you.” His voice is raspy, with an intensity that draws a shiver.

To distract myself, I disentangle. “We should get the others, and take off.”

He's a step behind me, avoiding my eyes again. “Yeah.”

“You ready to meet the family?”

His eyes meet mine, fierce and eager. “Yeah.”

Chapter 38

Shotgun

THE CAR IS cramped with four of us there. I tried talking Abel into just not manifesting, but even John protesting that he had a migraine when Abel was around couldn't persuade him to step back. I want to wonder whether it's a lack of trust, but that makes no sense.

Owen still dislikes Abel, so he's riding shotgun up front. I'm stuck in back with Abel. The situation is made all the more awkward by John staring at me in the rearview. Finally, I snap. “You do know I'm jailbait, right? What am I, sixteen? Seventeen?”

He looks away quickly, but finds a retort before I've taken a breath. “I'm looking at you, not whoever you look like right now. And besides; she was eighteen. Barely, but still.”

“Whatever. Just stop looking at me.”

“It's not every day a walking corpse ruins your life.”

“Oh, fuck off. What life?”

He colors, dusky cheeks reddening unevenly. “What the hell do you know?”

I wink at him, knowing he's back to looking, and roll my eyes.

“Please, Gene,” Owen says, and twists around to look at me. I shrug, and give up my next taunt.

Abel looks from me to Owen and raises his eyebrows. He reaches into my mind with a query, and I slap his presence away. He might be on the side of the angels, so to speak, but I can't make myself forgive him for that trap he set up. The last thing I need is his hand on my thigh, and his voice in my head.

A somewhat more direct thought comes through more forcefully. You have to know I'm sorry, right?

I look him in the eye, and shake my head. He averts his gaze, and starts up a conversation with the men in front.

“I've—I think I'm losing it,” Owen cuts in mid-sentence, and John pulls over at the nearest gas station.

“That works. I've got to piss, anyways.” John gets out and makes a beeline for the main station. This is becoming somewhat old hat.

Abel slaps my ass as I get out of the car through Owen's door—damn two door uncomfortable showpieces—and I kick him hard. But he's already lost his form and can't feel it. I sit down in a scraggly patch of grass with Owen, far away from the cars refueling.

I take his face into my hands, ready to concentrate in case he needs me. But he's not focusing. “Sorry; that was... that was just a bit much. I needed a minute.”

I nod and withdraw my hands.

“No, don't stop. Make it look like we're still working.” He puts his hands over mine, pressing them against his cheeks.

“How are you holding up?”

“I can never really tell, to be honest. Sometimes, it seems like I have this in my grasp, and other times it just seems... alien. I don't know what we're gonna do when we find him. I don't think I'm as, I dunno... feral... as you all are, or as useful as John is. I'm gonna be dead weight once the tracking's done.”

I shake my head. “You're doing just fine. There's a learning curve, that's all.”

“But—”

I press Cole's words into his head, the shame I now feel for being their weapon. “Cherish your innocence.”

His face registers his next thought, almost before it comes to me. A memory shared in our experimentation, of my last mortal moments. I shake my head to clear it away. I've lived it, don't need to revisit it. Me, naked on my apartment floor, begging Mark to put his sawed-off shotgun down, telling him I'd do anything, that we'd make it work, if he just put the gun down. And him taking full advantage of that, fucking me while I cried, his gun still to my head.

“I'm sorry. It's just... jarring. Logically, I know I have far different reasons to feel close to you, but that's the one that sticks out. Not how deeply, intimately, I know what you've done.”

I sigh. “It was frightening, and painful, but hardly the first time I was too afraid to tell him 'no'. It's not nothing, but it's not what you're making it out to be. At least not alone. And it's not something we need to talk about.” Besides, it's honestly hard for me to separate it from the moment a second later when Mark's finger tightened on the trigger and my skull exploded.

“I know, but it still bothers me. I never said I'm sorry.”

My brows wrinkle. “For what?” It doesn't seem like it has anything to do with the topic.

“For being an ass about the rules.”

I stare at him.

“It seems so much dickier now. I don't think I'd really processed things, and I was more preoccupied with everything happening around me, not with what you already shared and what you were asking.”

I jerk my chin to make him stop. “It was a mistake. I didn't intend to share that. It's not yours to bear.”

He squeezes my hands. “I was still an ass.” He hesitates. “I—I think I broke the rules.”

“Hmm?”

“Rule number one. No interfering with your mind to manipulate your feelings toward me.”

He's full of dismay and shame, utterly lost in self-loathing. I refrain from a snort. He's been coming along, but I doubt he's that powerful. “You didn't break that rule.”

He's not persuaded. “When I asked you for whatever you had with my mother. I was upset, and—I think I reached out, tried to make it so you wouldn't push me away.”

I burst out laughing. “Owen, please, don't be an idiot. Abel would have a chore of a time outright bending me, not just reading me. It's my job to tell when that stuff is happening, and counter it. You didn't do anything. I'd be shit at my job if I could be manipulated that easily.”

His skin goes blotchy with embarrassment and confusion. “You mean I've been hating myself for days, thinking I was one step up from a rapist, for nothing?”

I nod to him in between chuckles. “The others will be getting impatient. Let's do a quick refresh, and get back to them.”

I can't comment on how cutting his relief is. Still, I want to mourn his innocence. He has no idea what the world he's stepped into is really like. I hope like hell he can keep at least a bit of that naivety.

He smiles, his cheeks pressing into my fingers, as we meditate. I barely need to guide him this time, just be there in case he needs me to bounce off. When he sees the glowing line, we release each other, and walk back to the car.

He steals secret smiles with me as John pulls onto the main highway.

I'm sure Abel senses it in both of us, but I just can't let myself care. And it makes me feel disproportionately powerful watching him stifle his jealousy. I'm not his concern.

If only he thought that. Probably the only reason he hasn't made another move on me is because he knows how kindly I'd take it, given my history.

Indeed, his hand grazes my thigh, with a telepathically whispered message.

I am sorry, you know. We've been partners for years. A drop in the bucket, perhaps, but a drop sweet enough to make the rest of the bucket's contents palatable. I'd hoped we'd work together many centuries to come. I hated the thought that you'd turned on us. That I might have to be the one to take you out. They wanted me to do it myself, but I couldn't. The Reapers and Hounds have always been a bulwark between the Incubi and demons. But... the Reapers, they turned on us, almost en masse. You leaving a trail of dead Incubi, what else could I think, but that you were with them?

I mouth why at him, hating my own limited skills.

I tried to imagine it, tried to imagine grasping your soul, seeing through your eyes for the last time, dragging you back to Limbo and witnessing every memory as it was undone. I tried to imagine your face bubbling, melting, warping, as you lost even the memory of your features. Tried to imagine you reforming new ones, if you survived it.

Not a certainty by any means—most often, Reapers don't have the substance to survive a flashing. Not like the incubi. In fact, I only know two Reapers who've successfully survived flashing in body, if not in mind. Ain't numbers I'd want to play. But those were the numbers he was gonna make me play.

He continues. I couldn't do it. I argued with them. Vanya seized me to send the message, said that it was going to be done with or without me. And her, speaking through my mind, cloaked in my substance... I can't think of anything more undermining to my conceits about my self-determination. I nearly attacked her, and got myself flashed, too. After that, it seemed like it was done. It was in motion. Nothing else I could do but try to help, see if I could get you to come in alive.

I was lost. I even prayed, like I was back on the longboats, readying for battle. I tried to convince myself that I might feel some spark, some divine guidance, that would reassure me you'd be okay. That only the traitorous part of you would be excised. That against all odds, you'd survive. Even though I knew it was a lie.

It's been several centuries since I prayed, Gene. I don't know if you can understand exactly what that meant to me. Rebirth... it seemed an opportunity to remake myself, to shed my human weaknesses. To accept only myself as the architect of my future. No room for gods or higher powers. Or maybe just to consider myself one of them.

Until I met you.

I don't think I truly knew myself until that afternoon, when you called me on my act. When you seized the last thread that held me together and tore the stitches out. When you exposed the truth: I don't matter without you.

Please, Gene, just tell me you forgive me. That's it. You don't have to actually do it. You don't have to actually care. It doesn't have to be over or in the past, by any means. But please, just tell me you forgive me.

I close suddenly stinging eyes, pressing them shut hard rather than blinking several times.

It's not like him to talk like this. Is it a ploy?

I really don't think it is.

I twist in my seat and lean close to him, my lips almost by his ear.

John pales and almost loses his grip on the wheel as Abel pulls even more energy from him, to be there in flesh and not just spirit. Abel's presence shifts as he works himself to solidity and his new weight settles into the cushion beneath him.

Abel's face turns slightly, until our cheeks are brushing and he can see me out of the corner of his eye, not just feel my breath stir his skin. His earlobe catches against my lips, as I whisper “Maybe someday I'll forgive you. Until then, you're welcome to try to make it sooner.”

His fingers fist in my hair, and his lips find mine, soft and pleading, somehow warming me clear through beneath their outward chill. Tendrils of him bump against my mind, obviously his attempt to let me know he's there, to ask permission for the intrusion.

A million thoughts whirl through my mind: can I trust him? Am I walking back into something awful? At least with Mark, I knew that all of his violence, his control, it was rooted in what he thought was honest affection. Never once did I question that he did love me, as hard a time as I have describing what was in his fucked up soul as love. As much as I know I shouldn't, because it's a disgrace to love's good name. Not so, Abel. He's mercurial, and ancient. How long before he gets bored of me? How would I even know he's invested, and not fucking with me for the fun of it, if things went sour?

Am I doomed for my second life to end the same way as the first? Strung along by a much more dangerous lover?

I can't keep the thoughts quiet enough to escape Abel's notice. He pulls away from me, his eyes dark and wounded. I can't bear the intensity in them, can't bear the guilt etched into every particle of his frame.

“I lo—”

I can't hear him say it. Once, it would've meant everything, but now, it's a blow that'll draw blood. I cut him off. “I'm—I'm sorry.”

He doesn't try to say it again. I settle back into my seat, my eyes on the back of Owen's head.

John straightens as Abel stops demanding so much power. His grip on the wheel tightens, and he glances in the rearview.

I don't need to look to know that Abel's given up his form completely.

Chapter 39

Invitation

AS WE DRIVE through a scenic antique Pennsylvania town, Owen asks John to stop again. “Something's different here.” He glances at me to get me to follow him, and Abel holds me back.

“You shouldn't let him use you as a crutch like that.” Despite Abel's stoic tone, I don't think he'd deny that it's at least partially rooted in the fact that he doesn't want me and Owen sharing psychic space. Maybe it's the part of him that questions whether we truly care about each other, or just suffer from the mirage of it from spending so much time in each other's heads. Because there must be a part of him asking that question. Heaven knows it's been the one on my mind since Abel first led me into that trap. And his attempt to apologize has only nudged it to the forefront of my mind with an obsessive frequency that frightens me.

After yesterday's intensity, the last thing I want is sweet talk, professions of love. I don't want to confront the spark between us, lingering and heating up the air. I don't want to hear the unspoken promise he started to voice yesterday.

I shrug. “There'll be time for him to learn later. I think it's mainly psychosomatic, but if I help him focus, we can find the end of the rainbow a little faster. I'd rather that, at least. Wouldn't you?”

He gives me a look. “And it's not that you're trying to punish me?”

In the front seat, John flushes. I raise my eyebrows, look from him to Abel. “Seems like you've done plenty to warrant punishment.”

“Oh, come on. I had a little fun with the guy. I'm sure you've noticed he has a crush on you—”

“I meant when you set me up to be killed.”

I'm not being entirely fair. Maybe he fought when Vanya controlled him, or maybe he didn't. Maybe he was happy to have the semblance of being forced to hurt me, so he wouldn't have to feel responsibility or guilt for his actions. Even if it didn't help him in the end. “Though now I want to know...”

His eyes fall. “Nothing you'd care about.”

I wait for the silence to get awkward enough for someone to come clean. When neither of them breaks, I shrug.

“I don't like you shutting me out, Gene—”

That makes anger bloom hard in my cheekbones. How dare he? I said I'd try to forgive him. Not that he could pretend my anger was the problem, going forward. “You forfeited my trust already. Reap what you sow, asshole.”

“I can't talk to you when you're like this.”

“Then don't talk to me.”

His gaze holds steady a minute, hurt in it, and then he releases his form. John's grip on the wheel is tight, and I start edging out to meet Owen. “I'm sorry about that. Not fun getting splashed with others' drama, I know.”

John shrugs. “It's fine. But he's wrong. I don't have a crush on you.”

“I know. But his kind, you live with them long enough and you lose all ability to see anything other than lust or a desire for violence.” I sigh. “They cut themselves off from massive parts of themselves, and assume others do the same.”

“I mean—I'm still not certain I shouldn't be cuffing you, dragging you in for the people you've killed.”

I chuckle; both of us know how that would go.

“You, me working with you, it might be the least of the evils, but it's still an evil.”

“And that's not at all offensive.” I say it with a smile to soften it, though. I know where he's coming from.

“You're a big girl. You can take it.” He sighs. “This all feels too big for me.”

Owen peers in, and knocks on the window. “Duty calls,” I say with a relieved breath, and climb out. It takes a disturbing amount of effort; this form is wearing thin, henna bindings or no. And I get the feeling there'll be no stealing another one so long as John's riding shotgun. That just seems like daring him to try fighting me.

“You're moving slowly,” he says, and guides me to sit on a park bench with him.

“Sorry about that. Everyone wanted to talk at once, and these old bones aren't what they used to be.” I shake my arm demonstratively, and he smiles, then stills his face as he realizes the horror in the joke. It wounds me a little; I hope he's so accepting of his own foibles, once he's come into his own. Incubi are not especially pretty when left to themselves. Very few pick one human form and stick to it, like Abel mostly does.

“There's just something weird here. A weird air. I want to reach out again.”

I nod. “Have at it.”

He squeezes my hand, and begins work. I wait for an indication that I'm needed, as a guide. His eyes go wide, dart around us, and his hand starts shaking. He's seeing something I'm not. I take his other hand, too, and rub his fingers. “Talk to me, Owen. What do you see?”

He's right. The connection must be deeper here; I've never seen him so absorbed.

“I... I was here. But everything was horse-drawn carriages. He was here, too. I found him. What now?”

“May I?” I touch our joined hand to my forehead, and he nods and releases his mind to me. I see through his eyes, and then see through eyes not his. The quantity of feelings drifting across his head, my head, and his connection threaten to overwhelm him. Elation at his own newfound skills, frustration and fear at his abandonment, a million questions he might ask his mark first... what if his dad doesn't like him? It's been years since they were in the same room... I push around the eddying current of his thoughts, keep them moving away from us, so his nausea will abate. “Well, that'll tell him you're coming. I'd say send a message, if we don't want him to try running again.”

“I don't think I can. He's so far, still.”

“You're in his head. Distance is kinda meaningless.”

He quirks a grin, puts together a message, and as he tries to push it into the other man, I shove along with him. It'll definitely get there, though I hope it doesn't knock the guy's host out of bed.

Almost immediately, a message comes back. You're talking now. We need to meet. And an image of an addressed envelope.

I hug him across the shoulders. “You got him. I told you.”

He looks at me with a little anxiety. “Yeah. Now I just have to actually talk to him, and after this whole muddle, I'm lost as to what I might actually say.”

“You'll know, when the time comes. Let's get back. Best not keep him waiting.”

Chapter 40

The Road Behind, Gene

WITH ENTIRELY TOO far a distance to travel, and even more of a rush to reach our destination, John stops for gas. “Be right back. We'll get a motel, since there's no way I can go through the night without crashing us. We'll get there around lunch tomorrow. Unless somebody else wants to take a turn behind the wheel.” A moment of awkward silence passes. “That's what I thought.”

“Okay, see you in a minute,” I say, and stretch my shoulders. Without the need to scry during any stops, we've had fewer of them. Abel hasn't manifested in a while, and it's just me and Owen in the tiny car. “So are you all set? You ready for this?”

“How can I be?” Owen asks, biting his lip. “It seems like there's so much riding on it, and I really just want to punch him and demand to know why he wasn't there. Why he let them die.”

“That... might be counterproductive.”

“I know. But what else is there to say?” He hesitates. “The man who hurt you—if you could see him again, what would you say? Wouldn't you want to bash his fucking skull in?”

That steals my breath. “I'd rather not be talking about him. I don't even think of him, anymore. I have a new life, now.”

“So? Run with it, here. What if you did?”

I lie through my teeth. “I think I'd pretend I didn't know him. That he was mistaking me for someone else. I don't want to talk to him. I know him well enough to know why he acted the way he did, and while that doesn't make it right, doesn't make him a good person, it's enough that I don't wish harm to him.”

“Bullshit. It's a lovely fairy tale, but it's not you.”

I don't like this new version of Owen, aggressive, pushing into dangerously tender terrain for both of us. But he's not gonna let it go, so I wrinkle my nose, and come clean. “I... I did. I hunted him down. Obviously he didn't recognize me. I killed him, without him knowing or even understanding why. Saw him reduced to a scared rabbit, caught in a cage with a starving wolf—a mindless animal running on raw instinct. He didn't even know he'd created that animal. And I butchered him.”

“How did that feel?”

“It didn't. I thought I'd feel good. Just. Righteous. Or at least avenged. I'd risked my 'new life', or afterlife, or whatever you want to call it, too. But when the fear of getting caught faded, and something began to bleed through the numbness, I missed him, just those few little decent moments we had that weren't part of the fucked up tapestry of pain. Have you ever stepped in wet dog shit barefoot?”

“Yeah.”

“And you wash off, but you can still feel like, like it's still clinging between your toes. I still feel it. It didn't wash any of the shit away. And that's why you shouldn't do what I did. The shit won't wash away.”

“I don't know if I'm a good enough person to just walk away.”

“Maybe. But I think you see, too, that you can't just kill your way through this. Or you wouldn't be here with me.”

“Even waking up every morning near the two of you... I wish I could hate you. I wish I was the kind of fucking macho asshole who could take pleasure in hurting you.”

“But you aren't. And neither am I; maybe that's why killing Mark did more harm than good. Sometimes it's easier to wish harm on a stranger than to look at the full picture as it affects someone you know. Violence perpetuates itself.” I hesitate, making a connection in the idea. “I think I have an answer, though. If Mark were alive, if I saw him today, if he looked at me and saw me, I'd tell him to stop running scared. I'd tell him to stop being afraid of being alone, and trying to hurt people into not abandoning him. I'd tell him that if he truly loved himself, he'd be okay picking up the pieces after someone did leave. I'd tell him that unless he found himself in those moments of being broken-hearted and damaged, he'd never know who he was, to know why they loved him, and why they left. I'd tell him to get help.”

“So where does that leave you?”

“Surviving. I only survived then because Abel found me, and hid me, and what I'd done. This time, he didn't. He turned on me. And you've seen the mire that's stuck me in. And I walked away from you, did what I could to protect you, because it's worth doing. But there's no way I could do it for every mark with doe eyes, or every assignment I don't understand.”

“I don't really see the difference, to be honest.” He glares at me. “I don't think your or Abel's brand of violence is any less poisonous than the violence that was inflicted on you.”

I shrug. “Different strokes, I guess. Do you want to take another stab at making me feel like shit, or are we done here?”

“We're done. And—Gene, when my dad's safe, when I'm safe, I hope to fuck I never see any of you again. Maybe that's grief, and I'll feel different in a decade. But I wouldn't count on that. You two killed them. Without a second thought. And whatever's left of my life, going forward, I don't want that in it.”

The disappointment and rancor in his voice stings me, but it's understandable. “I'm looking forward to leaving you alone, and seeing what kind of life you make for yourself without these 'toxic' influences.”

He sighs. “I would say 'don't take it like that', but that's really how I wanted you to take it. So with that in mind, what do you think you're gonna do when this is all done? Take more assignments? Kill more people?”

“I suppose that depends on what the brass thinks about however the chips fall.” I bite my lip. “Still, it's possible they'll have other tasks for me. Protection and the like. I make a damn good bodyguard.”

At least that makes him smile a little. “And Abel?”

“Abel will do whatever he decides. He's got more options anyways, since his abilities aren't as limited. Why?”

“Are you gonna forgive him?”

“Excuse me?”

He taps his head. “You haven't bothered shielding yourself in a while, at least not from me. And it's written across your face every time you two're within five feet of each other. It just—it seems odd to me that you have less animosity toward your goddamn murderer than you do toward him.”

“That was a long time ago, and you've only got bits of—”

“Is it that it's easier to hold that grudge than to admit that you're afraid?”

I glare daggers at him, gnawing on my lip. “What're you saying?”

“That maybe you're not who you think you are. You think you're whole because you're focused and powerful. That's why you don't think of yourself as that victim anymore. But you're not whole. You're scared, and shaping your entire life around the idea that it's better to offer pain than to take it. And so long as you think that, you're never gonna heal. You're never gonna live.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I do want to hate you. But I know you well enough because of our 'bond' that I can't, not outright. And I can give into that hate, or I can be better than you, so I still want to help you.”

“How old are you, anyways, Grandpa? Have you even had a girlfriend?” I ask, tartly.

“It's not an age thing. Gene, I don't have to look hard to see that you're broken. And I wouldn't feel right wishing you good-fucking-bye if I didn't at least try to do what you said you'd do in my situation. Get help, Gene. You've already seen who you are, broken. But have you seen who you are healed? Have you seen who you can be when you care? Because I have, in fits and spurts. And those glimpses are the only reason I think there's a possibility I might want to talk to you down the line. So don't fuck it up.”

I nod, entirely to get him away so I can have space to think. And then John's back, impatient to get a little further before we stop for the night.

Chapter 41

Old Bones

BY THE TIME we stop, I can hardly think about anything other than falling asleep in the bathtub. I've worn this form for entirely too long—no amount of gentle treatment can alter the fact that my connection to it's growing weaker, and the aches of holding myself to it are getting worse. Last night I couldn't even sleep past the pain. I laid awake for hours, listening to Owen and John snore. I almost hoped Abel would come to keep me company. In a day or two I'll have to bite the bullet and tell John I'm going hunting for a new one, if it comes to that.

Still, the pain seems to have a new meaning to it. Loretta Jonas must have been cremated—the connection to her is gone, utterly. So from here on out, I can't tell myself that any of my fondness for Owen is residual. Maybe it's just that Owen's the least thorny of my companions. Or maybe it's that I've been in his head a lot, and he's not a bad guy, especially under the circumstances. So when he talks, I tend to listen.

And our last talk's stuck with me. It almost makes the aches enjoyable, some hard-won part of myself I've only earned by my strength.

The warm water's the only thing that might ease the pain, and I'm not gonna deprive myself of it.

I sink into the water, waiting for its heat to sink into dead tissue and stiff joints.

The hot water runs out fast, but still it's easier to stay in that bath than to drag my failing body out of the lukewarm water and dry off. Water stirs near my leg, as someone steps in with me. The door didn't open—that means it's not John or Owen. John's bed on the other side of the wall must be close enough to let Abel manifest. I pull myself up long enough to verify the guess, then sink into the water, too sore to be self-conscious.

The water level rises as he sits behind me, supporting my shoulders until I'm cradled against his chest. He combs gentle fingers through my hair, and through my mind, forming a protective barrier between me and my worn body. Free of the strain of holding myself together, it's difficult to stay awake.

Maybe I should hold myself distant, wait until my wits aren't addled by pain and the constant drain of holding myself focused here, pushing myself that last little bit to see Owen safe. I should push Abel away, so I can consider things when I'm not trembling with weakness, every vulnerability exposed to Abel's nurturing stare.

But I'm done with that. Whatever comes in the morning, I'm not gonna make things tougher on myself now. I'm not gonna turn Abel away. I'm not gonna make myself suffer without his gentle caresses, and the psychic barrier he's built around me to keep out the worst of the pain.

His face looks somewhat gray; it's severe enough that the brunt of it's falling on him. Just as the natural body's pain is amplified tenfold toward me for controlling it, both of our pain is amplified tenfold for him, as it cascades further away from its original source. Ripples growing as they spread out from the pebble. It must be a tsunami crashing over him.

I should retreat. Just because I'm suffering doesn't mean I should make him suffer, too. But the ease of my breathing, the fluidity of my movements, it's a precious bit of rest, the like of which I haven't had in some time. Still, his labored breathing pushes his chest harder against my cheek, making it impossible to pretend that my relief comes without a price. “I—” I start, and he brushes a finger over my lips to silence me.

“Shh. Rest up.”

Rather than arguing, I visualize his presence inside me as a strong lattice, and weave myself with it to strengthen it further. It lessens some of the pressure on him, even as his support makes it easier for me to hold the pain further from myself.

Abel's fingers skate over my skin, so gently that I can barely feel it past the numbness and deadness that was left behind when we pried the pain away. “It's been a long hunt,” he whispers.

“Mmm.”

“You'll be able to rest soon.”

I wrap my arm around his ribs, and bury my face in his chest, still memorizing the absence of pain, trying to reroot myself in my body, free of its corrosive influence.

Long into the night, we lay like that, as the water slowly drains away, long-since cold.

Chapter 42

Fragment

JOHN TRADES A glance with me as Owen stares at his father across the table. He has barely had a look for the rest of us; he paused long enough to introduce himself as Dastan, then sat Owen down with a cup of coffee. Owen's frozen, and Dastan doesn't seem to be in a hurry to change that.

Something irks me, a sense of something near. “Don't get too comfy, guys. I don't think we're alone.”

Dastan's eyes flick over to me. “I'm not surprised. I've been expecting it for a century now.”

I cock my head. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “It means what it means.”

Owen seems happy to have the out. “Hide now, talk later, then?” Meeting his father, with his adoptive family's deaths between them... it seems to have struck him dumb. I can't blame him. If the discussion doesn't go well, it could tarnish their memory, or erode the survivors' ability to support each other against the murderous demons who have it in for them. It's not an easy time for a family reunion.

Something flits by outside the window. “I think it might be a bit late for that. Honestly, I think they were waiting for you to get here.” Dastan turns to me. “I'd say that has more to do with you and the—” he sends a dark look Abel's way, “looking after him and making him damn difficult to hunt.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I was trying, too. I almost caught up to you, once, but by the time I got there, you had moved, and far enough that I couldn't pick up the trail again, not having a strong rapport with you or him to draw on.” He smiles, but there's sadness in it. “Cupboard under the stairs, there's holy water, and some weapons dipped in it.” Abel walks where he points. When he returns, he hands out ornate, occultish weapons, taking a claymore for himself and handing me a pair of Tantos similar to ones he trained me with years ago.

“Remind me to have a talk with you about those later.” It doesn't sit well with me, the idea of Dastan barricading himself in here with demon-specific weapons. But now's not the time to talk about his paranoia, or the likelihood of him hurting someone, or letting someone hurt him, accidentally. I peer out one of the windows, counting unnaturally moving shadows.

John flashes me a smile. “You sound like a cop.”

“I'm not sure that's a compliment, considering the source.”

“Where are you pulling from? Can your host help us?” Abel cuts in.

Dastan's face falls. “I asked Emmy to stay upstairs, stay out of it. I don't want innocent lives in the crossfire, and I hoped I could piggyback off someone else once things heated up.” His voice is tense.

Abel's brows raise. For him to be solid, down here, that's an extreme amount of power and control. Most incubi couldn't do it, and Emmy is probably unconscious from providing the force for it.

Something dark, about waist height, pads down the stairs. For a moment we all jump, reach for our new weapons. But it's a dog, sturdily built and yawning.

“Emmy,” he says, “I told you to stay.” The dog looks at him tolerantly, and noses his hand. “Sorry. She must have sensed I was stressed.”

A smile drifts across my face. “Really?” I had no idea there was enough in a dog's head to sustain an incubus. It's a tidbit I'll have to make use of, at some point. It might be an easier way to sneak around, without giving the leadership an easy way to track us. Is this is how Dastan eluded his trackers?

He gathers the dog into his arms.

“Well ain't that something,” Abel mutters, and trades looks with me.

Dastan's arms tighten around the dog as something crashes through the window. Distant noises tell us there's more coming through the back windows. I know better though; it's just a rock. Abel's used that trick before. “They're trying to get us somewhere open, somewhere we can't defend. We want to get in a corner, so they can't attack our backs.”

Abel looks to me. “Open a doorway for us?”

I shake my head. “There's too many of them. They'd sniff out any false trails, and wouldn't be slowed. If these are like the ones you met earlier, they're even better coordinated than the Whirlwind's hunters.”

“Make a break for the car, then.”

I shake my head again, looking out the window. “They're ready for that. They've slashed our tires, looks like the neighbors' too, probably half the tires on the block.”

John swears. “Those were new ones, too.”

I glare at him. “Not the time.”

I shoot through the window, bracing myself for the noise of shattering glass. Two of the shadows fall, but the rest of them don't hesitate in closing the gap, even though they weren't in eyeshot of the missing ones to know there was a gap. The ones I wounded are already attempting to get up, so I shoot their knees.

“Have you ever known a Reaper team to act like that?” Abel mutters to me while everyone else is distracted.

“No. It doesn't look like a predetermined plan; it looks like central control. Must be a possession, since there's no delay in communication.  Like the one you saw earlier.”

“Central control can be lured out, and if we can take it out, it would disorient them.”

I nod. “Seems like the best shot. Unless—can you talk to them?”

He shakes his head. “Gibberish. Just like last time.”

I shiver. “We have to cut the strings then. Lure out the demon, kill him, and reap them.”

“Looks like it.”

I sweep a glance over the men hunkered down shoving knives in their socks. “That means me, right? It nearly killed you, reaping them last time.”

Abel looks pained. “You don't have to—”

“Take out the handler when you see them. I'll play with the hounds.”

I throw myself out the window, ignoring the strain on my meatsuit, before Abel can stop me.

Chapter 43

Old Blood

GLASS SHATTERS AROUND me as I fall, and I barely remember to catch myself in an acrobatic roll. Something keens behind me, and I dart forward, only to see two more in front. I draw the knives in my waistband, and slash wildly, keeping them back. They shrill in thwarted fury, and more close in on us. How many are there?

There's no humanity to their forms, though they wear human shapes. Their features are eerily distorted, as though the memory that created them was blurry. The colors are wrong. One's lips are a rich purple, and another's are bloodless and pale. I whip my knife across the purple one's throat, and it falls mid-gurgle.

But the gurgle shifts to another one, “Pretty—” and another one after that, “Quick—” and another after that “Move.” It round robins around them, sound ricocheting from one to the next. One voice from many separate throats. “Won't save you. Kill. Hunt.”

One of them throws itself into me, and its nails rake me before I throw it off, and stomp on its ribs, hard. “Blood,” it gasps, fluid spraying from its lips. Where the drops land, it starts to burn into me, dissolving clothing and flesh alike.

I back away, and the others gather around their wounded brother and touch it, assessing it, reassuring it.

A gunshot sounds near me, and another imitation human falls. I flash John a peace sign; these things won't actually die, so there's no point in wasting the ammo. Crippling them will suffice.

They begin to surround me then, and I jab at them wildly. It's an act, though; the real weapon is the flask in my pants pocket. I flick one of my knives closed, seize the flask, popping its top off as quickly as I can, and throw it. I know my aim is shitty, and it's a horrible tool for me to use; I get sprayed in the process, and my flesh burns, nearly as bad as the hounds' blood. I'm losing my form, bit by bit.

But there's a growl near me, more controlled, more human than these hounds. Their handler is close. I fake a seizure, dropping my body and abandoning it to the pack. It's useless now, anyways, but if they think they have me, the others can...

As I sever the last string connecting me to it, I reach out for the nearest body I can replace it with. And come up with four paws. Apparently Dastan's not the only one who can grasp a canine mind; Emmy doesn't feel too dissimilar from an overly fresh coma patient.

Dastan looks at me in horror, but shifts to pull from John, instead. John sways at the strain of hosting two incubi. He won't be able to hold them long; I need to get the fight through fast. “Please, no, don't let her get hurt,” he says, and the others turn away from the carnage at the window.

Abel looks at me. “Gene, you in there?” There's ungodly worry in his face, telegraphed clearly enough that Emmy's instinct is to lick his hands and console him. But Emmy's not in charge.

I make my form nod, though the order makes no sense to Emmy. Dastan sighs, and I feel a shift as he transfers himself to make John host him, instead of the beast.

Then Abel's attention snaps away, and he throws his first knife. He has a skill with thrown knives I've yet to master, and his aim is true. The holy water-dipped blade lodges in the neck of a woman emerging from the treeline, only the bone ridges and strange hinges marring her anatomy cluing us to her purpose. The hounds fall, and I jump through the broken window to gather their pieces.

The knife won't kill her; we have only a moment of opportunity.

Abel knows what I'm doing, and coaches the others on how to do the most damage, in a low voice. I jump through the dog's flesh with the leash in tow, but she's already rising, and charging me. I grasp for her, but miss her, her smooth soul providing no weakness for me to seize.

A second too late, Owen hurdles the window and throws his flask on her. She shrieks, and it begins dissolving her away, but she is stronger than that, and it's her natural form, not a placeholder like mine. I drag as many of the hounds as I can with me again on my spiritual freefall to Limbo, but there's no way in hell I can grab them all. I have to hope the others can hold their own until I get back.

Damnit. I missed her.

Chapter 44

Passenger, John

THE DOG IS just a dog again. Its eyes look the same, but it's no longer a tactical fighter. Specifically, it's already running the short distance into the bushes. And whatever's out there knows it's a distraction. The inhuman-looking woman is on her feet, flanked by shadows. The bullets hit her, but don't phase her, though Abel assures me they'll poison her, eventually. All I know is it's only a matter of seconds before she is close enough to fight through the door, or the window. Whichever she prefers.

Abel hefts his flask of holy water. “It'll do more damage, up close. Just stay out of the way. Me and Gene, this is our job. She'll be back in a sec to help.”

Owen looks terrified, all the moreso for Genie's disappearance. I haven't had time alone with him to talk much on this trip, but it's perfectly obvious that they have some manner of friendship and trust. I'd say more, from the way they carried on, tracking Dastan.

The scene seems surreal; an inhuman woman forcing her way into the house, two disappearing men with fucking occult looking weapons, and a woman who passes from corpse, to dog, to—wherever she went. I can hardly lift my weapons; my own fear chokes me, amplified far past the point of control or resistance. Some part of me doesn't trust that, wonders when the hell I got to be such a coward. But that doesn't make the panic back off me, or help my throat open.

Owen seems to be similarly affected, but to a lesser extent. Dastan and Abel engage the shadows as the woman ushers two shadows through the window, and makes a break for the door, to open it for the rest. Abel is a terror—disappearing, reappearing, scalding them with a cascade of something that must be far more deadly than the holy water.

A dim part of me flashes to the Jonas' bodies, the strange acid that burned them. And with that thought, my purpose becomes clear.

“You killed them.”

Serve and protect. Kill those killing others.

Anger and aggression overwhelms me, to have finally found those innocents' murderer. I could claw his throat open with my bare hands, or bash his skull. Make him feel every ounce of pain they did as they died. I can almost feel his flesh tearing under my fingers, my teeth.

Justice. That's my purpose.

I throw myself at Abel and my blow lands. Worst yet, I feel the strength he's taking from me, and fight to squeeze the tap shut. His form wavers, fades to incorporeality. I can't make him leave completely, but I can deprive him of the ability to hurt others.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I can't tell who's yelling, but it doesn't matter anyways. I can take Abel out. He's bound to me. I raise the gun to my face, and ready my finger on the trigger.

Owen lunges into me, knocking the gun away. I reach for it again, and he slams my head against the floor. I don't even feel the impact, but the world swims around me, ripples distorting the air as the woman throws Dastan to the side.

Owen hesitates, torn between protecting a father he's barely known, and trying to hold still until the other killer—Genie, her name was; it feels distant and I have to grope for several seconds to find it—comes back.

Chapter 45

Exorcism, Gene

THE HOUNDS STRUGGLE, but are no match. And whatever's happening, the incubi are aware of it. A group of them meet me in my favorite clearing when I reach Limbo. A succubus I don't know stretches out her hand to me, and I pass the connections to her, leave the hounds wailing in her grip as the world purges their existence.

I have to go back; there's still more to do. I try to remember the way it felt to be in Emmy's skin, but I can't pick up the connection again. Reluctantly, I reach for the other meatsuit, now mutilated by the remaining hounds. It takes all of my attention to force torn muscles to action, as I try to wiggle back into the house. I've barely made it to the doorway—no way I can climb in the broken window with hamstrings torn by clumsy fingers—when the demon handler strikes Owen down.

A protective impulse blossoms, driving away my caution, and I throw myself at her, dragging her, and the remaining hounds back to hell with me. She screams. The sound tears at my broken eardrums, but without the connection between mind and body, she's done for. I release her and her mortal spirit evaporates. I want to look around, to know that everyone's okay, but I don't dare. Between the strain of managing this useless form and holding the hounds, it's better to hurry with my work. I haul the remaining hounds to the edge of Limbo.

The inky are still there, the first hounds still shrilling, though quieter as the world drains them, chews them away. “Is it over?” one of the overseeing incubi asks me.

“I don't know. I've got to get back, got to see.”

I turn the spiritual leashes on the remaining hounds over, and let them continue.

I force myself into the broken body awaiting me. John is unconscious on the floor, and Abel is barely there. But Owen; I can't figure out what the hell is wrong with Owen. Dastan wrestles with him, words falling from him like a chant. After a moment, I realize what they are. Not again, not again, not again, not again.

I try to reach out, tell Owen it's over, he's safe, but he can't hear me, can't feel me. He sees me, though, and his focus changes in an instant. Strong hands close around my throat, and I redouble my efforts to reach him telepathically.

Finally, I break through his barriers, into the carnage in his head. Demons surrounding him, all of us demons. Fears, taunts, laughs, all forming into sharp blades that slice into him. He has to kill us, kill us all to be free.

John stirs on the ground near me, his eyes widening as he wakes. The demon we fought is gone, but lives on in Owen, through his own fears. John raises his pistol, though I try shaking my head at him, saying “no” with the remaining breath I have.

But it's too late. Owen's head explodes over me, dousing me in bone fragments that are entirely the wrong makeup to be human. He doesn't look so different than I did, when I was reborn. He's definitely an incubi. No guesses or hedged bets.

Shit.

Dastan looks at me, eyes wide with fear. “I didn't—I didn't know. I didn't know he'd snap like that...”

I glare at him as I shove Owen's corpse off me, and he touches my cheek. He looks to the body, and I understand. I push myself into what remains of Owen's head one last time, recover the last memory in there.

A memory blossoms when I shut my eyes.

A scrawny, cowering child, labeled a freak and tormented, frightened for his life. His clothes are dirty, poorly made. His caretaker is harried, preoccupied, and his mother no better. He's sick, so very sick, and still finds no rest in that lodging. As the violence gets worse, he turns inward, fights to find some way of protecting himself.

And then he breaks through, finds it. He flexes his caretaker's knuckles, demands her to punish those who have hurt him.

Later, he calms, sees the carnage, hears his father murmur “What have you done,” even as strange beings surround them. His father warns him to stay quiet, and he does. And his father's not Dastan, but another man with black eyes, his reddish hair catching the light and setting off deep-set eyes and strong cheekbones.

Owen's body feels strange; it doesn't feel like his fingers and toes are his anymore. His father says the fault is his, and laughs, guilt and worry compounding until Owen wishes he could cry to ease the man's pain. Owen—or whoever he was, back then—wants to argue; he finally managed to defend himself, just like Mother told him he needed to. But he can't. He can't even feel his mouth, can't feel if he still has a mouth.

The strange men confer, and one approaches his dad—Dastan. Something passes between them, and Dastan nods. Owen's father vanishes, his spirit torn away by the strange men, and Owen finally forms a mouth enough to cry.

Dastan picks up the formless child, and consoles him.

Dastan looks to me for understanding. “Benito said the child deserved better, that he didn't wish to see him enslaved by his people. He asked me to hide him, see that he had a chance to grow.”

“And instead Owen never could.” Raw anger fills me, but the connection with Owen still hasn't closed. It takes me a minute to push further and realize why. “But he still has a chance.”

Dastan wants to protest, but thinks better of it. I'd probably deck him if he tried. “Do what you must. Benito would have wanted that, and will forgive me for failing him.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

I accept Owen's pain as mine, pull him into my consciousness. Something dark leaks from his body, sinks into me. His physical form withers to nothing in the air, even the chunks of bone melting and flowing toward me as though pulled toward the ocean. I feel him there, though he's still a mess of pain and terror.

“I'll be back soon.”

I pull Owen to Limbo.

I fight to protect him, cushion him from the turmoil shifting the ground around us, slicing pieces out of my head. But I'm not enough of a fool to believe I'm actually helping much. And his mind has degraded to the point that even our connection fails us. So I speed up my steps, focus on the archives. No matter how much every inch of me, mind, body, and soul, aches. Owen's agony compounds with mine, numbing me to the world, to my words, to my memories.

The archives are empty. I call through, send queries and vibrations through the landscape to shake a caretaker out of their tasks. Finally one of the librarians materializes in front of me with an apologetic and irritable nod.

I offer Owen to her, and she accepts. His dark substance fights to take a form, but fails. I leave one of my hands against him as I tell her what happened, and she reassures me that he'll be just fine, though only time will know how much of his life, death, or even me he remembers. I nod—the others might still need me batting cleanup.

I need to focus on what comes next, rather than linger here. Regretfully, I pull my hand back from Owen.

Once again, he fights, but fails to form. Can't get further than five fingers clutching me. I stroke him with my other hand, and squeeze those fingers. “You'll be fine, and I'll come check on you.”

The librarian looks at me with a combination of amusement and impatience.

“You're in the right hands.” Poor choice of words.

One finger at a time, Owen releases me. And one lonely moment at a time, I release him.

I nod at the librarian, and push myself out of world, leave him to his true family.

Chapter 46

Baby Steps

I CAN’T GO back to the Hub. The incubi insisted.

I can't blame them. When their power was threatened, the elders tried to use Reaper assassinations to suppress an incubi uprising. Now that that tidbit's in the open, everyone's aware that they've actually pushed the incubi into full-formed rebellion. Abel and I got caught in that crossfire. We're considered no more trustworthy than the inkies who drove the elders away.

Now that the word of the assassinations is out, the incubi are in revolt against the elders for targeting their own. It caused a rift between the Reapers and their handlers. Most won't accept assignments or even intel from the incubi. And the Reapers themselves have split, some of them bearing more allegiance to the demons they live with than the faceless incubi who worked with them, but also shunned them since their turning.

There's gonna be a civil war in the streets, as the demons turn against the Reapers, not knowing who accepts orders from whom. Standing orders from the Hub are to overtake any rogue inky or Reaper for 'reassignment'. The second pack of hounds' memories collected, it's easy to see what that means. It shows their slow fragmentation, from one complete individual, to the scattered, suggestible mess they are. Abel said he tried to make a few of the other Reapers look, but that they refused to believe it was anything other than a fabrication.  Oh well, it's their lives on the chopping block.

If these are the weapons the others will be using against us, the fight'll be bloody. Lots of collateral damage, and public messes.

If I go back to the Hub now, there's a good chance I'll be taken for a traitor. But it's still home, and abandoning it chafes me.

“I won't hear of it,” Abel'd insisted. “We're still partners. We're safer together, and you're safest with me.”

To make me feel welcome in the space carved out for himself in Limbo, he's even ventured into the Hub while disguised, to bring back dresses for me. I tried to tell him not to, since he's in just as much danger as me, from our former bosses. The gesture's sweet, but I'd give anything for a comfy pair of jeans or leggings. Those flowing garments seem like they belong to someone else entirely.

So far, a fragile truce has held; our war must not reach human streets.  That would be mutually assured destruction.

But with the tensions lingering, the escalating violence, it's only a matter of time.

I don't feel right distanced from that war. Not since I in many ways helped cause it.

Abel takes regular messages to John, to keep an eye out for shenanigans there. But John is a scared little bunny compared to the forces that he watches. I don't feel right abandoning him.

Still, it's safer for him if I stay away.

Abel is the only one who talks to me. He tries to make me forget my anger and loneliness with little distractions and gifts. He tries to touch my mind, rekindle whatever it was we had. But I just can't do it. And every time I push him out, it hurts him a little more. He pushes apologies into my head, whispers them in heartfelt tones, but I can't make myself believe they're more than empty words.

Some part of me wonders why I took it so personally, but the truth is obvious. Whatever our parameters, however casual our trappings were, I loved him. It's not just that he betrayed me as his partner. It's that he betrayed me as his lover. And that's the part that his apologies can't touch.

I have no idea what my role will be in the coming skirmishes, but I know for damn sure it's not playing the happy housewife with him.

The next time he leaves, I'll sneak out, leave him on his own. The thought fills me with sadness, but also excitement. I'll no longer be anyone else's weapon, to be pointed badly or used for harm. To be cast aside when convenient.

I can't let myself depend on Abel again. Dependence breeds contempt, breeds violence. I have to write a different ending for my story.

Chapter 47

One For The Road, John

DASTAN SAID HE couldn't stay, that it would be too obvious. But he asked me to look after Emmy. I don't even like dogs, but I couldn't say no.

My career is finished. I might have survived fucking up the evidence, or getting seen gallivanting with a suspect several states away, but not both, not in so short a space. And the real prick from IA had just enough IQ points to know I wasn't telling him the whole truth—couldn't, really, with what the whole truth actually is. Oh well. It was a crap job, with a crappier pension and crappier-still java. I got something new brewing. Abel's been teaching me things to watch for, and the more I open my eyes, the more I see.

I don't need to be on the riot squad to know a riot is brewing.

It unnerves me. Even remembering how easily the huntress turned my own emotions against me...

Emmy looks at me and licks my elbow. I see why Dastan liked her. I never wanted a dog before, since I knew I'd never have the time to take care of it. Guess that problem solved itself.

I stroke Emmy's graying whiskers, stare into those warm brown eyes. A shadow fills them. My arms break out in goosebumps, and I take my hand off her neck.

It's all in my head.

But that night as I begin to drift off, I see Genie's eyes shining through the dog's, and watch her put a paw on my head.

She's in my dreams, looking tired, very much the worse for wear. Disturbingly, she's naked. But it's not the first time I've had a normal conversation with a strange naked woman.

“What happened? Where's Abel?”

She shrugs. “I don't really want to be around him right now. And it seemed like a good time to practice this whole literally being a bitch thing.”

“I'm sorry.” I wonder what Abel has to say about all of this, but it's her prerogative to leave, if it's what she wants. “How's Owen?”

“He made it. Not able to talk or form yet, though. Once he does, I'll be able to visit. If he'll have me.” Her expression is sad, and tender. “I feel somewhat responsible for everything he's been through, so I've been keeping a fairly close eye on him.”

I nod. “When you do get to talk to him, tell him I said hi.”

She hesitates, and I don't need freakish superpowers to read her intentions. “Will do. Things are going to get dangerous.”

For a moment, I'm not sure whether I can trust her, until the memory of her facing the huntress and her pack surfaces. Genie's tough as nails, and follows her own guide. I can trust in that. So I take the awkwardness from her. “We're both essentially fugitives, and it's a lonely road. Do you think you want to keep me company, down here on the ground?”

She smiles, hesitantly. “For a while.”

I give her a proper hug, feel wiry muscles shifting against me. Like I said: we're both essentially fugitives, and it's a lonely road.

Chapter 48

Old Wounds, Gene

I'M RUNNING. SOME part of me admits that.

I miss Abel fiercely. It's been so long since I was alone like this; simply having a conversation can't even compare to having a lover who understands your every thought as though it was a part of himself. But my flight's given me other opportunities.

John still visits my mother. And now, when he does, he brings Emmy with him. I can't talk to her, can't tell her I'm there. But she pets me, and makes conversation with him. Just hearing her voice, it's a comfort I don't deserve.

They talk, hours on end, about ghosts, and familiar-looking strangers. About the peculiar deja vu's she's positive he encountered, too, to have taken such an interest in me. She thinks I'm a ghost. And of course, he keeps his silence. He doesn't tell her that her baby's a murderer. Or demonic.

But even without her knowing my truth, hers is glaringly clear to me. She's haunted, metaphorically, if not literally. I've done that.

I need to let her go. I need to let myself go.

I wish I dared return to Limbo. If I could just see Owen one more time, before he's healed enough to tell me to respect his wishes and leave.

But I don't doubt that the moment my feet found the ground in Limbo's transitory woods, Abel'd know I was close, and come to me. He won't give me up so easily. And, as much as I don't know that I'd want him to, I'm tired of hurting the both of us. I'm tired of looking in his eyes and seeing only his betrayal.

I'm tired of failed efforts to forgive him, and his failed efforts to apologize.

Something's broken. And I don't know how to fix it.

In time, I stay out more and more. It's a relief to return to John and Emmy, but being limited to one physical place makes it difficult to do the work I see ahead of me. I begin daywalking with every body I can find, stretching the limits of my power to reach further and further away for new bodies.

I check on Cole and Tabby frequently, though little Adam doesn't seem to like me much, probably because of my deathly cold skin, and whatever lingering traces of new corpse smell and embalming are stamped into my bodies. But if we're gonna survive the coming war, we must stick together. We must protect each other, not just subsist.

I watch the streets, checking up on every expatriate demon I can think of, trying to get a sense of who's on which side. Who might be a spy, or might be a target. Who might take advantage of the confusion to lash out and disturb the mortals.

One day I forget to walk my form back to the morgue before returning to John's place, and he comes down to breakfast to find a strange, sickly looking man at his breakfast table, painting his fingernails. He doesn't say anything. Just rolls his eyes, and lets me go on blowing the color dry.

It's amazing what people can adapt to, given the opportunity. As he eats a bowl of cereal, he gives me the rundown, listing all the news from while I was gone. It must have been a week, at this point. Apparently sometime in that span, Abel came by.

“This would all be easier if you'd just talk to Abel yourself. I told him that, but—”

I raise an eyebrow. “But he knows it's better to leave things be right now.”

“If that's it. How'd you two end up working together, anyways?”

“It's a long story.”

“I've got time. I'm still fired, you know.”

I duck my head, and shrug. “Okay. Well, the brass wanted me to succeed, but I was somewhat uncontrollable. I had a few partners who were... triggering. Abusive or predatory. It was to the point where if I had one more partnership end violently, they would have decided I wasn't worth the trouble, despite the potential my early assignments showed.”

John shudders, guessing what those assignments were.

“That means they'd have either restricted me to the Hub permanently, or flashed me entirely, if I disobeyed—which, in the shape I was in then, I would have.

“So they paired me with him. I guess he'd gotten tired of the Limbo politics, and the exhaustion of an incubi's work. He's—well, I don't know exactly what year he was born; I don't think he does either. But he grew up in a much more warlike culture, and so was a natural to transfer to the Reapers. They put him with me because I—I was a mess.

“While our specific brain chemistry and DNA might not survive the rebirth, a lot of the rest of me did. I was a patchwork of trauma and pain, with hair-trigger moods. My partners and I were continually at each other's throats, and our work suffered. They hoped that his comparatively recent work for the incubi might help ease the transition. That his skill reading people would help him relate to me where Hounds who'd been away from that kind of subtle work longer had failed me.

“It didn't work very well. He was intimidating, and his preferred method of dealing with me was sort of a pull-up-the-big-girl-panties-and-knuckle-through-it sort of bravado. He thought it was needed to curb the violence. Thought that I needed to be more afraid of him than of whatever trigger was causing me to disobey him.

“It blew up on an assignment. We nearly had the target, and Abel got too close to me when I didn't expect it. I turned on him, buried in flashbacks, and the target got away. Had he told our bosses, it would have been the last mark on my record. Instead, he lied for me. Accepted the blame for my fuck-up. Probably had to manipulate them to make them believe the lie—an offense punishable by flashing, had they noticed it. As it was, they weren't happy, and didn't go easy on him. Cut into him using a blade dipped in holy water, to make the lesson stick.

“Even as he was struggling to heal around the wounds, he returned to me, talking me down from the episode. And after that, how could I not trust him? How could I question his loyalty to me?”

John's staring. I glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing. Just, a few months back, there's no way in hell I believed a story like that. It's crazy how fast stuff changes. Maybe I'm not cut out for this shit.”

“Is anyone, really?”

We sit in silence, for several minutes.

“So what changed?”

“Hmm?”

“You and Abel. What changed, that you aren't on speaking terms?”

“How much did he talk to you, when he dragged you into this?”

“Not much. I think he blamed himself for you being hunted. He didn't get into specifics.”

“Then I'm not gonna, either. Suffice to say that he wasn't the partner I thought he was. And both of us were deluding ourselves, letting personal stuff mix with work. It was never gonna end well.”

“But it has ended?” John asks, pointedly.

“Yeah, I'd say so.”

“That's a little sad.”

“It is.”

But I'm lying. As much as the thought of Abel still stings, there's something much better around the corner.

The path to rewriting a better ending is in choosing to walk that path. For all my coldness and distance, I love Abel. Really love him. Still. And I'm still tied to Owen and John. I'm not the weapon they trained me to be—I'm better. Even with how things have ended with Abel, I can still take the strength loving him gave me, and heal myself with it.

“So what now?”

“Well, you said they're trying to warn any of the incubi who aren't already in hiding. I'll pick up with that.”

“You know that wasn't what I meant.”

“But I can still track them in half the time of any of the other inkies. You have Abel's list?”

“Yeah?”

“Then I'll get out of your hair for a while, while I track—” I glance down at the page. “—Kiri down.”

“You can't run forever, Gene. It's not gonna make it go away. It's not gonna fix things.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Abel said they don't want people going alone, in case the others have set traps.”

“Again, I'll be fine. I take care of myself.”

John shakes his head. “Abel said you'd say that. That's why—”

He trails off, as a black substance pours from his lips. I glare at Abel, his form still coalescing in the smoke. “You were watching for that.”

“Yeah. I know you too well.”

“I'm still going, though. I don't need a babysitter.”

“No, you need a partner. Your partner. We've gotta watch each other's backs, and I'm not letting you run off on your own to die in some backwards dream or abandoned plane.  You've already been attracting too much attention investigating solo. You've gotten lucky thus far. It won't hold.”

“I don't need a partner, Abel. I'm just fine on my own.” I don't dare respond to the possessiveness in his eyes.

“Look—Gene, I know why you ran.”

“Do you, now.” I can't keep a dry note from my voice. He probably does, but that doesn't mean I want to talk about it with him.

“Please, Gene. One last assignment together, if you have to do this now, and then I'll talk one of the more fidgety ones into working with you for the rest of the list.”

The prospect of being with him is almost too painful. Remembering all that was, and might have been. It's almost enough to bring me to my knees. But if I tell him I'm in no rush to do it, and something happens to the succubus in the meantime, or if her trail goes cold... I don't want to take any chances. Surely I can put up with a little pain to protect her.

I nod, grudgingly. Abel catches my arm and tugs me into him, his lips finding mine in a scorchingly relieved kiss. I push him away, but can't put my heart in the gesture. As unnatural as these lips feel against his, his are still somehow right. Somehow familiar. Something I'll never taste again. Shouldn't I at least savor it, before I go to pick up the pieces?

“Ahem.” John coughs, a glower plastered across his face. “I don't want to watch that crap. It's creepy.”

“Why? Because of this?” Abel holds up my hand, and then kisses me again.

“Yes, because of that. Couldn't you at least bandage the wounds so it'd look like I'm watching two living people make out?”

I can't help but laugh. I'd completely forgotten that this one was really only passable at night, since there's large burns over half his body.

“Seriously—get a room.” John trades a look with Abel.

“If she agrees to come home with me.”

I blink, not liking being on the spot. “You're only tagging along while we warn those on the list.”

“And after that, I want you to come home. Take a more direct role in planning our response. You're smart, and tactical—we need you. And more to the point, I need you. Don't tell me you want to walk away from everything we've shared together.”

“I—”

John coughs, again. “Can you guys do that somewhere else?”

“Yeah. That's fine. I need to get the big guy home, so no one wonders why he's on your kitchen floor. Abel, I'll meet you two planes out.”

Abel pins me with a heated stare, one that promises that we aren't done yet, and makes me quake in my boots. “Okay. Don't try to run, Gene. You're not doing this on your own.”

“Wouldn't think of it,” I confirm, but mutter “Asshole,” under my breath.

He laughs, and pulls away from me, withdrawing his arm.

I leave him and John talking cheerfully.

Chapter 49

Living Proof

ABEL’S WAITING WHEN I arrive, happily back in my own skin. He smiles tenderly and moves for a kiss, but I turn my face. I can't let myself pretend it's okay to touch each other that way. No matter how much I want his lips on mine. He settles for a hug, resting his lips against my hairline.

“Don't run from me, Gene,” he murmurs into my hair.

“I'm here, aren't I?” I back away and throw the dress on over my head, adjusting it until the hem falls evenly.

“That you are. There may be hope for me, yet.”

“So is there anything I should know? Since you're here anyways.”

“Not that I can think of. Bennett checked in with Kiri some time back, and she was fine. Happy, even. Socializing with the Cadmus clan. I doubt anyone'd want to fuck with her, let alone there. But better safe than sorry.”

I nod. I haven't met any of the Cadmuses, face to face, but I've taken down Anguis demons before. So long as you can keep them too off-balance to shift, they're okay. Once they're shifted... it's a whole different situation. “Wonder how that happened. Aren't the Cadmuses supposed to be really territorial?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

He takes my hand, and together we reach for the first stepping-stone on our path, tearing through the two worlds in between to create the gate. He squeezes my fingers, and we both hold our breath out of habit, as we step through. On the other side, he doesn't wait to talk.

“Listen, Gene. I don't think another apology's gonna do it. But that doesn't mean I've given up on us.”

“Maybe you should.”

“How could I? You're everything to me. And no matter how long you need me to wait, no matter how much space you need—” he catches my look, and hurriedly adds, “so long as it's not endangering your safety anyways, you have it. I promised I'd be there for you. That I'd look after you. Even when you didn't need it. And maybe you're running away from that because I don't deserve that trust. But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try.”

“Do we have to do this now? Can't we just enjoy the walk? We're within reach of their plane, but who knows how close to her we'll actually emerge?”

“If that's what you want.” And he unmakes a portion of his form to pull a folded square of fabric out of what was formerly his chest cavity. That's the one aspect of the incubi I've never gotten used to. He slips the fabric onto my arm: a dress, so I don't have to face them naked.

One more jump, and we're on the plane the Cadmus Enclave is on. It's a lushly wooded, temperate area. Perfect for a brisk walk.

It's easy to feel Kiri's weight on the plane, though she must be a ways off. We've got probably hours of walking to get there.

Hours of silent, painful walking, entirely too aware of Abel's presence next to me. Even without body heat to warm the air around him, it's impossible to mistake his strength and weight. Once upon a time that made me feel safe.

Now, it makes me feel hunted.

“We've never walked this long off-world, have we?” Abel asks, and I can feel his eyes on my swaying hips.

“No, I don't think so.”

“It's nice. No meatsuits, or meddling humans. Just quiet, beautiful greenery, birdcalls...”

“At least until the dragon shifters we're tracking find us and try seeing if we're enough for a meal.”

He laughs. “Not me—I'm too lean. Not bulky enough.”

To illustrate the point, he sucks his form back into himself, making his limbs spaghetti-thin. One freakishly thin arm threatens to loop around my waist, and I swipe it away. “That's so fucking creepy. You ever play King's Quest VII?” He looks at me like I've gone insane, and I sigh, with a little disappointment. “A computer game. Had a creature with limbs like that. Scared me so bad as a kid.”

Abel laughs. “It's still hard to imagine you being afraid of anything.”

“Yeah, well, I was. That boogeyman, and the creatures on the covers of Goosebumps. I never did horror.”

“I find that even harder to believe.”

I punch his arm melodramatically. Old reflexes keep him still for the blow, but demand he lash out with one of his own, catching my hair and jerking me close enough to kiss.

The first time he tried it, I broke his nose. It was autopilot, but it amused him. And after that, every time he got away with it without incident, it became a matter of pride. That he was the only one I'd let that close. I used to love those smiles, and wait for them... only to swerve away at the last second, just when he thought he'd won.

I never really learned how to flirt, or the joys of that subtle interplay until I met him. He brought parts of me alive that had lain dormant in poisoned soil.

I shiver, and let him have that last kiss. I may be breaking my earlier promise that we were sharing our last kiss then, but the thought of sticking to my guns is painful. Better to just accept it, for old times' sake.

He leaves his lips against my skin as long as he can before I start shifting awkwardly, and releases me. “I've missed you.”

I can't think of a reply. I've missed you, too, but it hurts more to be with you than to be away from you. I've missed you, but I don't miss the nightmares as I lay in the spare bedroom, imagining your footsteps coming toward my room with a mix of fear and exhilaration. I don't miss the turmoil you create in me. I don't miss the fear I felt when you led me to certain death like a bitch on a leash. I don't miss feeling like a broken cunt for being terrified of what your love might do to me. Or worse yet, what it might fail to do for me, if the situation came up again.

We walk in silence, the trees fading around a broken path, and a series of steep foothills and cliffs. There's a series of pillars almost out of our eye-range that must be the Enclave. And Kiri's weight is heavier and closer. The air practically bends around the place from the force of her. We're almost there.

I point out two dark blots in the sky, even though I'm sure Abel's already seen them. “We've been spotted.”

He nods. “Hopefully they talk before attacking. Otherwise, you should hide. I'll find her.”

“Noble.”

“No, just common sense. You can't transform, or ghost out. Those claws are deadly, but I've got a better chance of surviving them.”

“Okay. I'll do the talking, then. To justify my being here.”

He sends me an amused glance, but lets me take the lead, as the Cadmus stream out of their stronghold with fast wingbeats. I raise my hand, waiting for them to land on the ground in front of me, transform back to something closer to human. It's a little nauseating watching their bodies shift as spikes and scales melt into tanned and tawny skin.

One of them is in front. He starts toward us purposefully, not waiting for his body to pull his wings back under his skin. The newcomer draws himself to his full height, lithe and wiry muscles bunching in agitation. “If you think you can just come here and—”

His aggression triggers something unhappy in me, and I react the best way I know how—by preempting him. I snort derisively. “Tell me I can't, Cadmus. You think you're the first Anguis I've sent to hell?”

A shadowed figure steps forward, putting a hand on his broad chest. The tines threatening to burst through his chest immediately recede. “Tam, calm down—”

I don't need to look her in the face to see what she is. She's pulling energy from him, trying to sap him enough to tame the beast threatening to transform his flesh. “You're Kiri, then?”

Undoubtedly, she doesn't have high expectations for anyone here to see her. And why would she? Plenty of incubi have been hunted down for fleeing Limbo, shirking their duties, as she did. Tears well up in her eyes as she turns to face me. Then they widen. And her form shifts, the mishmash of female features reflexively sliding back into something much more frightening—a face entirely too like my own.

“Hello, Kiri,” Abel says.

My eyes widen. See, I knew my family had an inky in its recent history, but I never thought for a moment it might still be alive.

But here's living proof otherwise. Kiri's eyes are softer than mine, her jaw less determined, but we share the same nose, cheekbones, and eyebrows. If we were standing near each other on the street, you'd think we were sisters.

She has my mother's lips. The ones my mother said looked like her mother's.

Blood will out.

“Did they send my own to hunt me, just to be cruel?” Her eyes are large, filling with tears. But her form never flickers from stress—this isn't an attempt to put one over on me, soften me. This body is what's natural. “Are you going to sleep well, killing family?”

I roll my eyes, entirely too aware of her trying to alter my brain chemistry to weaken me. It's like watching someone do surgery with a baseball mitt on. I'm not impressed. Apparently her skills lie in other areas. Either that, or she has fallen out of practice to a frightening degree.

“What the fuck is going on here?” her companion, Tam, roars, the assembled Cadmus clan staring at us, waiting for the blow to fall. Abel pushes forward, obviously gearing up to take Tam down if he makes a move for me.

“If you'd both just shut up a minute,” I command, not hiding the cutting edge in my tone. “I'm not here to kill anyone.”

“Then why're you here?” Kiri glares at me suspiciously.

“Because those of us who're better at traveling are making the rounds to check on those who haven't been heard from in a while, to be sure they're safe. And to encourage them to return, if at all possible. It's pure luck, I assure you, that I ended up here. Frankly, the thought of another crazy bitch like me on the same plane is a little scary. Happy now?”

Her fierce companion stares at me, looking for any sign of aggression or falseness. I raise an eyebrow. “I'm Imogene, and this is Abel. And you should come home with us. It's not safe for us abroad right now. There. Message delivered. You want us to go?”

She puts a gentle hand on Tam's forearm, and some of his aggression stills. He stretches a hand forward. “Tamiel. Kiri's Bound husband.”

“Well, Bennett could've mentioned that,” Abel whispers to me, and I can't help but smile.

“Mighta saved us the pissing contest,” I mutter back, echoing his smile.

“Come on home, then. If we should be bracing for an attack, it would help knowing what we're defending ourselves from.” Tamiel nods, and the gathered demons transform again to take flight.

Chapter 50

Message Received

ABEL TAKES OVER the talk from there; I'm a little too rattled by finding out I have immortal family. Just Kiri's eyes on me from across the room are more than enough to keep me on edge. And it's a relief to back away from Abel, to look for some sort of perspective.

“We're not moving. Never. But she's ours to look after. You lot don't need to bother, though we're happy for whatever information you can provide that helps us keep things locked down.”

“To be honest,” Kiri chimes in, “I think you're gonna have a huge problem persuading some of the others to go home. Most of us who've left, there's damn good reasons for it. And we'd rather die than go back. There's worse things than dying for living the lives we want.”

“What about the Well?” Tamiel asks, making Abel raise his eyebrows. The Well is a dive bar built into a gateway between Earth and the Hub. The brothers who own it are known to be very antisocial. But the word is they have rooms available adjacent, that're sometimes available for rent. And that no fugitive who's shelled out for a room has been found and apprehended. Though that's always struck me as hearsay since I've never heard of the Reapers failing to bring a mark in, in the end.

“Do you think they'd take refugees, or that it could be a place to coordinate check-ins?” Abel asks. “The twins who run it—what're their names again?—they don't really talk to us. Do you think they'd be on board to provide some kind of safe harbor?”

“You'd have to ask them.”

“It's a good option to explore.” Abel turns back to Kiri. “I know what you mean. I moved to the Reapers because of my exhaustion with the elders' bullshit. And having them gone, there's still enough residual hostility there that I'd rather not get involved in. I wouldn't be living back in Limbo myself if I had a better option. And there's people I'd happily live outside the safety of Limbo to protect.”

He glances at me, and she raises her eyebrows. I want to glare at him for being so transparent, but it would only add fuel to the fire.

“We shouldn't stay here,” I cut in. “If we're trying to keep you off their radar, having three of us here will call you to their attention much faster. I can start heading back tonight.”

Abel glances at me. “We'll start heading back tonight. When the conversations are done.”

I mouth his words back at him sarcastically. “Who died and made you boss?”

Kiri smiles, glancing toward Tamiel and the little girl clinging to his arm, as she serves a portion of dumplings for the child.

“It's uncanny, you know,” Kiri says. “I should love to look into the genealogy. Has your family kept any records?”

I roll my eyes. “I'm not sure. My mom might have something. I was never terribly interested. I guess some of what her family had was lost when they immigrated, and after World War II. She mourned the history, but never really felt connected enough to justify trying to recover it. From the way she talked about it, I don't think my grandmother forgave her for that.”

“That's a shame,” she said. “My mortal name was Ayame—do you—”

“Know where you are in the family tree?” I finish her sentence for her. “No. The name's not familiar. My mom's May, her mom was Connie. Don't know maiden names or anything. I never really paid attention. I think my grandmother moved fairly frequently, so probably not a lot of public records on them, either, I'd guess. You're welcome to look it up.”

There's a hunger in Kiri's eyes—or should I call her Ayame?—that I don't quite get. It makes me feel like I'm letting her down by not being as fascinated as she is. “Look, it might be more interesting to you than to me. I'm trying to move away from thinking too hard on who I was.”

Her face falls, and she glances at Abel and the others, before leading me away to finish the talk privately. “I wasn't trying to put you on the spot. I just—I got myself into trouble, back in the day, trying to stay a part of my mortal family. And now I find my family's followed me into my new life.”

“I'm still cutting myself off from mine. They'll heal better without me.”

She sighs. “You're so young.”

“So're you.”

“Such pain. Sometimes I question whether the birthright is a curse.”

I shrug.

“Still, I hope you'll stay in touch. It does my heart good to think of my line still out there. Even though—” Her eyes show her distaste.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Few people hope their descendants grow up to be amoral killers.” I roll my eyes, not having it in me to be nasty about it.

“Or sluts,” she says, a little self-deprecating amusement in her expression. “Our very beings are predicated on what's seen as the worst of primal urges. It would take a special one to love us. Perhaps that's why our elders stopped telling us we should seek that love.”

“I—I couldn't say. No one really gives a shit what the Reapers do, so long as no one dies, and it's not an incubi or demon we shack up with. Of course, there's not many who'd be thrilled to bang a Reaper possessing a corpse anyways, so that narrows the pool even more...”

Her eyes twinkle; my dark ramble wasn't enough to throw her off the grain of truth I'd hoped she wouldn't see. “But you broke that, didn't you. It's obvious your companion's heart is with you.”

Why does everyone want to ask about that? “We're complicated. And it's not up for discussion.”

“No—you don't discuss, do you. Discussion requires fluidity, and a willingness to change.”

“Alright. You've got me. Smartass.”

“Well, for his sake, I hope it works out.”

I shoot her a look—what does that mean?

“He didn't mention it to you? We worked together, back in the day. I shadowed him for a time while I was training. This would have been quite some time ago. A century—maybe closer to two. I'd have to do the math.”

“No, he didn't mention it.”

“He was harder then. But less focused. And he wore a much different face.” She shakes her head, with a soft chuckle. “Half the time, he made them laugh until they were his.”

That makes me pull a dour face—Abel, a jokester? I just can't see it. I'm mildly curious about what he looked like to her, since even in our early days, he wore so many looks that the changes frightened me.

Eventually, when he realized it, he chose the one, his mortal face, and wore it whenever possible, to put me at ease. I don't think I considered what that meant to him, even though I've since shared some of his memories—enough to know that however else I might worry he lied to me or used me, his form was one piece of himself he was completely honest about. He hid it for how long, although it was the truest expression of himself. And then revealed it to me. Took away one barrier between us.

Kiri evidently assumes the same. “Perhaps it let him convince himself there was distance there. Even talking with me, he never wanted to hear anything personal. No opinions, no fears, no dreams.”

“Yeah, he was like that when we first met, too.”

“What changed?” She cocks an eyebrow at me, knowing I'm not gonna answer.

Finally, she gives up on the wait. “If you're anything like I was, it feels like there's something broken inside you. Some kind of fissure or divide that holds you back. You could reach out with open arms, and seize something beautiful, but instead, you'll cross your arms over your chest, hoping to hold that chasm together. You'll tell yourself you need to, because it's the only way to avert the tragedy awaiting should you break completely the moment you let go.”

Her honesty startles me, but the worst is that her words resonate. She doesn't even know who I am, but she knows the gulf that's been threatening me since I walked into the incubi's trap.

“It's... it's a little more complex than that.”

“I'm sure. But I hope, for his sake, that it's worth facing that complexity. It pains me to think that my old friend could live without finding the joy that I have. And it pains me to think the same of my family.”

“Oh my god, did you really just give me the 'settling down' speech? Fuck, Kiri. You're not my mom.”

She smiles and looks away, likely having picked up that I deflect with teasing. The conversation's entirely too personal. And I'm getting tired of others talking to me like what's inside me is so obvious to them. They might not be wrong, but it doesn't mean they're right.

Footsteps rasp across the gravel path near us. “Gene? Time to go,” Abel calls out, quietly. “Everyone's settling down for bed. So it's our time to say goodbyes and start back.”

Chapter 51

Pain

KIRI FLASHES ME a sad smile. “Don't be a stranger.” And then she leans up to Abel, whispers something I can't hear before thumping his shoulder, and backing away. “I'll tell the others you said farewell. Travel safely.”

Tamiel peers through the doorway as we walk away. I can't blame him for not warming to us—we must seem the harbingers of doom. And witnessing his clear protectiveness of Kiri, it's no wonder she has no intention of leaving.

She doesn't bother walking back to the door, just rematerializes next to him. Here one second, gone the next. Barely an itch on my shoulder where she patted it goodbye.

Abel's already walking, but I can't resist stealing a look behind us at the pair, holding each other. They're at least a little scared, despite his bravado and her determination. They'd be fools not to be.

It's hard finding our footing in the dark. The hills and bluffs around the Enclave are treacherous, and though it's not like either of us could die from falling, there's no point to taking a thumping on the way down.

Abel's quiet. “Have a good chat?” he asks, after a long delay.

“Reasonably. She puts me on edge. Was she always like that?”

“What?”

“She said she worked with you. Was she always like that?”

“Oh. It was so long ago I'd almost forgotten. Think she used to be quieter. A lot changes, though, in that kind of time.”

Like him. He shoves a strand of ash-blond hair back from his face, brushing it back with scarred knuckles. I want to pull his hand to my cheek, rub my face against it like a cat.

“Thanks for going all alpha, today.”

“Hmm?”

“Getting between me and the dragons. You didn't have to. I'd have—”

“Have kicked their asses and exacerbated the problem. We both know where your head was, there.”

I flush. “You know me too well. And you're right. I was an ass.”

He throws an arm around my shoulders, pulling me toward him. The ground's chilly under my bare feet. “So long as we both know it.” From his dark tone, he's talking about more than just the confrontation.

“Onward to the Well?”

“I see someone's ambitious tonight. I was planning on getting some rest first, sweetheart. After all, why get between two groups of savage shapeshifters in one day? Why not face pain with a full night's rest?”

“Or, you could just put that sweet tongue to good use, and talk them out of hurting you?”

His lips find my forehead. “Where's the fun in that?”

“You're a masochist.”

“I'm in love with you, aren't I?”

My breath catches. “Wouldn't have thought that was pain.”

“I wouldn't've have, either. But here we are.”

Despite the bitter words, his breath against my face provides enough contact for him to reach deeper into me, like the old days. My eyes drift shut for a moment, hiding the tears, but my feet keep moving. “Okay, I deserve that.”

His arm tightens around me. “And there's no ill-will in it, either. I wouldn't give up a second of the pain for a century without. You can sharpen your claws on me as long as you need, so long as I'm the one standing between you and those who'd hurt you.”

I pull away from him, a little unwillingly. “Think it's thin enough to punch through here.” No point drawing out the inevitable. Two gates and I'll be back grasping for Emmy's simplistic but welcoming mind, and he'll be on the front lines gathering intelligence and planning our response.

“If we're going to Limbo, it's one step. Why don't you come home with me?”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because if I go home with you, you're going to kiss me again. And if you kiss me again, I'm probably gonna kiss back.”

“So what's wrong with that? What're you afraid of?”

The thought of curling around him does sound welcoming. And I want to face my fear. I want to trust my feelings for him aren't a sign that I had shit judgment then, and I have shit judgment now.

He knows the fear. He's seen too much of me not to. But I hate my own self-doubt.

“You've got good instincts. You did, even then. So stop punishing yourself for someone else's mistakes. Your instincts have led you to take down entities millennia older than you, who should be able to kill you with barely a thought. It's laughable to me that you'd even think they're flawed. I'll take that as an answer, though, and see you back into your furry friend.

“If you want to take off your dress, I'll carry it through for you. Unless you want to cut open a flap of skin to hide it under.” The rumored way for a Reaper to carry physical objects across worlds: using a knife and thread to sew items in our flesh, so that they can't fall away or be separated from us in the crossing. Not that many of us are masochistic enough to try it. Certainly I've never been.

I strip the dress off and hand it to him. “Go ahead.”

He buries it in his flesh again, sweeping his gaze over me fondly. I must be blushing, but the night will cover it. “Let's get you home.” He pushes to begin separating the world for our gate, and I jump in for the heavy lifting. Our souls brush each other when we reach for the same thread, automatically sinking into a deep connection with just that little momentary proximity.  It feels better than standing there, naked in the chill. For how many times he's seen me like this, I have no reason to feel exposed. But I do.

It's frightening being around someone who knows you that well. Who knows just how to hurt you.

Abel shivers. Of course that'd be the thought he'd see. “Do you think we're gonna be okay, Gene?”

“Well, that remains to be seen. If the Well will harbor incubi so you aren't picked off one by one—”

“I meant us.”

“I—”

“You said you'd try to forgive me. But I'm starting to question whether you can, or whether it's just getting directed back at yourself. I hate seeing that self-loathing and insecurity in your eyes. Whatever this is, I don't want to push it if that's the case. I don't want you to hate yourself for whatever you feel toward me. I have to wonder if we are hurting each other worse, pretending it's better not to walk away completely.”

I should agree. I should tell him that here's where we part. That there's truth to the whole exes can't stay friends thing. That we need to stay the fuck away from each other, so we can both have space to heal.

There's no place for Abel in my life. There's no place for the pain, and the confusion, and the betrayal. It's the right thing to do. It needs to happen. It's what I tried to do when I left to shack up with John and Emmy. I just couldn't say it directly, because that admission would make it all real.

Just the thought brings a deep ache that nearly sends me crashing to my knees. “I love you, Abel. Even when we were still pretending it was just the adrenaline of the hunt. I trusted you like no one else. And what happened, I don't want all of that to happen again. You scare me.”

It's painful getting the words into the open. And his lips tighten in a look that's half pained, half yearning. That look tears a hole in my heart and squirts lemon juice on the wound. Shit. Why did I say all that?

“I scared me, too. I've been running on fear, since this whole thing began. Some of the incubi—and demons, they've been using the chaos to air old grudges. Vanya still remembers the shit you gave her during training, and when she took hold of me, it clarified our place in this world. We aren't masters of our own destiny; closer to slaves. And I knew Vanya and her posse wouldn't bring you in in one piece—they wouldn't even try. And you weren't going to let them take you alive, I knew that. I thought if I cooperated, if I showed that we could be trusted, I could get you to come in, talk. I thought I could protect—I was preparing myself to fight all those hounds, if it came to it, so you could get away, but you were too clever for any of that.”

“I don't understand. Why go through all of this?”

“Do you remember what I said, Gene?” He brushes the top of his shoulder, drawing my attention to the edge of one of the cuts he wears because of me. I never understood why he kept the scars.

“You said that the scars were trivial, but that you'd wear them with pride. That the measure of a person was in their scars, not in their failures. Because the scars were from battles well-fought. Even when lost. And a life well-lived. A failure was simply a moment in time. I never understood that. They were failures to me. Intrusions into my body as a reminder of all the things I should've done different. I couldn't bear to look at mine, let alone face yours.”

He runs his thumb along my cheek, finding a little divot in the side of my nose from where Mark's ring once cut into my skin. “Being hurt isn't a weakness. It's not a failing. This, us, sure it has the potential to hurt. But I want that pain, because I want everything else that comes with it. I want it to be us against the world, because at least I know I'd give my life for you. And I know what mine is, without you.

“I want you watching my back. I want to see the look in your eyes when you put an idiot in his place, and watch that hunter's gaze melt away when you look at me next. I want your body, and your mind, and your soul.”

I lick my lips, unable to escape his fierce gaze.

“Fuck their politics. Fuck their wars. I'd walk away from them in a heartbeat if it kept you safe and close. If that was what you wanted.”

I shake my head. “I don't want to kill. I don't want to be someone else's weapon, suffocating the parts of myself that question each job's purpose. Because so long as we are others' tools, we can be used against each other. I'd rather have nothing than live with that fear.”

Abel takes my hands, smoothing his thumb over my knuckles. “Then we're agreed. We're each other's. No more bosses, no more masters, except those we choose.” He strokes eager fingers down my chest, for emphasis. His gold eyes are hungry, catching everything from my trembling lips, to the tears welling in my eyes. “We live for each other. No one else.”

He pulls my hands to his lips, and kisses my knuckles. “Just you, and me.”

He leans into me, hunching toward me as though captured in my gravity. Despite our height difference, his lips catch my forehead and stay there. He almost seems as though he's afraid if he moved, if he kissed me, I'd run.

But I'm done running. “Take me home,” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

His lips caress mine, and his voice catches, a hoarse rasp  entering it—one I haven't heard before. “If you really want that, too, sweetheart.”

“Yeah.” My voice breaks. “Yeah, I do.”

Chapter 52

One From Many

ABEL’S PLACE LOOKS exactly like I left it. Has he even been home? Or has he just etched himself so thoroughly into his little slice of reality that when he leaves, it resets itself, dust melting into the shelving and stains spreading thin to the point of invisibility.

Rather than a mattress, Abel has a hammock. One that always feels like it's rocking in a non-existent breeze. “The sway makes it feel almost like I'm back home,” he'd explained to me once. “It's just not restful being on flat ground.”

At the time, I'd wished I was brave enough to tease him about it. But our weariness and my own ill mood casts it in a whole new light, now.

Even Abel hasn't walked away from who he was. For all his talk about the unhealthiness of my preoccupation with the world I left, he still feels the same.

Century after century hasn't been enough to erase his longing for the sea.

There's a bed in the other room for me, but tonight I don't retreat to it. I curl up in his hammock, and let him ease in behind me. The mesh bends around his weight, tipping me into him. And with every breath, the fabric distorts and shifts, a slightly nauseating yaw. Mind you, I was never even the type to enjoy water beds.

He catches on to my tension, and a weight lifts off my chest as he slips into my mind, easing the disorientation. I blink, my mind falling into his a little too easily. I'm fragmented between my own vertigo and the overwhelming pulse he feels. For a moment, he's a young man on his first excursion, imagining himself in the belly of a giant as he listens to the older men around him sleep. The rocking of the boat almost feels like that giant's gait. Or it's heartbeat. He never entirely decided.

The rest of the memory evades me, and I don't grasp for it. The prospect of refusing assignments, refusing to go out in the field for the incubi... it's daunting. No doubt once the incubi who've temporarily seized control get wind of it, they'll have strong words for him, at the least. Me, they can write off as a disloyal cousin and ignore, if they're generous, since they'll most likely have bigger fish to fry. But for him to walk away, they'll see it as a betrayal.

And he's willing to do it for me. There's something galling to that thought.

Love's not supposed to be dangerous. It's not supposed to be something others can use to destroy you.

We're gonna need each other. I shiver.

His mind wraps around mine tighter, nudging the bleak observation to the back. “None of that, Gene. The hunt's over. We'll be okay.”

His lips crash onto mine, as his reassurances drift into my head. My skin's entirely too warm, as his soul dispels the chill I always assumed was just part of being an undead bitch. Either I've never let him in this deep before, or I've adapted and improved at holding my own end of the telepathic connection open. I'd rather not take a moment to think about it, not with how busy I am coping with the flood of heat and ideas he's pouring into me.

My lips part, and my awareness of it comes not from the sensation of the air I'm breathing rushing against them, but from his triumph seeping into me as his tongue darts forward to meet mine. My nipples bead as I roll his between my finger and thumb, reminding myself I know every corded muscle, every toned dip in his body. Somewhere down the line, we've ceased to be separate. Our bodies react in tandem, as ghosts of the other's touches drift through us.

Every emotional piece of us interlocks, shaping my pain at his betrayal, and his anger at being forced to hurt me into something new and different. Even knowing he's seeing me just as honestly as I see him can't deter me. I can't will myself to push him away, or hold myself back.

His fingertips skate along the side of my breast, a touch so light that if I couldn't feel my skin through his fingertips, I might not have realized the touch was intentional. After so long holding myself distant from him, the lack of mental space, lack of ego makes me feel eerily naked, even in front of a man who's seen me naked, and explored my body more times than I can count.

I arch into his touch as he traces a path lower, between my legs. He strokes me to a frenzy in slow, unhurried motions. The sensations, amplified back to me through his perception of them are disorienting, but in the most pleasurable way. It's impossible to hold myself aloof from him. I can only follow along breathlessly, trapped in his eyes and his mind.

He bleeds a sense of power into me, but also one of desperation. In this moment, he feels my euphoria as keenly as I do, and needs each reaction and brush. He's addicted to my flesh, kissing and caressing every inch of me just to watch me plead for more.

And I'm only too happy to beg.

His touch has grounded me for so long now, nearly my whole reborn life, really. His voice, the skill I've acquired reading each minor change of facial expression. If I can't open myself to someone who knows me so completely, who could I let in?

Goosebumps raise across my flesh, more a remembered reflex than an expression of the coolness of his lips. For my awareness of them, he might as well be searingly hot.

He takes one of my nipples into his mouth, his fingers rough against the side of my breast. He's not gonna treat me gently. He knows better. The swirl of his tongue mirrors the fast circles he's tracing over my clit, the rhythm and force of it driving me higher, close to the edge, only to slow down and retreat before I've given myself over to the orgasm. Even knowing it'll be far stronger for having waited, I push my mound against his hand demandingly, needing the instant gratification. Needing to not wait 'til later for something I've been sorely missing since I turned him out of my little flat in the Hub.

The raw pleasure in his own dominance strengthens, coming into me through the bleed. It's nearly strong enough to make me bite him back. No doubt he's loving tormenting me, loving my loss of control now that he's finally getting his own back, having obtained my forgiveness. Sometimes making him feel that way made me feel powerful, too. I'm a little too selfish for that right now, though.

Abel's weight pushes me into the taut cords, his tongue skating along my sensitized flesh as though he's tempted to consume me. There's not a lot of room to maneuver, but the threat that he might tip us onto the floor if I misbehave keeps me still, swamped in a warm euphoria from his presence inside me, and the familiarity and love in how he touches me.

I growl in frustration, though it's not an aggressive one, and he smiles, his lips pulling away from my nipple. Left with nothing, I moan and tug him back toward me. And he nips me, rather than resuming gently sucking. I close my eyes to take in the pain, and the bloom of warmth when the first wave recedes. My body arcs off the hammock, and I nearly overbalance as the mesh rearranges to support me. My nails dig into Abel's corded biceps.

He bites me harder, daring me to react, and I curl to my side, hiding my stomach from him. His arm loops around me to catch the other side of the hammock, his fingers tangling with the fibers to keep me there. And his other arm slides under me, to press my rump against his erection. As much as he's teasing me for being in the moment enough to flinch, neither of us is going to be able to wait long enough for me to hold a grudge.

Enclosed utterly in his arms, I'm free. His lips find the back of my neck, and the curve of his cheek nestles between my shoulder blades. I slide one hand between us to caress his rigid length, savoring the way he feels in my hand. The motion brushes my knuckles against my back.

His breath hitches and catches, cool against my shoulder, as I wrap my fingers around his shaft. Strangely, not being able to see him except in the telepathic flashes amplifies them, distorting my perceptions until there's only our mutual focus on his thick cock's reaction to my gentle pumps. The room yaws in my vision as though I'd downed a half a bottle of wine as my senses reel in confusion.

At one point, the sensation of being out of body would have frightened me with its familiarity, and with the awareness of what it was probably helping insulate me from. But I've moved past that. No fear, no self-preservation. Just something bigger than me, something that only exists in his arms, in our shared ability to look after each other.

I shut my eyes, giving up that sense completely. Images play on the back of my eyelids, from Abel. The curve of my hip, and the motion of my fingers. The edge of my earlobe, and the way my lips part when he kisses my cheek.

I turn my face into the mesh to feel its soft ropes cut into my cheek. I'm overwhelmed, the familiarity of the connection between us overshadowed by its depth. Is this what it was like for him, going on assignment? Obviously not for his partner, since his brand of telepathy isn't near so straightforward with a non-psychic mortal companion. But for him?

He catches the thought, as well my inner struggle. “No, love. It's not. It's all you.” He rolls toward me until there's no more space for my hand between us, and his weight is pressing me onto my stomach. Every spare bit of skin sliding against mine torments me. I need more.

He rolls further, his knee finding a place between mine and letting me lean the rest of the way onto my stomach. My fingers tangle with the mesh as I shift to take the pressure off my nipples. The rope's not gentle, and after his tender assault, every brush feels rasping and harsh.

His fingers knot in the mesh on either side of my hands, all but holding my hands as we hold ourselves there, and the tip of his cock finds my slick entrance. I fight back a moan as I wait for him to impale me, to take me hard and fast.

However rushed we felt earlier, the rawness and aggression is gone. Instead there's a controlled thrust that allows him to sink into me with excruciatingly slow precision. I gasp and push back. He kisses along my shoulder with gentle nips, setting up a restrained rhythm that makes the way he feels inside me even more enveloping. I'm lost in accepting every bit of tension and tenderness he has to offer. It's not selfish if it's getting reflected back onto him, right?

He moans with the next thrust. He's hit a particularly deep spot that sends my fingers tightening around the rope. His grip tightens as well, and his composure's gone. He takes me hard and fast, His teeth sink into my shoulder hard enough to make me yelp and press my shoulders down, exposing myself to him even deeper.

His muscles flex as he strains, fucking me hard. It's enough to make me wish I could see him, see the way his body moves in something other than my mind's eye. For as good as he feels, he's a work of art, too.

His lashes tickle my shoulder blade as he ducks his head, just as off-balance as I am. The closeness, the shared heat and sensation, it's enough to bring tears to my eyes. Or maybe that's just his teeth against my neck when he recovers enough to take another nibble again, looking for that little flinching response.

My heels catch on the back of his legs. The rope cuts into my knees more, but it's worth it to feel his muscles against my ankles, to have that little bit of control over how powerfully he fucks me. He nudges my knees apart with his mind, not with his touch, and with that last bit of access, his harsh rhythm sets his balls to slapping against my clit, a touch so much more primal than his determined fingertips or tongue. Every bit of him is enough to get me off, whether he's trying to or not.

It's getting harder and harder to hold back, harder and harder to resist the earthshaker threatening to overtake me. After a moment, I realize why. Because he's stopped wanting me to. It doesn't matter whether he comes with me or not—every thought bleeding into me from him is filled with the desperate desire for him to feel me coming around him, my pussy clenching around his dick as though milking him.

It's only too easy to oblige. I drop my focus completely, and drown myself in every rough touch and hard thrust. Barely three thrusts later I'm screaming his name and breathing through the convulsions, lest I change the angle and cut my release short. The pleasure ricochets between us, gaining in strength as it goes, and my orgasm stretches longer with the awareness of his looming close. He seizes my hair, the pinpricks of pain not breaking the spell. After all, I can give as good as I get. Even with him on top of me, yanking my hair to be able to see the side of my face. There's no fear or intimidation in his domination. Only trust and reassurance. I smile to myself, imagining his eyes darkening with need, but the thought escapes me.

Several of his thoughts drift into me, ones that shock me. Ruminations on the incubi taboos against wasting genetic material. The attitude that it's a harm to the community to love someone for pleasure rather than survival.

And the desire to buck that. The desire to do something just for us. Something defiant and forbidden. To act out our intention to set boundaries on how the others can use us. Several explicit images, lovingly envisioned. Me on my knees, my forehead bumping against his stomach as I bob to take him into my mouth. His come on my stomach in pearly streaks. And my ankles braced against his shoulders as he levers me to take my ass. Each image a complete sacrilege, a freedom he'd never dared to dream of, but now finds himself in the position of enacting. They're tinged with claustrophobia and yearning, the kind that only an incubus who's lived as long as he has can truly internalize.

They're so clear, so vivid, it can't simply be a stray current in the bleed. No, they're a request. He doesn't need any prompting, only my amusement and willingness. He retreats, stepping onto the floor and giving me a hand up to turn toward him, on my back.

His hair falls into his face, shadowing his eyes. The heat in them makes me shiver. Some part of me wonders if I'll ever get used to seeing Abel show that kind of intensity. Somehow, it makes him even more dangerous. A tiger that I've somehow managed to train.

He guides my legs to his shoulders, twisting his chin to kiss each ankle in turn. I breathe deeply and relax, letting him guide his cock, still slick with my arousal, to my tight rosebud. The pressure is unbearable as he presses into me, stretching me as slowly as he did earlier when he slid into my pussy. Slow and gentle seems to be his default mood for the night, and under other circumstances it'd be unnerving. I've seen so much more of him unleashed at his most animalistic. I've loved every second of it. But this... it feels right, watching him bite his lip as he watches himself disappear into me.

It feels right experiencing something new together. Even if I'm not quite sure what to think. I'm not sure I like being as full as I am, and I have no fucking clue how he's gonna be able to move without popping out of me. I was not made to handle his dick that way, despite my good intentions. It burns, the sting dulling the pleasurable aspects of him inside me that way.

He knows my doubts, and my discomfort. And with adept little tweaks, he relaxes my muscles, and quiets them, feeding me everything he sees instead. How pink my pussy is, fresh-fucked, and how primal and natural I look underneath him. His fingers slide into my pussy, and stroke my skin as he begins a slow, halting rhythm, watching me to be sure it's okay. With his fingers fluttering inside me, and his hand skating over my desperate flesh, the delicate arrangement of feelings and reactions weaves itself into a different picture, one that leaves me clutching his hips to beg him to take me harder.

Even that fullness, once such a strained feeling, is now one that leaves me full of urgency and need.

He lavishes attention on my clit, flicking it and swirling light circles against it in time with his thrusts, and my core clenches, already lost in the motion. I can hardly keep my eyes open as his touch drives me higher, reducing me to a trembling, gasping shell. Another elated wave rushes through me as his balls tighten and his hot seed spills into me. My heart races as though I were the one coming as he shares the majority of it with me, setting my body to singing anew as if it hadn't just come a little earlier.

I could get spoiled like this.

I can feel his triumphant grin as though it were stretching my own cheeks.

Chapter 53

Us Against The World

ABEL HOLDS ME so tightly he forgets his humanity. Part of the way through our rest it sinks in that his hands have melted together, where they touch across my chest, and I couldn't extricate myself if I wanted to. He's stuck to his true face so faithfully that I've almost forgotten what a chameleon he truly is.

That has to be one of the stranger things about being in such close proximity to someone whose body can be remade or transformed on a whim. It should unnerve me, but instead it's comforting. Another barrier between us gone.

I couldn't run if I wanted to. The thought should scare me, but so long as it's Abel who's clinging to me, it doesn't. Sharing a bed is familiar, and a little painful. So many nights we spent like this, dreaming each other's dreams, waiting for a gig.

What's next for us? Was he serious? Will the incubi really let us walk away? Will we be cornered and taken in by our fellow Reapers?

I realize he's smiling, looking up at me. “You ready?”

“For?”

“The Well.”

“I guess. I'm still—I don't know where we go from here.”

He nods. “One step at a time, love.” He sits up, and catches my eye. “We've got a lot of talking to do, later. But for now, there's just this last thing we promised to do.”

I sit up, and pull my knees to my chest. “Yeah.”

“We'll make it fast. I promise.”

The Well has gateways in several of the more popular dimensions. The one in Limbo was only recently rediscovered, after being sealed off for who knows how long. Apparently, the incubi elders kept the secret close, and it was only found when they used it to flee.

Abel leads me there, taking me to a part of Limbo I've never been. When the elders were there, I wouldn't have been welcome. But now, no one casts us a glance as he wills the naturalized garden into being. The paths were well-trod by millenia of incubi seeking audiences, and the plants are a melange of indigenous growth from Egypt, Greece, and South America. The unnatural mix of tropical and mountainous plants unnerves me. I'll never get used to Limbo's strange flora.

In the flattened earth in the center of the largest clearing, there's ridges and hills of stone buried under the dirt. A marking not unlike my binds, intended to connect the worlds. We stand in the center of it, and Abel tears a nail across his palm, lets the blood drop into the earth. “So they know who's calling,” he explains.

We sit and wait. “Keep quiet,” he says. “They don't have a love of Reapers.”

“And they have a love of Hounds?”

“I knew Reza back in my working days. He knows I'm more than a Hound.”

The fabric of the world pulls apart underneath us as some mechanical force replicates the work we do with our minds. The clearing dissolves, and our asses drop a few inches, onto bar stools. I raise my eyebrows at the abrupt change of scenery.

The Well is a trip. Darkly stained wood walls, like some nightmare of a seaside shanty. The smells of liquor and brimstone heavy in my nose.

A man at the end of the bar glares at us, moreso when he sees me. He's burly and imposing, with one blue eye and one brown. Half his skin is pale, covered in reddish freckles, and the rest is tawny, with pale birthmarks. The seam where they meet is darker, and harsh. A genetic Chimera. While the anomaly might be purely cosmetic in humans, in demons it heralds true power, enabling a demon to utilize far greater powers through both sides of their birthright. His nose flares, and his eyes narrow. “I don't know why I'm surprised. I've been expecting they'd send someone. Thought it'd be someone who didn't have blood on their hands, though.”

“Is Reza in?” Abel asks. “We're old friends.”

“Not the way he tells it. The way he tells it, you stole his girl right out from under him, and nearly got him killed in the process.”

I raise an eyebrow at Abel. I suppose one would accumulate a lot of enemies after living as long as he has. Still, he should have said something before we walked into such hostile terrain. This man... there's something under his skin. I can't quite tell what form it might take, and not knowing his power means I can't anticipate his attack. I don't like going into a gig with no intelligence.

“Hi, um, I'm Imogene—” I start, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Abel glares at me, followed by the other man. “Shove it, hunter,” the other man says. I purse my lips, and shrug. Let Abel fight his own battles, then. But his follow-up flummoxes me. “What did you do to him?”

“What?”

“Reza. My brother. What did you do to him?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Really. My brother's gone, and you're not here to give me a piece of his corpse, or a ransom demand?”

“Reza's gone?” Abel asks, pinning me in place with a look. “I'm so sorry about your loss. I had no idea things were that bad here. We came to seek sanctuary for ours, should they need it. You must be Eren, then.”

The man—Eren—nods. “Fat chance of that. Without him, I doubt there'll be much sanctuary to be found here, longer.”

“You think that's why they targeted him?”

“Who knows. Maybe he just banged the wrong demon's wife, for all I know. I'm not omniscient—I just clean up everybody else's motherfucking wreckage. The Hub leaning on me from one end, and now Limbo from the other. This whole fucking place is going to shit.”

He turns away to scrub something on the counter, and Abel catches my eye. His voice whispers in my mind. You don't want to kill anymore, but what about to defend? We could make a home together here, and protect others who're just as weary of the violence.

After so long focused on one purpose or another, it's terrifying being without one. But maybe we don't have to stop fighting altogether. Maybe we just need to make sure we like the cause we're fighting for.

What if I told Vanya and the other older gens to fuck off and fight their own battles, but that we'd keep this space safe for their refugees here? Would you stay with me and help? Please, I want you to consider it carefully. I want it be our choice, not mine.

The more I contemplate it, the righter it feels. Owen would like that. His family died to give him sanctuary, and now their killers will do the same for others. It seems the best way to pay back the blood debt. And for all Eren's surliness and the unknown nature of the threats the Well faces, I would have Abel. We wouldn't have to hide our love, or let ourselves be used against each other.

We could simply be.

I nod, shortly.

He shuts his eyes.

It's done. Lorelei and Vanya know I'm not coming back. So don't leave me, or I'm gonna feel like a real ass.

My face splits into a grin. No, never.

Never.

He sweeps me in for a kiss, nearly knocking me off my feet. There's a world of promise in that kiss. Without words, he pledges me a better future, and a chance to wash the stains off our pasts. A better world, one we won't be ashamed to have helped shape.

“It's your lucky day, Eren. I owe Reza a favor. You know how pissed he'd be if he came back and there wasn't a bar to come back to. I can't help you find him, but my beautiful partner and I would be happy to crack skulls for you until he gets back. Trust me—you've never seen anything so glorious as this one cracking skulls.” He jerks his chin at me, and I raise an eyebrow.

Eren looks dubious. “I can't really say no to help. Welcome to the team.”

Abel grins weightlessly, his mind a warm fizzle in my chest. A fresh start for both of us, Gene. Let's leave the past in the past and take our first steps forward together. We've got centuries to make this work. And no matter how hot the violence rages, we have each other. That's what's important.

His lips find mine with a combination of eagerness and lust. The fear and elation that still scald me with his every touch rise to the surface without him so much as needing to nudge my endorphins. Who needs power when you have this kind of closeness?

“Thanks, Eren. I don't want to be rude or anything, but I think you'd better show us to our room now. Unless you want a real show.”

Eren laughs. “Goddamn honeymooners. Keep it away from me. Upstairs. Second door to the right.”

Abel swoops down and picks me up to carry me across that threshold.

Now and forever, Gene. I'm yours.

I smile, and duck my head.

Now and forever, Abel, I'm yours.

* * *

Want to read more about this world? Try Weapon, the prequel:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CYZC6JQ/

* * *

The incubi rebellion will continue in Chameleon (Inkubus #3), coming soon. To be notified when these titles and more are available, sign up for Katie's mailing list.

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About the Author

K. de Long is a USA Today Bestselling author who lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, K. flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that’s when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there’s so many bookmarks in her library.

She writes paranormal romance and urban fantasy as K. de Long, and erotic thrillers, contemporary erotic romances, dark romance, and romantic suspense as Katie de Long. Her nonfiction writing has appeared in Tits and Sass, and Working It.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

PURGATORY

A Place Down Under Book 1

BY SUSAN STEC

Copyright © 2015 by Susan Stec

A doppelganger, a myth with no name, no sex, no flesh, and no identity...

...unless it wears one of you.

I spread out like a shadow on pavement under the feet of an unsuspecting woman working her corner in the seven-hundred block of South Orange Blossom Trail. Her name is Jane, and I will be wearing her by morning.

As she drags me along, I watch, listen, learn . . . and I think about Gaire. Although I knew something was different about him, I'd never, for a moment, expected Gaire to be a wendigo. Damn, talk about having a penchant for bad boys. That little proclivity might chalk my 'no killing humans' rule up to multiple charges of aiding and abetting before this insanity ends. And it will end, badly, if I don't get Gaire out of my doppelganger head. I know I should just forget him—I'm sure he's forgotten me—but Gaire is the first and only being who has made me feel real, alive, and, well, human. I'll be damned if I'm giving up on that.

As I stare up at Jane from the pavement, I'm thinking how perfect this chick would be. I could head back to Leesburg, she would stay in Orlando on her street corner, and our paths should never cross. Unless it's in a morgue somewhere—a street-walker's life is a hard one.

In her early twenties, Jane is blonde and tan, wearing a lewdly short skirt and a lacy bra barely covered by a leather vest. Black boots with four-inch heels caress the undersides of her knees as she struts toward a car pulling up to the curb a few yards down from the streetlight on her corner.

I cozy up closer as Jane leans toward the black sedan, filling the window with the contents of her lacy bra. I slither upward off the pavement, over the front tire, another moving shadow on a street accustomed to shadows.

Purgatory © 2015 by Susan Stec

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

Take Me

I GLIDE ALONG pavement under a blanket of night, and cling to the shadow of a young woman with perky tits. It's Friday evening and we are waiting in a line outside a bar in Orlando. She's with several friends, all of whom she clearly feels are of less importance, given her constant chatter and their rapt devotion. All she can talk about is a European vacation her family is going on in less than two days: the long plane ride, places they will stay, sexy foreign men with "to die for" accents, and the shopping she will be doing.

I am a myth—a night fright—a demon's blunder. I have no name, no sex, no flesh . . . unless I wear one of you, a human. I will be wearing this one by the time she boards her plane.

The line moves. I move with it, a shadow stone skipping other shadows.

* * *

ANOTHER BAR, ANOTHER Friday night, a different town—I've been wearing perky tits for five days.

"So, CeCe, your whole family was, like, dead when you got home?" the guy on the barstool next to me says. "Crap. That had to be hard."

Yeah, perky tits' name is CeCe. A bit too . . . adorable for me, but anyone who can drag attention from a bunch of guys in a sports bar offering free food during happy hour, is my kind of wardrobe.

All shoulders and ass, Mr. I'm-Doing-You-A-Favor looks at me with dreamy blue eyes through jet-black bangs that hang to his lower lids. He has a chin screaming to be nibbled and a little strip of chest peeking out of his half unbuttoned shirt that makes me want to explore.

"Yes." I take a sip of my White Russian. "It was."

Scantily clad waitresses with plastic smiles rush from table to table with cumbersome trays of jostling liquids, overflowing ashtrays, and half-empty tip jars. Loud music pulses overhead and a group of college kids working the free food source knock it up a notch with riotous laughter and taunts. I need to get Dreamy-Eyes out of here and into me, big time.

"So, like, you had to be totally freaked," he presses on. "I mean, hell, I'd be brain-dead if that happened to me."

I don't want to tell him he's tipping the cranial scales on brain matter already. And I sure as hell don't want to tell him the girl with chestnut hair and eyes he's so superficially concerned with is actually on a thirty-day tour of Europe—I'm just a carbon copy. Nor do I care to mention the dead family thing is only a fantasy of mine—so wish my doppelganger, wannabe mother was in a body bag. Unfortunately, I'm sure Mommy is Down Under, perched on one of Purgatory's barstools and probably sipping her beverage of choice. I take another sip of mine and catch a reflection of my host in the half empty glass.

When I borrowed/cloned/absorbed CeCe's persona—my kind calls it doubling up—she was sitting on a toilet at Orlando International Airport, illegally smoking a clove cigarette. The smell was horrid; the taste was worse. Sometimes, being a doppelganger is a pain in the ass.

My poor relationship choice clears his throat. One side of his mouth turns up in a nasty little grin. I take another sip of my drink, briefly contemplate walking—very briefly—and then continue to make small talk with Blue Eyes.

"Yep, when I found my family, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die."

Not a lie since I live in the sewers.

"Where were you the night they got killed?" He just wouldn't let up.

If only they could just shut up and put out. Humans! Why all the chatter? All I want is a little steam.

"Met this chick," I say. "I was absorbed by the possibility of a lasting friendship. We hung out half the night, found out she had to leave three days later, I made the best of it. Can we leave it at that?"

Not a lie. I'd followed CeCe around all weekend, watched her party last Friday and Saturday nights, and then I doubled up on her. If I could've stayed longer, I would've held the real CeCe's hair while she puked into the toilet at the airport Sunday morning. But getting caught is not an option since I'm supposed to kill the host before donning it. My kind is not fond of doubling up. Mother says I should be a good little doppelganger; hit hard and run fast is her motto. Screw that.

Just to add a little smite to my recklessness, I briefly thought about leaving the real CeCe in the restroom, and then board the plane with her family, them none the wiser. I am her double. Sure glad that didn't happen. It was a stupid idea. I don't know what I was thinking; like the chick was going to wake up, be happy she'd missed the flight, party down, and not worry in the least when no one from her family calls to check on her from Europe? Duh! What happens when Mommy and Daddy start Facebooking family vacation pictures with her in them? Talk about serious drugs and therapy sessions.

"You're not gay, are you?" Blue Eyes blurts.

God help me, I laugh. I could tell him the gender of my sexual partner, or for that matter, the body I choose to wear really doesn't matter much. I'm down for the ride, male or female, if they piqué my attention. Evidently my laugh is enough to quell his concerns.

"Cool, because I like you." He runs a hand seductively up the inside of my left thigh, face moving toward mine, and fingertips taunting the edge of my black lace panties. "And because I do, I'm gonna tell you right up front, if you're looking for a high-priority, total commitment, long-term relationship kinda thing, I'm not your man." His grin curls into a borderline pervy smirk that's lasciviously delicious. "See, I can only concentrate on one thing at a time."

Yeah, I got that the first time he opened his mouth.

His middle finger flicks the elastic on my panties. "And I concentrate real hard."

His other hand reaches for mine.

Damn him all to hell. The guy is yummy enough to eat, if he would just keep his mouth shut.

"Well, then, I guess you're my man," I say, and give his raised zipper a little squeeze.

It takes him a few seconds. I can almost hear cogs roll as he probably plays his comment and my answer over and over in his head. I'm about ready to spell it out for him, but he finally gets it.

"So, your place or mine?"

"How about the alley behind the building?" I toss a twenty on the bar and lift my glass.

"You're shitting me, right?"

"I would never do that." Setting the empty glass down, I stand—chest not an inch from his lips—and run CeCe's store bought fingernails along his leg.

His hand slides out from under my skirt and lands on his knee. I give it a little pat as I toss my leather jacket over my shoulder and head for the bright red exit sign.

Glancing at the mirror over the bar, I watch him chug his beer, slap money on the bar, and scramble to his feet.

Outside, I strut past a dumpster and down an alley alongside the building. When I turn, Blue Eyes pushes me against the wall and runs his lips up my neck to just under my ear. The noise from the bar is nothing more than a vibration through the brick at my back. As he nibbles, I stare at the dumpster ten feet down the alley. It reeks of stale beer, rank food, wet cardboard, cigarettes, mold, and vermin.

Rats to be exact. Ah, the smells of the street. It almost makes me feel like I'm down in the sewer—home sweet home.

He stands over me with both hands spread on the brick wall by my head, his jeans rough as he knees my legs apart. I drop my shoulder, and my jacket falls beside our feet. Blue Eyes works the buttons on CeCe's silk shirt, and his thumb finds her nipple under a black lace bra. A moan escapes my lips as his tongue muscles them apart.

I open my legs to his caressing fingers, breaths short and shallow. CeCe's heart thumps under the shell I'm wearing like a second skin. Together we experience a rising need, a surge of sensation from deep within.

Blue Eyes pulls back and I moan with a strong desire to have him close again. He locks eyes with mine, reaches under my ass, and lifts me until I'm riding his hips. Head on my shoulder, teeth grazing my neck, he pins me to the wall with his chest while he unzips his jeans. Sliding CeCe's skirt over my hips, he reaches under her panties and pulls them aside.

He grabs a fist full of my hair, and a whimper of desire escapes me as Blue Eyes slides inside. My legs tighten around his hips, and pull him deeper.

He was right back there in the bar when he said he could only concentrate on one thing. I have a hunger to feed and he's doing a fine job nourishing it.

* * *

TWO DAYS AND three guys later, I'm lying by the pool behind CeCe's tri-level home on Lake Harris, soaking up the rays. I'm thinking about Blue Eyes, when an old woman appears beside me. I know it's my mother the moment the host opens her mouth.

"Get out of that body and get into this box." The wrinkled woman shoves an empty and soggy Tampax box at me. It smells like sewer water. "You're coming home with me, young lady."

Although the smell of the sewer is an appealing reprieve from the overly chlorinated swimming pool, I am where I want to be at the moment.

"I'm not getting in that box, Mother." I could bolt, but if I do I'll have to leave the CeCe double behind, evaporating in a cloud of black smoke. Humans are not made for speed. "Look," I say, pointing at CeCe's body, "I'm nineteen. I don't have to go anywhere with you."

"You're a doppelganger, not a human. Age makes no difference. You're a fledgling and you're body jumping, imbibing in alcohol, having sexual relations with whatever crosses your path—I saw your little gutter-slut with that man in the alley the other night! Don't tell me it wasn't you!—and most of all, you're leaving a trail of unexplainable situations a mile long! Move it." She shakes the box at me. I wonder if she even knows what was originally packaged in it and what it was used for.

"Gutter-slut," I say, pointing at my host's body again, "has a name. CeCe. The real CeCe was not sucking down the drinks or fornicating in an alley. I was, with her borrowed body. It could be worse, Mother. The real CeCe could be shopping across the street, or I could have told the real CeCe about us, taken her Down Under, and both of us could've joined you at Purgatory. But none of that happened—did it?—because the real CeCe is in Europe for the month. My last body was in the hospital in a coma for, like, forever! So, I am not body jumping!"

Tampon box waving, Mother says, "You most certainly—"

"And," I say with a fair share of drama, "if you can tell me one thing I've done that is worse than killing every human you dress yourself in, I'll hit the sewer and stay there."

I stare at the stupid tampon box and shudder. If I shed the human double I'm wearing, the sunlight will turn me into gray powder. Mother will scoop me up, carry my remains to the nearest sewer grate, and toss me in. Once out of the sun—and the eyes of humans—I will reform into my dark, ugly, ghoulish, scare-up-a-heart-attack doppelganger self. Not going to happen.

Mother fills her lungs with air, not something she needs to do, but it keeps the cadaver she's wearing fresh. "That is how we survive—from one body to the next—you know the rules. Doubling up is strongly discouraged."

Slathering coconut-smelling oil over CeCe's legs and firm flat belly, I ignore the bulbous woman with gray, freshly permed hair, flowered dress, and rolled down support hose my mother is dressed in and speak directly to the monster underneath. "We have no right to play God, to take a perfectly healthy human that suits our needs, wants, or curiosities, and suck the life out of her or him just to exist for another few days, weeks, whatever. You could find someone dying in a hospital, or an automobile accident or something, and slip in five minutes before the light winks out. Or you could just double up on a human, like I prefer to do—like our ancestors did—and then whoosh, shed it like a snakeskin when there's a threat of discovery."

"Borrowing leaves a trail and we stopped doing that hundreds of years ago for that very reason."

The eyes on the poor woman she wears are stretched wide and beginning to milk over; the veins in her neck are near bursting. It saddens me, but I guess that really doesn't matter. My mother has already killed her.

I put the lotion down and settle back, sliding my sunglasses on as my mother moves up beside me and blocks the damn sun on the upper part of CeCe's body. Crap, I need a distraction, and it isn't even lunchtime.

"What if someone recognized that—" Mother points at my new host and glares with the old lady's face wrinkled in disgust. "—very ripe body fornicating with that young man in the alley, and tells someone the girl knows? Or worse yet, the young man in question confront the owner when it gets back?"

CeCe's perfectly manicured acrylics wave away the questions. "But she wasn't in the alley. I was. The real CeCe'll say so, should anyone ask, and all will be well with the world." I fan my fingers. "You're blocking my sun."

When Mother sidles a bit to her right, I continue. "We may not be using the same methods we used 'hundreds of years ago,'" I say, using two fingers on each hand to accentuate the quote, "but the humans are still using the phrase 'everyone has a double,' labeling our kind politically incorrect by plastering pictures up on the Internet to back up this idiocy. Nicolas Cage's double is some guy from before the dinosaurs—humans have no clue—and the same with Justin Timberlake, and a plethora of other examples under the heading of doppelgangers—sheesh—more like reincarnation. But hey, it helps to have some idiot tell anyone that will listen that truth is weirder than fiction and doppelgangers do exist. Nobody really believes it—it's a perfect setup."

My host's delicate fingers slide her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, and rich brown eyes twinkle at my mother. "Besides, what's so much better about walking around in broad daylight dressed in a dead chick? Like no one notices that?"

"You know perfectly well, seeing a ghost is much more acceptable," Mother says. "And that is the perfect setup."

I slide the glasses back up over my eyes and point CeCe's nose into the sun. "Anyway, I always tell my . . . conquests that I'm new in town. I always make sure the body I borrow is indisposed or miles away. And I always skip out before we find ourselves in the same breathing space. So chill."

"For the love of a ripe cadaver, you're in the girl's home!"

"And she's in Europe! Your point?"

My mother stands speechless, dressed in some woman's body that would've had a good twenty years left on it had it been allowed to carry on. She's holier than Swiss.

"What are you talking about? What does this Nicolas person in a cage have to do with anything? And I have no idea where Timber Lake is."

"What a waste of a perfectly good human ride. You could at least try to spend a few hours a body to understand the humans you are murdering, and the world they thrive in. What the heck do you do in there?" I point CeCe's disciplining finger at my guardian. "Tell me you at least mix and mingle? Surf the net? Surely you know what Facebook is?"

The eyes Mother is wearing look gobsmacked.

"Do you even try to be human?" I taunt.

My mother ruffles the old lady's brows, tightens parched lips, and spits, "I'm going home. Don't call me during your descent into hell."

"I won't be the first, and surely not the last, of our kind to find themselves there," I yell at her swiftly moving human form.

I can tell Mom is really pissed, because she dumps the host she is wearing, and just before the old lady winks out, I get a good look at the dark creature that is doppelganger as it slides into a drain on the other side of the pool.

I'm restless now, and all I can think about is the release I felt with Blue Eyes the other night in the alley behind the bar. The three after were a total disappointment. Crap. I wish I'd gotten his cell number. But catch and release has been my motto forever, because until I find the right one, I will never hit them twice.

I remove CeCe's sunglasses, spring from the chair, and make a running dive into the pool. When I surface, I feel a bit better, but it doesn't discourage me from considering another night out—a long night out.

Chapter 2

CeCe

"DAMN IT! THIS body has a burning desire to take in nourishment way too often. What an annoyingly gross necessity," I mutter as CeCe's need carries me into a small eating establishment on the side of the highway.

It's only six forty-five in the morning, barely daylight. I guess this is what I get for staying out all night. I'd hardly showered and dressed before my host's stomach started growling.

The place I enter has only three booths and five tables scattered around a twenty-by-twenty room, one third of which is kitchen. The overwhelming tension in the air makes it hard to breathe.

My head is spinning with boisterous chatter and clatter. To my right, a massive woman dressed in a muumuu of riotous flora is shouting for immediate service and, with an annoyingly loud voice, croaking to no one and everyone about perishing before the waiter gets food to her. Which I seriously doubt, given her girth; her body should be able to feed on itself for a considerable time before those brightly colored flowers wither and die.

I look around—no waitress or waiter—but a deep masculine voice fights for top billing over the crowd. "Sorry folks, I'm on my own today. Help yourself to coffee, it's on me. Orders will be up shortly."

Prickling curiosity and a heady feeling of hopeful possibilities push me to walk across the room, lean over the counter, and take a look. The guy with the voice causing such an unusual reaction in me is hidden by a stainless steel cook-grill, hanging pots and pans, and a cloud of steam coming off the grill.

Strong arms and thick fingers pull clothes-pinned tickets across a line of monofilament attached to the bottom of a head-high shelf over the grill. The movement thrusts a rush through my being—not CeCe's—and an unfamiliar flush of warmth, both of which my doppelganger has never experienced. Heat radiates to my temples. I feel my life force push and swell under CeCe's skin.

When the man leans out and we make eye contact, the room fades around us. I freeze, mouth open. Intense gray-green eyes sparkle like the light captured on the surface of the stainless steel grill.

For the first time in my life, I wish I didn't always have to be someone I'm not. CeCe? What a stupid name! I guess I can call myself Echo—not like doppelgangers have names—because, after all, I am only a reflection of a real human. The weight of sadness taints my throbbing bulk sheathed in a Florida tan, brown hair, and big almond eyes. Will I ever find a body I can share for a human lifetime? Or at least the portion of a human lifetime I would care to take part in.

Roiling under CeCe's façade, I swell and shrink rapidly like a fast beating heart. CeCe's voice sounds breathless as she asks, "Need some help?"

"And you are?" he asks with a voice so rich it encourages gooseflesh.

Absorbed in his killer eyes and auburn hair, I hear my carbon-copy's voice squeak, "CeCe?"

Gaire

* * *

THE DESIRE I have for the woman in front of me is shocking. Blinking away the uninvited feelings, I flip a spatula laden with bacon and pick up an aluminum steak-weight to press them to the grill.

"Are you asking me, or telling me . . . CeCe?" I say, and can't hold back a throaty chuckle.

The cute little brunette—all bare tummy and energetic tits—curls the corner of her lip in a half smile that makes my stomach clench.

My nostrils flare with a strange scent underlying coconut oil on her skin—damp, dark, musky, and cold—one I am not familiar with. Red flags may be waving all over the place, but my body sure as hell isn't acknowledging them.

"I guess I'm telling you," she says, and then adds, "I didn't pick the name, or the parents."

This time I can't temper my amusement. It burbles from deep inside my stomach and comes out in a loud boisterous laugh. The sound of my own laughter brings back memories of high school, a bell like giggle, and a wisp of a relationship filled with curiosity and adolescent desire. It also brings back the smell of death, savage and cruel.

CeCe plants her fists on her curvy hips under a waist I could easily circle with my hands, and before she can cut loose with the temper I see lighting her eyes and rising on her cheeks, I say, "Yeah, well, I won't be giving you my full name either. It sounds like a hair rejuvenating product off an infomercial. You can call me Gaire."

My full name is Rogaire. It sounds like my parents expected big things from me.

The pucker on her full lips blossoms into a Colgate grin and my knees almost buckle, past mistakes conveniently forgotten. Nothing else exists around me. My eyes focus on hers. She moves her mouth to form words, and...

"Gaire! Man! You're killin' me! I got a clock to punch in thirty-seven minutes!" One of my regular's huffs and puffs and blows down the four walls we've put up around us.

"Just slapped 'em on a plate, buddy!" I yell, all of my senses fighting to stay focused on the girl in front of me, and slide four slices of bacon next to a stack of pancakes on a plate in the window.

"Well, how about you trot 'em on out here?" Gary's demand ratchets up the rest of the patrons.

"Not like I'm not wasting away here, either!" Henrietta's excitement distracts me with a mix of days-old-sweat and stale perfume on the muumuu she's worn the last three mornings in a row.

I wipe my hands, rip off my apron, reach for the plate, and freeze.

CeCe saunters over, unburdened breasts bouncing and beckoning, and snags a dishtowel off the counter. I watch her tuck it into her low-riding, Levi cutoffs under a navel ring I would kill to run my tongue over.

What the hell? I don't do this kind of shit. I try to shake away the fog between my ears.

You can't do this kind of shit; my brain tries to argue with my fast beating heart and the tightness forming under the belt of my jeans.

"So," CeCe says, and rich brown eyes twinkle with naughty. I swallow hard. She circles hair into a knot at the back of her neck and cinches it with a red pencil she plucks off the counter. "You wanna point me in the direction of the man at the other end of that very loud and very obnoxious voice." She grabs the plate of pancakes in one hand, a pot of coffee with the other, cocks out her hip, and waits.

I must have stood there too long—have no idea what I was thinking—because her shoulders bounce, and she struts around the counter into the dining room all long tanned legs, and strappy sandals clicking. I'm dying here.

"Sorry, I'm late," I hear her purr, and just about burn the heel of my hand as I lean over the grill to catch sight of her. "I passed the place two times—damned road construction."

The whole dining room grumbles a shared mawkishness.

"So, who ordered the pancakes?" CeCe asks.

Nostrils flaring, I take in the remnants of her scent and lean around the order tickets to find the dining area dead quiet, all eyes directed on the chick with the coffee pot.

Mesmerized, my regular, Gary, has his hand raised shoulder level, fingers wiggling. A shy smile spreads under his pink cheeks.

CeCe places the plate in front of him, turns his coffee cup over, and pours. I watch in awe as Gary empties a creamer into the cup.

CeCe shouts, "Who needs coffee?"

Hands shoot up, and she uses every inch of her five-feet-six-inch body to get everyone's attention as she bends and pours her way around the room.

As she comes full circle, Gary, mouth full of pancake, gulps his coffee, gives her a nod, and holds out the cup. Gary doesn't drink coffee.

For the umpteenth time in the last hour and twenty minutes, I ladle out a measuring cup full of scrambled egg mixture from a metal container sitting by the grill, listen to the sizzle, and slide six slices of bread into the toaster. I study the woman working the breakfast crowd with more experience than she should have, if I'm correct about her age. Her looks tell me late teens, no older than twenty-one. Her demeanor, conversations with my customers, and the skill with which she uses her body to incite the reactions she needs from both the men and women, tell me to add another five years. That may be because I would like to drag her all the way out of puberty and a hell of a lot closer to my age, thirty-one.

One minute she smells sweet, ripe, all coconut oil and youth, and then I catch that special scent, the one that's deep, dark, and cold. I've been rolling it around on my tongue all day, but can't place it.

I can smell it now as she packages a slice of apple pie for a customer standing in front of the register to pay. It reminds me of a smell from my childhood; the basement of one of my high school neighbors. His father owned a crematory furnace. That one second when the body is quickly inserted into the retort and the heat ripens it before the door closes and takes the scent to the bitterness of ashes.

When she's not close, I wonder why she's still here. Why I allowed her to be here. Why I don't want her to leave. When she's close, all I can think about is devouring her.

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, I'm once again contemplating the young woman filling salt shakers and chatting with the two remaining customers and realize it's been several hours since CeCe walked into my establishment and stirred the beast in me. I can't shake the feeling this is going to be a day I will live to relish—and regret. Something is not right with this chick. But then, something is not right with me, either.

Chapter 3

CeCe

"WHO ARE YOU?" Gaire asks me as he flips the open sign on the door to closed. "And how old are you?"

"Aren't your customers going to wonder what happened to you?" I flash him a smile. "It's not even noon."

Gaire raises a brow. "I'm only open for breakfast. Don't avoid my question. Who are you?"

"It's such an open ended question. Obviously I'm a woman, and someone's daughter, sister—I have a few friends—but I'm definitely not someone's wife, significant other, or parolee."

"You want to expand on that a bit? Maybe your full name, address, what the hell you're doing here?" He flips off two switches on the wall by the door, and walks across the room toward me.

"I believe I was giving a very attractive man a hand, and I realize we haven't had time to do the I-ask-you-ask, stuff people do when they're interested in each other. I mean, clearly there's chemistry going down. But jeeze, you just flipped the door sign. I'd like to take a breath, have a cup of coffee, and, oh, I don't know, talk?"

Gaire puffs out his cheeks and blows air.

Did he just puff frustration at me? And his damn eyebrows are all bunched up over his nose. And why the hell does that make me upset? Catch and release, remember?

"Look, I'm over nineteen, legal, and where's your sense of adventure?" CeCe's eyelashes fan her tan cheeks.

"Are you telling me you want a date before you explain your behavior today?"

"Well, no, of course I'm not." Yeah, right? I'm jaking for a date, one that leads to us both getting naked. Why am I having such a hard time using this body to get that point across? This is definitely going to turn out badly, but . . . cold rotted flesh be damned, his smile stirs something deliciously dark in me, the doppelganger under human flesh. "I simply walked in your diner to feed my starving body—"

Don't want CeCe carbon-copy to start looking Night of the Living Dead-ish.

"—and found you in a bad situation. Being the girl my daddy loves, I stepped up to the plate. Pardon the pun."

For the first time ever, I wonder if I'm going to really feel something for this guy when we touch. Crap! I didn't sign up for emotions. In the human world, emotions always end up misplaced, trashed, or trampled on.

He opens his mouth to speak.

I toss up a hand, snort indignantly, and snap, "What's up with the lack of help, Gaire? Did your wife get sick or a girlfriend not show up?" Did his name just dribble off my lips like slow moving honey? Why am I using his name? And was that a question about relationship commitments? Who the hell cares what they do beyond my reach? This is absolutely not me, Miss-No-Name, Miss-Who-Gives-A-crap. "Oh, and how old are you?" I add before I analyze myself right out the front door—so not going to happen.

I'm not acting like the body I've doubled up on, either. The snotty little rich bitch probably wouldn't give this guy a second glance. Oh, cold, cruel, and blessed darkness, look at him. My heartless body melts when his smile shows me an amazing set of straight white teeth.

When have I ever cared about teeth?

"Thirty-two, never been married. I don't stay in one place long enough to establish a relationship." His brow furrowed an abrupt, but quickly retrieved, tell—a slight regret. "And my waitress quit, doesn't plan on coming back."

"Why is that? Do you kill things? Would I find you on America's Most Wanted?"

Now that's a hoot. My whole family kills things—human things.

Gaire laughs out loud. "Other than hunting season," he says, waggling his brows, "I take no trophies. I move because I have a . . . family that, let's just say, a family that believes I should be living with them for the rest of my life. I don't do family well. And you still haven't answered my main question, but you have managed to get three answers out of me. Quid-pro-quo, girl. You're wrapped in a pretty package, CeCe, but there's something hiding inside. Who are you?"

Under CeCe's skin, my body-mass trembles. I want this guy, but not like the others. I really want this guy—long term. That is not a possibility, merely a desire I frequently dream about.

"Careful, Gaire. Digging too deep on a first . . . whatever this is, is a dating faux pas."

"But we're not dating. In fact, we have no physical tie what-so-ever. I'd need to see a driver's license before that happens. I'd just like to know who the girl that worked hard for me all day really is. I at least owe you a pay check."

Every section of my dark, smoky body crackles with electricity. He's treating me like an employee! "No, you don't owe me anything . . . um, anything monetary, anyway. But we can change that physical thing in a heartbeat. One of your heartbeats," I say, head spinning as I move closer. The body I'm wearing is temporarily forgotten—I'm all doppelganger at the moment. "The closed sign is up. My car is the only one in the parking lot, so how about we—"

When I place my hand against his chest and touch him for the first time, it's like being hit with a lightning bolt. We both jump back.

"Holy shit, are you plugged in?" I squeak, but underneath I'm so freaked out I can hardly speak.

Gaire recovers quicker than I do, although he says nothing. His fingers rub the spot on his chest where I'd touched him, and he immediately brings them to his nose.

His thick brows reaching for each other, eyes hooded, he drops his hand and says, "How about, for now, I cook you the breakfast you came in for?"

I watch a perfect ass tucked into tight jeans move toward the kitchen. Arms and shoulders strain his damp tee shirt, and I can't find my voice, or CeCe's. But inside my cold dead body, a fire ignites, and I know he's the only one who can put it out.

Gaire

* * *

SON-OF-A-bitch, I can't breathe. Who is she? Better yet, what is she? Something I have never come in contact with before, that's for sure. I feel spelled, weak. Could it just be that indefinable, and often talked about, fatal attraction to a human? Impossible. Stuff like that doesn't happen to my kind. Mates are selected for us, not chosen by us.

"You like pancakes?"

She walks up to the window on the other side of the grill, stares at me through eyes that clearly hold secrets, and licks her pink and puffy lips.

"Sounds yummy," she says, while my damn eyes take it upon themselves to search the front of her tee for hardened nipples.

"Eggs?" The word catches in my throat.

"Sure."

"What about meat? Do you like bacon?"

Her face goes all seductive, with sleepy eyes. Her teeth hold her bottom lip, and a slight intake of breath flares her nostrils. She holds me with that look for a few seconds. The pheromones she's giving off make me inhale deeply, savor the scent, and try to examine it. My heartbeat accelerates as rapidly as during a hunt. What she's giving off is nothing I've ever scented before. It's intoxicating.

"You might say I'm more carnivore than omnivore." Her smile is devilish.

I feel heat in my cheeks—wonder if she knows what I am—and pour out batter for six pancakes.

Tossing a dozen strips of bacon on the grill, I make myself busy cracking a shitload of eggs, and then I'm finally capable of saying, "Ah, a girl after my own heart."

I certainly hope not.

Her soft, breathy chuckle sucks the air out of my lungs and holds it. I'm either going to sate my appetite with breakfast, or I'm going to sate it with the biggest mistake of my life, because I want this woman.

CeCe

* * *

OUTSIDE, GAIRE APPEARS to be calm, unaffected, but like an animal around others, I sense a battle within. It seeps from his pores, a vibrating lust. He's panting with fear contradicted by an uncomfortable hunger. And none of this gives me the rush, the cocky, heady high it usually does when a human veers out of control with desire and need. This is different. This time I know what he's feeling. I'm right there with him. I'm on the edge of devouring him—screw the food—I need his skin against mine. Right now.

While one part of me wants to run away, shed this silly body, and never look back, the distraction and physical reaction I'm having coaxes me to hurry into whatever it is that's happening here, head first, full throttle. His short glances, the way he sniffs the air when I move, and the way the beat of his heart resonates with each note it strikes is such a rush. I'm losing control, not thinking clearly. Judging by my host's moist undies, I'm sure as hell not standing outside of the lust looking in.

He pulls plates onto the shelf of the grill with a clatter that shocks me out of myself and into CeCe. "Smells good," I say, eyes locked on his.

"Yes, it does," he answers, almost growling the words.

Actually, the smell of human food is always nauseating. The sweet scent of butter, dead chicken fetus frying in a mixture of triglyceride extracted plant matter, smoked meat, and the acidic aroma of coffee coat CeCe's nostrils.

"Are we eating in the dining area?" I ask, while telling myself, food does keep the body looking healthy, and quench an uncomfortable urge.

"I thought maybe upstairs," he says, his eyes intense, "in my apartment."

And suddenly I have a freaking heartbeat hammering in my chest.

"Okay." I cannot believe I actually squeaked that word. Well, I did use CeCe's voice, but still.

He chuckles. "You want to grab us the last two cups of coffee in the pot and follow me up?"

Oh, hell no!

"Sure."

"I take mine black," he says. "The cream is in the fridge if you need some."

I so want to come back with something all nasty-bad-girl, but inside, the doppelganger is quivering. I pour black acrid stuff into two cups that will never feel the touch of CeCe's lips. I pick them up, my thoughts mindlessly churning, and slosh coffee over CeCe's shaking hands.

"Crap," I grumble, set them down, and take several deep breaths. I actually felt the need to take in air. A doppelganger doesn't need oxygen, blood, or a human body to exist. Yet, it is sure acting like it does.

CeCe and her family will be back in a matter of weeks, and I will not be able to stay dressed in her skin to build something other than a brief sexual relationship with a human, albeit a special human, but still... And I sure as hell can't shed the guise and show him who I really am, now can I? Talk about nightmares. Why did I ever think there could be more?

Gaire

* * *

TAKING HER UP to my apartment is butt-ass stupid even if she does seem to carry an otherworld scent, actions I can't intuitively judge, a mind I can't seem to understand, and an uncontrollable interest, like me.

"Watch your step," I tell the succulent morsel behind me as we exit behind the diner and climb a stairway that leads up to my back door. "There are two nails I keep forgetting to hammer back into the wood—stair six, and the second from the top."

In a lust induced trance, I take the steps two at a time. The tap of CeCe's footsteps follow.

Where are you going with this, Rogaire? My mother's words invade my thoughts and make me think of my childhood and the reason I left the family. We are not human, she'd said, and if you mount her, you'll bite her. And if you bite her, you'll kill her.

I never believed my mother, until it happened. Afterward, I ran. I've been running from my shame and punishment ever since.

But this one is different, I tell myself. I know it. I can smell it and feel it. If you bed her, you'll bite her. If you bite her...

I shake my mother's words off this time. I open the door to my apartment, step in knowing full well, like with any human, I can't just shift and run to keep from biting her. Talk about monsters. This has gone too far.

Chapter 4

CeCe

AS I WALK into Gaire's apartment all I can think is, wow! The space, with a twenty foot ceiling, is one big loft-type room creatively sectioned off by stark, dark textures. It's amazing.

The only window is in front of me, across the room, and covers the whole storefront wall. It's dressed in loose black cheesecloth drapes, letting in very little light at the moment. I think of dark, rainy days, and starlit nights when the moon is high and the curtains open. Those windows would bring the outside in. I long to experience that.

The ceiling is roughly cut, weathered-gray cedar with thick rafters that hang over a dark, rich, cherry-wood flooring that reminds me of blood-soaked skin. Studio lighting—long armed pole lamps—filtered by ash colored lenses, scatter the room.

All the amenities are visible from the door I stand frozen in: a bedroom, kitchen, dining room, and bath. A bed covered with a red comforter is sitting atop a wrought iron platform, accessible by ladder, to my immediate left. The two walls it's cozied up to are black slate. The barn-wood cedar ceiling in that corner of the room is specked with bright red, giving the impression it was once painted. The bathroom is built underneath. Through the open door I take in a lot of black and silver, and a bright red shower curtain. The contrast is cold, morose, and dark. It nurtures my nature.

To my right, another open wrought iron platform is snuggled up to two mirrored walls, and workout equipment is scattered around up there. An open L-shaped kitchen is built along the two walls underneath. It's all cherry wood and black marble with stainless steel appliances, and looks like an open wound pouring into the living area.

The rest of the apartment is T-shaped, and mostly living room: carpeted floors, L-shaped couch facing a huge entertainment center on one side of the window, with its back to a home office, dotted with red equipment—desk-phone, laptop, and file, pen, and paperclip holders—is along the opposite wall. The couch has red throws and red pillows. I feel like I'm in a cave spattered with blood. My body trembles with delight, while my mind marvels at how he can afford all this on a breakfast diner's profits. I wonder who he really is inside after seeing the darkness he surrounds himself in outside. I have never felt fear. The darkside feeds me. I am indestructible, a demon's blunder, as unique as a human's night fright. But I feel something I've not experienced before, and it's deliciously uncomfortable.

"You coming in or are we eating in the doorway?" He's wearing a cocky grin and has a plate full of food in each hand hovering over a small, black table with four red chairs outside the kitchen area.

Damn it, I want to bite the quivering lip he's trying to hold in place. I slam the door shut with my foot and, with two cups of coffee in my hands, try to muster a sexy saunter over to the table.

He puts the food on tidy hemp placemats and heads into the kitchen. For the umpteenth time, I want to know just who this man is that he can captivate me so.

I set the coffee down on the molded, liver-shaped table and slide into a deep red chair that looks like it dripped off the black slab it's resting under. The seat gives me a good view of Gaire's ass as he digs eating utensils out of an open kitchen drawer; it also affords me an easy view of the red satin bed.

With a clink of silverware that yanks me right out of my daydream, Gaire sets down a fork and knife by my plate. He acts like he didn't notice my complete and utter fascination with his bedroom, but his twitching cheek gives him away.

I'm used to being in control—total control—and this silly mortal behavior I'm experiencing is just not working for me. I shake off all the new feelings, whatever the hell they are, grab my fork, and dig in. Not like I enjoy eating. In fact, I abhor it. The functional side of preserving the human body is annoying, not to mention the aftereffects said nourishment has on the body. As I watch Gaire eat mouthfuls of bacon, his eyes sparkle with red dots I hadn't noticed in the diner. I blink, and they're back to the shamrock green they were before. There's a fine sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. He's avoiding eye contact, almost as though he's ashamed, like a mutt peeing on the grass.

We both slip into silence as we eat.

How totally disgusting humanity is. Eating, defecating, showering, medical servicing, teeth brushing, hair combing, painting faces and nails, and dressing the rest of the body in an array of ever changing clothing, and for what? To die after maintaining a mere world average lifespan of 67.2 years? I munch a piece of bacon and think it's no wonder he's ashamed to look at me as he eats.

However, if I weigh the human race with mine, his life seems a better alternative. Doppelgangers do not eat, drink, sweat, defecate, breathe, get sick, or procreate. To have a child is to mentor a demon-conjured rejection, a mistake. That is the true nature of a doppelganger, and there is no love involved, no feelings at all. The thing I call Mother would simply walk away on some dead human's legs should the elders deem me a threat and consume my entity. And they will if I bring notice to an otherworld existence.

While I can do without the daily functionalities of the human body, love, hate, passion, arousal, and the camaraderie of humanity draw me like a drug, and certainly are very addictive.

Gaire

* * *

SHE’S WATCHING ME, tempting me with her darkness and fleshy perfume. It's been years since I've desired human flesh, tasted the hunger of lust. Damn my father for his blood, and thank the gods for my mother's. She's at least able to somewhat control her urges. Having her blood running through my veins gives me hope.

CeCe is going to force me to follow, watch, smell, and consider her, until I figure out what she is before bedding her. And I will bed her. The gods be damned if she forces me to shift.

I turn to make visual contact, but her eyes roam my lair. The scent that wafts off her fuels and stokes the beast within me. Her dark hair picks up what little light I allow up here as she leans into a fork laden with pancakes. It flickers on the bangs hanging across her forehead and down her cheek as I watch her chew, lips moist with syrup. My mouth salivates, not for the food, but the taste of her.

I've long given up on romance. I am my father's son. I'd killed because of past mistakes.  I won't let it get that far ever again.

"Are you sure I can't pay you for today?"

She slowly turns, a smile on her lips but caution in her eyes. "What if I come back tomorrow? I did think about a part time job for the summer. Unfortunately, that's all I did, and time ran out. I only have a few weeks left to spare. But working here would be perfect for me to make a few bucks, and give you time to find someone more permanent . . . unless you already have someone else in mind?"

I would be an idiot not to lie to her. "Sounds like a plan. I paid my last waitress minimum plus tips and breakfast. That work for you?"

Did I just agree to fight this insanity every damn day for weeks—as in several?

"Yep, I can work until the end of July."

She's chasing cold eggs around on her plate, probably doesn't even know she's doing it.

"What happens in July?"

"Off to college, Michigan State."

When she sucks on the end of the fork before laying it on her plate, I almost jump her. It's taking every bit of control I have not to touch her body. If I do, I won't be able to stop.

I have to clear my throat to say, "In July?"

"Well, not exactly, but there's a lot to do before I head out."

CeCe gets up, walks over to the window, and pulls the curtain aside. "I bet the view from your bed is killer at night."

If you only knew, I think.

As she saunters toward me I can smell desire. Not human desire. A musky, animalistic desire—essential, dark, and demanding. Her blouse comes off first and she tosses it at my feet, steps out of her cutoffs, and stands before me in a triangle of black lace.

Our eyes lock. My spine prickles as it tries to shift. Mouth salivating, heart hammering, jaw tightening, I bend and pick up her clothes. She's a breath away, waiting, feet parted, lace riding her fingers as she runs them over her hips. I grit my teeth and place the clothes in between her pink breasts framed in rich tanned skin. When my knuckles connect with soft creamy flesh my body tightens and prickles another warning. It's all I can do to keep from taking her right there.

CeCe

* * *

I CAN HEAR his heartbeat; I feel the heat of his gaze, the strength behind his touch. Crap! My head is spinning—my head, not the human's I'm wearing. I never do this. I amuse myself and let them do the dreaming, the what-if's, and get off on that. I don't contemplate commitment, relationships, love! I just get my high on. I trade them their lives for a quick fix.

Damn it, sex with this guy is not going to be a quick fix. I want...

I realize I'm grabbing for my clothes before they fall to the floor, and he's stepping back, shaking his head. What the hell?

Chapter 5

CeCe

I WAS PISSED when I left Gaire's and headed straight for the sewer. I'd ended up here in Purgatory.

The music seems too loud, pulsing lights are too bright, and smells are cloyingly nauseating.

A group of berserkers in a dark corner of the bar burst out in robust shouts and laughter. The damp animal pelts they wear release fetid sewer smells that thicken the air and claw at my throat. Berserkers' fists pound wooden tables and splinters fly beside large brass cages where creatures fight and bettors wager.

The succubus I've been chatting up on the stool next to me sighs. "And?" she, prompts me to finish my rant.

"Yeah, so, like, I told Gaire, 'I don't want a commitment, just hot sweaty sex, thank you very much'. And not only did he look like I'd just threatened to kill him and grill him, but his attitude was all, 'I don't just hop into bed with anyone, and it disappoints me you do'. I mean, we'd had a whole day with enough voltage flowing between us to light up New York. What's up with the standoff all of a sudden?"

I belt down a shot of something green. Doesn't matter, nothing gets me high but human sex or waiting for that last heartbeat when the body-double separates from the host and allows me to make that life-threatening decision.

"C'mon! All I wanted was sex. I thought human men lived for opportunities like that." I wave my hand up and down the host's body I'm wearing, my eyes locked on the succubus. "Look at CeCe. Would you turn her down?"

She doesn't comment about my dilemma. Instead, she looks complacent, knocks her shot glass against the bar, and signals a púca, who at this moment looks like a gorilla. Fifteen minutes ago, he shifted from a toy poodle to a black bear before serving us.

Howls follow a group shape-shift at a table of werewolves when an ogre is served a plate of raw meat. The ogre turns into a threatening, growling, snarling beast as it covets the flesh, ripping it apart to devour it.

"I thought they'd stopped serving ogres," the succubus says as the gorilla hobbles our way.

I curl CeCe's lips back and glare at the bleached-blonde, bulbous-breasted wet-dream holding her glass out for our bartender. Sheese, I thought a demon of seduction would be more sympathetic to my plight. Not like I can talk to the bartender; a púca often gives good advice, but Satan knows their advice always comes with a price.

"Another green steam to abjure the sensual chains that bind, my luv?" The gorilla's voice is all lusty deep male as he locks eyes with the succubus.

She raises a brow and smiles wickedly at the bartender before turning to me. "If you can't drink from this Gaire guy's manly charms, dress yourself in him, imbibe with another, and get over it. I see no issue here, Doppie."

"Don't call me Doppie! You know I hate it! How about I start calling you Sucky?" I glare at her and suck in a dramatic breath. She knows I don't need it; she knows I'm threatening her.

The reaction I get makes me smile. Sucky leans out of the line of my suckage and raises her brow. "You really don't want to go there, do you?" The dream demon curls long slim legs under the bar and hooks them around the legs of her stool.

Although my actions are just a smartass threat—there is no way I'm shedding CeCe and donning the succubus—I pretend to misunderstand her comprehension. "Yes, I do! I want to roll around on that big red-silk bed of his and writhe in pleasure. And I don't like being refused!"

Her posture relaxes and she even smiles at me. "You know what humans say 'tomorrow is another day'. So take your black ugly self into that diner in the morning wearing major doppelganger attitude, sweetie. And hey, if you can't make any headway, I'll be happy to jump into his dreams tomorrow night and assist, 'kay?"

On the other side of the room, a loud crash steals Sucky's attention as one of the berserkers bursts from a metal cage and takes down three tables as he rolls across the room, blood spraying, fists flying, and angry growls spraying spittle. The flesh-tearing ogre stands in the open door of the swinging cage, roaring laughter over the encouraging crowd. He grabs the bars on either side of the opening as the berserker gets two feet up under him and bellows a threat riding a wave of acrid, carnage breath over the crowd. Half the clientele respond in testosterone injected frenzy and the rest vary in their levels of amenableness.

I crinkle my nose at the smell without acknowledging the useless action because I feel the hair on the back of CeCe's neck stand straight out, and it isn't because of the cage fight action. If I were the real CeCe, I would be hyperventilating right now. I'm still holding onto Sucky's casually dropped comment about entering Gaire's dream.

I tap her shoulder a bit too hard and my words are a bit too harsh. "You most certainly will not get anywhere near Gaire! The only way you would ever be entering his dreams is if I'm wearing you. Got it?" I think I just growled.

Both of her brows shoot up. Her lips pucker a frown and her head shakes disgust at me. "Oh my, sweetie, tell me you are not in love—"

"I'm not!" I shout while I mentally scold, Damn it, you are so screwed.

The felled berserker scrambles across the bar and, with an abhorrent war whoop, dives for the cage, slamming it into the wall with his girth. The deep throaty laughter of the ogre dances gleefully with the cheers from the crowd.

Sucky's head whips from the cages to the entrance of Purgatory. I follow her gaze and a moan escapes CeCe's peppermint-glossed lips.

"Just what I need." I glare at my mother for all of two seconds before I turn to watch the púca saunter up, Sucky's drink clutched in its oversized hand with long fingers and sharp claws.

Two bouncers—a werewolf, who is licking his maw, and a very smelly sewer troll named Stoner—wobble across the room toward the cages and the fight taking place. The sound of fists hitting flesh makes my mouth water. I can only imagine what it's doing for the werewolf whose main diet is meat.

"I added it to your tab," the púca's voice says with a warble. Sharp slimy green teeth click behind loose lips spread in a smile for the succubus.

The bartender, now an impressive, ugly, gray goblin watches my mother take the stool beside me.

"I'll have what she's having," Mother says, pointing at me, "and a large bubbly, please."

The goblin's black eyes sparkle. "Another green steam. Add a brew!" the púca shouts at a mixer mid-bar, then points at me. "Unless you'd like another, dearie?" When I nod, he shouts, "Make that two greenies, Kris!"

The mixer—a wiry elf with orange hair and long pointed ears—raises a knotted thumb and then nods. His ears poke out from under a brown, pointed hat, and as he leans in to pour the two shots a green ball on his hat falls over one eye.

Mom is not wearing anyone at the moment. I loathe our natural body shape. She is dark and dense, and rolls like heavy fire-smoke as she moves. Our only facial features—two bright red eyes and a circular hole with long gray teeth—are revolting. Two appendages, with four-fingered hands, hang to the bottom of the cloud of smoke, and we have no feet; we glide.

"I see you're still wearing the slut," my mother says.

While contemplating the relationship I have with Mother—wishing her someone else's little cloud of hell—I try to ignore her. I don't know why our kind decided to make us call our guardians Mother instead of Father. We have no sex. We are singular creatures; a demon's faux pas, so to speak—a summoning spell gone so terribly awry.

"I assume the real slut is still in Europe?" Mom presses.

It used to be, fledglings were left to fend for themselves, and killing was a personal preference by the darkest of our breed. But in today's world, it's almost impossible to pass off the sudden appearance of other-halves. I get it. So far I've been lucky, but if I mess up...

"Yes," I hiss.

Complete consumption of the Identical be damned. If they think they can turn me into a more hideous mythological creature with a tenth as much freedom by threatening me with extinction, so be it. I would rather be consumed by my brethren and Become No Longer, than take another's life for the mere amusement of it. I won't stop doubling up.

"At least she still smells fresh," Mother pokes.

"There you go," Sucky whispers in my ear. "She sounds like the proper one to assist you with your little sexual dilemma."

"In A Midsummer Night's Dream!" I hiss.

"Oh, now that's Mommy's little girl." Sucky laughs.

"Do your customers like the cold side of you?" I spit.

"I have no cold side, sweetie. You, on the other hand, are sounding quite vendetta-ish."

Our bartender slaps two coasters on the bar in front of me and Mother and sets down our drinks, covering the bar logo: a picture of a black hole painted between a pearly gate and bonfire, PURGATORY stenciled in red over the dark hole.

Mom hammers her shot and sucks down half the bubbly. "So, honey, tell Mother what's tormenting you."

I glare at the succubus.

She laughs. "Not enough hours in the day, huh, Luv?" Sucky slowly drains her shot, rises, straightens a black skirt so short I can see her naked butt cheeks, and wiggles her fingers as she saunters toward the door.

Mother watches as the werewolf and troll toss two berserkers out the front door. Sucky jumps back when a splash is followed by a spray of sewer water. I'm a tad bit disappointed the succubus doesn't get wet.

"I don't like your friends, dear." Mother's form billows and wavers beside me as she sips the brew. "So, what happened above the diner with the half-breed? You did not look . . . pleased when you left."

I stare hate at my guardian/mother/warden, and even though the first thing I want to scream is 'what the hell do you mean, half-breed?' right before I scream 'you were following me . . . again?' I calmly say, "I personally don't care what you think of my friends, Mother. Sucky serves a purpose. I am well-tutored in the art of seduction." Body still trembling anger, I add, "And I like sex. It's a nice high. Feeds the hunger, ya know?"

Mom's hypnotic red eyes are doing an arc across the bar from me to the door. They linger on the entrance with each pass, as though she is expecting someone. When six vampires—four male and two female—walk in all white skin and black clothing, Mom's gaze passes right over them and to the cages where a round of fights has come to a finish and payment is being exchanged.

Two words—half-breed—tag my inner thoughts like a repeating catch in a sound bite. I watch a segmented reflection of CeCe in a mirror behind bottles of intoxicating fluids on the other side of the bar. CeCe's image calmly signals for another green steam, and I count the seconds before I can continue without the fear of looking anxious.

"Did you say Gaire is a half-breed?" I ask, eyes still on púca, like I could care less. But my darkside is quivering, uneasy, fearful enough to raise prickles along CeCe's arms. I gaze at the fine brown hairs lifting in their follicles.

Mom puts up two sooty fingers and lets our bartender know she'll take another shot as well. "Yes, a half-breed. I felt it. So what is he?"

CeCe's eyes blink several times before I can reign in the human side. My mother snags the tell and runs with it. "You didn't catch it, did you? Well, it's nothing to be ashamed about. It's hard to read half-breeds," she says as we both pretend to watch the púca fly toward us, an eagle now, and two drinks clutched in the bird's talons. Not a drop of green steam hits the floor. "Anyway, what happened over the diner?"

The fanged-immortals secure a table on the side of the room farthest from the cages. Another púca, with the dark-skinned face, arms, and bare torso of a human, but the lower body and legs of a horse, trots over to the immortals with a laminated menu. I catch images of young men and women as the waiter lays the menu on the center of the table.

Three of the vamps—two females and one male—shake heads in a no thank you gesture, and with a show of fangs, order type-O processed. The waiter nods and while the other three immortals study pictures on the menu of non-processed beverages, the centaur púca prances to the bar with the drink order.

"We didn't do much," I tell Mother, and smile at the eagle. It hovers with massive wings fanning, coaster's flying about, and places our drinks in front of us. "He cooked me breakfast, we talked, and I left."

"What? None of that well-educated art of seduction?" Mother looks amused.

I push a laugh over CeCe's lips—weak attempt since Mother saw me spin gravel all the way out of the parking lot in CeCe's car.

"Actually, that's all it was. I'm baiting this one," I lie. "He's reluctant. I think it's the age thing." I laugh again. "Humans have way too many hang-ups. Anyway, it's more fun to see how long it takes. And I have a few weeks before I have to give up this body." I lift my shot glass in a toast, and she clinks the base of her glass against mine. "Why not have a bit of fun with it?"

We both chug the shot before she answers. "Well, I do hope you will be discarding this outfit soon. I'm quite bored with it. And be careful, alert. Half-breeds can be tricky."

"Doesn't matter," I flippantly say, although it does. "Nothing can kill us but our own breed, and a doppelganger isn't a shifter. So I'm in for the thrill, right?"

For the first time, ever, my guardian says nothing. She faces forward. Her smoky form absorbs the stool beside me as she settles. I glance up. Her bright red orbs are piercing, and even though I'm watching her through a reflection in the mirror behind the bar, they penetrate mine. I can tell her body has stiffened. Mother averts her gaze and still she says nothing.

I don't say anything, either, but my mind is roiling with thoughts of what Gaire is and what he could possibly do to me.

Chapter 6

Gaire

I FOLLOWED CECE tonight, directly to the sewers and Purgatory, Down Under. I've been hiding by a metal ladder leading up to a storm-drain exit. I have a good view of the entrance to the bar. Nothing exciting has happened since she went in. The time seems to move like a slug on dry pavement.

It's blessedly dark down here, only a dim ray of light pours from Purgatory's small window above the door. A gloomy, luminous stream melts into the area around and below the entrance. It adds a surreal atmosphere to the dank and murky scurrility of the sewer where creatures slice darkness, a flickering stream burbles by, and street noises from above add reality.

The fetid air is deeply spiced with all things moldy and decomposing; the smell of death. I feel at home, but not safe. Most of the underworld knows what I am, what my kind is capable of, the threat we bring Down Under. But even worse, some of the older creatures may know my clan, my intimate family—they may know of me because of the reward.

My family has promised a Lifecard to the creature who aids in my capture, dead or alive. It entitles the barer freedom from an attack by way of retribution. There are very few Down Under stupid enough to challenge me without the reward. That's why I run. They will kill me when they find me.

The southern states, especially here in the sewers, and places like Purgatory are no-kill zones; our kind is not allowed here—as written by Them who watch over the underworld—mainly because we cannot control our lust for flesh. In a one-on-one confrontation we always win, and little is left of the body afterward.

The best of the best of us are called south—infrequently—to extinguish those inextinguishable by any other course of action. The summons always arrives on the monster of fatal unpredictability, and this is why I choose to hide in the southern states. To control my thirst for flesh would be considered impossible, yet I have done so for thirteen years.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the arrival of a berserker who goes by the name of Vicen. He comes down the sewer south of me, head turning this way and that. I slide farther behind the stairs and watch as he enters Purgatory. Vicen deals in human trafficking. Sells some, uses others. I'd watched him stop CeCe on the street above ground earlier. She'd sloughed him off. I'd approached him. He knew what I was immediately, but not who I was, so I let him live. I asked him if he knew CeCe, he said through friends. I didn't want to bring more attention to myself and asked no more questions. He'd promised to stay away from her, and me.

The only reason CeCe would know him is if she's one of the humans he prostitutes, unless she's not who she wears. But I would know it, sense it if she were a shape-shifter—any shape-shifter. I need to find out for sure. I should just walk away, move on like the other times when things felt wrong, but I can't this time.

Can't or won't? My father's voice invades my conscious thoughts.

Can't, I mentally respond. What if she's the one? What if she's a possible mate? But I'm fooling myself. She's not a shifter. I've sensed them before—she smells different. Damn it, she's captured my curiosity. The need and lust I feel are overpowering. I have to find out what she is. The only way to do that is to bed her. If she's otherworldly, she'll feel my darkness and show herself.

And if she doesn't, you'll kill her, my father's voice warns.

CeCe

* * *

A BERSERKER I know struts in, all muscle, murky eyes, and albino features. Vicen's presence is formidable. Heads turn, and an atmosphere of anticipation falls over the bar as he goes straight for the cages.

All eyes follow Vicen. Mumbles burble like the sewer stream outside the door, undefined and volatile. The smell of blood, sweat, and demon tears are thick in an atmosphere rattled with tension-packed pheromones. A surrealistic light pulses, and multicolored beings exude a lust for the unknown.

Purgatory crackles excitement as lycanthropes, berserkers and other creatures group around cages and wagering becomes physical, oral, and unruly.

An Indian with cold black eyes, set jaw, and long, jet hair breaks from the pack and strips down to a hairless, beautifully sculpted body; light reflects off his dark skin. His face contorts, skin rolls over bones that pop and reshape. The Indian heaves with the effort this change brings on. Usually it's a quick process, but this one is drawn out. Long tresses of hair fall damp around his pain-contorted face and almost touch the ground as he bends at the waist, reaching for the floor with one hand, the other wrapped around his midsection. Arms lengthen—noise in the room melts around the spectators like candle wax—and large paws replace fingers; claws the size of dinner plates dig into concrete as a black wolf, four times its human weight, shakes from head to tail and clears the betting floor.

I have never seen a wolf this large, and I'm mesmerized by the impressive creature.

On padded paws, the beast paces, gazes at his opponent's supporters, and intimidation rumbles in his chest. The crowd splits, and the wolf's black eyes shoot daggers at the blond berserker. Slowly, words of encouragement rise in volume until they rush from the patrons for both parties.

Saliva drips from the wolf's maw as he kicks up dirt on a damp floor with its hind quarter. The air becomes cloudy around the wolf's paws, but I am staring at the animal's distracting eyes. They look like lightening bottled up within a black night.

The wolf's opponent hoods steel-gray eyes and spreads a grin at the animal's exhibition. The berserker's sharp, pointy, metal teeth catch and reflect light from a fixture over the cages.

The wolf raises its head and howls a retort. The lycanthrope shifters join in with human bellows of threat-driven support.

I know the berserker. In fact, I'd had a confrontation with him earlier right before dropping Down Under. Berserkers are a nasty bunch, but this one is wicked cruel and gets off on the pain of others.

He'd approached me several times, trying to work out a business deal for the human bodies I double up on. Evidently, sex with a human pays very well among the otherworld creatures, especially if the human is less . . . breakable. I'd told him several times I wanted no part of it, and then he started following me. Every time I go Down Under he shows up and gives me a sales pitch, like he did earlier topside.

I'd pushed him off with a threat to bring the matter before the doppelganger elders. He'd laughed, right before telling me half the board was on his books. Then he sauntered down a manmade street above the sewer, taunting, "You'll come around."

But tonight he walks into Purgatory, barely acknowledges me and quickly turns away—probably interested in the fight, but still, so not like him to use a good audience to make a point. With Mom beside me, it's even weirder. She's one of the board members on his books. She even encourages me to take him up on his offers, said it would build relationships Down Under. I still refuse, mainly because I double up. I don't kill my hosts. Don't want to pimp out their doubles, either. It doesn't seem right.

The black wolf breaks my train of thought as it leaps into the cage and whips around all savage snarls, glaring eyes, and pinned back ears. Vicen hands off his sword, but his eyes never leave the cage as the wolf lowers his front quarter and waits.

Vicen heads for the cage. The bar becomes so quiet I can hear water dripping outside the door to Purgatory. Even the vamps are sitting on the edge of their chairs—four chugging blood from heated mugs, two looking sated after returning from the back rooms.

The bartender, in full púca-fairy regalia, is covered in the dark, matted fur of a sloth. Its movements are incredibly slow as it climbs onto the bar beside us.

The opponent's faceoff as one of the bouncers, the ogre, stands ready to close the metal door when the sloth announces the start of the contest. They are waiting for Vicen to climb into the cage.

As Vicen moves forward, every creature that needs oxygen to survive sucks in a breath and holds it for what seems like forever.

Three things happen at once: The sloth slurs, "Begin." The front door of Purgatory opens; it's as loud as a prayer book slapping the floor in the middle of a church service, and Vicen—one leg in the cage, one following—freezes mid-step.

Mouth open, I grip the barstool under me. The fight that was about to begin is forgotten, as everyone stares fear at the creature that enters. It's a wendigo. Seeing the demon in a southern state is unheard of, and a main reason for otherworld creatures to gravitate south. Wendigo are the most intimidating creatures Down Under, large alien-like canine beasts, malevolent and cannibalistic by nature. It eats what it kills.

It struts in on two hind legs, hair billowing behind like white fire. Its skeletal body is all bone, muscle, and sinew. Long sharp claws on hands and feet are lethal weapons, as are sharp, poisonous teeth. A bizarre, wolf-like face wears a set of manic eyes and a protruding jaw. Teeth don't quite fit into the wendigo's mouth and drip the musky smelling saliva that renders its prey a painful, slow death. The saliva sizzles as it hits the concrete.

I have never seen a wendigo, and below CeCe's skin, I'm vibrating with adrenaline pumping curiosity. I've heard my species is the only creature Down Under not affected by its poison. Probably because we're nothing but a dream until we walk in another's body.

The spell in the room turns from awe to fear the minute the wendigo speaks. "Vicen," it hisses, "we had an arrangement. Yet here you are breaking it, mere hours after making it."

Vicen turns white under his blond hair. "Hey, gi'me a break! Like I'm supposed to know when she—"

"Before you utter another syllable—" The wendigo's burly, human voice ricochets off everything in the room like a pinball in a colorful machine game. "—think about what you're doing, because if you dare to disobey me further, I will surely devour your flesh until nothing is left but bone, teeth and fingernails." The wendigo rocks back on springy hind legs. "And I detest fingernails."

"I don't give a rat's ass what you—" Vicen starts, but before he can say more, the sharp teeth of the wendigo are buried in the berserker's throat, and everyone in Purgatory looks like taxidermy art along the walls of the bar.

I don't even see the wendigo move. One minute the creature is standing on thin long hind legs, the next on all fours over Vicen, teeth embedded in his throat.

As I try to wrap my head around what had just happened, the wendigo rears back with the berserker in its maw. Vicen is pain seasoned screams, arms and legs swinging.

On the balls of its hind legs, the wendigo prances lightly, almost delicately, to the front door and out into the darkness of the sewer. Purgatory is quiet and still, like a freeze-framed horror on a 3D movie screen.

Chapter 7

CeCe

I'M WALKING DOWN Under, aimless, no destination in mind, with the event at Purgatory heavy on my host's heart. Just knowing a wendigo is living in the area makes me uneasy. I don't know why, because they can't kill my kind, only ravage the human flesh we wear. And it's not like I give a crap what happens to the other creatures. Yet, if the demon runs rampant, there will be nothing Down Under but bloody, fleshless bones. I might miss knowing there's a place to go where I can be the real me.

Thing is, from what I've heard, once the frenzy of killing and feasting begins, a wendigo is out of control and never fully sated. They often go topside and start feeding on human flesh until they're hunted by their own kind and put down. They're a big threat to our anonymity. I know that's why the wendigo are exiled to countries surrounding the North Pole; frigid weather calms the beast in them. That, and there are no doppelgangers that far north. Even though they aren't a threat to doppelgangers, it's said, wendigo feeding off the human flesh we wear is what pushes 'the horror' above ground in their search for more.

Spying an exit, I climb into the night and head home. Well, not home, but CeCe's house. I've never felt more lonely—singularly-alone. I want to be needed, languish in the warm touch of a human, and be a part of something bigger than myself.

I need sex.

Gaire

* * *

WATCHING CECE COME out of the status-emblematic tri-level on Lake Harris, I'm enthralled by the feelings that wash over me. Never have I felt the need to protect and take care of another individual. Never have I wanted someone so badly it strikes fear in my heart. And this is the first time I've had the overwhelming feeling I couldn't live without someone.

My kind doesn't mate for life. They copulate only when necessary to build and preserve the herd. And that's only if I'm selected for breeding. I would be corralled in an unknown location with the one I must impregnate, and left there until I did so. It's not a choice my kind is allowed to make for ourselves. But then, being a half-breed, I'm not allowed to mate at all. Tainting the herd is not acceptable. I'm an outcast, and one who requires constant supervision, or annihilation should I chose not to comply.

Adding insanity to the non-compliant choice I'd made, I followed CeCe to this tri-level home after she emerged from the sewer, watched lights go on in a couple of the upstairs rooms, and heard the sound of the shower through an open window on the second floor. Now, as the lights wink out, I wait for her to come out. After seeing CeCe Down Under, there's a good chance she is not entirely human. I have never tried to bed an underworld creature. I've sworn off relationships, but CeCe has given me hope.

The night above Down Under is lit by a full moon and star-filled sky. The air smells of damn grass, roses, honeysuckle, and humanity: oil, exhaust fumes, frying bacon, metal, leather, plastic, asphalt, brick and mortar, trashcans filled with waste, and flesh covered in the scent of manmade fabric and chemicals.

As the front door opens, I hunker down behind the foliage and watch as CeCe gets into a red convertible. Bright lights flash the tree I'm perched in as the car makes an arc before heading down the driveway.

I leap from the tree, phase into the creature I was born to be, and with long muscular legs, make chase.

CeCe

* * *

AS I SIT in the car in front of the diner and stare into the dark building for the umpteenth time since the episode at Purgatory, I wonder why I'm drawn here. The whole time I'd showered, dressed, and mentally entertained pleasures of the flesh, I knew I would end up here instead of the local bar where I'd met Mr. I'm-Doing-You-A-Favor a couple of nights ago.

As I'd applied CeCe's makeup, I wasn't thinking of adequate sex with Blue Eyes. I'd been thinking about Gaire. I'd selected the black dress and strappy three inch pumps, fantasizing how it was going to feel when he removed them. When fluffing my hair and running my fingers through it, I was thinking about how silky Gaire might think it felt. Mr. I'm-Doing-You-A-Favor was never on my mind.

"Damn it!" I said, slapping the steering wheel. "If it's simply sex you want, idiot, this is the last place you should be, and you know it!"

Gaire had made it perfectly clear earlier in the day that sex wasn't an option. Yet, I'd tried to sway him with seductive human behaviors. He hadn't budged when I slipped out of CeCe's shirt. It hadn't fazed him a bit. Not even when I'd tossed it at his feet and slid out of my jeans and stood wearing nothing but CeCe's lace undies. He'd simply picked her clothes up off the cherry wood floor, placed them between our breasts and smiled, eyes twinkling.

I was mortified.

I'd ripped my things from his hands and stomped out of the apartment, swearing to never see him again. All the while I knew I would be right back here before morning. In fact, half-way to the sewer I was tempted to drive back, slither out of the girl's body, and double up on Gaire, just to show him what I was made of. But the way I feel about him, the way my body reacted to him, gave me a smidgen of hope—a small dream of finally finding someone to share more than one intimate moment with—and I kept going. When the succubus at Purgatory had suggested the very same thing—rolling on Gaire—I'd almost spit a laugh at the irony of it.

CeCe's eyes blink me out of my daymares when a light comes on over the diner. Having worked up a slathering lather of annoyance, I exit the car and stomp my strappy pumps all the way around the building to the back stairs leading to Gaire's apartment. I let CeCe fill her lungs and then take the stairs two at a time.

I don't knock, but grab the doorknob in a death grip. "All right, door, we can do this easy, or I can get all hard and aggressive."

I growl, giving the knob a twist, prepared to break the door from its hinges as I enter. But before I can push to see if it's unlocked, the door is pulled hard and fast. I find myself in Gaire's firm grip, my lips held captive by his.

It's a good thing I don't need to breathe to live, because by the time he takes me to the loft and dumps me on the red satin comforter I would have been dead. My mind takes in a diminutive awareness of his strength and agility to climb the ladder with no hands while carrying me, but promptly tosses the thought on the floor beside the dress Gaire has just ripped off my body. I didn't even notice him take off his clothes and when he covers my body with his, a moan escapes me—not CeCe!

The deep desire to be part of him wipes any sanity of the moment from my mind. Everything in the room fades around me. I revel in the way his skin feels, his mouth breathes into mine, his fingers search. Undergarments are torn away, firm pleasure parting my thighs, filling me and driving deep. Mouth against his, I pant an orgasm deep and strong. Lips devour, teeth puncture flesh, claws slash through delicate skin. With a heady disoriented high, I feel CeCe's skin being ripped from me, and instinctually I begin to shed my host. What was once CeCe sprinkles the bed around us and dissolves.

My fiery red eyes pop open. His lids flutter, and I freeze in silent horror. I disperse and cloak him in smoke, under and over him as I pass up through his morphed body with a shudder of unwarranted fear and an intense struggle for survival.

His long arms frantically reach, claws arcing and then clacking in mid-air with lack of purchase. His teeth bite nothing, and his lungs gulp and expel black smoke to no avail.

I rise to the ceiling like a cloud from damp wood off a camp fire. I whoosh away as though caught by a gust of wind and, palpable, thick, and cloying, I breeze through the many cracks on the closed window frame and dissolve into the night air.

As I twist and twirl in front of the diner, nothing but red orbs flashing, my needle-sharp teeth fold back into my mouth. I continue to stare in horror.

The wendigo from Purgatory stands on the other side of the window above the diner.

Gaire

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL do I make of that?" I ask myself as I pace the apartment over the diner. "I totally blew it. Did I kill her? Or did she run from the apartment?"

I can't remember anything after I tossed CeCe on the bed, except a deep heat—a tightness—as I slid into her body, a hunger so strong it demanded gratification.

"Blood lust! I was enthralled in the lust for blood. Damn it! I devoured her!" I run and leap up into the loft, surveying before I realize and acknowledge there's no blood, bones, nothing to show the brutal event that I thought had taken place.

No! You know it took place. You smelled it, felt it, and you can still taste it on your lips. It happened.

"What the hell are you, CeCe?" I scream at the ceiling. "And damn my mother and father for not educating me about the world Down Under!"

Leading a sheltered life in the human world, I'd passed as a boy living with my grandmother for the first eighteen years of my life. I was told both my parents were killed—a home invasion—when I was a baby. I grew up totally unaware what I really am, and who and what grandmother is . . . until I met Stacy.

Long strawberry hair, freckled button of a nose, green captivating eyes, and soft creamy skin, Stacy was beautiful. We were inseparable senior year, but hid our attraction in public because grandmother had always been adamant about me not making friends. I was told I carried a terrible illness in my blood that could be spread through sharing food, coughing in someone's face, and even touching others. As I got older, the dangers of a sexual relationship were hammered into my head. Grandmother's daily questioning and reminding started during my freshman year and became a horrible drudgery. When I began questioning the illness, insisting she give it a name, she'd push my questions away with a wave of her arthritic hand.

In my senior year, I had myself examined by a doctor at a free clinic by using the fear of having contracted an STD. After a clean bill of health, Stacy and I began to explore the sexual side of a relationship together, in depth, but without imbibing in the actual act of sexual intercourse.

In the summer of my nineteenth year, Stacy was leaving for an out of state university in less than two weeks and I was staying to attend Seminole Community College. The thought of separating intensified our relationship, and we decided to share our bodies totally. That's when I killed her.

Grandmother rushed me Down Under, a place I had no idea existed.

I met my father shortly thereafter and found out he was the most dreaded creature in the otherworld, a wendigo.

I also found out my grandmother was really my mother, an aswang. They are cannibalistic, eaters of the dead—kind of a vampire-slash-witch. They move among the human race as older women, often caregivers. Mother is a mid-wife and had lived off of dead fetuses my whole life. Since I had absolutely no knowledge of the underground life she'd lived, I found it easy to accept that for centuries, humans were blind to the world Down Under.

Living the life of a Rogaire means constant moving, occasional identity changes, and a hunger I could never allow myself to quench.

Reminiscing about my past gives no comfort for the future as I pause in front of the window and silently curse the death of the berserker, Vicen. It was impulsive, stupid, and now I have no one to ask about the creature I'd just had sex with. It's not like I can trot into Purgatory, sit at the bar, and ask around. I was in a blind rage when I entered the bar and couldn't remember a single face in the room but Vicen's anyway. What I did notice, what was crystal clear, was that the whole frigging place was scared shitless of me. What the hell right do I have to dream of sharing a life with another when I can strike that kind of fear in all creatures?

"Shit! Not like you didn't know this was going to end badly when you started following the berserker. And all because you'd witnessed the confrontation he'd had with CeCe. Not like you didn't know someone was going to die the minute you allowed yourself to take on the body of the beast."

I sighed heavily at my own ridicule. The best I could hope for is that the body CeCe was wearing was glamoured by a witch spell, not real, or borrowed, or possessed. Because although I would kill Vicen again in a human heartbeat if I caught him threatening CeCe, I didn't like the thought I'd killed another innocent girl.

But I saw CeCe in Purgatory...

Should I hit the bar again? Ask around? I can't leave it like this with CeCe. Well, I could, but I sure as hell don't want to.

Whatever I decide to do, I know it's not safe here anymore. I just took a woman to my bed. She somehow disappeared without a trace, and I should move on and forget her.

The beast rumbles inside me.

I pull a trunk out from under a lamp by the couch and begin to load all of the personal items I would take when I left. I'm thinking Michigan would be a good place to gravitate. I believe that's where CeCe is going to attend college in a few weeks. Didn't she mention Michigan State?

One thing Grandmother—I mean, Mother—had taught me was how to get all the money I need to survive in the human world without any suspicion. At least I'll never have to live on the streets.

Chapter 8

I am the doppelganger again.

I SPREAD OUT like a shadow on pavement under the feet of the unsuspecting woman working her corner in the seven-hundred block of South Orange Blossom Trail. Her name is Jane, and I will be wearing her by morning.

As she drags me along, I watch, listen, learn . . . and I think about Gaire. Although I knew something was different about him, I'd never, for a moment, expected Gaire to be a wendigo. Damn, talk about having a penchant for bad boys. That little proclivity might chalk my 'no killing humans' rule up to multiple charges of aiding and abetting before this insanity ends. And it will end, badly, if I don't get Gaire out of my doppelganger head. I know I should just forget him—I'm sure he's forgotten me—but Gaire is the first and only being who has made me feel real, alive, and, well, human. I'll be damned if I'm giving up on that.

As I stare up at Jane from the pavement, I'm thinking how perfect this chick would be. I could head back to Leesburg, she would stay in Orlando on her street corner, and our paths should never cross. Unless it's in a morgue somewhere—a street-walker's life is a hard one.

In her early twenties, Jane is blonde and tan, wearing a lewdly short skirt and a lacy bra barely covered by a leather vest. Black boots with four-inch heels caress the undersides of her knees as she struts toward a car pulling up to the curb a few yards down from the streetlight on her corner.

I cozy up closer as Jane leans toward the black sedan, filling the window with the contents of her lacy bra.

Both hands now on the window of the car door, Jane is doing her thing, enticing, pimping her carte du jour, negotiating à la cart—palatable little hors d'oeuvres or entrées off the full-service menu—and distracting, while she slowly removes the pistol at her back, reaches down, and slides it into her boot.

I slither upward off the pavement, over the front tire, another moving shadow on a street accustomed to shadows.

Automobiles hedge from traffic light to traffic light, corner to corner. Pedestrians pour in and out of seedy establishments while the streetwise hawk their wares—a night like any other night on the trail.

I move, unnoticed, over the shiny bumper and onto the hood of the automobile, and there I lie, red eyes glimmering, watching, and learning.

The man inside the car wears a dark suit and tie with a white shirt. His hair is neatly trimmed, parted to the side, not a lock out of place. His randy smile displays straight white teeth, a cleanly shaved jaw-line under intense gray eyes. As he reaches over to open the door for Jane, a gentlemanly gesture during an ungentlemanly proposal, the light from the streetlamp on Jane's corner dances off gold cufflinks. It draws my attention to his well-manicured fingernails.

Boy, is this guy going to be so totally unaware when I, doppelganger, walk out of the hotel room wearing a post-coital grin, and Jane. The surprise will come later when he tries to take a shower and finds Jane—not the carbon copy, the real thing—lying in the tub. One thing is for sure: he's about to have mind-blowing sex and a night he'll never forget.

As I slide into the front seat with Jane and pool into the shadows under the dashboard on the car floor. I amuse myself with a notion my mother is gonna hate my new outfit.

"So, what's your name?" the guy in the suit says. "Or are we not supposed to ask that?" He chuckles tensely, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road as he coasts down Orange Blossom Trail.

"Oh, you can ask, sweetie, long as you got two big ones, you can ask anything you want. Name's Jane . . . you?"

Without hesitation, he answers, "How about you call me Dick?"

I almost laugh, not like they can hear me if I do, but still.

Jane laughs and I revel in it. "Cute. So, Dick, where ya takin' me?

"As far as you'll let me." Again with the edgy laugh.

Jane reaches down and pats the Smith & Wesson 9mm stuffed in her black boot and resting nicely against her right calf. "If you got the money, sweet cheeks, I got all night."

Jane's words, the ones that had attracted me to her earlier tonight, play over in my mind. "The only way to a man's heart is through his chest cavity" she'd told another hooker before they'd split and headed toward their respective corners on the trail.

"You kill me, Jane," the other hooker had said over her shoulder as she laughed and walked away.

Oh, cold and retched life of a doppie be damned, what if I'm choosing a serial killer, or worse, a man hater!

I feel the car hook a right and take a small bump before it makes a hard left and then comes to a stop. Purple and green light blinks on Jane's face as she says with disgust, "Haven't been to the Ambassador in a while. You paying by the hour or night, hon?"

When Dick gives Jane nothing but a smile, she adds, "Full night's cheaper if you wanna spend some time, is all I'm sayin'."

Her nose wrinkles and her mouth tightens. She turns away, opening the car door. Together we step out, Jane dragging me along, a dark shadow under her feet. We head toward a bottom-of-the-barrel hotel on the nastiest block of West Colonial Drive in Orlando, but hey, it's less than a mile from Jane's corner and most importantly, her car.

Dick has a key, looks like he knows where he's going as he gets out of the car and takes the lead.

We walk through a lobby—I glide—and past a murky aquarium with no fish, water lines descending with evaporation. But the fish tank is larger than the television balancing on a microwave table beside it.

Dick nods at a questionable character behind the desk. I can smell him from the heels of Jane's boots, sickly sweet cocaine-sweat, bad personal hygiene, and day old sex.

The furniture in the lobby is Salvation Army Naugahyde and the walls are dark green. Everything else screams "rooms by the hour." West Colonial Drive at its finest . . . drugs, sex, filth, and destitution. Ashtrays overflow onto faux wood tables, yellowed newspaper scatters the floors, and duct tape partially seals holes in the walls. I would think the tape is a bigger expense than plaster, but hey, given the frayed edges, I would say it gives roaches and rats easy access to the soul of the place where they can wander in and out of the rest of the hotel.

As we head into the elevator, I spy a sign that reads "free breakfast"—most likely stale coffee, but this clientele probably doesn't even notice. Shady-looking men, the kind that are interested in really bad things, linger around the sign. Before the elevator doors close, one guy tells another he had invited the little girl in 219 to his room to see his horsey, and I make a mental note to return here through the sewer system with a few of my friends from Down Under.

As Dick presses the number 2 on the elevator wall and Jane turns to face the closing doors, I sidle around back of her and my head rolls over a shoe-twisted cigarette, red lipstick halfway up the filter.

A few minutes later we all step into a nightmare—the room is purple, bright purple—with tracks of humidity-driven grime running down walls from a window-shaker trying to keep up in ninety degree temperatures outside this box of debauched delights. The carpet is void of color from years of wear-and-tear, along with numerous ejected, projected, ejaculated, and exsanguinated bodily excrements I care not to fully entertain. A mottled burgundy spread is thrown haphazardly across the bed, and sheets hang from beneath in wrinkled wads. Pillows in gray and rumpled cases scatter against a black, leather headboard, bearing one of those metal boxes that charge four quarters to shake the bedbugs awake.

Although I'm quite comfortable Down Under in the sewers where my kind subsists—thrives, even—I don't feel right using Jane's body for sex in this bacteria-breeding, petri-dish of a room. Problem is, if I don't, she will. I would have to watch while I wait for the opportunity to double up on her.

What to do, what to do? I'm tossing around ideas, none workable, when Dick turns the locks on the door, walks across the room, and drops his car keys on a nightstand.

All pleasantries gone, he asks, "Want a drink?"

He reaches for a paper bag in a cubby beside the bed. I slowly shrink my form under Jane's feet until it's barely discernable.

"No thanks, hon, but you go ahead. I'm gonna hit the toilet and freshen up," she tells him, and I think, that's my girl, as Jane turns toward a dingy door in a dark corner of the room. "Oh, and put the cash on the dresser, will ya?" she says with a wave of her hand.

Wearing a deadly grin, Dick watches Jane's swagger as he pulls a distinctively squarish bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon out of the bag and works off a seal of wax that looks like blood dripping down its sides. I spread out and freeze. I know the bottle and the brand because the first prostitute I doubled up on tonight propositioned an undercover cop. At the police station four hours ago, I had seen the same bottle of bourbon in three pictures—three crime scenes—in an open case file on a detective's computer screen. The file also displayed pictures of butchered and bloody women.

Jane isn't Dick's decadent fantasy of pleasures. She's his next victim.

When Jane flips on a light switch outside the bathroom door on the other side of the room, I realize I'm looking all doppelganger—thick black cloud hovering over the floor by the end of the bed—and should probably duck and disperse. But then she pauses to check her makeup in the mirror over the sink. Jane's eyes share a flicker of sadness with her reflection, and it seals my decision.

Before Jane even gets the bathroom door shut behind her, I've risen, thickened, and shocked Dick backward. The bottle of Maker's is airborne. Wide-eyed, he falls onto the bed, and I'm straddling him. Bourbon pours, and topples its way onto the floor. The smell adds spice to an already heavily scented bedspread. I cover his mouth with mine and latch on, sharp teeth retracting. He tries to fight me, but that ends as soon as I begin to draw the air from his lungs and the spirit from his soul.

I pull deeply and close my beady red eyes, feel the transformation begin, and wait for his heartbeat to stop. When it does, his meaty human skin hangs from me. I jump off, before I draw his last breath, just barely aware that I am filling the murderer's skin like a helium canister, its nozzle plugged into a balloon.

Instinctively, I watch for the real Dick's chest to rise and fall. The adrenaline rush is the strongest now, and my new body vibrates as I see he's still alive. It doesn't register that I failed to kill a murderer, just that I've kept my vow to not to kill my victims.

I stretch, blink, open and close my new hands, and treat myself to one glance in a clouded mirror propped against the wall atop a maltreated dresser. The body I now wear feels wrong, odd, like I'm not really in charge of it. I feel an intoxicating degree of rage, the kind of wrath I've seen Down Under, unworldly. Yet his mind starts to grow in mine like any other human I've doubled up on.

An involuntary shudder races up my spine. There are things trapped inside this person's head, things shoved deeply below the anger that covers them. My body quivers with unknown feelings. The toilet flushes, a human gesture that makes me think of Jane, then Gaire. I immediately shed Dick's body. It sparkles and pools around my doppelganger form before winking out like a trillion shooting stars swallowed by waxing clouds.

As I slither into the filth under the dresser and entertain one second of familiarity with my surroundings, Jane walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a triangle of red lace and her black boots.

When Jane sees Dick spread across the bed, legs hanging over the edge, and the bottle of bourbon emptying onto the floor below him, she tosses up her arms.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, ya betta not be dead, damn it! Think you're gonna bring me to this friggin' pigpen, then just up an' die on me? Shit. Shit. Shit!" She takes long strides toward the bed, eyes jerking from him to a prescription bottle on the floor next to the bourbon. "I ain't spendin' the whole damn night explainin' this shit in no police station."

While Jane's going all Lower East Side Ghetto, I'm focused on the pill bottle and why it's on the floor. Something stirs behind my red eyes—a familiarity.

I watch Jane tentatively place two fingers at Dick's throat. "Well, at least you're alive."

As she turns toward the dresser, I snuggle farther under it. The look on her face clearly registers there's no money on top.

"Son of friggin' Sam! An hour wasted, an' a fifteen-minute walk back to my corner with nothin' to show for it." Her shoulders slump with a snort of frustration.

She pulls a cell phone out of her left boot, looks from it to Dick, and then back to the phone. She fills her chest with the acrid air and chews on the corner of her lip.

I figure now is as good a time as any, before she makes that call, and ooze out from under the dresser and up Jane's body. Totally into her situation, she doesn't realize what's happening, and I'm in before she can squeak an objection.

I look at her sleeping body stretched out on the filthy carpet and momentarily think about dragging her onto the bed beside Dick before I use her cell phone to call the police. But I decide it's a stupid idea. The police need to find them just like this. I hope Jane on the floor and the brand of the open bottle of bourbon is enough to make them question him.

"At least I didn't kill either of you," I say through Jane's lips, tits heaving, as I carefully dig under Dick and pull a wallet from his back pocket.

Fifteen minutes later, I sneak out of an alley and hug the shadows as I pass empty police cars flanking the hotel. I know Jane is fine. I would feel it if she weren't, and I'm betting Dick's presently dumbfounded by a shitload of cops hovering over him in room two-oh-seven of the Ambassador Hotel. I hope it scares the shit out of him.

Two blocks down, I hit the sidewalk heading east on West Colonial Drive, hips swaying, tits bouncing. I look exactly like Jane. With five one-hundred dollar bills stuffed in one boot, two Smith & Wesson 9mms—I have Jane's and the one that appeared when I doubled up—in the other, I take long strides, pushing a real shadow in front of me toward Jane's corner on South Orange Blossom Trail and the car we'll be borrowing for the night. I'll hide one of the pistols in Jane's car so she finds it. Dick didn't have a gun, and I didn't want him to have a chance to use Jane's. Down under individuals are not supposed to get this involved with a host above the sewer. But I want Jane, streetwise, bawdy, outspoken, and independent, she is a survivor. Together we are going to find Gaire. Besides, I think I covered our tracks, and I did not publicly try to avenge Dick's behavior, or force his downfall, while dressed in a human double.

I'm betting Dick is wishing he were dead right about now. Neither of them will have knowledge of me, or that Jane is living a double life, one real and one fabricated by me. Underneath Jane's skin, I am still a doppelganger, neither male nor female, and incapable of reproducing, with no sense of family, empathy, or kinship with anything. Doppelgangers are not just a myth. But we are singular in existence. Some stupid demon has to screw up a conjuring spell to get one of us instead of the scary entity it was looking for. Our kind is limited, but because of our uniqueness we are the only Down Under beings that are undefinable unless we choose to be, even amongst ourselves.

I don't do evil possession; I just borrow the humans I wear and enjoy being part of humanity for a few weeks—no frothing, cussing, obnoxious, head turning human, writhing in a decomposing body from me. Demon guy isn't exactly gonna get any demonic gold stars from the big guy from a human hopping mistake, so he dumped me in Limbo to lead a half-human existence.

Gaire is going to change all of that, because everything is wonderful when I'm with him—really wonderful . . . deep inside the doppelganger, not just the human I'm wearing.

I wonder if he'll be attracted to Jane like he was to me. He won't know it's me underneath her skin, so I hope so. Her mind is slowly filling mine with past images, desires, fears, strengths, weaknesses, dreams, goals, and a street-wise mentality that I can definitely live with.

I wiggle and roll inside Jane's double, filling its every part, much like struggling into a pair of skinny jeans that stretch, give, and soon fit comfortably—a second skin.

"Damn, it's good to be human again," I tell the early morning darkness, stretch Jane's arms, and twirl a glance at a starlit sky over her corner on South Orange Blossom Trail.

No one is working her spot. It is quiet and dark outside the light from the streetlamp that will burn for a few hours more before daylight makes it wink out.

I jog down the alley where Jane parked her car, and five minutes later we're heading for Purgatory, fifty miles north of here, Down Under.

"Alright, girlfriend," I tell the rearview mirror, "all we need to do now is find Gaire."

Chapter 9

SHOCK ME

Jane

PUSHING THE SMITH & Wesson deeper into my right boot, I pull into Walmart in Mount Dora. It's almost four in the morning. The store windows are bright even from the other side of the lot, and high pressure sodium bulbs on twenty foot metal poles light lanes throughout the parking area.

I know the local police patrol the lot at night. Walmart is open twenty-four-seven and often attracts a more colorful crowd after normal shopping hours. As I pick up the second pistol from the passenger seat and tuck it into a sling Jane has rigged under the dash, I catch my reflection in the dark window of the door. Jane's streetwise eyes and over-the-edge makeup have me spreading her lips in a smile. Still, I wonder if the hooker's look is something I should tone down with a pair of jeans and tee shirt from Walmart. Walking around in leather, and a skirt that shows a good half inch of butt cheeks every time I move, is great advertising for Jane's street corner, but here it's begging for the wrong kind of attention.

Jane's car is useless to me Down Under, so I toss the keys on the driver's seat and lock the car with a button on the door. I strut across the pretty much vacant lot toward Walmart, boots announcing my vulnerability. Thirty minutes later, I'm quietly jogging toward North Orange Blossom Trail, miles away from Jane's corner, in a pair of pink tennis shoes. A snug little camouflage tee with a picture of an old man, all long straggly hair and beard, is silkscreened across my chest and riding high over a pair of low-rider Levi's, S&W slipped behind a wide leather belt. With Jane's street clothes inside two plastic bags, one in each hand, I trot past Jane's car tucked into the shadows of the parking lot, and continue across the six lanes on my way to a sewer entrance behind a strip-mall on the other side of the highway.

Human transportation is a must to get around slightly rural Lake County above ground. But below ground, it's a breeze, because I can drop into a sewer through a storm drain, and once there, use a red token wish to transport myself—even wearing Jane—to any location Down Under. Then I just look for another drain or runoff exit and climb, swim, or crawl out. Tokens are bought, or won, or traded for favors in places like Purgatory. The red ones carry twenty, state-wide transport wishes.

Out-of-state tokens are blue and have only ten transport wishes. Tokens for trips to other countries are green and have only five round trip wishes. Heaven or Hell transport wishes are quite rare, expensive, and purchased through a system kind of like humans purchase passports. The requester is required to appear before a panel of otherworld creatures and, if accepted, they are branded—a tracker tattoo that allows summoning back to the council instantaneously. The Hell card is black, and Heaven's is white. They take months to contract and only contain one round trip wish per token.

I jog around the back corner of Publix supermarket and head for the sewer entrance in a housing development behind the strip-mall. Before I can get past a large green dumpster and about twenty wooden pallets, two guys step out of the shadows and confront me.

"¿Qué es en las bolsas, chica?" one asks and steps closer.

Light from a caged bulb over the loading dock bounces a flash off metal in the hand of the heavyset dark-skinned man as he slides it into his pocket. The hoodie he's wearing shadows his face, but I can see white teeth behind a snarl.

The second guy isn't quite as bulky. He's skinnier and taller.

"The bags, chica?" He translates and points at my plastic bags.

I drop them and I take two steps backward.

"Mejor jugar bonito, puta," the tall guy says.

"Quieres que me corten, chica? " the other says, and they both laugh.

The way they're eyeballing Jane's tight tee, I figure something in those strings of dialogue pointed to a blatant and totally inappropriate misuse of our acquaintance. When both men lean down to pick up the bags, I slide my right hand along the back of my jeans. I do not like killing humans, and it is especially forbidden by my elders when I'm dressed in one.

"'Ey, youse guys, look. Ya, see me? I'm a bitch. Yeah, that's right, an' I'm bigger than you," Jane snaps and definitely influences me to flash a face full of smartass attitude. Each human host is different and often their personalities bleed into mine. This one seems to be taking over. "Meet Smith." We fan the pistol in front of their faces, then raise the middle finger on Jane's left hand. "And this here's Wesson."

High on my first big adrenalin rush, I say, "Ain't nobody takin' nothin' we paid for on our knees, got it?" I feel like I'm part of a team now.

Jane and I point the barrel of the gun up to my finger and back at them. Jane sounds all Brooklyn street or Manhattan Jewish to my doppelganger. Whatever, it works. Both guys freeze, hands extended toward the bags but not quite there yet.

"You're gonna wanna stand up and move back a few steps," I gleefully let Jane say, still waving Smith; Wesson—my middle fuck you finger—lays proudly among its brethren and down by my side. "'Ey, an' you! Chubby! Don't even think about it!"

Big guy's hand freezes halfway out of the pocket on his hoodie.

"Now, go away from here—far away."

They don't move.

"Fast," I yell loud enough to wake the dead, no pun intended. I know a few dead people up close and personal. "Before I start screamin' rape, and Smith over hea' 'as to come to my rescue, got it?" Jane's street voice rings loud and clear.

The tall thin guy says, "¿La perra estúpida. Quieres morir?"

Chubby guy cups his jewels and gives them a shake. "Fuck you, chica!"

They both hold their hands up and slowly move backward.

Big boy snarls. He slides back his hood, and the rest of his face doesn't look like he enjoys being pushed around by a chick.

He growls, "Nunca olvido una cara bonita, puta."

I have no idea what they're saying, but it sounds like a threat, so I bob my shoulders, put both hands on the pistol, spread my feet, and nod. "Yeah, whateva! Do I look like I care?"

"Crazy-ass-bitch! You like gettin' cut?" the guy in the hoodie spits. "You got a real pretty face. No más bonita cara, la perra."

Eyes pushing rage, both guys move backward and around the side of the building before I belt the gun, grab the bags, and back-walk toward the metal fence behind Publix.

Breaking into a run, I hurl the bags over the fence, take it straight on, tennis shoes digging in, and scramble over without breaking my pace. I snag the bags lying in the grass and bolt across a small field outside of the development.

After one last glance to see they're not following, I slip into the development, zigzag down three blocks, over one, up four, hop a fence, jog around a pool and clubhouse, climb over a back fence near the water treatment building—and boom!—I slide into the sewer system.

I feel tuned into the body I'm wearing, acutely aware of every muscle, every nerve, and every heartbeat. I savor her spirit as it fuses with mine—get off on the fearless way we blindly handled each situation this evening in perfect tandem.

I. Feel. Empowered.

The plastic bags filled with Jane's street clothes work like counterbalance weights as I hold my arms out and turn circles, eyes closed. Laughing and running, splashing my way through the darkness, my shouts of victory echo in the sewers Down Under—Jane, and the cold hard weight of the 9mm against my back feel more familiar than any being I've known, or worn.

"Gaire," I shout, and it bounces off the sewer walls and reverberates though my mind.

I grit my teeth and squee with glee as I hold out my hand, close my eyes, and draw a fist full of wish tokens I have banked in the Etherafter. I pluck a red one with fifteen wishes left on it, and closing my eyes, I wish the rest back to the bank.

I'm a gnat's hair closer to finding out what made Gaire kill the berserker at the bar, where he is now, and why I feel like I do simply by uttering his name. I pull the red token to my lips, give it a kiss, and wish myself to the other side of town before stuffing it into my pocket.

* * *

AS I WALK into Purgatory wearing Jane, heads turn and nostrils flair.

Down Under is where otherworld creatures are reasonably comfortable knowing they can be themselves without fear of the human race witnessing their true identity. Purgatory is a place to gather, a bar where we can meet, share information, gossip about happenings in our world, and fluff feathers by challenging strength, stamina, and the intelligence in other species. So it stands to reason every time someone enters who looks and smells human, everyone comes to attention.

I know from past experiences Down Under that I'm undetectable in human form. The patrons here see, smell, and sense me as Jane, a human, a threat . . . until I show my doppelganger.

Two bouncers—a shifter who smells feline, and a troll named Greta—walk toward me. Greta always moves slowly and slurs her words, but her strength is extraordinary. And in these close quarters, with a cat-shifter assisting, Jane would be toast if I don't do something to identify myself quickly.

As they close the space between us, Jane tsks attitude and swings her hip out in defiance. I can't help but mentally smile at how good that feels. But knowing my world and the creatures surrounding me, I flash doppelganger eyes, red with no pupils, and let smoke waft from between smiling lips. The instantaneous reaction is almost uncontrollably amusing. Almost. Respect is survival down here.

"Sorry, Greta. I hate to check my human at the door, especially if I really like the one I'm wearing—and I do, big time."

She shakes her oversized head, cheeks pulled up in a smile, and then she says, "I'd be, uh, quicker to announce yourself, see. I may, uh, not . . . present . . . an immediate, uh, threat." Greta's big sausage-shaped finger distracts me as she picks at a crusty wart on the side of her nose. "But, uh, well, Grumpy Kitty over there, well, he does."

Greta hee-hee-hee's and points the bulbous index finger at me. The teeth under her smile really need a vigorous brushing. Green and brown junk is crammed between all four front teeth, top and bottom. And in some places it's even waving at me as she breathes. I deflect my attention from her mouth to her finger. She shakes from knees to head and a fine spray of sewer water spreads in a three foot circle around her body. I try not to think about the brown gunk hanging on to the underside of her yellow fingernail.

Greta wears the sewer well—a walking, talking atomized bouquet of sunlight-deprived stagnant water, raw-waste, sludge, damp vermin pelts, and death-rot. But that's where she lives, under the slow moving current of drain-off, and skims food from the bottom. Greta reminds me of home.

I politely smile, and although several of the masculine genders are still staring, most have gone back to betting on an arm wrestling match about to start between a vampire and a leshy. The bulk of the bar seems to be gravitating toward their hefty wooden table in the middle of the east side of the room.

The leshy has presented himself well. They're woodland spirits, lords of the forest, and up close and personal with gray wolves and bears. Ill-behaved buggers, they can stir up major hostility. Leshy can shrink to the size of a blade of grass, or grow as tall as tree. In human form, they are always male. In natural form, a leshy has a beard and tail of living plants, and hooves and horns like a goat. This one has chosen to weave an upper human body with its leshy lower body—all hooves, haunches, and grassy tail with a masculine upper half rippling with muscle. His hair is long and braided, eyes dark green. He has a square chin, thick neck, and full lips.

The vampire slaps the table and hammers his elbow on the wood, hand ready to grasp the opponent's. The leshy's elbow hits the table and strikes a musical note of wood on wood. They join hands and turn to a púca with a whistle between its lips. The fairy is a goblin at the moment. And they talk no matter the form. If I were human, a voice coming from a bear, rabbit, or a living, breathing, kitchen chair injected with an effervescent personality and great legs would be terrifying. Almost as scary as the hefty and slouchy green goblin it's wearing now.

I turn away, brow raised, and nod an acquaintance at the bartender as I slide onto a stool. The púca's whistle blows, and a hush washes over the dingy room as everyone stares in silence. The match intrigues the Jane in me, and I have a hard time controlling her gaze. I pound one of her fists on the bar.

"Shoot me up, will ya?" I shout to the green water sprite tending bar.

While a backlash of hisses and boos rush the crowd, the fairy moves quickly to my attention. "And what does the lady favor?"

Letting Jane's eyes roam the room, I spy something that has promise. A leprechaun is tipping a long stemmed glass of frothing purple fluid.

"It's two for one tonight, dearie. You up for it?"

"I'm always up for it. Question is, are you?" Jane slips the comment past me. I push one of her most worldly smiles at him.

"One for you, and one for the delightful human you're wearing," he says with a tinkling giggle. "I like this one, dearie. The other was rather milquetoast. Has mum seen her?"

I shake my head with an evil grin on my lips. "No, and believe me I can wait, oh, an eternity for that meeting."

While he giggles and polishes the bar with a damp cloth, I scan the room again and spot the frothy lavender drink in the fluted glass.

"How about one of those?" I point at the drink in a wrinkled little elf's hand. His red hair and green outfit clash horribly with the cocktail.

"Two Purple Passions," the fairy sings, his words rolling like rustling leaves and windblown hay toward the mixer.

The elf smiles back, arms working a shaker.

The crowd around the thick wooden table on the east side of the room bursts with mixed sentiment: cheers, boos, claps, and stomps.

Jane jerks our head in that direction.

The leshy spits a robust laugh and lays a good-hearted slap on the vampire's shoulder, and that action ejects a set of impressive canines. In a human heartbeat, the fangs snap back into place like well-oiled pistons and the vampire slams a purse of payment on the table, all contempt and resolve.

Looking more like a woodland creature now, the leshy rakes his fingers through his whimsical flora beard and stomps a hooved foot on the cement floor. He tilts his head, and grass-like hair falls across a smooth, white forehead; his sharp horns are aimed directly at the cold, dead heart of the vampire. Color flushes amusement on the leshy's pale cheeks and flashes mischievous intent through his eyes.

A werewolf picks up the vampire's purse and slaps it against the leshy's chest hard enough to suggest he take his winnings and mockery elsewhere.

Leshy may be lords of the forest and friends with wolves, but in Purgatory the creature holds no weight with the werewolf. Down Under, all otherworld creatures are treated with an equal amount of discord.

The woodland fairy takes his winnings, and steps back as several others vie for a chair at the gaming table. But as the vampire rises, the leshy's glaring eyes lock on the werewolf bouncer.

The bartender, a water sprite, sets the Purple Passions on Purgatory coasters. He swings his long green fingers at the leshy. "If he starts screaming, I'm going to be taking a long break, so would you like to pay up now?"

"Jeeze, I just got 'ere! Can youse guys run a tab, or what?" I love the sound of Jane's snappy voice. I do not, however, like the horrid, keening cries a leshy is known for. It's hard on the ears.

Although the water sprite raises a brow, he answers cordially, "Sure. Just poke the elf mixing if you need to settle."

"Hey, can I cop a question?" Jane's pushy words roll off my tongue like thick dark blood, and I savor the taste.

"Of course, dearie." The bartender giggles, and it sounds like shattering crystal this time.

"Were you here the other night when the wendigo came in?"

"Don't I wish!"

We'd evidently hit a cord.

"Yeah, it was really something," I say and take a gulp of my drink. "First time I'd seen one and was hoping I could get some shit on him, ya know."

The Jane in me backhands moisture from our lips.

I about freak when fairy guy slides my second drink over, plants an elbow on the bar, and leans in. "Oh, honey, you're not going to believe this."

Chapter 10

Jane

"SO, YOU MEAN he just packed up and left?" I ask for the umpteenth time.

After fifteen minutes of playing questions and answers with the bartender, a berserker, the funny little elf mixing drinks, and a tree nymph named Trudy, who injected mostly theory based on dramatic differences in local gossip over the last two days, we all come to one conclusion: Gaire is in the wind . . . again.

From what the Elf mixing the drinks told us, we gathered Gaire's father had arrived at Purgatory within seven hours of the event and grilled all brethren of species involved in the cage fights at the establishment that evening.

One of the berserkers said Gaire's father had paid visits to several of Vicen's—the berserker Gaire had killed—buddies.

Trudy said several otherworld creatures told her that he'd then searched Gaire's diner and dwelling, but came up with zilch. My bartender for the evening had added another tidbit by saying Gaire's father made a second trip to Purgatory after all the side investigations to leave a few calling cards—round trip tokens to Alaska—should anyone have any information as to his boy's whereabouts. Daddy added an enticing reward leading to his son's capture, dead or alive.

Finally, just a few minutes ago, everyone agreed Gaire's dad had left Florida as promptly as he'd arrived, but not before suggesting the locals get a move on. Daddy went all Snow White's mamma on Gaire. He'd hired a tracker.

"Yep. The wendigo's son passed through like a bad storm and kept on going, dearie," the fairy bartender burbles and pulls me from my checklist of events. "I don't think we'll see the likes of him again, not with the price on his head. That kind of information spreads like a fire in a windy autumn field."

I don't like the glint of excitement in the little green creature's eyes and open my mouth to tell him so, but Jane blurts, "Well, screw me sideways an' twice on Sunday! Youse guys are pissin' me off!"

If smoke could blush, I would be bright pink under Jane's skin right now. I really need to gain a bit more control of my girl's sudden outbursts, both physical and verbal.

"Sorry," I mawkishly whine. My doppelganger eyes scan the group around my corner of the bar. "My host, she's a randy one."

The berserker belts out a laugh. "I might-could do some tamin' and trainin' if you're up for it."

Before Jane can bypass me and tell the crude creature she's up for anything again, I say, "No, I'll tell you like I told Vicen. I'm not interested in using my hosts unfavorably."

The berserker smiles at me and jingles what's probably a bunch of wish tokens in his right pocket.

I ask, "What? You takin' up where Vicen left off?"

The berserker says, "Thought I might."

Vicen's human trafficking days were over, thanks to Gaire's darkside. I was mesmerized when he waltzed into Purgatory and killed the berserker the other night. Why he killed Vicen is still a mystery. But Gaire showed himself, knowing his kind would double the price he'd already had on his head? The reason had to be pretty important to him.

Poor Gaire, whose only crime was being born—an anomaly. Bar gossip aside, killing Vicen might not have been an issue if Gaire hadn't disobeyed his father's conditions, breaking costly promises made in order to spare Gaire's life. But he did. One of the locals said, and everyone at the bar confirmed, Gaire killed a human. It cost his father's pack everything: generationally formed bonds in the otherworld communities, and acres of prime hunting ground in remote areas of the United States. The whole wendigo population was banished to Alaska where the cold weather tempers their deadly darkside—blood lust.

With a grin as nasty as a Viking home after a year of rape and pillage, the berserker says, "You sure you won't let me take this hot little number into the sewer? Just one trip. You might enjoy it."

Sheesh, I should cut Jane loose on this guy. It's right up her alley, pun intended.

"I don't think so," I say politely. "Too much on my plate at the moment, but thanks for thinking about me." I manage to keep the lid tight on a kettle working hard to boil over.

Eyes on the patrons, I ignore the berserker and watch as the crowd I've been grilling slowly bleeds out into the ruckus around me. When I notice a guy in a black hoodie heading toward the exit, a small wave of gooseflesh feels like a warning, but I shake it off and turn back to the bar.

Alfie, the water sprite, is standing on the other side of my fourth Purple Passion on the bar in front of me. "Maybe you should consider it, Luv. This one certainly has the body and brawn for it. Besides," he says, pushing the drink my way, "you look like you could use a diversion from the norm."

I suppose it's a good thing alcohol, or any intoxicating drug for that matter, doesn't work on doppelgangers. At least it tastes better than human food. I sigh, shoot the rest of the drink, and pout.

"This," I say, fanning my hand up and down Jane's body sitting on the barstool, "is because I'm going to look for the wendigo. I thought it might tempt him, and I'd—"

"Did I hear the word tempt?" a deep, sexy baritone asks.

Jane and I almost fall off the swivel-stool as we whip our head toward the voice.

I plant Jane's feet on the bar floor and rake eyes over the man. His hair and skin are black, and both shine; his hair gathers a glimmer from the lighting above the bar, and his bare chest is glossy with a fine sheen of sweat. A pristine, white shirt rests over his shoulder, hooked in place by a long, thin index finger. Black Levi's, no belt and unbuttoned, hang low and show off his muscular thighs and one side of his well-rounded ass. Jane and I both shudder like a wolf holding its prey at paw's length.

"Yeah, you did. So what? You need some temptin'?" Jane asks, evidently tired of waiting for me to answer.

I sniff and sense otherworld, but it's rich like creamy chocolate, and dark like spilled blood—carnivorous. The man-side of this shifter has an air of wealth and knowledge about him—aristocratic, yet I sense strength, focus, and a coldness I can't quite get a handle on.

Mr. Sexy-Dark-and-Deadly answers with a smile and hypnotic eyes. "I heard you speak of a wendigo. Do you know this creature? He is called Gaire?"

I try to weigh my answer carefully, but Jane doesn't comply.

"Who's askin', eh?" she says. Her head bounces and upper lip curls.

The shifter masquerades a scowl with a smile. "I am Vuur Asem, and they say my flames are quite lethal when inappropriately quenched. Right now, I desire an answer. Do you still wish to taunt me?"

"Shit, yeah! Bring it on, babe. I got me some lethal desire, too," Jane says, "and Taunt is my middle name."

Jane's entertaining a totally inappropriate response to what I think Vuur is selling. I can feel her mind check the distance and timing it would take to grab Smith & Wesson, all hard and skin-warmed against our back. "I know the way to a man's heart, hot stuff. See, right now, I got me a deadly desire to ride you like a—"

I shake Jane's head like I'm a pit-bull on the other end of a pull-toy. "Hey, let's start over, okay, um, Mr. Asem?" I try in an able, yet meek, voice. "While the game of seduction is often a fun sport, really, I'm not interested." Jane isn't having it. "Bullshit! I'm sprinklin' my thong."

Vuur's facial expression is totally aggressive-assertive—furrowed brow, tight lips, and teeth grinding a firm jaw. "I assure you, I never play games," the shifter says. "In fact, Ms.  . . . I don't believe I got your name."

Although I feel a need to dig deeper into this man's nature, bad-boy flags are gesticulating with each sentence that comes out of his mouth. He reeks sexy and exudes death.

"Yeah, no shit," Jane answers. "Ya think that might be because I didn't give it to ya?" I jump in. "Um, sorry. It's Jane."

I believe we're experiencing a dissociative identity crisis, Jane, I mentally shout. And Jane, sweetie, it comes off as—

So what! Maybe we're bipolar. Maybe we're skitzo—don't matter—deal with it, Chickie. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, she mentally shouts back, and then glares at me in the mirror behind the bar before shooting snarky eyes at Vuur.

Crap, CeCe was a piece of cake. This host is wracking my nerves. Clearly, I'm having a hard time controlling her. I take a deep breath even though I do not need it. And calmly, I mentally say, Jane, hon, we need to work as a team, not...

Vuur clears his throat—we give him our undivided attention—and even I find that throaty growl a bit sexy . . . until he opens his mouth.

"I was sent to search for the wendigo. If you know where Gaire is, I suggest you enlighten me—immediately." His eyes flash red and his nostrils flair. "I do not wish to . . . exsanguinate information from you."

While my mouth, the one under Jane's skin, hangs open, Jane takes over. "'Ey, wha's-a-matta with you? You got wax build up in your ears or somethin'? Like we just spent the last . . . what...?" she stares at our reflection in the mirror behind the bottles lined against the back of the bar and waits. Eventually, not getting the answer she's fishing for, she continues. "Uh, thirty minutes, give or take an hour, askin' questions as to the whereabouts of this guy, Gaire, with like, what? Half the people in this slime-encrusted place? And after you 'can't help but hear' all that shit," she says, making quotes with her fingers, "you get what? That we're hiding something? Jeeze, man, find a Q-Tip!"

Vuur sucks in lungsful of air through his teeth.

"So sorry," I sing. "I didn't mean to offend you."

I really do not want to see, up close and personal, just how he plans on sucking us dry or frying our asses.

Jane busts out with, "The hell?" I ignore her. "We do not know where the wendigo is, but I have unfinished—" I clear my throat and pick up a second of clarity, "—business with him, and—"

"Are you mentally infirmed?" Vuur asks politely.

"The fuck you say?" Jane reaches for the gun.

I pull our right hand back with our left as Greta, the troll, followed by the berserker I'd been speaking with earlier, and two shifters close in on Vuur.

"What are you?" Vuur steps toward us, eyes all Satan-lizard-like.

He leans in to run his nose up my collarbone to my ear. I can see his spine ripple in the mirror at his back.

Greta and the bouncer move swiftly, but Vuur's head rears back and he shoots a spray of fire straight up that ignites a suspended bulb encased in a cream colored, plastic hood. All of that melts and spits sparks from the remaining wire until it cauterizes itself and swings loose above us.

Vuur turns his lizard eyes on me. "Unless you want to be properly introduced to my other half, a very large, very impressive dragon, and witness the complete destruction of this establishment, I suggest we walk out of here peacefully and continue this discussion in the sewers."

I get up and head for the door, and the rest of the room takes a collective breath.

As we step out of Purgatory, a shadow darts by and disappears into darkness.

Chapter 11

Jane

THE UNDISTURBED MOVEMENT of sewage water passes by, and a soft scuffling of shoes echo from somewhere on the other side of the darkness. My eyes follow the sound, but I see no one.

"I've come to a conclusion," Vuur says. His eyes roam Jane's body.

My host is partially clad in street clothes from last night, the ones she'd worn when I doubled up on her in the hotel room: black leather skirt and boots, leather jacket gripped in one hand, and the other hand jerking toward Smith & Wesson. The skirt is too short, the boots have three inch heels and ride the back of Jane's knees. We're still wearing the camo shirt I bought, but it rests just under a black lace bra because she ripped the shirt in two after we arrived in the sewer, fifty yards from Purgatory. Then she tossed our new tennis shoes and jeans on a pile of trash behind the bar.

One side of Vuur's mouth rolls with disdain. "It seems from the information I have gleaned, and the upheaval at Purgatory two nights ago, I believe the subsequent death of the berserker, Vicen DeLego, was entirely inspired by the wendigo's need to protect you?"

I'm brazenly still under my host's skin. I quietly watch while he pauses, one hand cupping his elbow, the other rubbing his jaw with thick fingers, eyes searching Jane's. "And after listening to your account of the incident at the bar, I have ascertained a very personal connection between you and the wendigo half-breed."

My mind freezes as Vuur slides a hand from his chin and points an index finger at me. "So . . . much to my dismay, and sorely uncomfortable dilemma, I'm afraid you will be joining me in my search for the shifter. I believe using you as bait an excellent option. However, getting rid of you, should you prove unworthy, would not cause me a great loss of sleep."

We're standing under a storm drain fifty feet from the entrance of Purgatory. I'm leaning against a ladder that could lead me out of Down Under and into the human world. As Vuur talks, I hang Jane's leather jacket over one of the rungs on the ladder, and chew on the pros and cons of what might be a lucrative partnership. He can't kill me. He doesn't know that, but still, I don't want to lose Jane either. He can destroy her, and since this handsome, albeit majorly controlling dragon, squeezes all that is street out of Jane, this is a likely outcome.

Don't matter, my host whispers into my mind, He ain't givin' us a choice.

I look up at Vuur.

Well, crap. Vuur's stance clearly indicates he isn't looking for an answer. This just entices me to put him in his place, even if it means another trip to South Orange Blossom Trail to redouble up on Jane.

Jane is simmering to be let out.  The old adage: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, plays a mental mantra as she sings. And although I'm not particularly fond of paid assassins and I really don't want to go anywhere with him, even if he could help me find Gaire, a voice skewers and toasts the cockles of my vacant chest cavity and makes the call for me.

"She is not going anywhere with you, dragon."

I know the voice. It's my mother. Boy, I hate calling her my mother. But it's a title I've learned to accept. Only two more years; can't wait. The elders require twenty-one years of supervision—kind of a probationary stretch—and it's totally stupid. It's not like I'm some fairy hatchling or wolf cub. Doppelgangers are a demon conjuring mistake, and our image in size and shape is the same from birth to eternity . . . or until extinguished by our own kind.

No otherworld creature has yet to kill a single one of us, not even the demon that mistakenly created us, only our own kind. And the Mother title? Well, it's doubly stupid, since doppelgangers are neither male nor female. We are who we wear.

"Show yourself, and claim rights," Vuur says, "or your ashes will be floating alongside the sewage you are standing behind."

Vuur's posture is all testosterone induced ego and sublime horror. I want to laugh at the assassin. You don't get ashes from a cloud of smoke. I bet my mother is grinding her pointy little teeth.

"Unless you want me to show you what we are made of, I suggest you back away from my daughter."

Okay, so now she totally pisses me off. I have a demanding urge to put this to bed before Mother steps out of the shadows and shows her ugly self. I don't think the dragon has figured out my true identity, and I'd like to keep it that way.

"I assure you, no matter what you think you are—"

Vuur swallows the rest of his sentence when I tuck myself under his arm, circle my hand around his back, push a thumb through one of his belt loops, and lay my head against his shoulder.

I smile at the darkness I know is seasoned with Mother and cut Jane's brazen mouth loose on her. "Lady, what part of me no longer being a minor do you not understand? I'm going with him. You can't stop me. So slither back to whatever hole you slithered out of."

I feel Vuur's body tense. He stretches his head around and captures my eyes with his. "I must admit, your cantankerous side can be quite amusing. However, the next time I am engaging in battle, be it verbal or physical, I will expect you to know your place. When I need your assistance, I will ask for it. Until I do, do nothing. I do not condone insubordination. Do I make myself clear?"

"'Ey, you can condone out your ass, plead your case till your balls turn blue," Jane crudely slips deep into Brooklyn, which seems to come out every time she's challenged, or in this case stifled, "'cause I'm not buyin' it." She swings her right arm over her head with a fair share of attitude and a flash of C-cup, and flips back her blonde waves with the other. "I answer to no one 'cept Smith & Wesson. Youse guys wanna mix words with them, just ask. I'll do some intro—"

I give her a mental stab.

Back off a bit, Jane. My mother is not threatened easily, and the guy is an ego junky. You can get more by stroking it instead of stoking it.

Jane shoves back. I don't stroke nothin' I don't get paid for. Hell you say, 'stroke'; I wanna douse the blowhard with lighter fuel and pull out the Zippo. Get it? And your mom? Screw that, I haven't listened to no mother since I was ten.

I start to tell her we should always err on the side of cordiality when talking to Down Under creatures, but I'm rudely interrupted.

From the shadows, Mom says, "Well, isn't she someone else's nightmare? Do as you wish, dear. I can't stop you. Just remember . . . They can."

Her shadow moves. Barely discernible, it slithers toward the water running below us and disappears towards Purgatory. I immediately jump out of Vuur's reach.

"'Ey, dog, get one thing straight." Jane moves from the hood to the ghetto. "You may be as hot as two sewer rats gettin' it on in grandma's attic, but no one orders us to do nothin' we don't feel right doin', sugar. We be droppin' that shit like it's right outta the dog's ass." She juts out her hip, works a little wiggle, and says, "Snap," as she clicks her fingers and does a little head-roll thing. "Do I make myself clear?"

Vuur tilts his chin up, head cocked. "I'm not fond of that side of your temperament."

"Well, then don't drag it out, dog," Jane blurts.

As fast as lightening, the shifter wraps his hand around Jane's throat and slams us against the cement wall next to the ladder. Her head bounces off the cement as Vuur grabs the center of the camo shirt.

"I must ask you," Vuur says, popping our head against the wall again, "not to refer to me—" He repeats the action with a bit more force. "—as a dog. Otherwise you will force me to—" I try to comment, but Jane's voice only inaudibly squeaks as Vuur tightens his grip, flashes us lizard eyes, and then continues. "—show you exactly how hot that proverbial dog shit can be."

"That all you got?" Jane squawks.

Vuur squeezes harder, and then lets up.

Jane swallows hard, and takes a breath we kind of need.

"I'm sorry," I say hoarsely. "It seems the side of my personality that you are not fond of is quick to respond in the face of anger."

"Then I suggest you not anger me, and in turn, I shall try not to hurt you again." The dragon bows. "Lest there be nothing left to hurt if you continue."

"Okay, sugar, stop puffin' out like a blowfish, and I'll try not to stoke the flames," Jane says. "Unless it's a sizzle we can both enjoy."

I hope she doesn't get herself killed; I really like this human.

When Vuur backs up, runs fingers through his tousled hair, and makes angry animal noises from deep within his throat, I try out Jane's voice.

"'Ey, you got a car? We can hit Gaire's lair. I know where that is." I even work my hand with my hip.

Vuur says nothing until he pulls out two red wish tokens and bounces them in his hand. "Hopefully you have an address? Or are we planning on wading through the sewers?"

"204A West Burleigh Boulevard, in Tavares," I recite over Jane's snarl.

* * *

TWENTY SECONDS LATER, we reappear under a sewer grate behind a strip of buildings next to the Rise and Shine, Gaire's diner. More than a few minutes later, after having searched the perimeter . . . twice, we stand near the back door under the stairway that leads up to Gaire's apartment. Vuur pulls another long metal B&E tool, a mirror-like thingy, from a leather pouch and slides it along the door frame.

After having passively followed Vuur around for a good fifteen minutes, I can feel Jane's temper rising. She's finally had enough. She huffs a silent sigh and pushes me around the side of the building and up to a small, single framed window about shoulder height.

As her eyes search the area below and around the window, I cerebrally open a discussion.

You're not planning on breaking that window are you?

You wanna get in or what?

Still, what if there's an alarm? I mentally prod.

Jane spits a laugh. I seriously doubt it.

Before I can object further, Jane shocks me when she tugs her shirt off, wraps it around her fist, pops the window, brushes glass off the ledge, puts her shirt back on, and then climbs in.

My head is spinning while Jane guides us through a storage room, moves us into the diner's kitchen, and up to the door knob Vuur is jostling. We quietly and quickly turn the lock and yank the door open.

Vuur leers at us.

"Surely you did not break a window? Have you searched for an alarm system?" The dragon rushes by, seething at us over his shoulder while his eyes scan the walls. "This is exactly why I asked—politely, I might add—that you do not interfere, and only assist," he hisses. "Did you give thought to what we might tell the local authorities when they arrive?"

"'Eh, yeah, we used our brains. You? Not so much," Jane says. "Guy's a friggin', murderin', badass windy-go. Alarm? Cops? Ya think?" She grins at Vuur. "I assisted my ass off. You're inside the building, right?"

An hour later, while I'm going through mail, the dragon says, "I want to know what you are. I need to know. Tell me?"

I hold a letter I'd just opened over a stack of mail I'd gathered off the floor. "No, I don't think so." The stack of envelopes looks like several days' worth, probably still being pushed through the mail slot in the door on a daily basis. I move register receipts, sticky notes, and three magazines off to the side, set the envelope down, and lean both elbows on the counter.

Smiling up at the dragon, I say, "And I'd appreciate you not asking this question again."

"Why are you so difficult? I can force you, you know."

"Honey, I been forced since I turned double digits. Forced is my middle name, submissive I'm not." Although Jane's working it her way, I feel the need to add some finality beside her lack of fear. "Yeah, okay, so we both know, no matter what I told my mother, you forced us to be here. And we are. That's all you get for now. Deal with it." And when I pick up the envelope, it's as though Jane rips it open and digs in. I continue to respond to his threat my way, seasoning it with the education I've gleaned from Jane. "Thing is, you need me and you're gonna have to kill me to try to get me to give up everything, which will lead to nothing for you but a big surprise. It's clear I don't want a knock-down drag-out just yet, or I'd jump at it. That's what's making me so . . . obliging. You trust no one. I get it, don't give a shit. You want my help, back off."

Vuur stares at me through eyes filled with years of knowledge, then tries, "I simply thought it might be lucrative for both of us if we know the level of assistance we provide, and our individual motives."

"Yeah, and chickens have lips and bears don't shit in the woods," Jane says as we open the folded power bill we'd just removed from its Consumers Electric envelope.

"I do not see what your ludicrous answer has to do with my assumption."

"It means you're full of crap," I say, feeling Jane's pride swell. "You just want to know if I can kill you."

"Actually, I am warring with myself to throw caution to the wind and find out. If you do not give me a legitimate answer occasionally, I will be happy to entertain my inquisitive urges!" A puff of smoke wafts from Vuur's nostrils.

I feel Jane's face constrict in frustration; her eyes get smaller, and her mouth wrinkles her upper lip. Then she cocks her head and pops open her mouth, tongue-in-cheek before saying, "Why ya lookin' for Gaire?"

"To bring his head back to his father and claim my reward."

"Yeah, I got that. Her? Not so much," Jane says. "She wants him alive. She—"

"Your incessant need to speak in third person is driving me—"

"Hey, get off my shit and bring it back to where it is! Explain again, what part of this relationship is about her needs?" Jane uses her hands and face like humans use garlic and Italian seasoning.

Vuur's jaw tightens. "Fine, I will allow . . . Jane, to see the light of day! Which, may I say, is getting darker by the minute!"

I feel, up until now, Jane has done a really good job of skirting the main issue—the fact that I simply do not want to lose Jane until after I find Gaire—and then she lies and says, "Not a damn thing you can do gets us anything we want. But guess what? We get it. Got it? So, get your passive-aggressive fire-breathing dragon ass out of my face, or go right ahead and try to kill us."

Jane shakes her head at the dragon when he makes no aggressive moves. We both ignore the smoke wafting from his ears.

He stares at her, arms wrapped around his chest, hands held hostage by his armpits.

"Uh-huh, we didn't think so." I team up with Jane, and find some of her in my next sentence. "We done what you asked so far, and since we're the only ones that might could figure out where Gaire went, it's you that needs to jump on the Team Jane bus." Jane really takes over. "So, here's the way it's gonna work. Back the hell off! Give us breathin' room. Treat us like a partner. Then we look for Gaire, we find him, and that's when we see who gets to keep him." I meekly ask, "Does that work for you?"

Chapter 12

Gaire

I'M FIFTEEN HUNDRED miles north of Purgatory, driving around Michigan State campus and carrying a whole new identity. I purchased it from the aboveground operation ROAR, Rogues Operating Above the Radar. I'm six two, one-hundred-ninety-five pounds with shoulder-length sandy-blond hair, a tan face and nickel-grey eyes. Only three things circle my mind: securing a residence, poking around Michigan's Down Under to establish boundaries within this otherworld community, and finding CeCe—all three, without being recognized.

I spot a sign for the administration office, but have to park my rental car seven rows away in the crowded parking area across the street from the building.

The halls are busy with the bluster of college kids. Odors piqué my senses: Laundry detergent and the scent of just-bought clothes spar through the friction of movement and push need into frustration. Male and female pheromones seasoned with store bought perfumes, masculine sweat, and feminine musk, mingle and dance erotically. My mouth salivates for a taste of blood.

Students stir excitement into havoc with catch-up chatter and questions about classroom locations and curriculum. The scene drums up dark memories of my long forgotten youth, and they move me more than the scents that overwhelm.

I finally elbow my way into the registration office. The hall noise winks out as quickly as the office door closes behind me, replaced by smells and sounds of a functioning workplace. Phones chime, keyboards click, and the pages of old books and fresh milled paper fuse with scents of cleaning fluids. Human imprints waft from the walls around me.

Staff chatter with students vying for immediate attention, and endless movement in a room that is too warm further threaten the beast in me. I feel the wendigo attempt to surface, take a deep breath, and pull the animal deep inside me. If I give in to my hunger, the room will reek of blood, death, and destruction in a matter of minutes. And when I finish in here, I would not be able to contain my desire for more blood; the need to be shrouded in death would spread into the halls and upon those walking there.

As I move toward a stout woman who has a head covered with riotous yellow hair, I catch her attention and she stares at me through muddy brown eyes, forces a smile, but continues a conversation on the cell phone pushed against her ear.

I tune out all other noise and listen to the woman's voice as my eyes wander the two-tone gray walls.

"I left the envelope with the check on the table in the hall—just like I said I would—not my fault you left without it. Summer's over, buddy. I got work to do, too. You want it, go home and get it. I'm not bringing it to you." She pauses.

In a statement painted on the wall behind the counter, two words catch my attention and pulse red on the gray wall: Spartans Will.

I will myself to stay calm.

"Uh-huh, you too. See you at dinner." The lady with yellow curls thumbs the cell off and stuffs it into a pocket on her airy rayon trousers. "Can I help you?"

"I certainly hope so, Ms. Moe Holt," I say, reading her name tag.

Moe gives me a weary smile.

"I'm here for my sister, CeCe. She forgot her driver's license when she came in to pick up her schedule Friday. It's supposed to be here in the office."

"Not that I know of, but if it's here, there'll be a note on her registration information," Ms. Holt says, fingers poised on a computer keyboard. "Full name?"

"CeCe, that's spelled C E C E. The Cs are caps. Last name Graham, like the cracker."

Moe's fingers move effortlessly over the keys, pause, click, pause. Then she looks up at me. "That was capitol C, E, capitol C, E, and G R A H A M, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say.

She gives me a quick smile at the respectful tag I use to address her, and then back to business. "You wouldn't happen to have her social security number, would you?"

I shake my head and hope she doesn't ask for a birthday. I would hate to show just how unrespectful a wendigo can be. I can feel the curvature of my spine shifting.

"Address?"

That I had, thanks to my sleuthing. "8060 Joy Haven Road in Leesburg, Florida."

More clicking, another frown. Both hands relax on the keyboard. "Sweetie, your sister is not registered at Michigan State. I even tried nixing the second capital C, and then tossing in two Es. You sure it wasn't U of M in Ann Arbor? Hope you didn't come too far. Maybe you should call your parents before you drive the sixty-five plus miles to Ann Arbor."

Well, that went well. At least I know CeCe is not here. "Can you call the University of Michigan's registration office?"

She returns my audacity with amused impatience. "Honey, its eight forty-five on the first day of the fall semester. I can't even take a bathroom break right now, never mind call U of M for you."

I want to remind her she took a personal call less than five minutes ago and angrily educate her in the art of multitasking. Instead, I drum up a little brotherly frustration—face contorted in embarrassed anger—and I say, "I'm gonna kill the idiot."

I hope I'm not prophesizing.

Moe shakes out a laugh, turns on her Birkenstocks, and says, "If it was me, I'd tell her to pick up her driver's license herself."

No shit, I think, if only she really was my sister.

I'm grateful the woman didn't kick me out the door. With all the security nowadays I was lucky to get the information I did. I scoot into the hall and pull out my cell phone. I'm off to U of M, but not without a call to Mrs. Graham.

Jane

We've found nothing at the diner above Gaire's apartment to give us a clue as to where he had disappeared. Vuur sits in one of Gaire's blood-red chairs at the dining room table adjacent to a clinical pristine kitchen, and interrogates me about my relationship with the wendigo. How can I tell Vuur that Gaire is my first chance at something really special?

A real relationship, because I know Gaire's a wendigo, a savage murderer with a lust for blood. How easy would it be for him to hook up in our world where he's hunted, or the world he hides in where he knows sex would end in the death of every human he tries to be with? His chances are about as easy as mine. Who's going to hook up with the real me—a mass of smoky soot—Down Under? And in the human world every host I wear would have to be replaced in a matter of weeks—heck, days? How do I explain that?

While the dragon shifter stares at me, my eyes run the apartment's wide open space and stop on the bedroom. The red comforter is strewn haphazardly on the bed atop the wrought iron platform, just the way we'd left it. I cringe at the reminder of my first sexual encounter with Gaire.

I love the t-shaped living area; everything is black with red accoutrements. I feel like I'm in a cave spattered with blood. My body trembles delightfully.

Vuur becomes impatient. "So, several days ago, you walked into the diner below and merely put on an apron and began to assist the beast with his breakfast crowd?"

"Yeah," I answer, feeling Jane's sarcastic side.

"And he simply let you?"

"You had to be there."

"Well, I was not. So kindly answer the question," Vuur says.

"He was as enthralled with me as I with him," I say, and sound myself. "Gaire is definitely eye candy," I add and think of how much that sounds like CeCe. "I think he liked what he saw, too. The customers were angry because his waitress didn't show. I started dishing out food orders, and he waited until the place cleared and he'd locked the doors to question me more effectively, instead of so, um . . . playfully."

"I have no desire to hear about your carnal intermezzo. What effective questions did he ask?" Vuur's nostrils flare and tiny tendrils of smoke waft to the ceiling. "And be precise with your answers."

My eyes move to the rumpled, red quilt on the bed. Too bad the dragon is an idiot. The "carnal intermezzo" would be a better line of interrogation, but screw him.

Time to stop playing around, anyway. Jane's about to turn this into a really close call again.

"He wanted to know what I was. I told him I was of age for consensual sex, and hinted that our time together was going to be cut short."

"Again, be specific." The pupils of the dragon's eyes spark with excitement. "How did you make him understand the time between you was short?"

"There you go, acting all boss of us again," Jane pops, and I quickly say, "I flat told him I had to go back to school shortly, instead of telling him I'd be shedding my host."

Vuur stiffens in his chair. "Shedding? Like a ghost, angel, demon, fae, or a doppelganger?"

Crap. While I take a second to come up with a witty remark, Jane seizes the opportunity.

"'Ey, scumbag, ova 'ere. Read my lips. What part of 'I'm not discussin' that' do you not understand? Because I can get right in your friggin' face and make it real clear if you don't give the fuck up on that shit."

The dragon doesn't even blink an acknowledgment. He relaxes and smiles. "Did you mention the university your . . . host would be attending?"

I suppose it's safer for him to not recognize that I have shortened his list of possibilities, or if he suspects doppelganger, that he can't fire up his anger and put my lights out, since I'm naturally a somewhat formless dark cloud of mottled smoke and gray shadow, anyway.

Man, I don't want to give up Jane just yet, and no matter the creature, he can definitely put Jane's lights out. There is no way I want him to know that bothers me. And killing Jane wouldn't be smart on his part, since, like him, I can't play in the human world during the day without a human disguise. Still...

I err on the side of caution. "I told him Michigan State."

"And is that the college your host is actually attending? Or was it a fabrication? Did you destroy her during your sloughing off stage?"

"Sloughing? I don't know what you're talking about," I lie. "I dumped her after Gaire and I . . .  CeCe Graham is alive and well and on campus somewhere right now. I don't know where. I do know she planned on attending college in Michigan—didn't ask which one."

"Well, shall we try Michigan State? Or a more immediate resolution would be to contact her family."

Damn it, he just wouldn't give up.

"I could call her parents, drop by, but after the intervention, assumed possession, discussions of exorcism, and then the quick recovery, they were led to believe it was drugs. They may not be as liberal with information leading to their daughter's whereabouts from a street walker on the arm of a guy that looks and dresses like her business manager." Chew on that, dragon breath. I'd snarked him and fed him a few other Down Under possibilities for my true nature. Demons to angels and a shitload in between; the possibilities are endless.

"I see. Well, while demon possession would seem inappropriate for what you are wearing, I could see the attraction. She certainly is worth a demon's evil endeavors in other ways, now isn't she?" Vuur chuckles and rolls his eyes in mock camaraderie.

Demons usually possess the pure, the religious. He's putting down my attempts to hide my identity, and I choose to ignore his smartass attitude. Jane does not.

"Admit it, you're attracted to me—evil incarnate—and, oh, how you'd love to get all down and dirty with me, huh? Well, bring it on, big guy. Let's get the sexual tension out of the way," she says. "It's twenty for a—"

"Although I'm getting used to your Jeckle and Hyde, yin-yang battle from within, it repels and annoys me." Vuur takes a moment to emit large furry animal warning noises. "I suggest you reign in your bawdy side. If you can't keep her at bay, I'd be happy to assist."

"'Ey, hothead, I'm right 'ere. Talk to me, not at me." Jane thumbs the soft valley between our breasts. "You can assist, alright. Shut your trap and start actin' like a nice guy instead of a hubris prick. That's how you can assist."

"My dear," Vuur says, "while you definitely made a debauchery of the English language with that eye-watering attempt at ridicule, I certainly must commend you on the usage of the word hubris."

"I didn't debitch nothin'!"

"Exactly. And this, young lady, was, and will be, my only attempt at 'actin' like a nice guy'."

"Alright, that is enough," I say. "How about we both give up our debauched attempts at foreplay—metaphorically—" I smile at his steaming nose holes. "—and try real hard to stay on point. How about we work on a game plan?"

"Fine," the dragon says. "Will you be calling your last victim's family, or will I?"

"All the faith I had had, had had nothin' to do with you doin' shit for us," Jane mumbled.

"Although your rapid-fire usage of the word had is quite impressive," Vuur tells Jane, "the remainder of that sentence hurt my head. Not to worry; I am quite sure no one else in this seedy establishment can see the humor within your misdirected epiphany."

"Jeeze! Speak freakin' English, will ya?" Jane says on our way out of the diner, thumbs punching numbers into a cellphone. "But shut up right now. I'm makin' the call."

Chapter 13

Jane

"IT’S ONLY THE first week in September and it's fifty-seven degrees!" I say, hands wrapped around my arms as I bounce beside Vuur's Jeep Wrangler in my Florida weather garb. "How do these people live here when it drops below fifty?"

The wind blows my hair back, and my reflection in in the jeep's side-mirror has cherry red cheeks.

CeCe's mother had been compliant when I told her I'd been a roommate the previous year and wanted to hook up again this year. I didn't even have to mention the college; she didn't give me a chance. She told me she'd already secured a room for her daughter. With an acid-laced voice, CeCe's mother then added her daughter had found another location, a rental a mile from Ferris State campus, but she didn't have an address.

It had been twenty-six hours since we'd arrived, and we'd seen neither her nor Gaire. CeCe was not staying on campus in the dorm, and she wasn't at the address her mother had given us. Twelve guys were, though, and not one knew my former host.

"In my country, the climate can be very brutal," Vuur says. "I remember a winter back in fourteen—"

"Who gives a shit! My tits are freezin' off my chest!" Jane blurts. "Let's find this bitch and get the hell out of here."

It was a lot easier to control CeCe. This blonde haired, blue eyed beauty is aggressive, antagonistic, and absolutely addictive.

"Surely you did not have a lucrative business with a mouth like that?" Vuur says under glaring eyes.

"The men I deal with appreciate a mouth like mine," Jane says, with a wicked smile and our hands stuffed in the back pockets of our jeans.

"Yes, well, with men of that caliber," Vuur counters, "I'm quite sure it was not what came out of your mouth that they appreciated."

"Will a bullet through your smartass heart shut that F'n mouth of yours?" Jane wants to know.

I love her lewd and assertive personality, and find myself soaking it up. Without a host, I tend to be on the timid side. That has gotten me nowhere. I haven't tried to argue with Mother without a host in years. Maybe after Jane, I will finally be able to stand up for myself and win my independence.

"Do you see this CeCe human anywhere?" the dragon shifter asks with obvious diversion. "I have seen no one who even remotely resembles Rogaire. Have you?"

"When did you meet Gaire?" I ask, and feel the heat of Jane's anger run up my chest and into my scalp. I can also feel Smith & Wesson between our lower back and the waistband on our jeans.

"I haven't met him. Not personally. His father, with the help of a vampire at Purgatory, implanted several images in my mind of human forms Rogaire was said to have purchased through an aboveground organization, ROAR."

"Yeah, right. Roar? You pullin' my leg or somethin'?" Jane says. "And what's with this Rogaire shit? It's Gaire."

"Which one of your queries should I address first?" Vuur asks, eyes locked on Jane's.

I wiggle in and say, "And Down Under allows an organization like that to operate above ground? It's hard to believe they're getting away with it."

"For years," Vuur says through a scowl. "The ticket is high for any information leading to the breakdown of this operation. They are transient, cautious, evasive, and hard to infiltrate. I know, because I have tried, unsuccessfully, several times."

As the dragon spoke, I'd scanned the walkways and parking lot outside of a coffee shop located center campus. Students hustle in and out, sweaters and light jackets fluttering in the crisp fall breeze. A sign hanging on a pole by the curb clacks angrily at a gust of wind. I'm freezing.

Jane notices the man before I do, and gasps, alerting Vuur.

"What? Do you see one of them?"

I feel Jane's skin quiver.

"No," I say, eyes on the tall man in a dark suit sauntering up to a black sedan parked in the first row of vehicles, across from the coffee shop entrance. We stand two rows back, where the jeep is parked.

When he turns into the sun, and I can see his face clearly, I realize he's the serial murderer from the Ambassador hotel, in Orlando. The man we know as Dick.

Dick's hair is trimmed neatly and parted to the side. The wind lifts a small section and tosses it onto his forehead. He palms it back as he stands near the car and watches the doors on the coffee shop.

A dark-haired girl dressed in a pink and gray running suit steps through the door. Her hair is in a ponytail, arms loaded with books, and she's talking over her shoulder as a short blonde girl follows her out. It's CeCe.

Leaning against the sedan, the man in the dark suit pulls a cell phone from his jacket and clicks off pictures or video. The girls walk away from the building and down several steps.

"That's CeCe," I whisper to Vuur as the girls hurry toward the sidewalk on the other side of the road in front of the parking lot. "She's the one in the gray sweats."

There is a flirty burble of laughter in CeCe's words as they take a left down the sidewalk toward another building. When their backs face us, Dick stuffs the cell back into his pocket. His randy smile follows the girls' movement for a moment, and then gold cufflinks toss a ray of sunlight off the side of the black sedan as the man in the dark suit, Jane and I know as Dick, reaches for the door handle.

Gaire

* * *

I WALK OUT of Starbucks and down the stairs in time to see CeCe and her friend round the corner of the building, and quicken my step to a jog. I need to get her alone to be sure, but this girl doesn't smell the same as the CeCe I thought I tore apart in the apartment above my diner. She smells human—one-hundred percent human.

It had taken me a little over an hour to get ahold of her parents from the parking lot at Michigan State yesterday and then get to Ferris State University via one of my local travel tokens—another seven hours to find her in this small college town. Well, I didn't find her. I ran into her at a store near the university. When I walked toward the registers, there she was trying to find the one with the shortest line.

She checked out, and then I followed her from the parking lot to a small two-story off campus a couple of blocks from the university. Unfortunately, seven other girls live with her. Time alone with CeCe would be a chance encounter there.

Tired from being on her tail for almost forty-eight hours, I need a few hours of sleep. I'd passed a Motel 8 on Perry Street, tucked between and behind an AutoZone and Bob Evans restaurant. It should work perfectly to keep me under the radar, yet close enough to walk to the university.

If I don't get some answers from CeCe by tonight about what the hell happened above the diner, and who she really is, I'll have to hit the sewers some time before morning and check out the otherworld situation in town. Down Under creatures can smell each other. It won't take long for them to know I'm here even if they're unable to discern what I am. In Florida, wendigo is the last thing they would think, but up here, especially with winter coming on fast, it's a possibility. Daddy's ticket on me would be well advertised.

Jane

I feel Gaire right down to my toes before I see him. Vuur is still watching the girls as they turn the corner of the building and run across a thin strip of pavement meant for bicycles. My eyes are more focused on the six feet and hundred-and-ninety pounds of head turning yumminess as he walks out of the coffee shop and jogs down to the sidewalk in time to watch CeCe corner the building.

Gaire's wearing a different body. He has shoulder-length blond hair and a Florida tan. I can see his eyes—gray rimmed in black—as he cuts across toward the parking lot and down a sidewalk on this side of the road across from the coffee shop. His smile is melt-in-your-mouth sweetness, but what makes Jane's heart beat wildly in my chest is a gust of wind carrying his scent: fear-stoked danger, musky copper, and dark damp woods. I know in an instant it is Gaire. I also know that although the wind is at his back, it won't be long before he picks up my scent, too. Without an explanation, I jump in Vuur's jeep, shut the door, and sit hands in lap, staring at the dragon.

"Would you care to explain your eagerness to leave?" Vuur asks as he slides into the driver's seat.

"Aren't we going to follow them?" Looking in the direction the girls went, I'm watching as the black sedan passes Gaire and two buildings, and then drives out onto a city street beside the Ferris campus; I wonder if it's the street CeCe lives on. And I wonder what in the hell Jane's john, Dick—the murdering-bastard I let live when I doubled up on Jane—is doing all the way up here in Big Rapids, Michigan, fifteen hundred miles from the Ambassador hotel in Orlando.

Chapter 14

Jane

"WILL YOUSE TWO just let me outta this damn car?" Jane says.

My eyes are locked on the entrance of the last building CeCe entered, but my mind is wandering.

Jane's trick from Florida is in Michigan. Why?

Dick was definitely at the college taking pictures of CeCe and the dark haired girl.

But why? Maybe he knows the girl with CeCe. Damn, that would be a bigtime coincidence.

There is no other explanation, because stalking my last host is a totally unacceptable one. Better to think CeCe's friend lives in Orlando, and that's where she got Dick's attention. But still . . . why follow a possible victim all the way up here?

Because I'm here...

"...is purely bait. We are simply here to observe and follow the girl," Vuur is saying, "with a hope the wendigo will show."

As I roll the word bait over in my mind, Jane carries on our half of the conversation.

"Two freakin' hours? I say we reel in the damn hook and make sure it's still baited," she whines. "Jesus H, I coulda—"

"Completely destroyed the mission had I allowed you to follow them into that building," The dragon tells Jane.

I feel like a third party, having missed part of their conversation, my eyes still locked on the doors of the building across from us.

"I gotta take a piss," Jane blurts, hand reaching over the center console where a childproof lock-switch is located in the middle of the dashboard.

I barely notice Vuur grab Jane's hand.

"Well, it's about time," I say and point to our girl bouncing through the door with a thick guy, with short hair, tight jeans, and tighter tee. The guy is smiling down at her like she's a set of posts at the end of a football field waiting for him to kick the winning field goal.

"Finally, youse guys, I thought she'd died and gone to Hell," Jane says, eyes locked on CeCe walking down the sidewalk away from the building. "Anybody else notice how skinny she is? Flat chested too. Hey, is she leaving campus?" She looks at Vuur. "Crank this baby up."

"I was under the impression you have to urinate." Vuur says with an unnecessary grin.

"Suddenly pissing don't feel that important," Jane says. "So turn the key, back'er up, and let's move it, Warden."

"Your absence of patience borders on barely tolerable," Vuur says, watching CeCe cross the road to the parking lot as he turns the key in the ignition. "It is not especially endearing."

As CeCe climbs into a yellow Volkswagen beetle, Vuur puts the Jeep in reverse.

"Yeah, how 'bout I find some patience when you unclench your ass and grow a pair."

There's a snappy richness in Jane's voice and a hefty portion of colorful personality in her exaggerated hand gestures and facial expressions. I concentrate on memorizing them.

Vuur eases out of the parking space and inches toward a yellow Volkswagen.

"You used the word ass inaccurately during your tirade in an ignoble attempt to debase me. It was not effective."

The dragon effortlessly guides the jeep over a small speed-bump and bounces out onto South Michigan, the street directly across from the Ferris campus.

"Son-of-a-bitch, ya wanna put somebody down ya should at least talk English so's they get it, ya know?"

"Only if one's sole purpose is not to amuse one's self," Vuur says, following the yellow VW down the same street Dick had taken earlier today.

"Yeah, I get it. Bet it's like jacking' off. Ain't as rewarding' is it, sweetheart?"

"You are the most wretched—"

"Stop the car!" I shout.

"I don't think that's—" the dragon tries.

"Now!" I grab the dash with both hands.

Vuur jams the brakes, swerves to the curb, throws the jeep in park, and glares at me.

"That car, the black one parked down there—" I point at the sedan a block-and-a-half away. "—was in the parking lot at Ferris in front of the coffee shop this morning and the guy driving it is following CeCe . . . or the girl that was with her."

Although gobsmacked, I'm totally positive Dick's about to make some sort of a move right now. A brief wish passes that the other girl is already home—that Dick has followed her, not CeCe.

"And you know this how?" Vuur asks with a good share of sarcasm.

As I watch CeCe's yellow Volkswagen pull into a driveway on the opposite side of the street a few houses past the sedan, I take a deep breath and check my next words.

"Because the guy inside, the one wearing the black suite . . . he tried to kill Jane in an Orlando Motel room before we met you," I say through an inappropriate smile on my lips. I've managed not to lie or give away my identity, but Jane's skin feels like a cold blanket as I finish with, "That, and he took a picture of the girls as they came out of the coffee shop."

"And you've waited until this moment to enlighten me?"

"I wasn't one-hundred percent sure until now," I tell him, and before Vuur can comment, Jane pulls the Smith & Wesson out of her hip-boot and points it at the dragon. "You wanna take one for the team?" She waves the gun at the sedan. "Or should I shoot in that direction?"

Vuur starts to speak, but the driver's side of the black car opens and the only thing that moves is Jane's arm as she lowers the 9mm to our lap.

The guy in the suit steps out, studies the quiet street—we duck as his gaze rolls over the jeep—and then we watch him cross to the other side. On the sidewalk, he moves at a nonchalant pace up South Michigan toward the driveway CeCe had pulled into.

Vuur turns the key and coaxes the jeep to life. We coast down the street, right past Dick, and past the white house trimmed in purple. The yellow VW is parked in an otherwise vacant driveway.

"What the fuck?" Jane blurts and turns around in the passenger seat, neck craning to see her attacker. "You freakin' drove right by!"

I'm very pleased the windows are up and the heater is humming.

"I am a paid assassin, a rogue hunter, the man hired to capture his mark, remember? And I am very good at what I do," the dragon says, stoic, eyes jumping from side mirror to rearview mirror, and probably taking in the whole street, slime ball man included, as the jeep coasts up to a stop sign by a two story red brick building with a library sign out front. "Now, I suggest you sit quietly and let me do my job." Vuur's voice is deep, threatening, and confidant. "I will not tolerate otherworld creatures popping from storm drains should your . . . charming side go on a rant. Do I need to cuff you to the steering wheel, or have I made myself clear?"

"Clear as plastic wrap over moldy leftovers." Jane slowly holsters the weapon inside her left boot right next to our calf.

"Splendid," Vuur drawls, as the jeep hesitates at the stop sign.

He slowly turns on his left signal while we all covertly watch Dick check his surroundings again and then dart along the driveway on the other side of a neighbor's dense hedge.

Vuur makes a right around the next corner of the block at five miles-per-hour over the speed limit, and mid-block, comes to a neck-jerking stop one street over, parallel to the white and purple house.

This neighborhood is one we've scouted to no avail since we've been here, but we did learn it is relatively quiet during day, because most of the housing are rentals to accommodate students at Ferris. The streets were packed with parked cars in the evening. Light peeked around makeshift curtains hung in windows; some bore school colors, others, sorority symbols. But I remember the purple house, because a small window on one side has a Hello Kitty curtain.

Although the homes are outwardly well kept and newly painted, with groomed yards, I imagine by the end of the year they will be well worn.

My thoughts go back to the guy in the dark suit driving the black car, Dick, and the fact that he'd probably done the same sleuthing, and I wonder why we hadn't run into him sooner.

Vuur leaps from the car and pulls open the hatchback.

As he rifles through something, he says, "You will stay in the jeep until I return." There is a pop—metal against metal—and I realize he's loading a weapon as he continues. "I do not need to tell you my intentions, but I will appease you by saying I plan to observe the situation from that massive tree behind the house over there. Should I feel our intruder is a threat to . . . the bait, I will intercede. If you move from this location, I will consider you an intrusion and treat you accordingly."

I turn in the direction of the massive oak tree he'd pointed to. From a block over, I can still see it high above the houses.

Vuur closes the back of the Jeep and comes around to the passenger side. He opens the door and hands me what looks like an old fashioned walkie-talkie.

"I will turn mine on if you promise not speak at me through that one. Click the black button on the side should you need to alert me." His eyes narrow. "You may only alert me for two reasons: If another human is passing, click twice. If the wendigo shows up, click three times. Do you both understand?"

I nod, and Jane is uncharacteristically quiet.

"I will not tolerate insubordination. This is not a game."

After pulling a zip-up navy-blue hoodie over his shirt, he pats something in the back of his jeans and something in the side front pocket, slams my door, and jogs toward the yard of a house adjacent to the street Dick was on.

I take a deep breath and can feel Jane's fear-driven frustration, coupled with a controlling desire to follow. I know this will be my strongest attempt to suppress the emotions of the woman I wear, yet I find myself siding with her instead. I slide over the console and into the driver's seat, crank the engine, and complete the circle of the block that Vuur did not finish.

Parking the car several houses down from where CeCe is boarding, we watch in anxious silence.

Five long minutes later, while I'm barely able to contain myself or my host, a figure rounds the end of CeCe's block and walks toward us. We watch him and suck up another two minutes of anxiety-laden frustration before a tingle of fear wiggles up my spine. I realize it's Gaire. He's dressed in the same clothes he'd walked out of the coffee shop wearing earlier today. As he gets closer, I can see the determined set of his jaw, the tension in his eyes, and the gait of his step accelerates as he nears the white house with purple trim. Taking in short fast breaths, I grip the steering wheel with one hand and the door handle with the other. When he reaches the stairs on the front porch, I'm frozen with thoughts of Vuur lying in wait, CeCe's life in danger, and Gaire so totally unaware of what I am and what my previous relationship with CeCe is about to do to him.

Chapter 15

Gaire

AS I TAKE the front porch steps two at a time, I tell myself to be cool. This is perfect timing. It's late midday, and there's probably no one around.

While the neighborhood naps, I hear a crow bar and, as if in shameful apology, a mourning dove coos. The smell of crisp air carries fall on its back, and makes me take a deep breath.

There's a big, obnoxious knocker in the center of the door. Before I close my fingers around the brass bulldog's grinning face, I notice someone has painted its lolling tongue fingernail-polish pink, and its bulging eyes baby-blue, and topped them with black arched eyebrows.

Grinning, I palm the snout and lift the knocker. A girly scream right out of a class B horror flick comes from inside the house. I shoulder the door and burst into what looks like the common-room—small-screen television balanced on a prefab, generic-colored wood-grain table, three recliners and a lumpy couch of assorted color and pattern. The crisp air outside is quickly swamped by the aroma of last night's pizza, the box is open and empty on the floor, and a plethora of girly smells: perfumes, powders, deodorants, shampoos, body lotions, and the acrid smell of nail polish remover. I take all this in with my first breath.

A threadbare rug covers the middle of a worn pine floor. CeCe is flat on her back, arms flailing, feet desperately sliding on the oak at the edge of the carpet in an attempt to gain purchase. A strong hand is wrapped around her throat, and the dark-haired man dressed in a black suit looming over is trying to stuff CeCe's mouth with what looks like her own tee shirt. Her screams are muffled. Her frantic eyes search the room and lock on mine, as the man unbuckles his belt, hips grinding between CeCe's thighs. I'm on him before he can react to my interruption.

In my peripheral vision, another man in a navy-blue hoodie and jeans is midair. He lands on my back. As the three of us scramble on the floor, CeCe wiggles out from under—her eyes do not register the familiarity mine probably do. Grabbing discarded shorts, she bolts through a small dining room, knocking over a plastic lawn chair on her way into a kitchen.

I try to buck the guy on my back off. He pushes a Rondel dagger through my right hand and effectively nails me to the wood floor. I immediately know he's an assassin paid by my family, but not because the weapon dates him; he smells Down Under.

To pull the dagger from my hand, I have to let go of the guy in the dark suit that was raping CeCe. My free hand is still squeezing his throat. I foolishly give in to my rage and tighten my grip and, in doing so, give the assassin a heartbeat to put a pistol to my temple.

Before I can calculate my next move, the assassin grunts, expels air from his lungs, and is torn from my back. The gun skids across the wood floor in one direction, and the assassin is skidding in the opposite direction with a sexy blonde chick attached to his back. Long red fingernails dig into his eyes, and a line of trashy dispute rolls off her red lips. She's wearing thigh-high boots and they tighten around his midsection. He effortlessly drags the woman off and tosses her across the room, using strength only an otherworld creature would possess. She bounces off the wall behind the couch and, spewing blaspheme, falls onto a makeshift coffee table behind my head, wood chips flying in all directions.

He scrambles for the gun. The busty chick rolls off the table, lands on both feet, and glares at the guy under me for a heartbeat. She yanks the knife pinning me to the floor out of my hand and drops it by my knee. Her eyes scanning the room, the woman leaps over the assassin, kicks the gun farther away, and heads out of the room in the same direction CeCe left.

I'm breathless. The whole thing took seconds. As I watch the wound in my hand begin to close and listen to the assassin growl obscenities, I have about two seconds to wish for another chance encounter with the woman who just put me back into the game. Then I smell him, the human under me, urine darkening his pants, and the sweat of fear coating his body. I let go of his throat. His body stiffens. My eyes are still on the guy slithering closer to the weapon the blonde chick had kicked away.

Scales are forming on the assassin's cheeks, and the skin on his hands rolls over cracking and relocating bones underneath—a shifter. He sees me changing too.

He's a dragon; a forked tongue escapes with a hiss. Calm rolls over me as I completely give in to the wendigo trying to emerge.

We face off. Pain registers in his eyes. Bones distort skin, groans ride pheromones, and everything seasons the air with the upcoming battle. The man that was attempting to rape CeCe is all eyes as he scrambles across the room and through the broken front door.

Feeling the emerged wendigo's rage fill my body, I strut on two hind legs, angel hair billowing behind like white fire. My skeletal body is all bone and muscle. Long sharp claws project from my hands and feet.

I catch my reflection on the shadowed glass of a framed picture: a wolf-like face and protruding jaw. My eyes look manic. My teeth don't quite fit into my mouth and drip the musky smelling saliva that slowly and painfully renders my victim a slow death—it burns small holes on the wood flooring around my feet. I'm eager for blood as I slowly turn and head for the shifter still roiling on the floor with the change.

He grabs the pistol, blows smoke from his nostrils, and gets off a round that misses its mark by less than an inch. I howl as the bullet soars through my chest, past my heart, and rips an exit on the back of my shoulder, skin spraying blood. The heady scent coats my nostrils.

Panting the pain away, I spring through the air and latch onto the partially formed dragon. I know the hole in my shoulder has already begun to heal. Bones burst through the assassin's hand, transforming it into a dragon paw. The rest of his body balloons outward, and black scales the size of a human hand begin to form. Red eyes grow in widening sockets, and an elongated maw sprouts teeth as long as my arm. I sink my teeth deeper, mouth salivating the poisonous juices that should make the seconds it takes to kill him seem like a lifetime for both of us, as he shakes me like a small house pet hanging from his neck.

Jane

I break from the back door, hating to leave Gaire in the house with Vuur, and hoping his wendigo nature is a good match for the dragon.

I run past the yellow VW, hurdle a hedge, and hammer the grass as I gain on CeCe.

"'Ey! Stupid! Wait!" Jane shouts, buzzing on adrenalin and totally in her element. "I'm tryin' to save your skinny little ass! Will ya slow down before ya give me a damn heart attack?"

Yeah, right, she just fought like a cornered feline with a damned assassin, and managed to escape before he hurled a fireball at us.

CeCe is halfway through the backyard two homes down from the white house with purple trim. She acknowledges me briefly, before her eyes glance down at the bright pink bra on her otherwise bare chest. She slowly takes in the rest of her clothes: a pair of jeans and rainbow colored Sketchers.

I carefully approach.

CeCe stares right through me, as she mumbles, "He tried to . . . he took off my..." She wails an emotional sob and knuckles tear-drowned snot off her upper lip. "He choked me with my own shirt." Rubbing her hands vigorously on her jeans, she says, "Then all these guys showed up. One jumped on the man's back and one broke my door in . . . and . . . and..." CeCe sinks to the ground in tears and wraps her hands around her knees. "And I ran away."

"All right," Jane says, arms swinging in an arch. "I get it. You're freaked. Now can you put that shit behind you for a few seconds? I'm tryin' ta orchestrate a damn rescue here!"

I close the remainder of the distance.

Dappled sprinkles of light fall on us through a huge black walnut tree as the wind dances with its branches. I reach out to help CeCe up. The girl curls into a fetal position and covers her head.

"C'mon, kid. The guy tried to attack me, too. Not like he killed either of us," Jane says, and a rush of fear pumps adrenalin through our body. "Shake it off chickie, and let's get the hell outta here before the bastard finds us."

As Jane's arm circles CeCe's waist and we move toward Vuur's jeep, pounding feet rush toward us. I'm thinking Gaire as I turn. But the momentary thrill of excitement that runs Jane's spine goes cold. Dick is running toward us, a knife clutched in his hand.

"You won't get away from me this time!" Dick screams as he approaches the hedge between us and leaps. "You got too close, too personal." Midair, a savage grin on his face, he shouts, "I was always going to kill you!"

Jane drops, tucks, rolls, and pulls the 9mm out like she does this at least once a day. Shoulder to the grass, arms outstretched, she aims and fires before Dick lands on both feet, a red spot spreading across his chest.

I'm staring in awe as Dick's knees buckle. He flips the knife so the blade rests in his fingertips, and with a flick of his wrist, the knife is headed our way before his shoulder hits the ground and his hip bounces on the grass.

The weight of cold metal is heavy in Jane's hand as we both watch Dick's knife head for Jane's chest.

Gaire yells, "No!" as the knife slides effortlessly through Jane's ribcage.

"I'll be back for you," Dick says through a bloody smile.

As the body Dick's wearing crumbles and flakes around a cloud of pitch smoke, and carbon-copy Jane begins to slough off me in sparkly colored sprinkles, Dick and I both register who we are, what we mean to each other—brethren—we are both doppelgangers. My mind goes back to the hotel in Orlando. I had snagged his host, yet had no clue the doppelganger was part of the killer. I felt something dark, horrid, but chalked it up to the man's psychopathic nature.

Flames flicker and push wafting smoke our way from the white house with purple trim. I wonder if the dragon is trapped inside.

Dick's red eyes and garish smile are not the last things I see through my host's eyes. With an echo of laughter, the other doppelganger's smoky image turns to ash, and rides a gust of wind through me and up into colorful branches hanging over us, laden with maple leaves.

Gaire

* * *

CECE IS WEEPING ten feet from me—merely human—the shell of a creature I can't live without.

I'm still panting after I watch a Smith & Wesson float onto the ground below a cloud of smoke forming where a woman who saved my life once lay. The blade of a knife, not a drop of blood on it, catches intense light as a sun of gold, pink, and magenta dips on the horizon behind the roof of the house we are gathered in front of.

My eyes find another puff of smoke. I watch it flake to ashes, before I turn back to where CeCe cowers.

The remaining doppelganger locks eyes with me and I know; I know this is the creature that wore CeCe, wore the busty chick that came to find me, and I know . . .  that I love her.

The doppelganger is sooty, with pulsing red eyes and a mouth straight out of a nightmare. It slowly floats backward off the grass and onto a cement driveway still warming in the early evening sunlight. And as I watch the creature turn to dust, like the other did, and as it floats to the cement in a pile of ashes, I know it loves me too.

* * *

I AM THE doppelganger again.

It is still day time. I can feel it. But I recognize the smell of the sewers Down Under. When I open my eyes, Gaire is staring down at me, still blond and tan.

"Don't speak," he says. "Don't move. Just listen."

My red eyes blink away the happenings of the day while my mind grasps the realization that Gaire had to gather my ashes and bring them below ground so I could regain my cloudy form before dark. I cannot roam in daylight without a human shroud. I'm a creature of the night. That thought makes me think of Jane. I miss her already, but I feel the spunk she's left me and hold it close as Gaire goes on.

"I don't care who that other doppelganger was, or what you two meant to each other. I love you," Gaire says.

Shocked, Dick's last words circle in my head, I'll be back for you . . . but Gaire's words whisk them away like an eraser on a blackboard.

"I was moved by you the moment I met you," he says, "but, oh, what a surprise to find out you're everything I cannot have with a human or any other of our kind."

I start to object, but he raises a hand.

"I'm everyone's nightmare but yours, sweetheart. My lust for blood destroyed any hope for a relationship, until I met you. Killing CeCe did not harm her. I am hoping that getting the other woman killed did not harm her, either."

He raises a brow.

My forehead wrinkles. His lips tighten, but hopeful eyes hold mine.

I understand he's waiting to see if I have accepted this, if I get it.

I get it, alright. I'm even weighing the opportunities. It's not like I kill my hosts; I always double up, shed, and leave the original none the wiser. It's not like he could hurt them, either. They'd never know.

And hell, chickie, you can't even hurt yourselves, an echo of Jane's voice circles in my head, and I wish she were still with me. She's right. I can have what I've wished for. No! We could have what we've wished for.

All the possibilities flood me: someone to share my hopes and dreams with, to go body shopping with, to laugh with, cry with . . . and love. We could share humanity one human at a time. Roam the world as partners, share everything above ground and Down Under. The thought is overwhelming—a dream-come-true. But...

"I love you, not the clothes you wear," he tells me again.

As my smoky body rolls and roils into shapeless silhouettes, I realize I'm shuddering. Not a human form I'm wearing, but me, doppelganger. Gaire has totally taken me off guard. As much as he's shocked me, he's given me hope, but not without fear.

I look into his loving eyes and I'm filled with excitement over the possibility of a long term, almost human relationship. But as I smile up at the beautiful man standing above me, waves of reality roll across my boneless spine. I can't exactly take Gaire home to dinner. We can't even go Down Under without him being recognized. And I do need to check in with my guardian . . . often. For a couple of years anyway . . . but...

"We can make this work," Gaire says.

I ponder the thought, make mental notes, and generate countermeasures for all the simple issues.

Then Gaire opens his mouth, again. This time he pops the colorful bubble I'm trying to form around us.

"Do I have to be worried about the other doppelganger? And did you know the dragon-shifter was a paid assassin?"

Chapter 16

WHY ME

Gracie Jean

MOONLIGHT SILHOUETTES A row of cypress trees growing at the edge of Lake Eustis; Spanish moss sways from their branches in a soft breeze.

I left Gaire in a storm drain, not far from here, and told him to wait while I find another host. Being the doppelganger again is restricting. I can't leave the sewer in daylight, like Gaire, and there is no safe place to hide below. We would have to keep moving, staying in the shadows. There are always places above ground, even if it is a bus station, an abandoned building, or a homeless shelter. Below ground we are accessible to all that is Down Under.

Like a cloud of smoke whipped by the wind, I circle a small group of humans sitting around a campfire a hundred yards from an old two-story. I listen, observe, and search for the perfect host.

"Give me a break, Jake!" a teenager with brunette hair and a heart-shaped ass snaps. She and another guy walk right through me, lugging a cooler closer to the fire. "You know you hate the whole Ivan thing." She drops the cooler and pushes her hair over her shoulder, bossy and saucy like—too saucy.

I slither by, riding the shadows closer to the ground.

"Ah, but I don't hate him," a short haired, doughy guy wearing glasses shouts back from the other side of the campfire.

"You do, too!" a warm-skinned girl with hair so black it draws flames and frames her face in rich blue light. She stands up, dark eyes on Jake. "You said—" Her index finger point's credibility into her words. "—and I quote, 'If he touches Hope, I'll kick his ass'."

She's tall, aggressive, naturally tanned by her Indian heritage, reed-thin with a waist the size of a grown man's upper arm, and her budding breasts peer over a low cut tee—too aggressive.

I don't know what I'm doing here. What purpose do I have for donning a teenager to start a relationship with Gaire?

Eh, come on, you know why, Jane's street mentality enters my thoughts and forces clarity.

I miss her. I think Gaire misses her, too. Too much. Maybe that's it. It would be hard to make the beginning of our relationship all about sex wearing a fifteen year old.

But sex gets you what you want, Jane would say.

See, thing is, I go back to him, all . . . well, Jane, and I'll be out shopping tomorrow for another host. It could get really old, really quick. Besides, what I want is to know the creature under the man with riotous sandy hair and seductive blue eyes.

Across the pit a small female voice, beside Jake, draws my attention.

"Jake wouldn't do that," she says, as the Indian girl sits down and snuggles up to a guy with bleached out swimmer's hair.

"Why?" a creamy-skinned redhead asks. Her green eyes sparkle. Ringlets of curls cascade over her shoulders and almost reach her waist.

Her white skin pops in the darkness outside the circle of firelight. She's beautiful, delicate, as surrealistic as a fairy—too dreamlike.

I ripple over the grass behind her like a smoke shadow billowing through a ray of firelight. Circling, I'm making my way toward that soft meek voice.

I'm rewarded when, barely heard over the crackle of the fire, she whispers, "Because we're just friends."

"Wake up, Hope!" says the guy who'd helped saucy-chick carry the cooler. "You're going to be spending your birthday with Jake at a cabin in Ocala, with no electricity. That means no gaming. Satellite sucks and most of Ocala's in a friggin' dead zone, so no phones." He looks at Jake. "And no phone means you can't Hot Spot your iPad, bro." He turns back to Hope. "So, tell me he doesn't have it bad for you. No guy spends a week with a girl in a mosquito-infested forest in Florida, in August, even with electricity, unless they think they're gettin' some."

Titters of excitement-driven tension erupt from the girls around the fire, and the guys beam with inexperienced knowledge. Their antics amuse me, but Hope entices me, and I move closer.

"Well, he's not," Hope softly says and blinks at Jake who pulls the collar of his tee up and into his mouth. "No one is, Jake. Not until I'm old enough to decide who I want to marry."

"Hey, don't look at me." Jake's words are muffled by his tee. "I get it."

But the look in his eyes says he clearly does not. I feel my doppelganger mouth grin all the way up and into my horrid red eyes.

Everyone around the campfire snickers, hoots, or laughs, and comments fly.

"She's the last virgin in tenth grade!" a kid with freckles and dark auburn hair says.

"Nobody waits until they get married, not even our parents did," says a large boy with black hair and a small shadow of peach fuzz above his upper lip.

"How do you know?" the girl with dark hair asks.

"Gimmie a break," the auburn-haired kid answers.

"I bet Jake is a virgin too!" a boy guffaws, and tosses a stick into the fire.

"Well, I'm not!" Jake howls, damp collar hanging limp around his neck.

I'm so close I can see the blush on Hope's cheeks before she lowers her head and sandy hair falls across her face.

Hope whispers, "Jake, you know we're only going together because our parents are taking us, right?"

"Sure," Jake says as the circle of kids watch. "We've always just been friends, Hope. Always."

"All right you guys, I'm going to pretend I did not just hear the word virgin . . . several times," a woman says from the shadows.

Every teenager around the fire pit jumps at least two inches.

The woman with the motherly voice is standing just outside of the campfire's light. As she moves closer, the natural beauty she carries reflects health and fitness. Her waist-length brown hair bounces over her dark tank top and reaches the waistline of a pair of jean shorts. They are fitted well, not skin tight, but short enough to show off a set of long firm legs and bare feet.

The woman looks pointedly at Jake, and says, "Or who professes to be, or not to be, a virgin."

"Mom!" Hope croaks.

Hope's mother doesn't acknowledge her and, instead, turns to the large boy with the black hair and twelve o'clock shadow above his upper lip. "And just to clarify, Chester, I waited until I was married to Hope's father, and should I ever find someone as special as he was, I would do the same."

Her brown hair and green eyes catch firelight when Hope's mom smiles down at Jake. She steps by him to enter the center of the circle.

She strolls casually in the direction of the cooler. "It's nine o'clock. I promised your mothers I'd break this up early enough to give all of you plenty of time to walk home before the eleven o'clock curfew, and—" She bounces a finger at the group as she moves closer to the ice chest. "—I will be calling to let each of them know you will be on your way home at ten-thirty." She glides over the grass, firelight shadowing her calf and thigh muscles, and stops directly beside the cooler. Leaning down, she flips opens the lid.

I am enthralled by the pheromones this woman projects: honesty, kindness, love, and good old Mother Earth beauty.

Only the crackle of the fire disturbs the silence as Hope's mother closes the lid, and her eyes scan the circle of kids. "Okay, I'll let you get back to your conversation, and I will be back when it's time to put out the fire." With a big smile, she cuts through the circle and, as she jogs out of the firelight, her hair dances on her back.

"Hope Ann Harmony, you know your mother just rolled us looking for alcohol, Right?" the brunette with a heart-shaped ass snaps.

"Yeah, and Heather Alexis Stephens, you better tell me there's none in that cooler," Hope answers in a hissy whisper.

"You think I want your mother to put a spell on me?" Heather asks.

"She has never spelled anyone!" Hope says, and then snickers. "But you may become the first."

If I could breathe, I would be holding my breath as I ride the grass and follow the woman I will be wearing home to meet Gaire before the night is over.

Chapter 17

Gracie

HOPE’S MOTHER CLIMBS the stairs to the two-story home and I glide behind her, a shadow under a blanket of night. The outside screen creaks as she pulls it open and it smack's shut before she can close the heavy wooden door on the humid evening. Inside it's cool, moody and dark. Candles dance under paddle fans circling above.

The house smells of wood, augmented by heat and humidity; the generations of human residents spice the air with memories. Its structure has stretched and retracted over the years, giving the home character. The screen door and wooden floors creak, the front-door sticks, and the walls have small imperfections. All of this gives the home a soul.

There is an underlying damp, moldy smell, almost acrid. It carries an odor of old books and antique furniture stuffed with cotton batting instead of polyester filler.

We move through a great room with a worn fireplace, and then under an arch into a dining room where darkness swallows the candlelight. But the other side of the room draws a soft glow from a kitchen. It is larger than the dining room, cheerful with big windows on the south wall and a smaller one on the west side over a double sink.

Everything in the kitchen is dated, but pleasantly worn. The floor is black and white tile with counters that match. Everything else is wood, except for stainless steel appliances. A vase full of daisies drips petals on the center of a rough, wooden farm table with six straight back chairs tucked underneath.

Hope's mother crosses to the sink, fills a clear drinking glass with tap water, and takes a long sip. She turns suddenly, glass still touching her lips, and gazes at an old sepia picture mounted on the wall behind the table. Its oval shaped, wood framed, and displays a woman holding two girls by the hand. They look to be about five or six. The woman is round, wearing a pale cotton shift belted around her ample waistline.

"Nan, I think our little Hope has an admirer," she tells the picture. "Maybe I'll bring my tarot cards to the cabin and read his future."

She stares intently at the picture, laughs, and then raises a hand and firmly says, "And before you say, 'Gracie Jean, girl, you better not be spellin' that boy!' I'm gonna tell you, I have no inclination to do so." Gracie laughs again before saying, "Not yet, anyway."

Shaking her head with a grin on her face, she sighs. "Let's see if Hope comes around before they graduate. And if not, I may be putting a spell on her."

I hug the cabinet-trim on the floor and tuck my smoky shadow underneath appliances as I circle the room and make my way closer to Gracie Jean, my next host.

When I ripple over the tile on the floor and up the back of Gracie's legs, she still stares at the picture of who appears to be her grandmother. I wonder if the girls are Gracie's mother and aunt.

I circle the flesh on Gracie Jean's elegant neck, climb over her sloping chin, and cover her mouth with mine. Smoke creeps into her nostrils. She gasps, chokes, and slowly slides to the floor, me attached. When everything that is Gracie fills me, I push it outward, until her flesh covers my smoky body.

I roil and swell as I spread out inside the deflated form that will soon become a carbon copy of the human I just pushed away from me and onto the tiled floor.

As I rise, I try out her voice. "I'm only borrowing her, Nan," I tell the photograph.

The heavyset woman in the picture sways and tugs the child tethered to her left hand closer.

I spread a grin across Gracie's lips, and sidle toward the door. The picture on the wall looks like a 3D movie screen as the ghost stretches in my direction. She looks harmless, but still...

"I won't tell Gaire about you, Nan, not yet," I tell the apparition bubbling out of wooden frame, "I sure hope you behave yourself!"

When I caper through the living room and out of the house, Gracie's laughter falls from my mouth and rides the night air. "Gaire will find out about the ghost soon enough," I tell the stars.

The day after tomorrow, the real Gracie Jean will be in a cabin in the Ocala forest, forty-seven miles north of here. Gaire and I will be staying in the graceful, two-story home until she returns.

I trot toward the lake behind Gracie's home. There's a storm drain nearby and it leads to a sewer entrance, and Gaire.

Gaire

* * *

"She died. I killed her, and there was no taking that back," I say.

I know the doppelganger stands across from me, but this getting to know each other: who I am, where I've been, and everything personal in between is difficult. Especially with someone I feel like I've just met.

"I understand you killed her, Gaire. You just detailed the incident," Gracie says. She leans against the cement at her back, both arms crisscrossed over her chest. The heel of one bare foot rests on the toes of the other. "I want to know why." Her tone is short, snippy. Gracie Jean is clearly not intimidated by me.

It's irritating. The voice, stance, and demeanor add a parenting blemish to this host's persona. I'm not a child, and I don't like being treated like one.

I lean back, prop one shoe against the wall behind me, and nonchalantly say, "The animal in me took over the minute I got a hard on."

She wants to treat me like an adolescent; I'll give her pubescence at its finest.

Her eyes flare red for a nanosecond, enough to show me the doppelganger is inside.

"Okay—" Gracie pushes away from the wall and tracks small wet footprints along her side of the drain pipe. "—let's start over. Your attitude seems a little defensive. We're supposed to be trying to understand our individual darker sides, and a crass display of words will not endear you to the doppelganger in me."

I don't move. "And the conversation will remain counterproductive if you continue to treat me like a human in elementary school."

Gracie Jean's eyes pop open. Her mouth does too. Then she quickly dips her head and whispers, "Sorry, this one's a mother. She may even be a teacher. I didn't ask. Although I cannot sound or look like myself. I can try to act like myself. Okay?"

It seems appropriate, though uncomfortable, to carry on this conversation leaning against the curvature of the drainpipe. We're facing each other and a shallow stream of muddy water is flowing between us. Just a trickle, but enough to scent the air with tainted water coming from the dark end of the storm drain.

Standing a few feet from the exit we get a small amount of sunlight, and occasionally a breeze of fresh air. It's a pleasant tie to the human world. Well, that and the bodies we both wear.

Empty burger wrappers and half-filled soda cans bob at the edge of a pond basin. The pool of water is nestled into a lush flora: palm fronds, oaks laden with Spanish moss, and tall skinny trees strangled by layers of kudzu.

Two rats the size of small dogs scurry around the kind of debris loitering kids toss on the ground. Sniffing and nosing the damp dirt at the water's edge, the rodents search for sustenance. I feel more a part of their behavior than the one I'm engaging in at the moment.

Kicking a cigarette butt into the burbling watercourse, I follow the butt as it floats all the way to the little pond. One of the rats sits on its haunches and sniffs the air in our direction.

"Will you tell me what happened after you . . . after your parents found out what you'd done?" she asks, followed by, "Please?"

A submissive question, laced with discomfort. My neck muscles relax.

"My mother is the creature that cared for me. There was no S in parents during my upbringing. Unfortunately, Mother was forced to tell the wendigo who fathered me that I tried to have a sexual relationship with a human—he's the go-to monster among his race."

"Damn, that sucks," Gracie says softly.

"No kidding. I found out just how much it sucked the night he arrived," I say, momentarily distracted by an urge to take this indoors. The two-story home looms in the distance. "Good old Dad showed up to destroy me."

Even though I frown at the new face the doppelganger is wearing. Gracie is really lovely, with dark hair, eyes so brown they look black, and a tall, thin frame, but not boney or frail. She glows with natural beauty; the kind of beauty that comes from clean living, healthy food and plenty of exercise. Never before have I desired to look past outer beauty and dig at what lies beneath.

"Mother vehemently opposed my death," I say, as I scan the house we're 'borrowing' while the human and her daughter are somewhere in Ocala.

"And?" Gracie encourages.

Her word, soft and seductive, draws me. Damn, how I hate to call the doppelganger Gracie. I need a name for this creature I find myself falling in love with, not one that changes with every human it wears.

I try to put aside my physical and emotional needs and tend to her, or its, question, but the smell, the rats, and the murky water are more of a distraction than the body the doppelganger is wearing. I fully expect the doppelganger's mother to pop out of the shadows at the end of the storm pipe and drag Gracie into the nearest sewer drain.

"Look, can we take this inside?" I blurt.

"Um, sure, yeah," she says, eyes searching mine, "if that will make you more comfortable."

She bumps off the cement and trots up an embankment into a small field where the pond basin drains into a nature-made lake.

Keeping the pace, I drag my eyes off her ass and try to continue the conversation as we approach the white two-story house.

"While my father paced, mouth in a grimace, all four arms flailing anger, Mother pulled out all of her witchy things."

"Your dad has four arms?" Her voice is playful and laced with amusement. She grins as we climb the wooden stairs.

I grin back and open the front door. "Yes. Mother has only two. I guess I got lucky."

She looks runway-model perfect, carries herself like an athlete, and has a very expressive face that says everything but tells me nothing. This is impossible! I can't read the being inside, and have no idea what my doppelganger is actually thinking or feeling.

"Damn," Gracie teases. "I bet we could've got all kinds of creative with that many hands."

What the hell? Now she sounds like CeCe. She's taunting me?

We enter the house. It reeks romance—the last thing I need to add to the physical desire burbling in the animal deep inside me.

Her brown eyes sparkle with laughter as she glances toward a kitchen door to the left while we cross a small entrance way and step into another era. I'm immediately put off by the antique furniture, candles, incense, bookshelves, and tapestry carpets. It reminds me of the home I grew up in.

Gracie yelps excitement and whispers a greeting at the kitchen, catches my quizzical expression, and without hesitation, continues with the greetings. "Hello, prissy living room! Hey there, amazing kitchen. Hi, warm brick fireplace, old and graceful sofa, and beautiful smelling candles." She scans the area and finally finds me. "Hello, you."

I look around for something to break.

Color climbs her cheeks. "Sorry," she trills. "I just love this house. So what did your mother do with the witch things?"

My nostrils flare as I rein in my frustration and answer her question calmly. "She summoned the demon council, and applied for an opportunity to meet with them and plead for my life. It was within her rights to do so."

"Bet Daddy was pissed." Gracie plops down on a high-back, velveteen sofa with dark wood trim. The monstrosity doesn't look comfortable. Her head jerks toward the kitchen and back to me.

"Do you want to explain your unnatural attraction to the rooms in this house?" I ask.

Chapter 18

Gaire

"SORRY AGAIN,” GRACIE says. "It's just that I've always wanted a home like this. It's so romantic. Don't you think? And here I am in this awesome place . . . with you."

What the hell do I say to that? This cannot be the doppelganger swooning and pining over a bunch of old and worn fluff. Will every human the doppelganger wears be part of the entity I am so attracted to? Do I have to sort real feelings from each host the creature wears?

"So did your father go all wendigo on you?" she says before I can denounce my abhorrence with this place. I'm almost relieved.

"Sure did," I quickly answer, "but not on me. He couldn't, because until Mother was turned down by the wendigo elders there was nothing Father could do. Like it or not, he had to wait to kill me."

"Stop!" she shouts, facing the kitchen, and then jerks her head in my direction and smiles. "Mommy's meeting didn't go over as planned, right? Your father is still trying to kill you."

Her smile lights the room better than the overabundance of candles melting on dishes, scattered on furniture everywhere. Damn it all to hell, I want a name to address her with!

"How did Mom handle it?" she asks coyly.

I clear my throat and try to swallow a fair share of desire. My body trembles with need. The question of how Mother handled my Father cools my desires some, and with a deep intake of breath, I can move on. "My mother didn't have to handle anything, because I did. My sire made a big mistake."

"I'm thinkin'," she says and frowns at one of the bookshelves beside the couch.

I follow her eyes for a heartbeat before I say, "He said he would be back with the verdict, and left. The next morning, I did too. His mistake was to think I'd wait for the outcome."

Gracie lowers her head and whispers, "So began your life as a rogue, which you settled into quite nicely, until I came along."

I try to accept Gracie's reactions to my life story, but are they the doppelganger's true feelings? Trust, blind-faith, they are powerful words in the human race. I never trust anyone.

"I should've walked right out of your diner that morning," she says.

I want to say something, comfort her, and tell her how much she means to me. But with the growing hunger Gracie stirs in me, that would be unwise.

"I'm sorry," she says, but Gracie Jean's eyes hold hope.

Would I scare the shit out of her if I shift and take her now? Would there be compassion in the doppelganger's fiery red eyes afterward? How do we deal with the knowledge that every time we become intimate, she drops a host?

I am so tempted to find out. At the very least, it will allow us to start from the beginning, creature to creature. But to purge myself of my history is enough for one day.

"We can make this work," she says, looking at me from somewhere behind her host's human eyes.

As quickly as the notion to phase into the wendigo makes sense, it's replaced with reality. When she was CeCe she saw me unfavorably, twice: up close and personal during our only sexual encounter, and she ran. And that was before she knew I was the monster who killed Vicen at Purgatory. CeCe ran that time too, right into the beast's arms she was fleeing from. And I destroyed her host.

"This is impossible," I say, and mentally wish I'd had time to get to know the being before it suited up, with or without me shifting into the wendigo.

A doppelganger may be someone else's nightmare, but it's not mine. She, it, is my first real chance at something I've only allowed myself to dream about. I know I can't hold the being under the skin its smoky form, kiss it, feel it touch me, but we both need to get comfortable with each other while in our natural form. Love shouldn't be based purely on physical fulfillment.

"Gaire," she says. "Since I've known you, you've escaped being destroyed by a berserker in a bar full of his friends, a paid assassin who turned into a dragon and burned a house down, a serial murdering doppelganger, and your father—the worst of them all. Surely, learning how to talk to the woman you plan on forming a relationship with can't be as hard as all that."

Right? The woman I once knew? The one I only got a glimpse of, or the one it is wearing at the moment? It might be a hell of a lot easier if I can address it in a more endearing way, with a real name, not a generic title or a name attached to clothes it wears.

"I'm trying," I say for lack of anything better.

Gracie fidgets uncomfortably on the couch and I can't help but think how damn adorable this host is. That angers me.

Gracie

* * *

GAIRE’S EYES SHIFT with his moods. Fear, sorrow, hurt, frustration, and finally exasperated anger—none of which indicate love, romance, or relationship.

"So you ran," I say, trying to at least regain the conversation.

Gaire snorts and turns away.

I want to cry. This is not working. He's clearly having second thoughts about us.

With a small voice, I ask, "And in all that time you've never tried another relationship?"

"No. Once was enough." He tries a smile. A flush of color springs up on his cheeks. He shakes his head and adds, "Until you." Stoic, fabricated words for what seems to be an uncomfortable moment.

"Gaire, I am not a human. I just wear one, a copy. You did not hurt the host I was wearing that night. I didn't either." I look into his eyes. "I double up, remember? No one was hurt."

He says nothing.

What is he thinking under all that blond, blue-eyed handsomeness? I turn to stare at Gracie's grandmother, mother, and the two children floating under the doorframe between the kitchen and dining room.

My granddaughter does not need you to find her a man, Nan telepathically tells me. Get out of her body, demon! I abjure you!

Hold on with all that repudiating stuff, and don't drag out a rosary, I'm not a demon, I belligerently push back. I'm a doppelganger, and your granddaughter is fine. She's with Hope in Ocala. I'm just borrowing her image to work out something with Gaire.

I squirm anxiously, feet winging out sideways in front of the sofa, knees pointing in, and place both hands between my thighs. My nails dig into the fabric.

Gaire is watching me intently.

I lean forward.

The man is not sure you're feeling what Gracie expresses verbally and emotionally, Nan offers.

Evidently she's happy with my explanation.

Are they gonna kiss? the older child tethered to Nan asks.

Her words are loud and clear. I shoot a glance at Gaire.

Hush now, Chastity, this creature has a problem, Nan says and gives the child at the end of her right arm a shake.

Lips unmoving, Nan says, Your man's a Down Under creature like yourself. What is he?

I know shock flashes across Gracie's face. I cover it with a smile.

"This is weird, isn't it?" I say.

Gaire rewards me with an undisturbed smile and sparkling eyes before the quizzical look he gives the kitchen. "Yes, unnerving."

Yes, he's a wendigo, I mentally push.

Oh, my goodness, Nan says. Yes. Well, you sure found yourself someone special, now didn't you? Her hand passes through her face as she tries to wipe her brow.

There are too many yeses flying around. I momentarily lose track of who I'm carrying on a conversation with. Gaire evidently can't see or hear the ghosts; he's still smiling at me.

"Well, let's agree to be patient with each other." I lift my eyebrows and tilt my head. "That is if you still want to."

That last bit was a nice addition, Nan says. I wouldn't go making the monster angry, child.

I roll my eyes. I've seen ghosts before, but not very often, and although they've connected with me it has never been this casual. Nan is comfortable with what she is and the ability to talk to me. This must be Gracie's family gift.

When I turn back to Gaire, I say, "I don't think starting a relationship in any species is easy."

Yep, but I'm betting y'all are gonna break records with this one, hon.

I can hear her now, as though she's physically in the room with me and Gaire. I usually enjoy chatting with the dead, but at this moment it's hard to stay focused. Nan is tsking and pointing a bobbing index finger toward a set of stairs leading to the second floor. The two younger aberrations are giggling behind their free hands.

It's hard not to laugh.

Gaire

* * *

GRACIE SMILES AT the kitchen like a five year old watching a scampering puppy. I can't tell if it's because her true nature is as uncomfortable as I am at the moment, or if she is entertaining some weird kitchen fetish. She seems bedazzled by the damn room.

"I'm not ready to give up on us," I tell her. "Maybe we should turn this conversation in another direction."

I'm experiencing an uncontrollable urge to kiss her. Would the doppelganger inside feel it if I do? I want to pull her off the atrocity she sits on, bring her over to the fireplace, lie her down on the tapestry rug, and take her right there on the floor.

A tremor stands the hair on edge under my occipital bone. My mouth salivates, as I revisit the heady taste of blood. A vision plays on the back of my lids: CeCe, laying on the floor, her own blouse stuffed into her mouth, and her shorts circling one ankle. A Doppelganger, dressed in a serial killer has her pinned on the edge of a dime-store carpet, a replica of the one in front of the fireplace.

I hate who we represent. I hate how we are forced to live. We are both creatures of evil. Why the hell does either of us think this could work?

"So how do you get away with not killing your host?" I ask bellicosely.

Gracie's squinty eyes jump from the big puffy pillows strewn around the rug in front of the fireplace, to me.

"I can't kill them, and I won't stop doubling up. The elders can't really charge me unless I screw up," she says and turns to the frigging kitchen again.

Damn her all to hell. This creature is bringing the worst and best out or me. I feel like I'm on a human's amusement park ride. My spine shifts, fingers tingle, and my heart fights the cage of ribs holding it back.

The compressor of an air conditioning unit kicks on. Cool air rises from a vent on the floor beside me. I step over it. The forced air gives me time to gain control of the beast rising inside.

Contemplating the palatable woman on the red couch, I think of my wendigo father looking at my aswang mother with the same feelings. The thought tames my sexual desires.

I clear my throat and ask, "What do you mean, unless you screw up?"

"If my double gets seen with the real human and creates an issue." she says.

My brow wrinkles.

She sighs and continues. "Back when fledglings were left to fend for themselves, a small number developed a depravity, killing—a dispassionate passion enjoyed by the strongest and darkest of our breed. For most, death was rejected. Today, the council placidly feels it's becoming a necessity to kill our hosts. They feel it's almost impossible to pass off two identical, unrelated human beings seen in two places at the same time. So they discourage letting the host live and strongly rebuke those who get caught doing so."

"And no one questions seeing a human after death?" I ask, appalled with the mentality of this creature's benefactors. Yet, here I am the brethren of those who kill for sport.

Gracie laughs. Her gaze juts toward the kitchen even though she's clearly trying to bring her face toward me.

"Ghosts," she says. "A great majority of humans can justify these sightings by believing in spirits, angels, and even demons."

"It is laughable," I say, "that humans cannot entertain the possibility of all otherworld creatures, yet covet a belief in Jehovah that they take to their deathbeds. But they do."

A smile spreads into Gracie's eyes. "Anyway, so far I've been able to double up, stay in relatively the same area, and not attract the attention of local humans, but if I break the anonymity of our kind..."

She frowns at the kitchen.

I smile at her shyness.

"Well, at least there's not a creature that can destroy you," I say, relief in my words.

"Except my own." Gracie's brown eyes lock on mine.

I freeze, shaken with a fear I haven't felt since leaving home. "And the outcome of your conduct doesn't concern you?" I ask. "Wouldn't it be safer to just—"

"No! Zeus and Artemis would roll over in their godly slumber! Consumption of the Identical be damned if they think they can make me a more hideous mythological-known creature than I already am! Or turn me into something with a tenth as much freedom as punishment for my beliefs, like a marble statue on which doves coo, mate, and defecate. I'd rather be consumed by my brethren and Become No Longer."

There is no room for discussion in her voice, and my anxiety is worse than personal fear. I have never been this concerned for another. I feel an overwhelming need to protect her . . . IT... "Damn it all to hell!"

Gracie jumps inches off the couch.

"Do you have a name? I mean a real name?" I blurt out before I can catch my words.

She turns away, but not before I catch a sadness enter her eyes. "I'm a myth, no name, sex, identity, nothing . . . until I dress in another."

"Well, what say we give you one?"

"A name?" She turns Gracie's eyes on me, lipid pools threatening to spill over her lower lids. "How about Penny? Penny Dreadful?"

I pull her into my arms. "First of all, you're not dreadful. And you're something pretty important to me, even without a human covering your body." I tighten my grip and run my lips up her neck and over her ear.

The host sucks in a breath. Gracie moans and exhales.

"Can you feel my arms around you?" I ask, pecking kisses behind her ear. "Are my lips warm on your throat?"

"Yes," she gasps.

I whisper, "I want to call you Luna. Luna Bella, because you're the moon clothed beautifully in darkness."

She whimpers and leans into me, her back facing the kitchen. "If we go any further, you may not be able to control yourself. We might lose Gracie."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" I ask, and kiss her host's temple.

"But she's special," she says, eyes closed and lips parted.

"They are all special," I pant, my lips covering hers.

Gracie's eyes pop open. Both hands on my chest, she pulls away and shakes her host's head fiercely. "Not like Gracie! She's a witch . . . and a necromancer."

I look down at her. "How do you know this?"

"Her grandmother is standing by the kitchen door."

Chapter 19

Gracie

"WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me you were seeing ghosts?" Gaire says. "I thought you were trying to avoid me."

I'm under the shower in Gracie's bathroom. Gaire is in her bedroom outside the open door, and he's shouting over the sound. The water is so hot, steam rolls over the top of the shower curtain and coats the overabundance of glass candle holders Gracie has lined on a shelf that circles the back of the claw foot tub.

I felt Gracie's love for her bedroom the minute I entered. It's located on the northwest side of the house and probably gets a fair share of beautiful sunsets. It's painted sage with cream trim, and has large French windows that open inward. I could almost smell the small garden circling a large magnolia tree with roses, jasmine, and lavender, just outside the windows.

The bed is high and puffy, with a flowered cream and peach duvet and sage striped sheets. Pillows are propped against a lovely metal headboard. A book of poems by Anaïs Nin shares a place with a soft colored stained glass lamp on a nightstand by her bed.

When I first entered the bathroom and opened the linen closet to look for a clean towel, the soft smell of peaches greeted me. I could love and die in this room.

I scrub Gracie's hair with lavender scented shampoo for the third time before slathering it with conditioner.

"The conversation was important to me," I shout back, "I didn't want to interrupt, but it seems I did exactly that."

"So the fact that this ghost can communicate with her granddaughter doesn't bother you?"

I don't answer. It bothers the hell out of me, as Jane would say, for several reasons. I shut off the water, pull one of the towels off the rack inside the shower and wrap it around my hair.

"Can you hand me that terry robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, please?" I reach out from behind the stark white shower curtain.

Gaire growls, and a few seconds later the robe plops over the top of the shower curtain instead of into my open palm.

"Thank you. Be right out," I say, as I finish scrubbing my body with the other fluffy white towel.

"You're not going to answer me?"

"Well, it's a very open-ended sentence," I calmly say and then wing the rest of the answer, because there is no need to make him anymore tense about my biggest concern, at the moment.

"I mean, you could be asking if I'm afraid of ghosts—that answer would be no. You could be concerned that the ghost hears, and most of all, sees everything we do. Now I can see where that might make you uncomfortable with intimacy, so I just didn't mention Nan right away."

There, not actually a lie. Damn, I'm getting really good in a tight situation—thank you CeCe and Jane!

I step from the shower, robe cinched around my waist and a towel wrapped around Gracie's long brown hair.

Gaire is across the room, standing in front of the bedroom windows, staring out into the back yard.

While I slather lavender body lotion on my legs, I cautiously change the subject. "I hope Mother is Down Under. I really should have checked in with her sooner. Making her worry is not nice." For the love of a still warm body, I sound like and adult trying to teach her child a lesson.

"I don't see why you feel the need to do this at Purgatory," Gaire says mulishly, as he struts across the bedroom, and opens the bathroom door wider.

I grab a blow-dryer off the wall and flip the switch to high.

"Come on, you know I have to hit the sewer to check in. I meet Mother there all the time. And putting it off will just attract attention," I shout at Gaire as the blow-dryer tosses my host's hair around. "Besides, we agreed, Purgatory is the perfect place to tell Mother, and anyone who will listen, that you died in the fire with Vuur."

I flip my head over to reach the last of the dampness, fingers raking hair forward until I feel it's dry, and then thumb the off switch and hang the blow-dryer back on a hook by a shell-shaped sink. Hiking Gracie's terrycloth robe above my hips, I struggle with a pair of tight jeans.

"What if he isn't dead?" Gaire stands rigid in the bathroom door. "What if the dragon is out there waiting for you?"

Gaire's eyes are locked on my face, not Gracie's pristine-white bra peeking out of the unruly robe. I pause for a second to choose my words. "Look, I was born nineteen years ago looking just like I do today. I've been below and above the sewers doing what I do, and never—"

"I don't want to hear what you did. I'm more interested in what you're about to do. What if you run into the assassin, you know, the dragon-guy you partnered up with to find me and then totally pissed off by helping me get away?"

"You haven't called me Luna once since I got out of the shower," I coyly taunt.

Gaire rests his hip against the door frame, right jawbone fighting anger, blue eyes looking stormy, and fisted hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans.

Trying to make light of the matter is not working. I use Gracie to blow a long calming breath, and then smile at him.

"Sweetie," I use the word sarcastically, "I'm a doppelganger. I can deal with Vuur. He's a dragon—all hot air, fire, and steam. You can't fight smoke with fire. And I do believe I mentioned, several times, there isn't a Down Under creature that can kill me, only destroy my host. Worst scenario, I lose Gracie."

I grin, zip the jeans, and shuck the robe for a black, short sleeved polyester tee. I don't know what he's thinking.

"What about the raping, murdering doppelganger? The one we know is still out there," Gaire says. "You know, the only creature that can kill you, Luna."

I raise my eyebrows and, while Gaire is grinding off molar enamel, pick up discarded clothes, use them to wipe condensation off the bathroom mirror, and then toss the shorts and shirt into a wicker clothes hamper by the tub. My eyes can't help but wander to the crystal balls clutched in the clawed feet on the tub. I smile a Gracie smile.

I hang the terrycloth robe on a hook behind the door. "I doubt the jerk would try to kill me—strict rule, no doppelganger can off another without approval. While the elders won't do a damn thing about what, why, and how he kills humans, he'd be the one with a price on his head if he attacks me, so chill."

"They'd have to find him first, Luna," Gaire rumbles with the tenacity of a Chihuahua.

"Believe me, if they have to call in a ticket to find him, he's toast." Gathering Gracie's long hair, I wrangle it into a hair-tie. "And they will find him, Rogaire."

Completely ignoring the usage of his full name, Gaire paces in front of the bathroom door. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," I carefully say. "My mother smelled you all over me the night I . . . um, tried to seduce you." I scratch a payback mark on my mental notepad.

"And she didn't warn you?" he asks.

"She was very vague."

"Won't she smell me on you now?"

"I don't think so. This is Gracie's home. Her scent is all over it. Besides, I changed my clothes and showered with enough lavender to throw a hellhound off your scent." I stop fussing with Gracie's hair and look at Gaire. "Just don't touch me."

"You test my control, Luna," Gaire says and tries not to smile. The corner of his mouth fights his stern eyes. "I wanted you earlier, and although Gracie's body agreed, you did not."

"Wipe that grin from your face, big guy," I gibe. "You only stopped because Gracie can find out if Vuur is dead. She'd be toast if we went any further. I just need Nan to help me summon his spirit."

Like he wasn't all up on it if I didn't back him down—I scratch up another payback mark.

"Are you sure Gracie-carbon-copy can do this, even with Nan?"

Now he's getting all smartass male-ego on me, and damn it, he's right. I don't know for sure.

"No," I admit. "But Vuur told me his full name. That's all a necromancer needs: a summoning circle and a full name. I'm going to give it a try when I get back from the sewer."

"Even if we find the dragon is dead, neither a ghost nor a carbon-copy Gracie can kill the psycho doppelganger," Gaire grinds out.

"Guess what Nan can do?" I'll be damned if I'm going to admit he's right again. When he just glares at me, I poke him again. "Come on, guess."

He raises both hands and says, "I give up."

"Detect anything dead, or demon-ish, around or inside someone's body." I pause for that to sink in. When he says nothing, I fan my hand up and down Gracie's body. "Hello! Demon-boo-boo over here. Nan spotted me right off. Even I can't do that. I'm taking her with me into the sewer."

Gaire's throat is making sexy alpha noises.

"That does not . . . console me," he says as I breeze by on my way downstairs to pick up Nan and hit the storm drain.

A few minutes later, I step into the cement tunnel behind Gracie's house and wave at Gaire standing on the porch, arms crossed over his chest. Nan is quietly hovering beside me. She hasn't said a word since we left.

As we duck into the storm pipe and make our way to the end of the first tunnel, I inhale deeply. The doppelganger feels at home, but Gracie is scrunching her nose with the smells that I find comforting.

"Why are you helping me?" I ask the ghost. "You know Gracie will be back in a week. I have no intention of stopping that."

As we take a left, Nan says, I'm tryin' to decide whether my granddaughter and I should help you afterward.

I stop and gawk at the apparition. "You mean, you think she'd let me keep wearing her when she gets back?"

Its pitch black in the second tunnel, but my Down Under vision kicks in and I can see Nan's lips move. It's only a few hundred feet until we can climb out and hit a sewer entrance. I hear her voice clearly, but it doesn't echo off the cement walls like mine does.

Honey, we're witches that communicate with the dead. It's what we do. You and your gentleman friend seem to be tryin' to right somethin' needs rightin'. Nan floats ahead of me, and I scurry to catch up. Gracie loves gettin' in over her head. One gander at you, and . . . Well, never mind, girl. You'll see."

My mother's words come back and bite me on Gracie's ass. Do as you wish, dear. I can't stop you. Just remember . . . They can.

"Nan, can others Down Under see and talk to you?" I ask jogging to keep up as the ghost glides along.

Some have, but most can't, and usually the ones that do, they have the gift. Her transparent face leaves a smoke trail as she turns hooded eyes on me. Or wears someone who has the gift.

"Can your granddaughter summon up ghosts that speak to the creatures Down Under?"

What are you getting at, child?

"Okay, it's just that if you tell Gracie about me, and she doesn't like it, I could be in serious trouble if she can somehow take this to my elders."

Nan stops, hovers, and stares at me. She may be a translucent dull image, but I can see the hurt in her eyes.

Well, she says, it looks like you're gonna have to put your trust in me like I've chosen to do with you, now aren't you, missy?

I don't trust anyone, anymore. Must be the Jane in me.

We silently navigate the storm pipes at a steady pace, one turn after the last, until we come to the exit I'd been searching for; the one that we take to get to a sewer entrance above Down Under.

We head toward the scent of human civilization: air heavy with exhaust fumes, over-used cooking oil from fast food restaurants, hot rubber on asphalt still holding the afternoon heat, trash bins filled with decomposing food, and the smell of humans—salty, sweet, stale, and seasoned with the acrid odor of sickness, minty fresh toothpaste, or lunch breath.

I scurry up a hill, run down a dark alley, and muscle open the lid to the sewer tunnel by Lake Square Mall. We drop into damp, cloying, fetid darkness. I could have used a wish token—would've been there sooner—but spirits can't use tokens, and I didn't want to tell Nan I would meet her at Purgatory. Better I keep an eye on the spirit. I need her.

"Nan, can you tell when a human is dead or alive if an otherworld creature is wearing them?"

No, sorry, child. That's why I wanted you to let go of Gracie's body at the house.

"But you can help me do the summoning of a ghost, right?"

As we talk and move along the ledge, an occasional ray of streetlight comes from sewer drains overhead. One ray slices Nan's center and makes a small deposit. For a few seconds, she looks like a frightful nightlight plugged into the cement around us.

If the ghost is out there and you have his full name, yes, Gracie would have no trouble summoning it, without my help. You're just wearin' her body, remember—might not work. But we can try, dear.

We hear the bar before we see it—riotous ruckus tames to chaotic, whispered echoes by the time it finds us. When I pause, Nan does as well.

Is this where you expect your momma to be hiding? Nan's body is circling mine, head level.

"Okay, hold on. She's not my momma, or even a close relation. She's my appointed guardian, and I am required to call her Mother. Doppelgangers don't have family. We're a demon's blun—"

Yes, child, I know. You needn't explain things to me. I've known as much as you do right now before I was out of diapers, passed it on to Gracie, too.

"Well, alrighty then," I say. "But I feel the need to make sure, and I'm probably not done doing that yet."

Don't you sass me while usin' my granddaughter as a dress, Nan says, finger leaving a smoke trail as she waves it around. I may look transparent, but I have depth, and a great delivery. You want me to show you? Why, I could summon you up a real nice playdate and maybe a few soul suckers for my amusement.

I can't help but laugh. I love this woman already. "Although embracing a childhood I'm not destined to enjoy sounds fabulous, I don't think that's necessary, ma'am. But I'll be praying we can summon up a dragon later."

Nan nods so sharply her face elongates two feet in front of her ghostly form.

I love Gracie's reaction. This host loves life. My giggle is cut short by acrid words from a dark area by the next turn off.

"Oh, joy. My little girl is wearing a witch and playing with a ghost!"

I whip my head in the direction the burbling voice. "Go away."

"Come tell mother all about it," the throaty voice says.

She's wearing someone, a man this time, and he sounds odd. His words have a watery sound.

You didn't tell me your mother sees spirits. Nan's words mentally chide.

"I didn't know," I push back mentally.

Shame, because that's going to change things.

I'm frozen in A Midsummer Night's Dream moment. "We're Pucked," I say out loud, and follow it with a sigh.

I won't let you down, child. Nan's voice rolls around in my head like a whisper riding a drafty sewer tunnel. Your wendigo died in a fire, and I think you killed my granddaughter. We'll stick to that.

Chapter 20

Gaire

"THEY SHOULD BE in the sewer by now," I tell myself and enter the storm drain next to the pond basin.

The darkness is soothing, but my concern for Luna is driving my sanity over the edge and into my own darkness. I can't get the image of CeCe on the carpet with the doppelganger on top of her out of my mind. What if the being is wearing another human? What if it tries to kill Gracie this time?

Taking a token out of my pocket, I wish myself to the sewer system close to Purgatory. Seconds later the coin turns to dust, and before I can blow it from my palm I'm assaulted with the exuberance of a biker-bar crowd and a pulsing purple light. I'm Down Under.

The bar burps a few patrons out its front door.

I duck around a connecting tunnel-joint about fifty feet from Purgatory.

Although the noise is loud, it doesn't last long. The door shuts and leaves only inebriated sewer squabble. Two berserkers and a troll chortle and jibe their way past the opening of the sewer junction. None of them notice me.

"Did you follow me to Michigan, Mother?"

Gracie's voice catches my attention. I burrow deeper into the darkness, a wary eye on the three Purgatory patrons who head in the opposite direction.

"I am your guardian," a male voice says as I creep closer and hug shadows. "It's my job to follow you."

I can't see either of them unless I chose to lean out into the tunnel.

"Jeeze, Mother, could you have picked a riper cadaver? How long have you been wearing this guy?" Luna says. "He's already missing an eye, only a bloody dark hole where his eyeball used to be. Why don't you dump him? Poor thing."

There's a stretch of quiet. I think about moving closer, but Luna and her mother laugh.

"Oh, I do love this spirit you've found," the male voice says, inappropriately effeminate.

Evidently, Nan is amusing Luna's mother, and a bit of mommy is bleeding into her host. I silently chuckle.

I take the risk, lean out briefly. They don't seem to be moving closer. I can hear them well, so I relax a bit.

"Are you going to turn me and Gaire in for hooking up?" Gracie asks.

So much for relaxing. I hold my breath, mind spinning with sudden realization; Luna's mother knows I'm alive, and creatures of darkness be damned, I wonder what else she knows?

"No," the manly voice says.

I grit my teeth, spine tingling—a warning from within. I slowly let out the breath I had been holding.

"Why?" Luna asks through Gracie.

The host Luna's mother is wearing smells like road kill. While that doesn't bother me or most Down Under creatures, I'm betting it bothers Gracie. This makes me smile.

"I'm your guardian," the manly voice burbles. "Naturally—purely to stroke my own ego—I would revel in your success. Especially in lieu of the fact I will not be held accountable when the elders find out you assisted Gaire in the death of a Down Under creature, above the sewer, and in broad daylight."

"I did not assist in Vuur's death. Jane and I were helping Gaire try to save the real CeCe from being raped by a serial murder."

"A match made in the sewer," her mother's man-voice cuts Gracie off, "a doppelganger with a conscience and a wendigo who tries to save damsels in distress. Well, young lady, it doesn't matter." Her mother swings the cadaver's arms. Stench rides a tunnel breeze. "You can get on with your save-the-world crusade. You have my blessing."

"Nope, not buying it," Gracie says. "Why are you letting me try to build a relationship with a wendigo who has a price on his head? Not to mention find the doppelganger who tried to kill my last host and snuff the..."

"Excuse me?" Luna's mother says.

Wait, did Luna just tell her mother we are going to hunt a doppelganger and kill it? I can barely hold the need to be by Gracie's side.

Then Luna's mother growls. "Dead woman! Stay out of this! I'm speaking to my daughter."

There's more silence. I mildly relax and wait patiently, sensing no movement, and then Luna's mother breaks the quiet with a cold stoic voice.

"Did you just tell me you intend to hunt down one of your own kind and try to kill it?"

The tension in the air is heavy.

"That disgusting creature is killing women for no reason," Gracie hisses. "He is not even wearing them!"

Mom's same stoic voice answers at a moderate volume. "Killing humans, for whatever the reason, is not a crime in the little red eyes of your elders." The cadaver's voice is phlegmy as it escalates. "Killing another doppelganger is!"

There's a long silence. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.

"Old woman," Luna's guardian finally says, "you can do your summoning spell with the host my daughter is wearing. It's true, I cannot say in all honesty that I am one-hundred percent sure the dragon-shifter is dead. I can tell you he did not come out of the house after the dark-haired man who drove up in the black car. And now I know the brazen trollop my daughter was wearing shot him—thank you for that image—and that he was one of us. I should not have stayed near the house until the fire department put out the flames."

I cover my mouth and swallow hard to hold back my rising tension.

"Truth be told, I can care less if you want to further your relationship with the wendigo. Doppelgangers are not held responsible for others' actions, meaning you have no moral obligation to turn your wendigo playmate in to his tribe, pack, whatever they call it.

"And furthermore, if you choose to search for the doppelganger, which I strongly advise against, you are within your rights to do so. Now if you take it upon yourself to try to destroy one of our brethren—one who has done you no personal harm—I will have to report it as I see it. And I will be there to see it."

"But he's killing innocent women. He's not nice," Gracie says.

I swell with pride—me, a blood-thirsty murdering cannibal.

"You and this wendigo are an abomination to your breeds."

I go cold with anger at the guardian's words.

"There is no mercy, empathy, or heroism in our kind or his! Nothing good can come of this humanitarian rampage you are both on."

"I'm proud of the way I feel, Mother!"

"Yes, I know you are," she says. "Wendigo! Show yourself!"

Chapter 21

Gracie

I WHIP AROUND as Gaire steps into the sewer about fifteen yards down the tunnel. What was he thinking? "I told you to stay put!" I shout.

But my damn doppelganger essence betrays me and quivers at the site of his muscular body stuffed into a gray, Army tee and even tighter blue jeans. He's not wearing a belt, and as his arms rise in exaggerated exasperation I see his navel and a strip of blond hair running below and above. I long to rub my nose there.

They never listen, do they, dear? Nan says.

"No, they don't," my mother agrees.

I hardly register the conversation. Gaire's eyes are sparkling anger and it's making me deliciously dizzy.

Nope, sure don't, Nan adds, and often try to finagle total control of everything.

Mom nods in agreement. The body she's wearing smells so bad, poor Gracie is gagging. Talk about a buzz kill.

"I'll be damned if I stay in front of a warm fire," Gaire says, "while you tiptoe around the sewer with only a ghost for support."

"You're damned already," my mother says. "You're a wendigo."

Sad but true, Nan adds. But I seem to be growing fond of the devil.

I'm about to slap the both of them.

"How long have you been lurking in the shadows?" I ask a bit too loud and with a fair share of mind your own business.

"The whole time," my mother answers for Gaire.

I huff frustration.

Imagine that, Nan says. You would think–being like your mamma and such–that you'd be able to sense the creature you been sleepin'—"

I try to cup my hand over the ghost's mouth and only grab air, when my fingers slide right through her face, and I almost land on my ass, but bounce off the sewer wall instead.

Mother giggles. I have never heard her giggle.

She still has some growin' to do, Nan says to the rotting flesh my mother is covered in.

I take another swipe at her and the ghost's body gusts out of my reach. The dress she is wearing mingles with her arms and neck and head, and she's a discombobulated ball of gray.

Mom laughs the cadaver's left cheek right off his face.

"Where did you find the dead guy?" I ask Mother as Gaire steps behind me and puts both arms around my waist.

"A car accident on Seminole Boulevard." Mother shakes the horrid head of her host and tries to lift both arms. But one is hanging oddly by his side, now totally useless, and just flops around when Mom moves. The dead guy's left leg is bare all the way from his bloody knee to his thigh and a windshield wiper blade is sticking out of it.

"I thought I'd give your suggestion a try," my mother says. "I didn't kill this one. He evidently killed himself along with three others—alcohol can be as lethal as Jane's Smith & Wesson in the hands of the wrong human. The real guy still had a heartbeat when I left the site. I even called for help with his cellphone." Mom uses the guy's good hand to flash us an iPhone.

"Look at you tryin' t'be someone betta, eh?" I sound like my last host. "And are you tellin' me you used a cellphone, too? Sheesh."

"How about I text your answer," my mother snarks. "Do I have your number?"

Gaire chuckles.

I want to push my elbow into his ribs, but Nan distracts me. She's floating down the sewer.

"Where are you going?" I shout after her.

A doppelganger dressed in a human just walked into the bar down there, Nan says. I thought maybe I should check that out. You coming?

My mother and I freeze.

"What?" Gaire tightens his grip, placing his chin on my scalp.

I can feel his head move from side to side. He's searching the area.

"My daughter's ghost just told us a doppelganger has walked into Purgatory wearing a human."

"Nan wants me to follow her down there to have a look," I say.

Gaire suggests, "Why don't we let the ghost go see if she can find out who or what this doppelganger is wearing?"

The cadaver my mother is dressed in finally winks out. It floats down her smoky body, and black sparkly confetti pools around her feet for a few seconds before disappearing completely. There's always a draft down here, and the stench of the cadaver dissipates as the sewer sucks the vapors away.

"Oh, great Goddess of olfaction, thank you!" Gracie says.

Gaire laughs. My mother glares.

I smelt a skunk easier to stand near, I did, Nan says and dashes down the sewer toward the bar.

Mom warbles a chuckle.

Ten or twelve really uncomfortable moments later, my mother is saying, "That ghost of yours is a keeper, dear. And the host you're wearing is doable. At least she isn't proudly displaying and overabundance of cleavage."

I take it y'all are talkin' about the prostitute, Jane, your last host, and the doppelganger in the bar's obsession? Nan's voice arrives before her ghostly image does.

Eyes searching for the ghost, I ask, "Is he dressed in her?"

Gaire tightens his grip. "Nan's back?" Gaire asks my mother.

"Yes," she says a bit snooty. "You can let my daughter go. She will not attempt leaving without us."

I'm surprised my mother answered him. "Oh, yes, I, will if he's wearing Jane!"

Don't cut off your head to spite your face, child.

Mother laughs.

"Who is the doppelganger dressed in?" Gaire asks, not easing his hold on me.

Nan sighs and a bit of ectoplasmic goo wafts out her mouth. The doppelganger is dressed in the dark-haired shifter you call Vuur, and he more than mentioned your last host.

I gasp.

Mom yelps, and this surprises me more than Nan's reveal.

"Someone tell me what the damn ghost is saying!" Gaire hisses frustration.

I try to wiggle out of Gaire's grasp. "The doppelganger is talking about Jane—"

"And wearing Vuur," Mother finishes.

Gaire drops his arms and turns toward Purgatory.

"You are so not going into that bar!" I grab the back of Gaire's jeans, and watch his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.

My voice cracks as I ask Nan, "Is Jane dead?"

No, but she might be soon enough if y'all don't do somethin' to stop him.

"Well?" Gaire is looking into my eyes.

"Wait!" I shush him, and turn back to Nan. "What do you mean?"

The doppelganger was knockin' the drinks down, laughing and talking up a berserker at a corner table in the back of the bar. He told the guy he was going to kill Jane and asked if he wanted to film it. The whole bar full of patrons' heard all that from the Vuur guy's lips.

"We need a plan," my mother says.

Gaire throws up his hands, slaps them against the sewer wall and growls, "What the fuck?"

I quickly answer Gaire's frustration. "The doppelganger, wearing Vuur, told a berserker in Purgatory that he was going to kill Jane." I ask Mother. "What do you mean 'we'?"

"Just what I said. I intend to help. We need a plan."

Before I can rebuke her offer, Gaire says, "Have any ideas?"

I want to kiss him and slap him at the same time. It's disconcerting.

I love when family comes together during a time of crisis. Nan's hands are clutched in front of her flowered dress, half way into her stomach.

I swing what I know will be a useless slap in her direction. The ghost bolts straight up and plasters herself along the top of the sewer. And I can't help but laugh.

Mother clears her throat. "Are you two going to stop playing like fledglings so I can answer the wendigo's question?"

We both hold our own hands—only Nan's are inside each other—and stand quietly.

Mom turns to Gaire. "As a matter of fact, I do have an idea."

My mother looks horrid in her natural form. She is bigger, thicker, and almost solid in consistency—gel instead of smoke—and darker than me. Her eyes are large and bright red above a lippy mouth, over-filled with jagged teeth. All of this kind of roils gel-like on a lumpy, bumpy face. Two long arms with long knotty fingers hang to the bottom of her sooty form and drape over two small feet that I've only seen once or twice.

She stares at me for a human heartbeat before saying, "I think we should double up on Jane, quickly. Capture the original little slut, and tie her up somewhere until we kill the doppelganger dressed in Vuur."

Chapter 22

Gracie

"IF ANYONE IS going to double up on Jane, it will be me," I say, "because I don't trust you, Mother."

"Don't be silly," Mother says. "You can't shed Gracie because you won't be able to see Nan."

"And you know this how?" I hood my eyes and glare at her.

She's right, dear, Nan says, I can only communicate with you if you're wearing my daughter.

"Mom can," I challenge.

Yes, that's true, but we would have to be sitting at my kitchen table. I can't leave the two-story without Gracie. The real Gracie, if you're not wearing her double, child.

I'm not ready to give up. "Maybe if we all take a big breath and blow, Mother will go away."

"Young lady, you're going to have to trust me," Mother says. "Nan is indispensable at the moment. We may need her ability to warn us of human possession again. Neither you or I are capable of sensing that." She turns to Gaire. "Are you?"

"You know I'm not," Gaire says. "I had no idea what Luna was when I met her."

"See," Mom tells me, "you need my help."

That's what mothers are for, Nan adds.

"Meh, I don't think so," I tell her. "We got this. You can go hunt another ripe one."

"Hold on," Gaire says. "This isn't a bad idea. Think about it."

"I did think about it," I sputter. Yeah, right, for all of three seconds. "Mother's hosts always end up dead."

Gaire rolls his eyes. "Not if your mother can double up on her, and we find a safe place to keep the real Jane hostage, until you and I help your mother kill the doppelganger wearing Vuur.

Y'all can use my house, Nan says. The basement is haunted. I have a lot of friends down there. They'll help me keep your friend safe.

"We need to move fast," Mother says. "The doppelganger selected Vuur for a reason. Your father hired him to assassinate you, Rogaire, and you almost killed him. And he selected Jane to entice you." My mother's red, beady eyes pause on me. "So, I have no doubt it knows exactly how the both of you are going to react. He did not go into Purgatory wearing Vuur to drink casually, or to buddy up with a berserker. He went into that bar to be sure the both of you hear that he plans to kill your last host, using the wendigo's nightmare."

That's true. Mothers are always right, more so if there's a nanny tickling their brain cells. Nan chuckles. And my two cents says your momma wears Jane. She's an ancient one, she is. Her powers are greater than yours, child.

Nan floats up beside my mother, making a stand.

"Ancient?" My mother looks down at the ghost.

Well, certainly not on your death bed, honey chil', but you've seen some miles.

"Like you haven't? Well, for a human, anyway. And I like to think of myself as—"

"Enough!" I shout. "Why can't you wear Gracie and I wear Jane? I want to kill the bastard and share the glory with her!"

I toss a death-threat look at my mother. Gracie probably doesn't wear it well.

"Have you ever fought a doppelganger?" Mother asks. "Have you even seen a fight between two doppelgangers?"

I don't answer. I try to muster up an adult stance and a bit of anger in Gracie's eyes. I'm sure it comes off as stubborn child.

"I didn't think so," Mother says.

She's probably not mocking me, but it sure feels like she is.

"I have fought a demon's gaffe—it was a wicked battle, even with elder approval—and that doppelganger wasn't half as strong or evil as the one wearing a dragon-shifter assassin."

I don't really see Mother's little foot tapping impatience, but I know it is. She stares me down. I look to Gaire for help.

"Are you saying we need elder approval?" Gaire says. "We are not going to do that."

Way to go, Gaire! I'm dancing under Gracie's skin.

Mother says, "I am an elder, and I'm not only capable, but allowed to make a spontaneous decision based on the need to defend my guardian in a life-threatening situation."

"Oh," I say, sounding like an adolescent teen. "Even if I'm wearing Jane?"

"No." My mother shakes her head. "The doppelganger has seen you. Did it pass through your smoke after killing Jane?"

I have to think. I playback the knife coming at us and Jane sprinkling around me on the drive, watching the dark guy take Jane's bullet, fall, and rush past me.

"I'm not sure," I answer my mother. "Why?"

Mom looks at Gaire. "Were you there?"

Gaire nods. "He said, 'I'll be back for you,' and then he evaporated, blew through Luna while she shed Jane, and was gone."

"Uck!" Gracie's body shudders, and I feel it to my smoky toes. Wearing a human can be disconcerting at times. I am experiencing my first gag reflex. I doubled up on him in the hotel room! I wore his host!"

Child, that can't be good, Nan says.

"That explains how he was able to fine you, Luna," Mother says. "It is how I follow you. When we are given a ward, we mingle with it. If you shed Gracie and don Jane, he will know it is you. The doppelganger will strip you of your host in seconds, latch on, and draw life force until you are no more, making it and the dragon it wears stronger. At that point, I'll probably not be able to save you." Mother looks at me, her garish mouth in a grimace. "But you can be damn sure that after you are gone, I will destroy them both, or die trying."

"That's not going to happen," Gaire says and turns to me. "We'll have an advantage if we play this your mother's way."

"Crap!" I am so not wanting my mother under Jane's skin. "Damnit, you've made your point. Fine, Mother! You win."

And it's very grown up of you to notice, Nan jibes.

"I am going to double up on someone, immediately," Mother says. "I'll meet you both at Nan's home in an hour. Together, we'll come up with a plan we can execute by tomorrow evening. Do you have a cell phone?"

"You're doing an awful lot of doubling up, talking about cell phones, and now assisting actions you condemned me for just yesterday. What's up with that, Mother?"

"One is never too old to learn, young lady. I hope you remember that."

Gaire

* * *

"I DON’T WANT anything to happen to Luna," I tell her mother.

We're in the kitchen at Gracie's home. Nan and Luna are on a screened porch that wraps around the northwest side of the house. I can see them through a French door at the end of a small hall on the north side of the kitchen.

"Neither do I," her mother answers with a guy's voice.

She's doubled up on a Sumter Community College student. He looks about twenty, brown hair, freaky yellow eyes—might be contacts—and a stocky body that probably knows it's way around a gym. His name is Eric.

"Another three hours until sunset. How much longer after that are we going to wait?"

When Eric smiles, dimples pop on both cheeks. The All-American face definitely does not depict the murky creature dwelling beneath.

"I'm leaving soon," Eric says. You're hangin' here until I text, and only if there's a selfie of Jane attached."

"What if Vuur kills Jane before you get there?" I ask.

"He won't kill Jane," Eric's double says. "I'll be dressed in her double before Vuur gets back from Purgatory, and the real Jane will be here, with you and my daughter. I've taken care of that. In fact my ride should be arriving any moment. I've commissioned two berserker friends to help."

"How can you be so sure?" I ask. "Do you have a plan in case Vuur gets to Jane before you get there?"

"The doppelganger is still in Purgatory." She raises Eric's cell phone. "These things are amazing. Who would've known?" Luna's mother laughs. "The doppelganger told one of the berserkers that he will proposition Jane later this evening. Only it will be me on Jane's corner tonight. And I feel quite confident he will hold her hostage until Luna show ups. My daughter's destruction is his ultimate goal."

"I'll be with Luna, tonight," I say.

"I'm sure Vuur is counting on it," Eric says in the same tone Luna's mother uses.

"Do you mean the dragon-shifter is still alive?"

"I don't think so. I was speaking of my brethren under the dragon-shifter's skin. But I wouldn't put it past your assassin to have worked a deal with the dark doppelganger for his life."

The thought is disturbing. Then there would be two of them, the real Vuur and the carbon. I would have to deal with two of the beasts, and I couldn't kill one the first time. I bit him during that fight in Michigan, and I'd never run across any Down Under creature that is immune to my poison. To think that in less than a month, I've run into two. It makes me uncomfortable.

A flash of reflected sunlight glides across the tiled floor. I glance down the hall at the back of the kitchen as Luna steps through; Nan probably follows. Not being able to hear or see the ghost is unnerving.

"This wait is killing us," Luna says.

She's wearing a patch of bright colored cloth across her chest with leather straps attached to cinch it to her neck and around her back. Low cut jeans sit several inches below the halter top and show off a tight tummy and gold navel ring. Her leather belt is hand tooled and threaded with bright colored beads that depict a rainbow sunset in the middle of her back. She's barefoot but there is a pair of leather thong sandals by the French door. I want to scoop her up and swallow her whole.

"Me, too," I say, "but your mother is not leaving until nine, and through Eric has made it very clear we're not to move until she lets us know she's wearing Jane and standing on the corner of OBT."

"That's because it's the smart thing to do," Luna says and then surprises the beast in me when she gifts Mommy Dearest with a lovely Gracie-smile.

So why am I pretty damn sure there is a surfeit of unpleasant surprises hidden beneath her words?

Gracie

* * *

THERE ARE AT least fifty ghosts floating all over the house. I'm going nuts with their constant chatter. Hands over my ears, and for the umpteenth time, I tell Gaire, "Because Nan said they can watch Jane and if something happens here, she'll send one of the ghosts to warn us. Nan is covering bases in case the doppelganger shows up for Jane."

"Why are you shouting?" Gaire laughs and exaggerates a glance around the room. "I don't see anyone."

"Okay, so I heard Eric tell you they're here. One more smartass remark, and I'm gonna spell your ass into the next millennium. I have the power. Don't make me use it."

"You don't have any power," Gaire teases. "Gracie's grandmother does, and Nan is nurturing it."

Damn him. He's about to burst with laughter.

"Shut up!" I scream at the ghosts. And blessedly they do as Nan herds them into the kitchen.

The screen door squeaks open seconds before the knocker on the front door bangs.

As I walk toward the door, ghosts swarm me like a pack of blind mosquitoes in spring. Gaire watches me duck and jab, and he chuckles. He can't hear Nan shouting for the spirits to return and chuckles.

I swing wildly and only manage to slice, dice, and mix body parts into a tornado that flutters everything in its path, including Gracie's hair which is now totally covering my face.

"I want to kill something!" I shout, palms raking my face and fingers combing long hair back over Gracie's scalp.

"Good," Gaire chokes out between laughter. "Hold that thought for the hotel. Right now, we need to deal with the two berserkers at the door with Jane. The real Jane."

He pulls the door open in front of me, and I pfft fine hair from my face.

"Wha's-a-matta with you sons-a-bitches? Eh? Eh? Were the hell am I? I could'a been nice. I would'a been more helpful, but no, youse bastards gotta get rough. Well, youse guys are fuckin' dyin' tonight, goddamnit!"

Jane stumbles in, blindfolded. Her short leather skirt keeps flashing red silk and so does her low-cut halter top. Her blond, over-processed hair is sticking out above and below a blindfold. They should have gagged her.

"Get your fuckin' greasy mutts off my goddamned arms, or I'm going to start biting again."

Jane turns and, like a pup searching for a teat, finds the berserker on her left, latches onto his shirt sleeve, and shakes.

The berserker, red hair flying, jerks his body around and pulls his clothes out of Jane's mouth. She stumbles and one of her barely street legal pumps slips off. As she hobbles to stand, one of the idiots makes the mistake of trying to right her. She gets in two very impressive side-kicks, sending him to his knees.

"Damn her all to Hell," the berserker on his knees says. "I wouldn't get in a cage with her—bitch got a chunk of his ear and bit my damn crotch at the hotel." His hand rubbed the offended area.

"No shit! Bitch says she's all up for a threesome, but she was packin'," the other guy adds. "Blew your mother's host to cinder."

"Yeah," says the one who got his balls bit. "I was never happier than to see your Mom suck a double out of her."

Both berserkers laugh.

"Your Mom jumped her like a stalking demon-cat," the other one says. "Then it was blessedly quiet until ten minutes ago when the bitch woke up."

As one berserker grabs Jane's kicking feet, and the other her upper body, I say, "Take her to the cellar, first door in the hall at the end of the kitchen." I point at the door on the other side of the dining room.

The two berserkers and a shitload of ghosts head that way.

A breath of relief catches in my throat when a crash and the tinkle of broken glass comes from the kitchen.

"There goes the daisies," I say.

Gaire's phone trills.

"And, here's Mommy!" Gaire says, poking the cell screen. "She's still wearing Jane, and will be leaving the Ambassador hotel to head back to her favorite street corner in thirty minutes. If she's not on the corner when we get there, she'll be waiting with Vuur in room two-oh-seven, because she said she's not picking up any more tricks tonight."

I don't even want to go where that sentence can take me.

Chapter 23

Gracie

AN HOUR AFTER the call from Mom, we're parked behind a sage-green Jeep, two cars from the corner across the street from Jane's.

"She's not there, damn it! She's not on her corner," I tell Gaire, grabbing the door handle.

Gaire snags me by Gracie's hair, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"That hurt." I let Gracie's lower lip tremble.

"Well, then don't go crazy and have me making impulsive moves to save our mission." He looks at the corner in question. "Are you sure that's her corner? Who's the redhead?"

"I don't know the redhead." I rub my scalp and snort anger. "And hell no, I'm not sure it's her corner," I say, laced with Jane. "It's not like I followed her right here for several days. Not like I copped a ride with her to the Ambassador from that corner. Not like I walked back here afterward to—"

"Okay, sweetie, I get it," Gaire says real snippy like.

"Man, you're as bad as Vuur to work with," I toss back. Do I know how to strike a nerve or what?

Gaire hits the gas and turns the corner at neck-breaking speed. "Where does she park her car?"

"Right in there." I point at an alley and immediately regret it.

White knuckling the dash, the street people and tall buildings blend together in blur of gray and black.

Gaire comes to a screeching stop inches from Jane's car, "That it?" he asks curtly.

"Yes," I answer just as curtly and peel myself off the dash.

Gracie's eyes well-up, but not mine, as we sit there staring at Jane's car. I'm thinking about the Smith & Wesson she keeps under the dash. I turn and glare at Gaire.

"You want to take Jane's car to the Ambassador hotel?" I ask, and then drive my insane thoughts home by adding, "This one has a Lake County tag."

Gaire fills his lungs, and his eyes, with the best Orange County has to offer at the moment. A homeless guy staggers up to Jane's vehicle. The car holds him up as he alternately swigs from a brown paper bag and peeks inside windows. He smells like rotgut wine, grease, unmentionable body odors, urine, and a bouquet of dumpster treasures.

"I told you to keep the windows up," I tease.

"Sorry for being an asshole." A sigh pushes his words. "I know we're both stressed, but I'm making it worse by worrying about you, that I'm not strong enough to keep you safe when we find this guy. I tried to kill Vuur once. My poison didn't do a damn thing to the dragon. And we both know I can't kill a doppelganger. What good am I?"

"Maybe you can only kill Vuur before he shifts," I say.

A light comes on behind his stormy blue eyes.

"That is very possible," Gaire says. "I remember a fairytale my mother told me over and over. It was about a dragon couple, centuries ago, that almost wiped out the wendigo race. In the tale, great warriors—humans—slayed the male dragon and captured the female. They then mated with her, hoping to gain an ability to stay alive under wendigo's attacks. Mom hypothesized it was how shaper-shifter dragons were born." Gaire looks over at me. "The story ends with the wendigo killing all of the changelings, but who knows?"

"Jeeze, that's worse than a Grimm Brothers' tale. Your mother is kind of sadistic, isn't she?"

"I must be a bit deranged too because I loved that fairytale. It made me dream of killing human warriors with mighty swords who rode dragons in the moonlight. Maybe she was testing me."

"How about we get to the hotel and test our theory out? Slide over," I say, opening the passenger door. "I'll drive, you shift just in case. I doubt the Ambassador's clientele will notice you're a bit . . . different. We need a leash. I think there's a dollar store on East Colonial Drive on the way to the hotel," I say, dodging the vagrant and trotting around to the driver's side. "Just remember, strike before Vuur turns."

"You forgot a couple of things," he says.

I smile. "Like what?"

"First of all, aren't we taking Jane's car? You know. Lake County tags and all?"

Why is he grinning?

"Uh, that's alright. Slide over." I shoo him with my free hand.

"And, sweetie?"

"Yeah?"

If I were dressed in Jane, she would be pulling the Smith & Wesson and telling Gaire to zip it. Probably better I'm not tempted.

"The Vuur in the hotel room is just a host. I can't poison the doppelganger underneath the skin." He smiles, pointing to the passenger seat. "Get in."

As Gaire backs out of the alley, I ashamedly wished I'd snagged the gun.

After checking the corner again and Gaire's cell phone for texts from Mom, we hit the trail. About ten minutes later, we pull into the back parking lot at the Ambassador. I try not to look at the girl on her knees beside the dumpster as we head to a back door next to it. Gaire blatantly stares. The guy above the girl's mouth smiles at him. Gaire doesn't smile back.

We go in the back door and down a dark hall, the same one I ran down wearing Jane the day I doubled up on her. Only I was leaving then, mission accomplished. This one is just starting.

We jog up two flights of stairs, past brown paper bags holding empties, and prophylactics also holding empties. I'm in the process of wishing I didn't let Gracie slide her burgundy polished toes into leather sandals as I wade through enough cigarette butts to damn a third-world country with wide-spread lung cancer.

We exit on the second floor, a few feet from room two-oh-one. A loud bang at the end of the hall has Gaire pulling me back through the door and into the stairwell.

"What the hell?" I exacerbate a whisper while trying to stick my head out the crack Gaire left with the door. "That could be my mother?"

"Shush," Gaire hisses, free arm around my chest, and his cheek next to mine.

"I'll kill her, if you don't shut up!" a baritone voice shouts.

I shriek, "That's—"

Gaire slaps his hand over my mouth. The door closes against our noses.

"I know it's Vuur's voice. So let's tell whoever is banging their head, and the doppelganger wearing Vuur, we're here as well."

"You don't have to be a prick," I mumble under his hand. "That could've been Jane's head."

He lets go of my mouth.

"And if you keep dragging, pulling, and pushing me around," I say, "I'm gonna find something to climb on and kick you in the ass!"

Gaire

* * *

AS MUCH AS I want to throw Luna over my shoulder and carry her back down to the car, I give her a lingering peck on the lips and ask, "Sweetheart, do you think you can drum up a little of CeCe's wit, Jane's street sense, add it to Gracie's common sense, and shelf your blatant disregard for our safety?"

Luna nods Gracie's head, but her brow is furrowed and her right eye twitches with each bang on the wall down the hall.

"Okay, we're going to open the door, and we're just going to listen a second."

I inch aside, and Gracie opens the door. We both listen, but I keep my hand firmly planted on her midsection, just in case.

More banging.

"Doesn't that sound like someone is banging a head against a wall?" I ask.

Gracie covers my hand with hers to stop me from playing with the navel ring on her stomach. "Isn't that what I just said? And it better not be Jane's, because if Vuur bangs it too hard, Mom will lose the host!"

She looks over her shoulder at me. "Let's get the hell down there!"

Luna may be speaking softly, but she's working the anger loud and clear.

We step out of the stairwell. Someone screams, "Turn down the fucking TV!" from room two-oh-one, and we jump three inches into the air. Breathing hard, we both freeze.

The monster inside me trembles to be let out.

"One more time, and I slit her throat!" Vuur's voice barrels on the other side of a door down the hall.

"Jeeze, buddy, whoever the hell you are. Stop the banging! I'm under a friggin' knife in hea'. Youse guys got enough testosterone flyin' around to grow me one! What's your fuckin' problem?"

"Crap," Gracie voice whispers. "That's Jane."

"No," I say trying to gain control of the moment. "That's your mother."

"Oh, God," she squeaks. "We need to do something!"

The banging is louder, more persistent. The expectancy of a battle spreads my lungs and fire runs through my veins. I feel the beast in me swell. Sweat beads on my forehead. My hands itch with the change. I choke, and grab Luna's arm. "I don't think I can stop this!"

I fall to the floor, shudder and dry heave as I try to halt the change. My limbs crack and bend. My spine lengthens. On the fence of reality, I hear a loud crash, a splitting of wood and drywall.

I vaguely hear a woman shout, "Turn the goddamned television down! We're tryin' a little romance in here!"

"Gaire," Luna is saying close to my face. "If that banging came from who I think it did—you can't kill him. Can you hear me?"

I stiffen as my body continues to transform. "You mean I can't put the real Vuur down before he shifts?" I'm panting, my voice deep and gravely. I know the change is a hideous process, but Gracie's face is not registering disgust.

She looks down at me through thoughtful eyes. "Gaire, Vuur doesn't know my mother is under Jane's skin. What if he's trying to save the real Jane? They had this thing. It's hard to explain, and we don't have the time. Promise me. Just promise you'll make sure he isn't trying to save Jane."

I growl and feel bones under my facial features shift and extend. It's only a matter of seconds before the shift is complete. My clothes in shreds, I push myself into a standing position.

Gracie jumps back. "Okay, hold on bad-boy-wendigo-guy. Don't go doing something stupid . . . yet. Please," she says and grabs a clawed hand.

I snort and shake from snout to tail. "I'll try, but if he gets anywhere near you, I can't promise I'll be a good bad-boy." I curl my maw and give Luna a toothy smile.

My senses are ten times stronger. I smell filth on the carpet beneath my clawed feet. The strong scent of rancid body-fluids increases my lust for blood and the need to stop heartbeats pulsing behind old wood worn doors. Lights burn under small cages and beside each door, and make me hood the wendigo's eyes from the glare. I can feel the monster's pulse in my temples, chest, spine, and fingers dressed in long sharp claws.

There's a loud crash and a man's angry shriek. Gracie runs toward two-oh-seven. I spring down the hall after her. She slides to a stop in front of the room seconds before I get there.

Something solid hits glass.

A woman screams, "Vuur, stop!"

We burst through the door to find Vuur fighting Vuur, and Jane standing in the middle of the bed, knees bent, arms out, ready to leap.

"That's it! I'm calling the fucking cops!" the woman down the hall yells.

I kick the door shut and run the deadbolt.

"Which one?" Luna shouts at her mother dressed in Jane.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!" Jane screams back. "The one with the f'n ropes around his arms, idiot. Go left!"

Both women leap onto the men's chests and lock lips with them. They move around the room like two inebriated couples trying to outdo each other on a dance floor.

I'm frozen in place as the Vuur under Jane's lips disintegrates into a fine black powder and clings to the doppelganger trying to push her away. The Vuur under Gracie manages to pull her off his chest and darts toward the cloud of smoke being drawn into Jane.

"Stop him!" Luna screams at me as I take Vuur down.

We roll on the carpet, my fangs inches from his throat.

"But don't you dare kill him!" she yells in my ear. "He was not trying to kill Jane!"

Vuur turns his head to glare at Gracie and spits on the carpet. "Let me guess, another doppelganger?"

Gracie smiles. "Hey Vuur, last time we met I was wearing Jane."

My words are deep and threatening: "Don't move."

Vuur turns nose to snout with me. "I wouldn't think of it. However, if you will just let me up, I'm sure we can handle this situation one monster to another." Vuur's nose wrinkles. "Your breath is horrid. What do you feed on?"

"Honey," Gracie says. "Just back your snout up a bit, Gaire, and if Vuur even looks like he's going to shift into the dragon, you have my permission to kill him."

Vuur slowly turns his head back to Gracie. "Young lady, you are just as obnoxious under that host."

"Yeah, I taught her everything she needed to know," Luna's mother says out of Jane's lips. "Now youse guys back it down a level . . . or five. You're stirring the bitch in me."

My eyes pierce where my teeth cannot, as I straddle Vuur, daring him to move a muscle. Deep in my chest the growl is soft but menacing.

Gracie slaps my snout. "Stop that! Settle down."

"Well," Luna's mother says, gliding over me like a black storm cloud. "Now that I've managed to destroy the doppelganger who fully intended to destroy Luna, I believe I will be leaving before day breaks. I have a group of elders to address." She smiles wickedly at me. "Damn, I wish I could have worn Jane to the meeting."

As she glides toward the bolted door, she says, "It looks like Rogaire can clean up here without further assistance."

"And who, per se, are you?" Vuur asks Luna's mother. "But more importantly, what have all of you done with my Jane?"

"Your Jane?" we all say at the same time.

"Yes, I've grown rather fond of her. It's a good thing I have such excellent sleuthing skills and was able to find Jane on her street corner. It seems you owe me, wendigo."

I'm nose to nose with the shifter again. "For what?"

"For not leaving your doppelganger in Purgatory and instead taking her to Michigan to find you."

"He's right," Luna says through Gracie's lips. "If he didn't take Jane and me with him, I might not have found you. He might not have fallen in love with Jane, and she might be dead right now. Heck, I might be dead by now. This could have turned out a whole lot different if Vuur had just started looking for you again."

"He almost killed me," I growl.

"I do believe the strength in that sentence is the word almost, wendigo," Vuur says. "Your breath is fetid, your skin is oily, and your weight is making the dragon in me stir. Do we wish to go there?"

My chest rumbles.

Luna puts her arm over my hairy shoulder and plays with my white mane. "Can we leave now?"

"Where is Jane?" Vuur asks.

"Why don't you both go set Jane free? We've—let's not forget my part in all of this—created enough drama in the human world for one day," Luna's mother says as she seeps through the door frame. "I'll be watching all of you," her voice echo's down the hall over the sound of approaching sirens.

Chapter 24

Gaire

"HOW LONG WILL you keep Gracie?" I ask.

"Until I shed her," she answers. "She'll be home in a few days."

"I think it's a good idea to hang onto her until then," I tease. "She tempers the monster inside me and there's the necromancer-witchy thing. She may turn out to be helpful."

"What if I don’t want to temper your bad side?"

"But you never know when summoning a ghost can come in handy," I say.

"Good thing I know where Gracie lives," she playfully says. "I mean, in case we lose her or something."

"I thought you said you're strictly catch and release."

"That was yesterday," she says, a taunting grin on her face, eyes making quick movements toward the kitchen.

"Great to know. There's two previous ladies I wouldn't mind revisiting," I say and run an index finger down her jaw and over the corner of her lip.

Gracie wiggles nervously, gently wraps her fingers around my promiscuous one, and pulls my hand to her lap. I give her gesture a friendly pat. We sit on her terribly uncomfortable sofa in the middle of way too many scents wafting off the candles in the room, and exchange a mild electric current flowing between us.

She's still wearing the halter top, jeans, and strappy sandals I'm sure Gracie felt was risqué enough advertisement for a corner on OBT. The outside of my lips quiver a grin and I mentally laugh at the thought of her trying to hook in the outfit. It shows plenty of body for me, but on the street . . . not so much.

My mind wanders to the featherbed upstairs, and the open French windows drawing the night inside.

Gracie lifts her lids and stares at me through Luna's eyes, speckled with darting red flecks. In a quick fluid movement, I grip her hands, lean my upper arm into her chest just under the ribcage, and roll her over my shoulders and around my neck.

"Wave bye-bye to Nan and her friends," I tell her and then even out her weight on my shoulders.

I chuckle when her fingers wiggle goodbye over the edge of my clutched palm, as I take on the stairs two at a time.

Gracie

* * *

A HERD OF ghosts huddle by Nan as she covers the eyes of two young girls. They are back out of the photograph on the kitchen wall. Nan's smile spreads across her face. The ghosts' howls and cackles rise above the giggles of the girl's tethered to Nan's hands, as we climb the stairs.

Gaire shoulders Gracie's bedroom door open, and then shuts it with his booted foot. Gently, he slides me to the floor. "Am I on top, or you?"

I laugh. I can't help it.

Over a grin that begs to be kissed, he teases, "Hey, I ran the whole show the first time and it didn't go very well."

I draw my lips into a pucker and shake my head. "Nah-ah, if I remember correctly, I tried to seduce you the first time. You pushed me away."

Gaire grits his teeth, eyes stormy.

"Hey, I'm down with a little rough."

"After the mind-fuck downstairs, you deserve rough," he says and lifts me onto the feather bed. "But I'll save that for another Jane, sometime down the road. Tonight it's all about your Gracie side."

On my knees at the edge of the bed, I pull the leather tie at my back and leave the one around my neck secured. The moon is full and it softly lights the room. A gentle breeze from the open windows flutter my halter hanging mid-chest and to my navel.

Gaire moves closer and reaches out. I shake my head, and his hand falls to his hip.

Unzipping my jeans and kicking off my sandals, I squirm out of my pants and kneel before him in my halter and white cotton hipsters. When I reach out for his hand, he smiles and gives it to me.

As Gracie tilts her head and looks up into his eyes, I place his hand into her panties.

"I want you inside of me," I whisper as his fingers slide into moist warm flesh.

"You're so wet for me." His whisper is deep and throaty. "I want to taste you first."

His words are tempered by a throaty growl.

I smile wickedly and pull his fingers out of Gracie's panties and up to his mouth.

"Bad girl," he says and slides his tongue over them, nostrils flaring.

"Are you ready for rough now?" My grin moves up to my provocative red eyes.

"No, how about this time I please you first." He pushes me onto the bed, and rips my panties down my legs and over my feet. Gaire kneels between my legs, his fingers running up the insides of my thighs. "Then it will be all about rough," he says as his face nuzzles into the black curls between my legs. His tongue flicks over my clitoris, and nibbles.

I suck in a breath between my teeth, and let it out in short whimpering pants.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm floating beside the bed, a cloud of sooty smoke, wicked red eyes, and a toothy-sharp smile. Gaire looks pretty peculiar, with his wolf-like face, set of manic eyes, and a protruding jaw lying on a lacy sage striped pillow. His body, skinny and alien looking, is curled in a fetal position on top of a flowery peach comforter.

"We need a purpose," I say. "Not a witch. Everyone needs a purpose in life. Before Gracie, our purpose was to find love, someone to share our lives with. Now..."

"A purpose?" he asks. His voice is heavy and sandy. "We have a purpose, Luna. We need to stay alive. There's still a price on my head, and more than one bounty hunter out there. Not to mention the cool and collected assassin I happened to smite twice, and the hotwired hooker who accompanies him. She looked pretty pissed at you. What if she talks Vuur out of his promise?"

"Jane wouldn't do that," I taunt.

"Let's not forget my father. He'll kill me the moment he lays eyes on me. Until then, he is willing to pay anyone who gets there before him.

"And you're still two years from being cut loose. You need to keep up appearances, literally. Your elders, and my breed, believe a wendigo feeding off the human flesh a doppelganger wears is what pushes us above ground for more. You make one more wrong move, and you'll have a price on your head. I'm sure as hell not going to let that happen. Don't you think that alone is purpose enough?"

"As far as I'm concerned they would have to prove that. Neither you nor I have done anything to prove their ancient beliefs. And to answer your question, no, nothing you have stated is a purpose. All of it is survival. You've lived so long in survival mode you've confused it with resolution. A purpose would be to make a difference, make changes in the way others think Down Under, especially about my breed and yours."

"No creature has ever been able to change what is Down Under. It would be useless to try." He raises his hand to keep me from voicing a rebuttal.

"We don't need to charge out of here on a mission to change the world, Luna. That's a bit daunting."

"Well," I say, "how about we start with your father and my elders?"

"You'll never change what my father thinks of me."

"Your mother would be a good place to start. He took her to his bed. There has to be a reason he did."

"That was a weakness."

"Yes and therefore springs a hope," I tell him using the voice Gracie gifted me, but I feel the Jane in me when I say, "And the doppelganger we killed? He raped and murdered innocent humans, making authorities believe the serial killer was a human. This kind of behavior puts my race in more jeopardy than I do when I double up. That doppelganger bent ancient rules to feed his perversions. And others have done so for several hundred years, damning a race that doesn't even know we exist. Righting that is a purpose."

My body roils as I lay beside the wendigo on Gracie's bed.

"Truth be told, I'd like nothing better than to be able to enjoy the best of both worlds with you," he says, and covers a yawn with his long stick-like fingers. "So I get it. That will never be possible if there's not a better world below the sewer drain. But I'm afraid trying to reason with my father and your elders will be impossible."

"Exactly." I'm smiling now, although it must look garishly revolting. "In which case, we move on to purpose B."

Gaire's left eyebrow raises. A smile tickles the underside of one cheek. "Having sex with every human above the sewer drain, one night at a time, while husbands all over the world think their wife is dreaming in bed beside them?"

"Well, sure, that," I say with a giggle, "and kickin' us some Down Under ass, until somebody wants to listen."

"Going rogue?"

"Going rogue," I answer.

* * *

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About the Author

From USA Today bestselling author, Susan Stec:

I love laughing with my daughters, class B scary movies, fine cuisine and hamburgers from Wendy's. I'm addicted to electronics, dark chocolate, vintage eyeglass frames, and fuzzy warm socks.

There isn't just one thing I'm passionate about. I'm married to a wonderful man, have two adult daughters, three grandsons, and three dogs. I live on fifty acres, and hunt and fish. I will get up in the middle of the night to listen to the coyote sing. I sculpt stained glass, paint watercolors, make jewelry, but most of all I write. I write because I have to and because it amuses me to live vicariously through my characters.

One's real life is so often the life that one does not lead~~Oscar Wilde

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

FORBIDDEN LOVE

Heart of the Huntress Series, Book 3

BY TERRY SPEAR

Copyright © 2010 by Terry Spear

Dedicated to vampire lovers for all time!

Forbidden Love

Huntress Alena MacLeod is given a mission: work undercover to discover a rogue vampire’s secretive work, then terminate him.

Ephraim MacNeill, aka Sutton Bastrop, knows Alena is his Elizabeth MacLeod from an earlier time, and he’s determined to return to the past and right all the wrongs to end the curse placed on the love of his life before it’s too late—again.

Together, they must risk all to stop a war between a newly formed Brotherhood of rogue vampires, tired of the status quo, and the League of Hunters, who have ruled for centuries over the vampires—both changed during the Black Death—some of the survivors becoming vampires, and others hunters of the same.

Forbidden Love

Copyright © 2010 by Terry Spear

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Discover more about Terry Spear at:

http://www.terryspear.com/

Prologue

Campbeltown, Scotland, 1701

EPHRAIM MACNEILL WOULD kill anyone who stood in his way.

His head held high, his sword readied, he stalked toward the motte and bailey castle in the twilight of the eve. Still not believing his luck at locating Elizabeth’s current place of imprisonment, he feared the rumor a ruse, or worse—a calculated attempt to draw him into the spider’s web. But the sight of a woman paralleling his path in the deepening shadows drew his attention. Her red curls trailed behind her like a knight’s banner, whipping in the breeze, while she fled across the rain-soaked valley. Praise God, his beloved had escaped.

“Elizabeth!” Ephraim resheathed his sword and dashed for her. A thread of joy filled his heart that she appeared unharmed. But despair they’d soon be caught cut short the brief elation.

“Ephraim.” His name half choked, half sounding desperate from her lips made his mouth go dry. Bolting through sweet heather, she altered her course in the direction of his voice.

Elizabeth, his only reason to live his immortal life.

Damn the clan wars that kept them apart. But no more. Tonight he’d blood bond with her and forever... forever they would be joined as mates.

Clouds darkened the sky as the sun sank beneath the earth. Yet with his nocturnal sight, he saw her as clearly as if the golden sphere still lighted their way. She clutched her petticoats high to keep from tripping on them, her knuckles white from the grip. Her creamy cheeks were flushed pink from the nippiness in the air and the rush of her run, while her small, leather shoes crunched on the earth in a frenzied pace.

His heart thundered while he fought the panic rising in his blood. If her brothers or any of the rest of her kin tracked them now…

Concentrating on his vampiric power, Ephraim attempted to fly to her, or to vanish and appear before her, but his new found abilities eluded him at the most dangerous of times. Damn the plague that had made him and others vampiric. And damn the same plague that had made others like Elizabeth and most of her kin stronger, too. Only the bloodlust in their hearts was a different kind. A kind that turned them into hunters of vampires.

Sprinting toward Elizabeth, Ephraim’s boots pounded the wet earth. Her eyes widened, searching for signs of him in the dark.

“Elizabeth,” he said under his breath this time, not wanting anyone to hear if someone suspected she’d already escaped as he closed the distance.

Reaching her, he grabbed her up in his arms, elated to finally hold her again, drugged with her womanly scent. But fear of being caught overshadowed the bliss. He whirled around, then ran back the way he’d come. She smelled of sweet lavender and woman, and he drank in her fragrance with a deep breath, holding her warm body against his in a fevered embrace. A year he had searched in vain for her... a lifetime, craving her soft touch.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she choked out, still trying to catch her breath, “Malcolm will kill us both. Where can we hide?” She burrowed her head against his chest and warm tears trickled down his shirt, stirring his heart.

“An abandoned croft nearby, love,” he whispered against her head, the pleasure he felt in holding her close hampered by the fear he could still lose her.

Because he had several times the strength of men not visited by the plague, she weighed no more than a sack of goose down to him, instead of the weight of a full-grown, curvaceous woman he craved to devour. He held her tightly against his chest while he ran, wanting to reassure her he would protect her now and always.

“For twelve long months I have searched in vain for ye.”

“Aye, and I prayed ye would find me.” She clutched him tighter, her voice full of tears. “Malcolm’s determined to marry me off to my cousin. Oh, Ephraim, if it hadna been for Mary, she risked her life to bring me food and drink that wasna drugged. And she drugged those who guarded my chamber.”

“Your second cousin’s a good lass, love.” He kissed Elizabeth’s bonnie head, his heart soaring like a feathered bird in flight.

For three miles he ran, never tiring. The sky darkened to give them sufficient cover while the scent of peat smoke drifted in the breeze from some distant dwelling. “I’ve booked passage on a ship sailing to the Colonies on the morrow. I’ve changed my name to Sutton Bastrop, and ye will be my wife.”

“‘Tis time ye married me.” Tilting her chin up, she looked him squarely in the eye, teasing him in her devilish way. No matter the dire circumstances they found themselves in, she always had a way of lightening the mood to chase away the dark.

“You were the one who wished your father’s blessing, and once he was murdered by the MacLean, your brother’s,” he reminded her with a kiss on the cheek.

She shook her head, her voice bitter when she spoke. “I was a fool to think they would allow me to marry anyone other than my cousin. Love means naught to any of them. Power and privilege, that’s all that matters.”

“He willna have ye.” Determined to keep her out of her kin’s hands, Ephraim would do anything—give up his title, his lands—anything to have her for his own.

She stared into the darkness, but he knew she couldn’t see a thing, not like he could.

Yet her sense of smell and hearing were vastly improved like a vampire’s. She breathed in more deeply, and he knew she was trying to smell danger anywhere nearby.

“Won’t they look for us there, Ephraim?”

Just the way she said his name, lovingly, stirred his loins. He had been separated from her overmuch too long. “‘Tis off the main road, no worn paths lead to it. None should find us.” At least he hoped not. He had no other place to keep her safe until they shipped off. ‘Twas the best he could do after learning of her whereabouts.

He shoved the door open to the hovel, and it squeaked on its hinges.

She shuddered. “I feel as though we have sent a warning bell ringing across the valley.”

“We should be safe for the eve.” He prayed his words would prove true. “We will leave before first light.” He set her on a makeshift straw bed in one corner of the room, the hay still green, soft, leafy, and sweet smelling.

“You just made this bed, love?” Her brows rose in questioning, her lips twitching upward at the corners.

“Aye, as soon as I learned you were being kept hostage in the castle. As soon as it was dark, I intended to free ye and ravage ye here.” He hurried to the door and wedged a rickety wooden chair against it.

She sounded as desperate as he felt as she said, “Make love to me, Ephraim. The thought of being with you again is the only thing that kept me alive these past many months.”

‘Twas his most fervent desire, yet he wanted much more than that. Crossing the floor, he crouched in front of her and ran his fingers through her silky tresses. “We must blood bond if we are to be together forever, love.” He could not risk losing her again.

She looked at the dirt floor, earthy smelling and slightly damp from the recent shower.

Had she changed her mind? The notion tightened his stomach into knotted hemp. Raising her chin, he gazed into her aquamarine eyes flecked with amber, the eyes he had so longed to see again. “We must.”

She nodded. “Aye.”

“Even if your family is against it?”

“‘Tis my life to give, no’ theirs.” She tilted her chin up, and he saw the determination in her eyes.

He was not waiting for her to change her mind. Forever, they would be together. Forever, soul mates, as one.

Grasping the silver brooch attached to the green and white striped arisaid at her breast, he hurriedly unfastened it. Then he tackled the silver belt secured over the shawl beneath her breast. She began to yank off her petticoats while he worked on her blue jacket and tossed it aside.

“You need to wear less clothing, lass.”

She slapped his shoulder. “And have me called one of those loose wenches?”

Smiling darkly, he pulled off her stays. “If ye wore nay stays, I would indeed call ye a loose woman.” He kissed her cheek, but she tugged at his jacket.

“Hurry, Ephraim.”

After yanking her shift over her head, he stared at her naked beauty. The moon’s silver streaks provided a faint light through an open window and part of the roof where the mud and straw had long since rotted away.

Her creamy skin as smooth as a bairn’s, slightly moist from their race to flee from her family, her breasts... firm, the dark pink nipples already extended like luscious forbidden fruit tantalized him. Her hair tangled by the breeze, draped in straggles over her blushing shoulders, and her full lips parted, begged him to kiss them. The curly red hair at the apex of her thighs garnered his attention next, and then his gaze returned to her eyes. He could easily get lost in their darkened depths. With a ragged sigh, he concluded once again, she was more beautiful than any Highland lass he’d ever met.

How he’d longed to be with her like this as they’d once been. Damn her family for keeping them apart.

Stripping his clothes off with vampiric speed, he leaned against her on their hastily-made bed. Whether it was the fear he’d never be with her again, the bloodlust rising in his system, or the concern they would get caught, he rushed his actions with a frenzied pace not normally his style. He conquered her mouth with determination, grasping her hair in satiny handfuls while he worked his body between her legs. Digging her fingernails into his shoulders, she urged him on, her knees bent, her legs parted, her tongue flicking against his.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she moaned against his mouth.

He sank between her legs and thrust his tongue into her mouth, desiring to fill her with every passionate ounce he had preserved for her. She caressed his tongue with hers in a zealous dance, forcing a deep-throated groan to issue. How he loved the red-haired goddess.

Her name slipped from his lips in adoration, “Elizabeth,” having said it so many times in the past few months in sleep, having believed her to be under him like now in the throes of passion, only to awake and find it a dream. His heart nearly burst with pride to be reunited with her.

Her soft warm body curved to meet his, her hips thrusting, forcing him to penetrate her feminine chambers more deeply, eliciting another groan from his lips. He never doubted they were meant to be together, bound for all eternity.

She moved her fingers lower, touching the base of his spine, pressuring him to give of himself, sending another shiver of need through him. He ground harder against her, their bodies damp with sweat in the cool night air. His teeth itched to extend, but making love came first, then the blood bond, if he could contain the bloodlust that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Ephraim,” she whispered against his cheek.

The sweet warm blood pumped through her veins at an accelerated rate, urging him to drink his fill. His teeth extended, his power to resist, lost. He grazed the sharp tips of his canines on her throat careful not to nick her skin. He plunged deeper between her legs, so close to the peak he could taste fulfillment.

Her body shuddering with climax gripped him with spasms of pleasure until he could hold back no longer.

He groaned as his seed filled her ripe womb. He sensed it from the heat of her body and the fluids that moistened her entrance for him, receptive to his seed. “Elizabeth MacLeod, I love you,” he whispered huskily against her mouth, nuzzling his to hers, before he shared with her the ultimate sexual pleasure.

“Bite me, love,” she urged, her voice huskier than usual. She licked his cheek, then turned her head, tilting her chin up, exposing her throat to him.

Unable to wait any longer, he sank his teeth into her soft skin. She gasped. He stilled his actions. Her fingers traced his spine, sending a tingling straight to his groin.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she moaned. “Why didn’t you tell me how good this could be?”

He touched her breast and felt the rigid peak against his fingertip. Then the bloodlust careened through him, the feral sensation entreating him to fulfill his need in the vampire way. He drew the sweet blood from the vein in her throat, relieved and gladdened she enjoyed his pleasuring her in a new way. All he needed to do was encourage her thirst for him, drink enough of her blood so that she had to drink some of his, then they would be blood bonded for the rest of their lives.

But the sound of horses’ hooves pounding through the area, and the shout of men’s angry voices shattered the moment.

“Oh, Ephraim,” Elizabeth cried in a whispered hush. “Hurry!”

They had run out of time. He couldn’t finish the blood bonding. Damn her kin!

Determined to help her dress and save her from her kin’s wrath, he pulled away. With every intention of vanishing so her family would think she had been alone, he hoped to buy them more time, another chance for another day to escape the land and her hostile kin.

“There!” her brother shouted. “Search that hovel!”

Ephraim fastened Elizabeth’s silver brooch when her trembling fingers could not. Then he finished dressing.

“I will come for you,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Nay, Ephraim, nay... do no’ leave me.”

He hated to hear the tremor in her voice, feel her tremulous fingers clutching at his shirt, see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “They will kill us both if they catch us together.”

“I love ye with all my heart, and I promise to ye, I won’t marry my cousin, but die first, Ephraim. I promise I will love ye forever.”

He touched her lips, silencing them as tears slid down her cheeks. “Together, forever, my sweet Elizabeth.” He tried to summon the ability to vanish, to keep her safe.

The door to the croft burst open so violently, it flew off its hinges, crushing the rickety chair. Elizabeth screamed in terror. Ephraim jerked his sword from its sheath.

Damned vampirism, he cursed inwardly when he couldn’t muster the skill to disappear. When the first of Elizabeth’s kin stormed through the door, Ephraim’s blood turned to ice.

With a quick thrust, Ephraim drove the cold steel of his claymore into the massively-built warrior’s chest. But the fire in the Highlander’s eyes only blazed hotter.

Chapter 1

Baltimore, Maryland, Present Day

THE NOTION OF killing him created a strange sense of disquiet.

Alena MacLeod studied the photograph further. Sutton Bastrop dared her to drink him in with her gaze. The vampire’s piercing black eyes paralyzed her with a rush of emotion. Something about him touched on shadowed memories of unfulfilled dreams she’d had. She sensed his intimate touch, their skin bared, as... as he made love to her.

She blinked. Never had she seen the man before in her life. She would never have lain with a vampire. Ever. Unless… unless he hadn’t been a vampire at the time. But she would have remembered him. Yet she couldn’t help but feel as though their naked bodies had embraced one another in passionate lovemaking.

For a moment, she sat oblivious to the sounds of the music, chatter, and clinking of forks against dishes. Even her cousin leaning back against his bench seat opposite her in the popular Baltimore restaurant seemed to fade away.

“All right?” David asked, breaking into her concentration, his aquamarine eyes the same vivid color as hers, but cold and businesslike now. “You earn twenty-five thousand to terminate him.” His voice sounded indifferent as if she always received that much for a job. Maybe because he easily earned more and the high dollar amount didn’t mean anything to him.

Rubbing her temple, she attempted to wipe away the image of Sutton kissing her breast. To her chagrin, the thought of the vampire touching her, forced her nipples to tighten. “Why’s the League offering me so much?”

“You’ve wanted the higher paying jobs, now you have one.”

The strange connection she felt to the targeted vampire sent a tingle streaking down her spine. She was certain she’d never seen him before, yet... why would she have such arousing images of them having been together? She dipped into the recesses of her memories, but couldn’t dredge up the elusive recollection of having met him.

She ran her finger along the bottom edge of the photo. “This doesn’t feel right.” She glanced up at her cousin, his red hair the same color as her own, tied back in a tail. Though they were distant cousins, they looked so similar they were often mistaken for brother and sister. “Usually some newly trained hunter brings the assignment to me, not one as well thought of as you, David MacLeod, vampire hunter, extraordinaire. I’ve never seen you serve as a taskmaster.” Yet this task had to be the kind of job he usually took care of, if the League offered her that much money. “The rogue vampire has to be evil to the core.” But why assign the job to her?

Refusing to comment, David still only listened to her in that way he did when secrets needed to be kept.

“David, listen, the number of rogues has increased, what? Nearly tenfold every week for the past several weeks?”

He nodded, his attitude one of boredom now.

“Well, what’s the matter? Is it some kind of unusual mutation in their already mutated genes that’s creating the problem? Surely, the League is seeking other ways to deal with this.”

David remained noncommittal, toying with the burgundy linen napkin wrapped around his utensils, the silverware he had no intention of using.

“I know you don’t care about League politics because exterminating vampires remains your unrelenting focus, but surely you have some opinion about this.” She considered the photograph again, furrowing her brow. “Are you sure the League doesn’t know something about the increase in killings? You don’t think this could be the beginning of an all out war between the hunters and the bloodsuckers?”

David raised a brow but his lips remained ambiguous. “He likes redheads.”

Alena’s lower lip dropped.

David shrugged a shoulder and sat up taller. He had the family’s aristocratic Scottish nose with a dusting of red freckles sprinkled across the bridge, tilted up in an arrogant manner.

“The League feels you’re the best for the job,” he offered.

Instantly, her blood heated and her voice elevated when she responded. “Not because I’ve eliminated five this spring alone—that I’m highly skilled, trained, and dedicated—but just because I’m a redhead?”

A young couple at another booth in the Italian restaurant glanced in her direction.

“I’ll leave in a moment to allow the two of you to get better acquainted,” David said, his tone cool.

“What?” Her voice raised another few notches. “We never acquaint ourselves with the rogue. Never. It just isn’t done. We locate the renegade and terminate him or her. That’s it. No small talk, no getting to know them better, no fuss or muss. A quick thrust of a hunter’s ancient blade into the heart of the malevolent being, end of problem. Something is totally screwy about this case.”

She couldn’t squelch the growing anxiety that sliced through her. Chewing on her bottom lip, she removed what remained of her peach lip gloss, when her cousin shoved the contract at her.

He spoke softly, almost in a placating way—which was again uncharacteristic of him—but his words only increased the uneasiness she felt. “This assignment is slightly different. Sure, you’ll terminate him. But the League needs information about the project he’s working on first. You’re to slip into his lair and find out what you can. Work undercover, so to speak. And in this instance, you have no choice. The job is yours. Period.”

She glanced down at the photo again. Sutton’s rugged jaw, his black hair that fell to his shoulders, and his sensual lips that turned up so slightly—the smile appeared almost imperceptible—all seemed so oddly familiar. The black tux he wore fit perfectly over broad shoulders, the lapels as satiny as his hair. His ice-white shirt stood out sharply against his skin, almost making it appear tanned in contrast. But none of these held her attention like his eyes, forcing her to consider them again.

What was it about the pools of dark chocolate that melted her heart? A distant memory she couldn’t recapture lurked half hidden in the shadowy recesses of her mind. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

The fragrance of freshly mowed grass came to her as her naked back rested against a soft bed of green hay. Cold air circulated around her, but Sutton’s body working against hers in the throes of passion warmed her. His lips pressed against hers with bruising kisses, their tongues tangled, then his extended canines grazed her exposed throat. They pricked her skin, and…

She gasped and opened her eyes.

“He’s going to be here momentarily.” David motioned to a table situated across from them.

The image of Sutton making love to her instantly vanished. She cursed inwardly, wanting to see more of the picture, like watching a movie clip, not knowing where it began or how it ended. Except she played a prominent role, not as a spectator, but a participant. A very willing participant.

“He sits there every Friday night at this time. He’ll have a perfect view of you. When he gets an eyeful of that red hair of yours, he’ll want to make your acquaintance.”

Glancing at the table, Alena still fumed she’d been set up to take the job only because she had red hair. She shoved the paper at David. “I don’t make friends with bloodsuckers then kill them. I’m not an undercover spy. Have the League find some other hunter for the assignment.”

David shook his head. “They said you might say this. You have no choice, Alena. I already told you so. If you can’t accomplish the mission, through no fault of your own, you’re off the hook.”

She cocked a brow. “You mean if he kills me first.”

David’s mouth twitched up, then he turned serious. His brow furrowing, he leaned forward in his seat. “If you choose not to do the job, you’re blacklisted. Depending upon the severity of the infraction, if you become a maverick hunter, the League has every right to set a contract out on you.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “As you know, family gets called on first to perform cleansing when a hunter or huntress gets out of line. Of course, I’m only referring to worst-case scenarios here.”

“Yeah, like Tanya. You were only too eager to do your duty.” Sarcasm dripped from her words, and she gave him one of her best glowers.

David’s harsh look slipped, and he cleared his throat. “Hell, Tanya not only refused to terminate the serial-killer vampire, but lured human victims to him. What were we supposed to do?”

Alena understood that, damn it. “Did you have to be the one to kill her? Our own cousin?”

A slice of anger still cut into her heart concerning her feelings toward David. He had quickly become the family enforcer. Strictly adhering to League rules, the job took priority over family ties. Woe to the woman who ever lost her heart to such an unfeeling hunter.

Unexpectedly, David’s expression softened. “Like you this time, the League didn’t give me a choice.”

She stared at him. Her heart tried to sift through his words while her brain held onto the old facts as she knew them. “You didn’t tell me this before.”

“Would it have mattered? You’ve been angry with me since I finished the task. I couldn’t have gone against the League, nor would I have considered such an act of treason. I did the deed. For that, I fear, you’ll always hold a grudge against me.”

Surprised he’d care, she parted her lips to speak, then closed them again. She wasn’t certain how she felt. Since he’d been given no choice...

She shook her head. Why couldn’t he have declined the job?

Right. Like she’d tried to refuse this one.

Alena considered Sutton’s photo again. She suspected she would have a devil of a time getting close to him, then killing him. Just his picture—well, not his photo specifically, but his eyes totally entranced her—drew her in like a thirsty desert soaked up a spring rain.

David rose from the booth. “The ferris wheel is already in motion. If you want to get off, you have to complete the ride. Call me with the details of the case as soon as you learn something. But if I don’t hear from you by this time next week, I’ll be in touch with you.”

“What’s the project Sutton’s working on?”

“I don’t know. The League wouldn’t say, though I did inquire.”

“How will I know—”

“They said it would be obvious. Truthfully, and you never heard me say this, I think they’re not quite sure themselves.”

“So it’s more of a fishing expedition?”

He answered with an impersonal nod.

“Are they certain he’s a rogue?”

“If they’ve targeted him, you know he is. They don’t make mistakes about a thing like that.”

A familiar redhead caught Alena’s attention and she looked past David and saw his older brother, Jared, headed their way. Four years David’s senior, Jared had always resented being the head of the household when their parents were killed by a pair of renegades. Now, he resented being the elder brother who was not half as well thought of in his hunter career as David. And because David had always been protective of Alena since her mother had died and her father was too busy running League business, Jared treated Alena with low regard. He cast her an annoyed look, and she smiled in her most amiable way.

“I need a word with you,” Jared said to David.

David glanced at his watch, then without another word, rose from his seat and headed with Jared for the back door of the restaurant, looking like a man with a new mission. David wouldn’t tell her to take care or offer her other words of encouragement. Serving as a professional hunter, he hid his feelings well. Although he had not always been so hard. Had a vampire not killed his little brother…

Alena shook her head.

The incident was not David’s fault but his incorrigible younger brother’s. Maybe even Jared’s for partying with his friends instead of being around more when David and Bobby needed a parent figure. But it didn’t matter. She doubted David would ever give up the guilt he felt that he hadn’t supervised his little brother better. He would never give up searching for the vampire renegade who had murdered Bobby either.

As soon as David and Jared disappeared, the restaurant seemed to grow colder.

Italian music drifted overhead, the sweet sounds of amore’, though it took on a more ominous tone to her ear. Hushed voices spoke all around her in the booths and tables filled with couples, families, and friends.

For an instant, she wished she was just sharing a meal with a hunter friend. Instead, she’d acquired a mission tonight, one she feared she was bound to regret.

The fragrance of garlic and basil scented the air. She took a deep breath. The aroma tantalized her. Her stomach growled in anticipation of spicy Italian sausage coated in marinara sauce over a bed of tomato, spinach and regular noodles, long overdue.

But then the table setting across from her drew her attention.

In the center of the white cloth covered table, a crystal vase sported a single red rose. No other table was adorned in such a fashion. Was Sutton entertaining another redhead tonight?

Glancing down at the photo, Alena squirmed slightly to get comfortable on the burgundy, cushioned bench, trying to relax the tension in her back.

Footsteps approached her from behind. She tensed and glanced over her shoulder. A perky waitress with a head full of springy blond curls gave her a broad smile and handed her a menu. “I’m Kitty, your server. The gentleman you were with said you wished to order now.”

“I’ll have a glass of cabernet sauvignon, first.” Although Alena didn’t often imbibe, tonight she needed a drink.

When the waitress left, Alena opened her menu and considered the offerings. Deciding on the spicy sausage spaghetti, she snapped the menu shut, then looked back at Sutton’s reserved table.

How could the League believe Alena’s red hair would entice a vampire? According to fatality statistics, renegade vampires preferred vivacious blondes or sensuous brunettes. Besides, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out she was a huntress as soon as he tried to control her mind, and she boldly prevented it. Then what?

Normally, then, she’d kill the rogue vampire. But noooo. She had to worm information out of him. The League had never trained her for that kind of task. How did they think she could manage this mission?

She tapped her peach polished nails on the burgundy table. Didn’t Sutton know redheads could have a quick temper? He could easily lose his head over her.

She smiled at her own dark humor. She’d gotten quite good at decapitating rogue vampires, if she caught them off-guard.

Maybe he liked quick-tempered women. Maybe he pushed them to the limit, just before he ripped out their throats. Her stomach soured with the notion he was a rogue.

The steward walked over to her table, then poured a glass of red wine for her. The full-bodied bouquet reached her, and she took a deep breath to enjoy the fragrance. When he finished, she sipped the wine and nodded. The right flavor, weight, aftertaste of perfectly crushed grapes. “This is fine.”

He smiled, then returned to the bar.

Turning, she nearly gasped when Sutton Bastrop walked toward her, accompanied by a redheaded woman. Annoyed with feeling anything but a huntress’s professional interest, she attempted to study him with clinical objectiveness.

Wearing an expensive black suit in person, Sutton appeared even more handsome than in the photo. And taller, more broad shouldered, and closer… and much more real. Alena swallowed the lump in her throat, unable to shut off the strange feelings racing through her at the sight of him. Then she glanced down at the table to gather her composure, and her heart nearly stopped. His photo boldly stared back at her. Seizing it, she shoved his picture and the contract into her purse, her huntress self-control once again shattered.

Sutton glanced in Alena’s direction, his mouth parting suddenly, his eyes darkening in an instant. Maybe the League was right in thinking he’d let down his defenses at the sight of seeing a redhead. Guiding his date to their table, his hand rested on the small of her bare back. Then he and his date took their seats, and he nobly diverted his attention to the woman, and for an instant, she respected him for doing so. Alena had been only a minor intriguing side note, but his date was all that truly mattered. She liked that in a man.

But had he influenced the woman through his vampiric charms? Or was she here of her own free will?

Alena’s gaze shifted to the top of the woman’s dress, cut provocatively low, exposing enough skin for the vampire to have an unhampered evening feast after dinner. Alena clenched her stomach and a shiver trickled through her.

She’d only caught a rogue vampire feeding off a human once—the vision etched forever in her mind—his bloodstained teeth, the look of terror on the poor victim’s face. The girl couldn’t have been any older than ten, playing alone in her backyard that fateful night, dressed in shorts and a heart-embroidered T-shirt. The rogue vampire paid for his crime, but Alena had been too late to save the young girl’s life.

Alena swallowed hard, trying to block the horrifying image from her mind. Fisting her hands in her lap, she had to remember that’s why she killed vampires. The League hired hunters to terminate the rogues. And if they said so, Sutton Bastrop was a renegade.

She glanced at his date’s red hair piled on top of her head, but her dark roots indicated she’d colored it. So he went for faux redheads, too.

When the hostess handed Sutton a menu, Alena switched her attention to him. His mesmerizing eyes weren’t focused on the waitress or the menu, but on Alena instead. Instantly, her cheeks burned, and a flush of heat crept through the rest of her body.

Jeez, would he think she was interested in him because she ogled him like an awestruck fan of a popular movie star?

But wasn’t that her job? Intrigue him, learn his secrets, then... kill him?

* * *

SUTTON ORDERED TWO glasses of merlot from the steward, though he could barely keep from staring at the red-haired woman seated at the booth across from his table. Unmistakably, she resembled his beloved Elizabeth. Could she possibly be another reincarnation? It was all he could do to keep his seat and not force his attentions upon her, compelling her to remember him, inducing her to agree to bond with him, and love him eternally like he wished to love her.

A sprinkling of tiny freckles bridged her nose, and her thick red hair hung about her shoulders in curls, natural as the day she was born. But it was the way her cheeks grew red when she caught his eye that intrigued him even more. Did she recognize him then? Just an inkling? Even her naked neck showed a tinge of color, and he imagined she’d blushed all the way to her toes strapped into black high-heeled sandals.

Her black chiffon skirt reached below her knees, outlining the rest of her shapely legs. The neckline of her dress scooped low enough to make him want to see further, but was modestly sensual, fitting nicely over well-rounded breasts.

He leaned back against his chair.

The lady in the booth across from him sat quietly wringing her hands in her lap. Somehow, he had to discover if what he suspected was true—she was Elizabeth, all over again.

If so, the coincidence that she would be here at this day of the week, this particular time, this place, sitting across from him, was fate. Maybe this time, he’d get it right.

When Kitty returned to take his order, he leaned forward to speak with her privately. “The lady seated alone at that booth. Who is she?”

“I haven’t any idea, Mr. Bastrop.”

He snapped his head up and concentrated on the waitress’s eyes. “Find out who the woman is,” he communicated telepathically. Then he motioned to Mona. “We’ll both have the veal scaloppini.”

“Yes, sir.” Kitty walked over to the redhead’s table with her usual springy step that made her blond curls bounce. “Mr. Bastrop desires to know your name, miss.”

“Who’s Mr. Bastrop?” the woman asked, her brows lifted, a challenge in her demeanor.

Sutton studied Red’s full, peach-colored lips pursed slightly, though the bottom had lost most of its gloss.

“The gentleman at that table.” Kitty motioned to him.

When Red looked his way, Sutton gave her one of his most charming smiles.

She lifted her glass of wine, but no smile touched her lips. Her aquamarine eyes boldly held his gaze. “Why does he want to know?”

His smile faded. He wasn’t used to being questioned in return. Women were drawn to him like lacy ferns sought the shadows of the deep forest. They pursued him, not the other way around. Annoyed, he straightened his back. He thought to himself, just answer the question, lass.

Kitty stared at Sutton, seemingly unsure what to say next.

He let us his breath in exasperation and told her telepathically, “Tell the lady she looks astonishingly like Elizabeth MacLeod, a dear friend of mine some years back.”

Kitty put on her perky face and relayed the information to the mystery redhead.

Red’s eyes widened, her lips parted, and the wine glass slipped from her hand. The delicate glass instantly shattered and splashed the remaining wine over her tabletop.

His heart pounding with a flurry of hope, Sutton jumped to his feet. Could he be so fortunate to find Elizabeth again? Most importantly, did she remember him? The love they’d shared? And the promise she’d made to him?

Red shoved the wine away from the edge of the table with her hands to keep it from spilling on her dress, her own napkin still wrapped securely around her silverware. The waitress ran to get napkins.

When Sutton reached the woman’s table with his napkin, he smelled blood. Blood on her hand. She’d cut her palm while shoving away the wine and broken glass. And the fragrance of her blood threatened to drive him over the edge, urging him to bond, to finish what they’d begun so many years ago.

The copper scent created a craving so strong he had to fight the bloodlust with every ounce of willpower. Biting down on his teeth, he clenched his jaw to keep from extending his canines. He clamped the napkin on her hand, but she shook her head.

“No, the wine.” She tried to wipe up some of the spilled drink with her own napkin still wound tightly around the silverware.

Disregarding her concern and concentrating instead on his own, Sutton held her left hand hostage. “You’ve cut yourself.”

She stopped her frantic effort over the spilled wine and jerked her attention to her hand. “I’m... I’m all right.” Alarm tinged her voice, but she spoke firmly. She tried to pull her hand away.

He held on tighter. Her resemblance to Elizabeth couldn’t be mere coincidence. Not only that, but the reaction she exhibited at hearing Elizabeth’s name... well, he had to know, was she somehow linked to his past love? Certain it was so, he wasn’t letting her go.

Her breathing grew shallow under his scrutiny, but when his gaze sought hers, his own breath caught. He was sure he saw a fleeting moment of recognition in her eyes, but as soon as it had come, it passed.

The waitress threw a towel over the table to soak up the spill while Sutton pulled Red from her seat to ensure the wine didn’t drip off the table and stain her dress. He still held onto her hand, wanting to remove the glass if any clung to her skin, but he didn’t want to expose her open cuts.

Worst of all, his canines still threatened to extend. He hadn’t had this little control over his bloodlust since he was first turned, three hundred years earlier. Then realization dawned on him. The scent of her blood... it was Elizabeth’s. He’d recognize it anywhere.

The sinking notion her family would kill her again, before he had a chance to prove to her they loved one another hit him all at once. They had to blood bond to break the curse.

She tried to remove her hand from his again. Immediately, he looked into her eyes and attempted to control her mind, to calm her, and to force her to reveal her name. For a moment, he saw confusion in the pools of blue, but then a wall of stone rose into place, locking him out.

As ancient as Sutton was, he should have guessed Red was a huntress just like Elizabeth had been, only in this day and age, off limits. And she must have sensed he was a vampire. That’s why she feared showing her bloodied hand to him. But he wasn’t a rogue. The League of Hunters wouldn’t have voted to terminate him. So why would she be so concerned?

He unwrapped the napkin from her hand and picked the glass fragments off her skin. His heartbeat increased rapidly, and so did hers. He could feel it in her speedy pulse, her quick warm breath at his neck, and the sound of her heart beating in panic, like a hummingbird’s in captivity.

Her lilac fragrance and the warmth of her body drew him closer. She was an aphrodisiac over which he had little control.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Someone you should fear,” she said under her breath, her gaze focused midway down his shirt, her darkened lashes hiding her blue eyes, her words spoken in warning.

He smiled, lifted her chin, and gazed into her eyes. “Yet it is you who is afraid of me, lass, and this cannot be.”

Chapter 2

LOSING HER COOL, Alena yanked her hand free from Sutton’s as her body burned with chagrin in the chilly Italian restaurant. Arrogant, that’s what vampires were. No way was she afraid of Sutton Bastrop, a vampire on her terminal list. She seized her purse, then fumbled inside trying to find her wallet.

Yet she was fearful of him, afraid of what his touch did to her hormones, sending them spinning out of control. Even now her panties had grown damp, her breasts had swelled, and her nipples tightened, pressing hard against her lace bra.

What was the matter with her anyway?

Sutton was the matter. Her intimate knowledge of him was the matter. His acting as though they knew each other thoroughly was the matter.

Case of mistaken identity, she told herself.

So why did she have the same uncanny feeling?

The waitress cleared her throat. “I’ll bring you another glass of wine, miss. Were you ready to order?”

“I’m...” She glanced up at Sutton who stood way too close to her, the heat of his body turning her own thermostat up too high. “I’m no longer hungry.”

She yanked her wallet out, pulled out a five, and dropped it on the table.

“It’s seven-fifty, miss,” the waitress said.

Alena squelched the irritation rising in her blood. She normally only drank water at restaurants. They charged way too much for anything else. Scottish frugality—that’s what her hunter friends said about her conservative spending. But to her way of thinking, the management should have offered to give her the drink free of charge, as a courtesy.

Sutton pulled a twenty out of his wallet, then rescued her five for her. She shook her head, and added two more dollars and five dimes to the growing pile of treasure.

“Thank you, but I pay my own way.” She waited for Sutton to move out of her path, but he didn’t budge. “Excuse me.” She hoped he’d get the message she wished to leave before she had to force the issue.

Yet despite wanting to leave, her eyes focused on his mouth. Had his lips really felt as she envisioned when he’d pressed them against hers? Warm and smooth and oh, so incredibly sensual.

She licked her lips and swallowed hard.

“Our salads and hot bread have arrived, Sutton,” his date called out in a gratingly high-pitched voice.

Alena’s gaze shot to his date and the spell Sutton held over Alena instantly vanished. He was already seeing a redhead and attempting to pick up Alena also? Did he want a ménage a trois? She bristled.

Ignoring his date, Sutton offered his hand to Alena. “Sutton Bastrop.”

The sensuous Scottish lilt to his words triggered more strange vague memories and instantly the irritation born of her contempt for his interest in her when he already had a date dissipated. Yet, she avoided taking his hand, fearing what more of his touch would do to her.

She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I believe your date and your food are waiting. I’m sure you don’t want either of them to get cold.”

Sutton gave her an elusive smile. At first, he hesitated to move out of her path. She swore he was battling with his conscience to allow her to pass. It was as though he’d targeted her, caught her, and didn’t want to let go. Then finally he bowed slightly, conceding the battle, and stepped out of her way. But not far enough to give her room enough to walk without brushing up against him. The calculatingly, irritating vampire. A rogue to be sure.

“Until we meet again, lass.” His deep baritone voice nudged again at buried memories—memories not her own, and yet if they weren’t hers, whose were they? And why would they be plaguing her?

She truly needed a vacation.

The way he smiled at her so damned intimately, as if they had shared a wealth of secrets in some bawdry past made her face grow hot and her legs turn to melted marshmallows. Totally flustered, she hurried past him and stalked out of the restaurant, hoping she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself.

What in the world was the matter with her? He was a rogue vampire, pure and simple. And she had a job to do, as disagreeable as it was. She’d never met him before in her life. So why did she want him to kiss her—to prove it?

For whatever reason, the League had been right. He appeared interested in her despite recognizing she was a huntress. He must be mad to be attracted to a huntress when the two kinds weren’t allowed to mix.

Alena couldn’t help but sense the League was hiding something about this assignment, though. She’d turned down two other missions before that she hadn’t felt capable of handling. They’d had no problem with her decision then. Why not this time?

Outside her heels clattered against the slippery cobblestones, and the echo of her footfalls rippled into the blackness only vaguely illuminated by soft romantic, old-time brass lanterns. A misty rain began to fall. By the time she reached her blue Mustang, her curls had straightened, dripping down her front and back. Typical unpredictable Maryland spring weather. She hadn’t even considered to bring her raincoat tonight as stressed out as she’d been about seeing David and learning what mission he’d give her.

Her wet dress clung to her like a second skin, and she shivered in the slight breeze while opening her car door. The interior light illuminated her in a wash of bright light against the dark night as if the floodlights had just come on to expose her every move. And in that instant, she sensed someone standing in the gray rain, watching her.

Her skin crawling, she climbed into her car and felt as wet as the towel that was used to mop up her spilled wine. And damn. She really was hungry. But she couldn’t have suffered a meal while tall, dark, handsome, and vampiric studied her every move the rest of the evening.

She glanced at the restaurant. Sutton stood in the lighted entryway, his arms folded, the same kind of wry amusement twisting his lips like in the photo. Lightning flashed overhead and instantly the image of Sutton unfastening a brooch pinned to the plaid shawl at her breast flashed across her thoughts.

Slamming her door shut, she shook her head and vowed to get an appointment with the League’s psychiatrist, first chance she got.

* * *

OUT OF THE rain, Sutton stood under the striped awning at the entrance to the restaurant, mesmerized by Red’s shapely image as she’d stood in the downpour, attempting to unlock her car door, her silky dress plastered against every voluptuous curve, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He memorized the huntress’s license plates as the rainwater rolled off her car. Tonight, he’d know who the red-haired lass was and where she lived. He would not let her go.

A flash of light caught his eye, and he shifted his attention to a hooded man in black as he stood leaning next to a black sedan partially sheltered by the outstretched branches of an old oak tree while he watched Alena. He snapped a lighter shut, took a drag on his cigarette, then pulled a cell phone to his ear and began speaking.

“She’s leaving the restaurant already. She couldn’t have had time to eat. She must have been meeting someone. Her cousin, the enforcer was here, too. And his older brother also. But both left well before she did.”

No one responded to the man on the phone that Sutton with his keen sense of hearing could detect. Which meant the person on the other end of the line was listening, deathly quiet.

“I’ll follow her and let you know when she heads for her place,” the man said into the phone.

As soon as Alena started her engine, the smoker dropped his cigarette, snapped his phone shut, then grabbed the door handle to the black sedan with his free hand. Although it possibly meant nothing, Sutton had lived for too many centuries not to concern himself with coincidences.

Appearing next to the car, Sutton grabbed the phone from the man’s slender fingers and smashed the device against the wet asphalt.

“Hey, what the…” Balling his fist, the smoker swung at Sutton, but Sutton easily dodged the blow. “Who the hell are—”

“What do you want with the woman?” Sutton asked, pinning the man against his car, his hand at his scrawny throat, his eyes focused on the man’s ice blue eyes while trying to control his mind, his fangs threatening to extend.

“None of your business, you damned bloodsucker.”

Recognition dawning that the man was a blood bond for another vampire and that was the reason he couldn’t make him obey, Sutton motioned to the car, still trying to get his compliance. A more ancient vampire could control a blood bond who was working for one who was not nearly so old. “Invite me in.”

His whole scrawny body trembling, the blood bond defiantly shook his head. Hell, the vampire controlling the smoker had to be an ancient also.

“Who sent you here?” Sutton asked, forcing the man’s keys from his hand, just short of breaking his fingers when he wouldn’t release them willingly.

He would have preferred having the hood release activated. Without an invitation, Sutton was unable to get into the car and had no other choice. He hated having to do things the hard way. But when the man wouldn’t comply, Sutton released him, then quickly moved around to the front of the car, and ripped the hood open with a resounding grinding of metal.

The blood bond squawked in protest, but didn’t make a move to stop him. Sutton reached in and yanked out the distributor cap and starter wire.

“Hey!” The blood bond surged forward and grabbed Sutton’s arm with a fierce grip. Sutton extended his fangs and bared them fully at the man.

Throwing his hands in the air in a gesture of capitulation, the man backed off, his ruddy face now ashen. “Listen, man, now… what do you want?”

“The truth. Who is the woman, and who’s interested in her?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head to emphasis his answer. “A vampire’s paying me to follow her. I don’t know his name or what her name is. Just that she’s a huntress. I assume the vampire’s on her terminal list.” He eyed the distributer cap and starter wire in Sutton’s hands. “Can I have them back?” This time the blood bond was respectful, almost pleading.

Sutton didn’t believe for an instant that the man didn’t know who the vampire was nor would the vampire have paid him to do a job. “What’s her address?”

He muttered, “He’ll kill me. Hell. 212 Hidden Valley Road.”

“If you lied, I’ll be back for you.”

The blood bond nodded vigorously. “You… you won’t let him know I sent you, will you?”

“If I were you, I’d make myself real scarce.” Sutton sent a message telepathically to his maid, “Mona, bring the car to 212 Hidden Valley Road. I’ll meet you there.”

He hoped like hell he wasn’t already too late… just like before.

* * *

ALENA ARRIVED AT the apartment complex where she shared a third floor apartment with her huntress friend, Misty, and sensed something wasn’t right even as she parked in the lot underneath a large oak. A light should have flickered from the television in the living room, or the illumination of the lamp in Misty’s bedroom should have filtered through the mini-blinds. Instead, the place appeared black as a moonless night.

Alena’s heartbeat picked up its pace and chill bumps dotted her arms.

Misty hadn’t any previous engagement. She was dying to know what kind of a job Alena had scored tonight since David had been the one to bring her the assignment. Misty had vowed to wait at home to hear the news. Still, maybe something had come up and Misty had to run out for a little while.

Grabbing her sword, Alena tamped down the disquiet she felt and climbed out of her Mustang. Despite having the car heater on high, her dress was still drenched. The rain dribbled down her face and pattered on the pavement in a repetitive, lulling sound. She breathed in the clean, fresh air, smelling like it had received a cleansing shower. The images of Sutton and her making love still flashed through her mind as if she’d been watching a movie and some of the ultra-vivid, erotic scenes had become etched in her memory that she couldn’t shake loose of. Didn’t want to shake loose of, rather.

She chided herself for thinking anything more about it when something might be horribly wrong here. After belting the sword at her waist, she ran up the wrought iron stairs to the third floor, her high-heeled sandals squishing on every step. Standing with her ear to the door, she listened for any sounds. None, except for a baby crying in the apartment across the hall.

She pulled the sword from its leather sheath. Passed down to Alena at the age of twelve when her mother had died in a freak car accident, the ancient weapon was guaranteed to end a vampire’s life if it even so much as nicked its heart. And she’d used it, too, countless times in eliminating rogues who had turned to murdering innocents.

Alena twisted the doorknob. With a soft groan, the door opened without resistance. Her heart shifted into higher gear. Misty wouldn’t have left the door unlocked.

Torn between leaving and calling for backup, Alena made the split-second decision and rushed into her apartment to learn if Misty was injured and in need of care.

Alena snapped her free fingers to turn on the sound-activated lamp in the living room. To her alarm, the apartment remained shrouded in a cape of black.

“Misty,” she cried out, fumbling with the cell phone at her waist.

No one responded.

The blood rushed in her ears as she listened for any sounds in the deathly quiet apartment. At the same time, she punched in David’s number. Static met her ear. She stalked out of the apartment and tried again. Some vampires had the ability to send out an electro-magnetic pulse to disturb communication devices… like cell phones. Was that it? Or interference from the storm?

She returned to the apartment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to smell anything out of the ordinary. No scent of blood in the room. Or of anyone else but Misty’s sweet lilac perfume and Alena’s honeysuckle fragrance.

Dashing back down the stairs, she stood in the landing, the overhang shielding her from the rain. She tried her cell phone again. This time, the phone rang through.

“Hello?” David responded. “You have reached David MacLeod’s residence, but I can’t answer the phone at the moment. If you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Damn. Was she being paranoid? Maybe the storm had caused an electrical outage. She walked into the rain and looked up at the windows. No. Other apartments in her complex had lights.

Lightning unfurled across the night like a rippling blanket of white, illuminating a dark figure at her kitchen window.

She punched in David’s number again. After the beep following the recorded message, she said, “David, it’s Alena. I came home to find—”

Static followed.

Dripping wet and freezing to death on the outside, Alena’s blood boiled inside. She pocketed her cell phone and dashed up the stairs, intending to take care of matters on her own.

As soon as she stalked into her apartment, she tripped over something hard, but caught the arm of the couch before she fell. She cursed inwardly. Take it easy, and keep your head. Reaching down to feel what the object was, she fought the black worry concerning Misty. Her fingers touched cold metal. She breathed a hesitant sigh of relief. It was only the brass floor lamp. She stood it right side up, then tried to activate it, but when it wouldn’t turn on, she assumed it was unplugged from the wall.

She inched her way into the dark living room, trying to reach the lamp on the other side of the sofa.

The air whooshed near her, like the suspicious flapping of a vampire’s cape.

Her heart pounded wildly. The sound of her blood whooshing through her veins like a raging river during a spring storm would entice the renegade to want to take his fill. She whirled around and slashed her sword toward the turbulence. Her weapon touched nothing but air. A hiss sounded behind her.

Heart stuttering, she swung around, slashing at the air again. Nothing. She hated vampire games. Normally, a vampire wouldn’t have targeted her unless he was the rogue she was in pursuit of. Was the vampire in question Sutton Bastrop? Did he realize how dangerous she was to him? That the League knew he was on a termination list? Her termination list? And he wanted to eliminate her first? That she could understand as she tried to regather her huntress composure.

“Show yourself, you demon!” So much for learning his secret mission. The only thing she could do now was stay alive.

Adrenaline coursed through her blood, preparing her to fight the imminent threat.

Calm and collected... that’s how she accomplished her jobs. But this wasn’t a job. This was something else. Somehow the vampire had gotten into her apartment, and Misty could be dead because of it.

A strong hand grabbed her throat, while the other seized her sword hand. Gasping, she released the blade attached to her free wrist and jabbed at the creature attempting to crush her windpipe.

She hoped her frantic attempts at stabbing at him with the dagger would penetrate his heart quickly before she lost consciousness and her life. “Die, you bastard!”

The vampire hissed and tightened his grip on her throat. Her thoughts faded fast.

Sutton’s deep, hurried voice penetrated the gloom. “Invite me in!”

She couldn’t think clearly. He stood inside her apartment already, didn’t he? Crushing her throat.

“Elizabeth!” A short pause followed. “Bloody hell! Woman! Invite me in!”

Her mind fuzzed with confusion as the oxygen was being cut off from her brain. Darkness drew over her while rainwater still trickled down her face. He was already inside her apartment, damn him, killing her slowly.

“Red!”

She gritted her teeth, clawing the vampire at her throat, hating Sutton for calling her Red.

Red, red like a rooster’s head, mean-hearted hunter kids taunted her when she was little, but she’d showed them what a fiery tempered huntress could do—not through angry words or bullying, but by being the best damned huntress she could be.

Still, she hated being called Red.

“Damn it, Sutton,” she choked out, “don’t... call me... Red.”

“Invite me in!” he shouted at her, both exasperated and desperate at the same time.

His voice sounded distant, not close like it should be as the vampire gripped her throat, only easing up on it slightly, distracted.

So if Sutton wasn’t the bastard trying to kill her, if she invited him in, she’d have two to deal with.

She wasn’t sure who the deadlier of the two was as she choked out, “Come in, Sutton!”

* * *

AS SOON AS the huntress invited him in, reluctantly and with a strained voice as the vampire attempted to strangle her, Sutton rushed into Red’s apartment intent on killing the rogue.

Facing the more immediate threat, the rogue bloodsucker released Red. She collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

Before the rogue could react with his vampiric speed, Sutton grabbed him by the throat and with a flying leap, pinned him against the wall. “Why are you here? Who let you in?”

Sutton didn’t recognize the man, six-three in height, taller than most vampires, with gigantic hands and a long narrow face. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail like Sutton’s, but in the ensuing struggle, half of it hung loose.

“Speak!” Sutton demanded, losing his cool.

“Get him...,” Red choked out, then coughed, “...to tell...where Misty is.”

“Where’s the other huntress?” Sutton commanded, assuming the woman must have been Red’s companion.

The vampire bared his extended canines at him. Sutton fought ripping the vampire’s throat out, not wanting to show his anger in front of the huntress.

“Bring me your sword!” he commanded Red.

The vampire struggled to get away from Sutton. But despite his taller stature, the villain was no match for him, as many years as Sutton had been a vampire.

Red hadn’t moved from where she sat, gasping for air. She was pale and hoarse, and he wanted to kill the vampire slowly for threatening his bonny lass. “Woman! Bring me your sword!” he ordered, briefly glancing at her, attempting to force her compliance.

When she hesitated, Sutton wasn’t sure if the rogue had so shaken her emotionally and physically incapacitated her to make her fail to respond, or if she feared handing her weapon over to her savior.

Using the couch, she pushed herself up. Still holding her throat with one hand, she made her way to a lamp on the other side of the couch and twisted the switch, turning it on to illuminate her way—which reminded him she couldn’t see in the dark like he could. Then she approached Sutton with the sword.

He stretched his hand out to her, but she didn’t offer him the hilt of the weapon. His face heated with annoyance. “Red, give me your sword!”

He wasn’t used to commanding huntresses about and certainly, he hadn’t expected her noncompliance when he’d already demonstrated his intent to protect her. Humans acted so much more obediently.

“Move your body away from his so I can reach his heart,” she ordered.

His muscles tensed even further, but despite being irritated with her, Sutton obliged.

She poked the sword against the renegade’s chest. “Tell me where Misty is!”

The rogue grinned at her, a sickly dare-me-if-you-will look plastered across his face. If he wanted mercy, it wasn’t the way to get it.

Red’s eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down even further. “How did you get in?” she growled.

His beady eyes switched to Sutton, then back to her. The “how” flickered across the vampire’s mind, and Sutton read his thoughts and was irritated the huntresses were staying in a human-run complex. A hunter should have been managing the apartments where hunters lived so that a vampire couldn’t control him and gain access.

“Your apartment manager let him in,” Sutton relayed, sounding annoyed.

She was still holding her throat, still having a hard time catching her breath, her eyes narrowed in contempt at the vampire Sutton had pinned against the wall, her sword pressing hard against the vampire’s chest.

“And Misty?” she growled hoarsely.

Sutton shook his head. “He’s hiding his thoughts concerning her.”

Without another second’s hesitation, she jammed the sword into the being’s chest, skewering his heart. Instantly, he shriveled up like an old potato, wizened and dehydrated—a renegade ancient, but undoubtedly not as old as Sutton or he would have had more of a fight.

Sutton released the vampire and the remnants of bone and baggy clothing collapsed to the floor. Sutton felt deep satisfaction that the huntress—his huntress—had killed the rebel.

Immediately, she leveled her sword at Sutton’s heart. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was still little more than a whispered croak. Before he could take offense or respond, she waved her sword at the vampire’s remains. “Who was he?”

“A rogue by all actions.”

“I know that. I want to know who he was.”

Sutton raised his brows at her demanding tone. “I don’t associate with that type and have no idea who he was.” But he had every intention of finding out.

Alena’s phone rang in the kitchen, jarring her already jangled nerves. She hesitated to answer it. Pointing her sword at Sutton’s chest again, she warned, “Don’t you go anywhere.”

“I hadn’t intended to, lass.” His deep, dark words were spoken mockingly, but the Scottish burr to his voice stirred the same deep need to learn more about him. Not for the League of Hunters though. For her own sanity.

She quashed the exasperation rising in her blood and backed toward the kitchen. With him still in her sights, she grabbed the ringing phone. “Hello?” she said abruptly, her voice still strained.

“Alena, are you all right?”

Thank God, Misty. Warm relief washed over Alena to know she was unharmed. Alena continued to eye Sutton with suspicion though, her sword at the ready. “Misty, where the hell are you?”

Her thoughts remained focused on Sutton. How had he known where she lived? Was it a mere coincidence that he dropped into her neighborhood to save her from the renegade vampire? Or had he planned it, to earn her trust? Then what? Toy with her a while before he terminated her?

She’d bet her sword he had followed her here. For what purpose? Because she was a redhead? His fascination for her ran deeper, she was certain.

“I scribbled a message on the kitchen counter in case your cousin dropped by,” Misty explained. “The hospital called, said you’d been in a car accident. But when I arrived, they didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Alena glanced at the counter and noticed the scrawled note. Why the elaborate ruse to get her friend out of the apartment? “A bloodsucker just tried to kill me here.”

“What?” Misty’s word was shrill and full of disbelief.

“He’s dead.”

“Oh, God. Have you called your father?”

“No, Misty, I haven’t called my father yet. I have other company at the moment.” Alena studied Sutton, his dark eyes gazing at her like they did in the photo. She looked down at the floor, not comprehending why she found him so attractive. Even now her nipples tightened, and her cheeks heated. She’d just killed a vampire who’d nearly finished her off, for heaven’s sakes. How could she possibly lust after the vampire who’d saved her life? The one she was contracted to terminate? The one she... envisioned had made love to her under some rather bizarre sets of circumstances.

Silence ensued then, Misty asked, “Who’s there with you?”

Alena swallowed hard, her throat still sore from the vampire’s strong grip on it. “He says he’s not a rogue.”

“Oh, God, Alena. I’m calling David.”

Alena tapped her foot on the floor, aggravated when the one time she could have used his help, he wasn’t here for her. “I couldn’t reach him.”

Again there was a pause. “Alena, can you kill him?”

“I can’t if he’s not a rogue.”

Sutton’s eyes widened, but his lips curved up slightly. Apparently he’d gotten the drift of their conversation. At least for the moment he thought she didn’t believe he was a maniacal killer.

“How’d he get in the house if he’s not a rogue?” Misty asked.

Alena glanced at the door, still resting against the wall where Sutton had slammed it. “I invited him in.”

“Oh, God, Alena.” Misty’s words grated on her nerves.

“You stay with your parents tonight, Misty. We’ll have to find another apartment.”

“What about you?”

Alena eyed Sutton. His mouth lifted slowly and the memory of him smiling in the same manner, the dimples denting his cheeks and the sparkle in his warm brown eyes, all came back to her in a flash along with the sweet smell of peat and heather. She broke eye contact with him and returned her gaze to the floor before he muddled her thoughts any further. Vampires could not control a hunter’s thoughts, she reminded herself. They couldn’t project images or notions into a hunter’s mind. So what the hell was wrong with her where Sutton was concerned?

“I’m going to very nicely ask the vampire to leave the house. But I can’t say what else I’m going to do until he’s gone.”

Misty whispered, “He can pop in anytime he wants. You can close the door on his exodus, and he can appear in your bedroom. You have to kill him.”

“I’ll let him know that.” Alena wondered how Sutton might take the news.

Of course everything Misty said was true. But the code of the League stated a hunter could not kill a vampire, unless deemed a rogue. And in this case, though the League had said Sutton was, she had to do some undercover work concerning him first. Unless of course he threatened her. Then... it was her call.

“Listen, tell my father what’s happened here. Call me on my cell phone in an hour. All right, Misty?”

“Yes... yes. All right.”

Alena ended the call and glared at Sutton. “What are you doing here?

“You know, lass, you have the uncanny resemblance to a woman I once knew.”

Alena touched her cut hand. “You’ve already said so. But it doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

She assumed he thought she was his next conquest, then victim—redheaded victim. Had he already disposed of his dinner companion? Her stomach clenched with the thought.

When he didn’t offer an explanation, she walked back into the living room and turned to study the remnants of the dead vampire. Normally, when one became a deadly serial killer, he or she targeted soft prey—humans. Why pursue her when he wasn’t even on her terminal list? Hell, currently, only Sutton was on it.

Why the ruse to get Misty out of the apartment first? Why not kill them both?

“Might I know your name?” Sutton asked.

Before she could respond, someone clomped up the stairs to her apartment, and Alena raised her sword in a defensive mode when a woman called out, “Sutton, where are you?”

The faux redhead from the restaurant. Alena was relieved the woman still lived, but a curl of unreasonable resentment twisted inside her. “Get your woman and leave!”

With the speed that was so typical of vampires, Sutton moved so quickly, Alena barely saw the movement before her mind had registered that he was standing before her. She quickly elevated the point of her weapon at his chest to protect herself. He was dangerous, all right. Dangerous to her self-preservation—to keeping the huntress status quo, to something much deeper than she could fathom. Yet the true meaning wavered at the edge of her awareness, haunting her, something she couldn’t explain, and feared.

“Elizabeth chased after me. But I see this time around you want me to do the pursuing.” His eyes sparkled with mirth. He pushed the sword aside and stepped closer. “All I need to know is—”

“Sutton!” the faux redhead called out when she entered the apartment.

Amused at the woman’s fearless actions, Alena’s brows rose. The vampire wasn’t so in control of his companion as Alena had assumed.

His eyes darkened to midnight, and Sutton whipped around and stalked toward his date. He didn’t say a word, just glared into her eyes for a moment. She stared blankly at him, nodded, then walked out.

Alena shook her head at Sutton. “She suits you.” Thoroughly disgusted with the way humans could be so easily controlled, Alena crossed the floor to her kitchen.

Sutton appeared next to her, way too close for comfort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Alena nearly dropped her sword at his sudden appearance this time. Attempting to hide her unsettled reaction, she grabbed a soft cloth from a drawer. With a careful stroke, she cleaned the blade. “It means you do well with mindless women.”

His gaze focused on the way she wiped her sword with a tender, loving caress, then the corners of his mouth inched up. He reached out to touch her cheek.

She quickly stepped back and pointed the sword at his chest once more. “Don’t try that again.”

He folded his arms. “Your eyes say you desire my touch, as much as I want to give it to you.”

Hating he saw right through her, she shook her head. “Vampires are so conceited. They control a human’s mind and think they can dominate a huntress’s, too. But you’re dead wrong.”

“Your mind may say so, but your heart does not. I can hear it beating a million miles a minute. Your eyes drink me in as if you can’t get enough of me.” He stepped into her razor sharp blade, the sword’s sharp tip poking at his white shirt, pressing it against his skin. “Tell me truly, do you so much wish to kill me, lass?”

Chapter 3

SUTTON TRIED TO take another step toward Alena into the point of her blade to prove to her she could no more harm him than he could her, but a man’s dark voice shouted from the entryway, charging the air with electricity. “Alena!”

Alena’s eyes widened and her luscious mouth gaped.

Instantly, Sutton wanted to sequester the huntress away from the hunter, no matter what his intentions. She was Sutton’s. No one else would claim her.

“David,” she said under her breath. A small amount of relief shown in her expression. Lowering her sword, she hurried past Sutton.

Sutton expected the hunter newcomer would be ready to slice his heart in two, but David pointed his sword at the floor, non-threateningly, which made Sutton highly suspicious. No hunter would willingly invite a vampire into his home so what did David make of Alena doing so? So far, nothing.

David stared from Sutton to Alena. “Are you all right, Alena?”

Feeling damned possessive, Sutton responded, “Certainly she’s all right, although if I hadn’t protected her, she would be dead.”

David didn’t act possessively or overly familiar with her like a lover might, although every muscle in Sutton’s body tightened, preparing him for a battle. Already jealous over her being in the same room with a hunter, Sutton had to fight the urge to expel him from her apartment with bodily force.

Then he took a calming breath. David had the same red hair and blue eyes as Alena. They must be related. A brother perhaps?

“Is this true, Alena?” David’s voice showed incredulity. “He saved you?”

“Yes.”

David’s brow furrowed. “I was nearby when Misty called me and said you let him in.”

“I had to let Sutton in. I was losing the battle with the assassin vampire.” Alena pointed to the vampire remains on the floor. “Why would he have come after me?”

“Your father’s been apprised of the situation. The League’s looking into it.”

Now this was a new development. If her father ordered the League to investigate the matter, he must serve in the governing body, Sutton thought. Then he smiled, realizing he finally knew her first name... Alena. But Alena what?

Intending to find out, Sutton cleared his throat. “We haven’t been properly introduced.”

David narrowed his eyes at Alena. Definitely some kind of communication going on between the hunter and huntress, but the devil if Sutton knew what.

She swallowed hard.

David frowned. “I thought...” He shook his head and turned to Sutton. “I’m David MacLeod. This is my sixth cousin, Alena MacLeod.”

She was connected to Elizabeth MacLeod. His enthusiasm at knowing it was so, instantly dimmed when he remembered the curse. Would her cousin, David, be the one who would attempt to kill her should Sutton rekindle the flame in Elizabeth’s heart? For Alena was Elizabeth, he felt reasonably assured.

He offered his hand to David in greeting, but he would not let this hunter, her distant cousin, harm her. “Sutton Bastrop.”

After shaking Sutton’s hand with a titan grip, for which Sutton returned the same kind of handshake to show he was equal to the task, David motioned to the dead vampire. “The removal team is coming to get him. The investigators will take care of it after that. Where do you intend to go for the night now, Alena?”

“I’ll find a place. Can you watch Sutton while I pack a bag?” Alena turned and stormed down the hall before David could respond.

Bewitchingly seductive, she could pretend all she wanted that Sutton didn’t intrigue her, but the way she had reacted to Mona’s entrance, revealed she was envious of the relationship he had with his housekeeper.

“You must wonder why I’m here,” Sutton said to David, thinking it odd her cousin never questioned him about what he was doing here in the first place.

David’s jaw tightened, and he sheathed his sword, avoiding Sutton’s gaze. “I assumed you were nearby and heard Alena’s struggles.”

“Aye.” Sutton didn’t believe David’s explanation one bit.

David considered the body of the dead vampire. “Did you know him?”

“Never saw him before.” An undefined bit of worry formed in Sutton’s mind. He couldn’t help feeling the same situation was occurring all over again. That Alena would suffer the same fate as his dearly beloved Elizabeth. “Do you believe others wish her dead?”

David shook his head at Sutton. The way David’s gaze shifted back to the bedroom, made Sutton suspicious that he wasn’t telling the whole story.

“Was the rogue somebody she had on her terminal list?” Sutton asked, assuming it had to be so.

“No. She didn’t know him.”

The news deepened the mystery and Sutton’s concern. But then he wondered, if some of the rogue vampires had indeed formed the Brotherhood as he’d heard rumored, the talk was they’d go after specific hunters. He didn’t think the vampires would ever do such a thing... just talk, since the notions of rebelling against the status quo had gone on for decades. But if renegade vampires had gathered some momentum for a coup, and they targeted Alena, what reason would they have? Why would she be so important to them?

Alena rolled a bag out of her room, and Sutton smiled at the sight of her. She’d changed out of the wet, skin-clinging dress, which had definitely had its appeal. But now, an aqua sweater blouse hugged her breasts in a sensual caress, while black denims showed off her shapely legs. High-heeled ebony boots finished off her outfit. He couldn’t help but shift his attention back to the perfectly rounded mounds captivated by the soft sweater.

The memory of cupping Elizabeth’s bountiful breasts in his hands, naked, firm, her skin silky to the touch, flooded back to him all at once. Immediately, his groin tightened. The leggy huntress was hotter than a summer night in south Texas, and she served as the living reincarnation of Elizabeth. He’d bet his life on it.

She folded her arms. His attention shifted to her face, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. Her mouth formed an angry full line, which turned him on all the more quickly.

So used to women pursuing him, Sutton couldn’t fathom the notion that this one, who he craved more than anyone else in the world, wasn’t the least bit interested in him. Well, worse than that... seemed to despise him.

Sutton reached out to take her bag, but she only scowled in response.

“Leave the bag,” she snapped at Sutton.

David gave her a pointed look. “I’ll wait here for the clean-up crew, Alena. You’ll have to tell me where you end up settling for the night.” He turned to Sutton. “I need to speak to my cousin alone. Do you mind?”

Sutton tried to read the hunter’s unspoken words. David wasn’t brusque, like Sutton figured he’d be. Almost as if David were treating him like a fellow Hunter. Something wasn’t right. And he wondered about the human host’s comments on his cell phone to the vampire that Alena’s cousin and his brother had been at the restaurant also, but had left before she did. Was this the cousin he was referring to? Or some other?

What was going on?

Not liking that he was being dismissed nor that he would have to leave his love for even a second now that he’d found her again, Sutton nonetheless bowed his consent, intending to have another go at Alena as soon as was possible. Somehow he’d melt that icy huntress heart of hers and soon have her begging for his touch. He smiled at her, while she glared at him, then he bowed slightly to David once more. “A pleasure meeting you.” With a hurried step, he exited the apartment and shut the door, intent on taking Mona back to the house and returning for Alena.

David said in a hushed tone, “The League wants you to go with him tonight. Stay with him.”

“What?” Fisting her hands on her hips, Alena had never heard anything so absurd. This was really going too far.

“Keep your voice down. He could hear you if he’s waiting beyond the door,” David whispered, then his voice turned harsh. “You were supposed to have introduced yourself at the restaurant. He would’ve taken you home with him then, if you’d done what you were supposed to do. What the hell happened?”

She raised her palm up, showing him the small bloody cuts criss-crossing her hand. “I had an accident at the restaurant. His teeth were getting ready to extend. I didn’t think it prudent to stay around for introductions. Not if he were a renegade.”

Her cousin’s eyes shifted from her injured hand to her eyes. A flicker of concern flitted in them. “Yet he followed you back here.”

“Apparently.” She shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Maybe he still craved my blood.”

David glanced at the dead vampire. “He saved your life. We hadn’t expected that.”

Suspicious of the whole situation all over again, she folded her arms. “What exactly aren’t you telling me?”

David rubbed his chin, then inclined his head. “I hadn’t wanted to alarm you, but you should know what happened. Last night my older brother and I corralled a rogue vampire, and he asked if I were related to you as we looked so much alike. Wondering how he would have known you, I said you were my cousin. In a conceited way, he said a newly formed Brotherhood had targeted you for termination.”

“A new Brotherhood? How come no one has told me of this before?”

“The League members didn’t believe it.”

“Why not? How many vampires have you known who’d lie about something like that?”

Her cousin didn’t answer, but looked back at the dead vampire. He knew more than he was letting on. The League must have been looking into it. Would more of these vampires attack her? And if she was only one of the hunters targeted, who else did they intend to kill?

David broke into her thoughts. “Since Sutton saved your life, it could be the best of plans. Stay with him and find out what project he’s working on. He can keep you safe in the meantime.”

“Oh, right, I just say, ‘Sutton, take care of me, let me know your secrets, and I’ll wait and terminate you in the morning. But in the meantime, I’d love to share your bed with you, big, strong, and handsome.’” The thought of sharing a bed with him naked, their bodies slick with perspiration while he urged her legs apart...

She shuddered.

“You think he’s handsome?” David asked, his voice cold and dark, his brows furrowed.

“Get real, David.”

“Yeah, well, just remember who you are, what you are, and what he is.”

She snorted. “I know just who I am and what I am. But it seems the League doesn’t remember what our policies are concerning rogue vampires. Isn’t that against the League’s rulings? A huntress staying with a vampire?”

“This is different. Your father approved it.”

In utter disbelief, Alena stared at her cousin. How could her father plan to control her life to such an extent? She tamped down the anger that threatened to spill like water in a teakettle boiling to the top. “I haven’t approved it.” She stalked toward her hall closet and yanked the door open.

“This is serious business, Alena.”

She stopped with her hand on her raincoat. “I understand that. I just don’t understand why.” She paused. “How many are in this Brotherhood?”

“The bloodsucker wouldn’t say.”

She grasped at the idea it could have been a hideous hoax. “Are you certain he couldn’t have been lying?”

David motioned to the corpse. “I might have thought so before, but the fact he knew you and now this happens, I don’t believe so.”

No, and the League would not think so either. But could they protect her? And what made them think a renegade, who they’d set a contract out to kill, would keep her safe? Nothing made any sense and the more she tried to work it out in her mind, the more convoluted it became. “I’ll let you know where I’ll be when I get there.”

David ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I wish I had more room and you didn’t have to—”

“Staying with you wouldn’t work out.” Not when her father was pulling the strings. She slipped her raincoat on and headed for the door with her suitcase in hand.

“Keep yourself safe.” David pulled his cell phone from his belt to call for a clean-up crew and punched in some numbers.

“And you,” she said belatedly, surprised he would say something like that since he never wished anyone well. They each did their job and it was expected of them. That was all. Which again made her think something was more than wrong.

She slammed the apartment door and ran down the stairs, her boots tapping all the way down, echoing, announcing to the world she was once again headed into the dark of night, although a few lamps broke up the blackness, shedding a ghostly illumination over the wet parking lot.

Pulling the hood over her head to protect herself from the light drizzle, she walked toward her car, pulling her suitcase behind her. Until she heard the faint sound of wings flapping. Her skin instantly crawled. Heart racing, she released her suitcase and unsheathed her sword with a swift, singular motion. A breeze whipped at her hood as she stood still, listening, watching, her sword poised and ready. All at once, she felt vulnerable, unable to see peripherally.

She yanked back her hood for better visibility when a gangly, male vampire appeared before her with eyes as gray as the weather. His narrowed gaze remained focused on hers, challenging her, watching the slightest hint of any movement on her part, assessing her strength and determination. Dressed all in black, he looked like an old-time undertaker minus the Abraham Lincoln top hat. Rogue or not she perceived his actions as a threat.

Baring his teeth, he erased any doubt as to what he had in mind.

She thrust her sword quickly. He stepped out of the way with the graceful skill of a matador, whipping his cape aside with the twist of his wrist, as the bull in the form of a huntress rushed by, her sharp steel missing him.

Hissing, his glistening white canines extended in a deadly display meant to frighten his prey into inaction. He was too tall to decapitate. But if she could wound him enough, then penetrate his heart...

When he took a step toward her, she slashed the sword across his chest. He leapt in the air, out of reach, and reappeared behind her. Gritting her teeth, she whipped around.

If she’d been a hunter, the vampire would have attempted to finish her off more quickly. Stronger than huntresses, hunters were much more of a threat to an ancient vampire. Although even hunters often hunted in pairs when tackling an ancient.

He tried to wear her down, distract her, relish the kill. The signature of a renegade.

Focusing her eyes on his, she waited for the right strike. She’d already calculated the location she needed to strike to reach his heart, if he’d just stand still long enough. His thin lips smiled. He must have been perfectly pleased with himself. Her jaw tightened in frustration. He stood silent, resolute.

Briefly, she wished David was watching out her window. But if he had been, he would have come to her aid already. He was probably busy with the call he was going to make when she left him. He probably was updating her father, too, about the turn events with Sutton Bastrop.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled, then lunged. With a ballet-like grace, the rogue shifted out of her path. Without locking onto her target from a frontal position, she took a chance, whirled around, and sliced her sword at what she hoped would be the vampire’s chest. She connected with his shoulder instead.

He stifled a cry and grabbed his injured shoulder. The iron scent of his blood drifted to her on the nippy breeze. His eyes narrowed into darkened slits.

Without hesitating, she thrust the sword at his chest. As agile as before, he leapt out of her path. But he still favored his injury. The wound would heal, but depending on the severity, it could take several hours.

Again she attacked. He vanished and appeared behind her. His warm breath, smelling of iron, of blood, possibly of a recent kill, swept across her cheek, he stood so close. Gooseflesh erupted on her arms and legs.

Grabbing her hair and yanking back, he sent a shooting pain through her scalp.

She swung around to free herself and struck his shoulder again. His eyes blackened, and he cried out. But the lucky strike gave her encouragement she could win the battle.

His uninjured arm swept around and the back of his hand slapped her across the cheek. She stumbled backward. The blow smarted, but nothing like it would hurt if he sank those vicious fangs into her.

Advancing for the kill, he readied his teeth, no more games. She swallowed, but the moisture had evaporated from her throat.

If she didn’t cut him now in just the right spot...

He jerked his head to the side as if another hunter had appeared, threatening his flank. With a precise aim at his unprotected chest, she stabbed her sword between his ribs and into his heart. He collapsed, his face wizening like a bleached raison, his black cape covering the rest of his body, flattened against the wet asphalt.

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to settle her raw nerves, the rush of adrenaline still racing through her blood. A feeling of accomplishment, mixed with apprehension washed over her.

Glancing around the parking area for signs of who had come to her rescue this time, she expected to see David, but didn’t find a soul. A fresh set of chill bumps covered her arms.

Then dread pooled into every fiber of her being. Why target her? What had she done to earn the contract of death by the vampires... actually by a particular group of vampires? She knew her father and the League would be looking into the Brotherhood, but she had every intention of finding out what was going on herself. Stopping this so called Brotherhood from accomplishing whatever they had on their sick agenda was her next priority.

Grabbing the handle to her bag, she pulled it behind her as she hurried toward her car while the rain rinsed off her bloody sword.

“Alena,” Sutton said nearby, his voice dark and concerned.

Swiveling around, she attempted to squash the panic racing through her.

He appeared next to her and relieved her of the bag. “More of them are after you. Why?”

Had he distracted the rogue vampire?

“I haven’t a clue,” she said to Sutton.

Every molecule in her body still tensed with worry, but his appearance gave her a slip of relief. But what if he was one of them, giving her false hope before he tried to terminate her himself?

“Come with me. I can keep you safe at my home,” he said. His words weren’t said matter-of-factly, but with a hint of pressure and pleading.

Something about his actions touched on raw emotions she fought to quell.

Wanting to get someplace safe before any more renegades learned she wasn’t dead yet, she unlocked her car door. She was almost sure that Sutton had helped her terminate the rogue because vampires normally didn’t shift their attention to something else while they attempted to kill their victim, unless something threatened them. She had to know for certain—whose side was Sutton really on?

She motioned toward the dead vampire. “Did you distract him?”

“Aye. I called to him using mental telepathy. Because he was an ancient vampire, I had to give you an advantage. He would have killed you.”

So he’d been there, silently observing her, for how long? Waiting to see how she’d react? Studying her technique? Before he took her on?

But there was something more to his admission. As if he’d been watching her to ensure she didn’t lose the fight, yet wanted her to win on her own, if that was possible. Or not. She was probably seeing way too much into the situation than really existed. He probably had just arrived, saw her fighting the vampire and helped her out.

Why was Sutton so concerned about her? He was a rogue. Rogues didn’t care about what happened to huntresses. Although, neither would any vampire care for what happened to the hunter kind, truth be told.

But then another thought occurred to her. Since Ephraim was a rogue, he’d probably know about the Brotherhood. Maybe that had something to do with his secret mission. Maybe through him, she could learn what all this was about.

“Is he with the Brotherhood?”

Looking into Ephraim’s eyes, the fathomless depths drew her into a cave as black as night—and the haunting feeling he’d attempted to lure her into one in the distant past forced a shiver up her spine.

She knew then, he was more dangerous than any vampire she’d ever encountered.

Chapter 4

BERATING HIMSELF FOR leaving her alone for even the short time that he had—thinking she was still discussing matters with her cousin, and if anything, Sutton had left her under he cousin’s capable protection—he was one of the most renown hunters in the Maryland area. Sutton couldn’t believe the hunter had let her out of his sight for even a moment. But he wondered why she hadn’t been more cautious either, if she’d known anything about the Brotherhood.

Sutton tossed her suitcase in the back seat, then speared her with a hard look. “How do you know about the Brotherhood?”

“I didn’t. I mean, David just told me they have a contract to kill me. But I have no idea who they are or why they’d want me dead.”

Sutton narrowed his eyes as he glanced up at her apartment. Her cousin had known that she was under contract. Damn him to hell for not watching over her better, but Sutton had only heard rumors about the “Brotherhood.” He hadn’t really believed any would be that stupid to go against the powerful League of Hunters in this area.

He shifted his gaze back to her. “I promise I’ll keep you safe. Will you come with me?” His words sounded like a command rather than a question, and he couldn’t help the tinge of desperation in them. Lawfully, he couldn’t force the huntress to go with him or risk being labeled a rogue, but he would be damned if he’d let her risk her life further. She couldn’t fight off ancients by herself. If she didn’t agree to go with him, he’d go against the League’s rules and take her against her will. He couldn’t lose her this time.

The rain stopped while lightning streaked across the sky, intermingled with wicked forks of flashes striking the ground in the distance in an intermittent light display. When she didn’t respond, he added, “You can follow me and leave anytime. I’m not a rogue, and I have no plans to violate the rules of the League.”

Yet Sutton did have every intention of disobeying League rules. He’d win Alena over, help break the back of the Brotherhood and the League at the same time. In his heart, he knew it could be no other way. When he won her trust, her love, and seduced her, the League would terminate her, no compromise, no questions asked. No way could Sutton allow them to murder her. He’d not make the same mistake again.

Alena tried to figure him out. The way he observed her was devilishly sinful... like he wanted her for his next meal, every mouth-watering bit of her. If he’d been a hunter, she might have been intrigued. But he was a vampire to be avoided unless business dictated otherwise. “Why do you want me at your home? Really?”

“Beyond offering to protect you?” His dark brown eyes appeared nearly black in the low light of the parking lot.

“Vampires don’t usually offer to protect a hunter.” She imagined it had never come to pass in the history of their kind. She slipped her sword into its sheath.

His mouth turned up wryly.

“Well?”

“To seduce you.” His words were rough and husky and although a hint of humor reflected in his tone of voice, he also sounded deadly serious.

She couldn’t believe he could be though. He knew what would happen if he acted on his words. “You know, your kind are so arrogant.”

“That’s what you love about me.”

She drew taller. “Let’s get this straight. Some redheaded huntress fell in love with you and you with her, but it has absolutely nothing to do with me.”

“You’re much different than she, I must admit. Although both of you are high-spirited. Or I suppose I should say she was and you still are.” His face seemed haggard at the mention that the love of his life was gone.

A pang of remorse twitched deep inside. Alena wasn’t immune to feelings the way her cousin seemed to be. She only hoped when the day came for her to find a hunter mate, he’d cherish her the way Sutton did his Elizabeth.

She glanced back at her apartment and saw David watching her and Sutton from her kitchen window. Now, David looks out the window. She pointed with a single finger to the vampire’s body in the parking lot, and David shifted his attention there. He quickly turned to look at Alena, and she tilted her head to the side to silently ask, What is truly going on?

Turning to Sutton, she poked a finger into his hard chest and said, “All right, I’ll stay the night. But only one night. And you’re not to disturb my sleep.”

He took her hand and kissed her fingers and her body quickly was suffused with heat. She jerked her hand away before unbidden images of them making love filled her thoughts again.

“You’re not one of those fun-loving women who enjoy a quick roll in the hay? How do they say... no strings attached?”

Fearing Sutton had some preconceived notion Alena was like his former lover, she asked, “Was Elizabeth like that?”

“Nay,” he said, solemnly, his gaze capturing hers, testing her. “You and I were meant to be.”

Her cheeks burned, the memory of her having been with him coming back to her in a flash, as if at one time they had been meant to be as one, had once been, in fact. Yet she didn’t know him, and at that thought a shadow of reprieve race through her. She meant to dissuade any notion he might entertain that she could succumb so easily to his vampiric charms.

“You are so conceited. And believe me, if you have any thoughts of putting the moves on me, forget it.”

“I love it when you blush. It compliments your fiery hair.” He motioned to the car. “We can have this discussion over a brandy.”

Brandy. Right. If he thought she’d fold under the influence of alcohol...

Yet she harbored a secret desire to fold right under him, let him show her just how much he loved his Elizabeth. To experience the bond they had once shared.

She shook her head at herself. Finding a hunter mate needed to be her next priority if she hazarded desires to be with a vampire.

* * *

A HALF HOUR later, Alena and Sutton circled around a brick drive at the entryway to a large French-provincial style home, nothing like what she expected a vampire to own, yet her skin prickled with distaste at the notion he feasted on his victims here.

Brass lamps dotting the landscape highlighted the gardens and home. Blood red geraniums and shy blue violets nestled at the foot of cherry trees in full bloom, painting the two or three-acre lot in a wash of vivid colors. A striking contrast to the setting she normally found her renegade vampires living in, darkened alleys, flophouses, warehouses even.

A forest green metal roof topped the pink brick house, tying it into the evergreen backdrop. Matching green shutters graced all of the arched windows like darkened eyes viewing the world. Double doors carved in intricate swirls in the lower half and fitted with cut glass on the top, welcomed guests... but how many of these welcomed guests were human hosts who donated their blood to the vampire? How many lost their lives to the renegade?

So used to killing rogue vampires lurking in the shadows of the city streets, she’d never visited one at his or her domicile before. She’d never considered how well they might live. His place was lots nicer than her suburban apartment in Glen Burnie where she could hear the roar of lions at the Baltimore Zoo when the breeze shifted just right.

Still, she wondered what Sutton’s place looked inside. Stark, barren? Coffin like?

She parked her car, but before she reached for her handle, Sutton opened the door for her. After helping her out, he grabbed her bag.

She glanced at the entryway and to her surprise saw Mona standing on the brick walk, watching them.

“She stays with you?” Alena bit her tongue as soon as the words—sounding suspiciously jealous—slipped from her mouth.

“She’s my maid.” His mouth curved up in an amused way. “She has her own room.” He turned to Mona. She nodded, then disappeared inside the house.

Trying to rectify her hunter’s cool standing, Alena took a deep breath. “I haven’t thanked you properly for rescuing me, twice.”

Sutton chuckled seductively, creating a tingling of warmth that spread from her head to her toes. Was this the way her cousin Tanya had felt about her vampire lover?

As was the way of her hunter kind, Alena had never associated after hours with vampires before, except to take care of business. If one became fond of a vampire who turned rogue, then what? The solution was to never get too involved with their kind. Like she was doing now, she reasoned, irritated with her father for forcing this untenable situation on her.

Sutton walked Alena into the house, his hand resting beneath her elbow. “Thanking me properly, now that gives me all kinds of ideas.”

She just bet it did.

He motioned to a hall. “Follow me.”

Carpeted in thick beige plush and furnished in moss green velour sofas and golden oak tables with clawed feet, the living room appeared as elegant as any home featured in a homes-and-gardens type magazine. Which made her wonder where he got his wealth. His victims’ money?

He led her to the bedroom and turned on a light. “Here’s your room, though if you get lonely, you can join me next door.” He smiled in the same devilishly sinful way, his brows lifted at the same time.

Ignoring the suggestion, she peered into the room. A blanket in green, blue, and red plaid rested on the bed, and the image of a dark-haired man wearing a saffron shirt and a kilt, and nothing underneath, flashed across her mind. She blinked twice, clearing the unbidden thought from her mind, then crossed the floor to the queen-sized mattress and ran her hand over the soft wool. “The MacLeod’s clan plaid.”

“Aye.” His voice expressed regret.

She glanced back at him. He smiled but sadness reflected in his dark eyes. What was the story concerning his beloved Elizabeth? On the other hand, she had no need to know. Knowing anything further about his heartache was bound to get her in deeper over her head than she already was on this case.

On a blue pinstriped-papered wall a shield and sword hung prominently above the headboard. The wood itself was heavy and crowned in carved leaves. The bed sat upon clawed feet. She ran her hand over the wood, imagining it was a well-preserved antique.

She didn’t know what made her say the next words that popped into her mind—maybe some inane fear the woman’s ghost would haunt her? But once they’d slipped from Alena’s tongue, she couldn’t pull them back. “Did you make love to her in this bed?”

“Nay, ‘tis old, but no’ that old.” Staring at the bed, a gloomy look of despair washed over Sutton. “I’ll get us some brandy.” He stared at her for a moment as if he were thinking how nicely she would fit against his body in that same bed.

In that instant, she wished more than anything, she could read his mind. But she had no business feeling in such a way. The less she knew of Sutton Bastrop, the easier it would be to kill him. She certainly didn’t want to get herself into the mess Tanya had.

He nodded, then exited the room.

She wasn’t sure what she’d find that the League wanted concerning his secret mission. Sutton had done nothing to make her feel as though he was a renegade. But maybe it was because he desired her so... well, not her exactly, but his lost love, Elizabeth. Perhaps, he’d be careful not to show his rogue side until after he seduced her.

The treacherous thought snaked its way into her mind. Naked and in his arms in bed. The idea they’d share a heated night of passion like she’d envisioned they’d done before, not once but dozens of times. Once in a bed similar to this even.

Touching the mattress, she remembered another filled with straw, hanging over rope braces that creaked as they made love. Even now, she could recall the feel of him nuzzling his face against the hollow in her throat. His fingers caressing her breast, touching her nipple, the sweet tingling that accompanied his touch as she became aroused. Even now her breasts swelled with delicious anticipation, her nipples peaking against her lace bra and soft cashmere sweater.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the illicit thoughts. Having past recollections and current cravings of a vampire was insane.

She hung her damp coat in an empty closet. A bottle clinked against a glass from far away. While Sutton was occupied, she chanced a peek at his bedroom.

Upon entering his room, she found a blue and green plaid blanket covering his bed, too. She didn’t recognize the plaid and wondered which clan he belonged to. Bastrop didn’t seem to be a Highlander name. She tried to recall where her Scottish roots had begun. Campbelton, Scotland?

She leaned over to touch the tartan.

“Did you wish to sip your brandy in here instead, lass?” Sutton asked, his deeply sensual voice startling her.

She whirled around, her heart beating hard, her skin tingling. Vampires could move like a whisper of mist, soundlessly at first, then morphing into something much more treacherous, and she’d do well to remember that. How in the hell was she to explain the reason she was snooping in his bedroom?

He set the glasses down on the dresser and approached her. In a thicker, more ancient Scottish brogue he said, “‘Tis ye, Elizabeth, whom I cherish dearly.”

He thought she was his Elizabeth? That’s why he wished to keep her safe... some mixed-up notion she was… what? A blood descendent and would be his all over again? No matter what, she couldn’t feed into his delusions. “You think I’m your Elizabeth?”

“Aye.”

“I’m not her. How long ago since you lost her, Ephraim?”

His dark eyes widened, and for a second, he didn’t say anything, but when he did, the only word he spoke was, “Ephraim?”

Surprised to see his disquieted reaction, she wracked her brain to come up with the reason, but she couldn’t see what the problem was with saying his name.

“You called me Ephraim,” he said again, his voice dark and husky.

Her body instantly chilled at the deep-seated look of desire in his eyes. And then she realized her damnable mistake. She’d gotten his name wrong. “My mistake. I’m sorry, Sutton. I’m awful with names. How long—”

His large hands took hold of hers and he drew her closer, sending her heart racing to the dangerous heat of the sun. “You’re my Elizabeth, even if you can’t fathom it. Let me love you as I once did.” He maneuvered her against the bed. “Let me prove to you how much I love you.”

Her body begged her to let him do it, but her mind screamed at her to keep her distance.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

The traitorous desire to know the truth beleaguered her—would she recognize his kiss that she envisioned he had shared with her before?

How much could a kiss hurt? One simple, little kiss?

Chapter 5

SUTTON’S VOICE SENSUOUSLY baited Alena to join him in the bed. Her skin prickled with a sense of discomfiture at being in the very place he desired to have her, yet a longing deep inside her clamored to be released—to join Sutton there, to feel the feelings she was fervently attempting to deny.

Even now, his eyes had turned to a smoky black, fathomless, centuries old, searching her soul, begging for her to remember him in a way she couldn’t possibly recall. Knowing how much he desired her wasn’t helping her concentration on her mission either.

Find out his secrets, then kill him.

The fact she had to keep repeating this to herself, meant she was losing sight of her assigned task. Thank God he didn’t pressure her to kiss him, because she wasn’t sure she could—well, would—have stopped him.

When she didn’t answer, the faintest of smiles curved his mouth. “Sharing drinks and a bit of conversation in my bedroom is a better idea than I’d come up with, I must admit.” He handed her a glass, way too big to serve brandy in.

She quashed her own craving to give in to the forbidden desire coursing through her and bluntly said, “We’ll sit in the living room.”

A hint of a smile registered in his eyes. “You wouldn’t want to get more comfortable in here?”

Immediately, she hit the release on her right wrist blade, feeling her words were not enough to convince him what she wanted, most likely because they had come out in way too breathy a manner, and her damned heart was beating double time. He had to have guessed she was fighting conflicting feelings she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

He cocked a brow, his attention riveted to the shining knife at her wrist. “A ‘nay’ would have sufficed, lass.”

His humorous response helped to put her slightly more at ease.

He motioned to the hallway, then barely moved aside to let her pass. Unable to walk past him without brushing up against his firm chest, a shiver of need coursed through her to the core. Images of kissing his pebbled nipples nearly made her spill her drink. Retracting her blade, she took a sip of brandy. But the strong peach liquor cleared her sinuses in a hurry and burned her throat, forcing her to cough.

“Like the taste?” he asked behind her, way too close for it to be construed as anything but an intimate attempt at further seduction.

“It’s very good,” she responded hoarsely, a flash of memory filling her vision of Sutton wearing a kilt, offering her smuggled brandy as they sat amongst rowan trees dripping with berries alongside a stream. The brandy wasn’t the same flavor, but it stirred the memories just the same.

His words drew her from the dreamlike vision where she’d stopped still, unable to walk any further, lost in the memory not her own as he studied her quietly. “I have other liquors if this one doesn’t appeal. But it’s always been my favorite.” Softly almost to himself, although she heard, he added, “At one time, Elizabeth’s also.”

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice finally sounding more normal, and she entered the living room, trying not to think anything further about the vision. Yet with another sip, the vision returned.

“Ephraim,” she said, pointing to the wine flask as the breeze tugged at her hair, pulling strands loose to tickle her cheeks, “if anyone discovers you have smuggled more brandy into the Highlands…”

“Bonny lass, why I’ve orders to bring the devil’s brew to thirsty lads and lassies all over our great land.”

The summer’s day was warm and even the sun shone as Ephraim sat on the dew-kissed grass and motioned for her to join him. Tucking her feet under her long skirts, she settled beside him. He laughed, lifting her into his lap, her legs pinned between his as he pulled the pins from her hair.

“Alena?” Sutton was observing her closely again, and she shook her head a little trying to clear the brandy-induced thoughts from her mind.

A part of her didn’t like the loss of control she felt when the images intruded, but another part of her longed to revisit the Highlands to be with—Ephraim? She didn’t know any Ephraim. Yet the man from the old world was this Sutton, had to be. Then who the devil was Ephraim?

Sutton motioned to an olive green loveseat—the kind of furniture designed for lovers to sit side by side, legs and shoulders brushing each other’s, and again she thought of sitting between his legs, his hands shifting to her neck, caressing, lower, until his large hands were cradling her breasts.

She groaned, not sure if she’d done so aloud or too herself, until she saw Sutton’s brows raise in question.

Hell, she had to get over these delusions she was experiencing. Instead of sitting on the loveseat, she settled on a wide-winged chair dressed in butternut leather.

Shaking his head, he sighed deeply, then sat on the loveseat. “I cannot fathom why you’re so afraid of me.”

Alena took another sip of her drink, the brandy warming her inside. “I’m not afraid of you.” Wary, yes. Confused about his seeming so familiar, yes. Befuddled by the intermittent visions, yes. But afraid, no.

He studied Alena too intensely for her liking, and she considered the furnishings to get her mind off him.

No magazines or newspapers graced the warm oak coffee table. A peach brick fireplace stretching across the length of one wall and rising to the high pitched ceiling, sat cold. A glass door opened onto a brick patio, well lighted with brass lanterns, warming the outside with a soft golden glow, but none of this garnered her attention like the man sitting quietly watching her, who she was destined to terminate.

“It’s the world we live in,” Sutton finally said, his voice almost resigned. “You’re reluctant to show your feelings toward me. But had you been born before the League came into existence you would’ve loved me as I love you.”

“Love?” She didn’t mean to speak in such a high-pitched voice.

A wrinkle formed over his brow.

“You may have loved Elizabeth, but you know nothing about me.”

“I know,” he said smoothly, “that it bothers you that Mona is here. And I know you were as intrigued with me as I was with you as soon as we first made eye contact at the restaurant.”

“Only because I’m a redhead. That’s the only interest you have in me.” She avoided saying what intrigued her about him and hoped he didn’t notice.

His cheeks dimpled, and she realized then she’d never seen this side of a vampire before. “You know very well there’s much more to you that I want.”

He couldn’t feel anything for her, nor could she allow herself to feel anything for him. She was to terminate him shortly, for pity’s sake. What the hell was she really doing here? Getting too deep into an emotional whirlpool. The force of it would pull her into a deadly void faster than a single heartbeat that rushed the blood through her veins, if she didn’t get her raw emotions under control.

Wanting to get away from him, away from the confounded memories of… of him, she rose from her seat so quickly she sloshed the drink on her hand.

Before she could take a step away from her chair, he stood in front of her in a flash. He deposited their drinks on the table next to her chair, then grabbed her wrists. She made an audible gasp as the adrenaline flowed through her like the water rushed down a mountainside during a torrential downpour.

Already she feared she was losing a poignant battle with the vampire. What was there about him that could turn her into a bundle of feelings she’d never experienced before?

“You’re trembling, lass. If you’re not afraid, what is the matter?”

His eyes held her hostage like a vampire used his charms to get a human to obey. Seductive, commanding, spine-tingling. He dropped his gaze and lifted her right hand. Instead of kissing it like she had expected, he licked the spilled liquor off her skin, his tongue hot and wet and stroking her as if he was licking forbidden fruit. Tingling began in her nipples as he licked every drop of brandy off her skin. She fought closing her eyes and giving into his seduction. She fought wanting him like she knew he wanted her, of giving into her baser desires.

For heaven’s sakes—she was a huntress. And he… well, he was not mate material. So why was she nearly collapsing at his intimate touch!

His heated breath came more quickly. She could hear his heartbeat quickening, despite the fact her own was running amok.

“Tell me about Elizabeth,” Alena coaxed, worried the rogue vampire was rapidly losing control over his bloodlust and sexual craving for… well, for Elizabeth.

The notion irked her. She nearly swooned over Sutton’s touch, but he had eyes only for his lost love. That should have been enough to deter her from becoming emotionally involved with him. Yet, she couldn’t help the way she felt about him. Inexplicably drawn to him, like the tide’s strong pull.

His eyes clouded with lust, he released a heavy sigh, then led her into the dining room. At the end of the long cherry wood table, a portrait of a woman hung prominently on the wall. Alena gasped and pulled her hand free from Sutton’s. Elizabeth looked so much like Alena from her braided red hair to her penetrating blue eyes and ivory skin that her heart skipped a beat. Dressed in the MacLeod plaid, Elizabeth was striking in the gilt-framed painting.

Sutton’s hand touched Alena’s shoulder, and she shrank away from him.

“You and she are one and the same. You cannot deny it.”

“We resemble each other, yes, but…”

Damn, more than resembled. If she wasn’t related genetically, she had to be the woman’s clone. And for a fraction of a second, she wondered if there was something more to this whole setup. If the League had known she looked like Sutton’s Elizabeth… sure, they had to have. It wasn’t just because Alena was a redhead. It was because she was her identical twin. If the League had not exactly told the truth about this, what else had they been less than honest about?

Her stomach felt queasy, the muscles in her legs like rubber. God, how could she look so much like the woman?

“You are she. You must remember the love we once shared.” He said the words almost out of desperation and attempted to pull her close, but she extended her wrist blades again. He tsked. “Relationships are made of compromise. Come, sit, finish your brandy, and I’ll tell you about Elizabeth.”

She shouldn’t do as he asked. She should go home to her father’s place, although it seemed he wanted her right where she now stood. But she knew in her heart, she didn’t want to hear what had happened to Sutton’s lady, who looked so much like Alena, it gave her chills.

When she didn’t move, Sutton guided her back to her chair. “She could be stubborn, too, just like you.”

When Alena was seated, Sutton sat on the loveseat across from her. At least the solid oak coffee table provided a comfortable barrier.

Sutton sipped his brandy, then began to relate Elizabeth’s story. “Elizabeth’s father died in battle, but left word that his son would inherit their properties and have you wed—”

Alena opened her mouth to object.

He raised his hand to silence her objection. “Elizabeth, rather, to wed a cousin. But she wanted me and despised the ruthlessness of her cousin. Malcolm and several of his kinsmen sought to kill me. If I were dead, she’d marry the cousin. Or so they thought.”

“But somehow she died instead.”

Sutton studied her for a moment as if he was trying to see any recognition on her part. “Aye. She came between her brother and me. He said if she chose to live with me, he’d kill her, too. I couldn’t protect her. Not with so many of the warrior-trained, bloodthirsty MacLeods there. Elizabeth and I hadn’t blood bonded yet. I wanted to wed her first... to get her family’s approval. But it was not to be. They caught us before we were able to complete the blood bonding.”

“Did you kill them?”

“A few. But I wasn’t as strong back then as I am now. I could kill them all now.”

The bitterness in his voice surprised her. All along he’d been gentle in his manner, except when he yelled, out of necessity, for her to invite him into her apartment. Was the rogue in him coming out now?

Desperate to speak her mind, though not wanting to aggravate the situation unduly, she questioned his words. “Do you still want to kill all the rest of the MacLeods?”

His gaze shifted from his drink to her eyes. “I want to save Elizabeth from perishing the first time.”

When he didn’t answer her the way she assumed he would... yes, or no, she tried to corner him. “So you don’t want to eliminate my family?”

He frowned. “I want you to be mine again. The way we were meant to be.”

“Or you’ll kill my family?” she asked again. She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, trying to make sense of why he wanted her so badly. It couldn’t be just because she looked astoundingly like Elizabeth. Whoever Elizabeth had been, it had been during a different time, in a different place, and she had been a different woman. Alena could never be her. “Or is it that you want to prove to them you can have me again in your own twisted sense of justice?”

Giving her a dark look, he rose from his chair. “I want nothing of the sort.” He crossed the floor to the patio door and stared into the night. Turning, he asked, “That would make me a rogue, would it not?”

“You can’t have me. I’m a huntress and by law—”

“By the League of Hunters’ laws,” he corrected her, his voice hard.

“Well, yes, but they’re binding for you and your kind also.”

His lips thinned. “As much as I disagree about this issue, aye.”

She grasped at any thread of reason that she could use to convince him of his folly. “So you can’t have me. Any thoughts otherwise would be madness.”

“Living without you for all of these years has been madness, lass.” Anguish and defeat haunted his words.

Her skin chilled to think any man could love a woman so much that even after the centuries had passed, he still longed to have her. The idea someone could feel so strongly about her... but he didn’t think it about her. Elizabeth. That’s who he loved.

He motioned to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head and tried to figure out why he’d changed the subject so abruptly.

“You didn’t eat at the restaurant,” he added.

“I’m fine.”

“The fridge is stocked. If you get hungry, you have my permission to raid the fridge.” He headed for the hall. “I have some things I must do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She noted the tinge of aggravation in his voice, and the way he wouldn’t look at her when he left her. It shouldn’t have mattered in the least bit how he felt. He was a vampire... on her terminal list. But he didn’t fit the profile of a renegade at all. And she did care how he felt. It sickened her to think she’d been so unfeeling when he’d only shown her kindness.

Did the League know she represented the reincarnation of Elizabeth in the vampire’s mind?

She knew she’d live to regret this job.

“Sutton!” Jumping up from the chair, she chased after him. “Wait, I want a word with you!”

Chapter 6

SUTTON WATCHED ALENA from his dark study when she headed toward his bedroom, oblivious of his observing her. Had she a change of heart? His own heart picked up its pace at the thought. He wished she felt for him the way he did for her. But would she ever recall her promise to him? Would she ever realize she was his beloved for all eternity before it was too late?

Alena rapped her knuckle on his bedroom door. He took a deep breath and vanished.

Outside in the gardens, the maple leaves dripped with rainwater and the silver sphere clung to the black velvet night, shadowed by clouds. Sutton strolled down a brick path though the rose gardens, wondering what he was to do now. Having Elizabeth in the flesh appealed even if convincing her that’s who she was would be a trial. But destroying the League of Hunters and the Brotherhood of Vampires, too, would consume an overwhelming amount of energy. Wouldn’t it be so much simpler to accomplish Plan A... return to Elizabeth’s time, destroy her brother and his kin and in doing so, stop the League from ever coming into existence in the first place, then claim Elizabeth as his mate forever?

But the potion hadn’t quite worked the way he’d planned. His aunt had warned him not to use it to return to Elizabeth until he was a powerful enough vampire or risk dying at the hands of her kin this time. But when he finally felt strong enough and drank the potion, he’d arrived at the wrong time and place. He’d only managed to glimpse his love before losing her again. And what of Alena? She wouldn’t exist if he carried out his plan.

He paused and stared up at the moon half shadowed in gray clouds. Life had been so uncomplicated until he’d set eyes on Alena.

Mona telepathically sent a message to him. “Alena wants to see you. Shall I send her to you?”

Was the huntress ready to succumb to his will? Even if she wasn’t, he wished to be with her, now and for all eternity. “Send her to me.”

The patio door opened, then clicked shut. He waited in the shadows of the rose gardens, their burgundy petals emitting the fragrance of sweet tea, permeating the air. Alena’s light step patted along the wet brick walk, drawing closer. He fought the urge to appear before her, to take her into his arms, to kiss her like he’d kissed Elizabeth with unbridled passion and prove to her they had a past. Still, he held back, wanting her come to him this time.

Before she reached him, the sound of flapping nearby meant they had unwelcomed company.

Swooping in front of her, Sutton grabbed her wrist. She gasped, but before she could question his actions, he hurried her back toward the house.

“Someone you know?” she whispered.

“Unexpected company,” he said under his breath.

A shadowy figure lurking in the misty dark dropped in front of Alena, his black hair tied back in a ponytail, a stray strand whipping across the hard angles of his face, his dark eyes focused on Alena. Kisaro, the ancient vampire, had been turned only the year before Sutton had. He didn’t belong here. He shouldn’t be here.

Sutton quickly pulled Alena behind him, shielding her from the potential threat. “Kisaro. What do you want?”

Kisaro’s dark features appeared even more ominous because of the black shirt and trousers that he wore. “An unusual greeting for one of your own brethren.” His coal black eyes appeared depthless, focusing solely on Sutton now as if Alena didn’t exist. But Sutton knew better. Kisaro was judging him, analyzing Sutton’s mood for the unwelcome company.

“I’d heard you were entertaining tonight.” Kisaro’s gaze shifted to Alena. “I didn’t realize it was a private party.” A sliver of a smile lifted his lips. “Will you not invite me in, old friend?”

“As you so aptly put it, I’m entertaining a lady friend this evening. We’ll have to get together some other time.” Sutton waited for Kisaro to honor his wishes.

The vampire’s gaze shifted back to Alena. “You must be someone special.” His words held a touch of both amusement and menace.

Sutton’s blood iced when the flapping of wings sounded behind Alena. He whirled around, seized her arm, and pulled her against his chest.

Cybil grinned at him. Her charming smile and blue eyes bright and cheerful and directed at him, made her appear perfectly innocent. Wearing a silky black ankle-length gown, her blond hair swept up in a bun with black pearl pins decorating the curly creation, she appeared to be attending a formal dance. But her attempt at appearing harmless was merely a deadly illusion for the unsuspecting.

Her smile withering, she shifted her gaze from Sutton to Alena. “You found Elizabeth, I see.” She tried to keep her voice light and non-confrontational, but the hint of bite in her tone made him wary, and he felt Alena tense against his chest.

“Alena,” the huntress corrected the vampire, her teeth clenched, her wrist blades extended.

Kisaro stated, “Seems we have the wrong house for the bash tonight, Cybil.”

Cybil’s nearly elusive smile faded as she switched her attention to Kisaro. “Indeed. Then we must find the right one, mustn’t we?”

Sutton focused on their unspoken thoughts, but neither revealed their true purpose in being here. Although he suspected the word had been transmitted telepathically from the vampires he’d helped Alena kill earlier that evening to the others before they died. Now the Brotherhood knew he possessed one of the huntresses on their death list, and he suspected these vampires were part of the killers’ pact. Why else would they be here? He never once had held a bash.

With a deeply threatening chuckle, Cybil waved her hand and vanished.

“Some other time,” Kisaro said, inclined his head to Alena, and disappeared.

Relieved there had been no fighting but unsettled that they knew she was now located here, Sutton shoved the patio door open, then pulled Alena inside. He shut and locked the door behind them.

“But they can get in,” she whispered, alarm reflecting in her voice. She retracted her wrist blades closed with a snap.

Immediately, he pulled her against his chest and held her tight. He couldn’t lose Alena, too. Yet if he accomplished what he’d planned, return for Elizabeth... blood bond with her and keep her safe for the rest of their lives, Alena would never exist.

He’d never felt anything for the women he’d been with since Elizabeth died, but she was his Elizabeth, no matter that she couldn’t see it yet.

At first, her body stiffened. “Sutton,” she said, her hands fisted at her sides. Her voice attempted to remain firm, but the icy edge was melting. “Please...”

Warming the huntress would take a hell of a lot of work. To have Elizabeth back was worth every bit of the effort though. Kissing her cheek, he hoped to work his way to her lips without getting a blade between his ribs.

“Sutton,” she said again. Her tone was meant to dissuade, but she didn’t push him away. Just one little shove, or any inkling she wanted to pull away from him would suffice to discourage him for the moment.

But he knew it was the League who tempered her actions. If she didn’t have them watching her every move, she’d want him, too.

“You’re safe with me, lass. I’ve never invited the others in. I don’t have bashes, nor do I frequent them.” He trailed kisses tenderly down to the corner of her mouth, her heart beating wildly against his chest. Was she afraid of him, or fearful of her own desires for him?

Again, he was torn between returning for his beloved Elizabeth in the past or showing Alena how much he’d love her, if only she’d love him in return. The closer he got to her, the more unsure he was of his feelings and his plans.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered against his mouth, the sweet brandy still flavoring her lips.

He swept his lips over hers, teasing hers, not pressuring, just begging for her participation. Her mouth parted slightly and followed his. This time she didn’t discourage him with words. To his surprise and with joy tugging at his heart, she pressed her lips against his, softly at first, her fingers touching his waist with a fairy-light touch.

Elizabeth’s name rose in his throat, but he dissolved the word before it slipped from his lips. “Alena,” he moaned as tears formed in his eyes.

She paused, her gaze catching his distress. But then as if she’d decided to ditch her cautious side, she deepened her kiss, like a volcano slowly building up steam. Her warm, wet tongue tasting like peach brandy licked against his mouth, and he fought transporting her directly to his bed. She was a huntress in a time when the rules were not the same, he had to remind himself. Gradually, he had to gain her confidence.

Her fingers tightened on his waist, and he quirked a brow. Hmm, Alena. Deep within, she was Elizabeth all over again, only more cautious, more concerned about the consequences of her actions. If he could only snag her heart, show her how much they had meant to each other, catch her for good like the siren had caught him...

He shifted his hands down her back, all the way to the tip of her spine, and pressed gently. Desiring to show her how much she’d aroused him with her simple, loving gestures, he went farther than he feared proved safe. But containing the sexual craving and the bloodlust that threatened to control him...

He took a deep breath, attempting to stabilize his sanity. His canines itched to extend, not in the way they did when he was angered and desired to end the life of a fiend, but lustfully, to join with her in the ultimate sexual feast.

To his heartfelt relief, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she licked his lips and smiled when he raised his brows. “Alena.”

He hadn’t meant for her name to slip out as if he thought she was being too naughty, but when she grinned, he took her reaction to be his good fortune.

Immediately, he conquered her mouth, possessively as if she’d already given herself to him. In his heart, he knew it to be so.

She kissed him back just as surely, her tongue tangling with his in an erotic dance, her lips giving as much of a passionate kiss as they received. When he and she were nearly out of breath, she rested her face against his chest, but shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” Her words seemed heartfelt and threatened to undo him.

“Don’t be, Alena. You wanted the kiss as much as I did. We did nothing wrong.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching for the truth. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Sutton. I’m losing my faith in the...” She took a deep breath, but didn’t finish speaking.

“In the League?”

She didn’t respond and cast her eyes downward, the dark lashes hiding the entrancing pools of blue. He combed his fingers through her silky red hair. “I’ll protect you.”

“I...”

He wished he could read her mind. Damn the hunter’s innate ability to keep him from her thoughts. Though he assumed the threat to her life, wreaked havoc with her mind.

What he wouldn’t give to take her to his bed and show her the love he shared with her as Elizabeth... to comfort her when she needed it most. But he was certain she wasn’t ready to take that big a step yet.

“Alena, do you want to talk about it?”

“I... I’m awfully tired. No dinner, the brandy, the threats to my life, I’m afraid I’ve done something...” Her voice broke. “…given you hope when there can be none.”

His heart sank at her words, but he wasn’t giving up. He had to prove to her that she had already pledged her love to him, that she was indeed Elizabeth. Together, they’d tear apart the League and the Brotherhood that threatened to keep them from loving one another.

They both craved sleep now, but would she join him where he desired to take her? He kissed her forehead and hoped his luck would hold out for just a little longer.

Chapter 7

SUTTON LED ALENA back to her room, praying she’d invite him in. With Elizabeth, no barriers had existed between them. He only wished the same were true with Alena.

When they reached the guestroom, her cell phone jingled, and he frowned at the wireless intrusion. She lifted the receiver from her waist and held it to her ear. “Yes?”

While he stood close to Alena, his fine sense of hearing caught the huntress’s words on the other end of the line.

“It’s Misty. I… I meant to call you back sometime ago, but… but…” Her voice was strained and on the verge of breaking.

“What’s wrong, Misty?” Alena’s gaze focused on the floor, her voice controlled, but he knew she concentrated on every minute detail of the call, a huntress’s training.

“Oh, Alena,” Misty sobbed, “I’m being used as a hostage to get to you. I didn’t make it to my father’s home. They… they want to exchange me for you.”

The bloody Brotherhood. Had to be. Sutton would take every last one of them out.

Alena’s eyes filled with tears. “Misty...” Her name caught in Alena’s throat. Her gaze suddenly shifted to Sutton. Did she just realize he could listen in on her conversation?

Damn it, if she didn’t ask for his assistance, he’d find a way to help her anyway. He wasn’t allowing Alena to risk her life for her friend’s.

“I see,” Alena responded into the phone, attempting to pretend nothing was wrong.

Bloody hell, woman. I’m in on this, too.

“They want you to come alone at dawn,” Misty said, her voice filled with regret.

“Yes.” Alena looked down at the floor again, attempting to hide her eyes, shimmering with unspent tears.

Sutton narrowed his eyes. The so-called Brotherhood wouldn’t stop him that easily. Weather forecasters predicted a storm-filled day, with no break in the weather for three days. Without the sun’s rays to hamper his movement, he’d go wherever he damn well pleased.

“Alena, you’re not to tell my family, but… You can’t come! Don’t come for me!”

Avoiding Sutton’s gaze, Alena clenched her teeth. “Where am I supposed to go?”

Another voice came on the line, one that Sutton instantly recognized. Kisaro. “The El Greco, the Inner Harbor. We’ll release your friend, if you take her place. We’ll track you down sooner or later, so you might as well make it count for something.”

“All right.” She sounded subdued, low key, as if she were pretending the conversation was casual and unimportant.

“And don’t bring Sutton.”

Her gaze flickered to Sutton’s, and her cheeks faintly tinged with color. “I understand.”

Sutton thought she realized he might have heard the conversation.

The phone clicked dead, and Alena took a hesitant breath.

Sutton’s neck muscles tightened into taut cords. He wasn’t letting Alena walk into the vampire’s lair alone to save her friend. She was his to protect... his like before. Only this time he wouldn’t fail.

“Is something the matter?” Sutton asked, couching his irritation while attempting to solicit her cooperation. He opened the door to the guestroom.

“I must admit it’s not the best of news I’ve received in a while, but I believe the way things are going lately, it won’t be the worst.”

Her words brought a smile of admiration to his lips. As distressed as he assumed she was over her friend’s kidnapping, she didn’t let on. In that regard, she was just like Elizabeth, calm in most crises, although when he lost her in the end, she’d been frantic, not wanting him to leave her behind, not wanting to lose him ever.

He cursed himself for her death, for her brother’s murdering her, for all the years of attempting to find her again, despairing and never coming this close to having her for his mate.

Following her into the room, he was determined to resolve the issue of her going anywhere without him to rescue her huntress friend. He rested his hands on her shoulders. When she looked up at him with pained eyes, appearing as though she’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t realized he’d followed her into the room, he began to massage her shoulders.

At first, she remained stiff, a huntress of breeding all the way through.

“You’re so tense,” he whispered, afraid if he spoke much further, she’d recognize the huskiness to his voice meant one thing—he craved having her beneath him, body and soul. “Relax, let me give you a back rub.”

At first, she stood stiffly, unmoving, as if thinking about her friend and what she had to do. But she finally reluctantly nodded and sat down on the bed. He couldn’t help the way his heart soared at her minor acquiescence.

He lifted the bottom edge of her sweater. Her eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. Sighing a ragged breath, he pulled off one of her boots, then the other. He eyed her denim zipper, but she rolled over onto her stomach and folded her arms underneath her cheek.

“Do you want to talk about the problem?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head again and closed her eyes.

Slipping his hands underneath her sweater, he kneaded her shoulders. When she chuckled and shook her head again, he smiled.

“Massaging away the tension works better with skin against skin.”

“The more skin the better, right?” The dreamy quality of her words stirred his loins and his boxers tightened uncomfortably.

He nudged her to move over.

“What are you up to, Sutton?” she whispered.

“Seducing you. Haven’t I been completely up front with you?”

“Hmm-hmm.” She scooted over, and he sat on the mattress beside her. After pulling her curls aside from the back of her neck, he continued to massage her shoulders, her purring inticing him to keep up the action. When he leaned over to kiss her cheek, she cocked a brow. “You realize I’m still armed and can be dangerous to your well-being.”

“I don’t intend to do anything that you don’t agree to, lass.”

“Will you attempt to make love to me while I’m asleep?” She sounded almost hopeful.

On the other hand, he might have heard approval in her voice where there was none, he was so desperate to have her pledge her love to him.

“No.” He captured her hand, held it hostage, and kissed it with a long, lingering press of his mouth against her tender skin. “I’d only make love to you if you’re willing, awake, and agreeable.”

Her eyes studied his, those aquamarine liquid pools drawing him under her spell. “What do you really want, Sutton?”

You. All of you, love.

Before he answered her and provoked her into using one of her weapons, he removed one of her wrist blades, then the other. He was relieved to see her acquiesce without a struggle. After he disarmed her, he pulled her onto her back. His gaze shifted down her body, enjoying the curves outlined by her soft sweater and well-worn denims, wishing he could see her naked.

“You. Every bit of you, lass. That’s what I want.”

She tilted her chin down as if she were getting ready to scold him. “I’ve already said you can’t have me. Seems you’ll have to share your bed with Mona again tonight.”

A faint hint of jealousy flavored her words. He swore she was testing him, wanting to know more about his relationship with his housekeeper.

“I don’t share my bed with my maid. I’ve had my heart stolen once before, and no one has ever measured up to Elizabeth, not until now.” Not measured up to her. Was her, damn it. Why couldn’t she see that? He hated the pretense.

Alena sighed deeply. “But I’m not Elizabeth.” She lifted a hand to cover a yawn. “She’ll have to live on in your memory. As for me, I need to sleep, or I’ll be cranky in the morning. And believe me, you don’t want to see me like that.”

He had seen her like that, Elizabeth, that was. And he loved her any way he could have her.

He unfastened a button on his shirt. Her brows rose.

“What can it hurt, if I join you in bed, lass? I offer you my protection from nightmares and anything that might go bump in the night. And I promise you as a gentleman, I wouldn’t force my attentions on you, if you refuse them.”

“That’s allowing that I’m awake enough to refuse them.”

She hadn’t forbidden him to join her in bed yet. His fingers slipped down to the third button on his shirt. Even though her words said no, her eyes took in his actions with a look of hunger.

She yawned again.

He attempted to reassure and get a concession from her at the same time. “We’ll sleep together, nothing more. Fair enough?”

“Only if you don’t snore.”

He worked faster on his buttons before she changed her mind. “Do you want me to help you get into something more comfortable?” Naked and wrapped in his arms was all that he envisioned.

Shaking her head, she left the bed, unzipped her bag, and extracted a filmy peach gown.

He couldn’t help but stare at it. The notion of seeing her in the slinky nightwear, nearly naked and in his arms...

She turned to face him and caught the way he was looking at her nightgown. “Uhm, maybe you should retire to your own room.”

Again, she hadn’t said in any definitive way she didn’t want him with her in the bed although she chewed on her lower lip and looked a bit anxious.

“I wish to protect you.” Turning his back to her, he jerked his shirt off and tried to ignore the sound of her zipper when she pulled it down. Sleeping with the huntress, but not having her the way he wished, would be the hardest test of his self-control he’d ever experienced.

When he was wearing only his satin boxers, she said, “Can you turn out the light?”

Hoping to ease her discomfort, he didn’t turn to look at her. “Didn’t you want to get into bed first?”

“I’ll find my way there just fine.”

He flipped the overhead light off, but when she didn’t move, he turned to see her standing in the dark like a Grecian goddess. The silky garment flowed over her curves with a gentle caress over the swell of her breasts, her nipples dusky against the fabric, the patch of red curls between her legs barely visible, making his groin tighten with need. She must have known he could observe her in the dark, but it seemed to comfort her that she couldn’t see him watching her. Stretching her hands toward the bed, she stepped cautiously toward it.

He joined her and touched her hand. She gasped.

“I’m just helping you to the bed.”

“And you’re not looking at me.”

He gave a wolfish grin. It was a good that she couldn’t see his expression in the dark.

Her nipples stretched out to him, begging for his kisses, their rosy forms standing out against the silky fabric. The obscured thatch of curly red hair at the apex of her legs incited his craving to bury himself deep inside her, claiming her for his own, forever. He’d have to be a eunuch not to want to get an eyeful of his beloved. But he damn well wanted more than a look.

When he reached the bed, he pulled the covers aside. “In you go.”

As soon as she climbed onto the mattress, he urged her over. Her response would indicate whether she truly agreed to his joining her in bed or not.

She scooted over. His heartbeat quickened. Though taking it slowly with the woman of his dreams was trying his patience, any concession on her part brought him closer to his goal, recapturing her heart and soul.

He climbed into bed, covered them, then reached over and pulled her against his bare chest. Her hair tickled his chin, and he kissed the top of her head. Though he craved to take their relationship all the way tonight, he stroked her arm with a gentle caress until her breathing grew shallow. Sleeping with her would have to suffice for now.

He had to earn her trust, first. Once she’d fully committed to him, there was no turning back, not for either of them. And the dangerous game they played would turn all the more deadly.

* * *

AT DAYBREAK, ALENA woke with a start. The knowledge that a warm male body was wrapped around her in a loving embrace sank into her waking consciousness. Sutton. She moaned inwardly. Had she earned his trust enough so he’d share his secret project with her without having gone too far? Hopefully, yes. Hating the deception, she knew she had to end this charade as soon as possible.

Recalling the too damned passionate kiss they’d shared last night had kindled deeper feelings she’d struggled to keep at bay. Physically, she’d responded to the dangerous lure of his kiss, but emotionally, she’d attempted to keep her feelings caged in. Her attempts weren’t working. And worse, she feared another kiss like they’d shared would catapult her into some dark past that she didn’t want to explore. What if she lost herself? She’d felt as though she was slipping into a darkened well, memories of having been with the beguiling Highlander in the distant past, swamping any other thought—drawing her under until she was lost—Alena no longer, but Elizabeth, another woman entirely.

That’s what she now feared.

Sutton’s dark hair spread across the pillow, free from the leather strap that had bound it. She battled with the urge to run her fingers through the silky dark brown strands. To remain with him in bed, to snuggle and shove away any thoughts of the trouble she was now in.

But Misty’s predicament required her vigilance. How to save her and kill as many bloodsuckers as Alena could in the interim remained her main concern. She didn’t have any choice. She thought the voice of the man who’d spoken to her was Kisaro’s. If she brought hunter reinforcements, the Brotherhood would kill Misty, then vanish. Then they’d come after Alena some other time... but Misty would be dead.

Alena attempted to slip out of Sutton’s arms without waking him, but he whispered, “Beloved Elizabeth.”

Biting her lip in exasperation, she pulled free. “At least you could think of me as Alena,” she grumbled under her breath. She crossed the room to reach her suitcase.

“Alena.” Sutton’s voice was full of regret.

Turning, she was surprised to see his dark eyes wide awake. “I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep. I’m hungry and was going to get some breakfast.” She hated lying when instead she intended to rescue Misty before Sutton even knew she’d left the house.

His gaze shifted to her nightgown, and she felt a flush of heat spread across her skin from her cheeks all the way to her bare toes. She grabbed a change of clothes, then hurried out of the room.

“I’ll join you,” he called after her.

“Not in the shower, you won’t!”

He laughed and the seductive sound sent a curl of warmth spiraling through her. Jeez, if he appeared in her shower, she’d scream. Yet the idea he’d join her intrigued her. She imagined his large hands soaping her breasts, her belly, reaching lower to soap between her legs.

Definitely time to find a hunter mate.

At least she and Sutton hadn’t made love. Finding a hunter mate who would accept her if she’d made love to any vampire, but especially when he was on her terminal list as a rogue, would take some doing.

She shut the bathroom door and immediately realized her wrist blades were still in the bedroom on the bedside table. Whatever made her take them off anyway?

Sutton. He could charm the pants right off a huntress.

Yeah, he’d done that even. Though she had some reasons of her own. Had he fallen for her act?

She quickly took a shower in the blue guest bathroom down the hall and slipped into blue denims and an aqua turtleneck. Through the mini-blinds, she could see the day would remain stormy. The overhead lights flickered, and a clap of thunder boomed overhead. The ominous weather added to her anxiety concerning Misty.

Alena finished pulling her hair back with a scrunchy and headed for the front door. No way would she compromise rescuing Misty while Sutton tagged along. But she doubted she could convince him to stay behind. Better to sneak out without his knowledge now before it was too late.

After she rescued Misty, she’d return to Sutton’s home to find out about his project. Beyond that, she was bound and determined to discover why the Brotherhood had been formed and why she’d been targeted.

Pots and pans clanked in the kitchen. Alena assumed Mona was fixing breakfast. Was Sutton still dressing in the bedroom? Damn, her wrist blades were still inaccessible if she wanted to sneak out of the house without Sutton being aware of her plans. She quashed the exasperation curdling her blood.

Her sword would have to do. She grabbed the front doorknob and tried to open it without making a sound. It clicked open, sounding like she’d just broken into a bank vault in the middle of the night, the alarm bells soon to follow. To compound that, the door squeaked to add tension and perspiration to her already overwrought body.

“Going somewhere?” Sutton asked behind her.

She swung around and dropped her car keys on the tile floor. A trickle of dread slithered down her spine as her whole body prickled with heat as she saw him watching her, his gaze dark and shadowed.

Before she could retrieve the keys, he scooped them up and smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his fathomless eyes. Nor did he offer the keys to her.

“I have some business to take care of,” she said, trying to keep any hint of how stressed she was out of her voice. She wasn’t sure she had succeeded as rattled as she was at his sudden appearance, her concern for Misty overwhelming her, and the trouble she knew she was soon bound to encounter weighing heavily on her thoughts. She held out her hand for the keys.

“Then I’ll go with you.” It wasn’t an offer, but a statement of fact, and he wasn’t relinquishing her keys.

“Alone.”

His gaze continued to hold hers, hard and determined. Did he know what was going on with Misty? Or was he just concerned she’d run into more vampire troubles if she went out alone?

“I have to go alone,” she reiterated, hating that he didn’t ever seem to take no for an answer, but she had no choice in the matter. Once she realized he wasn’t going to give her keys back to her, she dropped her hand to her side. She had another set of keys so she might as well let him think he’d won this round, then when he let down his guard, she’d be out of here.

“You had a call early this morning. I answered it since you were sleeping so soundly,” he quietly said.

Her eyes widened, then she narrowed them. How dare he answer her phone! But the concern as to what the call was about foreshadowed her irritation that he would commandeer her phone. “What… who?”

“The woman said to come to the exchange at ten, not before.”

Alena let out the breath she’d captured in her throat.

“Come, have breakfast.” When Alena hesitated, he shut the door and touched her arm, attempting to encourage her to come away with him. “You can’t take care of business for a couple of more hours. And you shouldn’t do it on an empty stomach.”

“Are you sure… sure, it—” Damn, she couldn’t let him know about the kidnapping. “It was about Misty, right?”

“Yes,” he said, moving her toward the kitchen, his hand at the small of her back. “The woman said Misty was fine, and she’d see you at ten.”

He led her to the bar in the kitchen and sat her down. When Sutton began cracking eggs into a pan, her lips parted in surprise. Dressed in well-worn denims and a navy T-shirt, he looked much more casual than the night before. And his hair was neatly tied in a ponytail again. But seeing him cooking breakfast didn’t mesh with the image she’d had of rogue vampires—hostile, heartless, lurking in the dark, waiting for his or her next unsuspecting victim.

“Would ham and cheese omelets be okay?”

The worry over Misty still garnered her attention, but the aroma of ham and cheese sizzling in the pan made her stomach grumble. Hunger pangs attacked her with a vengeance. For now, she had to bide her time, then figure out a way to leave without Sutton tagging along when she made the rescue attempt.

“Are you sure about the call? You didn’t get the message wrong? Was she surprised to hear a man’s voice instead of mine?” she asked.

“Aye, I was careful to listen to the details. I mentioned you were sleeping, and I could take the message. She didn’t seem to mind at all.”

Her heart heavy with concern about her friend, Alena squirmed on the green leather stool. She turned her attention to the kitchen when Sutton opened a drawer. Cherry wood cabinets fitted with hand-painted porcelain knobs and a tile backdrop of a ship sailing across a blue sea caught her eye. All of the counters were covered in white tile, immaculately clean. If nothing else, Mona appeared to be a great housekeeper.

“Mona doesn’t cook your breakfast?” She tried to think of something to say to get her mind off Misty or inadvertently give her plans away to Sutton. But she didn’t know why she kept bringing Mona up. She wasn’t jealous of Sutton’s human blood host.

“She’s just the housekeeper.” He gave Alena a small smile. “Besides, I like to cook.”

Vampires required blood for a supplement, but had to have food to subsist also. Still, she’d never thought of one liking to cook. Even most of the arrogant hunters she knew thought it was a woman’s job, despite that the huntresses earned their keep just like the men.

She tucked a loose curl of hair behind her ear. “I take it you’re going to join me?”

He stared at her, way too long for comfort. Hell, she knew he meant to go with her, wherever her business took her. “I meant join me for breakfast.”

“Of course.” His gaze shifted back to the omelets. He slid a spatula under one and flipped it over. “Did you sleep well?”

“Must have. I didn’t have any nightmares this time.”

His gaze shot up from his chef duties. “Do you often have nightmares?”

Wishing she hadn’t mentioned it, she never put any stock into dreams like some did. “Yes. But I can guess what you’re thinking. A vampire has been visiting me for real in the middle of the night, when I think it’s only a dream. But vampires can’t trick a hunter in that manner. Only humans. These dreams don’t mean anything.”

“A vampire has been visiting you?” A flicker of something she couldn’t read reflected in his dark eyes.

She didn’t know why she’d automatically assumed he’d think she was having dreams of that sort.

He poured a glass of orange juice. “How long have you been having the nightmares?”

She sighed, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it. “I’ve had them forever.”

“Yet when you slept with me last night, no nightmares.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but she felt it was all a show. He was more than concerned about her dreams, but she sensed he was trying to curb his reaction so she’d tell him more about them. He arched a brow. “Which means you’re meant to be with me so that I can chase away the bad things that attempt to visit you in the night.”

Frowning at him, she clenched her hands in her lap, irritated beyond reason. “Listen, how can I be the one for you when you can’t even get my name straight in bed?”

She hadn’t meant to bring it up like it bothered her or for her tone of voice to be so harsh, attempting to remind herself it shouldn’t make any difference because it definitely wasn’t what she was here for. But the nerve of the guy! If she wanted someone to seduce her, he’d better damn well get her name right.

For a moment, his eyes widened, most likely surprised he’d made the mistake. Then he offered a devilish smile. “Ah, Alena. You canna fault me after you saw how similar the two of you look. It will take some getting used to, lass.”

“When will you ever get it through your thick skull you aren’t going to seduce me and make me your vampire mate?”

Although not allowing him to seduce her was getting to be more of a problem. She didn’t worry about his making her his vampire mate. She’d never go down that perilous path.

He served up the eggs, the melted cheese dripping from the edges, then took a seat beside her at the kitchen bar. “It is just a matter of time,” he said wearily. “Tell me more about these nightmares of yours.”

Did he think he could wear her down until she finally agreed she was Elizabeth? Yet in a perverted way, she almost wished she could make the connection, as much as she was experiencing these bizarre love fests with a man she didn’t know, just to see what would happen. But the fear of losing herself and never finding her way back, rivaled the desire to go there.

For a moment, she didn’t say, not really wanting to share her nightmares with anyone, then she figured what difference did it make? It would while away the time until she had to rescue Misty. And they really didn’t mean anything.

“In the dream, men chase me through a dense forest filled with spruce and pine. I know that if I can reach a cave in the mountainside somewhere in the Highland wilderness, I’ll be safe.”

“Why would you be safe there?” Sutton lifted a fork of cheesy omelet. “Was it hidden from view? Or was someone in the cave who would keep you from harm?”

She tried to block the image of the mountain, the yawning opening dark and deep that called to her, offering her protection. “It’s only a dream.”

“Who were the hunters?” His voice grew dark and concerned, as if he were questioning her about a situation that had truly occurred, and he didn’t want her to stop there.

“It means nothing.” And yet she couldn’t deny the dream haunted her, terrified her, pushed her to escape the death she feared would overtake her.

“I still wish to hear of it.”

Resigned, she poked at her eggs and said, “The hunters wore kilts, but not like they wear today at Scottish festivals like the three Celtic Festivals I’ve been to in Southern Maryland. These men were wilder looking. Dirty, the weave not perfectly perfected. The men had scruffy beards and unkempt long hair and muddy boots. They weren’t hunters in the sense they hunted vampires, I don’t think. I envisioned these hunted wild game for their meal and had been traveling for several days.”

“Hmm,” he said.

She studied him for a moment, wondering about his pensive mood. He didn’t seem to believe her, but it was only a dream! “You think that I dreamed of vampire hunters?” she asked tentatively.

“Aye.”

She let out her breath. “It’s my dream and they’re just hunters.” She took another bite of her lemon and peppered seasoned egg, the tangy sharp cheddar cheese dripping from her fork. She hadn’t ever eaten omelets this tasty. “You could hire out as a chef.”

“I cook only for pleasure. Tell me more about the dream.”

She wondered if it was a Scottish thing. Did Highlanders make something more of dreams? Or maybe it was just Sutton’s flight of fancy.

She took a deep breath, not wanting him to believe in her dreams if he was inclined to do so. “Some of the men rode horses while others ran on foot. They wore high leather boots and bonnets.”

“What was their clan?”

Shrugging, she scooped up some more of her omelet. “I’m not sure. But if you’ve seen the ancient clan plaids, they can be very different from the modern colors.”

“Aye. I have been there, remember?”

Exactly, and if she’d been his Elizabeth, owing to some inconceivably odd set of circumstances, wouldn’t she have recognized the plaid in her dreams? Maybe even the men? Certainly, she thought.

“Why are they chasing you, lass?”

“I believe I was their prisoner, but I managed to escape.” She looked up from her eggs and made the pointed comment, “I don’t do well in confinement, or when ordered about.”

“As well I know.” A hint of admiration appeared in his facial features. “But they wouldn’t learn, would they?”

“You either.”

His eyes widened marginally, and assuming he thought she was referring to some past scenario with him and her—as his Elizabeth, Alena quickly said, “I’m not talking about some Elizabeth from the past, but the way you order me about. Now. In the present.”

“In the present, aye.” But now his mouth curved up.

She frowned at him. “As Alena, not Elizabeth.” She sighed. There was no winning this fascination he had for her as his lost Elizabeth. Instead, she continued telling him about her dream. “Some lord wished my hand in marriage. If I don’t comply, they’ll kill me.”

Sutton didn’t say anything for a while, and she swore his eyes hardened but misted with tears at the same time. A lump clogged her throat to see him so distressed.

“Did you make it to the cave?” he finally asked, his voice low as if he were afraid to ask the question, or learn the answer.

“Most of the times, no. I wake as horses’ hooves pound the dirt and men’s shouts shatter the songbirds’ sweet melody in the forest. I wake before they reach me, but my heart is always pounding out of control. I know they’ll catch me if I don’t hurry. I know it won’t go well for me if they do.”

His gaze was still on hers, as if he were willing her to tell the whole story. “But when you do make it to the cave?”

It was weird how real it always seemed. As if she’d experienced the terror first hand, the fright from running away, the pounding of her feet against the rocks and hard packed earth, her skirts catching on briars, vines tangling her hair, the fear of being caught, the nippiness in the air, the smell of peat being burned in a distant dwelling, the dew collecting on her boots and hem of her skirt, all of it as real as what she was experiencing right now.

“It’s cold, dark, dank, and smells of wet earth. Moss covers the gray stones. Water drips into pools deeper in the cave. I’m not sure which is more frightening—the men chasing me, or the darkness and eeriness of that cave.”

He was barely breathing now, studying her as if watching closely for something. Some clue of the truth, maybe. “What’s in the darkness?”

Internally, she shuddered. “I don’t know.”

His gaze intensified, he attempted to read her mind. She could sense it with the gentle tugging she felt in her temple, but she blocked him from reading her thoughts.

“Alena, what’s in the cave?”

She tapped her fingers on the counter. She’d never told anyone her nightmares, not even Misty, who was like a sister to her. Psychologically, she felt if she revealed them to anyone, they would turn out to be real visions of the past. And she didn’t want to know about them, didn’t want to relive them any longer.

Sutton reached for her hand, startling her, but with a gentle touch, he took hold. “What is in the cave, lass?”

She looked up at him and found his eyes full of concern. She blinked, trying to see into the darkness of the cave. Water dripped, kerplunk... kerplunk, like a leaky faucet. Another scent, not quite earthy—spicy, manly—drifted to her. A cool breeze whirled around her in the darkness, a breeze stirred up by something deeper in the cave, not from the entrance.

Sutton kissed her cheek, coaxing her to speak. “What is in the—”

She took a deep, unsettling breath. “A vampire.”

Chapter 8

SUTTON PULLED ALENA into a warm embrace, knowing her nightmares revealed she truly was Elizabeth. If only he could make her see the truth. Maybe she already realized she was, though she kept denying to herself that it was true. “The vampire in the cave in your nightmares. What does he look like?”

“I can’t see him.”

“But you know he’s there. If you know that, you must be able to—”

“I don’t.” She pulled away from him. Her voice turned harsher as if she didn’t want to remember the past. As if she wanted to forget who she really was. “I... thanks for the lovely breakfast. I have to run some errands this morning. Can I return here later?”

“Alena, I want to help you. You can’t just go barging in to rescue—”

Her mouth dropped open, then she snapped it shut. “You knew?”

“Love, they’ll kill you, and they’ll kill her. You know they will. They’re rogues. They’re not going to let her go if you offer to take her place.”

“I’m not going to take her place. I’ll slay them, like any good huntress would.”

“No telling how many will be there. It won’t be only Kisaro,” he said, trying to convince her of her folly.

Her eyes grew big.

“I overheard your conversation. I recognized his voice.”

“Then you know he said for me to come without you.”

“They’ll be expecting me, too. He knows I won’t lose you again, at any cost. If we go together, perhaps we might make it—”

She shook her head. “Alone, he said.”

“Bloody hell, Elizabeth!”

Again a look of shock crossed her face as her eyes widened, and her lip trembled.

Damn, he couldn’t get used to calling her Alena. “I’m sorry, Alena. I meant Alena... and I didn’t mean to let my temper get away from me.”

But the way she stared at him made him wonder if something more about his outburst had concerned her. Was she afraid of him?

He touched her arm. She didn’t pull away, but looked at him with those intense blue eyes, searching for answers.

And then anxiety mixed with hope slid into his gut. Had she had a past recollection? Some memory of having been Elizabeth? When he had lost his temper with her? God, how he hoped so.

“Do you remember something? Anything at all?” He couldn’t help the enthusiasm with which he spoke the words.

She visibly swallowed, then shook her head, but the way she worried her bottom lip gave him pause.

“You are Elizabeth, even if you can’t fathom it.” He sighed, his breath haggard. “It doesn’t matter.” It did, but in allowing her to feel it didn’t, maybe she’d ease into her memories more readily. “I vow to protect you with my life for as long as you shall live.”

“You can’t go with me!” She stormed off toward the guestroom.

He waited for her in the foyer, his arms crossed. He wouldn’t stop her. When she had her mind set on doing something, he’d have to go along with her decision, downtrodden male that he was. But he’d go with her. And that, she had no choice in either.

When she returned to the foyer with her purse in hand, she shook her head at him. “You can’t go with me, but if you’ll allow me to return here later—”

He waved his arm at the house in a sweeping gesture. “My home and everything in it is yours. Forever and always.”

Her face flushed and she reached into her bag and searched for something. When she pulled out a second set of keys, he smiled at her tenacity. He should have known she’d have another set of keys. But when her checkbook toppled to the floor and flipped open, he read the name on the exposed check: Alena E. MacLeod. Before she could seize her checkbook, he beat her to it and handed it to her.

Again her eyes had grown in size and this time her cheeks flushed. She snatched the checkbook from his hand and stuffed it into her purse. “Thank you. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

When she attempted to cross the foyer to the front door, he caught her arm. “What does the ‘E’ stand for?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she hesitated to answer, then finally said, “Edwina.”

“It took you too long to respond. How about Elizabeth?”

Her teeth were clenched, her expression mutinous. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why did your mother name you Elizabeth?” And why had Alena hidden the fact?

Alena glared at him, her chin tilted up defiantly. “She named me after her grandmother, who had red hair like me.”

“And? I’m certain there’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”

Harshly, she let out her breath. “They say all huntresses in the MacLeod line born with red hair are named Elizabeth, in honor of the one who stood up to her family when she wished to marry...” Tears filled her eyes, and she didn’t finish what she had to say, but she didn’t look away either.

“A vampire? A vampire named Ephraim Campbell?”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she finally said softly, “But you’re Sutton Bastrop.”

Despite his growing excitement that he might have had a breakthrough with her, he tried to keep his voice neutral so as not to frighten her off. “I changed my name. I was born Ephraim Campbell in Argyllshire. Because of fighting between the clans that continually broke out and your family’s attempts at hunting me down, I changed my name, then shipped out to the American colonies.” He took her hand in his and rubbed the soft skin. “Do you remember me? As Ephraim?”

“I’m not your Elizabeth! Elizabeth is just my middle name, but as I’ve said, every woman in my clan was named as such if they had her red hair. It’s just a tradition.”

He knew he didn’t have a whole lot of time to convince her she was the woman of his dreams, but he kept her talking, hoping something she shared with him would evoke even further memories of their time together. “What else did your family say about her?”

“That she deemed her oath of love more important than family loyalty. The women held her in high esteem for having loved a man so much she’d give her life for him. The men of my clan hold family above all else, well, at least as far as forcing their female family members into marriages that suited them. They disapprove of carrying her name forward. But the women have the sole right to name their female offspring. So the tradition will carry forth.”

“That’s why you dropped the wine glass in the restaurant.” Considering her reaction, he rubbed his chin. “I couldn’t understand why the mention of Elizabeth’s name would have startled you so, unless you knew her intimately.”

“Not intimately, only by word of mouth, passed down from generation to generation. But really, Sutton, or Ephraim, or whatever you choose to call yourself, I have to go.”

“Make them wait, Alena. Your actions will rattle them. Some may leave the lair to come here to see what’s keeping you. If you go right now, they’ll be lying in wait, ready to slay you.”

She wavered.

“I know what I’m talking about. I know how they think.”

“If any come here...”

The notion they’d fall into their trap suited him fine. “We’ll be waiting for them.”

She relaxed her tense spine. “Have you any idea how many there are?”

“Nay. None of those who have formed this Brotherhood have asked me to join them. I’m rather a recluse, as I’ve told you before. And I’m not a rogue. Since they wished to dispose of you, it appears they might have known I would have interest in you if I ever saw you. Several knew of my relationship with Elizabeth, more than just Cybil and Kisaro. And they would know I wouldn’t wish any harm to come to you.”

“But the other two we killed... would they have known?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen them before. It seems it was our destiny to meet as we did at the restaurant. If I hadn’t observed you there and wished to see more of you...”

She dropped her gaze to the floor again, then quickly looked back at Sutton.

“I know you’re having a difficult time in believing it’s our destiny, but it is, lass. I was meant to save you this time around. I can’t let anything harm you. I’ve been given a... well, a second chance.” Though in truth, he’d missed the opportunity to save her on several other occasions, but he didn’t want to worry her about that now.

Bile rose in Alena’s stomach. How could she perpetuate the lie with Sutton, knowing full well he believed she was his loving Elizabeth and only wished to protect her? The League had to be wrong about Sutton. But if they hadn’t made a mistake and instead had concocted the whole story for some other reason, they were no better than the rogues they targeted. If they attacked innocent vampires for some dark purpose, she’d fight them with every ounce of breath she had.

She studied Sutton’s deep brown eyes, the pure flecks of gold entrancing her. He couldn’t mesmerize her like a vampire could a human, yet when she peered into the depths of those liquid pools of earthy dark chocolate, she grew dizzy. The cave beckoned to her, but she was afraid to give in to the dark.

“Alena?” Sutton’s hand caressed hers. “What’s wrong?” His voice grew worried as he led her to the sofa. “Alena?” His words sounded a million miles away.

Inside the cave, the vampire beseeched her to join him, to find protection in his arms, consolation, love that would endure centuries. But she couldn’t see him, could only envision him yearning for her. Why couldn’t she see him?

Vaguely, she felt Sutton stroking her arm and that she was sitting now on the sofa, but she couldn’t pull herself from viewing the images sifting through her brain.

She ran her hand over the soft velvety arm of the sofa.

Who are you? she whispered in her thoughts as if she could force the vampire into the light, force himself to reveal who he was.

Was it Sutton?

“Alena? What do you see?”

Brought out of her dreamlike state, she looked up at Sutton. “Was... was it you in the cave?” It couldn’t have been him. She couldn’t have seen him, remembered him, been there, even in her nightmares.

“What do you see?” His voice remained cautious, as if he was afraid to reveal too much, wanting to hear her version first.

The doorbell rang, and Sutton turned toward the intrusion with a scowl while Mona opened the front door. He frowned and whispered to himself, “David McLeod?”

Ohmigod. Alena jumped up from the couch and headed for the door, torn between worry that something more could be wrong and irritation that he, or her father rather, had put her in this indefensible situation in the first place.

Sutton dogged her steps. When they reached the foyer, before he or David could speak, Alena asked, “What on earth are you doing here?”

David shifted his focus to the phone at her waist and pointed. “I tried calling you, but it’s either not working, or turned off.”

Stunned, Alena pulled it from its case. “It’s turned off.” She glowered at Sutton. When did he turn off her phone?

He shrugged, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You needed to sleep.”

“I’ll decide when I need to sleep. Not you!”

“I need to talk to you,” David said abruptly to Alena. “Privately.”

Sutton motioned to his house. “Come inside. I’ll make myself scarce.”

David shook his head. “Outside, Alena.”

“It wouldn’t be wise,” Sutton warned.

Alena touched David’s shoulder, attempting to pacify him. “Members of the Brotherhood know I’m here.”

He glared at Sutton, who shook his head in response. “Through no fault of my own they have learned she is here. But Alena has other pressing business to take care of, and since she’s not showing up at the agreed upon hour, some of them will most likely come for her.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” David growled.

“Tell the world, Sutton.” Alena stomped back into the living room. Hell, she was supposed to be the only one who knew Misty had been kidnapped!

“The Brotherhood’s got Misty,” Sutton said, as David and he followed her. “They want a trade, Alena for Misty.”

David faced Alena. “Why didn’t you inform me? And your father?”

“They said to come alone.”

“But you told him!” David pointed an accusing finger at Sutton.

Get a grip David! He hadn’t sounded that childish since he’d had a tantrum at five because he didn’t get to hold a real sword in a family photo.

“He eavesdropped,” she said, slumping onto the couch, feeling defeated now that everyone seemed to know her plans.

“I couldn’t help it. Vampire hearing... you know. But rest assured, I wouldn’t have allowed the lady to risk tackling them on her own.”

David’s hard look gave Alena a chill, and instantly she knew what he’d say.

“Misty knows this is a risk of the job,” David said.

Alena glowered at her cousin, so incensed she wouldn’t hesitate to take him on if he tried to stop her. “I won’t let her be sacrificed for me!”

“The decision isn’t yours to make. You have work to do, and quite frankly—”

“Don’t say it,” she growled. “Misty is expendable.”

“Not exactly my choice of words, but yeah. She is.”

No, she wasn’t. Alena would do anything to save her life.

Sutton asked, “Why do you not object to Alena staying with me?”

The change of conversation totally threw Alena, and her heart crashed with hearing the question. Sutton must have suddenly suspected something was wrong about the whole setup. How in the world was David going to lie himself out of this one without exposing her mission? Although at this point, she wasn’t sure what her mission was any longer.

She racked her brain, trying to think of a good excuse, but could only come up with the interest Sutton had expressed in her reoccurring nightmares.

Before David could answer, Alena said to Sutton, “The vampire in the cave... he was you... only, I couldn’t recognize him... you, before.”

She closed her eyes trying to conjure up the image, while giving David more time to think of how to answer the question Sutton posed to him. “You... moved forward, out of the shadows. I shivered, from the dampness. The cold seeped into my bones. And I was frightened that the men who were chasing me would catch up to me.” She attempted to see the way she was dressed, long skirts, a plaid over her shoulders, her hair braided down her back.

“Had you seen me before?”

Her eyes still shut, she shook her head. “No, I’d never seen you before.”

“But you were attracted to me... afraid, but not.”

“Yes, I felt you wished to comfort me, to aid me, but a man hiding in a cave wearing...”

The dark was so black she could barely see him, until he stepped forward, closer to the entrance of the cave where the light filtered in.

“What was I wearing, Elizabeth?”

“The plaid of the Campbell, like you have on your bed.”

“Aye. Then what happened?”

“It’s just a dream, Sutton.” She opened her eyes. His eyes had turned nearly black. She couldn’t tell by the concern on his face if he were pleased, or more worried about her.

Sutton patted her hand. “You remember, lass.”

His expression dark, David reached over and grasped Alena’s wrist, then pulled her from the couch. “You’re staying with me. I’ll speak to your father about Misty and what to do next.”

Sutton hissed, and both David and Alena whipped around to see his canines extended.

“Let her go, nicely,” Sutton growled, his countenance fearsome.

David grabbed for the sword at his waist, but Alena seized his hand. “No, David. He feels I’m his lost love, Elizabeth. He’s just protective of me.”

Not comprehending, David stared at Alena.

“The redhead, Elizabeth MacLeod. Our ancestor.”

He frowned at Sutton. “I don’t understand.”

“He thinks I’m a reincarnation of her.”

David scowled at her. “He’s the vampire who was her lover?”

“Yes.”

“Hell, Alena.” David gripped Alena’s wrist tighter. “Then he intends to kill all the MacLeods who would keep him from you,” he said hotly.

She furrowed her brows at her cousin and couldn’t figure out how he could think anything so ludicrous. She finally managed to say, “No, David. He doesn’t.”

“But he wants you for his own. And that’s the only way he can have you.”

“David, why did you come here to speak to me?” she asked, trying to change the subject before David took it upon himself to terminate the vampire who was on her list.

“It appears the Brotherhood is targeting the first born of the League’s ruling members.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything she was so astounded. She hadn’t heard a word of any of this. Many of the Leagues ruling members’ first born were being groomed to take on leadership roles once the leaders deemed it time to retire. If vampires were targeting the leaders’ children, and then planned to murder the leaders themselves, the ensuing chaos could significantly reduce the League’s power and maybe even topple their control completely.

But then the hideous realization dawned—if she hadn’t been the only one targeted, had any of the vampires succeeded in killing any of the League’s leadership’s first born?

“Has anyone died?” she managed to get out in a strangled rush.

“Stephen and Maurice.”

Alena’s legs grew weak and her mind fuzzed. She must have paled because her cousin grabbed her arm, keeping her from collapsing.

“Stephen and Maurice,” she whispered, tears threatening to spill. They had been close to her age, and two of the men she liked the most because of their humorous antics, livening up hunter socials and family gatherings. But it was the way they both said they would have dated her if it wasn’t for all the bloodshed that would have to occur if the one had earned her favor over the other that had endeared them to her most. She’d loved them both as friends she could count on anytime.

Between clenched teeth, she choked out, “The Brotherhood must be stopped. At all costs, David. We have to stop them.”

Breaking into the conversation, Sutton asked David again, “Why didn’t you ask why I was at Alena’s apartment when you found us there together?”

Alena pulled away from David and collapsed on the sofa. She couldn’t get over the fact that two of her hunter friends had been murdered. She felt sick to her stomach and her head felt it was floating above the room. Now with Sutton digging into the reason for her cousin’s complacency in allowing her to be with the vampire, she was sure he’d figure out he was on the League’s terminal list. Or not. Hunters did not acquaint themselves with vampires they intended to terminate.

David’s face hid any emotion as he looked from Alena to Sutton. “I assumed you were in the area and heard her struggles,” he repeated.

“Vampires don’t normally get involved unless it’s mutually beneficial to both parties. Why did you not question my intentions toward Alena at the time?”

His look stern, David folded his arms. “All right, damn it. I suspected something more was going on between the two of you, but the last time something like that happened, I was called to terminate another of our cousins and her vampire lover. I didn’t want this to happen to Alena, but she’s smart. I knew she’d do the right thing and not fall into the same trap as our cousin.”

It sounded plausible, but would Sutton buy it?

He studied David’s eyes as though he attempted to read his mind. She wasn’t sure he was falling for David’s explanation.

“And now? Your change of heart concerning her?” Sutton asked.

“I see you believe she belongs to you already. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to her.” David cocked an arrogant brow. “She’s my favorite cousin, you see.”

Alena’s mouth dropped open. His favorite cousin? His only cousin and very distantly removed. “While the two of you figure this out, I’m going to save my friend.”

Anger making her seethe that a group of rogue vampires had targeted those of her kind, she rose shakily from the couch, brushed past David who was standing in her path, and headed for the door.

These damnable vampires had to be the ones who had taken her friend hostage. She would make them pay.

Mona called from the entryway with a high-pitched, frantic urgency, “We have company, honey!”

Alena cast a dark look at Sutton. Honey? She was just his housekeeper?

Sutton’s eyes darkened like a summer storm, but in the next instant, he vanished.

Alena bolted for the door with David on her heels. “A vampire must have come to find out why I haven’t tried to free Misty.”

Mona stood in front of the front door, blocking it, wringing her hands. “Oh please, Sutton doesn’t want you to go out there!”

Seeing true concern in the woman’s eyes, Alena’s annoyance with her faded some. But she ignored her plea, ready to take on any of the ones who had grabbed Misty and yanked open the door, intending to show them just how dangerous she could be. She rushed outside to see a tall, black-haired man speaking to Sutton, three other men waiting in the wings as David stood at her elbow. But the vampires didn’t even seem to notice her and David standing on the front porch.

“Where’s the huntress, Sutton?” The man reminded her of the one who had attacked her in her apartment the previous night, with larger than normal hands and a long, gaunt face, eyes more blue than gray. He could have been a brother to the other man.

Three other men stood nearby, all of average height, all wearing black trousers and shirts. One of the men was a blond, the other two brunettes. All had long hair tied back in leather straps.

As soon as she and David stalked toward Sutton, the four vampires turned to eye her.

Immediately, she and David unsheathed their swords while Sutton extended his fangs.

They must have figured four rogue vampires against Alena and Sutton would have been sufficient. They hadn’t bargained for David, vampire hunter extraordinaire.

Before Alena, her cousin, or Sutton could react, the vampires vanished.

“What the hell...,” David said, looking disappointed he hadn’t had a chance to use his weapon.

“What’s going on?” Alena asked, confused at the sudden change in plans.

“They were undoubtedly called off,” Sutton said. He sounded relieved.

Why? Because they would have killed some of his friends? And gladly, too.

“What do we do now?” Alena asked, ready to get in her car and go, no more sitting around waiting to see what the vampires might do.

“We go to them.” Sutton’s voice had a grave testiness to it, and she thought he sounded as though he thought the situation was escalating.

But they couldn’t go after Misty. Just Alena. “But they said not to bring—”

“They may decide to keep her alive to use later if they believe she may be useful. But also they may not kill her, if they have a specific plan in mind and intend to terminate only targeted hunters and huntresses,” Sutton said.

“I’ll follow you.” David hurried for his car.

He was always a man of action, and sitting and waiting for someone to come to him wasn’t his way. But she was surprised he didn’t insist that Sutton and she come with him instead of taking two vehicles. Was it an effort on her cousin’s part to encourage her to find out all she could about Sutton and his secret project? That she and Sutton could work together on a team, deal with life-threatening issues, bond, and then he’d be more willing to let her in on his secrets?

She hated the deception, yet, at this rate, Sutton was finding out more about Alena—her nightmares, her desires, her family dynamics—than she was learning anything about him.

When Sutton and Alena climbed into her vehicle, he said firmly, “Tell me why your cousin wasn’t concerned about my being with you.” He hadn’t been mollified by David’s explanation after all. Sutton knew something else was going on. How she hated the dishonesty.

But what could she say? I’m here to learn all I can about you, then terminate you? She was certain that would go over well. She was supposed to be his former lover from another time, for heaven’s sakes.

Not sure how to respond, she didn’t say anything and poked her keys in the ignition. But as soon as she drove down the road, her purse fell over and out slipped Sutton’s photo, partway. Her heart nearly stopped when his eyes caught sight of it. Her stomach was doing somersaults as he reached down and pulled the photo from her bag.

He studied the picture for a moment, then glanced at her. “Rather a good likeness of me, don’t you think?”

How in the hell was she going to explain this? Now he’d realize her being at the restaurant wasn’t fate. She hated this mission, hated the lies, hated that he felt something for her—no, not her, but Elizabeth from his past. Hated herself for being any part of this. She didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything.

“Take the highway toward Annapolis. I’ll give you further directions when we arrive.” His voice was gruff as he continued to stare at the picture.

She waited for him to say something more about it, but only morbid silence remained between them. And that was worse than anything he might have said to her.

Staring out the windshield at the stormy weather, she tried to think of an explanation for why she had Sutton’s photo in her purse. But another nagging thought occurred to her that had plagued her ever since he’d begun relating the story of Elizabeth to her, and she had to know the answer. “Did you make love to Elizabeth often?”

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her with steely contempt. “What has that got to do with the question I asked of you?” he asked, his voice low and hard.

She ignored the chill between them. She deserved his hatred, but she just had to know this one thing about his relationship with Elizabeth. “Did you make love a lot?”

He stared at her, as if he were trying to understand her line of questioning. Probably assuming she was trying to change the subject again. “Aye.”

“For how long?”

He grunted. “I can’t understand what difference—”

“A month? Weeks? A year? For how long?”

He folded his arms, his dark look making her realize just how dangerous he could appear—formidable, menacing, not somebody to cross. “Has the League of Hunters sent you to kill me?” he asked.

He knew.

Tightening her hands on the steering wheel, she attempted to shove her guilt deep into the pit of her stomach and focus on questioning him. To buy time before she told him the truth—because she knew she could get by with nothing less at this point. The League shouldn’t have sent her on this mission. She’d told them so.

But she had to solve a mystery strewn about like misplaced puzzle pieces in the hidden recesses of her mind, bits of nightmares that swirled around in her subconscious. And she wanted to do so before she told Sutton the truth and risked his wanting to terminate her first.

“Were you separated from Elizabeth for a long period of time before she was killed?” Alena asked.

Something wasn’t right about Ephraim’s relationship with Elizabeth. But she couldn’t quite pin down what bothered her about it. A hunch that there was more to the story than even Ephraim knew, and yet, she, a woman far removed from Elizabeth, knew that something had happened that needed to be resolved one way or another. Or was it more of the nightmares she couldn’t remember after waking, except for ragged bits and pieces... shadowy recollections of truth or fiction she couldn’t quite fathom.

“If you think to avoid talking to me about why you have a photo of me in your bag—”

“Did she have your child, Ephraim?”

Chapter 9

SUTTON STARED AT Alena, his skin covered in goose flesh... an occurrence that rarely had happened to him once the plague had mutated his genes and changed him. But just the way Alena said his name, Ephraim, softly with genuine concern brought back a flash of memory of Elizabeth lying with him naked, stroking his chest.

“Did she have your child, Ephraim?” Elizabeth had asked in the same gentle way when she’d learned a woman had claimed a son was his when it wasn’t.

“Nay,” he’d replied. “‘Tis no’ my bairn.”

A local trollop had claimed he was her bairn’s father in an effort to obtain some of his wealth and title for her child. He’d never lain with the woman, though many had, so how could she claim such a feat?

He stared out the car window. A light, rainy drizzle covered the glass while intermittent sheets of lightning illuminated black clouds like a fluorescent light turned on against an ebony ceiling, then shut off. “We’d known each other for three years. Elizabeth wanted her family’s approval before we blood bonded. She wanted to be my wife.”

“You made love for three years, yet never had a child?”

“I didn’t see her the last year, not until the end. They’d taken her away... hidden her from me.”

“She never mentioned having a child?”

He stared at Alena, unsure why she thought this might be so, but the idea she might be right forced him to consider a new concern.

“What if she’d had a child that you were unaware of? Would it have been vampiric?” Alena asked.

“If the vampiric gene passed on to the child. But she would have told me.”

“What if she didn’t know?”

He frowned at her, the thought preposterous. He tried to mask his annoyance at the idea, but didn’t quite succeed. “I wouldn’t think a thing like that would go unnoticed.”

She didn’t seem perturbed at him over his reaction. “What if she had a baby and her family took it away and said it had died? Or worse. Maybe they’d told her they’d killed it because it was yours. Would she have been afraid to tell you for fear you’d want to kill her family in retaliation?”

Ephraim considered her words, his stomach tightening as he realized what she said could be true. And if it were true, it would be another reason to hate the MacLeods.

She ran her hands over the steering wheel. “But what if the baby lived? What if he had vampiric skills and is still alive today? You age one year for almost every thirty years.”

Bloody hell. If he’d had a child and it was vampiric, he or she could still be alive today. He had to know the truth. “Aye, your calculations are correct. When I was changed I was a man of twenty. And now, I am the equivalent of thirty.”

“And your son would nearly be ten.”

He still couldn’t believe they’d had a child when Elizabeth hadn’t said so, although at the time, they were more concerned about blood bonding and escaping Scotland. Then again, if they’d had a bairn, Elizabeth must have been certain it had not lived. She wouldn’t have left their child behind.

The troublesome thought sliced into his heart, no matter that he wasn’t sure it could be true. Still, Alena’s suggestions as to why Elizabeth wouldn’t have told him seemed reasonable. But Alena’s feeling so strongly about this, nagged at him the most. She wasn’t telling him something.

“Why do you think she had a child?”

“If you had been making love to her long enough, you would have had a child with her, unless you had abstained. If not, then either she was incapable of having one, or you weren’t able to.”

Ephraim narrowed his eyes. Now she was discussing his manhood? Of course he could father a child... if he’d wanted to, anytime over the last three hundred years. But he’d never desired to, not with the women he’d known. Elizabeth was another story, but Alena was right. They’d never abstained. Why wouldn’t she have had a child?

“Or,” Alena said, “she had one that you don’t know about.”

“There’s no other reason why you think this might be so? Eliz... Alena, have you ever been with child?”

She flashed her eyes at him, hot as a burning flame. “Of course not. I’ve never had a child. I would have to be mated with a hunter to have a child.”

Her words were venomous, but he could understand her anger. Such a thing wasn’t possible for a huntress, unless she’d strayed from the League’s ruling.

“Aye.” He stared out the window, a chill consuming him. “Our destiny is to be together again. No matter what the League intends otherwise.”

She let out her breath in a weary sigh. “You are under contract of death by order of the League. I had no choice in the matter, believe me. I said no, but… I had no choice.” Alena’s disheartened voice was nearly inaudible.

He realized then how hard it was for her to admit it. From the onset, she’d been drawn to him, physically and emotionally. He could sense her confusion and how she was torn between her loyalty to her family, the League, and him. His only chance at survival was in showing her who she truly was and the deep love they had once shared. Would she remember him if he made love to her? He was certain she would.

“You’re assigned to terminate me?” he asked, verifying that’s what she meant by her having no choice.

Tears in her eyes, she swallowed hard and nodded.

He rubbed her shoulder. “But you haven’t done so. David must know you’re supposed to. So my question is why haven’t you?” Just the fact she told him the truth gave him hope.

“I... I asked to be reassigned. I didn’t want this job.”

“Why not? If the League says a vampire has committed crimes against humans and must be terminated, why would you not wish to do your duty? It’s your calling, what you’ve been trained to do.” He had no problem with the League sending hunters to terminate rogue vampires who went on killing sprees. But to categorize him with those vampires incensed him.

She lifted her chin. “I’ve turned down jobs before.” She glanced at him. “Twice.” Watching her driving, she clenched the steering wheel again.

Had she a soft spot when it came to vampire rogues? Neither huntresses nor hunters could afford a heart in the business. “What happened?”

“Both were children. They had killed and couldn’t be stopped any other way.”

Children. He shook his head. A vampire child could be decades older than her and capable of the worst atrocities.

“And me?” he asked. What reason had the League given her concerning his disposal?

“I... I didn’t think I could… eliminate you either.”

“Why not? I’m certainly not a child.”

She chewed on her bottom lip.

“Alena?”

“She... she... damn it, Ephraim, I had our baby. I think.”

His head swam with the notion and his stomach tightened into knots, and all he could think of was holding her tight like he’d longed so to do for so many centuries. His Elizabeth. Not Alena who couldn’t remember him, but Elizabeth, his love, his life. “Pull the car over.”

“But...”

“Pull it over, now, lass.” He spoke with command, but attempted to gentle his order.

She drove onto the shoulder and parked. Before she could say a word, he wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, and clutched her tightly to his chest. “Dear Elizabeth, you cannot know how much joy you bring to my heart knowing you’re she.”

She melted in his embrace and squeezed him back, her body soft and warm and yielding. “It doesn’t seem real. None of this seems real.”

She was still fighting the notion, but Ephraim was certain she would soon remember everything. But God how he wanted to blood bond with her before it was too late.

“But it is real, lass. You are real. And mine.” When her brow quirked, he added, “As I am yours.”

Most likely fearing her cousin’s response, she pulled away from him to glance at the rearview mirror. “David just got out of his car. He’s walking toward my vehicle.” She sounded worried—scared David and Ephraim would fight to the death if he knew what had changed between them, he imagined.

“Wave at him and drive on.” Under no circumstances would Ephraim tolerate the hunter’s interference in their lives. He’d had to put up with the MacLeods’ intolerance for too many centuries already to endure it further.

“I’m not a secret agent huntress. And I’m not a good actress. Damn it.” She sounded as though she hated herself for failing her mission as she pulled onto the road, and David ran back to his car.

“You are the only one for me, perfect in every way, lass.”

Sutton figured David would question her mercilessly as to what was going on between them once he had a chance. But he ran his hand over her shoulder in a soothing caress. Then he took a deep breath and prompted her about her recollections concerning their child. He didn’t want to upset her, but he had to know what she recalled.

“What do you remember about our baby?” Sutton couldn’t help the darkness that colored his words. He wondered if she was like an amnesia victim—too many details, too many memories at once might shatter her mind—he just didn’t know. But he had to break through, bring his loving Elizabeth to the forefront, renew their vows.

“I remember having a child. I haven’t had one, yet I recollect experiencing childbirth. How could I if... if I were not her? No woman could remember such pain, if they had not experienced it themselves, could they?”

He didn’t think so. If a person had never had a heart attack, or a broken bone, they wouldn’t know how it truly felt, he didn’t think. “You’re my sweet Elizabeth.” He ran his fingers through her hair, enjoying the silky texture, wishing they were in bed together, consummating their love for one another, proving they belonged together forever. He wondered now if she truly had a child, where would he or she be?

Which gave him a new mission. He had to learn if the MacLeods killed his and Elizabeth’s child if she’d had one, or find him or her if the child was still alive.

He switched his concern to the more immediate problem he faced and his anger again surfaced. “Why have I been targeted? I have never done anything to warrant a contract on my life.”

“I was supposed to discover some secret business you’re conducting.”

“Secret business?” He shook his head, not believing anyone would have learned of the potion he’d intended to use to take him back to his Elizabeth. Did they suspect he wanted to eliminate the MacLeod clan of Argyllshire three hundred years earlier?

His desire to do just that had been tamped down over the years. More importantly, his using the drug had forced him to realize he might not be able to make that an option anyway. Blood bonding with Alena and sequestering her to some safe place was his only true solution to their nightmarish dilemma.

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Can you be more specific?” he queried.

“Not even David knows what it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

How could the League issue a death contract for him based on a supposition? Anyone could wish someone killed. That in and of itself did not make a person, whether human or vampire, guilty of a crime. Only in acting on this wish could the League be pushed into terminating the renegade vampire. Ephraim was no rogue. His private turmoil was his own business.

“I believe the League is getting into the business of genocide.”

Alena glanced at him, her look shocked.

“Getting rid of vampires, whether they are rogue or not, just to suit themselves. Maybe they’d learned of my past with Elizabeth and decided to terminate me for it. You said yourself the men of your clan don’t like it that the women name their redheaded female offspring Elizabeth after the one I loved who loved me in return.”

“That would be illegal.”

“They make the rules and enforce them. Who would object to them killing a vampire they declared a rogue, even if it wasn’t so? Me? I’d be dead. And I’d have no one else to champion my cause.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his blood heated.

“But they can’t do that.”

“It seems they can. And you’re their deadliest weapon they’ve got when it comes to me. I’d give my life to you gladly before I’d ever harm you. You were their perfect lethal weapon. As ancient as I am, even David would have a difficult time killing me.”

Would she bend to the League’s order, taking care of the vampire who they declared too dangerous to live? Or would she go against them and risk her favored huntress position in their society?

Ephraim pointed to the next turn off. “Take the exit, then turn right.” He had to focus on the fight ahead of them to ensure Misty didn’t get killed in the process as much as this other matter irked him no end.

The League had overstepped its authority when it came to him, and he had every intention of fighting them next. No body of hunters would declare him a renegade, issue a contract to terminate him, and get away with it. He only hoped Elizabeth would back him in his decision. She was his Elizabeth, yet she was from a different age and still hadn’t reconnected entirely with her old self, he didn’t believe. Well, of course she hadn’t. If she had, she’d agree to blood bonding with him now.

“What do we do now?” she asked softly.

“What do you want to do, lass?”

She looked at him, her eyes tearful.

“We free your friend, Alena. We destroy the Brotherhood,” he said.

“And the League?”

“How do you feel about it?” He had to know which side of the fence she stood on. Even if she didn’t agree with him now, he intended to sway her to his way of thinking, using one method or another.

“They can’t target those who are not doing anyone any harm. But my father is the head of it.” She took a ragged breath. “I can’t believe he would stand for this, if he’s even aware of the deception.”

Her words warmed Ephraim. He felt she would stand by him.

Ephraim pointed to a narrow cobblestone street where quaint, two-story brick and siding homes lined the drive. “Take a right here. We’ll concentrate on first things first. Freeing Misty.”

They drove another few minutes, then arrived at a two-story, historical, colonial home with a panoramic view of Brannock Bay leading into the Chesapeake. Two brick fireplaces stood at each end while one more sat centered at the back of the house, each towering over the white-sided structure like lean red candlesticks. Ancient oaks hovered over the nearly two-hundred-year old house on either side. Soft green spring leaves covering the branches, whipped about in the stormy breeze. As shady as the place was, it was the perfect vampire retreat.

Ephraim took her hand in his and squeezed, wanting her to remain behind, but knowing she wouldn’t. “The place has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two main living areas. I’ll investigate first to find out how many vampires are in the house.”

“How did you know that Misty might be here?”

“I told you. My hearing is sensitive. So is yours, but you were probably so concerned about Misty’s voice and how she was, that you didn’t hear some of the sounds I detected in the background.” He waved at the bay. “The screeches of seagulls in flight, the lapping of water against a boat. I’ve been here with Kisaro before. Fishing is one of his favorite pastimes. A dock is situated out back where he sets out traps for an evening crab feast. And there’s ample room to launch his boat for a day of striper fishing.”

“If it’s sufficiently overcast.”

“Aye.”

“What’s our plan exactly?”

“Park here. I’ll slip inside, find out if Misty is here first, how many are guarding her, and report back.” He leaned over and kissed her lips, her velvet touch stirring old memories he wished to explore more deeply. She responded by wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight.

“Going into battle with my lady’s love behind me, makes me invincible.” He breathed in her floral fragrance one more time, overjoyed to feel her soft body against his in a loving embrace, longing to have the moment last forever.

She wiped away a tear. “Come back to me, Ephraim. Don’t do this on your own.”

Ephraim. She knew him. Knew of their past. Was relegated to it now. “I wouldn’t think of it, lass.”

And then he vanished in a heartbeat and Alena was grasping at air with her heart in her throat. She couldn’t think of Ephraim and what might be, but of Misty and what had to be done to keep her safe.

Jerking her from her thoughts, David pulled her car door open. “What the hell’s going on?”

She climbed out of the car with her sword in hand, ready to kick some vampire butt. “Sutton’s gone inside to locate Misty. We’re to wait for him, and he’ll—”

David stormed toward the bright red front door. “I don’t take orders from a vampire, rogue or otherwise.”

Alena ran after her cousin. Heart pounding, she wanted to shake David and make him listen. She grabbed his arm and yanked him to a stop. “He can slip inside and find out how many there are and if Misty is even there,” she whispered harshly, irritated with her cousin’s unbridled rashness.

David shook loose from her and headed for the house again.

She scowled at him while she hurried to join him. Typical hunter—strong-willed and bull-headed. He didn’t want to miss out on the fight, but more than that, he didn’t want a vampire ordering him about. Or maybe he didn’t really trust Ephraim. Maybe he believed he would warn the vampires away.

With a quickened stride, their boots crunched on the gravel path. A streak of lightning stabbed a splinter of white into the turbulent water. Thunder grumbled overhead. Gulls screeched. Water from the bay lapped against a small skiff rocking back and forth in the frothing whitecaps. Why hadn’t she heard these things when Misty had spoken to her? Ephraim had to be right. Alena had been so concerned about Misty, she hadn’t paid enough attention.

The smell of fish hung heavy in the air while the breeze whipped around them. Salty water coated them in a cool misty spray and her hair dampened. She suddenly felt a chill, though her blood was hot with the desire for vengeance.

They paused at the door, when Ephraim’s raised voice reached them. “I can’t fathom why you want the woman. What madness is this? You’ll bring the League down upon all of our heads. And for what? Besides, do the two of you really think you’re any match for that David MacLeod? When he finds you...”

Alena held up to two fingers to David. “Two,” she mouthed silently.

David nodded and kicked the door open.

Both Alena and David rushed into the closest of the living areas. Gray leather sofas impeded their progress when they attempted to reach the vampires. Knowing they were outnumbered, the bloodsuckers should have vanished, but Alena imagined they feared the Brotherhood leader’s wrath if they left Misty behind without a fight.

“Get Misty,” Ephraim ordered Alena, while he attacked the taller of the two vampires. “She’s in the bedroom, first door to the right.” In a flying leap, he grabbed the renegade vampire’s throat and pinned him against the wall.

David struck his sword against the other, the vampire armed in the same manner.

Alena ran across the polished hardwood floor to the bedroom where Misty was being kept. She twisted the knob and found the door locked. She kicked it with her boot, the hollow core door giving slightly with every strike. On the fifth determined kick, it gave way and hit the wall with a resounding “bang”!

For a second, the path was clear. Misty was tied and gagged on the bed and no obstacle was in Alena’s path to stop her. Until she took a step toward the bed.

The vampire suddenly materialized before her, his red hair nearly the same shade as hers, unadulterated without a hint of brown or tinge of gold. But his eyes were black as night, except for a flicker of red that looked like a slow ember burning in their depths. And his extended canines were ice white, long and threatening, and bared at her.

Which meant only one thing. She was on his terminal list.

Chapter 10

HAD THE ROGUE vampires in Kisaro’s living room warned the Brotherhood that they were fighting for their lives against Ephraim and David and sent this dark vampire avenger to either whisk Misty away or kill her? Ephraim had cautioned her and David that only two vampires had been in the house. But the one she faced made three.

Adrenaline flowed through her veins, energizing her for the fight. Charging the redheaded vampire in the small bedroom, Alena raised her sword, hoping she and Ephraim and her cousin wouldn’t have the whole bloody Brotherhood to wage war against any second now.

The rogue swept out of her way and hissed when she thrust her sword. She growled inwardly, frustrated she hadn’t killed him outright. She swung her sword to the right, but he dodged her effort.

Misty’s muffled cry forced her to look in her direction. Bad mistake. Misty was gagged and tied to the wrought iron bed, but otherwise not in imminent danger. Alena, on the other hand was. As soon as Misty distracted her, the vampire pounced on Alena.

After he slammed her against the wood floor, she groaned when her spine ached from the jolt. With fangs extended, he readied to bite her when David yelled out in the other room, “Touché!”

David’s vampire screamed, then grew silent, but this time Alena’s targeted vampire was distracted. She released her wrist blade, then jammed it into the redhead’s heart. Like the other, he screamed in agony, then crumpled into a ragged heap of bone and clothes.

“You should have listened,” Ephraim said to the one he fought. “Too late now.”

A thud on the floor followed.

Alena jumped to her feet and ran to the full-sized bed dressed in more of the same kind of dreary gray. Misty, in her red running togs, added welcome color to the dull room. Her black hair dangled about her small face in disarray as if she’d put up quite a struggle with the vampires who’d taken her hostage. Her sea green eyes pleaded with Alena to hurry and free her. Tape covered Misty’s mouth, and Alena pulled it free first. “Alena, ohmigod, Alena.”

“Misty, thank God you’re all right.” Guardedly relieved, Alena prayed no other vampires would suddenly appear. She hurried to slash through the ropes binding Misty’s wrists, her hands trembling while she attempted not to cut Misty.

David and Ephraim rushed into the room, but David was the one to slice through the ropes at Misty’s ankles.

“They were unable to telepathically contact their brethren because the others must be too far away,” Ephraim said.

“What about that one?” Alena pointed her sword at the pile of bones nearby while she helped Misty from the bed.

The two hugged each other warmly. Alena couldn’t shrug off the worry they had to get to somewhere else safely before the vampires struck at them again, though. She observed Ephraim, not a hair out of place, unruffled, and a true hero, fighting alongside the hunters, aiding them against the vampires, instead of joining the Brotherhood.

Ephraim shook his head. “The vampire must have been coming here to relieve one of the others. He wasn’t here when I first arrived. If David will take Misty someplace safe, I’ll return you to my home. I’m sure before long they’ll come for you, Alena. But we can make a stand there.”

Why should he fight for the League when they wished to terminate him? Why should he fight for their cause when the only thing he truly desired was to have Alena for his mate because he loved her dearly, and they’d deny it?

She realized then, he was more than just a dream. She loved him for being who he was, her hero, tender and giving, yet demanding, a bit of a rogue but not as a vampire. As a Highlander of old.

Yet going against everything she’d ever been taught wouldn’t be easy.

“I’m so glad you were okay, Misty. David can get you home safely this time though,” she said as she hurried her out of the house.

Misty glanced at the dead vampires in the living room and shuddered. “I’m so sorry I endangered you, Alena. But so thankful you came to rescue me just the same.”

“It couldn’t have been helped,” Alena said, rushing toward the vehicles with Misty beside her. “And you know I would have rescued you no matter what.”

David tried to hustle them faster. “Let’s get a move on, ladies.”

As if they were dawdling!

Misty turned back and stared at Ephraim following behind them beside David. She said to Alena under her breath, “Don’t tell me he’s the vampire you invited into our apartment.”

“Yeah, he’s the one.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s the one I’m supposed to kill. So I have to keep an eye on him until the time’s right.”

Misty turned around to look at Ephraim again. Alena caught him wiggling his dark brown brows at her. Misty said with shocked disbelief, “But he saved my life. And yours.”

“I know. It seems these days it isn’t enough.” Alena gave her another hug, thankful her friend was all right. “Something isn’t right. I’m trying to find out what.”

Misty nodded. “If you need my help, let me know.”

Alena wasn’t sure that Misty could be any help, and she certainly didn’t want her in any further danger. But she was a good-hearted huntress, and Alena could trust Misty to keep her secret. “I will, Misty. I will.”

When they reached the cars, David said to Alena, “I’ll check back with you in a couple of hours.” He straightened his back when he faced Ephraim, male posturing to show he was in charge, undoubtedly. “Keep her safe in the meantime.”

“You need not ask me to keep her safe. It is both an honor and a privilege and my duty.”

To Alena’s surprise, David gave her a more than brotherly hug, then hurried Misty to his car.

His efforts rushed, Ephraim grabbed Alena’s arm and hastened her to her vehicle. “I can’t permit this display of affection between my woman and your very distant kin.”

She nearly laughed. “He looks like my brother, for one thing. And for another, he’s never acted in any way but brotherly... pain-in-the-butt kind of brotherly, toward me. So don’t get yourself worked up over our nonexistent lover’s relationship. I’m touched you feel so protective, but I don’t want you and David fighting over me when there isn’t any need.”

“It appeared to me that the warm embrace he gave you was short of carrying you over his shoulder and throwing you on his feather-down mattress, then having his way with you.” Ephraim gave her a pointed look. “He cares for you more than just in kinship. He won’t like it that I claim you for my own.”

She shook her head, annoyed at Ephraim’s declaration of owning her. “This isn’t the medieval period, you know. Women are not chattel to be owned.” She slammed her door shut, and he appeared in the seat next to her.

His smile appeared slowly, sensually. “Aye, but you know, lass, you love me for my claims.”

She did, damn him. She loved everything about the stubborn Highlander and wouldn’t have him any other way. After starting the car, she headed back to his house. “I don’t remember you having a jealous streak. Have you always had one?”

“Aye, when it comes to other men’s interest in you. You’re a comely wench, and oft I’ve had to knock a man down here or there to let them know you are taken. Sometimes your saying so isn’t good enough for them.”

She tried to recall when other men had tried to show interest in her, but couldn’t come up with anything. All she remembered was her brother’s insistence she marry someone of his choosing. But another concern kept worming its way into her thoughts. Now that Misty was free, they had to deal with the issue of Ephraim being on her termination list.

“I hate to bring up bad news when we’re having such an interesting discussion, but I need to know what secret project you’re working on, then I have to terminate you. You know, a contract is a contract.”

He smiled. “You always did have a keen sense of humor. We’ll discuss it over lunch and a glass of wine, and then we’ll take a nap afterwards.”

“Seriously, Ephraim. This is a real problem.”

“Aye, lass, how well I know.”

She sighed. “What about Mona?”

“I doubt she needs to take a nap.”

Alena snorted.

Ephraim laughed. “She’s a dutiful maid. She doesn’t care about what I do in my home.”

“Honey?” The notion Mona called Ephraim that still irked Alena. And he had the nerve to say she was just his maid.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t pretend you can’t remember Mona calling you that before we left the house to fight the vampires this morning.”

“Now who’s jealous?”

Alena tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “I am not jealous.”

“Aye.” A smile still stretched across his face.

Then she thought about Mona, and wondered how easily other vampires could control her. “Would Mona unwittingly let anyone into your home?”

“Nay. She’s under my control. So, do you truly think we had a child?”

“I can’t imagine having nightmares of childbirth otherwise.”

“Was it a girl or boy, do you remember?”

“A boy as he had the right equipment for the job.”

Ephraim sat quietly after that, and she didn’t say another word, trying to figure out what they were to do next—how were they to destroy the Brotherhood when they didn’t even know who was running it? And what was she supposed to do about Ephraim? She didn’t even want to consider they might have a vampire child they needed to locate.

All of it darkened her mood as she finally reached Ephraim’s house, and she pulled into the circular drive. Once she cut the engine, Ephraim hurried to get her car door. He rushed her along the brick walk lined with evergreen shrubs, his hand gripping hers possessively, and she got the impression he was concerned vampires would attack at any moment. Not that she didn’t share his concern.

Cherry blossoms littering the walkway like pink confetti, scattered in their brisk wake.

“If we have a son out there, we must find him and care for him,” Ephraim said, though he sounded like he didn’t believe that could be the case.

“What if he’s now a rogue? We have no idea who might have raised him.” The thought scared her that she would screw up raising a child who was really not a child and vampiric to boot.

“Do you think he still lives?” he asked.

“I…”  She shook her head, hating to tell him no. But she wouldn’t give him false hope. “I’ve never dreamed of him.”

“But if someone else raised him, you wouldn’t have seen him, so you wouldn’t have dreamed of him,” Ephraim reasoned.

“You’re probably right.” But for now, she couldn’t wrap her thoughts around the notion. Not when the Brotherhood wanted her head and the League wanted Ephraim’s.

Mona opened the front door for them, like a silent butler from some old estate, wearing a pair of black denims and a sweater to match.

“What would have become of him?” Ephraim asked, almost to himself.

Alena turned to Ephraim. “I think it would be best if you didn’t get your hopes up about your son—”

“Our son.”

Alena paused in the foyer, his intense gaze holding her hostage. Mona shut the door, glanced from Alena to Ephraim, then slipped down the hall.

“He would be ours, Elizabeth.”

“Alena.” She still couldn’t get used to being called Elizabeth. And she still didn’t “feel” like Elizabeth, except she knew and felt too much about Ephraim to not have been her, but she’d lived so many years as a huntress in modern times with League rules that hadn’t exist in the earlier years that she couldn’t reconcile the differences.

“Alena Elizabeth MacLeod. He would be ours.”

The idea she had a son was too difficult to fathom, yet the gnawing at her that it could be so, meant she had to find him. But would he truly be hers? If she truly was Elizabeth reincarnated, the boy would be hers. The thought was too wild to speculate. How could she raise a boy she knew nothing about?

Someday she intended to have children, but she had every notion they’d start out as babies first. Then she’d grow used to how to handle them... leisurely. By the time they were ten years old, she’d know them thoroughly.

But if his son truly existed, who’d raised him? Would he be evil or as good as his father?

They walked into the kitchen where Mona was cleaning the already sparkling countertops.

“But he may not even exist. I might be all wrong about this,” Alena softly said to Ephraim, then turned to Mona intent on praising her for her hard work and changing the subject from one she didn’t want to speculate further about. “You do a wonderful job cleaning. The place looks spectacular.”

Mona smiled at her, tucking a wayward curl of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”

Ephraim cleared his throat, getting Mona’s attention. “Could you tidy up the guestroom?”

“Of course.” Mona crossed the kitchen and exited through the dining room.

When Alena thought Mona was out of earshot, she scolded Ephraim. “You didn’t have to dismiss her.”

“I thought you didn’t care for her to be around.”

Alena sat down at the bar. “I guess I’m getting used to her. And I don’t want her feelings hurt. So what are you fixing for lunch?”

“Seafood salad. How does shrimp, scallops, crabmeat and...” He looked into the fridge. “…oysters sound?”

She shook her head. His thoughts of seducing her were as clearly evident as a treasure map showing the “x” that marked the spot. She had no doubt he thought she was the treasure, and he wanted to plunder every bit of her.

Ephraim chopped up a head of lettuce, then scattered the already cooked shrimp, scallops, and crabmeat over the top. “For centuries oysters have been considered an aphrodisiac.”

“You aren’t still planning to seduce me, are you? Not after I told you what the League wants me to do to you?” Why wasn’t he displeased with her? She was certain if the roles had been reversed, she would have been upset with him if she had learned she had been added to a hunter’s termination list and the hunter had pretended friendship before doing the job he’d been assigned.

“I want to seduce you especially because of what the League wants you to do. Maybe you’ll change your mind.” He cut up tomatoes and cucumbers and added them to the seafood mix.

Did he really think she was still considering that she might want to eliminate him? “You’re that great a lover that you think I would reconsider?” she darkly teased.

“Don’t you remember how it was between us, lass? The way you opened yourself up to me like a flower that spreads her petals in the sunlight, the way you softened under my kisses, and tugged frantically at my breeches to get on with business?”

She raised her brows. “I’m sure I don’t.” Yet she damn well did. And it all began with the shock of seeing that photo of him at the restaurant, his penetrating, alluring, mesmerizing eyes challenging her to deny she knew him, and the way it had triggered the playing of the movie clip versions of their past romantic liaisons in her head.

“Aye.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

She folded her arms, ready to make him squirm. If he was so in love with her, had he waited for her all this time? “When was the last time you made love to a woman?”

Ephraim looked up from the seafood salad he was concocting. “For a hundred years after your death, I couldn’t look at another woman.”

As virile as he was, she couldn’t believe he’d wait that long. “And the two hundred years after that?”

He smiled in an arrogant manner. “You can’t fault me for making sure it was still in working order. What if I hadn’t used it and from disuse it fell off?”

Alena laughed out loud. “Right. Any excuse.”

“I did grieve dutifully for one hundred years,” he said somberly.

“All right. So when was the last time you made love?”

“I don’t think that’s a fair question.”

“Oh?” She leaned forward on her stool and placed her arms on the counter, that ping of jealousy slipping into her blood. “Why not?”

Mona walked into the dining room at just the right moment. “All done. Anything else you want me to do?”

Alena leapt at the chance to get the truth out of him from his housekeeper. “When was the last time Ephraim made love to you, Mona?”

“Who?”

Realizing her mistake at once, Alena’s face grew hot with embarrassment.

Ephraim stared at her in astonishment, probably because she’d used his birth name out loud again. He smiled wryly. “She only knows me as Sutton, Elizabeth.”

“My mistake.” But she realized then, she couldn’t think of herself as being named Elizabeth, since the only time anyone called her that—mostly her father or when her mother had been alive was when they were mad at her and said her full name, Alena Elizabeth MacLeod, in a highly aggravated manner. On the other hand, she felt more comfortable in calling Sutton, Ephraim. Why?

Because despite the weirdness of the situation, she felt as though she’d known Ephraim much longer than she had Sutton. And if she had been Elizabeth way back when, she would have. As Alena, she’d only known Sutton for a couple of days.

As to Elizabeth? She had been Elizabeth for…

Alena stared at the kitchen counter, shock freezing her thoughts. My God, Elizabeth had been the same age as Alena was now when she had died. Her gaze shot to Ephraim’s.

Ephraim was studying her like he often did, watching her facial expressions, her body language, watching for the return of Elizabeth’s memories. “What is it? What do you remember?”

“When… how old was Elizabeth when she died?” Alena asked, her voice hushed. She didn’t want to know the truth. She really didn’t want to know.

Ephraim’s teeth clenched. “She was twenty-two. The same age as you are now.”

“How did you know what age I am?” she asked, frowning at him.

“I saw your driver’s license, lass.”

“He’s never made love to me,” Mona replied, breaking the tension in the air. “I’m his housekeeper. I give him blood when he needs some. Is that what you mean?”

Alena refocused her gaze on Mona. “What?” She’d vaguely heard what Mona had said, but the realization Alena was twenty-two and Elizabeth had been the same age when she was murdered chilled her to the marrow of her bones.

Chapter 11

“WE’VE NEVER MADE love. Sutton and me,” Mona said again to Alena in the kitchen, her tone reassuring as Ephraim listened in.

Alena shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts of the deeper concern. “What about any others?” she asked, caring, but not caring as much now.

All she could really think of was that as soon as she’d had her birthday, Alena had had some vague recollection that turning twenty-two would bring about serious repercussions. The time should have been joyous, but it had filled her with an unsettling dread, and she couldn’t figure out why.

“Yes, some others give him blood from time to time.”

“No.” Alena tried to hide her more worrisome concern. “Who else has Ephraim made love to?”

“Cybil. But it has been a year ago.”

“Cybil?” Alena looked at Ephraim in astonishment, her blood heating. How could he have had sex with the vampiress who so clearly wanted Alena dead?

He lifted a shoulder, acknowledging his unusual choice of lover. “I know. She’s not a redhead. But I thought maybe one who was not could break the charm you held over me for so many years. ‘Twas not to be.”

“Not a redhead?” Alena growled, “The woman is a witch.”

“A vamp, lass.”

“A witch, damn it.” Her insides churned with annoyance. The unsettling thought preyed upon her. Why wouldn’t he prefer a vampiress to a hot-headed huntress? With Cybil, he didn’t have to deal with League sanctions or huntress termination contracts. He wouldn’t have to get a concession from her to blood bond. He could have stayed with her forevermore. Now Alena wondered if there were others like her—other vampiresses that he’d dallied with.

Trying to get more information out of Mona, and trying to ignore the irritation she felt concerning Ephraim’s having made love with Cybil, Alena asked, “And there were no others?” Now her voice was hot with annoyance. How could he have had sex with that witch?

“He’s reclusive. Has he not told you this? He mourns the loss of her.” Mona pointed to Elizabeth’s painting. “No other will do.”

“Except Alena,” Ephraim corrected her.

“Yes, she looks very much like the lady.”

“And Cybil,” Alena muttered under her breath.

“The one time, lass. Only the one time.” He directed his next comment to Mona. “Why don’t you take a nap? Alena and I plan to also after we eat lunch.”

“Okay. Just leave the dishes. I’ll get to them later. Oh, and Kisaro called. He said he knew what you’d done and wanted to tell you how much he looked forward to the next move in the huntress chess game.” Mona padded off toward the bedrooms.

Alena let out her breath, hating that the Brotherhood already knew they’d rescued Misty. “I wish we knew how many there were in the Brotherhood. We’ve eliminated five, but that could be only a tiny fraction of those who have joined.”

“Aye.” Ephraim sat next to her and poked at his salad. “You are not truly angry that I had been with Cybil, are you?”

“No.” Yes. How could she not be? The woman was a threat to her in every sense of the word. Trying to let go of the animosity she felt over the situation, Alena bit into a sweet shrimp. Hard.

Ephraim watched her, his expression one of weariness.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, finally softening toward him. She couldn’t deny he had deserved some outlet for his sexual needs—if it had only been with someone who was not that vamp!

“How I don’t want to lose you again. If you choose not to blood bond, I’ll care for you while you grow old. I’ll cherish you in sickness and in health, in youth and in old age. But I would ask you to end my life so that I wouldn’t have to live another eternity without you when you’re at your end.”

She was torn between his emotion-filled words and her own anguish that she couldn’t become a vampire or her own kind would hunt her down. “I can’t blood bond with you. The League would terminate both of us.”

“Aye. Right now they only wish to terminate me.”

Hating the way her words had sounded, she reached over and squeezed his hand, not knowing how else she could deal with the matter. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you don’t, lass, but how can you be Elizabeth and not want me like I want you?”

“Maybe because things are different now. The world is not the same as it was when Elizabeth lived. You said Elizabeth didn’t want to blood bond with you until she had her family’s permission.” Alena speared a piece of crabmeat with her fork. “So you see, we’re not that different.”

“The result will be similar. Except instead of you dying at the hand of your family, I will. But ‘tis a fair trade. I won’t live without you again.”

How could he love her so much, when she wouldn’t do the one thing he wanted from her? There had to be some other way to keep him safe without compromising her own position though. “My family’s wrong about you. I’ll make them see you’re not a rogue.”

“They will never see me any differently. For three hundred years, the MacLeod women have been naming their redheaded daughters after a woman who fell in love with me. I’m the worst sort of rogue the men in your clan can imagine. Someone who one of their lasses loved before kin.”

Alena’s throat grew dry. “They can’t mean to kill you because of what happened three hundred years ago.”

“Nay. They base it on my secret project. And what secret project is that?”

Not believing the League could be so dastardly, she shook her head.

“If I can’t have you, they’ll have to kill me. Don’t you see? They can’t allow us to be together, but they can’t stop me from wanting you. Ultimately, it’ll lead to my extermination. If you don’t kill me, I’m sure David will be given the job. I would only allow you to terminate me though. If he’s sent to do the job instead, he’ll have to fight me to the death. And others like him, if he doesn’t succeed.”

The League couldn’t want to kill a vampire who’d helped the hunters eliminate renegade bloodsuckers. The purpose for organizing the League was to reduce the threat of maniacal vampires who murdered humans with a vengeance. How could this same organization now contract hunters to kill law-abiding vampires? The League had to have made a horrible mistake. She had to convince them to change the verdict.

“The only ones we’re targeting at the moment are members of the Brotherhood. When the League members see you’re aiding them in hunting down rogues, they’ll have to change their minds about you. Once they realize their mistake, they’ll have to terminate the contract.”

“Ask David what he thinks.”

She knew what he’d say. Once the League made up its mind...

But if she could assure those in power no secret project existed, they’d change their mind about Ephraim. They’d have to. There was no other way.

After they finished their meals, Ephraim took her hand and led her to the guest bedroom. Mona had pulled back the comforter neatly in preparation, and Alena stared at the invitation—her in bed with Ephraim, loving him like in her strange visions, coupling in the throes of passion in the far distant past.

Ephraim kissed Alena’s cheek, just a soft peck, but there was much more planned from the way his eyes darkened with lust and longing. Despite any huntress misgivings to the contrary, she wanted him like she knew he desired her—except for the one thing she knew he craved from her above all else—to be blood bonded.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice raw with need.

Despite her huntress upbringing, she craved him with all her soul—but would it be enough to catapult her into the madness loving him would surely result in?

Ephraim’s wicked smile was the same kind that got Alena undressed the night before and had her reclining against his warm, hard body the rest of the night. The yearning to be with him raged through her, urging her to take their relationship further, to see if she would “feel” the same as Elizabeth had, exalting in the thrill of the sexual experience.

He pulled off his shirt while he waited for Alena to undress. His lightly dark haired chest had just the right amount of muscle to make him totally appealing. His nipples were already extended also. She looked lower, saw his arousal, knew he was ready for much more than a nap.

“Maybe we’d nap better if we slept in separate bedrooms,” she said, her huntress sensibilities attempting to intrude. She had to make the suggestion, had to try and stop this madness from going much further, hoping Ephraim would come to his senses and agree.

Even sleeping together could lead to more than she was willing to allow herself to indulge in. In her heart she knew the more she violated League rules, the deeper she slipped into a pit of quicksand. Both would be drawn into its sandy grave, if they weren’t careful.

He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, soft and tenderly. “If I’m in the next room, I can’t protect you as easily. Didn’t your cousin give me a direct order to watch over you?”

Amused that Ephraim could twist David’s words in an effort to have his way with her, she pulled off her jeans. “I’m certain this wasn’t what he had in mind.”

Ephraim waited with breathless anticipation for her to remove her turtleneck next. Somehow she found the fortitude to climb into bed just as she was. His raised eyebrows tickled her, and she chuckled.

He stripped his trousers off.

When she saw his erection straining in his black satin boxers, her face warmed.

He shook his head and made her slide over in the bed. “I can’t believe you wear so much to nap in.”

“You know, you could be a gentleman and get into bed on the other side, instead of making me move over every time.”

“‘Tis no’ a gentleman you desire, wench.” He pulled her turtleneck up and over her head, his quick action surprising her. “‘Tis a man you want who desires you verra much.” He tossed her shirt to the floor.

“You are so arrogant. And I do not—”

He stifled her objections with a forceful kiss, his lips hard against hers, his tongue probing deeply, plundering her, feral and persistent and possessive. The kiss was filled with desire so strong, only matched by her own, that it sent her head reeling, her heart pounding, and her desire for him burning like a wildfire set loose on dry timber. Never had she experienced such desire, such heated passion... yet she had, but not as Alena. As Elizabeth. Tears threatened to spill.

She feared and craved his touch. The feelings ran so deeply, she knew now there was no going back. God, how could their love for one another be so wrong?

“Ephraim,” she said, short of breath, his hard body pressing against hers while the memories flipped through her mind like a broken movie reel—glimpses of them together, making love in the heather under the full moon, the peat smoke fragrance drifting on the breeze—their actions wild with abandon.

“Aye, Elizabeth, lass.” He kissed her mouth again, possessively, wanting.

“Oh, God, Ephraim.” Instantly all the memories flooded back, and she knew beyond a doubt he was the one who’d stolen her heart in the distant past. He was the one who could unite the jigsaw pieces of the intermittent, hazy memories that taunted her in the form of nightmares. Tied to him inexplicably, she could never break the bond that roped them together, even if she had wanted to. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t blood bonded with him. They were bound together by their love and a promise to keep that love alive no matter the century.

She quashed the sob that threatened to escape her throat. The knowledge she’d loved him, and he’d loved her with all their hearts, then were torn apart, filled her with anguish. How could her family consider their unbounded love for one another, something so inherently good as such a terrible calamity?

Power came to mind. Clan power. Damn her people for taking her life when they couldn’t succeed in tearing the joy from her heart for loving Ephraim. Damn all of them.

She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feel and smell of him, spicy, male, hard and muscular. Her Ephraim.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she said, knowing now he was hers, truly hers for all eternity, even if both their lifetimes would be cut short by the realization. The League of Hunters would not allow her and Ephraim to live in peace, and she would not be separated from him again.

His smile touched her lips as he pressed his mouth against hers. “Aye, ‘tis me, love.”

He combed his fingers through her curls, every touch stirring her yearning for him. Pulling the leather binding from his hair, she freed it, then ran her fingers though the satiny dark strands. He was hers—the feelings that he aroused in her as old as time. He wasn’t someone new and untested. But he would be, if she hadn’t been Elizabeth. She wouldn’t recognize the feel of him like she did, if she hadn’t experienced it before.

His passionate, forceful kiss had rekindled the flame, triggered memories she’d had of their making love before. She wanted him to make love to her now, to experience the passion she’d shared with him long ago, to find herself—to find Elizabeth—to fulfill the promise she’d made to him.

“I want you to make love to me, Ephraim.” She knew there was no going back, yet she didn’t want the blood bonding. She’d been Alena too long, a huntress at heart, to want to be a vampire.

“I want to make love to you more than I desire to do anything else in the world, except blood bond, of course. But can you live with it? Are you ready to accept me all over again?” he asked, stroking her breast through her lace bra.

“If you don’t,” she said growling, “I’ll forget my business of finding out about your secret project and terminate you at once.”

Sliding his tongue into her mouth, he tangled with hers enthusiastically. “I love it when you’re the aggressor.” He trailed kisses down her throat, sending streaks of erotic tingles into her groin. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“In the tavern? You were with another woman.” Alena tugged at his hair, deep in the recesses of her memory vaguely recalling that incident. “The woman had breasts the size of watermelons, and they were mightily exposed, too.”

“No’ half as bonnie as you. She wasn’t the lass I wooed after that.” He stroked her cheek. “Did we truly have a child together?”

Alena focused on his square jaw while she tried to recollect. “I don’t know for sure. I think my family drugged me.” She looked up at Ephraim’s eyes, smoldering with want.

“Aye, you said this to me when you freed yourself from them.”

“Why am I here?” She touched his smooth cheek, remembering every detail, the dimple when he smiled, the way his skin was as hairless as a bairn’s rump due to the vampiric changes in him. But before the damnable plague, he had often worn a beard in winter, and it had amused him when she had ducked her face away whenever he’d tried to kiss her, claiming his beard scratched her soft skin.

His eyes sparkled with devilish familiarity, but then he sighed, running his fingers down her throat in a tender caress. “The League has put a contract out on me and you’re the one to—”

“No, I don’t mean that. Shouldn’t there be a purpose in my living?”

She ran her hands over his back, feeling the raised welts of his healed wounds he’d incurred as a boy before he’d been changed. She remembered every scar and the story he’d told about how he’d received each and every wound. Even the one on his right thigh where his kid brother had sliced the skin in a mock sword fight. Except they’d borrowed their father’s swords for the game without his authorization and paid dearly with a strap to their backsides for the dangerous foolishness.

“Your purpose in living is to be with me, lass.” He kissed her neck. “To keep your promise that you’d love me forever.”

“I said that, didn’t I?” The words had been spoken in a belabored, pain-filled voice while her head had filled with fog.

“Aye. After your brother cut you down with his sword, I held you in my arms. In deference to you, they allowed us our last words. You promised you’d always love me. Your brother and the rest of your kin intended to slay me. Once you breathed your last breath, I slew several of them. Then I finally managed to summon the ability to vanish. I have searched for you, praying that I would find you and awaken your memories of the love we had shared.” Ephraim’s eyes were misty with tears.

“But I don’t understand,” she said, rubbing her temple. “If the first time I met you was in the tavern, why didn’t I know you in the cave?”

“You were as you are today. Another Elizabeth, another time. You knew me, but you didn’t. I had no time to show you who I was before—”

“They killed me again?” She couldn’t believe it.

He looked away.

“Ephraim, was it my family? Did they kill me that time, too?” The sinking realization hit her that the same thing was bound to happen once her family learned she loved Ephraim again.

“Aye. I fear the cycle repeats itself.” He spoke the words softly as if worried saying them any louder would make it happen.

“We’re cursed,” she said softly.

He didn’t refute her claim.

She rested her fingers at his chin and made him look at her, his brown eyes now the color of midnight. “Unless?”

“Unless we blood bond, I can think of no other way to protect you.”

Then the notion finally sank in that she’d truly existed before. Not just once, but who knew how many lifetimes? God, poor Ephraim. To find her and repeatedly lose her over the centuries would have made a lesser man lose his sanity, she was certain.

“What happened when you had encountered them?”

He let out his breath in a weary sigh. “In one case, I never knew what the lass’s name was, though I knew her to be you. Or at least I had hoped so. But I didn’t have time to do anything about it. I’d fought in clan wars against your kin for years and was hunted by many. When she... you found me in the cave, I wished to offer you solace, protection... but I was weak from recent wounds and blood loss. When they came for you, I couldn’t stop them.”

“They killed her?”

“When I’d recovered fully, I attempted to find out what I could. Her own uncle had killed her for running away from the laird she was betrothed to. She’d disgraced her family. That’s how he’d dealt with her traitorous deed. He needed a union between their clans to stop the latest of one of the wars. If she wouldn’t go willingly, he had no use for her.”

She frowned when she tried to recall, but no memory surfaced, concerning how badly it had ended. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s best you don’t, lass.” He sighed deeply and held her close. “I changed my name after that and shipped out to the Colonies. I didn’t think I’d ever find my bonnie lass here, but I did.”

She kissed his forehead, and he nuzzled his face against her cheek. “Will we be colonizing Mars next when we meet?”

His expression shadowed with regret and resignation, he shook his head. “Nay. This will be the last for us. If I can’t have you, I won’t live for another eternity without you.”

Neither did she want to lose him. How could she start over again in some distant future, not knowing him? While poor Ephraim struggled to trigger her memories of the love they once shared if he chanced to meet her again as she existed as some other Elizabeth?

She tugged at his satiny boxer shorts, desiring with all her heart to make love with him just as she’d done in the distant past. “I want you to make love to me, in the vampire way, but I can’t blood bond with you.”

Making love to Alena wasn’t all Ephraim craved. Somehow, he had to convince her that she had to blood bond with him. He wanted her for all eternity, not just a huntress’s lifetime. He wasn’t certain that would work to break the cycle, but blood bonding was the only thing they had never tried.

He ran his hands through her red tresses.

Despite being overjoyed that she’d remembered him, the knowledge she could slip so suddenly through his fingers darkened his mood. And what of their child? Somehow, he had to find out what had happened to him. He sensed she knew something, but still wasn’t able to recall everything that had happened.

The notion he could still try to get back to Elizabeth in the earlier day and stop the whole cycle from happening in the first place, that she had agreed to blood bond with Ephraim nagged at his subconscious.

But what of Alena? She was his Elizabeth all over again.

Chapter 12

WITH GRIM REALIZATION, Ephraim felt that if he couldn’t convince Alena to blood bond with him, he’d feel torn to return to Elizabeth. Yet would the potion send him to another time and place with similar results instead? Not to his Scottish-born Elizabeth, but some other? One who knew nothing about him all over again?

He slid his hand over her silky arm, his gaze dropping to her peach-colored bra, her dusky pink nipples straining against the delicate lace, dark against the fabric, willing him to have a taste. He dipped his head and brushed his open mouth against one swollen tip, his tongue and lips feasting on her through the lace, and then he worked on the other. Her fingers combed through his hair, gently at first as he continued to mouth her delicious nipples, and she arched her pleasure, her grip on his hair tightening.

He cupped a breast and ran his thumb over the tip, then feathered kisses along her breastbone, up her throat, her delicate jaw, her kiss-swollen lips. He delighted in the soft mewling sounds she made, the sensual way she responded to his kisses—the way her fingers caressed his neck and her legs spread apart, inviting him in, her body writhing beneath his touch.

“Sweet Elizabeth,” he mouthed against her lips. He desired with all his heart to call her Elizabeth, and in truth she was named Elizabeth, even though it was but her middle name in this day in age.

She felt like Elizabeth, soft and malleable, kissable and eager to renew their vows.

He reached behind her and unfastened her bra, but before he pulled it off, he ran his fingers up her ribcage and underneath the bra. The palms of his hands slid over the soft mounds of flesh, and he luxuriated in the feel of them, felt her nipples puckered with arousal beneath the strokes of his thumb, listened to her heart beating faster, her breath nearly silent.

“Alena,” he hoarsely said, because she was Alena, too, of this time period, a huntress with different values and training, who would love him in return like he loved her.

He yanked off her bra and tossed it aside, then slid his hand into her panties, his fingers dipping between her legs. He felt her curls and fleshy folds wet with anticipation, and smiled to feel her ready for him. She moved her pelvis upward, coaxing him wordlessly to stroke her needs as he recaptured her mouth with his.

Tears misted in her eyes, but he didn’t stop the onslaught, assuming the memories of their past connection were returning full force, and he couldn’t curb his craving for her any more than she could for him. Her hands were already tugging at his waistband, trying to slip his boxers down his hips, but she halted as soon as he stroked her swollen nub.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she cried out, “make love to me.”

“Aye, lass,” he said, moving higher to claim her mouth, inserting a finger between her legs and pressing as deep as he could go.

She arched against him again, tugging at his boxers, unable to reach far enough down to pull them any lower than halfway, then slid her fingers between the waistband and his buttocks, squeezing, pulling him toward her, pushing him to enter her.

Unable to control his need to have her, he slipped her silky panties off and tossed them, then yanked his boxers off and dropped them to the floor.

This is how he remembered being with Elizabeth, their skin bared, heated with a fevered pitch, their hands and mouth exploring and conquering and wanting. Bonnie Elizabeth.

His painfully hard erection rubbed against her thigh, and he worked on her sensitive nub to bring her to climax. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding wildly. She sucked in air, arching her body, exposing her neck, her throat, her blood calling to him, willing him to take her.

He pressed his engorged cock against her opening, entered slowly, stretching her tight sheath, and after three long damn centuries apart, he again claimed her for his own. For a moment, he envisioned a bed cloaked in curtains where he’d made love to Elizabeth ages ago, hidden away in his bedchamber, the feather mattress pressing against the ropes that held it in place, straining with their lovemaking.

She urged him deeper, wrapping her legs around him, encouraging him. Hoping beyond hope he could control the bloodlust when he couldn’t keep his sexual drive in check, he aimed deeper into the chasm where once he’d spent his seed and once she’d carried his child.

He buried himself to the hilt, then began to thrust at a slow, methodical pace. His mouth captured hers, and she opened to him, teased his tongue and moaned against his lips as he deepened his thrusts. His breath and hers ragged, he tasted the sweet and saltiness that was Elizabeth, breathed in the heavenly scent of her and felt he would die if he had to lose her again.

“Elizabeth,” he said, cupping her breasts in his hands, then leaned over to lick the erect nipple on one and then the other. Suckling, and thrusting, he kept his mind on the sex, attempting to avoid the bloodlust that now called to him. The sweet blood streamed through her veins, pounding at an accelerated rate, begging him to complete the process, the union that could never be severed.

Don’t let her get away, a small voice warned in his head. Take her now. Don’t let her get away again. His teeth extended, and he grazed their pointed edges on her satiny smooth skin.

Thrusting deep inside of her, he loved the way she reacted to his body, her actions reminiscent of his Scottish-born Elizabeth. His heart soared with relief to be joined with her again. But he wanted more. He wanted her forever, to love for an eternity, to share his dreams. His teeth itched to sink into her vein, to draw blood from her, then for him to share his blood with her, to tie them together for all time.

Swallowing hard, he tried to keep the bloodlust from taking over what little resolve he had left.

Turning her head, she exposed her throat to him. “Do it, Ephraim.” Her voice was willing, demanding.

He couldn’t ask her if she were sure. He couldn’t risk her changing her mind. It wouldn’t turn her. She still had to decide about that. But it could bring them closer.

He drove deep inside her, then sank his teeth into her soft neck. She moaned, writhing under him, her hands clinging to his hair, her legs wrapped around him, her heels digging into his butt. He sucked and thrust and groaned, so close, so damned close. Half drunk with desire, he felt the end coming, prayed it was only the beginning, and released his seed deep inside her.

Spasms wracked her body, tightening her hold on his penis as he thrust a couple of more times, and then he was spent, feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders, and for the moment, nothing else mattered, but being with her and loving her.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she said, choking on the words, and he kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

“Aye, my bonny lass.” He didn’t want her feeling sad, remembering the pain of the past, only the happiness they could both share. If he could, he would take her far away from here, and they’d start afresh somewhere else where her kin would never follow.

He sealed off the bite marks where he’d penetrated her, sank down on top of her, satiated, totally satisfied, except for one thing. The most important thing. He had to convince her to take his blood, too.

In the throes of passion, would she be more agreeable? He nicked his arm with one of his teeth and offered his blood to her, his gaze willing her, wishing he could force a huntress to do his bidding.

She shook her head, her skin lightly moist, her breathing hard, her face flushed. Her fiery hair was tangled about her shoulders as if she’d been a woman well loved, and she had been. Instantly, the image of the redheaded nymph stirred his loins, and he wanted her all over again.

But her reluctance to blood bond disconcerted him.

For a long time, they didn’t say anything as he rolled onto his back and pulled her against his chest. He stroked her back, her satiny hair splayed over his chest, tickling him, and he thought how much being with her like this felt so right.

She trailed her fingers over his chest, then reached lower and touched the scar on his thigh. “I remember you told me your brother gave you this,” she said softly, wanting to talk with him as she often did after they had made love.

“Other thigh, lass.”

Her eyes wide, she looked up at him. “Where did you get this one then?”

He couldn’t contain his grin. He’d always managed to change the subject when she’d brought up that scar. “You ask too many questions.”

“Have I told you how much I love your Scottish brogue, Ephraim?” she asked in a sexy hush.

“I’ve tried to keep it just for you.”

She chuckled. “I bet you tell all of the girls that.”

“Don’t you remember what Mona said? No other woman have I so loved.”

He kissed the top of her head as she nestled against his chest.

With a sickening realization, he remembered he hadn’t used a condom, though he’d never thought to do so with Elizabeth if he found her again. Having a child with her seemed the natural thing to do, but it was a new time, a new era, and the choice had to be Alena’s. Not wanting to broach the subject and dampen the mood, yet desiring to do what was right, he fought with himself over the dilemma. Had he so desperately wanted her that subconsciously he had not thought to protect her against pregnancy?

He wanted a child with their union. Having a child with her would permanently bind them together. He couldn’t deny it. But not while their situation was so tenable. He sighed heavily.

“Was it as good for you with Cybil?”

He hadn’t remembered Elizabeth being so envious, but he didn’t want to think of his past with Cybil, even as nonexistent as it was, nor discuss it with his love and make her mad again. “No, lass. I didn’t love her. It was just a mutual desire to have sex, nothing more. And as dissatisfying as it was, and that one time was the end of it.” He smiled a little at Elizabeth and stroked her shoulder. “With you, I reach the stars and heaven above.”

“Wipe that amused look off your face, Ephraim. I’m not jealous.”

He hugged her tightly against his body and with a heartfelt plea, said, “I can’t lose you. Never again, dear Elizabeth.”

She didn’t say anything for a while as her hand stilled on his hip. “You can’t force me to blood bond.”

As much as he would do almost anything to encourage her to capitulate to join him, he couldn’t force her. “Nay, I wouldn’t. It’s your decision, lass,” he reluctantly said.

Pushing him onto his back, she climbed partly on top of him, her legs spread over one of his, and rested her head against his chest. “Where did you get the scar on your other thigh, Ephraim?” She traced the skin, white and raised in an angry line.

Tussling her hair, he wrapped his arms around her. “You’ve asked me this question before, lass.”

“And you’ve always avoided giving me an answer.”

“Aye. Will you drink my blood if I tell you?”

She lifted her head, then rested her chin on his chest, her eyes sparkling, full of mischief as she gazed into his eyes. “No. You’ll tell me because I’ve asked, and you love me.”

“Aye.” Although he really didn’t want to say, fearing she’d be angry with him. Resigned, he sighed deeply. “I was having a romp with a woman, who I might add, romped with quite a few. I didn’t know she had a husband. He stabbed me in the leg, though I have no doubt he aimed for something else. I was sixteen and a fast runner then. Without a lick of clothes, I ran across half of the old country.”

Alena laughed. Her good-natured humor and her body wiggling against him stirred his desire for her all over again. He ran his hands over her arms. “The long wait has made me hungry for you all over again.”

“Are you sure you are twenty-eight and not sixteen?”

“Being with you makes me feel I am but a horny lad.” He pulled her squarely over his lap, spreading her legs. “If you won’t sip my blood, I’ll have to make love to you again.”

Her full lips swollen with his kisses, she grinned at him. “Hmm, Ephraim, cast me to the moon.”

“Aye, that I shall do, lass.”

Ephraim stimulated feelings in her Alena had never felt before, not as Alena. Every pleasurable stroke against her swollen nub, his kisses to her mouth, her throat, her breasts, every touch was tenderly given, eliciting responses from her she’d never had. But deep within her, memories stirred, too... recollections of having been with Ephraim, of sharing dreams and plans for the future, of discussing their childhoods and what they wanted for their own children.

Oh, God, how could her family have destroyed all that had been beautiful between them?

Aching to the core, she wanted more than anything to be wholly joined with Ephraim. She hated seeing the hurt in his eyes when she wouldn’t agree to it. But she knew, too, if she became a vampiress, she would earn an automatic death sentence. They had no choice but to wait. For now, she wanted only to experience making love with him and relive the visions that had filled her thoughts ever since she’d seen Ephraim’s photo.

* * *

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Ephraim dozed with Alena. Breathing in her subtle floral fragrance and peach soap, filled him with longing. He hugged her closer to his body. He hadn’t remembered her so vividly, their warm touch, the lovemaking, not like this. He ran his hand over her cheek, thinking about the time his bonnie Elizabeth and he had fished for their dinner, but accidentally tipped the makeshift raft. With a fire crackling hot and golden, and an orange moon clinging to the night sky, they’d hung their wet clothes to dry and made love against the bare earth. With her in his arms again, every detail came back to him, the sweet smell of the heather, the fishy scent of the water, her silky skin, soft mews, and loving caresses.

He kissed Alena’s ear, her warm breath touching his neck. He couldn’t give her up, ever.

She stirred, then sat upright. “Did you hear something?”

“Your breathing.” He tried to coax her to lie back down with him, not wanting to give her up for the moment. They’d had the first real breakthrough in her connecting with him, remembering him, desiring him like he wanted her, and he wished to keep her in bed, making love to her, until she was so weak she couldn’t resist his push to have her blood bonded with him.

She grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around her nude body. “Where’s Mona?”

“What?”

Alena listened, not sure what she’d heard, but fear clutched at her heart. “I don’t hear anything now, but I could’ve sworn I heard her cry out.”

Ephraim climbed off the bed. “I can’t locate her with my telepathy, but I sense she’s terrified.” He hurried to pull his trousers on, then yanked his turtleneck over his head. “Stay here.”

“But—”

“Stay! If you had blood bonded with me, I would feel you’d be safer, but until you do, you’re not as strong as me or the renegade vampires who are after you. Stay.”

She frowned at him, not liking that he ordered her about. She was a huntress after all and could defend herself! His angry tone hinted that he was perturbed with her for not agreeing to bond with him.

But then he leaned down and in an appeasing manner kissed her lips. “Besides, I wish to enjoy you once more before we have supper.” He vanished before she could give him her retort.

Hurrying out of bed, she quickly dressed. No man, vampire, hunter, or otherwise would tell her what to do. If Mona needed her help... well, hell, even Ephraim might need her assistance. She wasn’t going to sit in bed waiting for him to make love to her, damn him, while he risked his neck alone.

With her sword belted at her waist, she ran down the hallway to the living room, then dashed for the patio door. She grabbed the brass door handle, then hesitated. The rain had stopped, but a mist cloaked the area in hazy white as the sky darkened. She saw no sign of anyone.

She walked outside toward the gardens where she’d found Ephraim before, fighting the urge to call out for him. If she’d blood bonded with him, she’d be able to telepathically communicate with him. They’d have an advantage then, against both the bloodsuckers and her own kind.

But she’d be a vampire. She had been born and trained to kill the rogues. Yet, her distant relation, Elizabeth, had wanted to be turned. For all eternity, she’d wanted to be with Ephraim. Why not Alena? What was holding her back?

A worry nagged at her. Why did the League pronounce him a rogue? What was Ephraim hiding? Or was it all the League’s fault for condemning him?

That’s what held her back from agreeing. The uncertainty of who was telling the truth.

A flapping stirred the air behind her. She whipped around, her sword readied.

Cybil smiled at her, her canines extended as she dropped to the pavement in front of her. She ran her tongue over the deadly sharp teeth. “Nice night for a walk, eh, Elizabeth?” She motioned around her. “Where’s lover boy? Tired of him already? Didn’t he warn you how dangerous it could be walking around all by your lonesome after dusk without a hunter to protect you? You know you’ll never match an ancient vampire’s strength, huntress.”

Cybil took a step forward, her bright red lips smiling, her wicked teeth gleaming white, ready for battle.

Chapter 13

ALENA HATED CYBIL. Partly, because she figured she was one of the Brotherhood—a sister to the Brotherhood, rather—but also because Ephraim had sex with the vamp. Alena couldn’t help the surge of jealousy that wormed its way into her system whenever she thought Ephraim had been interested in another woman. Especially, this woman.

“Nice night for a flyby? What brings you here? Lose your way to another bash—again?” Alena kept her voice cool, just like the vamp’s and the damp air that surrounded them.

“Ephraim and I used to be quite an item, didn’t you know?”

The vamp was attempting to bait her, distract her before she swooped in for the kill.

“Last year? I’ve heard all about it. Seems you didn’t interest him for long. One dissatisfying quickie and that was it.”

“Is that what he told you?” Cybil gave a caustic laugh, circling around her, the whole time Alena turning to maintain a frontal defensive posture. “What I don’t understand is why you haven’t blood bonded with him yet. I thought Elizabeth was ready.”

“Ah, but you see we have.”

Cybil smiled evilly. “No, if you had, he’d have warned you to stay in the house.”

“He did, only I don’t take orders from anyone.”

“But your father?”

“Not even my father, if they’re not sound orders.”

“The mighty League would issue faulty orders?” Cybil laughed. “You have a mind of your own, I see. Or is it that Ephraim has swayed you to his side?” She tapped her stiletto heel on the brick walk. “The League is well aware of his secret project, by the way.”

Alena’s heart took a nosedive. If Ephraim couldn’t be honest with her even after she told him the truth about what she’d been ordered to do, how could she blood bond with him? What was he truly up to? Was he using her to get to the League in his own way? She hated to think Cybil would know about it when Alena didn’t. Why would he share such knowledge with Cybil? Because she’d been his vampire lover, damn it.

“Why would the League care anything about his secret project?” Alena asked, fishing for the truth.

Cybil’s smile broadened. “Why, dear Elizabeth, he wants you back. Only he can’t have you. Not in this day and age. You’ll never agree to blood bond with him, and he knows this. You’ve been raised under League rules that weren’t in existence at the time he’d met you earlier. He intends to go back and rescue you. Hasn’t he told you? He’ll kill all of the MacLeods this time, before any one of them has a chance to hurt you.”

Alena attempted to calm her heartbeat that pounded like a hummingbird’s on speed. She fought the confusion swirling in her mind while the notion Ephraim had lied to her all along conflicted with what she’d thought to be the truth. And she tried to remain focused on the danger in front of her, knowing full well Cybil intended to rip out her throat and drain her of all her blood as soon as Alena let down her guard. But he couldn’t return to the past. He couldn’t alter the past.

“The color has drained from your face, Elizabeth. I take it this is not good news.”

“He has already told me he intended to rescue Elizabeth.”

He had, damn him, if Alena had only been listening. Well, not just listening, but believed his words. How many times had he said he wanted to go back and save her? She’d only thought it romantic sentiment, not something he truly planned to do. Besides, something like that wasn’t really possible, was it? Yet, it must be if the League was that concerned about it. Damn him for not telling her the truth, well, for not making her understand that he’d been telling her the truth all along.

“Then it won’t matter that you die here, now. After all, in a little while, he will change the past so that you would never have existed.”

Alena smiled. “Oh, Ephraim and I had such a wonderful afternoon of making love. He wishes to repeat this with me all evening long. So until he returns to the past, I’ll stick around.”

“He has not blood bonded with you,” Cybil hissed.

“No?” Alena pulled down the top edge of her turtleneck and showed Cybil the bite marks on her neck.

For an instant, Cybil stared at the bite marks, her face a red mottled mask of rage. Then without warning she half leapt at Alena, half flew. Slamming into Alena with her sleek body, she nearly knocked her off her feet. How could such a slender figure pack such a force? Alena dropped her sword with a clatter against the brick pavement and scowled at herself for the deadly mistake.

Cybil grabbed Alena’s throat, then sank her teeth into her shoulder. The pain streaked through Alena’s shoulder blade and down her arm all the way to the tips of her fingers. Alena cried out. Quickly, she jammed her wrist blade into the vamp’s chest, but the knife glanced off a rib. Cybil sucked Alena’s blood from her, drawing the strength from her.

Alena’s mind blackened briefly. Then she glimpsed Cybil’s golden hair draped over her shoulder while the vamp greedily sucked from her, pulling her lifeblood from her body.

Just nicking the vampire’s heart with the hunter’s ancient blade would kill her. Just a paper-thin cut would do the trick.

Alena struggled to free herself, attempting to line up her blade to stick the vampire’s heart muscle this time. With another thrust, the blade sank deep, missing the rib, which had prevented her success the first time.

Cybil shrieked. Then the ancient vampire shriveled up into a three-hundred-year old heap of bones and the black jeans, high-heeled boots, and blood red satin blouse she’d been wearing.

Nearly collapsing, Alena angrily kicked all that remained of Cybil’s vile being aside. Clutching her shoulder, the blood trickled over her fingers, and she gritted her teeth against the pain radiating all the way to her fingernails. She grabbed the back of a patio chair back to help her stay on her feet.

Her thoughts numbly shifted to Mona and Ephraim. Where were they? Well, Ephraim could fight his own demons and go to the devil. She had to locate and rescue Mona. Afterward, she’d take on the rest of the Brotherhood, one vampire at a time.

Finding Ephraim’s secret project and destroying it took priority next. Then? She’d leave him. Unless Cybil had lied about it all. Alena shook her head at herself. The truth was Ephraim had told her as much. She just hadn’t been listening.

But what if he’d changed his mind about attempting to return to an earlier time? Unless she stubbornly refused to blood bond with him. And then what?

He’d return to the past.

No wonder he hadn’t put much stock in what the League had ordered her to do. He wouldn’t be around long to worry about it. And no wonder the League wanted his project. It could mean the end of all of her family before they ever had a chance to exist. Maybe he’d change the future so that instead of the League taking power, vampires did. She hmpfd to herself. She’d said he wanted to destroy her whole family. Her cousin had warned her of the very same thing. And that Ephraim had denied it. Liar.

He was a rogue after all, just a sneakier one than usual. The worst kind. But she wouldn’t terminate him. Denying her love to him would kill him more slowly than any death she could envision. However, she had to find out how he intended to return to the past, then she’d destroy whatever means he planned to use.

She rubbed her temple, her brains slightly addled because of the blood loss. Ephraim loved her... but if she wouldn’t blood bond with him, and he wanted to return to the one who would... did that make him bad... or just so madly in love with her that he couldn’t give her up? Was Cybil trying to confuse the issue?

No, the part about him wanting her, that was okay. It was the part where he would terminate her family...

But what if he hadn’t intended to do that?

No… it was the only way to free her from her cursed existence wherein her kin killed her no matter the century. Wasn’t it?

Her mind fuzzed, and her stomach grew queasy.

She gripped her shoulder, the wound bleeding into her turtleneck. Any vampire could smell the scent of blood a half a mile away, triggering a sense of disquiet in the pit of her stomach. But she couldn’t hide in the house, not without finding out first what had happened to Ephraim and Mona. Yet as weak as she felt, it was her smartest option.

Ephraim must have left the area or he would have joined her before this. Was he with Mona? Or had something else taken him from here?

Silently, she listened for any sound that would clue her into their whereabouts. Then she thought she heard Mona calling to her from the rose garden. Taking a deep breath, she tried to quiet her nerves, assuming the noise was a trap.

She took a step away from the rose garden when her cell phone rang, nearly giving her a heart attack. She struggled to remove it from her belt. “Hello?” she whispered.

“Alena, this is David. Is everything all right? We seem to have a bad connection.”

“This isn’t a good time to talk.”

“Alena, what’s wrong?” Sensing she was in trouble, he said, “Where are you? Damn it, I’m on my way.”

She clicked off the phone, then turned it on vibrator mode. Mona... she had to save Mona. With a firm step, she walked toward the rose garden, her rubber-soled boots squishing slightly against the wet pavement.

Again, she heard fluttering behind her. She shook her head, not believing she’d have to fight all of the Brotherhood tonight, alone.

“Alena!” Ephraim grabbed her up in his arms and cradling her against his firm body, he stormed back toward the house.

“Let me down, damn it! I can walk on my own.”

“You’ve been bitten.” His words were couched in anger.

“Where’s Mona?” she demanded. Acting was something she’d never been good at. Somehow if she were to pretend she had no knowledge of his secret project, she had to act the loving girlfriend. Over her dead body. “Put me down, Ephraim!”

She tried to squirm out of his arms. He tightened his grip on her.

He slammed the door open, then walked inside and kicked the door shut. “Damn it, Alena, quit squirming. I told you to stay inside.”

“Where’s Mona?”

“Sleeping in her room. It was a wild goose chase. Only I see that one of them got to you. If you’d stayed inside like I told you...” He shook his head. “Stubborn as always. So what did he look like?”

“Mummified after I got through with... her.”

Ephraim cocked a brow at her.

“Your old lover, Cybil. Put me down, Ephraim! I want to see Mona.”

Wearing a robe, her hair disheveled, Mona walked into the living room, and her jaw dropped. “Ohmigod. I’ll get bandages.” She dashed down the hall.

Ephraim set Alena on the couch, then tried to lift her turtleneck, but she held it down. “I need to clean you up, and you’re still bleeding.”

“I can take care of it myself.” She rose from the sofa, but grew dizzy and collapsed on the down-filled cushions.

“Having two vampires feed on you tonight has been too much for you. Why didn’t you listen to me and stay inside like I told you to do?”

Infuriated with him, she ignored him, until he crouched before her to see to her wound, and she grabbed his shoulder to help herself up. On wobbly legs, she attempted to walk toward the bathroom.

“Fine. Be that way.” Ephraim swept her off her feet and carried her to the guestroom, cradling her tightly against his chest.

She should have loved the intimacy, but instead her heart hardened with the knowledge he planned to get rid of her soon.

“If you won’t listen to my advice, I’ll have to insist.”

“Order, you mean.” As soon as he laid her on the bed, she extended her wrist blade.

He frowned at her. “I see we’re back to the beginning again, though I’d thought we’d progressed forward some since then.”

“I have a job to do.” She waved for him to leave when Mona hurried into the room with the bandages and antiseptic. Mona could help her now. She had no use for Ephraim.

Mona looked at the damage Cybil had done to Alena’s shoulder’s and her brown eyes widened. All of a sudden, a sickly green sheen tinted Mona’s skin.

Ephraim took the items from Mona and set the bandages and antiseptic on the bedside table. “You may leave, Mona.”

“I want to help.”

“As long as you don’t collapse on me, too.”

“I did not collapse on you,” Alena said, her voice sounding more irritated than a stirred up swarm of red wasps.

He smiled, yanking at the strings that triggered her temper further. He quickly removed Alena’s wrist blades. She fought the urge to slug him, only in her weakened condition she feared he’d think her aggression was nothing more than a love pat. No way did she want him to consider her actions toward him as loving. Not after discovering what a heel he was.

Mona chewed on her bottom lip as if she were trying to get her stomach under control. When Ephraim cleaned the wound, she swallowed hard. “Thank you for trying to save me, Alena. Sutton told me the others made you think I was in danger. He says you’re staying with us for good now.”

“He was mistaken.”

Ephraim’s face fell, then his expression turned hard. “Leave us,” he said to Mona.

She hurried out of the room and closed the door.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked through clenched teeth, his ears tinged red.

Alena folded her arms, groaning when the injury sent a new shot of pain down her arm.

He sighed and nudged her to move over so he could sit beside her on the mattress. She didn’t budge. He pulled gently at her shirt. She glowered at him.

“You will tell me what Cybil said that has angered you so.”

Alena tilted her chin up in defiance. If it weren’t for the fact that the League knew he was involved in a secret project, she would have assumed Cybil had lied. Former lover scorned scenario. But the League’s concern forced her to conclude Cybil told the truth, and Ephraim was a rogue. After all, Cybil had no way of knowing the League was having Alena investigate Ephraim over the matter.

He pulled her shirt off in as gentle a manner as he could but even so she cried out when shards of pain streaked down her arm.

“I’m sorry, lass.”

She scowled at him. Sure she hadn’t been honest with him in the beginning, but damn it, she’d finally told him the truth.

He ran a cotton swab dipped in rubbing alcohol over the injury. Gasping, she gritted her teeth and tightened her stomach muscles while the wound burned like it was on fire.

He took a deep breath, his teeth extended. The bloodlust was calling to him, just smelling her warm blood, the sweetness he’d already feasted on earlier.

In silence, he covered the wounds with the cotton pad, then taped it.

Mona knocked on the door. “Sutton, Alena’s cousin is here.”

“Damn. Tell him to wait in the living area. And tell him she’s been injured, but—”

David barged into the guestroom. “What the hell happened—” David stopped speaking as Alena covered her exposed lacy bra with her arms, his eyes widening in surprise and alarm.

Chapter 14

ALENA’S COUSIN TURNED his attention to Ephraim, his face red with fury. She was torn between allowing David to kill Ephraim and put him out of his misery, or saving Ephraim herself, and letting him live a long, lingering death.

Ephraim grabbed her bloodied shirt and handed it to her to cover herself. Mortified David would see her like this, she covered herself with the shirt. She imagined he wasn’t happy that her cousin had seen her so exposed, not because Ephraim was worried about how it looked that he was treating her, but because he had some delusion that David wanted to seduce her himself.

Ephraim took a step back from the bed. “She was bitten by one of the Brotherhood when we assumed my housekeeper was in trouble. I ordered her to stay in the house while I investigated. But your cousin is rather stubborn.”

“Your housekeeper appears to be fine.” David looked back at Mona. “Why was she not the one treating my cousin’s injuries?”

“She cleans house. She knows nothing about taking care of vampiric wounds. And she’s rather squeamish. You’re here because?”

David fisted his hands on his hips. “I was worried about Alena’s safety. Now it seems my concern was warranted.” He advanced on the bed. “You’ll come home with me now.”

Tired of her cousin ordering her about, first with putting her into this untenable predicament and now she wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but she wasn’t putting up with his telling her what to do any longer.

Alena shook her head. “You have only a sofa that makes into a double bed!”

David glanced at Ephraim, as if waiting to hear his objection.

“She has her own guestroom here. And my bedroom is next door so that I can keep an eye on her safety.”

“It seems that you’re keeping her safe is not working,” David said darkly.

Ephraim disagreed. “If she had heeded my warning, she would be fine.”

Alena scowled at the two of them. “Maybe I should return to my father’s home then.”

“No,” both David and Ephraim said at the same time.

“Well, hell, David. I’ll go somewhere else to stay. It’s really none of anyone else’s concern.”

“She’s tired and distraught,” Ephraim said as if she hadn’t said a word. “Come, we’ll talk for a bit. I was going to make supper. Let’s discuss plans to take down the Brotherhood.”

David looked back at Alena. She twisted her mouth in annoyance. Then David nodded and walked out of the bedroom ahead of Ephraim. Ephraim turned to look back at Alena, his expression one of dark concern. “I’ll be back, but Mona will see to you for now.”

Then he left her and Mona alone.

Which was damn fine by Alena. But she wasn’t going to lie around in bed while she fumed about Ephraim and his secret mission.

Mona gathered her red hair back into a ponytail, then walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair. “I really wanted to thank you.”

“You’ve already said so, Mona. You don’t need to grovel. Did Ephraim put you up to it?”

“Ephraim? Oh, Sutton? No. I know you think I’m just a mindless human, but really, I’m not. Several years ago I had an abusive husband. Sutton took me in. I’ve never met a kinder soul.”

Alena glanced at Mona’s hands, old burn scars defacing the skin. “Did your husband…?”

“Yes. He’s in prison for killing his mother and aunt. Life without parole. But Ephraim rescued me from Alfred before he murdered me like he did his own family.”

“I’m so sorry, Mona.” For the first time, Alena felt real compassion for the woman, and she reached for her hand and squeezed when Mona offered it and gave her a sad kind of smile.

“Sutton was a godsend. He made me realize I didn’t need to tolerate anyone’s abuse.”

“But he wants to...” Alena looked over at the doorway and saw Ephraim standing there, abruptly ending what she wanted to say about him. Did Mona know about Ephraim’s secret mission and how he would accomplish it?

“Would you like steak for supper? Protein will give you strength,” Ephraim said, his expression harsh and unyielding.

Alena nodded, though she had no intention of eating anything.

“I’ll bring you your dinner in a bit, Alena,” Ephraim said, then turned to Mona. “See if one of my shirts is big enough for her, then you can help her to dress without injuring her shoulder further.”

Mona nodded then left the room, but Ephraim stayed. “I want to know what Cybil said to you to rile you so. Did she tell you about our former relationship?”

“Oh, pleeease.”

He nodded just once. “Later then.” His tone was irritated, forcing the ire to rise in her blood all the more.

When he left the room, she climbed out of bed and headed for her suitcase. She yanked a silk blouse out of the bag and felt another shard of pain race through her arm, stifling a groan, when Mona walked back into the room, carrying a men’s black silk shirt.

“Oh, Alena, you must let me help you.”

“Thank you, Mona.” Alena would play along for the moment. But determined to discover what was going on, she’d leave as soon as their backs were turned.

Despite being furious with Ephraim, though, she couldn’t help but want to patch things up with him. She couldn’t shrug him off, like she did the other men in her life. He was the essence of her dreams, the hero of her nightmares, a bit of a scoundrel and a knight mixed up in one, chivalrous and yet holding to the old ways, cherishing her, but owning her, too. Though her contemporary upbringing fought the notion, another part of her loved his desire to have her for his own.

Before Mona could help her with the shirt, Ephraim appeared in the room again, and scowled when he saw Alena no longer in bed and holding her own silk blouse in her hands.

He stormed across the floor, then lifted Alena in his arms. “You’re to stay in bed before you injure yourself further,” he growled, then laid her back in the bed.

“Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, Ephraim Campbell.”

His lips quirked up while Mona hurried out of the room. “As soon as I get rid of your cousin, you and I’ll have a little discussion.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He kissed her lips quickly, but then deepened the kiss and just as she was enjoying his mouth pressed against hers, too damned much, he winked and vanished.

She pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head sadly. She was doomed to wanting more of him despite telling herself what a mistake that would be.

To Alena’s surprise, Mona walked back into the room, carrying a glass of water.

“I don’t need anything to drink right now, but thanks, Mona.”

“I’m always thirsty after I’ve given blood. Sutton insists I drink plenty of water afterward.”

Her head pounding with frustration that he still ordered her about, Alena pursed her mouth. He was not in charge of her. She stared at the tall green glass of water and licked her lips. Trying to swallow, she conceded her throat did feel parched.

“Truly, it’ll make the lightheaded sensation you’re feeling go away,” Mona said in a kindhearted manner.

Alena figured if it would, she’d drive better when she left. Because she was leaving. “All right.” She took the glass of water and sipped it.

“More,” Mona insisted. “You really should drink two full glasses. But if you can drink at least half of one...”

Drinking water wasn’t the problem for Alena. Drinking a lot of it all at once was.

With Mona watching her, Alena finally managed to finish half of it. Mona took it from her boneless fingers, and then helped her on with Ephraim’s shirt that smelled of spring—of fresh air and sunshine and a hint of his masculine scent. Wearing his shirt made Alena feel intimately connected with him despite not wanting to feel that way. Mona tugged gently at Alena’s arm to encourage her to lie back down. After covering her, Mona sat in the chair.

Hell, Alena needed Mona to leave if she were to sneak out of here without Ephraim catching her trying to make her getaway! Alena’s thoughts grew muddled though, and for a hazy moment, she couldn’t remember why she wanted to get away so badly.

“You don’t need to stay.” Alena’s words sounded slurred as she spoke to Mona.

She looked back at the glass. The water and glass seemed to waver, the center moving to the side, while the top and bottom remained in place. And then the table seemed to shift. Alena held her head as if steadying it would put everything back in perspective. Mona watched her, expressionless. Her face seemed to fade in and out, blurring at the edges.

Giving too much blood had made Alena horribly dizzy. Maybe she should rest a while before she drove off. Then a fuzzy thought came to her. If David was willing to let her stay at his place, she could stay there.

And David could spend the night with Ephraim.

* * *

WISHING TO HELL he knew what was wrong with Alena, Ephraim sat down to a steak and baked potato dinner in the dining room with David while Mona remained quietly at Alena’s bedside watching her. More than anything, he wanted to be with her, holding her in his embrace, encouraging her to speak with him about what was bothering her, not dealing with her cousin.

“She’s asleep,” Mona confided in Ephraim telepathically.

He took a settling breath. “She drank all of the sedative?”

“Half a glass full.”

It wasn’t enough to Ephraim’s liking. “If she wakes before I can get David to leave, encourage her to drink more.”

“I will.”

Ephraim passed the salt to David. “Rare enough for you?”

“Just the way I like it. Are you sure Alena can’t join us?”

“Mona says Alena is sleeping. I can’t blame her. She lost a lot of blood.” Ephraim had no intention of telling him some of it was due to his feeding off her, not Cybil’s. Except Cybil’s feeding tipped the scales.

David nodded, then cut off several more pieces of steak. “She appeared quite pale.” He stabbed a piece of meat. “She seemed angry with you. What was the matter?” He looked up at Ephraim, his blue eyes the same color as Alena’s, but smaller, yet had the same intensity as hers.

“She has been that way on and off the whole time I’ve known her. She seemed perturbed with you as well. The difficulty?”

David shook his head. “Just her nature. She’s easily set off like a firecracker touched by a flame. But the good thing is she quickly gets over her flare ups and rarely holds grudges.”

“Aye.” Ephraim rather liked Alena’s cousin if it were not for the fact the hunter would hunt him down if he knew that Ephraim had made love to Alena that very afternoon.

“I don’t approve of your taking liberties with her. Nor would her father.”

A veiled threat? “You mean when I was bandaging her?” Just the thought Ephraim had gone so much further when David hadn’t a clue amused him. He knew David wanted her like he did. “Hell, man, all modesty aside, the woman needed caring for. I wouldn’t have let her bleed to death.”

David stared at his meat, then took another sip of his wine. “You’re right. I just didn’t want you getting any ideas about her.”

“What ideas would those be?” Ephraim knew he shouldn’t have asked, but it amused him to do so.

“She’s not ready, but I figured next year, I’d talk to her about marriage.”

Ephraim quashed the urge to knock the hunter from his chair. He lifted his wine glass casually, trying not to show how much the hunter’s claim bothered him. “She’s too young.” Not for Ephraim, but for anyone else she was off limits.

“Twenty-two. But I figure I’ll wait until she’s twenty-four or twenty-five. Most huntresses don’t marry until they’re older because getting pregnant interferes with their ability to hunt rogues.”

The notion David would get her pregnant incensed Ephraim. Partly because he knew in his heart a huntress like Alena would prefer a hunter to get her with child, not a vampire. Ephraim pretended to look dumbfounded at the notion that the hunter would want Alena. He calmed his fury and said, “You really can’t mean for her to marry you.”

David paused the fork of steak lifted to his lips and frowned. “What’s the matter with that?”

“Nothing against you. You’re one of the greatest hunters around. But it’s the way Alena speaks of you…” Ephraim let his words trail off.

“What does she say?” David’s voice rose with interest.

“You’re like the brother she’s never had. She admires you greatly. I noticed the way you appeared to take a deeper interest in her. And when I asked if she were attracted to you that way, she laughed.”

David’s cinnamon freckles seemed to spread as his face reddened. “Like the hell you say.”

“Not in a bad way.” Though Ephraim knew David couldn’t help but be offended. “She chastised me and said it would be like marrying her brother, and that she could never have feelings other than sisterly toward you.”

David carved up some more of his meat, seemingly deep in thought for a moment. Then he looked up from his meal. “I’ll have to change my tactics with her then. I guess I haven’t been forthright enough about my feelings for her.”

Ephraim didn’t like to hear that David would “change his tactics with her.” But in an effort to explain why David would fail in his quest, Ephraim said, “I had a fondness for a distant cousin of mine a very long ago.” The true tale was perfect for the moment, Ephraim thought. “I fancied we’d get married some day. But she could never see me as anything but her scrawny-legged cousin. It didn’t matter how grownup I became. I could never convince her I was a man and wanted more.”

David watched Ephraim curiously. “Was this before you met, Elizabeth?” He glanced up at the painting that he’d seemed to have missed before. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but he quickly clamped it shut. “That was Elizabeth?”

“Aye. Uncanny resemblance to Alena, don’t you agree?”

David swallowed hard while he looked back at the painting. His gaze seemed to take in every artist’s stroke. “It is Alena,” he said under his breath. “The woman existed several centuries ago. How come the painting is so new?”

“I have Elizabeth’s likeness repainted every so often. I can’t have the image of my beloved fade away.”

“Alena is not Elizabeth.” David stabbed another slice of steak and shoved it into his mouth.

“You’re right. Elizabeth and Alena are as different as night and day.” Not entirely, but if it pleased David to think so, Ephraim would let him believe what he wanted. “As to your question about my cousin, my interest in her was very much before I met Elizabeth. Once I met her, no other woman existed.” He finished off his wine, then leaned back in his seat.

“What about the Brotherhood?” David asked.

“Alena killed another outside the house.” Ephraim’s voice was filled with pride, although he still couldn’t get over being perturbed with her for disobeying his wishes and having to face Cybil in a deadly confrontation. It didn’t matter to him that Alena was an accomplished huntress. Alena’s dealing with an ancient, despite that Cybil had been a vampiress and not a stronger male vampire, could have had deadly consequences for the love of his existence.

“The one who attacked and injured her?” David asked.

“Aye. Have any more of their kind been able to get to any other targeted hunters?”

“No. Those we assume the Brotherhood are targeting have been sent into hiding.”

Ephraim ground his teeth at the outrage. The League had not sent Alena into hiding. Why not? Because she has the mission of discovering my secret plans and her life be damned? The knowledge of the dastardly way they treated her only increased his ire for the League.

Couldn’t Alena see she was their pawn, and they cared little about what happened to her? He was certain she was being setup to die. At first, when vampires had attacked her, he thought the Brotherhood would do the deed. But if history repeated itself, it would be her own family, not a rogue vampire, that would take her life.

“I haven’t come up with anything yet, but I’m hoping to bait a few more of them,” Ephraim said, though baiting a few would never be enough. “Kisaro may be one of the ones who’s at the head of the Brotherhood.”

“Kisaro? Good. That’ll give us something to go on.”

“Might be,” Ephraim reiterated.

“I understand.” David bowed his head in acknowledgment. “We’ll be sure he’s involved before we take any action.”

Like they’d declared Ephraim was a rogue without any solid proof? Even so, Ephraim was certain Kisaro was in league with the Brotherhood.

After they finished their meals, Ephraim and David returned to the guestroom to check on Alena. To Ephraim’s relief, Alena slept soundly and he noted the glass that had been filled with water was empty. Mona sat beside the bed, dutifully watching over Alena, and he knew if Alena and he could ever get to where he wanted in their relationship, Mona would be her friend and confidant.

David kissed Alena’s cheek, rankling Ephraim as he stifled the urge to extend his canines. Stifling the desire to shove the hunter out of the house, with utmost control, he walked David out to his car. “I’ll let you know if anything else happens.”

“I’ll inform the League of the possible renegade’s name. That’ll give them one to investigate further in the meantime. If I learn of anything else, I’ll let you know. Check with you in the morning.”

Ephraim narrowed his eyes at the hunter’s car as David drove away. Maybe, just maybe he’d planted the seed of doubt in the hunter’s mind that Alena could never be interested in him as a prospective mate. Still, David would never agree to Ephraim having her either.

Ephraim stalked back into the guestroom to check on Alena.

Mona smiled at him as he joined her in the room. “She drank the rest of the water.”

“Thank you, Mona, for helping me to keep her safe. I fixed your supper.”

Mona rose from the chair beside the bed, her brows furrowed a little. “Why is she angry with you?”

“I’m certain Cybil said something to her that angered her.”

“About you making love to her?” she asked, her voice rising in surprise. “I’m so sorry, Sutton. I shouldn’t have mentioned it to Alena.”

“Nay. Something else.” He paced across the carpeted floor. “She didn’t seem that perturbed when you mentioned I’d made love to Cybil a year ago. I can’t imagine it had anything to do with that.”

“Did you tell Cybil about your secret project?”

Ephraim quit pacing. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe when you were angry with her sometime. Or angry about losing Elizabeth and let it slip.”

He collapsed on the foot of the bed. “Bloody hell, if that’s what this is all about—”

“It would make sense.”

He turned to look at Alena, her face as angelic as when she’d slept with him earlier. “Damn it. Now what am I to do?”

Chapter 15

EPHRAIM STRIPPED OUT of his clothes later that night and pulled Alena against his body. Snuggling with him, she sighed deeply, peaceful at the moment, the sedative still working in her blood. She was warm, soft, and wore the scent of some exotic flower that tantalized him.

“Alena, love,” he said, not really believing she could recognize anything he said while she slept, but he rehearsed what he’d say just the same for later, when more than likely she would be much further agitated and difficult to handle. “I can’t convince you how deeply sorrowed I’ve been when I’ve lost you, not once, but several times and fear I’ll lose you again. I can’t impress upon you the depths to which I love you.”

His fingers rubbed the soft skin of her hand resting on his chest. He kissed her hand, then laid it back on his chest and wrapped his arm around her body. Stroking her back, he luxuriated in the feel of her, the way her warm breath teased his chest, the feel of her heat pressed against him, the softness and curves that were Alena.

“I can’t tell you how much I love you and abhor the thought of losing you yet again, dear lass.”

* * *

ALENA LISTENED TO his heartbeat pounding, his breath let out in deep sighs of worry, the endearing sound when he kissed her forehead, her hand, her hair.

He smelled all male, musky and spicy, sensual and sexy. Her cheek rested against his chest, lightly cloaked in dark hair, his nipples extended, aroused with his touching her.

She licked her lips, wanting to suckle one, then the other, wanting to kiss him back, to touch every bit of his body, especially the part that beckoned to her now with renewed enthusiasm, poking against her waist.

She rested her hand on his chest. He wanted her for all eternity, not that he was innately bad, but he loved her with all his heart and would do anything to have her—that’s what she had to come to terms with.

All she had to do was blood bond with him. Right. And forever be damned by the League, warranting her own death sentence. The cycle wouldn’t be broken, but perpetuated again and again. Would she remember the next time they met? Or would she only vaguely recall their love, or even worse, would Ephraim die before it could happen again?

She snuggled closer and slid her leg over his. She didn’t want him to die. What if the situation were reversed? He was the one to die every time, and she was the one left behind to suffer? She’d be as desperate as him to make sure it didn’t happen again.

“Ephraim,” she whispered.

“Alena?”

“Make love to me.”

“Are you sure? You seemed so upset with me earlier—”

“Do I have to demand it of you?” Though she attempted to speak forcefully, her words had a drugged, sleepy quality. She tugged one of his nipples between her fingertips.

His hands worked over her back in a loving, stroking caress. “Do you want to talk about why you were so angry with me earlier first?”

She shook her head back and forth on his chest. He moved her onto her back and worked to unbutton his black shirt she was wearing. “Are you certain—”

“Shhh.” She put her finger to his lips, wanting to silence his need to discuss what had angered her. She didn’t want to talk about it now, desiring only his fevered touch.

“I didn’t know the... water would have such an affect on you.”

“It’s not the water, damn it. You didn’t have to have me drugged. And I’m still upset.” No matter that she wanted him to make love, the anger still simmered beneath the surface.

“Then we should talk first,” he said, his words spoken softly.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Truth be known, I don’t either. Your open invitation...” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to be angry with me though.”

She touched his nipple, teasing, tickling, then sighed deeply. “I thought you didn’t like it when I wore so many clothes to bed.”

He swept his hand down her bare leg. “I didn’t want you thinking I’d take advantage of you.”

“I love you, Ephraim.” Sincerely spoken, she recognized she’d lost the battle to keep her distance from the vampire.

He wasn’t a rogue like the one her cousin, Tanya, had gotten mixed up with, but the end result would be the same. She’d be terminated for loving a vampire. Like Romeo and Juliet, she’d follow Ephraim into the next life if need be. He was hers and she his... for now, that’s all that mattered.

“Aye, and you know I have always loved you.”

“If I blood bond with you, this curse we seem to be under will not be broken.”

He stilled his hands, then captured her face in them. “What are you thinking?”

“If we blood bond, my people will kill me. Most likely David would be given the contract to do it. So you see, if we blood bond, the end result will be the same.”

He kissed her lips, pressuring her to open herself to him. She parted them for him, touching her tongue to his in a loving tangle. He hurried to pull the shirt off her, then unfastened her bra.

“I can’t think of anything else that we can do,” he admitted.

“Go back in time? Kill the MacLeods before any of them can murder me the first time around?” She couldn’t quash the concern she harbored. Did he still want to go back in time if she didn’t blood bond with him? Did he want to destroy the clan that kept them apart? Would he terminate her by eliminating the ones who were her direct ancestors in the family tree?

He stilled his hands on her shoulders, his mouth gaping, his eyes widened. Then he took a deep breath. “Cybil told you.”

“Yes, she told me. Why didn’t you?” Alena choked out the words, not realizing how much the idea he wanted to kill her ancestral family truly bothered her. “I came clean with you about what my mission was. Why didn’t you tell me the truth about what you intended to do?”

“I didn’t plan to kill your entire family. For a century and a half, I plotted to. But that would be a hell of a lot of MacLeods, and one would surely escape my wrath, and we’d be where we are today. I only thought if I could...” He took a ragged breath. “If we could have blood bonded when you were willing, we might have stopped history from repeating itself.”

She leaned over and licked his nipple, eliciting a deep growl. “I can’t blood bond with you. It goes against everything I’ve been taught. I’d be… I’d be one of you.”

“Aye, you must keep your blood lines pure, untainted by a vampire’s blood,” Ephraim said, his voice harsh. “We were changed by the same hellish plague! Before that happened, we were the same, you and I! Somehow as we fought the disease, our genetics were altered, as were yours, and we became different. And for that, you spurn me?”

“I’m sorry, Ephraim.”

“Nay, ‘tis I who am sorry, Alena. You are not the woman I loved so long ago.” He climbed out of bed and jerked on his pants. “Possibly, you’re right, that nothing will break the cycle.” He threw on his shirt, stalked across the room, and shut the door behind him with a click.

Alena’s stomach churned with upset. She swallowed to moisten her throat that had suddenly turned dry. She craved his touch, his loving, but he wanted what she couldn’t give him. Fine. He’d go back and save Elizabeth. But Alena had a job to do. Destroy the Brotherhood in the meantime before they killed any more of her hunter friends and family.

Ephraim could live in the past all he wanted. Maybe he’d make her vanish, poof!, and she’d never have existed, if he were successful. The sorrow that accompanied that notion threatened to overwhelm her. She tried to clear her thoughts of the disabling emotion.

She had to live in the present, as if every day counted for something. For now, the League didn’t want her head on the platter, but the renegade vampires of the Brotherhood did. For now, she’d target them.

Despite her bravado, she stifled a sob as she hurried to dress. Leaving Ephraim was the best thing she could do for the moment. So why the hell did it feel so wrong?

She tugged her boots on. Damn him for insisting she blood bond with him.

And doubly damn herself for not agreeing with him.

* * *

EPHRAIM FOUND MONA in the kitchen fixing a bowl of chicken noodle soup, the spicy aroma filling the air. “She refuses to blood bond!” He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter.

A glass of water jiggled with the vibration. Mona shook her head at him. “I don’t have the kind of strength you have. But I know that you love Alena more than anyone else and—”

“She’ll die! Damn it. All over again. And again.”

“She loves you, too, but you have to make her see how important this is.”

“She’s too damned stubborn.” He ran his hands through his hair, unbound from his near romp with his Alena. Yet she’d never be his truly if he couldn’t make her see his viewpoint and accept it.

“Yes, and you’re just as stubborn.” Mona stirred the soup, then turned the burner off. “So make her understand. If anyone is able, you can. Through loving and kindness.”

“If I go back in time—”

“What if your plan doesn’t succeed? What if she dies again? What if in doing what you intend, you destroy your chance to have Alena? Now you still have an opportunity—slim—but a chance to make things right with her. What’s that old saying? A bird in the hand beats two in the bush? Returning to the past didn’t work before. Why would it work now? The potion is unstable. Your aunt said so, and you’ve found it to be true.”

“It’ll work this time,” he grumbled under his breath, wishing to bloody hell it would. How many times could he see the woman he loved and not have enough precious moments to show her that they were meant to be together for all eternity? A woman who’d only vaguely recollect the love they’d shared? A woman who’d die again at the hands of her family?

The amount of potion he had wouldn’t last forever, and when his aunt had died, he’d lost the opportunity for her to make more for him. Though she’d refused to concoct another drop even while she lived. Live in the present, plan for the future, her words continually taunted him. If it’s meant to be, it will be.

Mona sat at the counter with her bowl of steaming soup. “What if you’re able to turn her, and you die instead? What if she has to live without your love forever?”

He glowered at her, knowing what Mona said made sense, not liking it in the least. He recognized, too, Alena must be scared to go against her own family, like Elizabeth had been. But eventually, Elizabeth had made the decision to be with him. Only he hadn’t given Alena enough time to do so. Patience, but his patience was wearing a fine line between sanity and insanity.

The time was running out with the Brotherhood trying to terminate Alena, too. At least if he could turn her, she’d have more abilities, more ways to fight the bloodsuckers. The League would force Alena to discover his “secret mission” as well, and then? They would insist she terminate him.

“You’re right, Mona,” he finally conceded, hating to admit she was right. “I knew you were good for something other than just housekeeping.”

She smiled. “You know I am. I kept you warm on all those nights that you needed—”

The front door slammed shut.

“Bloody hell!” Ephraim said hotly.

He vanished and reappeared in the passenger’s seat of Alena’s car where the stubborn woman was seated at the wheel. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Who invited you?” Alena asked caustically, glowering at him.

“You did.”

She pulled her keys out of her purse, but he seized them. She folded her arms. “I can walk.”

“And get yourself killed.”

She ground her teeth.

He took a deep breath and let it out. “Come back inside with me.”

“I’m not going to blood bond with you.”

“I’m not going to ask you to. It’s your decision. I believe it will be best, but I won’t force you.”

“Then what? What do you want?”

His mouth curved up. “What you have offered me.”

She looked out the windshield. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Aye. I will get you in the mood again.”

Scowling at him, she didn’t budge.

“Come on, lass. Come with me back to bed.”

Her words still icy, she shook her head and said, “Mona can keep your bed warm.”

Devil take him, she’d heard what Mona had said to him. He took Alena’s hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “We’ve snuggled after she’s given me blood, slept with me even, but never have I made love to her.” He wasn’t certain why it bothered Alena that he might have made love to Mona. Maybe because Mona still lived under his roof. “She doesn’t mean anything to me like you do, lass.”

“I don’t want to blood bond.”

The more she said those words, the more he thought she had to because she was beginning to think differently and had to remind herself that she could not go against the League’s ruling. Or maybe it was just his fervent desire to think so.

“Aye, I understand. Come back to bed with me.”

Alena pulled her hand free and rested both hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t care what you do about us, Ephraim. You can rescue me in the past, make me disappear before I ever existed. Whatever you want to do, you have your own demons to slay. But I have a job to do.”

“I know. You’ll tell the League about my secret plan and terminate me.”

Her eyes widened, then she swallowed hard, and shook her head. “I have no idea what your plan is.”

She’d lie to save his skin, and he couldn’t help the surge of love that soared through him.

With tearful eyes, she said softly, “As for terminating you, I would die first. And if anyone attempted to kill you, I would stand in his way.”

Like she’d done in the past, getting in between him and her brother and taking the killing blow meant for Ephraim. Damn the curse and her kin.

What Ephraim had said about her not being his lost love Elizabeth weighed on him like a ship’s anchor, threatening to pull him into the depths of a watery hell. How could he have denied she was his Elizabeth?

Chapter 16

WANTING TO ERASE the words he’d spoken in hurt and anger, Ephraim leaned over and kissed Alena’s cheek. “I’m sorry for saying you were not my Elizabeth. You’re one and the same as she, my bonnie lass. Nothing will ever change that. But what were you talking about when you said you had a job to do?”

“Eliminating the Brotherhood. That’s what I’m going to do.”

The Brotherhood. Hell. She would take the whole lot of them on, one huntress against God only knew how many renegade vampires.

“We go after them together.”

She sighed, but she didn’t appear resigned to the notion. “What happened to you when I went looking for Mona in the gardens?”

“One of Kisaro’s blood bonds lured me to an empty house. Before I could return, you must have had your encounter with Cybil.”

“Hmm, well, she wasn’t too happy when I told her we’d blood bonded.” Alena gave him a smirk, grabbed her sword, then climbed out of the car.

Hell, Alena had known just how to rile the vampiress.

Alena slammed her car door, but before she could take a step in the direction of his house, Ephraim appeared before her.

“I’m still not in the mood to... well, be on intimate terms with you.” She waved her sword at him, angling toward his crotch.

He gave her a smug smile. “Aye. But I am in the mood.” He took her sword hand, angling the weapon away from him, and kissed the tender skin at her wrist, his gaze gauging her reaction. “I’ll have to work a little harder to ensure that you are, too.”

She tilted her chin up to him, yet she did not pull her sword hand away from him, and her shoulders, that had been rigid moments before, relaxed. “A lot harder.”

Chuckling, he swept her up in his arms and carried her back to the house. “A lot harder, is the name of the game, lass.”

Once they were inside, he took her to his room. She was his, no longer a guest, but his to keep and hold and cherish forever more.

“Your bedroom?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“This is where you belong. Beneath me, beside me, on top, whichever suits your whim. But here with me.”

She gave a little “hmpf” at that.

But when he lay her on the bed, she seemed more subdued than usual. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, concerned.

“A little tired still.”

The sedative must not have entirely worn off. And to think she had planned to drive the car to seek out the Brotherhood and fight who knew how many of them. He gave her a disgruntled look. “You know, lass, you could try a man’s patience.”

She smiled back at him, and she reminded him of the Cheshire cat. She was just like Elizabeth, her stormy temper evaporating quickly. No matter how hot she got about something, she never held a grudge, and he loved her for it.

When he reached for her jeans zipper, she folded her arms across her waist and closed her eyes. He tugged her jeans off, bound and determined to make love to her before she slipped off into slumber land. He kissed her creamy naked thigh. She opened her eyes, her lips parting invitingly.

“Don’t go to sleep on me now, lass.”

“Then you’d better hurry.”

He yanked off his own clothes, then stood before her. “And you had intended to do what else tonight?”

She looked down at him and raised her brows as she considered his swollen cock curved upward toward his belly. Her lips turned up immeasurably, then she tugged at the shirt of his that she was wearing. “Hurry up, Ephraim. I thought you wanted me.”

Chuckling, he nearly ripped the buttons off his favorite shirt trying to undo it. But when he saw her injured shoulder, he took it more slowly, trailing kisses over her abdomen.

She ran her fingers through his unbound hair. “Oh, Ephraim, how could I have ever forgotten you?” she said with soft regret.

“You didn’t. You couldn’t. We were meant to be together forever, love.” He removed her bra, then kissed each breast, the tips peaked with arousal, rosy and begging for his touch.

“Yes,” she murmured, pushing down at her panties, not waiting for him to do the job, which sent another rash of urgency into his efforts.

He finished pulling off the scrap of peach silk panties and stared at her beauty—from her luscious lips glistening from her licking them, her creamy skin flushed, and full breasts heavy with arousal, her nipples darkened and delectable. Every inch of her was Elizabeth. Even the tiny triangular birthmark near her navel and the small mole on the inside of her right thigh. How truly blessed he was to have her at his side. Well, for the moment, she would be underneath him. He couldn’t stop the wicked smile that touched his lips.

“Elizabeth,” he said under his breath.

She smiled back, raising her brows fractionally. And then he kissed her mouth, reverently at first, his hand cupping a breast, his thumb caressing a nipple, his tongue teasing her lips apart. But when her mouth opened to him, he continued to nuzzle her lips with his, their whispered breaths mixing in heated passion, the tip of his tongue licking her lips as she had done, readying herself for his onslaught.

She moaned and slid her hands about his neck, her fingers grasping handfuls of his hair as she pressed her mouth against his, her tongue probing his, forcing him to deepen the kiss.

“Lass,” he groaned against her mouth, then plunged his tongue deeply inside, his eyes clouding with a fevered lust.

He took a deep breath of her feminine arousal and felt her body shift as she attempted to pull him between her legs. He’d awakened the minx all right.

He slid his hand down her belly, gliding over her silky skin, lower to the patch of red curls that tempted the devil in him. He parted her feminine lips, felt how wet and warm and ready she was for him, and began to stroke her.

This is how he remembered making love to her—the way she arched against his questing fingers, encouraging him to go deeper, the way she murmured softly like a kitten, then reached down to guide him, directing him to stroke harder, then faster. She stiffened right before the waves of climax hit her, her inner muscles contracting around his fingers.

“Ah, Ephraim,” she half groaned, half whispered as she sank into the mattress, pulling at him to join her.

He forced her knees wider apart, sliding into her wet sheath, not willing to wait a moment longer to pleasure her, to feel her tightness around his cock, to take them both soaring into the next galaxy.

But then he pulled out suddenly. Condoms. He’d forgotten before, but he couldn’t act so irresponsibly again. Was it his fervent desire to have another child with her that made him act so recklessly? Or was he so hungry to make love to her that he was becoming absent-minded?

No matter the reason, he had to use more caution. Having a child had to be her choice. He rested against her as he pulled a condom out of the drawer.

Berating herself for not using protection before, Alena realized at once the mistake they’d made. But for an instant, she wanted to wave away the need to have protected sex this time, knowing he desired to have a child with her, but loving him for protecting them against that eventuality for the moment because no matter what, getting pregnant with a vampire wasn’t a smart thing to do.

“If... when we resolve difficulties with the League...” She choked on the words. Would they ever manage to win in this war?

He kissed her cheek. “Aye, lass,” he said softly, encouraging her to speak her mind.

“I would love to have our child.”

His smile reached his darkened eyes, and she knew then she couldn’t have made him happier, unless perhaps she’d agreed to blood bond with him.

She took the condom from him, considered how thin it was and frowned. “It’s nearly transparent and so thin—will it offer enough protection?” Though as soon as she said it, she was reminded of the other time when he hadn’t worn anything.

“Aye, lass.” He was about to wrest it away from her and roll it on himself but she shook her head.

“It’s my job.” With a loving stroke, she slid it up his cock, forcing a groan of urgency to issue from deep within him. She smiled to think she could affect the Highland warrior with such a simple touch.

Slipping between her legs, he penetrated her, then covered her mouth with his, encouraging her to part her lips for him. With gusto, their tongues tangled, their breathing increased, and their hearts hammered hard. She grabbed fistfuls of his silken hair as he masterfully stroked her most erotic zone, the image replaying in her mind of an earlier time when he’d held her close, kissing her mouth, touching her between her legs while a slow moving stream washed around their naked bodies.

He thrust deeply into her and she raised her legs so that he could go even deeper. Oh God, making love with Ephraim felt so right. She reached her hands down and skimmed her fingers over his firm butt, the muscles tensing with his thrusts.

His head dipped for another kiss on her mouth, claiming her, his tongue pushing inside, simulating his cock pressing deeper between her legs. She loved him, loved the feel of him loving her, the feral craving, the musky smell of him, the loss of control and wondrous joining of their bodies. But it was more than that. It was a way of denying the differences in their kind— ignoring the League’s rules, proving a hunter and a vampire could love one another and the world wouldn’t end.

She was so close to reaching the climax, holding on for dear life, never wanting it to end, never wanting any of this to end. It was just her and Ephraim while the world and its problems faded away.

“Ephraim,” she cried out, tightening her hold on him as her body reached the peak of ecstasy, shuddering with climax, while he continued to thrust inside of her.

But as soon as she reached that pinnacle, the earlier memories of their lost love swamped her. And she remembered—the lazy days of eating bread and cheese beside a stream, sitting on his plaid outstretched when the sun shone on a rare occasion, when they stole kisses in a chilly loch, or found an abandoned croft to make love in.

Before her family found out, there had been a time when he had slipped her into his own castle, and he made love to her in his bedchamber. But back then, she couldn’t concede to be his—not without her family’s permission. It would never have been granted. Not then or now.

She ran her fingers over his back, feeling the welts from earlier battle scars, his muscles tensing with her touch, and she never wanted to lose him again. A tear, then another cascaded down her cheek.

He attempted to pull back. “What’s wrong, Alena? Are you in too much pain?”

“No.” She held him tight. “Don’t ever let me go.”

“I don’t intend to, lass.” Ephraim kissed away the tears, mortally wounded to think he’d upset her further. “What’s wrong?”

“I wouldn’t ever want anyone but you.”

He smiled, glad she was no longer angry with him. But her words encouraged him, too. With a cautious rhythm, he rocked back and forth deep inside her, stretching her to the limit, reveling in the feel of her tight sheath that handled him like a warm, wet glove.

Indeed, she was Elizabeth. The woman who’d promised her love to him for all eternity, the woman he couldn’t live without.

Other than moans of passion, nothing else escaped their lips while their joined bodies writhed in sync. She was the same sweet Elizabeth who mimicked his actions, stroking his skin while he ran his fingers over hers, kissing his mouth and cheek and chin as he did hers.

The last time he’d made love to his Scottish Elizabeth... in the abandoned hut of their beloved Scotland on the still green hay of their hastily-made bed, the smell of her floral fragrance still tantalizing him, the feel of her body slick from perspiration beneath him... all came to him as vividly as if they had teleported back in time.

“Elizabeth,” he groaned as he came, the experience heightened even more by the memories of the past, and those of the present, mixing together in blissful wonderment.

He still throbbed deep inside her and reveled in the feel of her tight sheath, holding him firmly. But then he realized he’d called her Elizabeth again during his lovemaking. Had he offended her?

Yet he couldn’t help it. He’d known Elizabeth so much longer, and Alena was Elizabeth, truth be known. Even she seemed to see him as Ephraim more than not, only referring to him as Sutton for her cousin’s benefits.

He rested against her, enjoying the delicious spasms of her orgasm that touched him to his soul.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. “You smell and taste and feel so good.”

He licked the hollow of her throat, tasting the sweetness and saltiness of her skin.

“Do you want more of my blood?”

He shook his head, trying to control his canines. “Nay.”

Rolling over onto his back, he pulled her against his chest. “Sleep, lass. Have no dreams but pleasant ones.”

“When I’m with you, you help to chase the nightmares away.”

“That is as it should be.”

Her breath was so soft against his chest, he was certain she’d fallen asleep almost immediately. Hoping he’d get a concession from her for blood bonding soon, he finally drifted off, vowing to do whatever he could to make it right with the love of his life.

* * *

ALENA REBUKED HERSELF for not blood bonding with the man who stirred her with an unquenchable thirst, more so than any other, more so than any hunter. Ephraim’s warm hard body had driven into hers with desire and zeal, but with tenderness, too.

Through it faint images had appeared in her mind, not distracting her exactly, but heightening the experience as the fragrance of the sweet smell of freshly mown grass permeated the air, or the smell of fresh water lingered, the images so real she had opened her eyes to see that they still made love in his bed and not somewhere else. Yet an overwhelming fear nagged at her in the recesses of her memories, a fear that the end was coming nearer, for her and for Ephraim. Just like before.

The images of Ephraim and she making love were recollections of past events. She couldn’t deny it. She was Elizabeth, and she couldn’t deny that either. But the anguish she’d experienced lingered in her memories, too. And that’s what scared her.

She cuddled closer to Ephraim as he stroked her hair. His compassion warmed her as she recalled the same kind of actions on his part, protective, caring, always her soul mate.

If only blood bonding could be the solution. But she could only see it perpetuating the killing. The League would have no choice but to terminate her if they learned she blood bonded with him. Or that she’d made love to him.

She took a deep settling breath. For now, nothing mattered, except for resting her cheek against his sturdy chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, and loving the man she’d promised to care for forever.

* * *

FOR SOMETIME EPHRAIM and Alena slept curled in each others arms, but then she cried out, her voice strangled, deep in sleep, but terrified, waking him and putting him on instant alert.

“Elizabeth? Alena? You’re with me, safe and sound, lass.” He spoke to her soothingly, trying to draw her from her nightmare without waking her.

“James,” she whispered, and a tear dropped to his chest. She reached out her hand. “James.”

Who the hell was James? Had Elizabeth loved someone else? No. He’d been the first. But what about the time when she’d been locked away, hidden from him? Or was it Alena who formerly had a hunter lover? Someone she hadn’t told him about?

He took Alena’s hand in his and kissed it. “James who? Alena?”

She nestled her head against his chest and wrapped her arm around his waist, the nightmare seeming to have been flushed from her mind. But now he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t squash the envy that turned his blood green.

Who the hell was James?

Chapter 17

EARLY THE NEXT morning, Ephraim served ham and cheese omelets to Alena in bed, hoping she’d had a good night’s sleep and a ravenous appetite, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her nightmare. He’d checked her bandages and already the puncture wounds had healed up with only a slight bruising that would fade away soon—thankfully to their faster healing genetics.

He marveled at the way in which she’d come to recognize him, though. The way his Elizabeth used to look at him with dreamy eyes full of expectation, and the same dewy expression she wore now gave him pause. He knew he was blessed to have her in his life again, and he would not give in to the dark feelings concerning their future, threatening to temper the moment.

She smiled at him, cheering his heart. “I’m rethinking my relationship with you.”

“Oh? You’re smiling, so it has to be good news.”

“How can any woman resist a man who makes love to her all night long, then serves her breakfast in bed?”

He cocked a brow and handed her a glass of orange juice. “All night long?”

“Maybe I dreamt it.”

“Nay, three times you didn’t dream it. We’ll nap later this afternoon to make up for it.” He sat on the bed with her, then pilfered a strip of her bacon. “By the way, who was James?” he asked as casually as he could. Despite trying to curb his annoyance, the unknown man of her nightmares still curdled his blood.

She stared at her tray for a moment, then poked her fork into a slice of cantaloupe. “I’m not sure. Who was he?”

“You seemed upset about him last night. You were having a nightmare.”

She nibbled at the fruit. “No nightmares that I recall. All I remember was making love to you.”

He leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder while she held the comforter to her naked breasts. “You said his name twice. Reached out to him even. A former lover?” He treaded on uneven ground and could easily fall on his face if she took his questioning badly, but he couldn’t help the insidious envy that threatened to undo him. Who the hell was James?

“You had been my only lover.” She gave him a disgruntled look and stabbed a sausage link with the fork.

“Then who was James?” he persisted. The notion had nagged at him nearly the rest of the night and was eating him up piece by piece.

She took a settling breath and her expression changed from mildly annoyed, to one of sympathy. “Did Elizabeth have a brother?”

“Aye, the man who killed you. He was named Malcolm though. Several cousins, too, three called James. My father, too, but he’d died before I met you.”

“Well, I have no cousins, nor brothers named James in this life. And I don’t remember anything about a James in Elizabeth’s past.” She picked up the sausage with her fingers and pointed it at him. “So maybe you were dreaming about it rather than me.”

She ate the sausage, but before she could lick her fingers, he took them in his mouth one at a time and sucked the smoky, salty flavor from her skin. She smiled. “Didn’t you get enough breakfast?”

“I’ll have my fill after you eat yours.”

“Promises you’d better intend to keep.”

“Demanding wench.”

She chuckled and buttered a slice of toast, then coated it with blackberry jam. “So what else did I say about him?”

“You called his name out a couple of times that I recall. I was half asleep.”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep. Are you sure you weren’t imagining it?”

“Nay, I didn’t imagine it, but I promised to keep your nightmares away. I’m afraid I failed.” He kissed her forehead.

After taking a bite of her toast, she wrinkled her brow. “Did it rain last night?”

“Nay. The sky finally cleared. Even the moon appeared.”

“I heard rain.”

“In your dream?” He ran his hand over her arm, the silkiness of her skin stirring him all over again. Just being so close to her nakedness forced his body to react with impetuous desire. Already his boxers felt like they’d shrunk two sizes.

She leaned over and kissed his lips. The taste of sweet jam flavored them, and he sucked the sweetness from them. He slid his hand under the cover and touched her breast, then massaged the mound, the nipple peaking under his thumb. “You eat too slowly.”

Grinning at him, she lifted the orange juice glass to her lips. “You distract me way too easily.”

“I’m only a distraction?” He held his hand to his chest feigning hurt.

“Hmm-hm.” She smiled back at him, then poked her fork into the omelet. “If it didn’t rain last night, it must have stormed in my dream.”

“What else do you remember?”

“It was cold.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head again. “We slept together, curled up against each other, as warm as could be.”

“I must have dreamt it then. A sturdy breeze seemed to blow through the walls.”

“A castle’s walls?”

She lifted a bite of the omelet, the cheese still stretching to the plate. “How would I know that? I’ve never been to a castle before.”

“What did it look like?”

She took a bite of her egg, then shook her head. “I don’t know. All I saw was a blur. I was in terrible pain.”

He touched her bare shoulder, the area where Cybil had bitten her had already healed, the bruising and bite marks gone. “What kind of pain, lass?”

“Stomach cramps, backache. I cried out when it got too bad. Women stared at me, their faces... well, I don’t know. Some seemed concerned. Maybe they thought I’d die. Others seemed angry. Maybe they wished I’d die. I don’t know. All I remember well was the pain.”

“Childbirth,” Ephraim said solemnly, watching Alena’s expression for confirmation. Had she remembered giving birth to their child in her nightmare?

Alena ran her finger over the edge of the porcelain plate trimmed in gold. “A son,” she whispered. “Ohmigod, Ephraim. Yes, a son, James. I... I named him James for your father. He had died... ten years after your birth? You’d had such fond memories of him.”

Ephraim barely breathed. “What happened to him? Our son?”

Alena frowned in concentration, her eyes misting as she looked down at the floor. “I… I don’t know.”

“What happened to him, Elizabeth?” Ephraim asked again, crouching before her, wanting to shake the truth from her, fearing she was hiding it from him. If her kin had murdered their son…

“I don’t know.” Her eyes were moist with tears, but she shook her head and added, “I… I don’t remember.”

Before he could try to jog her memory more, Mona telepathically relayed the message: “A paperboy is here with your newspaper.”

“I don’t take the paper. You know that.”

“He insists you owe him money.”

“Ephraim?” Alena asked when he pulled away from her.

“Mona’s told me something’s wrong at the front door.”

He rose to leave, but Alena grabbed his arm. “What do you mean, Mona’s told you? She couldn’t tell you anything. You could read her mind, or you can control it, but she can’t relay messages to you unless you—”

Instantly, he grew concerned Alena would be angered that he’d turned Mona. But the situation out front could escalate into a dangerous scenario if he didn’t investigate it quickly. “I have to find out what’s going on with Mona. I’ll be right back.”

Alena’s eyes filled with tears. “You turned her?” Her voice grew shrill. “You turned another woman when you said you’d never do such a thing? Only me! You said you only wanted me for an eternity! Another woman? Mona? How could you?”

He ran his hands through his hair, wondering how to get himself out of this mess now. Bloody hell.

“Sutton, the paperboy,” Mona telepathically entreated.

“I’ll be right there!” Ephraim turned to Alena, her cheeks flaming red, her arms crossed in anger, her blue eyes stormy and defiant. “Mona begged me to turn her.”

“Wrong answer!” Alena snapped.

“I hadn’t finished my explanation, lass.” He couldn’t help sounding perturbed, despite trying to settle his annoyance with Alena for being upset with him, while being concerned something was terribly wrong at the front door that might endanger Mona.

“She calls you honey. Do you call her ‘love’, too?”

Ephraim reached out to touch her cheek. She flinched. “I love only you, Alena.”

“You said—”

“Three hundred years ago, blasted, woman! For three hundred years, I kept my promise. She begged me to change her. I was tired of seeing my housekeepers grow old and die on me, just when I had one trained. I—”

“Sutton!”

“Mona!” The young boy biting Mona’s flesh flashed through Ephraim’s mind, the boy’s wickedly sharp canines puncturing her arm. “She’s in trouble!” he shouted and vanished.

Her huntress sensibilities returning in an instant, Alena threw the breakfast tray aside and jumped out of bed. She grabbed a shirt, tugged it over her head, then quickly slipped her denims on. Barefooted, but with sword in hand, she dashed out of the bedroom.

Damn him for changing Mona. And doubly damn him for keeping it a secret. He must have known she’d be peeved about it.

She ran for the foyer and yanked the front door open. Fog cloaked the entire area in a thick blanket of dense white molecules of water vapor. As soon as she stepped outside, her hair seemed to stretch with the dampness and curled over her breasts.

She listened, her huntress hearing put to the test. A dove cooed in the distance. A car drove by on a nearby street. The roar of a school bus engine shattered the otherwise quiet when the bus picked up steam, then rolled on its way. She lifted her nose and smelled the air to attempt to pick up any unusual scents.

A hint of Ephraim’s spicy fragrance stirred with a fickle breeze, switching this way and that. She swallowed hard, not able to quash the worry she had over his safety. Then the iron smell of blood...

Looking down, she saw splotches of dark red on the brick walk. She crouched and touched a drop, then smelled it. Blood. Her skin prickled with anticipation. She stood, her sword readied. Where had Ephraim and Mona disappeared?

A flapping sound occurred some distance from her, but she couldn’t see anything in the fog. Vampires could observe everything in the dead of night without illumination. But could they see through a low hanging cloud as dense as cold potato soup? Or were they as disadvantaged as her?

Not normally spooked about killing or being killed by a vampire, it was the concern she had for Mona and Ephraim’s safety that unnerved her. She stood still, waiting for the vampire to come to her. If he was ancient, he had many advantages over her. Charging into the mist, she would undoubtedly be attacked.

Suddenly, the vampire stepped out of the mist, her blue eyes, red hair, and a long thin face that seemed oddly familiar.

Smiling, the vampire showed her fully-extended canines. “Do you remember me? I see a glimmer of recognition in your eyes.”

“Elizabeth?” Alena guessed, thinking that if the woman was a red-haired MacLeod, her kinsman would have named her Elizabeth.

The woman gave a haughty laugh. “Nay, love.” She drew closer. “Do you not remember me?”

“No.” Alena tightened her grip on her sword, curiosity overwhelming her better judgment, knowing she should eliminate the threat at once. But the woman spoke with the same Scottish brogue like Ephraim, and she assumed she was a distant relative of hers. Had she lived in Ephraim’s time?

“Your baby was mine,” the vampiress said, her voice foreboding.

Instantly, the vision of the woman standing over the bed where Elizabeth lay wet with sweat came to mind. The joy of bearing Ephraim’s child had been quickly dashed when the woman took Elizabeth’s baby from her, covered him in a swaddling cloth, then disappeared.

“My son! James. You took him.” Grief immobilized Alena.

Elizabeth’s kin had drugged her and she hadn’t known when the night fell or when the sun rose. Not certain if her baby had died, been killed, or given away for another to raise. The adrenaline raced through Alena’s body at a new all-time high. She wanted to wring the truth out of the woman.

“I kept him, aye. The rest of our kin wanted to kill him. I wanted to live forever. When your son was old enough, he turned me.”

The bones in Alena’s legs felt like they turned to liquid as she trembled with emotion. Elizabeth had had a son. “Where is he? Is he still alive?”

Would he even be salvageable? No telling how he’d been raised. Was he evil like this woman seemed? And yet, she couldn’t help but admire the woman for having allowed Elizabeth’s son to live... to raise him as her own, despite the fact she did so only to be turned... to have immortality. But she had saved his life at the risk of losing her own.

“He died when he was four,” the woman continued in her heavy Scottish brogue.

“He was a vampire and hunter and both have advanced healing properties,” Alena shot back at her, hoping the woman was lying about her son’s death.

“Oh all right, devil take you. My uncle discovered the wee bairn in my croft and killed him.”

Tears filled Alena’s eyes, and she remembered the painful birth and seeing her son for only a few minutes, holding him, felt his tiny fingers curling over hers, his eyes closed tight, his face scrunched up as he howled. Oh God, how could he have been taken from her like that?

The woman continued to speak and Alena only now realized it.

“My uncle didn’t know I’d been turned, and I was so new at it, I wouldn’t have been able to use my abilities. But he had his men beat me near death for saving the lad. I should have found a way to leave the country before they’d discovered us.” Then she smiled darkly at Alena. “Ephraim and I were once lovers, did you know?”

Alena stared at the woman, not believing Ephraim could have succumbed to the witch’s desires. But she was a redhead, and she did resemble Elizabeth. “Your name?”

“Bertha McLeod.”

Alena’s mind worked quickly, sifting through the bits and pieces of Elizabeth’s memories. “Bertha McLeod,” she muttered under her breath, still not sure who the woman was.

“Do you no’ remember me? I was your father’s youngest sister, twelve years his junior. I was six years older than you, and we were more like cousins. Only when Ephraim wanted you...” She hissed, but quickly smiled again. “Such a foolish young man.”

Bertha walked around her, but Alena turned to match her movements, keeping her sword ready. “It was years before I discovered where Ephraim, Sutton had vanished. I was four years older than him. Ephraim liked the younger lasses. Like you. But one day, he gave in to me.”

Alena gripped her sword tighter, tamping down the anger worming its way through her. “You didn’t show our son to him?”

“Aye, I did. But I did no’ tell him that he was his.”

“How long ago was this? When?”

“When my son was just two.”

“My son,” Alena said, clenching her teeth, trying not to lose control.

“If you think Ephraim only wished to be with you, it wasn’t so. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, don’t you know? Your brother killed you and that was that.” Bertha swept a handful of red curls behind her back.

“Did he give you a detailing of his sword fights? Did he tell you how he received his wounds before he was turned?”

“Aye, he did.”

He’d told Elizabeth she was the only one who knew about his injuries. Except for those who had given them to him, but most had not breathed another breath after they had scarred him. Had he lied and told this witch about them, too? Had he lied about not having been with other women for at least a hundred years after Elizabeth had died?

“Tell me then about the scar on his foot, the long skinny one carved at an angle across the top.”

Bertha smiled. “He doesn’t have a scar there, love.”

Her heart sank. Did the woman know every inch of his body like Elizabeth did? She would cut the vamp’s heart out. “Yes, I was testing you.”

“And I passed the test, did I no’?”

“The one on his thigh, his left thigh.”

“It has been close to three hundred years ago. You can’t expect me to know the details that long ago.”

Ah, but Alena was certain Bertha would have if she’d known. “You haven’t tried to see him since then? If you wanted him, why wait until now?”

“He’s rather reclusive.”

“You mean, he rejected you.”

Bertha hissed again, but this time she didn’t smile.

Alena guessed the woman didn’t truly know where Ephraim had gotten his scars and that she hadn’t been with him as she’d said.

“Why didn’t you use our son to get to him?”

The vamp wound a curl of hair around her finger. “Mayhap I feared he’d take him from me.”

Alena’s stomach roiled with upset. “He could have taken him out of the country, saved him from my great uncle before he murdered him!” How could Bertha have not considered that? Because Ephraim had still been in the area, damn Bertha’s soul. She wanted him!

But if Ephraim knew Alena’s kin had murdered his son, she feared he’d attempt to return to the past and save them both, and kill all the MacLeods he could in the process, her uncle first. “Tell me, how did you hide James after I gave birth?”

“‘Twas easy. Your cousin told me to dispose of the bairn. I wanted Ephraim. And I wanted to be like him. If you hadn’t waited so long to agree to blood bond with him... fool. So I took your son and gave him the name Ephraim would have desired, James, named after Ephraim’s father. And I raised him as any good mother would. By rescuing Ephraim’s son, I’d planned to gain his love, but then I grew fearful he’d want to take the boy from me and leave me with naught.”

“He could have saved him!” Alena was torn between allowing that her aunt had kept her son alive, but then hating her for not doing anything in her power to keep him that way, all because of Bertha’s own selfish reasons. “Why didn’t the rest of my kin have him killed when he was just a baby? They should have known the baby was mine and not yours.”

“I pretended to have run off with a sheep herder and our uncle left me well enough alone. But then the word got out that your baby’s body couldn’t be found, I was living alone, and I couldn’t have bore a child that old. My uncle then learned I’d been the one to take the baby from you and was supposed to have destroyed him.

“After he had him killed, I had nothing left in the Highlands. Our people ostracized me for having kept the boy. So I left for the Colonies. I couldn’t stick around or our kin would have killed me if they’d learned Ephraim’s own son had turned me.” She gave a wicked smile. “I rather liked your horrified expression when I took him away from you, though.”

Flapping to the east caught Alena’s ear.

A teen walked out of the mist, his eyes as rich a brown as Ephraim’s, his hair a similar chocolate brown, tied back in the same manner. He had the same straight sturdy nose, but his face wasn’t rugged like Ephraim’s. And he was tall, gawky in appearance, his jeans and T-shirt hanging loosely on his thin frame.

“James?” Alena whispered, her mouth slightly parted in awe, her heartbeat quickened. Could it be him?

His quiet gaze turned from Alena to Bertha, and with a sickening realization, Alena knew what Bertha had baited her to do.

“You said he was dead, that your uncle killed him,” Alena whispered.

“Aye, my uncle had. This is my son. And Ephraim’s.”

“Ephraim’s.” Alena’s thunder had all but been stolen from her as she stared in awe at the boy.

“Aye. I told you. Ephraim has been my lover.”

She lied. She had to have lied. But the boy looked so much like Ephraim.

If Bertha attacked Alena, then what? The ultimate revenge for Ephraim loving Elizabeth and not Bertha. Bertha would pounce on Alena, undoubtedly calling on the boy to help. The huntress would attack the vampire, and the woman would have to protect herself. Only Alena wasn’t about to attack her.

“I’m your mother’s niece,” Alena said quickly, though she didn’t think the boy would believe her, or even care.

“William,” Bertha said, not taking her eyes off Alena, “she is the huntress—a MacLeod, great niece of the man who killed your half-brother James. She is like all the rest.”

Without even a warning hiss, Bertha lunged at Alena, striking her where her shoulder was still bruised from Cybil’s bite. Dull pain shot through Alena’s bruised skin, but the hurt was more in knowing Bertha would use William to kill her, and she couldn’t fight him. She wouldn’t Bertha either, not if William was Ephraim’s son.

“I wouldn’t harm you, Ephraim, or Bertha either.” Alena dropped her sword to the pavement and seized Bertha’s face to keep her teeth from sinking into her shoulder.

William stood planted to the grass like a young willow sapling, steadfast, not yielding to help either woman. “Why didn’t you kill her?” he asked Alena, his voice reaching to her like a warm hand offered in comfort. “Why didn’t you kill her when you had the chance? You could have.” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“She’s going to slaughter us, son,” Bertha snarled. “She’s a huntress trained to destroy our kind.”

William frowned at Alena, yet his words were spoken with a menacing quality. “You knew she’d attack. You dropped your sword and won’t fight her. Why?”

Alena concentrated on avoiding Bertha’s fangs threatening to sink into her neck. The teeth touched the skin, but hadn’t yet penetrated while Alena’s fingers gripped Bertha’s face with Titan strength. But Bertha was distracted while she listened to William’s words.

“She’s not a good huntress,” Bertha spat out.

“You said the League has given her the contract to kill Ephraim. You said he’s strong. Why would they send a huntress who’s weak?” he countered, his words full of disbelief.

He was wise beyond his years, making Alena realize that even if the boy was only a teen, he had still lived centuries, witnessed so much over the years, much more than even she had seen.

“They thought she’d entice him with her red hair. I’ve told you how much he favors redheaded women,” Bertha growled.

“Like you?” William asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone of voice.

“She was too old for him, so Bertha has said,” Alena managed to say. “He loved me, only we hadn’t time to blood bond, before my family hid me away.”

William shook his head. “Everyone lies to me.” He motioned to Bertha. “She’s not my mother. Ephraim’s not my father. But I’m a distant relation on Ephraim’s side. That’s why she,” he said, poking a thumb at Bertha again, “wanted to use me in this scheme of hers. Because she said I looked so much like him.” He smiled, his eyes narrowed, canines extended. “But I had my own reasons in wanting to see Ephraim’s lover.”

“I had you, you wretched brat! I’ve cared for you forever. How can you—”

“She lies. And you,” he said to Alena, “are one of the huntresses on the Brotherhood’s list.” His mouth curved up cruelly, exposing his sharp canines even further. “I will make my name known if I eliminate you for the cause.”

Alena released her wrist blade. She had one chance to let go of Bertha’s jaw and stab the blade into her heart... one chance, before the boy named William attacked her next.

But could she defend herself against a vampire who was not yet a man?

Chapter 18

THE SOUND OF more flapping alerted her of another vampire’s approach, and Alena’s heart sank. The muscles in her arm already shook with the strain of keeping Bertha from tearing her throat out. But William was waiting to see the outcome. Another renegade vampire would spell Alena’s doom.

When Ephraim appeared, Alena was at once hopeful and fearful, too. Before Ephraim could help Alena, another male vampire stirred the air with his arrival.

He attacked Ephraim from behind. His bulky build reminded her of an ex-football player on steroids while William folded his arms and said, “More will be coming, now that they know she’s out in the open.”

Alena was certain the “she” he was referring to was her.

Bertha hissed. “I should have killed you years ago.”

Conceited vampire witch. “I wouldn’t have killed my own aunt, my own kin, who had attempted to raise my son when she was ordered to murder him, but I have no choice.” Alena struck the wrist blade into Bertha’s chest without another moment’s hesitation.

The blade touched Bertha’s heart muscle with swift retribution. Instantly, the vampire’s skin deflated like the water had been zapped from every cell. She never uttered a sound, just collapsed to the ground.

Alena grabbed her sword and swung around to protect Ephraim, but he’d already snapped the vampire’s head from his spinal cord.

She tried to catch her breath for a second when he faced down the teen. “Tell the Brotherhood I wish a word.”

The teen bowed his head slightly, his eyes flashing with hatred, then he vanished.

“God, Alena,” Ephraim said, pulling her into his embrace, then he hurried her toward the house, tears streaking her face.

“Our… our son,” she sobbed. “He’s dead.”

“Aye,” he said, wiping away her tears with his kisses. “I could never have hoped he would have lived today. I realized when I tried to locate him in my own way, he would have found a way to communicate with me.”

“Unless Bertha had brainwashed him to believe you were not his father or that you didn’t want him.”

Ephraim closed the door and hugged her soundly. “Nay, lass. He would have found a way to come to me, threatened to kill me if he’d felt I’d wronged his mother, and would have learned the truth. I had hoped he might still be alive, but I feared it wasn’t really possible. As to this other matter, the Brotherhood had sent a vampire boy to entice me to leave the house. They hoped if they could separate us, they could kill each of us more easily.”

“Is Mona all right?” Alena asked, Ephraim’s concerned words he’d spoken right before he vanished, coming back to her in a flash. “You said she was in trouble.”

“The boy bit her arm, but she will live.” He winked at his immortality joke. “She had to kill him. She’s upset that the first time she’s had to terminate anyone, it was a child.”

Mona sat on the couch, holding a blood-soaked towel against her wound. Alena hurried to get the bandages. “I’ll be right back.”

When she returned, Ephraim was examining the bite.

“Are you all right?” Alena asked Mona, offering to bind her wound.

Mona scowled. “Irritated the Brotherhood would send a boy as bait. Though when he attempted to kill me, the instinct for survival took hold.” Mona touched her injured arm. “I’m sorry that Ephraim’s turning me upset you, though.”

Alena frowned at Ephraim, the old news still perturbing her. Everything was happening too fast. Too many life-altering decisions, too many lives at stake, too much confusion.

She finished bandaging Mona and said, “Remember to drink lots of water—for the blood loss.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm in her voice, because she’d trusted Mona, and she’d given her water laced with a sedative.

Alena stalked to Ephraim’s bedroom. With every intention of leaving to sort out the dilemma of who she was and what she should do, she snatched one of her boots off the floor and shoved it on. She couldn’t stay here, not for the moment. Not with all of the vampiric pressure to become one of them. Not when she still hadn’t a firm grip on being Elizabeth.

She pulled on her other boot, then grabbed up the panties she’d never had time to put on and tossed them in her bag.

Ephraim appeared beside her, making her gasp with his suddenness. He ran his hands over her arms and looked into her eyes with that hypnotic way he had that melted the ice forming around her heart. “You can’t leave us, lass.”

She frowned at him. Medieval barbarian. She pushed him aside. “I have to if I’m ever to figure out what I need to do.”

“You can’t leave, us.” He grasped her shoulders in his hands, firmly, without reservation, possessively, with no intention of letting her go. He nuzzled his face against her cheek, then dropped his head lower, touching his lips to her neck, running them over her skin with a warm, alluring sweep. His warm breath quickened while he drew closer to her, pulling her into his hard body, already geared to make love to her. “You can’t leave us.”

Ephraim’s hands massaged her shoulders while her body ached for his. She closed her eyes. As a huntress she knew what to do. But Alena wasn’t just a huntress any longer. She was Ephraim’s lover, a vampire’s mistress, like she had been three hundred years earlier. And she had been in some odd, unknown way, the mother of a... vampire.

“You are no’ going anywhere, love.”

“We must find a compromise. A change in the League rules so that the two sides can end this.” She looked up at Ephraim. “Don’t you agree?”

“You’re the daughter of the head of the League. Can you get them to listen to you?”

“Maybe David.” She didn’t think her father would listen to her. Actually, she didn’t think David would either. But she had to make the attempt to sway them to her thinking. She pulled her cell phone from her belt and dialed his number. Taking a deep breath, she felt Mona’s grief. Alena would have felt just as awful if she’d had to terminate a vampire child.

David finally answered the phone. “Alena? What’s wrong?” He sounded concerned, like he was ready to jump in his car and rescue her.

“Nothing.” She twisted a curl behind her ear. “Well, and everything. Is there any way we can address the League about making drastic changes in our rules to satisfy the vampire population? We have to consider a peaceable solution.”

“Your father is here with me now.” David’s words sounded foreboding, and she suspected her father wasn’t in the mood to negotiate with any renegade vampires.

Ephraim pulled her close, and she melted into his arms. His simple loving gesture nearly washed away the concerns of the world while she leaned her head against his chest.

Her father asked, “Alena? What do you want?” Brisk and to the point, that was her father’s way.

Immediately, she went on the defensive. “Father—”

“What the hell is going on? You’re supposed to find out about this Sutton Bastrop and terminate him.”

She breathed deeply, trying to settle the anger that crept into her being, not believing her father would so single-mindedly want to eliminate Ephraim for no good reason.

“The secret,” she said carefully choosing her words, “was he was looking for his son, taken away from him as an infant. He’s discovered he had died. That was the secret project. He’s helped both David and me fight the renegades. Why is he being considered a rogue, too?”

“We know more about this case than you do.”

She stiffened, hating that they had wanted her to do this job, but had been keeping secrets from her concerning it. “Then enlighten me.”

“You have all of the information you need.”

Yes, she did. She knew about Ephraim’s plans to return to the past and annihilate her family to save Elizabeth. But she didn’t believe he wanted to do it any longer. “I see. So you have no intention of lifting the order concerning him, no matter how much he helps our cause? He helped David and me rescue Misty. He’s saved my life numerous times. This counts for nothing?”

“We won’t rescind the order to have him terminated. You’ll find out the true business he intends to accomplish and finish him. Once you’re done with him, I’ll assign you your next job. You’ve advanced to the big time, Alena. You should be proud of yourself.”

She figured they had known what Ephraim had been up to then, which incensed her even more. But she also assumed she could never convince her father that Ephraim had given up his plan. She clenched her fist, wanting to punch anything to release the anger in her system.

“Haven’t you heard, Father?” she said, the ire rising in her voice. “I’m on the Brotherhood’s terminal list. Sutton is the only one keeping me alive at the moment. But even so, both of us have risked our lives several times in the last couple of days. We must give the vampires equal representation. If we don’t, the vampires can increase their numbers so fast, we’d be overwhelmed within months. It could be the end of our very exist—”

“David wishes to speak with you.”

Alena ground her teeth. Her father didn’t want to talk peace. How in the world could they resolve this if they didn’t do something other than escalate the killing? She knew in her heart, the hunters wouldn’t win. Not this time. They couldn’t increase their numbers like the vampires could. Vampiric blood bonds with the right humans could turn half the corrupt population over to their side. It could mean the end of the hunters for good.

“Alena?” David said.

She rolled her eyes. Terminate vampires. That’s all David cared about. And her father, too, it appeared. “David, we need to convince the League—”

“Can I speak with Sutton for a moment?”

She raised her brows, while the look of surprise on Ephraim’s face mirrored her expression. “Sure.” Though she agreed, bitterness filled her. No one would listen to her, and her own kind would end up suffering terrible losses, if not total extermination. The hunters were doomed if they couldn’t see where they were headed. At the moment, she felt impotent to do anything about it.

She handed the phone to Ephraim, then left the bedroom and joined Mona still sitting in the living room, looking horribly morose.

“Would you like some hot cocoa?” Alena asked, trying to take her mind off her father’s words and calm herself.

“I would,” Mona said, smiling, her mood growing more cheerful.

Ephraim joined them in the kitchen, his look unfathomable. “David wants to come here to talk.”

“About the Brotherhood?” Alena pulled out ceramic mugs for hot chocolate.

“About more than that.”

“Oh? About you?” She looked up at him, hopeful the League would change its mind about Ephraim after all.

“He wants to talk about you and him. He wants to marry you, Alena. Apparently my little lecture with him about how you only see him as a brotherly cousin didn’t work.”

Sitting down hard on the barstool, she stared at Ephraim, totally dumbfounded. David wanted to marry her? How in the hell had that ever come about? She rubbed her temple as a colossal headache pooled there. Then her thoughts switched to what Ephraim had said about his little lecture with David.

She narrowed her eyes. “You told David what?”

Chapter 19

ALENA TWISTED A red curl of hair around her finger, her brows knit together in a frown, her vibrant blue eyes staring Ephraim down. Maybe he shouldn’t have told David that Alena only thought of him like a brother.

Ephraim smiled inwardly. No, he’d had to set her cousin straight.

“I’ll make the cocoa,” Mona offered, walking into the kitchen, undoubtedly realizing he had to iron out relations with Alena all over again.

Alena groaned and Ephraim took her hand and pulled her from the stool. “My whole life has been turned upside down ever since I got that contract to terminate you, Ephraim Campbell. I can’t marry you either! Not according to League rules.” Her eyes grew stormy, her chin tilted up, and her cheeks beautifully flushed.

“Then you’ll have to bring about their change. And I’ll help you.”

“Right.” She said the word with sarcasm rather than in agreement.

“We shall return.” Ephraim led Alena back to his bedroom.

She cleared her throat. “How much time do we have before David arrives?”

“Plenty for what I intend to do with you.”

“What did you say to David? That’s what I want to know.” She flipped a red curl dangling against her cheek behind her shoulder.

Ephraim closed the bedroom door. “I told David what you said to me about his interest in you. I knew he cared for you more than you thought he did. I mentioned nothing to him about him being a pain in the butt as you’d said.”

She punched him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you talked to him about me behind my back.”

Ephraim kissed her cheek, then eased her onto the bed.

“I still haven’t gotten over you turning Mona, either, you know.”

He opened his mouth to speak.

She ran her fingers over his chest, targeting both nipples beneath his shirt and traced them. Her touch stirred a lower part of his anatomy. “However, she’s a good housekeeper and a pleasant woman.”

“So you exonerate me of my sins?” He pulled off one of her boots, then the other.

She tilted her chin up again in that defiant manner Ephraim had grown accustomed to and loved. He reached for her blouse, but she stilled his hands. “We were supposed to talk.”

“We will.” He pulled his hands free from hers and unfastened her first button.

“Bertha said you made love to her.” She folded her arms.

He unfolded them and tackled the next button. “Nay.”

“She said you had no scar on your foot.”

His gaze shifted from the widening gap in her blouse that revealed her heavenly breasts, unencumbered by a lacy bra this time. “What?”

“I asked about the scar on your foot, and she said you didn’t have one.”

He slipped his hand under her silk blouse and cupped a breast, luxuriating in the feel of the firm mound. Sliding his thumb over the soft flat nipple, he rubbed with a light caress. Instantly, it extended, and he craved touching his tongue to the aroused nub. “Hmm. That’s because I don’t have a scar on my foot.” He turned his attention to her next button.

“But how would she have known that?”

He shrugged. “I was barefoot sometime, and she saw me?”

“Naked you mean?”

“Did she know about my scars?” He quickly finished the rest of Alena’s buttons.

“She said she couldn’t remember them because it had been so long ago.”

“You believed her?” He pulled her blouse off and stared at her bare breasts, the nipples like two prominent cherries on mounds of vanilla ice cream, a mouth-watering feast. “Hmm, Elizabeth.” He slipped his fingers to the waistband of her jeans. Not feeling the top edge of her panties, he quirked a brow in surprise. “Have you no underwear on?”

“I was in a hurry to rescue you.”

“Wanton woman. No stays either.”

“Ahh, I seem to remember a conversation like this in the past. You’d desired that I wear fewer clothes, and I told you I’d be considered a loose woman.”

He smiled. “Aye. And I’d said if you wore no stays you would be thought of as a loose woman.” He chuckled, pleased that even though she’d been pissed off at him over turning Mona, she’d come to rescue him. “My dutiful love.” He grabbed her zipper, bothered still that she would be concerned about his involvement with her aunt though. “You didn’t believe Bertha truly, did you?”

“No.”

“Good. I didn’t make love to the woman. I knew her as your aunt whatever the century. And I knew she had the hots for me. But the feeling wasn’t mutual. You were the only woman I wanted.”

He pulled Alena’s jeans off, then smiled to see her creamy skin bared to him. Even now a few of the curly red hairs between her legs were dewy, wet with need. “You’re beautiful, Alena Elizabeth MacLeod.”

She reached for his zipper, but playfully ran her finger over his rock hard erection beneath the jeans, her look heated. “Are you sure we have time—”

“Plenty of time.” Though not really. His actions were a race against time, and yet, he longed to take it slow and easy. But if David arrived in the middle of their lovemaking...

Ephraim yanked his shirt off, then quickly ditched his trousers and boxers.

Before she could voice any further objection, he had her soft warm body pinned beneath him. She frowned when he grazed his extended canines along her neck. “Do you need to feed?”

“Aye. But we can wait until later.”

“I enjoy the feeling when you suck on me.” Her voice was hot and sultry and turned him on all the more.

“The sexual experience is heightened, lass. You should try it sometime.”

She snorted. “No pressure?”

“I don’t mean to rush you, but—”

“We’re expecting company.”

“Aye.” He ran his tongue over her nipple. Moaning, she combed her fingers through his hair, arousing him so fast, he feared he’d come too quickly this time.

He pressed a steamy kiss to her lips. With as much enthusiasm, she slipped her tongue into his mouth and caressed his tongue. Quickly, he pushed her thighs apart and worked his legs between hers. Before he slipped inside of her, he remembered the condom. Damn, he wished she wanted his child instead. With an exasperated sigh, he yanked his bedside table drawer open and fished out a rubber. Could she ever agree to have a bairn with him? Or would the League always come between them?

He drove away the sentiment, vowing patience.

Reaching down, she attempted to slide the condom over his length, but he stilled her hands. “I won’t make it this time, if you touch me, lass.”

The devilishly heated look in her eyes and the smile playing on her lips... the knowledge she controlled him, turned him on, willed him to do her bidding... she brought the Campbell warrior to his knees, and all he could do was beg for mercy. And she damn well knew it.

After rolling the condom on, he pushed inside of her warm, tight channel and thrust deeply. With a soft moan, she slid her hands down his back and over his butt, coaxing him to go faster.

He moved his mouth to her throat, and she tilted her chin up, exposing herself to him, willing him to bite her. The blood in her veins pounded, triggering the bloodlust to call to him. Her body arched to meet his like a dancer in concert with her partner. Even now, he was ready to release his seed, but he treasured the moment and held on for as long as he could.

Thwarting his ability to make the moment last longer, her fingers dug into his back, pressuring him to push harder, demanding that he fulfill her dreams.

“I love you, Ephraim,” she whispered.

The words he so longed to here. His Elizabeth, for all time, even if their time would be cut short again.

He thrust deeply inside her and with a husky voice said, “And I you, lass. My love, forever.”

He licked her throat, the blood pulsing warm and fast beneath her soft skin. The bloodlust won. Fully extended, his teeth sank into her vein. He sucked, her sweet blood nourishing him while he pumped his seed deep into her chasm.

He sensed the ache she wished fulfilled, the orgasm nearly achieved but out of reach, the craving to climb to the peak, and with the heady celestial climax shattering them, he forced himself to withdraw his fangs. If he took a little more of her blood, he could force her to want his, too. But he couldn’t, as much as he longed for her to be his forever. He had to let it be her choice.

He withdrew his fangs, then licked the drops of blood from the puncture marks, sealing them.

She seemed distracted and touched her kiss-swollen lips with the tip of her finger. “You haven’t finished, have you?”

“Aye. If I take more, you’ll have to feed off me next. You desire the fulfillment that will only come when we’re fully blood bonded.”

She ran her fingers over his neck in a gentle caress. Already the longing was there. Her eyes were darkened and thirsty. Her tongue moistened her lips again in an erotically intriguing way. Kissing her mouth, he ran his hand through her red hair. God, how he wished she would give herself to him fully.

She groaned. “Drink more from me, Ephraim.”

“You’ll have to drink from me next. Do you want this?”

She touched his face, her eyes searching his as if trying to make the right decision. “I want to know what it feels like.”

“You’ll be changed forever. Can you live with that?” He couldn’t believe he was trying to talk her out of it. But he loved her deeply. He didn’t want her to regret her decision ever.

“If we attempt to influence the League, it would be better if I were still a huntress,” she said softly.

Fully defeated, he leaned against her. “Aye. It’s true, lass. For the greater good of both our people what you say makes sense. Though it doesn’t help my cause with you.”

“If we change the League’s mind—”

He wasn’t sure that it would ever happen, and he wanted Alena too much to chance it. “That will take some doing, if it’s possible at all.”

“If we do, I’ll blood bond with you.”

He sighed, deeply glad she finally was agreeable despite the stipulation. However, if it wouldn’t work out with the League, then what? “And if we are unable to?”

“We’ll climb that mountain when we come to it.”

The doorbell rang, and Alena moaned. “You said we had plenty of time.”

Ephraim wiggled his brows. “We did, lass.” He kissed her lips, then tangled his tongue with hers. “Plenty of time.”

“And now I’m a mess.”

“Not a mess. Well loved.”

“Ah, Ephraim, you aren’t helping matters one bit.”

He rolled off her, not wanting to be separated from her, nor deal with David at the moment. Ephraim hoped Alena wouldn’t groom herself too much, hiding the look he loved after he’d had a good romp with her... her red hair tangled about her shoulders in a sexy, fiery display, her smooth skin freckled with light perspiration, her mouth swollen from their kisses. “Hmm, Elizabeth.” He leaned over and cupped her breast, massaging it with tenderness, then kissed her lips again, cherishing the velvety soft feel of them. “I’ll keep him occupied until you’re ready.”

When he was dressed, she was still buttoning her blouse.

“See you in a few minutes, love.”

“Watch what you say to him,” she warned.

Mona spoke to him telepathically. “Alena’s cousin is here, and he’s pacing the floor like a madman.”

“I’m coming.” He hugged Alena. “I must see to David, before he storms back here and finds you half naked.”

His neck muscles tightened when he considered the League and their barbaric notion of no fraternization between vampires and hunters... no huntress offspring tainted by vampire blood. He would never allow the League’s members to kill her. But for now, he had to deal with a more pressing concern, the hunter who was wearing out his carpet in the other room.

“I won’t allow harm to come to you. But... I must see to David.”

“Alena!” David shouted.

“Go,” she whispered. “I have to finish getting dressed. I’ll be all right.”

Ephraim took a ragged breath, attempting to settle the disquiet he felt. Certain she was not all right, he longed for her to feel as he did, a desire to make the commitment to one another for all eternity. “I’ll come through the front door. Make appearances that I have not been home.”

She smiled, took his face in her hands, and kissed his lips.

He held her hands and squeezed.

“Alena!” David’s voice boomed.

Ephraim gritted his teeth, trying to quash the need to extend his canines and take care of her irritating cousin. He didn’t relish the fact that David wished to speak to her about marrying her. He joked about it in an attempt to settle his angry feelings toward her cousin that were growing darker by the moment though. “He’s anxious to propose.” Ephraim kissed her cheek. “See you momentarily.”

As soon as he vanished, then reappeared outside the house, he sensed a vampire nearby. Adrenaline charged through his system, putting every fiber of his being on high alert.

“Have you blood bonded with Elizabeth yet?” the vampire asked. “Cybil says you have.”

Ephraim couldn’t see the vampire, but knew it was Kisaro. Though it was nearly noon, the fog still cloaked the area in a blanket of gray. He relayed the message to Mona. “Kisaro is visiting with me out front. Tell David I’ll be delayed a moment or two.” Hopefully, that would help to satisfy David that he hadn’t been with Alena all of this time.

His tone conciliatory, Kisaro spoke to Ephraim again. “If you have blood bonded with her and you and she wish to be part of the Brotherhood—”

“She wouldn’t like the idea of being a part of something called the Brotherhood when she is no’ a brother.” Ephraim sensed Kisaro was amused at his words.

“We wouldn’t terminate her, if you’ll join us.”

Ephraim didn’t trust Kisaro, nor any of those who had taken a part in killing the firstborn of the League’s members. “We have other plans, Kisaro, if you’ll join us instead.”

“You can’t mean peace. The League will never agree to it. Would they allow us to sit on the Council? To make rules that are fair to both our kind? Not in a million years, and you know this to be true.”

David bolted out the front door, his sword readied. “Where is he? Where’s Kisaro?”

Ephraim hadn’t expected David to come to his rescue. The notion he’d help him fight Kisaro gave Ephraim renewed hope that he, despite being a well-thought of hunter, possibly could assist in affecting a change. “Kisaro is hiding. Speaking with me telepathically, but too afraid to face me.”

A hiss sounded in the fog.

Was Kisaro the one who had formed the Brotherhood then? Ephraim suspected so. Kisaro had always been a troublemaker, always switching to the winning side, not a loyal bone in his ancient body.

“You’re right, Sutton. He’s nothing but a coward.” David sliced through the mist with his sword. “Show yourself, bloodsucker!”

Alena opened the front door, and both men turned to look at her. She folded her arms. No smile cheered her expression, which pleased Ephraim because he knew she was ready to unleash her tongue on her cousin.

“You wanted to see me, David?” she asked, her tone hostile.

David pointed his sword at the fog, still as thick as a screen of gray silk. “I’m helping Sutton fight off the renegade vampire, Kisaro.”

She looked at the fog where no vampire manifested itself and nodded. “I see. Well, when you’re done then. In the meantime, I’m making preparations to wage a war.”

Alena whipped around and headed into the house.

Ignoring Alena’s comments, David turned his attention to the fog and thrust his sword, recovered, then parried. “Come out, Kisaro. We’ve had enough of your foolishness. Haven’t we, Sutton?”

Ephraim was really growing to like David. Too bad David would want to kill him if he learned how Ephraim had won Alena’s heart.

He slapped David on the back. “He won’t cooperate. Come in and have a cup of hot cocoa, brandy or wine if you’d prefer.” He hoped David would be hunter enough to accept the fact that Alena didn’t feel anything more for him than sisterly love.

Reluctantly, David conceded and followed Ephraim into the house. But when they reached the kitchen where Alena was waiting for them, before Ephraim could say a word, Alena pointed at the painting in the dining room and said to her cousin, “I’m Elizabeth MacLeod, the one who had given her heart to another.”

To hear her say so in front of her cousin, Ephraim’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

“Elizabeth MacLeod reincarnated?” David shook his head. “I don’t believe in such a thing. And as far as I know, you don’t either. However, about another matter, I want to ask you a question, privately.”

“No.”

In shocked silence, David stared at her, and Ephraim got the impression she didn’t usually say no to him. He couldn’t have been prouder of her. He loved it when she was hotter than dry timber burning, especially when her anger was directed at someone else.

She fisted her hands on her hips. Her cheeks turned brilliant red, and her eyes grew turbulent. “You and Father cut me off when I wanted to speak of stopping the massacre that’s going on between the hunters and vampires. That’s the only business I want to discuss. If you don’t want to talk to me about that, I have no other business with you.”

That’s telling him.

“You will talk with me about this other matter, Alena, as I wish it, and so does your father.” David grabbed her wrist.

Immediately, two vampires hissed.

Chapter 20

ALENA SHOOK HER head at Ephraim and Mona in the kitchen, surprised to see her arrive so quickly, as Alena attempted to put them at ease. They slowly withdrew their extended canines. “I’m fine.” Then she said to David, “But for your own safety you should unhand me. And I’m not referring to what the others intend to do to you.”

Already she was torn between giving herself to Ephraim fully, the partial blood bonding she’d experienced, creating an urge to go all of the way with him. Was it because she and Ephraim were true soul mates and belonged to one another for all eternity? Or was it because Ephraim and her kind had been touched by the plague, but altered in slightly different ways? Were they two sides of the same coin, but together whole?

Ephraim cleared his throat. “David, I feel we can come to some kind of peace if we’re all willing to work at it. But the vampires have to be given concessions, too. We’ve lived under the Leagues’ rules for too long without a say. The Council must be reformed and vampires should be equally represented.”

“The League won’t go along with it.”

“They cut their own throats if they don’t.”

Alena touched David’s arm and Ephraim stifled the urge to step between them. He knew what her touch could do to the man she considered as a brother, but who did not see her as a sister.

“David, we must change. If the vampires turn enough people, they could destroy us... all of us.”

Ephraim feared the sheer numbers of the Brotherhood would ensure that Alena was killed also. He wanted to sequester her away, maybe back to Scotland, but the hunters there had as much of a stranglehold on the Highland vampires. Not only that, but the MacLeod clan there was as plentiful as her kin who had resettled in the States.

“We have to compromise this time,” Alena said to David.

David looked at the floor for a moment, deep in thought. Then he turned to Alena. “If we were able to convince the League of this, which I highly doubt, which vampires could we trust to sit on the Council? Renegades who have already killed our own hunters?”

“Sutton could.”

“He has been labeled a...” David abruptly cut his words short and glanced worriedly at Ephraim.

“He knows,” Alena quietly said.

Admiration flashed across David’s face as he acknowledged Ephraim. “You knew, and yet you still risk your neck to fight for us?”

“Yes,” Alena said, not waiting for Ephraim to speak. “I’ve told Father this already, but he wouldn’t listen. Why is there a contract on someone who helps us? He has saved my life numerous times. He helped us to rescue Misty. We’re no better than the so-called rogues if we terminate those who aid us.”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” David said.

Alena squeezed David’s arm. “There are no guarantees in life. We can only do our best and what’s right.”

“Then come with me and I’ll speak with some of the younger members of the League. I doubt the older members will go along with this unless we can sway the younger ones first.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ephraim said. He wasn’t allowing Alena to be with David a second alone. What if he hid her away, realizing Ephraim intended to keep her for his own? Already his canines itched in anticipation of battle.

David wanted her, and he wouldn’t like it that a vampire stood in his way.

Ephraim wanted to take Alena’s hand and lead her outside, but he was concerned David would recognize the intimacy the two shared, when they had a chance to be allied. Ephraim headed for the door and opened it. “Shall we go?”

“To Molly’s house, first,” David said. “She’s the most liberal of the members.”

“She’s older than Father,” Alena said, surprised.

“And as young hearted as they come. She’ll set up the meeting. I’ll meet you there.”

He pulled his cell phone from his belt, then punched in numbers while Ephraim led Alena to her car. David went to his own vehicle and said over his phone, “Molly, I need you to call an emergency meeting.” He took a deep breath. “Yeah, Alena’s behind this one. Yeah, we’re going to try and stop a war. All right, see you in half an hour.”

When Alena and Ephraim were in her car, he looked solemnly at her. “What are you going to tell David? You know he’s still going to ask you to marry him.”

“No. That’s what I’ll tell him.” She drove onto the main road.

“What if he threatens you? What if he says he’ll spare my life if you agree to marry him?”

She offered Ephraim a mischievous look.

He reached over and squeezed her leg, already figuring what she was thinking. “Aye, lass. You’ll tell him he can have my life, because you won’t marry him under any circumstances.”

She chuckled, deep and sexy like, sending a spark of blood to his groin.

He watched her hands stroke the steering wheel. “We may have to delay our meeting with Molly.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I haven’t had my fill of you, lass. You have awakened desperate feelings that I felt for you long ago, and I can’t shut the valve off now.”

Again, she chuckled. “I have awakened some kind of a sex monster.”

“Aye.”

“We have to concentrate on business.”

“Aye, and if I get this other business out of the way, we’ll concentrate even better.”

“You’re cute, Ephraim, but I’m not pulling the car aside, and...” She peered into the fog when they neared something suspicious in the road. “Do you see something up ahead?”

The figures separated from the mist. Ranging in age from about ten to fifteen, five children stood in the middle of the two-lane highway, all dressed in gray, nearly blending into the fog and the slate-colored road.

Her heart took a tumble, and she slammed on her brakes. “My God, Ephraim, are they vampires?”

“Aye, drive through them.”

“What?” She stared at Ephraim while the car idled on the road. A frosty cold spread through her body.

“They’ll move. But if not, the car won’t kill them.”

Every bit of moisture in her throat evaporated. “I can’t.”

“Do you want me to speak with them?”

“No.” Her heart beat faster. “If they were sent by the Brotherhood, they’ll attempt to kill you, right?”

“Most likely.” He folded his arms.

Stiffening her back, she hoped Ephraim knew what he was talking about, then she drove forward, picking up speed.

“Wait!” he hollered.

She slammed on her brakes again. The car skidded to a stop ten feet from the children. Gooseflesh covered her arms and her heart plummeted. “Jeez, Ephraim, make up your mind.”

“Call David.”

“What?” She stared at Ephraim as if he’d lost his mind. Already David must have been halfway to Molly’s house. What did she need to call him for?

“Change of plan. David can rally the hunters. We’ll work on the vampires.”

The idea of being in the midst of a gathering of vampires, any of whom could be agents of the Brotherhood, forced a chill into her bones. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Are you sure about this?”

“Nay. Right now, I’m not sure about anything. But we have to get both sides to work together. Even if we can get the support of some of the League, it won’t do us any good if we can’t come to some agreement with my kind.”

She pulled her cell phone off her belt and punched in David’s number. When there was no answer, dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. What if he hadn’t made it? What if...

“Alena?” Ephraim asked.

“No answer.”

“Call Molly. Tell her there’s a change of plans. Tell her to rally the hunters, and we’ll work on the vampires. Do you remember Neil Sutherland from the old country?”

Still concerned about David, she shook her head. He would have answered the phone if he’d still been on his way to Molly’s... unless something had gone wrong. She couldn’t shake the worry that he was in trouble. “What about David?”

“Call Molly. I’ll keep trying to get hold of David.”

She glanced at the children who hadn’t made a move from their spot of the road as if they were standing in a line playing Red Rover, waiting for Alena to call them over.

When she tried to use the phone again, all she got was interference. She handed the phone to Ephraim. “Static. Are the children blocking the call?”

“Possibly. Back up and turn around. We need to head south on this road for ten miles.”

She turned the car around only to find the children in front of her again. At once, her nerves shattered. “My God, Ephraim.”

His voice full of understanding, Ephraim asked, “Do you wish for me to take the wheel, lass?”

Huntresses weren’t weak. They were sturdy and strong and could handle about anything. Reminding herself of this didn’t work.

“Alena? Love?” He ran his hand over her shoulder.

“Please.”

He vanished and she climbed over the console to sit in the passenger’s seat.

After reappearing behind the wheel, Ephraim pressed his foot against the gas pedal.

She closed her eyes.

Once they’d driven far enough that she figured the vampires had vanished, she opened her eyes. But a few feet ahead, the vampire children appeared before them again.

Ephraim glanced at her. “Playing games. They disappear before I reach them, then reappear some distance hence. Close your eyes, and I’ll get us to Sutherland’s place.”

“Have you told him we’re coming?”

“Nay. It’s too far for me to contact him telepathically. Not only that, but I’d rather we arrive without making a big announcement.”

“In case he’s a member of the Brotherhood.”

“Aye. I’ve known him the longest, since we were wee boys slicing at the heather with our wooden swords. He’s like kin to me. But he’s made known his distress a time or two over the dealings of the League. I can’t know if he has joined the Brotherhood or not, but maybe our past friendship will count for something.”

“Why not someone else you might trust more? It sounds to me like he may very well have joined the Brotherhood.”

Ephraim shook his head. “Just because someone expresses unhappiness with a regime, doesn’t mean they would revolt against it.”

“I’m sorry, Ephraim. Certainly, you’re right.”

“Aye.”

She chuckled at his arrogance.

“But you may be right, too. Alas, there’s no other vampire living here I would confide in.”

“Do you know if he’s still alive? With all of the problems we’ve been having... have you been in touch with him recently?”

“Aye. I had dinner with him the night before I met you at the restaurant.”

She glanced out the windshield but when she saw the vampire children ahead on the road again, she concentrated on calling David.

Ephraim flexed his arm muscles as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. Seeing the distress Alena was in over worrying about the vampire children concerned him. If the vampires knew she couldn’t strike a renegade vampire child, she’d be in serious trouble.

Sutherland was another issue he wasn’t sure about. Was he part of the Brotherhood? And if so, could Ephraim sway him to want to stop the war before it got out of hand?

Ephraim glanced at Alena. She had shut her eyes while she listened to the phone, then shook her head.

“Are you all right, love? Do you want me to try to find David for you?” He couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy streaking through his veins the second he spoke the words. He knew she only worried for her blood relation, not for a man she loved like she did Ephraim, but knowing the way David truly felt about her bothered him.

She wrung her hands and stared out the window. “He’s a powerful hunter. He can take care of himself. Thank you, though, for asking.”

When they turned off onto another highway, Ephraim took a deep breath. “The children will tell Sutherland I’m on my way to his place, once they realize where I’m headed, if he’s with the Brotherhood.”

Alena stared out the windshield. “Can you communicate with them?”

“I tried to earlier, but they won’t respond.”

If Sutherland was with the Brotherhood, he’d have to realize Alena was Elizabeth, and Ephraim would never go along with any plan that meant she’d die. He scoffed at himself. Right. He’d planned to save Elizabeth, which would in effect have eliminated Alena from the picture. Through his own planned actions, he would have killed Alena.

Ephraim reached over and took her hand in his. She gave him a small worried smile. She was Elizabeth, and all he wanted was to make her his for all eternity. If she didn’t blood bond with him, it didn’t matter. He’d never return to the past, but die with Alena when the time was right.

But for now, if he could convince Sutherland to join him, Ephraim would more than likely have a better chance at convincing the other members of the Brotherhood. Sutherland had always been good at swaying others, likeable and a true friend. But Ephraim didn’t want to put Alena at any more risk than he absolutely had to.

He slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the road. “Either I’d better return you home, or take you to Molly.”

“You think Sutherland will call the others to meet him there if they suspect we’re paying him a visit? Then they’ll kill me? Or attempt to... rather?”

“We can’t risk it.”

“They’ll kill me the first chance they have anyway. Once the League finds out I’ve pledged my love to you—”

“All right.” They were in the middle of the battle, neither committing to either side. Tension filling every muscle, Ephraim conceded. “We’ll try to negotiate with Sutherland. Maybe he’ll know something of what is going on.”

“As long as you know what you’re doing,” Alena said, sounding as if she trusted in Ephraim completely.

He had no idea what he was doing. He only figured they’d have to take drastic measures if changes were going to be made for the better. And he hoped like hell his ties to Sutherland remained intact.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up at Sutherland’s stone house, complete with a replicated castle tower on one end, lacking only the moat. Wrought iron grate security doors served as a modern-day portcullis. Jutting out from either side of the house, a stone wall surrounded the property.

“Living a bit in the past, is he?” Alena asked.

“Aye, Sutherland holds onto the past a wee bit. His furniture is old world, too.” Cars lined the street in front of the place to Ephraim’s dismay. “An early evening vampire bash,” he said under his breath.

“Too many for us to handle?” Alena asked, her voice calm and assured. “If they aren’t cooperative?”

Ephraim choked back a laugh as he studied his Elizabeth, undaunted by what could be the end of her and him. His bonny lass.

A tall, broad shouldered Scotsman pushed the security doors open and motioned for them to come inside.

“Sutherland.” Same old Highlander, black haired, a dimple in both cheeks, a glint of the devil in his ebony eyes. Wearing the Sutherland plaid kilt, he looked like he did centuries earlier, rugged, wild, and ready to wield a claymore against the British invaders or enemy Highland clans. A trusted and loyal friend of old.

“Let’s go.” Alena grabbed her door and jerked it open.

“Stick close,” Ephraim said when they left the car and walked toward the house with Alena beside him, but she was leaving distance between them. Enough to fight if she needed.

Several vampires peered out the windows. Their sheer numbers could overwhelm them, Ephraim feared. Yet, they had to make their stand, sooner or later. Better to make it sooner... and get it over with.

Chapter 21

EPHRAIM KEPT TIGHT reign on his fangs as soon as Sutherland grinned at Alena. Sutherland immediately put on the charm the way he’d always done when Elizabeth made an appearance.

When Alena was close enough, Sutherland pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed her cheeks. “Elizabeth, as bonny as ever. Are you certain you want ancient Ephraim?”

“We’re soul mates, you know,” she said quickly.

Did she worry Ephraim would be peeved at his friend’s interest in her and cause a scene? He knew Sutherland better than that, but still, he had to know which side his old friend would be on in the battle between the vampires and hunters.

Sutherland led them into the house. Concentrating on the thirty or so vampire guests and human hosts, loitering in small groups, Sutherland willed them to cease their conversation. “This is Elizabeth MacLeod and though she is no’ one of us, she’ll soon be. Welcome her as our own. Ephraim Campbell is like kin of mine from the old country and has chosen Elizabeth to be his mate.”

Ephraim was pleased to hear Sutherland’s warm words of welcome. Several of the guests nodded, some offered elusive smiles, but none of them showed their true thoughts. No matter what Sutherland said, Alena was still a huntress, and Sutherland and his vampires were part of an organization that fostered illegal acts, namely, killing League members’ firstborn children and anyone else who got in their way. With their faces stern, bodies held rigid, they remained wary of her presence.

Alena seemed to hold up well, despite being in a room full of vampires. Every one of them probably knew she was under the Brotherhood’s death contract.

Ephraim pushed to get on with business. “We want to speak to you about the League.”

“This is a party, Ephraim. Eat, drink, dance. We’ll talk later.”

“It’s important—” Alena started to say.

Stopping her words, Sutherland took her hand and kissed it. “There’ll be enough time for talk.”

The distress in Alena’s face spurred Ephraim to force the issue. “Our business is urgent. If we must, we’ll speak with you some other time when you’re less busy.” He had every intention of either getting Sutherland to listen, or leaving and speaking with others who might be able to sway the Brotherhood.

Most of the vampire guests held glasses of wine and stood in pairs or small groups watching them, their lips and minds quiet, waiting for Sutherland’s response. The silence seemed to fill the void interminably as if two medieval clansmen sized each other up for battle.

Sutherland’s mouth turned up in an expressive smile reaching his black eyes with a hint of merriment. He slapped Ephraim on the back. “All right, old friend. We’ll talk.” He turned to Alena. “You’ll have to teach this Highlander it’s perfectly all right to have fun.”

Alena straightened her back. “I’m afraid for now, the time for games must end.”

He raised his brows, but the smile still stirred his lips. “She is no’ only a comely wench like she was in our youth, but she has brains. She won’t be one to boss around, Ephraim.”

Ephraim couldn’t help smiling at his friend. “Nay, she’s about as stubborn as you.”

“Aye, then I’ll make no claim to her. A compliant wench is one I’ll have for my own.”

He motioned to forest-green leather covered chairs sitting at the well-polished, long oak table. “Please, sit.” Sutherland took his seat on one side while Ephraim sat opposite.

Alena sat beside him, while five other men and two women entered the room and took seats. Before anyone could say anything, a man walked in with a tray full of beverages.

“Wine for the elders,” Sutherland offered.

Though Ephraim and his party took the drinks offered to them out of courtesy, none drank from their glasses. Ephraim said, “We know you’re with—”

Kisaro walked into the room. Immediately, Alena jumped from her chair and extended both wrist blades while Ephraim stood to protect her. At once, he felt they were in the wolves’ den, his huntress warrior with daggers extended, her blood rushing through her veins, her breathing steady and eyes taking in the biggest threats—Kisaro and Sutherland. She was ready to fight beside him no matter the odds, and Ephraim couldn’t love her any more for her tenacity, but he didn’t want her hurt.

Sutherland tsked. “Dear guests, no one will harm either of you. Please be seated.”

Kisaro gave a cold, calculating smile, his inky eyes deceptive, then he took a seat at the opposite end of the table.

Five more male vampires stalked into the room, none of whom Ephraim recognized. They quickly filled in the chairs next to Sutherland.

“You wished to talk, Ephraim?” Sutherland directed his comment to Ephraim, though he kept his eye on Alena.

Ephraim patted her hand, encouraging her to put away her weapons and take her seat. She resheathed her knives, then retook her seat along with Ephraim and the others. With her hands concealed in her lap, Alena fidgeted with the buttons on her wrist blades that would extend them instantly.

“We want to end this war before it gets too far out of hand,” Ephraim said.

“Why?” Sutherland leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, like a battle commander, confident the gods backed him. “You’re one of us. Why shouldn’t we come out on top this time? Why shouldn’t we have a hundred years to make the rules?”

“It isn’t that I don’t agree with you, but—”

“Ha!” Sutherland interrupted. “If anyone should have good cause to continue this war, it should be you.” He motioned to Alena, compassion stirring in his face. “Your Helen of Troy. She’s worth fighting for, don’t you think? They won’t let you have her, Ephraim. You know this. They’ll kill her once they find out you won’t let her go.”

Ephraim rose from his chair, but put his hand on Alena’s shoulder to tell her to remain seated. “You have tried to have her killed.” Though he attempted to curb his anger, a poisonous sting flavored his words.

“Our mistake.”

“Now it’s your mistake?”

“We targeted the leaders’ firstborn. No one had any idea that one of them was your Elizabeth.” Though Sutherland’s words were cool, Ephraim knew he’d hit a nerve, that Sutherland hadn’t liked that anyone had targeted her.

Ephraim scowled. “Kisaro knew. Cybil knew. Damn it to hell.”

Sutherland’s expression was hard as granite, impressing upon Ephraim that he had nothing to do with targeting Elizabeth. “Cybil was jealous of your love for Elizabeth. She didn’t tell me that she’d found Elizabeth to be one and the same as Alena MacLeod. Kisaro had been scarce these past few days, but once he made us aware that Alena was Elizabeth, we made the offer to have her join us.”

Ephraim still wasn’t sure he believed Sutherland, but they had to move forward, not get mired in what had happened before, if they were to find a real solution to their problem. “We want to form a new council represented by both our kinds.”

Sutherland shook his head and crossed his arms. “The League of Hunters won’t go along with it.”

“We’re attempting to sway the League as we speak.”

Sutherland conveyed his words to Ephraim telepathically. “We both know the only way Elizabeth will be safe is if her people all die. Devil take her kin. She’s cursed. You have said so to me three times before when her family killed her. You planned to return and kill all of them. You said it was the only way.”

Ephraim couldn’t crush the disparaging thoughts surging through him that echoed Sutherland’s sentiments. He feared until the last of the Scottish MacLeods were dead, Elizabeth and he would have no peace. Alena slipped her small, warm hand into his. Her eyes implored him to fight the cause they’d agreed upon, though she could have no idea what they discussed telepathically.

“We want only to stop the bloodshed, Sutherland,” Ephraim said, reaffirming his and Alena’s plan.

“Then you condemn her to die. I know you don’t want that.”

“If I killed her family, she would not love me any longer. This is the only way I can have her. You and I have been friends for more than three-hundred years. Does this not mean anything to you? Won’t you help us?”

Sutherland studied Alena, smiled, then faced Ephraim. “Should I be so lucky to find a woman who bends my heart to her will like she does yours.” He stood. “I can’t promise anything except for safe passage from here. Those who are close to me won’t try to harm Elizabeth for the time being. But I can’t speak for all of the Brotherhood. Our friendship does mean a good deal to me, Ephraim. I’m forever in your debt.” He bowed his head slightly.

Sutherland’s concession wasn’t half of what Ephraim had hoped for. Still, he had known his friend for many years, and Sutherland was prone to think over his options for a day or two before the notion seemed sound enough that he would agree.

Ephraim helped Alena from her chair and kept her close.

“Take care of her, Ephraim. She’s a treasure worth protecting at all costs.”

“I intend to,” Ephraim said, then glanced in Kisaro’s direction, “no matter what it takes.” His steely gaze threatened Kisaro with havoc if the vampire thought to hurt Elizabeth in any way. He didn’t trust Kisaro entirely, though Ephraim’s revealing that Kisaro had warned him Alena was Elizabeth made Ephraim think a little better of him.

“Thank you,” Alena said, “for listening to Ephraim. Sometimes dialogue that seems insignificant, can actually be a great stride toward progress.”

Again, Sutherland smiled, the affection he felt for her seemed genuine. “Aye, a lovely lass and wise as well. She would be my undoing if she was not spoken for already.”

“She’s mine.” Ephraim smiled when Alena raised a brow at him.

The other vampires seemed intrigued with the confrontation while they kept quiet, waiting for further word.

After saying a quick goodbye, Ephraim ushered Alena out of the house and to the car.

Alena finally let out her breath when she climbed into the passenger’s seat, allowing Ephraim to drive again. “We must go to Molly’s place. Agreed?”

“Aye.” He still couldn’t quite get over how peaceful the meeting had been. He pulled out of the drive and headed back toward Molly’s place, relieved that there had been no fighting.

Alena relaxed a little against her seat. “Do you trust Sutherland?”

“Aye, he’s a Highlander and good for his word. He would die before he’d go back on it.”

“But Kisaro?” Alena asked.

“I’m not certain about Kisaro. He did offer for you to join the Brotherhood. And he didn’t attempt to fight me at my home. Perhaps he can be swayed yet.”

“But Sutherland didn’t accept your offer,” Alena said.

“Nay. He’s only one of the brethren. No telling who’s running it. He may not feel he’s strong enough to fight him.”

“But if you fought at his side? I would fight at your side, too.”

“Sutherland would not want to turn on his own kind unless he thought he had a fighting chance and a good enough cause. He doesn’t have a good cause like I do.” Ephraim reached over, lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed her.

Alena shook her head.

“Well, don’t you agree?”

“Ah, but you have two wenches at your beck and call—Mona and me.”

Glad Alena seemed to be teasing to break up the tension the situation had created, Ephraim took a deep breath. “Aye, and to think I have to keep them both satisfied.”

Alena hmpfed in a lighthearted way and punched in David’s number, hoping beyond hope she could get hold of him now. Her blood still pulsed too rapidly from having been in the vampires’ lair. But no one seemed to have seen her nervousness, thank God.

“Hello?” Alena said into the phone when there was no response, and yet the line was open. Dread filled every pore.

“Hello?” a voice finally responded. Kisaro’s voice. Her heart fluttered, nearly stopping.

“Where’s David, Kisaro?” Alena asked, venom lacing her words.

Ephraim pulled the car off the road and stopped.

“Safe for the moment. David hasn’t been terminated because the Brotherhood hasn’t agreed to killing all hunters and huntresses... yet.”

She tightened her grip on the phone. “Then you’re in agreement that all of my kind need to die.”

“I want Ephraim’s secret project,” Kisaro said, ignoring her remark.

Her mouth gaped. “Ohmigod.” She turned to Ephraim. “Kisaro wants your secret project. He’s got David.”

Lousy damn bargain. Ephraim wouldn’t want David released when her cousin was interested in marrying her. Wouldn’t Ephraim prefer that Kisaro eliminate the risk to her safety instead?

“Elizabeth?” Kisaro asked when she didn’t respond.

Ephraim held out his hand for the phone. “Let me speak with him.”

She handed the phone to Ephraim, figuring a vampire to vampire talk might have better results. But right now she wished she was speaking face to face with Kisaro so she could see his facial expression, his body stance, read him better.

“What is it that you want, Kisaro?” Ephraim asked, as Alena listened to the conversation with her enhanced hearing.

“I want what you have that will enable you to return to the past.”

Kisaro knew about the formula? Hell, did everyone but her?

“For what purpose?” Ephraim asked, watching Alena. She was sure her face was red as angry as she was that Kisaro had taken her cousin hostage.

“That’s my business.”

“It’s unstable and may not work, Kisaro.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“In exchange for?”

“For your love of Elizabeth. I’ll return her cousin to you.”

Ephraim ground his teeth. Alena reached over and squeezed his hand, wanting him to do the right thing, wanting him to know she stood behind him.

He clasped his free hand over the mouthpiece. “No telling what he wants to change in the past.”

“Is there a way we can find out where David is without giving up your secret project?”

“I’m not sure.” He spoke into the phone, “Meet me at my place in an hour with David.”

“No. You could give me any kind of elixir. If it doesn’t work, David dies.”

She knew Kisaro would have no regrets either.

“And if it does work? What happens then?”

“Like I said, that’s my business.”

“Meet me in an hour.” Ephraim clicked the phone off and returned the car to the road.

“There can’t be any kind of a drug that can send you back in time, Ephraim,” Alena said, not believing there truly could be. Yet if such a thing could be possible, did it mean Ephraim truly planned to kill all of her clan during Elizabeth’s time?

Ephraim’s jaw remained set, his eyes narrowed while he stared out the windshield.

“Ephraim?”

“Isobel was a self-professed witch, my Campbell aunt, affected by the plague like me. She was a healer amongst our clan. But I...” Ephraim ground his teeth and furrowed his brows.

“Ephraim?” Alena ran her hand over his taut neck muscles.

“I wanted you back no matter what.”

Her stomach muscles tightened. “You didn’t promise your soul or anything, did you?”

“Nay, lass. I wanted only to make the world a better place with you at my side. I was her favorite nephew. She couldn’t stand to see my heart torn over my lost love.”

“But you said it can be unstable. Does it truly work?”

“Aye.” His lips remained a thin, angry line.

He’d used it? Why the hell hadn’t he told her? “What happened?”

“I didn’t go back early enough. It was Elizabeth, but not her... a later version, like you, lass. I was only there long enough to feast my eyes on you, then lose you again.”

Her eyes wide, she asked, “When did you lose me before?”

Chapter 22

DRIVING TO MOLLY’S place, Ephraim tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Alena figured he was debating how to tell her the news as to when he remembered her before and it wasn’t an entirely happy memory. She almost wanted to spare him, but she wondered if she’d recall the time also if he could refresh her memory.

“Do you remember a time when you wore a flapper-era dress? A time when you visited a speakeasy?” he finally asked.

She stared at him, but she didn’t see Ephraim while she tried to dig up some distant memory. “I don’t remember.”

“Think, Alena. You wore a silky emerald dress and a long string of pearls. Fringe dangled down your shapely legs. It was the first time I’d seen so much of them in public.” He frowned. “I didn’t like the way men ogled you.” He took a deep, consoling breath. “And you wore some kind of a gold lace hat—”

“A cloche hat, lined with ecru silk and... and there was a band of ribbed metallic gold fabric that matched the lace. I hated those hats. They made nearly everyone look like a pin head.”

“But you didn’t cut off your hair like a lot of the women did.”

“I don’t remember. It was... it was a dream, Ephraim. I never cut my hair short. I imagined that’s why I dreamt it wasn’t shortened.”

“Nay, you didn’t dream it. You were there. It’s a memory, lass.”

She ran her hand over her lap. “The dress had knotted silk fringe on the skirt and dipped lower in the back. It bumped my legs when I danced.” She stared out the windshield. “The room was filled with jazz music, smoke, and conversation. We drank cocktails in teacups in case the cops raided the place.”

“Aye, and you danced the Charleston and the Tango... showing off all of that creamy skin of yours. You can’t know how that affected me. I’d never seen you in public so naked. Your arms and legs were bare while you danced with a man dressed in a knee-length raccoon coat. Set my blood afire.”

She smiled at the memory of the tall, gaunt man who towered over her and looked ridiculous in the coat, then frowned. “But I don’t remember seeing you.”

“The place was crowded. It took me forever to find you. Then all I could do was stare. You were beautiful and not yet mine. You wouldn’t have remembered me, and my heart sank with the notion. I didn’t know how much time I had to get to know you before the events occurred that would take you away from me again. All I knew was I needed to speak to you first and try to jog your memories as quickly as I could. Then the cops poured into the building.”

Alena remembered more of the details as if she lived them all over again, her skin prickling with the memory. “Women screamed and men shouted. Everyone stampeded for the exits. No one wanted to be carried off in paddy wagons and sent to jail. But earlier that day, I’d terminated a mob boss, a ruthless vampire. I remember because it was a day of celebration, and I wanted to do something exciting and new.”

“You hadn’t been to a speakeasy before?”

“I had, but never before to this one. As I recall, I’d had a fight with my uncle sometime earlier that night. I’d been living with him because my parents had been killed in a car accident when I was little. My uncle and I had fought...” She paused to attempt to recollect. “He... wanted me to marry someone who was bringing liquor down from Canada because... my uncle owned a speakeasy, too. I didn’t like the man he wanted me to marry, but he was Scottish and a good friend of my uncle’s. But way too old for me. So out of rebellion, I went to the other speakeasy.”

“Aye. I couldn’t fathom why you’d gone there. I found out later, the owner competed with your family’s business.”

Her skin chilled with the return of the partial memories. “What happened when the police arrived? I barely remember—”

“When everyone attempted to flee, you were knocked down in the ensuing scramble. By the time I reached you, you had multiple fractures. I wanted to take you somewhere safe and make you mine all over again.”

“I remember feeling crushed and in terrible pain.” She stared at Ephraim’s eyes. “A doctor visited me in a hospital room.”

“Aye.” He grinned and wiggled his brows.

“He had a Scottish accent.”

“No telling why they’d give medical licenses out to any old bloke on the street.”

“You weren’t a doctor.”

“Nay, lass. I wasn’t family either, but I had to see you.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“You couldn’t from broken bones. You would have healed if...”

“My family hadn’t killed me again?”

He took a deep breath and stared out the windshield as the car ate up the pavement on the way to Molly’s home. “Not that night. When your uncle found out you’d been injured in the raid on the competitor’s club, he returned you home two days later and locked you up. The other club owner hired thugs to kill everyone in your uncle’s home that night, once he discovered your uncle was muscling in on his territory by informing the cops of his illegal liquor sales.

“Locked in your room, you couldn’t escape when the house burned to the ground. Without invitation, I couldn’t get into your house. I tried everything, informed the fire department, called the police—the windows were all barred because of the location of the house. Your uncle kept you locked in an inside room, no windows, no chance of escape. Gas fueled the flames that ate away at the hundred-year-old house. No one made it out alive.”

“You couldn’t save me,” Alena said under her breath, realizing no matter how much Ephraim loved her, even he couldn’t change the outcome for her.

“I found I couldn’t save you no matter how much I tried. I could only glimpse what I desired more than life itself. I wanted to take you away. Keep you safe, love you like I’d loved you before. But it was not to be. I had no urge to kill or fight, just to love you as I have always done,” he said, his darkened expression filled with regret.

“You couldn’t kill my family then,” she responded, more to herself than to him.

Part of her still worried he’d intended to kill them because it was the only way he could keep her for his own. The League’s condemnation of Ephraim, he’s a rogue vampire and must be eliminated after you locate his secret project, still troubled her.

“Nay, lass. I wouldn’t kill your family. I desired so to return to you when I’d known you first. To a time when you remembered me. To blood bond and break the cycle. But the potion wouldn’t cooperate. I thought if I drank more of it this time, I would go back to the right moment. But my aunt warned me it would take me to you, to see you again, but I wouldn’t have control over it. It must be that I can only return to a place and time that you occupy, but there are no guarantees I can save you.”

“My family didn’t kill me though during the Prohibition.” She hoped Ephraim was wrong about the curse.

“Aye, they did. If your uncle hadn’t informed on the other club, encouraging or maybe even bribing the cops to raid it, if he hadn’t returned you home and locked you in your room, you would have lived.”

She swallowed hard, still not quite believing that Ephraim could have traveled back in time, nor that her own family would kill her in a cycle that was destined to repeat itself for all eternity. “But if Kisaro uses this potion, what will he do?”

“No telling, lass. He has always been a troublemaker.”

“Would it take him to me in the past, as it did to you?”

“I wouldn’t think so, though it would concern me if it did. My aunt died last year, so I can’t ask her what would happen. I haven’t any idea what it would do to someone else. It might take him back to a time where he desired something badly. Or maybe not. My aunt was always very mystical about her powers and potions. She was like the sphinx, full of riddles, but with no answers for the one who wanted the answers. It was up to the individual to discover the truth of what could be.”

“Power is what Kisaro would want, don’t you imagine? We can’t give him the potion. And yet...” She poked a curl behind her ear. “What if anyone who used it could only return to the past, but not alter it in any way? What if you could only see me as Elizabeth, but couldn’t have me, or kill my family, or make any changes that might alter the future?”

Ephraim studied her for a moment, his dark eyes intense. “Aye, you may be right, lass. Perhaps that’s what my aunt tried to impress upon me, but I couldn’t see it for wanting you so badly. Still... what of David? Kisaro won’t be against killing him, despite his saying the Brotherhood hasn’t sanctified it. Make no mistake. He wants that potion and even if he can’t change anything by going back he won’t believe me—”

“If we don’t give it to him, he’ll keep David alive for the time being. Don’t you agree?” She had to be certain because if Kisaro forced their hands, she would do just about anything to secure her cousin’s life.

“Aye.”

She tapped her cell phone. “Does Sutherland know about the potion?”

“Nay, I wouldn’t think so.”

“How does Kisaro know?”

“I told Cybil and she must have told him.”

“Oh?” Instantly, Alena’s blood heated with jealousy. She hadn’t meant for her voice to elevate so though. Hell, the vampiress was no longer a threat to her, but the fact remained he had told her about the potion when he hadn’t let Alena in on the secret—why?

A hint of a dark smile curved Ephraim’s lips. “I told her how much I wanted you back. I don’t think she ever forgave me for mentioning it.”

No wonder the vamp had had it in for Alena. “I would think not, if you gave her the impression you were interested in her.” Which couldn’t help but irk her.

“Aye.” Ephraim reached out and touched her cheek with tenderness. “It was the reason she wouldn’t have anything more to do with me.”

“Good.” Served him right for making love to the woman when he was supposed to be in love with Elizabeth, and only Elizabeth, all these centuries.

“I take it you still want to go to Molly’s house and convince her to rally the members to permit us an equal voice on the League, Alena?”

“Drive south of the city, Lafoy Manor, 321 Lakeview Drive.”

He pushed the button on his cell phone, then handed it to Alena. “Good luck with Sutherland.”

She was certain she’d need more than luck, but she couldn’t think of any other option. She figured Sutherland was high up in the Brotherhood hierarchy as disgruntled as he was with the League’s rules, and with the number of vampires who seemed to be at his beck and call. If she could convince him to go along with Ephraim and her plan, she was certain Sutherland could influence a good number of the rogues who were targeting the Hunter League’s firstborn to stand down.

When he answered the phone, Sutherland’s voice was light and unconcerned, laughter and talking at the party still evident in the background. “Elizabeth? Calling so soon? Is Ephraim around?”

“Right here beside me.” She patted his leg as if Sutherland could see.

“Ah, then we’d better keep this strictly business. What is it you wish of me?”

“Kisaro is holding my cousin, David, prisoner. Can you get his release?”

A brief pause ensued. She suspected now that Sutherland had had no knowledge of Kisaro’s actions.

“The hunter David MacLeod? He’s on a vendetta to kill all members of the Brotherhood. If Kisaro has eliminated the hunter’s ability to harm us, I applaud him. You must understand my feelings in this matter.”

Suspecting he’d feel that way even if Sutherland hadn’t ordered Kisaro to take her cousin hostage, Alena chewed on her bottom lip, trying to come up with a winning argument to convince Sutherland it was in his best interest to help them. Would he want Kisaro in charge of the Brotherhood, if that was Kisaro’s intention? She doubted Sutherland or the others of their brethren would want to bow to Kisaro’s wishes. After all, if they already hailed him as their leader, he wouldn’t need to return to the past, would he?

She gave it her best bluff and hoped like hell he’d fall for it. “Who’s the leader of the Brotherhood, Sutherland? Are you ready for a revolution within your own ranks?”

Chapter 23

AT HIS MANSION in Baltimore, Sutherland laughed heartily over the phone, the noise at his vampire bash suddenly quieting in the background while Ephraim sped down the road toward Molly’s house, intent on getting the Hunter League to back their plan of equal representation amongst the hunters and vampires. Of any of the senior members of the League, the retired huntress would be the most agreeable with change.

Alena ground her teeth in frustration. She had to make Sutherland listen or none of this would work.

“Wouldn’t the League like to know who the leader of the Brotherhood is, dear Elizabeth?” Sutherland asked, his tone silky soft, with a hint of darkness.

She cut through the bull at once. “What if Kisaro can change things so he’s the leader? How would that affect your plans, Sutherland? Would you and the others want to follow his leadership?”

Ephraim glanced at her, and she shook her head at him when Sutherland remained silent.

Ephraim tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel and said to her, “Kisaro’s too abrasive. Sutherland and the others wouldn’t like that, I’m sure.”

Her heart and head pounded with anxiety. “Sutherland?” Alena prompted into the phone, hoping to solicit his help in freeing David.

If Kisaro killed David, she would have no other recourse but to fight every last one of the bloody Brotherhood, Sutherland included. Hell, if she could get David’s vote on the Hunter League, as well thought of as a hunter as he was, they may very well get some vampire concessions. But if Kisaro killed him, that couldn’t help but send them hurtling into another deadly war between their kinds.

“What do you know about Kisaro’s plans?” Sutherland asked, his voice dark and lethal.

Pleased at the sliver of progress she’d made with the Scottish warrior, Alena turned to Ephraim, and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Sutherland wants me to tell him what I know about Kisaro’s plans to take over the Brotherhood.”

“Aye, I heard. Tell him the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Tell him my Aunt Isobel Campbell had given me an elixir that will enable me to return to the past. Kisaro wants it in exchange for David’s life.”

She waited for him to say more, but he motioned for her to tell Sutherland what he’d relayed to her. Sutherland could draw his own conclusions.

Alena explained the situation to Sutherland.

“Damn. Aunt Isobel—the witch.” A lengthy pause ensued. When he spoke again, Sutherland’s voice sounded concerned. “Does it work?”

“Ephraim met me in the past, so yes, it does.”

“You remember this?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody hell.”

Again prolonged silence followed.

Her blood pulsed faster while she waited for his response. Ephraim reached over and squeezed her hand, giving her a small amount of solace. Was her blood calling to him now with its rapid beating? She shook loose of the notion and considered their current dilemma. Would Sutherland agree to help them, not wanting to risk taking the chance? Or would he figure Kisaro couldn’t do the Brotherhood any harm?

Ephraim pulled into the driveway of Molly’s Texas style ranch house, the lights on in nearly every room in the house.

Alena barely breathed while she waited for Sutherland’s response.

“What happened when Ephraim returned to the past?” Sutherland finally asked. “Obviously he didn’t rescue you then, or you’d have been at his side for all of these years.”

She was afraid to tell him the potion was unstable. That no one who used it might be able to affect any change. If Sutherland thought so, he might not put much stock in it. Then they’d again be at Kisaro’s mercy concerning David’s life. “He returned to a later time... when I didn’t know him. He couldn’t save me in time.”

“Then possibly, nothing Kisaro could do would matter either.”

Her heart plummeted at the realization she might have lost a powerful ally. “Possibly. Do you want to risk it?”

Again, the silence hung between them like an invisible web, tying them together.

“If you become one of us, Elizabeth, I would take your part in this.”

She couldn’t believe he’d agreed to side with them, but with the caveat she’d blood bond with Ephraim. The gladness she felt in his offer of assistance was marred by the stipulation he’d posed. “Why do you want me to join you before helping us?”

“Because I believe as Ephraim does, only your being one of us will break the cycle of your family killing you. Hasn’t he suffered enough without your love?”

She knew then, his friend cared for Ephraim to a greater extent than she could see on the surface. For this, she admired him. He would attempt to force her to do what Ephraim desired of her, but what would Sutherland get out of it? However, she still believed she would serve everyone better if she remained a huntress for the time being. “I believe my people will listen to me more if I haven’t been turned.”

“‘Tis your choice. But I’ll only help you if you’re one of us.”

“Again, I ask why?”

“Hasn’t Ephraim told you about how he saved my life? Not one time, but three times? I owe him and the only way I could repay him is to give him that which he wants more than life itself.”

“I’m not yours to give.”

Ephraim chuckled. She cast him an annoyed look.

Molly peeked out the curtained front picture window of her home, undoubtedly wondering why Alena and Ephraim were parked in front of her place, but not leaving the car.

Sutherland said, “Aye, you’re mine to give, lass, if you want me to save David’s life. Ephraim’s aunt posed a riddle to me one day when I remarked how bonny you were, not in front of Ephraim, of course. She told me then, one day I’d find myself in a predicament where I’d hold your life in my hands. Through you, I’d be given the opportunity to repay my debts to Ephraim. It seems the time has finally come.”

Alena could almost hear the amusement in Sutherland’s words, like a child who had checkmated his opponent at a game of chess, thrilled to be winning in a maniacal sort of way. Maddening vampire games. Her cousin’s life hung in the balance. Irritation ran through her blood when Sutherland wouldn’t help her without her doing as he insisted.

“Blood bond with Ephraim and I’ll aid you in forming the new council. Sit on it with me, if you like. But you’ll be one of us.”

“I’ll have to think on it. Thanks, Sutherland.” She hung up on him, squashing the words she really wished to say. Somehow she had to ensure that the potion didn’t fall into Kisaro’s grasp. No telling what he planned to do in the past and whether he’d be successful at it when Ephraim was not.

“Well,” Ephraim said, motioning to Molly’s house, “are we ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Alena and Ephraim hurried up the long brick walk and when they reached the massive oak door, it swung open before Alena could even ring the doorbell. Normally, Molly wore a cheerful expression whenever she and Alena met, but tonight the woman’s countenance was strangely somber, her violet eyes a little red as if she’d been crying, but every gray hair was still in place and her designer slacks and blouse were impeccable as always. She gave Ephraim a long look, then said to Alena, “Come in. Where’s David? He was supposed to—”

“The vampire named Kisaro has taken him hostage. Listen, I have a bit of a mess to deal with on my own for a while—”

“You intend to rescue David,” Molly stated, her tone wooden. She gave Ephraim a harder look, and Alena felt suddenly wary. Molly said she’d be on their side, but was she changing her mind because of David’s situation?

“Yes, but, Molly, I need you to organize a force of hunters to attempt to persuade my father and the others—”

“Your father...” Molly stopped speaking at the entrance of her great room, the place filled with leather seating for large League meetings, but some brightly-colored, plastic toys decorated the coffee table and Alena assumed Molly had been babysitting her three grandchildren again. Molly spoke again, her voice choked with emotion, “Your father has been murdered.”

For several seconds, Alena didn’t say a word, too shocked at the news to respond. Then when the horror of the news finally registered, she stifled the sob that rose to her throat. She was barely aware that Ephraim had grasped her around the waist before her knees buckled.

“No.” Her eyes filled with tears and her head fogged as she attempted to reconcile the facts as they now stood. All of a sudden the vampire’s cause didn’t seem as important. Now all she could think of was making the one who’d killed her father pay for his crime. It didn’t matter how distant or cold he’d been toward her after her mother had died because he’d been so distraught. Or the way he had wanted to eliminate Ephraim when she felt there was no just cause. He’d still been her father, and she’d always felt deep down he’d loved her.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Molly said, her voice cracking with emotion, trying to keep her huntress composure in front of a vampire. More tears collected in her eyes. She reached out and touched Alena’s shoulder. “You’re needed at once to take a seat on the council.”

“I’m going after the ones who did this.” Alena wouldn’t sit quietly in the Hunter League and issue orders. She would hunt like she was trained to, only this time she had to avenge her father’s death.

“You can’t, Alena. The League needs you. Believe me, it won’t be easy. He was murdered by one of our own.”

Alena’s heart felt as though it had been ripped through a shredder. “A vampire didn’t murder him? A hunter did?” Alena choked back the tears, her stomach twisting. “Why?” She forced the word out as if she was living a nightmare and nothing came easily. She couldn’t even imagine that anyone in the League could have murdered one of their own.

“Your father talked of making sweeping reforms. He talked of allowing vampires to represent themselves.”

“My God, he agreed with me.” Overwhelming feelings of love and admiration for her father washed over her. And regret for him not telling her how he’d come to change his mind. Would he have accepted Ephraim as a son-in-law after all? She wasn’t sure he’d have gone that far. But if he’d known what had happened between her and Ephraim, he might have changed his mind and gone against the notion of changing the status quo between the hunters and vampires.

Now it was too late, and a morbid gloom settled over her.

But in that instant, she made the decision—right or wrong. Nothing mattered but Ephraim and her happiness. The situation between the League of Hunters and the Brotherhood of the Vampires would be resolved one way or another. Or maybe never.

She might not be able to do anything about that. With Ephraim, she had a choice. And whether they lived or died, she had to give themselves the chance to be together, to see if they could break the curse.

Ephraim moved her to the nearest couch when she couldn’t stand any longer.

Molly took a seat across from her, the look on her face now tired, but not wholly defeated. “Yes, dear, your father agreed with you. I believe he considered what you told him, realizing our kind could be wiped out if enough vampires are created to fight us. The last time we had a revolt, the vampires wouldn’t stoop so low as to create an army of vampires from just any humans. This time, they’re changing tactics so that they can win at any cost. We can’t risk it. But some League members can’t see it that way. Arrogance runs rampant. They believe we will win, when in reality it could be the end of us.”

Alena tested the waters with the plan she wanted most to succeed at. Would the woman who was the most open-minded on the League Council be against it? If Molly couldn’t be swayed to believe in Alena, no one could. Alena patted Ephraim’s hand while he hovered over her as if he wanted to console her in some way but wasn’t sure how. “I want to marry Sutton Bastrop. The man I’ve been assigned to kill.”

Molly let out her breath and gave Ephraim a severe look. “You might be able to, if you’re able to influence the League. But you can’t blood bond with him. They might listen to you, but they won’t if you’ve become a vampire.”

Alena took a deep breath. “Maybe that’s how this needs to begin. To show hunters and vampires we can live as one.” She rose from the sofa and took Ephraim’s hand. “We will do what we can to bring this about peaceably. But my mind is made up. We won’t be separated again.”

Besides, Alena had to free David and have him on her side. Since he was one of the most well-respected hunters of their time, she knew if David backed her, they’d have a chance to make sweeping changes in the League’s policies. He’d already shown a desire to change the League.

But she didn’t think she could free David without Sutherland’s help, and he wouldn’t give it to her if she didn’t blood bond with Ephraim.

“Your place is with the League now,” Molly reiterated, sliding a sideways glance at Ephraim as if she was worried the vampire was unduly influencing Alena

“But what about trying to organize the hunters to form a new council? To allow the vampires a say? Will you help?” Alena implored.

“Yes, but it’s really up to you now, dear. Several hunters have been scouring the countryside looking for you. They expect you to meet with the assembled League at once.”

Taking a deep breath, Alena braced herself for the next question she had to know the answer to, but was reluctant to learn which hunter would commit such a hideous crime. “Who killed Father?”

Ephraim rubbed her shoulder with reassurance, his eyes showing compassion, but she could see the fire burning in their depths, too.

Molly didn’t offer a name right away, which was not a good sign.

“Molly?”

“Jared MacLeod,” Molly replied with resignation.

Alena gulped back her surprise. How could David’s older brother have done such a horrid thing? Murdered her father, his own kin? Would David take arms against his own brother for what he’d done, or change his mind and side with him? After all he was a closer relation than she was to David and no matter the trouble Jared had gotten into over the years, David had always stuck up for him.

God, how could the situation get any worse?

“Do you know if Jared planned the killing as a coup to take my father’s place, or had he truly not wanted the changes to the League to occur? He isn’t half the hunter that David is. Bastard. I don’t believe the other members will follow Jared. Do you?”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t know his motives, Alena. We have a few upstarts that will go along with Jared, I’m afraid. Go to the League and stop those who threaten further mutiny. If the League falls apart now with the Brotherhood killing our kind, too, we’re doomed.”

Ever since she’d become involved with Ephraim, Alena was torn over what she had to do—now even more so, when everything before this had been easy for her—take care of renegades, train more, enjoy outings with Misty. Now her whole world was turned upside down again just like when her mother had died.

Ephraim wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry about your father, lass.”

“As hard and unyielding as he could be…” Alena fought to hold back the tears. “Oh, Ephraim, why didn’t he tell me he wanted to make the changes?”

“He was a man.” Ephraim lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it had to be his idea? What is it that you want to do, lass?”

She took a tearful breath. “We’ll go to your home.”

“But won’t you be able to better sway them as a member of the League?”

“No. I think some will want me dead. As they wanted my father dead.” She tried to settle the lightheadedness she felt from learning the news about her father’s death. Yet another concerned continued to nag at her. My family will kill me again. She had assumed her father would put a contract out on her, that David might even be the one to terminate her once they discovered she’d had relations with Ephraim.

Maybe it was her cousin Jared who’d be out for her blood. Would blood bonding break the curse like Ephraim assumed?

Ephraim took hold of her hand. “I’ll take care of Kisaro myself.”

“But how? What if he tells the one who’s holding David, to kill him if he doesn’t return by a certain time? Kisaro will have the potion, and God knows how he’ll use it.”

“We have forty-five minutes, Alena. I was to meet Kisaro at my house and—”

She pulled out her cell phone and called David’s number.

“Hello? You have reached...”

She cursed inwardly. When the answering machine beeped she said, “Kisaro, this is... Elizabeth.”

She caught sight of Ephraim looking at her with unabashed joy.

She smiled at him, then said to Kisaro, “There’s been a slight change of plans. Ephraim and I have to meet with the League at once. We’ll give you a call as soon as we’ve finished conducting business there.” She hung up, then called Sutherland back.

“Elizabeth, do you wish to negotiate further? Have we a deal? Will you blood bond with Ephraim?” Sutherland asked, his tone of voice darkly enthusiastic.

“Father’s been murdered while trying to convince the League to allow your kind to be represented on a newly-formed League.”

Stunned silence met her ears. Then Sutherland groaned. “So close to getting what we wanted. But if the murderer is still loose, then you could face the same kind of—”

“Hopefully, Ephraim and I can protect ourselves better. Father wouldn’t have expected violence. Unlike him, we’ll be armed.”

“I want to join you.”

“We need you need to look after Mona.”

Ephraim glanced at her, surprised.

“Will you do this for us?” Alena asked Sutherland over the phone.

“Will you blood bond with Ephraim?”

Alena let her breath out in exasperation. “Not because you’ve asked it of me.” She squeezed Ephraim’s hand and looked into his darkened gaze. “Because I love Ephraim and can’t live without him for another three hundred years.”

“You cannot go wrong, lass. And though I will no longer have any chance at winning your heart, I give you both my blessings.”

“Thanks, Sutherland, for your friendship now and in the past.”

“Keep yourself safe, lass. I’ll not forgive Ephraim if he allows any harm to come to you,” Sutherland said in a heavier brogue.

And that’s when she vaguely recalled Ephraim’s friend, drinking with him in a tavern, fishing with him in the loch, sailing together on the Irish Sea. For all time, they’d been friends. Then Sutherland cut the connection.

Feeling their situation was doomed at best, Alena closed up her phone. She couldn’t turn her back on David now when his life depended on it, not when he’d been like a brother to her. But even more than that, the eerie feeling that her own kind would terminate her and separate her from Ephraim to repeat the cycle sometime in the future was more than she could bear. If it was the last thing she did, she had to take a chance. She had to prove if Ephraim’s theory was right or wrong, once and for all.

She would probably be known by the hunters for all eternity as the traitor to her people once again, just like she’d been in old world Scotland and for the last three centuries. But she couldn’t dismiss her love for Ephraim.

On shaky legs, she rose from the couch. “I’ll call you later, Molly. Thanks for all of your help.”

Molly joined Alena and wrapped her arms around her. “You take care, dear. We need you.”

Not as much as Alena needed Ephraim.

Ephraim led Alena out to her car and took the driver’s seat, his expression as somber as she felt. “Lass, are you sure? You said you needed to speak with the League as a huntress.”

“Take me to your house, Ephraim.”

He started the engine. “What are you thinking, Alena?”

“I’ll still be a huntress,” she said with conviction, frowning, hating Jared MacLeod and ready to hunt him down. “I’ll always be a huntress. But I’ll be a vampiress also. I want to do it. I want to blood bond with you. Take me home.”

Chapter 24

“ELIZABETH,” EPHRAIM SAID, turning in the driver’s seat of Elizabeth’s car to face her before he drove her home from Molly’s house. He sounded exasperated with her, which wasn’t helping matters at all. “You’re not thinking correctly. A hunter has just murdered your father, who just happened to be your cousin, David’s own brother, no less. You have to think this over, lass.”

“Don’t tell me you want to talk me out of blood bonding with you.” Disbelief threaded Elizabeth’s voice. Ever since she’d met him in this lifetime and on every occasion in the past, he’d wanted to blood bond with her. Now that she’d decided she had to do it, he didn’t want her to? Why? Because it had to be his idea, not hers? Typical man. She folded her arms and fumed.

He let out his breath in a huff and pulled onto the road. Once he left the subdivision and was on the main road, Elizabeth said, “Well? Don’t you want to blood bond with me?” She stared gloomily out the window. “Can’t you drive any faster?”

“Of course I want to blood bond with you. When have I not? But I don’t want you to do it for the wrong reason. And for your information, I’m already driving fifteen miles over the speed limit.”

“Saying I want to do so isn’t a good enough reason?”

She couldn’t help the way her voice elevated. Blood bonding with Ephraim was supposed to be a heartwarming experience, not something she had to fight to get him to go along with. She wanted to do it... damn it. That should have been good enough reason.

Every molecule in her system filled with exasperation while her head pounded with frustration. How could she convince Ephraim she wanted to blood bond with him because they were meant to be together for all eternity, that she loved him, that she feared the family curse was catching up to her again, when he’d insist she’d do it only to save her cousin or for some other bloody reason?

Hell, she already told Ephraim she’d blood bond with him when the League approved. So now she’d do it in advance of their approval. She loved Ephraim with all her heart. That was the important part wasn’t it? That she was willing to bond with him for an eternity? And damn it, she’d already said so.

“I don’t mean that, lass,” he said, softening his tone. “You’re upset about everything that’s happened. Even now you’re running on a high dose of adrenaline, ready to kill Jared for what he’s done, ready to slay Kisaro for taking David hostage. No telling who else you’re ready to strike down. Me even, if I tell you we can’t blood bond in your current frame of mind, as frustrated and angry as you appear to be.”

She glowered at him, not believing he’d deny blood bonding with her, which he’d begged her to do forever. “You mean to say the only reason I should blood bond with you is because of my undying love for you?”

He sat silent for a moment, his neck muscles tightening. Then he glanced at her. “Aye.”

“Well, that’s the reason I’m doing this.”

“It…” He took a deep breath. “It has nothing to do with Sutherland’s forcing you to do so to gain his help in having your cousin released, does it?”

She groaned with exasperation and rolled her eyes. Did he believe she loved her cousin more than she loved Ephraim? If the situation was different and she had to blood bond with... with, well, Sutherland perhaps, she’d do it to save Ephraim’s life. Maybe. Well, maybe not. But not because she didn’t want to save Ephraim’s life. She’d do anything for him... within reason. There wasn’t anyone she wanted to blood bond with but Ephraim. Couldn’t he understand that? Wouldn’t it unite them for all eternity? She didn’t want to share that common bond with any other vampire.

Before she could voice another objection, Ephraim continued. “You shouldn’t be forced into this. Not by me or anyone else. And right now, Sutherland is doing just that. Look at you.” He waved his hand at her. “You’re as tense as a tigress ready to pounce on a gazelle.”

Her mouth gaped, then she frowned. “I don’t pounce on gazelles. They’re innocent herbaceous foragers. I pounce on sick predators.”

He chuckled. “Poor example. I can’t think straight with you so angered. I can’t explain how important it is that you blood bond for the right reason and with nothing but love in your heart. If I tried to take your blood right now as tense as you are, you’d be in pain, just like when Cybil attacked you. It wouldn’t be a pleasurable experience. I refuse to do that to you. Forever, you would remember our first bonding as a horrifying, painful experience and could grow to resent me. Maybe even refuse to share the experience again.”

“You don’t trust my motives.”

He sighed deeply. “Bonnie lass, I love you more than anyone else in the world. I want to blood bond with you so that we’ll remain together, have a family even. If we have a son, we’ll name him after your father. A girl, we’ll name her Elizabeth.”

She raised her brows. “But what if she doesn’t have red hair?”

“We’ll start our own family tradition.”

She leaned back against the leather seat and took several deep breaths trying to calm herself. “You’re right of course. My frame of mind isn’t the best for blood bonding. You wouldn’t happen to have a stream where we could slip out of our clothes and make love? Maybe that would help to get me in the right mood.”

“What brought that to mind?”

She stroked his leg, the muscle in his thigh tightening in response. “I recall a time when we were fishing, and you tipped the raft over.”

“Ahh,” he groaned. “I distinctly remember telling you not once, but three times not to stand on the raft when you grew excited, feeling a nibble on your line.”

“I suppose you told everyone it was my fault we ended up in the stream, soaked to the bone.”

“Nay, I never told anyone about that story, or what happened after that.”

“I can almost smell the peat smoke drifting on the breeze and whiffs of the fragrance of sweet heather, too.”

“Aye.”

She moved her hand closer to his crotch, feeling the swelling between his legs.

“You’re going to make me have an accident, lass.”

“I’m trying to get you in the mood.”

“I’m always in the mood... but if you keep touching... Elizabeth!”

She chuckled, then pulled her hand away. “I only wish we could go to the stream again.”

“Would a hot tub do?”

She opened her mouth for a second and stared at him, then smiled. “Why didn’t you mention it before? Hmm, it won’t be half as cold as the stream. Will it be safe though?”

“It’s a whirlpool tub in my master bathroom. Safe as anyplace else in the house.”

“Then you’ll blood bond with me?”

“I still don’t like that Sutherland is forcing you to do this.”

“He isn’t.” She sighed, feeling some of the tension drain from her. “He said you saved his life three times.”

“Aye. ‘Twas nothing.” The twinkle in Ephraim’s eye and the smile on his lips piqued her curiosity.

“Well, he seemed to think it was important to pay his debt.” She watched Ephraim while he concentrated on the road. “Well? How did you save him?”

Ephraim shrugged a shoulder. “He rocked the raft when we went fishing as lads. He fell overboard and couldn’t swim. I tossed him a rope and pulled him to safety.”

“He rocked the raft.”

“Aye. He did the same thing as you, lass. That’s why I could see history repeating itself when you did the same later.”

“It wasn’t you who rocked the raft?”

He smiled. “Nay, lass. The one who’s standing, falls in. I was sitting like my father had taught me.”

“And the next time you saved him?”

Ephraim rubbed his chin. “Well, he’d been drinking a wee too much ale at the local tavern and insulted a laird from the neighboring lands. Since I owned the land where the tavern was situated, I offered to beat Sutherland in my own way for his insolence.”

Alena’s eyes widened. “And did you?”

“Aye.”

“How was that saving him?”

“He lost a wager instead of his life. I beat him at three games of chess.”

She laughed. “I hate to ask how you saved him the third time.”

“Under more honorable circumstances. We were battling the MacLean. Sutherland had been knocked from his mount. I’d saved him from being run through. But, Alena, I’m serious about this. We’ll find a way to beat Kisaro at his game without you having to blood bond with me right this moment.”

“I can’t risk my cousin’s life.”

“Do you love him?”

Now the truth of the matter was coming out. “As a brother. Ephraim, you must realize David could be the one to help us gain control of the League. Because of his hunter fame, he could help encourage the others and aid us to make the changes we need. If the vampires kill him, all will be lost.”

Ephraim seemed to ponder the notion for sometime, then pulled into the circular drive in front of his home. “What if he sides with his brother?”

She took a deep breath, realizing with apprehension he might.

After parking the car, Ephraim hastened to get her door for her. “You can’t be certain he won’t. What if you blood bond with me and this angers him so that he wants to take revenge against the vampires? This might not turn out the way you plan.” He grabbed her hand and hurried her toward the house, the automatic security lights illuminating a good portion of the landscaping and house.

He pulled her inside and clapped his hands, activating the lights in the living room and hallway.

Damn, she hadn’t considered David would be furious with her over blood bonding with Ephraim. Since he wanted to marry her, he could very well be so angry with her that he might take the sides of the rebels... but no. She wouldn’t be talked out of it.

“You can’t talk me out of it, Ephraim Campbell.”

He shook his head. “I must be mad to even attempt to do so.” With her hand in his, he led her back to his bedroom.

“You are. And you must know when I have my mind made up—”

“Aye, you’re stubborn, lass. But still are you sure about this? We could try to handle Kisaro differently.”

“I am. Quit trying to change my mind.”

“You can’t fault me for attempting to do the right thing by you.” He opened the door to his master bathroom, revealing a marble-tiled room with a circular tub in the center. Outfitted with crystal fixtures, the room was elegant enough for a king.

“Beautiful,” she said, her voice in awe, surprised to see the elegance here, that the guest bathroom hadn’t had.

Streaks of variegated browns and beiges whirled about the creamy tub like fudge swirl ice cream while crystal lights provided a soft glow overhead. Ephraim flipped on a switch and Celtic flute and pipe whistle melodic tunes filled the air.

“I know where I’m going to live most of my days.” Alena grabbed the faucet and turned it on high.

“You’ll be a wrinkled prune, lass,” he teased, touching her cheek.

“You’re good of heart, Ephraim.” She wrapped her arms around him, feeling as one with him even before blood bonding. Despite their rocky moments, he was the only man she’d ever loved, and she could never see loving anyone else the way she did him. “I do this because I love you and I want to be with you forever. I do this because I want to have a family with you.”

He tilted his chin down and looked her in the eyes. “You do this to save your cousin.”

She tilted her chin up. “Only because I must do it sooner than later. I told you already, Ephraim Campbell, I’d blood bond with you, and not because I was being forced to either.”

He grunted.

Smiling, she reached for his belt. “Ephraim, you must know I’d never blood bond with any other man, only you. You are the one I love.”

Immediately, he took charge of the buttons to her blouse. She nearly laughed. So much for his wanting to change her mind.

She meant to take it slow and easy, enjoying the special time with him, calmly, like he said they needed to do. But she was having difficulty keeping her mind off David’s safety and Jared’s evil influence over the League, and though she trusted Sutherland to an extent, she worried he might change his mind. All these things pushed her to act faster, even though she attempted to take her time.

She unbuckled Ephraim’s belt, then ran her finger down his rigid erection. Ephraim groaned.

When he stripped off her blouse, she realized, he was in much more of a hurry than she. What happened to taking it slow? He was ready to lose control, she’d already primed him so. Not intentionally, but it seemed she didn’t need to do much to get him worked up.

Reaching up, she untied the leather strap that bound his hair and ran her fingers through the satiny strands.

“You have too many clothes on again, lass,” he teased.

Chuckling, she yanked his shirt off. “You said we were supposed to take it slow.”

“There’s slow, and then there’s slow. The water will get cold.”

“We swam in really cold water before.”

“Aye, but we had a fire to warm us. And we didn’t make love in the water, but on the bank instead.” He helped her to stand, then unzipped her pants.

She grazed his nipples with her long fingernails, both peaking instantly with her touch. He combed her hair with his fingers when she leaned over, and licked one nipple then the other, eliciting a low growl from his throat.

“Am I torturing you?”

“It started in the car, vixen.”

“You drove too slowly.”

“By the time we reached home, I was driving twenty-five miles over the speed limit.”

Smiling, she trailed kisses down his chest to his navel, enjoying the spicy, male scent of him. His muscles tightened with her touch, so strong, so reminiscent of his hard body when he was a Highland warrior, keeping his clan safe from encroaching clans’ greed.

His fingers combed through her hair as she ran her hand lower, tracing the length of his rock-hard arousal. He rushed to unfasten her bra. He was warm and hard and throbbed with pent-up craving.

He turned off the faucet, then reached over and slipped her lace panties down her legs. She shivered in anticipation, a thrill of expectation of their lovemaking and blood bonding that would unite them as one forever.

Lifting her into the tub, he said, “You don’t know how much agony you put me through, woman.”

His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them and though he tried to keep a slow pace, she rushed his actions… and for a slice of time, she envisioned his hurried actions again in a broken down Scottish croft.

The vision instantly faded when he leaned her against the sloping side of the tub, her head resting comfortably against a waterproof pillow, the warm water resting above her breasts.

“Hmm,” she murmured as he kissed the hollow of her throat, his masculine lips moving higher until he reached her mouth.

Her body, a raging inferno, moved against him, begging for his caress. His large hands stroked her breasts, squeezing and skimming across the nipples, sending a spark of flame shooting through her, heating every inch of her while he touched the sensitive tips. Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed his mouth with fervor, lost momentarily in the feel of his eager tongue and lips against hers, demanding, penetrating, loving her.

Shifting his legs to straddle hers, he rubbed his arousal against her thigh, teasing, tantalizing her. He scooted his knee between her legs, then pressed against her mound. When he touched the entrance, he stirred her blood, sending a fresh flush of heat across her skin. He was her reason for being. She pressed herself against his knee, and he lifted his brows and grinned at her.

She slid her hands down his back, half submerged in the water while he reached out and pushed a button behind her. Instantly, the water churned and jets shot out streams of silken pulses, the force acting like a vibrator against her back. She spread her legs for him, pulling his legs between hers, offering herself to him.

“I’m staying here forever,” she said on a sigh.

He kissed her mouth. “If I’d known what a water nymph you were, I’d have suggested this first.”

“That might have swayed me more than any speech.” She reached down and stroked his rigid length. She wanted him deep inside, uniting them in pleasured bliss.

But he slipped his fingers against her nub, swollen, aching, needy, and began to stroke as if he knew just the right pressure, the right speed, the right touch that would make her body arch to his caress.

His mouth was again on hers, nuzzling, licking, kissing, loving. She lifted her head and exposed her throat to him, wanting to feel his mouth sucking her neck as before, resulting in ripples of growing passion. Already the urge to join with him overwhelmed any other consideration.

“Ah, Elizabeth, not yet, lass.”

She sensed he was having difficulty taking the time to pleasure her before he lost control to the bloodlust, the way his heart beat faster, his eyes had darkened to obsidian, his breath was ragged with need. Running her fingers through his hair, she kissed his cheek, arching her pelvis toward his fingers, begging for completion. Her breathing came quicker and her head grew lighter as she felt herself climbing to that seemingly inaccessible peak.

She arched against Ephraim, attempting to think only of him and the pleasure he gave, while he stroked her with perfect rhythm and the right pressure, bringing her higher and higher, forcing her to reach for the climax. The pinnacle was so close she could taste it, the euphoric high she longed to feel.

Then he nuzzled her chin again, this time encouraging her to expose her throat to him. She lifted her chin and turned her head to the side and barely felt his teeth graze her skin while his fingers worked magic against her nub. She scarcely breathed as she concentrated on his touch, his fingers nimbly adjusting to her moves... the tingling, the trembling accompanying her journey to the top of the world. Her fingers dug into his backside, pressuring him to continue, to not let go, to push her all the way.

His teeth sank into her neck with a prick, no pain, just a tickle, then he sucked her blood and he pushed gently between her legs, deep, penetrating, expanding her to fit his length, driving deeper still. Pulling out, he thrust inside of her again.

His fingers stroked her needs, until waves of heat of volcanic proportions flooded every cell. She murmured his name, a feeling of calm drawing her down. A feeling of unity, of oneness with him, like a melding of body and spirit, and she soared above the world, light hearted, without a care.

Her senses fuzzed when he fed on her for longer. He continued to thrust deeply inside her, pushing her again up the slope to the tip of the peak. When he groaned, filling her with his warm, wet seed, the joyous high touched her soul. Her Ephraim for all time.

He breathed her name, “Elizabeth,” in a loving caress against her neck.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she said, stroking his arm, not believing their lovemaking could ever be so good.

After pulling his canines free from her throat, he licked the drops of blood, sealing the skin, then cut his arm with his sharp teeth. He held the cut to her lips.

For a moment, she gazed at him, his eyes capturing her attention as they had in the photo, as they had in the cave, calling to her, offering her his protection, his love.

As if in a dream, her thoughts were muddled. What was she supposed to do now?

Chapter 25

“ELIZABETH,” EPHRAIM SAID softly, holding his bloodied arm to her lips.

Her mind groggy, she didn’t know what to do. The bathtub water floated about her like a warm, wet cocoon. He leaned against her, his thumb stroking her lips in a gentle caress. She stared at him, his dark eyes watching her, waiting for her to respond.

“Don’t you want to blood bond, lass? It is still your choice.”

He seemed a million miles away. And his words, she wasn’t sure what he was asking. Blood bond? Didn’t they already do it? It was so... so indescribably wonderful. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

“Elizabeth? Lass.” He kissed her mouth, pressuring her to part her lips and touched his tongue to hers. “Sweet, Elizabeth. You can’t go to sleep on me now. We haven’t finished the blood bonding. It’s your turn, lass.”

She opened her eyes. Sure, she’d blood bonded with him. And it was wonderful.

He placed his wrist to her mouth, the blood still bleeding from the fresh cut, but it would heal up quickly if she didn’t feed off him. His eyes willed her to join with him. But still, she didn’t respond, the blood loss muddling her thoughts. He wiped the blood from his wound onto her lips, then he pulled his arm away, and waited, his hand stroking her cheek in anticipation. Sighing deeply, he kissed her forehead.

“Taste my lifeblood, love. Finish the bonding.”

She licked his blood off her lips. The red substance was sweet and tasted of sweet copper, an aphrodisiac that enticed her like a chocolate addict faced the lure of hot fudge syrup, dripping over the top of vanilla ice cream. She swallowed hard, the urge to partake of more of his blood overwhelming her. One lick wouldn’t do, she needed more, to taste the warm, syrupy sweet essence of his body, to join with him permanently. Her eyes shifted from his gaze to his arm. She reached for it, then glanced at him, seeking approval.

A slow, lazy smile crept across his face. “Aye, you have the idea now, lass.”

He held his arm to her lips again, and this time she suckled the wound, drinking his blood with relish. She couldn’t believe how thirsty she was. Her throat seemed parched and the blood quenched it while slowly energizing her.

He kneaded her breast, then encircled the nipple with his velvety tongue. When she moaned to his touch, he slid his fingers back to her mound and renewed his strokes. For a third time, he brought her to the top, pushing her to the crest of the wave, reaching the peak she never thought possible again. Encouraged by his touching her while she traced her fingers over his back, she sucked the blood from his arm, and arched her pelvis to his skillful touch, then he thrust deep inside of her. He penetrated her one last time and kissed her mouth with unbridled fervor and thrust until he came again.

“Bonny, lass.” He finally pulled his arm free from her and held her tightly against his chest. “You’re mine for all eternity, beloved Elizabeth. My mate for all time.”

“And you mine.” Blood bonding with the man of her dreams filled her with joy. From this moment on, they were one, and she felt no remorse, only joy in her heart, only she was so incredibly tired.

“Aye, lass, always and forever.” He rose from the tub, then lifted her. “We need to rest a bit, and then we’ll need to—”

“I have to call Ephraim and let him know I’ve blood bonded with you.”

“Sutherland, love.”

She frowned at him. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

He chuckled. “Aye, lass. You definitely need to rest.” He set her on her feet.

The doorbell rang.

“Kisaro,” Ephraim said, as Elizabeth called out Sutherland’s name. Ephraim raised his brows at her.

“I meant Kisaro,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Dizziness overcame her, and she attempted to pull her panties on, but nearly fell.

Ephraim grabbed her arm to steady her. “I’ll see to him. Take your time, lass. The first time is the hardest. Once you’ve feasted for a while, you won’t experience any side effects. But for now, you’re a bit unsteady on your feet.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Sorry, lass. I thought you knew after Cybil fed on you.”

“Oh.”

She tried to pull her bra on over her wet skin. Grabbing a bath towel, he dried her off.

“Thanks, I’m not thinking quite right.” She couldn’t believe she’d tried to dress without drying off first. Well, then again, of course she could. She was in a hurry to answer the door.

“You need to rest a bit like I’ve advised, lass.” He dried himself, then dressed.

She struggled with her bra, and he reached over to hook it for her.

“Elizabeth, go into the bedroom and lie down. I’ll take care of Kisaro for the moment.”

“No!” she snapped. Though she felt dizzy, she would handle Kisaro. As soon as she got dressed.

She struggled to get her panties on, determined to face David and rescue Kisaro. She stumbled and tried again. No, no... she had to rescue David and terminate Kisaro.

Ephraim took a deep breath, then helped her to dress, zipping her denims when she attempted to button her shirt. He unbuttoned it.

She scowled at him. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve got your buttons in the wrong holes.”

She snorted. “Kisaro won’t care.”

Chuckling, Ephraim ran his hands through her hair, the ends wetting her silk blouse. “Nay, but I do.” He grabbed her cell phone and punched in Sutherland’s number.

“Yes, Elizabeth?” Sutherland said.

“Elizabeth’s blood bonded with me.”

“Ephraim.” A smug smile flavored Sutherland’s tone of voice. “Put Elizabeth on. I want to hear it from her lips.”

Ephraim shook his head and held the phone to Elizabeth.

She grabbed it. “You don’t believe Ephraim? What kind of a friend you are...are you?”

He laughed. “Let me talk to Ephraim.”

She handed the phone to Ephraim, then headed out of the bathroom, determined to get the front door. Where was Mona when they needed her? Ephraim hurried after her.

She turned, slightly annoyed. “It only takes one to answer the door.”

“Aye, lass.” He spoke into the phone, but continued to dog her steps. “Yeah, Sutherland?”

“I’ll locate David and have my own people protect him, but I won’t release him. No’ until I have assurances he’s working with us and no’ against us. But I promise I won’t have him killed.”

“Works for me, Sutherland.”

Elizabeth stopped in her footsteps and stared at Ephraim, then whispered, “I heard Sutherland’s voice in my head.”

“Aye.” Ephraim inclined his head. “You have received some of the vampiric ability. It will be a while though, before you can do everything I can. Sutherland wished for both of us to hear his thoughts. We can telepathically speak with a group like at a conference call, or pick individuals to communicate solely with. In time you’ll learn to do this, too.” He paused, then took a deep breath. “As to Sutherland’s plans concerning your cousin’s disposition, are you in agreement?”

Not sure they had any choice, she nodded. “As long as he’s kept safe.” She felt wiped out, muddle headed, drunk with lack of sleep like the time she had hunted a rogue vampire who she swore never slept. But like then, as much as she wanted to sleep, she couldn’t rest now.

Ephraim spoke to Sutherland. “Kisaro is here now. Be sure you get to David before Kisaro learns what’s going on. We’ll stall him for now.”

“Aye. I’ll call you when my men are in place. That’ll be your signal.”

Ephraim handed Elizabeth’s phone to her. She nearly missed her pocket when she tried to shove it in, saw Ephraim watching her carefully, concern in his expression. She managed to get her phone into her pocket, then hurried for the front door, feeling way too lightheaded still, like she had been drinking Singapore Slings and forgot to stop after the first one. “Can Kisaro hear what we’re saying?”

“Nay, lass. He can’t hear our words spoken inside the house. Nor can he receive telepathic messages unless we choose to send them to him.” Ephraim touched her cheek, then kissed her lips. “Was it good for you, lass?”

She smiled at him. “You have to ask?”

Somberly, he hugged her tight. “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt you. I was a wee bit overanxious, even after telling you to take it calmly.”

“I noticed.” Sighing deeply, she didn’t remember exactly why Kisaro wanted to see them.

Ephraim released her, and she touched her wrist blades, not sure as fuzzy-headed as she felt, she’d be much good with them. But she didn’t really expect a fight. Not yet. At least it didn’t seem that was the reason for Kisaro’s arrival. She pondered it again, but couldn’t come up with anything. Hating to ask, she still didn’t want to be disadvantaged with not knowing what to expect. “Why was he coming here again?”

Ephraim groaned. “Lass, you should rest a while.”

She glowered at him. “I know very well why he’s here. I was just testing whether you remembered.”

“To get my aunt’s potion.”

She nodded. “I knew that.”

He pointed to an umbrella stand. “Your sword.”

She pulled it out and readied it for action.

Ephraim opened the front door. No one stood in the lighted entryway.

She shivered, not sure what to expect.

“He knows I won’t invite him into the house so we’d have to come to him. You should stay inside, lass.”

“No.”

“But, lass, you’re weak still and—”

“Together, Ephraim.” That much she remembered. They’d fight the odds together, as one.

“Aye.”

They walked outside and waited. The air was heavy with moisture as rain clouds threatened to shed more tears. A breeze whipped about them, cooled by the cold front that lingered in the area.

Then footsteps headed in their direction. Not vampires. They would have alighted from the heavens above, not run across the ground like mortal beings. Like hunters. She gasped when she caught sight of Jared MacLeod. The freckles on his face blended in a fiery display. His cheeks reddened, and his mouth turned in a scowl while he narrowed his blue eyes at her.

She was next on his hit list. That much she could fathom. The curse would have come true. She was sure of it, had she not blood bonded with Ephraim. Yet, had their union actually broken the family curse?

Three other hunters, all friends of his, all in their thirties, all brown haired and otherwise nondescript stared them down. None were outstanding hunters, but she assumed they all figured they’d take their share of the League positions if they managed to succeed with their rebellion within ranks and rule the day. Little did they know, their fanatical actions would be the death of the League and all hunters, if they weren’t stopped.

Ephraim grabbed her arm and with a frantic tone, he yelled, “Get back inside!”

“No! He killed my father. I’ll avenge his death.”

“You’re too weak, lass. I beg of you, return to the house.” He wasn’t begging, but demanding she do as he stated.

But she couldn’t let him face the hunters alone. They were a team now, and would be until the end of their days. “No!” She readied her sword.

“I’ll protect you, love.” Ephraim sounded resigned.

She frowned at him. “I’ll protect you, too.”

Before the men reached them, Ephraim attacked the closest, intending to keep him from reaching Elizabeth. His sword clanked with the hunter’s like some scene in a medieval battlefield. Only one could be the winner. She lifted her sword, heavier than it had ever felt, and wondered when she’d grabbed it from the umbrella stand.

Her legs failing her, she waited, though the adrenaline pumped through her body. She was certain she could call upon her strength when desperately needed. At least she hoped so.

Jared slowed his pace. His eyes riveted to Ephraim’s swordplay with the hunter, nearly immobilizing him. Elizabeth readied her sword for another who skirted his way around Ephraim, seemingly more concerned with facing the ancient vampire than a huntress. Little did they know, if they ganged up on her at once, she doubted she’d make it.

Despite the adrenaline that filled her with the desire to fight the rebel hunters, to kill the one who murdered her father, her body wouldn’t react. What the hell was wrong with her? If blood bonding made her this weak, no, Ephraim said it was only a temporary side effect. She’d deal with it the best she could. As long as Ephraim held his own, she’d rest and attempt to draw on her strength when she needed to fight the others.

Then a flapping sounded and out of the blackness, Kisaro advanced. Never did she think she’d welcome the sight of that vampire. He glanced at Ephraim, then turned to her. “You have...” He spoke the rest of the words telepathically while his lips curved upward. “…blood bonded with Ephraim.”

She nodded, not sure how to telepathically communicate back. Maybe she didn’t have the ability yet.

The hunter who struggled with Ephraim was losing the battle. The other three paused when Kisaro came into view.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Kisaro warned her. “You’re still too weak.”

“Ephraim needs my help.”

Kisaro grinned. “He chose the right mate when he bonded with you.”

Kisaro’s words warmed her. And yes, in her heart she knew she’d chosen the right mate, too.

Then Kisaro leapt into the air like a jaguar and landed in front of the hunter who’d maneuvered closer to Elizabeth. Within seconds, the vampire was dodging the hunter’s sword, wearing the hunter out for the kill. Now two unoccupied hunters remained. Jared was one of them, the one she kept her attention on.

Jared pushed the one toward Elizabeth. “Hurry, kill her while the vampires are preoccupied.”

And she realized then, Jared wouldn’t know she was one of the vampires also now. Not that it did her any good at the moment, as weak as she was.

The man took two steps forward, his eyes darting from Ephraim to Kisaro and back to Elizabeth again. Then figuring he’d calculated the risks too high, he flipped around, dodged past Jared, and took off running. So much for rebel causes. Elizabeth offered Jared a bitter smile. Next?

She tilted her head up and waved her sword slightly at him. “Come, taste my blade, you coward. You only slay unarmed hunters, I understand.”

Her words were spiced with hatred. The anger welled up in her blood. The desire to take revenge for her father’s murder filled her with an uncontrollable rage.

“Your father was weak and would have been the ruination of the League. He dishonored our cause.”

“You would be the end of all hunters, damn you.”

Couldn’t he see how the delicate balance between the hunters and vampires had been tilted drastically in the bloodsucker’s favor? How could he and the others be so arrogant to believe they could succeed?

She dashed forward, willing her body to move when he wouldn’t draw closer. Damnable coward! He’d never been half the hunter David had been. But could she beat a hunter, despite his not being one of the best? Hunters were stronger than huntresses just because of their body mass and muscle. But none of that mattered to her. She had to try to take him down.

Her boots barely touched the surface of the walk, and she realized then she’d taken a kind of flying leap toward him. Her heart beat way out of bounds while she swung her sword at him. He blocked the blade with his own, then thrust. She dodged out of the path of the steel, swung around, and sliced the air. Her agility seemed to have improved, though she still felt foggy headed as if she was performing a ballet dance in a dream.

His sword clanked with hers again, barely keeping her from cutting him. She struck once more, faster, throwing him off balance. And again, before he had a chance to strike at her. All he was able to do was block every movement while she pounded on him with thrust after slice after parry. She was certain she wouldn’t have had the advantage if she’d been fighting David, but Jared wasn’t David.

Her movements felt birdlike, no weight to hold her down, no gravity keeping her feet planted to the ground. The feeling of being lighter than air, lifted her heart. No longer was the fight a fight, but a game, deadly, but she’d be the winner. She knew it now. Did the combination of being a hunter and vampire make her stronger? Was that the reason the League disallowed vampire-hunter unions? What about a child from a vampire-hunter union? The outlook for a brand new world looked even brighter.

She hit Jared’s sword so hard, she sent it flying into a flowerbed, while he fell backward, a look of horror on his face. She could kill him now with one clean thrust of the sword. She could avenge her father’s death and destroy the tyrant who threatened to bring the League to its knees. To avenge her father’s death and mete out League justice, she would be justified.

“Please,” he begged, his eyes still haughty and narrowed at her, his lips curved down in a malicious manner. He didn’t appear regretful or humbled in the least. And she felt he only waited for an opening to retrieve his sword and thrust it at her.

“Did you show my father mercy?” she asked, trying to keep her cool, but her voice shook with rage.

His face beaded with sweat, his blue eyes darkened, he glanced at Ephraim then at Kisaro, both who now stood beside her, the other hunters dead. Now he had the haunted look of a defeated man.

“Please.”

“You don’t deserve to live.”

The League would terminate the hunter’s life, though she had every right to take his life right this very moment for his having taken her father’s in a brutal act of mutiny. But she lifted her sword, unwilling to end his life, her distant cousin’s, no matter what the circumstances. Only if she’d had to take his while in a defensive mode, or to protect others who he’d threatened could she have ended his miserable existence, she realized now. “The new League will sentence and punish you for your deeds.”

Her cell phone rang, and she fumbled to get it out of its pocket, then answered it. “Yes, Sutherland? We’ve just eliminated the traitors to the League.”

Ephraim slipped his arm around her waist while Kisaro kept his sword on Jared. Her body trembled with the built-up stress of the fight, but calmed with Ephraim’s protective touch. Her head was still hazy with the blood bonding, but the adrenaline in her system seemed to counteract it somewhat.

Sutherland said, “Aye. David is here safe.”

“I wish to speak with him.” She leaned against Ephraim’s strength, weary all at once.

“Is Kisaro there?” Sutherland asked.

She glanced at Kisaro, wondering what was to be done about him and the potion. “Uhm, yes.”

“Then he’ll know he no longer has his bargaining tool. Here’s your cousin.”

“David,” she said to her cousin over the phone, hating to tell him about Jared, “I have your brother here at my house under my custody. He murdered my father and attempted to kill me.”

“I’ve heard about his traitorous deeds.” David paused and she figured he felt pretty badly. “Bad news travels fast. More importantly, are you safe? I’d have eliminated him myself, if I’d known what he planned to do.”

Somewhat relieved, she had a bigger concern now. How could she break the news to David that she’d bound herself to Ephraim forever without turning him against them? “David, yes, I’m fine, but... but we need to talk.”

“Sutherland seems to think I might still be plotting against the vampires. Can you tell him I’m on their side?”

“There’s a problem.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then in a dark voice asked, “What?”

“I... I blood bonded with Ephraim.”

Ephraim frowned at her, evidently not liking the way in which she told her cousin the news.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love him, David. Sutherland tried to force me to blood bond with him earlier than I’d planned, so that he’d agree to protect you. But I did it because I wanted to. I had to break the family curse, to stop from being separated again from Ephraim. I would have done it no matter what.”

“Damn it, Alena. Damn it to hell!” David shouted into the phone.

Instantly, she worried he’d fight the vampires because she had bonded with Ephraim and get himself killed.

Before she could try to calm her cousin, Kisaro hissed. “Sutherland’s the leader of the Brotherhood!”

Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped. She held her hand over the phone. “What?” she said to Kisaro.

“He’s the head of the Brotherhood! He’s the one who pushed for the war in the first place.”

“Oh, God,” Elizabeth said, and stifled a sob. “David, and… Mona.”

Ephraim rubbed her arm. “He won’t harm them, lass. I promise you, he wants the same as we do.”

Kisaro folded his arms. “I suppose you won’t give me the potion now that Sutherland’s freed your cousin.”

“What were you planning to do with it?” Elizabeth asked, eying him warily.

“I wanted to return to the most endearing woman I’d ever met, right before the French Revolution. I lost her to another vampire. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Cybil told me Ephraim went back in time to see Elizabeth, you, in the past. I wanted to do the same with Catherine.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe it. “Truly?”

“Cross my heart.”

“But you’ll never die.”

“Like Ephraim, who has mourned the loss of his Elizabeth over the ages, I have mourned the loss of Catherine,” Kisaro insisted.

Something in his posture, the way he choked out the words made her believe he was telling the truth. “Should we let him have the potion, Ephraim? He did save me from the hunter.”

“Aye. But I must warn you, Kisaro, it never helped me to save Elizabeth. It may not help you either to rescue your Catherine.”

His expression solemn, Kisaro nodded. “I only want a chance.”

Ephraim ran his hand over Elizabeth’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Watch over her, Kisaro, while I get it for you.”

When Ephraim vanished, Elizabeth spoke into the phone. “David—”

Sutherland interrupted her. “Your cousin is storming across the floor, pacing like a madman, Elizabeth. What is it you wish of me?”

“The truth. Are you the head of the Brotherhood?”

“Aye. But we lay down our arms and join you on the new council. We have no desire to continue the killing.”

“Then release David. He’s one of us, too.”

“Aye, lass, but he’s pretty angry. Perhaps you need to speak with him first. Make sure he’s on our side. He wants to speak to you.”

David said over the phone, “Alena, you can’t have... have...”

“I have, David. I’m sorry, but I’m now mated to Ephraim, forever.”

He ground his teeth. “Damn it, Alena.”

“I love Ephraim. And I love you, as a brother. You’re my only family now. Please don’t be angry with me.”

“You shouldn’t have done so to save my life.”

“I didn’t. I mean, I did, but I… well, you know what I mean. I’m happy. All right? We have a new council to form and new rules to make. Lots of changes, but I want to work with you like we’ve always done.”

“It’ll take a hell of a lot of getting used to.”

“Yes, but we can do it. We’re MacLeods after all.”

Ephraim returned with a leather wine flask and handed it to Kisaro. “No guarantees.”

“I understand.” Kisaro bowed to them both, then vanished.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can to take my brother into custody,” David said to Elizabeth over the phone, his tone of voice terse.

When he hung up, Elizabeth said to Ephraim, “We need to get Mona.”

“Here.” She hurried toward them from the darkness, her face alight with excitement. “You’re one of us now and Ephraim will no longer have to have the painting to keep your memory alive.”

“Aye, she is mine and no image would truly do justice to my bonny lass.” Ephraim’s words darkened with emotion as he pulled Elizabeth into a heartfelt hug.

She motioned to Mona to join them and gave her a warm embrace. Then sighing deeply, Elizabeth said, “I think we have broken the cycle.”

“Aye, love, I told you so,” Ephraim said.

She grinned at him, loving his arrogance, but knowing, this time he was right, and she couldn’t have been more grateful. The hunters and vampires wouldn’t find it easy to trust one another as everyone’s roles shifted.

But at least for Ephraim and Elizabeth, life was beginning all over again.

Epilogue

One year later, Fairmore Castle, Scotland

ELIZABETH WALKED INTO the expansive bedchamber where a massive four-poster bed sat centered against one wall in the rented room of the castle. Blue velvet drapes surrounded the bed in secluded privacy, a perfect place to share an afternoon delight at any hour. She turned and smiled at Ephraim, who waited to see how she felt.

“Had the whole month-long trip to Scotland planned well, I see.”

The corners of his mouth turned up and dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Do you like it, lass?” he queried, his voice already husky with need.

She shook her head and grinned. “What’s not to like, being here with you and Mona and the baby? Smelling the fresh air that’s Scotland, enjoying the cool dampness and cloudy skies so that we can be out any time of day, hearing the gulls flying high above the North Sea, listening to the waves crash against the rocks and cliffs below?” She crossed the burgundy Turkish rug that carpeted the floor and peered out one of the two long narrow windows that framed the bed.

In the courtyard below, Mona carried baby Lizzie in her arms on a walk toward the lilac and rose garden.

Elizabeth breathed in the heady scent of lilac on the wet breeze. Illuminated by soft glowing lanterns in the early evening hour with a light mist clinging to the night, the place looked like a bit of fairyland. In the distance, a Celtic tune of flutes and pipe whistles drifted in the air. She glanced at Ephraim and raised her brows.

“Your welcoming home, lass.”

“Should we join Mona and Lizzie to listen to the musicians?”

“Nay, they’ll play for us at meals and any other time we wish it.” He ran his hands over her shoulders and massaged them. “For now, we need our special moment alone.”

“Just a moment?”

“As long as we need.”

“No rush, eh?”

“Nay, lass.”

She turned her attention to the gardens and hummed her pleasure while Ephraim continued to knead her shoulders and back muscles, relaxing the tenseness out of every fiber of her being. “It’s lovely, Ephraim. I can’t imagine a more wonderful place to vacation at. So, you rented three rooms for us?”

“The castle is ours,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned her back against his chest and rested her hands on his arms.

“You can’t mean you rented the whole thing. It would have cost a fortune.”

“The castle is ours, lass. I rent it out as a bed and breakfast, allow for weddings and special events for most of the year, but whenever you desire to return here, I’ll ship out the riff-raff and it’ll be only ours again.”

She turned to face him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Aye, I am.”

“But all those people we saw when we arrived—”

“My staff. Most have served my family and me since I was a wee lad.” He kissed her cheek. “I would have brought you here sooner, but—” He led her to a closed door. “First, I had to make some final adjustments to the living quarters before I could bring you here, and then you were too far along with your pregnancy to travel after that.” He studied Mona and the baby for a moment, before adding, “What I want to know is will Elizabeth have the same fiery temper as her mother, now that she has her red hair?”

“I have to keep you in line sometimes, darling.”

He grinned at her. “Aye. I’m so downtrodden.”

“A Highland warrior? Right.”

Chuckling, he opened the door.

She held her breath and walked into the newly remodeled bathroom, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the air.

Against one wall sat a whirlpool tub built for two. Variegated blues from dark to lighter shades swirled across the marble in whirls of elegance. Brass-framed mirrors hung on the walls, while lighted candelabras cast a soft yellow glow, warming the whole room.

“What do you think, love?”

“I take it you didn’t want to return to the stream.”

“Too cold.”

“Then I think we’d better hurry before Mona returns with Lizzie.” Elizabeth reached for his belt.

He chuckled and tackled the buttons on her silk blouse. “I worried if I didn’t have a tub for you to play in, you’d long to return home.”

“Just because we spend half as much time in the one in Maryland as we do in our bed?”

“Aye. I hadn’t any idea I’d mated a mermaid.”

She pulled his trousers down. “Ephraim,” she said, her voice mockingly scolding, “where are your boxers?” She eyed his arousal.

“I knew once we arrived here, I wouldn’t make it if I wore too many clothes.” He unfastened her bra, then pressed his mouth against her breast.

She moaned when his soft, wet tongue circled her nipple, sending a thrill surging through her. She tugged the leather strap loose from his hair, then ran her fingers through the dark, silky strands. “We are home, Ephraim.”

Ephraim was gladdened beyond belief to have her here, finally, safe and sound. “Aye, lass, we are home. Before another year could pass, I had to bring you back to my ancestral home. To the place for three centuries I’d vowed to carry you in my arms across the threshold as my mate. To share you with my people. Never had I envisioned the joy of having a daughter to share my home with, too.”

He turned the water on high. “I had to prove to myself that I could bring you here, back to where it all began.”

“The tavern,” she said, when he tugged her silky, floor-length skirt off.

He grinned, amused she’d bring up that old scenario. “I don’t mean about that, lass.”

“And the woman with the uncommonly mammoth breasts.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, pleeeease, Ephraim. She was as big as a cow that hadn’t been milked.”

“You are no’ still jealous of that woman, are you?”

She slipped into the tub. “Of Aggie MacNeil? Why should I be?”

“That was her name?”

He climbed in after Elizabeth, amused she was still envious of a woman he’d only bought a drink for, nothing more.

“Of course not. She probably sags to her ankles by now.”

His laughter echoed in the marble room. He cupped Elizabeth’s breasts in his hands. “You’re perfect in every way, Alena Elizabeth MacLeod Campbell, and there will never be another like you.”

She smiled, flashing her pearly whites, then extended her canines. “I’m hungry. Want to share your blood with me?”

“I’ve created a monster.” He reached between her legs to stroke her most erotic spot and tilted his chin up, exposing his throat to her. “Bonnie Elizabeth,” he said, his voice already drenched with desire, “I love you.”

“And I love you, Ephraim Campbell.” She licked his neck, triggering his groin to tighten.

His blood heated in anticipation of making love to his Elizabeth all over again in their native Scotland, bound to the land here, their true beginning, and to each other, for all eternity. His aunt had been right. He would find Elizabeth at the right time and the right place, and he would have no need of the potion, just the fulfillment of the promise they made to one another so long ago, that they’d love each other forever.

Taking a deep breath, he kissed Elizabeth’s lips. “We have broken the curse, lass, just like I said we would.”

“Hmm, Ephraim. Now, if we could only find my cousin David a woman to love…”

Ephraim shook his head. He finally had the love of his life back.

Everyone else was on their own.

* * *

About the Author

Bestselling and award-winning author Terry Spear has written over fifty paranormal romance novels and four medieval Highland historical romances. Her first werewolf romance, Heart of the Wolf, was named a 2008 Publishers Weekly’s Best Book of the Year, and her subsequent titles have garnered high praise and hit the USA Today bestseller list. A retired officer of the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry lives in Spring, Texas, where she is working on her next werewolf romance and continuing her new series about shapeshifting jaguars and also writes new YA books. For more information, please visit www.terryspear.com, or follow her on Twitter, @TerrySpear. She is also on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/terry.spear. And on Wordpress at:

Terry Spear's Shifters
http://terryspear.wordpress.com/

* * *

Read More from Terry Spear:

Website: www.terryspear.com

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

THE WOLF, THE WITCH AND THE WASTELAND

BY JACQUELINE SWEET

Copyright © 2015 by Jacqueline Sweet

Her heart desired the pirate, but her wolf howled for the shifter prince. How could she love two men at once?

In the not-so-distant future, in an America ripped apart by warring bands of shifters, one girl is all that stands between the people of the wasteland and an evil warlord bent on domination.

Lucia Brightwolf has lived her life trapped behind the crumbling concrete walls of her uncle's estate. When a message meant for Prince Joaquin falls into her hands, Lucia finally gets her chance to escape. To avert the looming disaster, she'll need to win the help of a pirate, cross the ruinous wasteland, and seize the ancient power locked in her blood.

Torn between love and duty, between human and shifter, can Lucia stop the schemes of the evil Suzerain and his Witch of the Wastes without sacrificing everything she holds dear?

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND

Copyright © Jacqueline Sweet 2015

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

YOU CAN SEE FREEDOM FROM HERE

LUCIA’S HOME STOOD outside the city walls but she didn’t fear the raiders or the slavers or the shifting beasts that slithered across the sands like a storm of hunger. No, Lucia feared nothing so much as being stuck on that plot of land forever. The entire world was bound by the pylons marking the edges of her uncle’s holdings. Baron Lawson had the only working mine for a hundred miles around. He had riches, servants, and clean water pumped from deep underground. And clean water was a precious commodity, especially when you have the damned luck to grow up in the middle of an irradiated wasteland.

The very best place on the baron’s holdings to Lucia’s mind was the bulging hump of a hill that marked the northwest corner of the property. Centuries ago it had been a store of some sort. The plastic sign had melted and the wind had scoured the paint from the surface, but the faint words “eat well spend less” were still legible. Not that the store had anything of value in it. Scrappers and nature had seen to that. The contents of the crumbling hill weren’t what drew Lucia every night to stand atop the teetering rubble but rather the view. If she clambered onto the highest rock and stood on her tippiest toes, she could see just over the walls of the nearby town of Los Robles. She stared with wonder at the steaming landships moored in their heaving docks, the girls in their fancy dresses tittering in colorful clumps like wildflowers, and especially the handsome soldiers of the crown with their crimson armor shining like fresh blood in the sun.

The closest Lucia got to the city these days was that hill, or the rare visit from merchants on trade day.

Today was trade day, Lucia’s absolute favorite day of the month. She dressed carefully. You simply never knew what the traders would look like. Their routes around the Suzerainty could take years and were quite dangerous. It was more likely to see a new face on trade day than to not. And Lucia loved new faces. Each new face was a chance to escape her uncle, a chance to see the world.

Last trade day it so happened that Lucia had smuggled an application out with the cat-eared bent-backed merchant Yovid. The application could have secured her a place in the crown guard. Not even her uncle could stop that, she hoped. So on this day Lucia dressed not in her finest, most flattering dress—the finest that her uncle would allow her that is—but rather in clothes more serviceable. She chose worn boots, tight-fitting breeches the color of sand, and a blindingly white shirt emblazoned with the logo of the crown. If word came that the Suzerainty wanted her in the academy, she needed to be ready to run.

“Lucia!” her uncle’s voice rang out across the battered yard. “Confound it girl. Where are you?” He was in a temper again. The Baron Lawson reacted to market day as if he was going to war, as if the merchants were his sworn enemies.

The baron was not fond of people, save those who owed him or those whose leashes he tugged.

Lucia leapt down from her favorite hillock and tore across the fields, dodging the bulging pipes and clanking machines that served as the backbone of her uncle’s operation. The baron’s mine was the envy of the wasteland, or at least of the sargasso dunes. Without him, there’d be no civilization out here. Lucia tested herself, running quickly towards the man-sized pipes and hurling herself bodily over them, twisting in mid air to land on her feet. If anyone had been watching they would have assumed she was showing off. But to Lucia, it was practice. The Suzerain’s academy took only the best shifters for their guardian force—the red jackets, everyone called them. She lacked the hulking size or the natural weapons that others sported. Her quickness, nimbleness and wits were her greatest assets. They needed to be nurtured if she was to ever leave this godforsaken place.

Darting around a steaming apparatus the size of a small house, Lucia caught sight of the merchant’s sandship. She recognized it, distantly. Had she seen it on her uncle’s land before, or just witnessed its comings and goings through the city gate, from atop her lonely little mountain?

The ship was a motley collection of rags and junk, painted a blinding white. A low slung saucer formed the base and it met the ground on three sharp blades that each ran the length of the craft. Above the saucer a domed cabin stood towards the rear of the ship—the aft? Lucia had never been good with the names of sandships, though they fascinated her. Each ship was free to come and go. To maneuver the terrible broken wastes at their own peril. A bent mast protruded whiplike from the center of the ship, on which hung the ragged sail.

Truth be told, the ship did not look like much. The sand blades showed wear and scour from their trips across the desert, but otherwise it could have been the work of children at play, lashing junk together to pretend to be sand pirates.

“What a piece of junk,” Lucia said aloud.

“She gets the job done,” said a voice behind her. Lucia spun. In the shade of the steaming apparatus—a purifier, if she remembered correctly—huddled her uncle, a gaggle of merchants, and a smirking captain. He’d been the one who talked. She’d insulted his ship. Lucia blushed furiously, cursed herself for a fool. He wouldn’t smuggle her out now, no matter what she did.

“Leave the girl alone, Farid. Do not speak to her at all. My niece is off limits to you and your charms.”

The pirate bowed low, smiling ironically at the baron. “As you wish, your baronship.”

The sand captain wore loose fitting red trousers that billowed about his legs. A golden sash wrapped about his muscled waist. He wore no shirt, but a harness wrapped his chest covered in pockets and hanging tools. He had arms that showed the work of spending a lifetime hauling on a ship’s ropes. A hooded scarf covered his head in the same shade of red as his pants. Thick goggles protected his eyes. His smirking mouth lay exposed, a challenge to the entire world.

“You watch that tongue, Farid.” Her uncle sputtered and jammed a finger into the pirate’s broad chest. “This escort trip doesn’t even cover the interest on your debts to me.”

The merchants shifted nervously. Lucia stared at her feet. They weren’t meant to hear this.

“Relax, baron. I’ll get the money. I have some scores lined up. I just need more time.”

“Get back to your ship,” her uncle growled, showing his fangs. “Stay out of my sight until we are done transacting our business.”

“As you wish, your baron-ness.” The pirate again bowed low, pretending at obsequiousness while grinning sarcastically. He was either very foolish or very brave. Lucia didn’t care for him at all. Sand pirates should be serious and imposing. They should show more of the shift in them. This man—this Farid—she couldn’t even tell what kind of shifter he was. He lacked the pointed ears of the fox people, the bunched shoulders and flattened forehead of the cat shifters, or even the patchwork characteristics of the lowborn mutts. For her part, Lucia had the prominent mouth of a wolf shifter, just like her uncle. And maybe like her parents. Fine silver fur glistened with sweat at her collarbone, along the underside of her arms, up the back of her neck.

Lucia had never properly shifted—but who could these days? The alphas were all gone, and without them the blood just failed to stir. She’d seen only one shift in her entire life—her uncle. He’d been taken by a deep rage after her aunt had been caught freeing two of the house slaves. The man’s hands—already overly large and still possessed of the strength gained from working his machines—splayed and cracked, forming claws. Black fur sprouted from his hands like night falling. His eyes lost their muddy color and became blazing sparks in his skull. That was the night Lucia’s aunt Elierra had lost her life. Or rather, when her uncle stole it away with fingers like daggers. Lucia had watched the events unfold from atop the staircase in the center of the house. She had keen eyes—one of her shifter gifts—and couldn’t tear herself away from the sight, witnessed through a half-closed doorway, of her uncle’s rage finally being unleashed.

If she was being truthful, Lucia feared the shift. She hoped it would never come to her. To lose your mind to the beast within—who could ever want that?

Lucia shivered, lost in the grip of memories until her uncle’s barking pulled her out. “Lucia, you damned lazybones, help me inspect the merchandise. If you’re to take over for me one day, you’ll need to know every aspect of the business.” The pirate captain had left, sauntered back to his ship like he didn’t have a care in the world, like her uncle wasn’t already planning a dozen ways to kill him. The baron was even more annoyed than usual.

“I was hoping to go to the city tonight,” Lucia tried. “I could hitch a ride with the merchants and return before moonrise?” Or return never, she added silently.

“We can talk later, girl. There’s work to be done. Even now these pitiful ratmen bring forth their bedraggled cargo, cleaned and fed recently, but who knows their true state? The ratmen have arts known to them to mask the health of a slave. Just last year I purchased a lot from these same traders and within a fortnight they’d all passed from disease.”

The merchants were all rat shifters, a desert-dwelling clan. Their bodies were thinner than seemed possible and their fingers spasmed when they spoke like they were choking the life from their words. From the rear of the pirate’s sandship, four ratlings armed with spears and stunners prodded a group of slaves to the baron’s feet. Lucia stood behind her uncle, letting his shadow hide her from the dizzying sun.

“Already more bodies do you need?” the leader of the ratlings was a woman with skin so gnarled and pink she looked like a finger plucked fresh from a bath. “More bodies we have for you. Come! Come!” She excitedly gestured the baron forward and took Lucia’s elbow in hers, as if they were strolling on the veranda and not finding more lives to sacrifice to her uncle’s empire.

More than a dozen slaves stood on wobbling legs, blinking their eyes in the sun. They’d been locked up for some time, Lucia noted. Every kind of shifter was represented, and one hulking mutt, his body an uneasy alliance of wolf and bear and snake.

“I need no brute labor,” her uncle barked. “But rather skilled workers this time. A myriad carried off my last master mechanic and my interpreter fell ill with fever and perished.”

The slaves showed no notice of the words being spoken. Control bands on their heads dimmed their thoughts, the green circuitry looking like verdigris on their temples.

The rat woman stalked up and down her line of slaves. Tapping two with the stick sword she carried. A hint of silver gleamed at the tip. It was a lethal weapon. Lucia swallowed hard at the sight of it.

“This one and this one, my lord.” The rat woman’s voice was a breathy squeak.

“I buy nothing uninspected, vermin.” Her uncle had long since lost his way with people. He’d always been an angry man, but ever since her aunt’s passing it was like he couldn’t be anything but angry. There were days when Lucia wondered if he had ever really returned after his violent, murderous shift. “Deactivate your foul machines and let me speak with them.”

“As you wish.” The rat woman snapped her fingers and her fellow slavers flew into action, producing tools and removing the slave bands from the indicated slaves.

As soon as the bands were off, life animated their faces. The first was the interpreter, a thin fox shifter, painfully tall. He stood stiffly, as if at attention. His face immediately became a soup of worry and fear. “Oh my,” he said in a reedy voice, “are we to be sold already?”

“I am a man of business,” her uncle began in a blustering tone. “I require an assistant who knows numbers and bookkeeping, and can speak with the clans of the wastes.”

The thin fox shifter nodded quickly. “Yes, my lord. I am called Triptongue. I previously served as a court translator in the principality of Sierren, before my present circumstances. All common languages are known to me.” He half-bowed, lowering his eyes in obeisance.

“Fine. Fine.” The baron snapped his fingers at Lucia. She darted forward to give payment to the slavers and to sign the documents marking the fox shifter’s soul as theirs.

The second slave was the mutt. He was gorgeous to behold. His body was immense and muscled in the manner of the bears, but fine sand-colored scales covered his arms and legs while his face had an unmistakable lupine quality. Gazing upon him took Lucia’s breath away. Whenever she met his blue eyes her belly tightened and her knees trembled.

“This the mechanic?” Her uncle growled, stepping so close to the slave that his great belly forced the man back off his post.

“Yes, my lord.” The rat women soothed. “He has a quickness to his mind that is rare amongst the mutts. This man-“

“He’s no man,” her uncle spat.

“This one,” the rat woman continued, “ran an illegal mining operation single handedly up in the hills. He has quite the talent with machines. Ancient devices that hadn’t been awakened since the catastrophe—he had them humming as they chewed upon the very rock.”

“If he’s so clever, why is he here?”

The rat woman chuckled darkly. “Even a clever thing like this needs to sleep, my lord. And in the still of the dark we waited.”

“Next time, build some defenses first, you fool.” The baron growled.

The slave kept smiling, but didn’t say a word.

Lucia’s skin prickled. Something was wrong. For a moment she could see within the mutt, saw clouds of illness within him, green and roiling.

“Get back, Uncle. This man is sick.” Lucia warned.

The baron stepped back just in time for the man to cough forth a foul foaming froth.

“Plagued!” Her uncle swore. “And you trying to pass him off as hale!” He drew the stun baton hidden within his robes and held it aloft as if to strike the rat woman down.

The wind blew hot on Lucia’s face. Across the fields the sand pirate sat on the bow of his ship, one foot dangling on the precipice. She longed to be away from her uncle’s brutality, from this filthy world she was trapped in.

“Sir, please. We did not know.” The rat woman bowed at the waist, but kept her eyes on the baron’s. She retreated with a slow shuffling step, preparing to run if he should strike.

“Perhaps I could be of use, sirs?” Triptongue peeped. “If you are seeking a mechanic, why that servant there on the end is excellent. I know her from many years of shared indenture.”

The rat woman flinched. “Why yes, that one is an excellent choice, sir. Perhaps I shall give her to you freely? To show that there are no hard feelings and that any disease was wholly unintentional?”

The baron nodded. “Bring her forth.” He lashed out and grabbed the rat woman in his thick hands. He lifted her close and whispered in her ear. “You’ll have to try harder than that to kill me off, Wynonne. If I see another plagued slave from you I will fill your village with such pain that the gods themselves will return to see what the ruckus is.”

The other rat men busied themselves undoing the slave band on the mechanic. When the device was removed the woman’s placid expression squinched up into a face of permanent disdain. She was older than any slave Lucia had ever seen, thick at the waist and ankle. Lucia had never seen her grandmother, the baron’s mother, but from the descriptions this woman was of her type. She was a fox shifter, too, just like Triptongue, with oversized red ears pointing straight up from her head and a thick bushy tail swishing behind her. She wore a simple dress covered in pockets and loops, where tools could hang for quick access. Her gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun.

“What’s your name?” The baron tossed the rat woman several yards through the air. She tumbled across the broken rocky yard with a hiss.

The fox shifter arranged her shoulders defiantly. “Call me Foxtail.” Her voice was deep and crackled, as if she never used it.

“Fix this machine for me, Foxtail, as a test. If you can get it humming again, you have a job.”

The slave glared, nodded, and walked to where the baron pointed. The machine was an ancient pump from before the catastrophe. None of the baron’s men had ever been able to understand it, let alone fix it. It was an impossible job. Lucia realized her uncle was manufacturing an insult. The fox woman wouldn’t be able to help, he’d claim the rats were trying to cheat him again, then he and his guards would kill the lot of them. And maybe the sand pirate, too. Foxtail thumped the machine with a fist. “Tools,” she said.

The baron raised an eyebrow. This fox didn’t act like a slave. Maybe she’d been well treated under her last employ, given liberties in address. Her uncle would stop that quick. No slave, no matter how skilled, was allowed to be insolent or informal with him.

The baron gestured to one of his men and soon an array of tools were at the fox woman’s feet.

The rats shifted nervously, fingered their stunners and spears. They knew even better than Lucia the violence that threatened to break out.

Foxtail hefted a rubber mallet, the head comically large, and thumped it on the machine. Sand and dust exploded outwards in a revelation. The fox woman pressed her ear to the device listening to whatever rattled within.

“You, girl!” She barked, pointing at Lucia.

“Me? What?”

“Come here.” Foxtail paced along the yard, Lucia at her heels. The old woman muttered under her breath, cursing some ancient engineer. “This place. Here.” The woman tapped a thick slab of concrete with her toe.

They stood in a disused corner of the yard. Smashed stone underfoot. Not so far from Lucia’s chosen hill.

“Lift,” the woman grunted.

“You could say please.”

“Lift.”

Lucia nodded. She didn’t want to see the baron’s men kill anyone. Especially not the sand pirate. He had the look of a man who could travel the wastes. Maybe even get to the far side, to a town where her uncle had no sway. Maybe he could take her away.

Using her fingers, Lucia traced the edge of the stone slab, it was wider than her arm span and thick. She should have a pry bar for a job like this, or help.

“Lift.”

“Okay, I’m just looking for a handhold. This thing is big, y’know?”

Finding a grip deep in the stinging dirt, her fingers grinding against the rough concrete edge, Lucia lifted. She pulled and pushed, working her body under the bulk of the slab, feeling the cool moistness of undisturbed earth against her shoulder. Too late she worried about the slithering things that made the undersides of rocks their home. But luck held and no scorpions or rattlesnakes or oak-worms took her that day. She hefted the stone, digging deep into her reserves, and toppled it over with a crash.

Dust plumed up from the impact, sending Lucia into a coughing fit.

Foxtail crawled into the depression revealed by the stone. Machinery glistened in the earth. Knobs and buttons and a blinking user interface still working after ages underground. The fox shifter adjusted the machine with her tools, tapped at the screen with gestures Lucia didn’t recognize, and soon it was humming to life.

The baron’s mouth hung open like a dead man’s. “That’s impossible.”

Foxtail wiped her grimy hands on her dress. “Nope. Just old.”

The ground groaned and then, with a rumble like forgotten thunder, sprayers wheezed to life at their feet, filling the air with precious water.

“What? What?” the baron gawped.

“Not a pump.” Foxtail spat. “A sprinkler.”

The rats whooped with joy as mists of water moistened their dry pink skin. Triptongue stood uncomfortably still, clearly desperate to get away from the water but also unsure if he was allowed to move.

Lucia, for her part, danced in the delicate arcs, water plastering her clothes to her skin, dampening her hair. For a moment she forgot where she was. She forgot her uncle. She forgot her dreams of escape and just let life move through her, to take her limbs and let herself have a glimpse of joy for one glorious moment.

Distantly she felt the eyes of the sand pirate on her, could feel him admiring her sodden curves.

“Enough!” the baron roared. “This is a fortune we are wasting on the dust! Turn it off. Now.”

Foxtail nodded, tapping at the screen until the sprinklers ceased and the only water left in motion was what dripped from Lucia’s fingertips.

“You’re hired,” the baron said to Foxtail. And then to the rats, “It’s about time you sold me a worthy slave.”

Lucia escorted the slaves into the compound while her uncle concluded the business at hand. Her boots squished as she walked. Actually squished. How remarkable.

Chapter 2

THE MAN SHE NEVER MET

THE MOON LOOMED large in the night sky, threatening all with its presence.

The baron, in all his surly ways, cared for Lucia nearly as much as he cared for his mine and his criminal empire. The former he was determined to hand over to her as soon as she was competent in its workings. The latter he guarded with a jealous mania, never letting her know a whisper of his business.

So it was up to Lucia to take Triptongue and Foxtail into the home and see them situated amongst the other slaves, to feed them and interview them and fit them with chains while her uncle retired with a bottle of strong drink with the rat woman to discuss “business.” Her uncle’s lieutenant in all matters criminal, Gravechaser, was away tonight, doubtless on some terrible business.

That man scared Lucia. Any night he was away from the house was a better night indeed, even if the moon was full and tugging at her blood.

The servant quarters wrapped around the rear of the main house, like a kitten sleeping on her owner’s neck. Square, utilitarian rooms outfitted with bunks and communal sinks served as home for the workers. Her uncle’s mine named fifty-two souls in its care. Fifty-four now, with the addition of the fox shifters.

“Where did you work before this?” Lucia asked, as the two slaves bathed in the oily, recycled water of the cistern. “The rats said something about a prince?” On the table in front of her awaited the pile of their meager belongings. It was custom to let slaves keep trinkets, photos—at least until a master decided otherwise. Lucia’s chore was to examine the objects for treachery. The rats wanted her uncle’s operation. There wasn’t a line they wouldn’t cross to get it. She had to check every seam for hidden weapons. Every pocket for vials of poison.

“As I said earlier, Mistress Lucia, I was in the employ of the principality of Sierren. I served as court translator for fifteen years with great honor.”

“I’ve never heard of Sierren.” Triptongue’s possessions were few. A leather pouch smaller than two cupped hands held all his worldly goods—a life reduced to what you grab as you ran from your home. Three shining medals, one of gold and two of silver, clinked in the pouch. The writing on them was unfamiliar but the symbol of a sun rising behind a mountain was impressive.

“Sierren is a lovely kingdom, across the wastes several weeks journey.” Triptongue chirped. He delighted in any chance to speak. “Well, it was a kingdom, now they have bent the knee to the Suzerain and are merely another piece of the quilt of his glorious rule.”

Also in the fox shifter’s bag clinked a half dozen shining stones. Not gems, but rather cut glass.

“Those stones are a game, my lady. Traditionally played on a large painted board, but with paper and a brush I can create a reasonable facsimile.” His voice fell. “If one has time for such things, in a place like this.”

Triptongue washed himself with great eagerness, sponging his golden fur, combing it, working soap into every inch of his skin. The man could not get clean enough.

Foxtail made the last amount of effort possible. She stood over the reclamation grate and dumped the entire bucket of water over her head, then called the job done. She leaned against the far wall, as far from Lucia as possible, glowering at the floor.

“I’ve never been across the wastes,” Lucia said, trying to keep her eager tone in check. “What’s it like?”

“Big,” Foxtail grunted.

“Larger than we expected when we set off, that is certain.” Triptongue added. “If I had known civilization was so distant, I would have walked in the other direction.”

“You tried walking across the wastes? I thought you were captured?”

“We were captured,” Foxtail spat.

“Yes, after eight days on foot through the wastes those hideous rat people fell upon us. Or rather, we fell into a pit they had duplicitously concealed.”

Lucia nodded absently as she dumped out Foxtail’s bag. The canvas pack was half the size of the shifter herself and heavy. Where Triptongue carried only the slightest amount of possessions, Foxtail seemed to have grabbed everything as she fled. Tools, books, and half-eaten food wrapped in waxed cloth spilled across the table. It would take Lucia all night to go through it.

“Careful,” Foxtail growled.

Lucia bore the woman no ill will. It wasn’t the fox’s fault she was a slave now, but she had a job to do and if she put in a half-effort her uncle would know. She knew as much as his slaves what the end of a lash felt like. One by one, she unwrapped the wax packages, revealing dried fruit and hard cheeses, rock sugar, and a yard-long salami divided amongst dozens of identical bundles.

“Foxtail!” Triptongue snapped. “How could you keep so much food to yourself? Even after I complained about my low blood sugar and the taste of those bitter waste weeds? After all I have done for you, this is how you repay me.” The tall shifter sniffed, toweled off, and retreated to the farthest corner from the woman.

“Hush, Trip.” Foxtail muttered. “Had reasons.”

The night wore on Lucia, the moon’s full face making her equally parts agitated and craving solitude. She hurried through her task, first unwrapping the endless pile of sausage morsels and then just hefting each wrapped bundle to make sure nothing slipped by. Foxtail stared daggers at her from across the room.

But then she found something. Her fingers tingled as she lifted another wrapped disc from amongst the heaving pile of food.

“What’s this?”

“Not for you,” Foxtail growled, leaping across the room to steal it from Lucia’s hands. But it was too late, the girl unwrapped the package revealing a medallion red as blood, with the print of a wolf shifter pressed into the face of it. No other markings marred the object but Lucia could sense its power.

“What is this?”

“I have never seen that in my life,” Triptongue drew close, his face a mask of confusion. His eyes darted between the medallion and Foxtail. “What have you gotten us into?”

“Family heirloom. Don’t touch.”

In the same wrapping, almost invisible in the gloom, lay a blue crystal the size and shape of a wolf’s claw. Lucia picked it up carefully, holding it up to see better the fine engravings on its surface. A twinkle in the depths of the crystal drew her attention and then, with a sensation like falling upwards, a vision entered her mind.

A beautiful man, dressed in royal clothing, military emblems gleaming on his wide chest bowed and smiled warmly. “It has been too long, old friend. I trust my loyal servants have found you well and in good health. There is a terrible danger coming and I need your help to stop. General Conwynne, we need your help.”

In a flash the vision ended and Lucia toppled backwards, landing hard on her rear. Foxtail’s eyes shone with fear. Triptongue hurried over to help her up.

“I am so sorry, mistress. What on earth has happened to you?”

“You didn’t see it? Didn’t see him?” Lucia took Trip’s hand and nearly pulled him down on top of her trying to get to her feet. The man weighed as much as a twig.

“See who? Mistress, you aren’t making sense.”

“There was a man. He was gorgeous.” His features hung in her mind, like the afterimage of the sun. She saw eyes like burning amber. Hair white as snow but still youthful. The hint of fangs in his smile. A wolf shifter then, like her.

“She saw the prince,” Foxtail sighed. “It’s a message. For someone else. Not for your eyes.”

“A message? Why didn’t you say something? Confound you, you scheming witch. I shall sleep alone tonight. Please show me to my bunk, mistress. The day’s events have worn my nerves to a slender thread. One more surprise and I shall dig a hole and live my years away alone.”

“This prince, he’s your old master?”

“Employer,” Foxtail corrected. She and Triptongue had found their simple uniforms.

“He asked for someone called General Conwynne.”

“Know him?”

“There’s a man, near here by that name. He lives at the edge of Durance Ravine. I think he’s a scientist. A botanist maybe. We buy cures from him when the plague comes through.”

Whatever Foxtail knew, she wasn’t sharing.

“Mistress, please. We have traveled so far today. Could we sleep now?”

“I should fit you for the collars,” Lucia said. The collars had tracking chips, prevented the slaves from going where they shouldn’t or taking their chances in the wastes. The thought of calibrating the collars, of fishing out the equipment, wearied Lucia. She picked up the crystal claw. “In the morning. First thing. We’ll do the collars then. Try to stay out of the baron’s sight until then, okay?”

“Oh thank you, mistress. I could tell right away that you had a kind soul. Isn’t she a compassionate one, Foxtail?”

But Foxtail was already asleep, curled up right on the floor, her giant fluffy tail wrapped about her body.

“She never has been a fan of beds,” Triptongue sighed. “But I confess they are a weakness of mine.”

Lucia showed Trip to bed and locked the doors of the washing room. Even if Foxtail woke, she couldn’t go anywhere.

The moon roared in the sky and Lucia’s blood responded. In the old days, her kind shifted during the full moon. They ran as pack across the plains, playing and racing. That didn’t happen anymore. There were no alphas left. The shift was uncontrolled, violent. If a pack formed and shifted together, it’d be a bloodbath.

In the light of the moon, Lucia crawled to the top of her favorite rise, carefully avoiding her uncle’s night watch. The wind was still but the chill of the desert soothed her mind. She sat for but a moment before she fished the claw out of her pockets and held it up so that the moonlight shone through. Again a spark inside the claw called her and she fell into the vision.

Ancient magic, she knew. The claw of an alpha.

The prince appeared before her and said the same as before. “It’s been too long, old friend.” Then a sincere, warm smile. Lucia wished he’d smile that way at her and she let herself pretend that she was this General Conwynne.

“It’s good to see you as well,” she said to the desert stars, pitching her voice low and gruff like a general’s must be.

When the message finished, she watched it again. And then again. And again. Until every aspect of the prince’s face was known to her. Until she could have painted his portrait from memory. Until her heart roared for the man she’d never met.

The sun’s unforgiving touch woke Lucia with a start. She’d fallen asleep outside, on her hill, the memory crystal gripped tightly in her hand.

She wanted to watch the message again, to fantasize about meeting the handsome prince and the adventures they could have so far away from her uncle’s cursed holdings. But there was work to do. Daydreaming could come later. If her uncle found Foxtail and Triptongue uncollared, there’d be hell to pay.

Lucia picked herself up and slapped the desert dust from her clothes. She was lucky no scorpions or night spiders had found her this time. Hurrying but keeping her gait just this side of running, Lucia nodded to the guards and morning crew she passed. Winding her way around the back of the estate, to the slave quarters entrance.

Something was wrong.

The door to the wash room—the door she’d locked last night—lay flat on the ground. Someone had removed the hinges from the inside. She knew even before she looked. Foxtail was gone with her bag. Every scrap missing. Faint tracks led across the sand, tracing a path to the electrified fence. Lucia followed the tracks—just one set, a woman’s.

Foxtail had removed the door. Calmly walked across the yard, and then cut a hole through the fence. She was gone. The best mechanic she’d ever seen. A bargain for her uncle. And Lucia had let her slip away.

He is going to kill me.

Probably not literally, but her punishment would be severe. If she was banned from visiting town for a year she’d be happy. Likely, lashings awaited her.

Unless she got the slave back.

Lucia rushed through the bunkhouse, checking each bed until she found Triptongue still asleep. The man was so tall that his feet and ankles hung off the edge of the top bunk. He snored in a chirping wheeze. Apologizing in a mumble between breaths. His toes were thickly clawed, covered in a fine golden fur. Lucia grabbed a hank of the fur and twisted.

The poor shifter leapt out of bed, crashed his head into the ceiling, then tumbled over the edge to land nose first against the wooden floor. He looked like a jumble of limbs, like a skeleton assembled by a child.

“My lady!” He wheezed, untangling himself. “If I have given offense I do apologize. I am well aware of the difficulties my snoring presents. I have long sought treatment—”

“Foxtail is gone,” Lucia interrupted.

The fox shifter froze. “Gone? Gone where?”

“I expect to seek out that Conwynne guy. Or just to escape. But her tracks were aimed straight at the area where he lives. But how would she know her way around?”

Triptongue pulled himself to his feet, shaking his robes clean. “I believe that is a question I can answer. As well as possessing a masterful touch with machinery, my dear companion once served as navigator on an airship. Her knowledge of maps is unsurpassed. She has a preternatural gift for navigation.”

“Great. Do those maps mark the ratlings lairs? The dogmen traps? All of the ten thousand deadly things that live in the wastes?”

“No, mistress, I do not believe they do. Please, we must save her. She is the dearest friend I have. If there is a punishment to be meted out, I volunteer in her stead.”

Lucia sighed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to find her first. Listen, meet me out back in fifteen minutes.”

On foot they’d never catch the fox shifter. She had too much of a head start and the winds would soon erase all sign of her passage. They needed an advantage.

The baron’s men—those associated with the criminal side of his enterprise—favored dive bikes for their illicit errands. The machines were quick and nearly silent. Elegant sculptures of metal and glass shaped like arrows with narrow sails on either side, the bikes were incredibly dangerous. The desert was not a road. The sand hid unknown obstacles, secret cliffs. The baron had given Lucia a lesson once, before her aunt had fallen to his claws, before the darkness took his heart. She recalled flying over the sands, the thin blades of the dive bike whispering in the morning air. Her uncle sat behind her, a comforting presence back then, his hands on the controls. The science of the bike was beyond her understanding. But the controls were simple enough to grasp. Although when she grasped them they wrecked immediately as she took a turn too quick and hurled them both, laughing and screaming across the sands.

It would be different this time.

The shed where the bikes were stored was unguarded. No slave would be crazy enough to steal one. The fence would stop them, for one. And if they steered through the main entrance the armed guards would make short work of them. Why bother locking the shed then? Why waste manpower on a fool’s errand? Her uncle’s thriftiness occasionally worked to her advantage.

Lucia chose a bike with sand colored markings. The name “Hushabye” was stenciled on the side. She fired up the engine with the press of a button. Fans whirred to life, sending eddies of sand and smoke wrapping around her legs. The bike lifted off the ground until the thin blades that served as guidance tapped gently on the surface of the earth. Nearly weightless now, the bike was no problem to push out the rear of the shed. The guards would be in the midst of their morning meeting. A skeleton crew at the front gate was the only worry. Lucia saw no one on her way to the slave quarters.

At the rear, near the toppled door, Triptongue waited.

“Is that a dive bike?” he fretted. “I have never ridden such a contraption. Aren’t they hideously unstable?”

“Yes,” Lucia said, fishing a helmet out the rear compartment.

“Aren’t they incredibly dangerous?”

“Yes,” Lucia agreed, tossing another helmet to the thin fox shifter.

“Then why must we ride this? Surely there’s a safer way to catch up with Foxtail?”

“If we catch up to her first,” Lucia threw a leg over the bike, feeling the hum of the pulse drive echo through her body, “then maybe the baron won’t kill the both of you.”

“You could just let me go after her alone,” Triptongue stared at the helmet in his hands as if it was a bowl of inedible food.

She could. She could say that she collared the slaves. They they escaped on their own. She could blame the ratlings for the whole mess, saying it was another evidence of their slow sabotage of her uncle’s business. She could, but she wouldn’t. It was her mistake. Her responsibility to make it right.

And anyways, Triptongue wouldn’t last a day by himself on the wastes. Letting him go off alone would be as good as tearing his throat out herself.

“We go together. Get on and strap yourself down. I don’t want you falling down a gully when we skirt the ridge.”

“Oh dear, what a bother Foxtail can be. Some days I don’t understand why I married her.”

Lucia gripped the control stick and then let go as if it was on fire. Butterflies swarmed her stomach. If she left now, would the baron forgive her? Was this really the best way? Could she control the bike?

What choice did she have?

Leaning close to the bike chassis, aiming the arrow-shaped nose of the craft at the hole Foxtail cut through the fence, Lucia took a deep breath, gripped the humming metal with her thighs and eased the ship forward. “Hold on, Trip.”

Behind her, the fox shifter lay face down on the narrow seat, his arms and legs wrapped around it like a kitten on a tree branch. He shivered with fear and whispered prayers in his high reedy voice to any god that would listen.

The thrum of the pulse drive loosened her worries. The tempo of the vibrations increased, the rhythm growing steady as she piloted the bike slowly across the sand, over the shattered concrete, and then through the hole in the fence. The electrified edges came within inches of the bike and her arms but it was just large enough. Breaching the boundary, Lucia expected to feel terrified. She was plunging into the unknown. On her own in the wastes. But instead it was like her fear remained trapped behind, chained to the baron’s estate.

She was surprised to find herself smiling. Grinning into the harsh sunlight. Lucia pulled goggles down over her eyes, stopped the bike long enough to tie a cloth over her mouth and nose. “Ready?” She asked Trip.

“I doubt I will ever be ready, mistress. Though I do appreciate the worry.”

“Don’t let go,” she said as she aimed the nose of the bike towards the Durance Ravine and jammed the controls forward. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, the bike sang through the desert air. The wind whipped at her face, her ears, but otherwise the trip was silent. Silent but for Triptongue’s terrified wailing.

“I knew I’d die in the desert! Confound that woman and her secretive ways! Why must she always do this to me? I swear if I see her again I shall not speak to her at all. Oh dear me, I do hope she is okay.” And so on.

Lucia was surprised to find the bike easier to handle now that she was older. She could feel the swell of the sands through the bike, could read the land. The pits and hidden piles of sharp rock that once had been buildings were obvious to her. With ease she swooped around them, avoiding all obstacles. Even more surprising, Foxtail’s tracks had not yet been devoured by the shifting winds. The shifter hadn’t avoided the piled wreckage of the past. The escaped slave had wound her way through the shattered homes and businesses of the pre-cataclysm structures, oblivious or uncaring to the danger that hid within. But even taking a wide path around such obstructions, Lucia had no difficulty picking up the threads of the fox shifter’s trail. It was as if the desert spoke to her, as if it wanted her to know.

The craft took all her attention, but a nagging suggestion played at the back of her mind. She still held the memory crystal, the alpha’s claw, in her belt pouch. How nice would it be to take a break on their journey. To stop and sip cool water, to eat the dried cactus strips that were her favorite, and to look within the crystal at the prince’s wonderful life. As the bike grew more familiar to her touch and the melody of the path became known to her, Lucia fantasized about a life where she lived with the prince. Where she wore gowns of crimson silk and danced in ballrooms carved of crystalline ice. Where servants—not slaves—served delicious fruits on platters and everyone was kind and beautiful and interesting.

It was during one of these fantasies, hours upon the wastes, that Lucia nearly collided with Foxtail, at the base of a rocky outcropping.

She’d been cresting a dune, nothing but sand in all directions, and then diving down the other side, her mind absent, the fox shifter suddenly there, surprised as she sat on her haunches and nibbled a disc of salami.

Lucia jerked the control stick hard to her left, trying to swerve around the woman, but she over maneuvered and lost control of the bike, flipping it over into a nasty roll, hurling herself and Triptongue across the sands at terrible speed.

She tumbled end over end, her helmet cracking against rocks hiding just below the soft sand. The face cloth ripped away and salty waste sand filled her nose and mouth and eyes. Coughing and spluttering, bleeding from a dozen gouges on her arms and legs, Lucia looked up to see Foxtail standing over her.

“Hurt?” the woman grunted.

Lucia shook her head. Her shifter gifts knit her torn skin back together in an instant.

Triptongue wailed. “I could have been killed! What were you thinking, coming at us like that out of nowhere? Why if mistress hadn’t been such an excellent pilot we would have run you straight down and then where would I be? Alone in the universe again!” The fox man threw himself at Foxtail, wrapping his spindly arms around her in a wracking, sobbing hug.

“Missed you,” the woman said.

“I should hope you did! What were you thinking, charging off by yourself in the middle of the night? You could have been killed out here. Eaten by horrid beasts or captured by those rude rat people!”

“Have a mission.”

“Mission? What mission?”

Lucia sat in the sand, holding her head. Her heart threatened to crack her ribs it beat so hard. She’d flipped the bike in exactly the way you weren’t supposed to. It was a miracle they were still alive. If there’d been a wall nearby or if the buried rocks had been at a slightly different angle, she never would have recovered. The bike, for its part, hummed happily, resting lightly on the sand as if nothing at all had happened.

Before them a great crack yawned in the earth—the Durance Ravine. A series of interlocking valleys that ages past had been buildings terrifically tall. Dozens of structures, made of glass and steel and stone, formed a maze a mile long. Her uncle said that before the cataclysm this had been a big city. That these buildings below them had housed tens of thousands of souls and businesses. Untold treasure still awaited the brave and the foolish who chose to delve into the depths. But things lived within. Half-mad shifters. Beasts twisted by the wastes into unrecognizable shapes. Raiders who preyed on anyone voyaging across the desert.

It was a dangerous place. It was a foolish place to live, even for a crazy medicine man.

The sands shifted constantly, flowing between the buildings, changing the map daily. There were stories about treasure hunters who sought the highest rooms in the towers, getting trapped for weeks by sand, or people entering on the ground floor only to find when the sands retreated that they stood fifty feet above the cracked pavement and had no way out.

A mass of blackness seemed to detach itself from the shadows of the ravine.

“What’s that?” Lucia said, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. Her vision throbbed. Her skull felt too tight. A trickle of blood leaked from her hairline.

“Spiders,” Foxtail said, backing up.

The blackness surged out of the ravine towards them. A carpet of spiders as wide as the valley itself. A chittering mass, hungry and fast.

“No, not spiders.” Lucia said. “It’s a myriad.”

The black wave of spiders folded in on itself, crunching and screaming, merging together so that in a flash where tens of thousands of spiders had once been, one spider now stood. One enormous spider, larger than a house, stampeded toward them.

“Run!” Lucia screamed.

Chapter 3

BROKEN BUT STILL OF WORTH

EVERYONE KNEW THE story. Lucia didn’t know if it was factual, but it sure felt true.

The cataclysm that broke the world began with well-intentioned men in a laboratory out west. Scientists caught a wild shifter—a true shifter—and caged her for study. Some say she was a wolf, others claim she was a deer. Some of the more religious scientists called her Eve. Others preferred the term Aurora, for she was more precious to them than gold.

When cut, her flesh knit itself back together.

When burned, the blistered and blackened skin quickly regained its natural composure.

When frozen, she thawed.

Her body was a miracle for men to exploit.

The corporations of old went to war over her, fighting courtly battles before their magistrates in public while darker, bloodier contests resolved themselves at night. Armies of mercenaries fought in secret, trying to obtain Aurora’s blood, her bones.

No one asked what she thought of it, that much is certain. How did it feel to be caged after so many years traveling freely? Did they take her blood gently, or with terrible machines?

Did they even let her see the moon?

The doctors and scientists in the employ of the great corporations proclaimed victory in their understanding. “We have unlocked the secrets of nature itself!” they bellowed from the rooftops of their tallest buildings, dressed in gold and jewels. “From the body of this shifter we have made great medicines that will save the world from the illnesses that ravage it. No one shall suffer needless loss. No one shall go hungry. No one shall ever die! A golden age built on the red blood of this woman is before us!”

The people rejoiced. They lined up in rows miles long to get the medicines brewed from her suffering. Did they know where their deliverance came from? How much blood did it take to make medicine for all the world?

The cost was high. The great corporations demanded everything of those who took the cure for death. All worldly possessions, deed and title to their homes, years of indentured service—but if the shifter’s gifts let them live forever, what was twenty years of service?

There were no alphas yet. No true alphas at least. Did Aurora have an alpha out there somewhere, searching for her?

The blood cured mankind of disease and death, but it had not yet shifted the course of humanity.

One year after saving the human race from calamity, the great corporations warred again. Now with soldiers tempered with Auroras flesh. They’d taken everything of value from the people, but they wanted more. Their hunger was depthless.

The scientists desperately sought to wring more discoveries from Aurora, from that poor caged woman. They did unspeakable things to her in the name of progress. They stole her genes and merged them with others. Creating diseases to kill the unkillable, viruses to beat her unbeatable immune system.

Why do such a thing? Why not look out at a humanity free of suffering and call your works good and complete? Why choose to look upon your neighbor with fear, to wish new ways to end his life?

No one is sure exactly when Aurora escaped. Or if she was freed by a sympathetic soul or even set loose to bring misery to unseen enemies. What is known is that she did escape and her wrath broke the world. The illnesses grown in her body spread to the land itself, killing trees, poisoning the water.

Her lab-grown illnesses twisted the bodies of men. And so began the shifter plagues.

The plagues molded bodies like clay in the hands of an angry child. It was nearly the end of the human race. But some persevered. Some who were infected became like the shifters of old, animal aspects stabilizing their flesh. Some never got sick at all.

And some animals, taken by the  plagues, were reshapen into foul, vicious things like the world had never seen before.

* * *

THE SPIDER MYRIAD reared up on its hind legs, a chittering roar thundering from its spiracles.

Lucia grabbed Triptongue’s flailing arms and hauled him behind the dive bike. Foxtail dove headfirst into the sand, burrowing deep, her tail rapidly disappeared from sight.

“What on earth is that terrible thing?” Triptongue wailed.

Lucia’s hands trembled as she ripped through the bike’s cargo pouches. In one she found what she was looking for—a pocket stunner, useful for dumb beasts and rowdy men alike. Her uncle had drilled her on the device at a young age, in case one day she needed to defend herself. From what exactly she would need to defend herself, he’d never been clear. In her mind, it had been him she focused on when she fired at the targets. The baron himself, bloated and red faced, howling with rage as he tore her aunt to pieces.

Lucia popped over the bike, aimed at the charging myriad and fired. The recoil staggered her off her feet, but the crackling blue bolt flew true, smashing like a fist into the face of the enormous spider. Crumpled bodies of crushed spiders—normal sized—rained from the impact site, but the beast’s skin flowed and melted and reformed the injured area.

The myriad was a compound creature—a hive mind of animals that swarmed together. It was just one of the new forms of life brought by the shifter virus.

The stunner would do nothing. It was useless against the monster. The sand shifted underfoot. The wind was calm. It was a lovely day in the wastes with blue skies as far as she could see. What an absurd day to die.

Triptongue screamed, huddled upon himself. Terror gripped him fiercely. Lucia aimed the stunner at the fox shifter and fired. The blue bolt crackled as it hit him square in the back. The fox was asleep before he knew what had happened. If they were both to die, at least he’d feel no pain. She wished she had Foxtail’s knack for sand diving. But wolves were not foxes and it was no use hoping otherwise.

The myriad leapt over the bike, its massive bulk blotting out the sun. A cold and chittering shadow fell upon Lucia. Up close, the spider myriad’s skin wasn’t smooth. Thumb-sized spiders endlessly popped up from one spot only to crawl to another and merge again with the host.

Lucia stood transfixed by the monster. He was her death.

The myriad shimmered in the heat and where it had been was now a mob of spider-headed men, their skins chitinous and shining in the sun. Their limbs ended in envenomed stingers. Why they took this form for the kill, Lucia didn’t know.

The spider humanoids rushed her, darting their hands out in precise jabs, stinging her with their paralyzing venom. She didn’t even have time to scream before the paralysis took her limbs from her. With a heavy thump she hit the sand next to Triptongue. The fox man’s eyes were closed as he snored peacefully. It’s better this way. He won’t suffer.

The spider men chittered above her. Lucia wanted to turn her head to see, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even close her eyes as three of the men dissolved into a thick wave of spiders and crawled up her legs, weaving a cocoon from toe to hip.

She was paralyzed but could still feel, could still see. It seemed a cruel trick of nature. Surely it was easier to render her unconscious? Why would the myriad have such venom?

Lucia braced herself for whatever came next—resigned to death upon the sands—when an eerie howl shivered over the sands. A wolf’s howl, she was sure. But there were no desert wolves out here.

The myriad hesitated, afraid. The spiders left off their cocooning of her limbs to rush together into man shapes, and then again into the massive house-sized spider. The creature’s waving mandibles tasted the air. Its legs twitched as it looked around.

The howl sounded again, closer. The spider’s reaction was intense. It fled at terrible speed, fast as her dive bike, down into the shadowed valleys of the ravine.

There’s something worse out here. Worse than an army of spiders.

The sand under Lucia shifted slightly as something approached from behind her. She wanted to turn, to roll over, to at least see what was going to devour her before it happened.

Into her field of vision came a white wolf, larger than a man. Nearly as big as a horse, it stared at her with bright, intelligent eyes. Blue runes were tattooed in the beast’s skin, standing out amongst the fine pale fur. Swirls marked its shoulders, hips, and paws. The wolf bent and sniffed at her face, before licking her forehead gently.

The beast sat upon its haunches, looking like a pet desiring a game of fetch. Then the air hazed like a heat mirage and where the wolf had been was now an old man dressed in dirty robes. He was bald with thick white eyebrows and a beard that hid his mouth like a mask. He had sad eyes and a thin, bent body.

“That was a close one,” he laughed, his face lighting up with mirth.

Foxtail emerged from the dunes, sand streaming off her scowling face. “General Conwynne?”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded. “Help me lift these two onto this contraption. That was but a portion of the myriad’s power. It cannot abide a challenger. It will gather its full strength and return soon. We best be gone before then.”

Foxtail grunted and slung Triptongue over her shoulder while Conwynne sliced the thick webs off Lucia’s body with a clawed finger.

“I cannot relieve you of the venom, child. But I can make the journey more pleasant.” He bowed his head to hers, pressing their foreheads together and she felt the ground fall away as sleep mercifully took her.

“You look just like your mother.”

Lucia awoke with a start. The old man sat at her side in an old-styled house. Runes inscribed on the windows pulsed gently, repelling danger and vermin. Foxtail slumbered on the floor, tail gently swaying. Triptongue was sprawled on a long thin table, his wide flat feet hanging off the edge.

“How long have I been out?”

“Quite a while. The hunter’s venom is quite strong and they rather overdid it on you.”

Lucia tried to sit up but found her arms had the strength of boiled grass.

“I can understand why, though. They must have sensed the alpha in you.”

Lucia snorted. “There’s no alphas left.”

General Conwynne raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

With a start she remembered his wolf form. He actually shifted. No one could shift anymore.

“How did you do that?”

“The Suzerain thought he killed all the alphas, but some remain. In hiding. We are old though, out of practice. Working our arts in secret.” The old man studied her, as if deciding how much he could say.

“Is that what you do out here?”

He nodded, lifted a sweet tea to her lips. It was hot and every sip restored more strength to her flesh. “Great evil lives in the ravine. The hunter you saw is the least of it. I have made it my mission to see that none of it escapes to ravage our fragile world.” He tapped the tea cup. “Also, there are stores of supplies in the depths of those buildings untouched all these years. They may have broken the world, but those ancient peoples had fantastic taste in tea.” He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in merriment.

“You fight monsters and loot the ruins?”

“And bring medicine to those what need it.” He agreed. “And watch over you.”

“Me?”

“I knew your mother. And your father. They were great alphas in their day. Amongst the strongest ever.”

Lucia couldn’t help herself, she laughed at the crazy old man. “My parents weren’t alphas. They were merchants, working for my uncle. They were traders.”

“Your uncle,” Conwynne growled. “Is that what he told you? Yes, he would, wouldn’t he? What a threat you must be to him. Intelligent, yes. But with a good heart as well. He must know that it’s just a matter of time until you see his evil for what it is and rise to stop him. He must have plans for that. Men lying in wait with silver-tipped spears. Perhaps a marriage to a distant lord, to keep you out of his hair? Yes? He sees you as a great tool, unimaginably useful, but too dangerous to wield. Though he is tempted. How sorely he is tempted.”

A shiver shook Lucia. She knew the old man’s words for truth. Her uncle was an evil, controlling man. And had she the power, she would stop him. Overturn his empire and bend his machines to some nobler purpose.

“But here I am, nattering on like the old fool I am. Tell me, young lady, what brings you and these foxes out to the edge of the ravine?”

Lucia sat up, took the tea from the general. Prickles ran up and down her body like the feet of ten thousand spiders. “We came looking for you, actually. Or rather, Foxtail did. I was looking for her.”

“Foxtail? Is that the name she calls herself these days?

“You know her?”

“Oh yes, yes. We were acquainted in our youths, fighting against the Suzerain back when he was just a cagey northern warlord. No one suspected his true power, you see. He hid it very well. Lured the entire council of alphas into a trap and seized control of the wastes.”

Lucia knew a version of the story. The greatest alphas who ever lived, chasing a rogue shifter across the sands of the wastes, the fields of the plains, the peaks of the mountains. Vanishing one by one until only the Suzerain remained.

“Foxtail had a message for you. An amulet thing and a crystal claw.”

“A crystal claw? How unusual. Please, let me see it.”

Lucia fished the claw out of her pouch, desperately glad that it hadn’t been lost during the spider attack. With the way the sands shifted near the ravine, it could have been lost for a thousand years. Conwynne took the claw, turned it over in his palm reading the engravings closely.

“A message like this is difficult to craft. It must be quite important.”

“It’s from a prince.” Lucia blushed as she thought of his handsome face.

“You have come all this way,” the General said, “shall we view it together?”

He took her hand in his. A sense of well-being flowed into her, of family, of protection. The old man held the claw up to the light.

“Focus on the depths. Fall into the light.”

“I’ve already seen the message.”

“Oh? That is very impressive. Only a true alpha can see the memories locked within.” He laughed. “Please, humor an old man and look again.”

This time was different.

It was as if Lucia leapt into the claw, as if she was bodily in the room with the prince. Holding her hand was General Conwynne, eyes alert under his fluffy eyebrows.

“It has been too long, old friend. I trust my loyal servants have found you well and in good health. There is a terrible danger coming and I need your help to stop. General Conwynne, we need your help.” The room they were in was round and narrow, with views stretching across the horizon. Endless mountains, topped with snow, huddled in the distance. The prince stood in a tower then, a table with hastily sketched maps before him.

“The Suzerain has perfected some dread new magic. I have not seen it in action as yet, but I have witnessed the aftermath. An entire village laid waste. Two thousand lives snuffed out, the bodies dropped where they stood like puppets with their strings cut. I saw no signs of violence, but the tread of his soldiers was clear. They’d surrounded the village—Springsteel, it was—with a force of men to ensure no one left alive. Then the weapon was activated. They died so suddenly that none even ran. No panic at all. It was a message for us, that I’m certain of. Springsteel had provided weapons for us, armor. The Suzerain’s attack on them was an attack on us. And I fear who he shall target next. We’ve bent the knee to him, but he knows we still resist. It’s only a matter if time before he attempts to crush us again.”

Lucia stood dumbstruck. There was so much more to the message, so much she hadn’t seen.

“My loyal servant has found you and she brings the slightest hope with her. The Suzerain’s diplomats are here now, negotiating new taxes and levies. They have an army with them and I’m fairly certain they mean to capture me alive as a bargaining chip. Foxtail managed to steal an amulet that is a key to the Suzerain’s flying fortress. It’s from this ship the weapon emanates. It’s the seat of his power, as well. None but an alpha could sneak in without his knowledge. And you, my dear friend, are the last alpha I know. Please help us. Please take the key and stop the Suzerain from unleashing his slaughter on any more innocents. I beg of you, General Conwynne. Only you can save us.”

The message ended with a wink, sending Lucia’s mind tumbling back to her body. Conwynne stood by one of his runed windows, the red lines of power ebbing and flowing with light, casting shifting shadows across his thoughtful face.

Dread crept into Lucia’s chest, smothering her like a too-warm blanket in the summer. “You’re going to go after them, aren’t you.”

“Oh, yes. I expect I must.” The old man muttered, his gaze unfocused but still directed on the sands outside the windows.

She was on the verge of tears. “Okay, I get it. My part is done. I brought you the foxes and the message and the key. Now I can go back to my uncle’s and . . . ” Lucia buried her face in her hands. She was so close. So close! To escaping, to getting away from the baron’s miserable, disreputable existence. Dying nobly fighting the Suzerain would be so much better a life than living under the baron’s thumb for the rest of her years. Escape had been so near, and here it was slipping through her fingers. They didn’t need her anymore. They had Conwynne, last of the alphas.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“I’ve done what I had to. I’ll just slow you down.”

“Do you want to stay behind? To go back to that vicious gangster you call uncle?”

“Well, no.”

Conwynne frowned at her. “Then it is settled. You’ll come with us. An invaluable member of the expedition, I expect. How else can we begin your training, hmm?” The old shifter turned to address the curled up sleeping foxes. “What say you, Foxtail? Yes, I know you’re awake.”

“Has promise,” the woman muttered.

“You will never find a better spy than Foxtail, my lady, but as a conversationalist she leaves something to be desired.”

Lucia sat on the roof of Conwynne’s modest home, staring out at the yawning gulf of the ravine while the old man packed for their trip. It was tight quarters in his home, and she quickly grew tired of moving every five seconds so the man could search another drawer, move another pile of books, lift another floorboard to search for some hidden treasure.

The desert wind whipped sand into her face, but with her goggles down and her scarf up, it was no bother at all. How long would the house last with Conwynne gone? Would the sands scour it away, or would it become the home to some terrible predator? Without his presence, would the terrors of the ravine surface? What then of her uncle, of her home? He may have been an evil man, but those that worked for him weren’t all terrible. There were kind souls in his employ. Men and women who worked the mines, who cooked. Even some of his criminal associates weren’t bad men. They were just unlucky, forced into a life they didn’t want by circumstances outside their control.

Would the myriad come for them? Creeping nearly invisible across the dunes as a sea of spiders, it could pass undetected. The fence was designed to keep away men and beasts. Spiders could walk right through it. Lucia imagined the myriad shifting into its largest form, ripping the house apart. A spike of fear stabbed at her.

For a moment she could feel the fear as if it was a tangible thing, a burning rope she could grasp and pull. But then it was gone.

Foxtail crawled under the dive bike, tools strapped to her chest. The only time that woman didn’t scowl was when she tinkered with something. Triptongue knelt beside her, speaking to her in a quick chirp. The wind stole his words from Lucia’s ears. But the fox man’s fear was plain to see.

“Lucia,” Conwynne hollered. “Come on down here. I’ve something for you.”

Lucia climbed down the ladder into the cool closeness of Conwynne’s home. Drawers stood open everywhere. The man was ransacking his own goods. She peeked into the bedroom, into the kitchen. But he was nowhere to be seen.

“Conwynne?” she called. “General?”

A hatch in the floor slid open. It had been seamlessly disguised as the wooden floor. “I’m not a general any more. Haven’t been for ages. Now come down here. There’s a gift waiting for you.”

The hatch led to a wide cavern, or as Lucia realized as her eyes adjusted, a storage area of some sort. The walls and floor were of rough poured concrete, not unlike her favorite hill back home. But this building stood strong. The years had not toppled it. Metal shelves taller than she could reach lined the walls. And on those shelves were boxes. Hundreds, maybe thousands of boxes.

“What is this place?”

“You are looking at the last records of the council of alphas. I spirited them away in a sandship before they fell into the wrong hands. As well as being the last of the alphas, I am also their librarian, it would seem.”

Lucia’s heart raced as a question came to her. “Do you have a photo of my parents?”

Conwynne startled. “Oh my, that hadn’t even occurred to me. You see, most of these records require special devices to read. They aren’t just books or paper. When the council set down their knowledge, they intended it to last forever. It’s possible your parents are in here somewhere,” he swept his arm, indicating the rows that stretched on into darkness, “but I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I see.” Lucia’s heart fell.

“And anyways, we have little time. The prince would not have sent his favorite servants if he was not in dire circumstances.”

“So what did you want to show me?” Lucia snapped. Conwynne failed to notice the irritation in her voice.

“Take this lantern. Follow me. What I have for you is at the rear wall, hidden behind some debris. It should take but a moment to clear it.”

Dust lay thick on the floor. It had been some time since Conwynne had been down to his records room. What had the man been up to all these years? Was his plan just to hide in obscurity until he died?

At the far wall the general shoved aside a pile of bent and dented shelves to reveal a gleaming row of silver swords. Each was different. The shortest was the length of a long dagger, its hilt shaped like a roaring bear. The longest was taller than Lucia, and as broad as she was wide. Grooves traced a path from tip to handle, inscribed with ancient prayers.

“Are these glaives?”

“Very good,” Conwynne said. “Tell me what you know of them.”

“I’ve heard stories. Fairy tales, I thought, about magic swords the old alphas carried. Swords that focused their will, that could slay any beast.” Lucia reached out, ran a finger down the flatness of one of the weapons. The silver made her finger itch. “I’ve seen traders hawking glaives to my uncle, but they didn’t look these. They were crude things, like lengths of rebar dipped in silver.”

Conwynne stepped forward, lifted a middle-sized blade from the case. The blade was a handspan wide at the tip, but narrowed to half as much at the hilt. Runes etched darkly in the surface showed a pack of wolves charging as one under the moon. “The glaive is as much science as it is magic. There is nothing else like them in the world. The lore of their creation is forever lost to us. Silver is a soft metal. She does not want to be made into weapons. But the first alpha knights were also the last true men. They had not yet forgotten the secrets of their civilization. Their knowledge of metal working, of smithing, was peerless. They bound the silver with other alloys, embedded machines within the sword itself to aid control and balance. The glaives have a memory, child. They remember the hands that held them.”

The old man stepped away into the darkness, but the glaive in his hand emitted an eerie light. He snapped the blade up into a guard, then spun, slashing and parrying at the air, evading imaginary blows while fighting through an army made only of memories. When he moved, he looked fifty years younger. As if the glaive preserved a piece of him forever.

“Receiving your glaive—after years of practice with a master—was the final step in an alpha knight’s training. This was my sword. I named her scath mharu, or Shadowkiller.” The old man’s eyes unfocused as he stared at the blade. What memories haunted him? “It was forged at the fall of man. Mine is only the latest grip to hold it.”

Lucia turned to the case. Nine glaives hung there, awaiting her. One of them called to her, like a song heard once as a child and then again on a winter’s eve. She touched each of the grips in turn, wondering at her fate. She’d trained with her uncle’s guards in combat as much as he’d allowed, but swords were beyond her skill. Stick them with the pointy end and don’t get killed, was the extent of her knowledge. Did she want a long sword, a short one? One of them had a wicked hook protruding from the handle that she was sure she’d gut herself with if she tried to fight with it.

“I can’t decide. They’re all beautiful, but they feel so unlike me.”

“None call to you?”

“Something calls. Like a melody on the wind, but the source is not these swords.”

Conwynne nodded. “There is another you may consider. I’d forgotten it until just now.” He vanished into the depths, rummaging through boxes until he returned with an oiled canvas bundle the length of Lucia’s arm. He knelt as if praying, closed his eyes for a moment, and then unwrapped the bundle.

The song grew louder in Lucia’s blood.

Conwynne stepped back, beckoning Lucia forward. There on the canvas lay a wide sword, the hilt was wood wrapped in leather, four handspans long. The surface was decorated with a mottled pattern that seemed to live and shift just under the silvered skin. The blade ended prematurely though, in a jagged crack, blackened and melted and ugly. The remaining foot of blade, its stump a match for the sword’s cragged end, lay in the parcel.

“It’s broken,” Conwynne said, a warning in his tone.

“It’s beautiful.” Lucia couldn’t take her eyes off the image buried in the metal, it swam in her vision, always threatening to resolve into words, into a shape, like a child’s puzzle. “Who did it belong to?”

“Your mother, actually. She fought with it like a terror.”

“It has a name?”

“I’ve forgotten the name,” the general muttered, looking away.

“How did it break?”

“The dark one broke it. The Suzerain’s assassin herself, Azra Moreno, the Witch of the Wastes.” The old shifter’s face darkened with anger. “She gave her life for yours, you know.”

Lucia lifted the glaive. Gave it a few practice swings. “It’s so light. I thought it’d be heavy. Those glaives the merchants sold weighed a ton.” It felt like nothing at all in her grip.

“Fakes and forgeries, my lady.”

“I never understood how the old warriors could have fought with such outlandishly large and heavy swords. But now I get it.” An energy flowed from the sword into her, a strength.

“You’ll need practice before you fight with that,” Conwynne said. “We shall pack training swords as well, I think. Come let us go. We need to find a pirate.”

Chapter 4

NEVER KISS A PIRATE

IF YOU WANT a pirate, you have to go where the pirates are.

Lucia Brightwolf piloted her dive bike across the wastes, guided by Conwynne is his dire wolf form. She wanted to study him, to get a proper look at the runes burning in his flesh. But the shifter was too swift. He was an ashen blur on the gray sands, his runes leaving a blue afterimage hanging in the air.

Were they tribal markings? Some Council of Alphas business? An indication of rank? Lucia lacked the runecraft to decipher them, Triptongue was too busy clutching the bike with his entire body to question, and Foxtail had fallen asleep, lashed to the rear of the bike like a snoring suitcase.

Lucia didn’t think much of the pirate plan. “Why can’t we just take the bike to Sierren? I’m a good pilot. I can handle anything the desert throws at me, especially with you at my side.”

Conwynne had packed all of his most precious belongings into a pair of leather saddlebags. Then he’d secured his home with alarms, herbs sprinkled on the floor, and a blackened rune scratched into the door. “I’d like to see those spiders get through here,” he chuckled.

“The more people we tell about where we’re going, the greater the chance one of them will sell the information to my uncle for coin and a pat on the head.”

“That myriad. A fierce creature, is he not? It’s difficult to imagine a more perfect predator. He sneaks on a million legs past all defenses. He assembles himself into that colossal monster to frighten and destroy, then shifts into his man form when subduing his prey. Did you know, when the myriad feeds it’s as his smallest form? He cocoons the prey as a giant spider, then changes again to devour his food with a million hungry mouths. Less waste that way, I expect.”

“But you scared him off. We don’t have to worry about him.”

Conwynne’s eyes sparkled darkly. “If it came to a fight, that spider would best me. And he is the least of our worries between here and Sierren.” He pointed a finger in Lucia’s face. “Assuming we followed your plan, where would we sleep? The distance to Sierren is—what?—three weeks? Two if the wind favors us?”

The fox shifters were studiously quiet as Conwynne’s friendly conversation tipped over into bullying lecture.

“And food? Do you plan to carry three weeks of food on your bike, along with the three of you? And water?”

“We can hunt on the wastes. Find water as we need it.” Lucia huffed. “My uncle took me on an expedition once, showed me the trick of—”

“Your uncle is not a role model!” Conwynne shouted, veins throbbing on his forehead. “He is a gangster, a murderer, and at best your jailer.”

Lucia stood her ground before the man, but her blood wanted to fight. She wanted to argue the point until Conwynne agreed that her plan would work. There was a stubbornness in her like the roots of a mountain. Being near the general was doing something to her. She’d heard that alphas had an intensifying effect on those near them, and it was true, as far as she could tell. She felt faster and stronger, for sure, but also her mind moved quicker, her eyes saw more sharply. She was becoming more herself.

The shadows deepened on the doorway. They had to leave soon or spend another night holed up in the old man’s keep.

Lucia forced herself to calm down. Conwynne was right. Taking the dive bike across the wastes might work, but she had no experience that far away from civilization. If the bike broke down, if she was injured, it could jeopardize the entire plan.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s get going. I know where the pirates spend their evenings.”

Conwynne cocked an eyebrow at her and Lucia blushed furiously.

“Not like that. Gross.” She busied herself readying the bike for transit. “Their camp is just outside the walls, between the baron’s estate and town. I used to watch them at night from my little hill.”

She didn’t turn to see Conwynne’s face. She didn’t have to. She knew he’d be smirking.

As if she’d ever kiss a pirate.

The return trip was faster. Conwynne knew the best paths. On the way out she’d followed Foxtail’s tracks, which while direct on a map, led through difficult, slow terrain. Sometimes the fastest way to your destination is the longer route.

After half a day on the bike, Lucia’s thighs and back were sore. Her shoulders ached from gripping the control stick, following the wolf’s lead across the dunes. He was an excellent guide, though—she had to admit that. They crashed into no hidden rocks, stumbled into no ambushes. The closest they came was speeding past a fresh kill—a herd of cattle and their herdsman, bloody and half-eaten by some vicious beast. As they rocketed past, lizards and carnivorous rodents exploded from the carcass in a terrified cloud. Scavengers, not the architects of the kill. Lucia wanted to stop, to lay the herdsman to rest in a proper burial, but there was no time. Conwynne didn’t slow, so she couldn’t either without losing him. She may as well have been a kite on a string.

When they neared Los Robles, Lucia’s skin crawled. The baron’s men would be after her. She’d never slipped away for a whole night before. He would be furious—apoplectic with rage. Would he shift? Would her uncle fall into a spiral of bestial anger, never to return? Maybe it was he that ambushed the shepherd and the cattle, his mind broken, turned feral like so many before him that couldn’t stop themselves from embracing the beast.

She whistled sharply at Conwynne to get his attention. “We shouldn’t go in there. Or at least I shouldn’t. Neither should the foxes. He’ll have men looking for us.” A thought occurred to her. “He’ll blame the ratlings. He suspects their hand in all his misfortunes. I went missing the day Trip and Tail arrived. He’ll take them for kidnappers.”

Conwynne shifted then, his flesh blurring in the setting sunlight. A smell like sweat and blood filled the air: shift scent. Lucia had heard stories of it, beautiful, poetic descriptions of the alluring scent. The reality was somewhat more unpleasant, rankling Lucia’s nose with its pungency. “If I go in alone, asking a pirate to meet me out in the desert, they’ll never come. No matter how much I promise, a trap is a trap.” He stretched, his limbs popping and creaking. His robes appeared around him, coalescing as if from smoke. Lucia had never heard of such a trick. “I could make one transport us. Few shifters can resist the alpha’s pull. But that is a poor way to begin a relationship.”

“Perhaps,” Triptongue interrupted, “we do not need to enter the town?” He pointed past the city, to where the great sandships were moored.

“No one will be there, Trip, except for guards angry at you for disturbing their naps. The crew go into the city the moment the ships arrive and they don’t leave until the ships are set to depart.” Lucia was surprised to find she was an expert at the comings and goings of the pirates.

Conwynne agreed. “It is close quarters on a sandship. It’s rare to find a crew that wants to linger belowdecks longer than they absolutely must.”

“It’s just that, my lady and sir, there seems to be a crew aboard the nearest ship having some sort of argument.”

The ship was freshly painted. Swirls of dun and ash coloring made it almost invisible against the dunes. She was triangular and wide, with two fins gracing the rear wings. Three blades protruded from the bottom in elegant swoops. When she unfurled her sails, the ship would sing along on those blades, if they touched the ground at all.  The ship was two stories tall—designed for cargo hauling—but the paint and the lack of identifying flags or titles suggested one thing: a smuggler.

The captain of the ship stood on top of the upper canopy, an armed guard at his side. Below, on the ground, a gaggle of men roared with anger.

“Look, you’ll get your money,” the captain said with a smirking drawl. “At the other end of the run, there’s a fortune waiting for us.”

“You said that last time, Farid!” a bear shifter bellowed. Twin cutlasses were strapped to his back. He was the largest man Lucia had ever seen.

“And the time before that!” a weasel-faced woman shouted, throwing a stone at the captain’s handsome face.

The rest of the crew joined in, shouting and hurling whatever was at hand.

“I know this guy,” Lucia said. “He’s the pirate that brought Trip and Tail and the ratlings to the baron’s estate.”

“An unpleasant man,” Triptongue added. “We would do well to find more appropriate conveyance within the city.”

“Have you seen the gates, Triptongue?” Conwynne asked. “There are guards on watch. Suzerainty guards.”

Lucia turned to look, but Conwynne seized her hand.

“Don’t look. Don’t draw attention to yourself. It may be just coincidence that they are all the way out here.”

“They want us,” Foxtail said.

“We’re doomed!” Triptongue wailed.

Lucia pretended to adjust her boots and glanced at the distant gates. Sure enough, a dozen men in the blood-red armor of the Suzerainty formed a wall before the gates. A handful of travelers awaited entry, standing still as the guards searched them one by one.

“They’re searching everyone who enters. Looking for the amulet Foxtail stole?”

The fox shifter sniffed at the implication.

“I mean, obtained?”

Conwynne nodded. “But what do you think they’d do if they uncovered our glaives? They are not the easiest weapon to hide.”

One of the angry pirates got lucky with a throw and landed a rock directly into the smirking captain’s face. The man stumbled backwards, slipped on a rope and plummeted off the ship, falling all the way to the ground. He hit the dunes with a gasping thud. The crew rushed over to extract payment from his prone form.

“Look, guys, I can explain. I was going to pay you. It’s just—,” one of the crew interrupted his explanation with a kick to the belly. The captain doubled over in pain, squirming on the ground.

Some kicked him. Some hit him. Others used the fracas as a chance to search his loose-fitting trousers.

“Well look at this!” the giant bear shifter shouted. The man didn’t seem to be able to speak in anything less than a bone-shaking boom. He held aloft a pouch, heavy with coin. “He’s been holding out on us!”

“That’s not my money!” Captain Farid hollered, even while his men kicked him. “It’s the baron’s!”

Lucia risked a glance back at the gate. The Suzerainty promised peace and protection for all, but they didn’t budge from their doorstop duty to help the flailing captain.

There was a loud thud and the captain’s guard landed hard on the ground, his hands bound behind his back. He’d been thrown from the ship by a second contingent of unpaid pirates.

“I was wondering where the mutt was.” The bear shifter drew one of his nasty cutlasses from the sheath on his back. “Boys,” he boomed, looking around at the motley pirates, “I believe we have ourselves a mutiny.”

The pirates roared their approval.

“You can’t do that,” Farid muttered, his face a mask of blood and sand. “I built this ship.”

“So build another one,” the bear laughed. “Now it belongs to captain . . .” The bear thought for a moment, while the crew silently watched him. “Captain? Captain Starclaw!” He roared the name he’d just given himself, expecting an answering roar from the jilted pirates. When none came he looked around. No one would meet his eyes.

“Starclaw? What do you think? Isn’t that a good one?”

“Bit silly, isn’t it?” offered a man with a wicked scar bisecting his ear.

“How’d you earn that name, is what I’d wonder,” said a woman, her hair a stiff orange mohawk like a feathered crest.

“Like, they call me Half-ear. I’ve earned that name. It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“And me, they call me Mops, as my first job was mopping out Admiral Pigbelly’s cabin.”

The bear man looked flustered. “But it’s a good name, yeah? Strong?”

“Oh yeah,” Half-ear said, “very strong. But you can’t just give yourself your own name like that. It’s not proper.”

Captain Farid wobbled to his feet. “I’ve got one, how about Mutinous Idiot?” He grinned, blood staining his teeth red. The man did not know how to give up.

“I’ve got a name for myself,” the bear growled. “Captain Killer.”

“Now see,” Half-Ear interrupted, “that’d just be all confusing-like. Would you be like first name Captain and last name Killer, or more like a man who happened to have killed a captain? A name like that just invites questions.”

The bear lifted his cutlass, the point of it pressing into the hollow of Farid’s throat. “I am about to answer that question, Half-Ear. Irrevocably.”

That was when Lucia stepped forward, walking amidst the pirates like she owned the place. “This man is in my employ. No harm shall come to him.” She tried to recall how her uncle sounded when he bossed around his men. “You there,” she pointed at a familiar-looking woman with the floppy ears of a dog shifter. “You know me?”

The dog woman nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell these men who I am so that we have no further misunderstandings.” Lucia gestured haughtily, lifting her nose in the air like a mockery of a fairy tale princess ordering about her slaves.

“You’re the daughter of the baron. The Lady Lawson.” Brightwolf, Lucia corrected silently, my name is Brightwolf. I am nothing like that odious man.

At the baron’s name, a tremble of fear took the men. The bear dropped his cutlass.

“Lady, your worship,” the giant bear man bowed his head, “we didn’t mean anything by it. No disrespect to the baron, like. We’ve always been appreciative of his protection, of what he does for us.”

“Then you will release this pirate scum at once,” she sneered. Conwynne tensed behind her. Was she overplaying the role?

The pirates eyed each other. The only thing worse than a mutiny was a mutiny begun and never finished.

“He owes my uncle a significant sum.” She pitched her voice deep and threatening. “Will you see the baron cheated? Do each of you wish to take on this man’s debt?” A growl rumbled out of her chest, unlike anything she’d ever felt. The men around her shrank, backing away.

“Take the pouch of coin,” she said, indicating the bag still in the bear’s grip. “And call yourselves lucky I was here to stop you from making such a grave mistake.” She wanted to roar at them, to turn the growl into something bigger, to send them yelping and tumbling across the sands. But she held back, pushed the growl down deep into her belly. The Suzerainty guards were still close, could still choose to take an interest in her misfit party.

The bear examined the pouch, hefting it in his meaty hand. He looked back at his crew, his intentions plain on his face. There was no need to share. He had the money now. The rest of the mutineers realized a second too late what was about to happen, as Captain Starclaw bolted, running across the sands to the city gates as fast as his legs could carry him. The rest of the mutineers followed, screaming and taunting.

Lucia watched them leave, then turned and thrust out a hand to the bloodied sand captain. “I am Lucia Brightwolf, ward of Baron Lawson, and I would like to hire you.”

“Look, kid. I’m grateful for what you pulled back there, but I have two rules that I never break: I get paid upfront and I don’t smuggle slaves.” The pirate wiped the blood from his face with a damp cloth. His guard, the mutt, busied himself elsewhere in the ship. He left the negotiating to Farid.

The inside of the ship was a cramped and messy maze. As clean and aerodynamic as the outside was, the inside was a jumble of boxes, tools, undelivered supplies and makeshift sleeping quarters. The ceiling was so low Triptongue had to stoop as he made his way around. Rope nets covered the mounds of goods, securing them to the walls. As Lucia moved through the ship she found herself instinctively grabbing the nets as she moved, pulling herself forward as much as walking.

“We can pay you,” Conwynne soothed. “A thousand up front and ten thousand more on arrival in Sierren.”

Lucia bit her tongue to stop herself from shouting at the old man. They could buy the fastest ship in Los Robles for eleven thousand credits. This pretty pirate wasn’t worth a third of that sum.

“Up front,” Farid smirked. “No slaves.”

“They aren’t slaves.” Lucia sat behind a round table, messily glued to the floor. “And anyways, I saw you deliver slaves to the baron just the other day.”

Farid frowned. “I didn’t have a choice in that matter, kid. I have debts with the baron. With you, I have choices.”

Lucia studied Farid, trying to guess what kind of shifter he was. He had remarkably human features, a handsome face, piercing blue eyes, a smooth and muscular chest. She saw no fur, no scales, no signs of his breed.

Foxtail spoke up. “Not slaves,” she said. “Not anymore. This one freed us.”

“Can we not find a more suitable transport?” Triptongue whined. “Something clean, perhaps? I am nearly positive I just saw fleas eyeing me hungrily from that blanket.”

Farid sighed. “Eleven? No tricks?”

“No tricks,” Conwynne agreed, his eyes twinkling.

“Okay, then. Welcome to the Letherine. We leave at first light.”

Chapter 5

RED JACKETS

CONWYNNE ARGUED, OF course. The man seemed to thrive on arguments. He wanted to leave immediately, to forestall any discovery by the baron or the Suzerainty.

“No one sails at night. Not from here. If you want to avoid any governmental entanglements, the key is to keep the same schedule as the normal folk.” The pirate only stopped smiling when he feigned offense at some offhand remark from Lucia, or barked orders at his first and only mate, the mutt guard Quinn.

Quinn stayed away from Lucia and her party, always placing himself on the opposite end of the ship. When they ate a quick cold breakfast on the deck before dawn, the mutt busied himself checking moorings on the ground. When Lucia and Conwynne loaded the dive bike through a nearly invisible cargo hatch—the seams in the wood cleverly disguised—the shifter clambered up the mast to make minor repairs.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Lucia whispered to Conwynne as they pushed the bike up the ramp into the Letherine’s belly.

“He’s a shy one. Curious for a pirate, even more so for a mutt. In your uncle’s dealings, have you come into contact with many of them?”

Lucia nodded, sweat stinging her eyes. She’d wanted to activate the bike’s pulse engine so it’d be easier to maneuver into the cargo hold. But Conwynne pointed out that likely the bike’s pulse drive and whatever drive Farid had hidden inside the Letherine would react poorly with each other, so she’d conceded and got to pushing. The bike was shockingly heavy with the drive turned off.

“My uncle liked to hire mutts for work in the mines. Said they were strong and simple.” Lucia wiped hair out of her face, smearing oil across her forehead. “I think he meant they were easier to cheat.”

“How did a man as blunt as your uncle ever achieve so much, I wonder.”

They stowed the bike, tying it tight with thick cables and wrapping it with the same ubiquitous netting found elsewhere in the ship. The cargo hold was cleaner and tidier than the rest of the ship. Thick squat boxes stood in regularly spaced pyramids as tall as Lucia. The pyramids formed two rows that ran the length of the ship, like the hidden spine of some weird beast. Ballast, Lucia realized. The boxes were ballast. Without the hundreds of flat boxes—filled with stone or sand—the ship would soar into the sky when the winds took it.

Conwynne sat on one of the ballast piles, removed a boot and poured sand from it onto the floor. “Mutts aren’t any different than you or I. They’re treated poorly because of superstition and fear, but they have the same strengths and flaws as anyone. In fact,” his voice grew wistful, “I fought alongside a mutt general. Many years ago, when the Suzerain was but a nomadic warlord pushing from the North. This mutt—they called him Inkfinger—was a slave we rescued. A proud man, but ill used by the factory where he was chained.”

“Where was this?” Lucia asked.

Conwynne tapped his knee with one finger. “Near Sala City, not so far from here. Inkfinger had black lizard hands, the legs of a great cat, the chest of a bear and the face of a man. He used to joke that he had the ass of an eagle and the—,” Conwynne laughed, realized who he was talking to, and switched topics. “The point is, just because a person is several kinds of shifter all mixed together doesn’t mean he’s inferior.”

“You think this Quinn guy is embarrassed?” The idea seemed ridiculous to Lucia.

Farid sauntered into the hold, the ramp silently sliding shut behind him. He was shirtless, a leather harness criss-crossing his chest, set with thick iron rings. When he captained, Lucia knew, he’d clip ropes to those rings to keep himself steady. He wore loose-fitting black trousers and soft black boots. A head-cloth and sun goggles rested on his forehead. The man’s skin shone with oil. Every inch of his smooth, hard body glistened with it. Protection against the sun, Lucia wondered, or vanity? Either way, she found herself appreciative.

“Quinn ain’t embarrassed,” the pirate interjected, butting into their private conversation. “He just doesn’t talk.” Farid inspected their work, then re-adjusted the ropes securing the dive bike to the floor.

“The quiet type,” Conwynne winked. “He should spend some time with Foxtail.”

“That’s not it.” Farid’s voice grew serious. “A Suzerainty guard caught him stealing years back. He was swiping food to take back to the fosterage where he lived. Quinn got mouthy with the guard and the guard decided to take out his tongue with a silver-tipped dagger. Took months to heal at all.” From the look in his eyes, Lucia knew that Farid had been there with Quinn, had seen him through the trauma. How long had these two been together?

Quinn poked his head through a hole the ceiling. It was the first good look Lucia had of him. He was all over covered in blonde fur, with black and red patches smattering his shoulders and back. A black circle of fur surrounded his left eye, giving the impression of a jaunty eyepatch. The first mate’s amber eyes were lively with intelligence. Livelier than most. He communicated with the smirking pirate with precise hand gestures, punctuated by sniffs and growls. Sign language, Lucia realized. He speaks with sign language.

Farid replied in the same manner, signing as well as speaking, not that the first mate’s hearing wasn’t keen. Was it old habit? A means of staying sharp on his signs? Or a gesture of inclusiveness with the bestial mutt?

The pirate leapt to his feet. “Get to the deck. We’ve got trouble.”

Lucia’s blood ran cold. “The baron? He found me?”

“Girl, once we get away from here we’re going to have a long talk about what you’ve gotten me mixed up in.”

She turned to Conwynne. “Can we fight past him? Flee on the bike?”

“It’s not the baron,” Conwynne closed his eyes. His skin shifted, becoming more animalistic as he focused his senses elsewhere. “The Suzerainty has found us.”

The smuggler Avar Farid ran through the ship with ease, dodging under beams, leaping over the ribs of the ship without a second thought. Lucia stayed close on his heels, watching his hips, moving as he did through the ersatz obstacle course. There’s a grace to the man, she thought. A gentleness in the way he interacts with Quinn. Were they lovers? Brothers in arms? She found herself surprised at the envy she felt for their relationship. Who had she ever been that close to? Even her late aunt, Elierra, had kept her cooly distant, despite being a foster mother to her. Would Lucia ever have a relationship like Farid had with Quinn? That ease of understanding, whole conversations communicated in a glance?

Conwynne followed distantly, the smell of the shift emanating from his robes. His glaive hung on his back in a loose sheath. Lucia saw in a flash what was coming. The Suzerainty would try to detain them. A cadre of guards—the same dozen from last night?—would encircle the ship, and Conwynne would kill them all. So much needless death.

A ladder connected all decks at the midpoint of the ship, running alongside the mast from the cargo hold to the crow’s nest. Farid flew up it, two rungs at time, in leaping jumps. The rungs were wrapped with leather and rough cloth, the better to absorb the sun oil on the pirate’s skin, Lucia realized.

She climbed onto the deck beside the pirate, somewhat behind the mutt. Forty feet below them were the guards from last night, along with an officer of some kind. Lucia had never seen a Suzerainty officer before. They never had cause to come to the backwater of Los Robles, she guessed. Or they stayed away from the baron. She didn’t know which.

The officer wore a thin blood-red cotton suit with a split skirt over leather pants. Shining plates of boiled leather and steel interlocked on the woman’s shoulders around a flared collar. The clothes and armor were spotless. She gave the impression of a tightly coiled flower bud, about to bloom, but she was dressed entirely wrong for the desert. Perspiration streaked her face. Her head was uncovered, with sweat-soaked hair bared to the sun.

“I am First Lieutenant August of his majesty’s Fourth Patrol.”

“What can we do for you, Lieutenant?” Farid put on a jolly voice, affecting the accent of a farmer.

“Where is your ship bound?” The woman’s voice was stern, but tired.

“We’re awaiting cargo,” Farid said. “Hoping to take some ore or water down south, like. Maybe Bakerville?”

“No cargo yet. I see.” The woman was unreadable. Did they teach that in the academy, or did they just select for it in officer training? If Lucia’s application had been accepted, would she have been like this woman?

“I can’t help but notice evidence of your cargo door being opened recently. Gouges in the sand suggest something heavy was brought inside.” The woman removed her leather gloves. Her hands underneath dripped with sweat. “Stop lying to me, Captain. I am already going to cite you for failure to display proper markings.”

“Fresh paint job,” Farid smiled. “We were going to get around to the numbers and flag today after the sun passed a bit. It’s a hot one, yeah? Y’all want a cold drink?”

So slowly that she almost missed it, Farid pointed behind his back to a box on the deck. Inside were a half dozen bolters, grenades, and other weapons Lucia didn’t recognize. Did he want her to hide them? To arm herself? Should they strike now, while the soldiers were still unawares? What was he saying?

“And the cargo?”

“Oh, we’re doing some training exercises. New crew, yeah? All kids, like this one.” Farid slapped Lucia on the shoulder and ruffled her hair. She slouched her shoulders and stared at the ground mournfully like the teenagers she’d seen in the city.

“I see.” Lieutenant August gestured to her soldiers and they approached the ship, weapons drawn. “And the rest of your crew? We’re going to search your ship now, for contraband and persons of interest. If we find anything suspicious, we shall impound this ridiculous craft and jail the lot of you. Get the rest of your crew on deck. We want no surprises.”

Farid looked around exaggeratedly at Lucia and Quinn. “This is all of us that are here right now. Everyone is in town getting a last bit of happy before we sail off. Whenever that is.” He grinned at the officer again. Was the woman buying the act? What about Conwynne and the foxes below?

The soldiers entered the ship through a boarding hatch in the rear. The sounds of ripping netting, of boxes being smashed open, of cargo dumped rattling and clanking across the decks echoed up through the floors.

“Damn these red jackets,” Farid muttered.

Quinn sniffed, signed at the pirate.

“You said it, big guy.”

“What do we do when they find the foxes?”

“I don’t even know why they’re after them at all, girl. You haven’t told me anything yet.”

Lucia hesitated. Should she tell the pirate about the prince’s message? About the amulet?

“I swear, if they touch the pulse drives . . . “ Farid flexed his hands, trailing off.

Lucia said nothing to him. Better to tell him everything once the journey was underway, when it was too late to say no, too late to kick her and the foxes and the old man off the ship.

The breaking sounds grew louder as the soldiers searched the upper level. The deck hatch opened and Lieutenant August peeked out.

“We’ve found evidence of illegal herbs, seven banned books, and two weapons that are forbidden for civilian ownership. I’m very disappointed, Captain.”

“Look, my crew can be a rowdy bunch at times. You know how sailors can be. If you just tell me which berths you found the items in, I’m sure I can direct you to the right people.”

“You’re the captain.” She tugged her gloves on, clearly pleased to have found some reason to scold Farid. “The responsibility is yours. This ship is officially limited. Hand over your transit papers. You are not to leave this port until cleared by me or the local authorities.”

Farid sighed, slumped like he’d lost a battle. The man fished a bundle of worn pages out of a box lashed to the mast. “Here you go. Transit papers. We’ll be sitting right tight here.”

Lieutenant August nodded. “Very well. I’m pleased this didn’t have to get violent.” She glanced at Quinn. “You know how emotional those things can be.”

Quinn didn’t react at all. It was as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Send along the names of the sailors who possessed the contraband, and we will waive ten percent of the fines. Per usual.” She gestured below decks. Her men dropped whatever they’d been searching and stomped out of the ship.

“Allow me to show you out,” Farid said, bowing so low his nose nearly scraped the deck.

Lucia trailed after the sand pirate. Where had Conwynne gone? Had he fled with the foxes, abandoned her after all?

The place was trashed. Netting was slashed open, spilling pots and pans and dried food and shovels and every other sort of thing across the floor. There wasn’t a box on the ship they hadn’t opened.

Lieutenant August kicked her way through, scuffing her shiny red boots on splinters of wood. “Your ship is a mess, Captain. You should clean her up.”

“It’ll give the new kid something to do,” he smiled broadly. “No better way to learn where things are than to put them all away, yeah?”

Lieutenant August frowned. She wasn’t getting the rise out of Farid she wanted.

As they walked through the ship, entering the narrow mess hall where the crew took their meals, Lucia gasped.

“What is it?” Lieutenant August turned to her, suspicion in her eyes.

There, in the middle of the room, stood Conwynne and and the foxes. He had his hands over their eyes and his own eyes were squeezed shut. Lieutenant August didn’t see them. Farid did, but kept his face locked in his ingratiating stupid smile.

“It’s just,” Lucia swallowed, “such a mess in here. I’ve got so much cleaning to do.”

August sneered at her. “Best get to work, girl. This is what comes from throwing your lot in with these scum instead of finding a proper job.” As the captain kicked her way through the room, she walked around Conwynne and the foxes as if they were a table or a pole.

When she was gone, Conwynne took his hands off the fox shifters’ eyes.

“What a strange sensation. I will never get used to that as long as I live.” Triptongue began tidying up the mess.

“How’d you do that, old man?” Farid asked. “I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in my day, but that red jacket looked right through you.”

“An alpha can shape the perceptions of those around them.” Conwynne’s body sagged. The effort had exhausted him. “But how is it that you were not affected, young man?”

“I could see you, too,” Lucia offered.

“Yes, but you are a true alpha. Your mind is too strong, your senses too sharp to be fooled.”

“Maybe my mind is strong too, huh? You ever think of that?” Farid smiled. “Anyways. We need to get out of here immediately. As soon as that Lieutenant lady gets back to her base and calls in our numbers, she’ll find out those were fake papers.”

“Your ship is a mess. Can we sail like this?”

“I was hoping to hire on some more crew this morning. Quinn and I can’t do this job alone, y’know.” The pirate turned to Lucia, fixed her with his cool blue eyes. “How do you feel about ropes, girl?”

On deck, Farid showed Lucia where to stand. He fastened a thick belt around her waist, pulling it tight until she gasped.

“That’s too much,” she said.

“I just wanted to hear what kind of noise you’d make,” he grinned at her, his touch lingering a moment too long on her curves.

The sand pirate clipped her belt to a heavy ring bolted to the deck. When the winds got going and the ship flew across the dunes, one wrong move could send a sailor tumbling overboard, never to be seen again. Near her, a dozen colorful ropes snaked their way through sails and pulleys or dove through holes in the deck to hidden levers. Her job was to pull the correct rope when Farid shouted for it. It didn’t seem too hard a job.

Quinn was making last minute preparations below decks, righting vital systems the Suzerainty soldiers had disrupted.

Farid was explaining to her what the ropes did, what hand signs from him or Quinn meant, when a prickly feeling ran up Lucia’s spine.

“I sense something,” she said. “Trouble.”

“Careful. You sound like that crazy old man.”

From the deck Lucia could see the gates of Los Robles, the white stone gleaming in the late morning sun. Traders leading carts laden with goods queued before the doors, awaiting inspection and permission to enter. In a burst of activity the carts nearest the door were shoved aside, tipped over, as a contingent of thirty red jackets charged out of the gates, fully armed with bolter rifles and silver-tipped spears.

They were headed straight for the Letherine.

“I think they ran your papers.” Lucia turned to Farid, but he was already gone, racing across the deck.

“Hold on!” he screamed as he clipped himself to the steering rig and unfurled the sail with a tug.

“Quinn,” Farid bellowed. “Get that anchor stored!”

In response, the sound of grinding metal rang through the ship.

The red jackets were running now. They readied their weapons as they neared.

Farid yanked a heavy lever, straining against it until the muscles of his oiled arms stood out like buried slabs of stone brushed clean by desert winds.

With a loud clunk the drives engaged and the Letherine took off like a shot.

The red jackets ceased their running, vanishing rapidly in the distance.

Lucia wanted to relax, to talk with Conwynne about all that had happened. But she had a job to do. Farid tugged his goggles and sand-scarf down over face, nodded to her.

She nodded back and braced herself for learning the ropes.

Chapter 6

VOYAGE TO THE WEST

THE FIRST DAY was the hardest.

Lucia had never been more than a day’s journey from her uncle’s estate before. She assumed the whole world was painted in shades of brown and gray. All the land must be made of gritty dusty sand that stuck to your teeth and itched on your skin. She’d heard mention of oceans and forests but had passed them off as oddities. Like going to market and seeing a bird shifter with pink plumage.

So when she stood on the deck, lashed in place, doing the work of two men at once, she found it exceptionally frustrating that she couldn’t look around. Dunes the color of gold spilled beneath them. A wrecked aircraft—the tallest thing she’d ever seen—stood on its blunt nose, a rough camp gathered at its base like worshippers. A ribcage large enough to walk through protruded from the wastes, bones shining white from decades of wind scouring. Lucia wanted to gawp at it all. To ask a thousand questions of the half-naked sand pirate.

But that was not how things were done.

The first time she tried to ask him a question, he shouted back, “Unless it’s an emergency, no talking. Keep it zipped.”

How dare he talk to her like that? Wasn’t he working for her? Lucia was so furious she missed the next signal from Farid and the ship nearly ran into one of the shattered ancient concrete walls that dotted the desert like spines on a cactus.

She resolved to pay better attention after that, if only to keep the ship in one piece. The man’s piloting skills were flashy, loud, and irritating. He whooped with joy as they sailed across the sands, dancing in his harness quite improperly. He steered them as near as possible to sinkholes, to wrecked structures, only to shout commands at Lucia, trusting her rope skills to save them.

The sands parted, revealing a sea of smashed automobiles. “Blue three!” Farid barked, and Lucia complied, submitting to being a mere instrument of the sand pirate’s will. Hauling on the third blue rope in her arsenal opened a flap somewhere on the side of the ship or unfurled a sail or slid some gear deep in the thrumming belly. The ropes never seemed to do the same thing twice. It was as if they’d been designed by a madman. But she did as she was told, grudgingly, and they skirted around the sea of smashed autos, leaning crazily to one side, the deck almost vertical.

Farid laughed with the joy of it. And soon Lucia was laughing too.

They took their break just before midday. Nothing in the desert moved at high sun except fools and madmen. Lucia and Farid unsnapped themselves from the deck and descended into the cool darkness of the Letherine. The rest of their crew was waiting for them in the mess. From her bag, Foxtail served up rounds of sausage and dried fruit. Quinn revealed his true calling as a fine ship’s cook, turning a bag of root vegetables and a handful of spices into a delicious dish served in a clay pot shaped like a teardrop. From beneath his robes, Conwynne produced a heavy flask of whiskey. “Living alone in the wastes, distillation becomes quite the comfort,” he muttered.

Lucia had nothing to offer. What skills did she have that could really aid this crew? Rope-pulling? Any monkey could follow orders. Her palms burned from the work. The shifter blood in her veins brought quick healing amongst its many gifts, but the discomfort of the rope burn lingered long after the skin had knit itself back together.

“You should have seen this one on the ropes today, Quinn.” Farid sat down hard next to her, his warm body pressed against hers in the tight quarters. “You wouldn’t believe it was her first day on a boat.” He winked at her, stuffed his mouth full of Quinn’s tagine stew.

“Well, the way you steer, I had to be good. It’s like you have a death wish!” She turned to Conwynne. “This pirate, he aims the ship directly at every obstacle. No smooth sands for this one.”

“I expect he was testing you,” Conwynne said. “And making our tracks harder to follow.”

“Is that why the ship rocked so much? Good heavens. I fell down so much while cleaning that my body is one large bruise.” Triptongue nibbled on a corner of sausage, but avoided the rest of the food. He seemed to sustain himself entirely on worrying.

Quinn banged on the table and signed to Farid. The mutt reached out and ruffled Foxtail’s hair.

“He says you did great work on the Letherine’s drives. They’re running better than ever. Where’d you learn to do that?” Farid’s hand crept onto Lucia’s thigh under the table. His touch was hot through her cotton leggings. She wondered how his hands would feel on other parts of her body. Should she slap his hand away?

Foxtail’s bowl was heaped larger than anyone’s. “Maintained the fleet in Sierren. Senior mechanic and engineer.”

“That who we’re going to see?” Farid’s hand slid farther up Lucia’s inner thigh. She wasn’t entirely inexperienced, but she’d never been touched like this before. There’d been a guard or two she’d tumbled with, but when her uncle had found out, they’d been fired and sent away. The tumbles had been hurried, clumsy affairs. She knew it would be different with Farid. She wanted to part her thighs to give him better access. She wanted to take his hand and run to his cabin and spend midday working out all the kinks in her shoulders riding the sexy pirate.

“We’re looking for the prince,” Conwynne said, fixing Lucia with his stare. “Or his people. We have information vital to his fight against the Suzerainty.”

At the mention of the prince, Lucia stiffened. What was she doing, letting this pirate paw her like this? She saw the noble face of the prince in her mind—did she want to come before him as a proud alpha, or as the dust-fingered lover of a smirking and disrespectful pirate?

“I need some air,” she said, taking Farid’s hand off her thigh and clambering over the entire table to get away. Conwynne followed her as she made her way down through the cargo hold and out onto the blazing sands. Even in the shadow of the Letherine, the sands were nearly too hot to bear.

“That man takes too many liberties,” Conwynne muttered, pulling his hood over his head and squatting at the edge of the shadow. “We should be careful with him. He is charming, to be sure. But charm can be a mask, worn and discarded when the moment suits. We carry a great secret with us, my lady. And secrets are valuable.”

Lucia stripped off her boots and dug her toes down into the sands, past the burn point, to the deep coolness under the surface. She’d heard stories of travelers digging through the sands only to find water just below the surface. Hidden rivers, lost reservoirs. How many secrets did the wasteland hide?

“He needs us. He can’t sail without us.”

“A captain who can’t keep a crew isn’t a man to be trusted.”

“What does he owe my uncle for?”

Conwynne sighed. “We have hours until it’s safe to sail again and I’d rather not spend it wagging our tongues about that foolish man. I’m old, Lucia Brightwolf. My patience for such things ended long ago.” The old man rose from his crouch in a fluid motion and went into the ship, leaving Lucia alone with nothing but dunes in all directions. Thick white clouds hung useless in the sky, refusing to block the sun for even a second. The heat made Lucia sleepy. She closed her eyes, her toes rooted firmly in the cool darkness of the earth. She took a breath, willing herself to relax, to open before the world.

Foxtail and Triptongue lay curled about each other. Their hands cling together like two halves of a whole. They’re terrified of what lies before them, of the mission ahead. Foxtail forces herself to be braver than she is, to keep Trip going. And he voices all the fears that she feels unable to utter without losing her pride.

Quinn is asleep in his long narrow berth, in the captain’s quarters. This job feels different to him. The captain is acting oddly, showing off for the girl, clowning for the old man. He’s on the verge of dreaming of a great forest, trees impossibly thick and close together, so tall their tops are out of sight. Lucia is in his mind as the dream falls upon him and pushes her out.

In the hold of the ship, Conwynne moves aside a hidden smuggling panel—missed by Lieutenant August and her men. Inside are two swords, one whole and one shattered. He wonders if the kid is ready for it. If she’s too much like her mother. The man starts, looks into the shine of the glaive’s blade and sees Lucia’s reflection staring back at him. “Get out of my head,” he roars.

When she awakens, Conwynne is standing over her. When did she fall on her back? Her skin is itchy and sensitive from the burning sands.

“I saw you. I saw your thoughts.”

“You’re manifesting your power, young alpha. Impressive, but rude.” Conwynne didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in his voice. He tossed a long bundle onto the sands. Without looking, Lucia knew what was inside.

“How did I do that? It was amazing. I felt so close to everyone, like we were family or almost one being.”

“We’re becoming pack,” Conwynne said. “The bonds of pack are deep. The gifts are numerous. Pack is the source of an alpha’s strength. An invisible web between you and your packmates. You draw strength from them as they draw strength from you. You are made greater by it.”

“I want to do it again.”

“In time it will become second nature to you. You will either love it, or find it the headwater of an ocean of misery.” He tapped his head. “We all carry a darkness within us, my lady. In our own heads we do not always say what we mean or mean what we say. Be careful what you may see when you peer into another’s thoughts.”

“I couldn’t see Farid’s. It’s like he wasn’t even there.”

“I’m not surprised. If you could see that pirate’s mind, that would truly be extraordinary.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s a pure.”

“A pure what?” Lucia unwrapped the bundle, revealing the half-shattered blade of her mother’s sword.

“A pure human. He has none of the shifter gifts. None of our senses or healing.” Conwynne drew his glaive. “Honestly, I’m amazed he’s survived this long.”

Lucia had never met a pure before. He was nothing like she’d imagined them to be. In the stories from her uncle, the pures were always sickly, covered in cuts and bruises, and dressed in rags. Avar Farid did not look sickly and Lucia had seen enough of his body to tell. How could he survive—and thrive—in a world full of shifters without sharpened senses or the ability to heal?

They sparred on the sand. General Conwynne showed Lucia the basic steps, the guard, the parry, the thrust. He began with the real glaives then switched to the wooden practice swords for sparring. All the while he told her of the alphas, of pack, of shifting.

“There is more than one way to tap into your primal nature, to shift. Pack bonds will only take you so far.” Conwynne brought his glaive across in a slow chop. Lucia, also moving slowly, brought her blade up to deflect. “Strong emotions are the key to shifting, but they also shape us. If you choose hate and fear and anger when you shift, you will become a nightmare.”

“Like my uncle.” Lucia’s arms grew tired from the slow movements. Conwynne explained that mastering the motions with a slow, purposeful fluidity taught your body how to fight. Learn it slow, do it fast.

“And like so very many before him. That darkness is deep and there is so much to grasp. Fear is irrational, when you give in to it, friend becomes foe. Love becomes a trap. Paranoia follows. The shifter who chooses fear will manifest great power, but little control. They will hurt people.” Conwynne shifted into a guard position.

“So what’s the right way?” Lucia shifted her footing, the sands scorching the skin of her feet.

“Compassion. Empathy. The desire to protect and to guide. This is where I pull from to shift. When I saw you on the wastes before that myriad, it wasn’t fear of the myriad that drove me on. It was the desire to save you, to save Triptongue. Let yourself care about others. Open your heart to the wonders of the world, and shifting will come easily to you.”

“I’m imaging a ring of keys,” Lucia closed her eyes and found herself blocking each of Conwynne’s attacks. “Each key is a memory, a feeling. Each key unlocks the shift, but each lock is in a different door. The pain key opens a door of rage. The sorrow key opens a door of regrets.” Their blades rang out like music as they struck faster and faster.

“Stop,” Conwynne yelled. He was on his back, his sword lay on the ground ten paces away, just outside the ship’s shadow. The ragged end of Lucia’s blade rested on his throat. She hadn’t even realized she’d been fighting so hard. It was as if a trance had come over her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What happened?”

“We’ll resume lessons tomorrow.”

In the middle of the wastes, as they were passing a burned out settlement, the Letherine gave a great groan from somewhere deep in her belly and stopped moving. Farid cursed and shouted down a speaking tube to Quinn below. When Lucia went to unhook herself from the rigging, Farid motioned to her in a panic.

"Don't! Don't unhook!" He bellowed. The wind was strong that day. If the ship had been a sail craft only, she would have flown. But the sails were a steering mechanism for the pulse drive and without the drive, she was dead in the sand.

Lucia tried to shout a question to him, but the winds swallowed her voice. She was hungry and anyway she really needed to pee. She didn't have the same bladder control the experienced smugglers did. Whenever they took a break, she raced to the head to relieve herself while Farid and Quinn laughed.

Screw it. If the ship was stopped, she'd unhook and take care of business. She unbuckled the harness, unclipping from the safety rigging just as the Letherine gave another groan and lurched forward. Without her safety harness, Lucia was hurled off the deck, her hip smashing into the aft rail with a crunch. She flew out over the open sands, plunging into the wasteland as the Letherine darted and lurched off without her.

The bones in her hip had shattered. They ground painfully against each other, as if they'd been replaced with marbles. Without her shifter blood, she would be dead. Even with it, the pain was unbearable. Her hip was pulverized. Her leg was broken in at least one place and the sands were so hot they seared her skin under her clothes. There was no shelter in reach, but the burned out settlement was near. Mustering her strength, Lucia crawled across the scorching earth towards the only shadows within a mile. If she was lucky, she could hide there until her crew returned. If she wasn't lucky, well, best not to think about it.

She wore the glaive on her back. It was awkward to do the rope work necessary to steer the Letherine with it, but Conwynne had insisted. “You need to spend time with the blade. To become attuned to it, and to let it become attuned to you,” the old shifter said. He’d tried to talk her into sleeping with it cradled in her arms, but the silver blade scared her. It was too dangerous. One wrong move and she could lose a finger.

The sands burned her feet and hands as she pulled herself through the wastes. The bones in her hip fought to fix themselves, but the break was severe. Lucia knew that without treatment it’d never reform properly. The fracture could heal itself in any of a thousand incorrect ways, leaving her with a limp for the rest of her days.

Something moved in the settlement. It was hundreds of feet away across the burning rocky sands but still Lucia saw humanoid shapes emerge from the ground. They were short and thin and pointing at her. Lucia ran through the best and worst possibilities, but didn’t like any of them. People that lived this deep in the wasteland did whatever it took to survive and that rarely included showing kindness to an injured stranger.

Lucia’s uncle and his men loved telling stories of the terrors of the wasteland. It was their favorite topic of conversation, especially as they counted themselves amongst its chief dangers. One story had always stuck with her as the worst. Grave Chaser, her uncle’s chief minion, told it to every new hire and to every new guard. He’d been escorting a shipment of ore north to Sala City when the convoy came under attack from a band of raiders, the story went. He’d been captured, along with the shipment and the merchants, and taken to their hidey-hole. It was a hidden oasis, nestled in a cave in a rocky outcropping. Grave Chaser claimed the raiders were cannibals. He’d said they took shifters and carved them up while they were alive, eating their flesh and then waiting for their gifts to regrow it so they could eat more. Lucia had always hated the story.

She’d heard a different version from her uncle. In his version, it was he who had been captured by the raiders and that Grave Chaser had been one of their leaders. Her uncle had talked the savage shifter into betraying the other cannibals in exchange for a better paying job, with much better food.

Lucia forced herself to her feet. If the dwellers in the settlement came for her, she would put up a fight. Using her hands and the grip of her glaive, she forced her hip back into workable order. If she survived Conwynne could always re-set the bones.

As the dwellers approached, Lucia could tell by their gait and size that they were ratlings. They held thick clubs and nets and coils of rope. She braced herself for a fight.

A wind at her back made Lucia spin and then collapse, as the bones in her hip slid and ground together painfully. Behind her was a dive bike, rocketing across the sands, with a shirtless pirate at the controls.

Farid swooped the bike in front of Lucia, putting himself between her and the ratlings.

“Get on,” he said.

Lucia pulled herself to her feet but found herself unable to swing a leg over the bike. “I can’t, Farid. My hip is busted.”

The ratlings crept closer, their hands clutching their nets and clubs tightly.

The pirate hopped off the bike and scooped Lucia up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. He smelled sweet and comforting. His arms felt like home to her for the briefest of moments before he deposited her on top the bike. Farid whipped out his bolter and fired a shot at the mob of ratlings. One of them in the middle shrieked as the sliver-tipped arrow took him in the thigh.

Farid hopped onto the bike and gripped the controls. “Hold on,” he yelled. Lucia wrapped her arms about his muscular waist, clinging to him tightly as he spun the dive bike around and sent them flying over the sands. Every bump sent agony shooting through her hip, but she almost didn’t mind. Clinging to the naked body of the pirate was worth it.

“You came back for me,” she said as the Letherine appeared in the distance.

“Of course I did,” Farid said. “You’re my crew. I’d never leave you behind.”

Lucia smiled despite the pain and nuzzled her face against the man’s neck.

And so their days went. The ship sailed ever westward, nudging northerly to avoid obstacles and raider camps. Lucia spent her mornings and afternoons lashed to the deck, her eyes trained on the oiled back of the sand pirate, waiting for his command. He’d gone easier on her after that first day, once he was certain she knew what to do.

At midday and evening she trained with Conwynne, forsaking meals more often than not to practice with her mother’s glaive. She could feel the bonds of pack establishing themselves. She was the alpha, even over Conwynne. Only Farid remained outside of her gifts.

Foxtail and Quinn formed an unexpected friendship, with Trip serving as interpreter. They both had a great love of games of chance and struck up a running score between them. Every evening, when it was too dark to sail, they gathered in the mess with their dice and cards and bones.

Lucia was surprised to find Farid uninterested in the card games. “I don’t gamble,” he said. “My ex-wife cured me of that affliction.”

Lucia’s blood ran hot at the mention of an ex-wife. Jealousy? Envy? Or pack protectiveness? “Did she beat it out of you?” Lucia joked.

“Sort of. She won every hand. Cards aren’t any fun when you never win. I swear she taught Quinn her tricks just to keep me honest after we split.” The pirate sipped his wastelander whiskey and watched the game of chance with shadowed eyes.

“Why’d you split?” Lucia tried to keep her voice casual.

“We were smugglers together. The two of us, Quinn, a handful of others from Sala City. We built this ship together, actually.” He pounded the hull affectionately. “But she wanted more. Callie wanted a home. She wanted kids. And in the end, she wanted someone who didn’t have all my charming faults.” He smiled, but his eyes betrayed the pain he felt. More than ever, Lucia wished she could get into his head, see what he was really thinking. Was she just a passing interest to him? A piece of tail to try to lure into bed? Or was there more to it than that? His smirk gave nothing away.

Every day brought the mountains closer. They appeared like a smudge on the horizon after a week, then grew each day until they filled the skyline like a wall marking the end of the world.

Farid and Lucia sat together in the mess, both exhausted from the journey. Farid’s head rested against the hull, a mug of Conwynne’s whiskey before him on the table. The lights were low. The scent of vanilla crumble hung in the air—a special treat from Quinn to mark the end of their journey. Across the table, Quinn and Foxtail were deeply involved in some new game of chance Conwynne had taught them. It involved dice and lots of math and Lucia felt even more tired just looking at it. Triptongue was asleep on the floor next to his shifter mate, his head resting on her feet. Conwynne was in his berth, already asleep. Even without sinking into a trance, Lucia could sense them all.

“Tomorrow we should be in Sierren,” Farid offered. “This could be our last night together.” His heavy-lidded eyes made an offer and Lucia was tempted, sorely tempted.

“Why do you owe my uncle?” she was surprised to find herself asking. The question had been on the tip of her tongue for days, but the timing had never been right. She knew this was her last chance to ask.

It was the wrong question. The pirate stiffened, Quinn also sat straighter, watching the two of them closely.

“I dumped cargo that was meant for him. He thinks I owe him the lifetime value of what I cheated him out of. He thinks I sold it to another and pocketed the money.” He took a long drink of the whiskey, hissing at the burn.

For the briefest moment, Lucia saw something.

Avar Farid, professional smuggler and freighter, hears a noise at night coming from his cargo hold. He lights a candle and walks on bare feet across the cold deck. His crew is sprawled everywhere. They dislike the berths they’ve been provided and have taken to sleeping wherever they fall after they’ve drunk their fill of the cheap wine. He steps amongst the bodies like a dancer, weaving and jumping gracefully, working his way to the cargo hold. A moaning voice, calling out in some foreign tongue, pleads for water. Farid—once called Farid the Gray when he was a street thief in Sala City—grabs a pry bar and levers the top off of one of Baron Lawson’s boxes with a splintering thud. Inside are two women, bound hand and foot. One of them has chewed through her rope gag and is calling out for water. At their feet is an empty sack with two canteens in it.

“Slaves,” Lucia said. “Two to a box. With just enough water to make the journey. But there’d been a sandstorm. You lost three days’ travel time and they were dying.”

The pirate’s face was a mask of horror. “How do you know this? Did you pull the memories from my head?”

Still half in a trance, Lucia continued. It was like the man’s memories were a song and she couldn’t stop singing until it was done. “You changed course, dropped them off in Carsonville, the nearest city. You didn’t know they were slaves. Didn’t even check the cargo. He told you it was mining equipment, entertainment for his boys.”

“Stop it,” Farid begged.

“The baron didn’t lie, exactly. The women were meant to work the mine, as bed slaves for his men. He resents you for rubbing his nose in his actions more than he cares about the lost money. The baron is a proud man, wants you to suffer. You have to pay by the month’s end or he puts a deathmark on your name.”

“Stay out of my head, girl. I signed on for delivering you to this fancy prince, not for letting a wolf-witch dig her claws into my brain.” Farid pushed the table away, sending the towers of dice Quinn was constructing tumbling to the floor, where they rolled across the sleeping Triptongue, who once again missed everything.

Lucia couldn’t sleep after that. The man was infuriating. Why would he keep his actions a secret? What was the shame in showing he had some humanity underneath his swagger? She moved to the ship’s deck, under the burning stars, to practice her forms. The glaive work came easier to her every day. She hoped she’d never have to use it, but also secretly longed to.

Sleep took her, after hours of spinning and slicing upon the sands, half-imagining ghostly hands on top of hers, gripping the handle of the shattered glaive, she’d fallen unconscious on the desk of the Letherine. Conwynne had warned her, that as her alpha gifts developed there would be times when she couldn’t tell reality from vision, or dreaming from prophecy. This was one of those nights.

Lucia saw herself storming into her uncle’s compound—her body shifted into a sleek black dire wolf. She could smell blood on the air. She could hear the panicked heartbeats of the thugs her uncle employed. The guards rushed her, armed with stunners and silver-banded clubs, but her roar scared them away, sending them tripping over themselves into the open wastes, where they’d probably be devoured by spiders. She’d have to disarm one of them, to show she meant business.

Lucia saw herself freeing her uncle’s slaves, charging through the mine with the glaive in hand, smashing chains, giving a rousing speech and leading them all like an army to her uncle’s door. In her dream or vision, he has armor made of bones and wields a glaive the twin of her own. Why would he have a glaive, she wondered? They fought, blades ringing out as the sun sets on his empire. Behind her the cacophony of battle roared, as her army of slaves bested his army of thugs. Her uncles swung his glaive, she parried it. They were evenly matched. They traded blows, Lucia pushing him into the house, her glaive was relentless, never giving him a second to breathe. As they fought, they hacked his home to pieces. Bannisters and framed photos and vases full of dead flowers were casualties in their final combat. Finally, Lucia maneuvered him right to where she wanted him—in the room where he murdered her aunt.

“Please,” he said, dropping to his knees. “I’ll do anything. Don’t kill me.”

“Did she beg?” Lucia asked. In the vision, a cool looking scar marked her face. She had an amazing haircut.

“Did who beg?” the Baron Lawson said, but he wasn’t playing dumb, he really didn’t know what she was talking about.

With a roar that shook the foundations, Lucia chopped off the baron’s head. It sailed through the air, but wait. No.

Could she really do that? Could she kill her uncle?

The glaive in her hands was light and cold. The blade seemed to drink in the moonlight.

She wanted to help people. To end suffering. Was killing really necessary?

Chapter 7

CAPTURED

THE SAND SHIP sailed at first light. The sun at their back cast deep shadows in their path. Lucia snapped herself into the safety harness like an old pro, but Farid’s jokes and innuendos were missing. He wouldn’t even look at her. He steered the ship as straight as possible, Lucia thought, just to avoid talking to her.

Stupid, proud man. Everyone has pain. Everyone has regrets. What makes his so special that he can’t bear sharing them?

The mountains rose before them. They were unbearably tall. Just looking at them made Lucia want to turn and run. How could anything possibly be so big? She’d heard stories, of course, from her uncle’s men, but had taken them for the exaggerations and lies they seemed to be.

Ancient cracked trails opened up under the ship. The roads of old, when the ancient builders laid stone on the desert floor to make passage easier. The roads crept up the mountain in a zigzagging line.

Lucia couldn’t believe they were going up there. What if they fell? What kinds of weird shifters lived in the stoney crags? Clouds obscured the peaks, giving the range the impression of infinity.

Lucia felt very small indeed.

Farid halted the ship miles from the base of the range.

“What’s wrong?” Lucia asked. But the man just glared at her.

“You can’t sail a sand ship where’s there’s no sand.” Conwynne’s voice preceded him up the ladder onto the deck. “From here we walk.”

“We could take the dive bike,” Lucia offered.

“This terrain is unfamiliar to us. Better to go slowly,” the old man cautioned.

Conwynne was already packed. And, with a shock, Lucia saw he’d packed her things as well. Not that she had much. But still, it felt like an insult. Like she was a child being hurried along.

“We will leave the foxes here, for the time being. The trip shouldn’t be hard, but if we run into trouble I’d like to move quickly.”

As Conwynne turned to leave, Farid seized his arm. “And when do I get paid?” he snarled.

Lucia was disgusted. Was money all he cared about?

“The prince has your money. Or his people do. We shall return as soon as we can with your payment,” Conwynne soothed. He looked at the pirate with a half-smile on his lips, like he was daring Farid to make a move.

“Then I’m coming with you. Give me five minutes to get my things.” The pirate unbuckled himself from the safety rig and slid down the ladder into the hold. Lucia could faintly hear him barking orders to Quinn.

“We’re leaving Foxtail and Trip here with Quinn. Is that a good idea?”

“The mutt will protect them. I have no concerns about that.” Conwynne scanned the wasteland behind them, squinting into the rising sun.

“What’s going to happen when we get to Sierren?”

“We find the prince’s people. We give them the amulet. We assist them however we can.” The trip had driven a wedge between them, Lucia knew. Or rather, Conwynne was her teacher now, her guardian. Not her friend. He spoke to her like she was a child and looked at her constantly with an air of superiority.

“Well,” Farid yelled from the sands, at the edge of the Letherine’s shadow, “are you coming?” He’d exchanged his shirtless look for a set of heavier clothes, better suited to mountain weather. A sword hung on one hip, and a bolter on the other.

Conwynne and Lucia clambered down the side of the ship, using a thin rope ladder.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Conwynne asked the pirate.

“Not a clue, grandpa. Sierren doesn’t trade much with people like me.”

“Pirates?” Lucia asked.

“Purebloods,” Conwynne said.

“They think we’re bad luck, that we bring disease and ill fortune.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Lucia said.

“That’s Sierren,” Conwynne replied. And everyone was silent for a while after that.

Lucia had never walked on proper roads before. She knew they’d seen better days—the concrete was cracked and uneven. But still, there was a comfort in having an actual path to follow. The desert devoured everything in time. No roads survived there as more than shattered islands, hiding rat creatures or scorpions if you were lucky. In the desert, one avoided the remains of the old roads. It was different here, at the edge of the mountains. The land had different rules to learn, different paths to survival.

Scrubby grass grew in clumps at the edge of their path. The mountains reached skywards in front of them. They weren’t going to climb all the way up, Lucia knew. Sierren lay half-hidden in a valley or gorge between two of the massive peaks. Still, she shivered whenever she looked up. She had the oddest feeling that if she saw the peak of the mountains she’d fall off the earth into the sky.

It was half a day’s walk to Sierren from where they anchored the Letherine. Conwynne was the only one who spoke on the journey. He pointed out plants, the signs of animal life. He spoke of the area’s history. Lucia heard little of it. Farid walked just in front of her the whole time, like he couldn’t bear to lay eyes on her. But that meant she was forced to watch him walk, the swing of his hips and the strong lines of his shoulders was all she could see. She tried to keep her eyes from straying to his firm ass, but it was impossible. It was right there in front of her. What could she do? She tried not to look, but it was like trying to not think of a pink bear. Once you think about not thinking about something, you can’t help but think about it. Her second plan was to take one long good look, just let her eyes feast on the man’s body, get it over with. But that just made things worse.

Conwynne led them off the road onto a narrow path that wound its way up across the face of the mountain. Thin trees poked out from cracks in the stone like the last tufts of hair on a bald man’s head.

“The prince of Sierren is a kind man by all accounts. I knew his father quite well.” Lucia focused on Conwynne’s voice and tried not to look down at the valley floor, which was terrifyingly far away. She also didn’t want to watch Farid’s ass anymore. It was making her regret everything that had happened the night before. Why didn’t she take him up on his offer for some under-the-covers fun? What could it hurt?

Conwynne had the glaive strapped to his back in the open now, looking less like an odd old hermit and more like an aging warrior in search of one last dragon to fight. “When the Suzerain came down from the north, leading his army of savage shifters, Sierren took all the refugees that fled before him. They had massive stores of food and water and empty halls to fill. And fill them they did. Thousands of scared families found a home here. Without the Suzerain’s attack, Sierren would have remained a mountain fastness slowly dying with the wasteland on one side and the brutal forests of Yosemite on the other. They didn’t have the population to keep going. Not until the fleeing families made a stand here. Ironic, I suppose, that the very attack that should have killed Sierren strengthened it.”

“So what happened?” Lucia asked. “I’ve never heard that part. All the stories just go, and the Suzerain won and now we have peace.”

Farid laughed and for a second his eyes met hers and there was warmth in them again. But then something slammed shut inside him and he shouldered his pack and moved away from her.

“It’s true, Sierren bended the knee to their new high king, the Suzerain. As did everyone else. His power was too great, too terrible. Every freehold, enclave, town or community swore allegiance to the man. To resist was to be slaughtered.” Conwynne picked up a long branch that had fallen from one of the scrubby pines, tested it as a walking stick.

“But how?” Farid asked, standing as far from Lucia on the narrow path as he could, without plummeting into the valley or climbing the mountain to get away from her. “From the old stories, Sierren had nearly as many men and superior terrain. Why did they give in?”

Conwynne sighed as he picked his way up the path. “There were rituals in the old days, known to the council of alphas. Rituals to strengthen a pack’s bonds. A bond forms naturally, over time. The process is slow. A bond has begun between us all on the Letherine, but to fully form it would takes months, perhaps years. But a bond can be forged as well. It wasn’t uncommon, before a battle or a matter of import, for a pack to be formed through ritual and pledge.” Birds exploded from a gnarled bush as Conwynne tapped it with his walking stick, shrieking and cawing they flew out over the edge of the path. “In times of great need an alpha could pull on those bonds of pack, draw energy from them. If an alpha had a large enough pack, or a strong enough pack, their strength could shatter steel. They could run faster than the wind. Their gifts were endless.”

Lucia thought of her bonds to the foxes, to Conwynne, to Quinn. Could she pull on those bonds now for strength, for speed? She already felt a part of them, what more could this ritual do?

Conwynne continued up the trail, his stick locating loose stones and other hidden dangers. Angry tears carved rivulets in his dust-caked face. “Before he was the Suzerain, the man known as Wyatt mac Tyre was an alpha knight. He was full of passion, eager to help fight in the wars the council sent him into. He had little patience though, and a most displeasing manner. He was always angry. Quick to mock. Forever challenging those around him.”

“You knew him?” Lucia asked. She was careful to step where the old alpha knight stepped. As the path narrowed even more, every footfall became a gamble.

“You should have killed him back then,” Farid sneered, if the man was afraid of anything he didn’t show it. “How many lives would have been saved, old man?”

“You aren’t wrong. No one wanted to be pack with Tyre. He was too unpleasant, too aggressive. But what a warrior he was. He fought like a one-man army. And so skilled with the shift.” In a flash, Conwynne jabbed his stick into a hole Lucia hadn’t even seen in the side of the mountain. When he pulled it out, a thick rattlesnake was stuck to the end, its fangs embedded in the wood. The old alpha knight shook his staff over the gorge until the snake let go, falling with a plaintive rattle hundreds of feet to the stones below. “I’ve never seen the like of Wyatt mac Tyre, of the creature now called the Suzerain. He had a fighting style he developed himself, where he’d charge into melee as a wolf, and shift with every blow. Using the shift to dodge blows, to bite harder, to claw better.”

“But without a pack, without allies to draw on, his gifts were limited,” Lucia said, sensing where the story was going. “What did you do, Conwynne?”

The old man’s body tensed as if about to shift. His hands rippled, claws emerging and then sinking back into his flesh. “I taught him the ritual to force a pack bond. It wasn’t my choice alone, but the council disapproved. They feared he’d misuse it. They were right.”

Farid picked up a stone and hurled it off the mountain. “And then he formed an army and swept down out of the North to break the wasteland’s spine with his fists.” Farid spat at Conwynne’s feet. “You’re saying everything is your fault, old man? We should hurl you off the cliffs right here so you don’t go accidentally create another tyrant.”

“Would that make things better?” Lucia shouted at the pirate. They were all stopped now, the trail had nearly vanished into the raw face of the mountain. “We all make mistakes, Avar. We can’t predict what will happen when we try to do the right thing, can we? Sometimes an action taken with the best of intentions hurts those we care about.”

Farid smirked at her. “Apology accepted, your alpha-ness.” He bowed low, his hair dangling into the fluffy weeds that sprouted from cracks in the cliff face. When he stood, seed pods dotted his head like snowflakes.

“It is my fault. That is why I am here. There’s a chance I can stop him.”

“We should go,” Lucia said.

“You need to know, Tyre is different from other shifters. That’s why he always wins. He twisted the ritual’s magics. He draws life from those around him, strengthening himself. He perverted the bonds of pack, of community. He is a parasite. To fight him is to die.”

“So you’re saying we have a chance,” Farid drawled sarcastically.

“How can we stop him if we can’t fight him?” Lucia asked.

“We need to break the ritual. The reason he hates all other alphas, why he’s had them all killed, is because one cannot belong to two packs at once. And the bond formed from love, from compassion is so much stronger than the hateful mockery he wields.” Conwynne picked his way up the curving path. It arced around an outcropping then immediately widened so that ten people could walk side by side. “All who are pack, are protected from his evil.”

“Great. So her alpha-ness here just needs to get everyone in the world to be in her pack, and then the Suzerain will have no power?”

“That’s going to take a long time.” Lucia thought she’d feel better once the path was less treacherous. She was wrong.

“Come,” Conwynne said. “We must hurry. We don’t want to be on these cliffs when night falls.”

The entrance to Sierren was unguarded. The path swerved between white arches leading down into a narrow valley between two enormous peaks. Unless you were right on the narrow trail, you’d never notice it.

“You could defend this pass for months, years if your food held out.” Farid looked around. An eerie calm filled the air, punctuated only by the squawking of crows.

The sun was past mid-point in the sky and the mountain cast deep cold shadows over them as they descended through the gates into Sierren. A chill ran through Lucia. The air felt wrong. The path widened and dropped into a valley with a village nestled in it. Passages and windows honeycombed the very rock walls of the mountains. Sierren was a fortress, yet it was undefended, unmanned.

“Where is everyone?” Lucia asked.

“Come. Let us go to the prince’s home. We will find answers there.”

Walking through the street that bisected the village, Lucia saw feet sticking out of a doorway. She ran over, past Conwynne’s warnings, to find a woman sprawled on her back, her eyes open, her breathing shallow. Her skin was pale but for the sandy fur patches that marked her arms. She stared upwards uncomprehending.

“What could do this?” Farid asked. “It looks like she had a stroke.”

Lucia looked around, seeing more people collapsed in doorways, next to carts, at the borders of the street.

“The whole town has been felled,” Conwynne muttered. “Stay here,” he barked to Lucia and the pirate. “I will check for signs of the prince.”

Lucia recalled his proud face, his regal bearing. Conwynne had taken the memory crystal from her once they’d sailed, but she had a perfect recollection of his beauty. She didn’t want to see him paralyzed and dying like these poor suffering people.

“This is terrible. A whole city wiped out. All these innocent lives.”

Farid entered one of the homes, returned stuffing handfuls of coins into his backpack.

“You’re stealing from them?” Lucia was appalled.

“Hey, they don’t need the money anymore, do they? Money is for the living and in case you’ve forgotten what you saw in my head last night, your uncle will murder me if I don’t pay him off for the lifetime wages of twenty slaves.” Farid went through the pockets of a man collapsed behind a cart. “You promised me eleven thousand, girl. How are you going to pay up if the prince is dead?”

Lucia was about to tell him exactly what she thought of stealing from the dead, when a heartbreaking howl emerged from the prince’s palace.

“Conwynne,” Lucia said, as she ran to him.

The old shifter stumbled out of the palace doors, blinking in the light as his eyes struggled to adjust. He looked twenty years older.

“Is it the prince? Is he—” Lucia asked, helping steady the old man.

Conwynne shook his head. But the motion was too fast, too shaky. Lucia stepped away from him. The man smelled wrong, like burning hair. His skin began to curdle with the shift, but it was all wrong. Instead of the sleek white dire wolf form he’d taken before, he was now a towering giant wolf-man, red-eyed and growling.

“What the hell is going on?” Farid yelled, drawing his bolter.

“The grief is too much,” Lucia realized. “It’s changing him. He’s shifting out of anger, out of hate.” She stepped away from Conwynne, drawing her glaive. It was a ridiculous gesture. He had a lifetime of experience and she had what, three weeks of training? But she had to do something.

Conwynne roared and charged them, his monstrous padded feet clawing the stone with every step. He was incredibly fast. It was if the world had tipped on its edge and he was falling towards them. Farid fired two shots from his bolter, but the metal bolts slid right through the man’s flesh without hurting him. He was in full shift, only silver could stop him now.

Lucia brought her blade up, knowing it wouldn’t help. But if not the glaive, then what?

She had an idea.

Seconds away from being ripped to shreds by her teacher, Lucia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and roared. With every inch of her body, with every drop of her alpha blood, she commanded Conwynne to stop. The power soared in her blood, she could feel the generations of alphas before her lending her their strength. The pack is more than just who you can see. The pack bond transcends time.

Conwynne stopped as if a leash had tugged his neck. He toppled backwards to the cracked pavement. His body spasmed and thrashed as he shifted back to his human form, commanded so by Lucia. Her roar still echoed across the mountains. If anyone else was nearby, they’d have heard it.

“We have to get out of here,” Farid said, backing away from the trembling shifter.

“He’s fine now. His anger is gone, or at least lessened.”

“That’s a mighty handy trick, Lucia.” The pirate’s eyes were full of wonder. Wonder for her.

She couldn’t deny she liked seeing him look at her like that. She liked it a lot.

Farid helped Conwynne to his feet. The old man’s clothes were in tatters. He looked at the ground, at the homes of Sierren, at anywhere but Lucia.

“What did you see in there?”

Conwynne swallowed hard. “I didn’t see the prince. Nor his closest men, such as I know them. But there are hundreds, maybe thousands here who are as good as dead. The Suzerain has gone too far. He needs to be stopped before he uses this weapon on some other village.”

“We need to run,” Farid said. “Get the hell out of here. What hope do we have against something that can do this?”

“Do you know where the prince went? Any signs?”

“There are a dozen red jackets in there, in the back, in the prince’s quarters. They were killed by more traditional means, by bolt and blade. If I had to guess, I’d say the Suzerain took the prince before using whatever foul device did this.”

“We have to find him. If we find him, we find the Suzerain’s weapon.” Lucia felt a fire in her bones. The gasping bodies around her were all people, with dreams and hope and loves. “Why would that monster do this? What possible threat could they have been?”

Conwynne sighed. “The prince is an alpha, like you. Though he lacks training. He’s grown up with no other alphas, so his gifts are immature. His powers are weak. And yet everyone in Sierren was his pack, his family. The Suzerain did this to strike at him. To destroy the bonds that hold us together. The Suzerain and his witch know nothing of love, of family. They see how hard it makes others fight and it terrifies them. That’s why they did this.”

As they spoke, Farid wandered the camp, likely looking for more to steal from the dying. Lucia watched him from the corner of her eye, wishing he could be a better man. He clambered to the top of the tallest building, taking the view of the entire town.

“We’ve got trouble!” Farid yelled, taking the ladders so quick he nearly jumped to the ground.

He sped past Lucia, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the archway that marked the edge of Sierren. Below, where the lengthening shadows overtook the valley, a massive mirrored pyramid floated in the air above the Letherine.

The silvered ship was larger than anything Lucia had ever seen. It was a flying mountain. A warship of unparalleled power.

“Nothing can be that big,” Lucia muttered. “It’s impossible.”

“How is it flying?” Farid asked. “I don’t see any rotors or hot-air balloons or jets.”

“What you are looking at,” Conwynne sighed, “is the Warmaw. Chief among the Suzerain’s fleet.”

“He has more of these?” Lucia asked.

“Not as far as I know. But he has other ships, none of which you’d like to meet in battle. It flies using the science of the old world. The Suzerain has been hoarding the old technology, refusing to share the bounties of his knowledge with the people.”

“What are they doing?” Farid pointed at the base of the floating pyramid. Hundreds of ropes dropped dangling to the ground around the Letherine.”

“I imagine they are capturing your ship.” Conwynne said.

“And our friends,” Lucia added.

“What are they going to do with my ship?”

“Whatever they want, I imagine,” Conwynne said.

“The weapon is in there. Isn’t it?” Lucia asked.

Conwynne leaned on her, his body weak after the terrible shift. “You can feel it, can’t you? I certainly can. Like a hole in the world sucking away life and joy.”

“We have to get inside. We have to rescue our friends and destroy that weapon.” She turned to Farid. His handsome face was hidden in shadow. “You’re a smuggler. How do we get in?”

The plan was straightforward.

They retrieved the soldiers from the prince’s quarters and stripped them of their red uniforms. Between the dozen dead men they had no problem patching together three outfits that fit them. Then it was a simple matter to walk down the mountain—so much faster than walking up it—and right into the massed mob of soldiers. Conwynne used his alpha tricks to hide them from sight until they were mixed in amongst the hundreds of men securing the Letherine. They hid on board Farid’s ship, quiet and still, as the groaning winches lifted them up into the the darkness of the Suzerain’s battleship.

Lucia took Farid’s hand in hers as they were swallowed by the maw.

Chapter 8

MY ENEMY’S FACE

BY THE TIME the winches had finished hauling their ship up into the belly of the Suzerain’s battlestation, Lucia was shivering uncontrollably. It was colder than she was used to inside the Letherine. Was it the altitude or was the Warmaw itself frozen? Lucia didn’t know. But also it was just plain terrifying being up so high. And being surrounded by thousands of armed soldiers. And being this close to whatever weapon could sap the life from all of Sierren.

There were a lot of reasons to be afraid.

Conwynne was pale and haggard. He couldn’t shake what he’d seen in Sierren. The man was gruff and occasionally unpleasant and didn’t enjoy giving straight answers to simple questions, but Lucia still cared for him. He was pack, after all. And anyways, she needed him.

The sand pirate was the only one not entirely terrified by the turn of events. He seemed excited. Like he’d always dreamed of smuggling himself into the biggest and baddest ship in the world.

Lucia hadn’t even known the Suzerain had a fleet.

They needed a plan. They needed Conwynne. But the man sat in his stolen red armor, nearly catatonic. Lucia tried taking his hand, but it was limp and unresponsive.

“What’s wrong with him?” Farid asked.

“What do you think?” Lucia said.

“Never thought the old man had such weak nerves.”

“He was pinning everything on Sierren. He never thought about what could happen if they truly fell.”

“Can you do that roar trick again?” Farid asked, pacing about the hold. “Only, like, quieter?”

Lucia sighed. She didn’t have enough training. Her gifts were just awakening. There was so much she didn’t know. But it wasn’t like the first alphas had teachers, right? They figured out everything on their own. Hell, they invented magical rituals somehow. If a group of wastelanders could do that, surely she could shake her friend out of his catatonic stupor.

Lucia sat crossed legged before him, her knees touching his. She took Conwynne’s hands in hers and tried to let go of herself, to ease into her meditative state so she could see into his mind.

Darkness. A woman stands on top of a factory building while flames lick at the soles of her feet. Her armor itches but she can’t scratch. Her fingers are claws sharper than razors. Half the town is on fire but there are still survivors. Those who oppose the Suzerain, lord of all and high king. The master will not be disobeyed. The woman scans the town with shifted eyes—wolf eyes—and everything is bright and clear in the night, except where the fire blinds her. Movement in the rubble. A family digging themselves out from where the master’s weapons had crushed their home like an egg under a hammer. There can be no survivors. No one in Kirkway can be allowed to live. The woman—the Suzerain’s dark witch—leaps off the factory roof like a shadow in flight, running toward the family with her claws extended.

Lucia fell back on the floor, scrambled away from Conwynne.

“Oh no, oh no,” she said. “The dark witch, Azra Moreno, is here. She’s on this ship. And I think I just alerted her to our presence. I looked into her mind and it was so horrible.”

Farid picked her up, held her close. His body radiated warmth and Lucia just wanted to snuggle into him, to burrow into his comfort.

“You can do this, kid. I believe in you.” His voice resonated with her bones, sending a twisty heat spiraling through her. Farid’s arms hugged her, but his hands couldn’t help but explore the roundness of her curves.

Lucia nodded but didn’t pull away. This was the closest they’d been and it was delicious. Why couldn’t they have found this closeness on the sands? Her heightened senses picked up the scent of Farid’s arousal. There was no time for this, for any of this. Lucia pushed away the pirate’s warmth and turned to face the old shifter heaped on the floor. If the witch knew about them, time was even more pressing. The time for gentle prodding was over.

“Farid, pick him up.” The pirate wedged his arms under the old man’s and strained, heaving him to his feet.

“Whatever you’re going to do, hurry. This old codger is heavier than he looks.”

She pressed her forehead to Conwynne’s, nose touching nose. It was an intimate gesture, but they were pack and she was the alpha and it felt right. “Awaken,” she said, focusing on the compassion she felt for the man, on the bonds of pack between them.

“Awaken,” she said louder, envisioning Conwynne as she saw him at his strongest, charging the spider myriad as a great dire wolf.

“Awaken,” she growled, her voice deepening with alpha power. Her words moved within him, like air from a bellows and the old man blinked. Conwynne shook off Farid’s grip.

“Yes, yes. Unhand me. I’m old but I’m not weak,” he snarled at the pirate, finding his feet.

“There he is,” Farid smirked, then planted a kiss on the old man’s forehead.

“Well done, my lady. Very well done.” Conwynne motioned to brush off his robes—a familiar gesture performed a thousand times—then looked down in dawning recognition as he saw the red jacket armor. “Oh yes. Now I recall.”

“Are you here with us?” Lucia asked. “I can’t have you falling apart like that once we go into the Maw. You need to be focused, Con.”

“You’ll need me, my girl. And this,” Conwynne reached under his armor and removed the amulet. Lucia had almost forgotten about it. She hadn’t seen it in weeks—how could it be only weeks, the trip felt so much longer. “Foxtail went to great lengths to steal this, to carry it across the desert to us.”

“What does it do?” Lucia asked.

“I’ve seen those before,” Farid said. “They’re Suzerainty keys. Only the highest officers carry them.”

“Yes,” Conwynne nodded. “The Suzerain lends a portion of his power to those he must entrust with careful missions or commands. Though there is no generosity in the act. He takes from them as much as he gives and when he withdraws his power they are little more than a husk afterwards. Though I doubt they know that. They pretend at being alphas, but wield a fraction of the true power. We must keep out of sight of these alpha-spawn. They will be able to see through our disguises. Their eyes are their lord’s eyes. They are but instruments of his will.”

“How does it work? The amulet, I mean.” Lucia reached out and touched the blood-red disc. The claw marks etched in the surface—were those the Suzerain’s own? She willed her hand to shift, marveled at the trick of flesh rearranging itself into clawed talons. Would she ever get used to such a thing? She placed her clawed fingers in the grooves carved by the Suzerain, and found them a near match.

“Is the Suzerain a small man?” she asked, absently.

“I saw him once, y’know?” Farid drawled, leaning against the bulkhead like they were having a casual chat over drinks and not stuck in the most dangerous place in the wasteland. “In Sala City, growing up. Quinn and I were casing this Suzerainty armory, looking to steal some bolters to start a life of crime, when this parade marches by. At least I thought it was a parade at first. I’d never seen so many red bellies in one place before. Thousands of them, marching in four columns, with the Suzerain in the middle. He was enormous. I took him for a bear shifter at first, but he’s a wolf like you two, isn’t he? In any event, it turns out that the best time to rob one of the dark lord’s weapon caches is right under his nose. Every red belly in town was in the parade. They didn’t leave a single guard at the door.” Farid patted the bolter on his hip. “I’ve had Jolene here ever since.”

Conwynne smiled. “I bet you did the robbing, while Quinn was lookout.”

Farid looked offended. “That’s right. What of it?”

“There are wards on the doors and old security devices. But they are designed to detect shifters. Not humans like you. My sand pirate friend, you are nearly invisible to an alpha’s gifts. No more noticeable than say, a rat.”

“Look, old man, I’ve had just about enough of your shifter superiority nonsense.” Farid leapt up and got right into Conwynne’s placid face, wagging a finger under the old man’s nose.

“It’s an asset, Farid,” Lucia said. “In his own grumpy old alpha way, Conwynne is trying to compliment you.”

“Or at least your usefulness.” Conwynne’s eyes twinkled—he was enjoying getting a rise out of the pirate.

“Tell me how the amulet works.” Lucia didn’t have time for this male posturing. There was a job to do. They had friends to rescue. A battle station to storm.

“You need but hold it in your fingers, and press it to any door in the Warmaw. As far as the Suzerainty knows, the only alphas here are their twisted mockeries of alphas. It will let you pass with impunity.”

A clanging sounded from the exterior of the ship followed by the sound of shouted orders. The doors of the ship groaned as red jackets forced them open from the outside, prying them open with some shrieking machine. The Letherine swung in her moorings from the assault, rocking underfoot like a boat at sea. Packages slid and shifted in the repaired nettings.

“I’ve been boarded before,” Farid offered. “They’re going to go over every inch of the Letherine. They’ll have an officer come in here, too, sniffing around for clues.”

“We need to leave,” Lucia said. She wrapped her glaive in a duffle, stuffed the rest of it with paper so it didn’t look too obvious that she was carrying a sword through the battleship.

“You two go find our friends in the ship’s prison level,” Conwynne said. “With your armor on, you should be able to slip through the ship undetected.”

“And where are you going?” Farid asked, quickly hiding his stolen credits in hidden panels in the walls.

“Someone needs to find this weapon.” Conwynne pulled on his red lacquered helmet then slipped away into the shadows.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Lucia muttered.

“Be careful out there, okay? Sneaking through this ship isn’t like prowling around the baron’s place, girl.”

“I’m not a child, Avar. Don’t you dare speak to me like one.”

“I’m just saying, don’t get killed, all right?”

Lucia was about to continue telling the frustrating pirate off when he stepped forward, cupped the back of her head with his hand and kissed her. His lips were soft on hers. His tongue darted swiftly into her mouth, tapping against hers like a promise of things to come. The moment was over in seconds. The moment seemed to last forever.

All of Lucia Brightwolf’s fears vanished in that blissful second. She wanted more of that. So much more.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“It’s going to be dangerous out there. I couldn’t let myself die without doing that at least once.” He smiled at her—a real smile, not his usual cocky smirk. It made him beautiful.

“Do we have time for one more of those?” Lucia whispered, easing her fingers into Farid’s belt and pulling him close.

They did.

Hiding on the Letherine proved surprisingly easy. With their stolen helmets on, Lucia and Farid looked like every other red jacket searching the captured ship for clues. When the platoon swarmed the ship, they hid in the shadows and then emerged in the midst of the occupiers. They moved amongst the other soldiers, opening boxes, dumping goods on the floor. Farid seemed to take special delight in ransacking his own ship before the red bellies could, smashing boxes he knew contained junk, dumping ridiculous amounts of dried beans and seeds across the deck.

“Calm down, Farid,” Lucia whispered. “You’re attracting attention.”

“I’m just doing what they’re doing,” he whispered back. The helmet hid his eyes behind an opaque screen. Only his smirking mouth gave him away.

“No, you’re enjoying it. These other guys all seem bored.” It was true, none of the red bellies had their hearts in tossing the ship. Not until one of them pried away a hidden panel and found a stash of weapons. “Less enthusiasm,” Lucia cautioned.

The weapons cache—bolters, axes, and two net guns—changed the men. One red belly—a sergeant by his markings—bellowed at the rest of them, “Okay, the job just got harder people. Every inch of this place. Walls, floors, ceiling. Tear it up. This is no longer considered a simple smuggling vehicle but rather a potential terrorist threat.” He pronounced the words like he wished he could stab them with his tongue. “Whoever finds weapons, currency, plans or contraband gets one week paid leave in Sala City, or two weeks paid leave with Jenkins’ mom.” The soldiers laughed at the joke, except for one unfortunate soul who whined, “Leave off her, sir.”

The men flew into a frenzy, tearing apart seat cushions and picture frames and smashing every container, looking for Farid’s secrets.

“Stay close,” Farid whispered, as he inched towards a panel in the wall. It looked like an ordinary temperature regulator, but as he removed the casing Lucia saw it was a fake. Underneath was a crazy tangle of wires and switches. And a blinking readout. As the pirate lifted the covering all the way off, a loud clunk rang out, and the readout began counting down.

“Sergeant,” Farid yelled to the loudmouthed commander, “I found something.”

The red belly shoved his way through the mess of men and smashed crates to see what Farid had found. He had the look of a man who wished he was asleep, with the thick forehead, wrinkled skin, and floppy ears of a dog shifter. When he came within sight of Farid, his eyes flew open, pushing folds of skin around face. “Bomb!” he barked. “There’s a bomb! Everyone off! Millicent, get the disposal team up here.”

The dog sergeant turned to praise Farid’s find, but by then the sand pirate and Lucia had slipped away, onto the Warmaw.

Chapter 9

ALPHA-SPAWN

THE INSIDE OF the battleship was like nothing Lucia had ever seen. The floors were made of a polished stone, so shiny she could see herself in them. Stark white slabs formed the walls and ceiling, reflecting light and dazzling her with the brightness.

They were in an enormous vaulted chamber lit by old world electric lights blazing in the ceiling. The Letherine lay roped and moored in one corner of the area looking like a captured beast ready for slaughter. There was clearly room and rope for a dozen more ships her size.

“I’ve never seen anything so big.”

“Close your mouth, kid, you’ll attract attention.”

She wanted to yell at Farid, but he was right. She was gawping at the surroundings like a newborn. But being right just made him more annoying.

“How does it fly?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Farid said. “This is ten times larger than any ship I’ve heard of. It shouldn’t be able to fly.”

Soldiers streamed out of the Letherine in a mad dash. Once everyone was out, the dog sergeant yelled at a nearby crew standing by a series of cranks and pulleys. It reminded Lucia of the system she’d just trained with on Farid’s ship. The winch operators grasped the handles and spun the cranks, opening the trapdoor under the Letherine.

If they couldn’t defuse the bomb, they’d drop the ship down into the wasteland. The Letherine would never survive a fall like that. The Warmaw was rising, Lucia noticed. They were a half mile in the air now. Nothing could survive a fall so great.

Farid couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d poured his life into that ship. It was like a sister to him, a mother. Lucia wanted to take his hand, to soothe him, but she guessed red bellies didn’t do that very often. At least not in public. As it was, she was just glad that women served the Suzerainty. There was no way she could’ve passed as a man in the tight-fitting armor.

“We need to hurry.” She bumped the pirate with her shoulder, jostling him onto his heels.

“What if she needs me?”

“Our friends need you.”

“I could run inside, activate the emergency pulse drive once I was near the ground. She has other tricks, too.”

“You want to go down with the ship?”

“It’s a captain’s duty. And she’s not just any old ship,” he said through gritted teeth.

He was frozen, transfixed. Lucia had to do something. She closed her eyes and reached out to him with her senses, hoping to avoid touching the mind of the witch again. Whether he knew it or not, he was her pack. He belonged to her. She had power over him.

Lucia felt for the bond between them. It thrummed in her mind like a fiddle string. She plucked it, sending a low bass hum to Farid, then she tugged on it.

The captain staggered. “What did you just do to me?”

“I reminded you who the alpha here is,” she growled. “Now stop wasting time and help me save our friends.”

He nodded, but his eyes turned back to his beloved ship.

“Think of Quinn. Quinn needs you.”

That was all it took. At the mention of his first mate and best friend, Farid refocused. He’d be okay.

“Any idea where the prisoners are kept?” she asked.

“If this is anything like other Suzerainty ships, there’ll be a log room near here. They love their paperwork, these red bellies. Everything gets filed in triplicate, with redundancies everywhere. The log room will have maps, floor plans, directories. We’ll find it there.”

Lucia had a better idea. She walked over to the dog sergeant, who stood fretting at the edge of the open trapdoor.

“Where’s that bomb squad?” he whined.

“Sergeant,” Lucia did her best impression of a tired soldier, “I’ve been ordered to report to the detention level.”

“Very well,” the dog man said, not even looking at her.

“Sir, I,” Lucia played at stammering, remembering the way new guards at her uncle’s mine asked questions, “I don’t know where that is.”

“New recruit, eh? We’ve seen a lot of you types recently. Can’t believe how much Taybor is skimping on training. Still, we’ve got a war to win, eh? Eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Lucia agreed.

“Why, when I was a new recruit—” He turned to bellow at a nearby soldier, “Jenkins, go find Millicent. She’s taking too long with the disposal unit. I’ll not have a hole blown in the deck on my watch!” The sergeant coughed, “Bad timing, private. Bad timing. Come see me at end of shift and I’ll chew your ear off with my probie stories.”

“Sir,” Lucia agreed. Then added, “The detention area?”

“Right, right. Level three. Towards the center. Just listen for the screaming,” he sneered. “Maybe I’ll come join you after all this. Calms my nerves to hear those terrorists and traitors crying for their mommies.”

Lucia performed a tight half bow like she’d seen other red bellies do, then marched off toward the center of the floating pyramid. Farid followed at a nonchalant distance.

Once past the hangar area, the hallways narrowed considerably. The Warmaw was a labyrinth wrought of stone and steel. Lucia felt confused wandering the halls. They seemed to loop and spin upon themselves, arcing upwards or spiraling into cul-de-sac rooms. The layout was maddening.

“How can anyone find anything in here?” Lucia asked.

“They say the Suzerain is paranoid. That he sees enemies everywhere,” Farid said. “Maybe this fortress is designed like his mind? Attacking this place would be suicide. Do you see those slits in the ceiling? Murder holes. Three men with bolters or just long knives could hold off an army in here, shooting from hidden recesses in the ceiling.”

A shiver ran up Lucia’s spine. “Are they listening?” She nodded upwards.

“I doubt they’re manned right now. Probably just when an attack happens.”

“Who could ever be crazy enough to attack this place? How?”

Farid shrugged. “Crazy comes from everywhere. Sometimes it comes from hope.” He grinned at her. “We’re attacking, aren’t we?”

Wandering around, hoping to take the right branch of the maze without suddenly wandering into a room full of alpha-strength officers, was no kind of plan.

“Wait,” Lucia said, “I’m going to try something.” She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing again, feeling out with her alpha gifts for her pack. Foxtail and Triptongue and Quinn were hers. She should be able to find them. But Farid’s presence loomed in her mind. He was so close, so warm. And that kiss . . .

When they got out of here, out of danger, she’d get more of that from him. Much, much more.

Lucia shook her head. If she thought about the way his lips tasted, the way his strong hands felt on her neck, the way his tight back felt under her touch, the scent of arousal that poured from his skin—she’d never be able to focus.

She wondered, not for the first time, what making love to him would be like. Would he be gentle? Bold? Impatient? The women at her uncle’s compound swore that you never really knew a man until you saw his bedroom face. The idea had always saddened Lucia before, as if it was dishonest. But now, so close to Farid, his scent lingering in her nose, the idea of seeing his bedroom face, seeing him stripped of all cunning was thrilling.

“Focus,” she said. “Focus. Farid, stand behind me, please. I’m having trouble sensing past you.” The way he smirked at her told her everything she need to know.

He wanted to see her bedroom face as well.

Breathe in.

Breath out.

She imagined herself a wolf, black as the night, padding from shadow to shadow. She ran the length of the battleship in great bounds, moving through the harsh stone walls like a whisper. Rooms full of red jacketed soldiers flitted by like rumors. Great storehouses of grain and water filled ten stories of deck. Weird thrumming machines pulsed with a sickly green energy, holding the ship aloft.

And then, at the core of the pyramid, she sensed them.

On the hushed feet of a phantom, Lucia prowled the edge of the detention area. Honeycombed cells were set in the floor like a beehive made of iron. Silver gleamed, threaded into the bars of the cells. In her ghostly form, the silver shone with the brightness of the sun, blinding her.

Walking above the cells, careful not to touch the silver, were half-shifted men. Wolves mostly, but others as well. Lucia noted a bear shifter the size of a small barn and a panther shifter slinking silently.

They were officers, gifted with the Suzerain’s dark alpha energy.

There’d be no sneaking past them.

“Do you smell something?” growled one of the shifters, a hideous hyena man. Drool hung in thick loops from his lower jaw. He wore armor on his shoulders and arms, on his legs and back. Specially crafted for his shifter battle form, the armor gleamed with a blood-red hue.

The werebear sniffed at the air, his overly large head swinging this way and that. “I smell a wolf.” His voice was so deep it rattled the bars of the cages. “I smell an intruder.” The bear shifter hefted a silver-bladed axe that was larger than Lucia. The haft was badly notched.

He marked his kills, carving a tick into the wooden handle for every shifter’s life taken by that blade. There were hundreds of meticulous scratches marring the shaft.

“Gashly, Whiskeyfur, track the scent. There will be a reward for whoever brings him,” he sniffed again, “no—her—back alive.”

They can smell me. They can smell my shadow.

“Should we alert the witch?” the hyena—Gashly—asked.

“We will tell Azra once we’ve captured the intruder. Glory will be on us today, brothers.”

The bear sneered, showed a mouthful of sharp teeth. Lucia forced herself to wake, her shadow form dissipating like mist.

Farid stood above her, shaking her.

“What the hell was that?” he whispered harshly. “You just passed out and starting whining like a damn dog.”

“I know where our friends are,” she said, getting to her feet. “But they know we’re coming now.”

“You need to shift,” Farid said. “If these things are alphas, they’ll come at us hard. You need to shift now.”

“But what if that attracts the attention of the witch? Or brings the alphas running?”

“What choice do we have? Can you fight them?”

Lucia didn’t know. But she was going to find out. She hadn’t fully shifted yet. Just the practice that Conwynne had walked her through. Shifting her eyes to see in the dark. Shifting her nose to follow the scents on the wind. Shifting her hands to form fighting claws.

This was different. This was giving in to the beast that every shifter kept locked away tight within. The wolf stirred within her, begging to be let out. She recalled her uncle, his hands ragged daggers dripping with her aunt’s blood. The adrenaline taste of fear soured her tongue.

“You can do this,” Farid said, holding her shoulders. “I believe in you.”

Lucia thought about her friends, about Foxtail’s hunched shoulders, about Triptongue’s fidgeting hands, about Quinn standing atop the crow’s nest while the Letherine flew across the sands. But mostly she thought about Farid. His soft lips that smiled so quick and smirked like the whole world was a joke only he understood. The soft way he looked at her, when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, the bob and weave of his hips as he piloted his ship in the gleaming sunlight.

If she didn’t shift, the alpha-spawn would tear him apart.

A dark wave of fear flowed up from her belly, warring with the bright compassion beating in her heart.

What kind of shifter would she be?

Would she be like her uncle, a rageful monster trying to make everyone bow beneath her feet, or would she be like her mother, kind and gentle and strong as stone?

The sound of footfalls and eerie laughter rang close in the labyrinth.

The darkness offered strength, such strength. If she embraced it, she could keep her friends safe forever. She could tear the Warmaw apart with her clawed hands. No one would hurt her friends, because everyone who even thought of it would die. She’d rip their throats out and howl their names to the moon as a warning.

Farid stepped away from her, his face a mask of fright.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, but her voice was a guttural growl. Teeth filled her mouth suddenly, stretching into razored canines. Her hands buckled and popped, stretching.

“You can do this,” Farid said. “Don’t be afraid.” The pirate unholstered his bolter, held a cutlass in the other hand.

“It’s too hard,” she growled. “I’m so afraid.”

“Look at me,” Farid said. “Look at me, Lucia Brightwolf. You are the strongest, most fearless person I’ve ever met. You lived under the thumb of a tyrant, but where most people would learn cruelty and pain, you learned hope and compassion from him. You fled across the wastes to rescue a slave you’d only just met. You trusted a crazy, smelly old man and a half-naked scoundrel like me because you’re good and you bring out the good in others.”

Her heart beat faster, she could feel the fear receding, being pushed away by something so much more powerful.

“You make me want to be a good man, Lucia Brightwolf.”

The eerie laughter neared, followed by heavy thumping feet. The alpha-spawn were nearly on top of them.

Lucia had to shift. It was time.

She tore the armor from her chest, slashing the buckles off with her razored fingers. If she shifted in the armor, it’d suffocate her. She kept the shoulder armor, the pauldrons and gauntlets and grieves. Under the armor she wore only a lightweight white shirt, nearly see-through. She would have been embarrassed to be so disheveled in front of Farid, if there was time to do so. But there wasn’t.

The shift came on her like her first taste of sugar, like a warm fall evening, like the excitement before a kiss.

It strengthened her, pulling her body into a new alignment. Half-woman and half-wolf, upright and savage. Her feet were clawed and padded. Her legs reconfigured into a canine shape perfect for running. She flexed her hands and slashed open the canvas bundle she’d been smuggling to reveal her mother’s mangled glaive.

It was her glaive now.

Lucia hefted the blade. The silver throbbed with rage in her hand. The wooden handle felt comfortable in her grip, like a home she never knew she missed.

The eerie laughter, a hyena shifter’s cry, sounded from around the corner.

“I can smell you, little girl. Now where did you come from? How did you get this far?” Gashly said, peering around the corner.

Farid fired his bolter, Jolene, the handheld crossbow hurling its charge forward with a near silent puff of compressed gas. The barbed bolt thunked Gashly right between the eyes. The hyena man roared with outrage and pawed at his face to pull the bolt out.

Farid’s bolts weren’t silver. They’d never kill the hyena or any other shifter, but the hooked and barbed surface was torture to remove. As the hyena tugged at it, shrieking in pain, his very flesh tried to heal around the wound, fusing itself with the ten thousand tiny fishhooks circling the bolt. In the end Gashly gave up, leaving the bolt protruding from his head like a stubby horn.

The hyena man hefted his axe and smiled at Lucia like there was nothing that could have made his day better than to find her prowling in his domain.

“I haven’t seen a new alpha in ages. No one has.” He licked the edge of his blade, the silver scorching his tongue with a crackle. “There’ll be a great reward from the witch for bringing you in.”

“Alive,” a voice growled next to him. “We bring her alive.” The second alpha-spawn was a ghastly mutt. His patchwork body showed snake skin, dense boar fur, and spines sticking out from his elbows at all angles. Porcupine seemed to be the dominant trait in the man, but he was easily the ugliest shifter Lucia had ever seen.

“Alive, sure. But no one said she had to have her arms and legs attached.” The hyena laughed like that was the funniest thing ever said, tears squirting from his eyes, drool dripping in thick rivulets onto his bare chest.

Lucia tightened her grip on the glaive, stepped in front of Farid. “You have one chance,” she said, her voice singing. “One chance to surrender and submit. I don’t want to kill anyone, but if you stand in my way, you will die.”

Farid reloaded behind her back with a thunk.

“This one,” the mutt named Whiskeyfur grunted. “This one needs a lesson.” From his belt the hunched shifter drew two long curved knives, silver tipped and chipped from use.

These men were murderers.

Gashly made the first move, leaping low across the room, his axe scraping sparks against the floor. He ran in three quick lopes and then met with Lucia in battle. She tried to recall all the forms Conwynne had taught her, her hours spent drilling and moving as night fell across the Letherine, but none of it would come.

She managed to block Gashly’s blows, his greataxe ringing off her glaive, but every strike pushed her back a footstep.

Too many steps back and she’d be at the wall, unable to maneuver, and then she’d be dead, or worse.

And Farid would be dead.

That couldn’t happen.

A tingle ran up her arms as a mechanism deep within the glaive—some ancient alpha science or magic—ignited. Glowing runes of bright white light shone on the surface of the sword. Memories entered Lucia’s mind. Hundreds of alphas before her, all skilled glaive fighters, were there with her in that room.

Pack is family and pack is forever.

The memories of these great alphas were stored in the sword. The ghostly image of a large shifter, a great cat of some kind, formed around her.

As the hyena man swung upwards with his axe, threatening to sever her hands from her body, Lucia stepped into his attack, slapping him in the face with the flat of her blade. The silver burned like acid. She could feel the ghost of the great cat shifter smiling in pleasure at the strike.

Gashly stumbled backwards, clawing at his face. One of his eyes was swollen shut.

The porcupine mutt leaped in, giving Lucia no chance to breathe. These two had worked together before, knew each other’s rhythms. They were pack, too. But a dark and sickly mockery of pack, feeding off each other in a downward spiral.

Whiskeyfur parried with one blade and jabbed with the other in a quick dancing two-step. He stabbed high and low, testing her defenses for a weakness.

Farid darted forward and slashed the hyena shifter across his wounded eye with his cutlass. Gashly wasn’t laughing anymore. The pain was so great he dropped his axe, gripping his face with both hands. As Lucia danced with the mutt, parrying and blocking, spinning around the room, her limbs aided by the ghost of a new ancestor—a woman with a shaved head and thick rings on her fingers—Farid grabbed the hyena’s axe.

The mutt saw what was coming, but couldn’t break away from his dance with Lucia in time to do anything.

Farid hefted the axe high overhead and gave a swift downward chop, burying the massive blade in Gashly’s back. The hyena man’s body writhed and shrunk. A black oily smoke hissed from his mouth and ears.

Shifters return to a human form after death, Lucia knew. It was one of the funny tricks nature played on her kind. But she wasn’t prepared for Gashly to look so normal in his death. He was a short man, old and bald, with a pudgy face and bad acne. He could have been any merchant she’d ever met.

With Gashly taken care of, Lucia changed her tactics. Another spirit flowed into her, this one familiar. It looked like her, with the same flat nose and pointed chin, but her eyes were different. This spirit had sad eyes.

She was a demon with the glaive.

The fighting style was completely different from what Lucia had been using, switching to a one-handed attack that favored fighting with the point of the glaive, as if it was a rapier.

The ghost that overlaid her body held the exact same sword, but hers was whole, unshattered, the ghost of the blade protruding a foot longer.

This is my mother, Lucia realized.

Farid fired bolts at the mutt from behind Gashly’s corpse, they lodged themselves painfully into his hip and shoulder. The barbed ends worked their way deeper into the shifter’s body with his every motion.

The fight didn’t last much longer after that. Lucia’s mother was a skilled swordswoman, though her sadness was palpable, leaving Lucia with a bittersweet feeling even as she drove the ragged point of her glaive through the mutt’s neck.

And then it was over. As soon as the mutt died and his body turned into a handsome man of twenty, the spirit left Lucia.

She wanted to yell at the ghost, to beg her to stay. She didn’t really remember her mother or father at all. All she had were stories from her uncle, and those couldn’t be trusted. Feeling her mother’s ghostly touch on her hand, even for a second, was the closest she’d been to her in memory.

“That was amazing,” Farid said, reloading Jolene. “Did the old man teach you all that in three weeks?”

Lucia shook her head. “It’s the glaive. It knows how to fight. It has the memories of a hundred alphas locked in its core.” The sword dimmed in her hand, the runes fading back into the blade.

“That’s useful,” the pirate said, but he could sense something was wrong. “So why do you look miserable?”

“Avar, one of those memories is my mother.”

Chapter 10

THE RESCUE ATTEMPT

“WE HAVE TO get to that prison,” Farid said, peeking around a corner of the labyrinth.

Lucia had walked through the walls as a ghost wolf, had found the prisoners, but that didn’t help at all in actually getting to them. They still had a maze to solve.

“Why do think she was so sad?” Lucia asked.

“Sweetheart, how should I know? I never met the woman and I didn’t see what you saw. Now how about you use some of that fancy alpha magic and find us a way through?”

Lucia tried to concentrate, but her mother’s grief was an anchor around her heart. She couldn’t even shift. Seconds after the mutt had hit the floor, her body returned to normal. Lucia’s clothes hung wrong on her now, stretched and torn by the shift. If they survived, she would have to make Conwynne teach her how to shift her clothes, too. She was immodestly dressed before Farid, which should have sent her into a furious blushing fit, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“There was a sense of her, more than just the sword instruction,” Lucia said, resting against a stone wall that looked like every other stone wall in the perverse labyrinth. “With the spirits that moved me, I could sense them, who they were. Nothing clear, no words or images, just like a lingering song or a feeling on my skin.”

Farid used one of his bolts and a plate of stolen armor to scratch a rough map of the maze, only half-listening.

“But with my mother, it was more intense. Probably because we share a connection? But it was like whatever they did to capture her essence for the glaive, she was about to do something that made her feel despair. And shame.” Lucia slumped to the floor. She didn’t want to cry in front of the pirate, but she might not have much choice.

“I used to dream that my parents were merchants,” Farid said, sitting down next to her. “Back in the group home, in Sala City, no one spoke about their folks. You’d think a bunch of orphaned kids would always talk about what their parents really were, but it was too painful. Bottom line was that we’d all been abandoned. Or orphaned by war. No one was coming to rescue us. But I still dreamed.”

“Tell me about your dreams of them, please. Distract me, Avar.”

The pirate took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers. Lucia’s heart swelled in her chest. He was so warm, it was amazing just to touch him.

“I dreamt they were fabulously rich merchants, sailing the skies in an airship. Buying spices and urns and rugs in New Angeles and trading them for ore in Los Robles and trading that for ancient science and magic in The Straits. They were handsome, dashing adventurers, making a killing while secretly fighting for all that’s good and right. It was a silly dream. A juvenile dream, but I clung to it.” His voice was calm and wistful. For a moment Lucia forgot where they were, that she’d just killed a man.

Lucia smiled at the pirate captain. “I can’t see that it was an inspiration or anything.”

He laughed without smirking for once. “The only person I could talk to in the home was Quinn. But he knew his parents, so it was different.”

“They gave him up, didn't they?”

“Yeah, he became a mutt when he was seven. Got scared by a rattlesnake and shifted too young, is what they said. No one’s really sure why some kids turn into mutts. Is it a curse in their blood or a shift gone wrong? It didn’t matter why, his folks just didn’t want him anymore. He had a bunch of brothers—his parents were busy trying to repopulate the wasteland single handedly—so I guess they felt they could just jettison any that underperformed.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s Sala City. Fabulous wealth and unimaginable squalor heaped right on top of each other, caged by the Suzerainty and forced to play nice.”

They sat in silence, holding hands, staring at the blank stone walls as if death didn’t lurk around every corner.

“Y’know,” Farid said, “it occurs to me that the hyena guy had something of a drool problem.”

Lucia shuddered, “Don’t talk about it, please. I’ve never been so scared in my life.” That wasn’t true, the night when her uncle had killed her aunt—nothing could be scarier than that.

“What I’m saying is, maybe you could track his drool? Smell it or use your gifts or something?”

Lucia jumped to her feet. “Avar, that’s brilliant. I could kiss you.” She beamed.

“You’ll do more than that, once we’re out of here.”

Lucia grabbed onto the excitement she felt at that idea, about kissing the handsome pirate, feeling his oh-so-warm body pressed against hers, and shifted.

It was even faster this time. With practice, it would become second nature to her. If she lived that long. In her werewolf form, her nose was sensitive enough to pick up the scent of the hyena’s slaver. She sniffed at the ground, bent double, and the path forward opened before her.

Lucia sprinted through the maze, tracking the hyena’s spoor. Farid ran at his top speed just to keep her in sight.

“Hold up,” he whispered harshly. “I can’t run as fast as you, girl.”

Lucia looked back at him, her sharpened senses taking in every detail of the man. She could hear his heart thudding in his chest from the exertion of keeping her pace. She could see every droplet of sweat on his brow, sliding down his handsome face to disappear under his stolen armor. But mostly she could smell him.

Oh gods below, she could smell him.

The wolf in her, its voice new in her bones, craved him. The wolf wanted to pin the man down right here, to tear his clothes off with razored claws and to rub his amazing scent over every inch of her body. She wanted to ride him naked under the moonlight, to claim this man as her mate for all of time.

But the woman in her knew better. They were on a schedule, a harsh timetable. It wouldn’t be long before the hyena was missed, before one of the alpha-spawn stumbled upon her scent, or before Conwynne did something rash in the heart of the Warmaw. The human and the wolf warred within her. The easiest solution was not to look at Farid, not to smell him. If she kept ahead of him, kept away, she could keep control.

“I’ll leave a trail for you,” she said in her musical, shifted voice.

“With what?” Farid panted.

“With these.” Lucia carved the wall with her claws, effortlessly gouging the stone, marking the maze as hers.

“You can’t take them all on yourself. You need me.”

“I do need you.” The wolf growled within her. She backed away from Farid, afraid of what she’d do. “So hurry.”

Lucia spun on her heels and bounded off, clawing the walls at every intersection to lead Farid towards the prison.

They passed no one else in the maze, but Lucia could smell other people. Behind every door, there were shifters. Thousands of her brethren lived and worked in the monstrous flying machine. Were they all bad people? Were some slaves or here under duress? It wasn’t right to hurt those who got in the way, just for getting in the way.

The wolf laughed at her weakness. None would get in their way. Even if they couldn’t see her, the shifters could sense a true alpha nearby. They’d instinctively hide or flee. Only the very brave or the very foolish would try to stop her. The brave, the foolish, and the alpha-spawn.

Running at top speed, it wasn’t long before Lucia entered the detention floor. It was just as she’d seen it as a ghost wolf. Hexagon cells were set in the floor, like a beehive on its side. In between the cells walked guards on metal planks, armed with swords and axes and bolters.

One of the guards, a bored-looking weasel shifter with a pointy face and drooping whiskers, looked up a fraction too late. Lucia’s claws tore his throat out as she hurled herself across the room in a storm of fury. Bounding leaps carried her five meters at a time, from plank to plank, over the cells. Most of the guards scarcely had time to draw their weapons, let alone use them, before they found themselves clutching ripped-open bellies or limbs dangling from severed flesh.

The howls of pain brought the alpha-spawn running.

Into the room, barreling like a dive bike, raced the horribly large bear shifter. Twin silvered battle axes, each larger than Lucia, hung in his hands. Behind him was a bird shifter, with large opalescent eyes and green feathers running in a ridge from between her eyes all the way down her spine. Two more shifters, a turtle man and a dog with a scarred mouth and yellow fur, followed hesitantly.

Lucia stood in the middle of the room, waiting for their approach. One on one, she liked her odds against the alpha-spawn. Well, maybe not against the bear. But against all four at once? Four who had clearly worked together?

Even the wolf knew it was madness to fight a pack by yourself.

Below her feet, in the darkness of the cell, a body stirred.

“Who are you?” A voice rang out, clear and cool and commanding. It was familiar from nights spent watching the pilfered memory crystal.

Lucia drew her glaive and swung down sharply, slashing through the cell bars, opening a way into the pit below.

“My name is Lucia Brightwolf. I’m here to rescue you.”

Prince Joaquin Muir of Sierren grabbed the edges of the bars, avoiding the sharpened ends impossibly sliced by Lucia’s glaive, and hauled himself out of the cell.

Across the room, the four alpha-spawn fanned out, spreading around the room, encircling Lucia. If they came at her on all sides, she’d surely lose. Unless she had more help.

“In the rest of the cells,” she said, pulling the prince to his feet, “are there men loyal to you?”

At the touch of his palm to hers, an electric shock raced through her. A thrilling, exciting feeling washed across Lucia’s skin. The prince’s eyes flew open, locked on hers.

Oh no.

The wolf inside her, it wanted this man. And his wolf, buried deeply inside him, wanted her. She’d heard stories about this sort of thing. The old tales were full of fated mates, of brave souls trekking across the waste to make their fortune, only to bump into a lonely, shy, simple peasant girl and feel instantly and irrevocably drawn to her.

But this couldn’t happen. Not now. Not ever. She loved Farid, didn't she? Wasn’t he the man she was drawn to?

“You are a far more lovely rescuer than I had ever dared hope for,” the prince brushed his lips against the back of her hand, tickling the fur there gently. “But I do not suppose you brought an extra one of those?” He flicked his eyes downwards, indicating her glaive.

“Sorry, just the one. But I know where we can get you another.”

From across the room, the bird shifter made a fast motion, and almost too late Lucia realized she’d thrown a silver-tipped knife at the prince’s back. Seconds before the blade would have severed his spine, Lucia snapped out her hand and caught it with two fingers on the blade. The silver burned her skin like fire, but she didn’t care.

Time was up.

“It’s not a glaive,” Lucia Brightwolf handed the dagger to the prince, “but it’ll have to do.”

“I’ve done more with less, I assure you.” He smiled at her and her wolf howled with need.

She was about to fight four monstrous alphas, and her wolf wanted babies. Perfect.

Lucia danced over the cell bars, her bare feet hopping from one plank to the next, and as she moved she sliced downwards with her blade, opening every cell.

“Brightwolf!” the prince yelled. “There are things in some of these cells we do not want to free!”

“If they’re caged by the Suzerain, they’ll hate him as much as we do.”

The giant bear stood immobile at the edge of the cell pits. His eyes never left Lucia. He breathed in huge gulps, his shoulders rising and falling like waves in the ocean. His fingers flexed on his axe hafts, squeezing so hard the wood shrieked from the force.

The bird drew more daggers from behind her back—longer, thinner ones for slashing, not throwing.

The turtle and dog, clearly lower down the alpha pack’s hierarchy, approached Lucia from either side of the room. The turtle wielded a chain, long and thick, with a nasty mass of silver spikes on one end. The dog shifter wore spiked knuckles, gleaming brightly in Lucia’s shifted vision. Silver flickered from his mouth as well—his front fangs were capped with it.

The prince’s men, over two dozen of them, clambered up out of the cells. They wore variations on his uniform, blue pants and white tunics. Foxtail and Triptongue also pulled themselves out of adjoining cells.

“Oh, mistress Brightwolf! How good it is to see you! I told Foxtail you would come to rescue us, but she did not believe me. No faith at all in this one. But I knew. I knew! For we are your pack and a true alpha never abandons her pack!”

Lucia leapt twenty feet across the pits and shoved Triptongue back into his hole, as the turtle shifter lashed out with his spiked chain.

“Get down!” Lucia roared.

The turtle was an expert with his weapon and alarmingly fast. He hardly seemed to move, spinning slowly, pivoting on his feet, but his chain was a blur of death.

“Kill the betas,” the bear rumbled. “Kill the betas and the alpha will have no power.”

“No!” the prince screamed.

The turtle man’s face twisted into an ugly sneer as he spun the chain faster and then let go, rocketing the spiked end across the room. The heavy end of it thunked into one of the prince’s guards, killing the man instantly.

The yellow dog shifter sprinted around the perimeter of the pits, slashing at anyone who came within fighting distance.

The bear and the bird waited, blocking both exits, patient as stone.

“We have no weapons,” the prince whispered.

“You have claws,” Lucia said. “You are weapons.”

A soldier halfway between her and the turtle exploded as the spiked ball ripped him in half. The men began to panic and several dived back into their cells.

“If we charge them, we could overpower them.”

“You’re an alpha, aren’t you? Shift.”

The prince looked at her like she was crazy. “I’ve shifted twice in my life, both times during a full moon and with the help of the greatest sages in my father’s lands.”

Lucia closed her eyes. She tried to feel for the bonds of pack, but there were none between her and these men. They were not hers to command. In her mind’s eye she could see golden threads from the soldiers drifting like smoke through the air to the prince. They were his pack, but he didn’t have the training or skill to do anything with them.

“If I may, mistress.” Triptongue poked his head out of the pit he’d been pushed into. “I do believe one of these cells contains a rather nasty surprise.”

“Which one, Trip?”

“If I recall correctly—”

“Spit it out!” Lucia interrupted.

The gangly fox sniffed, and pointed across the room to one of the outer cells, opposite the turtle, near where the yellow dog shifter prowled.

Lucia took the planks three at a time, bounding across the room past the soldiers.

“She’s abandoning us!” one cried.

“Help us!” another called.

“Get down,” the prince yelled, as the turtle’s chain nearly took the head off a guard nearby.

The cell Triptongue had indicated was unlike the others. The door was made not of silvered bars but rather a black stone slab, shiny as a mirror. Lucia saw herself reflected in it, a powerful sight in her armor and fur.

The yellow dog backed away—he didn’t fancy his chances with her.

“You don’t want to open that,” he whined, bowing as he stepped closer to the wall.

If she didn’t change the odds, the alpha-spawn would pick them off one by one. If they rushed en masse, the bear would hew them to pieces. Nothing in the cells could be worse than the fate that lay before them.

Lucia jabbed the glaive into the stone. The blade sparked against the surface but penetrated it, sending cracks spiderwebbing out from the impact point. Lucia tried to pull back for another downward stab, but the glaive was stuck fast. Bracing her feet, she gripped the handle and pulled until her muscles screamed.

The sword would not budge.

The dog watched her with predatory eyes. He crept closer, inch by inch, fingers flexing as if he was imagining how they’d feel around her neck.

Lucia tugged. The dog crept closer. Behind her another of the prince’s men fell to the chain attack.

They were all going to die here.

“You’re not going to die,” the bear said, his voice like rocks falling. “Dying would be too good for you. You killed Gashly. You killed my friend. We’re going to catch you, tie you in silver chains and throw you in a cell. We’re going to laugh as your skin burns away, as your body eats itself with hunger. And then, when you’re broken and desperate and starving, we’ll feed you your little human friend that’s skulking around the corner. After that, we’ll bring you to the Suzerain himself. He loves to meet new alphas. He’ll scoop out what’s left of you and pour his own power in and you’ll be his forever and ever. Just like the rest of us.”

Lucia could see it, like a nightmare in her mind. The bear was forcing his thoughts onto her, into her. If she closed her eyes she could smell the cell he had picked out for her, could taste the dust on her tongue. She could see the chains binding her to the ground, silver chains no thicker than a thread, but enough to rob her of her strength and will.

The bear laughed and the vision changed. Farid was there trussed like a roasted pig, rubbed in seasonings, a strange fruit stuffed into his mouth. The bear and his bird friend tossed Farid into her cell, in that dark imaginary place, and she hadn’t eaten in a year. Her body was only bones and skin. She crawled over to Farid, jaws opening with a creak and . . .

The thwang of Jolene broke the spell. The bear shifter fell to his knees with a dull thud, clawing at his throat. Across the dim room, Farid emerged from the shadows, slotting another barbed bolt into his gun. He fired again, his shot taking the bear in the open mouth, embedding that nasty quarrel deep in the shifter’s throat. It would have killed an ordinary man instantly. But the bear shifter was tough, and an alpha, and a bear. With claws longer than Lucia’s hands, the bear ripped out his own throat, taking the quarrel with it.

The dog shifter ran to help the bear, giving Lucia just the opening she needed to grasp her glaive’s long handle and twist.

Blood rained down the bear’s arm, then slowed to a trickle as his alpha gifts healed the wound. He looked up with murder in his eyes. “A year’s pay for whoever brings me that human’s heart!” he roared.

That was all it took to motivate his men. They fixated on Farid, leaving off their siege on the prince’s guards.

Lucia could see what was coming. Farid could maybe have taken on one of the alpha-spawn if he’d had planning, backup, and the element of surprise. But alone and cornered he was no match for their unnatural gifts.

The pirate was going to die. But he held her heart, so she wasn’t going to let that happen.

Reaching deep into her feelings for him, grabbing the positive emotions like Conwynne taught her, Lucia pulled on the strength of her pack and twisted the stuck glaive with all her strength.

The blade threatened to snap. The handle whined like wood about to splinter. But it was the stone that gave first.

The shining black marble, polished and carved with a thousand mysterious glyphs, cracked underfoot. The glaive came free and Lucia toppled backward, out of the cell pits, and onto the stone ring that circled the room. The stink of shift scent wafted from the exposed cell.

“What have you done?” roared the bear shifter.

From the darkness under the cracked black stone, a clicking sounded. Like a thousand knives being tapped together, like a thousand hungry mouths clicking their teeth.

A scorpion emerged from the pit, an ugly mottled brown thing, twisted by the wasteland. It was larger than Lucia’s hand.

“Is that what they’re afraid of?” Farid asked.

“Run!” the prince yelled. “To the labyrinth!”

Lucia sprinted over the top of the pits, looking for Triptongue and Foxtail. She found them and yanked them effortlessly out of their cells. Her body sang with the change. She felt like she was getting stronger the longer she stayed shifted into her were form.

Another scorpion emerged from the black pit. Then another.

The hungry clicking grew louder.

The alpha-spawn huddled together at the far end of the room, opposite Lucia, her pack, and the prince’s men who were fleeing into the maze.

She wanted to see what was coming. It might come for her next, and she had to be ready.

The clicking faded away, like a monstrous creature taking a breath before it roared, and then out of the pit streamed scorpions, thousands of scorpions.

“It’s a myriad,” Farid said.

“We need to run,” Lucia said, unable to tear her eyes away.

The foot-long creatures shimmered as they fled the confines of their cell, merging first into hulking scorpion people, with skin covered in shaggy brown plates of armor, hands like pincers, and thick swinging tails waving over their shoulders, looking for somewhere to strike. And then when a critical mass of men was reached they merged again, forming a scorpion as large as the room.

It had a grudge with the alpha-spawn. The last thing Lucia saw before giving in and fleeing was the envenomed tail lashing out and spearing the turtle shifter so hard he was ripped in two.

The way out was easier than the way in. Lucia could smell their path, could see the claw marks she’d made on the walls. And any resistance they met fell swiftly to her glaive or Farid’s bolts. Halfway through the maze, headed to the Letherine, they stumbled on a storeroom and armed the prince’s men with ersatz weapons—clubs from chair legs, cooking knives as daggers, and a pair of heavy iron shears that the prince took for himself.

“Where are we going?” the prince asked.

“I have a ship,” Farid smirked at the man. “Don’t worry, your highness. I’ll save your bacon.”

The prince was not so different from what Lucia expected. He was brave and bold, handsome, and cared for his men. So why was she disturbed by him? Was it that the wolf in her wanted him so badly that it made the human side turn away? Or was it just that she wanted Farid more, and she knew that if she spent too much time with the shifter prince she’d fall for him and feel her heart rip in two?

Was it possible to love two men at once and not go mad?

The sound of marching boots alerted them to the approach of an entire platoon, so the lot of them squeezed into the storeroom and huddled in quiet.

Well, mostly quiet.

“Can you do that trick Conwynne did? Make us all invisible?” Farid whispered.

“This isn’t the time, man,” the prince warned.

“Conwynne has been practicing his gifts for sixty years. I’ve been doing this less than a month. I think I’m doing pretty good for myself, all things considered.”

Farid nodded, positioned himself across from the door so that if anyone charged in, Jolene would be the first thing they saw.

The prince sat near Lucia, too near.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he whispered. His eyes shone in the darkness like blue flames. “I look at you and my blood cries out for you. The wolf inside knows we’re meant to be together.”

Lucia’s heart crashed in her chest. This was too soon, such bad timing. “This isn’t the time,” she said. “I can’t talk about this here.” Her wolf wanted him. It wanted to be naked in front of him, to stretch out on the floor with her ass raised high for him. A delicious heat filled her belly. She needed this man to mount her, to fill her up. To mate her as soon as possible.

“Conwynne taught me as well,” the prince said, taking her hand in his. “Though I am not half the student as you, clearly. But I remember my lessons. Denying your feelings, repressing yourself, that leads nowhere good. If you want to be an alpha knight, you need to embrace your emotions. You have to reconcile your woman and your wolf.”

The prince leaned in to kiss her, and Lucia instinctively shifted back to her human form.

“Oh!” the prince said in surprise. “You’re beautiful.”

He leaned in again for the kiss, and just as his lips were brushing hers, the door opened. Farid’s bolter twanged, hurling one of his barbed quarrels across the room, straight at Conwynne.

The old knight effortlessly deflected the bolt with his glaive. He shot a look of disgust at the pirate, then closed the door and sat down before Lucia and the prince.

“We have much to discuss and little time to do it. The witch knows we are here.”

Chapter 11

THE BOND OF PACK

THE OLD MAN looked tired as he lowered himself to the floor. The storeroom held boxes of cups and plates. No food or water at all. It was useless to them except as a place to hide.

“It’s good you’re alive, my prince.” Conwynne bowed his head low, pressing his forehead to the floor.

“I have you to thank for it, my dear man,” the prince beamed. “If you hadn’t sent your alpha knight to my rescue, I would surely be dead. Or worse.”

Conwynne raised his eyebrows in surprise at Lucia. “An alpha knight? Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?”

“I never said—,” Lucia began, but the old gray wolf interrupted her.

“Yes, yes, yes. No need apologizing now. Many years of training lie ahead of you, Brightwolf, if you want to truly be the alpha you pretend to be.”

“Now look here,” the prince rose to his feet, “you didn’t see what she did in there. She was a storm of claws and silver. A veritable fury!”

“She took on two alphas,” Farid added, “by herself. And won.”

Conwynne waved his hand, as if he was brushing their words away. “These are not true alphas. They’re just alpha-spawn. You could paint a dog black but he wouldn’t be any more a wolf than these things would be true alphas. They’re just inflated with the Suzerain’s power. Pay them no mind.”

“Pay them no mind?” The prince was clearly outraged—he wore his every emotion on his face for all to see. He was so unlike the guarded pirate. “Those monsters killed a third of my men!”

“Yes, yes. Terrible losses,” muttered Conwynne. “There is more to do, my prince, so if you are done bellowing like a fool bent on attracting as much attention as possible, I suggest you sit and listen at the knee of your elders.”

“I am no pup, General, to be ordered about by you.”

“And you are no alpha, my boy. So who will you follow?” Conwynne growled.

The prince’s eyes flicked to Lucia, so fast she almost missed it. Conwynne didn’t.

“Yes, the girl shows great promise. There was no alpha stronger or more fearsome than her mother, but she lacks experience, training, and focus. For now, my prince, you must pledge yourself to me if we are to have any hope of escaping this hell.”

“What’s your plan, Conwynne?” Your plan she thought, keep it vague. Don’t call it our plan yet. Something was off about the old shifter, his eyes held a mania that hadn’t been there before and his fingers spasmed as if being in the Warmaw was eating away at him.

“I’ve located the weapon,” he said portentously.

“The one that wiped out my people?” the prince asked.

“The very same.” Conwynne sighed. “It’s located in a room near the top of this tower, but not at the very precipice. That is where the witch resides. The weapon is powered by a crystal charged with stolen lives. It’s the same ritual that made the Suzerain so powerful, somehow locked in a gem. Every time the weapon fires, it grows stronger. The attack on Sierren was only its most recent atrocity, though by far its greatest.”

“How do we destroy it?” Lucia asked. Conwynne was hiding something, but that didn’t matter—only destroying the weapon did.

“Strong magics shield it from all but silver. A glaive would do the trick quite nicely, I think. Little else stands a chance.”

“You want to walk us deeper into this nightmare so she can stab a magic crystal with a broken sword?” Farid was incredulous. “No thanks, old man. That sounds like suicide.”

“You have a better idea, I trust?” Prince Joaquin sniffed.

These two get along like fire and fuel.

“You bet I do.” Farid was on his feet, poking a finger into the prince’s chest. “We run. Get out of here. We find help, get an airship, and come back to blow this battleship out of the sky.”

“Or never return? Get as far away as you can?” Conwynne asked.

“That’s also an option,” Farid snapped. “I don’t see the percentages in hurling myself into a meat grinder. This isn’t my war.”

“What about all the lives that will be lost if the witch fires that weapon again?” Lucia asked the pirate, her eyes pleading with him.

“What about my life, kid? I only have the one.”

“General, how did you come by this information?” the prince asked, trying to defuse the tension.

The old man glanced down at his fingertips. They were stained almost black with blood. “Never mind that. We need to go.” He slung a bag off his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. It landed with a thud, spilling out rinds of cheese, hanks of dried meats, and a dozen canteens full of fresh water. “Eat and drink. We leave in five minutes.”

Farid pulled Lucia aside, to the corner of the storeroom, as far from Conwynne as possible. A pile of crates marked “tea settings” formed half a wall around them. The prince and his soldiers devoured the stolen food in a frenzy. The pirate eased himself down onto his heels in a smooth motion. Lucia tried doing the same, but tipped over onto her behind.

“Please tell me you’re not going along with this plan.” Farid’s voice was serious now, all traces of sneers or sarcasm gone. “Look, you were really good on the Letherine. You took to the rigging like an old pro. Come join us. Join me.” He reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it nervously. “We could use someone like you on our crew.”

“Is that what I’d be to you, Avar? Just a member of your crew? I saw how you treated them back in Los Robles. Am I just to tag along with you until you get bored of me?” Lucia’s wolf wanted to emerge, to pin Avar down and roar straight into his face. How dare he abandon her now, just when she needed him most.

“Of course not. You know how I feel about you.” His eyes pleaded with her.

“And how do you feel? Can you even say it?” Tears welled in Lucia’s eyes. She wondered if she could shift just her tear ducts. Did wolves cry? “Just say it, Avar. Be honest for once in your life.”

“I—” he began, a panic rising within him. Lucia could hear his heart crashing in his chest. “I need to pay your uncle.” Why was he bringing this up now?

At the mention of his name, Lucia bristled. She felt a darkness stir within her.

“Right. With the money you stole from those dying villagers.”

“I don’t have a choice. You know that. It’s not like Conwynne’s going to pay me the fee he promised, is it? I came along on this fool’s quest to get paid, so that your uncle wouldn’t feed me to his men like a slaughtered pig. I’m not here for your revolution. I’m not a soldier. I’m a pirate, remember?”

“Get away from me, you—scoundrel,” Lucia growled. “Before I tear your throat out.”

Farid touched his forehead in a merchant’s bow, his eyes cold and distant. “Yes, Baroness Lawson. Of course.” The pirate bounced to his feet in one smooth motion and went off to find Quinn. The two of them spoke with hand language in the gloom.

Lucia trembled with rage. How dare he? How dare he! She was nothing like her uncle. She was no baroness. Lucia was trying to do what was right, what was good for everyone. Destroying the witch’s weapon would save lives. How could Farid not see that was a good thing?

Because he only cares about his own life. And maybe Quinn’s.

Lucia’s hands spasmed as she began to shift involuntarily. Her knuckles cracked and extended. Her fingernails thickened, pushing out of her skin until they were six-inch-long claws, hungry for flesh. The fur that emerged on her skin wasn’t midnight black like when she fought the alpha-spawn—it was a dull gray, like slate, with flecks of white salted at her joints.

It’s the anger, she realized. I’m shifting out of anger, out of hate.

It didn’t feel unnatural. It felt strong. Like she could claw her way through the stone walls as easy as a prairie dog tunneled under the wastes. She hid her hands under her robe, tried to force them back to normal, but they wouldn’t change.

She looked up over the stacked boxes, trying to catch Conwynne’s eye. He’d trained alphas. He knew how to help. Instead, she caught Farid staring at her with a forlorn expression, and her anger blazed like his eyes were kindling tossed into her bonfire.

The dark shift pulsed through her body. Her teeth became razored fangs. Her eyes narrowed to see better in the darkness. The muscles in her arms and legs bunched and reformed into stronger configurations.

If she didn’t do something, she was going to leap across the room to kill Farid. And anyone else who got in her way.

“It’s settled then,” Conwynne’s voice rang out. “We form two groups. Farid and Quinn will take noncombatants and the injured to their ship. If we all die, they need to tell others what is transpiring here. And the rest of us will free the ship, then make our way to the weapon.”

The prince stepped in front of the old shifter. “Men, there is no shame in turning away now. You have all given so much in the name of freedom, of liberty, that I cannot ask you to follow me one step further. You have families out there, loved ones who weren’t in Sierren when the weapon struck. You can go find them. You can find a way to be happy. Or at least to live.” The prince paused, gathering steam. “Or you can make sure those families will not be struck down from afar, by cowards like the Suzerain and his witch. They kill us because we scare them, gentlemen. They live in a fog of fear and hate and anything that thinks differently, that dares to love, must be terrifying to them. We know a better way to live, but we need to fight for it. We’ve lost so many already. Their names will never be forgotten. But only if we win. Only if we take the fight to the Suzerain and bloody his nose with our claws.”

The prince’s men, one by one, raised their voices in a quiet howl. Lucia shivered to hear it. This was a pack. A true pack. Their voices one, their purpose unison.

The prince bowed his head. “But I am not your alpha. I have tried that role and find myself ill suited to it. This woman, this stranger who risked everything to save us from the witch’s dungeon, she is.” The prince beckoned to her, his eyes saying step forward, now is the time. But Lucia was still caught in her twisted shift. She didn’t want to be seen. She shook her head at the prince. His brow furrowed.

“General, I pledge myself to the Brightwolf pack, now and forever. Will you perform the ritual?”

Conwynne’s eyes twinkled. This was what he wanted. This was the old man’s plan. “I’d be honored to.”

Conwynne crossed the room as the prince’s men all took a knee, ready to pledge themselves to Lucia. When he neared and saw the state of her, he winced. “Now is not the time for this, girl. Cage your wolf. Harness your hate. Save it for the witch,” he muttered low, so no one would hear.

“I don’t know how.” Her words came out ragged, pushed around the unfamiliar fangs in her mouth.

“Breathe and think of what makes you happy.”

“Conwynne, I don’t know what makes me happy. I used to think leaving my uncle would do it, but everything’s been such a mess since I left.”

The old man nodded. “Draw your blade.”

“What? No. It’s already all I can do not to start fighting everyone here.”

“Trust me, girl. Unsheathe your glaive.”

A vision of pulling the weapon free, of some malignant spirit grabbing her from the depths of the blade and using her to butcher everyone in the room swam before her eyes.

“Do it. We’ve come so far,” he growled. “I’d hate to have to kill you now.”

With shaking fingers, Lucia pulled the glaive free of the wrappings on her back. An electric shock surged up her arm, sending spasms into her muscles. A spirit formed around her. Her mother. It was her mother again. She was so sad, like the weight of the future was crushing her to dust. Could her mom sense her? Did she know she was embracing her own daughter?

The spirit glanced around the room, saw there was no immediate threat, and vanished back into the sword.

A strangled cry emerged from Lucia’s throat. The dark shift was gone, driven away by her mother’s presence.

With the glaive still gripped in her hands, Lucia walked before the prince.

“I accept your pledge, Prince Muir. We are now pack. And any others here who wish to formally pledge, now is the time to do so. We are stronger together.” She caught Farid’s eye for a second, but he folded his arms and looked away petulantly. “Lend me your strength and I will lend you mine. Let us become pack and show these twisted souls the meaning of vengeance.”

The first to come forward, after the prince, was Foxtail. The dour, stout woman eased herself down onto creaking knees, saying the words that began the pack bond. “Pledge myself, my lady.”

Triptongue followed, then the prince’s soldiers, one by one, beginning with Phaera, a red-haired squirrel shifter with bright eyes and a quirky smile. Conwynne drew runes on the ground, spoke old words of power to seal the bonds between them.

In the end, only Farid, Quinn, and Conwynne did not formally pledge themselves.

Chapter 12

AN ALPHA’S PROMISE

CONWYNNE PULLED HIS invisibility trick and slipped from the room to scout the paths to the weapon and to the Letherine. No one spoke while he was gone. Farid and Quinn held themselves away from the pack, all familiarity vanished now. They were just two smugglers, pirates, done with a job and stiffed of their pay. Farid was especially sullen, refusing to meet Lucia’s eyes at all.

Quinn was harder to read. The big mutt seemed annoyed at Farid’s act but was too loyal to break with the man. He’d have his back in every circumstance until the sands took their bones.

The prince and his pack buzzed with energy. They didn’t speak, but a sense of purpose animated them. They fidgeted, anxious for their mission, but also empowered by the pack bond. Lucia’s strength and gifts flowed into them and their strength into her. She felt nearly drunk on it.

The pack bond reminded Lucia of a party she’d been to once as a girl, before her aunt had been murdered. All of the minor lords of the wastes had been there, to celebrate some victory or another. At the time she hadn’t paid attention to the reasons for the party, only that she’d been allowed to go. Wearing a fancy dress for the first time ever, though still just a little girl, she’d danced and twirled with all of the other youths, forgetting the savage wastes for just one night.

Later she heard that one of the families had been ambushed on the way home by raiders, everyone slaughtered or worse. But she hadn’t let that tarnish her memory. Living on the edge of oblivion, you had to cherish the joyful moments you could find because death and deprivation always lurked in the tomorrow.

At the party, everyone had been smiling and chatting and dancing and drinking. A magical buzz filled the room. Little Lucia had become giddy to the point of silliness with the attention she’d received.

That’s how she felt now, with the pack surrounding her. Their hopes and fears and dreams and joys pulsed at her through the bond. She couldn’t sort them out, didn’t know them well enough to recognize the signatures of their thoughts, the flavors of their heartsongs, but she’d learn.

Unless they all died in the next hour.

Along with the strength came the knowledge that Lucia was responsible for the pack. They were hers to keep, hers to protect. Failure would mean not only her death, but the death of her friends. If they didn’t wreck whatever twisted machine stole the life from Sierren, it’d be only a matter of time before the paranoid Suzerain or his witch turned it on some other village that dared to hope.

Conwynne returned, slipping into the room like a ghost. Only Lucia saw him, and even then just barely. He shimmered like a reflection on dirty glass or like a heat mirage. The old man walked slowly, limping. His pant leg was dark with spilled blood just above the knee.

“Conwynne, what’s happened?” Lucia ran to him, elbowing her way through the pack. The soldiers jumped in surprise at her voice and then again when the old wolf shifter allowed himself to be seen.

“Careless and stupid, that’s what age makes you. I ran into a squadron of red jackets and one of those twisted alpha-spawn. They put up a better fight than I was expecting. The alpha had some sort of flechette gun. He sprayed the whole room, killing the soldiers just to get me. There’s a dozen silver needles jammed in my leg, straight into the bone. My flesh healed around them, but walking is,” he winced, “damn difficult.”

“Let me see,” growled Foxtail. The woman shouldered her way through the burly soldiers like a lizard through dry grass. From her knapsack she removed a cloth bundle and unrolled it to reveal a selection of pristine medical instruments. “This’ll hurt,” she said, choosing a hooked knife. “A lot.”

Conwynne beckoned Lucia closer. “Girl, you must take my pain. It’s an alpha gift. One of the oldest. Feel out for my suffering and embrace it, share it with your pack if you need to.”

“What’s going on, Conwynne?”

“If she cuts into me, the wolf will get loose. It’s already screaming within me. I’ve never been especially good with pain, you see.” The old man grimaced as Foxtail knelt over him, prodding him with her thick fingers to find the silver needles lodged in his flesh.

“I can hold you down. The pack can help. We’re plenty strong now.”

“I don’t doubt that, girl, but a wolf in pain howls. He can’t help it. And if I howl now every one of those twisted alpha mockeries will come running straight here and our mission will be over before it’s begun.”

“We could knock him out,” Farid offered from across the room.

“I’d like to see you try,” Conwynne growled, his teeth lengthening and his eyes blazing with the shift.

“I’ll do it, Conwynne. But you’ll have to help me. You’ll have to let me in.”

The old man nodded. Laying on the floor, pain pulling at his features, the alpha knight looked older than ever. He’d always seemed experienced to Lucia, but this was the first time he’d ever seemed frail. She felt pity for him, for all things that had to die, and she rode that compassion all the way into Conwynne’s heart.

She could sense him, the pain he was in, the moment she made contact with him. He wasn’t pack, not exactly, but he was near and in need, so it didn’t matter. Her gifts extended to him now, too.

In his leg, terrible fire, like acid chewing away at his bones. The silver was poison to him. His body was turning itself inside out to cure him of the affliction, but the barbed tips of the slender flechettes were driven too deep into him.

Lucia collapsed to the ground, conscious but in pain. Conwynne’s agony was hers now, but even so it was too much for the two of them to bear.

Foxtail readied the knife.

“It’s too much. I can’t do this,” Lucia said, her voice a pained whisper.

“I’ll help,” Farid said. He came forward and knelt next to her, taking her hand in his. Lucia felt for him, for his soul, and joined it to hers and Conwynne’s. The pirate hissed as he took a share of the pain. Lucia’s load was lessened, but still it was excruciating.

Quinn and Triptongue sat next to Farid, linking their hands with his. Lucia could feel the sensation of the burning silver move into each of them, but it still wasn’t enough.

As if on cue, the prince and all of his soldiers joined hands, linking the pack together. The final person in the chain—Phaera the squirrel girl—took Conwynne’s other hand, completing their circle. The pain was nearly gone now, less a burning torment and more like a distant ache.

It was time for Foxtail to begin cutting. It wasn’t torturous, but the pack still felt it. They felt her knife open flesh, felt her silver-coated instruments spread flesh apart, looking for the silver. She dug and spread the skin and muscles until the bone, bloodied and half-dissolved, stood revealed.

With careful plucking motions, Foxtail worked the flechettes from Conwynne’s leg.

“Gotta be careful,” she said. “If a bit breaks off inside him, it’ll kill him. Silver poisoning is no fun.”

With her soul touching his, Lucia was shocked at the coldness she felt in the man. He had an anger in his heart, icy and dark like the wet sand that lurks beneath the lowest parts of the desert. There was a profound hatred lurking in the old knight. Why had he not spoken of it?

As Foxtail cut his flesh, Lucia found herself peering deep into Conwynne’s mind. She saw skirmishes, armies of shifters armed with silver glaives howling their war cries as they plunged into thick forests, doing battle with some unseen terrible foe. There were mountaintop fortresses, swamps with green fire licking his heels, a decaying city under the water. The old man had seen so many things in his life that Lucia couldn’t even name. She’d never seen a forest, a swamp, or the sea—but as she perched in his memories, his words became hers.

A shadow flickered behind Lucia, as if there was a memory in Conwynne’s mind that wanted to stay hidden. Curiosity didn’t exclusively belong to cats. Wolves had their moments, too.

In the halls of Conwynne’s mind, Lucia turned and gave chase. From memory to memory the shadowy thing—was it a person?—fled before her. Across a battlefield strewn with hacked limbs, the shadow flickered, leaping from one patch of darkened ground to the next like an insect seeking shelter under rocks. Through a memory of Conwynne’s first love—a bear shifter woman—with kinky hair and dusky skin, stretched out on a bed that seemed larger than a mountain, her knees reaching to the sky and the sound of her moans thundering against Lucia’s skin—the shadow tried to hide between her legs, as if propriety or shame would keep Lucia from looking there. Once discovered, the shadow flitted to a new memory, and Lucia followed the trail.

She saw Conwynne in a throne room, receiving his glaive from a glowering old shifter with an oozing scar where his left ear should be. Conwynne was young, sneering, and angry. The one-eared shifter looked displeased with the young alpha knight. In that room, the shadow hid itself on the underside of the glaive, as if the dangerous blade would scare Lucia away.

From memory to memory, arcing backwards through time, the shadow fled, until there was no more time left.

In the final memory, a young boy of two stood atop a house in a tree. His parents slept in the room next door, their breaths rising and falling with a hushed roar like wind across the sands. The boy couldn’t sleep, so he wandered the house at night. His parents didn’t know. He was very quiet. One of the windows opened, sliding silently upwards in its frame. Something beckoned from beyond, glowing eyes in the darkness of the forest like fireflies at play before the moon. The eyes called to Conwynne, and before he knew it he was crawling out the window. Something hungered in the dark of the woods, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving toward it. It was the first time he was afraid. Just as he was crossing the threshold, moving into the warm, gnashing night, his mother’s hand closed on his foot, yanking him back into the house. In the dark of the woods, something evil shrieked its rage at being denied dinner.

Where was the shadow in this memory? Lucia looked all over, under beds, inside boxes, moving through the treehouse like time had stopped, all of the textures fuzzed and indistinct. What would a trip through her own memories look like? What was her first primal fear? Before she feared her uncle, what terrified her most? She couldn’t recall. He’d been such a powerful force in her life since he killed her aunt that any fears from before that time felt inconsequential.

Fear, that was it. The shadow hid in fears.

Lucia braced herself then opened the window and crawled outside into the hungry darkness.

The exterior of the house didn’t exist. Conwynne didn’t remember it at all. The memory was a blank white canvas in all directions once she cleared the window. She peered back into the room, saw Conwynne’s mother hugging him, singing to him as the boy sobbed. She stood and looked out across the white plains and saw the shadow, helplessly trapped. Here in the white of no-memory, it was clearly a person’s silhouette. A woman, roughly the same size as Lucia though perhaps thicker in the hips and slightly shorter.

A bad feeling slithered through Lucia’s bones. Did she really want this? Conwynne’s mind was going to great lengths to keep this from her. Did she have the right to pry so deep into him? Didn’t she trust him?

Well, no. She didn’t. Maybe once she did, but now she realized how little she really knew of him.

At the edges of Conwynne’s mind, Lucia Brightwolf shifted into her alpha form and leapt upon the shadow, catching it in her teeth.

A memory then. A storm upon the sands. Beating rains, lightning flashing too often. Thunder booming so close that it shook his heart. Before him stood his old friend, his pupil. Something had changed about her. “We need to go inside,” he roared, the wind taking his voice. The woman, Dasha Brightwolf, handed him a bundle. A squealing bundle wrapped in bloodied rags.

“You need to take her. Keep her safe.”

“She’s not my burden,” Conwynne growled.

“Where I’m going, what I’m going to do, it’s all for her. But she can’t be there.”

The rain ripped at the desert around them, heavy sheets of water tearing at the sand like swords through flesh. Lightning struck, the flash burning Conwynne’s eyes, and for a moment the ground was the ripped flesh of his friends, his lover, and the lightning was the claws of the Suzerain.

“You can’t defeat him,” Conwynne said to Lucia’s mother. “No one can.”

“I have to try. Keep her safe.”

“No,” the alpha knight sneered. “Take her to your sister, to your brother. To anyone else. I can’t bear to look upon a child, not after all I’ve done, after all that’s happened.”

Dasha Brightwolf shifted in anger, a mottled red fur showing from under her robes. Her eyes flashed brighter than lightning as she roared, “Take her, damn you. I need to know something good still exists in this world.”

Conwynne cowered before Brightwolf’s power. She was too strong, too full of rage. “Okay,” he lied. “I’ll take her. Keep her safe.”

“Train her, Connie. Raise her in our traditions. Teach her well so she doesn’t make our mistakes.”

“I will,” he lied again.

Dasha Brightwolf sprinted across the sands, stepping between the raindrops. Her shattered glaive rested at Conwynne’s feet, ready for Lucia when she was of age. In the distance, lightning cracked the sky open revealing the shadows of a hundred flying warships. Dasha was going to fight them all.

Conwynne gripped the baby tightly, turned his back on Dasha and shuffled off toward Los Robles.

A knock on a door.

A stately house, peaceful and kind.

A woman opened the door, a man stands behind her bleary-eyed.

It was Lucia’s aunt and her uncle, before he was Baron Lawson. The man looks so small, so timid.

“There’s been a disaster,” Conwynne said. “She asked me to bring the little one to you.” He handed over the baby—Lucia Brightwolf, last of the alphas—to her poor doomed aunt and to her monster-in-waiting uncle.

This wasn’t what he agreed to. This wasn’t the plan.

Conwynne broke his word.

Chapter 13

SHIFTER WARS

LUCIA PULLED HERSELF out of his memories, dropped his hand and scrambled away from the man. Her fingers and toes already shifting, dark claws digging into the stone floor like it was loose sand.

Foxtail was asleep on the floor. The operation was long since completed. Conwynne slept, the floor below him sticky with congealed blood.

The prince came to her then, taking Lucia into his arms.

“My lady, I feared to wake you. You were deep in a trance.”

“Did you see it? Were you there too?” Her voice was hushed, shocked.

“No, wherever you went, we could not follow.”

“How can I forgive him? My life, all I have suffered, it was never meant to be.”

“I do not understand, Lucia.” The prince’s body was hot against hers. Under her skin, Lucia’s wolf writhed. It wanted this man harder than it wanted anything. Could he sense it, too? The urge to mate?

Lucia tilted her head up, to look at him. The pack bond was growing stronger, more distinct. She could almost pick the prince’s voice out of their shared song.

He gazed back at her, his eyes reflecting her own mounting lust. If they’d been alone, she wouldn’t have hesitated. The wolf craved him—needed him. But trapped in a storeroom, her mind still reeling from Conwynne’s secrets, it was all wrong.

“Where’s Farid?” she found herself asking, just to steer her thoughts away from the handsome shifter.

“Gone, lady knight. Farid, Triptongue, the mutt and a handful of my most injured made their way to his ship. Phaera lead them. She has a gift for stealth. They will arrive safely. When our attack is noticed, and the soldiers come for us as they surely will, the pirates will flee with the wounded.”

Lucia sighed. “It’s a good plan. So why do I feel so sad about it?”

The prince grinned widely, showing off a mouth of white sharp teeth. “Because we will likely die?”

“There is that.” She hugged him tighter. “So why don’t I feel more worried?”

“Some react to certain death by embracing it,” the prince murmured. “Certainty brings calm. Others choose madness or denial.”

“What do you feel?”

“My lady, I am excited for the prospect of justice, the taste of vengeance, and the knowledge that I cannot die today.”

“You cannot die? Why is that?”

“Because I have only just met you and already I know we are meant for each other.” His eyes sparked in the darkness.

“Don’t say such things, please.” Lucia’s breath came rapidly. Her wolf strained inside her for a taste of the man.

“I know you sense it as well. I can smell it on your skin. I can see it in your eyes.”

A gruff voice sounded from behind them. “Well don’t stop on my account,” Conwynne said. “It’s not like we have any important plans to see to.”

Foxtail knew the way. She didn’t speak unless she absolutely had to, so it was easy to underestimate the wily fox shifter, but the woman had a mind for directions like no one else. Lucia tried to hide her amazement.

“You know your path through this maze because you saw a map, across a room, once?”

“Gifted,” Foxtail shrugged.

With Conwynne and the prince bristling at each other, it was up to Lucia to pull everyone together, to take that first step from the safety of their storage room into the wolf’s den. In pairs they slipped from shadow to shadow, a force two dozen strong. Would it be enough? Lucia didn’t know. She didn’t fancy suicide, but maybe if she saved the world from the Suzerain and his witch’s dark arts it’d be worth it.

She tried not to think about death, about the great blackness at the end of all things. Because thinking about death beckoned the dark shift closer and also made her consider all the things in her life she hadn’t yet done, like Farid. Why hadn’t she taken him up on his offer for some bed play? It was too late now. She’d never see the handsome pirate again, never watch his hips wiggle tantalizingly as he piloted his ship across the sands. They’d been locked together for weeks. Why hadn’t she tumbled with him?

She knew why. If she had, she never would have gone through with this mission. The witch and the Suzerain would use their device to kill any who opposed them. If Lucia gave in to her attraction to the pirate, the world would burn.

If she was an alpha knight, she couldn’t let that happen.

Lost in regret, Lucia didn’t notice that the air smelled wrong. Conwynne did.

“The ship is too quiet,” he murmured. “The air smells foul.”

“Shut down ventilation,” Foxtail grunted.

“Why would they do that?” Lucia asked. “They need to breathe as much as we do.”

“They’re not going to suffocate us, my lady. Rather they want the air still and heavy with our scent, so they can track us.” The prince said, gripping his weapon tighter.

Every look the prince shot her was thick with desire. Surely the pack must smell it? Lucia couldn’t decide if she was embarrassed to be so openly pursued by the de facto ruler of the western wastes, or honored.

“Conwynne’s tricks won’t hide our scent,” Lucia said. “We need to move faster.”

The pack ascended up ladders and stairs, moving through passages of smooth sandy stone that transitioned abruptly to brushed steel. From the outside, the pyramid was monolithic and formidable. But from the inside it resembled an entire village smashed together without regard for use, wrapped into a ball and hurled into the sky. The steel halls lead through a wooden catacomb, a hive of houses stacked on top of each other.

“I don’t understand this place,” a soldier, Shine Shine, said. “Why make a battleship that no one can navigate?”

“Because it’s not a ship,” Conwynne answered. “The halls are a rune, sketched in three dimensions.”

“It’s the ritual, made real,” Lucia realized. “This is the twisted pack ritual the Suzerain perfected, isn’t it? We’re walking through the twists and curves of his glyphs. This whole floating death machine has been designed to dissolve loyalties, to leech away life and transfer it to the dark lord.”

“Or,” a harsh female voice echoed from above, “to his witch.”

“Run!” Conwynne yelled, holding his glaive aloft.

From the wooden catacombs above them, a squad of alpha-spawn appeared. They peered through windows with spider eyes. They emerged from the walls like phantoms. They held glittering silver weapons with teeth like saw blades in their mangled hands. Somewhere amongst them was the Witch of the Wastes. This was her pack. They were her spawn. With her present, Lucia and her men had no chance at all.

As the alpha-spawn jeered and shouted taunts from the rafters above, Lucia ran. She could feel her pack’s fear through her bond, electrifying her. It reminded her of when she was a girl and on a dare from one of her uncle’s crueler stooges, she’d touched the security fence at the edge of the property. It thrilled her and numbed her at once, driving away most her thoughts.

But as the pack’s fear flowed to her, so did her strength and resolve flow to them. They ran faster than they ever had before, their bodies shifting—some for the first time ever—as they raced down the twisting corridors, the alpha-spawn at their heels. Lucia needed to take their fear, or they’d cower before the alphas and die in seconds. Or worse, get twisted into spawn themselves. What began as a scared mob, pursued by monsters, evolved quickly into a pack of battle-ready shifters, their hands now claws, their legs shifted for speed, their eyes attuned to the dim lighting of the pyramid.

Conwynne raced beside Lucia, shifted to a great white dire wolf as tall at the shoulder as she was. On her other side, the prince ran. His handsome, noble face even more so now, with the shift taking his body. The man radiated joy and fire. He wasn’t afraid of the spawn at all.

“My lady,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling in his transformed body, “they are herding us. At every intersection, they howl or threaten, to drive us towards a destination.”

The fear ate at Lucia. She heard the prince’s words, but could make no sense of them. Run, her wolf howled at her. Run and fight another day. She needed to get her pack out, to calm them, to save them. She tried to focus, to think about human things, to drive the wolf away. But every scent of her pack pushed her mind further to the rear. Every howl of the hunters pursuing them strengthened the animal in her. She was too new to this, too untrained. She wasn’t ready. She should have gone with Farid.

Farid. What would he do? He’d smile and joke, and then shoot his enemy with a wickedly barbed bolt. He’d stare at Lucia through his sooty lashes, as if the bedroom could solve all their problems.

Like ice breaking, the fear in her blood cracked and fell away. If I focus on Farid, on human desires, I can hold on to myself, she realized.

They were being hunted, pursued, but more so they were being directed. The alpha-spawn were herding them forward like trained dogs. But to where? Nothing good could be at the end of their path. Lucia tried to recall the directions they’d turned, but the maze confounded her. They twisted and wrapped in every direction, going up ramps and leaping down ladders. It was beyond her. But she didn’t need to lead alone.

“Foxtail,” Lucia called. Beside her, the grumpy old woman was gone, replaced by an overly large fox. A dire fox? Did such things exist? “I don’t want to go where they are forcing us towards, Tail. Find us another way.” The great red fox, whiskers twitching and eyes sharp and keen nodded, then raced ahead of the pack.

“Follow the fox!” Lucia yelled, but her pack was already slowing. They’d been in prison for who knows how long, starved and beaten. They didn’t have the reserves to chase all day like she had.

Reaching again through the pack bonds, Lucia gripped her pack tight and pulled even as she ran faster than ever before. Her body was a blur of speed and even so she could barely keep Foxtail in sight. Around her, the soldiers of her pack howled in delight as their bodies changed again, shifting to the dire wolf form favored by Conwynne. Lucia in her were form ran, surrounded by her pack of wolves.

How are you doing this? Conwynne’s voice echoed in her head.

“I’m just doing what you taught me,” she replied. The pack were almost outpacing her now. They should have been stumbling over each other, getting in each other’s way, but they moved like a rushing wave through the halls.

Only an alpha can fully shift, Conwynne argued, annoyance and wonder warring within him.

“How isn’t important, Con. We have a job to do.”

Foxtail dove through a side hallway, directly into the scent of the spawn. Every atom of Lucia’s being wanted to turn and run the other way, but she forced herself on, pulling the pack with her, despite their whines of unease. Ahead, two misshapen mutts, one with an arm like a snake and another with two bickering jaguar heads, waited. In their strong hands they gripped silver-tipped spears. They grinned hungrily as the pack approached.

It wasn’t a contest. Lucia’s pack flowed around the spawn, ripping them to pieces before they knew what was happening. A spear point clipped the ear from one of her soldiers, a woman who went by the name Postie. The dire wolf howled in pain, but didn’t slow. The wound would heal slowly, if given a chance to. It would be an ugly souvenir.

Once past the alpha spawn, the way was clear. They ran until they found a disused hall, out of the way of anyone. It was carved of stone, narrow but tall, with thirty foot ceilings and vaulted arches. Even the air smelled fresh. Lucia’s mind cleared as the fear in her pack melted away. She released her hold on them, watching with wonder as their bodies reformed into human perfection. The usual signs of shifter-blood weren’t present in their appearances. The long nails, elongated teeth, heavy brows—all were gone.

With her will, Lucia had shifted her new pack into wolves, and then back into humans.

“I really am an alpha,” she said, her voice full of wonder.

The shifters looked around uneasily at each other. Some had been quite monstrous in their previous forms, with fanged muzzles or heavy ridged brows. They’d have to get used to the way each other looked again. Postie, the shifter who’d lost an ear, winced as the prince gently examined it.

“Where to now, sir?” She asked, her accent unusual and languid. “There’s still dozens of those bastards out there and I have another ear to give.” She grinned at her leader, the prince with admiration. He’s a good man, Lucia realized. His soldiers love him. You could do worse than mating with him, that’s for sure. The longer she was around him, the more her wolf needed him. If she was ever trapped alone with him, she’d be done for. Her clothes would come off before the door even shut.

The impulses of her animal-side were becoming harder to control. The more she used them, the more power they had. She’d have to watch out for that.

Once everyone had their breath and Postie’s ear had been pronounced irrevocably damaged, it was time to reassess.

Conwynne paced nervously as Foxtail sketched out a map with a claw in the stone wall. With a scritching sound she traced where they had come from and where they were going.

“Almost there,” she said, tapping a room just above where they were. “Weapon.”

“Where were they trying to lead us?” Lucia asked.

Foxtail frowned and squinted at the map she’d carved into the wall. “To the edge of the ship.”

“It’s a long drop,” the prince sighed. “Nasty way to go.”

“But the fall, it wouldn’t kill us. There’s no silver or fire or anything like that below. Just rocks and sand and the million horrible hungry things that live in the wastes.” Lucia didn’t understand.

“My lady,” the prince began, sharing a look with Conwynne as if unsure he should say anything.

“Spit it out, my prince,” Lucia growled. Even just talking to him, her wolf got excited.

“The point wouldn’t be to kill us. But rather to break us. The Suzerain has an insatiable appetite for his mangled alpha spawn. The drop to the ground would shatter every bone in our bodies. Before we could heal, the witch and her pack would scoop us up and drop us again. And again. Until we swore allegiance to her and her master.”

“Nasty,” Postie said, her fingers idly probing the scar of her ear.

“Or,” Foxtail added, “here. Power supply.” She tapped the map again, noting a large circular room.

“Power for what?” Lucia asked. “The whole ship?”

Foxtail shrugged. “Didn’t build the ship. Just saw the map.”

Conwynne broke in. “We have to go. Now.” He sniffed the air, locating the scents of their pursuers. “They’re coming.”

The soldiers readied themselves, knowing what came next. Lucia grinned at them, feeling their trust and excitement through the pack bond. “Ready?” she asked, then pulled on their flesh through her bond. She didn’t bring them all the way to the dire wolf form, but rather stopped halfway at the perfect blend of human and wolf. Her own body flowed and shifted to match theirs, arms and legs lengthening, fingers becoming claws. The muscles and bones in her legs knitting themselves into the canine form and her mouth filling with fangs. She gripped her glaive tightly and addressed her pack.

“This is our only chance. We all have people out there in the wastes that we love. If we don’t destroy this weapon, they’ll die. It’s as simple as that. We have to fight with every drop of our blood, with every inch of fang and talon. But we can do this. We are mighty. And they don’t know how to fight us. The Suzerain and his twisted minions have grown lazy preying on the unprepared. They pick off lone travelers. They attack children. They aren’t the alpha predators here. We are. For the first time in twenty years, there’s a pack that can stand up to their evil. So come, let’s show the witch the color of her own blood.”

Lucia let a howl rip from her throat. It was a battle cry and a threat. The witch knew they were coming. Let her also know they weren’t afraid.

Chapter 14

A HEAVY PRICE

FOLLOWING FOXTAIL’S LEAD, the pack surged through the pyramid. This deep in, they encountered many of the Suzerain’s people. They were functionaries and assistants, clerks and all the behind the scenes people who kept an evil empire grinding forward. They all fell before the pack. Were some of them innocent? Did some deserve to live? Can you find yourself trapped in an evil place, doing evil things, and not be evil yourself? Lucia didn’t know. When she burst into a room and saw the red-jacketed personnel busily typing away on ancient devices or painting new borders on old maps, all she could think of were those poor gasping people in Sierren. And also of Farid, still loose in the world to dance and grin and smuggle. If she had anything to say about it, he always would be.

If Lucia hesitated a moment before opening a red jacket’s throat with her sword, the prince was her opposite. His people had been at war with the Suzerainty for a generation. He opened every throat he could. Not with malice or glee at the death, but rather out of respect for the dead on his side. Through the pack bond, Lucia could sense him. She could feel his sense of honor and duty being fulfilled by crushing the Suzerainty one person at a time. It wouldn’t bring his people back, but it would honor their memories.

When one of the soldiers, a heavy man by the name of Paperweight, laughed at a kill, the prince wasted no time in cuffing him across the head. “We do not enjoy this,” he said.

“Nervous laughter,” Paperweight said, baring his bloody teeth.

“Since when has a fight made you nervous, lad?” the prince asked.

“Guess I’m just not used to suicide missions, sir.”

Lucia broke in. “It’s not a suicide mission. You can’t think like that. Focus past yourself. Think about what’s out there, what you have to live for.”

“What are you living for, boss?” Paperweight asked, his eyes suggesting he knew the answer already.

Farid, she thought. May the moon save me, I’m fighting for Farid.

The prince averted his eyes from her, his body tensing. How much of her thoughts and feelings could the pack sense? They were a storm to her, a swirling vortex of emotions and memories. But she was the alpha, the center of the web that connected them. Were her thoughts broadcasting to them as well? She tried to push away her vision of the pirate, his naked chest glistening in the desert sun, but it was no use. The more she resisted, the stronger he became in her mind.

Foxtail yipped impatiently. “This way,” she said. “Almost there.”

Down another winding corridor half-full of boxes they ran, through a cafeteria recently abandoned—fresh flatbread still steaming on dented metal plates—and then up to a winding ramp full of heavily armed soldiers. Beyond the mob of armed men was the weapon chamber. It was nearly at the apex of the pyramid, though not quite. The apex was the domain of the witch, where she lived and watched the world, and worked her dark alpha magics.

The red jackets held swords and shields. Some in the read readied bolter rifles. They were a formidable phalanx. Or would have been, against some other opponent.

Lucia charged the ramp with her glaive drawn, a bear shifter spirit who specialized in fighting armies single-handedly formed around her. With sweeping strokes of the sword, Lucia and the bear cut through the small army before they even knew she was there. As the last body dropped, and Lucia cleared the top of the ramp, the bear faded away, swelling with a sense of pride.

No wonder the Suzerain is afraid of alphas, she thought. Look at what we can do given half a chance.

Behind her, the prince and the pack picked their way up the ramp. She could feel their amazement at her prowess through the bond. They couldn’t see the spirits of the glaive. They didn’t know the skill was borrowed, the victory shared. She’d have to tell them at some point about the blade and the incredible science locked within. But not today. Today she would bask in their admiration and pretend to be the hyper-competent warrior they thought she was.

They’d reached their destination. Finally, the weapon’s room.

The room was large, filling the entire floor of the pyramid. Whirling mechanisms crowded the walls and ceiling. Spinning gears meshed effortlessly with mirrored plates, rotating quickly, filling the room with a strobing red glow. In the center of the mechanism, a crimson statue stood. It looked like a shifter woman carved out of crystal. She was life-sized, with her mouth open and howling in rage. Thousands of tiny fractures in the surface, like dust-caked wrinkles at the edges of an old man’s eyes, covered the sculpture. It was missing arms and legs, shattered stumps suggested where they might have been.

The statue rested on a dais that was painted or carved with elaborate rune work. Another part of the dark ritual, surely. Around the statue rotated mirrors atop gears, pulled by chains by an unseen machine under their feet. The wall across from Lucia, on the far side of the room, was coiled like a lens.

“How does it work?” Lucia asked.

“Do we need to know, my lady? Can’t we just destroy it?” the prince asked.

“If we do a poor job of it, they’ll just rebuild it tomorrow. I need to break it in a way that can’t be fixed.”

The sound of ragged howling echoed up the ramp. The spawn were near.

Foxtail walked around the room, stepping nimbly over spinning chains and rotating gears. “Statue is the key. Destroy it and you destroy the weapon.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Paperweight growled, hefted a stolen sword and brought it down on the statue before Foxtail could tell him what an enormously bad idea that was.

As soon as Paperweight’s blade struck the cracked crimson surface of the statue, light flashed in the room like lightning without thunder. Paperweight slumped to the ground, his arm a shriveled and misshapen mass still gripping the sword. Lucia gasped as she felt his presence in the pack snuffed out.

“The crystal is charged with the deaths of hundreds. Maybe thousands,” Conwynne sighed. “Destroying it will be no easy matter.”

A wicked voice laughed from the shadows. “You will not be quite so hard to defeat.”

A woman dropped from the ceiling, landing in the middle of the pack. She was robed and hooded with red cloth, but her bare wolfen feet and clawed hands as black as death gave her away. It was the witch of the wastes, Azra Moreno, called by some the Nightwalker, or the Lord’s Fist. Shadows clung to her, reaching out for her from every surface like a child reaching for a mother.

In her left hand she held a sword—a glaive—forged not of silver, but rather of the red poisonous crystal that dominated the room.

“You have one chance,” she said, her voice high and sour. “Pledge yourselves to me. Join my pack or find yourselves at the end of your days.” Under the hood, the witch’s eyes glowed red with malice. She was focused entirely on Conwynne, as if he was the alpha.

“What have you become, old friend?” Conwynne’s voice ached with pity.

“Stronger. Better. Deadlier.” The witch smiled, her pointed teeth shining white under her hood.

“You used to be a hero.” The old man drew his glaive slowly, bringing it up to a guard position.

“You used to matter,” the witch sneered. “You will die today, old friend. But your pack doesn’t have to. We’re always looking for skilled warriors to join our red jackets. They don’t have to die.” She glanced at the prince, her eyes burning with hatred. “Well he does, too, but just the two of you. The rest are free to join us.”

Lucia moved slowly behind the witch, stepping with great care, moving like the sands upon the dunes. When she was sure the woman couldn’t see her, she raised her glaive for striking.

The witch spun, her crystal sword jabbing straight for Lucia’s heart. A glaive spirit manifested around Lucia, a young handsome lion shifter. He brought with him the smell of the forest, birdsong, and the best defensive techniques known by shifter kind. Giving in to his instruction, Lucia glided away from the witch’s thrust, her own blade knocking aside the crystal sword and lashing out for a counterstrike, the blade stinging against the witch’s shoulder.

“What do we have here?” The witch smiled widely. “A new alpha? Connie, wherever did you find her? She’s adorable.”

Lucia adjusted her footing. “I found him, witch. Right outside Los Robles.” The lion spirit roared within her hands and she leapt high in the air, bringing the blade down in a mighty crack against the witch’s crystal glaive. Which sword would shatter first?

The witch’s burning eyes tracked Lucia’s scarred glaive then in a moment of realization, she spun to confront Conwynne. “You brought her here? This was not the deal, you old bastard.” She spat at him and howled, “This was not the deal!”

Shadows leapt from the witch’s body as she pulled her pack of twisted alpha spawn to her. From every dark nook and cranny in the room, a misshapen malignant shifter emerged. Too many to count. Too many to fight. They formed a wall of hatred between Lucia’s pack and the weapon.

“What use is protection from the Suzerain if you kill everyone else? How twisted is that mind of yours, witch?”

“Conwynne,” Lucia asked, “what is she talking about. What deal is this?”

“It’s not important,” he snarled. “Destroy the machine. I’ll occupy the witch. She won’t dare kill you.” He dropped his robes to the ground, held his glaive at guard.

“You think I won’t kill her?” The witch laughed. “Maybe once, old friend, that would have been true. But I’ve seen things beyond this world. I’ve touched the mind of darkness and now see that nothing lasts but power.” She swung her sword in a vicious arc overhead, spinning her body with the blade in a full circle. Lucia threw herself backwards, out of reach, but some of her pack weren’t so lucky. As the crystal sword touched them, it stole their life away. Four soldiers fell to the ground, their bodies already cooling, their souls eaten by the witch’s crystal blade.

The alpha spawn laughed and jeered, but didn’t come forward. They stood their ground in defense of their death ray.

Conwynne moved faster than Lucia could see, his arms moving through a dozen different fighting styles in as many seconds. He was like a slideshow of combat, a presentation on the art of war. His sword knew him. He’d lived with the spirits in it for decades. The old man fought like an army, but it wasn’t enough.

The prince stood beside Lucia, his skin smelling of moonlight. Even now her wolf wanted him, wanted Lucia to take him right there on the floor. “My lady,” he said quietly, “if we all rush at once, we could take her. Fight as a pack.”

“No,” Lucia said. “I can’t have you throw your life away like that.”

“We must!” the prince yelled. “This is our only chance!”

“Go!” Conwynne yelled as he and the witch traded ringing blows, whirling around each other in a tornado of hate. “Destroy the device!”

Lucia watched the witch fight. She had no glaive spirits aiding her. Her sword was different. Her fighting technique was all her own, but familiar somehow. Could Conwynne defeat her? He was more experienced, but slower. He had the advantage of the glaive spirits, but would it matter when his opponent was also a master? Getting past the witch was impossible. Maybe Conwynne couldn’t see it, but the witch positioned herself so that any attempt to pass her could easily be countered. And her goons waited, grinning like wastelanders betting on a snake fight. Even if they did get past the tornado of blades, the monstrous minions would shove them right back into the witch’s meat grinder.

There had to be another way.

Her human side urged caution, it wanted to wait to see Conwynne defeat the witch.

Her wolf wanted to charge in howling, the pack at its sides, to tear all her enemies to bits.

Neither tactic felt right.

What would Farid do? The pirate was sneaky, what her uncle would have called a “sideways thinker.”

Lucia scanned the room, looking for what she had missed. Her eyes fell on the whirling gears, the rotating mirrors, the way the alpha spawn avoided getting near that red crystal. A plan came to her in an instant.

“Foxtail,” Lucia whispered, “can you get us to the power room?”

“Course I can,” the shifter bristled.

“Make yourself ready. We have to do this quickly.”

Reaching out through the bonds of pack, Lucia harnessed their attention. There may be a better way, she sent to them, her bones aching with the effort of the mind-speech. But as soon as we leave this room the entire mob of alpha spawn will rush us. We need to hold them off. Can you do that?

Without meeting her eyes, the soldiers nodded and flexed their clawed hands.

Lucia reached out and tapped the two closest to her—Postie and the prince—on the shoulders, then she turned and ran from the room, down the ramp, Foxtail huffing along at her side.

Conwynne bellowed as she fled, “Get back here you coward!” Lucia’s heart ached. Was she leaving him to die, or trying to save him by stopping the weapon the only way she could? What if the witch killed him and he died thinking she abandoned him? Could she live with that? The question was moot, because if she didn’t destroy the machine she wouldn’t live anyways.

Lucia slipped in the blood on the ramp, tumbling down gracelessly, smearing herself in the bodies of the fallen red jackets. Foxtail, nimble as ever, made it down with her pride intact. The prince and Postie, too, ended up letting gravity carry them down.

Through the pack link, Lucia felt her soldiers begin to fall. Either the witch had destroyed Conwynne and turned on them, or the alpha spawn had joined the fight.

“Which way?” she growled at Foxtail. The woman didn’t answer, just ran as fast as her legs could carry her, leaping down halls, smashing through doors, hurtling over tables with red jackets still sitting at them. She was a fluffy-tailed cannonball aimed directly at the power source.

Lucia’s plan came to her when she’d seen the gears and mirrors. Why did they need to keep turning? Why not just leave them in place until the weapon was needed? She knew from her uncle’s mine that keeping machines running without stop lead to failure and breakdown. Nothing lasted forever. People needed sleep. Machines needed maintenance. And an Empire always fell.

There must be a reason they never stopped rotating. Lucia wanted to find out what that reason was, and what better way than to smash the engines that powered all those spinning gears?

Following Foxtail, but fighting every second not to lose sight of the woman, Lucia charged through the rooms and halls like a rockslide. There was no time for stealth or sneaking, no time even to bellow a warning as she ripped through offices and bath chambers. Foxtail’s sense of direction, of pathfinding, was beyond keen. It was supernatural. Lucia understood as she watched the fluffy-tailed, scowling woman leap through a dining room, her feet tapping against the helmeted heads of a dozen red jackets as she passed, that she had a true gift. Could all fox shifters do this, or was Foxtail extra special?

Behind Lucia, Prince Joaquin and Postie roared. They couldn’t keep her in sight, let alone Foxtail. They followed Lucia’s trail of broken doors, toppled tables, and outraged red jackets, pausing to cut every throat they saw.

Soon they came to the center of the pyramid, several floors down from where the Witch and her spawn were snuffing out the lives of her pack. A steel door, round and riveted, stood before them. Wrapped in chains of silver, the door looked daunting. The walls on either side curved upwards and downwards, as if the central power room was a large sphere. A sphere buried in a maze held aloft in a floating pyramid—nothing about this felt good to Lucia.

The chains fell away with one strike of her glaive. Some of the pack still lived, still fought. If she ended this now, could she save them? Prince Joaquin jumped forward and grasped the lever with both hands he braced his feet against the door jamb and strained at the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

“It’s like it’s welded shut, my lady,” he whined, panic rising in his voice. He could feel it, too, Lucia knew. The severing of the pack bonds. If they came all this way just to die—no, she couldn’t let herself think that way.

Instead, she placed her hands on the prince’s back and concentrated on their bond. She didn’t know the man, not really, but she could feel his heart. He was strong and loyal, quick to dismiss a bad idea and quick to trust a good one. She didn’t know him, but he was pack and she could help him. Lucia forced her own strength to flow through into the shifter. It felt like crying, like laughing. It was joyous and a relief all at once.

Prince Joaquin swelled with the gift she’d given him, his muscles rippling and shifting to take on the task at hand. He strained at the lever, the metal groaning deep within the door, his body building new muscle mass every second until finally, with a shriek, the lever moved and the door swung open.

The prince stood panting, his body was now enormous. Easily over seven feet tall and wider than the door, he shone with an inner light. “Thank you, my alpha,” he rumbled, bowing before her. Lucia’s heart fluttered in her chest. He is mine now. This one belongs to me. I have shared my essence with him and marked him forever. She didn’t know what it would mean tomorrow or the next day, but for now it felt good.

Lucia was weakened from sharing her gifts with the prince, but not as weak as she’d expected. How often could she perform that trick? How long would it last? Joaquin’s transformation had a sense of permanency about it, she could feel herself rewriting his body, reshaping him for the task at hand. Could all alphas do this? Mold their pack like clay? Somehow she didn’t think so. In all the old stories of the alpha knights, she’d never heard of such a gift. No matter. There would either be time for such concerns tomorrow, or never again.

Joaquin pulled the door wide. A belly-twisting thrum echoed from the chamber beyond. It was a deep low rhythmic pulsing, almost like a heartbeat. Lucia stepped in and saw a machine, several stories tall with a cylindrical shaft running the length of it. It was spinning so fast that it looked like only a blur of copper. Alongside the rotating shaft stood mountains of pipes and wires and nearer the door were low consoles with switches and dials and blinking lights.

Lucia knew machines from the baron’s mine, but this was something altogether more complex.

“What is this?” The prince gasped.

“Makes my skin itch, is what,” Postie growled, refusing to enter the room.

Foxtail strode forward, leaned over the banks of consoles. “Old. Very old. Technology from the before times,” she muttered. The fox woman tapped at a screen and frowned at what she saw. “They called this a magnetic reactor. Never actually seen one before. Or heard of it.”

“That’s rare,” the prince said in appreciation. Lucia had forgotten the two knew each other, forgotten that Foxtail was loyal to the Prince. She felt momentarily jealous, but shook it off. It was no time for such dark thoughts.

“Can you stop it? Destroy it?” Lucia asked. “Without this, the witch cannot fire the weapon, yes?”

“Oh yes,” Foxtail nodded. “This is the power source. They channel this through that shifter crystal up top and it sucks the life from whoever is in the way.”

“My people,” the prince growled.

“My friends,” Postie agreed, his voice venomous.

“So do it, Foxtail! Break the damn thing.” Lucia barked.

The old woman sighed. “Engine is the only thing holding us up. We break this, we fall. Whole ship falls. Everyone dies.”

A silence hung in the air between them. Lucia could feel another life of the pack vanish from upstairs, though dimly. The reactor chamber blocked her senses.

“We have no choice,” Lucia said, meeting the eyes of her pack one by one. “If we don’t destroy this, the Suzerain and his witch will kill or subjugate every last soul in the wasteland. If we do destroy it, the Suzerain still might. But he’ll have to work a lot harder for it.” She took a deep breath and put a hand on Foxtail’s shoulders. “What say you? Should we make it hard for him? Should we break his infernal machine so that the ones we love who are safely far away might live another day, another year?”

Farid, Lucia thought, you better appreciate this.

“I’ll do it for Triptongue,” Foxtail nodded.

“I have sisters in Sala City,” Postie said, her voice choking up. “I have seventeen nieces, if you can believe it. I’d love to see them again some day, but if that ain’t gonna happen, I’ll settle for them not having their life sucked out by a fucking magic statue.”

The prince was quiet. Everyone looked to him, waiting an answer.

“This is a false choice, my alpha. There is nothing we can do but tear at the witch’s throat with our dying movements.” He bowed his head and said, “End this.”

Foxtail bent her head in response and went to work, tapping the screens and adjusting dials. Within seconds she said, “It’s done. Just need to turn the key.” The fox shifter nodded at Lucia’s chest, where the amulet hung.

“I’ll do it,” Lucia said. “The rest of you try and make your way to the hanger. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can find a glider or an airship to fly out of here.”

None of her friends moved. Resolutely they stood, watching her.

“Go!” she roared, putting her alpha gifts into the sound.

But even then, they stayed.

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” Prince Joaquin said, “but you’re coming, too.”

“We are pack,” Foxtail said.

“We go as one,” Postie agreed.

“Bloody idiots,” Lucia muttered, but her heart soared. If she was going to die, what better way was there? In Farid’s bed, at the age of a hundred and one, but barring that, this is a good way to go. She lifted the amulet from her neck and slid it into a thin slot at the edge of the console. Foxtail tapped the screen one more time, and then the reactor began to speed up. The pitch of its spinning thrum increased, drifting upwards, until it was a mosquito-like whine. Arcs of electricity like lightning bled from the reactor, throwing sparks and smoke wherever they landed.

“Foxtail,” Lucia said, “lead the way.”

Chapter 15

EARTH’S CRUEL EMBRACE

THE WARMAW ECHOED with the sounds of panic. The great ship listed heavily to one side, turning the twisting hallways into slides and jagged corners into spine-shattering traps. As Foxtail lead the remains of the pack to the lowest levels of the ship, the red jackets flailed and cried out for mercy.

The ship was not plummeting yet. The sabotage had merely disrupted the smooth flight, but the air was oddly charged now. Lucia’s hair and fur stood on end, then moved as if tugged by some unseen force in the direction of the reactor. Her eyes stung. An acrid smoke that smelled like tires on fire seeped from the walls.

“It’s all falling apart,” the prince marveled.

“Falling down soon, too,” Foxtail agreed.

As they slipped and skidded down the tilting halls, the prince turned to Lucia. “Lady alpha, if we do not make it any farther than this today, I wish to tell you I am deeply honored to have aided in the destruction of this battle station. All my life I have seen the Suzerain’s boot crush those who could not defend themselves an even some who could. This is the greatest blow he has ever suffered. It will give people hope.” His eyes shone with pride and Lucia’s wolf howled for him under her skin.

Sharing her power with Joaquin had only made their connection stronger, her wolf harder to resist. A very loud part of her wanted to take him, claim him, and mate with him at the earliest opportunity. He was hers now, her pack and her creation.

The Warmaw shuddered and tipped again. A loud explosion sounded from deep in the ship.

“Hold on to something,” Foxtail grunted as the floor fell away from their feet.

The ship had tilted fully to one side now, one of the pyramid points now facing downwards. Lucia and her pack clung to door jambs, to joists, to pipes. The edge of the ship was only fifty yards ahead of them, but instead of being a straight run it was now a sheer climb.

“If we climb,” Lucia shouted, “we could crawl onto the face of the pyramid.”

“Bad idea,” Foxtail said.

“What if she shifts again, boss? We’ll be tossed off into the air.” Postie added.

“You have a better idea?”

No one did, so on Lucia’s orders the prince used his new strength to claw handholds into the walls. The beams and plumbing inside the walls becoming a makeshift ladder to climb.

Another explosion sounded from somewhere near the reactor and the pyramid began to spin on its axis. Rotating slowly, but perceptibly speeding up.

Lucia tried not to look up. Or down. She just put one foot in front of the other, focused on the next hand hold, and followed the prince as he smashed a path for them. Once, near the top, a red jacket came sliding out of a curved hallway, screaming and blubbering like a sheep at slaughter. He plummeted past Lucia, past Foxtail, crashing into Postie before falling the hundreds of feet down to whatever hard surface took his life, his cries ending all at once with a meaty thud. Postie held on, but looked dazed from the impact.

When Prince Joaquin smashed through the final wall, the sunlight that penetrated the shaft blinded Lucia. How long had it been since she’d seen the sun. A day? It felt like months. She followed his path and pulled herself onto the face of the pyramid. The world spun around them queasily.

On all sides the wasteland stretched it’s rocky jaws and waited. It was impossible to tell north from south but on one side jagged brown mountains loomed and on all others waited the burning sands of the wasteland. Even if she could somehow jump down and survive without shattering every bone in her body, there was no water, no food for twenty miles. No one could survive this place.

Foxtail and Postie pulled themselves up through the hole.

Postie sat down and hid her eyes in her hands. “Permission to be sick, sir?” she said to Joaquin.

“Permission denied, soldier. Get your ass up and help us figure out a way to survive this.”

Foxtail walked out along the wide flat surface of the pyramid. Their floor had once been one of the massive sides of the Warmaw. “Losing altitude,” she said.

“What’s that mean for us?” Lucia asked.

“When we hit the ground, we’re going to be like a drill bit digging into stone.” Foxtail made a hand gesture like a spinning drill slamming into something hard and flat, then exploding.

A shadow passed over them. Lucia glanced up, to see what it was, but the sun blinded her.

“What do we do?” she asked. “How do we survive this?”

From deep within the battle station, a groaning sounded as the magnetic reactor finally decided it’d had enough of this gravity thing and decided to loose itself upon the world. The spinning copper cylinder ripped itself from its moorings and fired itself like a four-story arrow from the top of the pyramid. One of the ends of the pyramid—the one Lucia had decided was north—shuddered and erupted like a volcano, the copper cylinder smashing the stone to pieces on its path of destruction. The magnetic core continued its path across the wastes, trailing smoke and lightning behind it, an arc of smoldering potential tracking its path through the sky.

Without the power core, the Warmaw dropped like a stone towards the wasteland. Lucia and her pack dug their claws into the stone face of the ship, holding on for dear life as the spinning pyramid shuddered and tipped and fell.

A shadow passed over again, closer this time. Larger. Lucia sensed her pack—the larger pack nearby.

Glancing up, she saw the Letherine silhouetted against the bright sun. Two patchwork zeppelin balloons had sprouted from the ship’s back.

It’s an airship, Lucia realized. So much of the odd compartments and cargo Farid had been squirreling away made sense now. He wasn’t a crazy packrat, he’d been building a ship that could fly or sail.

The shadow passed closer again. Dangling from the underside of the Letherine, Quinn the mutt snatched Foxtail up in his strong arms. A thick harness held him aloft and he attached a smaller version around the fox woman’s waist. The ship was circling them, trying to grab them all before the Warmaw impacted the ground.

Making another pass, Quinn hurled a rope to Prince Joaquin, who wrapped it around his thick forearms in a hurry, before the ship’s trajectory carried him soaring out over the edge of the pyramid, over the wastes. The prince held on, his new strength easily up to the task.

On the third pass, Quinn reached for Lucia but as his fingers brushed against hers, the Warmaw shuddered and tipped. Postie lost her grip and slid off towards the edge. Prince Joaquin caught her in one hand, just before the soldier slipped to her doom. Joaquin roared with the effort of holding the two of them up, but he did not let go.

All that was left was Lucia.

Quinn came round on another pass. Somewhere on the deck, Farid was piloting the ship, turning around in tight maneuverings. Lucia hoped she could watch the man dance again, that she could see his hips wriggle and twist up close.

Quinn hung upside down now, the leather harness keeping him secure. Reaching with a mighty stretch he sailed closer. He was coming in too high. He wouldn’t be able to save her. The pain of the knowledge was plain on his face. I’m sorry, his eyes said.

Gathering all her strength, Lucia leapt for the mutt, her legs shifting to the optimal shape for leaping. With one mighty lunge she hurled herself upwards as Quinn passed overhead, her fingertips scraped against his, then she was falling again, back to the spinning, pitching surface of the pyramid.

She’d missed.

The ground was too close.

She wouldn’t get a second chance.

There was no time for Farid to circle around again.

This was it.

Lucia picked one corner of the pyramid, focused on it, and ran. She poured every ounce of her alpha gifts into her speed and ripped across the stone like a dive bike. Below her, the Warmaw impacted the ground, driving its rotating edge through the soft sand before grinding into the bedrock beneath. The pyramid shuddered and ripped itself to pieces even as Lucia kept running. She leapt from one shattered rock to the next, dancing across the air, her feet finding the very apex of the pyramid and hurling herself up into the air.

She’d run the length of it, and jumped soaring into the sky. If she’d been a bird shifter, she would have changed then into a massive hawk and flown away. But she was a wolf, and wolves meant pack.

Under her, the Letherine appeared.

She fell hard onto the ship’s surface, rolling between the inflated zeppelin pods, sliding across the deck as her momentum whipped her forward. She rolled and flipped, getting tangled in ropes, until she came to a stop at the captain’s feet.

Farid was dancing.

“Nice timing, your Alpha-ship,” he said with a smile, “we were just about to depart.”

Lucia closed her eyes, felt the warm sun paint her face with its rays, and she laughed.

Below them, the Warmaw slammed into the rocks that lurked below the desert. The hidden strength of the sands caught the vessel and held it while it shuddered and moaned and shook itself to pieces. It was as if in a moment, a new mountain had been born of fire and rubble. Before the dust settled, scavengers emerged from the sand and from the air to pick through the rocks for the juicy meat they smelled within.

Through the bonds of pack, Lucia sensed some of hers had escaped. Against all odds, they’d lived. Already far away, she was relieved they weren’t being ground down under the sinking mountain. She’d find them, soon. But for now she needed to feel the wood on her back, to feel the air blow across her skin, and to watch Farid’s chest with a breathless giddiness as he maneuvered the airship eastward towards civilization.

That night they ate together with the ship still aloft. A thin cable thinner than one of Lucia’s fingers and stronger than steel lead from the bottom of the ship down to an anchor fifty yards below. Quinn sat first watch, his feet dangling through the floor of the Letherine, watching for any creatures brave enough or stupid enough to climb the oiled anchor cord.

“Can’t Quinn come and eat with the rest of us? It’d be so nice to have everyone together.” Lucia helped set the table. Foxtail’s cooking smelled like a miracle.

“Just because we’re floating, your Alpha-ness, doesn’t mean we’re safe. The ground is littered with the remnants of airships that got too cocky.”

“My word, what kind of danger do you mean?” Triptongue sat stiff and alarmed. Lucia felt immeasurably relieved to see him.

“Sky pirates,” Farid said, ticking off the fingers on his hand as he listed every danger he could think of. “Vulture shifters. Lightning storms. Ground-based raiders with harpoons.” He smirked as he remembered an especially good one, “Used to be a scorpion myriad that lived out here. Basically ruled this corner of the wasteland. Went by the name Anchovy, for some reason. He demanded tax from all travelers and any who didn’t pay—well, see a scorpion can climb into all sorts of places a man can’t. And where one scorpion can climb, ten thousand can climb. I knew a guy who refused to pay the tax on principle. He anchored out here, then woke up with thousands of scorpions creeping up his anchor. His whole crew was killed and he only managed to escape because the paranoid bastard had a glider in his cabin. Captain Fuente kicked out the windows of his stateroom and flew away, even as the scorpion bastard ripped his ship to pieces.” Farid took a long pull at his wastelander whiskey. “Or at least that’s the story he tells. Could’ve just crashed.”

“Perhaps it’s better than First Mate Quinn keep watch then?” Triptongue bristled with anxiety.

Prince Joaquin laughed at the fox shifter, who took offense at first, then warmed and laughed along with him.

They ate their meal warmly, enjoying the luxury of conversation.

Foxtail and Triptongue excused themselves almost immediately. They couldn’t stand to be apart from each other, even for a day, and had much to catch up on in private.

Postie heaped a plate full of fried cactus, cornmeal tortillas stuffed with sweet peppers, and a tangy roast meat that Foxtail refused to identify, saying that no one would eat it if they knew where it came from. When pressured she swore it wasn’t human or shifter, probably. Postie had spent the day in a depressed funk, until Lucia told her that some of the pack still lived, and that they’d find them, wherever they were. The news of survivors warmed her better than the whiskey.

“I know hand language, from back in training times. I’ll take a plate to the mutt and keep him company.” Postie grinned. “And help him watch for scorpions.”

To Lucia’s surprise and horror, Farid and Joaquin hit it off, trading war stories and desert tips like old friends. They began the meal seated on opposite sides, eyeing each other warily, both keenly aware the other was the competition for Lucia’s heart. But by the end, they were leaning on each other, laughing, toasting to fallen comrades and eyeing Lucia with hungry eyes.

At one point, Lucia excused herself to use the washroom. Her head spun from the whiskey and from the scents in the air. Both the prince and the pirate desired her, craved her. She didn’t know what to do. Her wolf stretched under her skin whenever she caught Joaquin’s scent while her human side wanted to rip Farid’s pants off right at the table and ride him until they both buckled and screamed. How could she choose one over the other? If she picked the handsome pirate, her wolf would pine for the prince. Would that curdle her love? Could she ever fully be with a man that both sides of her didn’t desire?

On her way back to the mess, with the songs of lost civilizations being sung off key by the two men she loved, she made her decision. The fight against the Suzerain was just beginning. If she let herself fall in love now, she’d never have the courage to keep fighting. She’d get too cozy, too invested to make the decisions necessary to defeat him. And no matter where she ran, the Suzerain would come for her. She could feel it in her teeth.

Neither, she thought. I can choose neither of them until after our war is done.

Coming back to the table, her heart heavy with sadness and her wolf snarling in frustration, Lucia noticed too late that the men had stopped singing.

“What’s going on with you two?”

“Darlin’, we can’t help but notice you look fairly miserable for a woman who just scored the most decisive military victory against our local dictatorship in twenty years,” Farid said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“We fear that we are the cause of your pain, my lady Alpha.” Prince Joaquin bowed his head. “We have discussed the matter thoroughly and have come to an agreement.”

“What? While I was in the restroom?”

“Yes,” Joaquin said.

“Basically,” Farid agreed.

“I was only gone two minutes.”

“The way we see it, girl, is that both of us want to be with you. I know I do.”

“As do I, my lady.”

“So what we’re going to do is this: we’re going to share you.”

“Share me?”

“Aye,” Joaquin’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Do I get a say in this?” Lucia leapt to her feet. Her heart and her wolf thrashed about in her chest, taking her breath away.

“The way you look at us, Lucia Brightwolf, it says it all.” Farid leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table with a cocky smirk.

“If this is not satisfactory, we can find another way,” the prince soothed, but Lucia knew he could hear her heart, he could smell her arousal.

Both of them.

Could she really have both of them?

Lucia turned and stormed from the room, stopping at the doorway to lean back and say, “Are you coming, boys?”

Lucia was so excited that she was shaking. Perched atop Farid’s sprawling,  circular bed with the silk of his sheets cool against her thighs, she stared at her two men.

“How do we even do this?” she asked.

In answer, Farid untied the cloth about his waist and let his clothes fall to the floor. The sight of his nakedness and the scent of his arousal hit Lucia at the same time, a sizzling heat coursing through her. He clambered onto the bed, a playful smile on his face as he made his way between her thighs.

Joaquin removed his clothes more formally, folding them properly and placing them on a nearby chair before stalking around the bed. A growl rose from his chest, a mating call that was like a thousand tongues on Lucia’s flesh.

“Oh my god, what’s going on?” she moaned.

Farid slid her tattered pants off and spread her thighs open with his strong hands. “I love this part, the first taste of a new lover.”

“What are you—” but before Lucia could finish her sentence, the pirate had his tongue swirling around against her wetness and her words turned to a whimpering whine. Lucia closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of his mouth pressed hotly to her mound, his tongue dancing inside her.

Joaquin growled again, and Lucia’s eyes snapped open. She had two lovers that night and couldn’t ignore either of them. Joaquin’s call again sent shivers of pleasure racing down her body like droplets of cool rain on a hot summer night. The giant alpha eased himself onto the bed near her head. His cock hung heavy and thick between his legs and Lucia found herself straining for it with open mouth, leaning to take just the tip of it between her lips.

Inside her, the wolf howled with delight.

And then Lucia gasped as the prince worked himself deeper into her throat and Farid’s clever fingers slid inside of her, stroking the slick walls of her cunt, making every nerve sing with joy. She pulled her mouth free of Joaquin just long enough to cry out as her climax took her, her fingers lacing themselves through Farid’s hair, gripping him so tight the pirate could scarcely breathe.

When the pirate pulled away, laughing and gasping for air, his face shining with her juices Lucia rolled over onto her belly. The wolf was in charge now and all it cared about was getting mated. She stretched her arms out and gripped the edge of the bed as she lifted her ass in the air, displaying her readiness to the prince. She may have been the alpha, but she didn’t always have to be in charge.

The big man positioned himself between her thighs, his hands stroking the skin of her back. His hard cock rubbed against her and she bucked against him, twisting her body, desperate to feel him inside her. He leaned over her, kissing her shoulders as the knob of his hardness slid into her. Lucia cried out as her body flooded with heat, as her hands shifted into claws and tore great gouging holes in the sheets.

Farid was there in front of her, standing and beaming with joy. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he said. Lucia tried to speak, but her mind was elsewhere. The wolf was in charge and all it wanted was pleasure. The prince slid into her, fitting her perfectly. He was slick and hot and hard. Lucia moved against him, feeling him fill her more with every thrust, dizzy with the rhythm he created inside her.

Lucia opened her mouth to cry out as another orgasm shook her bones and Farid took the opportunity to fill her mouth with his cock. The two men took her, front and back as she wept with pleasure.

The prince’s thrusts grew more ragged, his voice became a growl that made her slicker than ever and then he sank his teeth into her shoulder, marking her, mating her, as he gushed his seed into her. Lucia howled at the sensation, pulling her mouth off Farid and then—her own teeth lengthening into fangs—she bit the pirate’s inner thigh, marking him as hers. A crazy feeling of love and passion moved between the three of them, like the echo of an orgasm bouncing between walls. Farid hissed at the bite and then yelled out as he came, thick ropes of hot fluid gushing onto Lucia’s back.

They were marked now, and mated. All three of them together. They shared each other’s bodies until the sun rose, then slept, limbs entangled, until the moon rose to greet them.

Epilogue

BARON LAWSON STOOD on the upper balcony of his sprawling home, sipping his morning tea. Vast plumes of dust on the western horizon signaled traders approaching. Off schedule they were. That meant opportunity. He snarled at the sun, considering the last traders who arrived at an odd time, how they’d claimed they’d been attacked by raiders dressed in furred masks and stripped of food and water, but left with all their trade goods. They’d asked for fair prices for their goods from the baron, in exchange for provisions. But a thirsty man is a desperate man and a desperate man can’t bargain.

By the time the baron was done with the traders, half of them were in chains in his mine and the other half were meat for the wasteland. He never spent a coin he didn’t have to, or spilled a drop of water for someone else’s thirst.

He looked around the plantation, his eyes hungry for that silly niece of his, Lucia. She was promised now, to a family in Sala City. Smiths they were. Powerful family. With his ore and their foundry, they could change the wasteland. They could raise an empire. But he needed to find that girl, first.

Two months she’d been gone. Everyone assumed she was dead. Taken off by those slaves and left throat-cut in the sands, most like. Lawson knew better. He could feel it deep in his stones. She was alive. He’d see her again. And when he did, well, it’d make what he did to her aunt look like a child’s game. No, he told himself, mustn’t think that. We need her for the dynasty, for the empire of steel.

He was in a foul mood, his frowning face twisted into a grimace by thoughts of how one stupid slut could ruin all of his carefully laid plans. Maybe he could find another girl? In town or on the wastes? With enough preparation, she’d admit to being Lucia Lawson, the baron’s ward. What girl would turn down marriage to a powerful family like the Jacksons? Any girl that valued her hide, the baron chuckled darkly. He knew what the Jacksons did to the women in their family. He knew and approved.

The plumes of dust drew closer, moving fast and aimed straight at his estate. These traders knew what they wanted and were desperate to get to him. His mines were fully manned for the first time in a year. He didn’t need any more bodies down there, not after the raiding season his men had seen on the eastern wastes. A lot of families were fleeing the Suzerain’s approach and that meant a lot of caravans for easy pickings.

The baron squinted in the sun. A white dot preceded the trader’s sand freighter. He knew the ship. What was it called again? The Leathering? The Featherine? It was the ship that insufferable Avar Farid piloted. He was late with his payment, months late. The deathmark had already been issued and spread to every lowlife haunt in the wastes. If he was here to beg, well, the baron would enjoy that. He’d enjoy it, then kill the man for wasting his time. Even if he had the money, it was too late. You had to make an example of people like that. Had to show the world no one could push you around or renege on a deal without consequences. He saw the skinny smuggler’s bleating face in his mind as he recalled how he begged for mercy. “They were slaves,” he whined. “They were starving! I had no choice but to help them.” The hell he didn’t. You only had one responsibility in the wastes: yourself. Pull yourself up by the bootstraps and then stick a thumb in the guy next to you’s eye. That was the only way to live. If you didn’t take advantage of them, they’d take advantage of you. Look around the room, if you can’t spot the obvious sucker, it’s you.

The dive bike roared through the front gates and the baron dropped his vintage pre-war teacup in shock. It was the girl. His fucking niece. She’d run off with that goddamn skinny pirate after all. He felt twice as justified in putting the deathmark on Farid now, even if he had lied to the man about the cargo.

Lucia sat astride the dive bike, her legs splayed like a whore. She’d cut her hair and swapped her proper robes for leathers of some kind. The girl smirked at him, as if he was the one who looked ridiculous.

“Uncle,” she said, looking up at him.

He decided to stay on the balcony. The better to look down at all the trash.

“Niece. Good to see you’re back. Lotta work to be done around here,” he growled. He could feel the darkness in his blood roaring at him. Just like that night so long ago with his wife.

Lucia smiled. “Just stopped by to tell you to cancel the bounty you put on Avar’s head is all.” With one hand on her hip like a cocky asshole, she was the spitting image of her mother.

“You screwing him now? Is that what this is? After all the effort I put in to raise you, this is how you repay me. By spreading your legs for a slimy little cock like him?”

“Yeah,” Lucia said. “I didn’t think you’d listen to reason. I told them you wouldn’t, but they wanted to try talking first.”

“First?” The baron laughed. “Are you actually threatening me? Do you know how many armed men I have here right now?”

“If Quinn and Postie are doing as they were instructed, then you have ten fewer than you did when we started talking.”

The baron’s skin went cold as he realized he couldn’t see any of his guards in the field.

“You made my life hell, you know?” Lucia removed her leather gloves, folding them over the top of her stolen dive bike. She flexed her fingers, the sun reflecting off her elongating claws blinding the baron momentarily.

“I fed you. I clothed you. I kept you safe.” The baron spat over the balcony. “That’s more than most get.”

“Yeah, well, I can see talking won’t do too much good.” Lucia sighed, shaded her eyes with her hand and scanned the property. “How many people have you killed, Uncle? Why hasn’t anyone ever stopped you? An operation like this, seems like the Suzerain would be all over it.”

Did she know? How could she know? He was protected, from on high. An old deal struck in the middle of the night. Palms sliced and bleeding into each other. A blood oath to protect blood. It seemed fitting. A child was taken in and in return, no interference. A free hand. Whispers in the ears of local authorities to stay out of his way. A minor empire of dust and rock and raw ore, balanced on the head of one small child. Was it over now?

“I’ve only killed one person in all my life,” he shouted down to his traitorous niece. “And I regret that every morning and every night.”

Lucia nodded as if he’d been rambling about the weather like a doddering old man.

“I’m not going to kill you today, Uncle. But I am going to free your slaves. I’m going to take whatever of my things are left in the house and, well, anything else I want from you. If you or any of your murderous nitwits try to stop me,” Lucia trailed off, waving one clawed hand in the air.

“So you learned to shift your fingers!” he roared in response. “Big deal! I shifted once, too! Look at the whore, come back home to show off her new clothes and the sleazy pirate that slithers between her legs.” A noise behind the baron drew his attention. Turning, he saw the largest wolf shifter he’d ever seen. The man had to duck to clear the doorway onto the balcony. He had silver fur and a wide calm face.

“It would be better for you if you did not speak of her that way,” he said, his voice oddly musical.

“Is she spreading her legs for you, too? How many cocks did she have to suck to get her way?” The baron leered at the wolf man, searching for that kernel of lewdness he knew all men hid.

“I would do anything for her,” the wolf said. “And today that means I spare your pathetic, disgusting life.”

The baron spat in the wolf’s face. He was big, sure, but big didn’t mean shit. Not when you had a bolter on your hip and an army at your fingertips. “Fucking cowards. No wonder she fell in with you.”

The huge wolf sighed and shook his head. “How can a man such as you and a woman such as her be related?”

The baron shrugged, but before he could answer the wolf had him in his hands, held tight, and then the baron was flying, toppling end over end, to land hard on his ass on the parched ground. One of his legs snapped in the fall. It’d be a bitch to get it set properly before it healed at a bad angle.

Sitting in the dust, snarling, a shadow fell over the baron.

“Don’t let me hear about you hurting anyone else, Uncle.” Lucia looked down on him, a pitying expression on her face. The pirate and the giant wolf man stood on either side of her, protectively.

“In case you were wondering, Lawson, I’m not going to pay you.” Farid shrugged, his smirk as irritating as ever.

“That deathmark will follow you to the grave, boy.”

“Then it shall wait a very long time, you ignorant oaf,” the white werewolf growled.

Lucia sighed, as if destroying his life was something of a letdown. “C’mon boys, lets get these miners back to civilization.”

“Who do you think you are?” the baron howled at her back. “The fucking law? There’s no law out here! Just wolves and men, teeth and blood. The strongest makes the law!”

“Well,” she said, tugging her gloves back on. “Guess I make the law now.”

* * *

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Hi, I'm Jacqueline Sweet. I love to write sexy, thrilling stories. My stories are either paranormal, or contemporary and steamy. I love to write about werewolves, succubuses, witches, dragons and everything else that has magic pumping in its veins. Broadly speaking, my stories are either centered on the paranormal community of California's Bay Area, or take place at my sexy, dangerous Penrose Academy, a university for wizards too dangerous or odd for the better wizarding schools.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

NIGHTS OF STONE: MASON

BY LISA CARLISLE

Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Carlisle

A forbidden romance between a gargoyle shifter and tree witch on a mystical island.

After a bloody and divisive battle twenty-five years ago, the inhabitants of the Isle of Stone—namely, gargoyles, tree witches, and wolf shifters—have lived apart, divided by borders none are permitted to cross. But when Kayla, a tree witch, hears about the unconventional rock concerts that are the talk of gargoyle territory, she sneaks away from her coven to see for herself. Night after night, she returns, not just for the music, but for one particular gargoyle who shifts into human form to play guitar at these avant-garde shows.

Her attention has not gone unnoticed. For several nights, Mason has kept watch for the pixie-like female. He plans to seduce her, unaware she’s not just a visitor from another island. But when he discovers she’s one of the tree witches, he knows that no matter how strong the temptation, anything between them would be forbidden.

Despite everything that should keep them apart, Kayla and Mason can’t resist their dark attraction and plan to meet in secret, but other elements on the isle command their attention. The magical cloak created by the three clans on the island is thinning, leading to repercussions for all. Kayla and Mason are soon caught in the middle of it, and their actions may change the fate of the isle forever.

Knights of Stone: Mason
Copyright 2014 Lisa Carlisle
Edited by Chris Allen-Riley
Cover by Lisa Carlisle

The right of Lisa Carlisle to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please do so through your retailer’s “lend” function. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at lisacarlislebooks@gmail.com.

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at lisacarlislebooks.com, facebook.com/lisacarlisleauthor, or @lisacbooks.

Chapter 1

THE CROWD PUSHED Kayla closer to the stage as the last trails of fiery sunset faded. They knew what happened once darkness fell. She recovered her footing and focused again on the five life-sized stone gargoyles perched on pedestals on the perimeter of the stage. The space between them was set with instruments—guitars, a drum set, mic stands, and massive amplifiers, while a bonfire in a pit behind them cast the statues in a warm glow.

A stagehand with tartan draped over one shoulder climbed onto the stage and walked to the closest statue. He fastened the kilt over its shoulder and around its waist with a thick belt, covering the statue’s massive thighs. Kayla flushed, picturing why the coverings were necessary once the transformation began. The kilt had become a key detail in her fantasies about the guitarist, since it was the only clothing he wore. The stagehand continued dressing each statue with the same brilliant blue tartan worn by the gargoyle clan.

The last vestige of sunlight disappeared from the sky, and night draped the stage like a closing curtain. The statues loomed, dark silhouettes barely discernible by the crescent moon with the backdrop of the craggy cliffs and the rugged peaks of waves in the Atlantic Ocean behind them. The murmur of voices was replaced by silence. Waiting…

Five torches blazed on the stage all at once, lit by an unseen force. The audience erupted in cheers as the dancing lights from the flickering fire basked the statues. The flames lowered, casting the gargoyles in an eerie, almost reverent glow.

Movement. So slight, Kayla wondered if it was simply a play of light and shadows in her anticipation for the change. She fixed her gaze on the statue in front of her, the one she’d gravitated to each time she had sneaked out to see the show. Its massive gray form stood straight on two legs built for sturdiness. Its chest jutted out proudly. Gray wings with detailed feathers etched in the stone arched from a point below its shoulder blades. Eyes cast straight ahead on a face that appeared to be a mixture of canine and lion. Its right hand twitched, so slightly she would have missed it if she hadn’t stared so intently. Then a clawed foot inched forward.

Murmurs of astonishment burst from the crowd as the transformation began. Their cries of fervor grew louder as the monstrous statues transformed into taller, slimmer figures with the bronzed skin of warriors who battled under the midday sun. The tartan fabric fell over their thighs as they stood erect, covering their nudity.

Kayla barely blinked, mesmerized as always, as the statue before her stood to full height, taking on the form of a human male, but with beautiful raven wings. Hair just as black snaked rebelliously past his chin. The stony eyes flickered with animation, turning to a mossy green. His deep gaze seared the audience, seeming to burn anything in the path. When he found Kayla, he stopped. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his unblinking eyes made her swallow. She froze under the scrutiny as if hypnotized, unable to break eye contact. Her stomach lurched, heart pounded, and every muscle in her body tightened, fueled with blood now scorching through her veins. His penetrating appraisal affected her so. When his eyes took on a smoldering glint, her skin tingled and a red-hot awareness grew between her thighs.

He broke the stare and continued to assess the audience. She gasped, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and panted while she tried to breathe at a normal rate.

He turned on robust legs and strode to a guitar stand. She tore her eyes from him to note the other gargoyles. They, too, had shifted into the form of striking males. One had black hair draped further down his back, one had long blond hair, and two had reddish-brown hair—one wavy and shaggy, the other straight. They took their place at other instruments. She sought the guitarist again and caught the first sound of the pick striking the strings. On hearing the guitar projected through the amp, the crowd roared again, pressing Kayla forward.

The freak show was about to begin.

Spotlights flooded the musicians, powered by solar panels near a massive amplifier. The guitarist continued playing and the others joined in, playing a raucous crossover between hard rock and heavy metal. The one with long blond hair grabbed hold of the microphone and belted out a shattering cry that sounded like a call to battle. The crowd went pin drop silent to listen and then cheered in unison as the band played on. The front man sang piercing growls and low croons about the Knights in Stone, the protectors of the ancient forests, battling against the evil tree witches.

Kayla’s coven.

* * *

BLOOD PUMPED THROUGH Mason’s system, animating him during the transition to his human form. Every cell in his body ignited with the change from stone to flesh.

He scanned the crowd again for any threats. Since humans on nearby islands had discovered the island, it was only a matter of time before the government found out about it. If they discovered the shapeshifters on the island, no doubt they’d try to capture them and study them in a lab.

Once reassured there were no threats, he searched the crowd for the woman he’d been thinking about. Energy from the change to human form invigorated him, especially his libido. He spotted the pixie-like female three rows back.

She’d returned.

This was the fifth night he’d seen her at the Knights of Stone shows. Each night, she’d moved a bit closer, braving the frantic energy of the audience. He searched for her every evening now, figuring she must be from the nearby islands. One of these nights, he would have to seduce her, to get this woman who’d penetrated his thoughts out of his system. He needed to find a way to get her alone, away from this crowd. At least she didn’t appear to be with anyone. Peculiar. How many trips had she taken to the Isle of Stone alone?

Humans on nearby islands had only recently discovered the Isle of Stone. In decades past, the three clans of the island—tree witches, gargoyles, and wolves, had cloaked their land with many layers of protection. Their combined magic had created such a powerful force it had remained undetected by human technology. When a feud erupted between the witches and gargoyles twenty-five years ago it led to a division of land. Without reinforcements from the clans’ combined magic, the protection seeped away. Humans on nearby islands sailed over and discovered its mysterious inhabitants.

His brother Calum shrieked a wild cry that began the next song, The Hunt. Mason and his brothers played a driving instrumental that quickened as Calum sang a tale. The object of the hunt was left ambiguous—it could be an enemy, an animal, or even a lass—but as the music rose to its climax, it left no question as to the outcome.

The prey was captured.

Tonight, Mason had a hunt with one particular human in mind. He played his guitar with more fervor as he envisioned taking the young beauty into the woods. He’d drill into her against an oak tree in the forest beyond, giving her an even better story for her to brag about to her friends when she returned home. If there was one thing he and his brothers had learned about females on his visits to cities like Edinburgh and London, it was that few could resist the bad boy appeal of a rock star.

Mason and his four brothers were the only gargoyles who remained on the island. They didn’t cringe at their arrival as the rest of the clan had, but instead saw it as an opportunity to play for an audience as themselves—gargoyles—not masquerading as humans. They insisted the humans keep their existence a secret if they wanted the shows to continue.

Word of mouth about the show spread to other islands and it was only a matter of time before it reached the mainland, eventually reaching the ears of government officials. Scientists would flock to the island to try to understand how the isle had remained hidden all this time. Mason and his brothers had discussed how the isle would puzzle scientists and stimulate the imaginations of conspiracy theorists. Humans would come up with all kinds of foolhardy explanations ranging from secret military installations to alien colonization. His brother, Gavin, had come up with the best reason yet, claiming the isle had arisen from the depths of the Atlantic, an ancient civilization reborn through the shifts of the tectonic plates. And as sure as humans would invent bizarre reasons for the isle, their greed for money would soon follow. Corporations would exploit the mysterious origins of the island as a way to make money. Perhaps with tourism and advertisements of extravagant trips to a mystical island—possibly with bizarre claims such as the water’s ability to cure ailments.

The gargoyles knew their time here on the stage was limited and they had to have constant vigilance for human intrusion.

Mason kept watch for anything suspicious while he played, yet also kept his eyes peeled for attractive women. He scanned the audience to see the others who had come tonight, but his gaze returned to the dark-haired one. What was it about her?

His gaze bored into her, and she stared back from wide eyes, almost too large for her heart-shaped face. Blood rushed right to his shaft as he thought about how he would take her in the woods.

Why wait any longer? He’d try to get her alone tonight.

* * *

KAYLA COULDN’T TEAR her eyes off the guitarist. Something about the way he looked at her tonight overwhelmed any coherent thought. If her coven knew she was on this side of the island cavorting with the gargoyles, the punishment would be severe. He was one of the species her coven had warned her about. Vile, bloodthirsty creatures that had slaughtered many of her ancestors. She’d been cautioned to stay away from their lands since she was a child, forbidden to venture from the coven for fear of an encounter with one of these evil beings. But they didn’t appear evil or threatening.

Her curiosity had grown once she heard of the gargoyle rock concerts, and she’d slipped over once to see what the talk was about. She’d never been to an actual concert before, only heard about them from other young witches with their fascination for human lifestyles. She’d never even left the island. The tree witches kept to themselves, a self-sufficient coven specializing in certain skills. The witches sang, played music, and danced at the gatherings around the fire, but nothing like what she’d experienced when the gargoyles transformed. After the first night, she was hooked. It was a risk to return but one she was willing to take. She’d ventured to that different world to hear the unique group, especially to watch the guitarist with hair as black as midnight.

For the past four nights, she’d left before the show ended, sneaking back to her coven under the dense cover of the trees. Tonight, foolish bravery coaxed her to stay to the end. If she wanted to watch a show, she damn well would. It wasn’t her coven’s business to know everything she did. She was a grown woman, twenty-one years of age, and shouldn’t be constrained by inexplicable feuds from years past she’d never quite grasped.

But, if they discovered her gone…

The final song began with a march-like beat of the drums. It increased in speed as the guitarists and bass player joined in, and the singer wailed. Brilliant bursts of flame rose from the torches. The gargoyles put down their instruments and nodded to the crowd. Their black feathered wings spread wide, making them appear twice as large as the males in the audience. With a few flaps, they levitated a few feet above the stage and then soared into the star-filled night sky. She watched them zoom higher, captivated as their enormous wings gave them the appearance of dark angels watching over those on the earth below. The gargoyles shapes shrunk as they ascended, and soon even the tiny pinpricks were invisible. The unparalleled experience made her rebellion worthwhile.

The crowd dispersed and she crept back into the dark forest. It was much later tonight than the usual time she’d return home, and the darkness made navigating the root-filled terrain more difficult. Although it wasn’t prudent to draw attention to herself in an area inhabited by all kinds of wild creatures, she needed to see. Cupping her hands before her, she chanted a spell. A tiny orange light, no larger than the flame at the end of a match, flickered in her hands. She repeated ancient words, making the sphere grow to the size of an apple. The dim glow illuminated her way. After twenty feet or so, she noticed the dense thicket of trees and needed more light if she didn’t want to trip over a root or walk face first into a tree. She amped up the fiery glow with an incantation.

The sounds of the forest grew louder the deeper she ventured in. Crickets chirred, frogs croaked, and insects rubbed their wings. A breeze ruffled through the leaves, and running water from a brook flowed. Rather than soothe her as they did during the day, the sounds seemed more ominous by night, setting all her senses on alert.

Her coven lived in tree houses in Caledonia a Tuath, or Northern Caledonia, named for the ancient Scottish forests where her ancestors had originated. It lay two miles from the gargoyle’s territory, only taking about forty minutes to walk by daylight. Navigating through the woods by night might take twice as long. She clutched her locket several times as she walked, trying to cast away images she conjured of creatures that would find a witch an appetizing meal.

Nothing here will attack me. The gargoyles don’t appear evil. The wolf shifters stay in their territory. I will be fine.

Despite her attempts to reassure herself, rustling in the trees above startled her and she held back a squeal. Movement on her right was followed by a thump. She yelped, dropping the light. Sprinting in the opposite direction, she envisioned a monstrous predator. Before she made any headway, a dark figure flew overhead and landed in her path.

Chapter 2

“WHY ARE YOU walking through the woods alone?”

The voice of a male started Kayla and she dropped the ball of light. It had rolled several feet away, but still emitted enough glow for her to discern a bare-chested figure wearing a blue kilt, the dark-haired gargoyle guitarist. He loomed over her, well over six feet tall, and the wingspan gave him an even more imposing appearance. Her eyes fixed on the contoured muscles that rippled beneath his torso. Every part of him was sinewy and smooth as polished marble, biceps as sculpted as the carved rock formations at the coast, and legs as thick and sturdy as the mighty oaks.

When she found words, she said, “You scared me half to death.” She clutched her hand to her chest, and her heart pounded against it. At first, she attributed it to fright, but as she scanned his half-naked torso a few feet from her, she attributed it to a different reason.

“You’re tempting danger to come your way.” The words were a low rasp, the brogue rolling through her as delicious and comforting as a hot toddy on a cold winter’s night. “Beasts would gladly feast on your flesh.” He stepped closer, peering at her.

“Beasts?” she repeated. She stepped back and searched the woods. The biggest animal that lived in there were the red deer and they were harmless. The only threats to her kind on the island were the wolf shifters and the species before her now, the gargoyles.

He cocked his head, examining her. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

He ran a finger over her shoulder and down her arm, the unexpected movement leaving her breathless.

“Come with me.”

The sultry voice called to her, and she fought to make sense of it through her trepidation. “Protect me from what?”

“The wolves. Can’t you hear them in the distance?”

“They’ll stay in their territory.” Her shaky voice betrayed her attempt to convince herself as well as him.

He stood straighter, studying her. “What are you doing out here alone?”

She raised her chin. “I’m going home.”

He blinked at her several times before responding. “Home? On the Isle of Stone?” His voice rose an octave with obvious surprise. He strode over to the ball of light and picked it up, examining it with curiosity. It had dimmed without her energy fueling it, but still cast a warm glow. He tossed it to her.

She bit her lip. After he heard her answer, he might flee from her, leaving her to her fate. Why had she stayed out so late tonight, inviting danger? “The other side of the moors.”

He tilted his head, watching her through piercing blue eyes. “The Forests of Northern Caledonia are on the other side of the moors.”

“Aye.”

His eyes widened, staring at her without blinking. “Does that mean you’re a—tree witch?”

She nodded, averting his inquisitive gaze. Her heart pounded. Now that he knew who she was, would he give in to the blood thirst she’d been warned about? She scanned the ground for a rock or stick to use to defend herself. Nothing was within reach.

“A native, not a visitor,” he spoke under his breath.

She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Aye, I live on the island.”

“I’ve never met a tree witch before.” His voice held a twinge of awe. He stepped closer and sniffed the air around her. “Your scent is different from the humans.”

A tingling running through her body overrode her anxiety. “Like what?”

“The wilderness—and wildflowers.”

Energy sparkled in the space between their bodies; they stood closer than they’d ever been. Having the guitarist she’d admired on the stage so near affected her so she was unable to think straight. Even if he was a gargoyle.

His brows furrowed, a line separated them. “Why would you breach into our territory?” he demanded. “You know the delineation that separates our land.”

Her breathing came out more ragged. “I—uh—wanted to hear you play. I was curious,” she continued in an effort to explain her risky actions to herself as well as to him. “All sorts of rumors have spread throughout the coven about the gargoyle musicians playing human rock and roll.”

“The witches have heard about our concerts?”

“Aye.” Shuffling her feet, she added, “I wanted to hear it for myself. I’ve had so many questions about it. How did you learn to play it? We’re so secluded here on the island.”

He watched her with a steady gaze before replying. “My brothers and I fly at night. Visit nearby cities. Edinburgh, London, Dublin. We blend in as humans and slip into their clubs undetected. Having been to many shows, we got instruments several years ago and learned to play.”

“You travel from the island,” she said with wonderment.

He ran his hands over his chin. “You’ve been to see us more than once. Risking it. I’ve seen you.” He leaned so close her eyes fluttered involuntarily. “I’ve watched you.”

“I’ve come a few times,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“I like it.” she replied. “I enjoy listening to your music.” She stood straighter and declared, “One day I’ll visit other lands. Will you tell me about them?”

He appraised her, fixing his gaze on her face and then raking it down her body. Although covered in a belted leather tunic, she tingled all over, feeling naked and vulnerable.

“You know that’s forbidden,” he said with a steady gaze. “Our kinds are not supposed to cross into each other’s land, let alone interact.”

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” She peered up with wide eyes she hoped would appeal to a sympathetic part of him.

He uttered a tsking sound. “You’re a fool. You could get yourself killed if you keep this up.”

He didn’t say he’d reveal her transgression, but didn’t say he’d hide it either. Something in his tone made her relax. She swallowed the lump in her throat and licked her parched lips. “What are you doing in the forest?”

“What I must do.” He nodded his head and peered through still wise eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t let a woman walk alone unprotected through the woods.”

“You’re going to—escort me?” She pointed at her chest.

“Aye.”

Her head throbbed with confusion. The creature who she’d been warned about her entire life did not exhibit a flicker of animosity or bloodthirsty rage. In fact, he was trying to protect her.

Or was it a ruse to get her to trust him? She considered her options. If she ran from him, he could reach her in seconds.

Her heart thumped louder. “From what?” She glanced to the northern direction of the island and furrowed her brows. “The wolf shifters?”

“I didn’t mean that earlier. I was trying to scare you.”

“Why?”

“I’d planned on seducing you.” He stared at her without blinking. “Before I knew you were a tree witch.”

Her imagination soared with the idea of the seduction, only to crash down.

“But something isn’t right,” he added. “We can hear the anguish in the wolves’ howling.”

She pictured the wolves she’d only seen a handful of times in her lifetime. Beautiful creatures with fur ranging from pure white, silvery-gray, to midnight black. In human form, they were as captivating. Intelligent, wide eyes and thick lustrous hair. They lived secluded to the northern part of the island. Yet they were still wolves and had sharp canine teeth with the power to tear flesh. She’d seen the remains of rabbit and deer they had caught and shuddered to think of the damage they could inflict on her skin.

She swallowed. “Do you think they’ll attack?”

“No blood has been spilled since the clans divided the lands twenty-five years ago. But something isn’t right. We can sense it.”

“Sense what?”

He didn’t answer. “Follow me.”

The gargoyle brought his wings in closer to his body as he walked a path through the trees, allowing her a moment to study him from behind. The wings retracted, sinking into a point in his back until they were no longer visible, revealing bronzed shoulders, sculpted shoulder blades, and a tapered waist. She glanced down to fixate on his buttocks. The pleasing curve under his kilt made her wonder if they were as finely carved as the rest of him. Her line of vision descended, lingering on the protruding muscles in his calves.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mason.”

“Kayla.”

The wolves howled in the distance, and she lurched forward, clinging to one of his biceps. When he chuckled, she turned to face him. His teeth were even and white, not menacing.

“It’s all right,” he soothed her, running a hand over her hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Come here.” He opened his roped, muscular arms, welcoming her in. “The wolves are far off in the distance. Nowhere close. And remember—they haven’t attacked anyone for decades.”

Kayla sank against his chest, grateful for his protection and unable to resist the allure of his embrace. His scent filled her nose, intoxicating her with a mix of the outdoors, the remnant of perspiration from the concert, and heady masculinity. His wild musky aroma sent shivers of awareness through her. She brushed her cheek against his hard chest. A man of stone.

“We need to move.”

She moved away from his warm chest with reluctance. Not only had she trespassed into the gargoyles’ land, but she was wrapped in one’s embrace. Unthinkable. Forbidden. If the elder witches knew, if her mother saw… Yet being in his arms provided a protective warmth that chased her fears away.

“You’re going to escort me?”

When his gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there, she parted them instinctively. He raised a hand, but then dropped it.

“I want to make sure you get back safely.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Why? Are you still trying to seduce me?”

He scanned her body in a way that made her burn from the inside out, but didn’t answer. “It’s our way.” He took a few steps and motioned to her. “Come.”

She hesitated. Was she crazy to walk through the woods with a gargoyle who could attack her at any time? Yet he didn’t project any signs of ill will. Considering she’d just buried her face into his chest for safety, she didn’t understand her conflicting thoughts and actions.

Whether she walked with him or not, he could attack. Having him close made her forget her earlier anxiety picturing vicious creatures in the woods.

She would walk with him, but stay wary. “Fine.”

They traversed the dense thicket without a word. The occasional howl of wolves pierced through the more ambient sounds of the night forest, insects and the gentle whir of the breeze ruffling through leaves. The howls seemed more distant. She worried less about them while her curiosity grew about the creature walking beside her. He’d traveled to distant lands, flown there under cover of night with his beautiful wings. Not even the most powerful witches in her coven could fly that distance. He could shift from one form to another. The more she stole glances at his strong, defined profile or to watch the sway of his kilt, the more her fascination grew.

Why was she so affected by him, so aware of his presence beside her? The breeze in the night air barely cooled her flushed skin. What would his chiseled lips feel like touching hers? Moisture increased between her thighs, and she hoped he did not scent her growing desire. When she peeked at him, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk and then vanished.

His gaze raked over her body before returning before him. “What’s it like over on your side of the island?”

Was he genuinely curious or pumping her for information? “Same as yours, I gather.”

“No, not the same. Your houses are in the trees, no?”

“Aye,” she said. “That’s one of the differences.”

“I’ve always wondered about it. Since I was a young boy, I’d wanted to see the magical land in the trees. But was warned of the evil of tree witches.” He grinned. “They told me not to ever step foot over there. Said the witches would boil me in a cauldron and eat me.”

Kayla laughed. “We heard some frightful warnings about the bloodthirsty gargoyles, too.” She peered at him. “So did the warnings work?”

“No.”

“You came over?”

“I tried. Couldn’t get through the magical barrier.”

“Ah.” Tension left her shoulders. Something about the candid way he spoke to her helped her relax.

“Did you listen?” He tilted his head.

“I followed the rules forbidding us to cross into the other territories my whole life, despite my curiosity.” She smiled. "Until I heard about the concerts. I figured if the humans were coming to these shows and they weren’t being slaughtered, there had to be something to see.”

“And we didn’t kill any of you.” A teasing glint in his eye joined an infectious grin.

“Who would have thought?”

She raised her eyebrow in mock seriousness before breaking out with a laugh and he joined in.

When they reached the moors, the fragrance of the grass and wildflowers greeted her. They crossed broad sections of heather, searching through the darkness with her ball of light. When they reached a copse near the border of the witches’ territory, he stopped.

“I’ll keep watch from here. Better not to cross into your lands.”

The treetop houses of her coven were visible through breaks in the lush green leaves on the other side of the rolling fields.

She turned to Mason. His mouth had pulled into a taut line. His features were unreadable, except for one—his eyes. When he peered down at her, the dark hunger within them was clear. He took a wide stance, fists clenching and unclenching. What had happened?

“Thank you for making sure I made it home safe,” Kayla said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

Sparks ran through her when her lips met his smooth skin.

“You’re welcome,” he said through a strangled voice then straightened his posture. “I will not reveal your visit to our lands.” A low groan escaped him.

“Are you okay?” She searched his eyes.

“You should go,” he said. “Before I do something you might regret.” His voice came out low and ragged, ending with a hint of longing as his eyes traveled over her.

A fiery path erupted on her flesh. She became keenly aware of all her exposed skin; the tunic left much of her arms and legs bare. She peered at his face, trying to discover the meaning behind his unreadable expression.

“Like what?” She took a step closer, her eyes fixed on his captivating lips.

Heat radiated from him, penetrating her like the sun warming her on hot midsummer days. It coiled inside her, low in her belly, and sank lower. She recognized it, the magic between lovers. Intoxicating and intense. An all-consuming attraction. The air between them shimmered with energy, an irresistible force connecting them.

His lips parted, but he turned away, hands clenched as he struggled with something.

“Like what,” she repeated, running her index finger over the smooth, bulging muscle in his bicep.

Mason turned to her and searched her face. The conflict in his eyes was replaced by dark desire. Every chirp and rustle of leaves seemed to magnify in volume. He took her chin in his hand and gently guided her head back. She swallowed, pulse racing as his face inched closer. His wild male scent reached her again, eliciting a primal response. Anticipation pounded through her as steadily as a ritualistic drum as the seconds ticked on.

“Like this,” he growled.

His lips brushed hers, soft, yet searing her with such vitality. She faltered, the sensation overpowering her with raw need, but he caught her and held her in his strong embrace. His tongue touched her bottom lip, tracing the contours. She opened her mouth, inviting him in, and energy jolted through her. His tongue darted in, tasting her, before pulling away. She followed suit, teasing him, waltzing with him in this sensual dance.

He pulled her into a tight embrace and claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, crushing her breasts against him. The scents and sounds of the forest vanished as she lost herself in his arms. She’d never experienced a kiss like this, one that rocked her to her core.

He kissed over her cheek, down her jaw, and neck, and released a low, animalistic growl that sent ripples of desire through her, knowing she was the cause. Her nipples tingled against the taut muscles of his chest. She ran her hands over his defined shoulder blades, down his smooth skin to his lower back. Every part of him was hard as stone and contoured with muscle, but alive. Thrillingly alive.

“I like this,” she said, touching the nape of his neck and through his dark hair. She kissed his neck, nibbling and biting him, and he moaned again.

“You tempt me so.” He gripped the back of her head, and returned to her mouth, plunging in, and she opened wider for him.

Their kiss grew hungrier and more intense. Now that she’d had a taste, she couldn’t pull away. His erection pressed against her, sending a new wave of desire straight to her core. A small voice inside scolded, but the forbidden aspect made him all the more impossible to resist. If it was so wrong, why did it feel so good to be wrapped in his arms, feasting on him? If he was so evil, why had he made sure she was safe?

They explored each other’s bodies, grabbing each other, while they kissed with a frantic demand that threatened to suffocate them. She finally pulled away with reluctance as they panted, gulping for air.

The hungry glint disappeared from his expression and the conflict returned. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I did that. I don’t know what came over me.” His voice came out with a tortured gasp. “You must go.”

Kayla searched his expression. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You know this is wrong.” He dropped his face into his hands and turned away. “It is forbidden.”

She exhaled. Aye, she knew their clans had clashed. What she didn’t understand was why. She searched across the moors, looking into the thicket of the trees for answers. A sharpness pierced her. Her fantasies had begun to come true only to come to a sudden halt. “You’re right. I should go.” She turned and walked in the direction of her house on the other side of the meadow, her eyes fixed on the moss-covered rocks among the green and purple growth ahead.

“Wait,” he called. Mason’s expression softened as he caught up with her. Stepping closer, he stroked her cheek. “I’m saying this for your own good.”

She pulled his hand away as confusion welled in her. “Then why are you calling me back?”

“Because I don’t want you to go.” He clenched his fist and reopened it. “I shouldn’t be as attracted to you as I am. It would be seen as a betrayal.”

“Betrayal?” she repeated with mounting frustration. “I see.”

“With all the history between our ancestors,” he added.

She raised her hands and dropped them. A conflict from years before between people she didn’t even know forbidding her from doing what she wanted to do. “Fine. I understand. I’m leaving.”

“Kayla, please.”

“What?” She spun on one foot and exhaled. All the back and forth turmoil played on her emotions so she didn’t know what to think.

“I want to see you again.”

His rich velvety voice melted through some of her exasperation. “How? You know the rules. You just explained them.”

“Meet me here tomorrow at this time,” he insisted.

His invitation filled her with delight, but she knew it wouldn’t be easy to escape the coven, especially on the night of the summer solstice. One night earlier this week, she’d been thwarted by her mother and aunts who insisted she come to a bonfire gathering. “I will try,” she promised. “But it won’t be easy.”

He furrowed a brow. “No, it won’t. Not with the feud between our clans.” He took her hand and searched her eyes with an imploring look. “Please try.”

She planted a kiss on his still parted lips. “I’ll find a way.”

He exhaled and then smiled. “I’m sure you will. Witches are resourceful.” He held her hand and rubbed a circular design on her palm before releasing it. “Until tomorrow.”

She ran the remaining distance across the moors, the neutral land between that of the witches, wolves, and gargoyles. When she glanced back, Mason was no longer at the edge of the copse. Perched in the branches of a tree above, he watched over her. Warmth encased her heart knowing he made sure she made it home safely.

She didn’t know if or how she would be able to return tomorrow. Or if she could sneak home undetected tonight. She blew him a kiss before she continued her journey through the oaks and Scots pine to return to her house in the trees.

Chapter 3

HIDDEN IN THE cloak of the trees, Mason watched until Kayla was safe, deep into the realm of the Caledonia coven. As a gargoyle, he was forbidden to cross over into the witches’ territory, part of a treaty signed by the elders when he was twelve. The forbidden aspect of visiting the enchanted land had increased the allure. He had flown over their territory many nights, seeking a glimpse through the foliage. Through gaps, a number of houses were visible, built into the branches of majestic trees. Canopies of silver fir, spruce, beech, and Scots pine created a lush green cover in the forests of Northern Caledonia. Ferns framed the entry into their world, accented by rhododendron, azalea, and roses that poked through the greenery with bright colors. Rugged red cliffs descended to moss-covered rocks that welcomed the cool waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Often a fine mist covered their land, adding to its mystical atmosphere. Its beauty surpassed that of many places he’d visited, he suspected its lush growth was enhanced by magic.

He gazed at their land, the only part of the island still cloaked with enough magic to keep trespassers away. The tree witches had cast so many spells that he doubted any humans could ever find it.

Mason brought his wings in to bolt into the sky before unfurling them to survey the island from above, the way he and his brothers did each night. Sometimes they flew to distant lands to explore other places, especially their ancestral home in the Scottish Highlands, but they always scanned the Isle of Stone for danger before leaving its borders. Mason spotted a trail of discarded trash leading from the gargoyle amphitheater to the ferry. One of the problems with the humans was their lack of respect for the earth.

Putting on the nightly shows for humans was a tricky venture. Mason and his brothers found an audience who enjoyed their music and they enjoyed the attention of the human females. They’d also welcomed the solar-powered technology they acquired from humans on other islands. During the rough transition years of adolescence, they’d discovered rock music. The elders had disapproved of their fixation on human music, yet another difference between the old and new ways. When the brothers created the Knights of Stone and played in cities in Europe, the elders made their objections loud and clear. No point in living stuck in the old ways. The world had changed over the centuries. Gargoyles lived in cities, taking posts on buildings, or clung to the old ways living in the ancient forests like that of his clan.

Mason saw movement in the skies above the Atlantic. Based on their distinctive shape and flight patterns, he deduced it was his brothers flying from the island. He grinned—probably in search of female attention, as usual.

When he caught up with them, his youngest brother Calum, the energetic front man for their band, said, “We wondered where you’d gone.”

“Just exploring,” Mason lied. “Where are you headed?”

“We thought we’d go searching for some fine lasses on the mainland tonight,” Gavin said.

Although all his gargoyle brothers thrived on chasing females, to Gavin, it was more than mere sport or entertainment. He lived and breathed thinking about females, whether in flesh or stone.

The five of them remained still in stone for hours usually during the day. Gargoyles didn’t sleep the way humans and animals did, cut off from the world. Their rest period was more meditative in their stone forms so they could observe signs of unrest. Once the blood resumed flowing through a gargoyle’s veins, the drive to mate became unable to ignore. The blood animated their bodies, a surge of energy that gave them achingly-hard erections. They had enjoyed many lovely human lassies willing to try to sate their lust, yet none had settled with one female. Even his oldest brothers, Lachlan and Bryce, who were in their mid-thirties, remained unhitched. This worried the elders since reproduction was a sensitive topic. The tree witches had cursed the gargoyles twenty-five years ago, making them unable to bear young. Since the curse had been lifted, the gargoyle clan sought to continue the line with the birth of many young gargoyles. The elders pressured Mason and his brothers, who were not ready to settle down. When the clan returned to the Scottish Highlands, they found more freedom to carry on their lifestyle.

The tree witches were behind that curse on the gargoyles. And yet he’d spent time with a lovely tree witch tonight, one who had hair as dark as the midnight skies. Would a tree witch be able to bear a child with a gargoyle? If so, the offspring of such a pairing would likely have immense power and capabilities.

He shook his head. What was wrong with him to think this way? He snapped out of his introspection to get back to the present.

“Not enough female attention for you at the show tonight?” Mason teased.

“Plenty of fine ones ready and willing,” Gavin said. “But I’m itching for a chase off the isle.”

“Let’s go.”

Mason joined them to distract himself, but it didn’t help. Kayla’s presence at their shows had left him unnerved. The way she stared at him was intoxicating, threatening to make him hard. Her being a tree witch complicated the issue. He should have walked away when he’d found out.

Then why did he escort her? Kiss her? Invite her to return tomorrow?

A dull ache throbbed in his head. He blinked his eyes to find some relief and clear the confusion.

When he’d glanced in her wide eyes, the color of the bright blue lochs in the early morn, he saw no malice. She appeared kind. Caring. He sensed it in her, piercing holes in what he’d been told of the evil coven. Were they evil, responsible for the near extinction of the gargoyles?

Or was there more to the story?

After they’d flown miles over the Atlantic, he gave up the hunt to search for other lasses. “I’m heading back to the isle,” he said.

“What’s gotten into you?” Gavin asked.

“Nothing,” Mason lied. “Just not in the mood. Going to stay close to home tonight.” Close to Kayla.

Mason flew off and returned to the isle. He flew near the coastline of the witches’ territory and wondered if Kayla slept safe.

Before sunrise, he and his brothers had resumed their stone forms at the amphitheater. Mason attempted to enter a restful state, but he couldn’t get the image of Kayla out of his mind. What was it about this wee tree witch that had him so wound up? Whenever he thought of her, a beast rose within him, wanting to touch every part of her.

What had she done to him? No woman had ever had such a grip on his thoughts.

Ah, she was a witch, after all. She must have bewitched him with some sort of potion. He didn’t drink anything when he was with her, witches were crafty. She could find another way to bend his will. Although he wanted to attribute his obsessive thoughts to a spell, a small voice inside told him it wasn’t true.

“You’ve been acting strange all night,” Calum communicated from his stone repose.

“Some lass on your mind?”

Was his distraction that obvious? Mason couldn’t admit the truth, that a tree witch had captivated him.

“Has she found a way into your stone heart or cock?” Gavin added, and his four brothers chuckled.

“Ha ha,” Mason replied. He had to regain control on his emotions.

* * *

KAYLA SPENT MUCH of the night staring at the thatched roof. Her room was a tiny octagonal shape, higher in the branches of a Scots pine tree while her mother slept in a room in an adjacent tree below. Their rooms in their tree house were connected by rope bridges to a shared living area with her mother’s two sisters, Muriel and Emma.

Kayla had never known her father, a witch from the Americas, who’d spent a summer on the Isle of Stone. He’d met her mother in Inverness one summer and she brought him to the island. He’d left that fall before knowing she had been conceived, and her mother claimed she knew no way to contact him. She’d brushed it off, saying if he wanted to stay in touch, he knew where she was, but Kayla saw the hurt behind her dismissal.

What Kayla didn’t know of him, she created in her mind. An image of a powerful witch with dark hair and blue eyes, eyes so striking her mother had found him irresistible and had fallen for him hard, against her better judgment. Kayla had inherited her blue eyes from her father, and she wondered if the resemblance brought her mother pain.

Another man now preoccupied her thoughts. One with long dark hair and eyes as green as the mosses on the shore. His chiseled lips had grazed hers with softness before he’d claimed her with hungry possession. When she pictured how he’d watched her with a mix of desire and fascination, something lit deep inside her. She ran her fingers over her lips, remembering how he’d taken her in his embrace, fastening his mouth on hers. His kiss had ignited something inside her, one encounter would never be enough. Longing spread through her body. Her nipples tingled with sensitivity, aching to be touched. Touched by his firm hands, caressed, and kissed.

She ran her hands from her lips down to her breasts, imagining it was Mason touching her. The way he’d looked at her with such wonder made her feel unique. It was foolish to think that way, but when he’d escorted her, she felt special, different. She moved her fingers down her belly and in between her thighs, easily slipping a digit inside. What would it feel like with Mason’s body on top of her, sliding deep inside? Penetrating her with his magnificent, hard body while he fixed his hungry eyes on hers?

She fantasized about being back in the forest and continuing with their kiss. The passion would heighten as their hands roved over each other’s bodies. In a frenzy to touch, he’d tear off her clothes, and she’d strip off his kilt. He’d lay her gently on the soft groundcover and take her under the cover of the trees.

She circled her swollen clit, and her need for more intensity rose higher. Her breathing escalated and then hitched as she applied more pressure. When she crested and crashed over the edge, she arched her back as waves of pleasure flowed through her.

Her breathing and heartbeat slowed, and she thought about seeing him again tomorrow night. With all hands attending for the summer solstice, she wasn’t sure how she’d sneak away. But, she’d damn well try.

When she woke, Kayla spent the morning outdoors, weeding and gathering cuttings from the herb section. Her gifts lay in horticulture and potions so she spent many hours tending to the garden, using magic to help it flourish. She picked a handful of basil, mint, rosemary, and other herbs before climbing over the stone border of the garden.

Stone. She touched the cool gray matter. Was it the same as that of the gargoyles? It couldn’t be, could it? Mason’s smooth skin was warm to the touch, not cool like this rock. Their stone had to be malleable somehow, turning to flesh. Or was it magic?

After delivering herbs to her mother, one of the best chefs in the coven, she followed her mother’s instructions on what to cut or steep.

“You disappeared from the gathering last night.”

Her mother’s tone shot Kayla into a defensive mode.

“We’d done the fertility rituals many times. I didn’t think I needed to stay.”

“We also finalized plans for the solstice tonight. Where did you go?”

Kayla feigned greater interest in the basil she was cutting. “Nowhere really. Just walking.” Her cheeks warmed with guilt.

“Be there tonight. This is one of our most important gatherings. If there are decisions to be made, you should be a part of the vote.”

“I don’t have a say,” Kayla protested. “The elders make all decisions. A young witch like me has little voice in any matters.”

“But still a voice nonetheless,” her mother said. “This is your coven. You are becoming a powerful witch, so you should take on a greater role in its future.”

* * *

KAYLA GRITTED HER teeth all afternoon. How would she escape tonight? Families were sharing in a potluck feast, and the celebration would last all night. She usually looked forward to the event with all the delicious foods and elderberry wine, but this time she was distracted.

She helped her mother prepare a casserole with fresh caught fish and garden vegetables, and they brought it to the feast. Witches had covered the oak banquet table with trays of stuffed tomatoes and zucchini, shellfish, and more. The table itself was carved by one of the male witches who was renowned for his carpentry skills.

Kayla’s foot tapped impatiently throughout the dinner feast, and she ate with far less gusto than usual. Even her wine goblet remained full. When her mother called her to the fire, she suppressed a sigh.

The circle was cast, and the altar was set. The elders led them through a ritual to burn away negativity, using bundles of herbs Kayla had grown. Then they presented the importance of the solstice to the young witches. When they asked if anyone had questions, Kayla piped up.

“I’ve grown up hearing I must stay away from the other parts of the island, but I’ve never fully understood why.

Matilda, an ancient witch with hair more white than gray, said, “I don’t see how this has anything to do with the solstice.” She straightened her cross-legged position at the fire. “Stay away from them.”

“But why?” Kayla prodded.

The old witch appraised her through her hooded eyes. “They attacked us many years ago. Accused us of doing things we didn’t do.”

“What did they say we’d done?”

“Gargoyles are bloodthirsty creatures. They’d find a reason to seek vengeance in even the most unjust of accusations. And the wolf shifters will find any excuse to shed blood.”

Kayla furrowed her brow. She’d seen the gargoyles play at night and didn’t see signs of this bloodlust. “Can’t we find a way to come together? Whatever happened in the past is long done.”

“We lost many promising witches.” She turned from Kayla. “Let’s return to the ritual.”

Although Kayla didn’t learn much, at least she’d made her presence known. Her mother knew she was here. The ceremony ended with witches beating drums and singing, some began dancing in a circle around the fire. Kayla glanced at her mother and saw her distracted by a conversation. Kayla moved to the edge of the circle. Night gave her cover, but the fire cast a glow lighting those closest to the flames. The further she moved into the shadows, the easier it would be to escape.

She seized an opportunity to blend in and sneak out under cover of darkness. It was earlier than they’d planned to meet so she’d head to the gargoyle’s territory and catch their show. Running through the woods, she had to lean forward, panting, when she finally reached the moors. She slowed her pace as she padded through tall grasses that tickled her shins. Excitement brewed within her as she approached their land. She quickened her step as anticipation bubbled as potent as a potion in a boiling cauldron.

An uncomfortable sensation prickled the back of her neck, and she froze. Something was watching her. She spun around searching through the heather and taller grasses. She’d never experienced fear in this peaceful expanse, but anxiety pervaded her as it did on nights in the forests, when the dark realms encouraged her deepest fears to take shape.

Past the vertical obelisks left by her ancestors, she spotted a silver-gray wolf watching her. It was outside the border of the wolves’ territory with its hilly terrain. What was it doing there? The wolves kept to themselves in their land. Ice froze her veins. Was it searching for prey? Would it come her way, bounding through the woods to attack? Or was the wolf curious and hesitant, same as she?

Mason’s words about the wolves returned to her. She shot a quick glance to the sky and saw the moon was half-full. This gave her some comfort, the moon at its fullest could affect all creatures, especially ones sensitive to lunar cycles like the wolves. She watched the wolf with wariness and continued through the moors with quickened steps.

Once in the gargoyle’s land, she exhaled with relief. Excitement bubbled through her as she approached the amphitheater, knowing she’d see Mason soon. She quickened her pace.

She heard the audience before she saw them, a low murmur of discussions that hummed her way. A large crowd had gathered tonight. Each night it appeared to grow bigger than the previous one. As word of the gargoyle rock show spread, so did the size of the crowd.

The five statues loomed above the crowd, still and timeless. The last light of the setting sun cast an eerie glow around them. When she fixed her gaze on Mason’s stone form, her heart thumped. She scanned every inch of his silhouette, wondering about the spark of life within the stone that would animate him into flesh. A warm-blooded male with a heated touch and sensuous lips that made her melt.

Minutes pounded as she waited for the transition. At last, the fiery glow of sunset left the sky. Kayla held her breath, waiting for the change. A spike of dread drove through her. What if one night the spark of life wouldn’t light? If the magic faded and he could no longer transform? He’d be forever locked in stone. She’d never feel his wondrous lips pressed against hers again, nor the warmth of his caress.

When his finger twitched, she exhaled with relief. The magical transformation began. His black feathered wings unfurled as he stood upright. When the stone eyes animated with light, they changed to the green color of the forest, smoldering with intensity as they searched the cheering crowd. They stopped on her and widened. The world around her faded into the background when their eyes locked. She wasn’t supposed to meet him until later in the neutral space. He waved his finger as if scolding her, but then his mouth twitched into a grin. Her insides fluttered madly in response. She beamed, smiling back. She’d made it.

During the show, she studied him on stage. The way he strummed the guitar, the movement of muscles in his arms and torso, the sway of the tartan fabric with his movements. Her cheeks heated when she thought about running her fingers over his torso and under his kilt. Oh, the things he could do to her with that body. They exchanged glances throughout the set. After the last song, Mason winked at her before bolting into the blackened sky.

She left the amphitheater, her thoughts consumed with Mason. Did he sleep there while perched on stage in statue form or as humans did? She pictured him asleep, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, filling her with contentment. This image conflicted with what the tree witches warned her about with the gargoyles and she once again questioned the conflict between the clans.

She reached the edge of the forest and ventured in to the point where they’d met last night.

“You came,” a low voice spoke from the darkness. “All the way to our show.”

Her eyes widened as she witnessed him emerge from the shadows.

“I did.”

He scanned her from head to toe before taking two steps toward her. “That was risky. But I’m glad you did. I worried you’d change your mind.”

Her cheeks flushed under his burning gaze. He was so close she sensed the air around him pulsating with energy. “Why would I change my mind?”

Stroking her cheek, he replied, “Coming to your senses, perhaps. Listening to the admonitions of your clan on staying away from gargoyles.”

His fingers left a fiery trail on her skin. She struggled to find her voice. “They’ve warned me about you. Said gargoyles are filled with bloodlust.”

Mason dropped his hand. “That’s not true.” He took a step back. “You don’t believe that about me, do you?”

When she searched his eyes, she found them filled with earnest. “No. I don’t. I haven’t seen anything to indicate that.”

“Because that is not our way,” he said. “It is in our nature to protect, not destroy. Why do you think I escorted you last night? It wasn’t to harm you.” He shook his head. “Never.” He took her hand in his. “Come, let’s walk.”

They passed through lush green ferns among the trees. “I’ve been forbidden from crossing over to the gargoyle land since I was a child,” Kayla revealed. “They said you were not to be trusted, that you attacked our coven, but I never understood why.”

Mason’s expression turned grim. “The story I’ve heard from my clan is this. Our numbers dwindled over the past decades. The elders were dying out and women weren’t having new young.” He rubbed his chin before continuing. “They blamed the tree witches, thinking only they were powerful enough to conjure such magic.”

Kayla’s mouth dropped. “That’s black magic. That’s not the way we work.” She put her hand on her hips and stared at him with both defiance and disbelief. “Why would we do such a thing?”

“I didn’t say it,” Mason said in a reassuring tone. “I’m telling you the stories I’ve heard.”

“And did they say why the evil tree witches would curse them this way?”

“Aye. So the coven could take control of the entire island.”

“What?” Her voice came out louder than she’d intended.

“Once all the gargoyles were gone, they could spread across the land. With us out of the way, it would be easier for them to take on the wolves.”

“Wait a minute.” She blinked while forming coherent thoughts. “You’re saying this quarrel between our clans is a dispute over land?” She threw her hands out in despair. “There’s plenty of space here for all of us to live—and spread out!”

“No, not just land,” Mason added. “Revenge. Many gargoyles were killed. They believed the witches were trying to destroy our entire race.”

She didn’t know what to say. If what he said was true, her ancestors attempted genocide on an entire race of the island in greed for more land. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

Could it?

Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts, the accusations tearing her apart.

“What is it?” Mason said. “I see I’ve upset you.”

“I need to go.” She turned and fled into the woods.

He caught up with her. “No, stop.” He commanded, but in a softer voice added, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I—it’s just—um…” she didn’t know how to finish her thoughts. Throwing her hands up in frustration, she said, “Do you believe it’s true? Do you think I’m so heartless and greedy I could murder your kind for land?”

“I didn’t say you,” Mason said through a tightened jaw.

“But you said all these terrible things about the witches. I am one.”

He gazed at her with conflicting emotions flashing from his eyes. “I know. That’s what makes it so difficult.”

“Difficult for what?” she said, exasperated.

He took a step closer and cupped her cheek. “To walk away.” He tilted her head back and searched her eyes. “Because inside, I know you aren’t capable of such evil.” His eyes dropped to her lips.

Frustration was replaced by raw need. The space between them again shimmered with a surge of energy she couldn’t quite place. But whatever it was between them was magnetic, powerful, and difficult to ignore. She’d never experienced a connection like this, one that gripped her soul with its intensity.

“I do wonder about the power of a witch,” he said. “Because of the effect you’ve had on me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m consumed with thoughts of you. Have you bewitched me?”

“Bewitched you?” She repeated. “As in given you a potion or cast a spell to make you fall in love with me?”

He nodded. “Aye. That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”

“No, Mason.” She put her hands on her hips. “Why would you accuse me that way?”

“It’s not an accusation. Just a question.”

“I have no need of bewitching anyone to care for me,” she turned away so he couldn’t see her eyes blazing with tears of anger. “That’s cheating,” she spewed through gritted teeth. “And I’m not a cheat.”

“No offense was intended.” He stroked her shoulder and down her shoulder blade.

She didn’t reply, still bothered by his words, but his touch left her breathing ragged.

“These feelings are not ones I’m familiar with,” he added in a milder tone. “I couldn’t help but wonder where they came from.”

His fingers traveling over her skin confused her emotions, calming the rage within and stoking her desire.

“Well, I have no control over what you feel,” she declared. “It’s all you.”

He whispered, “I hope it’s reciprocal.”

The warmth of his breath on her ear made her tremble. “Reciprocal?”

“Aye. Have you thought about me at all?”

Every waking moment. “I have.” The words lingered on her tongue.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. His lips curled into a smile.

“Have you thought of me doing this?” He pressed his lips to her neck. Her already heated flesh simmered under his touch.

“Uh huh,” she answered in a raspy tone.

“How about this?” He turned her to face him and moved his lips along her jawline, leaving a scorching path on her skin. When he reached her mouth, he hovered before her, his warm breath driving her insane with anticipation.

“Aye,” she said between rising pants.

His lips covered hers, devouring them with a savage possession. He grasped the back of her head as his tongue plunged in, demanding more. Fire roiled through her veins, making her surprised she could still stand. With his other hand at her lower back, he held her close, supporting her unsteady legs, eliminating the space between them. Her body burned at each spot that touched him, lips on lips, chest to breasts, and iron-hard steel to smooth satin.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he said. “We are forbidden.”

His actions defied his words as one of his hands covered her breast, molding it, making her nipple tingle with awareness. He reached under her shirt and found the sensitive skin, rubbing her nipples into achingly-hard peaks. She wanted more of him. More of his lips, his hands, his cock. Kayla wanted all of him. She ran her hands over the hard planes of his chest, the taut muscles of his biceps, around his tight rounded buttocks.

“I know. But it hasn’t stopped me from coming to you,” Kayla said through hitched breaths. “And you’re here with me.”

He growled with an animalistic sound, and pulled up her shirt. “Are you as conflicted as I?” When his mouth covered her nipple, she sighed, arching to grant him more access.

“Aye.” It came out almost a whimper. “But I want this.”

He alternated between teasing and flicking each nipple and sucking each breast with slow deliberate precision until she thought she’d melt.

A howl pierced the silent night, and they both froze. When several more howls followed, Mason stood.

She adjusted her blouse with frustration in her lust-filled haze. “Can you tell what their different howls mean?”

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t like it, though.”

“They sound urgent. Almost frantic.”

“I know.” He faced her. “You should go home.”

She exhaled, but didn’t argue. “All right.” She kissed him again before trekking back to the moors on heavy feet.

He accompanied her until they reached the copse then cupped her face. “Don’t come to the show tomorrow.”

“But—”

“I don’t want you walking alone with the wolves sounding that way. I’ll meet you here after the show.”

The bloody wolves were interfering with her nightly escapes. Not only would she miss the shows she loved to attend, she’d have to wait even longer to see Mason. “All right.”

He kissed her hand. “Be safe.”

Chapter 4

KAYLA SLEPT IN, waking up to her mother rousing her in the tree house.

“You’re usually the first one up. But lately you’ve slept the latest. What’s going on?”

“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” she lied, rubbing her eyes.

“Have you brewed a potion to help?”

“No. Maybe I should.” Kayla scurried from her mother’s watchful eyes. “I’m going to get some herbs to make tea.”

The hours until evening dragged. She spent the afternoon in the gardens. Red and blue dragonflies skittered through the herbs as she pulled weeds. She went for a swim in the heat of midday to cool off and kill time.

Night finally arrived and she waited for Mason in the copse. When he strode over, her skin tingled with anticipation. He was coming to meet her.

They walked hand-in-hand across the moors before he put an arm out, stopping her. “Wolves.”

She turned north. A trio of gray and black wolves watched them, but remained still.

“I saw one here yesterday. On the way to see you.”

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the wolves. They scampered away. Her uneasiness dissipated as Mason rubbed her hand with his thumb, continuing their walk. They both stole glances to where the wolves had been.

Several minutes later, Kayla stopped. “Wait, there’s a man coming.”

A bare-chested man who wore a red kilt approached. He had gray streaks in his black hair.

“I’m Ian.” He bent his head in greeting. “The alpha from the Caledonia wolves.”

Mason stepped in front of her in a protective manner. “Mason.” He nodded his head.

“A gargoyle and a tree witch. When did the barriers break down between your clans?”

“They haven’t,” Mason said.

“Yet you meet?” Ian’s eyes gauged them both.

“We see no reason to live in separate territories,” Kayla explained, stepping next to Mason. “I’m Kayla.”

Ian bowed slightly. “That’s why I’m here. The divisions are devastating to us all.”

“How so?” Mason asked.

“There’s been increasing problems with us not joining magic. Not only have we lost the cloak on the island, but it’s affecting us in drastic ways.”

“In what ways?” Kayla asked.

“We’re shifters and we can switch from man to wolf at will, but the pull of the moon affects us. The cloak helped reduce its impact. And in the past, tree witches from your coven have given us potions to help us maintain self-control so we can continue living as we have. Since the division and the dissipation of the cloak, the moon’s effect on us has increased. The younger wolves are affected the most. Their self-control is being challenged, stretched to a point we fear may be too far.”

“What will happen if they lose control?” Kayla nervously fiddled with a protective amulet her mother had given her as her anxiety rose.

“They may attack others. A predatory drive takes over and they become more animal than human.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Mason asked. “You have no reason to trust us with your vulnerabilities.”

“Because we need your help. We’ve watched you two meet. Since you’ve both taken a step to breach the divisions, we decided to approach you.”

“What kind of help?”

“Convince your clans to come together. We need to join our magic to restore the cloak.” He turned to Kayla. “See if you can get your coven to make the potion so we can give it to our youngest and most vulnerable wolves.”

Kayla glanced at Mason and then nodded. “We’ll see what we can do.”

* * *

“WHAT ARE WE going to do about this?” Kayla asked once they were alone in the moors.

“It’s up to us to do something,” he said, his face stoic. “We’ve been presented with this issue and it’s up to us to make it right.”

His expression hardened, jaw jutted out, reflected his steely resolve. She admired his bravery and sense of justice. How could he be the horrible creature the tree witches had described?

“Let’s get away. We need to be able to think.”

“Where will we go?” She searched the island. “Only so many places to hide on an island with divided territories.”

“Exactly what I mean. Let’s leave the isle.”

Her eyes widened. “Leave the island? I’ve spent my whole life here.”

“And when we first spoke, you were fascinated with the places I’d been. Let me take you to them.”

Her body hummed with the thrill, her brain with the uncertainty. “But where?” She rubbed her temple. “And how?”

“We’ll fly.”

“There’s only one problem. I can’t fly.”

“So you’re going to hold on tight.”

“Where will we go?”

He searched across the moors. “The Highlands. Where my clan originated. They’ve returned there after humans came to the island. Only I and my brothers remain.”

“The Highlands?” Her mouth dropped. “On the mainland.”

“It’s a beautiful land. One place I find peace. Strange, considering all the blood that’s been shed there over the centuries.”

“I imagine it comforts you knowing it’s where your ancestors lived.”

He nodded slowly. “Perhaps.” Extending an arm to her, he asked, “Will you come?”

As much as she fantasized about visiting other lands, she never thought she’d do so flying in a gargoyle’s arms. After a moment of trepidation, she took his arm and smiled. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” he promised.

He wrapped both arms around her and she squeezed around his waist. When her feet lifted off the ground, she gripped him more tightly.

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Her entire body tensed as they shot several feet in the air. “It’s kind of scary,” she admitted. I’ve never flown before.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of flying. You enjoy the view.”

She closed her eyes and forced herself to breath more slowly. When she reopened them, terror welled at first when she glanced down. Then the aerial image of the island from above distracted her from her fear.

The Isle of Stone appeared so different from this vantage point at night. A land of moors surrounded by trees. No signs of boundaries marking the territories. It was the way it should be, open and free. She searched for the tree houses, but they were eclipsed by the tops of the trees. Light flickered through the foliage, which had to be the fire at the coven’s gathering.

If they had any idea of what she was doing right now—if her mother knew…

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind as she enjoyed the flight. The breeze in her hair, the sense of floating among the clouds—there was no other experience to rival it. The lack of fear even though they soared above the earth surprised her. Mason wrapped her in a protective embrace. With each flap of his majestic wings, a whooshing sound whizzed by her ears. His ability to fly was remarkable. What a different world it was from above.

She spent the rest of the flight marveling at the sights. The Highlands appeared below. Even through the darkness, she discerned the majestic peaks sloping to vast valleys. Lochs shimmered under the moonlight. They soared past the dark shapes of animals, grazing in the fields.

“What are they?” she asked.

“Sheep,” Mason replied. “I once heard someone describe them as floating like clouds across the hills.”

His voice was like warm, rich caramel. “Poetic.”

They landed on a patch of tall grasses with scarcely a thump. She circled to capture the magnificent silhouettes of the peaks around her.

“It’s breathtaking,” she said.

He stepped beside her and turned her way. “Aye, it’s even more beautiful by day.”

She furrowed her brows. “I thought you slept by day.”

“In a way,” he replied. “We typically rest in stone by day, but it’s not the way most species sleep.”

“So you’re not strictly nocturnal?”

He paused for a moment. “No. It’s difficult to describe, but I’ll try. When we’re in stone, we are not shut off from the outside world, which would make it more impossible to observe for danger. My brothers and I can still communicate. The sun shines on us, restoring our energy, but we’re not locked in stone, like as in a spell. We’re able to change to human form at will.”

The idea of sleeping while awake fascinated her as much as his ability to fly and shapeshift. “That’s amazing. I’m not even sure I fully can grasp how you do it.” She pictured the first time she’d seen him shift at the concert. “But on stage you seem to come alive from the light of the moon.”

He winked at her and grinned. “Part of what makes our shows different. We’ve learned some tricks from human rock bands.”

She laughed. “I’ll say.”

* * *

ALTHOUGH THE ISLE of Stone was his home, Mason missed the scent of the Highlands. He often came here when he wanted to be alone, reconnect with his ancient roots. He held Kayla’s hand as they walked through the tall grasses. She spun her head often scanning the scenery by night. “It really is spectacular. Your clan is from here?”

The awe on her face with her appreciation for his homeland delighted him. “Aye.”

“Why would they ever leave?”

“To find peace in a new land. Make a new start.”

“They fought in the Highlands?”

The sparkle in her eye distracted him from the question. He repeated it in his head and nodded. “Much gargoyle blood has tarnished this soil.”

“And now you said they’re back?”

Every word she spoke was melodious. Being alone with her in his sacred space filled him with a sense of completeness with a woman like he’d never experienced. How odd it was with a witch. “The arrival of the humans provided the incentive they needed to return.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

“My four brothers and I are the only ones who remain on the Isle of Stone. We grew up there and we remain there, protecting it. The opportunity to play for a human audience was not a threat to us. We enjoyed playing as ourselves, not hiding who we really are, the way we had to do when we went to play in human cities.”

Mason took her hand in his as they traversed the inclines of the Highlands, through tall grasses and past bracken. The gentle, earthy scent of heather greeted him, a different variety than that which grew on the Isle of Stone, and one that refreshed him in a way that nothing else could.

Except being near Kayla.

A worry line appeared between her brows and he had an urge to ease her discomfort. “What can we do about the situation with the wolves?”

“I’ve been thinking about it on the flight here. When we return to the Isle of Stone, we need to talk to our clans.”

“Convince them it’s time to work together.”

“Exactly.”

“What about the gargoyles here? Are you going to talk to them?”

He shook his head. “The clan has left. My brothers and I make the decisions on how we live there now.”

“That won’t be much of a problem, then, will it?”

He cocked his head. “You haven’t met my brothers. We’re a bunch of stubborn and impulsive fools.” Not only did he have to convince them to work magic with the wolves, but to accept his relationship with a tree witch. If they only knew what she was like, they wouldn’t be able to resist her charm. Beyond her beauty lay her good nature. Whenever he was around her, it took all his self-control not to touch her and wrap himself in her scent. Not that he wanted any of his lust-filled brothers getting too close to his Kayla.

His Kayla, he repeated it to himself.

“Oh.”

He scanned her from head to foot, feasting on her physical presence like a man starved. “I’m happy you came here with me.”

“I’m glad you brought me.”

He moved closer to her and her sweet fragrance greeted him. “I like us being together.” He took a step closer. “Alone.”

His eyes dropped to her lips. They’d parted slightly. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.

“I like it, too.”

He stroked her soft cheek and ran his finger over her plump bottom lip. His heart hammered in his chest. Something about being so close to her, touching her, animated a new type of energy inside him. “Stay with me awhile.”

For a long moment, he heard nothing but the sound of their breathing. Even the sounds of the breeze rustling through the grasses of the Highlands had disappeared.

Finally, she responded, “Aye.”

He bent down to kiss her without any more delay, capturing her delicious mouth. For days and nights, he’d thought about much else but her. Her taste, her touch. How he wanted to bury himself deep within. The ache inside had become almost unbearable. He took her in his arms and claimed her as his own.

* * *

KAYLA LEANED BACK when he pulled down the neckline of her blouse. How was it possible to want someone this much? Whenever she left him, she thought about the next time they’d meet. He bent down and doted each breast with patient attention. Soft kisses and gentle caressing moved to playful biting before devouring each in his hot mouth.

Mason put her feet on the ground and lifted one of her legs up. She hitched it around his hip and held on to him. He reached under her long black skirt, grasping her panties. He ripped them off, the sound of tearing fabric sounded magnified in the quiet of night. She gasped; the sudden removal of the thin barrier left her vulnerable. When his gentle fingers massaged her slickened folds, she relaxed.

“You’re so warm.” He inserted a thick finger inside her smooth flesh. “So wet.”

“I want you,” she said, her voice sounded darker than normal.

He kissed her lips, her earlobe, and her neck while he stroked her, increasing the pressure on her sensitive nub. She bit her lip as he drove her senses reeling, no longer caring what was around them or who might catch them. Then he dipped his head, pulling her skirt up higher. His warm breath tickled her sex. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, the strands as soft as the blades of grass in the moors. He licked the length of her slit, exploring every inch of her. When his hot tongue seared her most sensitive spot, she gasped. She leaned against the tree, her moans almost purrs. He increased the pressure on her clit, seeming to know intuitively what she needed. She grabbed the tree trunk with both hands, clawing it as she braced herself for the overpowering sensation building within.

Moans escaped her, but she no longer cared who heard. He lapped her clit with an intensity that drove her to the edge of insanity. Powerful and possessive, he controlled all her senses. When she exploded, she cried out while white lights and bright colors flashed behind her eyes.

As she came down from the intense sensation, he removed the fabric covering him and then rubbed the head of his cock against her opening. “You are protected?”

“Aye.”

She drank a potion each month to avoid pregnancy, not that she’d had a lover for months after a short fling with a male witch ended. Their time together was more of satisfying curiosity and lustful cravings before it fizzled out. She didn’t have strong feelings, nothing like the commanding connection to Mason. An image flashed before her of having a child with him. What would the child of a witch and gargoyle be like?

She chastised herself for thinking of a future with someone so forbidden. They had tonight, and she shouldn’t think beyond it. Sneaking unseen out of the coven was a difficult endeavor, one she could only pull off so many times.

Mason brought her focus to more carnal desires when he pressed his erection against her. The head teased her opening, moving in and out an inch or two, before he finally entered her. Her channel tightened around him and he held back, waiting for her to grow accustomed to him. Once her muscles relaxed, he drove into her with agonizing slowness until he reached the very brink. Pulling out almost the entire way, he then drove in so deeply, she thought his cock would pierce right through her.

She gasped and dug her nails into his back as he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed her against the tree, driving into her like a wild, untamed creature. He bucked into her, emitting a low roar like a fierce beast. She cried out from the pleasure and pain, but clung to him, begging for more. He paused, holding her aloft, before they fell onto the forest floor.

He slid the skirt down over her hips and she kicked it off. Then he reached for her shirt and pulled it over her head.

“I want to see you,” he said. “All of you.”

She scrambled on top of him, mounting him and sliding down with a slow, steady movement.

He gazed up at her. “You are so beautiful.”

Mason caressed her breasts, his thumb and forefinger teasing the nipples with the deft hands of a talented guitarist. He then claimed one in his mouth, and she arched to grant him greater access. His tongue and gentle scraping with his teeth sent a new wave of pleasure floating through her. He used his hands and mouth to offer attention to her other breast. Pleasurable sensations soared through her.

She slowly moved up and down his cock, savoring how every cell in her body responded to him. His hands and mouth covered her breasts while his thick shaft filled her almost to the point of pain. As she built up the pace, he grasped her hips, and raised his own with each thrust. By ramming into her most sensitive areas then increasing the tempo, he shot her to a rapturous height once again. She cried out his name as she came, her walls clenching around him and fluids drenching them both.

He grabbed her shoulders with enough pressure to leave a mark as he pounded harder into her while her muscular contractions slowed.

“Oh God, Kayla.”

Hot liquid shot into her. He released his grasp, and she fell forward onto his smooth chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. His heart hammered beneath her ear. They lay panting for several minutes, neither uttering a word. She was in such a state of relaxation she thought she might fall asleep.

Eventually, a dark thought crept into her blissful state. She had to return to reality, back to her coven at the Isle of Stone. If they knew what she had just done…

“We have to leave,” she said with reluctance.

“No. Not yet,” he said, holding her tighter.

She lay on his chest for another minute, listening to his frenetic heart rate slow. “I have to,” she said. “They’ll come looking for me if I’m not there in the morning. And if they find out I’m with you—it won’t be good.”

Mason took a long slow breath and exhaled. “If we must.”

She stood and gathered her discarded clothes. After she dressed, he remained there naked still, hair disheveled, looking like the most delicious creature she had ever seen.

“I could stay here with you forever.”

She wasn’t sure which melted her heart more—his words or his devastating grin.

* * *

AS MUCH AS she wanted to spend her afternoon remembering the night with Mason, Kayla had to do something about the situation with the wolves. She procrastinated at first, spending a few hours in the vegetable garden. The tomato plants needed support so she added branches as stakes to help support the growing plants. The afternoon sun beat down on her. She wiped sweat from her brow, wishing she’d come out here in the morning when it was cooler.

To clear the dirt and sweat from her body, she walked down to the shore. Stripping off her clothes, she entered the ocean, letting the cool waters refresh her. She toweled off and dressed and then wandered further down the shore, thinking about her next step.

Several witches around her age sat on large flat rocks by the water, where they often gathered when done with chores. They often shared what they’d learned about the human world, especially fascinated by their entertainment.

“Kayla, where have you been?” her friend, Mia, said. “We never see you anymore.”

Guilt hit her square in the chest. Why did she come here? To see her friends or avoid her mother. She looked down at the sand. “Oh, you know. With all the summer growth, I’ve had more work to do and am usually beat by the end of the day.”

“Ah,” Mia said. “I imagine it’s hot under the sun, too.”

“Aye,” Kayla replied. “What’s going on?”

While Mia gave her updates on an argument with her boyfriend, Kayla tried to follow the he did this, he said that dialog. She made the appropriate noises to show she was listening and asked a couple of questions to cover up her distraction.

She hated lying to them, but if they knew where she actually had been—sneaking over to spend her nights with a gargoyle—they would probably turn on her.

Or maybe not. Should she tell them what was going on? Maybe they’d be more receptive to Ian’s plea and they could go en masse before the elders.

No, it was too risky. Because if they turned on her now, she’d have even more witches against her. Best off to start with her mother. At least she was family and wouldn’t disown her.

Hopefully.

“Well, I better get back to help my mother for dinner,” she said. “See you.”

She headed back to find her mother after avoiding her for much of the day. Her mother was crouched down, tending a fire under a cauldron. The scent of cinnamon filled Kayla’s nostrils, reminding her she’d forgotten to eat in all her contemplation.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“What is it, Kayla?” Her mother glanced up.

“It’s about the other clans. I don’t think this division is healthy for any of us.”

“It’s better than us fighting and killing each other, though, isn’t it?”

“Who says we need to fight? We should live and work together in peace.”

Her mother stood up. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No.” She had to reveal the conversation with the alpha carefully since she couldn’t admit the part about meeting Mason. A flush rose in her when she thought of the time they’d spent alone, but she had to force it away to focus. “The alpha wolf approached me last night.”

“In our territory?” Her mother’s mouth opened wide. “Where were you?”

“No. In the moors.”

Her mother responded in a lower tone. “Why would you venture beyond our borders?” Her mother than scanned her body. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, of course not. Let me explain.”

“All right.”

“He told me the magical veil thinning has affected the wolves.” Kayla then summarized the conversation, leaving out the part about Mason being there. “He’s right. This division of our lands is ridiculous. And we can make them a potion to help them. The young ones need it the most.”

“We will do no such thing, Kayla.”

“Why not? What’s so wrong about helping the wolves?”

“We’ve spent several years in peace staying apart from the other clans. Why would we destroy that by interacting with them?”

“You’re being extremely narrow-minded. I don’t see any harm in brewing a potion to help another creature. Isn’t it part of our nature to use our magic for good, not ill will? And didn’t you tell me I should start to have a voice in the future of the coven?”

Her mother stared at her a long moment. After an audible exhale, she said, “I’ll talk to the elders.”

Kayla hugged her. “Thanks. They wouldn’t listen to me. They think I’m just some kid with crazy ideas.”

“Oh, well that’s somewhat true, don’t you think?” Her mother cracked half a smile. “Don’t thank me yet. And you think I’m narrow-minded.”

Chapter 5

THEY ONLY HAD so much time until they were caught.

Mason knew this. But he didn’t want it to end. Their night together in the Highlands had been unlike anything he’d experienced. Over a week had passed since that night, and each time he met her, he fell a little harder for her. All those women he’d seduced in the past had been nothing like this. He’d lose interest after sleeping with them, but making love to Kayla had only increased his feelings. He thought about her all the time. Something about her touched him deep within, a place he didn’t know existed. He wanted to share his world and everything in it with her.

He was playing a dangerous game getting entangled with a tree witch, but he was willing to risk it. As long as he could see her again.

After he played at the concert that evening, he flew from the stage and treaded through the moors to meet Kayla. Visions of her sweet face kept him company while he had spent the day in stone. She sneaked out most nights to meet him at the copse, their special sanctuary in between their lands. The highlight of his day wasn’t the nightly concerts, the way it had been before he'd met Kayla, but knowing he might see her.

While Mason searched for her as he crossed the moors, a twinge of panic rose the way it had every night. What if she couldn’t make it out to see him tonight? He knew how difficult it was for her to escape the coven each night. If she didn’t make it… A cold blackness descended through him. No, he wouldn’t think it.

A glimpse of movement passed through the trees. It was her. It had to be. Either that or an animal, maybe a deer. He hurried closer and sniffed the air. Her delicate scent reached him, one fragrant with wildflowers. When he spotted her silhouette through the darkness, warmth spread through him.

He stepped into the cover of trees, entering an earthly paradise. With a tree witch. A month ago, he would’ve hurled curses at the idea, never knowing how enraptured he’d become.

He stepped behind her and held her around the waist. He stood too tall near her, towering over her petite frame like a statue mounted on a pedestal.

Leaning in to smell her hair, he asked, “honeysuckle?”

“Aye,” she answered. “You’re good. I was trimming the tendrils wrapping around a nearby rosebush.”

Her smell alone quickened the flow of his blood.

“My sweet Kayla.” He kissed her smooth neck, nuzzling the warm skin. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last night.”

She tipped her head to grant him more access, and the beast within him roared to life. He raised his hands to cup her breasts, letting the weight fill his palms. He had to touch more of her, all of her. Never had he craved a woman so much. Each hour spent with her solidified how mad he was about her, but since they’d made love, he was done for. She could wrap around him like a serpentine, and he’d die happy.

He brushed her sensitive nipples with his thumbs, her gentle sighs encouraging his erotic exploration. Reaching under her peasant shirt, he found her satiny-soft breasts. He relished how she didn’t wear a bra like human women did. Her breasts bounced free as they walked, the way they should be, not bound to her body in some cage. Natural as the gods had intended, an invitation for him to touch.

Kissing her soft cheek, he sought her tempting mouth. Turning her toward him, he found her pink lips slightly parted and moist, as if she’d just licked them. So damn tempting. She peered up at him, sensuality burning in the sea-blue depths of her eyes.

He couldn’t wait another moment to taste her; the hunger for her grew too intense. He covered her sweet mouth with his own, teasing and biting her full lower lip, and probing between them with his eager tongue. She softened against his hard chest in the way he loved, appealing to his protective nature as a gargoyle and his lustful nature as a man.

His fingers traveled up her arm and down again, her skin had a magical effect on him. Being near her, touching her, calmed him in a way hours as stone never did. It brought something deeper to his soul. Brought him closer to peace. Happiness. Completeness.

He pulled her shirt over her head and removed her skirt and sandals until she stood before him naked, her smooth skin glowing radiant under the sliver of moon piercing through the trees and starlit sky. Her firm breasts rose and fell with her breath. His eyes traveled over her feminine shape, memorizing the way her waist tapered in and curved out with her luscious hips. A gentle breeze brought the scent of her arousal to his sensitive nostrils, and he stiffened, ready to pounce on her. It took all his self-control not to throw her onto the ground and bury himself deep within her.

Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on her belly.

“You’re beautiful. Such a bonny sight.” He stepped forward and took that hand, kissing her slim fingers, before placing them on his chest. Her gaze traveled down, watching her fingers trace the indentations on his torso. He puffed his chest out under her admiration.

When he lifted her in his arms, cupping her rounded buttocks, she yelped in surprise. “I’ve got you,” he assured her before lowering onto the soft moss carpet.

He tasted her mouth again while his hands wandered over her skin. Her flesh was as smooth as rose petals. He nibbled and kissed her shoulders, licking over the mounds of her delicious breasts. Her hard nipples pointed straight to the stars, a tempting invitation. He took one of the delicate morsels in his mouth, feasting on it. Kayla arched upward and sighed. He claimed the other nipple while his hands moved down her body, over the flatness of her belly to the super soft area between her thighs. Heat radiated from her, driving his need even higher. He managed to hold on to a shred of control as he moved down the length of her body, to her glistening pink folds, letting his heated breath signal what he meant to do.

Wetting his fingers in her slick heat, he stroked her sensitive flesh before dropping his head to taste her. She moaned in pleasure, running her fingers through his hair. Another bolt of energy shot straight to his cock, urging him to take her. He licked every savory inch, a sensual exploration of her most secret spots. Slow licks turned into increased pressure on her sensitive nub. She arched beneath him, coaxing him for more. He slid his fingers into her channel, probing her while sucking the bundle of nerves until she cried out his name, covering his tongue with her honey.

Mason rose to his knees, watching her beautiful face with awe, before kissing her. She quivered beneath him when he teased her entry with the head of his cock. Although she was so wet, he still met with resistance as he penetrated her heat. She was so tight, wrapped around him like the most pleasurable vice. She grabbed his shoulder blades and bit her lip as her walls relaxed, granting him deeper access.

He lifted her rear off the ground and gave her everything he had. As heavenly as this sensation was, he wanted more of her. All of her. He wouldn’t stop until their bodies connected on the deepest level possible. She gasped with each thrust, her breasts bouncing. Her nails scraped from his shoulder blades down his back until they settled at the top of his buttocks. The sweet pain excited him, quickening the fiery heat coursing through his veins right to his shaft.

Kayla rose higher off the ground, meeting his thrusts with an increasing tempo while grasping on to him. Her muscles clamped tighter on his swollen cock, the blood flow furiously pounding through it. Her moans grew louder, her grip tightened, and she turned her face onto the mossy groundcover. Her contractions pulsed around him, and she cried out as she covered him with her delicious fluids.

He paused, savoring the moment still swollen deep inside her as her contractions slowed. If he kept fucking her like that, he would come and he didn’t want their time together to end, yet.

“Wow,” she said with a heavenly sigh. “That was brilliant.”

He beamed under her appraisal. “Turn around.”

She raised her eyebrow with a smoldering gaze, before turning over onto all fours. Her tempting round cheeks were visible in the candle-like glow from the night sky. He swatted one playfully and she turned to cast him a surprised look.

“Ouch!”

“You like it,” he retorted. “I know you do.” And smacked the other cheek. “Don’t you?”

She yelped and then said, “Maybe a wee bit.”

He leaned over her and reached between her legs to touch her glistening pussy, easily slipping his finger into her wet heat. “Maybe a lot.”

The beast inside him roared louder, leaving him with only a shard of control. Making love to her on the forest floor was one thing, exquisite, but fucking her like an animal in the cool night air was a different sensation that threatened to rock his being from the inside out. He wanted to taste her again, touch every inch of her, pound into her slick heat until she was begging for mercy.

“Aye,” she agreed in a rasping voice.

She leaned forward, her breasts hanging low. He had to touch them.

He coated the head of his dick with her slick fluids before sliding into her wet channel. She gripped him again with her tight muscles in the way he loved and then relaxed, easing his entry. The deeper he went, the louder the beast inside him roared. When fully in, he moved in and out, pumping her harder with each stroke.

Her head dropped closer to the grass as he drove into her, pants and moans escaping her each time he drove in. The beast had fully woken, this was what he wanted, and he couldn’t be denied this exquisite pleasure.

Her moans turned into cries with each frantic thrust. She grasped the grass, pulling at it as her head thrashed from one side and then the other as he pounded into her without restraint.

“No,” she uttered. “I can’t take it.”

He paused. “No?”

After a few exhales, she said, “No, don’t stop,” More panting. “It’s so much. But please don’t stop.”

Her pleasure through pain excited him. Each time they’d gotten together, he pushed the boundaries a little further. Discovering anything she liked while they made love gave him a thrill. Only he knew this about her, only he could please her this way. He wondered if there were others before him, knew there had been, and a sharp poke seemed to stab him inside his ribcage. No, he wouldn’t think about them. She was his. A wee thing under him, he feared he might break her, yet she wanted all that he gave.

“You want me to keep fucking you like this?” He grabbed her hair and pulled. “Do you like it when I do this?”

“Aye!” she cried out.

He kissed her shoulder and gently bit it. When he reached around to find her swollen clit, she cried out at first, but then relaxed under his strokes. He increased the pressure and her inner walls tensed. A sheen of perspiration covered her back and shoulder blades. He had to be ten thousand degrees himself. She pressed against his fingers, riding his hand and taking control of the pace, raising it to a feverish pitch.

She yelled out, calling “Oh, Mason. Oh, goddesses.” She collapsed forward, coating his fingers in her sticky-sweet fluids.

The tightness around him was too much. The pulsing around his muscle too intense. He gripped her hips and drove in deeper. And harder still. The beast wanted all of her. Pleasure raced through him at an uncontrollable speed, pumping through his veins straight to his cock. He exploded, dropping his head when he came, unleashing an animalistic growl as he shot hot jets of fluid deep into her.

His mouth fell open as he panted for air. His heart must have beat a thousand times a minute. She was covered in a light layer of sweat. He traced his fingers through the glistening wetness, leaving patterns on her skin. Where he had grabbed her had left white marks on her. Hell, he’d been too rough with her.

“Are you all right?”

She turned to him and smiled. “Fantastic. Only I doubt I’ll be able to move for a week.”

The color returned to her skin, but guilt still rushed through him as quick as the blood had rushed to his cock moments before. “Did I hurt you?”

She rolled onto her back, and dropped a hand to her belly. “In a good way.”

He closed his eyes. He never should have let the beast in him loose.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hurt you. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Come here,” she said, raising her arms to him.

He laid his head against the crook of her neck, careful of his weight pressed on her. Their hearts pounded at a higher rate than normal, still recovering from their session.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was somewhat painful, but in a good way. Know what I mean?”

“I do.” Relief lifted the twinges of regret that were settling on him. He rose onto his forearms and kissed her lips.

“In case you couldn’t tell, I liked it. I liked it a lot. And if you take it easy on me from here on out, I will be greatly disappointed.” She peered at him with a straight face and then broke into a grin.

Her smile lit up her face, danced through her eyes, and he couldn’t resist smiling in return. “I’ll take note of that.” Gods, he was falling for her, falling as deeply as into a chasm with no end. “Because I want to be the one to make you happy.”

“You do, Mason.” She stroked from his cheek to shoulder with such slow deliberation, it left him speechless. “More than you know.”

After several languid moments where he savored Kayla wrapped in his arms and their legs entangled, she brought him back to the reality they had to face.

“Have you talked to the others about the wolves?” She propped herself on her forearm and faced him.

His muscles tensed, their stolen moment in each other’s arms ending. She’d asked him a couple of times when they’d met, but he’d find a way to distract her with more carnal pursuits. “I haven’t,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure where to begin.”

“You need to, Mason.” She peered at him with her wide blue eyes. “It’s important. Not only to them. To all of us.”

“Did you talk to your coven?”

“I spoke to my mother.”

“And?”

“She wasn’t happy at first. I had to leave the part about you out. But she said she’d talk to the elders. She hasn’t as of yet.”

“I’ll talk to my brothers,” he promised.

Kayla ran her fingers along a lacy fern and her brows tightened.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Each time I’m with you, I worry it may be the last time.”

An icy chill ran up his spine. “Why?”

“All this sneaking around. I don’t know how long we can keep doing it.”

Her words got him right in the gut. The time he’d actually been jostled by a caber, a tree trunk twenty feet long, during the Highland Games paled in comparison. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t keep coming up with diversions or sneaking out of gatherings. They’re bound to catch me sooner or later.”

His insides clenched, churning painfully. If she was ending it—no, he wouldn’t even contemplate it. “We’ll have to find another way to get together.”

She arched her brows. “How? Neither your clan nor my coven would accept it. It’s impossible.”

“No, Kayla. We can’t let them keep us apart. You know how I feel about you. I can’t let you go.”

Her head tilted. “I don’t, actually. How?”

A burning sensation built through him as he tried to sum up his feelings, which he didn’t even understand himself. It was a good question. He lusted after her like no woman he’d ever met, craved being around her with a compulsion that almost bordered on obsession. But was it love?

No, he wouldn’t think that way. If she rejected him… He’d sulk away a good and bloody fool and rightly so. Maybe to her he was just a diversion, sexual recreation. And now she was trying to end it.

“Well?” she prodded.

“Oh, come on. You already know. I come to meet you every night.”

She arched a brow. “So you like having sex with me, I gather.”

He ran his hand over his head. “It’s more than that.”

“Like?”

She wouldn’t let it rest, would she? She was going to make him say something. “I’m fond of you.”

She nodded and said, “Uh huh.” Then she rose to her feet. “How lovely.”

Anger radiated from her. The quick, snappish way she dressed confirmed it.

“Don’t be like that,” he added and stood up. “You know what I mean. I’m very fond of you.” He quickly donned his kilt.

“Well, that’s good,” she said in a flippant tone. “I’d hate for us to risk the ire of our clans if we weren’t fond of each other.”

“Damn it, Kayla, what do you want me to say? I care about you? You know that already.”

“How would I know that?” She narrowed her eyes. “I come to you night after night, sneaking away from the coven. It’s not as difficult for you. You have more freedom.”

“And yet, I still can’t get over to you. There are so many damn spells keeping me out.”

“You’ve tried?”

“When I was young.”

“And what happened?”

He inhaled. “I got blown onto my arse and felt like a bloody fool, that’s what happened.” When Kayla giggled, he said, “Oh you think that’s funny, do you?” He grabbed her and tickled her sides, and laid her back on the ground.

“No, Mason,” she pleaded through her laughter. “Don’t.

“Ticklish?” He straddled her and his hands moved down her body, over her thighs. “Let’s see where else you’re ticklish.”

“Stop,” she protested, while thrashing around to avoid his probing fingers. “You’re trying to avoid the question.”

He stopped and pinned her wrists above her head. “And what question was that again?”

“Don’t play.” She pouted.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “What do you want me to say?” He searched her blue eyes. “I’m crazy about you. I think about you all the time.” Releasing her wrists, he leaned on his heels. “I know this whole thing is supposed to be wrong and I wonder what I’m doing. But it doesn’t feel wrong at all. Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to give you up.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t want you to.”

“What can we do?”

She shook her head before raising her hands and dropping them. “I don’t know.”

“We can run off together,” he suggested.

Her eyes widened before she sat up. “And go where?” She searched the horizon, spreading her arms wide.

“Anywhere. Leave this isle. Go to the Highlands or the cities. Find someplace where we can blend in.”

She cast her eyes to the ground. “I know nothing of other lands other than a few hours with you in the Highlands. I’m a witch with a knack for herbal potions. Where will that get me in the modern world?”

“You’d be skilled in a number of ways. You could work in gardens or in a position helping people with herbal remedies if you wanted a human job. Or we would find a way to live off the land as we have here. Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to adapt.”

“But what about your brothers? You’ll miss them.”

“If they won’t accept you, then…”

Her smile lit up her face. “You’d leave your home, your family for me?”

“It doesn’t matter where we go as long as I’m with you.”

“Does this mean you really care about me? This isn’t just some fling?”

“Of course. It’s real to me. Very real.”

“Do you love me?” Her voice was just above a whisper.

His body burned again. Love. Words he’d never said to a female before. Was it possible that these overpowering compulsions to be near and protect her were more than lustful stirrings? Could he be falling in love?

* * *

“KAYLA!”

The unmistakable voice of her mother indicated one thing. She was caught.

“What are you doing with a—a—a gargoyle?”

Kayla turned in the direction of her mother’s voice and found her advancing on her with her two sisters flanking her.

“What are you doing?” Kayla’s voice rose with her indignant protest. “Following me?”

“This is not right,” Aunt Muriel said. “You know you should not be associating with their kind.”

“I knew you were up to something,” her mother added. “All the questions about gargoyles. All the absences each evening.”

Mason stepped toward them. “The quarrel is not ours. Kayla and I do not harbor any ill will to other clans.”

The mixture of shocked, surprised, and disgusted expressions on the witches’ faces summarized their distaste for Mason. Kayla’s mother scanned from his face down his bare chest and over his kilt.

“Did you dare touch my daughter?” She raised her hand and hurled a ball of light his way, knocking him off his feet. “You loathsome creature!”

Mason fell to the ground, laid out on his back from the surge of energy.

“What have you done?” Kayla shouted, rushing to his aid. “You don’t know him at all.”

“It’s all right,” he said, sitting upright with unsteadiness.

“No, it’s not,” Kayla said. “Leave us alone,” she cried to the women.

Aunt Muriel and Aunt Emma exchanged knowing looks with her mother.

“Absolutely not!” her mother declared, moving forward to grab her upper arm and drag her from Mason. “This is forbidden. Betraying your coven!”

Her aunts joined in, grabbing Kayla and pulling her from Mason. “Let go of me!” Her cries were futile as they dragged her to their territory “Mason!” she turned over her shoulder.

Mason tried to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him.

“What have you done to him?” she screamed. “Let me go.” She fought to escape their grasps.

Her aunt said words she didn’t recognize. Her senses were clouded by a sense of calm until she didn’t remember why she was upset. She stopped struggling and let them lead her to the coven.

Chapter 6

MASON STUMBLED TO his feet. That damn tree witch had knocked him on his arse, and he’d been unable to stand for several minutes. His legs were still rubbery.

Bloody hell. He’d had enough of their sense of superiority with their precious protective spells. They’d called him a creature. That was it; he was going there to find Kayla.

Watching her being dragged away pierced his heart with an agony greater than any physical one he’d ever known. What he’d been wrestling with came to him as clear as the sun on a cloudless midsummer day. He loved her. So what if she was a tree witch? The rivalry between their clans no longer mattered.

He loved her, and he’d do anything to be with her. Even facing the wretched spells from the damn witches who’d taken her away.

He flew out of the forest, scanning below for signs of the foursome returning through the moors. The emerald green fields were empty. He must have been knocked out of commission longer than he’d thought. Was Kayla already at her coven? Facing the wrath of the other witches?

Picturing her being punished for cavorting with him filled him with a dread heavy enough to weigh down his wings. Recovering from the distraction, he ascended higher. He soared to a spot with a vantage point of their land. His heartbeat quickened with the risk. It had been several years since he’d last tried to venture there. He’d been a young gargoyle then and far too curious. Fascinated with a world he was forbidden to see, he convinced his youngest brother, Calum, to explore what had been closed off to them.

They had waited until midnight before they took flight, hoping their gargoyle magic of masking themselves in the darkened skies would work on witches the way it did on humans. Excitement had made him buoyant, he’d quickened the flap of his wings and soared forward. And then he had seen the treetops just as he did now. When he had flown toward it, he had hit something invisible, but as hard as glass. Electrical shocks had followed, they had pulsed through him and sent him hurling toward the ground at a dangerous speed. The earth had approached quickly, much too fast. If he didn’t do something fast, he’d end up a bag of jelly on the forest floor, or seriously crippled. He flapped his wings and found a flight rhythm again with nary a second to spare.

And here he was again several years later attempting the same foolish maneuver that had almost killed him in his youth. He shook his head with a nervous laugh. Love made all species do crazy things. But he was older and smarter now, plus he had more experience. Instead of attempting to fly in from above, he descended to the edge of the moors and walked.

Stepping forward with confident strides that belied his wariness, he hoped the witches protective spells had weakened, as they had over the rest of the island. He followed the path that he had watched Kayla take night after night while he waited until she was safe.

The grass beneath his feet thinned as he approached their territory. The grass of the moors gave way to sparsely planted trees. His heart beat quicker. If he made it through, he would find her and ask her to leave with him.

Ferns and groundcover grew all around. He had to be in their territory by now. Did that mean he’d made it through? His chest pumped out as he strode forward. After a moment of triumph, a stab of fear pierced him. If he could get through, so could the younger wolves, the ones Ian had explained most at risk for losing control.

His steps quickened; the idea of Kayla being in danger pushing him forward. The further he penetrated, the more his heart pounded. He had to get to Kayla. Find a way to be with her and keep her safe.

Smack!

The sounds of birds tearing through the branches to flee reached him as he soared through the air, and then hit the ground with a thump. Staring up through the trees to the blue sky meant one thing. He’d been blown onto his back. Jolts of pain ripped through him, as sharp as electrical currents traveling through his veins.

Damn witches! Their barrier was still intact.

Mason lay there staring at the clouds sailing by as the throbbing eased. When he mustered enough strength to rise to his feet, he turned toward the gargoyle’s land.

He’d have to find another way to get to her.

* * *

KAYLA WOKE IN her tree house after a night of no dreams. That was odd, usually her dreams were vivid. She thought back to the night before and bolted upright.

Mason.

Her mother and aunts had found them and had taken her away from him. They must have put a spell on her.

She dressed and found the three women in the clearing between their tree houses. Her mother stirred something in a bowl while her aunts flipped through a book of spells.

“Is that where you found the spell you used on him?” She’d never shouted at her aunts before, but the accusation in her tone was clear. “And me?”

Her aunts stared at her, and one closed the book.

“We had to,” her mother replied in a calm tone. “You were out of control.”

“Out of control?” Kayla repeated, shaking her head. “You have no right to do this. I’m of age to make my own decisions—”

“I have every right to do so since you clearly are making poor decisions! I am still your mother. You are not to see the gargoyle again!”

“What are you going to do, guard me here like a prisoner?” Kayla motioned to the three women standing before her.

“That’s exactly what I should do.” Her mother hmphed while adding flour to the mixture in an earthen bowl.

“Consorting with a gargoyle,” Aunt Muriel muttered with a shake of her head. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t see it with my own eyes.”

“You’re wrong about them,” Kayla said.

Her mother stopped stirring. “What were you thinking?”

“Did you talk to the elders about the wolves?”

“I have not had a chance since I’ve been too concerned with my daughter who’s been acting suspicious. And don’t think I’m even about to help you with that lost cause, now.”

“Your mother told us.” Aunt Muriel shook her head. “First, a wolf and now a gargoyle.”

“This whole thing is so stupid.” Kayla paced before them, waving her hands. “You know that, right?”

“Stupid how?”

“We live on one island. Why can’t we be normal, you know, and share the island? Instead of carving out areas.”

Aunt Emma tilted her head. Kayla homed in on her to gain sympathy. “We should share the land as neighbors.”

“Not this again. You know what they’ve done.” Her mother pointed the wooden spoon in her direction, and some of the white mixture fell to the dirt below.

“I know what the elders have told us,” Kayla replied. “But what if they’re not telling the whole story?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” her mother asked.

“Did the tree witches curse the gargoyles?” Kayla asked, scanning from one face to the next for any signs.

“Curse them?” Aunt Muriel raised her brows. “Have you been experimenting with herbs?”

“No. I’m serious.”

“Why would you say that?” her mother asked.

“They think we’ve used magic on them. That it prevented them from having young.”

“And when did we supposedly do this?” Aunt Muriel asked.

“Before the clashes.”

“So that’s why they attacked us?” Aunt Emma asked. “It’s never been clear.”

Kayla’s mother put her hands on her hips. “And where did you get this information from? Your gargoyle friend?”

Her mother skewered her with a glare, but Kayla didn’t back down. “He would be a good source of their side of the story, wouldn’t he?”

“Don’t sass me, Kayla. Consider the source of this skewed information.”

“I am. Since I can’t get a decent explanation from our coven, why wouldn’t I give a reasonable explanation some consideration? We have the potential to create such a curse. I’m asking if someone in our clan actually did.”

“Why would we want to wipe out their clan?” Aunt Muriel asked.

Kayla shrugged. “To claim the isle.”

“Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother said.

“So no tree witches that you know of have cursed the gargoyles?”

“Of course not,” her mother said, resuming her stirring.

“Then why were their women unable to bear children?”

Her mother stared at her a long time before answering. “I’m a tree witch, Kayla. Not a psychic.”

Kayla spent the day being monitored by her mother and aunts. She didn’t think she’d ever have a free moment. After hours of this scrutiny, she’d had enough.

“I’m going for a swim,” she said.

“Stay where I can see you,” her mother said.

Kayla rolled her eyes as she walked away, hating being treated like a toddler.

She climbed down the moss-covered craggy rocks and into the clear water. The briskness chilled her right through to her bones until she became accustomed to the temperature. Scores of sea birds soared past descending close to the shore in search of fish. She floated on her back and watched the clouds glide by while her thoughts drifted to Mason.

The idea of not seeing him pained her worse than when she had fallen into brambles, piercing every inch of skin. The thought of never looking into those moss-green eyes, never kissing those full carved lips, or tracing the muscles under his smooth skin, left her with an ache inside. Never having his thick shaft penetrate her with such exquisite pleasure and pain while he peppered her with soft kisses and whispered into her ear—it was unthinkable. Just being near him filled her with such content.

After drying off, she walked to the herb garden, but tended it with a lack of her usual interest. Not being able to see Mason each night filled her with a fear she’d she’d never find joy again.

She’d also miss the concerts with all their vibrancy in her otherwise routine life. A night of music, the energy of the crowd, it provided an excitement that growing up in the coven lacked. Visiting their side of the island had shown her life beyond the forests. A bigger world existed out there, and she wanted to experience it. A world introduced to her by the charismatic guitarist who had captured her heart.

Had he made it home okay? Did he miss her the way she ached for him? The first time she’d seen him on stage, the attraction was purely physical. Since then, it had developed into something more. His protective streak and his concern for her well-being was something no other witch had for her.

If her family was so close-minded that they thought she’d live and die in the trees, cut off from the rest of the world, she’d have to leave the island. If they couldn’t accept whom she loved, she and Mason would have to go somewhere else.

She glanced at the herbs in her hand and discovered an answer to her problem. She cut several more herbs necessary for a potion. One that would make the women sleep long enough so she could escape their watchful eyes. She was running away, leaving the coven. The Highlands, the human cities, it didn’t matter. As long as she was with him.

* * *

MASON FOUND NO solace while he rested in stone, his mind tormented by thoughts of Kayla. Had they punished her because she’d been with him? They’d dragged her from him, knocked him on his arse, and he couldn’t do anything to stop them. Now he started to see why the gargoyles hated the tree witches so.

No. Don’t think that. Kayla is one, and she is the sweetest creature you’ve ever encountered.

He tried calming techniques to shift into a meditative state, but nothing worked. He had to find a way over to Kayla. His failed attempt earlier meant he needed more help. He had to enlist his brothers. Together, they would find a way into the forests of Northern Caledonia; discover the weakness in the coven’s shield.

But first, he had to tell his brothers about Kayla. And the wolves. They most likely wouldn’t understand. But he didn’t know of another way.

Brothers, I need your help, he communicated to them, interrupting their deep repose.

What is it? Calum replied.

I’ve met a lass.

His brothers hooted within their stone forms.

I knew it, Gavin said. That’s why you’ve been acting all moony lately.

And disappearing after our shows, Lachlan pointed out.

There’s a problem, Mason said. We’re unable to be together.

Why not? Calum asked. Is she human?

No, he answered with caution.

In the Highlands? Gavin added.

No, Mason replied in a lower tone. She’s on the Isle. In the silence that followed, he swore he heard his heart beat through his stone form, no matter how ridiculous the idea.

Finally, Bryce spoke. Is she not a gargoyle?

She is not.

More silence. His insides prickled with uneasiness and he forced himself to remain calm. It was impossible to feel human body traits while in stone so it had to be a trick from his mind.

Which is she—wolf or—tree witch? The scorn in Lachlan’s tone communicated his distaste.

The latter.

You’ve fallen for a tree witch? Bryce’s voice conveyed his disapproval.

Do you know nothing of our history? Lachlan added.

That was from a time long ago, a quarrel between others. It’s time for a new future.

You have gone mad, Lachlan declared. She’s bewitched you.

The wolves have approached us and requested our help. The thinning veil has affected them, especially the youngest, who face more difficulty in resisting the lure of the moon. That’s why they’ve been howling in distress lately.

Witches and wolves? Gavin teased. You dog.

This is serious, Gavin. We must make peace with those who share the isle. We’re more welcoming to humans who are strangers to the island than we are to those who share it with us.

And cursed us, Bryce replied.

We don’t know that for sure.

You doubt the elders? Lachlan asked.

No. But I question what hasn’t been shown to be true.

You were young, Mason, Lachlan said. Just two years old. You don’t remember. But it was a bloody time. Much death on all sides. If you want to be with a tree witch, I can’t help you, brother.

Mason paused. In the moment that followed, the others also said they couldn’t help him, even his closest brother, Calum. Their response pierced like daggers from all directions.

I understand, but I have no choice. I love her. And if I can’t be with her here, we must leave the isle.

Their silence extended, accentuated by the faint sounds of waves hitting the shore.

Go in peace, brother, Bryce spoke.

Mason’s chest tightened even in stone. This will be my last show with the Knights of Stone. I leave tonight.

* * *

KAYLA RACED ACROSS the moors to the gargoyle forest, knowing every moment she had was measured. She’d never concocted a sleeping potion before, and she didn’t know how much time she had until they awoke. A twinge of guilt pierced her knowing she’d drugged her mother and aunts, but she didn’t know of another way out. The entire coven was close-minded, stuck in the ways of the past, and prejudiced against anyone not like them.

As she reached the edge of the woods, she smiled, thinking of the first time she met Mason there. All those stolen moments since then under the carpet of stars returned, especially the last time they’d met. The rough way he had pulled her hair and slapped her ass had evoked a surprising response—she had enjoyed it, a lot. Even the memory thrilled her and made her blush.

Her steps were hampered by the sack she carried with her belongings. The sky was darkening, and the gargoyles would animate on stage soon. She didn’t want to miss the moment when her stone lover transformed to warm delicious flesh, whose slightest touch could make her quake with need. Trotting the last several hundred feet, she reached the open area where a crowd surrounded the amphitheater. The gargoyle statues were already dressed in their kilts, which meant the show would soon begin.

The full moon hung low in the night sky and was greater in size than usual. Their ancestors had called it the giant moon, explaining it was when the moon was close enough to touch and its effects more pronounced. Mason’s familiar stone silhouette loomed with a magnificent ethereal glow under the spotlight from the heavens above.

Something was in the air that night. Kayla sensed a powerful, magnetic tension that filled her with uneasiness.

She shook her head, casting it off. It was simply the guilt from drugging her family and running away.

The gargoyles sparked with movement, animating with life. She marveled at her lover’s transformation. Once in human form, they picked up their instruments and played.

She tried to catch Mason’s attention through the waving arms of the audience, but his eyes were downcast. Every now and then, they flickered to his left, to the direction of the moors and her home.

Mason’s face remained hardened as if still in stone. The only clues to his state flashed from his eyes, which alternated emoting melancholy and determination.

Her heart thumped. Was he thinking about her? Wondering if he could find a way back to her?

She pushed her way to the front of the stage; she had to let him know she was here.

See me, she willed. I’m right before you.

Seconds pounded like a ticking clock before he searched the crowd. Did her message make it through?

When he caught her eyes, he beamed. The smile lit his face, energy must have rippled through his body, and he played with renewed vigor. The crowd sensed it, too, and cheered their appreciation.

* * *

SHE’D MADE IT over to him. How he didn’t know. The dread that had burrowed its way deep into his chest cavity no longer had such a powerful hold.

Mixed emotions vied for dominance during the show. Wondering if Kayla was okay. Wondering how he’d get to her. Lamenting how this was the last show with his brothers, something he’d loved to do.

It couldn’t last forever and they’d known it from the start. It was only a matter of time before government or military figures appeared at their show to investigate inevitable rumors that would spread from person to person. When that happened, Mason and his brothers had planned to bolt into the air and leave the Isle of Stone. If they were separated, they’d meet in their ancestral homeland in the Highlands and figure out their next move from there.

While they had the opportunity to play as gargoyles as the Knights of Stone, they would enjoy every last minute of it.

Mason tried to imprint every detail during this last experience playing here at the gargoyle amphitheater. The pound of the surf wasn’t audible behind them, but still he felt the ocean’s presence behind him like a living thing. One of the things he’d loved about the isle was living beside the sea. The torches on the stage cast a flickering glow as well as a warmth on his skin. The red and purple spotlights highlighted his brothers, but what struck him most was their unique sound. Their rock and roll was unlike any he had heard, echoes of tribal music combined with Calum’s iconic war cries. How’d he’d miss playing with them. How he’d miss them.

And the audience. Although they’d inevitably be the ones who’d reveal their secrets to the world, how he loved their enthusiasm at their concerts. Without them, they’d have no one to play for. Their cheers and shouts energized them, encouraging him and his brothers to play with more ardor and vigor than when they were on their own. Most of all, if they’d never put on these shows, he wouldn’t have met the female that stood out to him in the crowd. The one who he could never keep his eyes off of, especially now.

He smiled at her again, anticipating how he could take her into his arms after the show was over.

A few songs later, Bryce had a drum solo, which gave Mason a chance to regroup. Calum sent a telepathic message. That’s the one, isn’t it?

Aye, Mason replied. No other words were passed between them and Mason picked up the guitar and began to play again.

A few minutes passed before Calum added. I sense a surge of emotions. You do love the lass, don’t you?

I do.

Calum glanced at Kayla several times as he pounded around on stage like a possessed rock star. She doesn’t appear to be evil.

She isn’t. She’s the most extraordinary, kind creature I’ve ever met.

A tree witch?

Aye.

And you’ll leave us to be with her?

I must. Mason’s chest pumped out with love for her as he cemented his choice. He raised the guitar and joined the instrumental interlude. The lead that had settled into his feet earlier dissipated, replaced with a new buoyancy.

Calum joined his brothers as he belted out a scream, joining them in the song of ancient tribal wars on the Highlands. The pounding chorus of the warriors working as one echoed the solidarity of their brotherhood. Mason threw all his energy into the music, drowning out the underlying reminder echoing in his head that this was their last time playing together.

Chapter 7

A DISTURBANCE RIPPLED through the air around Kayla. She couldn’t place what it was, but something was off in the Isle of Stone.

She caught Mason’s gaze often while he played guitar. Could he sense it, too? She could not discern it from his expression, all emotion seeming to come from throwing his heart into the music. After another song, his eyebrows tightened and he fixed his gaze on her. His worried expression increased her anxiety.

Howls erupted from every direction. The same urgent cries from the wolves when she was with Mason the other night, but now they were closer. Too close. They sounded right outside the amphitheater.

The audience searched around with wonder, giving each other confused looks. Many people asked if wolves were part of the show. Others replied they’d never seen them before.

The howling sounded even closer. The gargoyles put down their instruments and straightened, tilting their heads as if to listen. They exchanged glances and nodded to each other.

What was going on? She had to get to Mason and ask him.

Before she even twitched a muscle, a wolf leapt into the crowd and knocked a woman to the ground. A blood stain crept out from her neck. Other wolves followed, attacking the humans. The coppery scent of spilled blood filled the air. People shrieked, running in all directions. Some braver ones tried to pull the wolves from their human prey.

The gargoyles flew from the stage, changing their appearance in mid-air. Their skin changed to a gray hue, its texture hardening in between flesh and stone. Their massive black wings made them appear twice their size, surrounded them like dark warrior angels. Their kilts fluttered with movement as they descended on the wolves.

Kayla’s mouth dropped as Mason fought an enormous gray wolf with gnashing teeth. She ran to him, she had to do something, even though her strength could not compete with that of a gargoyle or wolf shifter.

Think, Kayla, think.

She didn’t have their physical prowess, but she was a skilled witch. She ran through a quick catalog of enchantments she’d learned, ones she’d never had reason to use during her peaceful upbringing.

Her mental cataloging was interrupted by a slash of red erupting from Mason’s shoulder blade. She cried out for him, horrified at the gash revealed as the wolf tore away.

She threw a ball of light and energy at the wolf, without any forethought; a reaction rather than a conscious spell. The force knocked the wolf several feet away from Mason. Stunned, it took a moment to stand on four legs and limp away.

A wolf bounded onto the stage and howled again. The other wolves bent their heads and wailed in what appeared to be a submissive reply, moving to the stage. The remaining humans who hadn’t already fled the area ran, blood streaking down over their skin, bite marks from the wolves’ attack.

Kayla rushed over to Mason and searched for the wounds. His new form momentarily distracted her, one in between his transformation between stone and man, so different from the one she made love to by night. She wiped streaks of blood from his chest around a vicious looking wound on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. You? Did they touch you?” Mason’s voice came out lower than in human form, but one still recognizable as his.

“They didn’t get near me.” The wound was deeper than it appeared at first and too much blood oozed from it. If she didn’t do something to staunch it, he could be in danger. She closed her eyes and repeated an ancient healing spell her aunts had taught her. Lowering her hands palm-down over his injured flesh, she let her hands hover as she pooled healing energy. When she gathered a substantial amount, she circled over the opening and repeated the Latin phrase. Magic flowed from her into him and slowed the blood flow.

“What have you done?” He uttered with amazement. “It doesn’t hurt like it did.”

The wound appeared smaller. “I’m helping your body heal quicker.”

A grin stretched across his face. “Magical.”

She shrugged. “I’m a witch.”

The sound of more howls demanded their attention back to the stage. The massive gray wolf scanned the area from ice blue eyes.

“The alpha,” Mason said.

She nodded. It had to be the one they’d met in the moors. “Ian.”

The wolf transformed into a naked male and she couldn’t help blush when Ian stood before them without clothes. When she caught Mason’s eyes, a smile tugged at his mouth.

Ian commanded the other wolves to come to him. The other gargoyles, although themselves wounded, tended humans. When she went to assist in healing the humans, they glanced at her as with a mix of curiosity and wariness in their expressions. One with red scratches over his chest approached her and beckoned her to the side.

“Do you have magic that can erase this memory?”

She searched through her mental catalog, but didn’t think of one. Even if she did, would she use it? Messing with someone’s mind was powerful magic; one that took away a person’s rights.

She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t.”

He exhaled audibly and returned to the other gargoyles. At some point they’d all changed to their human forms. Would they let a tree witch help them?

She took a deep breath before introducing herself to them. “I’m Kayla. May I help?”

Mason stepped beside her. “Kayla, these are my brothers.” He pointed to each of them and said, “Gavin, Calum, Bryce, and Lachlan.”

The one who’d asked her about a memory spell was Gavin. Calum had a nasty gash above his knee. “That gash needs to be seen to. Will you let me take a look at it?”

Calum tilted his head. “And do what?”

“Just let her see to it,” Mason said. “Look at my shoulder. The wound is almost healed.”

Calum glanced at Mason and seconds ticked by.

“Okay,” Calum said.

She used the same healing magic on Calum’s wound. Gavin then let her examine his blood-covered torso. “These are mostly superficial scratches,” she said. “But this may help them heal quicker and relieve the discomfort.”

Gavin thanked her when she was done. The two other gargoyles kept their distance and watched her with wariness. Oh well, she had plenty of other wounded wolves and humans who would accept her help.

In another twenty minutes, all the humans had left the island. No doubt they would tell others about the wolf attack and humans would come to investigate what had happened. She’d heard about their thorough techniques for examining crime scenes. At least nobody had died.

She wiped sweat beading on her forehead. The worst was over for tonight. They’d deal with the ramifications tomorrow.

Odd, she had come over here to run away with Mason. After the situation with the wolves, she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t just leave everything unsettled, could she? Her family was on the island. They could be in danger if the wolves attacked again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother and aunts approach with quick, angry strides, fury blazing in their eyes.

Shite.

“You drugged us!” her mother accused, waving a finger in Kayla’s direction.

“I had to,” she exclaimed. “You held me like a prisoner. And put a spell on me.”

“I’m your mother.”

Kayla motioned around. “We can’t talk about this right now. There’s something more important going on. Just listen a moment.”

The witches’ eyes continued to burn with accusation while Kayla explained what had happened with the impact of the moon on the wolves.

“Why should we care what happens to them?” Aunt Muriel said.

“Because we share this island,” Kayla replied. “And we need to work together to protect it and all on it. This feud has to end.”

“She’s right.” Mason approached them.

Kayla admired his bravery for stepping up to her mother and aunts when after all they’d blown him back with a spell the night before.

’“Without our joint magic,” he continued, “our land is suffering.”

“You lure the humans here with your—music.” Her mother spat the last word with contempt. “And you lure my daughter away from the safety of her coven.”

“I’m in love with Kayla. I’d do anything to protect her.”

Kayla’s heart swelled with pure happiness. He said he loved her. Even declared it before many others.

“We will not join with the gargoyles or wolves,” Aunt Muriel stated.

“You’ve tried to steal my daughter from me.” Her mother directed her wagging finger at Mason.

“I’m twenty-one,” Kayla interrupted. “You have to learn to let go of me, and let me make my own choices.”

“And you’d choose him?” Her mother’s eyes widened.

“Aye. I love him. With all my heart, I do.”

“Over your own kind?”

“You chose our kind. And look what it’s done to you.”

Her mother recoiled, pain flashing through her eyes before she recovered. “You’re my only child, Kayla. And I just wanted to protect you from any harm. From avoiding pain like I went through with your father.” Her mother’s voice hitched and her eyes glistened. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Kayla reached out and hugged her. As much as her mother drove her crazy with all her restrictions and even locking her up, she knew deep down it was out of love. “I know. You don’t have to worry so much. I’ll be okay.”

Her mother wiped her eyes and raised her chin. “He’s not like us. He sits in stone all day. What kind of life is that?”

“That’s how his clan protects the island,” Kayla explained in a softer tone. “Their magic is different than ours, they use their gifts to observe the land.” She took a deep breath and admitted her plan. “I came here to run away with him tonight, go somewhere where we wouldn’t be shunned.”

Mason gazed at her with wide-eyed wonder, his face stretching into a smile. “You did? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, Mason. I do love you. And I’ll go with you wherever we can be together.”

“And I, you.” He kissed her hand. “To the ends of the earth.”

“Oh,” her mother threw up her hands in exasperation before pointing to where the wolves had gathered. “And now I bet you want me to break bread with the wolves, too?”

* * *

MASON WAS RELIEVED Kayla found a way back to him. Even his brothers were coming around to accepting her. Two of them, at least. After Kayla had helped heal Calum and Gavin, they had dropped some of their suspicions.

I agree with you, Calum had communicated as they’d cleared the devastation left by the wolves. She appears kind, wanting to help others. Perhaps not all witches are evil.

She’s not, Mason agreed.

It’s time to put the past behind us and move on, Calum added. All the other gargoyles in our clan have left the isle. I don’t want to lose you, too. You’re my brother, my best friend.

Does that mean you accept my decision to be with her?

It does, Calum had said. And I will help you however I can.

This means so much to me, brother.

All right. Gavin had stepped up and put his arms around Mason’s and Calum’s shoulders. I’m in.

Lachlan and Bryce had said nothing, keeping their distance from Kayla. Their silence had echoed their disapproval.

Now while Mason spoke with the witches, they glanced over with suspicion.

Mason caught movement from the wolves. The wolf shifter, Ian, approached them. At least he’d found a gray garment he had wrapped around his waist. Mason’s brothers circled in behind the wolf.

“I am Ian, alpha of the wolves,” Ian bowed respectfully as he introduced himself in a low tenor.

“What is the reason for this attack?” Lachlan demanded as he stepped forward.

“It’s a horrible incident. My deepest regrets,” Ian stated. “The moon’s presence is strong tonight and the youngest ones lost control.”

“Well, control them!” Bryce shouted.

“We’ve tried. We need your help.” Ian explained how the thinning of the magical cloak had also removed a barrier protecting the wolves from the moon. He gestured to the wolves and added how the witches’ potions had been useful in the past. “Now you see why we need to come together, the way our ancestors did many years ago.”

Mason stepped closer and asked the question that had never been thoroughly explained to him. “Why are we three divided?”

“What have you heard?”

“The witches cursed the gargoyles so they couldn’t reproduce and would die out.”

The witches protested.

Ian nodded their way. “And you?”

“The gargoyles attacked us because they’re bloodthirsty creatures,” one of Kayla’s aunts piped. “They have no moral compass.”

The wolf cocked his head as he appraised them both. “The truth lies in the space in between.”

Mason exchanged a glance with Kayla.

“The witches didn’t curse the gargoyles,” Kayla said with relief in her voice.

“It was one witch,” Ian added.

“What!” Kayla exclaimed.

The other witches again protested.

Ian raised a hand. When the dissent quieted, he explained, “An elder witch named Adair detested the gargoyles. She wanted to drive them off the Isle of Stone. She is the one behind the curse that did in fact afflict them, preventing them from reproducing.”

The witches had quieted and appeared deep in thought.

“A gargoyle discovered the reason and told the clan. However, the accusation against one witch escalated into blaming all of them. Their lust for revenge could be described as what the witches call bloodlust.”

“It’s a side that only comes out when defending ourselves and others,” Mason explained. “We are not monsters.”

The alpha nodded. “The hatred of one witch and miscommunication among the gargoyles escalated into a battle between their clans, one which lured the wolves to both sides. Many of our ancestors were killed and our lands have been splintered for generations.”

“How would a wolf know all this? How could you know both sides?” Lachlan asked.

“Both tried to recruit us to their cause.” Ian replied.

Bryce asked, “Why are you telling us all this?”

“Because it’s time we sit down and discuss a new peace,” Ian replied. “One in which we work together and share our gifts. It’s best for us all.”

Lachlan hymphed. “How do we know you’re not lying to us now for your own gain?”

“I’ll tell you straight out what I want.” Ian paced before them and gestured as he spoke. “I want our clans to drop the territorial divides and restore the magical veil. Given what happened here tonight, more humans will come to look into what happened, interfering with our way of life.”

Ian paused as if for emphasis and not a witch, wolf, or gargoyle uttered a word.

“I think we have much to share with each other, which would enrich all our lives,” Ian continued. “I want the wolves to be able to run free under the moon and not fear it. What I don’t want is this island overcome with humans attempting to change its future.”

Lachlan sent the gargoyles a telepathic message. We need to come to a consensus on this matter together. But first, we need to address the division in our clan.

When he paused, Mason inhaled sharply, waiting for his reply.

Mason, I accept your decision to join with the witch. We are brothers, the last remaining gargoyles on the Isle of Stone, and we must not let anything come between us.

Mason exhaled, the boulder in his chest rolling off him. I thank you, brother.

Regarding the wolf shifters, Lachlan continued. I see wisdom in what the alpha says. We need to work together.

Bryce added, Agreed. Let’s discuss this situation with the wolves on our own.

Lachlan addressed Ian. “My brothers and I will discuss this matter.”

The witches congregated out of earshot from the others, where Kayla appealed to her aunts. “We need to join together to protect the Isle of Stone. Stop it from being devastated by human development. You’ve seen what they’ve done to other parts of the earth.” She noted their expressions had softened, so she pressed her point. “The ancient prejudices are destroying any sort of future we can have here. Unless you’d prefer to let the island become a tourist attraction.”

Aunt Muriel’s eyes widened. “With chain hotels? And tacky tourist stores?”

“You know about such things?” Kayla asked with surprise. She thought her coven was so closed off from the rest of the world that they didn’t have a clue as to how it functioned. Yet her mother had traveled to Inverness when she was younger. Who knew what else she and her sisters had done in their youth?

“Aye, of course I do.” One corner of her mouth cracked with a wry smile. “I live on a rock, not under one.” She turned to Kayla’s mother. “We can’t let them build on the isle. Can you imagine all the technology they’d bring here? They’d kill all our ancient magic with their modern developments.”

“So you’re saying we should make peace with the gargoyles and wolves?” her mother asked.

“I think we have to. It’s the only way to keep the humans out.”

“Better them than the humans,” she agreed.

“We’d have to bring it to the elders,” Aunt Emma added, speaking for the first time.

The resolute tone in her voice made Kayla think Aunt Emma might have considered a reconciliation before now. Kayla couldn’t be the only one who questioned the split between the island’s inhabitants.

“Convince them it’s the best way,” Aunt Emma added.

“Maybe not the best way but a better alternative,” her mother said. She turned to Kayla. “I suppose it could be worse. You could have chosen a human and left the Isle of Stone. Gone off to live on the mainland in a city.”

“An apartment building.” Aunt Muriel cringed. “Can you imagine living in a box like that? Enclosed. Looking outdoors through closed windows?”

“Never,” her mother said. “If you want to be with the gargoyle—“

“Mason,” Kayla interrupted. “His name is Mason.”

“If you want to be with Mason,” her mother began again, “you have my blessing.”

“I do.” She turned to face Mason, who was discussing something with his brothers. “With all my being.”

* * *

KAYLA BOUNDED OVER to Mason and her heart fluttered, knowing he’d been waiting for her. She met him in the copse, their special spot, now infused with so many memories of their secret encounters.

After they embraced, she pulled back. “The elder witches have agreed to open discussion.” Her eyes sparkled. “Representatives from all three clans will meet at the ancient stones in the moors.”

“Aye. My eldest brothers, Lachlan and Bryce, are attending the peace talks.”

“Maybe they’ll even combine their magic to cloak the island.”

“They will if they want to keep this island out of human control. They know they don’t have much time.” He gazed at her with admiration. “If you weren’t brave enough to come to our shows, so much would be different now. Our island would have fallen into ruin.”

“I’m glad I did. Because it brought me to you.”

“I love you, Kayla. Everything about you.”

Her heart swelled at the words. She never knew it was possible to feel such joy, especially from a union that seemed doomed from the start. “And I love you.”

He cupped her face and planted a kiss on her lips. “I hope we have a child one day who is like you. Beautiful and brave.”

“You want to have a child with me?”

“More than one. In the future, of course.”

She pictured a young boy with Mason’s inquisitive green eyes. “Part-gargoyle and part witch. If we could even conceive together. They would be a new kind of being.”

“Spectacular,” he added.

“It would bring a new future to the island.”

Mason gave her a look with pure predatory lust. “I’m looking forward to the part where we conceive them.”

She couldn’t resist a coy smile in return. “Well then, we should get some practice before we’re ready, don’t you think?”

Mason took her in his strong embrace and kissed her, making her melt. He laid her on the groundcover beneath the trees. He made love to her slowly, at times clasping her hands and whispering he loved her. It was nothing like the frantic way their bodies had previously joined in their passion, yet it rocked her deeply to the core. His gentle caresses lit her body; his promises of love touched deep within her soul.

The sun rose anew the next morning, bathing the Isle of Stone in a harmonious light. Even more comforting was the warmth from Mason’s body as he spooned her in his arms. How she’d like to wake up entwined in his arms every morning.

She turned gently so as not to wake him and scanned his face. Smooth and peaceful, no signs of the worry that had been etched between his brows last night. What went on behind his closed eyes? Did gargoyles dream while in human form?

When his eyes fluttered open, he flashed a smile that warmed her heart. “Good morning.”

“Sleep well?” she asked.

“I did. And you?”

“Aye. Warm and protected all night. I liked sleeping in your arms.” She furrowed her brows. “Is it different, though, from when you’re in stone?”

“It is,” he said. “Just a different state.”

“Do you prefer one form over the other?”

He paused for a moment. “Difficult to say. They’re all me.” He picked up a lock of hair that had fallen over her face and tucked it behind her shoulder. “Last night, I had a dream of us. That’s not something I can do while in stone, which is how I usually sleep.”

“What was the dream?” she asked.

“You were with child.” He nodded. “Our child.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t muster any other words, so overcome with emotion.

“At first I wondered if being with someone who wasn’t a gargoyle would take away a part of me, make me more human. But the emotions that tugged at me when I dreamed of you and our child showed me it would only tap deeper into my gargoyle nature.”

“How so?”

“The drive to protect you was so strong I knew I would do anything to keep you both from harm.”

Tears of joy and gratitude pooled in her eyes. “Oh, Mason.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “I love you, so.”

“Aye. I love you, too.” He wiped a teardrop that slid down her cheek. “No tears, okay?”

She took a deep breath. “No tears.”

“You’ve distracted me from my ulterior motive.”

“Which is?”

He pulled her closer and his erection pressed against her thigh. “Convincing you to stay here a little longer.” After kissing her lips, he added, “What I was about to tell you was how I liked waking up and seeing you. Much better than seeing my brothers. Have you seen how ugly they are in stone?” He donned a serious expression before his mouth spread into a wide grin.

“I’ve seen you in stone, too.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“Then I feel sorry for you,” he teased. “Falling for an ugly piece of rock.”

“I love you in every form.” She ran her fingers through his black hair. “But you’re much more enticing in the flesh.” She moved her hand down his back and over his buttocks. Moving to the front, she traced the contours of his smooth chest before moving down and stroking his stiff rod. “And parts of you are just as hard as when you’re stone.”

Mason rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her, teasing her opening with his cock. “Want to feel just how hard you get me?”

Her body responded almost immediately. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. “Aye.”

Brushing his lips over her neck, he moved to her breasts, kissing them while he used his fingers to explore her wet folds. Then he moved his head down, down—she held her breath—wondering, waiting for more.

“You’ll have to wait.” His mouth was before her sex and his warm breath made her tingle. “Because I’m hungry for you.”

“Oh?” Her voice caught in her throat. She tilted her head back, barely catching the movement of fluttering leaves as her anticipation soared. She couldn’t wait much longer.

His hot mouth was on her and she forgot all else.

After they made love, they rolled onto their sides, facing each other as they caught their breath.

“I’d love to wake up this way every morning.”

Kayla would like nothing more, but there was still the question as to where they would go. Were they still leaving the Isle of Stone? “Where would we live?”

“Right here.”

“In the copse?”

“We could build a house in the trees.” Mason pointed to the green canopy above them. “And a platform for me to rest in stone.”

She smiled. “Symbolic, isn’t it?”

“How so?” He propped up on his forearm.

“A neutral area between the lands. Bridging them together.”

Mason pulled her close and gave her a deep, scorching kiss, one that left them both breathless. “The perfect spot, indeed.”

* * *

Continue the Highland Gargoyles series in in book two,
Knights of Stone: Lachlan.

https://www.amazon.com/Knights-Stone-gargoyle-Highland-Gargoyles-ebook/dp/B0194DQYN0
www.lisacarlislebooks.com

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About the Author

Lisa Carlisle is a USA Today Bestselling author of romance and suspense. She loves stories with dark, brooding heroes and independent, caring heroines. Her travels have provided her with inspiration for various settings in her novels. She worked in Okinawa, Japan, backpacked alone through Europe, and spent time as an au pair in Paris before returning to the U.S. Now she lives in New England with her husband, two children, two kittens, and many fish.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

HUNTER UNDONE

BY EDEN ASHE

Copyright © 2016 Eden Ashe

Choosing him could cost her everything.

A psychic gypsy. A demon hunter living in the shadows.

Tyler Wade’s entire life revolves around hunting down and killing the things that go bump in the night.

Shay Evernight embraces everything Tyler fights against. She talks to ghosts, she has terrifying visions of his future, and she’s determined to help Tyler's mother. His long-dead mother.

When the truth of his mother’s disappearance comes to light, demons start popping up around town, and Shay’s visions get more terrifying. Can two people who have spent their lives in the shadows of their secrets come into the light together a war clouds gather?

Hunter Undone © copyright 2016 Eden Ashe

Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Cover by Fiona Jayde

Chapter 1

TWENTY YEARS AFTER clawing his way out, Tyler Wade was crawling back inside the belly of the beast.

In the passenger seat next to him, Malia lowered her bare feet from his dashboard and sat up straighter, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.

“This is it? This is the hellmouth you’ve been avoiding for two decades?” She lowered her window and peered at the quaint Michigan lakeside town. “It looks like a forgotten Gilmore Girls set.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Pulling his truck to a stop at one of the town’s three stoplights and leaned forward, deliberately ignoring the people on the sidewalk staring at them. The sun was setting, which didn’t give him and Malia much time to get their shit done and get the hell out of dodge.

Malia twisted in her seat to look behind them, before shaking her head. “Everyone’s waving at us. That can’t be normal.”

“Like I said. Hellmouth.” Sighing, reached over her to open the glove box, pulling out a piece of pink folded paper and his handgun. He shoved the note into his front pocket and the weapon into the waist of his jeans at his lower back. Popping his door open, he lifted his brow at her. “You know what you’re doing?”

She blew a bubble before shoving her feet into flowered—for fuck’s sake—combat boots. “Of course. Sweet talk the case file off the record’s clerk.”

She hopped out of his truck and bounced around it until she was next to him on the sidewalk. Thanks to the sheer amount of energy in her, he’d developed an eye twitch two months into their working together. Four years later, he accepted the twitch was here to stay.

She planted her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “You sure you want to open this particular can of worms?”

Hell-fucking-no he wasn’t sure. He didn’t like a goddamn thing about this, but the note in his pocket may as well have have been an anchor for the difficulty it caused him. It had been three months since he’d first seen it, and it had been weighing him down since.

Tyler,

My name is Shay. You don’t know me, but you need my help. I live in a town called Willow Springs, Michigan. I was recently…contacted by a deceased woman who says she’s your mother.  She said you’re too stubborn to find peace until you solve her murder, so you need to come home. She has made me promise to help you.

P.S. Just so you know I’m not cracked, because she is certain you will think I am, she said to tell you that Wilfred is buried underneath the back porch steps. He’s still there, waiting for you.

P.S.S. I am really hoping that Wilfred isn’t a dead dog or cat or something. Or a person. Because deal’s off, then.

Shay Evernight

For three months, the name had convinced him the woman was just off-her-rocker bonkers. He didn’t even care how she knew about Wilfred. And then, in the end, it was the name that had driven him crazy with doubt. The Evernight family were crackpots, had been for centuries. But that knowledge didn’t make that one little niggle of doubt that continued to gnaw at his brain every day go away. He didn’t have time for this shit. While the authorities had searched for his mother, and the other women who’d gone missing around the same time, they’d never found anything to indicate her death.

The annoying cracking of Malia’s gum brought him back. He sighed in frustration. She was capable enough, but four years into their partnership her irritating quirks still made him want to lock her in a closet somewhere until she finally—fucking finally-ran out of words.

With a shake of his head, he turned and headed in the other direction. “Jail is that way. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

He made it twenty feet before a little, gnarled old lady with a pouf of lilac-colored hair stepped in his path and crossed her arms over her chest.

Before he could move around her, she lifted her cane and nailed him in the gut with it. “I don’t know you.”

Obviously. He lifted a brow. But while he’d been raised and living in fighter mode for the last twenty years, he still had an ingrained sense of respect for his elders. Mostly.

“No, ma’am,” he said, “you don’t.” He nodded his head and took a step around her. “Have a nice day.” When she simply moved with him, blocking his escape, he sighed. “Can I help you?”

Her wrinkled brow furrowed as she continued to study him.

“Welcome to Willow Creek.” She shook her head. For a moment, he worried the sheer amount of hair on the top of her head was going to break her neck with the movement, but she didn’t seem fazed by it. “Can I help you?”

Deciding not to point out that he’d just asked her the same thing, he started to tell her no, and then thought better of it.  Because she was here, there was no point in dicking around. He wanted to get the hell out of this town before he got sucked back in. So he nodded instead. “I’m looking for Shay Evernight. Do you know where I could find her?”

The friendly look disappeared, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Her spine snapped as straight as her old bones would allow, putting her at a full four-and-a-half feet tall.

“I don’t know you,” she said again.

She had to be fucking with him. He crossed his arms over his chest. Fuck, he hated this town. “No, ma’am.”

She canted her head and sized him up.

“In that case,” she said, nodding once, so firmly he was a little afraid the motion would turn her brain to mush, “I don’t know where she is.”

He lowered his head toward her. “Are you sure?”

“Wait a minute.” Her cloudy blue eyes studied him. “Are you sure I don’t know you? You look familiar all of a sudden, and I never forget a face.”

“I’m sure, ma’am. Shay?”

Her brows drew together. It took her a moment before she finally scowled at him and stepped back, pointing toward the end of the downtown area. “You could try the…”

She moved in closer and peered up at him. Realization sparked in her eyes.

He caught the faintest hint of baby powder and roses.

“And you say you’re looking for Shay?” she asked.

For the love of bacon. “Yes, but I’m not—“

She cut him off by batting at the air. “Yes, she’s definitely in the body shop. Try there.”

Before he could figure out why she was being so helpful when her eyes were full of mistrust, she glared up at him before she turned and walked away, her head held high.

Swearing under his breath, he jogged across traffic—what the town considered traffic, at least—and headed toward the body shop he’d passed on the way in. He played what he knew of the Evernight family in his head. Phoenix Evernight, now in her eighties, was a ‘psychic,’ in the most absurd form of the word. Convinced as a child that she had magic powers, she’d never outgrown that belief, and still flaunted her abilities. Raven Evernight, her daughter, rumored to have been a black magic witch, had been the town’s one murder casualty, while her daughter, Shay, was an enigma. He’d found nothing on her outside of school transcripts, a credit report, and an arrest record longer than his arm.

None of which made sense. She’d gotten straight As in school, apparently brilliant enough to graduate at sixteen with honors, her credit report was flawless with not even a single contested doctor bill on it, and despite the mile-long rap sheet, he couldn’t find record of a single charge ever being brought against her. He didn’t understand how a woman who got arrested on what looked like a monthly basis for disorderly conduct and assaulting an officer never spent more than an afternoon in jail.

It didn’t matter, really.  The woman had been raised by her bat-shit crazy grandmother, and after reading the charges that had been brought against her mother before her murder, which were pretty freaky, he expected nothing other than a flamboyant, obnoxious shrew of a woman.

Who was not in the town’s only body shop. Not that he was surprised. But with nowhere else to look, he stepped up to the counter, anyway. “I’m looking for Shay Evernight. I was told she’d be here.”

Young, with the name “Garret” sewn onto the breast of his dirty gray coveralls, the kid at the desk gaped at him. “Someone sent you here? To look for Shay?”  He grinned. “Yeah, man, I don’t think that’s ever happened. Shay being here, I mean.”

Gritting his teeth, Tyler braced his arms on the Formica countertop. “Do you know where I could find her?”

Garret’s smile disappeared, suspicion darkening his freckled face.  “Who’s asking?”

Tyler decided to go a different route this time and forced himself to smile. “A friend.”

“Nah, I don’t believe you.” The kid said it easily, like Tyler’s six foot five frame, which put him a good eight inches over the brat, meant nothing to him. “You said a nosy woman with purple hair and blue eyes sent you here?”

Tyler’s jaw started to ache from clenching his teeth. “I did not say she was nosy, but yes. Short. Gray-purple hair. Blue eyes.”

The kid shrugged, and then offered him a smile. “Okay, then, if Celia sent you here, I’d check her grandmother’s place. She’s probably there.”

Tyler studied him for a moment, before he raised a brow. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.” He didn’t believe the kid for a heartbeat, but having her grandmother’s address couldn’t hurt. “Where does Phoenix live?”

“Go to the south edge of town. If you hit the river, you’ve gone too far.”

That was helpful. “Yeah, thanks, kid.”

Garret grinned at him. “No problem, man.”

Tyler shot him an irritated look on his way out the door. He had no doubt this Shay chick was anywhere in this town but at her grandmother’s. It wasn’t even in him to be amused by their obvious loyalty to the woman. He was here because she’d contacted him, not to make her life hell.

On his way out of the body shop, he pulled out his phone and did an address search for the grandmother. It was at least a place to get information. In his experience, most grandparents lived to talk about their grandkids, and he was hoping Phoenix Evernight wouldn’t be an exception. His grandparents were, but that was its own story.

“Do I know you?”

He staggered to a stop at the soft, feminine voice that came from directly in front of him. Not in the mood for any more games, he looked up from the cell phone, a sneer already tugging at his mouth.

He almost didn’t see her. A good foot and a half shorter than him, she stood in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the pedestrians that dwarfed her.

Gypsy was the first word that came to his mind.  A thick mass of pure black hair was pushed off her face, tamed by a sapphire hair scarf.  A bright purple tank top clung to her like skin and showed off a hint of flat, toned belly, and the olive green skirt sat dangerously low on the gentle flare of her hips and covered her feet, except for the blue-tipped toes that peeked out.

His brain went fuzzy. He slowly raised his gaze up her drop-dead body, pausing at her generous breasts for a heartbeat too long, before he met her eyes.

Yeah, she was gypsy. It was in the dusted gold of her skin and the pure chocolate of her exotic eyes.

His mouth watered, and the longer he stared at her, the more beautiful she became. Despite her barely five-foot size, she was all earthy, raw sexuality.

As if reading the intention in his head to touch her, which he had no plans to do, she reached out and slapped a hand on his chest, the multi-colored bracelets that covered half of her forearm twinkling in the sunlight.

“Who are you,” she asked, those dark eyes wary and steady as they searched his, “and why are you looking for me?”

He stared down at her hand, which had flexed against his pecs like she enjoyed what she touched, before he lifted his gaze and narrowed his eyes at her. “Shay Evernight?”

She dropped her hand and stepped back, putting enough space between them that she didn’t have to give herself a neck ache to stare up at him. She crossed her arms over that perfect chest.

“Who are you?” Her cell phone beeped before he could answer, and she held up her hand to hold him off as she dug it out of her boho bag. She glanced at the phone screen, and then laughed while leaning to the side and waving at Garret in the body shop. “Got it, thanks!”

Tyler turned to glare over his shoulder at the kid who’d obviously sent her a warning text telling her he was looking for her, before returning his attention to her. She was back to staring up at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Tyler Wade.”

When her eyes went wide, he nearly smiled. He didn’t miss the way she was trying to nonchalantly check him out, and he recognized attraction when it sparked in the air.

“Do your friends always send people you invite to town on a wild goose chase just to find you?”

She smiled. “Yes. Actually, I’ve asked them to stop, but that’s kind of like asking the wind to change directions. It can be done, but it’s usually not worth the effort.” While he just blinked at her, she tucked her phone back into her purse, her face turning serious. “We were beginning to think you weren’t going to come.”

His body jerked. “We?”

“Yes.” She moved in closer, her hand coming up to rest on his bicep. “I know you don’t want to hear this,” she murmured, “but your mother is dead, Mr. Wade. You know that, right?”

He took a step toward her, suddenly furious. Twenty years of repressed grief and rage clouded his vision. “Really? How do you know this? How do you think you know anything about my mother?”

She didn’t flinch back from him. Like she’d expected his temper and had already braced herself for it. She simply lifted her chin and held his gaze. “Did you go by the house? Did you find Wilfred? She—your mother—said he was still there.”

“Really?” Tyler had no idea where all this temper had come from, but he hadn’t talked about his mother out loud since he’d been ten. It had either been lock it down, or go down a path of violence he’d never be able to pull out from. Then he’d been sent to live with a monster, and the violent path had become his only option.

“My dead mother has nothing better to talk to you about than a stuffed animal I lost when I was nine?” He dealt with demons and ghosts on a daily basis, but people like her—people pretending to be psychic when it was all bullshit to make money—pissed him the fuck off.

“Oh, we have a lot to talk about, actually,” she countered, her slightly husky voice even, “but I didn’t think leading with the star-shaped scar on the inside of your left thigh would be polite. Or the small scar on your right butt cheek from when you fell out of a tree when you were seven.” Her delicate dark brow winged up. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you on the street or anything.”

He leaned forward, the urge to intimidate and back this woman off nearly overwhelming him. It wasn’t a feeling he was comfortable with, but he’d underestimated what being back in this place would do to his well-being.

He bared his teeth at her instead. “Honey, trust me, it takes a hell of a lot more than talking about my ass to embarrass me. You don’t have what it takes.”

A knowing look flashed over her exotic face before she shrugged and stepped back. Somehow, Tyler was aware it wasn’t a surrender or an admission of defeat, but a postponement of the battle she had every intention of winning.

“There’s a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town. Take Main until it Ts, take the left fork, and it’s down the broken pathway on the right. I’ll be around if you decide to take me seriously and stop being an ass.”

As quickly as she’d appeared, she turned and started to walk away, weaving effortlessly through the traffic. He had just realized he’d cocked his head to watch her ass when she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder.

“Word to the wise, Tyler,” she called back at him. “Don’t challenge me. I don’t back down easily, and I always win.”

She was lost in the crowd before he could even think to form a response, and he just stood there on the sidewalk, shaking his head. Yeah. Coming back was a bad idea all the way around. He hated small fucking towns.

Chapter 2

SHAY WAS SHAKING as she opened the back door of Evernight Apothecary and Tarot Readings and let herself into the small kitchenette area used for creating herbs and salves. She was used to strangers treating her with mistrust and skepticism. It usually rolled off of her.  She refused to let their opinions of her matter. It was the only way to survive being what she was with her heart somewhat intact. But strangers were not normally as big, angry, or gorgeous as Tyler Wade.

And holy damn was the man gorgeous. Huge and intense and gorgeous and…biteable. She wasn’t sure where the urge to sink her teeth into him came from, but he was the first man she’d ever met that was just eat-him-up yummy.

Even as she’d stared up at him on the sidewalk, she’d had visions of ripping off his jacket and shirt and just licking him all over. For hours. Like a cat with a bowl of cream.

She slumped back against the door. She’d had visions. Not a fantasy, not a daydream, but visions. And at the moment, she wasn’t sure if it was his massive size and his temper, or the ridiculous amount of hotness that scared her more.

“Did you find him?” Ivy asked from behind the counter.

Shay managed a smile for her friend. Ivy, at seventeen, was the town geek, and the love of Garret’s life.

Today, her bright red hair was piled on top of her head in a messy, haphazard knot, and her dark jeans were rolled at the ankle, showing off her one-of-a-kind Doctor Who Converse. The blue and grey plaid flannel shirt was borrowed from Garret and hung almost to her knees, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Skinny in a way only teenagers could be, she should have been dwarfed by the shirt but instead, the whole outfit just worked on her, including the purple horn-rimmed glasses.

Yesterday, she’d worn a pretty sundress with combat boots.

Though Shay wasn’t sure they knew it, Ivy and Garret were the reason she could still believe in love. The two of them had been inseparable almost since birth, and no one who spent any time around them could doubt that they were in it for the rest of their lives. It was in the way they made each other smile, the way Ivy sat on his lap while they played video games, and the way that no matter how hard their parents had tried to keep their time limited when they were younger, they always snuck out just to be together.

Aware that she was stalling and that Ivy was waiting for an answer, Shay blew out a breath and pushed off against the door she’d been leaning on. “Oh, yeah. I found him.”

Eyes wide, Ivy followed Shay into the employee’s breakroom. It was barely more than a closet, but it held the essentials—a mirror, a vending machine, a table, and a worn-out, overstuffed chair for catnaps. “It didn’t go well?”

“No.” She sighed in front of the mirror. She twisted her jet black hair into a loose, crooked braid that fell over one shoulder, before hanging her oversized patchwork boho bag on a wall hook. “He was really…” Her nose wrinkled as she tried to figure out how to describe him without going into too much detail. She just snorted in irritation. “Annoying. He was apparently unimpressed with my knowledge of Wilfred. Or his scars.”

Ivy grabbed her name tag off the table and pinned it to her shirt. “So, what are you going to do?”

Shay headed out of the breakroom, Ivy on her heels. “I don’t know. Gemma isn’t going to be happy if I don’t at least try to follow through with this.”

“It’s his mother. You’d think he’d at least be interested in finding out what happened to her.” When Shay only snorted again, Ivy grinned at her. “Emmaline said he is hot.”

“You can check him out for yourself. I gave him directions to the bed and breakfast.”

“Really?” Excitement lit up Ivy’s freckled face. “Now I know what I’m doing on my lunch break.” She stopped walking abruptly as they entered the storeroom. “Hey. You didn’t answer the question.”

Shay grabbed a box and bumped the swinging door open with her hip. “You didn’t ask one.”

“Fine,” Ivy muttered, stretching the word out to four syllables. “Is he hot? Mega hot?” When Shay only frowned, Ivy’s eyes went huge. “You’re speechless! He’s that gorgeous?”

Gorgeous was an understatement. Unfortunately for her—and her heart–– she’d always been into the tall and brooding type.

“He’s alright, I guess,” she said, nonchalant. After setting the box on the floor in the store, she went to find a knife.

Ivy tapped at the screen of her iPhone. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at it, and then she shoved the phone in Shay’s face. “Tori from the diner just sent me this picture of him. That face is not ‘alright.’ That is ‘sell your soul to the devil for one night with him’ amazing. That is ‘let him eat crackers in bed, leave wet towels on the carpet, smile at every stupid joke he ever makes’ gorgeous.”

Yup.

Shay broke and gave his picture a quick look, her mouth watering as lust slammed into her chest. The shot was candid, probably taken while Tori hid behind the kitchen door, but it showcased his face perfectly, from the bright blue of his eyes, to the way one corner of his mouth was lifted in a smile, or a sneer, to the dark blonde scruff of his five o’clock shadow.

“He’s alright,” she said with a shrug. Pulling a tool box out from under the counter, she snagged a box cutter out of it and moved back over to open the box. “We have work to do.”

Pulling out a handful of the decorative bottles she used for personalized lotions and salves, she headed toward the glass-and-mahogany display case in the front window.

Work was good. Work would keep her brain off of that yummy, pain in her ass, stubborn man.

Ivy snorted and darted after her. “You are blind, Shay Evernight. Either that, or you’re hiding something from me.”

Shay deliberately ignored her. Despite the four year age difference between them, Ivy had an old soul and had gone through more crap in her seventeen years than most people could imagine going through in forty. Garret was the only thing that had kept her sane through most of it, and the only constant in her life.

When they’d been thirteen, Garret had gone berserk when he’d found out her father was beating her, and she’d moved in with Shay shortly afterward. Shay loved her like a sister, and Ivy knew all about Shay’s…abilities.

So it wasn’t like her to hide things from her. But there were some battles Shay was learning she had to fight by herself.

And meeting Tyler Wade was proving to be one of them.

* * *

TYLER HAD MEANT to hunt down Malia and call this job a bust, but he’d ended up in the driveway of one of his childhood homes, instead.

He only had vague memories of this place. His mother had never been able to stay in one place long, but there had been something about Willow Creek that she’d fallen in love with instantly. She hadn’t wanted to leave.

Now, looking back on the first nine years of his life, even if she hadn’t disappeared when she had, Tyler wasn’t sure she’d have been able to stay. Then again, he had no idea what had drawn her to this place to begin with.

Putting his vehicle in park, he stared out his windshield at the decrepit, postage-stamp sized house he and his mother had spent their last seven months together in. His memories of this place weren’t clear, but jumbled in with the dozen other places they’d lived in his early years.

She’d been a good mom, but he didn’t remember her ever being anything but tired. Even when she had taken him to the park or for ice cream, her beautiful smile had been exhausted around the edges, and there had always been dark smudges under her eyes. He’d been on his own since kindergarten, because she’d raised him to be independent enough that she would never have to depend on anyone else to help with him while she’d worked two and three jobs at a time to make ends meet.

Which, he thought now, she’d never really been able to do. The majority of their running had been to avoid all the people she owed money to.

Pissed off that he’d come to this place, he still couldn’t put his truck in reverse and leave. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he found out how Shay knew about Wilfred. So he climbed out, grabbed the shovel he’d stopped at the hardware store for, and headed to the desolate back yard.

The part of his brain that had been forced to life after his mother’s disappearance recognized that something wasn’t right with the small yard and house. It had been clean and in decent shape when he’d been sent to live with his uncle in Manhattan, but it looked as if no one had touched the rental home in the twenty years since. Even the yard was barren, more dead than alive. Barely a single weed poked through, and the one lilac tree in the back corner had long since wilted.

He walked over to the crumpling back porch and crouched, his hand reaching out to brush off the layers of dirt and leaves before he went to work with the shovel. He didn’t expect to find anything. In his line of work hunting the bad shit in the world, things had long since stopped surprising him, and the lengths people would go to just to make someone’s life miserable never failed to disgust him. He knew what the Evernight family was capable of, and he wasn’t going to trust Shay as far as he could throw her. He’d dealt with enough ‘psychics’ to know how they worked. They were frauds. All of them.

And when he unearthed the stuffed bear a few minutes later, it didn’t change his opinion of her any. He’d been around long enough to know that charlatans were successful and good at what they did by giving their mark just enough to earn their trust.

It might be ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop staring at the toy. Wilfred had been Moms promise to him on his seventh birthday that they would find a place to stay and plant roots, that he’d have friends he could keep and he wouldn’t have to take care of her anymore.

It had never happened, but he’d kept the bear anyway, a reminder that no matter how sincere someone sounded and how hard they tried, sometimes words just meant nothing.

It was a lesson he’d never forgotten.

Brushing the bear off, he grabbed the shovel and stood, finding himself face to face with a police officer.

“What do you got there?” the man, who couldn’t have been out of the academy for six months, asked, one red brow quirked.

“An alien spaceship. They’ve taken the form of innocent stuffed animals to make their worldwide takeover easier.”

For a second, Tyler was sure the officer believed him, but then he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “We don’t like smartasses in this town.”

“Better than being a dumbass.” When the officer’s face turned a mottled shade of red, Tyler cursed. He should probably be playing nice if he wanted to use what Willow Creek considered a police force in his attempt to find out what really happened to his mother and all those other women. He held out his hand. “Tyler Wade. I lived in this house when I was a kid.”

The officer blinked at him while slowly reaching out to shake his hand. “Wade? As in Gemma Wade’s son?”

Tyler’s jaw set. This cop didn’t look old enough to have been alive when his mother went missing, let alone remember her. “Yes. Did you know her?”

“I know of her.” At Tyler’s narrowed eyed look, the kid squared his shoulders. “You’re on private property, and the owner doesn’t take too kindly to people trespassing. The last group of kids that did spent the weekend in jail.”

“I’ve got this, Officer Wilkins.” A tall, line-backer built man in a flannel shirt and chief’s badge rounded the corner of the house. “Isn’t there some paperwork at the station you should be filling out?”

Officer Wilkins looked like he wanted to argue before he straightened his shoulders, nodded at Tyler, and left.

The chief didn’t turn back to him until the officer’s car had rounded the last corner of the street. Finally, he leaned against the side of the ruined house and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“So. Tyler Wade returns to Willow Creek.” Before Tyler could form a reply, long-forgotten memories invading his brain, the chief continued on. “Still look like a dick.”

“Deacon Stone. Still a power-hungry son-of-a-bitch.”

Chief Stone jerked his chin up, his light blue eyes narrowing on Tyler’s face. “Funny coming from a trespassing thief.”

Tyler barked out a laugh when his old, only friend stepped forward to embrace him in a back-thumping hug. “You are not a chief. The last time I saw you, you were on the wrong side of the bars for breaking into Chief Carson’s car.”

Deacon grinned. “Between his forcing me into community service and my mother blistering my hide for six months after that, it seemed easier to stay on the just side of the law.” He cocked his head at the stuffed animal in Tyler’s hands. “What’s that?”

“At the moment? A big mess of pain in my ass.” He tossed it to him and started back around the house, Deacon right next to him. “Who owns this place?”

“Phoenix Evernight. She has, since before your Mama…” Deacon cleared his throat, seeming uncomfortable.

Tyler knew the feeling. People were always awkward when she was mentioned. No one wanted to say she’d died, but gone missing never felt right, either.

“Wait a minute.” Tyler stopped walking. “Phoenix Evernight owns this place?”

“Yes.”

Tyler scowled and filed that information away for later as they headed toward the front of the house. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, but something just wasn’t sitting right in his head.

“Are we done here?” Tyler asked.

“Well, technically, I should call Ms. Evernight and report a trespasser, but I’m sure Officer Wilkins rushed right back to the station to do that.” Deacon laid his hand on Tyler’s arm, to stop him from getting in the truck. “What are you doing here?”

Tyler’s gaze strayed back to the remains of his last childhood home. “Hopefully just passing through.”

Deacon leaned back against his unmarked cop car and crossed his ankles. “If you’re going to be around for a day or two, hit me up. I’ll buy you a drink and we can catch up.”

“I may take you up on that.” Tyler held out his hand, and Deacon clasped it. “Take care, Stone.”

“Right back at you, Wade.”

Tyler didn’t wait for him to say anything else as he got back into his SUV, cursing under his breath. As much as he wanted to avoid the Evernight family, it seemed fate was determined to keep throwing them in his path.

There was one surefire way of untangling himself from their madness. He had no ties to this place anymore, if he even ever had, and there was no reason for him to stay.

So backing out of the driveway, he pointed the truck toward downtown. He was going to pick up Malia, then figure out where he was going later. He just had to get the hell out of this damn fucking hellhole.

Chapter 3

“WHAT ABOUT PRAGUE?” Mr. Jenkins asked.

Shay smiled as she bagged up the homemade shampoo.  In his late seventies, Mr. Jenkins had traveled the world a half dozen times and was always encouraging her to follow her dreams to see the world.

There were so many things she wanted to see, so many adventures she wanted to have, none of which would ever happen while being stuck in Willow Creek, Michigan. Not that she didn’t love it there, mostly because she loved the people, but she’d always wanted…more, and the rest of the world felt just out of her reach.

Besides, her family would never let her leave. She’d learned that the hard way.

But still, she could dream. “It’s on my list. The Dancing House, the bridges, the castles…I think I could explore Prague for a month and not get bored.”

“So when is your departure date?”  He leaned forward and patted her hand that rested on the back of the counter. As always, the shop was filled with people taking advantage of the coffee bar and waiting for Phoenix to appear and do her weekly ‘free show.’ “Phoenix is a tough old bat. She can handle herself while you go see the world.”

Shay’s smile widened, determined not to say something stupid that she’d regret later.  In case she never got out of this town.

Instead, she said simply, “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing Phoenix couldn’t handle, period. Need anything else?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No, I’m good, Shay. Thank you.”

She nodded and handed him the receipt for the homemade shampoo, then turned around and ran, breasts first, into a very hot brick wall. She oomphed and staggered back a step, only for large hands to wrap around her waist, steadying her.

Instead of letting her go, the hands tightened. She knew without looking who it was. She knew everyone in Willow Creek, not all of them by name, but definitely by sight. Everyone came into the shop at some point. And no one in the town was this tall. Or stupid enough to touch her without an invitation.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, deliberately letting her eyes take their time dragging up Tyler’s body to find his face.

The man was hard all over, as if he’d been carved out of a giant slab of stone. But for as yummy as his body was, his face was just sinful, and she was damn sure she’d sell her soul to the devil to be able to find out if he could deliver on that sin. His surfer blonde hair was just long enough to curl behind his ears, and he had the purest blue eyes she’d ever seen. They were flawless but for a single speck of gold in the left one.  Then there were his lips…

She could dive in and spend hours kissing him, his mouth was that perfect.

When she finally realized his brow was cocked, waiting for her to finish her appraisal of him, she crossed her arms and raised her brow right back, not in the least embarrassed to be caught staring. The man was walking sex. If he didn’t want to be looked at, the least he could do for the female population’s sanity was wear a bag over his head.

“Well? Did you find Wilfred?”

His face darkened. “That’s not why I’m here, but yes. You work here?”

“I am an Evernight.” She deliberately leaned to the side where the family name was etched into the shop’s bow window, before looking all the way up at him again. “You sound surprised that I would have a job.”

Tyler shrugged. “I should have known you’d follow in your crack-pot grandmother’s—“His voice cut off, and he looked away. “I’m sorry, Shay, that was rude. “

Her brow furrowed. “How do you know Phoenix? And please, for your safety, do not refer to her as my grandmother. She hates that.”

Surprise flickered over his face, chased quickly by curiosity. Her grandmother wasn’t without her good parts, but they were hidden, few and far between the bad spots.

He nodded once. “Noted.”

“Great,” she drawled, only slightly sarcastically. “So why are you here?”

“I need coffee, and the diner said they were closed. I’m going to hit the road.”

Shock widened her eyes. And quick on the heels of surprise came the regret—and temper.

Damn him. Damn him and his damn Greek god body.

“Great,” she said. “In that case, I’ll find you a donut, too. On the house for your inconvenience.”

She skirted around him, tray still popped against her hip as she effortlessly wound through the maze of bottle-topped tables and people to the coffee bar behind the counter.

* * *

TRYING NOT TO remember what her amazing breasts had felt like mashed against his chest, Tyler pulled his attention away from how gracefully and competently she moved, and look around the cramped shop. It was…relaxing, he guessed. Done in earth tones with live plants on shelves and dried plants and flowers hanging from the ceiling, it was like the designer had brought the forest inside.

A small staircase tucked behind a large bookcase. A garish neon light that read Tarot pointed up to where panels of bright, loud-printed fabric were pulled back, showing off a small room made to look like the inside of a cartoonish caravan.

Re-focusing on his immediate surroundings, he realized everyone was staring at him. He’d vaguely been aware of the noise level dropping when he’d walked in, but then he’d seen Shay and his brain had short-circuited. Not something that made him happy, though it made him all the more determined to get the hell out of this town. The last thing he needed was an attraction to a woman with the body made for all kinds of hot, sticky, primal sex, and the mental stability of quicksand.

No, what he needed was a beach, a beer, and a willing body to help him get rid of this building lust he had for the nutjob Shay.

“So…” A tall, skinny redhead with an adorably cute, freckled face and purple glasses stood in front of him suddenly, eyeballing him. “You’re Tyler.”

He nodded.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked, wondering where the hell Shay was with his coffee. She’d vanished into the back of the shop somewhere, and was short enough he couldn’t see her in the horde of people.

She shook her head, the mess of curls piled on top of her head threatened to fall with the motion. Her gaze was too frank and intelligent to belong to a teenager. She shrugged. “It’s just not like Shay to lie to me, that’s all.”

He stilled, the hunter in him intrigued, but the man in him in no way surprised to find that the gypsy was a liar. “Oh? What did she lie about?”

Her grin was pure gamine. “She said you weren’t hot.”

With those words hanging in the air between them, she skipped past him on her way to the back.

Shaking his head and wondering if everyone in the town was just bat shit crazy, he moved over and settled his big frame on one of the stools. Because he could feel the woman next to him openly staring, he slowly turned his head to look down at her. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Gemma’s boy.”

His teeth set. Because it wasn’t a question, he didn’t feel the need to answer it. Instead, he bent his head in greeting. “Tyler Wade.”

Apparently taking that as an invitation for conversation, she swiveled in her chair to openly study him. “I saw you talking to Shay. Are you two an…item?”

Tyler’s brow furrowed at her hesitation. “No. We had a conversation, that’s it.”

“Oh, honey.” She batted playfully at his arm, and then just left her perfectly manicured hand resting on his forearm. “Everyone in the room could feel the sparks between the two of you.”

He wondered if it would be rude to snort at her, and then decided he didn’t give a shit. He snorted, deliberately lowering his gaze to where she was slowly petting his arm. It never failed to surprise him that people never sensed the dark side of who and what he was. “Do you mind?”

“Oh.” She blinked and snatched her hand back, like she hadn’t been aware she was rubbing him. “I’m sorry.”

She was pretty in a bored housewife kind of way, but she didn’t have Shay’s raw, powerful sexuality. And because he had no idea in hell where that thought had come from, or why, he scowled at her. “Tell me, is it something in the water?”

She blinked, her head canting in what he recognized as a seductive angle. Just enough be flirtatious. “Is what in the water?”

“Whatever makes you all nuts.”

Apparently assuming they were still talking about Shay, she smiled, her eyes going hard. “Honey, don’t let that one fool you. Nuts is an understatement for the entire Evernight family.  Her mother was into some really crazy shit before her murder, and word is she learned it from Phoenix, who taught Shay.” She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around his, concern shimmering in her eyes. “Stay away from that one, Tyler.”

Shay chose that moment to saunter up.

“There you go,” she said sweetly, batting ridiculously long eyelashes at him. “Now off you go. You don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“Tsk tsk, Shay,” the woman admonished. “So rude.”

Tyler pushed his fingers through his hair. Something wasn’t right. The slight edge of panic was flickering in her eyes.

But it wasn’t his problem. And because he refused to let it be his problem, he grabbed the coffee cup and the donut half wrapped in a napkin and stood up with every intention of leaving.

He hesitated halfway to the door and turned to look at her over his shoulder. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he was acutely aware of the silence in the room while everyone waited to see what he was going to say. Malia was going to strangle him for taking so long, but he didn’t care. “Can you take five?”

Instead of answering, Shay skirted over to drop her tray on the counter. She glared up at him before she stalked past him and out the shop’s front door.

He followed, aware that his, and every other man in the shop, eyes were glued to her perfect ass.

The second they were alone, he cleared his throat and took an angry step toward her. “You asked me to come. I thought you wanted me here, so why the hell are you so anxious to get rid of me?”

Fire flashed in her, and despite the foot and a half difference between them, she didn’t cower.

“Look,” she snapped, her teeth gritted together, “I am well aware of what people think about me, but believe it or not, I don’t actually like to be dismissed as a nut job when all I’m trying to do is help someone who needs it.”

Walk away. Walk away, now.

He heard the words as clearly as if he’d said it aloud. Shaking his head to clear it, he widened his stance in self-defense and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then tell me where her body is buried.”

Temper had her hands fisting at her sides, but though he had the feeling she wouldn’t hesitate to use them, she didn’t. She just continued to glare up at him.

“If I knew that I wouldn’t need you. I’d have gone directly to the police. Look.” She closed her eyes and dragged in a couple of deep, calming breaths, before she opened them and took a step toward him. “I know how crazy I sound. Trust me, I get it, but I’m the real deal, and while she says she’s not going to make any apologies that you wouldn’t believe yet, anyway, she says you need to do this. You need to help me, or you’re never going to find peace.”

“Look, sweetheart,” he murmured, ice cold as he leaned toward her, forcing her to either hold her ground or back away. Temper gripped him, nearly shoving panic down his throat. He didn’t want to be here, and he sure the fuck wouldn’t be guilted into staying. “I’ve been on my own since I was five. I don’t need peace, or closure. I need to get the fuck out of this town before I crawl out of my goddamn skin. Understand?”

Her eyes went wide, but to her credit, she held. She raised her chin a notch. “She said her Tyler would tear the heavens apart for her, no matter how many mistakes she’d made as a mother. That he would never know how to do anything different.”

He barked out a humorless laugh and straightened. “Yeah, well, it just goes to show that you’re full of shit. I’ve never met anyone I’d care about enough to tear apart the heavens for. Including her.”

Refusing to let her shocked look eat at him when he knew he was full of shit, he turned and walked away, heading for his truck.

“One week,” she shouted. “Give me one week to change your mind and show you that you were wrong about her. She said to remind you of your promise to her when you were seven.”

He stilled, halfway in his vehicle, and closed his eyes. Goddamn it. He nodded once, without looking at her. Jesus. Could this chick actually be for real? “One week. That’s all you get.”

He hadn’t meant to look at her, but when he lifted his head and saw the brilliant smile light up her face, he cursed himself for seven times a fool. Yes, he’d made a promise to his mother, but at the moment, he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t staying just because Shay seemed to need him to so badly.

Which he knew, down to his core, that getting involved with her was not going to end well for anyone. She may talk a good game, but she was an Evernight. People who got too close to the Evernight women tended to disappear forever.

Chapter 4

“HE WON’T RUN.”

Shay snorted out a ragged laugh when Tyler’s mother spoke directly in her ear.

“You don’t know that,” she murmured, hating this part. No matter how much people liked her, standing on the sidewalk talking to someone only she could see or hear made her a freak. She turned to look at Gemma. “It seems to me you don’t know anything about him.”

“I told you, he’s angry. It’s eating away at him. My disappearance is the one thing he can’t solve, that he can’t put together, and it’s eating at his soul.”

Shay shifted her gaze to where Tyler’s truck had vanished down the street, and just shook her head.

Suddenly cold==the dead were always so cold—she wrapped her arms around herself. “Or maybe he doesn’t want to put it together. He’s angry at you, and putting together the missing pieces might take away the only good memories he has of you.”

A blast of ice hit Shay so hard she felt her bones freeze. Then, it was gone and she was left alone on the sidewalk in the summer heat, looking like the crazed woman she was.

Something wasn’t right with Gemma. While Tyler absolutely had a lot of anger and rage built up inside of him, she wasn’t a hundred percent sure it had to do with him not being able to solve his mother’s disappearance. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more simmering beneath the surface. The dead had their own agenda just as much as those still alive, but usually it was to find peace and help the ones they love find closure. But Gemma was putting on the perfect mother act, and now that Shay met Tyler, she was no longer sure she was buying a second of it. He was rude and treated her like she belonged in the nut house, but she was dredging up a past he didn’t want to remember.

“Shay.”

Crap. Her eyes closed as the darkly masculine voice wrapped around her, trying to pull her into the web he insisted on trying to spin around her.

She wasn’t exactly sure how Jackson did it, but if she wasn’t on constant mental guard around him, she had the creepy-crawly sensation that he was trying to invade her brain, to give her thoughts that weren’t hers.

Once she was sure she’d slammed her mental walls against him, she turned around to look up at him, deliberately keeping her face void of emotion. He’d been trying to prey on her emotions since he’d gotten to town months before, but Shay wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“What do you want, Jack?”

Rage flashed in his steel blue eyes, his face hardening with temper. Unlike with Tyler’s anger, Shay wasn’t stupid enough to hold her ground against the cruelty she saw in Jackson.

“Don’t call me that.”

She subtly shifted until her back was closer to the shop door. If he got too close, she could escape inside.

“Then stay out of my head,” she snapped. “And go away. Whatever you’re selling, whatever you want, whatever plan you’ve hatched with Phoenix, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

He took a step toward her, and while he made her skin crawl, she refused to cower. She knew when to run and put distance between her and a threat but she would never ever cower. Not again, and not to anyone.

He reached out and pinched her chin hard, yanking her face up. “This game is no longer amusing me, Shay. I will have what I was promised, and I will have it soon.”

Her eyes went flat. Hard.

She smiled. “Over. My. Dead. Rotting. Corpse.” And then she added, because she was ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn’t actually hit her in broad daylight on Main Street, “Asshole.”

She yanked her chin away from him and, relying on the safety of the public street, turned her back on him and walked into the shop.

She didn’t stop until she’d wound her way through the display room, pushed her way into the kitchen, and found a small nook surrounded by large shelves of empty bottles and jars. Then her body simply gave in to the need to shake. She bent double, grasping her knees with trembling hands as she sucked in huge gulps of air.

She had find a way to get out of here. No matter what she’d promised Gemma, she couldn’t do it, and Gemma was just going to have to understand. She was going to die in this town if she didn’t get away.

It was a secret no one knew, not even Ivy. Jackson was going to be the death of her. But he didn’t just want her dead. He was going to use her and abuse her and break her first. He would leave her in a melted puddle of herself, incoherent and dead inside.

And then he would kill her.

* * *

“YOU’RE KIDDING ME.” Malia shifted in her seat and gaped at Tyler. “We’re staying?”

Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, he shoved the other through his hair.

“I am.” And fuck if he knew why. He shot her a glance. “You don’t have to. Leith could use some help on that job up north.”

Her lip curled at the mention of their third partner. Leith Madigan was a little older than Tyler, a lot older than Malia, and could crawl under her skin easier than anyone else in existence. Despite her dislike of him, he was damn good at his job, and had saved her life more than once.

“No, thank you,” she huffed, popping another piece of gum into her mouth. “I’d rather stake myself naked in the middle of this freaky-ass town.”

He scowled. “Did you find something out about this place?”

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “That’s the problem. No place is this perfect. There’s only been one murder in the town’s recorded history, and their violent crime rating is practically non-existent. I don’t like it.”

Yeah. Neither did he. Making a mental note to look into it further, he grit his teeth and pulled his truck into the front of Willow Creek’s Bed and Breakfast. A converted Victorian mansion, it had acres of sprawling, vividly colored gardens, ancient trees, and countless little nooks and crannies tucked away for reading, or just enjoying nature.

He shook his head. Nature and quiet made him twitch. After more than twenty years in Manhattan, he was accustomed to constant noise and movement. While he wasn’t cold enough to not realize how beautiful the setting was, he had no intention of taking advantage of the solitude it offered.

Malia let out a low whistle as she hopped out of the passenger seat. “Why do I have a feeling this is where the bodies are buried?”

He grabbed his backpack off the back passenger floor board and shoved all of his notes and files into it, then climbed out and locked the vehicle’s doors behind him.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and every plant in sight was in full, colorful bloom as he headed toward the front door of the inn, and yet, he didn’t feel warmed by any of it. Crystal-clear French doors stood at the top of the wraparound porch and opened easily as he stepped inside.

“I’ll be right with you,” a voice muttered from somewhere behind the white, distressed counter. “Just…gimme one more minute.”

“Yeah. No problem,” Tyler said, automatically scanning his surroundings. He counted two exits, three if you counted the large picture window, and a single video camera not even connected to anything. He sighed. It was Willow Creek. What did he expect?

There was a loud rustling noise, and then a small round woman in her early forties popped up behind the counter. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and her smile was a little frayed around the edges. Her name tag read ‘Donna’.

“Can I help you?”

“Do you have any rooms available?” Malia braced her arms on the reservation desk and dropped her chin on them.

“Of course.” Donna nodded as she bent down and grabbed something from under the counter, and a moment later, she laid a fat, thick, old-fashioned sign in book in between them.

She glanced up at them as she started flipping through pages. “Do you want a room or a cottage? For just one night, or…?”

That brought him up short. “Cottage?”

She smiled. “Yes, we have several remodeled cottages on the property. They come equipped with a kitchenette and all the small appliances you would need, and of course we provide breakfast, and dinner upon reservation.”

“Sold me. I’ll take a cottage.” He reached for his wallet, and then frowned a little. “Do you have weekly rates? I’m not sure I will be here that long, but that would probably be the simplest way to do it.”

“Absolutely, Mr.…?”

He pulled his credit card and license out of his wallet and laid them both on the counter.  “Wade. Tyler Wade.”

She blinked. “I know that name.”

Tyler sighed. It seemed no one was going to let him exist in peace while he was in this town.

Her tired eyes went bright with recognition, lighting up her pretty face. “You’re Gemma’s boy.”

“Yes.”

She deftly grabbed his card and identity off the counter. “You poor child.” She glanced up at him while writing his name in the ledger. “So what brings you to town, Mr and Mrs Tyler?”

He blinked at the ‘Mrs’ part, before he snorted out a laugh and pushed the sign in book toward Malia. “Not married.”

“But you’re sharing a room?” Her brilliant smile dimmed when she realized he wasn’t going to be more forthcoming with gossip, but she shrugged as she handed him back his cards. “The price is $900 for the week.”

Tyler didn’t even blink as he nodded. “Perfect.”

She handed him an old fashioned key with a pale blue ribbon wrapped around it, before she started toward the back of the house. “You’ll have your own private entrance. You’ll have to go through the garden gate, but there are solar lights that line the path, just follow the round ones.”

“What about internet?”

“It’s included, as is your cable.”

They walked in silence for a few, before a cross between a carriage house and a typical English cottage appeared in front of them.

Donna opened the small, white garden gate and led them to the front door. “Shall I wait in case you have any questions?”

“No, thank you.” He slipped the key into the old-fashioned lock, but as he turned the handle he hesitated and glanced at her over his shoulder. “We’ve been in town for total of an hour. What’s there to do around here?”

She smiled, already heading back toward the main house. “In the evenings? Finnegan’s Pub. Their hamburgers are even better than ours, and one of the local girls sings some evenings, so it’s usually standing room only. I’d suggest getting there early if you want a table.”

He nodded as he let himself and Malia into the cottage, absently shutting the door behind them as he studied his new surroundings.

The one room building was as quaint as the outside had suggested, part isolated hunting lodge, part English countryside manor. He shuddered, but he tossed his backpack onto the rose-vine patterned bed anyway and opened it, pulling out his laptop. As he booted it up, he shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it onto the wingback chair opposite the bed and laid his gun on the nightstand.

Malia wandered the cottage, before she sank down on the edge of the bed and blew her bright red bangs out of her face.

“Maybe I should go help Leith. At least his personality doesn’t creep me out. He just treats me like I’m breakable.” She stared straight ahead, before flopping back on the room’s only bed. “And no offense, dude, but I’m not sharing a bed with you again. Last time, you kicked me off the mattress in your sleep.”

He snorted.

“Who said I was sleeping?” Dragging a hand down his face, he sighed and sat back in his chair. “I doubt there’s a job in this town, and I’m only staying to get to the bottom of this Shay chick’s agenda. Take my truck. I’ll text you when I’m ready to bail.”

Relief flashed over her face, followed quickly by the excitement she didn’t want him to see. Deep down, under all their arguments and bickering, Malia and Leith couldn’t stand to be apart for longer than a day or two.  She snagged his keys out of the air when he tossed them to her. “Thanks, Ty.”

“Whatever.” He pointed at her, all easiness gone. “You scratch my truck and I will hide your Doc Martens all over the goddamn country. I mean it.”

“That’s low,” she muttered, even as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Try not to let this town get inside your head, all right?”

He nodded, but his mind was already back on Shay Evernight. He’d missed something on his first background check on her. Because he’d been focused on statistics and finding her connection to his mother’s disappearance, he hadn’t delved too deeply into her.

She wanted him in town, that much was clear, and she knew things about him that shouldn’t be possible. She was offering him her help, but when he’d been about to walk away, she’d been prepared to let him. She hadn’t begged, and she hadn’t pleaded. She’d simply asked him for a week.

Tyler shoved both hands through his hair as he ran her name though a search engine. While he was ninety-nine percent certain there wasn’t a demon problem he needed to deal with here, something wasn’t right in this town or with her. He wanted to know what it was before he got himself in any deeper.

He couldn’t get the panic he’d glimpsed in her eyes out of his head, and he wasn’t going to be able to rest until he got to the cause of it.

* * *

SHAY WAS NERVOUS, which was ridiculous. She saw dead people. Hell, she talked to dead people on a daily basis and she’d been raised by Phoenix Evernight. Being nervous about being on Tyler Wade’s doorstep was just silly.

But still, she paced outside his rented cottage, a plate in her hands, and had to remind herself to just keep breathing. He was hot. He thought she was bat-shit crazy, but that didn’t surprise her. People always thought she was crazy. Even after they got to know her, she could tell there was usually that one small niggle of doubt that never fully left them.

Not that she let it bother her, really. The people in Willow Creek were good people, loyal, and Shay knew they loved her as much as she loved them. So she could handle the doubt.

Tyler, however, was something altogether different. He intimidated her. He was scary and huge, and he didn’t trust her. She had no doubt he could crush her like a cookie if he felt like it. Which was exactly why she was there, instead of at home studying before she went to her second job: something about him made her want him to like her. It was a silly, totally female reaction on her part, but there it was, anyway. He was hot, and she was ridiculously attracted to him. So yes, she needed him to trust her, but damn it, she wanted him to like her, too.

Raising her hand, she finally convinced herself to knock lightly on the door. What was the worst that could happen? He could tell her he was busy or didn’t want to talk to her, or slam the door in her face.  Nothing she couldn’t handle.

Until he opened the door looking like he’d just stepped out of the shower. His sandy hair was still wet and curled over his brow in a way that only a man who looked like him could pull off, somehow adorably boyish and sexy as all freaking hell at the same time. Water beaded over his hard, wonderfully muscled shoulders and dripped down his perfectly sculpted torso, then disappeared beneath the large white towel that hung low on his hips. Good Goddess, how was it legal to have a body like that?

“Shay.”

Her mouth went dry at the way he drawled her name, all steamy sex and wicked nights, and when he leaned casually against the doorframe, not at all embarrassed about being mostly naked in front of her, and anyone else wandering the property, she had the damndest urge to drop the gift she held and just leap at him. To see if he really did taste as dangerously sinful as he looked, and as perfect as she imagined he would. And she had one very active imagination.

She bit her lip. “Mmm.”

He cleared his throat quietly, but it was the low chuckle that rumbled in that gorgeous chest that pulled her from fantasy. The one where she licked him all over, inch by glorious inch.

He chuckled again and braced a hand above her head, giving her an up-close look at those muscles in action. “Can I help you, Shay?”

She held out the plate in her hands. “Cookies.”

* * *

JESUS, THIS WASN’T good. Tyler groaned and stepped back from the door. He wasn’t sure he wanted Shay in his space, but if she didn’t stop staring at him while wearing that skin-hugging red dress, they were going to be naked and panting before he ever found out why the hell she was here.

Not trusting himself to speak any more at the moment, afraid he’d give away the lust that was grinding in his gut, he turned and walked away from her, leaving her standing in the doorway. He grabbed his clothes off the bed and stalked toward the bathroom.

After debating for half a second over whether or not he should take a cold shower, he told himself he wasn’t some randy teenager with out-of-control hormones. He could handle a woman with a body like hers in a dress like that without making a complete ass out of himself.

He pulled on dark sweats and a white T-shirt and, after shoving his hand through his hair to get it out of his face, he opened the door, his body bracing. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, another argument, another hit of Shay’s raw sexuality, or something else entirely. But with her her perched on the edge of his bed, the plate of cookies on her lap, and nervousness in her whiskey eyes, it wasn’t lust that slammed into him. It was something else, something far scarier. He associated her with sex and insanity, and pure stubbornness of will. The nervousness threw him off balance.

“What do you want, Shay?” His voice was harsher than he’d intended it to be

She held up the plate.

“I baked you cookies.” Her smile was slightly crooked, as different as the seductive smile he was used to seeing on her beautiful face as the moon was from the sun. “As a peace offering.”

He cocked his head. “Are they poisoned?”

“I thought about it,” she murmured, humor brightening her eyes as she stood up and moved over to set the plate on the small table, “but then I remembered how well I bake. Poison probably isn’t necessary. If my baking itself doesn’t kill you, I doubt poison would do much good.”

Intrigued, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, telling himself firmly the shyness was an act. “So you brought me really awful cookies to convince me to, what? Not hate you? Not try to have you committed?”

After a brief hesitation, he shoved off the wall, walking over to unwrap the plate. He grabbed two cookies and offered her one. She took it and nibbled at it, all while glaring at him.

Her nose wrinkled as she chewed. As he watched, the glare melted into a look that suggested she was chewing ground-up bones instead of a chocolate chip cookie.

“Damn,” she muttered, “that’s bad.” Before he could taste for himself, she reached out and snagged his out of his hand and tossed it onto the plate, where it landed with a pretty decent thud.

He coughed to cover his laughter.

She winced. “Okay, so baking isn’t my strong suit, but the point is, I’m sorry for getting us off on the wrong foot. You have every reason not to trust me and to think I’m some backwoods nut job. You probably researched me before you ever decided to come. You know the family I come from.”

He frowned but didn’t say anything. She was on a roll, and he tended to get more information when he let the other person babble. That she had a voice that belonged in his wet dreams wasn’t a factor. Really.

She paused, then took a step forward, holding his gaze steadily. “I am not like them, Tyler. I am…more. I have visions. I see dead people, and I talk to them a lot. I believe stones and crystals have healing powers, and I think I own about two hundred candles. But I don’t practice magic, and I would never deliberately hurt anyone.” She reached up and curled her fingers around the pale purple crystal that hung off a long silver chain around her neck. “Your mom needs my help, and I plan on helping her even if you shut me down again.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, her gaze troubled for just a second. Then she shook her head. “Because she needs me to, and because I think, deep down, you need this solved, too.”

He told himself not to buy into her shit. He was from New York, for chrissake. He should know a charlatan and con artist when he saw one, but whether his instincts were screwed up or he just wanted to believe her, he couldn’t make himself dismiss what she was saying. It intrigued the hell out of him. For a woman who talked like she belonged in the nearest nuthouse, she seemed to be as stable as he was.

Which wasn’t saying much, once he thought about it. Most days, as he dug into his mother’s disappearance, he felt like he was one second away from being totally and completely cracked.

“Fine,” he finally sighed through gritted teeth. “I’ll listen. But that’s all you’re getting from me right now.”

A brilliant smile slowly spread across her face. “Really?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat and decided to change the subject, though he had no idea where the next words came from. “Where do you go for dates around here?”

The excitement froze in her eyes, before she glanced at the slim silver watch on her wrist.

“Finnegan’s. Which reminds me, I’m late, and need to go.” She tilted her face up to smile at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jesus, she was beautiful. A low, almost savage sound rumbled in his chest as he nodded, ignoring the part about her having a date. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

She beamed at him again, before she snagged the plate of cookies and walked out, leaving him standing there, deciding maybe he would go to Finnegan’s tonight after all.

Chapter 5

THE NIGHT WAS perfect. While a thunderstorm built over the lake, the late summer breeze was warm, carrying a hint of roses with it. The mood inside Finnegan’s Pub was as celebratory as usual on a Friday, between the promise of Hayden Winters singing and three dollar beers on tap.

While the bar had scarred wood floors worn almost down to the plywood beneath and tables that looked like they hadn’t seen a good day since the seventies, it still had a feel-good, downhome comfort to it. The servers and bartenders were friendly and engaging, the photos that lined the wood-paneled walls were all of Willow Creek through the decades, and not only were the drinks not watered down, the food was always wonderful.

Yeah, Shay thought, stifling a yawn into her hand as the man sitting across from her carefully studied the menu in front of him. It was a perfect night.

Her date for the evening, Brian, was turning out to be a perfect gentleman, unfailingly polite and charming. He was the clean-shaven, businessman type. His dark hair was carefully messy, his smile easy-going and flirtatious enough to let her know he liked what he saw in her. At least he wasn’t treating her like a freak.

And for reasons she didn’t currently want to contemplate, she was bored out of her mind.

He closed his menu and leaned forward, bracing his arms against the table as he smiled into her eyes.

“Maybe we should have gone someplace quieter,” he said with a chuckle over the noise of the packed tavern. “This is a hard place to have a conversation.”

Shay smiled and told herself to give him half a chance. Just because she had Tyler Wade on the brain didn’t mean Brian deserved less than her full attention. He’d been right on time picking her up and hadn’t once gawked at any of the pretty women that bounced by their table.  Men didn’t ask her out often, and he’d made her smile the first time they’d met.

Smiling her thanks at the waitress as the willowy blonde set her lemon drop martini and his beer on the table, she forced herself to re-focus on Brian.

“I like it here.” She took a sip of her martini and had to stop the soft moan that wanted to escape at how wonderful it tasted. She grinned at him suddenly. “Have you ever heard Hayden sing?”

He smiled tightly, showing off the dimple in his right cheek. “I can’t say that I have, no. This isn’t my normal hangout.”

Deciding to ignore his slight edge of disbelief that she’d ever assume he frequented a place she loved so much, she shrugged and took another sip of her drink. “She’ll knock your socks…” Her heart—damn it—leapt into her throat as Tyler walked in looking like seven different kinds of sin on a stick.

He covered her hand with his as he craned his head around to see what she was gaping at. “Shay?”

She nodded at Brian, but her attention was glued to Tyler. A full head and a half taller than everyone in the pub, he drew attention like he was a roaring fire on a frigid winter day. His dark blue long-sleeved Henley stretched tight across his mountain-sized shoulders, a sharp contrast to the bright blue of his eyes, surfer-boy golden hair tucked behind his ears, and five o’clock shadow. His dark jeans fit him like they’d been made for him, hugging and emphasizing in all the right, and most interesting, spots.

His eyes scanned the crowded bar and packed table and booths, ignoring all the women trying desperately to get his attention. Shay, a little worried he was specifically looking for her, considered hiding behind a menu when that intense, heated gaze landed on her from across the open-air dining room.

Blazing at her, his eyes tracked down, landing on where Brian’s hand still covered hers. Amusement lit in his eyes before meeting her eyes again and giving her a look that suggested he knew she wasn’t having fun.

“Shay,” Brian snapped, drawing her attention back to him, even as he glanced over his shoulder again. “Do you know that man?”

Shooting Tyler a dark glare for distracting her and looking so damn good, she shook her head and smiled at Brian. “No. Where were we?”

His smile was indulgent as he leaned across the table to brush a non-existent stray curl out of her face. She was aware it was a power play, his way of letting Tyler know who she was with, and she had to bite back the flash of temper over being a pawn in a pissing match.

Every time her gaze drifted back to the bar, she found Tyler watching her, his brow furrowed like he was trying to piece together a puzzle.

“Dance with me.”

Shay turned her head back toward Brian, sure she’d heard him wrong. “I’m sorry?”

He smiled. “Dance with me.”

He stood up. Before Shay could protest, he grabbed her hand and tried to pull her to her feet.

Aware resisting would cause a scene, she stood. She forced a smile. “Brian, there isn’t any music playing.”

He lifted her hand and made the motion for her to twirl. She did, her body stiffening when he murmured something against her ear, so quietly she barely heard him above the noise.  “We’re not going to make him jealous by sitting here, so let’s go show him what he’s missing.”

She jerked back suddenly, her eyes wide as she studied him, reevaluating. Then she laughed and, grabbing his hand, led him out to the dance floor.

* * *

TYLER HAD NO idea what was wrong with him, but damn if he wasn’t pissed off.

“Don’t do it.” Deacon said from behind him.

Tyler lifted his beer to his lips before Deacon could see his sneer. He took a sip and forced his attention to focus on the police chief who settled on a stool next to him. “Don’t do what? And when the hell did you get here?”

“Been waiting for you to notice me for five minutes now.” Deacon slapped his shoulder and grinned, before going serious and frowning. “Don’t make me regret not bringing my handcuffs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Deacon laughed. “You look a half second away from pounding the snot out of someone. Not that I mind a good fight every once in a while, but I’d hate to have to arrest you on your first night back in town.” He braced his elbows against the bar behind him and sipped at his water. “Besides, they’re not doing anything wrong.”

Tyler ignored him, his attention already back to Shay and the douchebag she was dancing with. He scowled. Her dress was entirely too short, too tight, and showed way too much of her ripe curves. And that asshole’s dickhead’s hand was entirely too damn close to her ass.

“Do women really find that shit romantic?”

“The fuck do I know?” Deacon snorted. “I don’t do relationships.”

Because he didn’t like the feeling crawling in his gut, Tyler deliberately turned away from the happy couple to face his friend. “What are you doing here?”

“Security.” When Tyler just stared at him, Deacon shrugged. “I have a little sister in dance class. That shit’s expensive.” He took a sip of his water and jerked his chin toward Shay. “What’s going on with you and the Evernight chick?”

Tyler turned and ordered another beer.

“Nothing.” He dropped a few bills on the bar for a tip then went back to watching Shay. “Who is that douchebag with her?”

“No idea. Why don’t you go find out?”

That sounded like the best idea he’d heard all night. He handed Deacon his beer and started the grueling process of winding his way through the standing room-only crowd. He’d only made it halfway when the lights flickered, and then dimmed. An ear-shattering cheer went through the crowd.

Growling in frustration, he gave up saying, “Excuse me” and just started muscling his way through.

By the time he’d reached Shay, a tall, slender redhead had taken the stage. She settled herself on a stool, her guitar in her lap. While she strummed a few chords, the douche with Shay shot Tyler a disgusted look before wrapping his arm around her waist and turning her to face the stage.

Tyler wasn’t deterred. He crossed the last few feet, stood directly behind her, leaned over and growled low. “Shay.”

She jumped. Spinning around, she glared up at him.

“What?” she hissed. “I’m on a date.”

“Do you mind?” The douche asked, giving Tyler a dark look.

Shit. Now that he had her attention, he had no idea what the hell he was doing, or what he wanted to say. Somehow, he doubted telling her he wanted to pound her date’s face in for touching her would go over well. Not to mention make him sound like the biggest dirt bag on the planet.

One of her dainty feet tapped impatiently against the scarred wood floor. “Well?”

Nothing. He had nothing.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he grinned. “Nothing. Just saw you watching me, so I thought I’d come say ‘hi.’ Save you the trouble of walking over to me.”

Her foot stilled as she blinked up at him for a long moment, before she laughed and shook her head. “It must be difficult carrying that ego around. Maybe you should go sit before the weight of your head topples you over.”

Douchebag wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and shot him a disdainful look. “Do you mind? We’re on a date, and you’re bothering her.”

Aware he was acting like a jealous ass, he schooled his features and tucked his hands into his pockets as he focused on the stage. The first strains of a vaguely popular song poured out of the woman’s guitar.

“Ignore me,” he said. “I’m just here to watch the show.”

Shay narrowed her eyes at him. With what could have been a growl, she murmured something to her date then stalked toward Tyler, grabbing his hand on her way past. She didn’t stop until she had him in the cramped hallway between the bathrooms and the kitchen.

She rounded on him with a fierce glare. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We’re friends.” He shrugged and, noticing the way her gaze dropped to his chest and tracked the motion of his shoulders, he grinned and leaned back against the wall. Interesting. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. “Right?”

“No.” She shook her head and moved into him, jabbing him in the abdomen with her finger. “We are not friends, Tyler. We don’t even know each other, let alone like each other.”

Christ, she was small. Even in her heels she was a foot shorter than him, though her personality more than made up for her lack of height.

He was so lost in thought, it took him a second to realize the hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention.

Something on his face must have worried her because her perfect brow creased slightly, her gypsy eyes darkening. “Ty?”

Goddamn it. Not here.

This feeling wasn’t supposed to follow him here. Without a word, he unfolded himself from against the wall and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him as he threaded his way toward the bar and Deacon.

She tried to pull him to a stop. “Tyler. Again, what the hell?”

He turned and wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her up and setting her on a stool next to Deacon. He growled at her in warning when she glared at him and immediately tried to hop back down. The redhead was still singing, the crowd was still cheering, and there was a demon somewhere in the fucking bar.

He pointed at the detective watching him with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“Keep an eye on her,” he snapped. “I mean it. Don’t let her out of your fucking sight.”

Tyler didn’t wait for either of them to protest. There was only one thing on Earth that could make his hair stand on end, and since he’d found no sign of demon activity in the town before his arrival, that meant it had followed him.

Great. It could follow him outside and away from the crowded bar. That would be easier than trying to explain to Deacon why he needed the place evacuated, while also convincing his old friend not to lock him in a psych ward at the word ‘demon.’

He’d almost reached the back door when an anguished scream pierced the noise of the crowded pub. He spun around, and didn’t have time to brace for the hit. Something slammed into him. He went flying backwards into the crowd surrounding the stage.  Hitting the floor hard on his back, he rolled, snarling. He pulled the spell knife from the holster at his lower back, fury and tension skating up his spine. The demon stalking through the panicked crowd was large. At least seven-feet-tall. It was also ugly as shit, thousands of scars marring its red skin.

The last thing Tyler heard before the creature leapt, razor-sharp teeth aiming for his throat, was the sound of a gunshot going off behind him.

Chapter 6

TYLER BARELY REGISTERED the flash of pain that slashed across his bicep before the bullet hit the beast. It stopped the demon long enough for Tyler to dive forward and catch it around the waist.

Razor-sharp, poisoned teeth raked across his shoulder, ripping through the fabric of his shirt and straight into skin and muscle. Tyler lifted his witch-spelled knife to plunge it into the thing’s chest, but the demon’s eyes glazed over, then rolled into the back of its head. The ugly slash of mouth went slack, and like a light switch being flipped, the beast went limp.

Despite the obvious signs of death, Tyler gripped it by a horn and sliced the creature’s head off anyway.

“Tyler?”

Shay. Rage boiled up his spine and threatened to explode his brain as he lifted his gaze and locked eyes on hers.

“What the hell are you still doing in here?” He gained his feet and in one swift move, had Shay by her upper arm. He dragged her across the now nearly-empty bar. Sirens were screaming in the distance and Deacon was nowhere to be found.  “Where the fuck is Stone?”

She tried to yank her arm free as she glared up at him.

“He went after Hayden,” she said. When he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her onto the bar without a word, he didn’t miss the bright terror hiding behind her temper. “Stop doing that! I’m not a ragdoll!” She closed her eyes, drew in a breath. Let it out slowly, then looked at him again. ”You’re hurt. How did you know how to kill a demon?”

He didn’t want to know how she knew what a demon was. He pointed at her, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth.

“Stay there. Don’t move, Shay, I goddamn mean it.” He turned to stalk away, but only made it two steps before he swung back around. He walked behind the bar to find a butcher knife, then held it out to her, handle first. “Anything gets near you, stab it and scream bloody murder.”

“Wait!” When he lifted a brow at her, she glared at him. “Where are you going?”

“To make sure there’s nothing else waiting in the shadows.”

Without waiting for her to say anything else, he turned to do a sweep of the bar. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone, but his instincts said the threat was over. It didn’t make him feel better. Instead, it made him itchy as hell.

He’d been fighting demons for twenty years. They were nasty sons of bitches. While they could possess a human, their true form was something out of a nightmare. Black and twisted and pure, unadulterated evil. And never—not one fucking time—had one given up the fight as easily as this one had.

Less than a minute later, Tyler was back in front of Shay. The singer, Hayden, was next to her while Deacon took care of cordoning off the crime scene and getting rid of the few people left in the bar. Knowing his friend was going to ask questions, and would have more in about two minutes when the body disintegrated, Tyler shot one last look at Shay to assure himself she was okay before he moved over to stand next to the police chief.

Deacon didn’t look at him. “You’re hurt.”

His arm was hurting like a motherfucker.

He shrugged. “I’ll live. Listen, Deke, we need to talk.”

The chief shook his head. “No, we don’t. Because if you explain, I have to write what you say in my report and how the fuck am I going to explain this?” A muscle in his jaw ticked.  “If they don’t take my badge and stick me in the closest padded cell, they’re still going to think I’m insane.”

“You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Neither.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Go. We’ll talk later. And by talk later, I mean come up with something I can write up without us both getting locked up.”

Tyler rolled his eyes and shifted his body, meeting Deacon’s gaze head on. “You’re going to want to listen to me, Deke.”

“Shit.” He pointed to a uniformed officer and growled. “Watch the body. Do not touch, and no one gets near it, you hear me?”

When the officer nodded, Deacon pushed a hand through his hair again and led Tyler toward the back of the bar. “I’m listening. And if you’re going to talk, I suggest starting with how the hell you knew how that thing was here promptly followed up by how the hell you knew how to kill it.”

Angling his body so he could keep an eye on Shay, Tyler leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Killing demons is what I do. That was a demon.”

“Bullshit.” Deacon dragged his gaze away from Hayden and got in Tyler’s face, his brawler’s body strung tight and ready for war. “Bull. Fucking. Shit.”

Sluggish from the pain and exhaustion, Tyler managed a single nod. “We can go at it, you and I, but it won’t change what I’m saying. And I need to know if it’s ever happened here before.”

“Sure, yeah.” Deacon barked out a laugh and started a slow prowl along the cramped corridor. “I killed one just last week, actually. Right before I went for a ride on my unicorn.”

“It gets worse. In about thirty seconds, that demon is going to go up in—“

His words were cut off by a shouted curse from the uniform they’d left guarding the body. Deacon closed his eyes for the briefest moment, before he snapped them open again with a snarl and pointed at Tyler.

“Don’t go far. Once I wrap my brain around this, I’m going to have questions.” He shook his head and started back toward the body. “A lot of fucking questions.”

“You know where to find me.”

Tyler had only taken one step toward Shay when Deacon grabbed him by the arm, his eyes dark and intense. “Get Hayden the hell out of here for me, will you? Make sure she gets home safe.”

“Yeah. You got it.”

* * *

SHIT.

Shay really, really hated when her visions came true. By the time Tyler turned to make his way over to her, Shay was about to crawl out of her skin. Or throw up. Maybe both.

Her mind was mush and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get past the terror eating at her gut. Tyler had killed a demon.

Tyler.

Demon.

She was going to be sick.

Unable to stand it any longer and knowing Tyler would be right behind her, she grabbed Hayden’s hand and hopped off the bar, tugging her friend toward the bar entrance.

“Shay, damn it, wait the hell up.”

She shook her head and kept walking. She was not the delicate flower type, but this was so far outside of her realm of comprehension it was laughable. He was… Tyler. Asshole.

Hot asshole.

She’d only made it to the bench on the sidewalk outside before he wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her to a gentle stop. “Shay.”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Clenching her jaw to keep the nightmare out of her eyes, she finally turned to look up at him. His already hulking figure was made even more intense by the blood splatter and claw marks that shredded his bicep. The savage blue of his eyes glinted with a dark energy she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand.

It was only years of dealing with her grandmother that kept her face from showing her fear. Not of him, not exactly, but what he was capable of. What he’d just done, how he’d known how to do it…and what it meant for her.

Unsteady, she focused on the one thing she could control at the moment. “You’re hurt.”

His gaze was busy tracking over every inch of her face. Without warning, his hand flashed out and gripped her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Are you okay?”

She would have nodded if he’d relaxed his grip a little. Instead she let out a shaky snort.

“No. No, Tyler, I am so not okay.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, her gut tightening even more at the tension in his arm. “You need a hospital.”

Hayden spoke up, her green eyes wide and afraid. “I agree with Shay. You need a hospital.” She wrapped her arms around herself and gripped her elbows. Every few seconds, her eyes flicked back to the bar door. “Where’s Deacon?”

Tyler glanced at her before turning his attention back to Shay.

“He’s dealing with having his entire belief system uprooted.” He lowered his head toward Shay, his intense gaze scorching her from the inside out until the cool breeze on her skin felt like sandpaper. “Where do you live? I need to get you both home.”

A small sound escaped Hayden’s throat. “Ah, it’s not a good idea for me to leave without Deacon.”

Tyler finally released Shay and stepped back, though he grabbed her hand before she could process the fact her skin felt like it had been branded by his touch. “He asked me to get you home. He’ll be here awhile.”

Her frightened eyes narrowed on his face, as if debating whether or not this stranger could be trusted, before she turned to look at Shay. She nodded once. Deacon and Hayden had a complicated, messy relationship and he was overprotective of her at the best of times.

“I trust him,” Shay murmured.

Haden blew out a breath before she nodded. “I actually live in Shay’s garage.”

“Good.” He said. “Then let’s go.”

While Shay wasn’t sure she wanted him in her personal space—she was still pissed at him for interrupting her date, and he was just too big not to suck up all the space in her tiny house—he needed to get that arm looked at. If he wasn’t going to a hospital, the least she could do was stitch it up for him.

Tyler nudged them forward, his massive size warming her back and pissing her off as they started toward her shop.

Next to her, Hayden swallowed hard and glanced at Tyler over her shoulder, coming to a stop on the opposite sidewalk. “What was that in there?”

He laid his hand on the small of her back and nudged her forward again. The fire in his eyes had banked into a low simmer, but his gorgeous face was still unreadable. “A demon. Move.”

“Hayden.” Shay wrapped her hand around Hayden’s before Tyler’s words could sink in and her friend could panic. “Deacon will be fine. Right, Tyler?”

He snorted as he followed them to the back of her building and across the yard. Her house was tucked back amongst the trees, a small gingerbread Cape Cod just big enough for her and Ivy. After giving Hayden permission to remodel the garage last year, she’d been living there ever since.

“Tyler?” Shay stopped walking to look up at him. Hayden was about to go into a nuclear meltdown if she didn’t get answers soon. She gritted her teeth and glared up at him.“ Deacon will be fine? Right?”

“Yes. The demon has already disintegrated.”

Shay and Hayden gaped at him until he grabbed their arms and started walking again. He didn’t say anything else until they were inside Hayden’s garage apartment and Tyler had assured her it was empty of any threats. Amazed and a little awed at the confident, deadly way he double checked everything, Shay realized she was going to have hours of reevaluating everything she thought she knew about him.

When she hugged Hayden and prepared to leave, Tyler let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t mean to scare you both, but demons are scary shit and Deacon and I both wanted you two as far away from there as we could safely get you. But Deacon will be fine. I scoped the place out before I left and there was no other sign of demonic presence so the only thing he needs to worry about tonight is explaining what happened to whoever he reports to.”

Hayden blinked wide eyes at him. She darted forward, latching her arms around Tyler’s waist. She hugged him tight, and the fear and relief warring on her face set Shay’s heart hammering.

It had all happened so fast. The demon from her nightmares appearing, Tyler going after it, and Deacon shooting it while aiming right for Tyler…

She’d been more scared than she’d ever been in her life. Afraid for him. Afraid of the emotion that had welled up out of nowhere, choking her, all focused on the pain in her ass who thought she was bat-shit crazy.

She watched him out of narrowed eyes as he tried to extract himself from Hayden. She would patch him up, make sure infection couldn’t set in with her healing salves, and then she’d take a frying pan to his cranium.

He’d had the nerve to treat her like she was crazy when he could freaking kill demons? Oh, yeah. Tyler Wade was a dead man.

Chapter 7

LETTING A CLEARLY pissed off woman with murder in her eyes and a needle big enough to stitch up Godzilla near him wasn’t the smartest thing Tyler had ever done. Even worse, there was a firestorm of adrenaline in his blood, and Shay looked tempting as fuck.

Shay stared at him. “Sit.”

Eyeing the needle she was pointing at him, Tyler weighed his chances of convincing her he was fine and didn’t need to be stitched up. His arm hurt like a damn son of a bitch and his vision wasn’t exactly cooperating, but judging by the glint in her whiskey eyes she wasn’t going to take pity on him and be gentle.

The teenage brat from the shop earlier grinned cheerfully at him as she hopped onto Shay’s kitchen counter and took a bite of an apple. With her hair in braids and dressed in a Chicago Bears jersey that hung to her knees and bright yellow fuzzy slippers, she looked even younger than she had the first time he’d seen her.

“You may as well listen to her. There’s no talking Shay down when she’s patching someone up.”

He bared his teeth. “I’m debating whether or not it’s in my best interest to run before she decides to stab me to death with that needle.”

“I’m not going to stab you.” Slapping her free hand on his chest, she gave him a solid push that wouldn’t have even rocked him had he been steadier on his feet, proving that the demon saliva was starting to kick his ass. “I’m just not going to be gentle.”

Gritting his teeth against the pain and nausea, he decided to go with cooperating. At least for the moment, until he was steadier and could argue with her without falling flat on his damn face.

The girl on the counter laughed.

“This isn’t funny,” he. “Isn’t it past your bedtime or something?”

She grinned and shrugged, and then took another bite of her apple. “And give up watching Shay make you pay for whatever you did to piss her off this badly? I don’t think so.”

“Ivy.” Shay’s voice was soft as she glanced at the girl before walking over to the pantry door and opening it. “Can you go check on Hayden for me? Stay with her until Deacon gets there?”

Tyler frowned. Sliding lower in the chair, he rested his head against the back of it and let his eyes close for a second. “Are they together?”

Shay and Ivy snorted in unison.

“No,” Shay murmured. “That would be too easy for them. They’re…complicated.”

He cranked one eye open. “So how do you know he’ll come see her tonight?”

“Because there was danger within three miles of her. Deacon will blow a gasket tonight and threaten to lock her up or marry her to be sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Ivy’s voice chimed in as she hopped off the counter. “Which will annoy the shit out of Hayden, because he only talks of marriage when he’s pissed off about something.”

Whatever Shay said next, all he heard was the word ‘sex’ at the same time she crouched in between his spread thighs and leaned up, putting those magnificent breasts right under his line of sight. Almost at mouth level.

He groaned and snapped his eyes closed, accepting that this was going to be how he died. Shay Evernight was going to be the death of him.  If she didn’t give in and kill him with a needle, she’d torture him with that body and thoughts of what he could do to it until he was a babbling, incoherent mess who needed to be put down before he did something really fucking ridiculous.

Like beg.

And no matter what the monster who’d raised him had done to him, Tyler Wade had never begged for a single thing in his life. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to start now. No matter how badly his mouth wanted a taste of those luscious breasts.

“Kill me now,” he muttered.

She hesitated with one hand on his thigh. “What?”

“Nothing.” He gritted his teeth again and decided he’d rather have her think him afraid of needles than to see the after-battle lust boiling in his blood stream. And if she’d just move her hand three inches, she’d be able to see for herself. “Let’s just do this.”

“You’re the boss.”

He snorted at the sarcasm that dripped from her words. Cold steel touched his skin, and he winced. . She slid the scissors up the length of his long sleeved shirt, her touch gentler than he’d prepared himself for, considering the temper he could still feel vibrating through her small body. When he cracked an eye open, his dick jumped at the intensity on her face as she bent toward his arm, her teeth worrying at her plump bottom lip in concentration.

“So?” she asked, flicking her gaze to his for a brief moment, before she sat back.

“What?”

Her hands trembled slightly as she set the scissors aside and concentrated on spreading his shirt open so she could peel it off. She hissed in a breath when her gaze landed on the scars and tattoos covering his torso. “I take it demon hunting isn’t new to you.”

“No. Been doing it most of my life.” He dragged a hand down his face before he sat up straight to help her pull off his shirt off. He ground his teeth together as they unpeeled the material from the jagged, sticky wounds on his shoulder.

Ivy crouched next to Shay and laid a handful of cloths and a bowl of water on the table. She kissed Shay’s cheek. “I’ll be at Hay’s if you need me.”

Shay leaned into the sweet gesture, and then winked at her. “Make sure you’re out of there before Deacon starts growling, or you’re going to get really uncomfortable really quickly.”

Ivy grinned. Standing, she patted Tyler awkwardly on his good arm before heading for the doorway.

Shay turned back to studying his chest. Sitting on her heels, she tilted her head back and studied his face. “I’m waiting.”

He lifted his brow. He wasn’t stupid—he knew why she was pissed off at him. It didn’t mean he was ready to apologize and lose that glint of temper in her eyes, though.

“I can take off my pants, but that seems a little excessive to clean my shoulder.”

The look she gave him would have been terrifying on anyone not four-foot-eleven. She all but seethed with temper as she grabbed a cloth, dunked it in the soapy water, and slapped it against his wound. When he hissed in pain, she bared her teeth in a smile.

“Sorry.” But her touch was slightly gentler as she went back on her knees to clean the ragged edges. “See how easy an apology is?”

He dropped his head onto the chair and closed his eyes. “I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

Her breasts brushed against his chest as she got up closer to his shoulder and gently prodded the cloth into the edges of the wound. “To not summon demons?”

He straightened in his seat and shoved a hand through her hair, gripping it and tugging hard enough she had no choice but to look at him. There was an emotion in her eyes beyond the anger and residual fear. Something that twisted his gut and had his dick standing at attention.

“To not be setting me up for something,” he said. “Your mother was rumored to have been experimenting with demon raising, and I didn’t know if you followed in her footsteps.”

* * *

SHAY SHOULD BE insulted, but the rumors he’d heard about her mother were true. Even if they weren’t, her family were a bunch of con artists and thieves who used weaknesses against anyone with a penny left to their name.

Tyler had no way of knowing she’d been trying to outrun the Evernight name her entire life. But the harder she fought to get away, the tighter the chains around her became. Her family owned her soul, figuratively of course, but she was bound to them in a way she had no idea how to escape.

The worst of her temper wanted to fade back under the intensity of his devastating blue eyes, so she forced herself to glare at him instead.

Testing them both, she grabbed her hair and pulled, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed when he let her go easily.  “You acted like I was crazy and deserved to be locked up, and you fight freaking demons.”

Slapping the rag on his wound again, she went back to concentrating on cleaning it as thoroughly as possible. Once she was done, she grabbed her first aid kit and her needle and stood up, moving to his side so she could stitch him back together.

Halfway through the worst of the damage, after she’d used her numbing cream on his whole shoulder, she noticed that every time she brushed against him or touched him anywhere but his arm, he’d suck in a breath and clench his teeth.

And his hands had been knotted into tight fists in his lap since she’d first knelt between his legs to cut off his shirt.

When she finished stitching him up, she carefully set everything to the side and found herself drawn to the massively muscled chest in front of her. Every inch of it fascinated her and without thinking of what she was doing, she stepped between his legs again and traced the tip of one finger over the tattoo that covered nearly the entire right side of his chest. It was the most intricate, complicated design she’d ever seen, and it tugged at that part inside of her she’d always been careful to lock down tight.

It was as if the artist had peeled away the skin over his heart, ripping it in some parts, baring the vital organ and leaving it exposed. Vulnerable. As her finger skimmed over it, Shay almost expected to feel muscle, but the rough, violent pounding of his heart shocked her. Her gaze flew to his, and the heat behind the savage blue scorched her from the inside out, setting on fire every nerve ending in her body.

She never saw him move. One moment she was trying to breathe with the way he was looking at her, and the next moment she was straddled over his lap, her dress pushed up to her waist, his mouth savaging hers as his fingers dug into her ass.

Holy…Gods, the man could kiss. Determined to take advantage of this before he spun her mind into sensory overload, she shoved her hands into his hair, fisted it, and dove into his mouth, her tongue tangling with his.

She felt his groan all the way to her toes, and the firestorm inside of her pounded dangerously, licking at the very edges of her self-control. When he rocked his hips up into hers at the same time he dragged her down onto him, stars burst behind her eyes.

Then, just as abruptly as he’d started the kiss, he pulled back. Surprised at the sudden fatigue darkening his eyes, she lowered her head against his and shivered when his fingers stroked slow, lazy circles under the lacy edge of her cheeky panties.  Shay was sure he was a lethal weapon. He’d barely touched her, had only kissed her for a few moments, and she was so close to blowing apart at the seams it was almost embarrassing.

He closed his eyes and his body shuddered once before he slid his hands to her hips and gently lifted her off his lap. He stood, swaying forward and barely catching himself against the table. His head dropped as he drew in an unsteady breath.

She was there before he could take another, her arm wrapped around his waist as worry burned in her belly. “Tyler? What’s wrong?”

He straightened slowly and shook his head. “Blood loss and demon venom aren’t a fun combination. I just need to sit for a few, then I’ll be fine.”

Her head bobbed as she helped him turn toward her living room. Luckily, her couch was a large sectional so he when he all but collapsed down on it, there was plenty of room for his skyscraper-sized body to sprawl out and get comfortable. She pulled a blanket out of the vintage cedar chest in the corner and covered him with it.

She sat on the coffee table in front of him. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

He shook his head and shifted onto his good side. He looked so tired she couldn’t believe he had the strength to hold his eyes open. “They can’t do anything about the venom. I’ve gotten bit before, just got to sleep it off. I’ll be good as new in an hour or so.”

She must have looked as disbelieving as she felt because he moved suddenly and caught her hand, yanking her down until she was curled up with her back to his front, his good arm around her shoulders.

“Just for a little while, gypsy. Then we’ll get back to what you started.”

She rolled her eyes and snorted at him. “I did not start that. You did.”

“It was not my breasts driving me crazy for the last damn hour.”

She giggled before she could stop herself and gently jabbed her elbow into his gut. “Sleep, or I’m going to make you go home.”

“Christ, you’re bossy,” he murmured. “Now shh. Sleepy time, woman.”

Shay closed her eyes as something in her chest tightened to the point she was barely able to breathe. She was not supposed to have emotions where Tyler Wade was concerned. Let alone emotions that wiped out all common sense and made her forget just how messed up her life was.

Then again, the big, scary demon killer wasn’t supposed to be a snuggler, either.

But for tonight, or at least until he woke up, she got the man she wanted. She’d worry about extracting herself in the morning. Yawning, she carefully turned in his arms, burrowing her face in his throat and tucking her head under his chin.

One night. Then she’d remember all the reasons this wouldn’t work, and she’d walk away.

Chapter 8

THERE WERE TWO things Tyler realized before he was even partially awake. One, his entire body ached like a bad tooth. And two, there was someone—hopefully a really hot chick—straddling him, with soft breasts pressed against his chest and lips nuzzled against his throat.

Shay.

Whispering a prayer of thanks to whatever god had decided he finally deserved a reward after years of fighting, he slid his hands around the back of her thighs. When she let out a soft purr in her sleep and wiggled against him, Tyler’s dick throbbed to life painfully.

Dragging his fingers in slow, deliberate circles against her skin, he let himself revel in the unbelievable softness of her skin and the sexy sounds of pleasure that hummed through her.

“Shay.” He murmured her name against her temple, nudging her head with his own as he struggled not to see how worked up he could get her. Christ alive, this woman was going to kill him. “Wake up, babe.”

She slid her hands down his chest as she slowly raised herself into a sitting position. Her eyes were only half open, her mass of curly hair hanging over one eye, and Tyler was sure he’d never been this damn hard in his life. Her yawn cut off on a shiver as he slipped his fingers under her tank top.

“You’re not planning to put a shirt on, right?” She asked, her voice still sleepy.

“Not planning on it.” Because her breasts looked one deep breath away from spilling out of her top, he dragged his free hand up her side to cup one of them. When he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tight peak through the fabric, her head dropped back on a throaty moan. “Shay. Christ, woman, I’m going to –“

His words cut off at the hammering on the door.

Shay whimpered and pounded one fist lightly against his stomach.

“Damn you, Tyler Wade! You’ll what?” When the knocking only got louder, she collapsed against him, her face burying in his throat and her soft breasts pressed against his chest.  “Make it go away.”

He smiled as much as he could through the lust grinding in his gut and balls, and wrapped his arm around her waist as he sat up. “What time is it?”

She lifted an eyelid to glance around, then groaned. “It’s not even dawn. You have my permission to shoot whoever it is.”

Trying to clear off the worst of the Shay-induced fog, he shook his body once. Ignoring the need to grab a handful of her ass and continue what they started wasn’t the hardest thing he’d ever done.

But it was damn near close. The woman had a body built for sin and he’d have wet dreams for the rest of his life imagining himself between those curvy thighs.

“Stay here and cover up.” He grabbed his spelled knife from the holster at his ankle, and walked over to yank open the door, grumbling under his breath about interruptions.

He was only slightly surprised to find a furiously pissed off Deacon standing there, nearly vibrating with temper.

“I thought so.” Deacon shoved his way inside, barely sparing a glance at Shay before he spun around to face Tyler and pointed at him. “It’s time to have that talk.”

Tyler shut the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. His arm hurt like a son of a bitch, but he refused to let it show. Besides, the ache was nothing compared to his need to get Deacon the fuck out of Shay’s place. Old friend or not, Deacon was an unknown threat to her this pissed off.

“You had a demon problem,” Tyler said. “I took care of it.”

Deacon bared his teeth and pushed a hand through his messy hair. His brawler’s body looked tense enough to take on not only Tyler, but an entire battalion of him. He leaned back against the couch, a muscle in his jaw ticking violently. “Exactly. Less than a day after a demon hunter shows up in town, we suddenly have a demon problem? Why shouldn’t I kick your ass out of town for bringing danger to my people?”

Shay shot up off the couch. “Jeez, Deke, chill—“

Tyler shook his head at her. “It’s okay, I’ve got this.”

Shay glared at him before heading into the kitchen, all those killer curves swaying.

He met Deacon’s gaze head on. Maybe if he kept his tone reasonable, Deacon would get the hell out faster. “I don’t blame you for being pissed, but I’ve been fighting and killing demons for twenty-three years. One, I’ve never left one alive so it could come after me at another time. And number two, this demon was a joke. They don’t roll over and die that easily. Someone or something was controlling it.”

Deacon pushed off the couch, shooting a pointed look at Tyler’s shoulder. “That doesn’t look like rolling over and dying to me. That thing took a chunk out of you.”

Shay snorted from the kitchen doorway. Tyler shook his and headed toward the kitchen. “It’s nothing, and it looks worse than it is.”

Deacon cocked an eyebrow as he followed, temper and leftover fear still simmering in his eyes. “Why should I believe you? How do I trust that you didn’t bring this problem to my town? Damn you, you put my woman in danger!”

“Your woman?” Hayden said from behind Tyler.

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth. Christ above, he was never going to get Shay alone again.

Deacon swallowed hard. “You know what I meant, Hay.”

Despite the urge to shove them both out the door so he could get Shay back on his lap, Tyler had to grin at the panic on Deacon’s face as Hayden snarled up at him, all furious, mutinous female.

Tyler leaned an arm against the kitchen doorjamb. “Should we leave you two alone?”

“Shut up,” Deacon growled at him at the same time Hayden snorted. “No, the caveman and I are going to my house. I saw his truck and figured he was here giving you hell.”

Tyler had to lift a brow in amusement. With her hair in a bouncy ponytail and dressed in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, she barely looked older than Ivy. Let alone capable of reducing Deacon Stone to a quivering mass of panic. But Deacon didn’t even blink when she grabbed a handful of his shirt, kissed Shay on the cheek, and dragged him toward the door.

This time, it was pure confusion that had him turning to Shay. “He could have stood stock still and she’d never have been able to drag him out. He knows that, right?”

She took a hesitant step forward and looked up at him through pretty whiskey eyes as raised voices sounded from outside. “They have sex occasionally, and Deacon is smart enough to know if he ever wants to have sex with her again, it’s best to know when to pick his battles.”

His brain blinked out at that word coming out of her luscious mouth. “I’m sorry, I lost everything after the word ‘sex’.”

When her tongue skimmed over her bottom lip, Tyler decided she knew exactly what she was doing.

She was trying to kill him.

It was time to level the playing field, so he took a step toward her. Then another, slowly backing her into the table. In one fluid move, he hitched her up and spread her legs, stepping between them as he skimmed his fingers up the inside of her thighs.

“Say it again.”

She lifted her legs to wrap them around the back of his legs, and he groaned.

Hooking her fingers in the loops of his jeans, she raised herself up slightly and dragged her mouth across his chest. “Say what again? Sex?”

His hands shook as he grasped the top edge of her lacy panties and pulled them down. The second they were off, he was back between her legs and working at freeing her breasts from her dress. He knew he should slow down, take his time, but with every inch of her delectable flesh he exposed, the more desperate he became to get to it all. Claim it.

“Holy fuck.” The words escaped him on a worshipful whisper as her breasts finally popped free of her top. He palmed them, watched her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head on a moan, then bent down to suck one tip into his mouth.

* * *

SHAY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND it. He’d only been touching her for minutes and she was so ready to climb him like a tree it should have been laughable.

Only there was nothing laughable about what he was doing to her.

She’d barely gotten used to the way he looked at her, like a hungry wolf who’d finally found his salvation dinner, when his mouth closed over her breast. A hungry greed pulsed out of him, a greed she was helpless to deny as she arched into him, clasping her hand to his head, prepared to beg him never to stop.

She’d had men paw her before. And of course they all went right for her breasts. But Tyler worshipped them. Slow, greedy licks and sucks until her thighs were quivering and she was ready to come just from his mouth.

Then…Holy Mary Mother of God, his fingers plunged into her and curved, sending her shattering over that blissful edge.

She was still blind when his mouth closed over hers, his fingers gentle as they pulled out of her only to drive right back in. When she whimpered against his mouth, he nudged her back until she was lying flat against the table. He skimmed his lips over her throat.

“Quiet, gypsy. Unless you want your friends to know you’re in here screaming for me.” He rubbed his thumb over her clit once, then twice, and lifted his head, a wicked grin on his gorgeous face. “Or we can give them something to talk about.”

She shook her head and fisted her hands in his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers. “Stop talking. Need you.”

She sensed his need for control, but more, she felt the rage of lust simmering on a fine point inside of him, and she knew he’d continue to focus on her until he felt she was ready for more.

She almost snorted. She’d been ready to jump his bones the second she’d first seen him on the sidewalk, and she’d only wanted him more after every conversation and touch.

So she did something she’d never done before in her life, because she’d never, ever give anyone that kind of power over her. Until now.

She begged.

“Tyler. Please, I need you.”

He chuckled as his hands cupped her breasts, before he reached down with one hand and undid his jeans, shoving them down just far enough his cock sprung free. Her eyes went wide at the sight of it, and she had one moment of panic before he hooked his arms under her knees, spread her open and drove into her.

She couldn’t help it, she screamed as pleasure burst inside of her. With his shoulders holding her knees apart, he twisted one hand in her hair and ravaged her mouth with a greed that nearly blinded her as he pounded into her like a man possessed.

For the first time in her life, she couldn’t get her bearings. Couldn’t pull herself back and focus on something else to keep herself from going where someone else led. She was powerless to stop herself from following him to an edge she’d sworn never to go over, but when he lifted his head and she saw the raging lust in his bright blue eyes, she knew she was helpless.

Chapter 9

WITH NOTHING BUT the sound of their ragged breathing in the room, there was nothing to distract Tyler from the viper’s nest of spinning thoughts in his head.

While having sex with her hadn’t been the worst idea he’d ever had, it sure as hell hadn’t been the smartest. Not with a demon problem crawling up his ass, a city that was going to want answers, and a dead mother who wanted him to solve her murder.

All of it meant he was stuck in town for the foreseeable future. But the second all of that was handled, he planned on walking away and never looking back.

Shay wasn’t the kind of girl you snuck out on in the middle of the night, though. He doubted she was the settling down, white picket fence type any more than he was, but he liked her. He liked her a hell of a lot, and that was going to lead to a shitstorm of messes neither of them were going to want to deal with.

His face was still buried in her throat as he tried to get his heartbeat to slow down.

She lightly tapped his ass. “Am I dead? I think I’m dead.”

He chuckled. “You feel pretty alive to me, gypsy.”

She snorted. Bracing her hands against his chest, she yawned and pushed herself up, giving him no choice but to move with her. Those whiskey eyes scanned his face for a moment before they went wide. She was across the kitchen like a shot, half trying to cover herself and half-sputtering and trying to point at the front door simultaneously.

He knew what she was thinking. Even if it wasn’t written all over her face, he didn’t need to be told they’d just done something monumentally stupid.

Or maybe he did. Settling into one of the chairs, not giving a shit he was bare-ass naked, with his pants around his knees, he kicked his legs out and twined his fingers behind his head. Shay confident and pissed off was sexy as fuck, but a Shay that was flushed from sex and off her game had his cock twitching back to life.

“What’s the matter? You look…”

She cut him off. “Like this was a bad—a very bad—idea.” She worked to pull up the dress bunched around her middle, and he wanted to cry when those breasts disappeared from view. “Tyler, I like you. Really. But this is a bad idea.”

He scowled at the realization she was kicking him out. Though he never stuck around in the same town longer than it took him to finish a job, he’d learned a long damn time ago that Fate was a cruel bitch and he never knew if he’d see a woman again. So he made it a point to never leave on bad terms. If he was ever going to have a shotgun pointed at his head, there were plenty of other things he’d prefer it to be over. Hurting a woman was never going to be on that list. Which was how he’d developed his skill for hella good French toast.

He had enough to answer for when his time was up. He’d prefer if he didn’t end up in Hell because he’d been careless with a woman he’d liked enough to spend the night with.

“Yeah. I—” He pushed his hand through his hair, then fell back on the casual grin he used to extricate himself from normal awkward situations as he stood and pulled his jeans up. “You’re right. I should go.”

He grabbed his knife from the counter top and tucked it into the sheath at his ankle. He winked as he headed toward the door. He didn’t look back as he walked out, closing the door behind him.

His conscious didn’t let him get far. By the time he got to the SUV he’d parked on the far side of the pub, he’d gotten good and pissed at himself. He wasn’t a runner. Never had been. And John, the asshole who’d trained him from the day Tyler had turned ten, would shoot him himself if he found out Tyler wasn’t just running—he was running from a woman. Not a demon or a hellspawn or a hound from hell. But a woman. A four-foot-eleven, stacked bombshell had him running like she’d twisted him up and scared the shit out of him.

Popping open the back of his vehicle, he grabbed his spare duffel and dug inside for a flannel shirt and a spare knife. He pulled the shirt on and tucked the witch’s blade into the waistband of his jeans.

Then he started to head back to Shay’s house.

While he wasn’t comfortable admitting it, she’d rocked his fucking world. He couldn’t put his finger on what had been different with her, only that for a moment, when he’d been inside of her, he’d felt…

Something. Hell if he knew what, just that he’d felt.

Pushing the thought aside, he hesitated outside the pub, then used his pocket knife to cut through the crime scene tape. He let himself in, his eyes narrowing at the distinct smell of brimstone permeating the air. It wasn’t unusual for a demon to stink to high Heaven, but this one had a distinct scent mixed with it that he hadn’t come across before. Almost like a cologne.

He frowned and flicked on the overhead lights, before moving over to crouch in the middle of the dance floor. The ash that had been left behind after the bastard disintegrated had been ruthlessly collected, leaving not so much of a fleck of charred skin behind.

The door opened across the room, but he didn’t look up. “Thought you were having it out with Hayden?”

“She hasn’t forgiven me for ‘my woman’ comment yet.” Joining him in the middle of the room, Deacon crouched next to him. “You are becoming a huge pain in my fucking ass, Wade, you know that, right? This is a sealed crime scene you’re tampering with.”

The corner of his mouth winged up slightly. “I killed it. And I figure you need my help a hell of a lot more than you need me following rules right now.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” Deacon dragged a hand over his face. “Walk me through it. What are we looking for?”

Tyler shook his head, his arms braced against his legs as he lifted his head and glanced around. “What did you see before I killed it?”

Deacon glanced around, too, as if looking for whatever Tyler was trying to find. “I don’t know. I thought it was human at first. Thought you’d gone off the deep end.”

Tyler nodded. “Until?”

“The eyes.” Deacon stood up and lifted his arms, stretching his muscles as he continued to scan the interior of the pub. Tyler’s respect for the man bumped up even more at the cold, calm intellect he saw in his face. “It wasn’t the red at first. I’ve seen some fucked up shit going on with junkies before, and you can buy contacts to turn your entire eyes black. It was the dead in them that caught me. It’s a quiet town. No one here has eyes that deadened.”

Tyler shifted his gaze to scan the faint outline from where the demon had fallen. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary while I was fighting it? Anyone just standing around, not surprised?”

This time, Deacon closed his eyes as he thought about it. “I was focused on Hayden at that point, getting to her before the crowd trampled her. She’s so petite, you know? But…” He opened his eyes and frowned. “For a second, I thought I saw a shadow moving toward the bar. Not a person, exactly, just the shadow of one.”

Tyler’s blood chilled. “Toward the bar? Where Shay was?”

Deacon nodded slowly. “Yeah. But before I could swing back around, it had vanished.” He raised a brow as Tyler got to his feet. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet.” He turned in a slow circle. “But like I said earlier, demons don’t fall the way this one did. I don’t want to say it, but I think it’s best you prepare yourself. Whether this thing followed me or not, there’s a reason it’s here. And the one thing I know for sure is that where there’s one, there’s bound to be more.”

Deacon stared at him, unblinking, before tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “My guys aren’t capable of killing a fucking demon. Hell, most of them haven’t even fired their weapons outside a shooting range.”

Tyler nodded and met Deacon’s gaze head on. “Which is why, starting tomorrow, you and I are going to train.”

* * *

SHE SMELLED LIKE Tyler.

She disinfected the table they’d had sex on, then decided to scrub the kitchen to within an inch of its life. She even got on her hands and knees to attack the corners of the floor with an old toothbrush, before washing down the top of the refrigerator.

And through it all was a montage she couldn’t shut off. Tyler’s face when he saw her naked. His face as he pushed her into orgasm just using his fingers. His face when he slid inside of her. His face when she came again. And then again.

His face when she said it was a mistake and he needed to leave.

He was the playboy, wasn’t he? For heaven’s sake, he had playboy written all over him, from that ridiculously cut body to that charming, wicked grin and those ‘come get what you want, babe’ eyes. So why the hell did she feel like she’d screwed everything up by telling him to leave?

She loved her independence, damn it. She’d fought damn hard for every ounce of freedom she had, and she’d vowed a long time ago to never give anyone an inch who could turn around and take it all. So the fact that Tyler had known her body better than she did, had known what she was capable of more than anyone ever had, scared the hell out of her. For so many reasons it was actually laughable.

Even if he didn’t have ‘one night stand’ written all over him, her family would never approve. And that was a road she’d never let Tyler walk down with her.

She sighed and threw the toothbrush into the garbage.

It was just one night, Shay. Get over yourself. He’s not out there crying into his beer that you kicked his ass to the curb.

Feeling slightly better, she headed down to her bedroom to take a much needed nap.

Someone knocked on the front door.

She snorted as she jogged over to answer it. Ivy forgot her key more often than she remembered it, which was why Shay had long ago made a spare for Garret.

She was already laughing when she swung the door open, only to go still as she found herself face-to-chest with a brick wall that could only be Tyler. No one else in town had that muscle, or size, or feel… or scent. The man smelled like sin and sex, and Shay had to bite on her tongue to make sure she didn’t swallow it.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she forced herself to tilt her head back and raise a brow at him.

Stay strong, Shay. Stay. Strong.

His dark blue eyes searched her face for a long moment, before he bent over and stuck his gorgeous face in hers. “You are full of shit, Shay Evernight.”

Even as her jaw dropped in shock, his mouth closed over hers. He kissed her like a man intent on taking a woman’s heart, and soul, and sanity with him when he finally left.

And she had no idea how to stop it.

Chapter 10

TYLER HADN’T MEANT to let it get so far. He’d only meant to tell her he wasn’t that easy to kick to the goddamn curb. But then she’d opened the door looking so completely adorable in a tiny pair of shorts and tank top, his common sense and training had gotten lost in his sheer need to taste her again. Just one more time.

Twisting her hair around his fist to pull her even closer, he groaned at the soft, erotic feel of those curves pliable against his hardness. And when the moan escaped her throat and her arms wound around his neck, the only choice he had left was to pull back or face going down a road he was nowhere near ready for.

“I’m sorry.” She shivered once, long and slow, before her head dropped back so she could see his face. “Why are you here?”

His grinned and couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to brush his lips over hers one more time. Christ above, she was like a goddamn drug. When he pulled back, he had to set her away from him before he gave in to the urge boiling inside of him and took her against the door.

Shay slumped against the door, her beautiful face dazed. Somehow, it made him feel better. If she was going to keep him off-balance, she damn well needed to be on unsteady ground with him.

When he realized she was still waiting for an answer, he shot her another grin. “I wanted to tell you I know you’re full of shit. You like me, and you’re damn scared about it.”

For a moment, she looked like she was going to slam the door in his face. Not that it would do any good—he wasn’t going any damn where until he was good and ready to go— he could see all over her face she didn’t like him reading her so easily.

It wasn’t that he meant to. He just didn’t know how to stop.

“You’re right,” she said easily, smiling as shock rippled through his body. “I like you. Are you happy? Will you go now?”

He dragged his hand over his stubbled face to hide his smile.

“Actually.” He straightened, crowding her into the house. Her eyes went wide as she noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder. “Do you mind if I crash here tonight?”

Shay gaped at him. “Why? You have a perfectly nice room at the bed and breakfast waiting for you.”

He shrugged. “Thought you’d be a little freaked out about the demon thing.” When she only lifted a brow at him, he laughed quietly and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Alright.” He leaned down and braced his hands on either side of her hips. “It isn’t about me. Deacon mentioned seeing a shadow heading toward the bar while he was going after Hayden.”

She studied his face for a long moment, before she exhaled slowly. “You think the demon had something to do with me?”

“I don’t know.” He tossed his bag on the couch and turned to face her, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He kept his gaze level, serious. No matter how distracting she was, he’d never let a woman cloud his judgment over a hunt. “But I’ve been doing this long enough to trust my instincts, and my instincts are saying you’re messed up in this somehow.”

The fear that iced over her whiskey eyes raised every hair on the back of his neck, and dread pooled in his gut. But just like that, it was gone, and his fiery gypsy was back.

She rested her hands against the arm of the couch behind her and tilted her head back so their faces were so close together he could almost taste her mouth. “If I let you stay, we need ground rules.”

He nodded, his hands skimming up to her hips and back down her thighs. Before she knew what he was doing, he’d hooked his hands under her knees and jerked her into him. He lowered his mouth to her throat, sucking at the pounding pulse there. “I’m listening.”

“One night.” She crossed her ankles behind his ass, pulling him in closer to that part of her he was starting to worry he was getting addicted to. “Tomorrow you’re back at the hotel, and this never happened.”

He nodded, prepared to offer his soul for one more chance to be inside of her wet heat. “Deal.”

* * *

WHILE SHAY WOULD never classify herself as the quintessential ‘good girl,’ especially with some of the crap she’d had to do in her lifetime to uphold the Evernight name, she’d never considered herself a bad girl.

But what she had with Tyler, what she wanted with him, was to be bad. Very, very bad.

She also wanted him not to put the pieces of her life together.

She was unbuttoning his flannel, desperate to get to his skin and explore this time, when the door behind him flew.

Ivy gasped. “Um…ew.”

Tyler stiffened against her mouth, and while her eyes went wide, he closed his and dropped his brow against hers. “Can you make her go away?”

Shay had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Or crying. “I can’t, I’m sorry. She lives here.”

He let out a sound that was suspiciously growl-like before he shook himself and straightened. “I should get some research in, anyway, and you should probably get a few hours sleep before dawn. It’s been a long night.”

She didn’t want to agree with him, but she was exhausted. They’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep before Deacon had interrupted them earlier, and Tyler’s mother had been keeping her awake for days babbling about her son.

She must have frowned without realizing it, because his brow furrowed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just––-“ Her voice cut off because, damn it, here it came. “It’s been quiet.”

A crease appeared between his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Your mother. She’s been really quiet the last few hours.”

The shadows that flicked over his face had her heart aching.  His voice was quiet, and as confused as she felt. “Is that good?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured, honestly. “It happens, but not like this. Not just radio silence out of nowhere.”

The grin he flashed her didn’t quite reach his eyes. “In all fairness, we were kind of… involved earlier. I don’t think she’d have stuck around to watch that if she didn’t have to.”

Her head bobbed as relief flashed through her.

“True.” She smiled. “Thanks. I know it sounds weird to worry about this, but constant is good in my life. I’m a big enough freak as it is, with dead people popping up to babble at me every moment of every day, but at least I know I can expect it. Silence changes the game. That worries me.”

He pushed his hand through his chin-length hair as he stepped back. “Go rest. It’ll be okay.” He leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose in an affectionate gesture that had her close to tears, the damn bastard. “I promise.”

When she didn’t move right away, he lifted a brow. “Do I need to carry you?”

She snorted out a laugh. “No, I’m alright.” Since Ivy was just standing there, staring at him with wide eyes, Shay grabbed her hand, and tugged her with her toward the bedrooms. “Goodnight, Ty.”

“Goodnight, babe.”

Ivy followed Shay right into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. “Holy…you slept with him? You slept with Tyler Wade?”

Shay collapsed backward on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m not giving you details, Ivy.”

The teenager laughed as she laid on the bed next to her and grabbed her hand. “It’s okay, I don’t want details. That’s gross. Just tell me if it was as good as you thought it would be.”

Shay blew out a breath and closed her eyes. “Better.”

“Really.” Ivy let out a soft humming sound before she turned her head to look at her. “So that explains that.”

She cranked one eye open and looked at her. “It explains, what?”

Ivy grinned. “Why you look like you were knocked sideways and screwed blind seven ways to Sunday at the same time.”

Unexpected tears welled in her eyes, and before Ivy could see them, Shay leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I need some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow, alright?”

Concern marred Ivy’s brow. “Shay—“

She cut her off. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

She didn’t move until Ivy had left, and then it was just to cover her eyes with her arms. She felt Gemma’s presence a second before the ghost spoke.

“Don’t hurt him.”

Shay didn’t open her eyes. “What do you want from me, Gemma? I got him here, but now what?”

“Do what I couldn’t. Protect him.”

Chapter 11

THE VISION CAME wrapped inside a dream. By the time Shay realized what was happening, it was too late for her to stop it.

Four. She was on orgasm number four, and as her body rode the undulating waves that swamped her from the inside out, her fingers tightened around the scarf binding her wrists.  Desperate for something to hold her down before she lit off straight into the stars.

Grin wicked, blue eyes savage and possessive, Tyler sat back on his knees and stroked his hands up the insides of her thighs. His thumbs slicked over her wetness, sending her sensitive body into another round of tremors, even as her hips took on a mind of their own and lifted in offering.

Gods, did she offer. He’d made her greedy, and her body recognized the source of her pleasure. Craved more. Craved all.

“Mine.” The words fell harshly from his perfect mouth, as if ripped from his soul. Reaching over, he snagged an ice cube from the glass on the nightstand, and crushed it in his mouth. “Say it, Shay. Need to hear it.”

Her heat clenched at the promise in him, soaking her as if her insides had turned to liquid and needed release. But it was the shadows in his eyes that threatened to send her flying—that need in him that went beyond anything, beyond craving, straight into hunger. For her. For the words he waited patiently for her to give him.

She didn’t close her eyes. She wouldn’t have, even if he’d let her. It was always like this between them, and he’d continue to hold himself back until she gave him what he asked for. He hung, heavy and aching between her legs, but still, he kept himself leashed.

“Yours.” No choice. She had no choice in it, never had.

He dropped his head as those wide, strong shoulders relaxed, before his mouth closed over her. Pleasure star-burst behind her eyes as he licked at her, lifting her hips to him as if trying to get her closer as her orgasm built…but it never came.

They stood deep inside a forest, Tyler’s arm hanging limply at his side and his cheekbone slashed as they squared off. His green Henley was ripped to shreds, his jeans torn and bloody at the knee. And this time, it was heartbreak that was shattering her. Hers. His.

Oh, gods, his.

“Why, Shay?” His voice was gravel over broken glass, harsh and desperate. “Why would you lie?”

No. No, that wasn’t right. She wouldn’t lie to him. She opened her mouth to tell him that, to ask him how he’d been hurt, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“I’m sorry.” Shaking her head, she stepped toward him. And though her mind was screaming at her, all she felt was cold. “But you knew what I was.”

He moved so quickly she could barely track his movements.

Gripping her arms, he yanked her into his chest. “Not this, damn you! You don’t have to do this!”

Her head fell back as he shook her, but all she could do was shrug.

“Yes,” she whispered, “I do.”

His eyes blanked, the fire inside him shutting down degree by degree. And by the time he’d released her and stepped back, there was nothing left of Tyler for her to see. He’d gone away, somewhere she couldn’t follow.

So, using the magic she’d sworn never to use, she watched as blood cascaded from the fist-sized hole in his chest, his heart slipping out of her bloody fingers.

“Shay?” The rough, familiar voice washed over her. Her eyes popped open. Tyler leaned over her in her bed, his nose nearly touching hers as he scowled. “You with me?”

“I’m fine. Bad dream.” Tears stung her eyes.

Shifting to the side, she slid out from beneath him and climbed off the mattress, deliberately not looking at him. That hadn’t been a dream; they’d been visions. Plural. And she had no idea which one of them would come true, or if it was a warning that whatever she found with him would end in his death.

* * *

BAD DREAM, HIS ass. His life was nothing but bad dreams, but they sure as shit didn’t end with him screaming like his heart was being ripped out.

Or waking up and looking like he’d seen a ghost in his bed.

Shifting to watch her, he braced his arms against his thighs. She stood at her bedroom window, so still he couldn’t actually be certain she was breathing.

Rolling his head on his shoulders, he sighed. “Talk to me, Shay.”

“Just a bad dream,” she repeated, her voice hollow. She took a deep breath, and then turned and smiled at him. “Did I wake you up?”

Fuck yeah, she had.

“I thought I heard something, so I came to check.” He stood up, aware for the first time that he was in her personal space and they knew each other for shit. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Positive.”

Grinding his back teeth together, he considered calling bullshit on her, but a bad dream didn’t mean anything. Everyone in the world had them. Just because he didn’t like the leftover fear in her eyes or the way his heart had almost failed when she’d started screaming, didn’t mean she had to let him in.

“Okay.”

A smile ghosted over her mouth, chasing some of the shadows out of her eyes—and his gut. “Thanks. Go back to sleep. I promise I won’t wake you up again.”

Yeah, no way he was going to sleep after the scare she’d given him. Instead of upsetting her, though, he nodded and started out of her bedroom. “Get some sleep, Shay.”

“Ty.”

Almost positive he was imagining her voice it was so soft, he hesitated before he turned to look at her. “Yeah?”

Her teeth worried at her bottom lip before she expelled a breath. “What happened tonight? Between us? It can’t happen again.”

His gut iced over. He couldn’t explain why, but the finality in her voice combined with the screams he’d woken up to stirred up some protective shit inside him that he wasn’t ready to deal with. He just knew he wasn’t finished with her, and he was goddamn positive she wasn’t finished with him, either.

Bracing his hands against the top of the door, he lifted his brow at her. “Why not?”

“Because,” she snapped, stalking over to poke him in the stomach. “I said so.”

A little more of the tension eased out of him at the resurrection of her temper. “We said no strings, so I’m not seeing the problem.”

“Psst.”

Tyler sighed, and then leaned back and turned his head to see Ivy staring at him from her room.

Worry was written all over her face. “Is she all right?”

“I’m fine, sweetie,” Shay answered before Tyler could. “Go back to sleep.”

Ivy’s gaze flicked from Shay back to Tyler. She mouthed, We need to talk, before slipping back into her room.

When Tyler refocused on Shay, she shook her head. “She worries.”

“I couldn’t tell.” He grinned a little, but the humor fled just as quickly as it came. “I’ll let you have tonight, gypsy, but tomorrow, we’re going to talk about what scared you so much.”

“No, we won’t.” She patted his chest, her hand lingering for just a second, before she stepped back. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He caught her wrist. “You are so full of shit.”

He didn’t know why it was so important to prove her wrong. He’d never given a shit before when a woman had ended things with him after one night together—and hell, he and Shay hadn’t even spent the whole night together. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have a shit-ton of crap he needed to be doing, without the distraction she posed.

Her face darkened, and for a moment, he was sure she was going to slap him. Instead, she moved into his hold, going on her toes to stick her face right in his.

Her whiskey gaze never left his. “I. Don’t. Want. You.”

He didn’t realize he was growling until she blinked, but the damage was done. He dropped her arm and stepped back. Shaking his head, he walked out of the room, slamming her door shut behind him.

A second later, something thumped against the door, as if she’d thrown something in anger. It would have made him feel better to know she wasn’t as chill as she pretended, if he wasn’t so goddamn pissed off.

No way would he be able to sleep, so he stalked into the kitchen and went on a search for alcohol. Finding nothing but a single beer, he sighed and popped the top on it, barely even blinking as Ivy came in. Without a word, she hopped onto the counter next to where he stood, and swung her legs once.

“Is she all right?”

He downed the rest of his Heineken and tossed the bottle into the trash. “Bad dream.”

“Oh.” She swung her legs again, then shifted slightly so she was facing him. “She has bad dreams a lot.”

“Great.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do,” she said softly, that too-smart gaze searching his face. “You care a heck of a lot. That’s why you’re so pissed off.”

Not in the mood to have his head shrunk by a teenager in furry orange knee-high slipper boots, he straightened. “I’m not pissed, Ivy. I’m not anything.”

She ignored that. “Usually, the dreams that wake her up screaming are visions of the future. Things she doesn’t know how to stop.”

He stilled, his gut twisting violently, before he turned fully around to stare at her. “What are you saying?”

“Shay doesn’t just talk to dead people. She sees the future, too. And usually, it’s too late for her to do anything about it.”

Even as puzzle pieces clicked together in his brain, other questions popped up, leaving him feeling like there was a gaping hole in his knowledge. “Who else knows about these abilities of hers?”

“Me, her family, and now you.” She nailed him with a look that all but screamed ‘fix it, Tyler’ at him. “Not even Hayden or Deke know.”

He snagged on the first part of her answer. “What do you know about her family?”

Her already pale skin seemed to drain of any color, sending a hundred red fucking flags flying behind his vision. “I know that there are rumors men who get involved with Evernight women tend to go missing.”

What the actual fuck. Dragging his hand down his face, he sat down hard on one of the kitchen chairs. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Yeah.” She hopped off the counter and took a bottle of water out of the fridge before turning to face him again. “Shay isn’t as tough as she seems. She’s wounded easily.” Closing the distance between them, little Ivy’s face went stole cold granite. “If you hurt her, if you make her cry even one time, Tyler Wade, I will cut your balls off while you sleep. If anyone deserves to be taken care of, to be treated like a princess, it’s Shay.”

Without another word, she walked out of the kitchen and left him standing there, trying to figure out how the hell he’d gotten so screwed up so goddamn quickly.

Chapter 12

SHAY WAS STILL staring up at the plain white ceiling when Ivy tried to sneak into her room a little bit after dawn. “How did you know I was awake?”

“You never sleep after a vision.” Carefully sitting on the bed next to Shay’s hip, Ivy held out a cup of coffee. “Thought you could use this.”

“You are a beautiful, amazing person and I love you madly,” Shay said, but she didn’t move to sit up or take the steaming mug. Her body ached in ways she couldn’t explain, and her chest just freaking hurt. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“He left a little while ago.” Setting the cup on Shay’s bedside table, Ivy pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “You okay?”

“No. I’m an idiot. What was I thinking?” To her surprise, Ivy tucked her face into her shoulder to hide a giggle, cutting off her words. Shay poked a finger into Ivy’s stomach. “What are you laughing at?”

Ivy coughed to hide a snicker, peeking up at her over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t funny. I just, I swear, Shay, he should have a warning.” At her blank look, Ivy covered her face again. “Attention, ladies. Being exposed to this body will cause panties to drop so hard they’ll end up in China. Proceed with extreme caution.”

Shay blinked at her for several seconds, before a laugh escaped her. Leave it to Ivy to cheer her up when her world was imploding. But then the laughter died out, and she curled onto her side and buried her face in a pillow.

Ivy made a soft sound of distress, her fingers brushing the hair out of Shay’s face. “Did he hurt you?”

She could have handled it better if he’d been the one to walk away. That would have made sense.

“No. God, no.” Telling herself to stop being emotional, she finally sat up until her back was braced against her reclaimed wood headboard. “I think I really messed up, Ive.”

Ivy twisted on the bed until she was sitting next to her, and rested her head against Shay’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said. Ivy was way too wise beyond her years, but that didn’t mean Shay wanted to give her anything more to worry about. For once, all she wanted was for the girl to be a normal seventeen-year-old high school student. “You’re going to be late for school.”

“Shay—” Ivy cut off on a sigh, wrapping her in a fierce hug. “I love you, you know that, right? And I’m here to listen.”

Shay nodded. “Go get ready. Garret worries when you’re late.”

As usual, Ivy lit up from the inside at Garret’s name, and it did exactly what Shay had hoped for—it got Ivy moving. After crawling over Shay, she hesitated at the door, her eyes troubled again. And seeing the shadows reminded Shay exactly why she didn’t want Ivy involved.

“Let me know when I need to muster the Rohirrim, Shay. You don’t have to fight whatever this battle is on your own.” She waited for Shay to nod, before blowing out a breath. “For what it’s worth, I haven’t seen you feel this much in…ever.”

Shay watched her leave and just stared at the closed door for long moment. While Ivy had only been teasing with her Tolkien reference to the Rohirrim—the fierce, battle-ready people of Rohan in Middle Earth—Shay didn’t put it past her to bring in reinforcements if she thought it necessary.

But this time, there wasn’t anything any of them could do for her, even if she let them in. The vision had been crystal clear. Either she cut it off with Tyler now, or being with her would kill him.

And worse, she would be the one to do it. To destroy him.

Sighing in sheer frustration, she finally forced herself out of bed.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt this soon. She didn’t know him. She knew even less about him than he did about her, and despite his ability and determination to give her bone-melting, toe-curling orgasms, she wasn’t even sure they liked each other.

Except…when they were together, she didn’t feel lost. She didn’t feel invisible, or like the town freak. Just admitting it made her ache. While she could see herself grabbing onto those feelings, grabbing on to him, it would mean destroying him.

And what kind of person would she be if she repaid him by putting him in harm’s way?

Her body stilled. That was the question, wasn’t it? What kind of person would she be? The answer was so clear, she wanted to scream in frustration. Simply put, she wasn’t that person. She dedicated her life to helping people. Everyone. But the one thing she wasn’t, the one thing she would never, ever be, is a killer.

She lurched into action so quickly, her head spun, but she didn’t care. She shot Tyler a text telling him they needed to talk, then threw on the first maxi-dress she could find, pulled her hair back with a scarf, and left the house.

She and Phoenix were going to have a long overdue talk.

* * *

BY THE TIME the sun had swept away the morning fog over Willow Creek, Tyler was ready to get the fuck out of Dodge. He was in a shitty-ass mood, and he was torn between the urge to march back to Shay’s house and demand answers, and pulling his fucking hair out in frustration. He fucking hated puzzles. He didn’t even care about Shay being a 5 feet tall, stacked enigma tucked inside Pandora’s Box, or that getting inside her head had intrigued him just as much as getting inside her body. She was a puzzle he shouldn’t care about solving.

Instead, he bumped open the door to the police station with his hip, a coffee clutched in each hand. He wasn’t surprised to see Deacon at his messy desk, feet propped up. His snores all but lifted the rafters off the place that already looked like a good, stiff wind could send it tumbling to the ground. And if the inside had been painted in the last decade, someone had a sick sense of humor, because it had the personality and charm of a morgue.

Too frustrated to be amused, Tyler kicked the chief’s chair, startling him.

“What the—”  Deacon’s voice snapped off when he saw him. Sighing, he dragged both hands over his face. “Please tell me one of those are for me, asshole.”

Tyler held out a coffee, before sprawling in one of the chairs facing Deacon’s desk. “Do you always sleep here?”

Apparently not caring that the coffee bordered on scalding, Deacon didn’t respond until he’d down half his to-go cup.

“No.” He kicked his feet off the desk, scattering empty paper cups in the process. “Only when demons show up in my town and I have no idea how to fight them.” He lifted his brow. “You here to apologize yet?”

Ignoring that, Tyler sat forward, bracing his arms against his thighs. “I need information, Deke. What do you know about the Evernight family, and Shay in particular?”

Deacon paused with his cup halfway to his mouth, before cursing quietly and setting the coffee aside. “What happened?”

“The fuck if I know.” Tyler lifted his free hand, palm up, and sighed. “But something isn’t right. Do you know anything about her having visions?”

The silence that came after the question had tension building at the base of his skull, and the knot in his gut twisting deeper.

Finally, the chief leaned his forearms against his desk. “Everyone knows about her visions, though everyone thinks she’s just good at reading people. Most of the town loves her, and goes to her to have their fortunes read or talk to the dead.”

Shit.

“And the rest?”

Deacon’s face clouded over. “The rest believe she’s as much of a flake as Phoenix, and would prefer me to burn everyone with the Evernight name—including Shay—at the stake.” He ran a hand over his head. “Her family has been suspected of being in some seriously deep shit for as far back as they’ve been in this town.”

When he didn’t continue, Tyler growled in impatience. “Like what?”

“Like your mother’s disappearance.”

The blow to his chest didn’t hurt, but it knocked the wind out of him. Despite the timing, as far as Tyler knew, Shay’s mother’s murder had never been connected to his mother’s disappearance. “I thought Raven Evernight was found murdered only a little while after my mother’s disappearance.”

“Yeah.”  Deacon turned the cup in his hand for a moment, looking uncomfortable as shit before he dug through the massive pile of garbage on his desk. He tossed a file to Tyler. “There’s no evidence, Ty.”

Placing his cup on the desk, Tyler opened Raven’s file. His brow furrowed at the chicken scratch in the margins of the police report. “How the hell does a heart explode?”

“I don’t know. I called the medical examiner last night, and he shut my questions down before they were even out of my mouth.” When Tyler’s head snapped up, Deacon nodded and glanced at his watch. “Actually, I’m heading over to the morgue now. I don’t know if I’ll get any more answers than I did last night, but the fucker is going to tell me something if I have to pound it out of him.”

Despite the restlessness gnawing at his gut, Tyler managed a smile. “Is that proper code of conduct?”

“I don’t give a fuck. This is my town, and whatever the hell happened back then, is coming back to haunt us now. I want answers.” He got to his feet. “You coming with?”

Tyler nodded and lifted the file. “Can I borrow this?”

“Yeah. It’s not much, but I added in a copy of everything we have on your mother’s disappearance.” He held open the door. “So, you going to tell me what happened last night with you and Shay?”

Afraid he was going to get sucked into spilling his guts, Tyler shook his head as they started for the morgue. Talking about his feelings was never going to be on his list of shit to do.

“Not even if you pulled out my teeth, Deke.” But he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Do you know anyone in town who’d actively want to hurt her?”

“Yeah.” Deacon whistled through his teeth as they crossed the street. “Mostly jealous wives and a few assholes who don’t take well to being turned down by a woman they think is a flake.”

Tyler’s eye twitched, and he let out a long, violent stream of curses.

“Alright, then after this shit at the morgue, we’re going to make a list.” And he was going to hunt every one of those fuckers down until he was sure they weren’t a threat to even a hair on Shay’s head.

* * *

ON HER LIST of things Shay most hated to do, talking to her grandmother was at the very top.

While she had days where she could almost convince herself that Phoenix loved her in her own way, they were rare. Like almost non-existent rare. From Shay’s earliest memories, her traditional family had made it clear her usefulness to them began and ended with her abilities. And as long as her powers benefited them, they let her live in relative peace.

Like always, the second she made the turn onto her family’s property, her anxiety amped up. Situated just on the opposite side of Willow Creek’s town line, the sprawling ten-acre parcel of land was dotted with new and old trailers and caravans alike, rusting carcasses of forgotten vehicles, and dozens of pots filled with vibrant-colored plants and flowers. Every tree was adorned with glass bottles and wind chimes, and Shay knew the second the sun started to set in the evenings, white fairy lights would light the property. Many of the caravans were transformed during the day into bright, stereotypical gypsy homes where people from all over the state came to get their fortunes read or buy herbs and spells they couldn’t find anywhere else.

All she wanted was to turn her MINI around and escape back to her tidy house where no one expected anything more of her than to be weird, freakish Shay.

What the hell that said about her, that she preferred to be looked at as a freak than a bargaining chip and cash cow, she wasn’t sure.

Sighing, she drove over the pot-hole filled dirt road, bypassing family members crafting their wares and dark-haired children who waved as she passed. The Evernight family had owned this property for more than a century, but all Shay felt inside its borders was suffocation.

It took her another five minutes of driving to reach Phoenix’s trailer. While the shades were drawn and it looked uninviting, she had no doubt her grandmother was home. What Shay couldn’t gauge was what the closed-off appearance was trying to warn her of, because if there was one thing Phoenix could be relied on, it was having a purpose for everything, down to every flutter of her eyelashes.

“You should have told him.” Gemma hissed.

Shay hesitated on the rickety metal porch of Phoenix’s trailer. The air surrounding her went frigid, frosting over the plastic of the screen door in front of her and sending a deep ache into her bones. Gemma shot forward from her left side, her translucent face a mask of raw fury as she sent another blast of cold at her.

“Weak, useless slut!”

“Whoa.” Fisting her hands at her sides, Shay slowly turned her head to meet the ghost’s gaze. “Out of line, Gem.”

“You’re going to kill him! You know it! You saw it!” Gemma’s fingers slashed out, ripping at Shay’s arm with her fingernails. “You were supposed to save him!”

Razor-sharp pain hazed her vision, staggering her sideways.  “I broke it off—“

“Bitch!”

Unexpected pain burst behind Shay’s eyes as she hit the ground hard, and the last thing she saw as her world turned gray, was her grandmother swinging an iron fire poker at the furious ghost.

Chapter 13

“I DON’T GET it.” Tyler shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans before he gave in to the urge to reach across the slab and strangle the medical examiner.

Short, round, and squirrely, with thick-lensed glasses, greasy brown hair, and an apparent dislike of anyone with an actual heartbeat, Charles Long was as unlikable as he was unpleasant.

“There’s a surprise,” Long muttered. He rolled his eyes. “The brain-dead bodybuilder doesn’t get something.” Sighing, he turned the file around so the words faced Tyler and Deacon, then tapped his pudgy finger on the page, half-way down. “It’s pretty easy, so even you jugheads should be able to follow along. Raven Evernight’s heart did not explode.”

Deacon frowned. “Then why did the previous medical examiner list that as cause of death?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Pushing his coke-bottle glasses up his pug nose, Long shrugged. “A heart can’t explode. Not without some kind of outside help—like a 50 cal bullet.” When Tyler and Deacon both stared at him, waiting expectantly, he sighed. “My predecessor wasn’t a messy record keeper, and he didn’t make mistakes in his reports. Either someone altered Raven Evernight’s file, or…”

sighed when his voice trailed off, snapping, “Or?”

“Or someone blackmailed him into changing it.” Long closed the file and handed it back to Deacon. “Are we done here?”

“Almost.” Planting his fists against the metal slab of the exam table, Tyler leaned forward. “Let’s talk hypothetical. What could make a heart explode?”

Long took a step back, his beady eyes wary. “An outside projectile.” He scrambled past them toward the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have patients to see to.”

“One more question.” Tyler ignored Long’s rolling eyes. “What shape was the body in? There’s no mention of wounds or trauma, outside the heart.”

For the first time, a tiny spark of interest lit in the guy as he re-opened the file. “That’s the weird part. Her body was a mess of perimortem wounds. The notes don’t say anything else about them, but I remember that day. Raven Evernight had been carved up.”

A quick glance at Deacon showed he handled that information about as well as Tyler, whose stomach had taken a long, sickening roll. “Perimortem—that means around the time of death, right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Deacon didn’t say anything until after Long had shut the door in his face. “Am I the only one creeped out by the fact that fucker refers to dead people as ‘patients’?” He glanced over as Tyler dug his phone out of his back pocket and checked his messages. “All right, I’m just going to say it. What the fuck is going on in my town, Wade?”

Shoving his phone back into his pocket when he hadn’t received anything from Shay, he stopped walking and waited for Deacon to face him. “You sure you want to know? There’s no going back from knowledge like this, Deke.”

“Fuck no, I don’t. Not when you put it like that, asshole.” Spearing his fingers through his hair, he turned and started down the hallway. While Tyler gave him ten steps, it only took seven before Deacon turned around and spread his feet, his arms crossed over his chest. “All right. I’m listening.”

Tyler’s respect for the man bumped up. Not a lot of people—hell, basically no one—handled this kind of shit without breaking down and denying it. “Without photo proof, it’s only a guess, but I’ve only heard of a body being carved up around time of death for one reason. A sacrifice for raising demons.”

Deacon stared at him for a full twenty seconds before he threw his head back and laughed. “Of course. Why the hell wouldn’t it be demon raising?”

“Deke—”

Deacon held up a hand. “Just give me a fucking moment, Ty.” Finally, he sighed and met Tyler’s gaze again. “All right, so the rumors are true. Shay’s family is mixed up in some nasty shit. That doesn’t answer the most important questions, though.”

Tyler nodded. “Who used her to raise the damn thing, and if they actually succeeded.” He impatiently checked his phone again. All this talk of demons mixed with her family had him all kinds of pissed off and nervous. “My guess on the latter would be no, or you’d have known about it way before now.”

“That’s something, I guess,” Deacon muttered. He rubbed his neck as Tyler scrolled through his phone for the hundredth time. “Still nothing?”

“No.” He scowled at his phone, trying to shake the uneasiness scratching along his spine. “That’s five unanswered texts and phone calls.”

“She could be busy at the shop.” He stopped and tapped Raven’s file against Tyler’s chest. “I thought you wanted to figure this out?”

Tyler grunted, but honestly, the autopsy on Shay’s mother had lasted this long unsolved. It could wait a little longer. They had no more answers than they’d started with, and he was starting to think it was a dead end. Hell, the only thing he could think about was Shay. She’d sent him a message two hours ago saying they needed to talk, but she hadn’t responded to any of his texts or calls since. While he couldn’t explain it, and wasn’t sure if he’d want to even if he could, there was a definite sense of foreboding pressing down on his shoulders. Every instinct he had screamed it had to do with Shay.

He looked at Deacon. “What’s Hayden’s number? Maybe she’s seen her.” At Deacon’s dark look, Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’m not hitting on her, for fuck’s sake.”

Deacon relaxed and rattled off the number. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee then head back to the station. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Yeah, I need you to find Shay.

Dragging a hand down his face, he shoved his phone into his back pocket and followed Deacon toward the cafeteria. “You know this town better than I do. If Shay’s not at her place or her store, where would she be?”

Deacon punched the down button for the elevator, then rolled his neck as they waited. “At noon on a Wednesday? I’ve never known her to be anywhere but at work during the day.”

That’s what he was afraid of. The elevator doors opened and Tyler went in first, vaguely aware of the way the other inhabitants immediately greeted Deacon. The chief chatted with them as they headed to the main floor. His tone was easygoing and casual, two things Tyler didn’t have in him to feel at the moment.

Not with the damn gypsy taking up all the space in his head.

Wishing he could force the elevator to fucking move, he was ready to plow through everyone in front of him to get the hell out when the door opened. His head was down, not wanting to make eye contact and encourage any conversation as he stepped out, only to come to an abrupt halt as he saw the small figure waiting to board the elevator.

The first thing he noticed was the fatigue shadowing her whiskey eyes. Guilt and worry sucker-punched him, but before he could apologize for his part in her exhaustion, his gaze lit on the white bandages wrapped around her left biceps.

He stalked toward her until her back hit the wall opposite the elevator.

He just slapped his hands on the painted brick on either side of her head, caging her in. “What. The. Hell.”

* * *

WITH HER MOUTH open to tell him to back off, to remind him they weren’t together, he said her name, and the mixture of pain and guilt in his voice straight-up weakened her knees.

He ducked his head.  His eyes scanned every inch of her face and exposed skin, looking for any other wound. “Shay.”

God, had anyone ever said her name that way? Or looked at her that way? Like the idea of her being hurt broke something inside of him?

Instinct had her hands slipping around his waist, and her head tilting back. She threw common sense to the wind, telling herself she at least owed him the truth. Right?

Hell, she didn’t know anymore.

Of their own accord, her fingers slipped under the hem of his flannel shirt, like they craved skin-to-skin contact. “Hey, it’s okay. Just a couple of scratches.”

“Unacceptable.” The words ground out of him. Lifting one hand off the wall, he touched her cheek, and then growled. “What happened?” He moved in closer before she could answer, wedging her tightly between his large body and the wall. “The truth, gypsy.”

Deciding she’d worry later about how he knew she was about to lie to him, she let her head fall back against the wall as her gaze locked with his. “Your mother was angry at me.”

He didn’t move, or even so much as blink for several long moments, but just stared with a frown marring that gruff, permanently pissed-off face. “Why?”

She wanted to tell him he couldn’t demand answers from her. Or look at her with that hunger blazing in his eyes. She should be reminding him she’d broken things off, and standing this close to her was a bad idea. But his surfer-blond hair was a mess, as if he’d dragged restless fingers through it a hundred times, and despite herself, that mental image softened everything inside her she was trying so desperately to harden against him.

“Shay.”

Blowing out a breath, she ducked under his arm and grabbed his hand, pulling him with her as she started down the hallway. After a few minutes, she found an unoccupied room and led him in to it.

In an effort to prologue the inevitable, her eyes lit on the bed, the chair, even the television secured on the wall, anything but him. His gaze never left her face as he shut the door behind them and leaned back against it, his arms crossed over his mountain-sized chest.

And she realized, he would have no problem waiting her out, even if it took her an hour to finally say the words.

“I have dreams sometimes.” Because that sounded so stupid—everyone dreamed—she made a face at herself and tried again. “I have visions that come in the form of dreams sometimes. And last night, I had one about you.”

He waited a beat. “I’m listening.”

God, why was he looking at her that way? For the first time in her life, she wished someone would look at her with distrust and accusation, rather than trust. It would hurt less. Make her want less. Remind her that she was a freak who didn’t deserve what he was offering her, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

“It started off good. Like, really good.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “We were having sex?”

“Amazing sex,” she clarified. “Your hair was a little longer, and you had a new, tiny scar on your cheekbone. So it was at least a few months from now. And then…”

As she drew in a breath, he flipped the lock on the door and closed the distance between them. “And then…?”

She decided it was time to go all-in. If he couldn’t handle her, he could be the one to walk away. “The dream-vision shifted. We were in the woods, and I was breaking your heart.”

He frowned.

She nodded, surprised she could talk around the lump of dread and pain in her throat. “I couldn’t stop. You were begging me, telling me you needed me, and I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

“Okay.” His voice was soft, gentle, as if soothing a wounded animal. “What happened then?”

“I killed you. I ripped your heart out of your chest and left you lying on the forest floor.”

Silence.

She chewed on her lip. “Did you hear me? I killed you.”

He cleared his throat, his face expressionless. “You ripped my heart out of my chest.”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Okay.” He took a step closer to her. Then another. “And I just stood there and let you?”

Slapping a hand on his chest to halt his forward momentum had about the same effect as telling a charging bull to slow down. “You’re laughing at me.”

He shook his head.

“No.” Plucking her hand off his chest, he kissed her palm, then hooked his free arm under her butt and lifted her, depositing her on the bed in one smooth motion. “I’m not laughing, Shay. I’m really far from being fucking amused.”

“Oh.” She leaned back as he braced his hands on either side of her hips. “Then why aren’t you yelling at me? Or calling me names or, I don’t know, doing something?”

He slid his fingers down the outside of her thighs, before gripping her knees and pulling her legs apart so he could step in between them. And whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t him wrapping his arms around her and pressing their brows together, his intense eyes boring in to hers.

“Because we both know I wouldn’t stand there and let anyone, even you, kill me. Which means the dream-vision had to be a metaphor for something, and whatever it is, it’s eating you up. I don’t like it.”

Feeling like she was drowning in him and quickly losing her way up, she scooted in closer and hooked her heels behind his thighs. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I think it means being with me will kill you.”

“That makes more sense,” he murmured. Strong, callused fingers worked at the tension in her neck.  “Any idea why?”

Her defenses gone, she tilted her head back to search his face. “My family. I don’t know how it’s connected to them, I just know it is.”

Chapter 14

“ALL RIGHT.” HE pressed his lips to her brow. “So, we figure out what your family’s up to.”

A faint, adorable frown line appeared between her temper-filled eyes.

“I just told you they’re going to kill you—as in, it will happen,” she snapped, “and your response is to figure out what they’re doing?”

“Yes.” Christ, she was so fucking pretty. He wasn’t sure what the hell kind of magic she was using to draw him in so completely, so goddamn quickly, but he’d be damned if he could find a way to protect himself against it. “One, because I’m starting to suspect they had something to do with my mother’s disappearance and two, because I’m not afraid of them. And I’m sure as shit not going to hide and stay under the radar.”

She searched his face for a long moment, before she bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

“Okay. I get it.” She poked him in the chest. “You’re crazy.”

He lowered his head to look at where her finger drilled into his chest, but his gaze snagged on her breasts and like the animal he was, all rational thought fled. The lust for her that always lived right under the surface of his skin leapt to life, igniting into raw, unadulterated hunger. His fingers tightening on her hips, he dragged her closer and nudged her head back with his own, before trailing his mouth over the curve of her jaw.

“Maybe.” He nipped her chin, and then closed his mouth over hers and let himself feel her, just for a fucking moment, before hell crashed down around him again.

The deeper he took the kiss, the more essential her taste became. Until he craved it, hungered for it, was desperate for it. Spreading her thighs wider, he moved in, groaning into her mouth as she rocked against him, the soft heat of her fitting against him perfectly.

Her hands wrapped around his waist, and then slid under his shirt. The touch of her skin jolted him, and he tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging her head back so he could devour her. A soft moan escaped her and he ate it up, greedy for more. For everything.

He hooked his hand into the back collar of his shirt and yanked it off, and the way she licked her lips as she stared at him had a firestorm lighting up inside his bloodstream. His torso was covered in just as many scars as tattoos, but there was something close to worship in her eyes as she leaned forward and traced her tongue, followed by her fingers, over the taut muscles of his chest.

She slid off the bed and onto her knees, and then pulled down the zipper on his jeans. Her hands slid over his hips before sliding into the backside of his pants, her nails scratching over him gently before she tugged the denim down to his ankles.

He was still attempting to wrap his suddenly oxygen-starved brain around what she was going to do when she dragged her tongue up the full, thick length of him. But it was nothing compared to the look in her whiskey gypsy eyes as she wrapped her hand around his root and sucked him down.

She hummed—Christ Jesus—when he stumbled forward, one hand slapping on the bed to hold himself up while the other gripped the back of her head. He was sure this much pleasure should be fucking illegal.

“Shay.” His voice was shot, his throat aching with the need to shout, even as he pleaded to whatever god was listening to never let this end. “Baby, I can’t—” His eyes slammed shut, his whole body shuddering as she swallowed him again, her hand working in perfect time with her perfect, angel mouth. “Sweet Jesus.”

In some part of his head, Tyler knew he should stop her. That he didn’t deserve this from her. But then she peeked up at him again, and the sheer pleasure in her eyes destroyed him. He wouldn’t have been able to stop her if a zombie horde broke through the door.

His hand on the bed clenched, his stomach muscles tightening as he fought against the orgasm. It was his job to make sure she was pleasured first, but his willpower had ceased to exist the second she wrapped her lips around him.

As if sensing he was holding back, her hands slipped around to grip his ass, pulling him closer as she used a siren’s mix of suction and tongue to shoot him right over the fucking edge. Before he could pull back, she took him all, and made his fucking life.

Shit, he was screwed.

With no idea where he found the strength, he managed to crouch down and scoop her up, spreading her out on the bed and pushing her skirt up. He skimmed his teeth down the inside of her thigh, his fingers gripping her panties and dragging them down. And then his tongue licked at her, greedy.  Her back arched, her fingers spearing into his hair.

Jesus, he loved the way she responded to him.

Closing his mouth over her he feasted, his hands gripping her hips to hold her still until she had no choice but to accept the pleasure he needed to give her. His lips and tongue drove her up, and then over, that same peak that had shattered him, and before the scream had died out of her throat, he hooked her legs around his waist and drove inside her.

Her body bowed, trembled, a breathless sob escaping her before she fisted his hair and dragged him down, kissing him as he pulled out and rammed himself home again.

He knew he should be taking his fucking time with her, worshipping her, but he’d lost his mind to anything but this need to make her accept him, when he didn’t even know who the fuck he was. But she held on to him like she was afraid he would vanish and met him stroke for goddamn stroke.

And when she threw her head back and screamed her release, he had no choice but to bury his face in her throat and join her in oblivion.

* * *

STARS WHIRLING BEHING her eyes, Shay concentrated on sucking in huge, greedy gulps of air. It was funny, because at the moment, she wasn’t sure she’d ever breathe normally again.

The man should come with a warning label. She was damn certain he’d ruined other men for her for the rest of her life.

“I still think you’re crazy,” she murmured, her hands skimming through his hair. His breathing was choppy against her throat, and she could feel the jackhammer of his heart against her breast. “Hot, but crazy.”

He lowered his head to her cleavage and nodded.

“I know,” he said, “but trust me. Whatever they think they can do to me, I’ve faced down scarier.”

She wanted to believe him, but that vision was still too vibrant, replaying itself whenever she wasn’t paying attention.

The only way she could think of to get him to take her family serious as a threat was to open a vein.

“I’m scared of them, Ty.” She tugged his head until he lifted his sated gaze to hers. “Do you understand? They scare me.”

When he didn’t move, just studied her face, she braced herself for his amusement. For him to blow her off and prove his big, badass-ness. Instead, his giant hand brushed a damp strand of hair out of her face, and he leaned down to press his brow to hers.

“I’m not dismissing the threat, Shay,” he said quietly. “I’ve dealt with enough humans to know they can be way more fucked up than some demons. But they’re using you to get to me, and they’re going to pay for it.” He cupped her face and kissed her nose.

Pushing against his shoulder as he straightened, she sat up and slid off the bed. Once her clothes were smoothed back into place, she went on a hunt for her underwear. “Then we need to figure out a way for you to go in prepared.”

He stuffed himself back inside his jeans, and then reached for his shirt. “All right. What would they have against me?”

“Me.” Wincing at the ache in the arm she’d forgotten his mother had slashed open, she absently wrapped her free hand around it. “This conversation might require alcohol.”

His gaze snagged on her arm, temper flashing in his eyes. “You still haven’t explained that.”

She followed him as he led her out of the room, and toward the main hospital entrance.

“When a spirit stays on this plain too long, they start to become angry.” At his look, she wrinkled her nose, and then lifted a brow at the three nurses who’d stopped walking to stare at him. “Okay, I know you know that, but your mother is at that stage. She attacked me for not telling you about the vision right when it happened.”

He scowled when he nearly walked straight into one of the nurses, who was too busy gawking at him to realize she was being rude.

Stepping around her, he shook his head, and then turned that dark look on Shay. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

He wrapped his hand around hers, linking their fingers as they headed toward the parking lot. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the sweet gesture. “Because I was trying to protect you, damn it.”

“Shay—“

Frustrated, she stopped walking and tugged on his hand so he’d realize she wasn’t moving any longer. “I know, Ty. I do. You’re the big, scary demon hunter who can eat people like my family for breakfast.” Glaring at his amused look, she sighed and moved so they were toe to toe, before grasping his shoulders and raising herself up until she was as close to his face as she was going to get. “But I didn’t just see you die. I felt the way you cared about me while we were having sex. I felt like my heart was going to explode with how much I felt for you. And then we were in the forest. You were begging me. The scariest man I’ve ever met was begging me not to do this, and you were breaking my heart. I was sure I was dying, it hurt so much to be the one to hurt you. Then, before I could figure it out, before I could find the words to promise that whatever it was that I was doing, whatever it was you didn’t want me to do, I’d stop. I’d have done anything to erase that pain in your eyes. But I couldn’t, and you died begging me.”

His arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest as tears she hadn’t been aware of soaked his shirt.

“Hey.” His voice was too low, like he’d swallowed gravel when she hadn’t been looking. “I’m right here, honey.”

Swiping her finger tips over her cheeks, she nodded, and then stepped back so she could see his face again. “I wasn’t thinking logically, Ty. I reacted. You were in my room and I just wanted you safe, and I knew exactly how to protect you.”

She braced for the fight over her protecting him.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, before tilting her chin up to kiss her mouth. “Thank you for protecting me, gypsy.”

She couldn’t do anything but gape at him. She had to have heard him wrong. Men didn’t thank women for protecting them. They got pissed and had to show some sign of their superior power that would make her puny efforts laughable.

But Tyler was hugging her, and he didn’t look pissed. He looked worried, and tired, but there was no hint of bruised ego anywhere in those striking sapphire eyes. And damned if she didn’t fall for him a little more.

“Shay.” Jackson’s voice fell over her like a shroud.

Cold shot through her veins. Tyler snarled and moved in front of her, his eyes scanning the empty parking lot. He had no way of knowing the living embodiment of her nightmares stood right behind her, murmuring in her ear.

“Go away, Jackson,” she whispered.

A ghost-like shadow stepped around her, his too-pretty face twisted in rage as he stuck it in hers.

“I don’t think so.” His hand became solid, digging into the flesh of her wound. “I came to collect what I was promised.”

Chapter 15

RAGE BLINDED TYLER. The presence of pure, undiluted evil crawled along his skin, but the parking lot was empty of human, tangible threats.

“Come on, fucker,” he snarled, leaning over to pull a knife out of his ankle holster, his eyes scanning the shadows. “Show yourself.”

“Tyler, behind—” Shay’s voice cut off on a strangled scream.

He spun around to see a grinning man flickering erratically behind her. She fought viciously, using teeth, feet, and free arm to get to any inch of him she could, but every blow went straight through him. The bastard laughed. Despite his inability to hold completely to a solid form, his grasp around Shay dug in until blood dotted her bandage.

“Let me go, Jackson!”

Tyler leapt forward, ready to slice this fucker’s throat, tangible or not. He hit an invisible barrier that sent violent shockwaves through his nervous system.

He staggered back, shook his head, and narrowed his gaze. “Oh, I’m going to kill you for this, fuckface.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. No need to be crude.” The voice was stronger than it should have been, considering the bastard probably sat in a room somewhere miles away from the hospital. Putting up a force field from that distance was either an effect costing him energy, or he was powerful as fuck.   “You’re not hearing me, darlin’. I want what I was promised.”

Shit. That couldn’t be good.

“You heard her, asshole.”  Keeping his stance casual, Tyler flipped the knife in his hand and judged the timing of the asshole’s appearances. He didn’t have much hope it would work, but his only option at the moment was to strike when he wasn’t visible and hope the force field would be weakened at the same time. “Let her go.”

“You.” Jackson solidified for a moment, hatred burning through his black eyes as he shifted his gaze to Tyler. “You, I’m going to kill slowly. Painfully.”

Rolling his eyes at the familiar, generic threat, he stepped to the side. He took a step closer, testing the boundary. When nothing sent him to his ass, he took another step forward.

“Have we met? Usually people only want to kill me that badly if we’ve met in person.” He flexed his free hand, grinning. “But I’m thinking you’re too chicken shit for that. Or you’d be here like a real man.” The color leached out of Shay’s face when Jackson’s hand visibly tightened on her arm, and Tyler let out a string of violent curses. He lifted his hands, palms out, the blade in his right hand pointed down. It was slightly less threatening, because no way was he dropping his weapon.

“All right, fine,” he snarled. “What the hell do you want?”

“I killed your mother, you know.” He grinned, before his look turned savage. “I held up my end of the bargain, and now I want my reward.” His appearance flickered once more, longer this time.

Long enough for Tyler to realize the jackfuck wasn’t much older than him. Mid-thirties, maybe. But there was something really wrong with this dude’s eyes. He flickered, and when he appeared again, he was closer to Shay than before. He hauled her back, away from Tyler. Almost absently, his free hand scooped the hair out of her face, before pressing her head against his chest.

“You see, I have plans. I’m dying, you know. And I don’t have a lot of time.” He lifted his gaze from Shay’s face to Tyler. “But I’m not here to hurt anyone. Just to tell pretty little Shay that I won’t be avoided forever.” He leaned down until his lips were closer to her ear. “You don’t have to come to me now, but darlin’, you will come to me. I’ve seen to it. By tomorrow night, you’ll be crawling to me on your knees, begging for me to take you in.”

She yanked on her arm, struggling like a she-devil. “Go to hell, Jackson.”

Jackson fisted her hair and yanked it back, then bent over and kissed her.

Tyler’s roar of temper rattled inside his head. He ran toward them, and when he didn’t hit that invisible barrier, he threw himself at Shay. He hit the ground on his back, Shay cradled to his chest. He was on his feet in the next instant, hauling her up and pushing her behind him.

He braced for a strike, but the fucking bastard was already gone.

* * *

TYLER DIDN’T SEEM in a hurry to let Shay go.

“What the fuck was that?”  Tyler kept one hand wrapped around Shay’s wrist as he turned them in a full circle, a vicious growling sound rumbling through him.

Every line of his rugged face looked homicidal, and there was a glint in his eyes Shay had never seen before. In anyone.

Considering how bad her insides were quaking, he should have scared her. Before she could put her finger on why he didn’t, she found herself off her feet and crushed against a chest as wide as a mountain. Despite his obvious rage, and his inherent roughness, he was gentle as he curled her into him and carried her to her car.

His lips brushed against the top of her head before he opened the passenger door. Their eyes met as he put her in the seat, and her arms wound around him as tight as she could hold on.

He pressed their brows together and drew in a ragged breath. “Fuck, Shay. Tell me that bastard didn’t hurt you, and you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.” Her hands fisted in his hair. She’d never been the hysterical female type, but everything about Jackson chilled her to the bone. “The timing can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“No. We’re talking about your family and you have a run in with my mother, then this idiot shows up.” Growling, he kissed her brow before crouching to set her in the seat. His already pissed-off expression turned near psychotic when his gaze landed on her arm. “You’re not okay.”

It was his voice that broke her. That this big, homicidal-looking badass could suffer so much from her being hurt.

She scooted forward, then fisted her hand in his shirt to pull him closer and this time, she rested her forehead against his. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

He closed his eyes on a harsh laugh. “Really? Monty Python jokes?”

“Yes.” She nodded against his head. “It made you laugh, didn’t it?”

He kissed the top of her nose.

“Come on, I need to get you out of here.” He grasped her knees and turned her so he could close the door, before he jogged around the MINI. When he was behind the wheel and they were headed away from the hospital, he glanced over at her. “Who the hell is this Jackson fucker? What is he?”

A yawning pit opened in her stomach. Now was the part he ran screaming from town. “The men in my family are very old fashioned. Traditional. My marriage has been arranged since I was a child.”

His jaw ticked once. Twice. “You’re engaged?”

“No.” At his bland, half-pissed off, half-confused look, she raised her hands, palms up, her dozens of metal bracelets jangling. “At least I’m not. Jackson is.”

“You’re telling me this asshole thinks he’s your fiancé?”

Aware of just how messed up her life was, she nodded slowly. “I’m not marrying him, Tyler.”

“No shit.” He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. This situation just keeps getting more screwed up.”

She snorted. “You’ve lived with it for a day.” At his narrowed gaze, she could have kicked herself for saying those words out loud.

She wasn’t—and would never be—the ‘pity me’ girl.  Considering how pissed off Tyler already was, she didn’t need to throw more gasoline on the temper he was barely keeping banked as it was. “But something he said, Ty—he mentioned your mother. He would have only been about ten years old when your mother went missing.”

Turning into her small driveway, Tyler didn’t say anything until he parked the car and went around to help her out.

“Yeah, I heard that, too. So either he started whatever fucked up thing he’s into very young, or we’re playing with dark magic.” He waited while she opened the front door to her house, before leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “I need to make some phone calls. Give me a few, okay?”

Turning so she faced him fully, she went on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She meant it to be just a hug to show him how grateful she was that he was here, but then his arms banded around her, so tightly she nearly lost her breath. Closing her eyes, she pressed herself into him, her face buried in his shoulder, as every inch of her tried to absorb his strength.

Then he trembled against her—just one, hard shake of that massive warrior’s body, and she felt it. She actually felt the moment her heart left her own body and transferred to his.

Wrapping his hand around her hair, he gently tugged her head back and rubbed his lips over hers. “Do me a favor, and just stop scaring me, all right?”

He was scowling as he kissed her again. Untangling her arms from his neck, he gently nudged her into the house, before shutting the door between them.

Good gods, what was he doing to her?

Slumping against the door, she let her eyes close as she tried to pinpoint the exact moment her chaotic world had splintered, and the only answer she could come up with was the second Tyler Wade had walked back into Willow Creek.

He didn’t make sense. She knew that was exactly why she couldn’t get her bearings around him. Why she constantly found herself giving him more of her than she’d ever given anyone. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he’d reveal another chink in his armor. The badass who liked to snuggle. The warrior who looked gutted every time she was hurt.

The one, brief second of absolute confusion on his face whenever he showed her even the slightest weakness.

She sighed, forcing herself to straighten and go get ready for work. She was only twenty-four hours into knowing him, and he’d knocked down ever wall she’d spent her life so carefully trying to erect.

After stripping and considering burning the clothes she’d just been wearing, she grabbed her cell phone out of her purse. She flopped back on her bed and called Hayden.

“Hi, it’s Hayden. I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll probably call you back. Unless it’s Deacon Stone. In that case, don’t bother, buddy. You’re not forgiven yet.”

Despite herself, Shay closed her eyes and grinned at her friend’s soft, purely feminine voice.

The voicemail beeped.

“Hay, it’s me. I’m kind of losing it over here, and I was thinking we could do a Practical Magic/midnight margaritas thing tonight. Call me.”

Setting her phone aside, she yawned and covered her eyes with one arm, exhaustion suddenly dragging at her.

The mattress dipped a second before lips skimmed over her jaw, making her shiver. Suddenly exhausted, she lifted her hand to trail it up his powerful back, before slipping her fingers into his long hair—that wasn’t there.

Her eyes flew open. A twisted, monstrous beast crawled on top of her before he slapped his blackened, gnarled hand over her mouth, blocking her scream.  She bucked against it, her fists pounding uselessly against his leather-like skin. He was huge, with sharp, pointed teeth dripping with something too pink to be saliva, and broken horns sprouting out of his ugly, demon-like head.

His grip was cruel as he fisted her hair and yanked her head back until she stared up into eyes that were a sickening shade of yellow. He grinned.

“You are sweet. I will enjoy defiling you. But you, I think, will not enjoy it so much.” Leaning down, he dragged his misshapen nose along her throat. Then he licked her, and she shuddered, hoping the bile that wanted to rise in her throat stayed down. With her luck, he’d let her choke on it.

Using the only defense she had, and hoping he had a groin for her to aim at, she raised her knee and slammed it home.

He jerked backward, howling in outrage. She shoved her way from beneath him and flew out of the room. By the time she made it to the hallway, Tyler was there. He pushed her into the bathroom across the hall and shut her in. He murmured something before locks that didn’t exist on the door clicked into place.

Chapter 16

AS TYLER SQUARED off with the demon, all he could think was a-fucking-gain. He’d fought demons like this so many times, he could no longer remember all of them. Hell, it didn’t even surprise him.

What it did do was piss him off. That something so evil had gotten near Shay, let alone touched her, sent spikes of rage right through his skull. The bastard was as big as he was ugly, a mess of charred skin, piss-yellow eyes, and wart-like bumps. A more fucked-up version of the demon he’d killed in the bar the night before. The spelled metal chain around it’s thick, bulging neck confirmed Tyler’s deepest suspicion—not only had someone sent it, but whoever it was, held its leash.

The demon’s odd, lip-less mouth stretched wide in a snarl, showing off gnarly, poison-tipped teeth. It dropped its shoulders and charged, closing the distance before Tyler could move out of the way. The impact of that horned head sent him flying backward. He crashed through the drywall of Shay’s bedroom and straight into the hallway.

Before the horn could skewer him, he scrambled out of the way and flung himself on its back. Hooking his arm around a horn, he yanked on the head. The demon staggered back, slamming Tyler against the wall so hard stars burst behind his eyes. When Tyler held on anyway, it shook its head violently, roaring as it tried again to dislodge him.

Shifting his grip on his specially made knife, he jammed the holy water-blessed blade into the creature’s throat, slicing upward. Black, oily blood spurted out. Instead of falling over, the demon reached behind him, one meaty hand grabbing Tyler by the head and tossing him across the hall.

Cursing as he hit the bathroom door, he shouted at Shay to call Deacon.  Throwing his other knife, he hit the beast dead between the eyes. It lurched crookedly, those ugly eyes rolling back in its gnarly head as it gripped the blade’s hilt, trying to yank it free. It swept out blindly with his other arm.

When it finally managed to pull the knife out, it lumbered forward. Grabbing Tyler by the throat and lifting him clear off his feet.

The second they were at eye level, Tyler gave in to the urge and head-butted the freak. “Et daemonium exisse.”

Tyler hit the floor as the freak crumpled like a house of cards. Moving quickly since the Latin had only been enough to stun it, he hunted through the living room until he found the duffel bag he’d left earlier. Without wasting time, he grabbed the holy water, and was halfway through the exorcism when the front door burst open.

Deacon took one step inside and then drew up short. His gazed fixed onto the twisted creature on the floor. “Holy mother of God.”

Tyler would have snorted if he wasn’t so goddamn pissed off.

When he was finished, he jerked his chin at Deacon. “Find the broom and dust pan. We’ll need them in a minute.”

Despite the stunned—and vaguely sick—look on Deacon’s face, he nodded and walked out of the hallway. Tyler crouched down next to the demon and, ignoring the body aches that were starting to set in, reached for the collar around the creature’s neck.

He yanked on the chain until it snapped off. The spell that kept the demon leashed only lasted until it was dead and its soul sent back to hell.

Reaching into his duffel for the last few items he needed, including the small cherry wood bowl. He tossed the chain into it, then added the other ingredients needed for the basic detection spell that would tell him who’d leashed it.

It only took a moment before he had his answer—Jackson Fairweather. Son of a bitch, who was this fucker?

By the time Deacon came back into the hallway, Tyler was so pissed off he was ready to annihilate something.

Deacon exhaled slowly. “You look like shit, my friend.”

Tyler sat against the wall, barely sparing him a glance.

“Next time, you can kill the hellspawn and I’ll crack jokes.” Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed the broom and started sweeping up the ashes the demon had left behind after disintegrating. “You got here quick.”

“Apparently not soon enough.” Without a word, Deacon crouched and held the dust pan so Tyler could scoop up the ashes. “Where’s Shay?”

Tyler ground his back teeth together so hard, he heard a molar crack. “Bathroom.”

Deacon shot him a weird look as he straightened. “Is it safe to let her out?”

Taking the dust pan from him, Tyler shook his head.

“Give me five minutes, first.” He didn’t make it a step before Deacon grabbed his arm, halting him. Too pissed off to be friendly, he snarled. “What, asshole?”

Deacon wasn’t intimidated. “Where are you going?”

A smart ass reply was on the tip of Tyler’s tongue, but between the fatigue battling against the left over adrenaline coursing through his system, he didn’t have it in him to go another round with anyone at the moment.

“To ward the place.” He held out one of his knives, handle first. “Take this. It won’t kill a higher-level demon, but it sure as hell will fuck it up long enough for me to get back here.”

Deacon grabbed the knife, slipped it beneath his leather jacket at his lower back, and let him go.

Tyler headed toward the back door. “Hey, Ty?” Deacon said quietly.

Tyler halted, shoulders slumping. “What?”

“Hayden.” Deacon cleared his throat. When he spoke again, there was just enough pissed-off worry in his voice to strike a sympathy chord in Tyler. “Is she safe here, on the property?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Tyler met Deacon’s gaze head on.

“I’ll ward hers while I’m at it.” Sighing, he pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m not a witch, Deke. I can’t guarantee whoever is behind all this shit isn’t stronger than any spells I know, but she’ll be as safe as I can make her. I promise.”

Deacon shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thanks.”

Tyler nodded and despite the war raging inside his system, he had to smile at the pure misery on Deacon’s face. Whether Deke wanted to admit it or not, the asshole was fucking gone over his woman.

At least he wasn’t in the goddamn boat alone.

* * *

IT TOOK TYLER longer than he’d expected. With Hayden and Ivy staying on the property along with Shay, it meant too many vulnerable spots if he only protected the houses. It left the spaces between the driveway and all doors wide open to attack, and that just made him uncomfortable as shit.

For the first time since he’d gone to live with his sadistic uncle after his mother’s disappearance, Tyler didn’t hate the man for all the years of training he’d shoved down his throat. Whatever the hell was happening in Willow Creek, it revolved around Shay, and if Tyler hadn’t been here or known how to protect her, she’d be dead by now.

Not that he wouldn’t still put a bullet through his uncle’s brain if given a chance. He may have given Tyler the knowledge to protect Shay, but it didn’t erase years of torture.

He took his time walking the property line, not just to double and triple check his warding would hold, but because he knew he’d scare the hell out of Shay if she saw him right now. In just over twenty-four hours since he’d come back into town, she’d been attacked four times.

Four.

Fuck. He should have let Malia stay. While Tyler was good with his fists and knives, Malia was the part of their team that saw patterns and knew how to find a specific needle in a stack of needles.

Deciding he didn’t have a choice, he dug his cell phone out of his back pocket and called her. When her everyday cell went straight to voicemail, he tried the back-up burner phone she always kept on her, and when she didn’t answer that, either, he leaned against the side of the house and called Leith.

He answered on the third ring. “What.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, not in the mood to deal with his partner’s mostly non-verbal form of communication. “Mal’s not answering her phone. Is she near you?”

There was the sound of a door slamming in the background. “Why the hell would she be with me?”

Anxiety wrapped its fist around his gut. “Leith, I’m not fucking around right now, and I’m not in the mood to decipher whatever weird relationship you two have going on. I just need to talk to her.”

“She was with you yesterday, asshole.” Leith waited a beat, then two, before he snarled in Tyler’s ear. “You fucking lost her?”

Shoving his free hand through his hair, Tyler turned in a small circle, half expecting to see Malia waiting in the distance, laughing at him. She always did shit like that—disappear for a day or two with a new guy she met, especially when the metaphorical ghosts of her past refused to stay dead. But she always kept one of her phones on. “She was on her way to you yesterday evening.”

“Where are you?”

Tyler didn’t question it. He didn’t believe in coincidences, and his gut told him something was way fucking wrong with this situation.

“Willow Creek, Michigan.” He hesitated, then sighed. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Fuck you.” The line disconnected.

Comfortable with the temper in his blood, if not the raw fear that was grinding through him, he turned the corner toward the front of the house, the urge to see Shay with his own eyes outweighing everything else at the moment.

Malia had grown up with him and Leith. He had to believe wherever she was, she could handle herself until they found her.

* * *

WHILE DEACON PROWLED the front porch behind her, his whole body braced against whatever attack came at her next, Shay sat on the top porch step, glaring out at nothing and thinking of ways to murder Tyler.

He’d left her. He’d fought a freaking demon in her house, then instead of letting her see him with her own eyes to assure herself he was all right, he handed her over to Deacon and escaped.

For the first time in her life, Shay wished she was bigger. Not just taller, but bigger, big enough he’d have to pay attention when she yelled at him or fought with him. Big enough he’d have to take her seriously.

So maybe she knew why he was out warding her property. She’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d thrown her into the bathroom, and it should have scared her. It had bypassed homicidal and gone straight into psychotic territory.

She’d been attacked four times in the last few hours, and he hadn’t been able to stop any of them. The second before he’d shut the door on her, he’d looked crazy enough to tear the entire town of Willow Creek apart with his hands, decimating everything in sight that could be even a potential threat. To her.

She got it. Something had built between them over the last day, and the emotions it caused didn’t show any signs of slowing down. Just the thought of him being in danger had rage and terror grinding viciously in her gut.

Damn it, she was angry, too. She’d never hidden from a fight in her life, but nearly every fiber of her being wanted to run the hell away from this place, to get far enough away whatever was hunting her would never be able to find her.

Then Tyler walked around the corner of her house, and a fist wrapped so painfully around her heart twisted so hard, she nearly cried out. He came to an abrupt stop, his brilliant blue eyes blazing at her with a mixture of emotion she thought would probably take her the rest of her life to untangle.

She didn’t even realize she’d moved until she was across the yard and in his arms, holding on for dear life.

He growled as he scooped her up and carried her back to the porch, one of his hands digging into her ass and the other one wrapped around the back of her neck, as if making sure her whole body was in contact with his. She wasn’t going to complain.

He jerked his head toward Deacon, and then just sat on the porch with her in his lap, the crazy still in his eyes as he searched her face. “Are you hurt? Did it bite you anywhere? Scratch you?”

Shay shook her head, her body giving one uncontrollable shudder at the memory if its mouth on her skin.

“I’m fine, Ty.” When he narrowed his gaze at her, she frowned back at him. “What?”

“You are not fine.”

She snorted. “Of course not. My life has completely blown up in the last day. I’ve met this kinda sweet, stupid-hot demon hunter whose dead mother has decided to kill me, Jackson has gone farther off the deep end than should be humanly possible and oh, yeah. Two demons have tried to kill me.”

Deacon cleared his throat behind them, but Tyler ignored him and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. A cocky smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “I’ll give you stupid-hot, whatever that means, but I object to ever being called ‘sweet’.”

“Yeah.” Deacon sat down next to them. “I second that one.”

Shay chuckled quietly and wrapped her arms around Tyler’s neck, burying her face in his hair. “You’re a snuggler. That’s sweet.”

He didn’t say anything for several long moments, and then he sighed and pulled her in closer. “Only with you, gypsy.”

He’d said it so softly, she was almost convinced it was just wishful thinking on her part, but then she felt the erratic pounding of his heart. No matter what, she might just have to find a way to keep him.

Chapter 17

TYLER WATCHED SHAY head into the house, and while it set his teeth on edge to let her out of his sight, he wanted to talk to Deacon alone. This shit needed to end.

“All right.” He turned to Deacon. “Who the hell is this Jackson Fairweather asshole?”

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans, Deacon leaned back against the railing. “I don’t know. And before you ask, I ran a search on him like you asked.” At Tyler’s unasked question, he shrugged. “There’s nothing on him, Ty. As much as I hate saying it, the man’s a fucking ghost. He doesn’t exist.”

Tyler got to his feet, too restless to sit, and started to prowl the space in front of the house. “You’re the chief. You’re telling me you’ve never seen this guy?”

“Of course I have.” He sighed. “Everyone in town knows of him. The problem is no one knows who he is or where he’s from.”

“I don’t need to know where the hell he’s from. I just need to know where to find him.”

Deacon turned to watch him, bracing his arms against the top edge of the porch railing. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, Tyler, okay? You cannot go after him. There is no evidence. You have nothing to prove he’s a threat to anyone, even Shay. Hell, I may be new to this mumbo-jumbo shit, but even I’m pretty sure someone could be using magic to set him up.”

Grinding his teeth, Tyler stopped pacing and looked down for a moment. “You’re thinking like a cop, Deke. So maybe it’s time for you to leave.”

He’d done a lot of fucked up shit in his life, but dragging a good cop into what he was planning wasn’t going to be one of them.

When he looked up, it was straight into calm intellect and trust.

“Fuck you,” Deacon said. “I’m not going anywhere. This is my town. Shay’s a friend, and she’s important to this town.”

Stunned, all Tyler could do was snort. “You’re just worried Hayden will cut your balls off if you let anything happen to Shay.”

“Damn fucking straight,” Deacon said without hesitating. “Doesn’t change anything. So what’s the plan?”

Tyler rubbed at the migraine building in his left temple. Common decency told him he needed to shut Deke out, then handle this all on his own, but, logic said he not only could use the extra muscle, but his police connections, too.

With a frustrated growl, Tyler started at the beginning and told Deacon everything that had happened that day, from his mother’s attack on Shay, to the apparition in the parking lot, and ended with the demon slipping past his defenses to attack her in her own bedroom.

By the time Tyler was finished talking, Deacon looked just as ready to kill something as Tyler felt. Without a word to him, Deke turned and stalked across the porch to the front door, opened it, and then bellowed for Shay.

When she came running, Tyler could have knocked Deacon’s head off his shoulders for putting fear into her eyes.

Deacon lifted her off her feet in a giant bear hug. Tyler caught something in her eyes he couldn’t quite identify, before her perplexed gaze met his.

Deacon shook his head at Tyler, though he wasn’t sure why, as she hugged him back.

She kissed his cheek. “I’m okay, Deke. I promise.”

Deacon hugged her a moment longer, and then kissed the top of her head. He set her back on her feet with surprising gentleness.

As soon as her feet were back on solid ground, she squeezed Deacon’s hand and then turned to Tyler. Her smile didn’t come close to her eyes, and this time, he identified the shadows he’d seen in her when she came out—stark terror.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Ty?” Shay asked.

Deacon glanced between the two, and then shrugged. “I need to go make a few phone calls. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

Without another word, he jogged down the steps and headed toward his police SUV.

Shay didn’t say anything until Tyler was directly in front of her, and Deacon was out of ear shot. Then the worry leached into her eyes. “The school just called me. Ivy never showed up to class after lunch.”

The familiar sense of dread started to rebuild in his gut. “She’s seventeen. Maybe she ditched.”

Shay shook her head. Reaching out, her fingers latched onto his “No. Not Ivy. She knows if she skipped a class Garret would be upset, and I’d ground her from seeing him. Those two haven’t gone a day without seeing each other in years.”

He cursed under his breath. First Malia had gone MIA, and now Ivy? His brain wanted to automatically jump to worst case scenarios, but that would only serve to upset Shay even more, so he kept that worry to himself for now.

“Hey.” For the first time that day, she looked close to panicking. She had to feel like her world was imploding, and he didn’t blame her one damn bit for wanting to cry. “We’ll find her, all right? Chances are, she’s with Garret making out somewhere and just lost track of time.”

“Ty— “

“I know, gypsy.” He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her in, tucking her up against him until every inch of her soft, curvy body molded to his hard edges. “Nothing is going to happen to that girl. I promise, Shay. I’m not going to let you lose someone you love.”

Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he breathed her in. But instead of calming him this time, her scent triggered every one of his over-protective instincts. She was hurting, and the only thing he knew was he needed to fucking fix it.

* * *

SHAY COULDN’T SIT still. School had ended hours ago, and there was still no sign of Ivy.

After Shay had called him, hoping Ivy was with him, Garret had nearly torn the town apart looking for her.  Now he sat on Shay’s couch, his face getting more drawn by the minute. As the clock rolled toward midnight, Deacon was nearly sitting on top of Garret to keep him from running out the door and tearing through every house in town until he found her.

She knew the feeling well. While Tyler and Deacon were doing everything they could to put the pieces of her disappearance together, they weren’t moving fast enough.

“We’ll find her, gypsy.”

Her whole body stilled at Tyler’s rough voice, more growl than anything. Realizing that she was standing in Ivy’s room, and unaware of how she’d even gotten there, she turned to look up at him. Exhaustion tightened the lines around his mouth, but it was the edge of wild hunter in his eyes that worried her. He was shirtless, barefoot, and two thick strands of hair had escaped the small knot he’d twisted it into hours before.

Despite the wild storm raging in her blood stream, and the fear that was desperately trying to eat her alive, she’d never been more grateful to see a face. “I need to go see Phoenix.”

He blinked at her once, twice. Then he just snorted and shoved his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “No. You’re not going anywhere.”

She frowned up at him, too emotionally wrung out to appreciate the view of his shirtless chest. But the heat and safety of it beckoned her, and she took a step toward it before she even realized she’d given herself permission to move. Once she was close, nothing could have stopped her from wrapping her arms around his waist and holding on.

“I need to see her, Ty. She has a spell recipe that induces visions and lets me control them, to a point.”

His jaw tightened as he set her back. “What’s the side effect?” His large, muscular arms crossed over his chest, and one brow went straight up toward his hairline. “If there wasn’t a dangerous side effect, you would have mentioned this hours ago.”

Not only did it require asking Phoenix for a favor that would torture Shay somehow, the spell wasn’t fool proof. Visions didn’t like to be tampered with, and there was a good chance that in the end, she’d be drugged and see nothing but weird dreams that wouldn’t help them at all.

Too tired to lie or downplay it, when this was their only option at the moment, she told him the truth. “What looks and feels like a vision could turn out to be nothing more than just a vivid dream, and we’ll end up chasing shadows.”

Grabbing her hand, he linked their fingers. Pulling her over to Ivy’s neatly made bed, he settled her next to him as he sat. “Have you used this spell before?”

His dark blue eyes blazed into hers, daring her to lie to him. She shook her head.

“No. I don’t ask Phoenix for favors, and I’ve never had reason to try to force a vision.” Shifting on the bed until she was facing him, she searched his face. “I have to do this, Ty. I have to try. She’s Ivy.”

A low growling sound rumbled in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her again. “Deacon and I have some leads, but not enough to narrow anything down yet. And as much as my gut tells me not to let you do this— “

She managed a small snort. “I wasn’t exactly asking.”

He continued without pausing. “It might help us figure out where this fucker is.”

Loud pounding started at the front door. Shay was up and moving before Tyler could stop her, but a second before she got to the door, Deacon caught her off her feet.

“Let Tyler answer it,” he murmured.

She very nearly kicked him, just for the hell of it. This was her house, damn it.

Tyler cracked the door, and a voice she’d never heard before snapped out.

“You asshole.” A sledgehammer-sized fist shot through the narrow entrance and slammed into Tyler’s jaw. “I’ll kill you.”

“Ah, fuck.” Deacon set her on her feet and pushed her toward Garret before stalking to the door and throwing it open. Without a word, he grabbed the man by the throat and hauled him in, throwing him up against the wall next to the door. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Let him go, Deke.” Rubbing his jaw, Tyler shut the door and laid his other hand on Deacon’s shoulder. “This is my partner, Leith. Leith, this Deke, the police chief.”

Shay could only gape. While Tyler was tall and built like a Spartan, Deacon had him beat through the shoulders. Still, neither of them came near the sheer size of Leith. With the sleeves of his gray plaid flannel rolled up, she could just see the tattoos covering his forearms and hands. His dark hair hung to his shoulders she was surprised fit through her doorway, but it was the light blue eyes as much as it was the pale scar on his face that at once mesmerized and made her wary. While the scar added a sense of mystery, it was the coldness in the eyes that sent shivers through her bloodstream.

When those eyes scanned her living room, locking on hers for the briefest instant, she was glad Tyler was close by. This dude screamed trouble.

As quickly as he’d focused on her, she was dismissed, and his gaze narrowed on Tyler. “Tell me you have a lead on Malia, before I give in to the urge and peel your face off your skull.”

Despite the bored look on Tyler’s face, Shay was certain Leith had the strength to do exactly what he’d threatened. Moving past Garret, she lifted Tyler’s arm and tucked herself under it before glaring at the newcomer.

“You can try,” she snapped, “but I come from a long line of black magic gypsies. I promise you’ll live the rest of your life as a cockroach if you even lift another finger toward him.” When everyone gaped down at her, she shrugged, not at all feeling bad about the bluff. She may not have the power to turn him into a roach, but she had more than enough ingredients in her possession to make his dick shrivel up and stop working. “Now, if we’re done, I was just telling Tyler I have a way we might be able to find Malia and Ivy.”

Tyler’s frown was black as he growled down at her. “I told you, you’re not doing it.”

She shrugged. “And I told you, we don’t have a choice.”

Not liking herself for what she was about to do, she took a deep breath and turned to face Deacon and Leith, filling them in on her plan to go to Phoenix. She prayed to the goddesses that Tyler would forgive her.

When she was done, Leith just stared at her with that calculating expression, while Deacon whistled under his breath. “That’s a hell of a risk, Shay.”

Snorting, Tyler let her go and started a slow prowl around the room. “It’s more than that. I can feel it. It’s wrong.”

“I don’t disagree,” she murmured, her gaze flickering between all four men in the room. With Ivy missing, she wasn’t about to leave Garret out of the planning, or who knew what the hell he’d do. “But it’s not that big of a risk. If it doesn’t work, we won’t have lost anything except time.”

Garret spoke up, his freckled face pale with stress. “What will Phoenix ask for the spell and ingredients?”

Damn it. She’d been hoping no one would ask that. Blowing out a breath, she struggled to keep her body from tightening and giving herself away. “A favor. Whatever it is, it will be worth paying if it finds Ivy and Malia.”

Leith surprised her by nodding. “I agree with her. Whatever the favor is, we can all pitch in and find a way to repay it. We need to at least try.”

“I agree, too,” Deacon said. At Tyler’s savage growl, Deacon shrugged, every line of his body heavy with exhaustion. “We’re coming up with nothing from computer searches, police files, and background checks. One of us can run to the courthouse to get property reports and shit like that, but we can’t do any of that until morning. This way, at least we’re doing something.”

While Shay knew this was the best option, she hated feeling like they were ganging up on Tyler. Without saying anything to any of them, she moved in front of Tyler, stopping him mid-prowl. His scowl was borderline savage, but she wrapped her arms around him anyway and just held on.

“Come with me,” she said softly. “I’ll feel better if you’re with me.”

His arms came around her with so much force she nearly couldn’t breathe. “Like you could stop me at the moment, gypsy.” Leaning down, he pressed his brow to hers, that madness swirling in his eyes closer to the surface than she’d ever seen it. He was fighting his own instincts, and it almost hurt to watch, because she knew it was because of her. His thumb brushed over her cheek, and he sighed. “You’re not allowed out of my sight until this fuckhead is dead. So until that happens, consider me glued to that sexy ass, Shay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter 18

AS SHAY STOOD on the stoop of Phoenix’s trailer for the second time that day, she unlinked her fingers from Tyler’s and concentrated on securing her mental walls. It was something she’d been doing all of her life, because with a family like hers, she couldn’t afford any kind of vulnerability. They were psychic predators, preying on weaknesses, and she’d learned very early on the only way to survive was to never let them inside her head.

While Phoenix wasn’t as savage in her quest for power as Raven, her grandmother wasn’t quite…normal. Underneath her harshness and secrets and flamboyancy, there were moments of genuine empathy and insight, causing Shay to wonder more than once what had caused her to become so hardened—or if she really had been born that way.

Tyler’s strong hands on her shoulders pulled her out of her thoughts. Her heart stuttered—then expanded—at the banked fury burning in his bright eyes. Beneath the temper was soul-screaming worry. For her.

Her eyes searched his, and suddenly, she knew. Despite the miles of differences between them, despite the hurdles and obstacles, and despite everything barreling down at them in that moment, she’d never been more sure of her own safety. Nothing was going to get passed him to harm her, ever again.

He growled low, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. “Tell me again why I’m letting you do this?”

Not even sure if he realized he’d hauled her so close her whole body bumped up against his, she tilted her head all the way back. Releasing her tension was easier than anything she’d ever done, because it was replaced with absolute, complete trust. “Because it’s our best hope to find them.”

“Not good enough.” Gruff frustration raked over his already graveled voice. “Not with you in danger.”

She went up on her toes as his head lowered, their brows pressed together. “I’m not in danger. It’s just a dream.”

A sigh escaped him, ruffling the hair that had escaped her headband. “Until Phoenix decides the price is your unborn baby.” A dark scowl had his brows pulling down. “That’s it. I’m reserving the right to pull the plug on this if her price is too high.”

“You know what?” Pulling back a little, she kissed his chin. “I really, really like you.”

He wrapped his hand around her hair and tugged her head back to brush his lips over hers, while his other fist reached over her shoulder to pound on the door. “Yeah, well, I like you, too. So please don’t make me regret this.”

As usual, Phoenix took her time getting to the door. Nothing and no one had ever been deemed important enough for Shay’s grandmother to rush. But despite it being after dinner, she answered the door looking as immaculate as always. Her pristine white dress fit perfectly against her tall, slender frame, while her raven-black curls waved seamlessly to her bottom. Tasteful makeup only enhanced her aging beauty, while striking violet eyes missed nothing.

Phoenix Evernight was nothing if not beautiful.

“Ah.” Lifting her manicured hand, Phoenix tapped blood-red tipped nails against the doorframe of her Airstream, disdain in her eyes as she skimmed her gaze over Shay. “I was wondering when you would get here. It took you long enough.”

It had been years since Shay had engaged Phoenix in an argument, but it never stopped her grandmother from trying to cut her off at the knees. It was always in the same vein—Shay wasn’t good enough. She certainly wasn’t good enough to possess the abilities Phoenix claimed to have.

“Good.” Shay forced a smile. “Then you know why we’re here.”

“Not really.” She sighed, her gaze shifting to Tyler. In an instant the disdain bled out of her eyes, replaced with calculating appraisal. She smiled and stepped back, allowing them to enter. “You must be the hunter I’ve heard about. Come in.”

Tyler didn’t say anything as she closed the metal door behind them, but his hand curved around Shay’s hip, fingers digging in as if determined to leave his mark on her. When Shay tilted her head back to look up at him, though, that rugged face remained cool and impassive, almost bored.

A smile curved her lips. It didn’t matter how much they tried to keep their emotion from her, Phoenix wouldn’t be satisfied until she broke them.

“So.” Crossing the small room, Phoenix settled herself on the couch, stretching her arm out and patting the seat behind her. “Why don’t you come sit by me, Mr. Wade, and tell me about yourself.”

Tyler didn’t move. “I’m good here. We need a spell.”

She waved that away with an elegant hand. “Tsk. Shay knows I don’t do business before bed.”

Shay managed to choke back the snort. She knew no such thing. As long as the price was right, Phoenix would sell her soul to the devil in a dream.

“Grandmother, we don’t have time for games.” She looked up at Tyler, her fingers brushing over his still digging in to her hip, before she moved over to sit on the other end of the couch. “I need a spell to induce visions.”

“Why?”

Shay canted her head. “Does it matter? Just tell me what you want for it, and I can be on my way.”

Phoenix tapped her nails against the back of the couch, studying Shay for a long moment. Finally, she uncurled herself from the couch and walked toward the curtained-off bedroom.

Shay didn’t relax by so much as a millimeter with her out of sight. She could feel the attack on her mental walls, and while she didn’t think Phoenix had that kind of power, whoever did was close by.  Which was pretty much all of her traditional family, none of whom she wanted in her head.

Despite the worry gnawing at her heart, she kept all thoughts of Ivy and Malia out of her mind’s eye and focused on nothing but Phoenix’s trailer. She could feel Tyler’s unwavering gaze on her face, and just that dark intensity felt like a lifeline she’d never experienced before. When this was all over, she was going to owe him everything.

She just hoped whatever price Phoenix was going to exact from her wouldn’t destroy them both.

* * *

AFTER THIRTY SECONDS of waiting, Tyler was ready to roar in frustration. After three minutes, he was ready to tear the goddamn trailer apart at the seams and find the fucking spell himself.

Now that he thought about it, that didn’t sound like a bad idea. He was already working on a way to get Shay and her bat-shit crazy grandmother out of there so he could search when the old woman finally stepped out of her bedroom.

His stomach almost revolted at the sight of her. She looked younger, prettier. He’d been around enough glamour spells in his life to recognize the magic when he saw it, and it pissed him all kinds of the fuck off that she was using it against Shay, because he had no doubt it was strictly for his benefit.

Like there was some kind of magnetic pull between them, his gaze went back to Shay for the tenth time that minute, and his frown deepened. She sat so still, her hands folded in her lap, that she could have been made out of stone if it wasn’t for the subtle rising and falling of her breasts. Her whiskey eyes gave away nothing. She so amazed him, pride nearly cracked his chest open.

Phoenix sent him a sly smile before settling on the couch again. Her artificially violet gaze immediate cooled when it landed on Shay. “The spell is exact. Do not try to shorten words or use contractions.”

The knuckles on Shay’s hands went white.

“I know how to cast a spell.” When Phoenix nodded and held out the small piece of yellowed parchment, Shay didn’t move to take it. “What’s your price?”

“I want a drop of your blood.”

Tyler jerked as if he’d been shot, the growl already forming in his chest, but Shay didn’t so much as flinch. “That’s it?”

Fuck, no. “Shay— “

She cut him off with a quick shake of her head, her focus never wavering from her grandmother. “I want your word that this spell is intact, and that it will give me the information I request from it.”

“Of course.”

Shay shook her head. “Not good enough. I want the words. And then, if the spell does what you say, we’ll do the magic reversal. Not before.”

“Shay.” He pushed his hand through his hair and stalked forward, grabbing her arm. “We need to talk.”

Phoenix ignored him. “You have my word.” With a thin smile, she held the parchment out. “You’re welcome to do the spell here.”

“No. Thank you.” Shay stood. “You’ll have my blood after I’ve done the ritual.”

“Agreed.”

And that was it. Without a goodbye or anything, Shay slipped passed him and out the door, grabbing his hand on her way to pull him with her.

Too stunned to speak, they were back in Shay’s driveway before he finally found his voice. “You are not giving that crazy-ass piece of work your blood, Shay.”

“Yes. I am.” She popped open her door and slid out of his truck, the spell clutched in her hand. “One drop is more than worth it if we find Malia and Ivy.”

“If,” he snapped as he climbed out and rounded the hood. “If we find them with it.”

Her free hand wrapped around his as Leith pulled open the front door, looking like an inked up, psychopathic version of the Jolly Green Giant. “Well?”

Shay nodded. “We’ve got it.”

“Great. The price?”

She shrugged, heading for her bedroom. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

When Leith lifted a brow at him, Tyler snarled. “Do me a favor. Get me a fucking list of all the spells a single drop of blood can be used for.”

For once, the big man didn’t argue. While Garret prowled the small space of the living room, Deacon sat on the couch, arms braced on his spread thighs as he tapped impatiently at his phone. Tyler followed Shay to her room and leaned against the door frame as he watched her.

She spread an altar cloth on the hardwood floor, before placing fat blue candles in methodical intervals around it. When she was done, she sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle, the spell on her lap. She took her time studying it, before nodding and glancing over at Tyler.

“You’re growling,” she murmured.

“Can’t help it.” Straightening, he crouched in front of her, outside the consecrated circle, and reached out to grab her chin. Everything inside of him was pounding viciously, as if in protest of what he was allowing her to do. “Remember that conversation where I said I really like you?”

Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, as whatever she saw in his eyes caused her breath to catch. She nodded slowly before going up on her knees and leaning toward him, just slightly.

“I remember,” she whispered.

Slipping his hand under her hair, he wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her brow to his. Even to his own ears his voice sounded raw, and he was closer to begging than he’d ever been in his life. “Good. Then remember it when you do this, that you’re going someplace I can’t follow, and I fucking hate it. I’ll be really goddamn pissed if something happens to you. So, protect yourself, damn it.”

He almost expected her to blow him off, to tell him he was worrying over nothing. Instead, she closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath, before throwing her arms around his neck and yanking him closer.

“Don’t leave the room, okay?” Her voice was thready, more shaken than he’d ever heard it. “In case this does go wrong, being able to feel you near me— “

He cut her off with a vicious snarl. “Not a question, gypsy. I’m not going any fucking place. You’re not doing this alone.”

Her eyes popped open, and he was staggered at the sheer relief he saw in them. She nodded, then tangled her hands in his hair and tugged gently so she could kiss him. It was soft, sweet, a melding of lips and tongue that belonged on her bed while he worshipped her. Then she moaned and leaned in closer. Raw starvation flooded his system until he ate at her mouth with a desperation that bordered on insanity, but his Shay met him every inch of the way, her tongue and lips matching his hunger as if the fire that burned through him lived inside her, as well.

When she finally pulled back, her gorgeous eyes were glazed and filled with need, and a sadness that scared the ever-loving shit out of him. “Whatever happens, don’t wake me up.”

Before he could demand she explain it, she sunk back to her heels and closed her eyes, shutting him out as she started chanting the spell.

Unable to do anything but sit and watch over her, he pulled her vanity chair closer to the circle. He had just settled into it when her body twitched and she collapsed onto the floor, as if the bones had suddenly melted out of her body.

Leaning forward, he shoved both hands through his hair and watched her, his eyes never leaving her sleeping form.

As his gypsy dreamed, Tyler started to plan.

Chapter 19

THE BABY WAS giggling again. Turning onto her side, Shay snuggled into the pillow and smiled, breathing in the fresh Michigan spring air drifting in from the bedroom’s open windows. She loved this time of day. Those few, stolen moments she could still feel Tyler’s warmth in the bed with her, his scent filling her head, and Noah’s sweet giggles coming from his room filling her heart to bursting.

It still amazed her how quickly dreams could change. Only months before, she’d sworn nothing would ever make her happier than waking up in Ty’s arms, his large, warrior’s body already desperate for hers. She’d open her eyes to find that dark, possessive gaze blazing into hers as he used that mouth and those hands and all of his hard edges to bring her the type of pleasure she’d never really believe existed. And every morning she’d woken up that way, she’d fallen in love with him a little bit more. Because she’d learned months before that her demon hunter took her pleasure—and more importantly, her orgasms—very seriously. Like his entire existence had narrowed into her body, and he was determined to keep her so sated and blissed out that she’d never regret choosing him.

Even now, the thought made her snort. As much as she’d loved him then, and gods knew she’d loved him like a mad woman, it was nothing to how she felt about him now.

Desperate to see him, to watch the way his face still softened every time she walked into a room, she untangled herself from the mounds of blankets and pillows on their bed and followed the sounds of giggles now mixed with that low, gruff, growly voice.

As always, the sight that greeted her staggered her. She had no choice but to lean against the doorjamb for support.

Noah was on his back on the floor, chubby arms and legs pumping away as happy baby drool covered his adorable chin. Every three seconds, he’d let out a squeal of laughter as his father, who was doing push-ups on the floor by him, came down and pretended to bite his nose.

Her gaze tracked over Tyler’s shirtless, sweat-glistened torso, and the name tattooed down the outside of his left rib cage. Her name. In big, dark bold lettering, so the whole world would know who he belonged to.

His body slowed, his head turning to look at her over his shoulder. He’d scraped his messy hair back off his scruffy face with one of her headbands, and while the look should have been ridiculous, the pure, heady male-ness of him was just a great, big package of freaking yum.

“Good morning, beautiful.” In one smooth, beautiful move, he rolled to his feet, scooping up Noah on his way. When the baby curled up against his shoulder as if he’d found his perfect comfy spot, Tyler pressed his lips to the soft, blonde curls, his eyes locked on Shay’s. “They were taken because of you. You know that, right?”

She heard it then. It was faint, just a bare sound in the distance. Screaming.

Her gut twisted with horror. “What? Who?”

“Our friends. Malia.” He kissed Noah’s head again and put him in the crib. “Ivy and Hayden. It’s your fault.”

She shook her head, stepping back from him. “I don’t understand.”

His laugh was humorless. “You rejected him. He had to do something.”

“No.” Her hand went to her stomach, her gaze darting around the room as the surroundings vanished. The baby vanished. In his place was a cage, the metal bars rusted and thick, the ceiling so low not even Shay’s short height would be able to stand upright. Ivy, Hayden, and another woman faced her, screaming. “I didn’t mean to.”

That heartless laugh escaped him again.

“Of course not.”  His hand cupped the side of her face. “But you chose selfishness over them. You chose me when Jackson warned you.” His warm blue eyes hardened to ice. “You chose your own happiness despite knowing it could lead to my death.”

Tears stung her eyes. “No, no, that’s not— “

“It is true.” His hands pushed her backward, into the hall behind her.

“I’ll prove it.” Dropping his head, he caged her body in with his hips, his hands braced on either side of her.

Without warning, his mouth took hers in a kiss so full of longing and lust, her brain switched off as raw need pounded through her. Struggling to retain control of her senses, her hands pushed at his shoulders, hurt and fear expanding her chest. But then his hips ground against her core, locking her in tight against him, and she moaned in his mouth.

“See?” He lifted his head, his fingers sliding down her sides to dig into her ass. “You’ll choose yourself over everyone else, every time.”

“No!” She pushed at his shoulders again, avoiding his eyes as she struggled to get away from him. “It’s not true! I went to Phoenix, I tried— “

This time, his laugh was bitter. “Tried. Failed. Because deep down, you know the truth. The only way to save them is sacrifice yourself, and you want me too much. But guess what?” Ignoring her struggles as if she was as insignificant as a gnat, he pushed his brow against hers. “You chose wrong. Why would I want someone selfish enough to risk everyone she supposedly loves?”

Oh, gods, it hurt. Swiping her fingers under her eyes, she used her limited space to slam her knee into his groin. Snarling in pain, he reached for her. She darted past him, toward the cage. Narrow windows sat high on cement walls, and a single light hung from the unfinished ceiling, it’s bulb barely illuminating the space.

“Help us, Shay, please!” Hayden screamed as all around the darkened, damp space, black-robed figures appeared in wisps of fog.

Ivy’s fingers reached out between the bars, curling around Shay’s arm. “There’s only one way to stop this. Please, please don’t let us die this way!”

Tears trickled down Shay’s face. “Ivy, I can’t. I don’t know how— “

“Enough talking.” A robed figure stepped forward as low, measured chanting overpowered the screams.

With a single snap of the figure’s fingers, an altar appeared where only moments before, Tyler had played with their son. Thick, wrought iron chains hung from each corner, and even in the darkness Shay could see the runes scratched into them.

Forcing her chin up in a show of defiance she didn’t feel, she tried to see past the hood. “What do you want from me?”

“Your blood, for starters.” He laughed as the color drained from her face. Reaching up, he pushed the hood back,

Jackson.

“Then your body and your soul,” he continued. “But mostly, your soul.”

Jackson wasn’t a surprise. The sheer hatred in his eyes startled her. No one had ever looked at her that way before.

“What do you want with my soul?”

Like the parking lot earlier, his body flickered, but instead of disappearing for that brief instant, his appearance aged. One flicker he was in his thirties, and the next he was barely more than skin and bones, just a stooped old man with wrinkles and sunken eyes. Then in the next blink, he was the Jackson she knew and hated again.

“Because staying this young isn’t free. The souls I took before weren’t strong enough. Not even your mother’s. Especially not the other women’s.”

“What?” Feeling like she’d fallen into the rabbit hole, all she could do was blink at him. “My mother died raising a demon.”

He snorted. “No. Your mother died screaming on my altar, the last sacrifice I needed to keep from aging.”

She swallowed hard as all the pieces she thought she knew about her life re-adjusted themselves. “What other sacrifices?”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you think? Now I’m bored with this.” Waving her off, he shrugged, and the chanting intensified. “So now you have your choice laid out before you. One soul for the price of freedom for your friends.” Moving over to the cage, he wrapped his hand around Hayden’s hair and pulled her hard against the bars. “Go on, sweetheart. Tell Shay what she needs to hear.”

Instead of answering, Hayden’s eyes pierced Shay’s soul, and deep inside her brain, in her heart, she heard her friend scream. Shay shot forward and threw herself at Jackson. The room spun out, sending her flying backward instead. Her eyes closed as her head bounced off the cold stone floor, and even as she tried to pry her lids open again, her world tilted.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, she watched her world implode before everything went black.

* * *

“COME ON, GYPSY.” Shaken to his soul, Tyler cradled Shay against his chest. “Stay with me, okay?”

Her eyes fluttered open, focused on him. Then she jackknifed forward. “Sick.”

Fuck.

He was on his feet with her in an instant, shoving past the three men standing guard outside the door, and ran into the bathroom. He’d barely gotten her to the toilet before she was dry heaving into it, her tiny body wracking so violently he was surprised it didn’t crack in half.

“Talk to me, gypsy.” Gods, why had he let her do this? He’d known—he’d goddamn fucking known—this dream shit wasn’t going to end well.

“It’s my fault.” Wrenching forward again, her body spasmed as she continued to heave. “I chose you over them.”

Pulling the hair out of her face, he rubbed his free hand over her back and tried not to growl the whole house down around them, but he was pretty sure his heart was being ripped out of his chest. “What are you talking about?”

She folded her arms over the toilet bowl and dropped her head on them. “The dream. I was supposed to break up with you for good after my last dream, when I saw you being killed. But I chose my own happiness instead. I was supposed to break up with you, and accept Jackson’s proposal. When I didn’t…Oh, God.”

“Wade.” Leith crouched next to him, something almost—almost—like sympathy flashing through his eyes as she heaved again. He cleared his throat. “How is she?”

“I’m fine.” Shuddering, Shay sat back, still too pale for Tyler’s liking. Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet. “We need to go.”

Leith didn’t look happy, but Tyler shook his head as they followed her back to her bedroom.

He closed her door in Leith’s face. “Shay. Baby. Talk to me. Where are they?”

She hesitated with her shirt halfway over her head. Her shoulders slumped, and for a second, he thought he saw devastation and heartbreak written all over her face. “A basement.”

Pushing his hand through his hair, Tyler leaned back against the wall. “Okay, anything else?”

She shoved her feet into a pair of black boots, then pulled her hair into a low braid.

“He’s sure I’m going to come to him.” Swallowing hard, she finished off her all-black look with a hoodie. “He has Hayden, too. Deacon is going to go nuclear on this town when he finds out.”

“Shay.” He growled low and savage enough to snap her out of her manic speed-dressing. Her gaze flew to his, and he had to clench his fists to stop himself from grabbing her. “Why does he think you’re going to go to him?”

For a second, he didn’t think she was going to tell him. The growl was already back in his chest before she turned to look up at him, so much misery in her eyes it nearly cut him off at the knees. But instead of hiding or refusing to talk, she marched toward the door, pulling him with as she headed past Leith and Deacon toward the living room.

Garret, who was sprawled on the couch, sat up slowly when they all entered the room. “What’s going on?”

Shay moved to the center of the large area rug. “Jackson Fairweather has them, and he’s holding them hostage.” She swallowed hard. “He’ll let them all go, in return for me.”

No one spoke as she told them about her dream, every gritty detail, and by the time she was done, she looked exhausted and terrified, like she was waiting for them all to start screaming at her.

Instead, Leith shook his head. “I’ll get the weapons.”

Deacon nodded, looking as unstable as Tyler felt. “I’ll start making phone calls. There’s only a few barns around here.”

Glancing between them all, Garret straightened his shoulders. “I’ll go help the big guy with weapons and, uh, leave you two alone for a minute.”

When everyone had filed out of the house, Shay stood where she was, staring at his chest, and refused to meet his gaze. He didn’t blame her. He knew what she’d see if she glanced up, and the last thing he needed was to terrify her even more. But holy fuck, he was losing it.

A kid. They had a kid, and this fucktard thought she was selfish enough to give up her friends to have that future. “You told me— “

“I’m sorry.” She sniffled and lifted her hand, but instead of touching him, she let it fall uselessly to her side. “I know I should have just left, should have snuck out to go save them, and instead, I’m putting all of you at risk.”

“No, gypsy.” Her head snapped up at his low bellow. “You did the right thing, all right?” Leaning down, he kissed her with all the desperation and gratefulness he had inside him. “We’ll get them back and kill this douche lord, and nothing else is going to get near you ever again.”

“Wade. We’re ready,” Leith said from the doorway.

Tyler closed his eyes, and pressed his brow to hers. “I’ll be back, gypsy.”

Without another word, refusing to let her be afraid or in danger for another second, he turned and walked out.

Chapter 20

TYLER MADE IT to Leith’s Suburban before he changed his mind. With a quick stop at his truck to grab for the special guns and knives he wanted for the hunt, he ignored the nagging worry about letting Shay out of his sight long enough to rescue Mal and the other women, and tossed his duffle into the back of his partner’s SUV. He even managed to climb into the back seat and rest his head as he stretched out, before he cursed. Giving up any pretense of not being about to crawl out of his godforsaken skin, he exited the vehicle and started toward her house.

It didn’t surprise him any that she was already halfway to him, a look of furious determination on her beautiful face.

“If you think I’m staying—.” She grunted as he threw her over his shoulder.   She braced her hands against his back and tried to lever herself up. “What are you doing?”

Leith held the back passenger door open for him so he could toss Shay into the seat. Tyler followed her in, crowding her space.

Twisting in her seat as Leith closed the door before rounding the vehicle to get behind the wheel, she blinked up at Tyler. “I thought you were leaving without me.”

“I was.” Less than amused by her surprise, he hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her onto his lap. “Decided better of it. Knowing you, I’d get back home to find the place swarmed by zombies.”

She stilled in the act of settling against him, her eyes widening. “Home?”

Christ. He hadn’t even realized what he’d said. But no way was he leaving this girl. She’d stormed into his life like a goddamn hurricane, blowing apart everything he thought he wanted, and putting it all back together in a way that made sense, finally.

She was fucking perfect for him.

She was also glaring at him.

“None of what happened yesterday was my fault.” She shifted on his lap so she could poke his chest. “You can’t blame me for it all.”

He snorted.

“Watch me.” When her eyes narrowed with temper, he blew out a low breath. “I’ve had enough scares for a while, gypsy. I don’t know if I’ll survive anymore. Not where you’re concerned.”

The indignation melted out of her. Curling up against his chest, she pulled his arm tighter around her waist. “About my dream…?”

A scowl furrowed his brow. “What about it?”

“His name was Noah,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed. “And when Jackson appeared, he knew. He knew I’d sacrifice anything to have that future with you. To have you.”

“Ah, baby.” He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and put just enough pressure to have her looking up at him. “Is that what you’re worried about? That you’d sacrifice your friends to have a future that may not ever happen?’

She didn’t look thrilled with him for putting it that way. Sitting up on his lap, she crossed her arms over her magnificent chest. “I don’t mind being selfish, Ty, or fighting for what I want. But it wasn’t about my needs. It was about us. About you needing me just as desperately as I needed you. That’s what I want.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her just how crazy he was about her. To tell her she wasn’t getting rid of his grumpy, slightly psychotic ass without a crowbar and banishing spell. But Leith chose that moment to slow the Suburban down and pull over. In the far back seat, Garret leaned forward, while Deacon twisted in the passenger seat.

“It’s not a barn.” Deacon said.

“All right.” Tyler was vaguely aware of Shay’s hand wrapping around his. “So, what is it?”

Without breaking eye contact, Deke rattled off the address of the last house Tyler had lived in with his mother. “Jackson’s owned it for thirty years. He’s the one who rented it to your mother.”

It should have surprised him. He sure as hell didn’t believe in coincidences, but three more disappearances and Jackson’s own mention of Gemma had destroyed any misconception about what had happened to her back then.

Shay squeezed his hand. “Ty— “

“It’s fine.” He nodded as he cut her off, squeezing her waist in apology. “It explains the scorched earth of the yard.”

Only black death magic could leave a yard that decimated.

Because they were still a quarter mile from the house, they unloaded the SUV, and gathered around the hood. Unable let her go, Shay stood in front of him, his arm still wrapped possessively around her waist. His chin alternated between resting on her shoulder, and on the top of her head.

Deacon folded his arms on the hood and concentrated on Shay. “You said they’re all in one cage?” His voice was measured, almost calm, but there was a time bomb behind his eyes just waiting to be shown the target, and Tyler was worried if they didn’t point him in that direction soon, he’d self-destruct and they’d lose him.

Shay bobbed her head. “I think it was the basement, because it was one giant, dark room.” She glanced at all of them, before tilting her head back to look up at Tyler. “Jackson needs them to maintain his strength, but that doesn’t make him weak. He’s not going to give up his immortality easy.”

Tyler nodded. “They never do.” On the other side of the truck, Leith was meticulously checking weapons before strapping them on. “I’ll go in through the front door. Cause enough chaos to distract whatever demons are guarding the place.”

Garret crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me some weapons, and I’ll cover the garage.” When they all just blinked at him, he braced his hands on the hood and leaned forward, snarling. “They have Ivy. I’m not fucking sitting this one out and twiddling my fucking thumbs. You brought me because you need me, so use me. And we don’t have time to argue about it, so get the hell over it.”

Deacon scrubbed both hands over his face before he nodded. “Then the three of us—me, Tyler and Shay—will go in through the back. Use the distractions to get us to the basement. Shay can get them out while Tyler and I take care of any stragglers.”

A low, vicious sound rumbled in Tyler’s chest. “And just so there’s no question about it, that fucktard Jackson is mine. Unless he’s getting ready to poof into thin fucking air, no one touches him. Got it?” He waited while they all nodded, before stepping back. “Alright, let’s do this.”

* * *

AS THEY CUT through the neighborhood, Shay couldn’t stop staring up at Tyler. Despite his complete and utter focus on the houses and shadows around them, he was constantly touching her somehow. A brush of his leg on hers, a quick squeeze of her fingertips, and a gentle nudging of his body against hers.

Everything inside of her wanted to launch at him, tackle him to the ground, and let him fill her up again right there in the middle of the road, not because she was wet and achy, but because she was afraid. For her, and for him. When he wrapped that powerful body around her, she knew she was the safest she could ever be.

“Shay.” Leith’s cold voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she realized for the first time that they were just a house over from Tyler’s old one.  “When you and the women are clear, get them the fuck out of here. Go straight to the hospital. We’ll meet you there.”

Tyler pressed a set of keys into her palm. “There’s enough cars around here. If we need to, we’ll boost one and worry about getting it back to the owner tomorrow. Just get to the hospital and stay together until we find you.”

Tyler squeezed her hand once, before they all turned as a unit toward the house and moving off into their separate directions.

Leith tossed a hornet’s nest grenade into the front window, lighting up the rundown neighborhood and shattering the stillness of the pre-dawn night. Screams of pain and rage echoed the small distance.

Men poured out of the house, weapons at the ready and trained on Leith, who grinned like a madman. “Evening, gentlemen.” He raised his hands slowly. “Who’s ready to party? We’ll provide the bonfire…”

In the shadows at the far side of the house, Garret tossed a match. The ramshackle, detached garage went up like tinder, flames licking skyward.

. Drawn by the noise and fire, good Samaritan neighbors rushed out of their houses. Using the roar of the fire to cover the sound, Deacon broke through the back door. Three men were waiting, charging them like mindless beasts, their eyes glowing red.

Knives at the ready, Tyler disposed of two of them with barely a flick of his wrist, and without making a sound. As they dropped, Tyler spun on his heel, grasping the third man by the shoulders. Deacon’s knife rammed home in his gut, slicing upward.

As the man crumpled, Deacon moved in front of Shay while Tyler took up position right at her back, covering her from both sides. They headed for the basement door in the kitchen. Anxiety tightened her skin as they made their way down the stairs, dread settling like concrete in her belly. This was too easy. She felt it in her bones.

Hoping it was just worry for her friends instead of a premonition, she held her breath. Deacon kicked open the door at the bottom of the stairs. When all that greeted them was absolute silence, he looked at them over his shoulder with what the fuck? written all over his face.

Pulling the sawed-off shotgun he had strapped to his back over his shoulder, he took a breath and started into the dank space.

Tyler wrapped his hand around her shoulder. His body pressed up to her back as he slipped a knife into her hand. “Put your back to the wall and stay here. Stab anything that gets close.”

She glared at him as he physically moved her to where he wanted her, but she gripped his hand before he could follow Deacon.

“Don’t go. Just wait.” Unable to help the distress in her voice, she swallowed hard. “Something isn’t right.”

Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, under her hair, he pulled her to him and kissed her. Hard. “I know. I feel it, too.”

She should have relaxed a little knowing he was on alert, but it didn’t. This was wrong.

She knew the layout of the space from her dream. The stairs were on the far right side of the house and there was a wall at the bottom, which left only one way to go—left.  The space opened, then, and the cage with her friends should be on the farthest wall from where she stood, with the altar between them.

Realizing she should have told them about the layout, she took a step forward, prepared to yell for Tyler. Everything went dark. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.

Then the soul-destroying screaming started, a low, humming chanting pulsing underneath it.

It came from everywhere, as if the sound filled the air itself, pressing down on her shoulders like a physical presence. Tyler shouted for her, but her name cut out on a roar, as if something had silenced him.

Terror weakening her bones, she did the only thing she could think of—she started toward the room where Ty and Deke had entered. She didn’t know what she planned to do, just that she couldn’t stand there and wait for someone else to save her. Not when everyone she cared about was in this room, in danger.

“See?” Jackson’s satisfied voice drifted over the screams. “I told you she’d come rescue you.”

There was a low sound that could only be Tyler cursing, before he growled. “Goddamn it, Shay. Run.”

She shook her head, not caring that no one could see her in the absolute darkness. “Let him go, Jack. It’s me you want, right?”

“It was, yes. But then you went and fucked this bottom-feeding hunter, so now I have to make him pay for sticking his dick in what’s mine.”

Tyler snarled. “Oh, fuckhead, you are so goddamn dead.”

Jackson’s laugh wasn’t tinged with madness—the insanity ran through it, twisting the sound into something horrific. “That’s original. And stupid, considering how vulnerable Shay and the other women are, and that I hold you and your little cop buddy’s hearts in my hands.”

Hearts. Shay stopped her forward momentum. The reminder of her earlier dream about holding Tyler’s heart in her hand invaded her memory. Bile choked her.

He was going to die because of her, and she had no power to stop it from happening.

Her knees went weak. She started to drop to the floor and beg Jackson to let him go and do what he wanted to her. A blast of cold air hit her, so frigid her breath froze in her lungs.

Her chin lifted. She stepped forward, her gaze finally adjusting to the blackness, just enough she could see the cage, and Deacon chained next to the wall next to it. “It’s me you want, Jackson. Let them all go, and I’ll stay with you forever. As long as you want me.”

“The fuck you—” Tyler’s bellow cut off on a groan as the sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberated through the air.

“It’s too late,” Jackson snapped. “You have nothing to bargain with. So I’m going to kill them all while you watch, and then I’ll live forever. And I’m going to start with your little fuck toy here.”

He flicked his hand out, illuminating the space.

Tyler spun on his heel and jammed both his knives into Jackson’s throat. Robed fingers came out of the shadows.

Shay ran toward the cage.

The robed figures swarmed Tyler. With a desperate glance at her friends huddled in the cage, Shay changed direction and went to help Deacon.

One side of his face was swollen, his eye purple, but he grunted when she started tugging on his shackles. “Blood magic.”

She blinked up at him as she tried uselessly to yank the iron from the wall. “What?”

He dropped his head down as if it was too heavy for his neck to hold up. “He used blood to seal it.”

Blood. Of course.

Using the knife Tyler had given her, she cut into her palm and spread the blood over the runes scratched into the chains themselves. The chains snapped open. Deacon grabbed her knife and barreled past her to where Tyler took on the robed men.

Hoping the same blood magic would work on the cage, she found the lock and smeared the sticky substance over it. She nearly shouted in victory as it snicked open.

Instead of rushing out, Ivy looked up at Shay with tears in her eyes. “Come on, Malia’s hurt. Help us get her out.”

In the back corner, Malia was crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Blood dripped slowly from a gash in her hairline, and her face was way too pale.

Despite Malia’s small, delicate size, none of them were big enough to lift her, let alone carry her out.  But with the sounds of battle still echoing through the basement, they didn’t have any other choice.

“We have to carry her.” Swallowing hard, Shay grabbed her feet and nodded at Ivy and Hayden. “Hold her under the arms.”

When her friends were in position, she nodded. They lifted her. Hunched in an awkward position, Shay backed out of the cage.

They’d only taken a couple steps when Leith was suddenly there. His face was stricken as he gently lifted Malia into his arms, before he jerked his head toward the stairs. “Stay with me,” he snapped at them.

Just as they reached the top of the stairs, Garret bellowed. “Wade, Stone, behind you!”

Shay spun around. Gemma stood in the middle of the basement, between Tyler and the robed figures. Her arms were outstretched, but her eyes were locked on her son. The ground began to quake beneath their feet.

Gemma nodded at Tyler, her eyes sad. “I love you. Now run!”

They ran. Tyler swept Shay off her feet as he ran up the stairs, their friends on their heels. They’d barely made it over the threshold before the explosion rocked the foundation, sending them all flying.

Chapter 21

“ALL RIGHT, ASSHOLE, look.” Bracing his hands against the desk, Tyler leaned into the young doctor’s face and bared his teeth. “Tell me where she is, or I will start tearing down doors until I find her myself.”

The charge nurse, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, took a step back, staring at him through fear-filled eyes. “You’re not a relative or spouse. I can’t release that information.”

Nodding, Tyler moved to step around the nurse’s station, deliberately closing the distance between them. “Deacon?”

“Yeah?”

“Give me your gun.”

Instead of answer, Deacon sighed and gripped the back of his shirt, pulling him to a stop. “No killing the nice man, Wade.”

“I’m not going to kill him.”  Tyler smiled, so close to violence he could feel it boiling in his blood stream. “Just peel his skin from his bones.”

“None of that, either.” Sighing, Deacon jerked his chin at the nurse, who’d somehow even gone more wide-eyed. Christ, how old was this idiot? “I’m Chief Stone. This is a police matter, so I’d appreciate it if you could just tell me what room Shay Evernight is in.”

Looking like he was about to piss his pants, the nurse kept as much distance as possible between himself and Tyler as he cautiously moved to the first desktop computer.

After a few keystrokes, he swallowed hard and nodded. “Room 211. She’s in the ICU.”

Tyler staggered backward, sure someone had just reached in and physically removed his heart from his chest. Vaguely aware of Deacon thanking the doctor, Tyler took off at a dead run for the stairs, too impatient to wait for an elevator.

Not particularly caring that he scared the nurses as he crashed through the door on the second floor, he shouted the room number and was already running toward it when one of them pointed him in the right direction.

God, what the hell had he missed? And how the fuck could he have failed this badly? She’d been fine when they’d all gotten to the hospital, and she’d gone with Ivy and Hayden to get Malia checked out, while Tyler had reluctantly stayed downstairs with Deacon to get their stories straight.

But then they’d all come back down together, minus Malia, who was being kept overnight for observation, and Shay. Tyler had lost his fucking mind.

How many goddamn times was he going to have to do this? Let her out of his sight, only to find out he’d fucked up and she’d gotten hurt when he should have been there to protect her?

He slowed to a stop outside her room and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly. No matter what the fuck he found on the other side of the door, he wasn’t going to lose his shit. She didn’t need him in psychotic, kill everything mode.

But, Christ, he wasn’t even sure he had other modes at the moment.

As he reached for the door handle, he braced for the worst. The door swung open before he could even touch it, and he stood there like an idiot.

Shay blinked up at him, concern darkening her beautiful face. “Ty? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a harsh sound. “I have.” He scowled and took a step toward her, crowding her space and backing her into the room. “You look fine.”

This time, it was temper that lit in her eyes. “Well, thanks. You look fine, too.”

Ignoring that, he moved in even closer, then kicked the door shut behind him. “Where are you hurt? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Hey.” She frowned up at him and slowly lifted her hand. A white bandage had been wrapped around it, but as far as he could tell, it was the only wound on her. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Then why the fuck are you in the ICU?”

She blinked, before the clouds cleared in her eyes, replaced with emotion.

“Oh, Ty,” she murmured, moving into him and wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m fine, really. I got a little lightheaded from the blood loss while the doctor was examining Malia, and they just gave me a room nearby to stitch me up.”

He wanted to believe her, but his brain wouldn’t kick in to gear. “Don’t lie to me, gypsy.”

“Please.” She placed her free hand on his chest and pushed, giving him no choice but to fall back into the room’s only chair. Without saying anything, she placed her knees on either side of his thighs and braced her hands against the back of the chair, near his shoulders. Leaning forward, she pressed her brow to his. “I can’t keep secrets from you. Haven’t you figured that out? I can’t even keep my emotions from you. I don’t know how you do it, but whenever you’re near, the last thing I want is to hide. And I hate it. I hate it, because this isn’t me. Or, it’s not supposed to be me. I’ve never given control of my emotions over to anyone, let alone my heart, but I can’t seem to stop doing it.”

“I don’t know what the hell any of that means.”

To his surprise, a laugh bubbled out of her and for the first time in more than twenty-four hours, that smile he loved so much lit up her face. “It means I’m not lying. It means you’ve got me where you want me, so now the only question is what the hell you’re going to do with me. Just be aware, I don’t intend to let you out of my sight, ever.”

Not sure what was harder in that moment, the pounding of his heart or his dick, he cupped her ass and searched her face. “You scare me, gypsy, but God, I love you.”

She stilled, her eyes going wide. “What?”

Goddamn it.

Opening his mouth to tell her to ignore him, he said something else, instead. “I love you. And I don’t care if you don’t love me back. I’ll find a way to make you eventually, because I’m too stubborn not to. And don’t think I’m walking out the door, either. You invited me back to this town, and into your home, and your life, so you’re just going to have to accept that I’m fucking staying now.” Digging his fingers into her ass, he pulled her down to his lap, letting her feel how much he wanted her. “Here. I belong here.” Lifting his hand, he pressed it to her luscious breast, over her heart. “Especially here. So get used to me, because I’m yours now.”

“But your job— “

A glare darkening his face. “My job can be done from anywhere. And if you start looking for reasons not to be with me, you’re going to piss me off, Shay. Because it’s too late for that. You sealed your fate with me by being the person who’d sacrifice everything to keep the people she loves safe.” When she just continued to stare at him, he cursed and closed his eyes. “Okay, I’m done with the flowery shit. Just tell me you love me, please. I don’t care if it’s a lie— “

“I love you, Tyler Wade.”

He opened one eye as his heart seized up in his chest, making it hard to breathe.  “Never mind. I do care if you lie. Please don’t be lying.”

“Not lying.” Leaning down, she kissed his closed eye, his nose, his cheek, before her lips slid over his. “I don’t even know when it happened, just that I can’t breathe without needing you near me. Okay? I love you. I love you so damn—”

He cut her off with his desperate mouth, devouring whatever else she was going to say, because he’d heard everything he needed. Who the hell knew what the future held, but he didn’t care. She loved him. She’d ruined him. And as long as she agreed to keep him, he was never, ever going to complain.

* * *

If you enjoyed Hunter Undone, make sure to check out book one of the Dragon Lore series, The Dragon’s Heart.

https://www.amazon.com/Dragons-Heart-Dragon-Lore-Book-ebook/dp/B00ICSHB72/
www.edenashe.com

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About the Author

Convinced dragons have gotten a bad rep throughout time, and more than a little addicted to fairy tales and romance novels, Eden Ashe has decided to re-write history. In her version, the dragons are ancient warriors in tarnished armor, who not only deserve the girl in the end, but will fight forever for her.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

SOUL TIES

BY LJ SWALLOW

Copyright © 2016 by LJ Swallow

Soul-hunters sent to capture Nephilim souls never return and Ava has no choice. Return with Keir's soul in exchange for her freedom or die trying.

Ava has retrieved hundreds of souls from demons and this mission doesn't worry her, but Keir isn't what she expected. Half angel, half demon and a hell of a lot hotter than Ava's usual targets. She's tempted to get closer to Keir before she takes his soul—if he doesn't kill her first.

As if battling a Nephilim isn't enough, Ava faces another hurdle: getting past the strange human girl, Dahlia, who has an inexplicable hold on Keir.

The pair have secrets and when Ava uncovers the true fate of the souls she returns to her superiors her world is turned upside down.

Ava finds herself in the middle of a war where the lines between good and evil are blurred and she has two choices: betray Keir and live, or join his battle and risk going to Hell.

Soul Ties © 2016 LJ Swallow

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Part 1

Chapter 1

I SQUIRM IN my seat and straighten the arms of my leather jacket. The tall man across the mahogany table leans back in his chair, his body moulding into the plush upholstery. I dig my fingers into my knees as he regards me with unreadable eyes. "Ava, you are one of our best operatives. Your success is impressive. The number of souls we have retrieved with your help has made a huge difference to our future."

My stomach flips as I wait for the but. There's always a but. Every time.

"But, we need you to go back."

There it is. My shoulders slump but I keep my gaze fixed on his cold, grey eyes. Don't show weakness. Deficiency would be the end—a return to my life  amongst the Fated people, and to desolation.

The man leans to one side and pulls open a drawer, his long black ponytail sweeping forward. He produces a manila folder and places the file on the table. Flipping to the first page, he points at a picture. The code printed reads NPHM.

Shit. "That isn't possible, Darius. Sir. I'm not capable..."

"I don't tell soul hunters to do the incapable."

"But a Nephilim... they're stronger than demons, how can I retrieve his soul?”

A young guy smiles up at me from a photograph, hooded jacket casually open across his broad chest, his violet-flecked blue eyes the single betrayal of his heritage.

"I can't go back there. Please." Nausea pours into my stomach. The human world is abhorrent, and each time I'm sent to retrieve demon souls I struggle. Mixing with humans is bad enough, but what's worse is my powers are useless in their world. I'm subjected to physical fights when I confront the demons. Fights that hurt.

"Ava. You have been chosen to do this. Your skills as a soul hunter are some of the best, as is your ability to blend in. There is no one else we can trust."

The backhanded compliment doesn't detract from the magnitude of what he's asking me. I wipe a hand across my face to disguise the anxiety pulling down the corners of my mouth. "You said I wouldn't have to go back..."

“The previous soul hunters failed.  I misjudged them.  I am not misjudging you, because I’ve seen what you can do.  The Nephilim are strong, but I know you’re capable of succeeding.  I know you will make the right choices.” The unmistakable warning in his voice dampens my desire to retort. There’s no way I can refuse.

I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my jeans. If I collect souls trapped in demons, in return, I'll be free from servitude. The Caelestia who rule my world and life promise freedom, and I can live in their bright world. But after two years, this promise hasn't materialised.

Each time Darius sends me to collect a soul, he informs me I'll receive my Will and be freed when I return. Yet every time I complete my mission, Darius calls me back to his office. Just one more. Every time.

Two years ago, I snatched my chance, left my world of the Fated behind, and took on the duties of a soul hunter. As a reckless teenager, I didn't listen to my people who told me I’d be making a grave mistake. I never considered life would be worse as a soul hunter than staying with my family and the Fated, but it is. Living as one of the Fated means a half existence, always at the whim of the Caelestia, who claim they keep us protected. No, we’re subdued; not good enough to share their utopia unless we prove ourselves worthy. My people are right; a soul hunter's life is worse, the threat of death follows each day, and many of us never return from our missions.

Darius again commands me to return to the living hell of humans and demons.

"How did they fail?" I ask. “Can Nephilim sense soul hunters? Is that why?”

“No. Your essence is no different to a human, the same as with all demons.”

“Then what happened? How am I different?” Why are you sending me to my death?

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

I stare at my boots. “No.”

A shadow crosses Darius's face as he rises and moves across the room to the bookshelf spanning the wall. He traces a finger along a line of brown books and pulls one out.

Darius tosses the book next to the manila folder. "Everything we know from the past can be found inside these."

I tip my head to read the spine, trying to decipher the words stamped in gold leaf on the well-worn book. Nephilim.

"But I know the history," I say.

Darius leans towards me and I shrink back. Why can I never bite my tongue and say the minimum required? His grey eyes darken; his face an uncomfortable distance from mine. "You don't know their future."

"Sorry."

Darius steps back and folds his arms across his chest. "You are unwise to question us. You are here to do as we tell you. How many times do I need to remind you of that?"

"I'll do what you say."

"Very sensible, Ava." He reaches into his drawer again, pulls out a spherical crystal, and places it between us. The reality of what he's asking hits home. Larger than the ones I've been given before, the crystal sparkles as if the illumination comes from within. Rainbows dazzle as they spread across the room, colouring Darius's face.

A soul crystal.

"You know what to do with this, of course," he says.

Capture his soul inside. Bring the crystal back. Don't fail.

My heart thumps, and my palms slick with perspiration as I ready myself to raise the next question. I won't see Darius again now, not until after the mission.

Darius speaks before I can ask. "This time, I promise to give you your Will. I have contracted with the Caelestia; I cannot refuse you."

My eyes sting with tears of weakness I will never let anybody see. I want to shake Darius, scream at him not to lie to me again, cry that he's broken his word so many times. But they won't break me.

Why involve the Caelestia? His superiors' involvement screams danger, but Darius's countenance betrays nothing.

He returns to his chair, indicating with a flick of his fingers that I should take the items he provided. My damp palms stick to the manila folder as I pick it up. I tuck the file underneath the book and try my hardest to hide my shaking hands as I pocket the crystal.

"Goodbye, Ava." Darius turns to a clipboard and traces a finger down the list. "Ask Ben to enter when you leave."

Outside, I duck my head. I don't want to acknowledge the row of unfortunate soul hunters waiting on the narrow benches; I only care about my own success or failure.

"You're next," I mutter to the guy sitting nearest the door. He refuses to look at anything but his scuffed boots, a contrast to the gleaming marble floor. This guy disconnects too. We all do.

I never meet the same soul hunter twice.

The stinging tears threaten to flow at the memory of my friends and family in the Fated world. Back then, I was a guarded person but never held the emotionless persona I have now. I repeat my mantra: Do not show weakness, do not lose.

The soul crystal nestles against my hip and I curl my hand around it, squeezing the crystal until the hardness bites into my palm. My success and survival in the field have an unfortunate side effect: suspicion. Nobody has ever told me the fate of the souls I return and the secrecy nags at me.

Where do the captured souls go when I hand over the crystals to Darius?

The majority of my comrades don't survive long enough to consider this, and I can never ask my treacherous questions.

I straighten as I continue along the bright hallway. The weak Fated girl paraded in front of Darius has to stay behind. I'm a soul hunter and a good one. If a Nephilim soul is required to end my servitude, I'll give this impossible mission my best. No, I'll bloody succeed. No one has beaten me yet, and I’m not about to let that change now. This is more than my life hanging on the line, I’ve spent two years fighting for my freedom and I’m almost there. Darius promised. He’s commanded by the Caelestia.

I pull my long, aqua-coloured hair into a ponytail and yank the knot tight.

Bring it on, Nephilim boy because you don't know what's about to hit you.

* * *

THREE DAYS LATER

I STRIDE ALONG the corridor to the entrance of the lecture theatre, rucksack slung over my shoulder and campus map in my mouth. Groups crowd outside, chattering, and I avoid looking at them. The girls I stop next to eye me, and I raise a pierced eyebrow at them. They might rock the Barbie doll look, but I have more of an bright-haired, big-booted leave me the hell alone image.

The doors open and the previous lecture-goers flood out. I push through them and into the vast room. Students weave around me as I stop to survey the crowd. This room is bloody huge; how can I spot him amongst over a hundred people? I'm good but not that good. I slide onto a low bench seat and place my full backpack beside me. I wriggle down in the seat and pull my short black skirt straight, before resting my heavy boots on the seat in front; I'll check the rest of the room out once the lecture starts.

"Excuse me."

A slightly built girl frowns at my legs blocking her way to the seat beside me. A mouse. I giggle to myself. She is, in every detail. Short, small features, nondescript, brown hair—right down to her tiny voice. I slowly pull one leg and then the other down, not moving enough for the girl to pass without brushing me. The girl draws in a breath and hugs her books tightly to her chest as she slides through the gap, eyes on the floor.

"Hey," I say

The girl's eyes widen. "Hi," she squeaks.

Ha. Mousy girl. "I'm Ava, and I don't bite."

"I'm Dahlia, and you look like you might."

"Do I? Why?"

Dahlia examines me in greater detail than the girls did earlier. I flash her a grin. "Girls like you often do."

"What? And they don't?" I point my pen towards the two blonde friends from outside, now wandering past us to the seats behind.

"They don't bite, but their claws are sharp," says Dahlia, quietly.

"Ah, clever. We can be friends."

Dahlia opens her mouth to respond, but the lecturer's voice booms through the speakers and silences the room.

I don't listen to much of the lecture, spending the next hour checking out people around me. Bland. Boring. Nondescript human lives. Some shift uncomfortably at my gaze, so I keep my eyes on them for longer, daring them to keep looking. If only they knew the truth about their world and what I did for them, stopping demons from stealing their souls. Then they wouldn't look at me like I'm some kind of fucking freak show. I give up, bored. No Nephilim eyes stand out amongst the sea of mundanity.

I summon a memory of his picture from the manila folder back in my room. Is the image his current appearance? When was the photo taken? Humans changed a lot at this age, and in his half-human form, he would too. Great.

At least I'm in the right town and the right college; now I need to find the right person and get this over with. I roll my head from side to side, stretching the muscles in my neck. I don't want to stay a day longer than necessary in this godforsaken place.

Dahlia taps dutifully on her laptop, recording the lecture on her phone, oblivious to the restless girl next to her. I yawn and stretch my legs out to rest my feet on the back of the seat in front again. The guy seated there tuts and pushes at my boots. I refuse to move them and when he turns to say something, I mouth an obscenity at him. He turns back round sharply and mutters something to the guy next to him. Screw this. I shift downwards in my seat and close my eyes.

"Ava!"

I open one eye to see Dahlia standing over me. "Time to go. You might want to sleep through classes, but I don't—come on."

I drop my feet to the floor. "Fine..."

Dahlia slides past and stalks off; I catch up in a few strides. "What class do you have now?"

Dahlia pauses outside the lecture theatre. "Nothing, you?"

"Same. What should we do then?"

Dahlia stiffens. "I have things to do. I'd rather do them on my own."

"Oh sorry, I was hoping we could become besties." I grin at her.

Dahlia stares at me as if I've recently landed on the planet, which I guess is half-true. "First of all, I don't really like you, and secondly, nobody says besties anymore. Please leave me alone." She scurries away.

I wrinkle my nose, glancing around. The break between lectures brought a new student throng walking down the corridor, and I rest against the wall, watching the stragglers leave the theatre.

A guy walks out on his own, staring under long lashes at a sheet of paper in front of him. His dark hair falls casually into his eye and he shrugs his bag onto a shoulder as he passes. I straighten, comparing him to the image in my mind. Taller than most men. Check. Athletic build. Check. The hair. Longer than in the picture. A closer inspection is required. I catch up alongside and jostle him, pretending I'm pushed by the couple passing me.

A shock surges from the place our bodies touch and into my head, blurring the world as a white light closes out my vision for a second. The panic that he's somehow zapped me Nephilim-style recedes when his demeanour and interest in me don't change

"Sorry," I mutter.

The guy turns his head towards me and I no longer hold any doubt. Not only is there a beautiful symmetry to his face, but below his heavy brow, glacial blue eyes regard me, the violet tinge to the irises betraying his bloodline. Gotcha.

"Umm, no problem." I'm caught in his allure but, weirdly, the guy can't hold my look, shifting his focus back to the paper in his hand.

That. I wasn't expecting that. Arrogant, good-looking guy aware of his heat factor, yes, but not this. The good-looking part is right though. If he'd carried himself with confidence, every girl in the hallway would be staring at him. Instead, I run a gaze over the broad back beneath his black T-shirt, the muscles of his long legs, and take an extra few seconds to appraise his squeezable ass as he stumbles off, running a hand though his curls as he walks.

I weave between students, following at a distance. The Nephilim reaches the library and I hover in the doorway, watching him chat to the librarian. The young woman with the brown ponytail and pink cheeks points him to a different area, and I smile as the woman's gaze lingers on the guy a little too long. I need to fill out my borrower’s application, a perfect excuse to hang around and watch him. Pulling the form from my bag, I lean against the counter. I scrawl Ava Ford and my address, ensuring my date of birth matches the one on the enrolment form I faked a couple of days ago.

The Nephilim sits at a corner desk, pulls a laptop from his bag, and switches it on. A girl approaches, and he turns a thousand watt smile in her direction. My pen clatters to the desk as mousy Dahlia sits next to him.

What the hell? My plan of action rapidly dissipates. Past assignments taught me hot guys plus my alluring self equals souls taken in no time. Not happening this time, if he prefers plain girls, I huff. Worth a shot, I guess. I slip the form away and saunter over to the couple.

"Hi again." I set my bag on the desk, knocking Dahlia's papers to one side. They look up at me, faces a mixture of fascination and alarm.

"Hello..." says Dahlia.

I shoot Dahlia a smile. "Dahlia." My eyes shift to the Nephilim, gauging his reaction. He stares at his laptop, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Gonna introduce me to your boyfriend?" I ask, manoeuvring myself into the chair opposite them.

Dahlia scratches her cheek. "Boyfriend? Hear that, Keir?"

Keir.

Keir gives Dahlia a crooked smile.

"Oh?" Yes. One step closer.

"We're not a couple, Ava," he says.

I'm unsure what hits me the hardest; the fact he knows my name or the dark look in his eyes. For a second, I swear I've looked into his eyes before and a glimmer of recognition flickers across his too. No, all Nephilim eyes are the same; I've obsessed myself by looking for him, that's all.

"Old friends?" I ask in a light tone. "Or just study buddies?"

"Kindergarten. Friends for years; we just happened to get into the same college." The mouse smiles.

"Just happened?" I could imagine the temptation to follow this guy across the country, if I were a stupid, human girl.

Dahlia's eyes narrow for a moment. "Yes."

"Lucky," I reply. "I know no one. Just shipped in. Guess that'll teach me not travel around Europe before college."

"Europe?" asks Keir.

Those eyes. If it weren’t for their startling blue colour, I'd be searching campus for a different guy because he is not what I expected. Still, at least something about me piqued his interest.

"Yeah. Just for a few months, had some business to attend to." Killing demons and now it's your turn. "So, here I am. Friendless."

Dahlia glances at Keir who's resumed studying his laptop.

"I'm not great at making friends. I think people misjudge me by my appearance." I tip my head and raise an eyebrow at Dahlia.

"I don't agree with judging by appearances."

"So true, Keir," I reply, trying to meet his eyes again. Is he actually aware of his Nephilim origin and clueless, or an expert at hiding what he is?

"You guys want to show me around tonight?" I ask. "I'm free after eight if you have any suggestions."

The horrified look on Dahlia's face, when Keir says yes, amuses me for hours afterwards.

Chapter 2

I HOLD THE page corner, scared of tearing the brittle leaves as I turn them. The humans have no idea who Nephilim really are, coming up with their own legends to explain the race’s existence. The true history is written here in exhilarating bedtime reading. I yawn; I already know the story of the angels who rebelled against the Caelestia, came to this world, and took on human form, but kept their angel souls and powers. I’m also aware of the Nephilim evolution: over the centuries, they sided with the Demon Lords, and the Nephilim united with demons, trapping their angel souls in a powerful half-human, half-demon form. Trapped souls exist in all demons but usually human; I’ve captured enough for Darius in my last two years as a soul hunter but never imagined capturing angel souls from a Nephilim was soul hunter territory. In training, our instructor Daniel was clear in telling us to stay the hell away from Nephilim. Which begs the question: why has Darius sent me on a suicide mission?

I once heard that Nephilim could live when their souls are taken because their demonic half merges with the angelic power of life and doesn’t need a soul. If this is true, how am I supposed to survive a fight with one? If I win, will Keir die long enough for me to take his soul, then run the hell away with my soul crystal? I rub my head in confusion and swallow down the fear. No, living without a soul must be a rumour; otherwise, the task would be impossible. Even demons die once their souls are taken. Nobody can live soulless.

A soft knock on my door pulls me away from my thoughts, and I check myself quickly in the mirror. For a night out with a Nephilim and his pet mouse, I’ve selected a tiny black dress and striped leggings and finished the look with motorcycle boots, happy to kick someone into next week if they get the wrong message from my clothing choice. I smooth my long aqua hair, check my makeup, and open the door.

Dahlia stands in the hall, arms crossed over her chest. “Are you ready?”

“Looking good,” I lie as I sweep a gaze over Dahlia’s ensemble. Jeans and buttoned up cardigan.

In response, Dahlia studies me and her nose twitches. “Interesting look.”

I narrow my eyes at her and she mimics me. Oh, joy. I hold the gaze until she looks away. If Dahlia has something to say, she can say it.

Dahlia sets off toward the halls entrance.

“So, Keir?” I ask as I stride after her.

“Keir, what?”

“Cute guy—in an annoying sort of way.”

“Annoying?”

“Yeah, annoyingly not interested.” So what if we just met, normally I kindle a spark of some kind on my first encounter. Demons tend to like that kind of treatment.

“That’s Keir.”

Crap. “Gay?”

Dahlia chokes a laugh. “No… just picky.”

“You mean he never picked you?”

Dahlia stops and puts a hand on my arm. “No, we’re friends, more like brother and sister. He’s just careful about who he gets involved with.”

Whoa. Intense, much. “Okay…”

Dahlia doesn’t drop her hand. “Yes, okay?”

The vehemence intrigues me. If they’re not lovers, then something weird exists here because her prickly attitude is over the top for somebody who’s just a friend.

Still… Picky. Not gay. My original plan of attack is possible.

“He still likes guy stuff, right?” I ask.

“Guy stuff?”

“Girls, alcohol, fun…?”

Dahlia sighs. “He’s a guy who just found freedom at college, of course. But he and I don’t quite fit into that crowd, so if you’re looking for college hedonism, I suggest you go elsewhere.”

I hook my arm through Dahlia’s, who stiffens in response. “Well, we can learn to be hedonistic together. Looks like you need some lessons.”

* * *

I PULL MY phone from my pocket and check the time again. An hour since the last drink? Jesus. Why are we still here? Dahlia’s spent the evening with one drink in front of her; a lemonade with a sniff of spirits. Keir fares a little better, a couple of empty bottles lined up next to mine but not enough to liven him up.

I gently bang my head on the table. “Fuck. Guys?”

“What?” Dahlia frowns. All night Dahlia’s glued herself to a taciturn Keir, legs touching. For a small girl she certainly creates a huge barrier between him and me.

“Fun? Heard of it? I think I’m going to fall asleep here.”

Friday night and the small campus bar emptied a couple of hours ago, more interesting venues nearby drawing the livelier students away. A few stragglers shuffle around pool tables or prop themselves at the bar, too short of cash or too drunk to move on.

“You’re welcome to find your own entertainment,” replies Dahlia tersely.

“What entertains you, Keir?” I ask, once again trying to catch his uninterested eye.

Keir twists the half-empty bottle in his hands. “I like reading.”

Seriously? “I meant in the evenings.”

Keir shifts and regards me in the way he did earlier. “I said I like reading, especially history books. Do you like reading, Ava?” He swigs from his bottle. “Be careful though, sometimes history is rewritten to suit people’s agendas.”

An image of Darius’s book crosses my mind. Considering Keir’s said three words to me all night, his choice of conversation is bloody weird. He rubs his chin and turns his attention back to a nearby group playing pool.

“Not really,” I reply. “I’d rather experience life than read about it in books.”

“Why are you at college,” asks Dahlia, “if you don’t like reading?”

“I read what I have to. Learn what I need.”

And silence. I sigh.

Dahlia glances at her watch. “Scintillating as this is, I need to go. Early start tomorrow—you coming, Keir?”

Keir shakes his head and Dahlia opens her mouth to say something, but when Keir turns to her, she closes it, glancing at me.

Ha. “Night, then!” I say and give Dahlia a little wave.

Dahlia slinks off, pulling her jacket tightly around her. Keir watches until Dahlia walks out of the bar, then switches on a dazzling, out of character smile for me.

“Do you play pool, Ava?”

* * *

I SIP MY bourbon and coke, enjoying the view of Keir’s denim clad rear as he leans over the pool table, and consider how enjoyable things could be if he shows any interest in me. Temporarily, of course. Second game in and I’ve wiped the floor with him so far. A soft click sends the yellow ball spinning into a pocket. I rest against the pool table, close enough to ensure when Keir straightens he’ll be close to me.

“You’re quite an intense person, Ava,” he observes, chalking his cue as he moves back from the table.

“Am I?”

“The way you look at people. And the way you dress, hiding behind your image.” Keir hands me the cue and his fingertips brush mine. “Your turn.”

His words are a challenge beyond our pool game, coupled with the same electric shock sensation from his touch, and my concentration breaks. I swear under my breath as the balls hit and spin in the wrong direction.

I thrust the cue back to him. “I’m not hiding from anyone.”

Keir tips his head. “So why us?”

“Who?”

“Me and Dahlia. A college full of interesting people and you latch onto us. Wouldn’t have thought we were the type you’d be interested in.”

“How do you know what my type is?”

Keir’s violet-tinged blue eyes narrow and he leans across the table to take his shot, turning his back. Is he playing a role to hide his identity too? After Dahlia left, a different Keir replaced the reserved, uninterested one.

If Dahlia’s out of the picture and Keir’s interested in some fun, here’s my chance. Get this mission over with, return to Darius, and pray Darius keeps his words this time. I draw a deep breath, adjust my neckline lower, and wait for Keir to turn back. This never fails with demons; induce lust and blind them to what’s about to happen and… dagger out, job done.

“Okay, the truth. I saw you in the hallway and I had to meet you. Sorry if that sounds lame but you’re an attractive guy.”

I wait for the Keir reaction I’d expect—a blush and averted gaze. Instead, he sets the cue next to the pool table and rests his hand a few centimetres from mine. “Really? You’re not backwards at coming forwards are you?”

I shake my hair over one shoulder. “I’m up front about what I want. I don’t hang around for weeks waiting.”

“And do you normally get what you want?” he asks in a low voice.

I look at him from under my lashes, summoning a seductive smile. “Yes.”

Keir holds his head closer, hair brushing my face. “Do you think you’ll get me?”

Heart quickening, I step back. With his change in personality, Keir’s height and bulk seem magnified, and not only in a threatening way. I’m pulled into staying close, the energy around him seductive. A smile plays around the corners of Keir’s mouth and he moves his hand to mine, touching my fingers. “Let’s go for a walk and a talk. I think we need to.”

How the hell is this the blushing guy from the library? Does Dahlia use some kind of mind control on him, and when she leaves his Nephilim side breaks free?

No, this is deliberate. Does he know? Can he sense me in a way demons rarely can?

“Let’s take a walk, Ava,” he says and grabs his jacket.

Illuminated by spotlights, the main college building overshadows the grounds as we walk through the evening. I walk tall, head high but inside, the unfamiliar lack of control triggers a fear I haven’t felt since training. Keir halts by a fountain and sits on the stone bench, then indicates I join him.

“Dahlia warned me about you,” he says, stretching his long legs out.

“Warned you?”

“Yeah, she said girls like you suck the living soul from people.” He pauses. “What do you think she meant?”

Each word and every undertone pulls away more layers of confidence. He knows. “That she’s jealous?”

“Our relationship is purely a friendship based on common interests.”

I shift away from him, and flick a fingernail against my teeth. The water from the fountain trickles over the marble, the sound mingling with distant voices across campus.

“We knew you were coming before you arrived; Dahlia wanted to stop you, but I wanted to meet you. I’m glad I did.” Keir’s tone hardens as he moves closer.

A shiver launches down my spine. “You’re not as shy as you pretend are you?”

“I don’t like attracting attention to myself, and I don’t want Dahlia interfering.”

“Interfering in what?”

“It’s better if she thinks I have no interest in you. I want to get to know you, before something happens.” Keir lowers his voice “Beautiful girls keep appearing in my life before they disappear again.”

My pulse rate picks up at his words. The electric sensation from his touch now charges the tiny space between us, drawing me in. I expected to sense the demon in Keir’s energy when we moved closer, but he’s the one closing in on me. Is this the Nephilim power? His strange mix of demon, angel, and human takes Keir far beyond any prey I’ve targeted before.

“How many girls have there been?” I ask.

“A few. They don’t stay around long though. Thanks to Dahlia.”

The evening takes another insane direction and I scramble to take this information into my already messed up head. Dahlia is responsible for the other soul hunters failing? Human Dahlia? How can she? How many more people on this campus aren’t what they seem?

I stand, maintaining the casual persona drifting out of my grasp. The back of my neck prickles at the awareness of Keir standing too. Keeping my back to him is dangerous, but I don’t want to look into his eyes.

What choice do I have?

Keir’s eyes shine in the evening dim; the violet at the edge of his irises illuminated in the darkness. The hypnotic effect interferes with my confidence as the certainty I’ll succeed wavers. Unable to hold the intensity, I cast my eyes downwards and clench my teeth. This is my technique: deceiving and teasing, pulling in my targets the way I’ve honed through the years. But not this time. Not only is he switching on the Nephilim potency, but also Keir’s intent is clear. He’s aware of what I’m doing, and prepared to match me.

Clever Nephilim boy.

Keir lifts a hand and I freeze, as if I’m the mouse, not Dahlia; prey he’s toying with. He rubs his thumb across my lips and I turn my face away; people don’t touch me unless I invite them. I lift my gaze back to his, determined not to let him get the upper hand.

A smile curves across his full mouth and he strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. This time I jerk away as the sensation sparks across my skin. Looking back into his intense eyes was a mistake as I’m overwhelmed with the urge to put my lips on his. I look back at the fountain, and focus again on the sound of the water trickling over the smooth marble. Is this how Nephilim steal human souls?

Keir steps closer. “You can read every word of your book of secrets,” he whispers, breath caressing my skin, “but you won’t find me in there.”

The fountain lurches sideways and I struggle for breath. Keep looking at him; don’t let him win.

His expression mirrors my desire, his weakness surfacing too. But the warning in his words and tone scare me.

No. Run.

I fight the Ava who’d launch herself at Keir, grab him by his dark hair, and pull his face to hers. Kisses are the first step to gaining trust, to letting a victim think I’m weak. Betrayal and my target’s death follow closely after, but my routine could never apply here. For the first time, my control as a soul hunter slips.

I back up, not ready to fight. I didn’t bring the crystal tonight—or a weapon. Tonight was supposed to be a reconnaissance, not a battle.

We don’t speak again and don’t need to.

The unspoken understanding of who we are sets into motion the inevitable. Not here. Not now. But one of us will die.

Chapter 3

DEHLIA HOVERS AROUND Keir like a guardian angel and my amusement at the irony morphs into frustration as the days pass. Does Dahlia know she’s crushing on a demon? Two weeks since my encounter with Keir by the fountain, and no progress. Because of Dahlia.

Another day, another lunch. I chew on my sandwich, boots resting on the chair opposite, as I watch the people chattering around. Human inanity never ceases to amaze me. Two guys at the next table hunch over their food, shovelling chips into their mouths and studying their phones. Across from them, a trio of girls pick delicately at their salads, focused on their phones too. Students steer clear of me, regarding me with either curiosity or indifference. My involvement in campus life is zero as I regroup and focus on my purpose—Keir.

Plus getting past Dahlia. Who would’ve known dealing with a human, and one as small and weak would involve as much energy as stalking a horde of demons through Berlin last month? I worm my way into Dahlia’s life, pleading forgetfulness and asking her for help with studying. Sucking up to and nagging her until she agrees leaves a bad taste in my mouth. She told me she’s only helping because Keir asked her too, and behind my nonchalance was surprise. Dahlia’s sour face gave me a sense of triumph although long hours with her in the confines of the library bored the hell out of me.

The reason for the pain I’m subjecting myself to barely shows his face. We haven’t spoken since that evening and Keir ensures he’s never alone with me. Sometimes when we’re in class, I catch his glacial eyes trained on me, his face inscrutable, and my cheeks burn. This involuntary action pisses me off, as does the little smile he gives himself when he looks away again.

I look up as a tray of food lands on the table, followed by Dahlia sitting down and unscrewing a bottle of water. Mouse Girl chose to wear black today, like most days, not a good colour against her pallid skin.

“Hey, Dahlia, where’s Keir?”

“I think he’s joining us today.”

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise then.”

Dahlia unwraps her sandwich. “Why?”

“I didn’t think you liked me and you chose to sit with me rather than over there.” I point at an empty table across the cafeteria.

“No point, he’ll want to sit with you anyway.” Dahlia sits stiffly, picking salad from her sandwich.

“Can’t imagine why, he hardly ever looks at me.”

“And I have no idea why he wants anything to do with you.” Dahlia dumps tomato onto her plate.

Omigod, she’s eating a cheese sandwich. I battle to keep the smirk from my face. Mouse Girl likes cheese. But is this awkward girl sitting with me really a mouse girl or as deceptive as her friend? Keir told me Dahlia knew I was on my way, and that Dahlia stops soul hunters touching him. How the hell does she manage to?

“What is it with you two?” I ask.

“What?”

“Always together but not a couple. Kind of weird.”

“You don’t believe in platonic friendships?” She bites into her sandwich and I catch a hint of the smug that creeps in when I ask about him spending time with her.

“Not when the guy’s as drop dead gorgeous as Keir.”

Dahlia’s face darkens. “I’m not his type. And neither are you.”

Unable to resist, I shift closer to Dahlia and lower my voice. “That’s not the impression Keir gave me when we were alone.”

The sandwich drops from Dahlia’s hands onto her tray, sending salad spilling over the edge. “You’re lying,” she exclaims. “He doesn’t like you.”

“Really? Jealous?”

Dahlia gives a short laugh. “Absolutely not. But you keep away from him.”

“That’s not so hard when you’re permanently attached to him,” I retort.

Dahlia leans across the table. “Exactly.” The challenge in her voice amuses me.

“For now.”

Keir pushes through the cafeteria door, and appreciative looks from the girls sitting near the doorway follow him across the room to us. Keir’s pale T-shirt is damp across his broad chest, and a sheen of sweat covers his forehead, his cheeks red.

“Hey,” he says as he slides into the chair next to Dahlia.

“Been working out? You could’ve showered first,” I say.

Perspiration oils his sinewy forearms, and I trail a look along them to heavy biceps. His Nephilim eyes meet mine for the briefest moment. “No, I haven’t.”

My stomach flips. Does Keir know the effect it has when he looks at me? Probably, and I hope he thinks it’s fear of him.

“Everything okay?” asks Dahlia, putting her hand on his. I grit my teeth when Keir doesn’t move.

“Yes.”

Dahlia passes him a second bottle from her tray.

“Thanks.”

What the hell is their deal? Keir wipes an arm across his face, mops his forehead with his sleeve, and Dahlia pulls a textbook from her bag. Both resolutely ignore me. I wait for a hint about where Keir was and drum my fingers on the table, hoping to irritate Dahlia enough for a response.

No effect.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, as always,” I say and stand, pushing my bag under the table with my boot before stomping away. Neither looks at me. Rude. Which is priceless coming from me, Queen of the Impolite.

Outside the cafeteria, I watch through the doors’ circular windows. Students leaving for class push through and past me as I refuse to leave my vantage point. Keir’s arrival looking like he’d run a marathon has to be a topic of conversation for him and Dahlia.

Dahlia closes the book and places it in her bag, glancing around. The shiny Formica tables in the cafeteria are empty, apart from the group of texting girls and canteen staff unenthusiastically clearing half-empty trays. Dahlia pulls out her laptop and flips open the lid, pointing at the screen. Keir leans forward, crosses his arms over his chest, his features hardening.

Once they’re engrossed, I head back inside.

Big boots do not lend themselves to sneaking. Perfect for kicking demons to the floor, useless for creeping around a squeaky floor. The pairs’ focus remains on their conversation, and they pay no attention to the world around them. Will Keir sense me before I’m close enough to hear something? I pause near a tall, uniformed lady clearing a table and catch a snippet of Dahlia and Keir’s conversation.

“That’s another one—they seem to be converging here,” says Dahlia, finger on the screen.

“So we deal with—” Keir’s head snaps up and he looks directly at me, setting his mouth in a hard line. This is the Keir I met by the fountain revealed again for the first time; his look a challenge: what the hell do you think you’re doing and you’ll regret it if you don’t stop.

“Forgot my bag! I’m so dumb sometimes!” Ducking under the table, I grab my backpack. “Sorry, carry on…. If this is about the test tomorrow, can I borrow some notes?” I straighten and smile innocently at Dahlia.

Slamming the laptop shut, Dahlia rests her hand on the lid and glowers. “It’s not about the test. Get lost.”

“Go, Ava,” says Keir in a low voice.

I hold my hands up. “Okay, okay. For fucks sake… what are you? Secret agents?”

Keir’s smile would warm my day if it weren’t so condescending. “You’re funny.”

I look up and reflect his challenge. We’re nowhere near done here.

“Apparently so.” I turn on my heel and head to class; aware two sets of eyes are boring into my back.

* * *

I THROW THE book across the bed. Where’s the information about Dahlia? Dahlia glued to Keir’s side continues to be a big bloody problem; do I need to take her out of the picture? How? Soul hunters killing humans is frowned on but not out of the question. If I kill Dahlia, her death might spur Keir into action and this whole situation could be over with. Sure, Ava. One thing about Nephilim, their earthbound powers rival any superhero’s, and a furious Keir hunting me down to kick seven shades out of me isn’t the best course of action.

So what the hell do I do?

On past assignments, the thrill of chasing demons and the adrenaline surge from fighting were only surpassed by the high of success—a dead creature and captured soul. But this… the fear over trying to catch a Nephilim soul morphs into something else. The task isn’t frightening—it’s excruciatingly boring.

No, I need to be more proactive. Since the weird encounter with Keir, I’ve backed too far away. Look at me procrastinating and brooding all because I’ve hit a stumbling block.

I sit.

What the hell am I doing? Where’s the soul hunter who heads in, takes what she needs, then leaves? Am I seriously allowing my plans to be thrown by a weak human girl?

Get a bloody grip, Ava.

This shit stops now, and if Dahlia needs removing from the situation, it’s done. I grab my phone from the desk and storm out the room.

* * *

THE ODD COUPLES’ daily routine remains the same; keeping track of their movements is simple. Dahlia rigidly follows her schedule and then leaves for her halls. I sit on a bench in the dim and watch the pair walk by the same spot, at the same time, every night, before they disappear into Dahlia’s room. Every night I wait for Keir to reappear. He never does until after I grow bored and leave. Are they engaged in steamy sexual encounters? I smirk to myself. I bet I’m not the only girl on campus who wonders about their relationship. Tall, impossibly gorgeous guy with eyes to drown in and a body to hang onto, somehow enchanted by a plain girl who nobody would notice if she weren’t with him.

Catching him as he leaves Dahlia’s later at night is my opportunity I’ve missed for weeks; I have the element of surprise and wasted so many chances.

The crunch of their footsteps on the fallen autumn leaves alert me. Right on cue, Keir and Dahlia pass me sitting on the bench, pretending to study my phone. Keir must suspect; they’ve seen me every day this week. As usual, Dahlia ignores me, despite my cheery hello. Keir doesn’t look at me, talking to Dahlia in an insistent voice.

Unable to catch his eye and intrigued by Keir’s tense attitude, I set the timer on my phone for an hour, lean back and listen to music. Tonight’s the night. Do or die.

An hour later, I cross to the halls and head down the tiled hallway. Locating Dahlia’s room, I bang on the door.

No answer. I check the carefully written name glued to the frame. Dahlia Jameson. Right room. I pull at the door handle but it doesn’t budge and no light filters under the door. They haven’t walked back out of the building past me, and I watched the front for an hour. Where the hell did they go? I press my ear to the door. Nothing. How? There’s no other way out; no second exit. Where are they? I flick a look from right to left, checking for others walking down the hallway.

No one.

I root around in my pockets for something to help open the door. A hairpin. I smile at the cliché as I use the pin on the lock. Answers to their secrets have to lie in this room. I turn the handle and step inside, closing the door quietly behind.

Flicking the light switch, a bulb illuminates the room with a soft green glow, shining through the patterned material pinned beneath the light. The length of the wall by the neatly made bed is plastered with maps, print outs, and newspaper cuttings, interspersed with red ribbon and bright yellow Post-it notes. I approach and attempt to decipher what’s in front of me. The random mess makes no sense. The city map has pins inserted into streets; news cuttings depict recent unexplained events with a mixture of disappearances. There’s no connection between anything displayed.

Dahlia’s laptop charges on her desk, stationery and pens arranged neatly around it. I push a key hoping for an extra clue but the screen is locked.

So where the hell are Dahlia and Keir?

The open window answers my question. Smart. I lean out; Dahlia’s room is on the ground floor at the opposite side to where I watched them. Yep, clever. Thick grass grows below Dahlia’s window and beyond that, trees. No light shines nearby; this end of the building is covered in shadows.

Keir and Dahlia are one step ahead of me. I grit my teeth.

Screw this. I flick the switch, plunging the room back into darkness, sneak back out, and gently close the door behind.

There’s nothing gentle about the way I storm down the hallway, knocking pinned paper notices off the walls. Keir and Dahlia may think they’re smart, but I’m smarter. I’ll come back tomorrow, and this time they won’t have a chance to sneak off.

Chapter 4

THE NEXT EVENING, I wait in the shadow of the trees, near the halls instead of on the bench. Why can’t the bloody leaves hang on the branches and not crunch beneath my feet? At least the grey clouds darken the night sky for some cover as I shuffle from foot to foot keeping a greater distance than before. Keir watched me today, a sterner warning in his cerulean blue eyes. How strong are Keir’s powers? Will he know I’m around? Keen senses are a Nephilim trait I need to keep my distance tonight, or the warning in his eyes could end up painful.

Dahlia and Keir pass as usual; Keir glances at the empty bench I normally sit on. Dahlia lags behind Keir as he strides ahead, hands buried in his pockets. Opening the door to the halls, Keir waits for Dahlia, tapping his fingers on the wood. An unusual tension around them spells something different about their night. I’ve chosen good time to lift my game.

The heavy curtains in Dahlia’s window light up but remain unmoving, and after half an hour, no figures approach the window. My stomach plummets. Ugh. Perhaps tonight isn’t the same as the previous evening, and they’re studying the weird collection of paper on her wall instead of sneaking out. Is Keir aware I’m waiting?

The adrenaline subsides as the hours pass, and boredom sets in. I yawn, twisting hair round my fingers into ringlets. This is a joke, I should bloody storm in there and take my chances. If I weren’t concerned over what the hell kind of power Dahlia has, I’d be in there.

Midsulk, a movement catches my eye, and Dahlia’s room darkens. I straighten. Yes. A figure slides through Dahlia’s window and onto the grass below. Keir shrugs on a leather jacket and helps Dahlia, lifting her to the ground as if she weighs no more than a child.

I trace the handle of the knife sheathed inside my inner jacket pocket; if I’m following them into danger, I need to be prepared. In my other pocket, the soul crystal nestles against my hip. Just in case.

Keir and Dahlia move through the campus grounds, avoiding the fallen leaves, their footsteps barely audible on the footpath. The campus is located on the city’s edge, amongst the student ghetto of crowded housing, cheap restaurants, and trendy coffee shops. Dahlia and Keir head away from campus, and slip onto the backstreets many students avoid. I’ve heard students are rich pickings for the disadvantaged who live amongst them, and certain areas are a no-go to humans. Disadvantaged attacking? Demons, more like.

I trail behind, at a distance that hopefully won’t alert Keir. He and Dahlia continue along the rubbish-strewn streets, heads down, hands in pockets, occasionally leaning across to say something to each other.

Eventually, we arrive in the quieter streets, the part of the suburb sensible people avoid. Keir and Dahlia pass a group of teenagers standing in a darkened corner with hoods around their faces. They watch the two friends pass by before turning away. I straighten my shoulders and pick up my stride into a confident gait. Their scrutiny turns to me and I tip my chin upwards. Please leave me alone. I could take the whole bloody group on if I need, but I don’t want the attention or inconvenience.

Thanks to my wary eye on the gang, I lose sight of Dahlia and Keir. I pause. Did they round the corner? I turn the same corner and stop. No Keir, but Dahlia waits alone by the edge of the road, coat pulled up around her neck.

I sidestep into the doorway of a Chinese restaurant. For fuck’s sake. Where is he? They were together a minute ago. From my vantage point, I monitor Dahlia. Should I look for Keir or follow her? A double-decker bus pulls into a stop near her, and she jumps aboard, not looking back as the bus pulls away again.

Perfect. Keir’s alone and ready to be dealt with now.

When I find him.

The appetising smell drifting out from the restaurant kitchen hits me. I peer in the window at people sitting around tables, chatting over noodle bowls. My stomach rumbles and the restaurant, adorned with hanging lanterns and golden dragons, beckons. Tempting… I shake the thought from my head.

Keir can’t be far. I step out the doorway to retrace my steps and hope I can sense him.

A noise in the nearest alleyway startles me, and I spin around, squinting through the darkness. The brick buildings overhang, practically touching; the narrow space between them stacked with skips and refuse. A shadow crosses the alleyway and I cock my head to one side, listening. In the darkness, I can’t make out anything, but two low voices argue, one sounding panicked.

Now what? I glance at the roofs above. A ladder, half-rusted but intact, runs down the restaurant wall and I scale it onto broken roof tiles, close to a large metal chimney releasing a mouth-watering cloud from the restaurant below.

I crouch and hold my breath. The voices rise. Creeping along the rooftop, one eye on my footing, the other on the alley below, I attempt to locate them.

There. In the dead-end darkness, hidden from the few passers-by, two figures fight.

A man is doubled over as Keir rains blow after blow into a guy’s stomach. Holy shit. He struggles to fight back, but Keir overpowers his victim who falls to the floor, covering his head in protection.

Nephilim have demon blood—and share their contempt for human life—but the brutality of Keir’s attack sickens me.

Oh. My. God. He fooled me. Keir’s the one responsible for the human deaths. His disguise as one is cleverer than I realised. I have to stop him.

I edge along the roof, carefully stepping over broken tiles, lining myself up with Keir. All I can see is his leather clad back leaning over the screaming man on the ground, as he kicks him in the side. Pushing away the horror freezing me, I leap from the roof onto Keir’s back, yelling at him to stop.

Keir shouts in surprise, twisting his body from side to side trying to dislodge me but I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, and grip Keir’s neck.

The man on the floor uncovers his head and looks up at me, yellow eyes wide. A mocking grin crosses his face as he takes his chance, pulls himself to his feet and sprints into the night. Demon. What the fuck? I loosen my grip on Keir’s neck in surprise. With a growl, he flings me backwards, and I land spread-eagle on the floor, the breath knocked from me.

“What the fuck are you doing, you stupid bitch?” shouts Keir.

An invisible force lifts and slams me into the brick wall opposite, and I wince at the impact. Keir strides over, fist held back and I flinch, convinced he’s about to smack me. The wall next to me receives the blow instead, and he leans forward, eyes shining with fury.

“I thought you were killing someone,” I shout back, struggling against the force holding me in place.

“I was—a demon—and now he’s escaped. It took us weeks to track that one down. You stupid…”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Nephilim, how was I to know? It’s not as if you have a history of being the good guys.”

Keir steps back, allowing me to sink onto the cardboard boxes littering the floor. “What do you know? Really? Little soul hunter.”

His mocking spurs me and I jump to my feet, and launch myself at him. Keir pushes me in the chest, a swift simple movement with twice the force I could manage. I land heavily on my back again. Shit, I’m going to have some bruises tomorrow. If I make it that far.

“Don’t be so bloody stupid; you know I could do the same to you as I did to him. I know you’re weak.”

“Really?”

I push myself to my feet again feet, ignoring the pain in my limbs. Mustering all my strength, I throw myself at Keir. Catching him off guard, I send him backwards against the opposite wall. I pin my arm across his neck; Keir stares back, his blue eyes searching mine and I brace myself for his retaliation.

I’m overwhelmed by an awareness of his hard, muscled body pressed against me. Images of myself pressed to him slipped into my mind a few times, since the inexplicable attraction to him at the night by the fountain. But not like this. Our faces almost touch, hearts thumping against each other’s chests and something weird passes; an imperceptible spark of connection. Inexplicable. Distracting.

My head snaps back as Keir catches my hair and pulls. I drop the grip on his neck, and attempt to dislodge his hand. Keir spins me round and holds me in a headlock from behind.

“Beautiful Ava,” he says, breathing heavily in my ear, “you’re wasting your time trying to steal back my soul. Your Caelestia friends know what I’m doing and they want to stop me. You won’t be the one to do that.”

“Not quite the meek and mild guy you make yourself out to be, are you, Keir?” I growl back, tearing at his arm around her neck.

“And you’re not the tough girl you make yourself out to be, are you, Ava?”

He releases my neck and roughly twists me to face him, gripping the tops of my arms. “Don’t mess in things you don’t understand. Anybody who gets in the way of what we’re doing doesn’t survive long.”

I wince as his grasp tightens, forcing myself to hold his look. Dark pupils obscure his blue irises and fear sneaks in. He could kill me. Keir throws me backwards across the alleyway again, and I land on the floor in a heap. This is bullshit. I drag myself to my feet and stumble, black dots behind my eyes. Reaching inside my jacket, the dagger’s hilt pushes hard against my damp palm. If I don’t act soon, I’m dead.

Focus. Fight to the death is the soul hunter code. Is this how the other soul hunters failed against Keir? Memories of the Fated world spill into my mind and tears spring into my eyes. Death here is better than returning there. Ragged breaths hurt my chest, and I muster the little power I have left as I pull the dagger from its sheath.

Keir’s mouth twists. “If you want me to use that on you, go ahead.”

He doesn’t move, arms folded across his chest, as he regards me with a victorious smile. The dagger glints as I charge toward him. Keir’s eyebrows arch in surprise for a moment before he casually reaches out for the dagger and knocks me to the floor. Pushing his knee into my chest, Keir holds the metal point against my cheek.

Keir looks down, glacial eyes furious, as the tip of the dagger digs into my skin. I stare up at the pinprick stars above his head instead. Will I die here? Fail so spectacularly? Fear replaces the bloodlust from the fight, and nausea wells in my stomach.

I’ve failed.

A hateful tear spills from my eye, and I blink it away. Keir won’t enjoy my fear as he kills me—he can’t have that triumph. I lock gazes again, willing the teardrop sliding down my face to disappear.

Keir shifts his eyes to the unwanted tear running down my dirt-covered cheek. The point of the dagger presses harder into my cheek and pierces. As the tear touches my ear, he hesitates.

“Fuck.” The dagger clatters to the ground as Keir stands, pauses, then runs into the night.

Chapter 5

I WINCE AS I shift in my desk chair and rub my sore head. Darius’s book lies open in front of me, next to pages from Keir’s file spread over the desk. Why didn’t I study the file properly in the first place? Cocky Ava, deluding myself I’d be done and dusted, game over, in a week. Every bloody muscle in my body aches; I haven’t taken a beating like that since training. Last night raises a crap load of new questions I’ve no answers to.

Demons. A Nephilim wouldn’t fight or kill demons; they’re allies.

Keir. Why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance?

Dahlia. Who the hell is she and how is she involved?

My head splits with the pain and confusion.

I flick through the pages, recapping the information on the relationship between demons and Nephilim. Humans think their lore about Nephilim is correct. It isn’t. The closest part to the ideas humans have is that they are originally fallen angels or Caelestia, as they like to call themselves. Not that humans have any clue what angels really are either.

The ruling Demon Lords persuaded the exiled Nephilim to unite their angel souls with demons, to magnify the powers the Nephilim held. This corrupted Nephilim race became a super-demon in human form, as strong as the Demon Lords and as powerful as the Nephilims’ old rulers, the Caelestia. The two races united against the Caelestia who are at war with the Demon realm. Easy. History 101.

The Demon Lords needed a bigger army and began capturing human souls to create demonic foot soldiers for the war against the Caelestia. For this job, they chose their newest allies, the human-looking Nephilim who could easily gain human trust. The Nephilim had the power to take the gathered human souls and create new demons; demons handed over to the Demon Lords to control and send to war, or to collect souls too.

Part of that war includes killing soul hunters who interrupt their task.

My role as a soul hunter is to find the demons and kill them, to steal back the stolen human souls, and return them to the Caelestia, where the lost souls can be helped.

So Keir killing a demon contradicts everything I’ve ever read or heard.

Why didn’t Keir kill me? There’s no reason for him to spare the life of the half-angel whose purpose is to steal his soul. Our relationship is kill or be killed. So why am I alive?

Secrets aren’t held in this book; secrets are hidden by those around. And I’m determined to find out what they are before I make any more moves.

* * *

I’M THREE CLASSES into the next day with no appearance by Dahlia or Keir. I’ve stalked from lecture to seminar, engaging less than usual, and swearing at everyone who gets in my way—or looks at me the wrong way—and my head pounds with frustration.

Dahlia never misses class.

I’m half-relieved by Keir’s absence. He might change his mind about killing me or regroup with Dahlia to put plans in place. The problem is, I want to see him. Last night, when his heart beat against my chest, his warmth as our bodies pressed together, drew me away from the pain of the fight. I avoid physical contact at all costs, but despite the pain we inflicted on each other, something more took over.

In his eyes, I saw an open doorway to a place I’m tempted to go, one Keir didn’t mean to reveal to me. The softened look in his eyes, as he watched the pathetic tear spill down my face, cemented my belief something weird exists here. I snort. Compassion and humanity from my sworn enemy? And Keir says I’m weak…

By the day’s end, another scenario enters my mind and a cold dread creeps across my scalp. What if Dahlia and Keir moved on, and I’ve missed my opportunity? I know part of their secrets now, and they realise I want to interfere. Why wouldn’t they leave and continue their secret life elsewhere? Then how long do I have before Darius finds out and I’m dragged back, and punished for my failure?

I trudge back to my room, fighting the sick feeling, telling myself not to overreact. It’s less than twenty-four hours since I saw either of them.

I push open the door to the halls and halt when I see Dahlia. Cross-legged on the tiled floor outside my room, the slight girl with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, sits with small backpack on her lap. As I approach, she jumps to her feet, curling fists into balls by her sides. I twitch my mouth into an amused smile.

“What the fuck did you do?” shouts Dahlia.

Whoa. What the hell? First time alone with Dahlia and the quiet girl’s foul mouth matches mine. Dahlia’s paler than usual, eyes circled by stress and dark shadows.

“Hey, Dahlia, nice to see you too.”

“Keir. He’s gone.” Dahlia’s voice cracks and she clears her throat, curling her hands tightly around the bag.

“Oh well, I’m sure he’ll be back.” I force nonchalance despite the words oh shit forming in my mind.

“What did you do?” repeats Dahlia, through clenched teeth. “He didn’t come back.”

“Keir’s a big boy now, maybe he found something more interesting to do than hang around with you?”

“Did you kill him?” A girl passing in the corridor glances at us and edges to the opposite wall looking at me.

I eye the girl, who continues along the corridor. “Do you want to come into my room and talk about this?”

Dahlia stares after the girl, small mouth thinning.

I open my door. “Dahlia?”

“What?”

“We have something to talk about?”

“Oh, we sure do.” She pushes past into the room.

Slinging her bag onto the bed, Dahlia crosses her arms tight. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“When?”

“When you followed us last night, after I left. Keir came back late last night and told me he had to leave.”

“I didn’t follow—”

“Save it!” snaps Dahlia, and I don’t know whether to laugh or be shocked by Dahlia’s attitude. The mouse bites. “I know you fucking did. I thought we’d lost you, but we didn’t. Obviously.”

Dahlia’s small body is coiled, muscles stiffened, ready to attack. Surely she wouldn’t be so stupid. Any human would lose against a soul hunter, doubly so this little girl.

“I saw Keir attacking someone. I thought the victim was a human so I intervened. I was wrong. He was attacking a demon, the demon left, we had a fight, and I came home. Simple.” I tip my head.

Dahlia pulls herself straight. “Don’t make what happened sound so mundane—why did you interfere?”

“Nephilim kill humans. Nephilim don’t kill demons. So I think it was a fairly bloody logical reaction when I saw Keir kicking the shit out of someone.”

Dahlia approaches me. “I don’t think you know the slightest thing about Nephilim.”

“And you do? Do you know what you’re messed up in?”

“Yes. Do you? You only know one version of who they are. History is only ever told from one point of view and twisted to suit the teller’s propaganda.”

“Oh really, and what do you think you know about them? You’re just a human; you have no idea.” I jab a finger into Dahlia’s chest.

Dahlia steps back and points at my book, resting on the desk. “Who gave you that? Was it Darius?”

At the sound of Darius’s name, I drop my arm. “How do you know who Darius is?”

Dahlia smirks.

“Just who are you anyway?” I demand.

“I’m helping Keir.” Dahlia looks back from the book to me.

“Helping Keir do what?”

“Make fucking cupcakes…” Her voice drips angry sarcasm. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m helping him kill demons.”

“He’s a Nephilim and he’s killing demons. Why?” A thought strikes. “Is he taking the stolen souls back to somebody?”

Dahlia’s expression turns to pure disgust. “No, that’s what you do, readying their army.”

“Army? No, I return lost souls to safety.”

“How do you know where they go when you take them back? Have you ever asked yourself?” spits Dahlia.

We face off in the small room, both ready in case the other attacks. My head thumps with anger that Dahlia holds more answers than I do. The bloody mouse has the upper hand, and her sardonic smile reflects her enjoyment at the role reversal.

“Who are you?” I demand. “Or what the fuck are you?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Surprise me. Shut me up. Whatever.”

“Oh, I’d love to shut you up because as well as being a soul hunter, you’re a bitch. If it was up to me, I’d have killed you the first time you went anywhere near Keir.”

My hackles rise; Dahlia’s on thin ice; one more word and she’ll be on the floor.

“Really? And what makes you so tough? Have you looked at yourself recently?” I flick my fingers at Dahlia’s appearance. “Plain girl following sexy Nephilim around, who is clearly using you. Do you know what they do to humans? Do you want to become a demon?”

Dahlia narrows her brown eyes. Ha. Now who has the upper hand?

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Think you know everything when you don’t.” Dahlia turns her back to me and yanks up the bottom of her black top.

Indelibly marked on the skin at the base of her spine is a number. Below rests a round scar, shirt button sized, faded to pink. “Holy shit,” I say before I can stop myself. Dahlia’s soul hunter tracker. Someone cut it out.

The world shifts further off balance.

“You’re a soul hunter?” I ask. “How long have you been this close to him? Why haven’t you taken his soul yet?”

Dahlia smoothes her shirt back down. “I’m not a soul hunter anymore.”

“How? That’s not possible. You can’t stop unless you’re given your Will. Or—”

“Apparently it is. I have.”

I squeeze my temples. Nobody leaves behind soul hunter life. Death is the only other way out.

“Who cut out the tracker? Are you human now?” The questions stumble from my lips.

“Yes, I’m human now and it takes more than than just cutting this out to leave behind soul hunter life.” She touches the scar.

“How… I mean why would you do this? Human?”

“I’m not telling you anything else, Ava.”

My head hurts as I try to catch up. “Why are you helping Keir? He’s Nephilim…”

“I learnt enough about what’s happening around us to know who to help.”

I pace to the window, look out at the campus and the wind blowing the remaining brown leaves from the trees. Seasons passing in a world Dahlia doesn’t belong in. I won’t let her know her secret has fazed me.

“Keir… where’s he gone?” I ask.

“I don’t know, I asked you, remember? And if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you, with you wanting to take his soul and everything…” Dahlia’s lips disappear as she pulls her mouth tighter. “But I can guess he’s looking for that demon you let get away. I bet he was really fucking angry about that…”

I involuntarily rub my bruised back, and Dahlia yelps a laugh. “Serves you right. If I were you, I’d keep watching that back. I don’t need to tell you what happened to the other hunters who came to take his soul.”

“Like you?”

“I never came for Keir’s soul.”

“Why not?”

Dahlia shrugs and I narrow my eyes. “Well, he could’ve killed me, but he didn’t,” I retort, regaining my composure.

Surprise flashes across her face, then back to anger as she moves closer. “I don’t know what power you used to stop Keir killing you, but you won’t stop him. He knows what you are and you’ve already caused a major problem for him. You’re as expendable as the other soul hunters who came here and died.”

I fight the urge to grab Dahlia and choke her. The slight irritation Dahlia caused has morphed to infuriation in the space of minutes. She’s blind-sided me revealing who she is, and taunts me.

“I didn’t use any power on him. It was Keir’s choice. He decided not to and won’t kill me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. I can’t see anything that makes you different to the others.” Dahlia’s smug smile grows. “Maybe he wants some amusement from you before he does anything. It wouldn’t be the first time he screwed a soul hunter and ended the fun with snapping her neck.”

Dahlia pushes past, slamming heavily into my side, and slams the door behind her.

I throw myself backwards onto the bed, scrunching the sheets until my knuckles turn white. I should go after the stupid cow and finish her. She’s human. Weak. But a soul hunter now human? Gross and impossible.

The fight with Keir spools behind my eyes when I close them. The adrenaline of my encounter with Dahlia floods back the exhilaration of fighting with Keir too. A barrier came up, blocking my need to kill him, replaced with a desperate desire for his touch. Is that what happened to him? This is a huge fucking problem; what if the same thing happens next time and I can’t kill him?

What presses on my mind more is a different question. He could have killed me. But he didn’t. Why?

Chapter 6

I TIE MY newly pink hair into a ponytail as I wait for the lecture to start. At the back of the room, Dahlia leans against the wall, laptop poised but eyes closed. Apparently, I’m not the only one lost without Keir. Does she know where he is? Her scowl deepens daily. I’m laying bets she doesn’t.

The days turn into weeks, and Keir hasn’t returned. Each day I scan every part of the campus for him, but only ever see Dahlia.

Dahlia refuses to come near or speak to me, her eyes narrowing in warning if I approach her. The one time I managed to get close enough to speak to her, I barely said two words before Dahlia turned on her heel and strode away. I’d ignore the silly bitch, but my curiosity about Dahlia’s status as an ex-soul hunter won’t leave.

I’m faced with a half demon killing other demons, a girl who’s left my world behind, and my unease over my exact role in all this consumes me. My simple kill or be killed world of hunting souls, returning to Darius, rinse and repeat, has ended. And in the centre of the maelstrom of confusion lies the biggest question. When and if Keir returns, am I facing death? No, he won’t kill me. I can’t explain why, but the moment I saw my own doubts reflected in his eyes, I knew.

Darius. I’ve failed. How has Darius known in the past when soul hunters fail? When they died? Or when their mission took too long? Does he have people watching? I scrutinise any new face arriving on campus, paranoid Darius might send someone to retrieve me. After weeks, I relax but not fully.

A guy walks through the double doors and crosses to the stairs between the rows of seats. He searches the rows of faces until sapphire blue eyes flecked with violet meet mine.

Keir. At first, he’s unrecognisable, hair shorter and curls no longer falling across his face. The sharper cut defines his jawline, accentuating the strong cheekbones and full mouth. He pauses on the stairs long enough for hope to rise he’ll stop and talk to me, but he veers upstairs to Dahlia.

A surreptitious glance over my shoulder reveals Dahlia’s wide smile and open-mouthed surprise. A heat crosses my face as they embrace each other tightly.

* * *

I SPEND THE next hour shifting in my seat, looking over my shoulder at Dahlia and Keir whilst the blonde-haired girl next to me huffs with irritation. I ignore her, too fixated on my anxiety I’ll miss Keir when he leaves to waste energy on challenging the girl. I need to leave first and decide what the fuck to do. Run? The look Keir threw me was passive; I’ve no idea of his intentions towards me. His new appearance also threw me, as did my heart speeding when he approached. The lecture over, I sit with my bag on my knee and wait for the two friends to pass.

Keir strides ahead of Dahlia, and my stomach flips as I watch him pass. How does he do this? I shake my head. Drawing girls in is a Nephilim thing and nothing to do with the intensity of that moment we pressed together in the alleyway. Get a bloody grip.

Students throng the tiled corridors, rushing from class to class. Groups hang round noticeboards and friends embrace. I clench my jaw, shoving at them. Humans. Always in the bloody way. I slide between two groups of taller guys, bumped in the face by their backpacks. Keir’s taller than average figure can’t hide in the crowd, but he marches through everyone, and I need to weave in and out to keep him in sight. Dahlia glances over her shoulder scanning faces but doesn’t spot me. I duck behind another group as Dahlia and Keir change direction, down a small flight of stone stairs toward the building’s exit. They stop outside the double doorway; I halt, then step backwards before they see me.

Their low voices travel from the other side of the doors, and I flatten myself against the wall, straining to hear.

“You told her?” I hear Keir say.

“Not everything,” replies Dahlia. “Forget that. Why won’t you tell me where you went?”

“Because I can’t. They can’t know you’re helping me.”

The conversation pauses for a few seconds, and I imagine Dahlia’s pissed off face. Now who isn’t getting the answers she wants? Ha.

“So what do we do with the soul hunter?” asks Dahlia.

“I don’t know. Whatever we do, they’ll just send another.”

“You could’ve got rid of her already, like the others; why the hell didn’t you?” Dahlia’s frustration is evident in her tone. “That might still be the best option, Keir.”

“Maybe we should tell Ava the whole truth; you told her half of it. She might back off then.”

My body slackens with relief. No mention from him about killing me. Yet.

“Why are you questioning this? She wants your soul!”

“She has doubts. I’ve seen it in her eyes.”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid, Keir. Ava’s trying to seduce you, like the others. She’ll say whatever it takes to get you in a weak enough position. The soul hunter won’t give up on this, because if she does, she may as well be dead. They won’t have her back if she fails.”

“You didn’t go back,” replies Keir quietly. “You’re alive.”

Ah. More of Dahlia’s secrets. I attempt to listen, but can’t hear anything of the low conversation that follows.

A couple push the double-doors open and a tall boy with his arm slung possessively over a smaller girl’s shoulders wanders past. The adoration in her eyes as she looks up at her boyfriend spikes my regret I can’t spend time becoming close to anybody; a reminder of the loneliness of my life. The boy removes his long scarf and wraps it round the girl’s neck, pulling her to him. The girl giggles and pushes her hands into his hair as they pause for a kiss. Stomach plummeting further, I turn way, pretending to look at the notices pinned to the wall, ignoring the rising conflict: I don’t want to become close to anybody; they’ll die or disappear. The only person who ever managed to touch the edges of my heart was Daniel, and he was out of bounds. Now he’s dead.

Cool air blows into the hallways as the door swings open again. Hairs lift on the back of my neck at the awareness somebody stands behind.

“Ava.”

I turn almost bumping noses with Keir, whose face is centimetres from mine. I’d forgotten the impossible blue of his eyes, whirlpools pulling people into his charm.

Not me.

“You cut your hair,” I say, flicking my fingers toward his head.

“And yours is a different colour.”

Memories of the night in the alley fly into my mind again. Our bodies don’t touch this time, but the strange energy flows between us. Positive there’s a desire flickering across his eyes, I close mine. Make him move away with his tricks. I take a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling his clean scent and more memories scatter across my mind spreading heat low in my belly.

Keir’s mouth turns up at one corner. “I knew you were listening. Dahlia didn’t.”

If he’s expecting me to show surprise and yield, he can forget that. I lift my head and poke my tongue into my cheek. “So what did you decide? I think I missed the crucial part, where you decided if you were going to get rid of me, or however Dahlia so delicately put it.”

“We didn’t decide anything, Ava.” Keir lifts an arm and sets his palm on the wall behind me.

Dizziness creeps in, as he winds his enchantment around and pulls me in. Keir’s lips hover close to mine.

“If you know who I am, why I came, why didn’t you kill me in the alley?” I ask.

“You came to take my soul, correct?” I nod like a stupid kid, the one I haven’t been since before the Caelestia took and trained me. “You haven’t tried yet, why?”

The fog from his proximity clouds, and I struggle for a believable answer; one which could keep me alive. Instead, the truth falls from my mouth.

“Because I want to know what you’re doing. Why you’re killing demons.”

“I don’t believe you. I think it’s because you haven’t had a chance yet.”

“I think you do believe me. You know I heard what you just said to Dahlia. You saw my doubts.”

He touches my hair, the lightness of his fingers sparking across my scalp. “Your hair looks pretty this color.”

I blink at his change of subject. “Yeah.”

He trails fingers toward my cheek and my stomach tightens. Stop. This is my modus operandi. I turn on the seduction, not the demons. Not him. I should be repulsed, but this is the opposite, and I struggle as if his hold were physical.

“Do you know why I didn’t kill you?” he whispers, fingers settling on my lips.

I yank my head away from his touch. “No.”

Keir stops abruptly and steps back with the same look as the last time we were so close. Confusion. Desire. Anger. “Nor do I. Next time you might not be so lucky.” He grips his rucksack, his knuckles whitening. “Stay away from us. Until you decide what to do, and then we can end this.”

As he leaves, Keir pauses, hand on the door handle as he looks back. “This won’t end well for you, Ava.”

I jump as the door slams shut behind him. Spell broken, I turn away and smack my palms against the wall, holding my forehead against the cool bricks. How does he bloody do this? Silence. I dig out the hidden Ava, the vulnerable girl I buried when I left the Fated.

Whenever Keir looks into my eyes, I’m transparent. Keir has the advantage and he knows.

Chapter 7

I BLOW MY fringe out of my eyes and glance at the clock above the tables in the corner. No way. Two hours to go? The queue grows longer as people grab coffees on the way home from work, or meet up after lectures. The working day ended for most but not me: orders backing up, machine working overtime, bored out of my skull. Bad enough my plans to snatch Keir’s soul and get the hell out of the human world is torn apart, now I’m wasting more time working as a barista to pay my way. Soul hunters never receive money to live on, and this is the first time I’ve needed to hang around this godforsaken place. Crap job for a person with even crappier customer service skills, but I’m lucky I talked my way into the job. I agreed to take a lower wage, which pissed me off, but what choice do I have?

The café doesn’t have space or atmosphere. The gaudily painted, small establishment consists of Formica tables with red PVC bench seats, tables squeezed together, and a narrow counter with a menu chalked on a board above. The owner wanted to maximize the amount he could squeeze out of people who are tempted to sit for gourmet sandwiches and cakes; the cafe’s position on the high street and the cheap prices are the big draw card.

“Crap!” I spill frothed milk on my hand for the tenth time in one shift, and blow at the reddening skin. Shaking the pain away, I pull the order ticket from the board to announce the lucky recipient of the drink scalding my skin. “Zach!”

“Thanks. And no use crying over spilt milk.”

A tall guy steps from the side of the group waiting and reaches for the cup. Violet-flecked, ice blue Keir eyes, half hidden behind a long, dark fringe flopping into his face, regard me. I attempt to hide my shock.

He looks at my hand. “Did you burn yourself?”

“No.” His eyes. How could he have eyes like Keir’s? There was nothing in the folder about other Nephilim in the area. Oh, lucky me.

“Good, thanks for the coffee.” He lifts the cup in a toast and wanders to a clean table by the window.

The guy hunches over his coffee, disguising his height, and as he takes a sip, he glances over and his mouth tips into a strange smile. The intensity of his gaze trips an uncomfortable shiver through my soul. Does he know who I am too?

I’m interrupted by Janie shoving me. “Come on, slow poke, we’re busy! Stop checking out the customers.”

“I’m not,” I mutter, and grab the next order. “Kylie!”

Over the next couple of hours, the entire bloody city appears to pass in and out of the place: buying coffees, sitting, reading, and chatting. This whirl of activity surrounds me, but I can’t lose my nerves around Zach, who never moves, watching me.

I check the clock again. Seven o’clock. The number of customers slows to a trickle, and I surreptitiously check out Zach when he’s staring out of the fogged window.

Would I get bonus points if I brought two Nephilim souls to Darius? Yeah right, like I’m succeeding with killing one, never mind two.

And here he is. With attachment. Keir holds the café door for Dahlia, who strides over to place their order.

“Two flat whites please.” Dahlia peels off her woollen gloves and studies the display of cakes as if she doesn’t know me. Our politeness around each other descended from tolerance to animosity days ago.

I scrawl the order on my pad. “To go?”

“No. We’re hanging out here.”

Keir remains in the doorway, his hand on the handle. He and Zach regard each other, eyes meeting briefly.

“Hi, Keir,” I call, and lean forward, my necklace jangling on the counter.

“Yeah, hi, Ava.” He looks at me for the briefest second, before looking back to Dahlia.

Imperceptibly, Keir tilts his head toward Zach. Dahlia glances at Zach, gives Keir a single nod, and moves to a table at the opposite end of the room. Keir slides onto the bench seat opposite Dahlia, his back to me. They huddle in conversation, and Dahlia traces patterns on the smooth table. Zach’s attention remains focused on me with no sign of any interest in Dahlia or Keir, but his relentless staring freaks me out. I chew the inside of my cheek and look away.

“Well, that’s me.” Janie smiles, takes off her apron, and tosses it onto the counter. “Long shift today.”

She undoes her long dark hair from a ponytail and shakes it across her shoulders. “Man, I wish I had one of those guys waiting for me at home tonight.” She inclines her head toward Zach and Keir. “Say, you know one of those guys don’t you? The one with the girl. Tell me she’s not his girlfriend, seriously she can’t be…”

Janie indicates Dahlia, who’s eclipsed by the stunning guy she sits with. The odd couple, with his broad, tall frame hunched over her protectively. What is their deal? Jealousy spikes and I shake the feeling away. When will I get a grip on this? The sensation of his heart beating against my chest and the heat radiating between us repeats in my dreams every night, worse since the encounter in the corridor. The intensity of my body’s reaction to Keir pisses me off, and it doesn’t help when I see the same desire flicker across his face each time we’re close. In the days since our last meeting, I’ve kept my distance, heeded his last warning, and planned what the hell to do.

“No, they’re friends,” I say.

“He’s cute; you should try your luck with him before anyone else does.”

I snort. “Not my type.”

Janie laughs and elbows me in the ribs. “He’s my type! Introduce us.”

I flick a tea towel at her. “Behave. Go home, you.”

Janie waves over her shoulder as she leaves, the door swinging closed behind her. I chew my lip. Keir and Dahlia. My view of them is blocked as Zach approaches the counter.

“What can I get you?” I ask, and take the opportunity to examine his eyes again. Definitely Nephilim.

“You busy later?”

“You asking me on a date?”

“Might be.” Zach shakes his fringe out of his face and smiles coyly. I push a strand of hair behind an ear. I should focus on Keir, not hook up with someone. Zach raises a brow. “Or busy with them tonight? Friends?”

“Not really. I know them but we don’t hang out much.” Or ever.

What do I do? If he is another Nephilim and I take his soul instead, maybe that would be enough to get me home and dry. Keir and his mysteries can stay behind. Okay, so Zach isn’t the one in my file, but I’ve collected extra souls on missions before. I can prove to myself that Nephilim can be dealt with, a practice run before Keir, as this one doesn’t seem as cocky as him.

“Sure!” I say brightly. “I finish up soon; meet you at Paddy’s Bar at nine?”

Zach’s smile widens. “Awesome, see you then.”

He slouches away, and Dahlia watches him too, sliding her tongue across her teeth as Zach leaves. I catch Dahlia’s eye and give her a little wave. I’m rewarded with a Dahlia scowl.

What is her deal? Does she have any happiness in her life? Whatever made her human must’ve ruined everything. Well, apart from hanging out with the guy who was once her enemy. Weird. I wipe down the counter and the bell over the door tinkles. I look up to serve the customer I hear walk in, but nobody’s here. Dahlia and Keir’s table is empty.

* * *

THE WIND BLOWS stray paper around my ankles as I walk along the quiet street. Asshole. I stomp on the rubbish, wishing this were Zach’s head. I waited an hour in Paddy’s Bar; the only single girl on my own in the place. An hour wasted waiting for the flaky guy who picked me up at work and had no intention of meeting me. Arriving on campus, I tread through the carefully swept piles of leaves, resisting the urge to kick them loose. Every new leaf on the ground is a reminder of my failure. I’ve bloody wasted time again, and I’ve lost my focus in a pointless attempt to discover who Zach is. If Zach ever has the cheek to approach me again, he won’t know what’s bloody hit him.

I round the corner towards the welcoming lights of my halls and angry voices carry from in the nearby trees. I pause. Is my mind playing tricks on me because one of the voices sounds like Keir? A strangled yell comes from their direction. Should I check this out? Keir attacked a demon last time, but if this is him, he could easily be with a human. He’s Nephilim and it’s what they do; the campus is rich pickings for him.

I move into the wooded area behind the building and peer around the tree, straining my eyes in the darkness. In a small copse, lined by tall bushes, Keir lies on the floor, fighting against the weight of the guy sitting across his chest. The other guy can’t be human; he wouldn’t have the strength to hold Keir down, a dagger against his throat. I wrinkle my nose. Keir’s anger ended in a lot of pain the last time I was involved. Bad idea. I back away. He can deal with his own problems this time.

“You picked the wrong side, Keir.” I stop. Zach? “We’re getting stronger, and you’re becoming a liability.”

“Just fucking do it then, kill me,” growls Keir. “I’m not afraid.”

“I’ve already distracted that soul hunter to stop her from being here tonight. Did you know she’s close to getting your soul? Well, I think it’s time I took it. Not her.”

This is Zach. Fury blackens. Zach played me. No fucking way is he the one to take Keir’s soul; I am. I look around. The path close to the trees is quiet and I can’t hear anybody around.

Screw it. I run across the grass and grab Zach by his hair. He falls backwards, losing his grip on Keir and the knife, which spins into the grass close by. Zach immediately springs to his feet, arms out to fight back, but I’ve already launched myself at him. Slamming my side into his, I knock him back to the ground and straddle his chest. Breathing heavily, I stare at his pissed off face and prepare for him to fight back.

Zach’s face contorts in anger. “Hello, little soul hunter, come to rescue your friend?”

I jab an elbow into his neck. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Ava, leave it!” shouts Keir.

Ignoring him, I grope on the ground for the weapon Zach dropped and find the handle. I grab and spin the dagger around in my hand, then hold the weapon against Zach’s throat. “I came for Keir’s soul, but yours will be an added bonus.”

“My soul? Good luck with that. I don’t have one,” sneers Zach.

I hesitate. “What?”

“Somebody already took mine.”

“But you’re alive?”

His lip curls, blue eyes intense in the dimming light. “I’m a Nephilim, sweetheart, we don’t die that fucking easily.”

The rumours are true? Nephilim can walk the world soulless? Shit. I hesitate.

No. He’s a threat, a rival for Keir’s soul. The hilt of the dagger digs into my hand, and I move the blade, ready to slit his throat.

I’m stopped by Keir, twisting the dagger from my hands. “Leave it, Ava, for fuck’s sake!”

I’m yanked away from Zach, as if I weigh nothing, and thrown to the ground. “What the hell?” I yell.

I pull myself up as Zach sits; Keir slams him back into the undergrowth and kneels on his chest.

“You can’t kill him,” Keir says not looking at me. “He’s not a demon, he’s Nephilim. If you did manage to kill a Nephilim, your life wouldn’t be worth living. I expect they didn’t mention that when they sent you to kill me.”

“You’re lying.”

Keir presses harder against Zach’s throat who chokes out, “Kill her. Kill us both. Because we both want one thing from you. Why else would she have jumped in and rescued you?”

I wince at the sound as Keir slams Zach’s head into the ground. “I didn’t need fucking rescuing!”

“I was about to slash your throat!” he says.

The two Nephilim lock gazes and I take advantage of their distraction. They can kill each other. I don’t give a crap, but Keir? His soul’s mine. Throwing myself at Keir, I manage to knock him off Zach.

“For fucks sake, Ava!” Keir jumps to his feet and seizes my arms, pinning them behind my back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think?” I growl and pull against his iron grip.

Zach rolls over, pushes himself up on his hands and knees, and coughs.

“Get the hell off me!” I shout at Keir, unable to move at all against his strength.

“See you later then. I’ll leave you to whatever it is that’s going on between you two.” Keir’s head snaps around as the leaves on the ground blow outwards, Zach’s figure blurring into the night.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Keir yanks me to face him and shakes me.

“He was going to kill you. I saw him,” I retort and dig my nails into the back of his hands. He drops his grip and swears.

Keir’s eyes glitter in warning, his tall figure hunched forward, coiled for attack. I step back. “I don’t need your help. I need to kill him, and you got in the way. Again. Why? Wanted to get in there first, did you?”

“Was he telling the truth? Zach?”

Keir winces and holds his head. My heart skips as I look at the blood caked above his ear. “Yeah. His soul’s gone. Without our angel souls that’s what we become. Empty vessels feeding on others and taking the souls from them. Pure, remorseless demon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something else they never told you, Ava? These people you work for?”

My uncertainty edges in. What the hell is happening? This. The night in the alley. Our roles in the world aren’t as clear-cut as I thought. Lost in confusion, I’m not ready for Keir’s assault, and he throws me onto the ground. My back hurts from the impact. No. Not again. I scramble back to my feet and shove him in the chest. Keir winces with pain and doubles over, sucking in air.

“You only want what he wants; he’s right? I’m weaker, so that might even things up a bit for you.” He pulls the knife from the grass and holds it out to me. “Take it.”

I stare at the glinting blade. Keir’s disadvantaged.

Mine.

“Kill me. Take my soul.” Keir straightens and I stumble back as he points the knife at me.

“Why was another Nephilim trying to kill you?”

“That doesn’t matter to you. All that matters is taking my soul back to Darius, right? Getting your Will and living in blissful ignorance. Isn’t it?”

I stare at the knife. “Stop messing with me, Keir.”

“Fight me,” he urges. “Be rewarded with the life you want. Live in their world and let everything that’s wrong carry on.”

Mind tricks. I shiver against the cold, the distant traffic the only sound as we stand off against each other.

“So you can’t do it.” His mouth twists into an amused taunt.

What the hell am I waiting for? I push him in the chest and he sinks backwards into the leaves. “If I wanted to kill you, I could.”

“You don’t want to?”

“I do, I have to,” I shout.

“Do it then. I’m here. Take your chance.”

I curl my hands into fists. He knows. Keir knows I can’t. Won’t.

Keir jumps to his feet and smacks into me, slamming me backwards against one of the trees. I gasp as the air’s knocked from me.

“Don’t hesitate, Ava. I might kill you first.”

We’re here again, hearts banging against each other’s chest, my skin burning where his breath touches. Omigod. This. This is the answer. “You didn’t kill me last time. You can’t kill me either, can you?”

Keir’s look intensifies and his pupils dilate, as his eyes search mine. “I’ve killed soul hunters, waiting for the right one to arrive.”

“Arrive and do what?”

The blood and sweat on Keir mingles with the scent from before, and I fight the drowning sensation of his body pressing into mine.

“To help us.”

“I’m not going to help you.”

“The others before you. They found me quickly, and they died just as fast. You haven’t tried to kill me tonight. Why?”

“You haven’t tried to kill me either.”

“I haven’t tried to kill you because I see something in you I once saw in myself, that made me turn away from what I was being forced to do.”

“No. We’re nothing like each other.”

“Something inside you is the same as me. You can feel it. I can feel it.” Keir’s intensity grows, eyes darkening as he curls my hair around his hand. I dip my head, but he pulls my face towards him. “Otherwise, one of us would be dead by now.”

Lips brush my cheek, pulsing energy through my weakening body. Keir’s mouth moves across my face and I close my eyes, in anticipation of the kiss I don’t want—but crave. When nothing happens, I snap my eyes open and meet Keir’s. Time pauses, the same imperceptible connection between enemies forged again.

Keir’s mouth assaults mine, and I struggle to move my hair from his hand. He has the dagger; I’m as good as dead. As his kiss deepens, I weaken against him, mouth searching his in return as our bodies meld together.

I grasp at the part of me yelling stop, but not hard enough, as the Nephilim seduces me with a kiss, reaching for my precious angel soul, which stands between me and mortality. But the thoughts won’t hold, and I allow Keir to crush me tightly against his broad chest, body igniting into flames as his tongue explores my mouth. I relent, return his passion, and dig my fingers beneath his shirt and into the hard muscle.

No.

I rake my fingers into his back, scratching frustration and anger into his skin. Keir wrenches his head away and steps back, breathing heavily. I lean back against the tree, convinced my legs will collapse from under me now Keir’s let me go.

“No more games, Keir,” I say annoyed by my breathlessness.

Something catches my eye and the dagger glints in his hand. He held the weapon the whole time? Weakened by Keir’s assault on my senses, I’d made myself an easy victim. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I bang my head against the tree, pissed off how close I am to failure and death.

“So, do you want to kill me or not?” Keir stops short of touching me again and raises his arm, resting his hand against the tree above my head.

I stare back, wide-eyed. I’m so far out of my depth I don’t think I’ll surface again, not with whatever else he awoke inside me. Keir’s lips hover close to my forehead, and I feel this as if he’s placed them there. What does he want me to say? Do?

Keir pulls himself back, confusion crossing his face too. “I’m not sure what games you’re playing with me, where you’re finding the power to do this, and make me want you, but you won’t win.”

His next move throws me harder than anything else in the last ten minutes. Keir turns, his powerful figure half-stumbling away, broken, rubbing his injured head. I touch my mouth as he blends into the shadows, and my mouth tingles from Keir’s harsh lips. As soon as Keir put his hands on me, I should’ve kicked him to the other side of campus, not enthusiastically taken part.

Logic doesn’t belong in my dealings with Keir, on any level.

The dagger lies at my feet and I pick up the weapon. One thing I’m sure of is Keir’s not a true Nephilim. Is he a true enemy? I catch my breath, debating whether to run after him for answers. No. If I follow this guy, I’ve no idea what I—or Keir—will do next.

Chapter 8

KEIR FOLLOWS ME around campus for the next week with no attempt to hide his scrutiny. He rarely speaks, and watches from across the room or the hallways when I walk by. His intense eyes hold onto his half-hinted secrets, and unease spreads whenever I meet them. The mutual desire flowing between us has intensified after the kiss, but I’m uneasy with his reaction. Keir swings between flirting with and ignoring me; following, then avoiding me. Some days I catch his expression filled with anger and a cold creeps through my veins, convinced he plans to kill me. Other days he corners me, acts as if he’ll kiss me again, then walks away. Mind games.

Why did he kiss me? Was he playing a survival game or did the same need overwhelm him as it did me? Has he spoken to Dahlia about what happened? Her avoidance of me now includes turning and walking in the opposite direction whenever she sees me.

I continue to sit on my favourite bench each evening, breathing in the freshness of the outdoors—away from humans. Some days Keir and Dahlia pass, sometimes not. If Keir’s attitude is aggressive in the daytime, I avoid sitting here alone that evening. His physical strength overwhelms mine tenfold, and I refuse to wait here as an easy victim. But I have a strength too and an unknown, shared power over him, which has kept me alive so far. The cold of the oncoming winter bites, a painful reminder of my ongoing failure.

This can’t continue. I’ll talk to Keir one last time, then make my decision, before Darius makes it for me.

Today he was the flirtatious and friendly Keir, so this evening I wait. We can’t avoid this and skirt around each other forever.

Keir rounds the corner alone, his tall figure wrapped in a leather jacket and jeans. I straighten, two weeks is a long time to leave things without fully acknowledging the change that night made. Zach. The kiss. Keir doesn’t register me and walks by. I sink back against the bench and watch his imposing figure. A group of guys step out of his way, and the girl with them double takes. How many of the deaths in the area are because of Keir? I dig my hands into my coat pockets and sigh. Tomorrow. No way am I running after him.

Keir pauses, turns, and walks slowly across to me, eyes on mine the whole time. “Ava.”

His face betrays nothing; it’s impossible to tell which Keir he’ll be tonight. His hand moves to his jacket pocket and I stiffen.

“Oh, I don’t have a weapon.” He holds his hands up. “Empty. How about you? A dagger in your boot maybe?”

Silhouetted by the light from the halls of residence behind him, face half-shadowed, Keir should frighten a girl sitting on her own in the shadows. Not Keir. Does he realise he exudes sexuality the way he does, not only to me, but to the soft-eyed girls gazing at him as he moves around campus.

A power he’s used to weaken me.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me like that,” I blurt. Whoa. Okay. Great way to start at a disadvantage. How was that the first thing to come out of my mouth?

Keir smiles. “Why? How do you like to be kissed?”

“That’s not what I meant to say.”

Keir sits next to me and shuffles closer. “What did you mean to say?”

How does Keir turn my soul hunter self into the lost, frightened girl who left the Fated? I duck my head. I can’t let him confuse me again.

“Piss off, Keir.”

He smirks. “Nice. Not surprised you have so few friends.”

I shift away from him, the awareness of the tiny space between his leg and mine too much. “I don’t need friends.”

“Dahlia’s your friend, isn’t she?”

So he’s that Keir. Smart, snarky Keir, and not the Keir who holds me to trees and kisses so I can’t remember my name.

“Ha bloody ha. She doesn’t like me. Won’t even talk to me.”

“I don’t like you and I’m talking to you.”

His words choke mine and I’m left with a pathetic, “Oh…”

“I probably could like you, once you stop plotting to kill me.” He looks ahead and waves a hand casually.

“I’m not plotting to kill you.”

“No?” He tucks his chin into the top of his coat.

“No. I mean, I was. Not anymore. Too hard.” I dig my nails into my palm. Shut up.

“Then why are you still here?”

“Why is Dahlia still here?” I counter.

Keir puffs out a breath. “She can answer that one for you.”

“Why is she helping you?”

“Ask her that too.”

I stand and look down at him. “I don’t want to play words games with you. Just leave or I will.”

Keir rises and moves too close for comfort. “We can fight instead, if you like?” he asks, in a low voice. “I always find that very stimulating.”

My cheeks flush red, and I’m thankful the shadows disguise this. “No!”

“Because you’ll lose?”

“Stop being such a smart-ass. What did you come over to me for? To talk? Fight? Kill me? If it’s to fuck with my head, congratulations, you win.”

“Sometimes I want to talk to you. But I have trust issues around soul hunters. I’m sure you understand why.” Keir raises a knowing brow.

“Apart from Dahlia.”

“She’s not a soul hunter anymore. I didn’t really know her when she was and Dahlia has never tried to kill me.”

This guy is infuriating in his ability to confuse and silence me. I can’t keep doing this. “You want to talk? Talk. I’ll start. You’re not a normal Nephilim. I understood that the day I saw you killing the demon. Then you and Zach. Why? If you aren’t sided with the other Nephilim and the Demon Lords, why aren’t you siding with the Caelestia?”

Keir sits back on the bench and stretches his legs in front of him. “What happens to your collected souls? Your Fated and your Free? Where do they come from? Go?”

“I don’t question what I’m told to do; I perform my role or face the consequences.”

“But you are questioning it. You’ve been questioning it since the moment you decided not to kill me, since your curiosity got in the way of your duty. I can hear you questioning it now.” His eyes shine, the blue visible despite the dim light.

“No. Nephilim and demons steal souls. I kill them and take the souls back to where they belong. End of.”

“Where they belong? Is that what they tell you?” Keir’s voice is derisive, mouth twisting.

“Well, souls don’t belong trapped in demons.”

“But I’m a demon. Partly. But my soul is Caelestia. Where does mine belong?”

“With the Caelestia. They’re doing what’s right, taking back the lost souls to safety.”

“For their war,” says Keir. “Trapping them and putting them in bodies to use as an army against the demons. This is what the demons are doing too—making an army to use against the Caelestia. What right do either have to human souls?”

“Demons steal souls. They kill people! I help free the lost souls.”

Keir rubs his lips as he stares at the ground. His expression is unreadable, and he’s quiet long enough that I may as well walk away. He’s switched off from me; his lies haven’t worked.

“Souls should be free, Ava,” he says eventually and lifts his eyes to mine.

“What?”

“That’s what I do. That’s the secret you’re so desperate to know. I free souls. Every soul I release from a demon is truly free. That’s the ultimate freedom for them—not inside a body with a good or evil label. Not being used by someone else for their own ends. Souls should just… be.”

He’s lying. Something this big couldn’t be hidden from me. “Be where?”

“Wherever the souls want to go, I don’t know. Nobody really understands. They’re intangible, a part of the universe, and not attached to either side of this stupid war. Some choose to spend time in a physical body, often when they’re lost and searching for another. They become human souls until the human dies, and then they return to the stars.” His brow tugs deeper. “If they’re not stolen first. And if they are, I free them.” His eyes shine with a strange fervour. Keir believes he’s telling the truth.

“That’s so wrong, Keir…”

“Is it? You’ve never questioned any of this? About souls? You’re not a typical soul hunter. You’re a survivor. And survivors live because they question and they challenge. Like you.” He pauses. “Like me.”

I am not him. “You can’t free every soul.”

“Not on my own, I can’t. That’s why there’s a group of us who do this. We free the souls trapped in the easiest place to find—demons. For now and later we plan to…” Keir pauses and bites on his lip.

“Plan what?”

“Nothing, Ava,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Everybody knows you’re doing this?”

“Of course they do, they’ve been trying to stop me for a long time now. I’m not Mr. Popular with the Demon Lords because I’m not behaving; and the Caelestia hate me because I’m Nephilim. Life’s interesting.” He smiles weakly.

Souls free? The cool winter chills my face as his words run cold through my blood. Is this the answer to my buried questions? I know about the battle between good and evil, the war that makes Keir and me enemies. But souls belong on my side; saved and protected. Souls aren’t a race of their own.

If I stay here and listen to more of his insanity, I’ll lose my own. “I have to go.”

Keir catches my arm and spins me to face him. “I don’t want to kill you, Ava. So I haven’t yet. But that doesn’t mean I won’t if you try to stop me. I’m giving you a chance by asking you to help me. Because I think you want to.”

His grip hurts. Keir can’t ask me this. Releasing a soul is forbidden; all souls must be returned.

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

Passing voices distract me, young humans enjoying their freedom, untroubled by life or death decisions, and unaware of what walks amongst them. The girls jostle each other playfully and their laughter carries through the empty space between us.

I sling my bag across a shoulder; Keir watches intently from under his long lashes, waiting for the response I can’t give. His word games and rapid personality changes have confused me all along, but this? Does he honestly do what he just admitted?

He’s right about my doubts. I’ve seen the mistreatment of the soul hunters by the Caelestia; the soul hunters following their duty above all else, believing their Will can be returned and that never happening. Before I met Keir, doubts had edged in that something was wrong. Why else would the Caelestia be so secretive?

Keir laid out the answer to the question I refused to ask myself. What happens to the souls I collect?

I push hair from my eyes. “I can’t help you even if I did believe what you’re doing is right. I’d be signing my own death warrant.”

Keir shifts his jacket closer around himself. “You signed your death warrant the day you chose to become a soul hunter. You need to decide who to believe and which cause is the one worth dying for.”

Chapter 9

WHAT THE HELL am I doing here? Blood whooshes in my ears as Keir holds the demon on the concrete floor, face down. The creature writhes against Keir’s fierce grip, snarling in a demonic language I’ve heard many times before. The times I stole back human souls. Demons can disguise themselves as humans well, but this one betrays signs of its true self through more than just yellow eyes; beneath shaggy black hair, two small bumps protrude near the front of its head, barely visible but enough to prove this creature isn’t a teenage boy.

“Ava?” Keir concentrates on restraining the demon as I watch, immobile.

An old mattress rests against the wall in one corner of the litter-strewn room and the smell of rotting garbage pervades the derelict house. Again, how am I here?

With him.

Doing this.

Another week of isolation follows my talk with Keir; he returns to his distance as I travel alone in the world, fighting feelings for the guy I’m supposed to kill. His words about freeing souls loop around my mind, feeding on my deepest doubts.

This is why I couldn’t find malevolence in his eyes the first night by the fountain. Every demon I’d killed, before Keir, exuded evil around them, and Keir didn’t. Now I understand why—whatever demon lives inside Keir is controlled by his fervent crusade.

My nights are filled with dreams of Keir, replays of everything that happened between us. Each morning I wake a little more convinced; each day a greater part of me wants to seek him out.

I can’t get my head around Keir’s explanation of what souls are. I’ve never read or heard a story like his but the words are more fuel to the doubting part of me. Admitting this to myself and fighting against my indoctrination are bloody hard. Souls want freedom? The longer I’m away from my world, the more distant the reality, and the more logical Keir’s arguments sound. Look at Darius, the Caelestia, and how they treat people. Am I helping a war by handing souls for the creation of more Fated and more soul hunters? Is that what the Caelestia do with the souls? Enslave them in half-angel bodies to serve? Or is Keir lying?

If this is true, the Caelestia are no better than Demon Lords, and I’m no better than a demon.

I’ve failed anyway. After many weeks without success, Darius must be a heartbeat away from dragging my ass out of here. I need to make a decision before one is made for me. So, decision made, I march up to a surprised Keir and challenge release a soul with me present. Putting myself in the situation and acting on gut instinct at the moment the soul leaves the body will make the decision for me.

Release the demon’s soul or take Keir’s.

“Ava? Come on!” Keir’s knuckles whiten as he grips the demon’s neck, a damp patch spreading beneath the shirt across his broad back.

“Where will the soul go if I don’t take it?”

“I’m not taking the soul if that’s what you’re asking. The soul will be free to choose its own destiny, out of this war.”

My sheathed dagger rests against my hip and the crystal ready to hold a soul nestles in my pocket. A picture of Darius’s face crossed my mind as I prepared earlier this evening, and I almost backed out. In front of me is my new choice.  Keir’s vulnerable in his concentration on the creature. I could take his soul.

I take a step toward Keir and the demon.

“Soul hunter?” The demon coughs into the dirt. “Working with a Nephilim? You really do want to go to Hell don’t you?”

I halt. “What does it mean?”

Keir holds the creature’s face against the floor, sweat beading across his forehead. “It’s trying to trick you. Kill the demon. I can’t hold it here all night.”

“You trust the Nephilim boy? Ha!” snarls the demon.

Keir increases his pressure on the demon’s neck. “She trusts me over you. At least I think she does?”

Do I? Shit, what do I do here? My soul hunter instincts goad me into attacking Keir. This is my chance to kill both of them. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake the thought away. Fighting Keir and the demon at the same time? Yeah, great move. Like that wouldn’t leave me dead on the floor.

I take another step and pause again.

“Do you just want me to kill it? You gonna walk away from this and go back to your old role?” Keir growls.

“It’s not that easy, Keir.”

“It is, just slash its bloody throat!” Keir’s face reddens as he struggles with the demon.

“Help me instead, soul hunter,” begs the demon, twisting its head to look at me. “I’ll help you kill him. Gladly.”

Keir pushes the demon’s face back into the dirt. “Are you playing me, Ava? Is this a trick to weaken my position? Because I’ve told you, if we fight, you won’t win.”

The demon lifts its head again. “He’s fighting a losing battle; you both are, but if you help me take him out, you’ll make a lot of friends amongst my kind and…”

My stomach turns. Help demons? A race who killed my friends? No fucking way. I unsheathe my dagger and launch myself at the demon. A look of uncertainty flickers across Keir’s face as I slash with the knife, dragging the shining metal blade across the demon’s throat. Thick, black blood spills to the floor and pools along the ground toward Keir’s boots.

Time halts as I catch sight of the grey mist snaking into the air above the demon’s body. I curl a hand around the crystal in my pocket, urged on. Catch the soul.

I’m pulled to my duty. The strange cloud over the demon’s head levitates, temptingly close and my head buzzes with fear and confusion. I’m a hunter of lost souls; I can’t let one go. Reality drifts out of focus and Keir catches my arm as I sway. The warmth of his touch pulls me away from the surreal situation to the reality in front of me.

Keir.  I take a side-glance at him. He’s fixated on the soul, his full mouth curved into a smile. I could pull the dagger from the demon and kill him. This is my chance to capture his soul and succeed.

No. He isn’t just a Nephilim target anymore. He’s Keir. He told me the truth, and no one has since I left the Fated and became a soul hunter two years ago. The connection we share beneath our distrust drew me into believing in him. Into wanting him.

Killing Keir stopped being an option weeks ago.

The cloud shoots toward the window and spreads through the cracks in the sill until only Keir, me, and the corpse of the demon remain.

I fall to my knees, into the pool of sticky blood, chest aching as if part of me was sucked out of the room with the soul. I bury my face in my knees to hide, but a sob escapes my throat. Useless, stupid tears. I look up at the corpse and the enormity of what I’ve done flows down my cheeks.

Keir can’t see me like this. Nobody sees me like this.

Then Keir is on his knees in front of me. His rough hands cup my wet cheeks as he pulls my head up. His eyes. Soft and blue, the violet specks beautiful. Calming.

“You did the right thing.” He holds my head so I can’t look away from him. “You saved a soul. We saved a soul. Imagine what we could do together, how many souls we could help.”

His words wash over me. “They’re going to kill me.” Blood drains from my head, and Keir’s face grows hazy in front of my eyes.

He shakes his head and wipes a tear away with his thumb. “No, I’ll keep you safe.”

“It’s over… why did I do it? I don’t know why I did it… they’re going to kill me…” I half shout the words gasping, and Keir pulls my head to him, deadening my cries against his hard chest.

Keir strokes my hair, and my breathing quiets; he moves to place his lips on my cheeks, the shock of his touch stilling me. “You did the right thing. In here you know it.” Keir put his palm on my chest, hand over my heart. “We can make such a difference.”

He moves his lips to mine; his gentle mouth spreading calm through my shaking body. I wrap my arms around his neck and fall further from my old life in the comfort of Keir’s embrace.

I’ve taken a step too far and fallen into an unknown future. Fallen into Keir.

* * *

THE WORLD CONTINUES to spin in and out of focus. I’m sitting on Dahlia’s bed? I run my hand along the cotton sheets. When did I arrive here? How long ago?

What the hell am I doing in Dahlia’s room? All I can remember is Keir helping me away from the scene of my crime, and the night air hitting my damp face, chilling me into reality. A reality where Darius, or someone he employed, could lurk around the next corner, waiting.

In possibly the weirdest thing that’s happened all evening, Dahlia hands me a large glass of red wine. “Here, calm your nerves.”

I stare at the glass, unable to face drinking. I’m dreaming, why else would Dahlia be nice?

Dahlia pours herself wine and sits in the chair at her desk. “I didn’t think you’d do it, Ava,” she says with a sideways glance at Keir.

Keir leans against the wall, arms crossed. He still wears the darker jeans and black T-shirt from hunting, his hands stained with black blood. Darker clothes give him an edge; the guy looks bloody hot at the best of times, but in kill mode...

“I knew she would,” he says, with a strange mix of pride and awe in his softened eyes.

“I didn’t,” I reply. My hesitation. The demon’s words about Hell. How close I came to attacking Keir. “Is it what you did?” I ask Dahlia. “Helped Keir free a soul? Is this why you’re not a soul hunter anymore?”

Dahlia takes a long drink from her glass. “No, I’ve never freed a soul on my own. Only helped.”

“I don’t understand… I thought that was why… Isn’t your human form punishment?”

“No. My soul hunter status wasn’t taken from me. I chose to leave.”

“You don’t have to talk about this now, Dahlia,” says Keir quietly. “Ava doesn’t need to know the details.”

“I want to tell her. So she can understand why I did it. I want you to see her reaction and ask yourself would Ava ever do the same.”

Keir turns his face away, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Dahlia’s eyes hold tears threatening to spill. Shit, I can’t take anymore tonight. Releasing souls, and now Dahlia, the girl who treats me like a sworn enemy, wants to tell me more secrets. Share emotions? I’ve enough of my own to deal with.

“You don’t have to tell me, Dahlia.”

Dahlia drains her wine glass. “I wasn’t sent for Keir’s soul if that’s what you think. I was just an average soul hunter. I killed demons, took their souls back, rinse and repeat. No special missions for me. Then I met Jack. A human guy.” She pauses, running her finger around the rim of the wine glass. “It’s impossible to explain and you probably won’t understand, but I fell in love with him.”

“With a human?” I blurt. Keir throws me a look and I pull back my disgust. “Oh. Um. I mean, that’s weird.”

Dahlia ignores me. “I couldn’t imagine life without him. Even if they gave me my Will, and I lived as one of the Free, my life would be empty without Jack. I can’t explain why, I hated humans too. Still do.” She pours more wine into her glass. “But I chose to stay here. With him.”

Dahlia’s story tumbles out, the bare minimum spoken in a factual tone. Facts as big as the world itself.

“You can do that? Choose to stay?” My skin crawls. She wasn’t forced to be human, but chose? “Where is he? Jack?”

Dahlia pulls open a drawer by her desk, and takes out a small silver frame. She hands the picture to me. A scruffy-haired guy with a cheeky grin looks at the camera, his arm around a girl with long brown hair. She smiles too, looking up at the guy, vibrant and happy. I peer closer. Is this Dahlia, the sad, quiet girl I know?

“He’s gone,” says Dahlia, touching his face through the glass.

What the hell? He left her? Dahlia scarified everything for a human and he’d fucking left her. When a tear drips down Dahlia’s nose onto the frame, I shift and empty my wine glass in one gulp. Jesus, I need to leave. This isn’t my business, and I’m not one for doling out platitudes.

“He died,” says Keir quietly.

“What the fuck?” I ask. “What do you mean he died?”

Dahlia wipes her eyes with a sleeve. “I was wrong. I don’t think I can talk about this, not now.” She places the frame face down on the desk and opens her laptop; her shoulders slumped.

Unwanted sympathy creeps in for the bitchy girl whose heart and life were torn apart. Dahlia retreated into her own world, losing herself in her sadness, becoming the quiet, shy mouse. How does she cope with being human? Losing everything for a pitiful life? Dahlia gave up everything, and now she’s alone in this world.

Apart from Keir. No wonder she hates me edging closer to him.

“I um… can’t talk about this. Busy day and all that. I need to sleep.”

“Go with her, Keir, make sure she’s okay.”

I blink at Dahlia’s words. Keir holds a hand to Dahlia’s face and tenderly brushes a tear from her cheek; she turns her head away. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

I bite down jealousy of my own. Dahlia and Keir’s relationship appears platonic to the rest of the world, but seeing the affectionate way Keir treats Dahlia suggests more. Did he step in and fill the hole left by Jack? If he did, what’s Keir’s motive with me? Omigod. Was I played tonight?

“I have to go,” I say. “It’s late.”

Keir follows me through the door and grabs my arm before I can hurry away. He spins me around.

“I want to go with you tonight, but my friend needs me. She shouldn’t have spoken to you about Jack. It’s only been a year, and Dahlia hasn’t come to terms with what happened.”

“Were you involved?” I ask.

Keir’s face darkens. “I was there and the situation was… partly my fault. I have a responsibility to help her now.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Ava,” he says in a low voice.

“I think you should stay with her.”

Keir reaches out a hand and traces his fingertips across my lips then presses his mouth on mine; the briefest of touches melting the doubt. “Do you feel safe?”

I allow him to place his arms around me and tuck my head under his chin. I’m terrified what will happen on the short walk to my room, of what could wait for me in the dark.

Something else worries me more. “You and Dahlia…” I begin.

“There is no me and Dahlia in that way, Ava,” Keir cups my face in his hands and my image is reflected in the glacial blue of his eyes. “She’s not the annoying but impossibly sexy girl I’ve wanted ever since she first pretended to bump into me.”

He grins and I return a weak smile. Weeks ago, but an age ago. I’m no longer that girl and never will be again.

“The girl who’s more like me than she realises,” he says, as if talking to himself. He kisses me on the forehead and releases my hand one finger at a time, giving the last one a tiny squeeze as he lets go.

Keir walks back into Dahlia’s room, leaving an emptiness in my evening as large as the hole knocked into my existence.

Chapter 10

I SNAP MY eyes open, and the events of the previous evening sharpen into Technicolor brilliance. Demon. Keir. I let a soul go free.

My night is disturbed by voices of students tripping down the hallway to bed as I wait for somebody to come for me. Exhaustion eventually overcomes the fear, but my dreams are filled with images of the soul floating into the air, in reach of my fingers, then vanishing. The dreams morph into something dark chasing me toward Keir who holds a dagger out to me, and I’m not sure if he is helping or killing me. I wake up more afraid than before I slept. Am I in danger from both now? I reach beneath my pillow, the metal of the dagger warm against my hand. I’m fully clothed, ready.

How long do I have before Darius retrieves me? Someone, somewhere knows, and consequences must be hours away.

Will Keir protect me? He said he would, but Keir’s decision not to accompany me back to my halls room—not even to see if I arrived safely—contradicts this. His caring words sound empty in my mind this morning; not backed up by action. Keir doesn’t give a crap. Not really.

The uncomfortable feeling dogs me all through class, through the morning, and onto my shift at the coffee shop.

Dahlia and Keir don’t show for any lessons.

He has tricked me. The other soul hunters, he never killed them. He manipulated them the way he has me and kept blood off his hands. I seduce demons into doing what I want and Keir’s done the same to me. How have I been so bloody stupid?

Customers, who’d normally irritate, distract me from unwanted thoughts as I juggle orders and cups. My customer service skills suck at the best of time, but today I’m preoccupied to the point regular customers ask if I’m okay. Wow, humans have noticed, and they are bothered about me?

“Large flat white and a chat when you’re done.”

I look up sharply as I recognise the voice. “Zach.”

“Aww, you remember me. Sweet. I’ll wait for you to finish.” He glances at the phone in his long fingers. “Half an hour, isn’t it?”

Not responding, I take his money and address the next customer. I can’t meet his eyes as I pass his cup, but watch as the tall, dark-haired guy slouches across the room to sit at a table. One with a good view of the counter. Zach pushes his fringe from his eyes and smiles at me. I frown back at him. No, I do not want to bloody speak to you. Does he have a death wish coming back to where Keir hangs out?

Shift over, I scrunch my black apron into a ball and sling it behind the counter. Screw this. Zach leans back in his seat as I approach him.

“Hi, Ava.”

I cross my arms. “What are you doing here?”

He runs his tongue along his teeth and appraises me. Slowly, up and down. I straighten and cock a ‘what the hell’ eyebrow.

“I heard about your fun with Keir last night,” he says.

“That’s nice. Anything else you want?”

“You don’t want to talk to me?” Zach makes a mock pout of disappointment.

“Why? Last time I saw you, I was going to bloody kill you,” I hiss. “I still might.”

Zach laughs loudly, eyes glittering in warning. “I know, sorry about standing you up at the bar, but trying to kill me is a bit of an extreme reaction, don’t you think?”

“I’ve done worse to people who upset me.”

“Oh, tough girl, Ava. She’s still in there then?”

“Yes. So fuck off and don’t mess with me.” I wipe a few crumbs from his table, and pick up his cup. “We’re closing.”

“You caught me at a weak moment; it won’t happen again. Besides, I heard someone is looking for you. Really, this should be a goodbye.”

“What?” I stuff trembling hands into my pockets.

“Well, let me just check the facts. Soul hunter sent to capture Nephilim soul. Nephilim turns on his charms and seduces soul hunter into helping him do something very wrong. Thereby Nephilim ensures said soul hunter’s fate-worse-than-death at the hands of Caelestia is sealed. Correct?”

I swallow down the anxiety. “No, not correct.”

“So you haven’t been seduced into failure?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to yourself. How long do you reckon you have, Ava?”

I narrow my eyes. “Why are you here? Talking to me about this?”

“To give you some facts. Keir isn’t on my side anymore, and I’m not too happy about that. He screws with me; I’ll screw with him.”

“Not on your side? I kind of gathered that when you tried to kill him,” I say sarcastically.

Zach lowers his voice as a woman passes to leave the café. “Keir’s getting in my way. Now you both are.”

“In the way of what?”

Zach sighs, “Ava, oh, Ava. Little foot soldier who’s consorting with the enemy. Do you know why they sent you for Keir? And not say… me?”

“Yeah, Keir’s more of a danger to the Caelestia’s plans than you. He’s a loose cannon by not working with either side. Every soul he frees is one less soul for either army.”

Zach’s mouth twitches into a smile his secrets lie behind; one I’d happily smack off his face. “Okay, think what you like. I just thought I’d give you a friendly warning.”

“You’re warning me?”

Zach’s bright blue eyes search mine, and I’m reminded of Keir. “Watch your back, Ava. Keir likes to keep his enemies close. But you already know that, right?”

“Enemies like you?” But I know he means me.

“I can help you if you need to stay safe from Keir.”

“I don’t need to be kept safe from Keir; and if I did, I’m not likely to turn to you, am I? A Nephilim keeping a soul hunter safe? How stupid do you think I am?”

Zach bites his lip. “I think what you did last night answers that question. Did Keir say he’d keep you safe? So sweet and such a liar.”

I loosen my ponytail with trembling hands and shake my hair free with an air of nonchalance. Zach’s ability to feed my doubts always bloody works, and from the smug expression on his face, he enjoys doing this.

“Whatever, Zach.”

“Keir’s disappeared again I see? I wonder why?”

“Just fuck off, Zach; I don’t want to listen to you.”

Zach regards me long enough to put me off balance, before leaving the empty coffee shop. I slide onto the seat of the table he sat at, hands on the Formica top, and absentmindedly rearrange the ceramic bowls full of sugar sachets. How did Zach know Keir left? Or what I did?

* * *

THE CREEPING DOUBT in my mind grows to a strangling fear by the end of the day. No Dahlia or Keir; and every day I see at least one or both of them. Doesn’t help that Zach’s screwed with my mind and pushed my panic button.

Out of choices, I head to Dahlia’s room and wait. And wait. I slide to the floor, rest my head against the wall, and doze off.

“What is it, Ava?” Dahlia steps past and unlocks her door.

I jump awake and pull myself to my feet. At least one of the pair is still around. “Where’s Keir?”

“He’s gone away, again.”

“Where?”

“No idea where he goes.” Dahlia pushes the door open.

“He doesn’t tell you?” I brace myself for the same angry confrontation as the last time Keir disappeared.

“No, he can’t. It would endanger me. Apparently,” she says bitterness in her tone. Dahlia stands with her hand on the door, distant and avoiding my eyes.

“Does he disappear much?”

“You mean did he leave because of you? Not everything is about you, Ava.”

“I never said it was. I came to tell you I saw Zach and—”

Dahlia’s eyes widen. “Where? Here? Was he looking for Keir?” She scrabbles in her bag for her phone. “I have to tell him.”

I point at the phone and smile hopefully. “Do you have Keir’s number?”

“For emergencies, not for you.”

“Nice move, last night, by the way,” I say

“What move?”

“You and Jack. Your sob story. I don’t know what Keir has to do with his death, but it worked in poking at some kind of guilt.”

“You mean Keir choosing to stay with me?” Dahlia scoffs. “I think he needs to get his priorities right. I’m not jealous of him and his brief infatuation with you. I don’t want to lose him because he’s my anchor to this world; I will fight to protect him.”

“And the story’s true? You and Jack?”

“Yes. And don’t think you can turn Keir against me.”

“I don’t intend to. I just don’t understand you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand.”

Keir’s involvement in the Jack affair and Dahlia’s words point to a deeper meaning to his relationship with her, one they hide from me. Dahlia’s love for the human guy is beyond any emotional attachment I could ever imagine having. She gave up her status and chance to live with the Caelestia in freedom for this shit life, and then lost the reason why.

Dahlia is free, but she’s trapped. I can’t stand Dahlia and her waspish personality, but she has some bloody courage to go through this and not call it a day. I don’t know Dahlia at all, but I’d lay bets she hasn’t always been this closed off and cold. People you love dying hurts, but knowing they were murdered? Dahlia lost her reason for being here; and for some reason, Keir has taken her under his wing.

Did he kill Jack?

“Do you know when Keir will be back?” I ask.

“When he’s ready.” Dahlia hesitates. “I can see what’s happening with you both. Don’t fall in love with the wrong guy. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”

She closes the door behind her before I have a chance to ask more questions.

Chapter 11

KEIR IS GONE for a week. An achingly long week. I check in with Dahlia every day to see if he’s back, and each day Dahlia says no and indicates not so politely I should leave her the hell alone. So much for a truce between us.

Realisation hits—Keir hasn’t contacted Dahlia either. Dahlia’s posture sags, her small figure blending further into the background each day. I can’t tell who’s more upset about Keir’s absence—me or Dahlia.

There’s no sign of anybody connected to Darius, and I grow complacent. Maybe Darius has decided to leave me to suffer in the human world as my punishment. Shit. I hope not. I’d age and die, never getting a chance to claim my Will. Look at Dahlia’s life of regret; I’d rather face Darius’s wrath than a lifetime of miserable pain.

I sit in the cafeteria, absentmindedly stirring my yoghurt, watching those around. Yeah, I think I’m safe now, but my muscles remain coiled tight, waiting for danger. I jerk into readiness when the chair opposite scrapes across the linoleum floor.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Keir, standing over me and smiling. “You look tired. Are you sleeping?”

The adrenaline from fear of an attack spikes my heart rate and, as I stare back into his impossibly blue eyes, my chest tightens. Keir wears his usual dark jeans and T-shirt, brown leather jacket open. His regrowing dark-hair curls dip across his forehead. I itch to stroke the curl from Keir’s face and touch him, to connect with the warmth of him and ask where he’s been in my long week without him around.

“When did you get back?” I ask.

“This morning.” He sits opposite, resting his muscled arms on the table.

“You never told me you were going anywhere.”

“I don’t tell people.”

“Dahlia knew.”

Keir doesn’t reply. Instead, he strokes the back of my hand lightly with his long fingers. The shock and surprise from his touch shoots up my arm. “I went to see some friends.”

“I always got the impression Dahlia was your only friend.”

Keir laughs, eyes crinkling. “I don’t have many friends anymore; that’s what happens when you turn your back on your people. But I do have one or two.”

I push my spoon into the yoghurt. “I guess we’re in the same position then.”

“It’s tough turning against everything you’ve been told, to do what you think is right instead. Not many people can do that.” He squeezes my hand, his large fingers encircling mine.

“Not everyone’s stupid enough to.”

“Not everyone believes the past should be the future too.”

I lace my fingers through his. I’ve never held hands with someone before; my normal physical contact is kicking the crap out of people. Touching Keir triggers a warmth in my chest, a soothing effect I’ll happily take more of.

“I missed you,” I whisper.

A shadow crosses Keir’s face and I tense, waiting for him to pull his hand away, tell me he doesn’t want me. Keir looks down and rubs my knuckles, and the expression in his lowered eyes ends the warmth. He can’t answer or even look at me.

Dumbass Ava.

I disentangle my hand. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Presuming.” My cheeks heat and I stand, alarmed as tears well. Did I really believe he’d thought about me while away? The death of one demon won’t exactly seal the gulf of suspicion between us; that’s not enough for him to open up to the girl who wanted to kill him. My week of fantasies about him and me grew in one place… my deluded brain.

“Ava…”

“It’s fine, just let me know when you’re free and we can catch up, maybe. Glad you’re back safely.”

I force an air of nonchalance and walk tall from the cafeteria.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as the cool air soothes my hot cheeks. I need time out to compose myself back to the in control Ava and call Janie. We swap shifts at the coffee shop. The Saturday afternoon shift is the least popular, and Janie doesn’t take much persuading. Work numbs my mind enough to stop drifting thoughts about Keir. Zach had better not walk in because I’ll lose my shit with him. I’m over Nephilim games.

By the end of the day, I’m numb mentally and physically exhausted. The sky turned white-grey while I was indoors; and as I trudge through campus, a snowflake lands on my gloved hand. I halt and look at the sky, watching the icy stars fall and land on me. Weird. This is new to me.

My throat hitches and without warning more tears gather. Changing seasons equals time ticking by. Failure, ageing. The fears I’ve avoided all day tumble in and I scrub my face with a glove as I pick up my pace. Is this my life now?

The hall blocks’ quiet warmth cocoons me from the snowstorm. Bed. Sleep. Start another day with a new plan.

Keir stands outside my room.

I suck in a breath, fighting back the desire surging, and saunter over. He rests against the wall. He’s changed, a checked shirt over a blue T-shirt, the V-neck revealing the smoothness of his expansive chest.

“Hey.” I push my key into the lock and attempt to maintain my somewhere between nonchalant and pissed off attitude. Not easy, when six foot plus of solid muscle stands inches away from me. My skin lights up as our arms brush.

“Ava.” I look up at him hesitantly. Mistake. The blue eyes trap me again.

“Did you want something?”

A knowing smile creeps to the corners of his mouth and the heat spreads as he glances at my mouth. “To talk to you.” Keir pushes down the handle and opens the door. “Is that okay?”

“If you can spare me some time, sure.”

I walk into the room and throw my bag onto the bed. When he follows me inside and shuts the door behind him, my heart jumps into my mouth. I tuck my hands beneath my arms and watch him.

Keir looks around at my standard issue college furniture, plain bedding, no posters on the walls. I throw a nearby sweater over the stack of books and papers on my desk before he catches a glimpse of himself in my research. “Not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” I yank the curtains closed. The door remains open. Should I close it? Am I safer if I do?

“I don’t know; it’s not very welcoming—there’re no Ava touches to it.”

“Ava touches?”

“Something a girl with pink hair and attitude might have.” Keir grins.

“I didn’t think I’d be living here for long.” I wince, aware of the connotation of my words.

Something on the desk catches Keir’s eye at the same moment it catches mine, and I swear under my breath. A clear crystal is only half hidden by my sweater; tucked away in the back corner of my desk. Light hits the crystal and projects rainbow colours onto the wall. Shit. Even worse, Keir takes hold of the crystal.

“Is this what I think it is?” He turns the sphere around in his long fingers. “Is this one for me?” My mouth dries as his expression clouds.

“Please give it to me, Keir.”

Keir tightens his hand around the crystal, encompassing the rainbow in his large palm. “You want me to give you the crystal? The thing you were given to store my stolen soul in?” His focus remains on his curled hand and I edge towards the door.

“I’m not going to use the crystal. You know that,” I whisper.

Finally, Keir looks up. “This brings things home a bit, Ava. What you came here to do.”

“Things have changed since then.”

He steps closer to me. “Have they?”

The weakness accompanying Keir’s confusion tears at me. I want to reach out, touch his face, and remind Keir of the connection humming between us.

“Keir, I killed a demon, and freed a soul. Don’t you understand what that means? The danger I’m in? I did it because I trusted you. For you. So don’t accuse me of wanting to take your soul.”

Keir blows air through his cheeks and looks to the ceiling lost in a thought he won’t share. He turns and gently sets the crystal back on the desk. “Why were you upset with me before?”

“When?”

“In the cafeteria. I wanted to talk to you then.”

“I wasn’t upset. I had to go.”

Catching my chin in his hand, Keir brushes his fingertips across my mouth, a familiar soft buzz joining his touch. I part my mouth as he lingers a finger on my bottom lip. “I missed you too, Ava. You never gave me a chance to tell you.”

Keir’s pupils darken as he traces his fingers to my neck, running them across my collarbone to the neck of my work shirt.

“I thought you’d played me at my own game,” I blurt. “I thought you’d persuaded me to free a soul because you couldn’t kill me. That instead, you knew releasing a soul would bring certain death for me.” I slump onto the bed.

Keir’s eyes widen. “No, why would you think that.” I focus on smoothing my bed covers. “Zach? Did he give you that idea? Dahlia said he spoke to you.”

“Zach came to see me; he knew everything about the soul. You disappeared and I thought the worst…”

“I had to go, Ava, I had no choice.” Keir sits next to me and takes my hand. “But the whole time I was away, every time I closed my eyes I saw you. Everything that happened between us—the day we fought and I kissed you, the day you killed the demon and I held you.” He runs his other hand along my hair and cups my cheek. “It’s crazy, but all I’ve wanted is to be with you and touch you again. To remind myself how I feel around you.”

“I feel the same. This is weird for me.”

Keir’s mouth twitches as he fights a smile. “Me too. I spoke to them about you, told them what was happening between the two of us.  I had to ask them what it meant.”

“Them?”

“The people I work with. They already knew about us and they weren’t happy…” He pauses. “Everything’s complicated.”

Us. “Complicated, how? Because I’m a soul hunter?”

Keir reaches into my jacket pocket and I tense as he takes the dagger from the side pocket. His fingers linger against my side longer than he needs. “You haven’t stolen my soul, but you may as well have.” Keir throws the dagger across the room and it clatters onto the floor beneath the window. He holds my cheeks between his fingers and looks down at me. “I’m bloody confused. You’re walking round with a weapon, ready to kill me, and I walk straight back to you.”

I stand. “I said I don’t want to kill you anymore.”

“Shit.” Keir stands too and runs both hands through his hair, holding his arms at right angles to his head. “I couldn’t stand being apart from you; it’s as if you already held a part of me, pulling me back. That’s what’s complicated. And I don’t understand why. It makes no sense.”

Keir’s words resonate through my soul. Fear hadn’t gripped me when Keir was away; instead, loss and loneliness of a guy I barely knew.

We’re the way we were the first night by the fountain, gauging each other’s next move, but this time it’s different. The history we’ve created for ourselves fills the gap of suspicion with longing. I fight against the love of his protection; at letting him see the Ava I deny exists but in return, I see the Keir he hides too.

I step to him first and he drops his arms from behind his head.

“What now?” I ask.

Keir smoothes my hair from my face and places his lips on my forehead. I close my eyes, frightened of yielding to him again. Not because I think he’ll hurt me, but because he might take more of me away if he leaves again.

Keir’s mouth touches mine, a tender kiss to match the night I turned my back on my role, and he wraps his arms around me and draws me close. This is an eternity away from the assaulting passion of our first encounter, but the fiery heat from that evening shoots straight from memory and across my skin. My fear of his strength is turned into a longing to be held against his broad chest, to allow his hands on my body.

Keir threads his hand into my long hair and pulls my face to his. His tongue traces my bottom lip and his hand caresses the small of my back. A lightning sensation shoots along my spine, and I wrap my arms around his neck, desperate for more. Keir’s kiss ends the numbness of my last few years as the power between us grows and surges to the centre of who I am.

I pull at his hair too and welcome his tongue as he explores my mouth. In seconds, we switch from uncertain touches to need. I cling to Keir as he pushes me onto the bed. His bright eyes fill with the raw, primal look from the night he held me against the tree and sent us spinning out of control. Gently, he weights me down, lips moving across my face and to my neck. I fight the shaking response my body has to him, and fail. His fingers dig deeper into my waist, the world retreats and the only thing that matters now is us. Our touches. Our kisses. Who we really are to each other fades away.

Keir’s fingers slide under my shirt and each touch feels like a shock to every raw nerve. My mind fogs, lost in him as his taut body covers mine. I pull at his T-shirt so our bare skin touches; his hard muscle against mine, the cool metal buckle from Keir’s belt warms against me as we tangle. Keir’s raw power over me is consuming and I’m lost to everything but staying in this moment with him.

Keir shifts against me, his arousal evident between his jeans and mine. I run a finger among his defined abs, tracing the pattern downwards until I reach the button of his jeans with shaking fingers. Within the centre of myself is an overwhelming need to be surrounded by and consumed by this guy.

Keir grabs my arms and pins them over my head, continuing his devouring kiss. I wait for him to touch me, to slide his hand toward the wet heat between my legs, to continue his exploration of my body, but he stops abruptly and releases my hands.

I hold his head away and look into his dark eyes. Our breathing matches, hot and heavy, and his heart pounds against mine. Burying his head into my hair, Keir swears. His weight remains on mine, the tall guy’s legs tangled with mine as we grip each other, hearts thumping in unison.

“I could lose myself in you,” he murmurs. “That’s never happened before.”

“I don’t understand either,” I whisper. “But I’m not complaining.”

Nudging his nose into the hollow of my neck, a sigh from Keir’s lips brushes me before he draws away. With a quick kiss to my forehead, he sits and rubs his face.

Disappointment chases away the desire. “Keir?”

“I don’t think we should jump from enemies to lovers so quickly. I can’t do that.”

Pushing myself up, body still trembling, I stroke his face. His words make sense, but he can’t stop. Not now. “Okay.”

He takes my hand and playfully bites one of my fingers. “I’m not saying I don’t want you, but…”

“I know. This is too much. You don’t trust me yet.”

Keir frowns. “Is that bad?”

“No, I don’t trust you either.” I laugh at his mock gasp. “Maybe more than I did, but I think we’ve got a long way to go yet. You can’t let an enemy seduce you.”

“Not even just a little bit?” he asks, mouth tipping at the corner.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

The relief of the new understanding pours into me, fighting out my fear of betrayal. I’m closer than ever to my enemy, if that’s what he is. What the hell are we?

“I don’t give a crap normally,” he says. “Sex and soul hunters. It’s a thing.”

“What ‘thing’?” I ask sharply.

“Sex. Death.” He trails a finger from across the curve of my breasts and bites his lip. “Physical. But this. When I kissed you, my guard didn’t just drop, it plummeted.”

My slowing pulse hikes again as his eyes remain on the swell of my breasts. I’m out of my depth too; will Keir drag me under?

“Oh,” I say in a quiet voice.

“I don’t know what would happen. Would we kill one another?”

I giggle but his serious face stops me. “What do you mean?”

“Vulnerability.” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Yes, I mind.

“Besides, you look tired,” he says.

“I was working this afternoon and I haven’t slept much recently.”

“Do you want me to go?”

I look up at him, the guy who lit something I don’t understand on the day we met, and gradually melted all the resolve I have to kill him. How’s that possible? I’ve rarely emotionally bonded to anybody, and how can a kiss and a touch from Keir do that?

“No. I don’t want you to leave me.”

Keir draws a deep breath. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep and try to control myself.”

I laugh at him and lie down, shuffling across the bed, Keir next to me. He pulls me into the curve of his body, heart beating steadily against my back. I trace my fingers over his muscled arms, pulling them tightly around me. Safety. Keir’s breathing deepens to match my own as he shares my fatigue. Closing my eyes, I soak up the warmth and comfort of him as the exhaustion of the week overcomes me and I sink into dreams of us.

Chapter 12

I RUB MY hands together against the cold and glance at Keir. He blows onto his hands and rubs them together, as he watches the house through narrowed eyes. Weeds fill the front garden and the fence is broken. Tucked between two other brick-built properties, the house looks unlived in compared to the well-presented neighbouring houses.

“Is it derelict?” I ask.

“That’s what the demons want you to think. Probably find them in the basement. Dahlia’s tracked these guys here; if we hang around we can finish the job.”

I tuck my nose into the top of my jacket and blow warm air across my face. Winter here sucks. I haven’t hunted in this season before, and I bloody hate hanging around outside while tracking demons. Yeah, even with a smoking hot Nephilim guy who only has eyes for me. I brush a distracting curl from his forehead, any excuse to touch him. Keir catches my arm and kisses my palm.

“You don’t have to do the seduction thing with me anymore,” he murmurs and my cool body warms.

“I wasn’t. We’re busy.”

He grins. “Good.”

This guy confuses me as much as when we first met. Spending time with him fills my days with light. We kiss, touch, even spent the one night together, but Keir won’t take things further, and it’s driving me bloody crazy. Keir wants the same; hell, I’ve felt his arousal against me the times we’ve been entwined. Why does he pull away? Doesn’t he feel the same? Besides, if I need to put up with the damn cold to help hunt demons, he could at least warm me up.

The uneasiness remains. As a soul hunter and a Nephilim, distrust hovers around the edges of everything. Keir shifted my worldview and opened my eyes to the realities around us. As the weeks pass, the strange physical pull between us, heightened by our shared crusade, develops into more.

For the first time in my soul hunter life, somebody treats me like a person. Keir never asks anything of me, refuses to pressure, only encourages me to help. I’m frustrated he won’t explain why he took the path away from helping the Demon Lords, and the Nephilim side with him, despite the danger his decision put him in. Like me, he’s refusing control in order to live his own life, doing what he believes is best for him. That’s what underlies all this; lost on the edge of our worlds, we found each other.

“Ava.”

I wince as Keir’s hand grips mine. Two people approach the house opposite, tall figures in long, dark coats walking with a male gait. “Shit.”

“We’ve been watching this nest for a while; frequent local attacks are drawing attention so we think they might be moving on soon. I want them dead before they do.”

“Nest?”

Keir maintains his surveillance. “Vampires.”

“Oh. I’ve never met one. I was warned to keep away though…”

Keir chuckles. “One of the oldest kinds of demon tracked, and definitely not as strong as my kind. You must have come across vampires?”

“Nope, never sent after one.”

“And they sent you after a Nephilim!” He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “What were they thinking?”

“Shh.” I laugh and poke him.

“Well, now’s your chance to meet one of the charmers.”

Soul hunters are warned never to approach them. These creatures are a different kind of demon, a race of their own and not a creation by the Demon Lords. They’re stronger and are rarely beaten; the poisonous death I’d face would be excruciating.

Not good.

We cross the road, approaching around the side of the house, away from the streetlights. Keir’s shoes crunch on the ground and he pauses, listening. Nothing. He raises a hand indicating I should stay here and moves silently toward an unlit, grimy window. He peers through before turning back and shaking his head.

“Where did they go?” I whisper as he returns.

He points downwards. “In the basement. I’m not sure if there are others down there though.”

We move to the back of the house, and I strain to hear, unable to pick up any sound. Keir’s eyes are closed, sensing more than me.

“There’re three of them; normally there’re more. The others must be out hunting.” He grins, eyes bright in the darkness. “Killing three will be a good start.”

“Three? There’re two of us.”

“They’re no match for a Nephilim and a soul hunter.”

I make a soft sound of disbelief. In the last few weeks, we’ve taken down pairs of demons together. But three vampires?

“We’ll be fine,” he replies. “We’ll just take them by surprise.”

“How?”

“You knock on the door.”

“Do what?”

“Do your sexy Ava thing… get them out of the basement and into the house.”

I fight a smile as he gestures towards the front door.

Cracked paving leads to the door, and I knock. A light flicks on inside, and voices murmur. The door swings open, and a tall guy regards me with brown eyes almost black, eyebrows drawn together in suspicion.

“Hi,” I say and flash my biggest smile.

He rests his arm against the door so I can’t pass and I wrinkle my nose. He smells odd. Acrid. Dangerous. “Yes?”

“Sorry, just wondering if you’ve seen my dog?”

“Dog?”

“Yeah, four legged animal, goes woof.”

The confusion on the demon’s face detracts from his tough-guy-in-a-leather-jacket image, but he quickly composes himself.

“No, sorry.”

He begins to close the door and I stick my foot in the gap before the door closes completely. “It’s just he’s so little, and I’m scared something might hurt him if he’s alone in the dark all night.” I lower my voice and lean closer, holding my breath. “Did you know they kidnap dogs? For dog fighting? I’m so worried about my Troy.”

“Troy?”

“My tiny poodle. He might be scared and hidden in your garden—or basement. Do you have a basement?” I peer around him and twirl a finger into my ponytail.

“Umm.”

Obviously vampires are stupid.

“What’s going on, Marius?” asks a gruff voice.

“Girl here. Lost her dog.”

A second vampire walks up and stands shoulder to shoulder with the first. They’re similar looking, pale skinned, slicked black hair.

“What dog?”

“Troy.” I bite my lip in an attempt to look as stupid as them. “Is there any chance he’s inside your house? He doesn’t like being outside and I’ve asked the other neighbours.”

The two glance at each other.

“Sure, take a look,” drawls the second vampire, “Come on in, sweetheart. Let me fix you a drink.”

I smile coyly. “Oh, that’s so kind, thank you.”

In the empty house, a bare bulb hangs from a white wire, no shade. The light illuminates stained beige carpets and bare walls. As I pass rooms, I peek inside. All empty; no curtains at the windows and boxes stacked in the corner of one room.

“Just moved to the neighbourhood?” I ask.

“No, we’re moving out soon.”

The vampires head toward the back of the house, where a light filters through an open doorway and behind stairs run into the basement. The second vampire disappears down them.

Something moves in the shadows at the edge of my vision. Keir waits in a room to my left. I glance at the vampire in front of me, adrenaline building. Don’t let him see Keir.

“Oh, I thought I heard something in here.” I indicate the room Keir hides in.

Marius cocks his head to one side. “You smell funny.”

“Excuse me?”

He steps forward, his dull brown eyes narrow as he sniffs. I step back into the room. “Do you often go around sniffing people? That’s not very polite.”

“What are you?” he growls and extends long, white fingers toward my neck.

Shit.

I duck under him, grab his neck, pull him into a headlock, and spin him around. He opens his mouth to yell out as Keir steps out of the shadows, holding a stake, the point against the vampire’s chest. Keir put his hand over the struggling vampire’s mouth, and I tighten my arm across its neck.

“She’s a soul hunter. I’m Keir, and you just lost,” he whispers in the vampire’s face.

Keir nods at me and I shove the creature violently forward, into the wooden stake. Without a sound, the body crumples to the floor. In seconds, the soul pours out of the vampire’s open mouth, toward the window. I swallow. Each time a soul leaves unhindered a sharp reminder jabs, as Darius’s face appears in my mind.

“Come on, two more to go.” Keir pulls at my arm. “The other went downstairs, right?”

Holy crap. The vampire disintegrates and a pile of ash lays on the dirty carpet. Since when did…

“Ava!”

Snapping out of my surprise, I follow Keir back out of the room, and we creep along the hallway. He pauses at the top of the stairs, listening. “Okay, there’s only two left. Good. I’ll get the closest one and you grab the other.”

“Sure.”

I cover my nose with an arm as we head down the stairs, the odour from their den more pungent than any vampire. A single bulb lights the room, three dirty mattresses strewn across the floor, and the walls stained with something red. My stomach twists… blood? The vampire who answered the door faces away and a second lies on his side on one of the mattresses. Another male, skinnier and scruffier than his associates.

“Easy…” whispers Keir and grins as he lifts the stake.

“Yeah?” The first vampire turns round, shooting a hand out to catch Keir by the neck. Keir instantly sidesteps him, the vampire left grasping at air. The one on the mattress jumps to his feet, moving with inhuman speed across to his friend. I push both hands out and knock him to the floor, and the scruffy vampire grabs my leg, attempting to do the same to me. I kick out, foot colliding with his chest; he winces and swears at me. Behind me, Keir struggles with the first vampire and someone’s slammed against the wall. I glance over my shoulder. Keir pins the vampire halfway up the wall, his feet not touching the floor. Arm held up, Keir’s ready to stake him. I gasp and stumble as someone grabs my ponytail and drags me to the ground.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I cry at the scruffy vampire, kicking upwards with both feet into his chest. He’s weaker and can’t hold me, falling backwards instead.

Ha.

I kick him down and kneel on his stomach, twirling the stake in my hand.

Fear pools in the vampire’s subdued brown eyes, peering from beneath a shaggy dark fringe. I hesitate. Why isn’t he fighting back? Never in two years of this life have I seen fear in a demon’s eyes. A pained yell, and then silence, comes from behind me, and the sound of the vampire slumping to the ground.

“One down, one to go,” says Keir.

But the vampire beneath my knees freaks me out. This isn’t normal.

“Do it,” he hisses, “I want you to.”

Demons didn’t normally say that either.

“Happy to oblige.” I raise the stake high into the air.

“No, Ava! Stop!” Keir knocks the stake from my hand and drags me off the vampire. I struggle and he crushes me against his chest, squeezing the air from me.

“What the fuck?” I push at him. “Isn’t this what you wanted me to do?”

“It’s Jack.”

Chapter 13

I PULL MYSELF free. “Dahlia’s Jack? Isn’t he dead?”

Jack slowly climbs to his feet and dusts down his filthy jeans, watching warily. “Yeah, I’m dead.” He backs toward the wall. “Hey, Keir.”

“You’re a vampire?” asks Keir hoarsely, walking over to the stairs and sitting down. The other vampires were dressed to blend into the world, but Jack is a mess of dirty clothes and wild hair. Only his smooth, pale skin gives any indication he’s the same race.

“Looks that way,” he says.

“You died. I saw it,” Keir replies.

Jack shakes his fringe from his face. “Apparently not.”

“Oh, shit…” Keir covers his face with his palms.

“Yeah. Oh, shit. That’s what I thought too. Oh no, wait. That’s not right. I thought: what the fuck just happened and why aren’t I dead?”

I stay on the ground, stake still poised, and Jack scowls at me.

“Jack… I didn’t know. When I arrived at the scene, you were already dead,” whispers Keir.

“You couldn’t have stopped anything.”

“I tried…”

What the hell is going on here? If he’s a vampire, Jack should be dead. Now.

“But you can kill me now,” hisses Jack, moving toward Keir. “Dahlia would want you to.”

Keir shakes his head. “No. No. Don’t say that.”

I watch the pair, shocked by Keir’s distress. This is bigger than the two of them; a third person is involved here. “We should tell Dahlia. If it was me, I’d want to know.”

Both guys look around, as if they’d forgotten I’m here. They need to consider Dahlia. She gave up her angel soul and became human, lives with the mortality and pain of the passing years. Dahlia gave up everything. I don’t like her, but if Dahlia chose something irreversible, because she loved this mess of a thing in front of me, she deserves to know the truth.

The lines are already blurred between demon and angel, angel and human, so what difference does Jack’s form make?

“I can’t see her again,” says Jack, voice breaking.

“She thinks he’s dead and he may as well be. After almost a year, Dahlia’s starting to accept Jack’s death. I’ve seen her taking steps toward moving on. Maybe we shouldn’t tell her he’s... this. We could let him go.”

“Isn’t that for her to decide?” I ask.

“No, it’s for me to decide,” replies Jack. “I can’t face Dahlia knowing I represent everything she hates.”

“But you’re you, just in a different form. Like she is, now she’s human,” I press.

“I kill people!” he yells, cold eyes filled with anger.

I clamp my mouth shut. Yep. Whatever his past and his appearance, Jack’s a demon. Keir’s right. I swallow down my natural inclination to retaliate.

“I can’t kill you, Jack,” Keir says. “I’ll let you go, but I can’t end your life.”

“And I won’t kill you,” I retort.

“I’m a human soul trapped in a demon’s body; it’s what you fucking do! It’s what I’ve been waiting for!” Jack pulls at his hair. “Keir, please.”

I straighten as Keir steps toward Jack, who closes his eyes, tensing. Taller than Jack and broader, Keir looks down at him and digs fingernails into the stake.

No way. I whip my phone out of my pocket, press the speed dial for Dahlia, willing Keir to pause. “Dahlia?”

“What are you doing?” yells Jack, pushing Keir to one side and reaching out for my phone. I snatch my hand away and shove him backwards.

“Ava? Is everything okay?”

Jack reaches out again, tears springing to his eyes. “Ava, don’t do this!”

“What’s happening?” Dahlia’s confused voice sounds small. “Who’s with you?”

“You need to come here. We’ve found Jack and…” My phone cuts out at the same time as a Jack’s distressed scream fills the room. I land hard on the ground, banging my head as Jack catches me off-guard and throws me to the floor.

“What have you done?” he yells.

* * *

I SIT ON the basement floor, nursing my arm. I landed awkwardly when Jack pushed me down, and I am so bloody tempted to hurt him back. But he probably wants me to.

Alone together, Jack paces around, stopping to glower at me or to pull at his hair, pacing, or doubling over. I shudder at each inhuman noises, wishing Keir hadn’t left me alone with Jack. I have nothing to say and don’t want to be trapped in this stinking room with a vampire. Did I do the right thing in telling Dahlia? What if she didn’t want to know?

Too late now.

Keir waits upstairs for Dahlia. Jack’s asked him to intercept Dahlia and keep her out of the basement. Has Keir seen Dahlia when she’s pissed off? Good luck to Keir holding back a determined Dahlia. I smile to myself. Yeah, the girl annoys the crap out of me, but at least she gives as good as she gets.

The front door slams upstairs.

“Where is he?”

Dahlia.

Keir’s low voice replies, followed by scuffling, and raised voices above us. Jack freezes and backs into a corner.

Omigod. I do not want to be here.

Dahlia stumbles into the basement, wide eyes frantically searching the dim room until she catches sight of Jack. His straggly hair hangs over his face as he stares at the floor.

Dahlia shivers and her face pales as she takes a tentative step toward him. “Jack?”

“Please make her go away,” Jack says hoarsely, not looking up.

Dahlia falters. “No, you don’t mean that. Look at me, Jack.”

Jack pulls his fingers down his face and the preternatural noise assaults me again.

“Please, Jack, I don’t care what you are, just that you’re here.” Dahlia’s voice cracks.

I really, really need to leave but can’t get past Dahlia. Keir appears on the stairs behind Dahlia and puts a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs him off and crosses her arms tightly around herself.

“I’m a fucking vampire, Dahlia. A demon. I should be dead.”

“I don’t care. You’re Jack.”

Jack’s head snaps up. “No, I’m not. I’ve killed people, Dahlia. What if I kill you?” He turns away from her to Keir. “This has to end. I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve died last year.”

Vampires. Yeah, I’d heard of them and their human forms, and this guy looks like one. A pale, scruffy human in need of a change of clothes and a shower, but human. Jack’s eyes are different to most demons, closer to a natural colour and nothing malicious in them.

“I stayed for you Jack, gave up everything. You don’t know what it’s been like for me since you… went. If it wasn’t for Keir, I don’t know what I’d have done,” says Dahlia hoarsely.

Keir tenses. “If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be alive.”

“No. You did what you could. We weren’t expecting them…,” says Dahlia, turning to place a hand on Keir’s face.

Keir pulls her hand away. “Don’t try to be nice about this.”

Something connects these people that has nothing to do with me, and my discomfort grows. I shouldn’t interfere when I don’t have all the facts.

Jack slumps to the floor, hiding his head beneath folded arms. Dahlia approaches, kneels in front of him, stretching out a tentative arm.

“Ava,” whispers Keir. He inclines his head to the door at the top of the stairs. With relief, I follow him, leaving Dahlia and Jack together.

“Is she safe?” I ask, as we sit next to each other against the cool wall upstairs, outside the basement door.

“I don’t think Jack would harm her.”

I stretch my legs out and tap the toes of my boots together. “Jack thought he might.”

“No, I think they’re soul tied.”

“They’re what?”

Keir’s hand folds around mine. “You haven’t heard of that? You who knows so much about souls?” he teases.

“You should know by now everything I know about souls is fucked,” I snap.

Keir places his head against the wall. “Sorry. Okay. Originally, some souls were tied to each other, almost part of each other. When they were free, before”—he wrinkles his nose—“the war. Then some souls became parted by the chaos. Sometimes the souls find each other again. It’s rare, but when these souls do find each other, they don’t want to be apart. Ever. It doesn’t matter to the souls if they are contained within beings who are enemies of each other. They transcend that. Which is how a soul hunter fell in love with a human, and how I think they will love each other no matter what. Jack has the same soul as when he was human, even with a different physical form.”

My heart flips. “That’s really beautiful. And so sad if it’s true.”

“Free souls search each other out,” he says quietly. “Another reason I want to free as many as I can.”

I stroke his face. “You’re a good person. I don’t know how I ever believed you could be a demon.”

Keir’s jaw clenches. “I am half demon. Don’t forget that, ever. I have a lot to atone for.”

Keir doesn’t elaborate, and I refuse to push him, scared of what he might say.

One thing, I have to know. “What happened with Jack? Can you tell me?”

“Vampires heard Dahlia killed one of their own and wanted revenge on an ex-soul hunter. I heard about the plans and went to warn her. When the vampires came for Dahlia, Jack was with her. I suppose they saw taking him a bigger punishment than killing her. I tried to protect Jack, to kill the vampires first, but they attacked him.” Keir rakes a hand through his hair. “He was dead when they took him.”

“But what has that to do with you?” I ask. “Why do you feel responsible?”

“I don’t want to talk about this. You don’t need to know the details.” He clamps his mouth shut.

I came into these people’s lives to kill one of them and leave again. Now, weeks later, I’m part of those lives and learning their secrets. I don’t belong, however much I fool myself I can.

Keir’s explanation of soul ties is freaking weird, another layer of confusion. I know nothing. Is this what pushed Dahlia to choose this fate for herself? Dahlia trapped herself in this world for another soul?

What’s mine and Keir’s true connection? A soul hunter and a Nephilim, as improbable as a soul hunter and a human? More than. But we’re not soul tied. Our connection is we’re moulded by a similar past, one of control by others, and our choice to escape evils we no longer want to be part of. This journey to personal freedom has built a bridge between us.

No, not a soul tie. If there was, I could consider making the sacrifice Dahlia did, and I couldn’t. If my choice were becoming human or returning to a world of the Fated, I’d leave. Keir or no Keir, this world isn’t for me.

Tonight is another reminder of the distance between me and the peoples’ lives I’m entangled in. A new understanding of Keir and Dahlia’s relationship, the reason they conspiratorially live in each other’s pockets. They share a bond, connected through Jack’s death, Keir’s guilt, and Dahlia’s grief.

Chapter 14

WHAT THE HELL do we do with Jack? His time living in a nest of vampires, isolated from the real world is a problem. Undead, bloodsucking creature problem. Dahlia fixates on solving Jack, treating him like a cross between a science experiment and a toddler. He barely communicates for several days, Dahlia constantly trying to coax him back to reality.

Jack remains in the derelict house until Keir and Dahlia decide what to do. Contact with humans poses problems, so taking him to a college campus isn’t an option. Dahlia stays with him for the rest of the night and most of the following day in the stinking basement until she persuades him upstairs into the house. Keir finds a cheap hotel in a dingier area of the town and they take him there the following night, choosing to arrive late, avoiding others as much as possible.

I retreat to the edge of their lives.

A week later, Keir confides in me Jack hasn’t fed in the week since we found him, and I don’t need to ask why he’s uneasy—human Dahlia alone with vampire Jack. Leaving them together never made sense to me, but I keep my mouth shut. What if blood lust is more powerful than a soul tie? If Dahlia dies, it’ll be my fault. I’m the one who insisted we tell her about Jack and put Dahlia in this position.

I return to campus with Keir. Every evening Keir visits Dahlia and Jack, and relieves Dahlia of her duty for a few hours. I stay away. I’m always somewhere public if I’m alone; always wary. The three friends have their enormous events to deal with. I still have the threat of Darius over my head.

Time alone with Keir is the only thing that sweeps everything from my mind; anxiety over my situation evaporates in the times we’re alone. This is all new to me. Dragging myself from the Fated at eighteen, straight into servitude as a soul hunter, deprived me of contact with anyone but the demons I killed. Until Keir, I never noticed the emptiness, too fixated on the task at hand, covering my loneliness with a facade. Then Keir kissed me, the sensation taking hold of and shaking me, until everything floated around inside, like flakes in a snow globe. Is this what love feels like? Love or not, this is what Keir feels like.

When he isn’t around, I drift into memories of Keir’s gentle strength and hard kisses. Keir, my home, my safe place.

The banks of the lake at the edge of the campus become our place, a quiet spot away from the hubbub of college where we sit amongst the tall trees, hidden from the world. Winter takes hold, and the ground hardens. Wrapped against the cold, we snuggle together on a blanket.

The lake shines, ripples reflecting the late afternoon sun and waterbirds cautiously approach the shore for food. Keir shadows the sun as he bends over and kisses my eyelids before lying back and sighing.

I sit. “What’s the matter?”

“This. Dahlia. Lots of things.” He stares upwards, watching the clouds trace along the sky.

“Have you spoken to Dahlia today?” I pick a stray leaf from his hair.

He catches my hand and blows the leaf. “Yes.”

“How’s Jack?”

“Slightly better. Beginning to forgive us.”

“I did do the right thing, didn’t I?”

“If it was wrong, I was wrong too. I could’ve released his trapped soul, but…”

“Dahlia.” The quiet girl who’d held a sadness in her eyes I never took the time to notice.

“I helped her through the pain. When she lost him. It was heartbreaking; she’d given up her life for him, literally.” My heart swells at his empathy. How can anything demonic exist inside Keir? “I couldn’t persuade Dahlia to do anything for months. Eventually I coaxed her into helping me track demons, to get her revenge on those who’d ended Jack’s life. With her help, I tracked and killed more than I could alone. We’ve saved a lot more souls.”

He pauses, twisting a strand of my pink hair around his finger. “Then the soul hunters came to stop me.”

“And she helped you kill them too?”

“Yes.”

A bird flies over, skimming down to pull a wriggling fish from the dark waters, and I watch for a moment before looking back to Keir. “She wanted you to kill me, didn’t she?”

“Of course. I wanted to kill you too.” His words are a slap, but what else is it but the truth? “Why look so shocked? Of course, I’m going to kill someone sent to steal my soul. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Keir sits up and holds his lips a whisper away from mine. “Until I realised you were different, Ava.”

I pull his head to me and playfully bite his lip, silencing the words. Keir curls an arm around my waist, tips me into the leaves, and covers my mouth with insistent kisses. I drape my arms around his neck, returning them.

Keir shifts his weight from me and he explores my face with his fingers. “I mean it. You’re different. We’re different. People like us, we can come between their war and interrupt their plans. We don’t care about the past; we want to change the future.”

Keir evades my questions about his past. Always. He talks about what the future holds; but it’s an unknown place, and one I don’t want to consider. Here. Now. Keir. That’s what I want, thinking beyond frightens me.

“I don’t understand everything you tell me about this war.”

“In time I can tell you,” he says.

I shift away from him. “In time? Are you hiding something from me?”

“No, the people I work with want secrets kept. I have to respect that and—”

“And I’m a soul hunter?”

“No, you’re Ava. Dahlia doesn’t know about everything either. All she cares about in life is slaughtering as many demons as we can.”

“Apart from Jack.”

“Yes. She wants to help him. Their soul tie is what’s keeping them together, but he’s fighting against her. In his mind, Jack doesn’t believe he has any humanity left, but I’ve seen a change in him. Jack’s responding to her now.”

I pick up a brittle leaf from the ground and crumble it between my fingers. “I wish I’d been kinder to her.”

“The animosity was mutual, don’t feel bad. I was the one getting the brunt of her anger when I let you live.” A small crease forms along his brow. “I do wonder…,” he starts.

“Wonder, what?”

Keir shakes his head, dislodging a thought. “Nothing.”

Standing, he pulls me to my feet. “Look at you, like a woodland Fae, leaves in your hair.”

His smile stops time and turns the brightness of my world up ten notches, because I created the smile. I draw him close to kiss the smile off his lips so I can hold it forever.

* * *

I WANDER ALONE back to my halls away from Keir. I rub fingers against my lips, already the distance grows between us when he isn’t around.

The door to my room is ajar and a light on.

I hold my breath and move closer, listening. No sound. Pushing open the door further with my boot, I peer in. Light from the campus shines through the window, casting shadows across my desk. Nothing. No movement. Cautiously, I take a step inside.

The door clicks shut behind.

“Ava.”

I spin around, ready to defend myself. A guy. Around my own age, tall, mussed brown hair and deep brown eyes narrowed at me.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The man moves in front of the door, blocking my way out. “Darius sent me. He wants a chat with you.”

Shit. What do I do? The window. I rush over and push down on the fastening but an arm locks around my neck. I let out a choked scream as my windpipe crushes. Gripping me with an inhuman strength, he squeezes harder. A bright light appears in my mind, but instead of heading closer, it retreats as the blackness gathers.

Death found me.

The darkness obliterates.

Part 2

Chapter 15

DARKNESS. HOW LONG have I been here now? Curled up in a ball in a corner, I open my eyes. Days? Weeks? The darkness never lifts. The first time I woke, I was positive I was in Hell, a solitary Hell with nothing but blackness and cold. I gaze around the small cell, stretching barely two metres across, enclosed by a high ceiling and windowless walls. Struggling to breathe in the claustrophobia, I lay still, aching and confused.

The man comes at the same time each day.

He never speaks, drags me out, gives me food, and pushes me toward the bathroom. Then I’m seized and thrown back into the darkness.

How many times now?

Drifting between the waking world and sleep, I see Keir’s eyes; hear his voice. I wake with a start from dreams where he held and comforted me, tears falling when I find myself lying on the cold, concrete floor.

The souls. Punishment for freeing the souls. But why am I alive?

The door opens and I squint. The light shining behind a tall man in the doorway shadows his face and I tense, waiting for the daily ritual.

“Darius wants to see you now,” says a gruff voice, a different voice… not the same man. His broad figure remains silhouetted in front of the door. “I said now. Get up.”

I move onto my hands and knees and push myself to my feet. My legs tremble, weak after days curled up here, and I stumble toward him, out of the musty cell.

* * *

I SIT IN the chair; shoulders slumped, looking at my dirty fingernails. The last time Darius called me here is an age away. The day he told me to hunt for Keir’s soul. The same books line the wall, the same taunting glimpse of the Caelestia world through the window I face.

This won’t end well.

The door closes behind, and Darius crosses in front of me, lowering himself into the chair opposite. He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward, frowning.

“Ava.” His voice is even, no sign of his mood, and I don’t look up, focusing on stopping my hands trembling.

“I’ve heard some things about you that have upset me,” he continues, “and now you’re back. Without the Nephilim’s soul.”

I stare mutely at the floor.

“I and the Caelestia Council have discussed the course of action to take, what to do with you next.”

I peer at him through my tangled hair. He hasn’t changed in the months I was away; harsh features and hair scraped from his face into a ponytail. The glittering fury in his grey eyes fuels my racing heart.

“We considered killing you. Then we thought about returning you to the Fated,” he says in a matter of fact voice, “but luckily for you, your value saves you.”

“Value?” I clear my throat. I’m barely audible; I haven’t spoken to anyone since my capture.

“You have failed in your task but have achieved something much more beneficial. You’re close to the Nephilim boy. You know his secrets, the information he gives you is invaluable.”

What? No. “You want to know his secrets? I don’t think I know any.”

“You do. You know his plans, who he works for, and what their motives are.”

“I don’t know all those things.” I grip onto the secrets that could save my life.

Darius stands and moves to the large window, looking out at the bright world I long to be part of. “I don’t know why you released those souls; perhaps you were drawn in by his fervour, but those poor souls are lost forever. They’ll never belong anywhere. Did you not consider their pain?”

I look away, angered by his words. I almost blurt that Keir told me what they’re doing is wrong. That trapping souls and returning them to the Caelestia is as wrong as the Demon Lords stealing souls too.

Challenging Darius wouldn’t be wise.

“No,” I whisper.

“Releasing those souls was a major crime. A crime that ordinarily could not be atoned for. But I told the Caelestia this was part of your plan, your actions were necessary to get close to the Nephilim and his allies. You were the one strong enough to entangle yourself with his life and find the secrets behind his actions. I told them you realised this was more important than merely stealing his soul. So I left you in his world, hoping this was true.”

Darius pauses, walks softly across the room and stands above me. “The explanation I gave the Caelestia is correct, isn’t it, Ava?”

Tears build in panic and I rub them away with a dirty sleeve.

“Consider your answer carefully, Ava; it’s the answer I will take to the Council. They will use the answer to make the final decision on your fate. I hear Hell has a few spaces right now.”

The Caelestia don’t bother with people like me, we are dispensable. Why consider sparing the life of a treacherous soul hunter? Darius wants me alive, bargaining for my life. Why? Why not kill me and send a different girl? Surely, I’m expendable too?

“Time is of the essence, Ava.”

Tired, confused, trapped, I thought I’d die, but I can’t face an eternity in Hell.

“Yes, that’s correct. I found his secrets.”

“I knew you would give me the right answer.” I balk at Darius’s wide grin. I’ve never seen him smile before, and the malice reflects in his eyes.

“So what happens now?”

“I will tell the Caelestia and they will send you back.”

My heart squeezes with hope. “Back?” Back to Keir.

“To finish the job. Find the rest of the information we need. Then bring back his soul.”

I slump further in the chair, room spinning around me. My stomach growls, head dizzied by exhaustion. “I can’t go back.”

Darius slams his hand on the wooden desk, jerking me back to reality. “You don’t get to choose.”

I stare at his polished black shoes, concentrating on staying conscious.

“Tell me, Ava, have you heard of the Hell realms.”

“Yes.”

“So you know what your existence would be if you were sent to the lowest? The torture you would suffer?”

Bile rises and I dig my nails into my palms to keep my reality.

He stands again. “Actually you probably don’t. Nobody knows such suffering unless they experience it. That’s what the Caelestia wanted to do to you. Want to do. A deterrent for other soul hunters who might follow your path when they are in the human world.”

I pull hair over my ears, wishing he’d left me cowering in the cell, wishing I’d never made the choice to leave the Fated. Keir’s words resonate in my mind; I signed my death warrant the day I chose to become a soul hunter. Soul hunters never win against Nephilim, and I can’t kill Keir.

I face two choices: death at Keir’s hands or eternal torture.

“What if he kills me first?” I look to Darius.

“Then we’ve tried. We may as well get the last drop of usefulness from you. But don’t think that’s the easy way out, because the chances of this particular Nephilim killing you appear low.”

He runs his finger along the pile of manila files in front of him, pulls a folder out, and flicks it open.

“This is the main problem for you.” He slides the open file across the table. A picture of Dahlia is attached to the papers inside. “I suggest you begin by eradicating her.”

Dazed, I stare at the photo. “Why did you release her from her bonds?”

Darius sneers. “If she was stupid enough to want a human existence, she wouldn’t be much use to us. So we released her, we’d almost finished with her anyway.”

I swallow. Like me.

Darius’s grey eyes narrow to slits on his face. “That won’t be an option for you. We will not release you. I have told you your choices.”

A choice between death and an eternity in Hell.

Freedom slipped from my grasp weeks ago, replaced by a stupid decision to allow myself to fall in love.

Chapter 16

I OPEN MY eyes and stare at the ceiling, confused by how light the room is. I roll onto my side and soft sheets cover a bed. I’m not in the dark square of a cell Darius kept me in.

The clock on the desk illuminates 08:32.

In the bathroom, the girl in the mirror wears no makeup and her hair sticks up wildly. Who am I? I don’t want to know this girl who made the decision, but there is no going back. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the treachery inside them, and an image of Keir’s face flashes across my mind, his earnest look and concerned eyes. Slamming a fist into the porcelain sink, I wince; I deserve the pain.

Time alone in the dark claustrophobia of my cell taught me the freedom I’d felt in the few weeks with Keir was an illusion. Even when I thought Darius had abandoned me to a fate in the human world, he was using me. Darius left me in this world to find Keir’s secrets. My fate never left the hands of Darius or the Caelestia and it never will.

I need Keir’s secrets. They are my bargaining tool to take back to Darius with Keir’s soul. These secrets keep me alive; at least for a short time. I can’t hide anymore. I paint my face with the kohl-eyed persona, pick up my bag, and leave the halls room. I’m back to the original Ava, the soul hunter, needing a Nephilim soul to trade for my life.

Within minutes, I spot Keir. He leans against the breeze-block wall by our seminar room, a sadness etched into his features. I hesitate, catching glimpses of him between the groups walking toward class. The familiar chatter and shoes squeak, as students move along, and hurt my ears after the quiet of the cell.

What do I do?

Someone behind jostles me, and I step back against the opposite wall. Memories of his touch heat my face, and other girls glance at him as they pass, appraising his long legs and killer body, trying to catch his breathtakingly beautiful eyes. Jealousy stabs me; girls who think Keir is available. My eyes settle on his full mouth, remembering their kisses and the smiles he only gave to me. Worse than that, everything I feel for him surges into my heart.

No. I’m not ready yet.

I sidle along the wall back, readying myself to turn and run, and bump into the person behind me.

“Get out of the fucking way!” I hiss and push the girl aside

The nearest door. Out. Now. I burst into the fresh air and bend over, trying to calm my hammering heart. The crisp air is a welcome relief after the noisy, claustrophobic corridor; the courtyard’s quiet.

“Ava.”

Keir rushes over and pulls me to him. My face squashes against his jacket and his scent breaks my heart and resolve. Comfort. Caring. An unwanted tear spills onto the leather. Keir holds my shoulders, searching my face.

“Where have you been?”

The violet flecked, sapphire eyes I searched out the first time I arrived on campus gaze at me in concern. I cast my eyes down.

“You’ve been away almost two weeks. What happened?” Stepping backwards, he looks me up and down. “You’ve lost weight; you look ill.” Keir dips his head to meet my downcast eyes. “Tell me what happened?”

Story time.

“Darius.”

Keir’s hand drops. “What?”

“Yeah.” I chew my lip as I gauge his reaction.

Already the suspicion crosses his face, hidden behind another smile. “And you’re alive?”

“They banished me. I’m stuck here now.”

“Like Dahlia?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

I suck in the cool air, perspiration growing on the back of my neck. “Dahlia wanted to stay here; this is different.”

A shadow crosses Keir’s face. “You don’t want to stay here?”

“I don’t like people making my decisions for me, Keir. That’s what I meant.”

Keir’s brows tug down as he studies me. Shit. He’s suspicious.

“I can help you still, like Dahlia.” I pull my bag onto my shoulder. “But I’m probably not much use to you, now I’m a fucking human.”

He stretches out a hand, brushing my lips with his fingers and I shiver.

“I see your experience hasn’t changed your foul mouth.” Amusement curls one corner of his mouth, and I involuntarily smile back.

His fingers remain on my cheek. “I thought you were dead. That I’d never see you again. I missed you so much.”

I close my eyes, fighting the power of the heat igniting and spreading through my veins. This isn’t desire for his touch, but a burning need for Keir in my life

“I’m tired.”

“What did they do to you?” He cups my chin with his long fingers.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, Ava…” Keir crushes me to him again, and I fight for breath. I’m held by arms with Nephilim strength, which could suffocate, hurt, kill me.

Wriggling out of Keir’s grasp, I place a hand on his warm chest. “I want to be on my own for a while.”

Keir dips his head, mouth closing in. “Oh, Ava, I’m so sorry.”

As his lips touch mine, I duck my head and run.

* * *

I LIED. I don’t want to be alone in the small room or confined in any space with four walls. Instead, I sit on the bench, beside the fountain, and listen to music on my phone. I watch water shoot skyward and bubble down the stone fountain, circling in infinity. I remember the night I stood here with Keir. Here I can breathe the fresh air, smell the distant bonfires of the winter. I hate the cold, but my icy cheeks are a sign of a freedom I never thought I’d have.

Until the darkness of dusk arrives and frightens me, then the light and warmth of my room call me.

I kick open the door to the halls block, and the heavy door slams against the wall.

Fuck.

Keir waits outside my room; a mirror image of him waiting once before wipes away the last two weeks. The day he came back, and I thought he didn’t want me; the evening we became lost in each other, and our worlds were pushed to one side.

Why the hell can’t I look at him just once and my body not react? The heat builds as I sweep my eyes along the length of his body. He’s even dressed the same as that night, same jacket, and jeans hugging his lean, muscled legs. Keir, so casually, unknowingly sexy, focusing his intense blue eyes on me, as if I’m the only person he wants to see in this world.

“Ava.” Keir strides over.

No. Don’t touch. I fold my arms across my chest. “I said I wanted to be on my own.”

Keir stops short of me. “Ava, I’ve been worried about you and earlier, when you told me about Darius… I felt guilty. This is my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“I made you release the souls. I shouldn’t have involved you.”

Our voices echo in the silent hallway and I turn away, picking at a notice hanging on the beige-painted wall. “It was my choice.”

“Is that why you don’t want to be near me? Because you blame me?”

“No.” Say yes, whispers a part of me, tell him it’s his fault; he did this. Use the guilt as the easy way to get to Keir and fulfill my orders before Keir draws me tighter again.

“Are you sure?” Keir reaches out and then drops his hand; I cross my arms tighter, before the resolve weakens.

I’m his weakness. That’s  my advantage. But not now. Not yet.

“I need time, Keir. I’m tired”

Keir moves closer. “I missed you.”

I fight the urge to throw myself into his arms. The beautiful, soul-searching eyes focus on me as if he’s found the most precious thing in his life: the Ava he’d lost, now back.

That Ava has gone.

The energy hums between us, recognisable and I dig my nails into my arms. Don’t touch him.

“Keir, I’m sorry…”

Sidestepping him, I rush into my room, close and rest against the door. I hold my breath and listen. Keir doesn’t leave straight away; and I waver between waiting and opening the door again. Sinking to the floor, I listen as his footsteps squeak back down the tiled hallway and bury my face in my knees. A sob escapes, then another, soaked up by my leggings. Two weeks of fear in that cell, I never cried. I don’t cry. The pain of the time away streams down my face, and I lie on the floor, curled up, and wish I had died then.

Chapter 17

THE FUTURE I don’t want to face chases me down. Darius told me I have two weeks to complete my task.

One week has passed.

I wait until the class is about to start before going into the study room, avoiding the awkwardness of a conversation with Keir. Pinned exam timetables catch my eye and I read them. Human Ava would sit exams and start a life, time to play the part.

The seminar takes place around me, but I don’t engage. I scrawl patterns on my notepad, the concentric circles growing darker as I avoid Keir’s gaze. When I do look at him, his eyes hold the concern for me he shouldn’t have. I close mine; shut him out.

Every day avoiding Keir adds an extra delay I don’t have time for. Tears and hurt dealt with, I rebuild my walls. I am a soul hunter. He’s Nephilim. Suck it up and do your job, Ava.

Keir’s soul once meant freedom; now his soul means survival.

At the end of class, I wait outside the room for Keir, who approaches.

“You okay?” he asks, slipping books into his bag. “You still look really pale.”

He reaches out a hand and tucks hair behind my ear; I shiver as his fingers brush my face.

I force a smile. “Feeling better.”

An awkward silence follows, as people bump past us, talking and laughing.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” asks Keir, fiddling with the zip on his bag.

“Sure.”

On the way to the cafeteria, I keep my arms by my sides, in case he’s tempted to cross the distance between us. Inside, students jostle in a queue, keen to grab lunch and leave. I sit at a recently wiped table, tracing fingers in the dampness. Keir returns to the table with two large cups of coffee.

“I missed you.” He shifts his chair closer.

Stop saying those words. I can’t stand looking into his trusting blue eyes, but some of what I need to say isn’t lies. “I missed you too. Thinking about you kept me going when I was trapped.”

He turns my hand over and traces fingers along my palm. “I’m sort of glad they banished you and you have to stay here now.”

“And age. And be human forever,” I mumble.

“I don’t care.”

The thick emotion in Keir’s voice arrests me and I pull my hand away. “You. Do you age like humans? As a Nephilim, I mean.”

“Yeah, not as quick as humans though, and not past a certain point. Have to keep my looks, y’know.” He winks at me.

“Oh. How old are you then?”

“How old are you, Ava?” His mouth tugs up at the corners.

“Not as old as you, I’m guessing.”

“Well, no. I’m not hundreds of years old, but I’ve looked young for a few years longer than a human would. Which isn’t so bad. It’s been fun.” He raises an eyebrow and an uncomfortable jealous heat crosses my face.

Keir’s playful smile vanishes. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound… I’d give back ten of those years for ten more with you, and now I have so many more.”

Each time I attempt to direct him away from talk of us, the conversation swings back round again.

“At least I can still help. I can’t fight the demons with you now I’m human, but I can help Dahlia track them or however you do it.”

Keir leans back in his chair. “Yeah. Dahlia doesn’t trust you.”

“No change there then.” I chew a nail. “Do you trust me?”

“I think I’d know if you were lying to me. I don’t think you would.”

Weak. Weak. Weak. Focus. “Good.”

I gulp my coffee and the noise of clattering trays and voices around invade my head, confusing my already muddled thoughts.

“So you’re happy to let me help? Keep me in the loop?”

“Yeah, we’re meeting at the bar around seven this evening.”

I grin through my treachery. “Thank you, Keir. For still trusting me. It means a lot.”

Keir leans across the table. “You mean a lot. I’m glad you’re safe now.” Before I can move, he places his lips gently on mine.

I hold my breath, not wanting to be drawn to the memories of their past by the softness of his mouth or his seductive scent. Too late. The kiss delves straight into my betraying heart.

“I have to go.” I steady the chair as I stand abruptly.

I head away, chest tight, not wanting to look back at the confusion on Keir’s face. He isn’t the only weak one.

* * *

I STEEL MYSELF for an evening of fun and games with Keir, Dahlia, and Jack. Keir’s fooled. Jack barely registers me, but will the ever-suspicious Dahlia see through me?

Music blares through the student union bar, drowning out the noise from the early drinkers. In a darkened corner of the room, away from the throng of people, Keir, Dahlia, and Jack wait in a booth. I hesitate and watch the strange group. Jack hides in the corner bench seat, as far away from passing students as possible. A bit bloody weird him coming into a place full of humans. Half-drunk glasses of soda rest on the sticky table, music blaring from LCD screens broadcasting video clips. Keir focuses on his phone and as I approach, he looks up with a welcoming smile. I can’t hold his look and shift my eyes to Dahlia whose down-turned mouth and hard eyes tell me everything I need to now. Yep. Still hates me.

“Hey,” I say

Only Keir responds and shifts across in the seat. I sit next to him and he places his hand on mine. As he moves to kiss me, I turn my face pretending I didn’t notice and his lips meet my cheek instead. Dahlia stops her silent study of the situation and flips open her laptop.

“I’ve found some in the Eastern suburbs,” Dahlia says to Keir. “Not particularly dangerous ones.”

“Is there any reason there’re so many round here?” I ask. “It seems as soon as you kill one demon, another appears.”

“They’re increasing in number everywhere,” Keir replies.

“Why?”

“More unexplained deaths, which means the number of souls taken from humans to create more demons has spiked,” Dahlia says.

I chew my lip. “Nephilim?”

Dahlia doesn’t look up. “Probably. Zach’s been skulking about again.”

“Someone must be helping him. He can’t kill this number alone.” Keir frowns.

“He’s waiting for you to slip up and he’ll be there to exploit the weakness,” says Dahlia.

Slip up? Did Keir once kill like other Nephilim? The thought had never crossed my mind before, but of course, he did. He would’ve been taught that’s his role. Like me, he’s rebelling against something he’s supposed to do. This helps because I can convince myself I’m killing somebody who threatens the lives of others.

“Not going to happen,” he replies, face darkening. “I’m in control of that side of myself, you know that.”

Dahlia and Keir meet each other’s eyes and whatever is exchanged between them excludes me and Jack.

“Any communication from the others this week?” he asks her.

Dahlia flicks a look at me. “Do you want to talk about this now? About them?”

“Yes. It’s my decision, isn’t it?”

Dahlia closes her laptop. “You’re making a mistake, Keir.”

“Ava went through a lot as a result of helping us.”

“She came here to kill you,” retorts Dahlia.

“Excuse me?” I blurt. “I am here.”

Dahlia tips her head. “Why did they banish you, Ava? Why didn’t they just kill you after your transgressions?”

The slight, brown-haired girl can see through me when he can’t. Darius’s words echo: I need to kill her too if I have any chance of getting near Keir. I snap back my answer before my hesitation raises any more red flags for her. “They want me to take out Zach instead.”

“Ava! I told you, you can’t kill him!”

“I have no choice, Keir. I kill Zach or face the lowest Hell realm.”

Dahlia’s eyes widen. “They must be really pissed off with you.”

“Yeah. You just told me that.”

Keir’s grip on my hand tightens and I wince. “I can’t believe they threatened you with that.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t throw you straight down there,” says Dahlia. “They must really want you to do what they’ve asked.”

The edge to her voice screams to Keir I’m on my original mission. Screw you, Dahlia. I raise my chin and stare her down. “How’s your demonic boyfriend, Dahlia?”

Jack shifts his half-dead eyes from the space he stares into and looks at me. The pain I see in his face freaks me out.

“Is he just the strong silent type or what?” I ask.

“He’s not acclimatised yet,” snaps Dahlia.

Dahlia and Jack aren’t close, the way other couples around us are. Their bodies don’t even touch. I lean across the table. “Does he want to feed off you too? That’s gross…”

A similar pain crosses Dahlia’s face as she opens her mouth to respond, but Jack interrupts. “No. I don’t.”

“Still, must be annoying being Dahlia’s pet.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ava,” growls Dahlia. “Jack has nothing to do with you.”

I snort. “‘Thank you for saving my boyfriend, Ava.’ ‘Oh that’s okay, Dahlia, anytime’.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“I’m not thanking you,” says Jack.

“And I think you’re trying to change the subject,” Dahlia says in a low voice.

Keir hasn’t spoken and I rest my head on his shoulder, throwing a sweet smile at Dahlia. Keir wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.

“So, who are these others?” I ask.

“People who I work with. A group of us, freeing souls.”

“You’re making a big mistake, Keir,” whispers Dahlia.

“Who are they?”

Dahlia straightens. “Keir... Please. Listen.”

I grit my teeth as Keir pauses in his story, chewing his lip. Bloody Dahlia.

“Dahlia’s probably right,” adds Jack.

“What’s this got to do with you?” For fuck’s sake, I thought Jack was an outsider too, but now Dahlia has Jack as back up.

“I’ll explain another time.”

If Dahlia’s smug smile doesn’t leave, I’m going to slap it off her face.

“I will tell you, but not now,” Keir whispers.

Dahlia shakes her head at him. “So, are we going to talk about the demons then?”

I feign interest in Dahlia’s pinpointing an area with more than one recent death, suggesting Keir checks the area out. My mind works over the situation in front of me. The more secrets I find before I return to Darius, the better.

Chapter 18

I STARE INTO space as boredom takes over the stress. I’ve counted the library books on the shelf opposite in an attempt not to engage with Dahlia, who continues her maps and notes on demon locations. This is pissing me off, hours pretending to be too weak to help Keir and forced to sit with Dahlia. Dahlia who does everything in her power not to involve me; I swear she hides half of her research. Not that I care.

What pisses me off more is Dahlia’s glued herself to Keir again. Jack is around more these days too and continues to act as if his world has ended. Really? The moron should be happy he isn’t dead and instead back with the girl who gave up so much for him. Mind you, being soul tied to Dahlia’s sour face would be enough to put anybody off. Or maybe Dahlia’s devotion to Keir annoys Jack as much as it does me.

What was Dahlia and Jack’s relationship before Jack disappeared. Neither of them are the happy people in the photo Dahlia showed me, together or separately. Jack drifts around the edge of Dahlia, as he does the rest of the world. Sometimes I forget Jack exists, his presence fading him into the background. Jack and Dahlia’s relationship is ghost-like too, as if it’s something that didn’t know it died and needed to let go. What a mess.

Time pulls me closer to Keir, despite Dahlia’s best efforts to keep us apart. Evenings spent alone with Keir, trying to hold him at arm’s length physically and close myself down emotionally, drag me away from my task and back to him again. I’m sick with the situation—sometimes literally.

I can’t face another night caught in his gravitational pull and sneak to the bar hiding myself in a corner. Keir doesn’t even need to touch me, and my resolve wavers; I’ve almost blurted the truth to him too many times. A look or a smile, with his desire barely hidden behind, scrapes at the barriers I desperately attempt to keep up.

I gulp back the neat vodka and watch everybody around; this is like sitting in a zoo or watching TV, as little soap operas play out around me. In an attempt to avoid the three friends, I come here most nights. Nobody approaches me; nobody ever has. That’s how life should be.

Tonight’s entertainment includes a big show down between a group of girls, and I knock back more drinks as I watch with amusement. The room spins, and I bloody hope Keir isn’t looking for me and will see me like this. Most nights Keir checks up on me. Usually he hears a “thanks but no thanks I’m too tired” as I head to bed, avoiding the possibility he might want to join me. Telling him the crap I went through in Darius’s cell is the reason I can’t allow him close isn’t going to cut it much longer.

The winter air hits my heated cheeks. I mutter with each footstep taken back to my room. Too much. Getting drunk. Bad. Vulnerable.

I trip up the stairs into my halls block and squint in the brightness, then weave along the hallway, running fingers down the walls. I hate this place. I hate my life.

I hate myself.

The door is ajar, light on, and adrenaline shoots through. No. Not again. They said I had two weeks; I still have a few days. I back to the opposite wall and slump. They can’t do this. I ready myself to run, but where can I hide?

Keir. I could go to Keir.

I peel myself from the wall and concentrate on moving. Yeah, running isn’t happening in this drunk state.

“Ava!”

Keir stands in the doorway, light illuminating his face. A curl falls across his dipped brow.

“Why are you in my room?” I demand.

“Waiting for you. I’m worried. Although it looks like I should’ve come to find you.” Keir regards me with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

“I have to go to bed,” I mutter. Then I make a mistake. I look into his eyes and I’m trapped. Sapphire blue. Bright blue. So fucking blue.

“Okay.” Keir steps to one side.

I slide through the door and hold my breath as I fill the space between us.

“I came to see you.” He leans in to kiss me, a slow, gentle kiss barely touching my lips.

And I’m lost.

I return his kiss, eager, and wind my hands through Keir’s hair. My other hand slides up his arm, across his hard biceps, to his shoulders.

Definitely lost.

I wrench him by the coat into the room; the slow kisses giving way to frantic, heated lips as I kick the door shut and push him against the door. Pulling my head away, I trail fingers down his rough cheek and meet his surprised expression. My own sudden, primal desire reflects in his darkened eyes.

“Ava.” He grips my arms, holding onto a restraint I don’t want him to hold.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out,” I whisper and push my mouth onto his again, flicking my tongue along his lips and into his mouth. Keir groans and slides his hands under my top, cool hands moving against my searing skin.

“Keir.” The headiness from the alcohol and my arousal drag me away from the world, into the safety of Keir’s powerful hold. Strong hands explore my body and fire the slow heat inside as he switches my flick to need.

“I want you. I can’t lose you,” he murmurs, gripping my hips, hands sliding toward my ass.

This time I don’t care. I want him to take me further away from the nightmare I’m living. I drag fingers across the sculpted muscle, and he tenses, breath catching in his throat as I splay them over his abs. Keir’s hands encircle my waist, fingertips on the small of my back.

This.

I need this.

"Ava," he growls and moves suddenly to tip me onto the bed.

Keir slides his hands to my waist, pulling my hips toward him and his palm slides upwards, toward my breasts. I pull in a ragged breath and arch toward the expectation of his touch. Keir’s raw power over me consumes everything, and I’m lost to everything but staying in this moment with him.

He pulls up my shirt and nips my shoulder. His teeth against my skin ramps up the surge of need, and I grab his hair and drag his face back to mine. Keir’s hot breath hovers against my mouth for a moment, and in frustration, I tug his lip into my mouth and bite. Too hard. He winces and makes a sound low in his throat before thrusting his tongue into my mouth. His lips harden with a devouring kiss. I want to gasp for air, but I couldn’t take my mouth off his if I wanted to.

The touch of his fingertips on my sensitive skin burns, and I drag his T-shirt over his head and push my breasts against him. A switch flicks, coursing white-hot heat through my whole body as my hardening nipples touch his bare chest through the lace of my bra. He inhales sharply, gripping my hips.

I move my hands to undo Keir’s belt and, in a sudden change, he wrenches his head  away and holds me at arms’ length.

“Why do you do that? I don’t understand. I thought you’d waited for this?”

Behind the desire in his eyes lies something else. He’s lost. I put my hand on his face. “Keir?”

“It’s a safety thing.”

“Safety?”

Keir rubs his temples. “Please don’t be upset with me for what I’m about to say.”

“What?”

“I can’t do this. Sex is out. It’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous? What? Do you explode or something?” I say sarcastically, heat rushing to my face at his rejection.

He laughed. “We’ve spoken about this before. I’d be vulnerable—off guard.”

“Vulnerable? Don’t you trust me? What do you think I’m going to do? Kill you halfway through having sex with you? For fuck’s sake, Keir…” I grab my top and pull it on.

“No, no. Shit. It’s not you. I was warned once before, and I ignored the warning.” He takes my arm to stop me moving. “I wasn’t totally honest with you. I lost control, and she took advantage of my weakness.”

“You screwed another soul hunter?”

His words are a slap, jealousy I have no right to feel. But the thought turns my stomach, he’d given himself to someone else and never me. Not once.

“Demon.”

“Omigod! You had sex with a demon?”

“I didn’t know she was a demon; I thought she was a soul hunter!”

“And she tried to take your soul? And now you think every girl you have sex with will try?”

Keir closes his eyes. “It’s not just about the sex. The whole you disappearing and coming back, then pushing me away. Now you throw yourself at me; it’s confusing the hell out of me, Ava.”

“It’s Dahlia, isn’t it? She’s turned you against me!”

He tries to stroke my face. “She’s trying, but I won’t listen.”

“You must be or you wouldn’t reject me.”

“I’m not. I’m in love with you, Ava, but…”

I slam my hands over my ears. No. Not this. Keir reaches out for me and draws me to him, and I bury my face into his shirt. My heart strains against my chest. This is one step too far; he’s turning me into a monster plotting to kill the guy who loves me. I may as well be the demon.

I push at him and stand. “Well, I don’t love you! You can’t say this! Leave me alone.”

“Ava…”

“Fucking leave me alone!” I yell.

I stumble out of the room.

He doesn’t follow.

* * *

I RUSH ACROSS the campus, mind racing. Where do I go? Hide? The world spins around as I stumble across a bench hidden between the library and the student union. I sit and put my head between my knees. Please don’t follow me, I repeat under my breath. The icy wind blows through the branches in the tree above; there’re no leaves to shelter me from sight. Focusing on my boots and the sounds around, I attempt to find my way out of the hellish day.

Why did Keir need to say that? We never went there, and I never wanted to, even though I love him and deny this with every black part of my heart. Now he’s said the words, I’m trapped further. How can I kill the guy I love; the one who looks at me as if I’m the stars in his sky?

“Ava?”

I look up sharply. Jack stands nearby, wrapped against the cold, hands in the pockets of his long coat. His dark hair straggles across his forehead, half-covering his dull eyes and drawn face. I bet I luck equally awesome—eyes red and puffy from crying.

“It’s late. Are you okay?” he asks, remaining at a distance.

“All good.” I smile weakly. “Or should I worry about being stalked by a vampire in the night?”

Jack pulls a sour face. “No, but as we’re both here, can I talk to you?”

“Talk to me? Why me?”

“Because you’re an outsider. We both are.” Jack sits next to me.

“If this is you about to lay into me again for letting you live, please don’t. I have enough crap to deal with.” I shift away. Despite his quiet, gentle demeanour, this guy is a demon and grossness comes with that territory. He’s lucky my urge to kill him waned.

“I thought you said you were okay?”

“So, how are you, Jack? How’re things with Dahlia?” I am not talking to him about anything in my life, especially as he’s a direct line to Dahlia.

Jack picks at the splintered wood on the bench. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Dahlia’s different than she was.”

I laugh. “So are you!”

Jack’s sour face pulls further towards pissed off. “Because I’m a demon, she thinks I’m going to kill Keir.”

“Dahlia thinks everyone’s going to kill Keir. It’s her thing. Don’t take it personally.”

“Keir has a lot of enemies; more enemies than friends. And I don’t think Dahlia wholly trusts me after my year away.”

Year away? Well that’s a fucked up way to describe living in a nest of vampires. “Did you know Keir well before…?”

“Before I became a vampire? No. I’d never seen him before that night. He just appeared when… it was happening.” He paused. “Now Dahlia’s obsessed with him.”

“With him or with killing demons?”

Jack fixes his eyes on mine. “With him. I’m a demon and I’m still alive.”

“That’s different; she wouldn’t kill you. Keir said you were soul tied.”

“And can you imagine how hard it is to be soul tied to someone I want to hurt?” he whispers.

“Why do you want to hurt her?”

“Because I’m a vampire and she’s human!” He’s indignant but the hurt in his dull eyes pulls at my own hurting heart.

“Okay, Jack, sorry but you asked to talk.”

His brow puckers, as he looks at the ground. “She’s looking for a cure for me. A cure for demonism.” He looks back up, eyes wide and intense. “Death’s the only cure for demonism. You should’ve killed me, and then I could’ve ended this torture.”

“I wouldn’t have killed you. Not once I knew who you were.”

Jack shakes his shaggy dark hair from his eyes. “I’m still killing people; she doesn’t know. I’m a monster.”

Holy fuck. “You’re killing humans?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Jack slums back. “Seriously? You need to ask that question? I’m a fucking vampire, Ava! It kinda comes with the territory.”

“I know but… do you need to… I mean does it have to be human blood?”

“Yes. And they have to die because I need their human essence.” His washed-out eyes harden. “But I’m not feeding enough. That’s why I look so rough. I want to see what happens, if I don’t feed. Hopefully it will kill me.”

“Will it?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I hope so.” He scratches his cheek. “The only vampires I saw die were the ones killed by other demons. Unfortunately, they missed me.”

“Dahlia gave up so much for you, Jack; you shouldn’t talk like this. She lost you once. And she loves you.”

He closes his eyes. “Don’t tell her what I said, but I can’t talk to people about this. Not Keir or her, and I have to talk about these things. I’m going mad trying to cope with this. They don’t understand.”

I reach out, and touch his bare hand. Jack’s fingers are cooler than they should be, even in the winter weather. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

Jack jerks his hand away and jumps to his feet. “Fuck! Ava!”

“What?”

“You’re still a soul hunter! You’re lying to them.” A look of confused horror creeps across Jack’s face.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. I felt you. All pure demons know if they touch a soul hunter. It’s hotwired into our survivability.”

I swallow. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me too, Ava.”

For a moment we stand off, me attempting to hold Jack’s look, but his expression tells me everything—he does and is sure. Jack glances around, and the next fear hits me. “You can’t tell them, Jack. I’m trying to figure this out.”

“Why are you lying?” His mouth twists at the edges. “You really have come back to kill Keir, haven’t you?”

I stare at the trees, the frozen ground, and the grey skies. Anywhere but Jack. “No.”

“Liar.”

“Please don’t tell them, Jack.” But what’s the point? As soon as he walks away, back to his friends, this is over. I’m over.

“Kill me,” he hisses.

I snap my head back to him. “What?”

“Kill me or I’ll tell them.”

“I can’t kill you.”

“You’re a soul hunter.”

“I won’t then.”

“Fine. I’ll have a little chat to them, then.” He turns to walk away.

“Jack! Wait, you’re not going to tell them now are you?”

He pauses. “I’ll give you until tomorrow. Meet me tomorrow afternoon at two. Here. If you’re not here I’m going straight to Dahlia.”

Jack turns back and steps closer. Instead of anger in his dead eyes, there’s curiosity. “If you came back to take Keir’s soul, why does he still have it?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jack,” I say softly.

Chapter 19

GAME OVER.

I need to see Keir before Jack; I can’t trust Jack won’t change his mind.

I stare back at the girl in the mirror as I do every day. This one I’ve painted beyond recognition with heavier makeup around my eyes and on my lips; blood red lips to match my treachery. The soul crystal rests on the desk, sparkling in the morning sun, and each time my eyes are drawn to it is a reminder of what will happen today. At least one of us will die. I place the crystal in my jacket, and with shaking hands, tuck the dagger into my belt. The cold metal is a shock against my warm skin and I shiver.

The heaviness in my head is worse due to my bloody hangover and lack of sleep. I spent the night awake, playing the scenario over in my mind. Where I’ll kill him. How. If I’ll die — I hope I do. I want to, rather than face what I’ve done.

Events will play out as they are meant to be; my role sets them in motion.

I don’t remember how I arrive, but Keir opens the door to his room, a small frown of concern across his brow.

“Didn’t expect to see you,” he says.

Keir lifts an arm to lean on the doorframe and his T-shirt rides up a little; my eyes are drawn to the dark line of hair disappearing into his jeans, but the attraction is deadened today.

“Why not? We said we’d catch a movie today.”

Half-expecting Dahlia to be with him, lying in wait, I peer around the door. No.

“You going to war?” He drops his arm and touches my face.

I turn her face away. “No, why?”

“War paint. I haven’t seen you wear so much makeup for a while. Are you trying to hide from me?” He pokes me in the ribs and I tense. “Just teasing!”

Keir steps back into the room and I follow him, closing the door. Keir’s room caught the morning sun and his room floods with warmth. “Maybe we should go for a walk somewhere, enjoy the weather?” he suggests.

I perch on his bed. Kill him here? Now? “Yesterday, when you said you...”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. “I could see what I said upset you. I won’t be so intense again.”

I breathe in and hold my breath, grasping at my rehearsed lines from the darkness inside. “No, I’m worried.”

“What about?”

“That you’ll leave me. What you do is obviously significant, and I get the feeling important people are involved, people who can influence you.”

“No, Ava, they can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. We work together. I don’t work for someone. That’s what’s good about this; nobody forces anyone to do anything they don’t want.” He sits and takes my hand.

“But someone must be in charge? There’s always a leader.”

“Why do you want to know about this so much?”

“Because I’m involved now. And if I’m becoming more involved with you, then I need to know what I’m part of.” The lies fall easily from my mouth.

“They’re just others like me. Darius and who he works for probably have a whole list of us up there.” Keir stops and rubs his face. “If they’re looking for a central person or place they won’t find one. You’ll have nothing to tell them.”

I jerk out of my role. “Tell them?”

“Yes, Ava.” As his voice lowers to a whisper, the room drops ten degrees cooler, and more distant.

“Jack?” I ask.

Keir’s eyes dull with sadness, not the anger and assault I expect. “Last night. The reason I stopped, Ava, is that I felt your tracker. It’s still beneath your skin.”

Shit. Everything I planned undone by my stupid drunken need for him.

“I never really believed you were banished. It made no sense; they’d have killed you for what you did,” he continues.

I carefully move away from him, tense, ready to fight. The night we fought in the alley I lost—and fast. I may as well admit defeat now.

But Keir doesn’t move, a muscle in his strong jaw twitching. “Is any of what you told me true?”

“What do you mean?”

“Any of what you’ve talked about in the last three weeks. Like the part about you being threatened with the Hell realms; is that part true?”

I blink away the memory of Darius’s threat. “Yes.”

Keir sucks air through his teeth. “Okay. Did you come here to kill me today?”

A poster on the wall catches my eye; an art image I half recognise. Torn in places, the paper peels at the corners. Keir’s wall is covered with photographs, his human life, a world away from mine.

“By that response, I guess you did. Okay. Do you have the crystal?” he asks.

How can he sound so matter of fact? I dig a hand into my pocket.

“In your jacket?”

Through numb shock, I’m aware of his warm hands pulling the orb from my grasp. He brushes my waist, and I tremble as he pulls out the dagger.

“I remember this. I almost used it on you once.” He examines the short dagger and the intricate handle stained with black demon blood. “I guess I should be asking myself why I didn’t.”

“You’re the one with a weapon now.” My voice cracks. “You can use it. I should die.”

I shrink back as he holds the dagger in front of my face, point towards me. “Did you not ask yourself what was really happening, Ava?”

“What do you mean?”

“When we met. The first time you had a chance to kill me by the fountain, and you didn’t. I could’ve killed you with this, the night in the alley, and I didn’t.”

The intense connection coils around us and drags us back together; I barely notice. “I don’t know; we’re both weaker than we thought, I guess.”

Keir places the dagger on the bed and his lips touch my cheek. “Really? You, who’ve killed a crapload of demons? Ava, the soul hunter desperate to be free? But here I am, still alive. Then there’s me—I’ve killed countless soul hunters, but I couldn’t kill you.”

“The human you couldn’t,” I say hoarsely.

“No. Keir couldn’t kill Ava.” He pauses. “How do you feel about me, Ava? Do you see me as something to kill?”

In front of me is Keir, not a Nephilim, not a target. A person. Someone I love. My vision blurs.

Keir moves to sit on the edge of the desk, his long legs stretching across the room. “Me? I see your soul, Ava. No, I don’t see your soul. I feel it. And so do you.”

“No. I don’t.”

“When I’m away from you something is missing. The weeks you were away, it was as if someone had torn a piece from me. When you came back, I wanted to believe you were the same girl, that you’d returned to me. I lied to myself.”

“All I wanted when I was away from you was to be with you again and feel again,” I whisper. “Now that I am, all I have is an empty feeling from knowing what I’m supposed to do. I don’t think I can, Keir. I don’t know what to do. How to escape all this.”

Keir kneels in front of me and holds his soft palm against my face. Tears threaten to spill and my chest tightens as Keir’s eyes pull me into the soul he’s talking about.

“We’re soul tied, Ava.”

“No. That’s not true.”

“A soul hunter and a Nephilim? Who didn’t kill each other? Who worked together?”

“No.”

“The intensity of how I feel about you. How you feel about me, if you dig beyond the fear. Don’t you see what’s happening?”

“No.”

“Yes, you agreed to come back to save yourself by taking my secrets and my soul; but you’re delaying. Why?”

I dig my nails into my palms. “I wanted to wait as long as I could and be with you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” I pull my face away. “I wish I could turn things back to the beginning. I wish I’d never fallen in love with you.”

Keir drops his hand and reaches out. “Ava…”

The enormity of my confession tears open the gates holding back the truth I denied; one I need to forget again. “I can’t do this. I have to go.”

Dragging myself to my feet, I pull on the door handle. If Keir won’t kill me, I can wait somewhere. Darius can find me, and this will all be over.

“No, Ava.” I slam the door before Keir can move any closer and run.

My heart pushes against my chest as if it might jump out at any second, and I crash through the door and down the steps. Blindly, I weave my way to the edge of campus and through the trees, low branches scratching at my jacket.

The lake.

Why am I here? I pause: circle the lake and keep running or wait until Keir comes for me first? Whatever happens, I can’t escape. Death at Keir’s hands is better than Hell. Rapid footsteps crunch the semifrozen ground behind, and I spin around. Keir. I back up, stumbling over a rock and fall to the floor.

He towers over me, blocking my view of anything but him. He’s jacketless, face flushed from running. “Ava, please. Listen to me.”

That caring tone eats at me. I want the angry, cold Keir again but concern softens his features.

“It’s okay, Keir. If I leave without your soul, I may as well be dead. Just kill me; it was always going to happen.”

Keir rakes a hand through his curls. “Didn’t you listen to me? I can’t kill you!”

Move. Now. I turn over and push myself upright. In seconds, Keir slams into me and I’m back on the floor, lying on my front.

“Stop, please.” He kneels besides me.

I breathe in the damp smell of the frozen earth then turn over. Keir holds his hand out again. Eyes cast down, I allow him to pull me into a sitting position then immediately tuck my hands underneath my knees. Keir rummages in his pocket and pulls out the soul crystal. He places the dagger and crystal on the ground in front of us.

“Lowest realm of Hell?” he whispers, tipping my face to his.

The tree branches stretch, stark and lifeless into to the sky, the call of a large black bird above breaking the silence. This is Hell. Being here, with the guy I now know I’m soul tied to, waiting to die at his hands. The concern in his eyes won’t leave, and I grit my teeth, willing him to anger.

“I could kill you and free your soul,” he says, “But I’m too selfish to do that.”

“You’re selfish?”

“I can’t kill you. I want you too much.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Keir tries to reach out again, but I shuffle backwards.

“If I don’t kill you, I have two other choices. I can let you leave here knowing you will be taken to the lowest realm of Hell once your failure is discovered. Or I can let you take my soul back to the Caelestia.”

His words make no sense. “What?”

He manages to move close enough to touch the tears spilling onto my cheeks. “I want you to take my soul back to Darius.”

Pushing him away, I scramble to my feet again. What the fuck? I’m dizzied as blood pools in my feet. “No, I can’t kill you! If I could, I would’ve by now! No… all the good you do…” The world spins as I stumble backwards again.

“Ava, you have to. I can’t live with myself if you go to Hell. Your soul would never be free again, and it would be my fault.”

“No!” I yell. “My fault! I came here to kill you. You killed all the other soul hunters, why not me?”

“Because I love you! Because my soul is tied to yours for eternity and, if your eternity is in the lowest realm of Hell, I’ll never see you again. Your soul will never be free again. My eternity would be Hell too.”

I hyperventilate through my sobs. Is he serious?

“Keir, no . . .”

My legs give way, and as I fall to the floor, strong arms catch and pull me upright, surrounding me in a warm embrace, Keir’s quickened heartbeat thumping against my cheek.

“Ava, you have to do this.”

I sob into his jacket, as if together we can hide from this agony. Keir pulls my face up, squeezing my cheeks so I can’t avoid his eyes. “One day the Caelestia will return my soul to a body, for whatever purpose they need it for. I’ll find you—my soul will find yours. Don’t you understand? If you fail and they send you to Hell, then you’re lost to me forever. This way we have a chance to be together again.”

The dagger rests on the ground, the metal shining with the rainbows from the crystal beside it. Wrenching my face from his grip, I throw myself toward the dagger and grab hold. I back away from him and hold the point over my heart. Keir’s mouth twists in horror.

He pulls it upwards, moving the point from my heart. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m evil! I’m half angel, but I’m no better than any demon. I’ve trapped souls and given them over for a fate I don’t even understand. You’re the half demon and you have more good inside you than I’ll ever have. You should live.”

His strong grasp pinches my wrists, crushing. I cry out in pain and drop my grip on the dagger. “I can’t lose you. You’re not doing this.”

I slump back to the ground. My reality doesn’t exist anymore. From the moment I met Keir, the world shifted sideways, my fate sealed that first day we met.

Now this is how it ends.

Keir pushes the soul crystal into my weak hand and curls my fingers around it. I look at it as the world shifts again, growing smaller as I blacken toward unconsciousness. He presses the hard handle of the dagger into my other hand and squeezes his powerful fingers, holding our hands together. The sunlight bounces off the dagger, half-blinding me as it points at Keir’s chest. I attempt to twist my hand away; to move the dagger from between us but his grip strengthens. I claw at his fingers, unable to pull the weapon from his grasp.

“Let the dagger go, Keir!” But I’m unable to pry his fingers or match his strength as he moves closer, positioning the dagger closer to his heart.

“I love you, Ava,” he whispers, pressing the point of the dagger harder. “Don’t blame yourself; I choose this.”

The dagger plunges into Keir’s chest as he crushes me in an embrace that will haunt me forever. I scream and fight to move as a warmth seeps across my hand. I’m trapped and struggle to pull away the dagger. His grip loosens and he slumps backwards to the ground, and I scream again sending birds in the trees above into the sky. Blood pumps from the wound in Keir’s chest, as I drag the dagger from him and the soul crystal falls from my hand, rolling across the ground.

“No! Keir!”

Desperately, I hold my hands over his wound to stem the flow, watching his face paling as the blood pours through my fingers and soaks the ground red.

“Don’t leave me, don’t go…” I repeat the worlds like a mantra, gulping air between each word, as his life ebbs.

Keir gasps and for one precious moment hope rises, he’s back. A white soul snakes from his mouth, creating a halo shaped cloud around his head. The translucence is unlike the grey human souls I’ve released from demons as the cloud refracts sunlight, colours shimmering in the air above us.

His soul can go free instead. I snatch the crystal from the ground and hide it between my hands. The soul twists toward the crystal, with an energy strong enough to knock the crystal from my grip and the soul darts into the crystal.

The cloud disappears.

I tear at my face, smearing my cheek with blood, screaming Keir’s name until my voice won’t come anymore. The tranquillity of the quiet lakeside is corrupted, the alarmed birds circling above Keir and me. I lean over Keir and pull my hair, hard. Pain. I deserve pain.

I don’t know how long I spend on my own precipice between life and death. A part of me died with Keir today, but I still have a part of him nobody else can have.

I pick up the crystal and run.

Chapter 20

I PACE AROUND the edge of the campus, looking for somewhere to hide. I can’t move nearer and risk somebody seeing me covered in blood and hysterical. As I grip my remaining part of Keir, more waves of screams threaten to crash out of me, but in my numb horror, I can’t make a sound. The morning turns to afternoon, the sun rising high above my shadowed life. Hours pass before, exhausted, I finally crash to the ground and cry my desperation into my knees.

Arrogance, and then fear, stopped me admitting the bloody obvious. I’m soul tied to Keir. I lied to myself even when memories of Keir kept my mind alive in the horror of the dark cell. Every decision I’ve made, since Keir touched me, centred on a desire to stay close to him, to be with him and share everything. The moment our bodies touched, our souls recognised each other and sealed my fate with his. His decision to spare my life cost Keir his own.

I curl into a ball at the back of a building, out of sight and too exhausted to move. If I stay here long enough, the earth might open up and claim me. We’re one already—cold and hard.

Keir’s death replays over and over, torturing me to stay conscious. When will Darius send someone for me? Soon. Please. Soon.

Somebody screams and blows rain into my back. The pain doesn’t filter into my numb body, but I instinctively cover my head, as my attacker kneels and keeps hitting. Finally. Whoever this is can kill me.

“Where the fuck is it? What have you done with it?” screams Dahlia’s angry voice.

I turn to look and flinch at the sight as Dahlia’s fist smacks me in the eye the pain radiating across my face.

“Dahlia, stop it.”

Jack’s tall figure bends down and he yanks Dahlia away by the shoulders until she falls backwards.

“You bitch, you fucking bitch. You did this to him! I always knew you would!” She sits, eyes filled with shining hatred and attempts to seize me again. Behind her, Jack encircles Dahlia, pinning her hands by her sides, looking at me through narrowed eyes.

“Kill me, I don’t care anymore.”

“He thought you cared for him; he fucking loved you!” Dahlia’s voice cracks. “Well, they’re coming for you,” Dahlia’s mouth twists mockingly. “You don’t know what you’ve just done.”

“I don’t care who’s coming for me.”

“You will. I’m not talking about Darius; this will be worse.”

I don’t move. The Fated world flashes across my mind; a paradise compared to this moment. Why didn’t I listen and stay in the dull life of my childhood? Fighting for a free life has led to Hell.

“I’ll wait with her,” Jack tells Dahlia, “You go see if Keir’s still there.”

“He won’t be. I saw the blood next to his body. We’ve lost him now.” A sob catches in my throat and Dahlia snaps her head around. “Shut the fuck up with your pretend tears.”

“I didn’t stab him! He did it to himself.”

Dahlia laughs bitterly. “Right. Sure. Because that’s what people do.”

Jack put his hand on Dahlia’s shoulder. “They’re soul tied, too, I told you.”

“Not true. You don’t take the soul of someone you’re tied to.” Dahlia kneels on the floor, face close to mine. Dahlia’s cold expression and the hatred in her eyes frighten me. How did I ever think Dahlia is a mouse? “He should’ve killed you. Now he’s lost.”

“He’s dead,” I whisper, half to myself.

“Dead? You don’t know anything, do you? You’re clueless!”

“He is. Keir—I—we stabbed him. I have his soul…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake! He didn’t tell you?” cries Dahlia, gripping her coat. “He’s a Nephilim! You don’t just kill them. Keir isn’t dead; he just has no soul anymore. To Keir, that’s even worse than if you had killed him.”

What the hell? I fight back the bile rising in my throat. “He’s alive?”

“Yeah, but he’s not Keir anymore, not the one you know,” Dahlia spits.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see. And when the others see… well, you always wanted to know who Keir worked with.” Dahlia lurches toward me again.

Jack grabs one of her arms and pulls her back, and Dahlia slumps forward to the floor, sobbing.

I watch in horror at her weakness matching mine, and Jack drags me to my feet, his ice-cold hand gripping my arm.

I stumble against him, clutching the crystal in my pocket.

“You can’t stay here,” he says in a low voice.

“Where is he?” I whisper. “Where did he go?”

“He’ll be on his way back,” replies Dahlia, looking up from beneath long brown hair spilling over her face.

“Back where?”

“To the other Nephilim. The ones like Zach.”

Oh god, what have I done? Jack holds me upright as I attempt to sink back to the ground. Dahlia struggles back to her feet, pulls her hand back, and my cheek stings as she slaps across it. The crack echoes through the quiet around us. “I have wanted to do that since the moment I met you. You’re an evil bitch.”

I never thought I’d agree with Dahlia on anything, but her words are true.

* * *

WHERE AM I? The basement room is filled with cardboard packing boxes, the floor carpeted, and thin, blue curtains drawn across a small window high in the wall. Suburban. Not a cell. I groan and rub my back.

Shortly after Dahlia’s assault, two tall men came. They half-dragged me across the grounds and bundled me into a black sedan with dark windows. In my disconnected state, I mechanically complied. Their faces are blurred in my memories; one had dark hair, the other blond, but both had sapphire Nephilim eyes; the only colour in my black and white blur of pain and grief.

Revenge by Keir?

The two men held me down in this room and cut the tracking device from under my skin. The small buttons are enmeshed in muscle and nerves, never meant to be removed, the pain worse than anything I’ve experienced. I didn’t make a sound. I deserve everything I suffer. Keir’s blood stains my hands and clothes, and I plead with them to let me wash myself, but they left. Nobody returned and I drifted in and out of dreamless sleep.

Eventually a man returns; the tall one with curly blond hair wearing jeans and a checked shirt open over a plain white T-shirt. Nephilim? His height and eyes suggest he is, although his perfect face looks Caelestia. Maybe some Nephilim hold onto their roots more than others. He regards me for a few moments before beckoning.

I don’t move.

The man smiles in warmth. “I won’t hurt you again.”

He leads me through the house, an ordinary home with pictures on the walls, coats hanging on a rack in the hallway. The sun shines through the kitchen window, across a small wooden table, and he indicates I should sit. The other man from before sits at the table. He’s as tall as the blond Nephilim with brown hair cut short above his angular face. The beauty of his features is marred by suppressed anger, his full mouth pulled into a tight line.

I slump onto the chair furthest from him.

He leans across the table. “You have blood on your hands, soul hunter.” The low tone trips fear along my spine

I look at Keir’s dried blood trapped beneath my fingernails. “Please. I want to wash and change.”

“In good time. I wanted you to see what you have done.” The dark-haired man seizes my hand and pulls it across the table, palm up. “Look.”

I turn to the window and close my eyes against the blood and the blindingly bright light after the darkness of the room. My mind trips back to the brightness of Darius’s world of the Free. I’ve lived in an illusion.

The blond man sits beside the other and rests his palms on the table. The two Nephilim study me, not speaking. Am I on trial?

I look back. “Are you going to kill me?”

The blond guy shakes his head. “We need Keir back.”

“Do you still have his soul?” snaps the brown-haired man.

I slide a hand toward my pocket, the hard crystal warmed by my body. “I need it.” Why didn’t they take Keir’s soul from me when I was unconscious?

“I said she should keep the crystal, Eli,” says the blond man.

“No, Asher. I said it stays with us,” Eli replies.

“Please…” I whisper, gripping the crystal. “I said I need it.”

“What for? To return to Darius with your secrets? No. His soul stays with us.” Eli stands and holds out his hand. “Give the crystal to me or I will take it from you. If you struggle, I’ll hurt you.”

Keir. My piece of Keir. I hold the crystal tighter, but Eli’s aggression scares me. “How do I know you work with Keir and not Zach?”

Eli sucks breath through his teeth. “How dare you!”

I recoil. “He never mentioned any of you by name…”

“He told you about us?” Asher rubs his temples. “When?”

“Recently.” My voice hitches.

Eli strides to the window. “Unbelievable.”

“He never told me much, that’s why I don’t know who you are.”

“If we were allied with Zach, you’d be dead,” says Eli. “Now give me his soul.”

“The soul crystal is safest with us,” Asher tells me. “Until we solve the problem of how we return Keir’s soul to him. You have to agree we are more able to keep it safe than you. We’re stronger.”

I relax my grip on the crystal. “Is it possible? Can you return Keir’s soul to him?”

“We’re gathering information now,” replies Eli. “This… situation has never happened before.”

I pull the crystal from my pocket, bloodied hands shaking hands. My heart screams keep hold of what you have left of Keir, but common sense tells me his soul is safer with them. What right do I have after what I did to him? I place the crystal on the table and slowly withdraw my fingers from its warmth. A soul crystal containing an angel soul shines brighter than those with human souls inside; the intensity hurts my eyes. Eli and Asher stare at the crystal with undisguised awe.

“Darius . . . he’ll be looking for me, he thinks I’ve succeeded,” I say.

“That’s why we cut out your tracker. We need you until we return Keir’s soul. Then they’re welcome to you.” Eli’s eyes narrow at me.

Asher places a steadying hand on his arm. “Eli, don’t be harsh.”

“Harsh? We’ve lost one of our own!”

“Then let the decision be Keir’s. When we have him back, we ask him what should happen to Ava.” Asher smiles at me.

“I’ll do everything I can to help his soul back to him,” I say.

Eli’s fists remain clenched, and I wouldn’t be surprised—or blame him—if one of them hits my face. Maybe he could smack the other side so I have matching bruises from him and Dahlia.

“I don’t doubt that.” Asher reaches across the table and picks up the crystal, as if it were an egg with a paper-thin shell.

“You’ll have no choice,” mutters Eli. “We’re going to find him, and you’re going to help us. Even if it kills you.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No. He will come for you, Ava, and hopefully before he does too much damage elsewhere.” Eli taps his fingers on the table. “I don’t think you understand the enormity of your actions.”

“I didn’t kill him; he did this to himself.”

Eli snorts. “You expect me to believe that Keir would sacrifice his soul? For you? Anybody? He joined us to escape his demon self.”

“We can’t know what his motivation was. Don’t underestimate the actions of the soul tied.” Asher says in a quiet voice.

Soul tied.

Eli flicks me a look and my breath catches in my throat at the hatred on his face. “Whatever reason, we’ve lost someone valuable, and we need him back.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I would happily kill you.”

I swallow. “Dahlia said that without his soul, Keir’s a demon? Why should he care what happens to me now?”

“He’s still in human form. You had a human, physical relationship. He’ll still be attracted to you, and that is useful to us. It’s our way back to him,” said Eli

For the first time since I sat, my shoulders relax. I’m not facing death at these men’s hands. Keir isn’t dead, only lost, and I can help find him again. “What do I need to do?”

“Return to college, resume your daily routine until he returns. Which he will. We’ll watch you, to ensure Darius’s men don’t find you before Keir. Then, when we discover how to return his soul, we’ll bring you back here and tell you what to do,” says Asher.

“You don’t know how to?”

“I said we’re looking into this. It’s not a usual situation,” snaps Eli.

I shove my hands under my arms, tears pricking my eyes because I have no more words that don’t sound like useless excuses. Why would they believe my version of events?

“Asher will return you to campus,” says Eli.

Chapter 21

A NEWSPAPER FLIES across the library desk, startling me. Dahlia and Jack drag chairs out and sit next to me. Recently the library has become my sanctuary, a place of safety in the quiet amongst the books. Every day I spend more time here, hiding among the maze of shelves. Some days I read; others, I study textbooks. In my delusional thoughts, I’ll stay in this world and live.

“Look,” snaps Dahlia, pointing to a headline. “More.”

Another disappearance, the third in the local area in as many weeks. I arch an eyebrow at Jack, the vampire who told me he’d killed. Jack’s face darkens, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Dahlia interrupts.

“No, this wasn’t Jack. I was with him every one of those nights. This is Keir killing.”

Jack’s paler skin and eyes as subdued as him draws stares from other students on the few occasions he comes on campus with Dahlia. Dahlia’s right, this vampire hasn’t fed recently or he’d blend in as a dodgy-looking version of local students.

“We don’t know for sure Keir’s killing,” I say

“Kind of a coincidence”—Dahlia leans across the desk—“since he’s been spotted around here anyway.”

“On campus?” I stiffen. Why hasn’t he looked for me?

“Not on campus. Yet. But I don’t think it’ll be long.”

“It might be Zach?” I suggest.

“It might be both of them,” says Jack, quietly.

“Yeah, showing him the ropes again.” Dahlia’s eyes hold the usual accusation and disgust. No idea why she talks to me at all, she clearly doesn’t want to.

“Showing him the…?” I begin, and what she means hits me. “Oh…”

“I imagine his slaughtering innocent human skills are a bit rusty,” snaps Dahlia.

I watch as Dahlia pulls out her laptop, not missing her trembling fingers. Almost a month since the nightmare began; a month without Keir and imagining what he’s doing because of me. I’m bloody glad Jack’s around to calm Dahlia’s constant threats of violence against me. This time, I’d fight back. Dahlia’s weaker than me by a long way, but how can I blame her? My self-hatred isn’t going anywhere either. Doesn’t help that Dahlia uses every available opportunity to dig her fingers into the raw pain my actions caused.

“He knows we’re looking for him, and he won’t want to be found. He’s not thinking like the Keir we know.” Dahlia points to an image on her screen. “I’ve been plotting where most of the attacks have happened in the area, and they are centred in a couple of nearby suburbs and moving closer. Asher is taking Jack and me to one of the suburbs, and you’re to stay here, in case he’s waiting for you to be on your own.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Why? Scared?” sneers Dahlia.

“No. Just confirming.”

“Well, Asher wanted me to let you know, in case you wonder where we are. I would say we’ll miss you, but I’d be lying.” Dahlia grabs the newspaper from my hands. “Personally, I hope Keir finds you soon and hurts you. A lot.”

Vicious mouse girl stuffs the newspaper and laptop into her bag and stalks away.

Jack hesitates until Dahlia is through the library doors. “Asher and Eli don’t want her around when Keir returns. Dahlia doesn’t fully accept he’s lost, and they’re worried about what would happen if she approaches him.”

He places a hand on the desk, and the veins show through the translucent skin on the back. This guy is a monster and fighting it every step of the way. He fights for himself and for Dahlia, every day.

I touch his cold fingers. “I hope someone can help you soon.”

Jack closes his eyes and gives a small shake of his head before walking away. A guy studying at a nearby desk watches him go, hands frozen above his laptop.

I slump back in my chair. Keir is looking for me, but the thumping heart isn’t fear. I want him to find me.

* * *

I WIPE A hand across my forehead, the heat of the bodies and the coffee machine dampen my face as the shift drags on. Has someone slowed time because this day is bloody long? I’ve never drunk much coffee in my times I’ve spent here, and after the time spent at The Coffee Place, I never want to drink any again. The only good thing about working here is it keeps my mind focused away from Dahlia and Jack’s absence.

I turn to grab some more beans to grind; Janie can deal with preparing the latest orders. A couple approach to order, wrapped up in matching scarves, the girl’s long blonde hair sticking out from beneath a woollen hat. I force a smile, but I’m jealous. Jealous of their simple, free lives.

Something catches my eye. In the corner table, by the window, Zach watches me. He leans back in his seat, arms tucked behind his head, a sardonic smile on his face. Another guy faces Zach, back to me. My stomach lurches— brown leather jacket and dark curls touching his neck.

Ohmigod. I steady myself against the bench, hearing fading.

Keir.

Zach bends across the table toward Keir and speaks, keeping his piercing blue eyes on me. I tense, waiting for Keir to turn around, desperate to see his face and see if he’s changed, but he doesn’t,

So they have waited for Jack and Dahlia to leave campus.

I continue my shift in a daze; distracted, I spill things and make mistakes with orders. Will they talk to me? Hurt me?

Janie finishes her shift early, leaving me alone to wipe down the counter and wait for stragglers to leave. My anxiety grows; I attempt to persuade Janie to stay behind, but she refuses. Outside, the chill wind blows litter along the street, whirling leaves into piles, and papers against the window. The starless sky turns a white grey, foreshadowing another snowy night.

The weather isn’t the only thing worrying me about walking home tonight.

Preoccupied by my thoughts, I don’t notice that only Zach and Keir remain in the empty cafe. Shit. A steady stream of people pass the cafe’s brightly lit windows. Will that be enough for Zach and Keir not to attack me?

I busy myself by tidying cups and placing cakes in the large fridge, refusing to acknowledge them, but as the clock ticks past closing time my excuses end. Smoothing my hair and taking a deep breath, I head to their table.

“We’re closing now, Zach,” I say curtly, standing side on so I can’t look at Keir.

Zach yawns. “Hello, Ava. Keir, look, Ava’s here.”

“You know damn well I’m here. You’ve also been here all night.” I chew inside my cheek and look into the darkened window. Keir’s profile reflects back, looking straight ahead at Zach. He turns his head to the window and a ghost of his outline stares back at me.

“Did you need a ride home?” asks Zach.

“With you? I don’t think so.”

“You never know what might be waiting out there for an unprotected soul hunter.” He winks at Keir.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself. Aren’t you going to say hello to Keir?” Zach gestures at him.

The room constricts. Weeks of dreading, yet wanting, this moment set my pulse racing.

I face Keir who turns his head.

His eyes. I bite down a gasp, rearranging my features into a neutral look. This is Keir, but he isn’t. The same strong brow, sculptured jaw, and full lips, but his sapphire eyes hold a harder look, his mouth tight.

“Hi, Keir.” His blank face betrays nothing and he looks away.

I swallow down the emotion rising when he doesn’t speak to me. “Time to leave. I want to get home,” I tell Zach.

Zach smirks. “Of course, sorry for keeping you. I thought you and Keir might have some catching up to do. But for some reason, he doesn’t seem to want to chat.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Ava,” says Keir, voice low.

Zach pushes his hands on the table to stand. “Such a shame. You two were so close once.” He sticks his bottom lip out at me in mock pity, and I itch to retaliate, but that’s exactly what he wants.

“Keir.” He inclines his head to the door, and Keir slides from the bench seat.

The two men tower over me, standing uncomfortably close. Zach’s aura always felt wrong, and now, Keir’s matches. Dangerous. I step to one side to allow the two men past.

The bell tinkles as Keir opens the door. Zach pauses. “Maybe he’ll want to catch up another time now he’s back.”

“Back?”

“At college. Good-looking guy like him should soon collect some new souls for us. Well, me.” He grins. “See you soon, little soul hunter.”

I lock the door behind them with trembling fingers and return to their table to clear up. I pick up Keir’s half-full coffee cup and throw it across the room, swearing loudly. The cup breaks with a satisfying smash and coffee streak across the walls. I’ve lost him. The tears push into my eyes and I sink onto a nearby chair. I take Zach’s cup too and throw it against the wall, too my breath catching at the sound. My heart twists harder and harder into a painful ache in my chest. I never told Keir I loved him, terrified of admitting the ultimate weakness. What has he done to himself? And why can’t I stop loving this Keir without a soul?

* * *

I NEVER THOUGHT I’d miss Dahlia, but when Keir walks into my seminar room the next morning, I really bloody do. The number of students attending seminars has fallen off as the end of semester approaches, the room half empty. Less people equal less chance at hiding, and Keir positions himself directly opposite. For the full hour, he doesn’t speak or take his steady gaze away from my face. A couple of times, I attempt to hold his cold, blue-eyed stare, but stupid memories of the Keir who looked at me with open affection just weeks ago surface, slice pain into my heart, and I turn away.

The minute class finishes, I’m out of there. I hide myself between groups as I stride along the corridor, trying to keep ahead of Keir. A group of girls in front stop suddenly and I bump into them. One of the girls turns to say something. “Move,” I hiss. She hastily steps to one side.

“Still frightening people?” asks Keir.

I spin around; one pause and he’s caught up. I say nothing as Keir folds his arms and tips his head. Amusement plays around his mouth when he silences me. What the hell do I say? Sorry for stabbing you in the heart? How are you feeling? Are you evil? Haha, Ava.

“Hi, Ava.”

He sounds like the Keir who threatened me when we first met, but back then, I didn’t wholly believe the evil I’d been told about Nephilim. Today the malevolence hangs around, undetectable by humans, but as strong as any demon I’ve come across before.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. After what happened… what I did.”

The amused quirk to his lips grows. “I’m feeling better by the way. Y’know, after you stabbed me.”

The stream of people around becomes a trickle as we face off. All bravado or secret hopes he’ll be the same guy leave. Every inch of this tall, muscular guy screams danger and pain. Keir steps closer and I back up against the wall. Danger and pain in my near future.

The sexuality radiates from Keir, as the Nephilim power takes me in a stranglehold. I hold my breath and close my eyes, pissed off by my inability to shut down. If we’d never been lovers, this would be easier.

Keir isn’t here. This isn’t him.

Keir reaches out and lightly traces his fingers down my face sending a shiver along my neck. “I forgive you, Ava. I’m glad I let you kill me. You did me a favour because now I’ve experienced what I can do, I’m pissed off I wasted so much time on my stupid crusade.”

My lips involuntarily part as his warm breath strokes my cheek. “No. What you were doing was right.” I open my eyes.

Placing an arm on the wall above me, he hovers his mouth achingly close. Keir’s chest brushes mine, and I shrink back against the wall.

“Why are you still here?” he whispers.

“Here with you? I’ll leave if you move.”

“No, here. In this world. Why haven’t you taken your prize home yet?”

How much does Keir know? Not as much as he thinks if that’s his question. “I don’t have anything to take back. Asher and Eli took the crystal from me.”

A deep frown creases Keir’s brow. “What? Are they involved now?”

“Of course they are.”

Keir pushes himself back from the wall, and I suck in a breath as he drops the intensity, anger flashing across his face. “They’re wasting their fucking time; tell them that from me.” He laughs. “Poor, Ava. All this was such a waste of time for you.”

I’m desperate to find the guy I love in his eyes, but there’s nothing there. Beautiful and deadly, like a venomous snake built to poison and kill. Keir touches my cheek, and my body jerks. Standing my ground was a bloody bad idea because he’s about to win. Keir’s pupils dilate and he makes a soft, amused sound at my reaction.

“I always say this, but I miss you,” he says in a low voice. “We never did finish what we’d started, did we? Do you think we still could?” Keir’s hand slips around my waist, fingers edging beneath my top. “I know how much you’ve wanted me.”

I push out the idea this predatory, primal creature is Keir and sidestep. “I don’t think so. I don’t tend to hang out with demons who kill people.”

He drops his hand and pouts. “Aw, Ava, I took their souls. Their deaths were a side effect.”

With these words, any last delusion this is the guy I loved is stripped away, and I blink back tears. My fault. The question that taunts me when I lie awake at night. Did Keir know this is what he’d become if he lost his soul? Did he choose this?

Keir seizes my arm and guides me to the room we left, now vacant apart from abandoned pens and screwed up paper. I grab the doorframe as he pulls me inside, and he laughs. “Don’t worry; I only want to talk to you. For now.”

“What about?”

He runs his tongue across his teeth and pulls out a chair, scraping it across the tiles as he sits. “Tell me, Ava. You kill demons, and the occasional Nephilim, of course. How does that make you any better than me? How many demons have you killed in your hunt for souls?”

“Hundreds. Why?”

“And I have killed maybe ten or so humans,” he says in a low voice. “So why am I the bad guy?”

Ten. “Are you suggesting a demon’s life is worth as much as a human life?”

“Why? Isn’t it?”

“Demons are evil. They contain souls stolen from humans. They don’t deserve them.”

“And who deserves a soul, Ava?”

The old Keir continues to fade into the outline of the Keir I destroyed. “You’re not making sense. Keir wouldn’t say this.”

“Keir is saying this. And it sounds like you can’t answer my question.”

I rest my head on the doorframe. “Can’t you remember the person you were, Keir? Why you freed the souls?”

“Oh, sweet Ava.” I set my mouth straight at his mocking tone. “The battle going on around us means freeing a few souls is insignificant.”

“You once thought it was significant.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I used to think you were too. I suppose you still hold some significance for me, as the girl who stole my soul.” His lingering look along the length of my body disgusts me. “Like I said, I’m happy to pick up where we left off, if you change your mind. Or there was that fight we had. I wonder who would win this time?”

Keir stands and moves closer. Shit. I stumble; terrified he’ll take hold of me, and do who the hell knows what.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Keir,” I growl.

“Sure thing. I’ll find someone else. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Keir pushes past, leaving me shaking in the doorway. This isn’t what I expected from my first meeting with a soulless Keir. A fight for my life, yes; a fight with myself against how I feel for him, no. The soul tie bullshit is an illusion; the gravitational pull between us is purely sexual.

Keir strides down the hallway, students dodging the confident, attractive guy not realising they instinctively move away from danger. Girls watch him pass, oblivious to the same threat; appraising the tall guy dressed in black, whose arrogance and edginess exuded draws them in.

The girls who could be his next targets.

Chapter 22

I KEEP THE hell away from Keir; Dahlia and Jack stay away from campus. Asher assures me I’m safe, that he and Eli watch for any sign of Darius’s men. I argue; ask why Keir is free to walk around selecting victims that we should do something, and Asher assures me I need to wait before I approach Keir again. Stupidly, I thought this would be days, and this is becoming weeks.

Keir killed.

Not in his dark past, but recently, and this sharpens into heart-shattering focus exactly what I created.

I don’t care about Asher’s assurances, both situations lead to sleepless nights and accompanying brain fog. I spend hours each day in a tired daze. How the hell did I get into this position? I spent my soul hunter life alone, surviving by keeping myself away from others and avoiding getting close and personal. Now look at me, one of my victims left me broken hearted and possibly broken limbed in the near future, and my closest associates are sworn enemies who could stab me in the back, or any number of places.

All this happens under Keir’s burning gaze.

Darius sends someone. A cocky soul hunter called Ethan, who comes into the coffee shop one day, gleefully tells me Darius’s patience runs thin, and I’d better retrieve the soul crystal from the other Nephilim soon. Then he saunters off, leather jacket and blond curls, winking at the girls he passed. He’s new; otherwise, his swagger and bravado would’ve been kicked out of him by now. Is a Nephilim his target too? Then the attitude will be squeezed out instantly.

Keir continues to intimidate me out whenever he gets a chance, and sitting opposite in class is one of his favourite places to indulge in his game. When not in class, I catch him prowling the hallways, worming his way into the affections of any girl whose head he turns. I pass him in the cafeteria, on benches, walking the campus, always with a different girl. His confidence and new awareness of the effect effortlessly attracts them; the dark-haired, model-material guy breaking hearts as all bad boys did. Dumb human girls falling for a fucking cliché. They irritate me, not only for their stupidity, but also because they’re touching Keir. But it shouldn’t cost them their lives, and sooner or later one of them will die.

Keir focuses on one girl for more than a day and an alert sounds; he swaps them daily. I first see them outside the cafeteria, the girl twirling blonde hair around her fingers as he whispers something. The girl giggles and blushes, and Keir pulls her to him for a deep kiss. The girl kisses him eagerly back, tiptoeing to reach his mouth. His hands explore her body in full view of everyone around, causing her giggling to increase as she slaps his hand away. Placing a hand on her ass, Keir whispers something. The girl snuggles against him, and Keir guides her away, arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

I turn and run into the bathrooms, fighting the urge to vomit as bile rises. I focus on my reflection in a mirror above the sink, grounding myself so I don’t collapse on the floor and cry. What do I expect from an unrestrained and uninhibited Keir? From a demon? Certainly not celibacy. I splash my cheeks with water, and reapply the eye makeup threatened by a tear. Pushing away an image of the girl naked with Keir, I walk out. They’re no longer in sight, not exactly hard to guess where they’ve gone.

The next day, I spot the girl entangled with Keir on a bench. Do I warn her? Sure… “Hey. Did you know he’s going to kill you and take your soul?” Not only will I look like a jealous ex, I’ll appear to be a deranged one too. In my time as Keir’s girlfriend, I attracted plenty of envious and confused looks so people know he’s my ex.

I choose to shadow the pair instead; this girl’s life is at stake because of me. The next two days they spend long evenings in his room, and I stop stalking. I may have an underlying duty to protect human life but this doesn’t stretch far enough to cope with the bitter jealousy and despair this causes.

The girl disappears a few days later. Suspicion points firmly at Keir, but Zach provides him with a watertight alibi and some doctored CCTV footage. As with the other disappearances dotted around the area, no trace of the victim exists. Keir leaves the campus, no longer in the classes he’d used as time to taunt me. Mumblings about a serial killer begin. What the hell is the point in us wasting time here if Keir is gone?

People are dying. What the fuck are Asher and Eli doing?

* * *

FOLLOWING HEATED PHONE conversations, Asher arrives and drives me to a house. A white picket fence and immaculately groomed topiary greet me; this is a different house than the last one the Nephilim took me to, bigger but just as ordinary. I guess we’re all experts at hiding in plain sight.

Asher opens the car door and I step onto the pavement. Two mums standing opposite stop wrangling their toddlers to stare at us. What do they think of the strange blue-eyed men living in their street? Maybe the fact they’re easy on the eye helps people accept them.

“Jack and Dahlia are here,” says Asher, pushing open the front door.

Asher’s appearance puzzles me. Keir and Eli have dark hair, and no one could doubt their human form. But I sense something different about Asher; his paler skin and white blond hair accentuate the unusual coloured eyes in an ethereal way. I’ve never seen a Caelestia at close quarters, but Asher matches their description. Why would he be here? All the exiled lose their angelic form. Maybe other secrets exist, greater than Keir’s.

I hover in the doorway; the prospect of Eli isn’t a welcome one. Asher brushes past, walking toward a nearby room. Steeling myself, I follow. The large room holds a couple of black leather sofas and a small, round coffee table with two glasses of water resting on. A TV sits on a bench opposite the window.

Dahlia and Jack sit together on one of the sofas, watching the television, and Asher crosses the room to switch it off.

“Hey,” I say, smiling over nerves.

“This isn’t good,” mutters a pale-faced Dahlia.

“Nice to see you again too,” I retort.

Dahlia rubs her temples. “Everything is always about you, isn’t it? So self-obsessed. The comment isn’t because I don’t like you. What I meant is it’s not good you’re here, because it means Keir is getting out of hand.”

I open my mouth to reply, but an argument won’t help anything. I turn my attention to Jack instead. Jack’s eyes shine brighter than when he and Dahlia left, his skin whiter and smoother. Has he been feeding? Ugh. Surely Asher and Eli couldn’t allow that to happen, but it was Asher who took them from campus. Seem like Jack’s had fun while Dahlia and he were away

Asher moves to the chair by the sunny bay window and sits, golden curls illuminated like a halo behind him.

“Didn’t you tell her?” I ask Asher.

Asher shakes his head. “Dahlia has been helping Jack.”

Dahlia helped Jack feed? I almost ask the question but no way would I get an answer.

“Tell me what?”

“How is Jack today?” asks Asher with a sideways glance, face warning me to stay quiet.

Dahlia looks from me to Asher, mouth tightening.

“Better,” says Jack.

“You look better,” I reply.

“This isn’t a family get-together where we all discuss each other’s health.” Dahlia straightens. “What’s happening?”

Eli appears and my chest tightens as he walks to the window, face as hard as usual. “We need to speed things up. Sit down, Ava.”

I perch on the sofa opposite Dahlia and Jack.

“What’s he done?” asks Dahlia. “You’re talking about Keir, aren’t you?”

Perspiration slicks my back, and I’m relieved Asher stands between Dahlia and me.

“He’s out of control,” says Eli harshly.

“Tell me what he’s done.” Dahlia digs her fingernails into the sofa arm. “Is he killing people? You know for sure Keir is killing now?”

The following silence speaks more than any answer, and I wait for more of Dahlia’s wrath.

Dahlia scrunches part of her skirt into her fist, staring ahead. Her eyes glisten. “Who did he kill? Do you have proof?”

Asher and Eli looked at me.

“A girl from campus,” I say flatly. “A girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” asks Dahlia.

Jack sits forward. “So it is him. What did he do with her soul?”

“I don’t think he released it,” says Asher. “I imagine he consumed the soul and took it back to Zach.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Dahlia says.

“He’s not Keir,” Eli replies. “Remember he is soulless. He’s a demon.”

I suck in a breath, fighting back the tears as I study the rug. A girl died, and it’s my fault. How many more?

I snap my head up in alarm at the sound of something crashing to the floor. Dahlia crouches on the floor, silent tears running down her cheeks. Glass shards are scattered around her where she knocked her glass of water to the ground. Jack kneels beside Dahlia, stroking her hair.

“How can he do that?” whispers Dahlia. “Why would he?”

“He isn’t Keir,” repeats Eli, exasperation in his tone. “But we will try to get him back.”

“How?” asks Jack.

“Ava will attempt to return his soul to him.” Eli gestures at me.

“What do you mean? How can I do that?”

“We have discovered that returning his soul is simple. Break the crystal near Keir’s soulless body and it will return to him,” says Asher.

“What if the soul decides to go free?” I whisper.

Asher smiles. “If you are soul tied to Keir, the soul won’t want to leave. The soul will look for the nearest host, closest to the other soul. Your soul. You.”

“I don’t understand so much about souls… Nephilim… demons. I was lied to by the Caelestia. I don’t know anything. I thought all Nephilim were evil. Even those with angel souls. You’re Nephilim.”

Eli nods. “Yes. But our angel souls are prevalent, not watered down by evil from joining forces with demons. We are closer to the original Nephilim and have no interest in the demonic. Now corrupt monstrosities carry the Nephilim name; most of our race chose to side with the demons and dilute their angel souls with evil.”

“And Keir?”

“We managed to recruit some of the newer Nephilim who merged with demons as children, but at adulthood questioned their role. Nephilim like Keir whose bloodline is pure, untainted by a human union anywhere in his family’s past. He’s powerful and we will not allow Keir’s strength to be used by the Demon Lords.” Eli’s voice raises and he slams his hands on the table.

“You’re original Nephilim?”

I’ve read the legends in my book, the angels who rebelled against the Caelestia and now live in this world. Exiled. Powerful. Evil. Nothing I’d read suggested original, pure Nephilim still existed.

“This isn’t the time for a history lesson. Yes, we’re strong and we do what we feel is right. Helping the demons is not the way to gain revenge and overthrow the Caelestia. This is a battle we don’t want. We have other plans.”

“What plans?” I ask.

“You think I’d tell you?” sneers Eli. “I told you, once this mess is fixed, you’re out of here.”

Children walk past the front of the house, chattering and giggling on the way home from school. They play metres away from discussions of a world beyond their imagination, a threat to their own. Original Nephilim and created Nephilim, angels, demons, how much more information is hidden from me, by everyone I meet?

Jack continues to comfort a weeping Dahlia who refuses to move from the floor. Jack normally holds himself away from Dahlia, and something has transformed the couple’s relationship in their short time away.

He has fed. Jack still kills, and Dahlia is okay with this?

“Ava.” Asher’s soft vice pulls me back to the situation. “I presume I don’t need to ask you to help with this.”

“You know I will. I never wanted this to happen. It was Keir. He…”

“Listen to him,” snaps Eli.

“We need you to return Keir’s soul. It won’t be easy, and there is an added complication,” continues Asher.

“What complication?”

“You have an angel soul, which can be taken. Demons aren’t strong enough to take your soul, but Nephilim easily can. That’s his true reason for trying to get close to you again.”

My breath hitches. “When you say ‘get close to’ Keir, do you mean physically?”

“Yes. That’s not a new thing for you as a soul hunter,” Eli snaps.

“But he’s stronger than me.”

“Don’t forget Darius wants you too. We have discussed this, and we have agreed to keep you safe once this is done,” said Asher. “We have already intercepted a number of soul hunters sent for you.”

“I wasn’t hesitating. Just surprised.” I did this. I can be the one to fix Keir and bring him back. “What do I do first?”

“You go back to campus—all of you—and wait,” replies Eli.

“You’re giving me the crystal back?”

“Not yet. We’ll let you know when we decide you are close enough to him to succeed.”

Chapter 23

I WATCH DAHLIA with curiosity as the small girl sits in the cafeteria, tapping her foot. She plays with the empty juice box in front of her; the meal on the tray untouched. Dalia returned with Jack the night before and the reason for Dahlia’s edginess is the same as mine. No sign of Keir yet.

“Where’s Jack?” I ask, trying to change her obvious train of thought.

“He stayed with Asher. We’re still working on… stuff. He’ll be back tonight.”

“Stuff?”

Dahlia throws a none of your business look. “Vampire stuff.”

Ah yes, the pale boy, gradually disappearing into his pallid skin, eyes emptier each time I saw him who’d transformed back into something more akin to vampire than zombie last time we met.

“Have you sorted the feeding thing out yet?”

“None of your fucking business,” she snaps

“Wow, Dahlia. Stressed much? No need to be so rude.”

Dahlia’s stress hints at her worry there’s a vampire loose in the world. Probably a good thing Asher and Eli have Jack cocooned somewhere away from the residents of their street.

“How about you? Any word from Darius yet?”

Dahlia’s words pierce the defence built in my mind, against everything away from the Keir situation. “He’s sent a soul hunter, but that’s it.”

Dahlia twitches her nose and spins the juice box. “Odd. I would’ve expected the Caelestia to come for you by now. I wonder what the reason is.”

The scar on my back twinges. “It’s harder for them to find me now.”

Dahlia laughs, a short bitter sound. “If they wanted you, there’s no way you’d be sitting there now. There’s a reason.”

I’m about to respond, but Dahlia’s widening eyes lose all interest in the conversation as she looks over my shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle; I don’t need to turn to know who she’s looking at. There could be no other reason Dahlia’s skin pales further. I turn; Keir stands in the cafeteria doorway staring at Dahlia. Concern flickers across Keir’s eyes, and he shifts his gaze to his feet before looking back to Dahlia.

The juice box crushes between Dahlia’s fingers as Keir saunters over to us. He turns a chair to face us and sits. Dahlia grips the edge of the table.

“Dahlia. Haven’t seen you for a while. You’re back too then?”

“Evidently.” Her voice chills the room.

“How’ve you been?”

Dahlia’s wide eyes narrow. “Fuck off, Keir.”

I could happily high five Dahlia over Keir’s confused look.

His face relaxes back into his smug smile. “That’s not very nice. It’s been a while. I wanted to catch up.”

“Fuck off. I don’t know you,” she says, lowering her voice as a couple of curious onlookers watch. Dahlia the mousy girl is finally biting in front of everybody.

“Dahlia, we’ve shared so much… how can you say this?” Keir holds his hand over is heart, and I want to smack him as much as Dahlia clearly does.

“You’re not Keir.”

Keir leans across the table toward Dahlia, reaching out a hand, ignoring her words. “How’s Jack?”

Without another word, Dahlia pushes back her chair, grabs her bag, and stomps away. Keir watches, the smile not leaving his face.

Asshole.

Before he has a chance to start on me instead, I stand and follow Dahlia.

She isn’t far. Beneath a flyer pinned to a noticeboard advertising a movie evening, Dahlia rests against the wall, fighting back tears. As I approach, she pulls herself forward and walks away.

“Dahlia!” I call at her retreating back.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you either,” she calls back, not looking around.

A couple of girls nudge each other and giggle as they pass Dahlia in the hallway.

In a few strides, I catch up to Dahlia and reach out. “Talk to me. I can see how upset you are.”

Dahlia stops, eyes furious beneath her tears. “This is all your fault. Keir should’ve killed you the first time he had a chance! Now he’s lost.” She lowers her voice. “You’ve created evil. How does that fit with your angel soul, Ava?”

“Don’t you think I know that? Do you understand that I wish I’d died too? But I have to fix this, Dahlia. I created it.”

“You’ve got human blood on your hands, now that this thing you created—Keir—has killed. Nothing would redeem you now.”

I swallow the hard lump rising in my throat. “When I’ve fixed this, I’ll go wherever the Nephilim choose to send me. I’ll accept the fate I deserve.”

“You have no idea what you destroyed when you annihilated Keir’s morality—or what you’ve created.” She pauses. “Yeah, return his soul, but he’ll never come back, not totally. Nobody comes back from murdering innocent people.”

Jack killed people and he’s come back. Mostly. Doesn’t Dahlia know about the deaths?

“Nothing you could say to me would make me feel any worse than I do. This haunts me all day, every day. And the hardest part is Keir chose this himself. I fought with him, tried to stop him. And nobody fucking believes me.” My voice cracks.

No way am I turning into an emotional wreck in front of this girl again. I turn my words into an exit, and stride away from her.

Keir. Find him. Get close to him. Give him back his soul.

And start now; he can’t be far.

The hallway has quieted and I head back to the cafe. Keir leans nonchalantly against the wall outside, watching the passing girls with glittering eyes. One of them stops to talk to him, a girl with chestnut hair she tosses over her shoulder as she flirts. Keir’s gaze follows the girl as she walks away, his hungry lust barely disguised.

Keir’s looking for another victim, and if I don’t interfere, I’ll be responsible.

The unwanted bitterness fills my stomach and I fight it; the emotional tie pulling me to him needs to be cut.

Keir tips his head in my direction and takes advantage of my distraction.

“Where’s Dahlia?” He approaches.

“Gone. She has nothing to say to you.”

Keir smoothes his fringe from his eyes as he smiles broadly at another girl who passes and greets him. “Where’ve you been, Ava? I haven’t seen you in class for a few days.”

“Why? Did you miss me?” I say with a laugh.

“I always miss you; do you miss me?”

Despite his low voice and intense look gripping my chest, I pull on my nonchalance. “Not really. I told you once before, I’m not a big fan of homicidal demons.” I walk past him, bumping his arm as I do.

Keir catches up, walking backwards so I’m forced to look at him. “Scared of me?”

“No,” I scoff. “There’re worse things I have to be scared of than you.”

Keir put out a hand, stopping me. “What have they asked you to do?”

“Who?”

“My old friends, Asher and Eli. I know that’s where you’ve been. Zach keeps a close eye on you. I hope you told them I’ve moved on.”

“I wouldn’t call murder moving on.”

Keir rolls his eyes. “Let’s not go there again, Ava. It’s all a question of semantics, as I said. Humans, demons, angels—no one deserves to be killed.” He moves his face closer to mine. “Do they?”

“Did you know this would happen if you lost your soul?” I blurt.

“What?”

“Did you know you’d become this evil?” My breath sharpens.

He wrinkles his nose. “I knew I wouldn’t be the good guy anymore. But, yeah, I’m surprised by how much I enjoy the new me. It’s like someone’s taken a blindfold off, and the world is a playground full of fun I’ve been missing out on.”

How could he say this?

Keir reaches out and rubs his thumb along my cheek. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you changed your mind about indulging in that fun we missed out on?”

This isn’t working; Keir’s gaining the upper hand before I have time to think. We’re here again, the two people by the fountain. Only this time he will kill me if he has the chance.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I step backward.

“Shame.” He scans the hallway and checks out an attractive blonde girl approaching. The girl smiles coyly at him, and he winks. “I’ll go elsewhere then.”

“You disgust me,” I spit.

Stupidly, I thought I could push down my old feelings for Keir and find the old soul hunter Ava, the one who’d goad him into a fight. Instead, a buried piece of me can’t accept I’m not dealing with the same Keir.

I storm away, pissed off by my lost opportunity. He has no soul to tie us.

Keir is evil, and I need to stop him. Now.

Chapter 24

I WANDER ACROSS campus, blasting music into my ears through headphones. Three days patrolling for Keir again, and three days unable to find him. Thankfully, I haven’t seen him with any girls.

Someone grabs my arm and I spin round, reflexes triggered, and I seize my attacker in a headlock. Jack’s brown eyes look up in surprise, and he pulls one of my earphones out. I release him and yank out the other, letting the wires fall across my shoulders.

“For fuck’s sake, Jack, what are you doing?”

“Dahlia…”

“What about her?”

“She’s gone. Dahlia’s looking for Keir.”

“What? Where?”

“I keep telling her to leave this; that even she can’t get through to him, and it would be dangerous to try. She’s obsessed. Convinced she can change him somehow.” Jack looks desperate, dull eyes wide.

“Did Dahlia say where she was headed?”

“No.”

I chew a nail, mind racing. “We need to find her before she finds him; she doesn’t know what Keir’s capable of.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” snaps Jack.

I pull my phone out and thrust it at Jack. “Call Asher, I’ll start looking for Dahlia.”

Before he has a chance to respond, I stomp away, running through my head all the places I’ve seen Keir until recently. What the hell does Dahlia think she’s doing? Obviously, Asher and Eli never bargained Dahlia would be stupid enough to go after Keir alone. Didn’t they understand the strength of the bond Dahlia and Keir had?

Shit. If Dahlia fights Keir, she’ll lose—her life and her soul.

Jack finds me an hour later; the vampire loping toward me, face down, and sidestepping anybody who walks too close. Is he any safer to the campus inhabitants than Keir?

“Did you get hold of Asher?” I ask.

“Yeah, he said don’t do anything to Keir. Just retrieve Dahlia.”

“Does he know where they are?”

Jack shrugs. “He suggested we try places they used to spend time together.”

I rub my head. “I only ever saw them on campus or at the Coffee Place. I doubt they’d be there.”

“It’s a start?”

* * *

I CHARGE ACROSS the darkened park, breath tearing at my lungs. Jack moves preternaturally fast through the night beside me. This is the last place we thought to look. Jack mentioned Dahlia takes evening walks for “alone time,” and she’s been cagey about telling him where. Yesterday she told him she visits the park. I smack Jack across the head when he divulges the information, stunned this hadn’t occurred to him as something to do with Keir. Biting my tongue, I drag Jack toward the park.

Hyde Park isn’t the largest in the city, but big enough to take several minutes to cross, even at the speeds Jack can travel. People sit on the expansive lawn in the daytime or walk dogs along the tree-lined pavements. At night, the park shrouds in darkness as a place of social activity becomes a no-go area. The thickly wooded areas held horrors of their own, the scene of assaults in the past. Ten minutes of running through the black, from end to end, we stop beneath a lamppost at the edge of the area.

“This soul-tie thing, can’t you tell where she is?” I ask, out of breath.

“No. I am trying to sense her though.”

“Sense her?”

Jack huffs. “I’m a demon; Dahlia has an angel soul. I can sense her if she’s close.”

“And? Is she close?”

Jack shakes his head and kicks a stray drink can on the ground in front of him.

“So we keep going! I’m sure this must be where Dahlia’s gone.”

Despite the gloom of the evening, the defeat in Jack’s stance is clear. His arms are wrapped around himself, but Jack can’t feel cold. I reach out touch his shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

“Will Keir kill Dahlia?”

I won’t answer, but also won’t look into his eyes in case he sees my doubt. I think he would.

“Come on.” I stride on and Jack catches up to me.

“Wait.”

We pause beneath the canopy of a large evergreen tree, branches bending over, obscuring our view.

“What?”

“Listen.”

I point at the side of my head. “Umm. Vampire hearing? Don’t have it.” His fingers dig into my arm and I wince. “Can you hear them?”

Jack inclines his head, wandering onwards as if magnetically pulled away from me.

“Jack. Wait!”

“Over there… Fuck!”

And he’s gone, his form flashing across the darkened grass, as I strain to see after him. I pick up my pace, sprinting in the same direction until I hear voices. I slow. If Jack has plunged into danger, I’m not following him without testing the water.

Stepping beneath another tree, I watch the three figures in the shadows. Keir and Jack face off against each other, circling like animals planning the best line of attack and Dahlia’s on the ground. Panic rises until I see Dahlia push herself up.

Keir, Jack, and Dahlia. No Zach.

If Asher and Eli had given me the soul crystal, this would be perfect. Why send me back to campus without the crystal? Their lack of trust pisses me off; I should be deciding when the time is right, not them. Distracted like this, Keir is an easy target. Between the three of us, we could bring Keir back.

Keir lunges at Jack who deftly side steps him, so Keir moves toward an unsteady Dahlia instead. Before Keir can touch her, Jack slams into Keir and knocks him sideways. Despite their size difference, Jack’s supernatural strength equals Keir’s who lands with a thud. As the two guys continue to dance around each other, Dahlia crawls toward the nearest tree. I watch until Keir is fully distracted by Jack, then edge through the shadows towards Dahlia.

Tears streak Dahlia’s dirty face and I tentatively touch her arm. “Are you okay?”

“He didn’t hurt me.” Dahlia gulps in air. “But he would. He was going to kill me. Jack got here in time…”

Dahlia’s hair falls across her face as she holds her chest.

Keir threatened to kill Dahlia. If he’s a threat to her, nobody is safe.

“But you’re okay?”

“Yes. Help him, Ava. He’ll kill Jack.” Dahlia’s voice breaks into a sob.

The clouds clear the moon and the new light shines down on the circling pair, illuminating Keir’s angry face. Attention fixed on Jack, Keir doesn’t register me until I appear at Jack’s shoulder.

Keir halts for a second then a slow sneer creeps across his face. “Ava, I should’ve know you wouldn’t be far away. Did you bring my soul?”

“No.”

“Pity. I’ve got plans for it.”

“The bastard attacked Dahlia.” A growl accompanies each new breath from Jack. “He’s gonna regret hurting her.”

“Jack, leave it,” I mutter.

“I wouldn’t have touched Dahlia if she’d stayed away from me,” Keir calls in Dahlia’s direction. “I’m not your soft-hearted, pathetic Keir anymore. I’m who I should be, and if you’re not with me, you’re dead. End of.”

“And now there are three of us, so fuck off, Keir.” Jack shoves him.

“Yeah, I’m not hanging around. I’m bored now.” Keir straightens his jacket and tips his chin at me. “Dahlia let slip you and my old friends have plans to reunite me with my soul. Pass a message on. Tell them to leave me the fuck alone.”

Keir turns away and I catch Jack’s arm as he attempts to launch himself at Keir again. “Leave it, there’s no point getting into a fight with Keir. Even if we won, what could we do? We don’t have his soul with us.”

Jack shrugs me off, his stiff figure watching Keir go. Keir’s tall figure blends into the darkness he belongs to.

“Jack?” Dahlia’s voice pulls him back to us and he kneels, pulling the trembling girl into his arms.

“What did he do?” asks Jack, stroking her hair.

“Nothing… I… I’ve been following him and waiting for a chance to find him alone.”

“You’ve been following him?” I attempt to hide my frustration and fail. “Alone? In the dark?”

“I thought he would listen to me, but he was waiting for his opportunity to see me too. But he only wanted my soul. He doesn’t care anymore.” Dahlia’s voice falters. “He doesn’t care about anything or anybody.”

“Because he’s a demon, Dahlia!” Jack says. “How could you be so stupid?”

“You’re a demon and you care,” she snaps back.

“Not like him. Vampires have their souls. We’re not normal demons; you know that.”

I dig my hands into my pockets. Awkward. Either of them admitting he’s a demon is new.

“Whatever, Dahlia, you did something bloody stupid that almost cost you your life,” replies Jack.

“Are you telling me you’ve given up on Keir? That you don’t believe buried inside is the guy we knew before he lost his soul?”

I stare back into her reddened eyes, expecting anger, but it’s worse. Hope. She clings onto Keir, even as she sits on the ground after he threatened to take away the one last part of who she is.

Chapter 25

I REST MY head on the dining table, wishing everyone would shut up. My head pounds from lack of sleep and, judging by Dahlia’s dark rimmed eyes, she hasn’t slept either. Instead of enjoying Dahlia on the receiving end of chastisement from Eli, I share Dahlia’s pain. We both love Keir in different ways, and we’ve both been betrayed. Jack hugs Dahlia’s shoulders and she rests against him, mouth turned down. I close my eyes against them; the void in Dahlia’s life is gradually being refilled and I’m alone.

“We need to act,” urges Asher.

Eli drums his fingers on the table. “Not yet.”

“Why?” Asher’s face folds into confusion. “We know how to return the soul now, and he’s discovered that’s what we’re planning. What if he leaves?”

A small noise escapes from Dahlia’s throat.

The world makes sense at this angle; my face on the wood tips everything sideways and I can drop my illusion everything is in line. I lift my head. “Keir isn’t going anywhere.”

“How do you know that?” asks Asher.

“Because he has a ready supply of souls around him. The girls. I don’t think he’ll leave until suspicion grows too much.”

“More girls,” mumbles Dahlia.

“Then it’s a good thing they sent a female soul hunter after him.” Eli’s cold gaze meets mine.

I nod to indicate I understand his implication. Keir’s predatory interest in the girls on campus increases, as does my awareness why they’re keeping me around. What they don’t understand is my attraction and repulsion with Keir are equal, and each time I see him my confidence I’ll succeed drops.

Worse, what if I’m the one seduced into failure and lose my soul? I’m not fooling myself this is my Keir, the way Dahlia did, but he still has a hold on me.

“I don’t think we should wait,” I reply. “He’s becoming more dangerous. Keir’s success is feeding his confidence.”

“I agree,” says Dahlia, “I’ve seen what happens when demons become too confident and he’s heading that way. He’ll slip up; and if Zach thinks Keir’s killing too many, he’ll move Keir on. Then we’ll waste time looking for him again.”

“You don’t trust me enough to return the soul crystal to me?” I ask. “Is that the issue?”

Asher and Eli glance at each other. “Partly.”

I narrow my eyes at Eli. “I know you doubt me because I’m a soul hunter, but I want Keir back as much as you. It tears me apart that I caused this and I’m not running back to the Caelestia. I’ll do everything it takes to bring Keir back for you—even if it kills me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Ava,” mutters Dahlia.

“Like you care, you’ve always wanted me dead. You have a short memory, who was it came looking for you last night?” I snap

“Jack,” retorts Dahlia.”

I stand. “Forget it then. Send Dahlia to do the job. Or you go, Eli. But you know the rest of you will fail. I have an advantage I’m willing to use.”

Nobody responds. I’m over this. Totally fucking over the mistrust and refusal to believe me. They can sort this out themselves. The chair scrapes as I shove it back under the table. “If you feel like giving me the crystal and fixing this, let me know.”

Outside the house, I perch on the low wall. I am, and always have been, a pawn. I don’t belong anywhere. I stare at my boots. I have nowhere to go; even if I refuse to help them, I’m stuck living her with the spectres of Keir and Darius fighting over my life.

Asher approaches and sits next to me. “I’m sorry, Ava. But you understand why we are worried? Eli and I have hidden ourselves for as long as Keir. Longer. We’re part of Keir’s secrets, and if you take them and his soul back to the Caelestia, we are threatened too.”

Asher emanates a calmness different to anyone I’ve met before. He has to be Caelestia, not Nephilim. Does this mean some of the Fallen resisted the change to Nephilim? The history of the division between the Caelestia and the rebellion of the Fallen who became Nephilim is sketchy, but the reason for the conflict becomes clearer. This is all about the treatment of souls by the Caelestia. What is the truth?

“I was helping Keir before this happened. I’d already turned away from the Caelestia and put my life danger. I believe in what you do,” I tell him.

Asher reaches out and cups my cheek, his velvet soft hands conveying a calm empathy. “And what of your future, Ava? Exiled. Never safe again. That’s a very long way from what you wanted. You became a soul hunter for freedom. You’ll never be free.”

His words smash against the wall of denial I built, that somehow I’ll survive. I won’t. “I’m not safe whatever I choose to do. I have no illusions what will happen to me if I go back to Darius. Sure, I can take Keir’s soul and secrets, and they could lessen my punishment, but you’re right; I’ll never be free.”

“It’s harder here. In this world.”

I laugh. “I know. But Keir’s in this world. The soul you have and won’t give to me is very probably tied to mine. I belong with Keir.”

Asher tips his head, hair shining gold as the sun picks out the highlights. I shiver as his deep eyes delve into my heart and soul.

“I will talk to Eli. I don’t think we have any choice but to trust you. If we don’t, we could lose Keir permanently.” Asher rises. “I trust in and believe you.”

I blink, a new optimism edging in at his words. Of course, I’ll help them; Keir is the place I belong. Wherever I am with him is a place of safety and love, and I will do anything to try to find him again. If I could get him back—and if he forgives me—I’ll never leave again. Where can I go anyway?

Chapter 26

I PACE UP and down the wide stone steps waiting for Keir to leave the campus library. The shadow of the clock tower blocks out the warmth of the sun, but I prefer the shade. Following her outburst, a contrite Dahlia returns to campus with Jack, and mumbles an apology I’m positive Dahlia is forced to give me. Dahlia brought with her the crystal, to entrust to me, but on the condition I wait for specific instructions and don’t “be a hero,” as she put it. Now I can move on, but despite the bravado, I’m terrified.

I shield my eyes as a couple step into the sunshine. My stalking over the last few days pays off. Keir walks down the steps his arm linked with a new girl. I recognise her from class, quieter than some of the others are. She’s petite and pretty, and in danger from the guy she stares at with adoration shining in her eyes. Why don’t girls see through guys who look and behave like Keir? She knows Keir is with a different girl every few days. Why is she willing to add herself to a humiliating list? At the bottom of the steps, Keir grabs the girl’s ass as he gives her a lingering kiss.

Immediately memories of his lips on mine appear, but I keep my eye fixed on them, waiting for the pair to end their embrace. Keir catches sight of me as she walks away, and he remains at the foot of the steps, refusing to look away. I hold his gaze, challenging him silently. Without a word, Keir strides away.

Hovering around the fringes fails; I need to be more proactive and stop backing away from Keir.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, I search campus for Keir and the girl, deciding to be the stalker ex. By the end of the day, panic sets in. There’s no sign of Keir or the girl in class or in any of his usual haunts on campus. A sick realisation I’ve failed in protecting the girl edges in. He killed her. No. Please be wrong. Surely he can’t kill again so soon without raising suspicion. I’m about to end my day’s search when I circle past the library once more time. The girl stands outside with two of her friends. I halt. Thank fuck for that. Where’s Keir?

As I search around, the girl marches over, red rimmed eyes flaring anger. “You! Back off!”

I arch an eyebrow. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Keir told me you keep following us and that you’re obsessed with him. He couldn’t take it anymore.” The girl’s cheeks heat pink.

“What?”

“I think he’s still hung up on you and wants you back too. Keir talks about you all the time, tells me how you treated him, and how he can’t get over the hurt.”

“I don’t believe that.”

The girl runs fingers through her long hair, face reddening further. “You know what happens when you damage guys? They can’t get close to anyone else. Keir told me he feels like you stabbed him in the heart when you left him.”

I suppress a laugh and the girl’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, you don’t care, do you? You’re a weird bitch for following us around when you don’t even want him.”

“You don’t know Keir; you need to be careful.”

“Sure, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You want to play more games with him!”

I sigh. “And that’s what I expected you to say. How long have you been with Keir? Five minutes? Open your eyes. Guys like Keir don’t stick around, and he’s dangerous too.”

The girl makes a derisive noise. “Don’t you think that decision is up to me? Like I said, just quit following us, and let him get on with his life.”

Spinning on her heels, the girl returns to her friends, and they all glare at me. Three girls with no idea: one stupid girl who fell for a bad boy and two encouraging her. I cross my arms, daring them to approach, but the girls pick up their bags and walk away, glancing back at me as they leave.

I pause for a moment, watching them retreat.

“Making enemies?”

I turn to find Keir. My heart thumps after my encounter with the girl whose name I don’t even know, and when his familiar aura surrounds us, my pulse hikes. Here is the guy I thought I’d find the first day I sought him out—arrogant, dangerous, demon Nephilim. The disregard and plans I had for him then need to reignite, not my desire.

“Surely you have enough enemies?” he continues.

“Were you listening?”

“Kind of. It was amusing. If there’s one thing girls love more than an edgy guy, it’s one who’s broken and needs loving to fix them up.” He mocks wiping a tear from his eye. “Then I fix them up. Permanently.”

I edge back, not wanting be further into the power emanating from his tall figure. “You’re a fucking psycho.”

“Your fault. You took my soul. But I hear you have it back, Ava. And I need it.”

“You said you were happy without a soul.”

“Oh I am. I don’t want the soul for me. Zach has plans for it.”

“What plans?”

He steps closer and lowers his voice. “I’m tired of playing games; bring me my soul, or I’ll find you and kill you. Then, I’ll move onto the next of your pathetic band of do-gooders until somebody gives me what I want.”

I snort a laugh at his darkened features. “Losing your cool a bit there, aren’t you, Keir?”

But he unsettles me. I turn away and Keir catches my arm, spinning me back round to face him. I flinch at his grip. “Here’s a little encouragement for you. I’ll keep taking other souls until you give me the crystal containing mine.”

“What do you mean?”

He runs his tongue along his teeth. “Human souls. Anyone else who dies around here from now on is because of you.”

“No, you won’t,” I hiss. “We’ll stop you.”

“Wrong. Do you know how many girls around here like a bad guy?” He winks and saunters away.

Shit. I sink onto the steps, his challenge echoing in my ears. The students stream past, in and out of the main campus building behind, and I catch a conversation between two girls about Keir. His brokenhearted girlfriends who disappear make no difference to Keir’s popularity. Some guys can turn the charm on; this guy is Nephilim, and he’s designed to attract them. Sitting back idly isn’t an option anymore.

I won’t let him kill someone else just because Asher and Eli haven’t given me the go-ahead yet.

Chapter 27

I SEARCHED FOR Dahlia and Jack all afternoon but couldn’t find them on campus and debated calling Dahlia, or even Asher, to explain my plans, but didn’t. Tonight I’ll confront Keir and save the girls life. No more blood on my hands, apart from his, if the situation goes south.

If I offer Keir what he wants—me—and lure him away, I’m confident I’ll succeed. I don’t speak to Asher or Eli. What if they say no or tell me to keep away from Keir? There’s nothing they can do; my mind is set. The soul crystal is mine in my room.

I watch Keir from a distance all evening and, following his earlier threats, I won’t let him out of my sight again. My stalking leads me to a nightclub tucked away on a dirty side street at the edge of the city.

Bass music thuds from the underground building, broadcasting the location of the nightclub. The security guy rests against the wall, and I give him my sweetest smile. Another broad-chested man waits at the bottom of the small flight of stairs, in front of the venue’s black door. The guy against the wall looks me up and down her. I’m non-descript apart from my thick pink hair pulled back into a ponytail; my dark jeans and a thin black singlet allow me to blend in with the normal crowd.

“You alone?” the suited man with a crew cut asks gruffly.

“Yes. I am. Meeting friends.” I gesture at the stairs.

He nods and steps to one side, allowing me past; the second doorman pats me down, and I arch an eyebrow at him in case his hands wander.

“Okay.” He gestures at the doorway.

The door opens into the thick of the nightclub, sickly smelling dry ice obscuring my vision. Strobe lights pitch across the ceiling, picking out groups dancing. The noise and lights overwhelm after the quiet of the streets in the walk over. The room is barely bigger than one of the larger seminar rooms. I push through people to the small bar and squeeze myself between two couples. Leaning against the rough wooden structure, I squint at the dancers. A drink can wait.

Once The Pit was an exclusive underground club few knew about and fewer gained entry to. That exclusivity has passed and is the place to hang out. The original owners moved on as soon as the place became too trendy and opened a new club. Now only students visit, grasping onto the idea of an illicit secret.

The strobe lights flash around the room; picking individual people out in the sea of bodies is tough. Keir’s height puts him above everyone around, including the small girl next to him, the girl with brown hair and green eyes who yelled at me several hours before.

The music from the huge speakers designed for large venues, and not for cramming into confined spaces, confuses my senses, whilst the moist heat assaults my lungs. The number of bodies packed into the small nightclub writhe against each other. Humans come here for fun?

Keir pulls the girl onto the dance floor and, as I watch, I picture the previous girl; the one I never saved. Today Keir laid out his intentions, but if I step up to his challenge what are the consequences? Nobody in my circle knows my plans. Keir knows my personality. Is my desperation and bloody mindedness what Keir’s counting on? I’m risking my soul, possibly my life, but fighting for the Keir who loved me wipes away everything else. I can, and will, bring him back.

Nobody else will die because of me.

Bodies jostle me as I stride over to Keir, grimacing as their perspiration touches my bare arms. I position myself between Keir and the girl, and he immediately stops dancing. Through the strobes, his features distort in and out of the darkness, but every time the light flashes across Keir’s face, it’s illuminated by a knowing smile.

Keir clearly isn’t surprised to see me.

But the girl is. She taps my shoulder and shouts something above the music; I can’t hear nor do I give a rat’s arse what she’s saying. The girl’s angry face strobes in and out of view; the noise of the beat drowning out her words.

Keir edges closer, and my skin lights up as his lips brush my ear. “Nice to see you, Ava. Looking to take her place?”

He holds his head back and quirks a brow, not paying any attention to the frustrated girl behind us. Keir’s hair and grey tee are soaked from the humidity, perspiration shining on his face. I move closer to Keir’s challenge and he grins, backing up further. As he hits the wall, I bump into him. His eyes shine through the darkness, inviting my confrontation. Keir’s physical pull is beyond the attraction of our souls, and a bigger danger than confronting a room full of demons. Something I need to get a handle on to survive tonight.

I need control, before he takes it.

I lock my mouth on Keir’s and he grips the back of my head with no hint of surprise. Crushing me against him, he kisses hungrily; mouth matching my assault. I deepen the kiss, and yank his T-shirt free from his jeans. Sliding my hands across his hard stomach, I trace the lines of his abs with my fingernails.

Keir pulls my head back by the hair, eyes dark with lust. “That’s quite a welcome.”

“Unfinished business,” I call back.

“So we finish this time?” he whispers in my ear.

His mouth assaults mine before I can respond. He’s the one against the wall, but his grip on my waist prevents me fighting back as he sinks his teeth into my lip. I wince; his laughter rumbles against my chest as I tear my mouth away, touching my sore lip. Keir holds me against his chest, noses touching. My lips and face sting from his scruff and harsh kisses, and I struggle to breath in the heat and his embrace.

In a deft movement, Keir spins me around against the wall, and pushes his hips against mine until I’m trapped against the wall. “You should be careful who you play with, Ava.”

The strength of his muscled body as he pins me against the wall is all that stops my weakened legs giving way to the floor. Hands slide beneath my top, skin searing where his fingers explore my skin. Hot heavy breaths accompany rough kisses along my neck and shoulders, as his fingers explore across my body. He cups my breast, and I catch a surprised breath as he runs a thumb across my nipple peaking beneath the lace.

This isn’t what I planned, but the pull to this demonic Keir is stronger than before he lost his soul, his loosened control a bigger turn on, and that scares me. I grip his fingers, preventing any more touching, and he laughs at me. Awareness of his arousal through his jeans tugs me back to the reality of the situation, and I wriggle against him. Wrong move—a growl of pleasure escapes his throat.

“We go back and finish this.” Keir winds my ponytail around his fist, eyes glittering in challenge. “Or I take somebody else home.”

I hook my fingers into his belt loops. This is the chance I’ve needed for weeks, and never wanted to take.

“Yeah, not the right place for this.” I slap his hand away from my ass. “Let’s go.”

Keir pulls me by the hand back through the crowds; we emerge into the cool air. Keir’s grip on my hand remains tight and he tugs me into the shadows.

“Not going to change your mind are you?” he asks. The wind whips strands of hair loosened by Keir’s touch, and I shiver against the cold and him. Keir’s question holds a threat in the tone as he seizes my arm. “Because if you let me down, I’m going back there for her.”

I drag my fingers from his. “Are you trying to blackmail me into having sex with you?”

He runs a finger along my swollen lips. “I don’t need to blackmail you when you’re as desperate for this as I am. Why else would you come here tonight? I thought we were just soul tied, but I’m soulless, and you still want to screw me. I’m happy to oblige; I’ve put this off too long.”

This guy is not Keir. This is a demon. He’s killed people.

I’m backed against the rough bricks, and he steals my breath with another kiss. He’s right; the only feelings Keir holds for me are lust. I’m no different as the heat pools between my legs, breasts aching and heavy, craving his touch. Keir’s body once made a promise he refused to fulfill, and at the time, it hurt that he wouldn’t. Now he wants me to give myself over to him, when Keir no longer holds the love that joins the promise. I want him, and the distance I’m attempting to keep between us narrows.

Keir thinks he’s luring a love-struck Ava to steal her soul, convinced I’m weakened by emotion the way Dahlia is, but he doesn’t realise his soul waits for him in my room. I can fool Keir my lust for him is out of my control, but can I fool myself I can restrain this? I tighten my arms around his neck and kiss him until my lips are sore.

Chapter 28

WE DON’T SPEAK on the short walk to campus, side by side, not touching. I pause close to my halls block and take his hand.

“Your room?” he asks, brow tugging down.

“Yes. Not yours. I don’t trust you.”

“And I should trust you?”

I lift my arms. “Check for weapons if you like.”

“Inviting me to frisk you?” He puts his forehead against mine. “I’m not bothered. You won’t get a chance to use one. Don’t forget attacking me is pointless. I’m a lot bloody stronger than you.”

My hands shake as I open the door to my room, conflicted mind racing. Keir immediately slams the door behind us and draws me close. I brace myself for more passion, but he gently traces his tongue along my lips.

“I was stupid to refuse you before,” he whispers, moving his lips across my face to my ear.

The sensation triggers a desire coiling downwards and my hunger for Keir takes over. I push his mouth open with my tongue, the taste of him overwhelming. His low laugh vibrates against my mouth and he turns his head.

“Keep yourself under control, soul hunter.”

His reaction drops me back to earth, and I attempt to disentangle myself from him. Keir clutches me closer, and I grip his powerful shoulders as he squeezes me tight and kisses me. Our tongues battle in an intense kiss, the familiar tingling spreading along my spine, and I fight my body’s desire to give into this. Every place our bodies touch, the more melded with him I feel and I panic. This is with clothes on; what the hell will happen if we’re naked?

“Keir.”

“What?” he asks hoarsely. “What’s wrong?”

“Slow down.”

“Why?”

Keir releases me and grabs his T-shirt by the shoulders, dragging it over his head, and I shiver at the primal look in his darkening eyes. As he stretches his arms upwards, Keir’s jeans sit lower on his hips for a moment, and I stare at the v pointing downwards. I close my eyes. Control.

The sinewed muscles of his forearms tug at my memories, back to the time he folded them around as he held and loved me.

I’ve used sex to trick demons before, but my revulsion kept me in control. I shouldn’t be attracted to a demon, not even this one.

Desperate to feel Keir’s skin, to connect, I place a hand on his chest. Beneath his hard muscle, Keir’s heart beats against my palm, and my stomach flips. The heart I once stopped beating, beneath a livid red scar.

Keir shoves me against the door with one hand and holds me. His other hand pushes beneath my thin top, teasing feathery touches along my belly. Pressing his hand harder into my shoulder, he slides a hand up my inner thigh. A noise of surprise escapes my lips and I tense for his next move.

“You’re so fucking hot, Ava.” Keir yanks up my top and roughly pushes the lace of my bra to one side.

His mouth closes around my nipple and I grip has head as he swirls his tongue around the peaks. I struggle against where he holds me with the other hand, pissed off with his harsh control.

“I don’t like this.” I pull at the hand on my shoulder.

He looks up. “Seems like you do.”

“Let me go; I’m not doing this here.” I stare back in challenge. What if he doesn’t listen? If I change my mind, will he let me go?

“However you like, Ava.” Keir steps back.

I suck in a breath, drag my top over my head, and push Keir onto the bed. “My way. If I say stop, you stop.”

He grins, eyes appreciatively sweeping my semi-naked body as he hooks a leg through mine and trips me onto him. “Sure thing. I have other options.” Panic pushes in at his semi-threat. “No, Ava. I won’t hurt you, unless you hurt me.”

Liar.

His warm skin presses against mine as he hooks one of my lace straps down, kissing my shoulder. There’s no doubt over consent here, but this will be a battle. We’ve explored each other’s bodies before, but never taken the final step to trust; I never realised if I did, I was lost. His decision to stop a few weeks ago in case he put himself in a vulnerable position makes sense, because here I am.

I need to stay in control. Somehow. I straddle Keir and dig my nails into his shoulders. Keir’s palms my breasts through the lace, breath shallowing as his control loosens too. His arousal pushes against his jeans, and the barrier between us does nothing to quell the tightening between my legs. He flicks open the button and attempts to push my jeans to my hips; I slap his hand away, and Keir laughs low in his throat.

“C’mon, Ava.”

The crystal rests in the drawer beside my bed to the left of Keir’s head, and I need Keir to stay where he is, to keep my self-control while he loses his. Right, Ava, that’s not going well so far. I unhook my bra and slide down the straps as Keir puts his hands behind his head and bites his lip, watching as I drop the bra to one side. I pull my hair from the ponytail and let it drop across my breasts.

Keir shifts beneath me, and he pushes my hair away. “Don’t hide.”

I give him a coy smile, rewinding to the times I’ve been in this position before with demons—and killed them. I lean over and run my tongue along his lip. He attempts to catch my mouth for a kiss but I play, teasing. My nipples brush his taut chest, adding a frisson I could do without right now.

Keir traces his hands down my back and grabs my ass.

How far do I need to go before he loses his focus on anything but sex? In the darkness, I could pretend he’s my Keir; a more passionate one kissing and touching the way I always wanted, but I can’t pretend I wouldn’t give into the raw hunger for him.

“Let me feel how wet you are for me, soul hunter,” he whispers, sliding a palm between my legs. “Take these off.”

Soul hunter. Not Ava. His fingers push the seam of my jeans against my most sensitive part, and I swallow. His other hand massages my breasts, pulling at my nipples as his breathing comes hot and heavy. I swallow down the edging anger, at least he’s in the position I need. I reach behind Keir, my hair falls forwards, and my breasts touch his face. Keir’s mouth closes around my breasts, tongue flicking my nipples and I inhale sharply, interrupted by the desire to sink onto him.

With Keir lost in his lust, I stretch an arm out and edge the drawer open. My fingers reach the hard crystal and I curl my fingers around, holding the ball in the palm of my hand. I push the drawer closed and it bangs. Shit.

Keir wrenches his mouth away, pushing me over. His heavy weight holds me to the bed and he stares at my outstretched hand.

“What are you doing? What’s in your hand?” he growls. “Surely you’re not going to try to kill me?” He pries at my fist. “Let that go.”

I thrash against his weight and grip, the crystal digging into my hand. “I’m not trying to kill you.”

“Then what? Let the fuck go.” The lust in his eyes is replaced by anger. He yanks my hand to his mouth and bites my fingers.

“Fuck, Keir!” I drop the sphere containing Keir’s soul and it tumbles to the floor.

Keir stares at the soul crystal, eyes widening, then narrowing as he looks back down at me. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Take back your soul, please. Be Keir again.”

His grip on my arm tightens, weight still holding me in place, as he reaches for the sphere, looking at it with the same fascination as the first time he saw it. “I can’t believe Asher and Eli let this out of their sight. I was waiting for them to do the job, not give a loose cannon like you the task.”

I swallow down the fear but the anger is replaced by amusement lighting his face. “Oh… You’re not supposed to do this to me yet, are you? You always were too cocky for your own good.” He throws the crystal in the air and catches it. “No buddies to back you up then, Ava? Lucky me, I take home two souls tonight. Mine and yours.”

Keir drags me to my feet, one hand around my wrists, and my legs tremble. “You were going to take mine?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Stupid girl. Of course, an angel soul is worth a lot to me. Not as much as this one, but still valuable.”

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper.

Keir sneers. “When will you get it into your head I’m not him? I’m not your pathetic soul-tied puppy dog. You think I wanted to make love to you like he would have done?” Keir drags me by the arms against him. “I just want sex. Dirty, hard sex. You know all the girls I’ve ever screwed in my life are dead, right?”

Keir’s words sting as if he’d hit me. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

He looks over my shoulder and runs his tongue along his teeth as I struggle against his iron grip. “Wrong. I guess I need to decide how.”

He lets go of my arms and shoves me hard; I fall back to the bed.

“I guess I could break your neck.” He looks down on me. There’s no sign of the guy who’d told me he loved me, eyes empty. “Any chance of finishing what we started first?”

I grab my top and pull it on; covering the naked breasts Keir grazes his heated gaze across.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” He shrugs. “I’m not really in the mood anymore, and I’m guessing you’re not.”

The crystal glitters as he sets it carefully on the desk behind him.

One option left. Stay alive long enough to smash the crystal.

I keep my eyes on Keir’s, hoping he sees my prone figure as defeat. For an eternal moment, he holds my gaze and his face softens with confusion. Is there doubt in his mind?

Fuck it. I throw myself forward, sending an off-guard Keir crashing into the desk. His head hits the corner with a thud and the crystal rolls to the floor. Cushioned by the carpet, the sphere doesn’t break.

Keir sits and looks at the blood he smears from the back of his head onto his fingers. He growls in anger and an invisible force hurls me backwards against the wall, and I’m unable to move.

“You’re wasting your fucking time,” he snarls.

I struggle for breath. “Keir… let me go, make this a fair fight.”

“Fair? Do you think I do fair? You made me bleed!” He holds his fingers in front of my face, almost touching my nose. “Again.”

I squeeze the tears back before they have a chance to fall. “Killing me when I can’t fight back? Coward.”

His eyes glitter and he steps back; I crash to the floor and Keir drags me to my feet. “You’re just making things worse for yourself. Remember what I said about you signing your death warrant?”

“I’d rather die here than spend eternity in the Hell realms,” I spit. “You’re doing me a favour.”

Long fingers curl around my throat and crush as cold, empty eyes look into mine. I scratch at his hands and his expression doesn’t change. The realisation hits—I am Dahlia. I brought him here because I thought a part of Keir wanted to be who he once was. I wasn’t prepared to listen either. I’ve been confronted with the truth enough times but my denial didn’t ebb. Without his soul intact, Keir will kill me. This guy is remorseless and my death as meaningless as hundreds of soul hunters before me.

Keir drops his grip, and I sink to the floor, one hand still on Keir’s fingers as I vainly look around the room for something to retaliate with. He kneels over me, focused on choking my life out. Time ticks towards dark oblivion as I pat around the floor in an attempt to locate the crystal. I bump the hard object with the edge of my hand.

Before the growing black obliterates my vision, I lift my arm and hurl the crystal across the room, toward the open bathroom doorway. The crystal crashes against the tiles and Keir’s head snaps around at the sound of the splintering crystal.

“What the fuck?” he yells, turning to the bathroom.

He drops his grip and I gasp for air, blinking away the black dots behind my eyes. From the shattered crystal centre, a white mist snakes upwards and circles the room as if searching for a way out. Please don’t choose to be free and leave me in a room with a demon and death.

The soul twists upwards above our heads and hovers between us, a cloud of rainbows shining above. I shiver against the strange sensation that the soul can see me and reach out to touch. The soul shies away from my fingers and moves toward Keir.

Keir presses himself against the wall as the cloud targets him. “No! I don’t want this.”

“Your soul, Keir, it wants to belong with you.”

As if listening, the small cloud grows and engulfs Keir’s head, his face disappearing behind the luminosity. An expression of horror crosses his face as the soul forces itself into his open mouth and disappears. Keir gasps, the way he did the moment he died all those weeks ago and falls to the floor.

Chapter 29

THE PASSION AND anger of the last few minutes drops into silence, my ragged breathing all I can hear. I wrap my arms around myself and shuffle on my backside against the bed, staring at the unconscious Keir.

What happens now? Will he regain consciousness soon, and if he does who will I face? A demon trying to kill me again? I struggle to my feet, head aching. Fear of death hangs over me; how close I came to oblivion, and I instinctively want to run.

Keir doesn’t move.

Have I killed him?

No. If a dagger in the heart didn’t, this won’t.

I drag my hands through my tangled hair. I have landed myself in deep crap with the others for doing this and fuck knows what damage I’ve done to Keir this time. But I didn’t have a choice, did I? If I’d waited, someone else could be dead by now.

Footsteps and voices echo in the hallway outside my room; people heading home from their simple lives. Humans, born into free will and not fighting for freedom or life, the way I do. Sure, their lives are difficult because of their physical weakness, death following them every day. Is their weakness payback for their freedom?

I discovered the truth about souls weeks ago, but I’m confused. Why would souls choose humans, become physical, and give up their own freedom? One thing I never considered, made clear by the action of Kei’s soul tonight, is these souls are a living entity who chooses a host.

Souls I’ve spent the last few years imprisoning, unable to make their choice.

I’m not sure how long I stare at Keir’s body, terrified over my next move. My hands tremble as I gather enough courage to face consequences and dial Dahlia’s number.

A tired-sounding Dahlia answers. “Hello?”

“Dahlia. Are you with Asher and Eli still or back on campus?”

“What’s happened?” she asks sharply.

“Are they there?”

“Tell me what you’ve done, Ava.”

I pause for a deep breath. “I met Keir and…

“Ava!”

“I had to. I’ll explain later. Please, is Asher there?”

A silence followed by low voices until Asher speaks. “What’s happening?”

“I did it.”

“What?”

“Keir’s here and has his soul back. On the floor, and he’s not moving.” My voice cracks and more words tumble out with tears. “But his soul definitely returned to him… he was attacking me, and I thought I was going to die…”

“Ava, calm down,” he says gently. “Where are you now?”

“In my room. He’s not moved for a long time, Asher. I’m scared.”

“Is he breathing?”

I cautiously approach Keir and place a hand on his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, but I can’t hear breath. “Yes.”

“And the soul definitely returned to him?”

“Yes.”

“Hang on.”

I chew my fingers as I wait on the phone for Asher. In the background, I recognise Eli and Dahlia’s voices.

“Ava?” Asher again. “Don’t leave. Wait there with Keir and we’ll collect you. Pack your things.”

“Pack them?”

“All of them. Just do it. We’ll be there within an hour.”

Asher ends the call abruptly, and I grip the phone. My neck hurts; a reminder of what I escaped joins the fear of what I’m about to face. I doubt Asher’s calmness will be matched by Eli’s. My jeans are still unbuttoned and I zip them into place, cheeks heating at my behaviour earlier.

Pack. Leave. Always moving on from one assignment to the next, but this is different.

I pull my rucksack from the bottom of the wardrobe. Halfway through stuffing my few belongings into the bag, I hear movement behind. Fear arches up my spine, and I slowly turn. Keir sits against the door.

“Ava?” As he speaks his eyes widen, and he clutches his head.

I freeze. He’s quiet and not charging at me to grab my neck, so that’s a bonus. I shake my head at the downplaying of the situation.

“I don’t feel too good, what’s going on?” he groans.

“You don’t know?”

Keir peers at the blood on his fingers then grimaces as he touches the wound on his head. “I think I do, but it’s hazy.” He looks down at his naked chest. “Where’s my shirt?”

He doesn’t remember. Any of it? I throw the damp tee across the room to him and he pulls it over his head. “Thanks.”

I chew a nail, unable to look at or touch him. Silence fills the space between us, and I stare at a spot on the wall behind him.

“Ava?” he asks softly.

I clear my throat. “Are you okay?”

“Not great. My head hurts.” He closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall.

“Sorry. We fought. And things.”

“I remember some. Not all.” The hungry, primal look is nowhere in his eyes; instead guilt and concern reflect back. He touches his neck as he looks at mine. “Shit, Ava. Did I hurt you?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. Your neck…”

Keir stands and I wrap my arms around myself, a warning to keep away. The guilt in his eyes flashes with anger. “What the hell did I do?”

“We can talk about that later. The most important thing is you have your soul now.”

Keir presses his forehead with a palm. “It feels like there’s something inside pushing against my skull. Not where I hit my head, different. And it fucking hurts.”

“Maybe it’s the soul?”

He grunts. “Maybe.”

Maybe his body is trying to reject it? I eye him warily. “But you feel okay apart from that?”

Keir blinks and his mouth falls open. “I remember some… I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Sorry for…” He winces again, pressing his hand into his eyes. “Fuck. What the hell have I done?”

“Don’t talk about this now; it’s probably not a good idea.”

Keir slumps back to the floor, silent and eyes closed in his paper white face; nothing like the guy in the room half an hour before. I bite back the question I need the answer too. If he’s forgotten much of what happened in the last hour, how much does he remember of himself over the last month?

“I’m going to finish packing, okay?” I sweep items off my desk into the bag with shaking hands.

He opens an eye. “Packing?”

“Asher and Eli are coming; Asher told me to pack.”

Keir pales further. “No, they can’t.”

“Why?”

“I can’t face them after… the things I did. Ava, I killed.” He looks at me in desperation, as if I could make this better and deny the truth, but I won’t lie to him.

I look away. “They don’t blame you for any of this; they wanted you back. Even after they knew about…” I swallow. The girls. The deaths.

He looks up, heartbreaking pain on his face. “I killed people, Ava. Didn’t I?”

I drop the sweater I was packing in my bag and crouch on the floor at a wary distance. “Think about Jack and the things he did to people.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. He’s human. Vampire or not, humans kill other humans. Angels don’t.”

Angels.

I sink back onto the floor and hug my knees. “Angels? You’re Nephilim.”

“Nephilim are part angel, Ava, remember? Like you.”

“Your ancestors were originally. Not now. You can’t hold yourself to that standard—whatever it is.”

“Can we not go through the what you know and what you don’t now, please?”

Secrets. Always fucking secrets. I half-died, and still it continues. As I finish packing, Keir remains quiet.

After a few minutes, he stumbles back to his feet to sit on the bed with his head in his hands.

I’m startled as the phone rings. “Hello?”

“Ava, are you packed?” Dahlia’s voice, the noise of traffic behind her.

“Sort of.”

“Just take what you’ve packed and get out. We’re here.” Asher speaks in the background. “Front of campus, Fourth Street. We’re in Asher’s car and the lights are out.”

“What’s happening?”

“You and Keir. Quick.” Dahlia’s insistent voice holds a note of panic.

I glance at the guy slumped nearby. “Keir can’t… he’s…”

“What? What’s happened?”

“He’s fine, just a bit weak.” Keir shakes his head and mouths “no.”

A conversation continues in the car and I strain to hear.

“Give the phone to Keir, Asher wants to talk to him,” Dahlia says.

I hold out the phone and Keir shakes his head again. “Keir. Talk to them.”

He takes the phone as if it’s a bomb set to explode and listens for a few moments. “Okay. We’ll wait.”

After struggling to put his jacket on, Keir lies on the bed. “I feel like shit,” he says in a weak voice. “And not just physically.”

I resume my position at the opposite end of the room, bag at my feet. Keir stares at the ceiling and the gulf between us grows larger than when we were soul hunter and demon in conflict. I can’t find words, and apparently neither can he.

Chapter 30

ASHER AND ELI’S house looks less of a sanctuary this time. Signs of people living here are gone. No items on tables or in the lounge, the place smells of cleaning products. Bags are stacked in the narrow hallway.

I stumble through the door, relief following me. Asher and Dahlia collected and drove us back here. Keir’s a mess, lapsing in and out of consciousness in the car. Asher needed to support him on the trip from my room to the car and is again now.

I peek into the kitchen but nobody sits at the freshly polished table. Glasses rest on the draining board, and I pour myself water. The curtains behind the sink are drawn against the dark night and I gulp down the water wishing for daylight.

“Again, Ava?”

I turn at Eli’s voice. He stands, hands in pockets, resting against the door. I’m struck by the realisation this guy could be attractive if he lost the scowl and attitude. He definitely has the height and build, which attract girls to Keir, and the strange blue eyes in his sculpted face. I can’t ever figure out if the dark-haired man is older than Keir; in human terms, he looks mid-twenties, but how many Nephilim years is that?

“Again?”

“You never bloody listen! If you’d failed tonight we would’ve lost Keir for good.”

“But I didn’t and he’s here,” I retort.

“Don’t be so cocky! You’re a fucking liability.”

I rest against the sink, cradling my glass of water. “Am I? So what was your big plan?” he doesn’t respond. “Anything? No. And every day you spent doing nothing, someone else died.”

“Collateral damage.”

“What?” I choke out the word.

“This is bigger than a few human lives, Ava.”

“So everybody keeps telling me, without actually telling me!”

“And you wonder why? How can we trust you when you turn renegade on us all the time?”

“I wanted Keir back!” I blurt. “Is he back? Where is he?”

“Upstairs.” Eli jerks his head above him. “He’s weak. What did you do to him?”

“Are you accusing me of hurting Keir? He tried to fucking kill me, Eli.” I pull away the scarf I wrapped around my neck in pretence of the cold, because I didn’t want people to see my weakness.

Eli’s eyes betray his shock, despite his neutral expression. “Lucky for you he didn’t.”

“And you,” I retort.

Stepping into the room, Eli approaches me and looks down. “Lucky for you I didn’t hand you back to the Caelestia when you created this mess. I don’t trust you.”

“I bet you and Dahlia are best friends,” I mutter.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

Eli runs a hand through his hair. “There’s no leader here, so I can’t do anything unless we all agree. But step out of line again and others might open their eyes to the danger of having you around.”

I watch as he turns on his heel and stalks off. A thank you would’ve been nice. Helping myself to a second glass of water, I’m dragged back to tonight’s events. Screw this. I pull a chair out, sit, and place my feet on the other. If the Nephilim gang don’t want me around, I’ll leave. Simple. I close my eyes and fight the exhaustion.

“Better places to sleep than there,” says a voice.

I focus blurrily as Asher sits opposite me. The darkness is replaced by the early morning sun shining through the curtains and my neck aches from dozing in an awkward position. “Can I sleep somewhere? Or have you come to slap me on the wrists and kick me out too?” I ask.

Asher laughs softly. “No. Anger doesn’t solve anything and certainly doesn’t work with you.”

The blond man with his unique brand of serenity studies me as I pull myself straight in the chair and stretch. Last night’s events tumble into my mind. “Is he okay?” I ask. “Keir?”

Asher gestures at my neck. “Are you? Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

The bruising twinges at the reminder. “No. He didn’t do anything apart from the attempted murder.”

“You always downplay your emotion, Ava, but your emotions rule you.”

Asher’s empathy goes further than I imagined, and I don’t like it. “No, they don’t.” I stand and steady myself on the table. “Do you have a bed?”

“Upstairs. Second room on the left. Tomorrow we’re moving on.”

“Where?”

Asher cocks a brow. “Somewhere new.”

Muttering something about the lack of information, I trudge upstairs.

* * *

I JERK AWAKE, as I do every time, instantly on alert for a threat. Here, I’m safe from Darius, but what does my future hold amongst these people? I’m fully dressed apart from my jacket resting over a nearby chair. Grabbing it, I check the pockets and anger flares. Somebody took my dagger. Do they seriously think I’d take on three Nephilim—and possibly a vampire if Jack’s around?

For fuck’s sake.

I pull my boots on, then stomp downstairs as loudly as I can. An argument comes from behind the closed lounge room door and I pause to catch the voices. Eli and Keir. Not wanting involvement, which they’d probably not be happy about anyway, I sneak past to the kitchen.

Dahlia stands next to the kettle, spooning coffee into mugs. “Where is everyone?” I ask.

Dahlia starts and spills coffee from the spoon, brown powder showering the counter. She turns and I’m shocked by her face—as colourless and withdrawn as Jack’s—half-hidden by her long brown hair. “Keir is talking to Asher and Eli; they’re in the lounge. Jack’s upstairs.”

“Okay. Do you know what’s happening?”

Dahlia silently stares at my neck. “You almost killed yourself.”

“But Keir’s back. You should be happy.”

She falls silent again and focuses on making the drinks. Two cups of coffee in her hand, she heads to the door and pauses. “I hope it is Keir you brought back,” she says softly.

“So do I.”

Dahlia squeezes her eyes shut and swears under her breath. “You’d better have one of these.”

She places the mug in front of me and I frown at her friendliness. “Oh. Thanks.”

“I forget Jack doesn’t drink coffee sometimes.” I’d laugh, but the sadness in her eyes squeezes out any humour in the situation. “I know the others are annoyed with you, but I understand. I would do the same as you, and more, if it meant I could get the old Jack back again.” I open my mouth to respond to her weird support, but she rushes out of the kitchen.

The mug of coffee steams in front of me and I pick it up. I’m more like Dahlia then I ever imagined, deceptively emotionless soul hunters hiding their confusion and hurt, unable to fit in, but unable to leave. Dahlia’s situation is worse because she’s weaker, and she’ll never have Jack back the way I regained Keir.

Wary distance is all that could exist between the pair of us.

Chapter 31

THE DAY DRAGS by and I don’t see Keir; I’m trapped in the small house unsure where I can go—or if I’m going anywhere. The house is packed, but what are we waiting for? I wander from the kitchen, into the small lawned garden and then into the now quiet lounge. I sit for five minutes, then stand again. How can everybody hang around waiting? Look at their panic to get Keir and me away last night, now the edgy atmosphere, but no action. Earlier, Eli left the house following another secret conversation with Asher. I watched his tall figure stride down the path to the blue sedan; he climbs in and drives away. Where’s he going?

I search the living areas of the house again and find Jack and Dahlia in the lounge, watching TV. “What’s happening?” I ask. “I wish somebody would bloody tell me.”

“Leaving apparently. Soon,” says Dahlia.

“Where?”

Jack looks around and shrugs.

“Well you two are helpful.” I slump onto the chair opposite and stretch my legs out. “Does that include me?”

“Presumably. You’re here still,” Dahlia replies.

“Have you seen him yet?” I ask. “Keir.”

“No. I have nothing to say to him right now.” Dahlia folds her shaking hands on her lap. “I have bruises too.”

“You know he needs our support. You didn’t see him after I returned his soul. His face… He won’t cope with what he did.”

“Kill people? Try to kill his friends?” she retorts.

I look at Jack instead who takes Dahlia’s hand and rubs the back, staring at the floor. “He does. You forgave him.”

“He doesn’t anymore! Not since we found him.”

If a vampire could feel guilt over slashing a throat and feeding, he’d look like Jack does at the moment. This girl spends a lot of time in denial.

“Right,” I say. “Sure.”

“Well, he never tried to kill me!” she retorts and Jack’s grip on her hand tightens.

I’m not doing this now, too tired for Dahlia confrontations. “Staying in this house is driving me nuts.” I rest my head on the back of the sofa and close my eyes. “Do I need to stay? Am I allowed out or will I get a slap on the wrists again?”

“Risk what you want, Ava,” says Dahlia.

The sound of voices and laughter from the TV filter through as I doze. Bizarre that they watch TV, maybe it makes Jack feel more attached to his human past. I open an eye. Jack’s smiling, lounging back on the sofa as he chuckles at the show. Dahlia even cracks a smile. They’re a world away from the tortured creature and girl desperate to love him. Can their world change too?

The door opens and I twist in my seat, ready to ask questions.

The laughter stops, the room suddenly feeling airless. Keir.

He looks better than last night; his figure straighter and skin less pale. Keir rests his head on the edge of the doorframe and doesn’t speak. He’s the Keir I recognise, but something is different about him though. His expression is closed off, and he can’t hold my look.

“Hey, Keir,” I say with forced brightness.

A tired looking Dahlia stares at her hands. Jack strokes Dahlia’s back and my stomach twists with jealousy. They have love and protect each other. I have nobody.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks Dahlia. Not me. My heart thumps disappointment through me.

“No.” Dahlia shifts. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Keir runs a hand through his hair and looks at Jack, who pulls a sympathetic smile. “Okay. Later, then.” Keir makes to leave the room.

“What about me?” I retort.

Keir turns his lost eyes to mine, face impassive. “You want me to talk to you? What about?”

“What?” I choke out. “We have a lot to talk about!”

Jack clears his throat and I ignore him. Keir continues to stare at me, and I search his face for any hint of his thoughts.

“You shouldn’t have confronted me alone, Ava,” he says in a flat voice. “I almost killed you. Then I’d have returned to the girl and killed her too. You could’ve wasted your life for nothing.”

“I have to protect human life; it’s one of the reasons I kill demons, you know that.”

He glances at my neck, and then away. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

Hurt compounds the fear and loneliness as he turns to leave. Keir can’t speak to me—does he hate me for what I did to him? I turned the guy who saves people into a killer. One who was worse than remorseless—he enjoyed the deaths. But how can he fully blame me; I physically couldn’t stop his death happening?

“Thank you,” says Dahlia.

“What for?”

“Making him leave. I can’t cope with him right now.”

“Cope with him? Keir’s been through hell, Dahlia! He needs the support of his friends.”

“Friends he tried to kill?” Her mouth pulls tight.

“That wasn’t him.”

“No, but it’s your fault, you—”

Jack grabs her arm. “Don’t start fighting.”

Silence drops and I fight the maelstrom of emotions Keir brought with him when he walked into the room. If the group are delaying moving on and think there’s a danger, why are they waiting? Are they debating on whether to take or leave me?

I can make the choice for them.

“I’m going for a walk,” I announce, and stand. “In case anybody asks where I am.”

“On your own?” asks Jack.

“Yes.”

Outside the house, I check my pockets and curse. No weapon. Screw it, let fate throw at me whatever it wants; it has so far. Midway through the day and the suburban street is quiet. I chew the inside of my mouth, unsure which way to go. Shoving my hands in my jacket pocket, I walk in direction away from the city.

I reach a local park, a small area of green with a children’s playground in the centre. Mothers stand around chatting as their kids climb and slide, and I choose a bench on the edge of the park. Early spring buds in the tree I sit beneath, and I stare at the bright flowers forcing their way through the winter ground at my feet. My missions are short and sharp. I’ve never seen the world’s cycle of life before.

Life. How long before I die? Surely a few Nephilim can’t keep me safe from the strength of the Caelestia, even if they want to.

I sit for a while and watch another side of the human world playing around, reminding me how little of their world I interact with outside of necessity. Here are people in another stage of their lives, some just beginning. This ordinary holds the extraordinary to me. Nobody speaks to the pink- haired girl alone on the bench, and aware how weird it is for me to sit and watch, I head away.

I wander through the trees; far enough from the roads to avoid traffic noise, and the earth smells fresh, cleansing my senses following the stifling life I’ve led recently. Following a circuit or two of the park and I’m calmer. I’m still trapped in the confusion in my head over where I go next, but for now, I’m in public, in daylight.

As I reach the edge of the park to return to the house, a figure approaches, and I don’t need a second look to know Keir crosses toward me. He slouches, the way the Keir I knocked into months ago did. The cocky, confident Keir of recent weeks isn’t in this guy’s gait. Not wanting to confront him, I veer away and sit on a bench further away from the playground.

He reaches me and, without speaking, Keir sits on the bench, hands dug firmly in his pockets. His warmth radiates; we’re so close, but so far. Disappointment washes away the hope he wants to talk when he remains quiet.

“Hey, again,” I say.

Keir pulls a hand from his pocket and places it on mine, the gentle touch soothing. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t worry.”

“My heads a bit of a mess,” he says. “And not just where you threw me against a desk.” I open my mouth, but he gives me a wry smile. “I deserved it.”

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” I ask. “I don’t think you can hide from this.”

“That’s what Eli and Asher say, but it’s difficult. I keep getting sharp stabs of memories. People’s faces…” His mouth sets hard and I place a hand over his, holding him in the now. “But I wanted to thank you, Ava.”

“What for?”

“You know what for.” His eyes meet mine and I want to cry with relief. This is him. My Keir, glacial eyes holding a mixture of pain and desire.

I lift my free hand and tentatively stroke his face. “For trying to kill you, stealing your soul, or something different?”

“Ava…” He cups my cheek. “Don’t say it like that. You know that’s not what happened. Besides.” He points at my neck. “I think I have as much to feel guilty about. I hurt you.”

I shake my head. I’ve played the scenario over and over in my head, confused by whether to forgive his brutality. I created the situation—the thing he was—and the torture within himself from his actions is clear. This isn’t a guy apologising for violence against his girlfriend; Keir wasn’t even there.

“You weren’t yourself,” I say, then laugh at how ordinary that sounds. “You weren’t Keir.”

His shoulders relax. “If you believe that, it’s one step in the right direction for me.”

“Did you tell Asher and Eli what you… chose? No one believed me.”

“Yes, I did.” He pauses. “I told them everything. They didn’t take the truth well.”

“You definitely screwed up.”

“Aha, ‘Ava honesty’.”

“You didn’t think things through, Keir.” He laughs softly. “I guess we share the impulsive thing too.”

“I guess we do.”

His shared smile dissipates, and Keir moves his hand to touch the bruises on my neck. “When I look at this I want to be sick,” he says hoarsely. “How could I do that to you?”

I curl my fingers around his. “It’s okay. I told you, the demon wasn’t you.’”

“It was me, that demon who… did all those things is part of me.”

“You were an empty shell, where evil found its way inside.”

“I think it changed me, Ava,” he whispers. “I don’t think I’m me anymore. Every single thing I did is seared in my mind; everything now part of who I am.”

I move closer across the bench. “By coming back, you’ll save more than...” I pause. “Nobody blames you.”

Keir sighs, pulling me into him and burying his face in my hair. “Asher and Eli said I’ll redeem myself, they don’t blame me, but look what I did. Innocent people. I hate myself.”

I stiffen then pull away. “No. Blame me if you want to blame anyone; all this happened because of me.”

“I told you at the time, I had to let you take my soul. I couldn’t live knowing I’d sent you to Hell, knowing I could’ve saved you.”

Keir tugs me back to him, enveloping me in his powerful arms as if he never wants to let go. I push my face into his jacket, smudging unwanted tears against him. “I’m not worth peoples’ lives.”

“Yes, you are,” he whispers. “I made the decision to lose my soul, not you. I live with what happened; you shouldn’t carry guilt.”

“Did you know what would happen?”

“No, I didn’t think I’d go that far. I misjudged the power of my demon. I thought I’d be able to control the evil. What if a part is still below the surface, waiting, even with my soul in place?”

What do I say? How could I expect Keir to forget and accept himself quickly? “Keir, be careful. I think Zach will use your guilt against you. He’ll convince you this is who you are and that you should go with him. Asher and El —all of us—will do the same to convince you of your good side. I think it’s up to you which you want to believe.” I hold his head against me, stroking his hair as his rapid breath heats my neck.

“Can you forgive me?”

“We need to look forward now, Keir.”

He looks at me, darkened eyes warming me further against the cool day. His lips spread into a smile, as bright as the world around. “Asher and Eli asked me to stay away from you until everything calmed down, but I told them I needed to know you were safe; that you needed to believe you’re safe before you make your decision.”

“Decision?”

“About what to do and whether to stay with us.”

“I thought that was their decision?”

“Mine. Well, yours really.” He traces his fingers along my lips. “I think I already know the answer. Or I hope I do.”

“Of course I will. I’m involved and I agreed to do this for all of us. For you. I found you and then lost you; with it, I lost everything that made sense to me in the chaos I’ve been dragged into.”

Keir takes my face in his hands and his lips touch mine, hesitating. I thread my fingers into Keir’s hair and draw him close. We kiss slowly, but the desire gives way, and I kiss him fiercely. I need to replace last night with this, with him. I run my hands beneath his jacket and hold his powerful shoulders against me. We’re clothed, but there’s no barrier between us the way there was last night. Something missing returns and opens the way to the forgiveness. I can doubt Keir, but my soul never doubts his.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs.

I snuggle into his chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping against my cheek. “I never thought you were lost.”

“Asher and Eli decided maybe this did some good.” He rests his chin on my head. “This situation brought us all together—you, Dahlia, and Jack too. Together we’re more powerful than when we fought apart. Asher and Eli would never trust anyone before—not even Dahlia. Maybe that’s the good that’ll come out of this mess.”

A soul hunter, three Nephilim, an ex-soul hunter, and a vampire. Not a standard group or a harmonious one. How could six take on the might of the Caelestia and the power of the Demon Lords, and win? Surely we’re a tiny irritation in the middle, unable to influence, as Eli and Asher believe. We’d need a much bigger army to dent the armour of either side.

Keir stretches his legs out and stares at his boots. “They’re powerful, Asher and Eli. I am too. But we can’t operate alone in our attempt to end this war. We need to persuade the other Nephilim to break their bonds with the Demon Lords.”

“How? Why would they want to?”

“You read the book. As exiled angels, the Nephilim hold the same power as the Caelestia. Most have been corrupted into demons and gained other powers, but if we persuade enough to come back to us, we can interrupt this war. We can end the Caelestia corruption that caused the Nephilim’s exile in the first place.”

“My head hurts, Keir. I don’t know what the fuck I’ve got myself into.”

“Oh, y’know, just the battle between heaven and hell that no one will ever win. The one we’re going to stop.”

“Perfect. Sounds like a simple task,” I say sarcastically.

“Sorry, I know it’s not a great time to talk about this, and there is a lot more you need to know.” He takes my hand and squeezes. “No more secrets.”

The relief of being together again bubbles out, pushing away the enormity and pulling this back to us. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I wish yesterday never happened. Not just the violence, but the sex,” he says. “I’m scared I forced the issue. You.”

“It’s okay. I was a willing participant with an ulterior motive.”

He catches my hand and kisses the palm. “But I did like it, even though I don’t think I should’ve.”

Heat creeps across my cheeks, a memory of Keir’s semi-naked body under me and his hands on my bare skin. He tugs my coat, lips close to mine, and runs his tongue teasingly along my lips. I giggle and he covers my face with soft kisses. But in my head nags something else. If he enjoyed last night, did Keir enjoy anything else he did while he was away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, pushing away a strand of hair from my eyes.

“This is going to be difficult. I’d be lying if I said I can just forget what you did. And I understand if you blame me.”

“You were the one who said we should move on.” Keir wraps his coat around us and rests his forehead against mine. “I love you, Ava. You brought me back from a dark place. Not just last night, but the time we were together before, when I was lost in confusion. I want to move past these last few weeks and turn your world as bright as you have mine. If you’ll forgive me.”

His words resonate, pushing into the part of myself kept hidden. “And I love you. I never realised how lost I was until I met somebody who really seemed to understand me. Maybe that’s just the soul tie, but I feel like there’s more to us.”

“There is.” Keir strokes my cheek. “So much more. We’re powerful together.”

He’s right. The soul tie drew us together, but something else holds us. Lost on the edge of our own worlds, refusing the roles given, we stepped into each other’s lives and tied ourselves to a shared future.

* * *

ASHER LOADS THE large car with bags, and Keir’s hand drops from mine. He strides along the street to Asher.

“What’s happening?” I ask as I catch up.

“We need to leave, nowhere is safe for long,” replies Asher.

Arms folded across her chest, Dahlia remains in the doorway and the spring sunshine illuminates her pale features; her puffed winter jacket swallowing her small figure.

“Are you okay, Dahlia?” I ask.

Dahlia glances at me but doesn’t speak, refusing to look at Keir. Keir’s brow furrows and he open his mouth to say something to her but doesn’t. Why can’t snarky Dahlia be with us? She’s easier to deal with than this unforgiving, silent girl. Dahlia stalks to the car, climbs into the front seat, and slams the door closed.

“Let’s go,” says Asher and gestures at the car. “Now.”

I climb into the car, bewildered by another sudden decision. “Where are we going?”

“We need to move on, stay one step ahead until we figure out our next move. Eli and I’ve stayed in one place too long. We need to find somewhere more secure,” said Asher.

“Where?” I ask.

“Somewhere.”

“For fucks sake,” I mutter. “Always with the vague shit. Don’t you think it’s about time you just told us? I might not like where we’re going!” Keir laughs at me and I glare at him. “It’s not funny! I wish somebody would tell me what the hell is happening here,” I say.

Dahlia makes a small noise in her throat. “You and me both. I didn’t sign up for this bullshit.”

“Is this about hiding Keir?” I ask.

“No. Both of you. All of us. It’s your choice, Ava. Come with us or stay,” replies Asher.

“Is this how it’s going to be now? Moving on all the time?” asks Keir.

“We’ve always moved on, Keir, now you need to do the same. Hanging around, killing a few demons is in the past. Things have stepped up now.” Asher’s gaze meets Keir’s in the rearview mirror.

Jack bumps into me as he climbs into the car. Ah, I get it. Dahlia didn’t want to sit next to Keir so I’m stuck in the middle. I snort at the irony.

“We’d better not be travelling far,” I complain as I wriggle against my seat.

Asher starts the car with a small shake of his head. “Whatever anybody else thinks, Ava, you will be an asset.”

Dahlia laughs out loud, then mutters an apology.

“Oh yeah, she kicks ass,” says Keir.

“Good, because we have plenty more ass kicking to do.” Asher’s amusement at the phrase reflects in the mirror.

If the world had been the way I once believed, I would’ve returned to the Caelestia by now, his Nephilim soul traded for my Will. As we pull away from the house, towards a future and a destination beyond my control, I rest my head on Keir’s shoulder. The Nephilim still has his soul, and now my heart is his too.

* * *

Continue the Soul Ties series in Book Two, Torn Souls.

https://www.amazon.com/Torn-Souls-Soul-Ties-Book-ebook/dp/B01F1MPHLS

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About the Author

LJ Swallow is a paranormal romance and urban fantasy author who is the alter-ego of bestselling contemporary romance author Lisa Swallow.

Giving in to her dark side, LJ spends time creating worlds filled with supernatural creatures who don’t fit the norm, and heroines who are more likely to kick ass than sit on theirs.

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http://www.amazon.com/Lisa-Swallow/e/B00E4AYH06/
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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

WOLF IN EXILE

BY AMBER ELLA MONROE

Copyright © 2015 by Amber Ella Monroe

A human and a wolf shifter survive exile, but will their love last when the devastating truth that brought them together is uncovered?

Wolf Shifter Thane Silex was sentenced to exile by the United Council of Nightdwellers for his suspected involvement in a crime. If he doesn’t clear his name, Thane is bound to spend the rest of his days in captivity. His thirst for vengeance escalates and his vendetta against his traitorous brother consumes him. Without the camaraderie of a Pack and the absence of supporters, a wolf begins to lose hope. Thane is headed down a hopeless path, until one night a strong-willed woman enters his world and his desire to endure returns.

After Kalena stumbles upon a murder scene, she’s kidnapped and thrown inside of a barricade filled with bloodthirsty wolves. Her savior comes in the form of a centuries old wolf named Thane. If she wants to survive and escape exile, she’ll have to trust him. But soon she discovers that she’s also falling for him, and one split second decision will irrevocably tie her to his world. While these two are learning to love each other, future revelations and hurdles will threaten to tear them apart.

Wolf in Exile © 2015 Amber Ella Monroe

Example Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

SOMETHING SHUFFLED AND stirred nearby on the ground, rattling Thane Silex awake from his nap. Sunlight broke through the tree branches and leaves, obscuring his vision. When his eyes adjusted against the bright rays, he found the source of the noise.

A male shifter stood near a stream just yards away from where Thane was perched in a tree. He was the same shifter Thane scented earlier on a trail that morning.

Almost all of the inmates who inhabited the confines of Area S2’s barricades could tell when a new prisoner had arrived and, most of the time, within twenty-four hours of their arrival. The humans were usually the last to know, and their knowledge came by word of mouth or after catching sight of the newcomer. The shifters caught wind of the new arrivals almost immediately, tracking the newcomer through a unique smell they left behind while trying to find their way around what resembled a dark wilderness; a maze of valleys and dense foliage. The location within the privately owned southern Illinois wilderness was well hidden. Obscured on public maps, it was not easily accessible by the general population.

Both shifters and humans were held at Area S2 inside the same barricades. It didn’t matter what crime they had been accused of committing. This shifter wasn’t even trying to hide his presence, and from the tracks and scents he left on the ground, he wasn’t the least bit alarmed. It was almost as if the newcomer thought he was the only one out here—or didn’t care one way or the other what was out here with him.

Inmates who came here eventually died here. There was no set parole, halfway house to migrate to, or leniencies to be given. The sentence was life.

True adventurers and naturists would give anything for the chance to trek the landscape and enjoy the views. But what most didn’t know when they were thrown in, was that it was a dog eat dog world out here. You had to fight for the right to live and eat.

Thane pulled himself upright and settled his back against the tree trunk as he watched the newcomer near the stream. Now in human form, the new inmate was crouched low to the ground, cupping water in both hands and guzzling it down. Thane immediately wondered what Pack he belonged to since he appeared to be so naïve and distracted. There were no symbols or tattoos marking him, or none that Thane could see, for that matter. He was probably a city wolf. He didn’t seem to know the countryside by the way he observed the wilderness around him with disdainful uneasiness.

The newcomer’s attention shifted from the water source to the mountains several miles ahead. Thane wasn’t surprised that the shifter seemed hell-bent on the promise of escape those mountains offered and oblivious to everything else.

Everyone here knew that freedom lay on the other side of the mountains and the countryside. Unfortunately, what this stranger wasn’t aware of, were the multitude of traps set up along the borders for eager inmates trying to flee. To date, all attempts had been unsuccessful. Most couldn’t climb a mountain of that elevation before falling to their death or becoming exhausted, and that was if they made it past the man-made hazards first. Area S2 guards made a show of the failed attempts by putting the bodies on display near the food tent before finally taking them to the onsite crematorium.

Something else loomed over the stranger’s head: the threat of those who inhabited Area S2 with him. Territories were marked, and if anyone laid their head on the wrong domain these days or took from a claimed food or water source, they’d better be well prepared to accept a challenge.

The stranger was currently on Thane’s territory, but he’d give the guy a break this time. Excessive visits, however, would be dealt with. Thane couldn’t risk his primary lair being discovered. And he wasn’t looking to make friends. Thane didn’t like to meddle in affairs that didn’t concern him. He kept to himself and he didn’t participate in the prison politics of Area S2. He’d leave that to Zcesar Nolan and his pack of runners, who were probably already out waiting to drag the unsuspecting newcomer to the unchallenged ringleader of Area S2.

Thane was less than a dozen feet above the stranger. If he’d wanted to, he could have taken the shifter down himself. But he refused to follow such a callous leader and uphold backstabbing tactics; therefore, he refused to act like they did. There was already a bounty on Thane’s head for refusing to submit to Zcesar. It was too bad that no one would ever collect. Thane submitted to no one. He had no leader and no Alpha. He was without a Pack. And just six months ago, he was labeled a convicted felon. But so far, no human or wolf under Zcesar’s leadership had even come close to killing Thane. And they wouldn’t. He’d rather go out on his own terms.

Less than five minutes passed before the stranger rose and walked downstream toward the mountainous region with his back facing Thane. Escaping these confines wasn’t an option, at least not at the moment. And eventually, the stranger would have to choose a side unless he could take care of himself in this deserted wilderness full of convicts and the deranged. The man was fucked either way.

Thane didn’t take sides. And he trusted no one.

Chapter 2

THE DEADLY SILENCE in the room caused feelings of unease and discomfort for Kalena Jackson. Laboratory hours were nearly 24/7, except for holidays and special periods of time when top executives ordered a halt in productions. None of those exceptions were the case here. Business was booming at Silex Pharmaceuticals. Just recently, they’d acquired FDA approval to start research for a brand new drug.

But something was wrong. Not only did the lack of noise concern Kalena, she’d also smelled something in the air the moment she’d entered. The odor was rank and metallic, though it could have been anything. On any given day, the scientists in the labs dealt with a number of chemicals and substances that could result in unique reactions—both good and bad—when mixed together. Despite her unease, she remained in front of the main computer that had drawn her attention, trying to make sense of the information before her eyes.

A small click echoed behind Kalena. Fear jolted through her and her shoulders tensed up instantly. Holding her breath and half expecting to find the lab head catching her in the act of snooping, she peeked over her shoulder. As her eyes swept the darkened room for the source of the sound, she racked her brain for an excuse as to why she was accessing the reports on the screen. If she were asked, she’d need to explain.

Three rows of metal tables covered with medical research equipment, test tubes, microscopes, stacks of typed reports, and chart sketches lay behind her. None of the stations were manned. Yet, the poster by the door said there were three technicians on duty.

Where was everyone? Where was Tracy? Kalena had come down here specifically to touch base with her friend and bring her some brownies she had baked. They now worked opposite shifts, so having a chat with her buddy at lunchtime wasn’t possible anymore, leaving them no choice but to find other times to connect.

It was possible that the other technicians were in one of the storage closets or back rooms. Either of them could pop out at any minute and notice Kalena at the station peeking at top-secret information. But that was beside the point. What she’d just uncovered stole her attention away, and suddenly, she didn’t care about getting caught. Now, she sought answers to the many questions spiraling through her head.

Kalena turned back around and her fingers shook on the mouse as she toggled through the documents on the laptop. She tried to contain her nervousness and clicked the mouse quietly. Aside from a lamp at the other end of the room and a dim light shining just above the entrance, the interior of the laboratory was pitch black.

When the time came, she hoped that she would have a valid excuse on the tip of her tongue to explain her actions. After all, she shouldn’t even be here. She wasn’t allowed within the restricted labs unless accompanied by an approving technician. This area should have been locked, but someone had left one of the doors slightly ajar. When she’d called out for Tracy upon entering, there had been no answer. Once inside the lab, the rapidly flashing screen of the computer had caught her attention. Being too curious for her own good, she had dropped the goodies she’d made to share with Tracy on the workstation and grabbed the mouse.

Now, Kalena didn’t know what to make of her discovery. She blinked to quench her dry eyes and focused on the bright LCD screen once more.

Drug: D996. Test subject thirty-nine. Deceased. Cause of death: Unknown. Test subject twenty-eight. Deceased. Cause of death: Unknown. Test subject forty-one. Deceased. Cause of death. Suicide.

Kalena browsed through the files and found more death records. The information came from some kind of backdoor database system. Nothing like this program existed within the company. That she knew of anyway. And she’d never heard of this drug. As assistant to the Vice President of Accounting, her status may not have allowed her free access to the labs, but Rhonda had always given her access to information about any new or pending drugs. It was necessary for whenever Kalena worked on the accounting reports in Rhonda’s absence. With every product, there were expenses linked to the item, and she would have remembered assisting the VP while setting up the item in the financial system. On top of that, Rhonda approved all purchases. Did she have knowledge of this drug and the deaths tied to it?

Kalena flipped through the death reports until she came across something that looked like a memo or some kind of signed report. There were initials at the bottom, but they weren’t Rhonda’s, they belonged to Raven Bauer, the head scientist. If Raven had signed this, it must have been legit. But why were so many people dying from this drug? To Kalena’s knowledge, none of Silex’s test subjects had ever died during trial before. The side effects even tended to be minimal. Silex Pharmaceuticals was primarily in the business of research, development, and production of over-the-counter painkillers. Occasionally, they’d do R&D for drugs requiring a physician’s approval. Kalena had no knowledge of any other operations.

Kalena clicked the mouse again to reveal more scribbled notes:  Regarding D996.

D996 was not the name of a drug she recognized. Every drug was given a numeric identification, and the list of current drugs on the market and in research was proudly displayed on the company’s progress board for all employees to see. D996 was not on that list. Was there an exception made for this one that appeared to have been the cause of so many deaths?

Kalena continued reading...

D996 has proven to be fatal in seventy-seven percent of test subjects. Prolonged or extended use of D996 may cause test subjects to fall into a coma-like state. A subset of test subjects has reported waking days after consuming recommended dosage. The remaining percentage never wakes. It is unknown at this time why these test subjects expire during the comatose phase. Raven Bauer’s recommendation: discontinue trial until further notice.

The more information Kalena uncovered, the more she wanted to delve deeper. From her past experience, digging deeper into anything rarely resulted in desirable findings, but she clicked the mouse once more anyway.

D996. Gavril Silex disputes and overrules the recommendation of Raven Bauer. Continue research and distribution of the drug to all test subjects until drug research is finalized.

Kalena’s eyes widened and she brought her hands up to her mouth in shock. Mr. Gavril Silex was the owner of Silex Pharmaceuticals. Although she had never met the man, she’d heard some disturbing things about his management style. She’d only been employed by the company for three months and had initially been attracted by the generous salary and benefits offered to her. Once she began working, however, a whole slew of other information was presented to her, making her question her loyalty and dedication to the company and its mission statement. She’d had personal reasons for seeking out the high-paying position and ultimately accepting, but now that she knew more about the risky way in which the company operated, she was even more concerned. Especially after what she’d just discovered by looking into confidential information she was not privy to. She was glad she had seen what she had, but she felt like a guilty criminal, and she didn’t even want to think about the penalties for her actions.

Kalena heard something crash to the floor near the doorway to her right. Someone or something was definitely inside the room, and it was high time she got out before she got caught. But first, she had to make sure Tracy was okay. Something seemed odd about all of this, and the fact that Tracy wasn’t at her station made Kalena very nervous, and very worried about her friend.

Tension pulled at the back of her neck and blood crackled through her veins as she walked to the doorway in the direction of the noise. One of the hanging lamps was busted overhead, so the area was clouded in obscurity. She stopped short, about a couple feet before the door and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Just as she took another step, the toe of her sneaker bumped into an object. When she looked down, she realized that the object on the floor was a badge. She bent to scoop it up, gasping when she read her friend’s name.

“Tracy?” she whispered, her mouth falling open as she became puzzled.

Her breath caught in her lungs and her heart froze when she saw the blood splatters on the other side of the door’s window. A small cry caught in her throat. Every nerve ending and cell in her body wanted her to stop, go back, and get herself out of there. Yet, there was one curious urge deep down inside of her that needed to know. Demanded that she go further. Curiosity won out again, and she lifted a hand, her fingers shaking as she pushed the door open. It swung open to the inside, and her gaze immediately fell to the floor where she spotted a motionless body.

Kalena shrieked, the sound echoing through the interior of the room.  A nurturer by nature, she collapsed to the floor near the unmoving person. Grasping stiff shoulders, she rolled the body toward her and stared directly into the glazed over eyes of the dead woman. She wore a badge designating her as a lab technician, but she wasn’t Tracy. A stream of blood leaked from the woman’s forehead, and there was a puddle of it on the floor and more splattered on the front of her lab coat.

Kalena let go of the dead body and pressed her hands to her mouth, gasping for air that didn’t seem to come quickly enough. As she rose, her eyes searched wildly around the area, seeking out the danger that had killed the woman on the floor, and making sure it wasn’t coming for her next. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed. Slowly, she walked backward to the door, intent on making it to the nearest phone to dial for help.

With her eyes never leaving the sight of the body on the floor, Kalena reached behind her, grasping for the knob. It wasn’t there. In a daze, and still disbelieving what she was seeing, she took a few more steps back. What she made contact with was not a door or wall, it was cold, hard flesh...

Before she could turn around, the harsh voice of a male startled her.

“Well...looks like we got ourselves another spy,” he crooned.

Kalena tried to turn around, but the man grabbed her about the torso, planting her arms hard to her sides and holding her like a moth in a tight cocoon. He pried Tracy’s badge from her fingers, but before she could scream, her mouth was covered with a damp cloth. The fabric was filthy smelling and had a strong chemical odor to it.

Her survival instincts told her not to breathe, and for a moment, she held her breath until she couldn’t hold it any longer.

As soon as Kalena took in more of the chemical odor, her lungs burned, her eyes clouded, and she struggled against her captor’s grip—fighting to stay alive.

As she started to fade away, a sharp pain shot up through her knees and crippled her. The room seemed to move, and something about her center of gravity didn’t seem right. She fell to the hard concrete floor and every nerve in her body flared up with pain. Suddenly, she was looking directly into the soulless eyes of the dead woman. She choked on her own breath. She wanted to scream for help, but whatever they had drugged her with had rendered her speechless.

Kalena’s eyelids grew heavy and she faded quickly into darkness.

Chapter 3

THIS EVENING MARKED the night of the food and supply drop. Every twenty-nine days, two trucks would visit Area S2 to replenish the main hub’s essentials. In the days leading up to the event, the inmates would get anxious, the death toll within the barricades would rise, and the bartering and fighting would begin. One less mouth to feed meant more rations to go around for any that remained alive. And the rations were by no means abundant. There were well over one hundred inmates here, but every twenty-nine days, the trucks only brought enough food and supplies to provide for a little over half. Probably on purpose. After all, those sentenced and kept here were meant to die here - sooner rather than later. The longer the inmates stayed alive, the more money it took to feed them and secure the walls to prevent escape.

From day one of Thane’s arrival, he’d caught wind of the lottery system set in place for gaining food and supplies. Zsecar Nolan, the leader who had been in charge here for the last couple years, instituted this practice. The inmates could barter—trading things of value already in their possession—or fight in the cage and come out a winner to earn a place. When the supply trucks finally arrived, there were thirty passes available for the privilege of first access to the goods. The rules were, you walked away with whatever you could carry in your arms. No bags, satchels, or anything of that nature was allowed. And even after privilege passes were given and supplies were rationed, no one was safe. If inmates didn’t run in a crew or were too vulnerable to watch their own back, they could easily get jumped and pillaged for their belongings.

Thane was hesitant to participate. He could, but it would mean receiving too much unwanted attention from Zsecar Nolan and his runners. He had been doing well on his own out here without associating himself with Nolan’s group, and he refused to bow down now.

While he didn’t participate, he still took a place in the shadows behind a few boulders and dense trees to observe the events and witness the drop. A dusty trail led the way to the main site, which consisted of a man-made bartering ring and the fighting cage. The inmates were already fighting in the cage, and two bloody wolf carcasses were piled up just outside the ring nearby.

Half a dozen female inmates were loitering around, as well. The group represented those committed to serving Nolan, and he, in turn, acted as their pimp. Outside of the females offering their bodies for a few marked stones, Thane knew of three other females who inhabited Area S2. All three were spoken for. One of the women belonged to Nolan’s second in command, the second belonged to Nolan himself, and the last had mated to an inmate here prior to both Thane’s and Nolan’s arrival.

There weren’t any guards around this evening, of course. They rarely patrolled on foot these days. It had taken six murdered guards for the prison heads to realize that the inmates were becoming too violent to restrain. This wasn’t a regular prison yard—it was a highly secured barricade for non-human inmates, better known as shifters. Occasionally, they’d throw in a few humans, but statistics showed that shifters outnumbered the humans here five to one.

Despite the lack of patrol, those in charge of Area S2 had a couple new ways to keep the inmates in check. One way was eavesdropping via remote video. The other and most effective way was through an ankle bracelet used for tracking and monitoring vitals.

Thane, and almost everyone held here knew that no one gave a fuck whether they were healthy or dead. Everyone here—feral shifters and humans alike, both innocents and the deranged—were labeled a menace to society according to shifter law.

Thane shifted his attention back to the center of the action. There were a dozen inmates hanging around along the perimeters of the cage watching the fighting, probably betting amongst themselves for marked stones. After the fighting rounds, the victor took all. The winnings consisted of what was collected at the gates as entry fees, plus first dibs at whatever was on the trucks.

Marked stones were like money and used to barter with in the absence of anything else of value. Although Thane had collected more than two dozen stones over the last few months, he’d never used them during a drop. He bartered when he could, and only when needed. Just last week, he’d bought a used flint from one of the inmates for three stones so he could make a fire. Sometimes he bartered with the rope he made from the thick vine that could only be found on the most treacherous side of the mountain—the side that all inmates avoided. And other times, he bartered with a bundle of fresh fish. The human inmates were most interested in the fish. One bundle took him twenty minutes to fetch, but could take some of the humans here a few hours or more to catch, even with a fishing rod.

Aside from the two humans fighting in the cage and the two dead wolves just outside of it, there were three more inmates waiting for their round. Half of them were probably the same ones that participated in the cage fighting every twenty-nine days—assuming they hadn’t lost their lives during the last drop. It was a deadly game. The rules were simple: tap out and walk away with nothing, or fight to the death. Someone would remain standing as the sole victor.

Thane also observed active trading between the inmates as they huddled in small groups of three or four examining the offerings. The cleverest inmates bartered before the supply drop. The most cunning inmates pillaged, murdered, and looted others for a quick gain in the days right after the drop.

What piqued Thane’s curiosity was seeing the newbie wolf in the ring among Zsecar Nolan’s runners. Two runners surrounded the newbie, who had his head down and his gaze to the ground. The newbie would likely accept Zsecar Nolan’s mark. If he didn’t, he would be forced to fight or be bullied for the duration of his sentence if he didn’t escape or die. The first step to accepting Nolan as leader was submission, and it appeared the newcomer had just succumbed by the way he stood as if his every move were being controlled.

As much as Zsecar Nolan wanted to be an Alpha, his chance of leading a true Pack was taken away from him when he was thrown inside Area S2’s barricades. From what Thane had heard, Nolan had assumed the leadership rather quickly after killing the previous leader.

A quick wind flowed under Thane’s nostrils. Some brambles rustled behind him, but when he turned his head to check, not a soul was in sight. He took in the familiar scent of another male close by, however. Thane couldn’t see this new visitor yet, but he could certainly smell him...and the smell was familiar. It was David.

Thane smirked. “When will you learn that sneaking up on a wolf isn’t a good thing, human?”

David’s scent grew stronger until the six-foot-two ex-SEAL was perched beside Thane near the boulder. “Who said I was sneakin’ up, wolf?”

David was just three inches shorter than Thane, but the Texan was built like a rock. Like Thane, he refused to submit to Zsecar Nolan, and with David’s level of training, he’d managed to take care of himself, stay in hiding, and keep out of trouble. Throughout his time here, Thane had observed several survival tactics that David had used to make it on his own in this place where wolves outnumbered humans. He respected David.

“You missed the first two fights,” Thane said.

“Well, I can’t get down on all fours and run as fast as you.” David snorted. “I smelled the carnage from a mile away. You thinkin’ ‘bout joinin’ the Pack this time around?”

Thane snorted in reply. “You thinking about turning yourself in and submitting?”

“Naw. I ain’t no bitch, and I ain’t gonna never be one.” David dug in his sack and pulled out what looked like dried jerky on a stick. He settled back on the rock and took a bite off one and handed Thane the other.

“You’re always prepared, aren’t you?” Thane accepted, taking a bite of the dry meat. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he needed to hunt...and soon. Wolves needed protein in raw form to live, and the man-made jerky wouldn’t be enough.

“I might not be participatin’, but I damn sure won’t miss the rest of the show,” David replied.

“You get a kick out of men killing each other?” Thane questioned.

“I get a kick outta men squanderin’ around for material things that will be broke or useless in less than a month. Same time next month, they’ll be back fightin’ for and about the same shit. Much like how the real world works, eh?”

Thane had to admit that there was some sense to what David had said. Apparently, he could learn a few things from the human. After all, David had survived these barricades a lot longer than he had. Thane glanced briefly at David. The human had grown his hair long, just as Thane had. He had also grown a beard, probably to weather the elements in case of a storm. Wind and thunderstorms were treacherous in this region. Even the native inhabitants of Area S2—deer, elk, and bears—took cover to avoid being stuck out in the middle of one. David wasn’t a shifter, so quick adaptation to the elements took time.

“I’m still puzzled by how the real world operates, but I guess you can say that,” Thane replied. “Thank you for the jerky, by the way.” Thane dug into his own sack and handed David a closed round disk filled with water and a directional mechanism.

“What’s this for?” David turned it around in his palm inspecting it.

“It’s a compass. I made it from some scraps I found lying around.”

“Hmmm. You wolves are quite handy.”

Like Thane, David was a felon. From what Thane had been told, David had had no idea he’d killed a shifter until he was tried and sentenced by a shifter judge and thrown into this shifter hell-hole. The act was committed in self-defense, or so David had said.

David was one of the smarter ones. Although Thane held no loyalties with anyone within the barricades, he sensed that David wasn’t a threat to him. Sort of like himself. If trouble didn’t converge on him, he didn’t dish any out. Both he and David were just trying to stay alive among criminals, the deranged, and a pack of angry wolves.

“You see that newbie runnin’ ‘round here the last few days?” David asked.

Thane nodded toward the fighting cage. “He’s in the ring.”

David leaned forward a bit and narrowed his eyes against the setting sun. “Damn. I keep forgettin’ you have the eyesight of a hawk. Looks like Nolan and his runners caught up to him, huh?”

Thane shrugged. “Or he could have gone willingly. Believe it or not, the majority of shifters don’t enjoy being without a Pack.”

David turned his curious eyes on him. “Then what’s your excuse?”

Thane heard a rumbling off in the distance, some shuffling of the leaves, and then saw a swaying in the trees. As he glanced to the right, he could see the dust lifting up to meet the backdrop of the setting sun.

“It’s a long story and now’s not a good time. Here come the trucks. Hopefully they brought body bags for the dead and medical aid for the injured this time.”

Thane and David settled back against the rock, eager to witness the savages fight over whatever scraps the trucks had brought.

Chapter 4

KALENA’S HANDS WERE blistered from fighting against the ropes, but she’d try to earn her freedom until every ounce of strength left her. Her knees ached from kneeling on the hard metal floor of the truck or van or whatever she was being transported in. Her damp and heavy lashes brushed against her blindfold. Even with the blindfold, she could tell it was pitch black inside. Through touch and scent, she had realized hours ago that old boxes and potato sacks surrounded her in the back of the vehicle.

Kalena had no idea how she’d gotten in the truck. The only thing she could recall clearly was falling onto the floor of the lab and then waking up inside a moving vehicle. She had no knowledge of how much time had passed between her being taken from the lab and her coming to, but they had been driving for several painful hours. It reminded her of the long seven-hour trips she took to visit her hometown in Florida.

She swallowed several times, trying to sooth her scratchy throat. Of course, she’d refused the water and roll of bread her kidnappers had offered her. Would they really try to keep her alive, or had the bread and water been poisoned?

As the vehicle moved along with her inside, the boxes slid and jerked about, causing dust to float up to her nose. She was cornered between a few of them, and the claustrophobic area she was confined to made her feel like she was part of the cargo.

She sneezed and prayed that they’d stop soon. The last two times, they’d opened the door, and she was able to welcome the fresh air as a result of it, but they’d never let her out.

Why had they taken her hostage?

Kalena lifted herself to her knees again, then raised her bound wrists and thumped her fists against the metal wall.

“Where are you taking me? I have a family, and they will be looking for me,” she shouted. Although the cloth around her mouth had loosened during her struggles, the pitch of her voice was still muffled behind it.

She recognized the scraping sound of a partition being opened above her, and then the familiar gruff voice of one of the men flowed through. “You’ll know soon enough, spy. Until then, shut up before I come tape your lips together.”

“You bastards! I’m not a spy. You’ve got the wrong person.”

The man slammed the partition shut, and she heard them talking and laughing behind it.

From what she’d gathered, there were three men riding with her and the cargo. She could tell from the distinctive voices. With each stop they made, they’d check to make sure that the rope around her wrists and ankles was secure before perching on the back of the vehicle to rest, eat, and smoke smelly cigars. When they lifted the cloth from her lips to offer her food and water, she would refuse and scream. They seemed to be unfazed by her screams. Punching them only resulted in the rope being tugged tighter around her wrists. It also seemed that crying out for help was useless. They must have been out in the middle of nowhere because no one ever came to her assistance.

Suddenly, the vehicle lurched forward and then came to an abrupt halt, knocking Kalena off balance. She shifted her weight to her back and her spine slammed against the inside wall. The engine sputtered as the truck remained in the parked position. A moment of rocking, and a door being opened indicated that the men had made another pit stop. Or maybe they’d reached their destination. After all, the grumpy one had said she’d find out where they were taking her soon.

What would they do with her? Had they driven her out all this way to take her life, hack her up into little pieces, and bury all the evidence of the crime? Her heart twisted and skipped a couple beats as her mind went wild with all the possibilities.

Outside the truck, something dragged and clanked against the ground. It almost sounded like heavy chain scraping a rough surface. The truck jolted forward again and about a minute passed before she heard a loud thud.

It frustrated Kalena that she could not see, or knew nothing about what was going on just a couple feet away from her. The vehicle stopped again, and this time, it seemed as if all of the men exited the truck.

She balled her hands into fists and held her breath.

The men conversed on the outside of the truck. The sound of racket and fuss rang out nearby. Shouting was followed by a loud uproar. The noise outside couldn’t have been from just one person, or even the three that had been with her. It was a crowd.

Oh, dear God...

What had she gotten herself into?

The locks banged near the far end of the truck and the door was jerked open. A gust of wind pushed against her. Heavy footsteps pounded as metal and boxes were dragged against the floor.

They were removing the cargo.

One of the three men grabbed her roughly by the forearm. He tugged at the ties at the back of her head and tore off the blindfold and the scratchy cloth covering her mouth.

Kalena screamed and fought against him.

“Go on and scream all you want out here. It’s a shame you’re so pretty.” He cackled in her face, his breath giving off a putrid stench. “But all traitors must pay for their crimes.”

“I haven’t committed any crimes.”

He scoffed and thrust her forward toward the edge of the truck.

The first thing Kalena noticed when she caught her first glimpse of the outside was mountains that seemed to go on for miles and stood high above the clouds. This wasn’t a coveted moment, but it was a breathtaking sight the way the moonlight highlighted the forest-dense horizon. From her position in the truck, she couldn’t see anything else, and she was uncertain if she should move. Because her wrists were still bound, it didn’t appear that she was free to go.

On the ground, one of the men held a walkie-talkie up to his mouth. “Ve are here. Ze cargo arrived intact.” He spoke in accented and broken English.

Static came through on the other end. “Make the drop quickly. Don’t engage the inmates. The ratio of wolf to man is high, and you don’t want to be anywhere near them after dispersing the food and supplies.”

“And ze gurl?”

There was a pause as Kalena’s heart beat rapidly against her breastbone.

“Tracy Murphy has just become Inmate #301. Apply the tracker. Leave her.”

“No!” Kalena yelled. She wasn’t Tracy. These scoundrels thought she was her friend. Inmate? Was this a prison? What had Tracy done? She turned to the guy who’d removed the blindfold. “There’s been a mistake. Where is my due process?”

“You commit crime against shifter.” He sneered in his thick accent, dropping a set of glistening fangs. “Break ze laws, pay ze price.”

Kalena stumbled backward at the knowledge that this man was a shifter. She’d been blindfolded since the moment she could hear them, and nothing about their voices told her that they weren’t human.

Shit.

For the most part, she tried to steer clear of shifters. The ones she’d encountered in her twenty-five years had been nothing but trouble. But what if there were more of them out here?

She studied the other two men but couldn’t tell from looking at them what their true nature was. Obviously, something wasn’t right about any of them. They’d treated her like a second thought, hauling her in the back of the truck like she was trash. She’d heard about men like them, and had always steered clear of dating or befriending the uncaring type. But she would have never thought in a million years that her curiosity would land her in this much trouble.

The man with the walkie-talkie came and snapped a device around her ankle. The weight of it made her feel like they’d strapped a brick on her.

“If you run, we give you drugs,” he said, waving a small vial around in front of her face. “Trust me...you don’t want zis in your zystem.” He shoved a small sack into her arms. “Food and zupply come once per month. Ze first one iz free. Ze next, you bargain for.”

Disbelieving, she glanced around. Her attention focused on the source of the noise she had heard earlier. There were dozens of people standing against a tall barbed-wire fence looking in the direction of the truck. Some of them shook the fence aggressively as the men unpacked the cargo. They all looked like savages.

“You don’t mean to—”

Before she could finish her sentence, she was jerked forward and made to walk as the boxes were dragged on a wheeled pallet toward the gate.

“Move back!” The man with the walkie-talkie hollered to the men at the fence.

More than half of them took several steps back from the fence as instructed. There were a few who protested and pulled at the wires, seemingly uncaring that their palms were bleeding from getting stuck by the barbs.

“Apply the shock,” one of her kidnappers ordered.

A jolt of electricity sparked along the fence, and the few men who had disobeyed the previous orders were thrown several feet back, landing in an unconscious heap on the ground.

Kalena shrieked, instantly dropping the bag at her feet.

A chorus of wolf howls ascended with each passing pulse of air.

There were more of them.

Those weren’t men behind the fence, they were wolves.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

It was at that moment that Kalena finally processed the direness of the situation she was in. Her instincts told her to run despite the consequences...and run she did.

While her kidnappers were distracted with moving the cargo, she pivoted left and took off in the direction of the truck. Her quick thinking reminded her that the driver had left the keys in the ignition. She held her breath as she bolted through the descending darkness.

Kalena literally ran into the metal siding of the vehicle and wasted no time as she sprinted to the front of the truck, jerking the driver side door open. The keys! They were inside. Just as she’d thought.

Her fingers were within a centimeter of the keys before someone grabbed her hair from behind and jerked her out of the vehicle. She screeched, but the breath was knocked out of her when her ass hit the hard, rocky surface of the ground.

She bolted upright again to see the driver exiting the cab of the truck and charging her. Three feet of space separated them, and she only had mere moments to get away. Riding off and escaping in the truck wasn’t an option anymore now that the driver had the key, so she turned and ran in the direction of a narrow path.

Her lungs burned and her feet pounded hard against the ground. There were dense trees in front of her a few meters ahead. If she could make it, she could lose the men and find help...if there was anyone out here in this wilderness to help. She was afraid of being alone out here, but she needed to get away from these men.

Kalena never made it to the path. Something akin to a thick rope wound tight against her torso, tugging her until all the breath was squeezed out of her and she was restrained from moving any further. Something jerked the thick rope taut, pulling her backward. She lost her balance and tumbled to the ground. As she grabbed at the rope around her and fought against her bonds, she realized that she’d been caught with a lasso.

“I told you not to run. Crazy gurl,” her captor caught her by the shoulders, attempting to grab her hands.

Her instincts to live—no matter what—kicked in. She balled her hand into a fist and clocked the dirty old buzzard in the face.

“Help me! Someone, please help!” She screamed out to absolutely no one. Her voice echoed in the darkness.

“You stupid little human!” He cursed under his breath, lifted a thin metal syringe filled with liquid in the air then jabbed it into her shoulder.

She screamed from both the shock and the pain of the needle, but she could no longer fight as a dizzying sensation overtook her and her vision became blurry.

Chapter 5

A WOMAN’S SCREAM pierced right through Thane’s soul. His shoulders stiffened and he jerked upright, pulling himself fully off the rock. His nostrils flared as he lifted his nose into the air. His senses heightened and he forced himself to understand what he could not see.

“You hear that?” David asked, looking around.

Thane didn’t understand why this woman’s screams and cries for help sparked instant anxiety in him. There were a number of female inmates here, so if this woman was a new prisoner, she wasn’t the first and likely wouldn’t be the last. Everyone was fearful when they came here, but the women were more frightened than the men, and usually caused a scene once learning of their plight.

“Yeah,” Thane replied. The howls that followed signified that the trucks had arrived. “They’re making the drop, but I can’t see the trucks from here.”

Another high-pitched scream sent Thane’s heartbeat into overdrive. There was no denying now that the person in trouble was a woman.

“Sounds like we’ve got a new female prisoner,” David commented.

A long chorus of howls carried throughout the forest. The sound clashed with the stillness of the night. Thane interpreted the message loud and clear. Several wolves were already testing the waters with regards to their intent to lay claim to the woman. Female prisoners were one in a million here. He could count on two hands the number of inmates of the opposite sex sentenced to serve time at Area S2. Whenever one came, Nolan always ensured that he had first right to her, whether it be to claim or refuse. He had claimed three women of his own already, and Thane was sure that number was more than any one man or wolf could handle. There were limited resources out here, and most women required a lot of resources.

Just like Thane had refused to bow down to Nolan, he’d also kept his urge to lay claim and mate at bay. So why did he all of a sudden feel the urge to respond to this woman’s plea for help?

Thane willed his wolf to settle down, but he rose to a full standing position with his nerves on edge. A quick breeze flowed under his nose and he took a deep breath. He didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary.

“I’ve got to get closer to see what’s going on,” he said. “I’m too far out, and I can’t see shit beyond the fighting rings. But we both hear the woman. She’s out there. And in trouble.”

“You’ll get caught, “ David said. “What if it’s a trick?”

David sounded more nervous than usual, and it surprised Thane. David didn’t usually come across as the type to give a shit about anybody, let alone a member of the species that had caused his incarceration here in the first place. Ultimately, however, most of the inmates had a common goal: to survive, or to die on their own terms and not someone else’s.

Thane turned and began to climb the boulder in an attempt to decipher all the scents. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t blow your cover over this. Nolen will get the woman just like he’s laid claim to most of the others that’ve been thrown in here,” David added.

Thane cringed at that thought, but he ignored David’s warning and continued to climb the boulder. His palms stung against the grainy rock and his ankles strained to keep his balance as he ascended.

From the higher position, he was able to glance through the dense foliage a little better. As usual, a crowd of inmates surrounded the hut where the food and supplies were left to barter for. He could make out the faint figure of two men carrying a small and motionless body toward the hut. Probably the woman.

This time, she wasn’t screaming. And she wasn’t moving either. Had they killed her?

“I’m going in,” Thane stated, immediately pulling his shirt over his head.

“For what reason?” David insisted. “You’re gonna get taken in by Nolan.”

“Taken in, maybe, but I’ll die before I bow down to Nolan.” Thane couldn’t hesitate. He stripped off the rest of his clothes down to his birthday suit. There was no point in destroying a set of clothing during the shift. He stuffed the clothes into his backpack and tossed it on the ground near his feet.

“Goddamn it to hell,” David fussed, closing the gap between them. “I’m comin’ with—”

“Don’t follow me,” Thane told him.

The howls grew louder and more aggressive. Thane’s breathing became labored and his palms clenched with anxiousness. He needed to go. Now.

David cursed under his breath but said no more, just stood there looking disturbed.

Thane tossed a chin over his shoulder to glance at David. “If I don’t return, will you do me a favor?”

David nodded once.

“Claim my territory and everything in it,” he said.

“Thane—”

There was no time for further discussion. Thane turned his gaze up to the moon and gave up his body and soul to the wolf. His joints began to jerk and pop as he collapsed to his knees, succumbing to his true nature. One part of him warned of the danger he was getting himself into, but the other part called out for something else, and to someone else. The woman whose screams had commanded his attention and needed his protection.

As soon as he was propped up on all fours, he dug his paws into the ground for leverage and then grabbed his backpack in his teeth and propelled forward into a full sprint through the forest.

He hunkered down low and shot past the trees, maneuvering the rocky terrain at higher speeds than ever before. Time wasn’t on his side, but his conscience urged him forward to assist the troubled woman.

Thane came to a screeching halt just before he allowed his wolf to intersect the crowd. He shifted from animal to human form, slung his bag over his shoulder and pushed through the ranks of inmates assembled by the hut. A few disgruntled men huffed as he shoved through the crowd, but others instantly moved aside.

A hush fell over the crowd as Thane approached the center of the formation where Zsecar Nolan and his men were conversing. But those men were the least of his worries. Not three feet away from them was a woman fighting to keep her balance, stumbling among the cargo and rubbing at her eyes.

Thane’s lips instantly parted and the breath he’d been holding moments before rushed from him. The sight of the woman startled him. She was human. Her frame was small, but compared to his large size; almost everyone was small to Thane. She was also exquisitely beautiful, her scent alluring.

Thane heard some chuckles, whispers, and grumbling behind him, but he was so mesmerized by the woman’s presence that he barely registered that he was standing stark naked in the middle of a crowd. He’d also utterly forgotten that he’d just revealed himself after dwelling in hiding for months.

On Nolan’s command, three Pack mates shifted into their wolf forms and surrounded Thane. Their eyes blazed bright yellow, their backs were stiffened, and their muzzles were fixed in a snarl.

Thane remained in his human form, but his wolf rumbled just beneath his skin.

“Well...,” Nolan drawled. “Lookie here, lookie here.”

Thane shifted his focus from the woman who was feeling her way around the cargo, to the ground, and then raised his gaze to meet Nolan’s stare.

“Have you come to barter or kneel?” Nolan asked.

The crowd grew deathly quiet, and Thane could make out the sound of truck engines in the distance as the supply vehicles drove away. They never stuck around anymore to watch the inmates fight for the limited resources. Not after the last three deliveries had ended in bloody massacres and an escape attempt.

Thane’s hands tightened on his bag and he ground his teeth. “Neither.”

“You know, there isn’t a wolf in Area S2 who hasn’t joined my Pack...except for you. A traitor to his own kind.”

“There are reasons for this,” Thane replied. He noted the lift in Nolan’s left eyebrow. “And none of them are any of your business.”

“Why do you care anymore?” His mouth turned up in a bitter grin. “If you think about it, everyone here has a death sentence,” he said, smugly. “Could be today. Could be tomorrow. Could be right now...”

“And your point is?”

Nolan’s mouth twisted in a grimace and his gaze traveled downward to stare at Thane’s nakedness. “And why are your fucking balls on display?”

“No sense in tearing through perfectly good jeans.” Thane dug into his sack and pulled out his pants.

The wolves growled behind him. Nolan lifted a finger and wagged it back and forth a few times, warning them to settle down.

“Looks like you were in a hurry to get here, but you don’t plan on bartering and you refuse to kneel,” he said. “Everyone here knows that when you step foot on my territory...” Nolan waved both arms out from his sides “...you are required to follow my command.”

“You’re not an Alpha. Only Alphas can command.”

The statement seemed to strike a chord with Nolan because the veins on his neck bulged and his face darkened with anger.

Unmoved, Thane’s gaze flitted over Nolan’s shoulder to the woman who was now being consoled by one of Nolan’s whores. Her scent was fucking with his rationale big time, but more than anything else, he had this instinctive urge to console her. To know her. He tore his gaze away and caught the look of annoyance on Nolan’s face.

Nolan lifted a hand and motioned to the wolves surrounding Thane. Suddenly, he was boxed in.  His claustrophobia kicked in at the same moment he went on high alert.

“Restrain him—”

Thane’s canines dropped instantly. “I would advise against you and your followers laying a hand on me.”

Nolan stood rigidly in place and slightly cocked his head to one side. “Are you threatening me?”

“Call it what you will, but I follow through on threats, as well.”

“Rope him! Now!” It was the last command that Nolan spoke before all hell broke loose.

Before the human behind him could apply the ropes, Thane spun around and side-kicked his would-be attacker in the shins. Thane heard the bone crack and then the wails as the man tumbled to the ground in pain.

The wolves charged Thane. In less than three seconds, he’d shifted rapidly. His limbs burst through the pants and shed the fabric that restrained his wolf. When the first set of canines grazed his leg, he knew that the situation wouldn’t end well.

With three on one, Thane was in no position to make any wrong moves. The attacking wolves were trying to pin him, and viciously aimed for his throat in the attack. He smelled blood already. His and that of the other three wolves. Not a lot of it had been shed yet, but Thane knew that he wanted to leave with his life and, more importantly, the woman. Therefore, he would have to immobilize his attackers, and that meant inflicting some damage.

One of the wolves pawed Thane across the muzzle, his claws coming just centimeters from one of Thane’s eyeballs. Thane lunged, pinning his opponent to the ground and striking him back. A second wolf mauled Thane’s back, the wolf’s nails digging into the meaty flesh of his shoulders. Thane howled in pain. While caught off guard, he was thrown back nearly two feet. He pounced up the instant his body came into contact with the dusty ground and nailed the wolf that had clawed his back. His canines dug into the thick tendons of the wolf’s throat. He tasted fur and blood, but he didn’t let up. He shook the wolf like a rag doll until the body fell limp to the ground, still clutched in Thane’s powerful jaws. The jugular still pulsed with life, but Thane released the wolf anyway and it remained motionless.

Thane stood his ground and growled at the other two wolves threatening to attack him. His adrenaline was still pumping when the second wolf rushed for him. They collided full-force. Chest to chest. Claws battling for control. Blood and spittle flying.

Thane heard an uproar in the background and realized that the others were watching the fight like it was a tournament. Every twenty-nine days, they migrated here to see this shit. Every twenty-nine days, Zsecar Nolan championed the cage fighting, instilling hatred and feudalism among the prisoners in Area S2.

Thane was now an opponent in the ring and he could almost sense Nolan’s salacious appetite for violence.

But fuck it all. One day, Thane would make sure that Nolan got what was coming to him. On this day, however, he would leave this spot with his life. And if he was the only one who would ensure that the frightened and beautiful woman lost in these woods of hell would get help, then so be it.

A searing pain sliced through his side and he realized that his opponent had injured him. Blood seeped out into his fur and stained the dry ground. He stumbled as his vision dimmed. He saw the silver auras of his opponent’s smug gaze and witnessed a smirking Nolan standing in the background. The crowd roared. The breeze rushed violently through his ears. His eyes rolled upward and just as nausea nearly overtook him, he glimpsed the moon. It was massive, beautiful, and bolstered his will to live, to fight, and to survive. As his eyelids fell, he caught sight of the woman again. Her hair was pulled back in a band. Some of it had come free and was messy from her struggles. The dim moonlight reflected off of her brown skin, giving it a tinted golden hue. Thane’s pupils expanded, and he focused on her face and her troubled hazel eyes. A surge of energy rushed through him, replacing his nauseous feeling.

“Finish him!” Nolan commanded.

The wolf Thane had been fighting with obeyed his Alpha and charged for Thane again. Just before they connected, Thane shot up into the air and tumbled over the raging wolf. He pinned him, forcing his opponent’s back to the ground. The wolf fought aggressively, digging his canines into Thane’s chest and drawing more blood. It was the last ounce of Thane’s blood he would spill that night.

Thane released a frustrated growl, sunk his claws into the wolf’s chest, then lowered his head to his opposition’s neck and ripped out his throat. The wolf’s neck vertebrae snapped, and blood and sinew flew in multiple directions, delivering instant death. A ghostly silence fell over the crowd.

Thane looked up with a chunk of flesh between his teeth for the third wolf, but he had retreated with his tail between his legs to hide among the bystanders.

Thane’s glare landed on Nolan, whose facial expression was twisted with anger. The leader made no move. This didn’t surprise Thane. Nolan was no Alpha. An Alpha always fought for what he wanted, no matter how deadly a threat he faced. Especially when another wolf disrespected him on his territory.

With no further threats in the immediate vicinity, Thane shifted back into human...but painfully.

Blood dripped from the bite mark on his chest, and his back stung from the claw scratches.

When Nolan lifted his gaze to meet Thane’s, it was in that instant that Nolan showed the first signs of recognition. The insignia embedded in Thane’s chest and along his neck gave his true identity away. The tattoo became visible on the skin only when a wolf’s deepest emotions surfaced. Nothing but rage flowed through Thane’s veins, so the symbol stood out prominently. The symbols glowed bright under the moon, like no other ordinary wolf’s mark.

Nolan skittishly stumbled back a few steps, his eyes wild with terror.

Not only was Thane’s refusal to kneel due to the fact that he would never stand second to any man, wolf, or living creature—especially not Zsecar Nolan—but Thane was once a leader himself. He bore the ceremonial mark of an Alpha.

But today, he was just a lonely wolf in exile.

Chapter 6

THANE GRABBED ANOTHER pair of pants from his bag and pulled them on. He wasn’t sure if bystanders were staring at the destruction or ogling him in his birthday suit, but he was certain that all attention remained on him at a time when most would be digging through the food and supply bins.

His attention turned to the woman who’d been successfully cornered off by Nolan’s females. Her movements weren’t as frantic as before the fighting, but Thane could still smell panic in the air. There were too many live bodies around. Although he was sure he could scent her, his senses were so in tune with his surroundings that it was likely he was picking up on dozens of emotions from all the bystanders.

Thane noted the tense rise and fall of Nolan’s chest as the leader’s eyes swept between the carnage at their feet to Thane’s Alpha mark. The glow around the mark had now diminished, so there was no need for him to hide it now. His back had been to the crowd when the mark had revealed itself, and the only ones likely to have witnessed it were Nolan and a few of his loyal runners that had been standing behind him.

“Two of my best runners are now dead. If you didn’t come to barter, and you didn’t come to kneel...” Nolan growled “...then what did you come for?”

“The woman near the cargo. I heard her screams.”

Nolan guffawed. “The woman...?” He turned slightly and sought out the woman, then swiveled back around. “You seem to forget that I am leader here. In all the time that you’ve been an inmate, you’ve never joined us in bartering. Now you smell fresh pussy and suddenly you think you’re entitled because you—” His eyes focused on Thane’s mark again. He shook his head as if dismissing the fact that Thane bore an Alpha’s mark. “If you insist on hiding your identity, you can fall in line with the rest of the scums here.” He tossed his head toward the bystanders. “You know the drill. Tournament winner first. Then my runners. Then the scumbags who bartered for one of the numbers. And if there are any leftovers, you can duke it out with the rest.”

“You misunderstand. I didn’t come to barter. I came to take.”

“Everyone else understands and plays by the rules except for you,” Nolan replied, tersely.

“I don’t play games of any type...at all.”

“Can you explain that to the inmates behind you who understand the rules?” Nolan waved his hand toward the bystanders.

“I may spend the rest of my life here within these barricades, but I value breathing,” Thane said and met Nolan’s glare in challenge. “Two wolves are bleeding out on the ground. The third man you ordered to take my life stands behind me like a cowering bitch. How many more of your men shall I run through?”

“You’ve entered my territory. Everything on it belongs to me. Our outside trading laws still apply here. It doesn’t matter what your past position was. Or do you not abide by shifter law any longer?”

Thane swallowed hard. This was Nolan’s territory. He’d claimed it when he became the leader. Even the previous leader had dominion over the site where the monthly drops were made.

Outside of these barricades, shifters still marked territories. It was the equivalent of having the deed to land in the human world. If one rolled up on someone’s property, they’d better be damned sure they had an excuse for doing so.

Thane’s excuse was the woman.

“I remain true to the laws of our kind,” he replied.

“Then what have you got to offer me in exchange for her?”

Thane nibbled on the inside corner of his mouth, his gaze darting between the woman and Nolan. He’d been faced with many decisions in his lifetime, but this was one of the hardest. What made it so difficult was that he couldn’t process why he’d risk everything to save a woman who he’d not yet officially met. Her voice and appearance stirred something deep within his soul. She was so close, yet so far away.

He hesitated for only a few more seconds, but then thrust his backpack toward Nolan, whose first reaction was to hop back.

Thane grinned. “Relax...I wasn’t trying to kill you.” Yet. The truth was, Thane would rather not inherit the responsibility of being the leader to the wolves of Area S2. If he killed Nolan, he was almost certain that would happen.

Nolan snatched the bag and gave it to his runner. “What’s inside?”

When they poured the contents of the bag out onto the table, all eyes bulged in shock. Thane possessed enough marked stones to barter for a good portion of what was on the truck and then some.

“Thirty-one stones,” one of the runners reported back.

“Looks like you’ve been saving up.” Nolan chuckled. “It may be enough to buy the whore for a few nights, but it’s not enough to keep her.”

Thane growled and his claws involuntarily extended outward. This startled Nolan and his stance tensed, causing a few more runners to come to his aid.

“I’m not here to buy her as a whore,” Thane snarled.

Nolan seemed tickled by this and he doubled over in laughter. “Now, now...that’s a privilege very few here have.”

“And let me guess...? You’re doling out privileges now, too, with your self-imposed title?” Thane countered.

“Whatever.” Nolan grimaced. “The whore is on my territory, therefore, she is now mine. Your stones are enough to buy her for three nights.” He sidestepped Thane and addressed the crowd. “Do we have any counteroffers for the raven-haired whore? Thirty-one stones are the current bid.”

The bystanders grumbled amongst each other.

“No counteroffers. Would anyone care to step up to challenge him in the cage?” Nolan asked.

Thane’s canines dropped in anger. How dare Nolan volunteer him to fight in the cage?

“Anyone?” Nolan urged.

The bystanders fell silent.

“No one else here can afford her.” Nolan stepped back. “You’ve bought yourself a whore for three nights. Take it or leave it.” He held up a finger. “Amy? Bring that new girl to me.”

Thane’s heart thumped sluggishly as the woman came into clearer view. The first thing he sensed was her state of distress. Her irises shifted from left to right, not really focusing on any one thing. It was as if she were blind or somehow robbed of her ability to see. She was smaller in frame than Thane had originally thought. A delicate human. However, her womanly curves filling the jeans and top she wore could not go unnoticed. As Nolan had said, she was raven-haired and temptingly beautiful.

“She’s drugged up,” Amy said to Nolan. “I couldn’t even get a name out of her.”

Nolan reached for the woman. “It will be to her advantage. I’ll need to mark her—”

“No!” Thane’s heart jumped, and the ancient powers of his wolf pulsed aggressively through his veins.

Nolan flinched at Thane’s command. “Your stones will only buy three nights.”

“I bartered for her unmarked. Now hand her over...unmarked.” Thane held his palm out to accept her.

Nolan frowned, but the leader seemed to pick up on the powers of the Alpha wolf that still existed deep within Thane.

Nolan reached down and tore the tail end of the woman’s shirt. “Fine.” He grinned. “I’ll let you break her in. You have seventy-two hours. Beginning now. If you renege on our deal...if you’re even one hour late, then you’ll pay for it with your territory.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“You get nothing for free here,” Nolan retorted, and then pushed the woman towards him.

The woman fell against Thane’s chest then she used her hands to push herself up to study him. Her pupils were dilated like she was high on something. She’d probably been drugged before coming here.

“You’ll bring her back.” Nolan brought the piece of torn fabric up to his nose, took a deep whiff, then tucked it into his back pocket. “And remember...you can cover your tracks, but you won’t always be able to cover the human’s scent. You’ve hidden well, but she is ripe and in her offspring bearing years. Any wolf could scent her from a mile away...just as you did. I’m speaking from experience.”

Thane looked down at the woman’s delicate face again. He grimaced when he realized Nolan was right, but all reason flew out the door when she widened her eyes and studied his expression. She gasped, and her breath fanned Thane’s chin.

In that moment, Thane realized that his canines were still extended. He ran his tongue along his top row of teeth and they retracted.

“Please don’t kill me,” she whispered then lost consciousness.

Just before she hit the ground, Thane scooped her up and turned his back on Nolan. The callous leader cackled behind him as Thane headed toward the forest with the human woman in his arms.

Chapter 7

KALENA WOKE UP startled. She pushed herself upright into a sitting position and strained to see around the darkened area. The smell of some kind of meat cooking wafted under her nose. Her stomach churned and grumbled, anticipating a hot meal. Her taste buds swelled in hunger and her mouth watered. She looked for the source of the sizzling sound, and noticed a leaf-covered bundle on a grate over low, open flames. What was this place? Who cooked food over a fire pit in the middle of the floor?

She panted on dry breath, realizing that she hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink in what seemed like...

Well, she didn’t even know. It had been too damned long. Her stomach grumbled furiously as she swallowed her saliva.

Whatever she was sitting on felt odd. It wasn’t hard metal like the floor of the truck she’d been hauled away in; it felt plush and firm like a bed, but it wasn’t really a bed.

A light breeze whipped across Kalena’s face and something shuffled nearby. She jumped up and knelt on the bed, ready to attack if the need arose.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

“I have water and fruit.” It was a male and he sounded familiar. The voice heavy and husky...and calm.

“I...I need to speak to my lawyer.”

There was a long silence, some more shuffling, and then a hard thud that sounded like a door closing.

Kalena felt her wrists and ankles. She wasn’t bound with rope any longer, but there was some bruising on her skin. Except for the tear at the bottom of her shirt, she was fully dressed in the same clothes she had been thrown into the wolf cage with.

Wait a minute...

The wolf cage? What had happened?

The stranger shuffling around had yet to show his face.

“I can’t see you,” she said, peering anxiously at his shadows.

Something sparked to the left of her. She saw puffs of smoke before she saw the flame, and then she realized the stranger had lit a lamp. With the light, a man came into full view.

He was huge, bigger than any man she’d ever seen. His hair was down past his shoulders, and his eyes were a prominent majestic bronze as he fixed his gaze on her. His chest was bare except for patches of leaves tied across his torso like a bandage. There was not an ounce of fat on him, and ripped abs led down into jeans that were worn and weathered. Inked markings were strewn across his chest, but most of the design was hidden by the dressings on his wound.

Kalena’s eyes shot back up to his chiseled face, complete with a near perfect set of lips. His sleek hair was the color of chestnut. The stubble on his face was the same brown hue. Thick sweeping lashes the color of burnished gold hooded his eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d glanced at one of those men’s magazines to see the models. While his looks could get him onto one of those cover ads, the man that stood before her was definitely no average model. His stance was too hard. His stare too calculating and animalistic. There was nothing delicate and graceful about him. Designer clothes couldn’t even do him justice. And he looked oddly familiar.

Kalena trembled, but she noticed her temperature hadn’t dropped. It had risen; but still, her body tingled and her nipples tightened while she stared at the man. He commanded attention and caused Kalena’s heart to flutter in more than just trepidation. Her pulse sped up and she fought to calm her panicked breathing.

He was the same being that had changed from a murderous raging wolf into a man. Memories of her arrival flooded back to her like a video trailer, only they were fuzzy and blurry, just as her vision had been at the time. The sounds were clear though. Even now, she cringed as she recalled the chaos and violence as the wolves fought. And all the while, a woman’s voice had been trying to calm her.

Kalena swallowed. “You’re not human,” she whispered.

They locked gazes and he moved closer to her on the cot. The more she took in her surroundings, the more she understood where she was. On a makeshift bed, in the middle of what looked like some cave or hut.

“I’m a shifter.”

He placed a basket on the bed of what seemed like unpackaged toiletries. A toothbrush, tube of deodorant, and even a comb were piled inside.

“I haven’t used these yet,” he said. “Maybe you can.”

“Okay,” she spoke slowly, swung her legs out from under her, and slid to the edge of the cot. “Mr. Shifter...whatever your name is—”

“You can call me Thane.”

“Thane,” she repeated. “There seems to have been some misunderstanding. I was...kidnapped and brought here against my will by some foreign men. I’m not sure what kind of place this is, but I don’t belong here.”

“This is a place where criminals are sentenced to serve their time. In exile.”

“I’m not a criminal.” Kalena stood, her bones cracking as a result of her not being able to walk for what seemed like hours of being in the truck. She reached behind her and pressed her back against the wall for support.

“You don’t look like one.” He held up a canteen and a basket of what looked like apples and oranges. “You need to eat. Your blood sugar is low.”

She lifted her chin. “How do you know? And how do I know you’re not trying to poison me?”

“I can sense these things.” He placed the items on the stand near the cot. “I’m not trying to poison you, but you won’t know that until you eat, huh?”

Kalena caught a whiff of his masculine evergreen scent. The smell was very subtle, but yet robbed her of her ability to think straight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been with a man who made her feel this way, but why her love life would matter in this moment puzzled Kalena.

Thane turned and sat on the ground at the foot of the bed. He dipped a cloth in a bowl of water and began to wipe his hands and face.

Kalena didn’t miss the claw marks all over his back. Some of the wounds were fresh—probably from the fight—but most appeared to be in various stages of healing. There were no bandages dressing the fresh wounds on his back like the one on his chest.

“What is this place?”

“It’s called Area S2. Uninhabited land surrounded by steep mountains. The sole purpose is for containing inmates. If you’re thinking of escaping, then rethink your strategy. The traps around the perimeter of the landscape and the monitoring device like the one clipped around your ankle keeps the inmates in. This place is not on any map, and before you ask...no one will find you here,” he replied.

Her heart dropped. “Do you mean that the men that put me here just leave people here...to stay?”

“It’s likely the men who brought you here were just following orders.”

“How long have you been here?” she inquired.

“Six months. One week. And three days,” he said in a disdainful voice.

Kalena settled back as despair replaced any ounce of hope she might have had left. “I can’t possibly stay here.” She stared at the canteen and basket of fruit. There was no way that she could stay out here in this forest with a pack of wolves for months.

“Everyone here has been convicted of something and sentenced to exile.”

What had Tracy done?

Thane continued, “Area S2 is the equivalent of a prison. The only difference is it’s meant to contain shifters, not necessarily humans.” He turned slightly and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Which leads me to question you about what you did to land yourself here?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I think I’ve been mistaken for my friend.”

His eyebrow quirked. “A friend?”

“Yes, I hadn’t seen her in a while, and I went to visit her in the labs. I started looking at these reports and somehow gained access to this backdoor database...I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I couldn’t...”

“You couldn’t what?” he urged.

“Look, I don’t think I should be telling you this. I work for Silex Pharmaceuticals. You probably don’t know anything about them, but I’m under a confidentiality agreement and I’m not supposed to disclose anything.”

Somewhere mid-sentence, Thane had stood. His face was devoid of all emotions. “What do you do for Silex?”

“I’m just an assistant there.”

“What kind of assistant?” he asked.

“I help the VP of Accounting. I code things and make sure they are set up in the system. Why?” She held both palms upright in frustration. “It doesn’t matter now. I just need to find a way out of here. There has to be a phone or an emergency line somewhere. How does someone get help if they’re dying?”

“There’s no help or medic who comes running to aid anyone here. As I mentioned, most of us are shifters. There are a handful of humans, but not many.”

Kalena shook her head. “Even more reason why I shouldn’t be here. I’m not a shifter.”

“Was your friend a shifter?” he asked, calmly.

“I don’t know. She seemed just like me. How would I know?”

Thane ran his hand over his head and down through his hair and exhaled deeply. “Your connection to Silex changes everything. I need to know why you were in the labs at Silex and exactly what you do for them.”

“I already told you what I do for Silex. And why should I trust you? The other night that woman told me that you were trying to buy me for sexual purposes.”

Thane’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. “That’s not true. I heard your screams, your cries for help.”

“I saw what you did to that wolf,” she said.

He lowered his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but it was what I had to do to help you.”

Some of the tension escaped from Kalena’s muscles and she sat down on the cot again. Everything she’d learned in this short span of time had become too much for her to take in, but she still hadn’t wrapped her brain around how she’d get herself out of this situation.

“Why would you want to help me? You barely know me.”

“I was compelled to. I can’t explain. It’s a wolf thing.”

She smirked. Probably would have laughed despite her situation. “You’ll have to tell me sooner or later. I don’t have that much interaction with shifters on a daily basis.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For right now, would you be content on my reason being that you simply called out for help?”

“For right now.” She gave a curt nod then leaned over and plucked up one of the apples. “My name is Kalena.”

He smiled and the emotion carried throughout his entire face. “I caught some fish while you were sleeping. I figured you’d want them cooked. Give it about ten more minutes on the fire and they should be ready to eat.” He picked up a bag and tied the straps around his midsection.

“I need to cover some tracks. I’ll be back shortly.” He gave her another once over and then turned.

“Wait!”

“Yes?” He waited patiently by the door.

“You said there were traps. How do you plan to help me?”

“There are traps, but I never said I didn’t know how to circumvent them.”

“Tell me what you know about Silex,” she demanded, going off a hunch. When she’d mentioned the name earlier, he’d shown keen interest in her position there.

“The connection I have to Silex goes by the name of Gavril.”

“You mean Gavril Silex?” she asked in surprise.

“Gavril Silex is the reason I was sentenced to exile. He sent me here.”

“What? He’s the CEO of a well-known company. What does he have to do with this place?”

“Looks like he’s kept his shifter gene a secret...or is that something you ignored because he signs your paychecks?”

“Mr. Silex is a shifter?” she asked, stunned and baffled.

“Not entirely. He was born without the ability to shift. He’s my twin brother.”

Gavril Silex had a twin brother who was a wolf shifter? How odd that none of the top-level executives ever mentioned that fact at any of the corporate meetings. But then again, people who worked for Gavril feared him. Now, she was beginning to believe the reason had more to do with how much power and influence he had outside of the company, and less to do with their fear of being fired.

Kalena narrowed her eyes and studied Thane. He bore resemblance to someone, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly who.

“I just don’t understand what Gavril and Silex have to do with this place,” she said.

“There are a lot of things you will never understand.”

“But why are you still here? What have you been accused of?”

“My reasons for imprisonment have nothing to do with why I’m helping you get out of here.”

“You’re only helping me because you want something in return.”

“That’s not why I decided to help you at first and you know it.”

“ How do I know that you’re telling me the truth?”

“Obviously, you don’t know that I’m telling you the truth, but if you were suspicious enough about Silex to go prying through their labs, then you’re not all that trusting of Gavril then, are you?”

She settled back and was silent for a moment as she thought about the reports she’d discovered about the D996 drug and Gavril’s written recommendation to continue testing despite the deadly side effects. “I’ve never officially met the man, so I can’t say if I trust him or not.”

Thane looked at her warily. “I’ll need you to trust me, but I haven’t much time to convince you.”

“I trust you enough that I’m still here.” Kalena folded her arms across her chest. “Speaking of trust, I’d like to know what you’ve been convicted of.”

“And once I tell you, then what?” he asked, bluntly. “I’m getting you out of here one way or the other. That won’t change.”

She shook her head. “Are you even going to try to help yourself?”

“I have to stay behind, Kalena. There is no escape for me.”

Most prisoners looked for a way out, even at the slightest opportunity. Why didn’t Thane want to leave? More importantly, why was he here in the first place?

Kalena was curious about Thane and his second nature as a wolf, but she couldn’t swallow the thought of spending six days, let alone six months out here.

“Why do you have to stay? What crime are you accused of committing?”

His shoulders dropped by a couple inches and his gaze lowered from her and swept the floor. Reluctance showed in his demeanor, and she wondered if he trusted her.

When he looked up again, his eyes were flat and emotionless. “Murder.”

Her shoulders clenched and her eyes grew wild with intense alarm. “You were convicted of murdering who?” Her voice broke nervously.

“My parents.”

Primitive fear knotted inside of Kalena and her lips parted in shock.

Before she could voice her next question, he slid a boulder aside to reveal the opening to the shelter and slipped outside. Only a small piece of daylight shined inside before he let it close.

Feelings of dismay rose within her and she questioned how she could ever trust a convicted murderer.

Chapter 8

TRUE TO HIS word, Thane came back to the hut in what seemed like no time. Kalena had already begun the process of unwrapping the fish when he shifted the boulder and came inside. Now they sat around the fire pit, discarding the inedible remnants of the fish in the hole.

She folded her legs and waited as he poked at the pile of logs with a long piece of metal. The fire cracked as Thane laid another piece of wood on top of the others.

“You didn’t kill your parents, did you?” Kalena asked.

“No, I didn’t.”

“What happened?”

He didn’t immediately answer.

Kalena realized that she was probably prying too much on the matter. His parents were dead. Murdered. He was wrongfully accused, sent here by his own brother, and he somehow believed that there was no escape for him. What else was there to know?

“My parents were assassinated in their home. Shot dead while they slept. In order to get what they wanted, someone needed them out of the equation. I was the first one on the scene…after the shooting happened.”

“Oh…” Kalena couldn’t imagine the pain of losing either parent. Her parents still preferred the warmer weather and had decided to stay in Florida, even after discussing moving to a state with milder, less humid weather. They loved to travel and that kept them out of Kalena’s affairs most of the time. However, given her current state, now was not a good time to have her parents on a two-week cruise and excursion to Greece.

“As time passes, wounds tend to heal themselves, but the memories never go away." His voice was laced with sadness.

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to help you.”

“You're the strongest link that me or my pack brothers have when it comes to gaining access codes to the financial system and the backdoor database you mentioned,” he said. “You don't ever have to step foot on Silex properties again, but if you relay whatever you know to my pack brothers, they may be able to replicate it and retrieve the data files.”

She sighed. “It's the least I can do for you when I get out of here. If I get out of here…”

“You will.”

Kalena wrung her hands together. “How cruel can a person get to hold innocent people against their will in a place like this without ever verifying anything?”

“Cruelty has little to do with it. Our Pack laws dictate everything, even our punishment for crimes we have committed. The shifter community is far different than a human’s,” Thane said. “The truth is that we are animals, and we're treated by humans as such, despite our dual nature. There are a lot of customs and rituals belonging to us that humans won’t understand, but as long as we uphold the peace treaty written years ago, your government swore to turn a blind eye on our practices.”

“What practices?”

“Practices such as the rules governing us, and the laws within our Packs which have been in existence for hundreds of years. In the shifter world, we still fight for dominance, and in some cases, we fight to the death.”

“Like when you fought and killed the wolves in the cage.”

He swallowed visibly. “Yes, but we don’t fight and kill for no reason at all. There has to be something at stake, something we want badly.”

“Like power. Politicians argue all the time over power in our government,” she offered.

He nodded. “Yes, like power. And territory. Among other things.”

“What exactly was at stake last night?” She just couldn’t accept that a man would immerse himself in so much violence to take a drugged woman back to a prison hut for three nights.

“I share every part of my being with my wolf. Whatever he wants, I want. Of course, we don’t always agree. While the man might be more coerced into satisfying physical needs, the wolf is only content when all of his emotional needs are met. There is a reason why wolves run in packs. Remove the wolf from the pack, and the animal will almost always want for that sense of belonging and companionship again.”

Kalena frowned. “You’re lonely.”

His gaze dropped and he rose, picking up the carved out bowls they’d used to eat with and taking them to a wooden table. He began to clean the bowls.

She got up and followed him across the room. Before she could stop herself, she pressed her fingers to the old scars on his back.

A shocked gasp escaped from his lips. “Kalena,” he mumbled.

“These happened during the fight, didn’t they?” she asked, lightly tracing the scars.

Both of his palms were gripping the edge of the table and his back was still turned. “Yes.”

“And the older ones that have healed over time. How did you get those?”

“The wolf politics are no different here than they are on the outside of these barricades. Most of those came from fighting, as well.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a shifter like this before,” she whispered, her fingers trembling against the tendons on his back.

His muscles rippled under her touch and she could have sworn she heard a moan escape his lips. His musky scent surrounded her, and she closed the gap between them and pressed her ear to his back on the side near his heart. As she listened, sure enough, a low growl flowed from his lips. It was the sexiest thing she had ever heard from a man, and her whole body heated in excitement and instant arousal.

An electrifying charge pulsed through Kalena. The surreal sensations immediately relaxed her. Her skin grew hot where her cheek was pressed against him.

Kalena lifted her face and glanced at Thane’s bronze skin, only to find an ancient looking symbol glowing brightly on his back. Her eyes widened in exhilaration at the sight. It looked like pure magic.

“Wha—?”

Before Kalena could complete her sentence, she found herself on the other side of the hut, back against the wall, with Thane’s wide frame pressed tightly to her body.

She panted, her breasts pushing against his chest.

Glistening white canines were distended, and his irises swirled with a myriad of colors. The ink on his arms and along his neck glowed as he held her in place against the wall.

Thane bowed his head, pressed his nose against her throat, and inhaled deeply. His mouth was damp as it brushed against her sensitive skin. She arched into him, noting the sizeable erection pushing against her belly. Her pussy clenched and ached and sexual thoughts spun like crazy in her head.

She whimpered, slowly realizing that Thane could have done anything to her body and she would have welcomed it. She wanted it.

He dragged his mouth up her neck and along her jawline, until finally his lips were pressed against her chin.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she panted.

“Is that what you want?” he rasped.

“Ye—”

He captured her lips with his, cutting off her breath. He tested her at first, teasing the outer skin on her mouth ever so softly. She trembled beneath his exploration, until her legs grew weak. When she brought her arm around to touch his tempting skin again, he trapped both wrists above her head. He pressed hard and hot against her mouth and his tongue thrust deep past her lips.

The same electrifying pulse that stunned her earlier now flowed through her like a river as his body smashed into hers full force. She was lost in the scent of him and taken off guard by this need to have more of him.

Without warning, he stopped and pulled back from her. The warmth was gone. His glow was gone. The symbols on his skin were gone.

“Impossible,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He backed away toward the door, grabbing a backpack along the way. “I need to step away for a little bit. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave…”

“I’m coming back. Don’t remove the boulder for anyone, and stay inside for your safety.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Kalena standing in the middle of a claustrophobic hut still dizzy from the best kiss she’d ever experienced in her whole life.

Chapter 9

ON THE OUTSIDE of the hut, Thane breathed deeply to regain his bearings. His veins still ran profusely with a deep feeling he couldn’t process, an emotion he’d never felt before. Only the strongest of emotions could unleash the powers that controlled his soul and his wolf. No woman had ever had that much of an affect on him, exposing his markings with just one touch.

Thane swallowed and ran his fingers back through his hair. He had to control himself around her. She needed protection. Having thoughts about taking her on his bed served no purpose to his mission and would never ensure her safety.

He shed his clothing, stuffed them in the sack, and shifted just outside of the hut. He grabbed the sack in his mouth and took off into a full sprint on the well-known path. It didn’t take him long to detect David’s scent on the ground just outside Thane’s territory.

He returned to human form and slipped on his jeans.

David jumped down from his position in the trees to the ground. “Goddamn it to hell, Thane! You slaughtered two wolves out there.”

“You saw everything, didn’t you?” Thane watched as David paced back and forth in front of him.

“Where’s the female you took?” David said in a hushed tone.

“In my den. Her name’s Kalena.”

“I didn’t see you kneel, and it’s a good thing, but what was Nolan’s price for her?”

Thane bit into his bottom lip. “All the marked stones in my possession, plus he believes that I will return her.”

David’s eyes widened. “Do you plan on not returnin’ her?”

“I think she was framed. She doesn’t belong here.  I sensed it from the moment I heard her screams, and I sense something else, too. But I can’t be sure—”

“You’re nuts...you’re freakin’ nuts.” David scratched the back of his head and sped up his pacing.

“Stop all that dancing in front of me, will you? Hear me out...”

The ex-SEAL leaned back against a tree. “I’m listenin’.”

“I have a plan. Kalena has connections to Silex, the same organization that is behind the system that got us thrown in here. I have little time left to bring her up to speed on what her employer is doing behind the scenes. None of my connections at that company have been able to break through the firewall. Something tells me she knows how.”

“How do you plan on gettin’ her outta here?”

Thane grabbed his bag and pulled out a box. He opened the lid and David looked inside.

David shrugged. “It’s empty.”

“It looks like an empty box, but it’s not. One of my connections on the outside slipped the box inside of the cargo bins a few months ago. I just had to find the human with the orange drawstring bag and offer him something he needed badly in exchange. There’s a mechanism built inside. If it was scanned before the drop, the device would have looked like an old penny to the naked eye.”

“What is it really?”

“It’s almost like a panic button. Once activated, it’ll only stay powered up long enough for my exact location to be determined.”

“And then?”

“There’s only one shot to escape this place by helicopter,” Thane said.

“Man, you’re really insane. Why the fuck haven’t you pushed the button before? You’re waitin’ like a sittin’ duck.”

Thane exhaled. “The people who put me in here are holding something over my head. They have someone I care about. If I ever leave this place, I’ll be putting her life in danger. But if I stay here, she lives.”

“Somethin’ tells me you plan on pushin’ that button and lettin’ a woman you just met get away.”

“I need to be certain that I can take down this operation without fail. Kalena’s link to the company and free access to the files will get me or one of my Pack brothers inside. Things need to happen in a certain order. I can’t be in two places at once. I need to make sure Danika is safe before I release the evidence on Silex.”

“Danika?”

Thane nodded. “Yes, my youngest kin. Gavril threatened to have her killed if I ever left here. The moment I step foot outside of these barricades, the device will go off. I fear I won’t be able to reach her in time to explain everything and keep her out of harm’s way.”

“This is some fucked up shit, but I’m with you one hundred percent.”

Thane hung his head and chewed the side of his mouth. “The one obstacle I have before me is to gain Kalena’s trust. She’ll want to escape, probably now more than ever after I told her what I’ve been convicted of and just how corrupt Silex Pharmaceuticals has become.”

The ex-SEAL narrowed his gaze. “You’ve got more than one obstacle, wolf. Are you sure about this plan?”

“I can only push that button once and I’m going to push it for Kalena. My pack mates will take it from there and work with her to generate access codes. We’ll gather the evidence that will halt production of D996 and shut Area S2 down.”

David started pacing back and forth again. “You wolves take too many goddamn risks,” he commented.

“And you humans dance around too much.”

Chapter 10

AFTER HIS TALK with David, it took Thane no more than five minutes to maneuver the rocky terrain in wolf form to get back to Kalena. He felt guilty for keeping her in his hut, but if she moved around on the grounds too much, there was a chance that Nolan and his runners would pick up her scent. And there was no telling what Nolan would do with her. He wouldn’t put it past the leader to renege on the deal and come for Kalena earlier than they had agreed. It was a good thing that he’d gotten Kalena when he had. The right information in the wrong hands could be detrimental to the plans Thane had set in motion. Kalena’s connection to Silex had thrown him for a loop, but was it just sheer luck?

Thane needed to buy all the time he could until she was safe. The longer Nolan and his runners took to track her scent, the more time he had to make sure she was all right. If the helicopters didn’t arrive before the expiration of the deal he’d made, he would have to stall the leader.

Just before reaching the shelter, he shifted and quickly pulled on his jeans. He paused with his palm on the boulder and inhaled deeply. Her lavender scent was ingrained in his memory even though he couldn’t smell her standing on the outside. His heart rate returned to some form of normalcy, but his pulse quickened when he thought about how soft her skin had felt against his lips. She’d made him feel whole again, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Not even when he was marked as an Alpha had he felt as complete as he did whenever he heard Kalena’s voice.

But he had to let her go. This was no place for a woman like Kalena. Even now, he doubted whether he wanted her to return to the company and be in the same building with a man he hated so much.

In a matter of hours, he’d have to make that decision.

Thane gathered up his composure and then pushed the boulder aside to enter the hut. He was immediately overcome by her allure, but the euphoric feeling vanished quickly when he realized the temperature in the hut was cold and the interior was nearly pitch black. The eerie silence inside was not a good sign.

His pupils expanded as he used his wolf vision to search the area. Panic set in the instant he caught sight of her small frame laying on the floor nearly two feet away from the bed. It made no sense that she’d be resting on the dusty floor and not on the bed.

He rushed over to her, turning her over so that she was face up. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. It was as if she were asleep, in a deep sleep.

“Kalena.” Thane shook her lightly.

There was no movement and her body felt like dead weight on his lap.

“No,” he growled. “Goddamn, what did they do to you?”

Anxiety crept up in his throat and he tried to gulp it down. He rose with her in his arms and laid her out on the cot. Her pulse danced quickly against his finger when he tested it. That was a relief, but she was still unresponsive. A palm to her forehead yielded a temperature that seemed higher than usual for a human.

Thane’s mind ran rampant for ways to help her. A damp towel to her forehead, water to her lips, calling her name. Nothing seemed to wake her.

Finally, he sunk to his knees on the cot beside her, fully processing exactly what ailed her. She’d been drugged. It all made sense now. She’d fallen into a coma.

They’d given her that fucking drug! D996.

She’d even confirmed it earlier herself without realizing it. She couldn’t remember anything after being caught in the labs and before she woke up on the truck.

How much of it had they injected her with? When? And why?

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, his canines shooting past his gum line.

He picked up Kalena’s hand and pressed his lips to the delicate skin over her knuckles. There was only one way to help her now. He’d have to do it before it was too late.

Thane Silex would have to make a decision—a life altering one—sooner rather than later.

Chapter 11

“KALENA?”

Someone was calling her. She recognized the voice. The sound of it settled deeply within her soul, drawing her out of slumber.

“Kalena? It’s Thane.”

His fingers grazed her shoulder, and she forced her eyes open despite the drumming pain near her temples. The first thing she recognized was unruly chestnut hair framing a hard contoured face.

“What happened?”

Thane helped her sit upright. “You blacked out.”

She glanced around to find that she was in the same hut, in the same clothes, and surrounded by the same drab lighting. Was she having deja-vu? Hadn’t she woken up in this same spot and predicament with no recollection of how she’d come to be here before?

“Blacked out how?” Kalena held her hand up to her forehead.

He narrowed his gaze. “Can you remember anything before you lost consciousness?”

She nodded. “We were talking about Silex and your parents.” She brought her hand to her lips. “And…we kissed. You left, but I can’t remember anything after that.”

“And before our talk…can you remember anything before then?”

“I just remember one pissed off wolf tearing through a bunch of other wolves, and then it shifted back to a naked man who turned out to be you. Then that lady told me that you'd just bought me."

He regarded her quizzically and then said, "I guess first impressions always stick."

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment.”

His shoulders dropped and a sigh of relief passed from his lips. “Then it’s only short-term memory loss.”

She shook her head. “Memory loss?”

“Temporary short-term memory loss. There’s a reversal to the drug you were given. This cure will slowly rid your system of the agent causing your memory loss and blackouts.”

Kalena shook her head. “One of the men who brought me here injected me with something when I tried to run off. And the night I was kidnapped, I was forced to breathe in some kind of chemical.” She gasped. “They used that D996 drug on me, didn’t they?”

He turned to catch her gaze. “How do you know about D996?”

“The day I was snooping in the labs, the day I was kidnapped, I came across the information. Someone must have left the logs open. I clicked on a few links and this database I’ve never seen before showed up. I read enough to know that mostly all the test subjects receiving the drug have died.”

“Most everyone dies if they’re not given the cure,” Thane said. “If my timeline is correct, then you lost the equivalent of a day while you were traveling here on the cargo truck. That means you’ve had D996 in your system for less than a week,” he said.

She slumped against him as another surge of nausea rushed over her.

“The feeling will pass, but you will need more than one dose of the cure, and you will need it again soon.” Thane handed her a canteen of water.

She took gulp after gulp of it, yet she still seemed unsatisfied. Her body craved the water to flush out whatever was causing her fatigue. As the beverage brought her temperature down, vivid memory flashes of the men chasing her down after she’d tried to escape with the truck came back to her.

She inhaled deeply, and then her breath rushed out unevenly. "How long was I out?”

“Nearly twenty hours.”

“Almost a day? Really?”

He nodded. “I sensed you were drugged when Nolan handed you over. I couldn’t be certain, and I fear you would’ve been out longer than you were without me intervening.”

“Why would Silex create a drug with only this type of remedy?”

“Silex is the largest and most powerful over-the-counter and prescription drug manufacturer. Because of your employment with the company, you should be aware that Silex has numerous product lines, but the company is mostly known for its painkillers—all of which are FDA approved and highly effective. What the public is not made aware of is that additional funding was provided to Silex by the government to research and produce a number of different drugs for various reasons. This happened almost two years ago.”

“Two years?” She frowned. “I didn’t research that far back before accepting the job offer.”

“Then you couldn’t have known about the business and ownership changes that happened around that time either. Most test subjects have signed contracts stating that they are offering up their bodies in the name of scientific research. That stipulation has always been in place, but before Gavril took charge, no one was ever given the drugs by force.”

“What does all of this have to do with the drug they injected me with?” she asked.

“D996 is not really a drug. It’s a weapon. This weapon is being refined through research, and its main purpose is to strip humans of their consciousness and ultimately, their memory. An enemy can do a lot of things when his foe is vulnerable and without recollection of past important events.”

“I see…” she mumbled.

Thane continued, “In answer to your earlier question…why would Silex create a drug with only one remedy? Silex began research and development of this drug at the government’s request for their use in secret missions. That was until they learned that all of the Silex family members were shifters. We were one of the last families to out ourselves. By that time, our scientists had already created the drug with only one cure—shifter DNA. This was, of course, to ensure that once the drug was released to the government, they’d still rely on the shifter population to produce it and reverse the effects as needed. Silex is not the only shifter-owned corporation in America with continuity of the shifter race as one of their prime agendas. There are other conglomerates worldwide just like it. When Gavril took the reins, having all that power went to his head. His indifference to humans in high positions didn’t help. Under my late father’s hand, we never took advantage of the weak. D996 lost the FDA’s approval shortly after Gavril claimed control of the company. He continued to produce it and sell it on the black market and still does even now.”

“You said your family was the last to reveal yourselves as shifters, but how come no one knows about Gavril?”

“Your government has a way of keeping these things under wraps if they must. Silex provides over eighty percent of all painkillers, and a number of different vaccines for humans. Halting the production lines of our legit drugs would be detrimental all around. On the other hand, bringing attention to the scandal and the issue caused by one bad seed would taint the Silex name. We don't want to be known as human killers. Rather than seeking out the help of federal authorities and government agencies who were already casting a critical eye on us, we intended to clean up our own mess with minimal damage to our legacy.”

“Oh.” Kalena exhaled, almost unbelieving all the information Thane was giving her. “I had no idea…”

“How long have you been with the company?” Thane asked.

“Not very long. Three months.”

“And your direct report…the VP of Accounting…how long has this person been employed by Silex?”

Kalena swallowed. “She told me about six months. They fired the last guy. He’d only been there a week.”

“Lucrative pay and impressive benefits to lure you in. High turnover and a substantial severance pay to keep the secrets in-house and skeptics out. That is the way Gavril operates.”

“The drugs are being injected into unsuspecting people just like me. This needs to stop. How can it be stopped?” Kalena balled her hands into fists.

“I have several connections that rotate their employment contracts with Silex on an ongoing basis. You might call them spies. They are loyal to me and belong to my Pack. One of my scientists is assigned to each lab at all times. The formulas are being tweaked to heavily reduce and eliminate the deadly side effects. There’s a small chance that you were administered a diluted version.”

“But why can’t you just escape here now and stop your brother?” she demanded.

“Gavril owns Area S2. All of it. When he killed the Alpha of the North Sky Pack in a challenge, he inherited these barricades. For the longest time, Area S2 was like the human equivalent of a prison to us shifters, and it still is, but Gavril has been misusing it for his purposes. Anyone who disrupts his operations or threatens him has been thrown in here on false convictions, along with the other tried criminals. If I step foot outside of these walls, I am positive he will be the first one notified. But it’s not my life that I am concerned about. When I agreed to disappear and remain in exile until my death, he spared the life of my younger cousin, who happens to be the true heir to Silex Pharmaceuticals.”

“Why didn’t he just kill you?”

“We’re not like humans. We’ve only adapted to your modern conveniences to stay alive and to flourish. For a wolf, living in captivity is one hundred times more dreadful than passing into eternity. He didn’t want to allow me that privilege.”

“What’s the coding for this cure?” she asked. “Maybe I’ve seen it before while working with Rhonda on the reports.”

“There is none. D996 was produced to do more harm than good. The cure would have never been given a code.”

“Then how do you have access to this reversal drug?”

Thane sat on the edge of the cot and ran a hand back through his hair. “The reversal is in my blood.”

“Tell me about the cure in your blood.”

“A cure exists in the DNA of shifters. There are temporary remedies, and there are more permanent ones. Injecting shifter DNA directly into the bloodstream can halt the deadly and harmful side effects of D996. This cure, when taken in regular intervals, cleanses the body of the D996 agent. It also adds to that human’s life expectancy.”

“What the…?” Kalena was baffled by this information. “How can it do that?”

“Simple. My species lives almost ten times as long as homo sapiens. Each dose of shifter DNA can add anywhere from one year to ten years onto the life of a human. The shifter’s genetics, position, and age control the potency.”

“Genetics?”

“Most Packs can track their lineage back to when we first came into existence in the B.C. era. We started out as one Pack and just as we do today, we branched off into others.”

She crossed her legs on the cot, puzzled that she’d never encountered this information before. Had never even thought to research it. Had she known that Silex was a shifter-owned firm, she probably would have. “And position?”

“There is a cast system or hierarchy within the shifter populace. Most abilities are gained by ascending or climbing the Pack ranks. There are Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta positions. From there, we have Epsilons and Omegas and everything else in-between.”

“Age,” she urged. “Does potency improve or decline with age?”

“It improves greatly with age.”

“You’re pretty young, so that must mean your blood isn’t very potent, right?”

He met her gaze. “I’m two hundred ninety-five years old. I wouldn’t call that young.”

Kalena’s mouth fell open as she processed his declaration. “Shouldn’t you be dead?”

Thane laughed breathlessly. “I have no answer to that. Our creator didn’t give us the ability to estimate our moment of death.”

“Where are all your gray hairs? You have the skin of a youth. I don't see any age spots.”

“A shifter doesn't reach his prime until around the age of seventeen. We're most vulnerable during our earlier years. After we've matured into adulthood, we begin to age very slowly. Two hundred ninety-five years is the equivalent of about thirty-five human years,” he said.

“Right, you do look to be in your thirties, and you aren’t old and wrinkled.”

Thane grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Where did you inject me?”

He took her hand in his and turned her palm upward. His fingers traced up the vein pulsing against the skin on the underside of her arm. A warm thrill ran up her spine, and she craved more of his touch.

He pressed his thumb against the site of the injection. “Here.”

“And with what?”

She followed his gaze as it trailed to the end table by the cot. There was a needle sitting next to a burning candle. “It’s a good thing I passed out. I hate needles with a passion.”

“There are other ways to get the cure. Blood injections are usually the quickest. The cure can also be found in semen, and it attacks the D996 poison in ways similar to the blood.” He regarded her with a serious expression. “You don’t hate sex with a passion too, do you?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she reminisced about the way he’d kissed her and had held her up against the wall earlier. She could count on one hand the number of boyfriends she'd had sex with, and it had never been with much passion. She decided to avoid his direct question. No need to reveal that she was inexperienced in the ways of making love.

“So, to get the cure that will remove the harmful poison inside of me, I have to inject myself with shifter DNA or engage in sex with a shifter?”

“Theoretically.” Thane nodded curtly. “The next dose should be given soon. You were unconscious when I gave you the first one, and the cure travels faster when the heart rate is higher than normal. Based on the number of times you were exposed to D996, I estimate you will need the cure about a dozen more times.” His gaze darkened as he assessed her. “You choose the method, but I won’t let you die.”

Kalena blushed and looked away. No matter how seductive and tempting he was, she could not have sex with a stranger just to cure her ailment. But would she dare have sex with a three-hundred-year-old wolf of a man to whom she was attracted?

“The only thing I want right now is a bath. Isn’t there a bathtub somewhere around here?” she asked, knowing full well there were no bathrooms in the middle of the damned forest.

“There’s a fresh water lake less than a quarter mile from here, but I’ll need to carry you there like I carried you here. I don’t want anyone picking up your scent.”

For a moment, Kalena thought she glimpsed his eyes change in color. The brown hue was suddenly mixed with auburn and brass. She looked at his chest, remembering the symbol that had appeared when she’d touched him. There was no sign of such a symbol now. There was more to this man than he was letting on, and with what little time she had with him, she would aim to learn more about him.

Chapter 12

“I’M NOT SURE how I feel about you carrying me around all the time,” Kalena said, as Thane came to a stop near a ravine and a pristine lake.

Thane shifted his weight and placed her lightweight form on the ground. “When you’re ready to tell me how it feels, I’m all ears,” he said.

He caught her grin and it literally warmed his heart. He wanted to see her smile over and over again. When most women would be nagging about this type of situation, she seemed to hold her own just fine.

Thane glanced around, lifting his nose to the breeze. He didn’t scent anyone nearby, neither man nor wolf. This made sense since this area was the most trap heavy. Only a few miles to the left of them was the north wall, where most of the trucks entered to dump more inmates. He sensed something else though. Further to the south, dark clouds cast a shadow on the landscape, obscuring the mountains.

His nostrils flared as the realization finally set in.

He took off the small backpack and handed it to her. “Quickly. I smell a thunderstorm on the horizon. From the look of those clouds, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Kalena narrowed her eyes. “You should never rush a woman while she’s bathing.”

He grinned. “Thank you for that information. I was wondering why I couldn’t keep a girlfriend.”

“You’re very welcome.” She climbed down into the gully, walking closer to the bank of the lake. “Will anyone see me?”

“This is the most discreet place here, but I can’t guarantee that there aren’t any peeping toms.”

Kalena blew out a puff of air. “Great, I feel so much better. Nice way to make me feel like I can clean myself in peace.”

He grinned and leaned against a boulder near the stream. “I’ll be standing right here. No one will harm you.” He crossed his arms and glanced up at the sky again.

“No peeking either,” she stated.

“If you say so…,” he teased.

Brief silence followed, so he figured she must have begun taking off her clothes. Thane wanted to look but decided to heed her request. He heard her unzip the backpack and shuffle around in it.

“Isn’t there a washcloth?”

“In the bottom section,” he replied. “If you can’t find it, there are alternate methods.”

She unzipped the bottom section. “Like what?”

“Bare hands and fingers.”

“I’m not so sure that would be better than using a cloth,” she replied hotly.

“I could give you a lesson and show you just how much better it can be.” He’d give anything to see the expression on her face, but her heated floral scent floating toward him on the breeze told him all he needed to know about her reaction.

“I’m sure you could.” Her faint reply came moments later.

Thane had to reel in his wolf soon, before the mating urge got out of hand. He’d controlled it well for decades, but then again, no woman had affected him the way Kalena did. He’d loved many times before, but none had the ability to call out to his wolf or reveal his imprint with one touch. Most had never known that he was an almost three-hundred-year-old wolf shifter at all.

From the moment he’d first heard Kalena’s screams, to the moment she’d grazed the bare skin on his back with her fingertips, she managed to hold him under her spell. But she wasn’t a witch, she was human…gentle and pure.

He listened to the sound of the water rolling off her skin and draining back into the lake. Somehow, he wished he were there right beside her. The feelings she invoked in him were highly addictive. The sweet smell of her arousal was intoxicating. She’d be gone from this place in less than twenty-four hours. But he would make it his business and priority to get her out of here safely.

“You’re quiet,” she said, rattling him out of his thoughts.

“You said you wanted some peace,” he replied.

“It’s a little bit too quiet out here. It’s as if there’s absolutely no one around.”

“Area S2 holds just over one hundred prisoners, but you would never know that until the monthly drops when they all gather around to barter and trade. One Pack has been organized here under the leadership of Zsecar Nolan. There are about a dozen humans here, too.”

“Why would they throw the humans in a shifter prison?” she asked.

“It’s what happens when a human commits a crime against a shifter.”

“Even if I were a spy, the sentence is rather harsh, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “Agreed. When ownership of Area S2 transferred to Gavril, he abused its purpose. This truly was a facility to hold shifters who were beyond control. It was built even before we outed ourselves to humans. In ancient days, shifters would be sentenced to the gauntlet for crimes like murder. As time passed, we adopted more human practices…hence Area S2.”

“I wish I could remember more about what happened. I feel so powerless. I was literally robbed of my memory.”

“You were likely labeled a threat and thrown in here because of it,” he said.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, matching the intensity of the blood boiling in Thane’s veins.

“I’m done,” she said. “I guess we should head back before the storm.”

Thane turned to see her gathering up the backpack. She was fully clothed, and was pulling the drawstrings of the sweatpants he’d loaned her tight around her waist. His outfit swallowed her up, masking her womanly curves under all the fabric. He had this urge to strip her naked and have his way with her.

He came halfway to meet her, helping her climb the few rocks that led down into the gully. The ends of her hair were wet, some of it sticking to her face. He couldn’t help himself and raised his hand to stroke the delicate cleft on her chin.

“Were you sent by the fates to turn my world upside down?” he whispered.

She averted her gaze, briefly breaking their connection. “I don’t think I have the power to do something like that to a man, let alone a man who is more than ten times my age.”

“You would be surprised what you can do to me with just your touch,” he replied.

“I thought maybe you always glow in the dark when you’re turned on,” she replied coyly.

He laughed deeply. “I can see you remember that much, at least. I can do more than glow in the dark when I’m turned on.”

She bit into her bottom lip, the sight of it causing an instant yearning in his groin.

“I think it’s sexy,” she replied, licking her lips.

His cock twitched uncomfortably in his jeans. He could have sworn she closed the gap between them. Either that, or his cock was stretching into tempting territories.

She lifted her hand to touch his face, and heat crept up his back and along his arms. An electric charge shot through him, causing him to pull back.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”

If Kalena only knew…

What raged through him wasn’t a shock at all. It was his wolf trying to bond with Kalena. In all of his lifetime, he’d never known this feeling.

“Come.” He hoisted her up into his arms. “Before we get caught in the rain.”

Chapter 13

THE FLAMES FLICKERED inside the fire pit, casting numerous shadows on the rocky walls of the hut. Kalena watched as Thane made room for a few more logs in the pit under the pot. The aroma of the stew smelled savory, and even though they’d just eaten fresh fish as a light meal and apples for dessert, her belly rumbled just like the thunderstorm outside. She wondered if he was a good cook in the kitchen, just like he was in the wilderness. The one thing she was glad she hadn’t witnessed was the killing and skinning of the rabbit in the pot.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for me,” she said. “I’m not sure I would be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“You have a strong spirit. I’m sure you would have managed,” he said, brushing his palms off on his pants and coming to stand. His chest was bare, as he’d recently washed his shirt and had it hanging near the fire to dry.

She couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the sight of him, and she wondered if the markings on his body appeared out of the blue or if she’d done something to cause the reaction. For whatever reason, he acted strangely whenever she touched him now.

“Besides the women that greeted me when I first came in here, are there any others like me? Other human women, or those falsely accused?”

“I doubt it. Most have, in fact, committed crimes against a fellow shifter.”

“I can’t imagine how anyone could live out here,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap.

“We’re animals, Kalena. This is our natural habitat, but it’s not a favored one. No wolf likes to be captured, chained and restricted to one area.”

“Did you have a girlfriend out here? Someone to keep you from being lonely?”

His eyes shifted quickly over her. “No.”

“What about before you were sentenced here? Anyone special in your life?” she asked.

“There are a lot of special people in my life, but I haven’t had a girlfriend for some time. When I rose in the hierarchy…when I was called to lead my Pack, there was hardly enough time to cater to the needs of a woman. Most women need more than I can give them.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m not exactly the romantic type,” he replied.

“Oh.” She bit the corner of her bottom lip. He seemed sensitive enough to her needs. The kiss they had shared was the most romantic thing she’d ever experienced. But there had never been that many men in her life to begin with.

He grabbed a small box and brought it over to the bed where she was sitting. She glanced inside and quickly averted her gaze when she saw the needle.

“Would it help any if you looked away while I get the injection ready?” he asked.

“I think so…” She glanced at the fire. “How long will it take?”

“Less than three minutes. I’m using a low dose to remain on the safe side.” He fumbled around in the box. “Too much of the DNA at once can be more harmful than beneficial.”

“Have you done this before for anybody?”

“I haven’t, but I’ve seen it done. We have humans in our circles that were loyal to us even before we outed ourselves publicly. A small percentage of them even belong to our Packs. There are five family dynasties whose loyalties can be traced back to when we first came into existence. There are those that want the injections, and those who want to live a normal human life. In your case, this is a medical emergency…a matter of life and death. But if you ask me, I don’t see why anyone would want to live for hundreds of years.”

“Maybe because they value life and the people that share it with them,” she said.

“When you live as long as I have, you experience many adverse changes around you.  Sometimes, the people around you change. The greedy get greedier, and loathing becomes hate. Then suddenly, the only thing that pleases them is power. Absolute power over those they hate.”

“A good person wouldn’t let those adverse changes overpower them, right?” she urged. “Couldn’t there be an ounce of kindness left in the heart of someone like that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. Uncertainty rang in the tone of his voice.

“You seem like a good man…and wolf.”

“People aren’t always what they seem.”

Kalena turned just in time to see him tying a rubber strip around his arm. “Wait!”

“Kalena, I don’t want you to die,” he said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you by telling you this. Yes, there are people who live extended lives and are still kind to others.”

“That’s not why I stopped you.” She leaned into him, untying the rubber and tossing it back into the box. “I want to feel again…what I felt when I touched you. We don’t have that much time left together and I want to remember you.”

He exhaled deeply, his bronze eyes straining to see through narrowed slits. “Why would you want to remember me?”

“I want to remember how you made me feel.” She hesitated a moment before saying, “I’d like to try the other way.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “You do realize I’m not human, right?”

Kalena laughed nervously. “It’s what we’ve been talking about all this time. I don’t care about that. I mean…I do care that you’re different, but not in the way you think. Does it matter that I’m human to you?”

He didn’t answer. He lifted his hand and stroked the side of her face with his palm. She sighed in relief the moment his warmth surrounded her, but he still seemed hesitant.

“If you don’t wa—”

His mouth descended on hers full force, coaxing her lips apart gently. He tasted of something both sweet and spicy. Honey and sandalwood. She leaned into him, joining in the intense rhythm he set.

She shifted on the bed, propping up on her knees to get a better angle. Before long, she was straddling his lap. She broke away from the kiss momentarily, just to confirm again that this was real—that she was, in fact, on top of a man.

With a dazed expression, he glanced at her from under thick chestnut lashes. “You’re so beautiful.”

Kalena looked down at his chest, noting the rise and fall as he took each breath. “Tell me about the tattoos?”

“They’re imprints. Not ink. Each line and symbol represents my history. The markings increase with age, and distinct symbols form based on a wolf’s position with his Pack.”

“How do you make the imprints glow?”

“Appearance of my markings on my human skin is controlled by my emotions. An older and more experienced wolf should be able to control his emotions, and thus prevent revealing his true nature to others.” He caught her gaze. “Some emotions are harder to control when in the presence of those who can instill those emotions in both the man and his wolf.”

Kalena reached out, touching his shoulder first. The sheer coating of chestnut hair on his skin felt soft against her fingers. At first, she thought the markings wouldn’t appear, but as she began a downward descent across his shoulders and down his chest, the dim glow began to emerge, and the markings revealed themselves.

He closed his eyes and rested back onto his forearm.

It was the most beautiful thing Kalena had ever seen. A man yielding to a woman and letting all of his emotions flow to the surface. She sensed something else within him. His skin pulsed against her palm, giving off a strong electric charge, as though something else was trying to break free from within him.

His manhood rose, pushing against her thighs. She moaned softly, biting her lip as a heated sensation rushed through her.

He growled softly and then flipped them over, trapping her beneath his rock-solid chest. She gasped, but he captured her lips once again. This time, his kisses were firm and deep. His lips moved lower to nip her chin, and he grazed her neck with the tip of his nose. Heat and tension grew between her legs until she ached for something more. More of his touch.

Thane lifted the shirt over her head, immediately bringing his mouth down to kiss the tops of her breasts and cleavage. He left hot trails across her body and sucked gently on her skin.

Kalena finally did what she’d been longing to do all this time. She ran her fingers through his hair, letting the silky strands fill her palms.

A guttural moan escaped his lips, vibrating against her skin. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She parted her legs slightly, making room for his wide girth to fall into her embrace.

Thane squeezed her bra clamp together and pulled the garment aside, exposing her to his gaze. She cried out the moment he took a nipple between his lips. He laved and sucked each bud until they were taut and ultra-sensitive. Every tug sent spikes of pleasure straight to her pussy.

He kissed a heated path down the center of her body, sweeping his lips back and forth over her as he descended. The ends of his hair caressed her belly and she bit her lip to try to control her needy outbursts. As her body quaked and quivered with need, she grabbed at the quilt, fisting the cloth in her hands.

The sweatpants he had loaned her disappeared sometime during her frenzy, and she found herself completely naked on the bed. He used his fingers to tease her plump center.

“You’re pretty down here. Who made this little shape?” He slid his nose along the groomed hair fashioned into a triangle on her waxed mound.

“I did.”

Without warning, he kissed her on the clit teasingly and then pushed two fingers into her ripe opening.

“Thane…oh my God.” Warmth rushed through her, and her pussy squeezed his thick digits.

He pushed her legs further apart so that she was spread-eagled before him. “I’m going to make you come so hard and fast you’ll see more than just the imprints on my skin, you’ll see stars. And if you only remember one thing…it will be my name.”

When first his tongue sliced through her, Kalena raised her hips upward. He darted in and out of her plump folds with his tongue while his nose and lip tapped against her clit gently. Kalena’s climax built up faster than she could ever remember it doing in the past. His mouth was gentle, and he took his time, leisurely bringing her to the brink of explosion.

“Thane…please.” Her thighs pushed against the stubble on his face, but he just pressed her thighs back further, opening her up even wider.

He thrust his tongue deep within her over and over again, rendering her speechless. In this moment, she didn’t worry about what could happen and what dangers lay ahead. She forgot that she was the quiet woman who pretty much kept to herself except for a few friends. She pushed her thoughts about being jobless when she returned home because she feared returning to Silex anyway. In this moment…she just let go. Her release quaked hard and long through her, just as Thane had promised. She moaned his name as he prolonged her climax.

She was panting and breathless when he moved away, but she managed to stare at him as he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to his feet. His thick erection was already straining against the front of his briefs, and the cock head stuck out of the waistband. There was no second-guessing that his size was substantially larger than any she had seen before. He looked better without any clothes on, and his body was bronzed and contoured to perfection. His imprints glowed against his skin, the markings appearing from head to toe across his entire body.

“Do you see what you do to me?”

She could barely nod as she licked her lips in anticipation.

“I’m no man, Kalena. I’m a beast by nature.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I still want you to take me.”

A groan escaped him as he eyed her naked body on the cot.

“If you’re going to do it, I want you to do it like you mean it. Don’t treat me like a delicate flower,” she said, parting her legs slightly on the bed.

His mouth parted and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Oh, but you are a delicate flower. One that I plan to ravish and fill with my seed until the petals are bursting with vitality.”

She swallowed, but it wasn’t enough to moisten her throat or quench her thirst for what she anticipated next.

Her breath rushed out of her the moment his cock sprang free from his briefs, causing her heart to palpitate. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought the tip was throbbing. Another tremor pulsed through her and her toes curled into the quilt beneath her.

The cot dipped when he climbed atop it on all fours. He held her by her left ankle, applying kisses against the inside of her leg until he was poised above her. His long, thick phallus weighed heavily against her belly.

“Thane…”

He guided his cock to her opening and sank into her moistened center inch by inch. She bit into her lip as he speared through her, thrusting in and out slowly until she had adjusted to his width. Her nails dug into his forearm as pleasure-pain spread through her loins.

Thane kissed her lips and drove in to the hilt, finally hitting home. She screamed. He captured her cries with his lips, kissing them away. When he began to move inside of her, her body flamed to life. Magnetic energy seemed to pass from him to her, finally settling deep in her core. She welcomed it, arching high into him and wrapping her legs around his torso.

Her pussy was hot and slick. His cock was long, pounding so hard into her that the cot creaked below them. The noise from the thunderstorm grew more distant as they became more in tune with each other. She could barely hear anything else above the sound of their breaths mingling together.

He shifted, raising his top half slightly so that he was driving high into her and tapping her clit. He held her gaze, his pupils blazing hot like fire. His body was slick with sweat and glowing brightly, his imprints completely revealed. She came again, shuddering against him and crying out his name. He grabbed her hips and held her to the cot, pounding her down into it. He turned his face upward and moaned in pleasure.

When he came, searing heat sliced through her core, spreading throughout her womb and then shooting upward through her veins. Like a drug, it took her on the most unbelievable high she had ever felt. She was motionless, paralyzed by the wave of sensations taking her by storm. Not only did she see stars, she saw the sun and moon.

After his climax, he collapsed on top of her, panting against her neck. Fulfilling the urge within her, she hugged him tightly to her. Lightning cracked outside of the hut, rattling the makeshift door and shaking the foundation, as if delivering them a message. But she didn’t care, she had Thane and she knew he’d never let anything happen to her.

It took awhile for his glow to dim and finally fade away. She knew it was gone because his body temperature began to return to normal.

He kissed her on the forehead and placed a quilt over their bodies. With the light from the fire, she saw him lift something round from a miniature box.

“What’s that?”

“Your ticket out of here.”

Her heart dropped. Out of here meant away from him. He’d explained why he couldn’t leave before. Why did she feel this way, like a hole was opening up inside of her? She should have felt ecstatic at the notion of breaking free of the shifter prison.

“I’m a threat to your life. I can extend your time tenfold by offering you as much of my DNA as you will take, and ensure that you have access to more in the future, but your life will never be the same again if I physically stay in it.”

“But I want you in—”

“—Kalena! Don’t make this harder than it already is. Push the button, and tomorrow we will meet the choppers by the lake we visited today. If something happens to me, you will go to the ravine and get on the helicopter.”

“But—”

“—You will tell them that their Alpha sent you. They will know you’re telling the truth with my DNA fresh in your system.”

“Alpha?”

“Yes, I’m an Alpha. Leader of my Pack.” He handed her the round device. “Push the button.”

She hesitated. “Are you ever gonna get out of here?”

“Yes. If I have to serve a small amount of time in exile while my followers obtain what they need from Silex, I will do that. And if I never get out of here, then my life will be the price paid for a problem my family caused in the first place. Before I die, or anyone else dies…I want to resolve the problem. Understood?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

He stroked the cleft on her chin. “I care about you deeply, but my responsibilities are tenfold, just like my life expectancy.  My world is a world of trouble, and it has always been that way. I can’t bring you into it. When you marry a man, he should treat you like you are the only thing that matters in his world.”

“I will never marry a man, Thane,” she said, defiantly.

“Why not?”

“Because when you get out of this hell-hole, I will owe my life to you because you saved it.” She pushed the button firmly. “When you’re not under so much stress, then you can tell me if you never want to see me again. Don’t make me wait too long though. Especially now that you’ve just extended my life.”

“I had a feeling you were stubborn.” He hugged her close. “Lay next to me for a couple more hours, and then we’ll head out.”

Kalena smiled and laid her head right next to his heart. She didn’t want to let go, but sooner or later, she’d have to.

Chapter 14

THE SOUND OF pounding rain beating against the door of the hut tore Thane from his slumber. He rose from the cot at the same moment that Kalena sprang awake next to him. They couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour. The rumbling of the storm outside couldn’t have caused the physical beating on the doorframe.

He growled and got up, not even bothering to jump into his jeans. If he needed to shift, he didn’t need them in his way.

“Thane?”

“Stay there. I’m going to check the door.”

As he got closer to the door, he heard what sounded like David calling out to him. He rushed to the entrance and yanked it open.

“Goddamn it to hell, Thane!” David’s clothes were raggedy, and he was doubled over, panting for air.

“What the fuck!” Thane grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his bottom half.

“I know ya told me never to cross this line, but two wolves are runnin’ around tearin’ through everyone’s shelters. They done killed three of Nolan’s runners. I seen them layin’ dead in a ravine.”

“Get inside!” Thane shoved David inside, then stepped outside and turned his nose up to the air. Rain pelted his face, and he couldn’t hear anything else or see a damned thing more than two feet in front of him.

He bolted the door closed and turned to David, who was ogling Kalena on the bed.

“Well, damn…it sure didn’t take long.”

“David, look away.” Thane gathered up Kalena’s clothes and handed them to her. “Get dressed. We’ll probably have to move sooner than I thought. I’m going to check the area, but I need you two to stay put.”

“Thane, what’s going on? And who is this man?”

“There are intruders in Area S2. David is a friend.” Thane turned to David, who’d forced his line of sight at the wall rather than at Kalena.

“Are you sure they were wolves? Did you cover your tracks coming here?”

“Yes,” David spoke, sternly. “They were wolves, I tell ya.”

“Tracks,” Thane urged. “Did you leave your tracks?”

“What tracks? It’s pourin’ down watermelons and coconuts out there. Do you really think my scent stuck anywhere?”

David was right. Scent was harder to pick up in a storm.

“We pushed the button not too long ago. I didn’t expect anything to interfere with Kalena’s escape out of here.”

“These can’t be regular prisoners. They sounded like a pack of dogs just tearin’ through the forest. I heard the howlin’ and cries and broke outta my hut to catch them guttin’ a runner. I jumped in a tree, escapin’ them by seconds, literally. Had it not been rainin’, they woulda caught and killed me.” David paced back and forth. “Do you think the heads of Area S2 sent out these two to clean up and…murder us all?”

Kalena gasped.

“Try and keep calm, David,” Thane urged and went to Kalena’s side. “I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

“Oh, no,” Kalena whispered.

“Do you remember the lake…at the North gate?” he asked David.

“Yeah. That’s where we first crossed paths months ago,” David replied.

“That is where the choppers are cleared to land. If I’m not back, will you help Kalena get there?”

“You have my word.” David nodded.

“Be careful of the traps,” he warned.

“Thane?” Kalena’s voice shook with panic.

“This is the only way. I don’t know who’s slaughtering wolves, but I have to keep them at bay until you’re safe on the chopper.” He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her lips. “You agreed to let me help you. My Pack brothers will keep you safe. You have my word, and you will soon have theirs. I promise.”

“Oh, my God…okay. I just thought you’d see me off.”

“There’s no time. I’m sorry.”

She swallowed visibly and stiffened her back. “Right. You have your responsibilities. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. I’ll do what I can to help your Pack brothers with Silex.”

She knelt on the bed until she was almost on the same level as Thane. She was still a couple inches shy, but before he could make a remark about her height, she pressed her delicate lips against his. His imprints immediately glowed as their tongues meshed together. He deepened the kiss, reveling in the taste of her. He didn’t want it to be the last time he touched her or that she touched him, but he was afraid that was the case.

Kalena finally pulled back, and he walked to the door, letting the blanket fall to the floor. David pulled the door open for him and sheets of rain billowed inside with the wind.

With the imprints still glowing hotly on his back, Thane shifted from man to wolf.

This time, Kalena’s gasp was one of admiration. As he stood there in wolf form, it dawned on Thane that she’d never seen his wolf up close. Her surprise showed in her eyes and with the parting of her lips. He’d also never seen Kalena up close while in his wolf form.

She was absolutely breathtaking as she stood there wearing his oversized clothes. He could see the rise and fall of her chest as she studied him intently.

Finally, Thane processed what his wolf had been trying to tell him all along. The wolf had already accepted Kalena as his mate.

It was too late…Thane’s plan now was to get her out of harm’s way.

He turned, crossed the threshold to his hut and lifted his snout to the clouds, letting the rain drench him.

Thane let out an earth-shattering howl, sending a warning out to the threat.

Chapter 15

THANE RACED TO the other end of the forest in the direction of David’s territory. The two murdering wolves couldn’t have gotten far, especially if they had no knowledge of the terrain. Were they new prisoners of Area S2, or were they sent to slaughter everyone here as David had mentioned?

Whether or not that was the case, Thane still had a duty and responsibilities. Gavril had grown weak and callous. He didn’t want any other innocent’s suffering the same fate as his parents at the hands of his brother. He’d ensure that Kalena made it out of this place alive as he’d promised her, and he’d ensure that the Pack he left behind in the real world continued on in the event of his demise.

He wanted freedom, but he wasn’t foolish enough to leap for it at the expense of other lives. If Gavril had custody of Danika in any shape or form, any news of his escape could be detrimental to the girl’s life. He’d stay put until they were certain she was safe, and guarantee that they had all the evidence they needed against Gavril to take him down without attracting public scrutiny.

On his last dying breath, his father had asked him to keep the family name alive and clean. And he’d promised…

It was hard to trek the rocky terrain in the mud. His paws slipped against stone and got bogged down in mud more than a few times. Despite the difficult journey, he pushed on, fleeing through territory he had no business being on. But he didn’t care.

More than a few times, he passed freshly killed wolves in the mud. It was all the evidence he needed to confirm that Area S2 had turned into a slaughter ground.

Something told him to move further along the borders near the cargo drop area—Nolan’s territory. And sure enough, it was the center of the action.

He heard the growls and the sound of teeth tearing into flesh before he reached the borderline. Just as he’d done the night that Kalena was brought here, he barged forward. Nolan and one of his runners were fighting with two black wolves.

It took Thane less than five seconds to identify the intruders as members of his Pack. Ulrick and Zeff.

Thane’s wolf rushed forward into danger without hesitation and without fully processing the situation.

Blood and guts from other dead wolves were lying around in the wake of the fighting, and the carnage filled his senses. Nolan’s runner didn’t hesitate when he saw Thane charging for his leader. He bucked forward, clawing Thane in the side. Thane yelped and clawed the runner across the snout. Zeff caught the offending wolf by the throat and bit down, delivering instant death. Blood sprayed out in all directions, showering Thane in the face.

Thane shook his body, ridding himself of the other wolf’s blood. He could see that Ulrick was in trouble keeping Nolan at bay. They struggled for power, aiming directly for each other’s throats. This was no innocent game where someone would tap out. Someone would die here tonight, and it would not be his Pack mates, those he was bound to protect.

He rushed forward, tumbling Nolan to the ground. They fought viciously, clawing and tearing at the other’s flesh.

Thane didn’t feel the pain because it was clouded with the thoughts of what would happen to him and his people if he failed to take the reins. He pinned Nolan, holding the other wolf captive on the ground.

Nolan ceased snapping his canines and brought his paws up to his face. It was a sign of submission. It appeared that Nolan wanted to shift back, but with Thane pinning him to the ground and bearing all of his power down on him, he was restricted from doing so.

Thane let up slightly, but that was a mistake.

The tables were turned with Nolan gaining the upper hand. He didn’t keep it, however. Both wolves ascended to their hind legs, pawing and biting. They traded blows until finally, Thane mauled Nolan full force across the snout, slamming the other wolf to the ground.

Thane pounced in for the kill, digging his canines deep into tendons and thick arteries. Blood pulsed into his mouth as he ended the other wolf’s life.

There was radio silence as he stepped back to recognize the kill, but when he looked around him, about two dozen wolves came out of the clearing of the forest. All of them kneeled. It was tradition, and a display of their acceptance that he was now in charge.

Thane shifted back into human form, wincing as the blood dripped from the bites all over his body. His imprints blazed brightly on his skin as rage rushed through him. At this point, he didn’t give a shit about his ranking as Alpha being exposed.

Both Ulrick and Zeff shifted, as well. Twins by birth, both brothers had been born with the ability to shift. Usually, only one twin got the shifting gene as with him and Gavril, but that wasn’t the case with Ulrick and Zeff. They stood stark naked, just as covered in blood as Thane was.

The two unknown wolves racing through the forest had been identified, but what the fuck were they doing in Area S2?

Both men kneeled in front of Thane, as was customary when greeting their Alpha.

“Get up and explain yourselves,” Thane ordered.

“You called.”

Thane was puzzled at first, and then realized what they had meant. “I thought a chopper would be sent. How did you get in, and how do you expect to get out?”

“Three wolves and a truck left here a few nights ago,” Zeff replied. “They wouldn’t comply and hand over the truck. They began to call for more backup, so we killed them.”

Zeff’s smile was just a little too pleasant, but then again, the twin brothers were always into fighting.

“Were any of the alarms triggered when you two broke in here?” Thane asked.

Zeff shook his head. “We cut off the hand of one of the men in the truck and used it on the access pad to open the gate, but Ulrick seems to have lost the hand somewhere along the way.”

“Snitch,” Ulrick muttered under his breath.

“Did they have foreign accents?” Thane asked, already knowing the answer to that.

Ulrick nodded. “It didn't sound like they were natives to America, that's for sure.”

“What were you doing out here anyway?” Thane inquired.

“We were sent to bring you some news, but then we got word that you pushed the button. The chopper is already on the way.” Zeff replied.

A chill crept up along Thane’s spine. Any news brought to him in this manner would’ve been deemed critical. “What news?”

“Danika is safe. We’ve secured her location.”

Thane sighed in relief.

“But Gavril is nowhere to be found. It seems that he went into hiding.”

Thane ground his teeth together in aggravation. He didn’t know what Gavril had up his sleeve, but whatever it was, he was certain that Gavril would refuse to go down willingly.

“Your Pack awaits your return and your orders regarding Gavril.” Ulrick held up what look like a heavy-duty metal cutter. “We came to unchain you. This is no place for an Alpha.”

Chapter 16

KALENA LIFTED HER gaze to the sky and shielded her eyes from the morning sunrays. Helicopter blades sliced through the humid air and the engine roared overhead. As the pilot descended, tree branches swayed back and forth. Leaves and brambles scattered across the forest floor. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as the wind whipped across her face.

She was hopeful that when she got on the helicopter, her life would somehow be normal once more. On the other hand, she knew in her heart that after meeting Thane, learning about Silex and what kind of company she had been working for that she’d never make decisions lightly again.

Over an hour had passed since Kalena and David had fled Thane’s hut at his request. Already she wondered what had become of Thane. Was he okay? In trouble? Would she see him again soon?

David placed his hand on her shoulder and shouted above the noise. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” she shouted back, but the helicopter engine swallowed up her voice. Instead, she nodded to reassure him.

The ground quaked around them, and the surface of the water rippled as the helicopter balanced right above a clearing several meters away.

Kalena brought a hand up to shield her face as grass and straw flew at her. She didn’t remove her makeshift shield until the rotors stopped spinning. When she opened her eyes again, two men had exited the helicopter and jogged toward them.

David stiffened beside her and took several steps forward, then brought a leveled hand over his eyebrows to block the rays of the sun as he looked out at the approaching men.

They appeared as big as wrestlers as they came into full view. They halted a couple of feet in front of her and David.

“Kalena Jackson? David McCarthy?” The one with the green eyes looked sternly between the two. His nostrils flared when his gaze came to finally rest on her.

She shifted her weight and averted her attention to the helicopter behind him when she recalled the statement Thane had made about how his Pack members would recognize his scent on her. Kalena wondered if the men were able to detect what she’d done to carry Thane’s scent.

“That’s us,” David answered. “I’m a friend of Thane’s. I’m supposed to see that Kalena gets on that chopper safely.”

“I’m Brant. Beta to Thane Silex—Alpha of the ShadowRock Pack.”

This introduction came from the man with the majestic green eyes that had spoken initially.

Kalena’s mouth parted to speak, but before she could ask her question, Brant spoke again.

“Come with us.” Brant extended his arm out toward the waiting helicopter.

“Wait,” David said, startled. “I’m stayin’ behind to go back and help Thane.”

“There’s no need. The welfare of our Alpha has been taken care of. There has been a change of plans, and these are Thane’s most recent orders. He will board a second helicopter. Follow us now,” Brant commanded. “Both of you.”

He spun around without another word. The second man that accompanied Brant followed suit and headed toward the helicopter, as well.

Truthfully, she and David had no other desirable choice but to follow. She didn’t know about David, but she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life—or even the rest of this day—here.

A black and red crest was painted on the body of the chopper. Silex Pharmaceuticals owned several helicopters. She’d seen at least one parked on the top level of the parking garage that was adjacent to the main building where she’d worked. But the insignia on the one here wasn’t done in the red and gold colors of the aircraft belonging to the company she had worked for. The etchings on this one almost resembled a family crest.

She followed the men. Not long after, David fell in step beside her. With considerable help, they boarded the helicopter via a rope ladder. Her stomach recoiled and grumbled as she made the ascent, reminding her that she wasn’t all that fond of heights. Even her balance was a little shaky. But was that a side effect of the drug, Thane’s shifter DNA, or her fear of falling?

As Brant hastily fastened them securely inside the helicopter, she glanced up at the cockpit to see the pilot and co-pilot manning the controls.

The co-pilot turned around and narrowed his steely dark gaze at both of them. He was completely bald and his very appearance sent chills straight down her spine. The undertones of his flesh were dark and earthy, but the color of his skin appeared dull, almost pale. Something was odd about him. He seemed…lifeless somehow.

She shook her head and tried not to stare, but her curiosity lured her again.

His mouth was set in such a taut line that she made out the sharp tips of fangs pressing against his bottom lip. He certainly wasn’t human, but he didn’t resemble Thane or the man who’d just introduced himself as Thane’s Beta, either.

Suddenly, his depthless gaze flickered over to Brant. “We’ll speed it up this go ‘round. It’s almost past my dinner time.” The fangs were gone when he shifted his gaze over to her once more before turning his attention back to the controls.

She took a deep breath, noting how the small, claustrophobic space was filled with the various scents of each of the men. Smells that she probably wouldn’t have noticed before were now magnified. She even picked up the faint remnants of laundry detergent on their clothing.

David, who was right next to her, smelled of grass and peat moss. Brant, who was on the other side of her, smelled of sweat and animal and something else wild she couldn’t pinpoint. From the cockpit, she could differentiate the smells of the two pilots. Their smells reminded her of some type of iron or metal…and blood.

When she swallowed to alleviate her dry throat, her thoughts suddenly shifted to Thane. She craved his company. She could feel the changes in her system. But was she just sick, or was her body responding to the cure that Thane had passed to her?

A headache rose up against her temples. To combat the nauseating smells, she ducked her mouth and nose into the collar of her shirt and settled back in the chopper’s seat. She closed her eyes as the helicopter lifted from the ground.

She couldn’t—and wouldn’t—turn back now. Her life was entwined with Thane’s, even after they were no longer confined to Area S2 together.

Chapter 17

EVERYTHING IN THANE’S quarters was just as he had left it over six months ago when he had last slept here. Of course, remnants of the scents from a couple of the different maids employed at his estate lingered in every corner of the room.

They’d kept his linens clean, the Calamander wood floors shined, and the surfaces dusted in his absence. It was almost as if they’d known he would return, even when the chances of him being killed at Area S2 were high. Proof of his death would’ve given his Pack the go-ahead to secure another Alpha. But they hadn’t. He respected their loyalty to him.

When an Alpha went missing, was presumed dead, or abandoned his Pack, it wasn’t odd for everyone who once ran with him to join other Packs or disband under weak interim leadership. But the ShadowRock Wolf Pack was not made up of weak leaders, or Pack members for that matter. Most of the credit for keeping the Pack morale high enough to prevent them from splitting up went to his Beta, Brant Cedona. Cedona could have easily ascended to Pack Alpha and claimed the title in Thane’s six-month absence. But he hadn’t.

Thane had lost six months of his life to Area S2 because of Gavril’s attempts to play God. Of course, he would do it again in a heartbeat if it was what it took to unravel the mess that Gavril started.

Thane took a seat in a leather side chair near the windows. Dusk was beginning to set, and the amber-colored sky reminded him of the highlights in Kalena’s hair. Her lovely scent was all over him, and not one moment passed that he didn’t think about how soft her body felt against his.

He wanted to go to her…he’d go to her soon…

Would she still accept him for who he was, or take the first opportunity to vanish from his world into obscurity?

He was supposed to be gathering his thoughts—business and Pack matters. Yet he simply couldn’t concentrate on much of anything except Kalena and how much he wanted her company. But business matters were pressing. He had returned to ShadowRock as his Pack’s Alpha, had immediately settled once more into the role. He had a duty to his people to uphold.

He’d earned the Alpha title by working his way up over the decades. He’d started in the lowest cast of wolves and ascended, until finally, coming to be named Pack Beta by the previous Alpha, who happened to be his late uncle, Houston Silex. Houston never played favorites, and aside from Thane’s birth father, Harold, Houston always gave the best advice. Thane had approached the man more than a dozen times to gain his wisdom on personal matters. He’d never expected Houston to choose him as successor. Heck, Thane had favored being Pack Beta more than any other position he’d held in the past. But before his death, Houston had handed the ShadowRock Wolf Pack down to Thane. He’d accepted without question.

Now, both his father and his uncle were gone. The only living relatives bearing the Silex name and genes besides him were his twin brother, Gavril, and Danika. None of them were mated nor had they borne any offspring. Bearing children wasn’t easy among their kind, which was the main reason so few carrying the Silex gene still lived.

There had been times when Thane had thought about taking several mates as many Alphas of neighboring Packs had done to keep the bloodline going, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Now he wondered if this were in the family’s best interest.

Gavril had shady ulterior motives. His brother would never bear wolf pups since he didn’t carry the shifting gene. That fool seemed more infatuated with creating drugs like D996 so that he could play God than ensuring his legacy lived on.

Danika, although promised to another by their father through a betrothal, was not of breeding age. Another decade could pass before she would produce any Silex pups, if at all.

That left him…

In that moment, Thane thought of Kalena and how she had awakened the mating urge inside of him. Not just for reasons of procreation and breeding, but because she actually warmed his heart and called to his wolf, who responded in kind.

But he couldn’t use Kalena for his own purposes and gains. He wanted to keep her near but knew he’d have to allow her to make her own choice sooner or later. But first, he planned to eliminate any threats—present or future—to her life.

Thane wrung his hands together, thinking of what he would say to her tonight. She was only one floor above him in the mansion. If he gave her space for a few hours, even a couple of days, maybe she’d realize that what they’d shared in the hut in Area S2, although beautiful, would come with a price.

There were too many Gavrils in the world that could harm her. And there were far greater enemies than Gavril out there.

If she stayed with him, she’d be subject to whatever scrutiny and threats he faced. Had that been why he’d been so hesitant to take a mate all this time? The uncertainty of a future where shared pain and suffering could last for decades if he bonded with a woman?

Thane swallowed down his rising fears just as there was a loud knock at the door. He lifted his nose and scented Brant and two unknown female wolves.

Thane cleared his throat. “Come in.”

The shifter women Thane had scented filed into the room first, one after the other, and then stood to the side as Brant entered.

“I came to tell you that all the Alphas scheduled to arrive today are here to discuss your plans for Gavril. Those that could not attend have sent their regards by messenger.”

“Thank you, Brant. Any word on when Danika may arrive?”

“She’ll be here sometime tomorrow. She refused to board the private jet, so her guards have rented a vehicle to transport her cross country.”

Thane shook his head and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He’d never known a teenager more spoiled than Danika. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the fact that most of her decisions got her into trouble. “She and I will have a talk when she gets here. What about Kalena? How is she?”

“The treatment you gave her while you were in exile is holding up well,” Brant said. “One of the maids has been checking on her periodically to see what she needs, as you requested. Tracy O’Neill is on her way here as we speak.”

“And David?”

“After speaking with him, he’s still undecided about whether he wants the DNA or not.”

Thane nodded and stood. “Give him more time. The choice is his to make whether it’s today, tomorrow, or next year. Thanks for bringing me the news. As for the guests, have my staff accommodate all of them and make sure they have rooms on the premises for the night. If they wish.”

“That’s already been done, Alpha.”

“Good, then,” Thane said. “I’ve had enough time to finalize my plans. After all, I spent six months thinking of how I would twist Gavril’s thick neck before it snapped.” Before saying anything else, he quickly noted the two women who remained in the room with him and Brant but had yet to excuse themselves like most of the maids had done. He asked firmly, “What do we have here?”

“The Alpha of the Black Crescent Pack sent two of his best girls for you.” Brant cleared his throat. “As an early homecoming gift. He thought you could use some relief after your prolonged exile without…um…” Brant shuffled uncomfortably. He unfolded his arm and gestured toward the two women standing in Thane’s room. “He wanted you to know that they are…untouched.”

Thane frowned and looked back and forth between the women. He hadn’t noticed before, or maybe he’d just ignored the fact that they were wearing flimsy, see-through gowns that left very little to the imagination. One had long blonde hair cascading down her back, and the other had a black pixie cut. They were shifters—young, ripe, and of breeding age.

“Nice to meet you, Thane Silex, Alpha of the ShadowRock Pack.” The older of the two with the pixie haircut stepped forward and bowed slightly. “My name is Tina, and this is my friend, Tiara. We’ve been sent to serve you any way you’d like. We’re both trained masseuses. Our specialties are usually performed by the bath or the bedside. We’re good at relieving stress, and we won’t ask for anything in return.” She licked her lips and her gaze flitted down to his cock. “If you’ll have us, we’ll be good to you.”

The younger one looked at Thane once and blushed.

Other than a slight stirring behind his zipper, Thane felt nothing.

The situation was a good example of why Thane needed a mate of his choosing, not someone chosen for him.

When you had the title of Alpha, your Pack expected you to take a mate. It was customary. Traditionally, other Pack Alphas would send their best girls along in hopes that a needy Alpha would mate one of them, making a stronger alliance between the two Packs. Word had probably reached far and wide of Thane’s break from Area S2 and subsequent wolf hunt ordered on Gavril.

As a wolf who could not shift, Gavril could not rightfully hold the title of Alpha, which was why he’d been given the mantle of CEO of Silex Pharmaceuticals until the rightful owner, Danika Silex, reached adulthood. But Gavril still had power. He could strip titles, disband Packs, and claim territory. Gavril had achieved all of the above already, in addition to other crimes and treachery against his kind. Where Gavril lacked the strength of a wolf, he possessed the persuasiveness of a career politician. And if any man or wolf could stop Gavril in his tracks, it was Thane. There were not many Alphas that wanted to get in the way of a debacle such as this.

Thane took another quick glance at the beautiful virgins standing before him and made a quick decision that they weren’t what he wanted. He didn’t make alliances by accepting every gift sent or taking every woman offered up by neighboring Packs to bed, and he certainly wouldn’t start now.

“No, thank you,” he told the women, and then turned to Brant. “You can send them back untouched.” He pulled his shirt over his head, threw the garment across a chair, and headed toward the bathroom. “I’ll be down in half an hour after my shower.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Chapter 18

FOR THE DOZENTH time, Kalena shut the leather-bound book she had been trying to read and let it drop to her lap. She tried to keep her mind off of all the scenarios running through her brain and remain occupied by reading. It was no use. Her eyes just skimmed the tiny black letters while her thoughts ran rampant, every one of them leading back to Thane.

Why hadn’t he come to her yet? Was he going to come? Had he saved her because he knew she had the information he needed? What were these changes in her body? Was she going to die if she never took the shifter DNA again?

A half day had passed since they’d arrived at the big Silex mansion, and the only answers she’d been given were that the Alpha wanted to give her ample time to think and process the situation before her. Now, night was sure to fall within a matter of hours, and Thane had yet to present himself.

Upon arriving at the estate, both she and David had been promptly split up and assured that they would be accommodated and fed well while they stayed onsite. Kalena had thanked David for helping her navigate the rocky terrains of Area S2, and they hadn’t seen each other since. But she’d only exited the room once, and after venturing down a winding hall that led to nowhere, she’d closed herself back up inside.

If this were Thane’s intention…to keep her alone in an enormous room the size of her whole apartment while he ran around as if nothing had happened between them, then she should’ve just gone home.

But go home and then what? What would await her there? Did anyone know she had been missing for nearly a week? Would the perpetrators who’d put her in Area S2 in the first place come back and haul her off to the remote wilderness once again? Would they kill her this time instead of trapping her inside a shifter’s prison?

Kalena blew out an exaggerated sigh, rose from the chair, and poured ice-cold water into an empty glass. She took several sips before her anxious pulse returned to normal again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much energy this close to bedtime. Her anxiety made sense. How could she fall asleep without answers…and without Thane?

The house staff and the maid that had brought food, drinks, and other toiletries in for Kalena were nice enough, but she wasn’t used to all of the attention. Every so often, she’d hear voices come and go out in the hallway, and doors open and close. Thane’s family and Pack members must have been excited about his return. They deserved to reunite with him. He deserved time with them.

There was a soft knock at her door and she jumped. Two maids were helping her, so the knock could have easily come from one of them. She walked over to the door and turned the knob.

She wasn’t expecting to find her friend from Silex Pharmaceuticals on the other side.

Kalena’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the tall, beautiful lab tech that she’d come to think of as her only friend at Silex. “Tracy?”

Tracy grinned. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Her black, thick-rimmed glasses were gone. She was no longer hunched over in a black lab coat. She was graceful and lean, wearing a short mini-skirt, and her dull brown eyes were now suddenly green. The black hair she’d always kept tied in a bun haphazardly on top of her head was now cascading down her back.

“What—?” Kalena felt lightheaded and she pressed her palm against her forehead.

“Whoa.” Tracy reached out and grabbed Kalena’s elbow. “Before you pass out, let’s sit down. Okay?” She pressed the door shut and they headed over to the window bench.

“Tracy, what happened?” Kalena’s inquiry rushed out of her mouth before she could gather her thoughts.

“I was going to ask you the same thing, but I hear the drug has effected your memory a bit so I guess I should go first.” She folded her legs under her and her shoulders hunched almost like she’d done back in the labs. “I’m still the Tracy you knew. O’Neill is my family name. I’m a wolf shifter and member of the ShadowRock Pack. One of several Iotas.”

“Iotas?”

Tracy shrugged. “Kind of like a Pack nurse or doctor, but I was inducted into Thane’s mission involving D996. While working at Silex as spies, my crew and I were responsible for altering the formulas and ultimately ruining the production.”

“How?”

“I double-majored in college. Chemistry and Biology. My grandfather also sent me to med school.”

“That’s impressive, Tracy. I knew you were extremely smart, but I meant how were you altering the formulas in the labs?”

“Ah,” she nodded, “unfortunately, that’s all classified.” Tracy chuckled. “Well, we thought it was until someone ratted us out.”

Tracy had shredded the nerdy-girl look, but her personality had not changed. She was still spunky and said whatever the hell she wanted. It must have been hard on Tracy to keep her secret.

“What happened to your eyes?” Kalena asked. “I thought they were—”

“—contacts. A disguise,” Tracy supplied.

“So your crew got caught and I somehow ended up at the prison?”

“I’m sorry about that, Kalena.” Tracy frowned. “I wanted to tell you, but…I…if I could change things, I would. They went after Becca in the storage room. When I got there, she was threatening them with a knife. They called her a spy and killed her. I fled. You must have walked in shortly after. What did they do?”

“They knocked me out. I had your badge in my hand from when I’d picked it up off of the floor. They must have thought I was you.”

“They injected you, so at some point they figured out you were human,” Tracy said slowly.

“How could they order use of the drug on a human and then turn around and throw them in a prison meant for the lowest of lows, shifter and human alike? It’s despicable. This Gavril person is selfish and destructive. He should be the one spending the rest of his days in Area S2.”

“How did you end up on Area S2?” Tracy asked.

“I thought the injection was to make me pass out and prohibit me from fighting them, but I later realized it was to wipe my memory, so I don’t exactly know how I got there. When they tossed me through the gates, I saw other women there. I couldn’t tell then if they were humans or shifters. Thane fought some wolves, and I was given to him. I felt a little strange then, like I’d taken meds that caused drowsiness. A few hours later, I woke up in his hut. Thane questioned me, of course, and discovered the connection I had to Silex Pharmaceuticals. It was obvious to Thane that they’d given me the D996 drug after I passed out again not long after that.” Kalena exchanged solemn glances with Tracy. “He helped me. Even if the drug weren’t in the picture, I don’t think I would’ve lasted in Area S2 a day without him. We met by chance, and if we hadn’t…”

“Yes, I know. As terrible as all of this was, your timing was superb. When I escaped from the labs, I managed to find Brant and I told him what happened. That’s when he sent out Ulrick and Zeff to monitor Area S2. They were in place to breach the prison on Brant’s command and deliver the message about our mission being interrupted, but then Thane reached outside of our Pack for help. There’s a rumor going around that he pushed that button for you, so you could get out, even though he didn’t plan to escape right then.”

“He said he couldn’t leave because someone else’s life was on the line,” Kalena added.

“Gavril had been holding her hostage. Thane accepted his exile sentence so that Danika could live. She is safe, but now Gavril is missing.”

“Danika is Thane’s kin, right?”

“Yep. At just sixteen years old, she’s the youngest. She hasn’t even reached her prime yet,” Tracy said. “Imagine if those monkeys Gavril hired to capture us spies had found me and thrown me in Area S2 instead of you. I don’t think Thane would have pushed that button for me. What happened out there between you two?”

Kalena dropped her gaze and her entire body heated. “I…obviously I was innocent, and he wanted to help me get out. We spent our time talking about my escape and Silex.”

Tracy passed her a knowing look. “Talking. Sure. Are you trying to hide something from me?”

“What could I be hiding from you?”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Tracy pointed to her nose. “I figured that out the moment we met and you fibbed about having a boyfriend.”

Kalena shook her head. “What boyfriend?”

Tracy threw her a skeptical look. “Uh-huh…sure. Deny it all you want. Well, you can’t lie anymore. Not about Thane, at least.”

“How do you know I’m lying about Thane?”

“I’m a shifter. Thane’s my Alpha. His scent is all over you. He’s imprinted on you.”

“Oh…” Kalena covered her mouth with her hands in embarrassment.

“Don’t be ashamed. Thane is handsome, incredibly affluent and is serious boyfriend material—if only just for a quick roll in the hay…or in the hut. In a cell? Wait…where did you two do it?”

“Tracy!”

Tracy giggled. “Just being nosey. But at least he’s not dumb as a box of rocks like his twin. But seriously…,” her voice grew lower, “…is it true what they say about him?”

“Is what true about who?”

“About Thane. Who did you think I was talking about?”

“Um…” Kalena shook her head. “What about him?”

“His package…his cock,” Tracy smirked. “Is he hung? Was he skillful in bed…or whatever you did it on?”

Kalena laughed nervously. “So there are rumors about him? Something tells me Thane is quite popular with the ladies in this neck of the woods.”

Tracy’s left eyebrow rose and she smiled. “He is. Well, I don’t know personally because I’ve never slept with him and I wouldn’t because he’s the Alpha who commands me, but he’s…well…an Alpha with no mate. They usually take one within a year of ascending to the position. Thane? Nope, he didn’t. He seemed uninterested in that regard. Before he got mixed up in Gavril’s dumb bullshit, he’d have title-holding wolf shifters from dozens of Packs throwing their virgin daughters at him. Did he mate any of them? Nope. And we all know he likes women based on what he selects to satisfy his appetite…and he has a healthy one, or so I’ve heard.” She slipped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I should keep my mouth shut. This was all before he went to Area S2, of course…and before his parents were killed.”

Kalena’s gaze wandered off and lingered on the flickering decorative lights in the garden below the bedroom window.

Things were so different in Thane’s world. He wasn’t a human. He didn’t live by human customs. She’d have to accept that.

“What are you thinking about?” Tracy asked.

“A lot. A whole lot.”

“I wanted to come out to see you as soon as I found out you’d escaped with Thane. I was ecstatic when he called and asked me to answer any questions you might have…about us and our kind and what will happen as it relates to you.”

“Why doesn’t he answer my questions himself?” Kalena asked before she could stop herself.

“He said he thought you could use a woman’s perspective, but I’m certain you will get his viewpoint very soon if you haven’t already. You took his life-altering DNA, so you can probably feel the subtle changes in your body. Heightened sense of smell. Sharper vision. Better reflexes. A feeling that you can take on the world and still have enough energy to conquer a planet or two.”

“Yes.” Kalena rubbed at her arms. “I feel somewhat different, but I don’t understand it.”

“It’ll take years to understand these changes. And it’ll take even longer for you to learn how to use and control your new skills.” She winked. “I can help you. I’ll be around whenever you need me.”

“Thank you.”

“If you continue to take shifter DNA, your genetic makeup will be altered. You’ll still be human; you’ll just have a few of our traits. The more you take, the closer you will become to us. Sooner or later, your life expectancy will match ours. People who choose this route aren’t allowed to go to human physicians for obvious reasons. That’s why we have our own doctors. It’s why my grandfather sent me to school so that I could become one of them. I’m not old enough yet, and I still have a decade or so of training before I can start my own practice, but I like being a spy for right now anyway.”

Kalena smiled. “Well, you were obviously a good spy. How long before I’m fully cured and won’t have to rely on the shifter DNA anymore?”

“Depends. Thane’s bloodline is pretty old. Shit, he’s old. He’s strong, and he also bears an Alpha’s mark. Usually, it takes a dozen exchanges for a human to be fully cured. Based on how much you’ve taken already, I don’t think it will take much more in your case.”

“When you say ‘take’…do you mean injections?” Kalena asked.

“Not entirely. With injections, obviously you take them through the vein. With sex, it works differently. It also helps that he’s somehow imprinted on you. Your body has fully accepted what he’s given you without much resistance. In some cases—a high number of them really—the benefactors become sick and are bedridden for weeks. It’s similar to the D996 drug though opposite. You get injected with the D996 agent repeatedly without the reversal, you die. You get injected with shifter DNA repeatedly, and your body accepts it, you live…much longer. But like any other foreign agent entering the body, we expect rejection. When introduced into their system, our DNA alters humans. The human body tends to fight it off like it does an infection. So that’s why it takes many successful injections or exchanges to call someone completely cured or totally altered.”

“Why do you keep saying that he imprinted on me?”

“It means that any of us who know Thane, or have been around him enough can sense that the two of you were in bed together and that his wolf has sincerely accepted you. I can track my Alpha from miles away with my eyes closed. All I need is my nose. If I can track and identify him, then I can definitely track and identify you now.”

“Does it work that way when your kind has sex? You imprint on each other?”

“No. Imprinting is special. It’s like the initial bond between a wolf and its mate. It doesn’t happen unless he’s sincere about what he feels for a potential partner. If you’d had sex with him, but his wolf hadn’t imprinted, I wouldn’t have known without prying. You’re not a very good liar though, so eventually I would’ve known. His imprint on you is how I knew you’d received the shifter DNA primarily through intercourse, too.”

Kalena sighed and smiled. “Okay, Dr. O’Neill, you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Hmmm, I like the sound of that,” Tracy said.

“What’s it about your DNA that gives you all this strength and prolonged life?”

Tracy linked her fingers together. “I’m almost wondering if I should leave that up to Thane to tell you.”

“Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough to find all this stuff out? Can’t you tell me now?”

“We didn’t always have extra abilities. You know, longer life and the ability to heal faster. We were just regular shifters living in this world, minding our business. That was before humans knew of our existence.”

“Thane told me about how Pack families began to out themselves one by one.”

“There are still some very high-profile and prominent figureheads in your world that haven’t outed themselves. It would cause upset if they did. We can conceal our true nature quite nicely amongst the humans. It works out well that way. We can keep the peace much better.”

“You concealed it from me, so trust me, I do believe that,” Kalena replied.

“There was a time when we were on the verge of extinction. Our adult males and females weren’t procreating fast enough. It dawned on our ancestors that as the human population grew and spread out, destroying Pack homes and the forests they once ran in, the life expectancy for a wolf had shortened. They were becoming stressed, weak, and prone to human diseases. Do you know the name of another species that lives just as long? Not hundreds of years, but thousands of years. In very rare cases, sometimes centuries.”

Kalena shook her head slowly. “When Thane told me he was nearly three hundred years old, I was in shock. I knew shifters existed, but I didn’t know much about them. I still don’t. What Thane has told me and what you’ve shared are true eye-openers. I am in awe and fearful at the same time, I have to admit.”

Tracy shrugged. “Who wouldn’t be? We are hesitant of and often fear the unknown.”

“Are you telling me that there are others out there like shifters? I mean, what else can there be?”

“Vampires.”

Kalena’s eyes widened. “You’re shitting me.”

“I swore to Thane that I would tell you the truth and nothing but the truth. I’ve wanted to all this time, but couldn’t. I knew you were different. I’m so glad there aren’t secrets between us anymore.”

“So, you’re telling me vampires are real? Have you actually seen one?”

Tracy nodded. “I see them every day. I’m sure you have, too. You just didn’t realize it.”

Kalena thought back to the lifeless-looking pilot who’d flown her and David to the estate. “Maybe I have.”

“The vampires gave us the benefit of an extended lifespan. One of our ancients took the blood of a vampire into his veins to prolong his life and expand his abilities. Some say, it took thirteen injections before he started having vampire-like reflexes, and others say it only took one since the blood was so potent. And, of course, many say he drank the blood, as well. After a few injections, he took many mates and dozens of female wolves bore his offspring. They too had vampire-like traits, with the most prevalent being super slow aging, but they still kept their shifter genes and they were much stronger than their counterparts. Eventually, the ancient took a vampire mate and chose to accept her eternal bite. A lethal bite that killed him and destroyed his precious wolf soul, but he rose the next day as a vampire.  His name is Silvano, and he sits on the Council to this day. He’s still looked up to as a hero to many of us, even though he is no longer a wolf shifter. That’s a short account of our history. This is how we came to be. It’s how we’ve come to live so long.”

“And that’s why Thane is so old…”

Tracy chuckled. “Exactly. We have a few hybrid Packs, but for the most part the vampires are the only race that chooses to live in secrecy. We’re the closest things to humans that know they exist. Because of the blood truce, we’re forbidden to bring attention to their existence. Do you see how all of this relates to D996 and what Gavril is doing and has done?”

“Not really.”

“By creating a deadly drug and offering the life-altering DNA as the only cure to it, he’s bringing attention to more than just shifters. Exposing the drug would be exposing everything.”

“Oh. If the formulas ever got out—if any of this information ever got out—humans would want to know why the DNA is the cure. It’s the cure because it ultimately comes from vampires.”

“Exactly. The plan here is to eliminate the bad drug entirely, along with the perpetrators, not expose the production.”

“Why couldn’t Thane just tell me all of this? I would have agreed in a flash to give him the information he needed to infiltrate the Silex backdoor system.”

“He’s going through a lot right now, Kalena. He has a Pack to uphold. His own brother took his parents from him. He risks scrutiny from the FDA, as well as UCON, which is our ruling body. His cousin and heir to the Silex fortune was held captive and had her life threatened by the same nutcase. Lives have been lost over this drug. Gavril is Thane’s twin. Would you want to kill your sibling, even if you knew they deserved it?”

Kalena swallowed. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“This is his matter to handle. His burden. It’s all falling to him. UCON has an eye on Thane and this Pack now. If he upsets them, there is nothing he can do to save his ass. But if no one saves his ass for him, and he accepts defeat, at least there is always Danika to carry on his family’s bloodline.

“What’s UCON?”

“The United Council of Nightdwellers.”

Kalena sighed. “I wish I had known earlier. About all of this.”

“Earlier, the both of you were trying to ensure that you got out of Area S2 unharmed. And you did. You both did.” Tracy rose from the window bench. “I’m gonna go. You need to get some rest. A good ten hours of sleep will help with the nausea I’m sure you’re experiencing. Thane knows what could happen if you don’t rest. If you don’t settle your nerves, the cure will take longer to settle within you and you risk losing more of your memory. Understood?”

“If you say so, Doctor.”

Tracy held out her arms and Kalena accepted her embrace.

Her friend had made her feel better and calmed her nerves a bit. Just a bit.

Chapter 19

VALDRON COLE, ALPHA of the Black Crescent Pack, tapped the bottom of his glass against the marble coaster. He looked up from his seat directly across from Thane and said, “You’ve escaped certain destruction not once, but twice. Not to mention, you’ve managed to snatch your youngest kin from the clutches of your enemy. Why not let the humans take care of this mess involving the production and distribution of this illegal drug? Report him to the FDA and let them take care of it.”

There were a total of four Alphas, including himself, seated at the long conference table. Thane had known Valdron Cole for decades. Like him, Valdron had been a Beta within his Pack before he’d ascended to his Alpha position after the previous one had died. Valdron’s family was affluent in the winery business and had acquired many refineries over the decades.

Jackson St. Pierre was Alpha of the Gulf Bay Pack. For hundreds of years, the St. Pierre family had made their living in shipping and foreign trade.

And last, Zaid Devoe was the Alpha of the MoonVeil Valley Pack. Like Thane’s family, the Devoes had made a name for themselves in the science and medical field. While Silex’s specialty catered to internal medicines and painkillers, the Devoes specialized in life-like prosthetics. More than fifty percent of Devoe’s Pack members were hybrids, including Zaid himself, whose father is a vampire.

“The initial drug belonged to the Federal government,” Thane replied.  “We don’t own the rights to it; therefore, Gavril never had the go-ahead to modify the formula. If news got around that the producers of the drug were also abusing its uses, Silex Pharmaceuticals would be no more. I’m certain the humans would open up a case. I’m not going to introduce scrutiny we don’t need. And it would be a gross misconception to say that every shareholder at Silex knew what Gavril was doing. The government only funded this project under the condition that the outcome would be short-term memory loss, not certain death.”

“Why would Gavril risk our truce with the vampires and do something like this to threaten all of our livelihoods?” Valdron asked. “He’s literally welcoming his own destruction.”

“Money, power…” Thane shrugged. “Because he can, maybe. He has no control over his kind, and can never lead a Pack because the shifting gene never passed to him. However, he likes to think that he’s superior to humans. As long as he has something they want, he feels he’s in control. Turning Gavril over to the FDA could be disastrous to our kind. If he presents the humans with the information about the reversal or what our DNA can do, he may net trillions. All he needs is a few of us shifters who are willing, or unwilling for that matter, to pump Silex’s labs with donations. My spies have already told me that he’s instituted such a program. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how he plans to extract our DNA. He owns two of the three shifter prisons, because he out bid other potential buyers. And when he couldn’t outbid one, he challenged and killed that one. He has access to inmates, dead and alive. Each prison holds about one hundred persons, mostly shifters. Area S2 held more than that. To him, all those inmates are living blood bags. Many will never escape. There is no reprieve for the crimes they have committed. All who are exiled are meant to die in the wilderness. These prisons were made to secure and keep our vicious killers off the streets so the federal penitentiaries made to house human criminals don’t have to.”

“So when he had the murder of your parents pinned on you, he knew you’d end up at one of his facilities?” Valdron inquired.

Thane nodded. “Multiple attempts were made to kill me while in transport to Area S2. I could have sworn I had died when they threw me in a ditch and left me there. I had a hole in my gut the size of a baseball.”

“What happened? How did you recover?”

“The human, David. He saw me in the ditch. I trusted no one at the time, obviously, and I warned him off with a growl. He threw a bag of supplies and water down beside me and left. With the supplies, I was able to survive long enough to heal.”

“But why? Why would Gavril think creating this drug is a good idea?” Zaid asked.

“I grew up with Gavril. Our father told us both that we were destined for great things. Sometimes I wonder if Gavril truly believes this is what my father meant,” Thane replied. “His hatred for anyone who dares to deny his reasoning is great.”

Valdron put a hand on Thane’s shoulder. “You’ve taken the blame too long. You’re not responsible for his actions. How did the drug alterations begin anyway?”

Thane rubbed his chin. He was not fond of others delving too far into the past and his family business, but this wasn’t a family issue anymore. “He began tweaking the formulas when he took over the company. At the time, I was transitioning into my role as Pack Alpha, but our parents discovered his treachery before anyone else did. My father and I weren’t on good terms. We’d had a disagreement two months prior because I declined to approve funding for land expansion of a paper mill. My parents tried to reach out to me for help while I was on a business trip in Russia, but the night my plane landed was the night Gavril took matters into his own hands. I caught him in the act, but it was too late.” Thane crushed his fists against the table. “My wolf wanted to rip out his throat, but I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. That’s when he told me he had Danika, and if I were to kill him or rat him out, she would starve to death before I ever found her. The police showed up while I had my claws deep in his chest. We were turned over to UCON. Human prosecutors oversaw the court proceedings since they were made aware of the murders. We were both tried, but in a three to two vote, I was convicted and he was not.”

“How?” Jackson St. Pierre asked.

“My fingerprints, along with my dad’s, were the only prints on the gun found at the murder scene. I picked it up when I discovered my parents lying in cold blood. Gavril didn’t expect me to visit that night, and he was still there and told me what he’d done. I clawed him within an inch of his life. He was barely breathing when they rolled him out on the stretcher. The humans wanted a closed trial and prosecution, and of course, they pointed the finger at the animal. And UCON wanted the humans out of their affairs as quickly as possible. I was sentenced in less than a week, and because I knew Gavril had Danika, I acquiesced.”

“Do you think he has an ally on the Council?” Valdron asked in a low voice. “There’s little explanation as to why this wasn’t given a thorough investigation.”

Thane swallowed hard. “UCON has already passed judgement on me. My final decision is to clean up the mess Gavril made. It’s my duty. If UCON wants to speak with me on any other issue, they know where to find me.”

“And they likely will find you,” Zaid said. “Word about Area S2’s breach, your escape, and Gavril’s disappearance has reached far and wide.”

Thane raised his gaze to meet Zaid. “I’m not hiding, am I?”

“So...what do you want done about Gavril in the meantime?” Jackson St. Pierre asked in a cool, calm tone.

“I want him hunted down and captured,” Thane replied sharply. “My Kappas and Lambdas have already been given these orders.”

“Do you want him dead or alive?” Jackson St. Pierre inquired again.

“I want him breathing and conscious,” Thane clenched his jaw. “When I face him again, there may be reason enough this time for everyone to call me a murderer.”

“My Pack will join yours on the hunt,” Jackson St. Pierre declared.

The Alphas shook hands in agreement and convened the meeting. All except Thane and Valdron filed out of the room.

“By the way…” Valdron’s gaze lingered on Thane. “How did your crew manage to escape with Danika?”

“It wasn’t my crew’s doing,” Thane stated bluntly.

One of Valdron’s thick eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“A very old friend of mine owed me a favor.”

Valdron shook his head. “Danika was being held underground in a vaulted home, no?”

“That’s the story going around, isn’t it?” Thane teased.

Valdron smirked and threw him a knowing glance. “And that’s the half of the story I have. Do you mind telling me the other side? Your side, what happened in Area S2…”

“If you must know, the vampires helped me. Only the vampires can move at lightning speeds without detection.”

“Ah…makes sense.”

“My connection got the box inside one of the cargo bins three months into my exile sentence. If I pushed the button, they’d come to my aid in a flash.”

“You could have escaped at any time?”

“I could have. But I didn’t push the button for me that night. I pushed it for an innocent woman. The woman who has inside connections to Silex’s backdoor system,” Thane said.

“So you have a vampire ally on your side, huh?”

Thane nodded. “I’ve known of Tor for decades, even though we don’t cross paths very often. He came to me while I was being held. I refused him at first. He wanted something I didn’t have. Something I might never have.”

“What?”

“A child. If Tor got me out undetected, he wanted one of my future daughters. A betrothal. He wanted to start a hybrid clan under his leadership. He needed a bride to bear his children. Just any shifter woman wouldn’t do. He wanted a shifter bride with an old bloodline. I couldn’t promise him that. So, I declined. He explained that he wouldn’t come again, but that he’d send me a gift just in case I changed my mind. The bag would be orange, and it would be holding an activator that would send me a helicopter.”

“And you pushed it…now you must deliver,” Valdron replied.

“I must. It could be another twenty years before that happens. It might never happen. You and I both know that we don’t always bear offspring.”

“Oh, but when we do, they are plentiful. My mate and I hope to breed three more sets of twins, if we’re lucky.”

“Good for you.”

“Why aren’t you optimistic? Isn’t Tor a good vampire?”

“Yes, he is a good person all around, but I think back to why Danika is not happy about her betrothal and I feel guilt.”

“It’s our way of life, old friend. Everything will work out. What’s meant to be will be.”

Chapter 20

IN LATE FALL, night fell quickly in this part of the region. However, Kalena couldn’t bear to spend another minute shut up in a room, no matter how extravagant the interior and lush the bedding was.

After Tracy had left, Kalena persuaded the maid to walk her outside to witness the splendor of the tall, stone water feature by the pool.

As Kalena sat on the stone edge, she let her fingers glide across the pool’s surface. The water was still and calm and the sound of the cascades reminded her of the beautiful stream Thane had taken her to while they were in Area S2.

“Miss, it’s getting late,” the maid urged quietly, standing beside her. “I have orders to ensure that you’re resting.”

“Yes, I know, Anna,” Kalena said without looking up. “I just want to stay for a little while longer. I’m sitting. That qualifies as resting, doesn’t it?”

The wind whistled in the distance and pushed gently against her back. She wrapped the shawl Anna had given her tighter around her arms. The distant hum of voices flowed toward them, but, of course, Kalena couldn’t make out anything other than the fact that they all belonged to males. The water feature was behind the home, and the voices had come from the front of the property.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you, Anna?” Kalena asked, glancing up momentarily at the maid who’d been helping her with getting clothes and food since she’d arrived.

“I’m just like you.”

Anna was short and walked with calm, graceful movements. Her hair was tied loosely in a bun, and she wore a long, simple dress that clung to her body. The woman was also lean and fit. Her skin was youthful and bright. Kalena couldn’t quite tell her age, but whenever the maid was close, she noted the creases on her skin around the outer corner of her eyes.

“Human?” Kalena inquired.

“Yes…and then some.”

With that revelation, Kalena turned her full attention to Anna, forgetting about the water feature. “Does that mean you’ve taken the DNA?”

Anna nodded. “A long time ago when I was a child. My family has been loyal to the shifters for centuries. I used to work in Thane’s father’s home before his murder. After that, I came to the ShadowRock mansion where I knew Thane’s people would accept me.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“The murders, you mean?”

“Yes,” Kalena said.

“No. None of the housekeepers lived on the property, and the murders happened after hours. But I knew Thane had nothing to do with it. I knew all along.” She spoke in a low voice.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Anna shrugged. “We were ordered not to because it would ruin Thane’s plans.”

Kalena frowned and narrowed her gaze. “Ordered not to by whom?”

“Thane,” she said. “I don’t like talking about this. It won’t bring them back.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you.”

“It still is.” Anna lowered her gaze and said nothing else.

Footsteps echoed on the pavement behind them. When the winds blew again, the air brought a scent with it. Kalena recognized it in an instant.

Thane.

Anna must have sensed him too because she turned around to acknowledge him. “Alpha.”

It was late evening, and he was little more than a shadow. Kalena could make out parts of him under the natural beams from the stars.

He was dressed handsomely in ironed black slacks and a dress shirt. He had less hair on his head than she remembered as if it had been recently cut. His jawline was freshly shaved. He was the same, but it looked like he’d taken a great deal of time to look less like someone who had spent months in the wilderness.

Back in Area S2, he’d worn his prison clothes better than most men wore their everyday attire. As he stood before her now, she most definitely sensed an authoritative and dominant edge about him. She was having a hard time figuring out which presentation of Thane she liked better. Then she decided she favored both.

No matter how drastic the change to his appearance, there was no mistaking that the man standing before her was Thane Silex—the same man who she’d mysteriously developed an addiction to.

Kalena didn’t know how many seconds or minutes passed while they assessed each other under the moonlight, but when their gazes finally met, all she could do was smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered and then held his palm up to receive her.

“Thank you.” She hesitated only a second before slipping her hand in his and closing the gap between them. “You took a long time,” she said.

“Anna.” Thane turned to address the maid. “Thanks for your generosity tonight. We’ll see you later tomorrow.”

Anna nodded, and just like that she disappeared, leaving Kalena with the man she’d been waiting to reunite with all day.

“I’m sorry for not coming to you earlier. My Pack hasn’t seen me in months and I—”

“No need to explain.” Kalena interrupted and lifted her hand up to his face to touch his chin with her palm. With his two-day-old stubble gone, his skin was smoother. Even under the moonlight, all of his features were prevalent. “Tracy told me everything.”

He lifted a brow. “Everything?”

She smiled. “Just enough for me to understand why you’ve been so busy.”

“How was the helicopter ride?”

“Bumpy.”

“So was mine. Sounds like those vampires could use a refresher course in piloting.”

Kalena narrowed her gaze. “You know, I thought those guys looked a bit…inhuman. I knew they were different from me, but they smelled different than you.”

“Smelled?”  His eyes searched her face. “The changes in your body are coming along quite nicely.”

“Yeah, I think so.” She blushed. “But I don’t want you to think I don’t need any more.”

“Any more of what?” Thane spoke slowly, a grin spreading across his lips.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as her mind raced to their sexual encounter in the hut. “This DNA that makes me feel better, of course.”

He chuckled softly. “I hope that more than my DNA makes you feel better.”

The tension grew as they paused to stare deep into each other’s souls. He closed the gap between them even more, engulfing her with his warmth.

“Thane…”

She felt the growing heat between them and parted from him slightly to view the sigils glowing near his neckline. She remembered how they had appeared on his skin when they’d been alone together in the hut. That was a moment she wanted to experience again, if only for the few more times Tracy had estimated until she was cured.

“Kalena, every time I’m near you you give me purpose,” he whispered against her hair.

“I’m just an ordinary woman,” she replied. “I may have a few clues to help your case, but what can I offer you of real value that you don’t already have?”

“You are extraordinary and more valuable to me than you know. After all of this mess with the company is over, if you decide to leave, I’ll have a hard time keeping my mind off of you. If you leave after you’re completely cured, you’ll walk away with your newly enhanced life, but the more distance you put between us, the more my imprint will fade.”

“I haven’t decided that I’ll leave just yet. I want more time with you. I feel that there is something holding me here, something other than our mission. I meant what I said in the hut—I owe my life to you.”

“That doesn’t mean that I have a right to decide what and who you choose for the rest of your life. What I transferred to you can become an addiction to a human who’s never had it in their system before. It’s possible this is the case for you.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I only want your life-altering DNA?”

“It’s possible,” he said then lowered his gaze from hers.

Kalena gently lifted his chin with a fingertip. “What do you want?”

“You. My wolf and I want you,” he declared.

Chapter 21

KALENA WALKED THROUGHOUT Thane’s spacious master suite, taking in his tastes in color and style by the contents of the room.

The suite mirrored the one she’d been provided during her stay. The colors were calm and slightly muted. Even the smell was fresh and airy with a muted sandalwood aroma. The walls were painted a dreamy gray-blue. Most of the upholstery was either a creamy yellow or had the same blue tone as the walls. The huge California-King sleigh bed was the central focus, with plush blankets and an abundance of downy pillows. There was a seating area with one love seat and a deep-brown leather barrel chair near the end of the room farthest from the window. Even the window seat looked comfortable and relaxing.  There wasn’t much clutter in the room, but Thane had been absent for months. The whole setup was, in every way, reminiscent of a man’s space.

The ShadowRock mansion itself was unlike any apartment or home she’d ever lived in. How he could have given this up to be confined to that place known as Area S2 was beyond her. She would have been fighting day in and day out to get away, to get back to this, but then again, she didn’t have a niece whose life was on the line.

“How do you imprint on someone?” Kalena asked, stopping in front of a tall mirror located on the outside of a walk-in closet door. She loved the outfit she wore. The belted, short, cream-colored sundress fit her perfectly, but that didn’t surprise her. Anna had taken her measurements within an hour of arriving, and less than an hour after that had come back with a totebag full of new clothes. Whoever had gone out of their way to purchase them for her had great taste. The garments weren’t something she’d have chosen for herself on her own because of the high price; she’d seen the price tags before Anna had clipped them off and hung the clothes in the closet.

Thane walked up behind her, placing his hands on her cinched waist. She couldn’t get enough of his touch, and she placed her palm on top of his. Their fingers locked together. They met each other’s gaze in the mirror before he said, “It’s like asking me why I love someone. Imprinting on someone isn’t a forced thing. It happens naturally when you find the right person. You connect on such a deep level that the wolf inside begins to imprint on that person.”

“What if your wolf only imprinted because of our circumstances at the time?”

“I don’t go around imprinting on women. I’m not that type of man, or wolf. I know what I want. The imprint only solidifies my gut feeling that you are, in every way, shape, and form, the perfect mate for me. I’ve never taken one. In all my years, every time a woman was presented to me or came to me, something just didn’t feel right. I understand now what that something was.”

“But I’m not a shifter…”

“No, Kalena…you are not,” he said, his gaze roaming over her.

Kalena thought back to what Tracy had said about how virgin wolf shifter women had been thrown at him when he became Alpha. “You’ve been an Alpha to your Pack a very long time. Tracy told me most Alphas are mated within a year.”

“Ah, yes.” He sighed. “Tracy did tell you, didn’t she?”

“Even about the vampires…” When Thane’s expression turned thoughtful, she added, “I don’t want her to get in trouble. You won’t hurt my feelings or anything, I just want to understand what I’m getting myself into, and what your intentions were before we met.”

“Tracy did what I asked her to do. I sent her to you because I knew you trusted her as a friend even before I was in the picture. I influenced nothing she said because I wanted you to know the truth about us.”

Kalena smiled. “I appreciate that. It was great to see a familiar face. She and Anna have been nothing but nice to me.”

Thane nodded. “Good to hear.”

“With someone of your status and position, wouldn’t you want a mate who is more like you? Didn’t you want someone like that before me?”

“I wanted someone I truly cared about. That’s why I waited so long. I didn’t want to just take any random woman as a mate. My wait paid off…”

“But, I’m hum—”

“There are dozens of accounts of my kind taking humans and even vampires as mates. The more you take of my DNA, the more your life span will lengthen to align with mine. Stop making excuses.” He chuckled and then pressed his lips to her temple. “I won’t rush you into anything you don’t want, but if you’ve decided already, I’ll respect that decision. I just need you to tell me that you don’t want me in your life after you’re fully cured.”

She couldn’t do that and she knew it. She wanted Thane in her life, but his explanation of imprinting and mates led to a huge commitment.

“You know I want you,” she said as her body flared with her own heat and the warmth of Thane’s chest pressed against her back.

“And I need you because you complete me,” he replied. “You asked if the imprinting happened because we were together, virtually alone in Area S2. I can assure you that is not the case.” He lifted a hand and tenderly caressed the front of her neck with his palm.

She gasped and tipped her chin upward, allowing the flames of passion to roll through her body. “How can you be so sure?”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his lips gliding softly against the back of her neck.

“Yes.”

Thane’s hand left her neck and worked on loosening the buttons holding her dress together at the back. She saw his wolf in the depths of his eyes as he held her gaze while meticulously undoing the small closures. The heat of his stare matched the look he’d given her when he had left her in the hut with David.

He briefly separated from her to unbutton his shirt. She yearned to turn around and close the gap between them again, but she was lost in his stare on her reflection in the mirror. Never had a man looked at her so lasciviously, awakening every carnal nerve in her body. Once he was down to his boxer briefs, he closed the gap again.

Kalena’s breath hitched when his lips landed on her bare shoulder. They were heated against her skin. He made an outward trail and brushed the strap of her dress aside with his nose. It fell into the bend of her elbow. He repeated the same movement on the other side until her breasts were bared to him.

He planted deep, caressing kisses along the back of her neck and spine, and before long, her arms grew lax as she let her weight fall back against him.

The dress fell to the floor in a heap around her ankles.

He glided his fingertips up both sides of her hips until his palms came to rest just under her breasts. “Kalena, you’re gorgeous.”

She turned to witness the rising and emergence of the markings all over his body, covering more than half of his skin and delving deep into every muscle and crevice. He was perfect.

Kalena reached out and smoothed her palm up his chest, over his shoulder, and down one arm, admiring every symbol, every hair, and every hard plane. He was as hot as a fever. Something else was pulsing hot with lust, as well. He was so erect and aroused that his cock pressed against the front of his briefs.

Some invisible force was pushing her to him, urging her to accept that Thane was what she needed. Whether it was his shifter DNA or simply her instincts persuading her, she didn’t care one way or the other. Every since she’d met Thane Silex, her will to go on—even under her dire circumstances—had prevailed.

“When you cause my markings to rise, we connect on a deeper level, allowing the imprint to take root,” he said. “The imprint is semi-permanent. Meaning, if you choose to leave me and not become my mate, it will eventually go away.”

“I’ll be honest and say that I worry more about whether I can be everything that you expect in a mate,” she replied.

He smiled. “You are everything and more, but I’ll be honest too and say that I don’t demand much. Just your time and your smile. Your conversation. Your body.”

Thane bent his head gently, but before he could kiss her, she captured his chin.

“My body, huh? I heard about your sex drive, so I expected as much.” Her fingers trailed downward from his chin, along the throbbing veins on his neck, and then down the sculpted muscles on his chest.

He grinned. “Exaggerations. I’ve spent a lot of decades practicing abstinence, plus, we can’t forget my prolonged sentence in Area S2 without indulging at all.”

“So, not once did you relieve yourself?” she asked, knowingly.

“Of course, I did, Kalena. I’m still a man.”

She pressed her hips closer to his, feeling the heat of his arousal. “You need relief now, don’t you?”

He licked his lips. “Even if I wanted to lie to you, I wouldn’t be able to deny that I need relief. Every time I’m around you, I’m burning hot. I had a much better time enjoying relief with you than alone. I want more.”

“Then why do you talk so much?” she teased. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Thane kissed her sensuously, cupping the back of her head and pressing his mouth to hers. They became ravenous and insatiable, increasing the tempo and delving deeper into the kiss.

Without warning, he dropped lower, showering her cleavage and breasts with kisses. He captured her nipples between his lips and sucked each one until they were tight and aching. He propped himself on his knees in front of her and traced the outline of her panties with his tongue. A soft growl erupted from his mouth and vibrated against her sensitive core.

Her knees grew weak and she swayed, but he grabbed her knees and proceeded to slide her panties down with his sharp teeth.

When his mouth touched her again, she began to unravel once more. Considerable attention was given to everything except for the bundle of nerves. He left hot trails across her thighs and stroked his tongue against her folds, intentionally leaving her clit unserviced.

Her hand had nowhere to land but his head, and she wound her fingers through his short, silky hair.

Almost too easily, he pushed two fingers inside and began to stroke her.

“You’re so wet and ready for me. Just the sight of your sweet pussy can turn my dick to stone,” he whispered against her skin.

He rolled his tongue languorously across her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure upward through her where it spread out through her limbs.

She pressed the pads of her fingers to the back of his head, trying not to hurt him. “Thane…I need it. Now,” she begged.

“What do you need?”

“You.”

“You’ve got my fingers and my tongue…” He demonstrated by stroking into her and sucking her sensitive flesh simultaneously. “What else do you need?”

“I need more of you. Inside,” she replied.

“Need more of what and where?” he teased, lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“I want your cock. Now.”

Thane scooped her up and walked swiftly toward the bed where he tossed her onto the covers. He discarded his boxer briefs, revealing a thick and long erection. His dick was so hard, she could see the veins pulsing with life, causing the cockhead to throb with excitement. He lay down with his back on the bed. His arousal rose to the ceiling and he directed her to approach him, his fingers curled in a come-hither motion.

“Take what you need,” he told her.

Kalena crawled up the California king-sized bed and straddled his hips. When she aligned them, an expression of desire and longing washed over his face.

“Do you like that?” She rocked her warm slit against his shaft, only this time, she made sure her clit was getting undivided attention.

He nodded and ground his teeth against his bottom lip. His symbols blazed hotly now, and she could almost feel the burn against her skin as his essence meshed with hers. He slid his hands up her belly and grabbed both breasts, kneading them with more aggression this time.

“Oh, my God, Thane, you feel so good.” She rocked her hips consistently over him.

“Yes,” he urged. “Keep moving, just like that.”

Before long, she had gotten so slick for him that she lured his cock into her entrance. She lifted her hips mere inches to position herself directly above him and sat.

They moaned in unison as she impaled herself on him, taking all of him inside. Placing her palms down on his chest, she moved her hips in slow movements up and down. She reveled in the surreal feeling of being filled completely. Each time she came down on him, his balls tightened against her ass. He felt like warm steel within her heated core, filling her completely.

When waves and waves of pleasure hit her, taking her into a sweet climax, Thane took control. He grabbed her hips and set a more determined tempo. He thrust up into her feverishly, prolonging the orgasm rolling through her. She cried out his name on a hoarse scream. Her inner walls clenched and milked him as she came. The evidence of her excitement coated him, and he glided up into her with ease. She could tell he was near completion as his breathing became labored and short, and his muscles tightened. She kept up the rhythm, even when he faltered, leading him into an orgasm that had his body shuddering against her. His seed coated her insides, sending her into the same euphoric state she’d experienced when they’d first had sex. But she was addicted to more than just how Thane made her feel. She was addicted to Thane, period.

After she’d milked him thoroughly, Kalena joined Thane on the bed and pressed her body into his side. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her hair while she listened to his heartbeat.

“That was perfect, Kalena. You’re perfect for me.”

And only then did Kalena let her fatigue take over. She closed her eyes, held tightly to the man she could not let go, and succumbed to her dreams.

Chapter 22

“HOW OFTEN DO you shift?” Kalena asked, glancing at Thane from across the table as she enjoyed the last remnants of her breakfast.

“Every day. Several times a day.”

She picked up a piece of watermelon with a fork and ate it before saying, “I’ve only seen you do it a couple of times. Once when you fought by the cages in Area S2, and then again when you left David and I in the hut.”

“Surely you’ll see more of my wolf in the future,” he teased.

Thane had since finished his breakfast. After three plates full of omelets, biscuits, bacon, and fruit, he was now sitting back in his chair observing her from across the small, round table.

She smiled. “I have some of your DNA and you’ve already imprinted on me, what’s mating like?”

“It involves a declaration surrounded by my Pack family.”

“Like a wedding?” she asked.

“Yes, almost like a wedding.”

Almost like a wedding. But was she ready for that commitment? Could she be a good companion for not only the man but also the wolf?

Kalena put down her fork, pulled the linen napkin off her lap, and folded it neatly on the table.

“Finished?” Thane asked.

“Yes, I’m full.”

He lifted a finger and several of the house staff came running to clear the table. When all the dishes were gone and the room was quiet, he reached across the table with his palm held upright. She slipped her fingers into his waiting hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything. I never want to see you hurt,” he said. “I’m Alpha here and this is my domain. When we are mated, everything that is mine will be yours. I’m also a leader, and that means my Pack matters are my own to worry about. My responsibility is to protect and cherish you, and I’ll do that with everything I have. If you’ll accept me.”

“I already have,” she replied.

“Come here,” he said in low, seductive tone and then led her to stand.

Kalena closed the distance between them and sat on his lap with her legs facing outward. Thane didn’t miss one beat as he claimed her lips. He tasted salty and sweet like the food they’d just finished eating, but with every breath she took, there was no denying the rich scent of sandalwood and fresh rain all over his skin.

In their frenzied haste, Thane grabbed both sides of her hips, lifted her up, and then led her down so that she was straddling his lap. She groaned and threw her head back the moment his cool lips came in contact with the delicate juncture along her collarbone. His hands found their way under her short sundress and his thumbs were flirting along the edges of her panties.

“Thane…”

“You’re addicting,” he whispered, his tongue leaving hot trails against her skin.

“The door…anyone could walk in…” Her fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling his mouth closer to her breasts.

“They already know that you are mine,” he mumbled just before he bent lower to gently kiss the tops of her breasts. “Your heat smells like strawberries and glaze.”

She laughed softly. “That’s probably because I just ate them.”

“Now it’s my turn.” He pushed her panties aside and glided a finger along her wet center.

Kalena gasped. “Quick. I need you. Don’t tease me.” At this point, she didn’t care what anyone thought of her or if they saw, she only focused on how much she loved being in Thane’s arms.

He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants in record time, freeing his engorged cock and letting it brush against the insides of her thighs.

“Quick, huh?” He grinned. “Quick doesn’t always mean gentle.”

“Who said anything about gentle?” She lifted her hips and positioned her sex against his cockhead.

An expression washed over his face as she slid down onto the meaty length of him, inch by inch.

“Something tells me you enjoy this position,” he rasped, grabbing her ass and coaxing her lower.

“I like it a lot,” she replied, just as they found a rhythm that suited them both.

They got lost in the moment. There was absolutely nothing that could ruin this high for her. Her clit pulsed on each downward stroke, and her sex clenched tightly around his cock on the upstroke. Her orgasm was a quick build this time, almost as if he’d willed it so. His tongue lashed against her nipples, luring her further into ecstasy. His fingers gripped her meaty backside, driving her down to the root of his cock.

Her climax spread through her, blossoming like a tulip after the rain. When he joined her in completion, his seed pulsed straight up into her core. She muffled her cries by pressing her lips together. His groans were low and hoarse, but still sounded like music to her ears.

Thane let his head fall onto her chest right near her heart. She held him tightly against her as she struggled to gain her breath again.

There was a sharp knock at the door to the left of them. Before they could prepare themselves for company, Brant pushed through the doors holding an envelope.

“Oh!” Brant exclaimed as he looked back and forth between the two. “Um, sorry.” He turned and headed back to the door.

“Give us a few minutes, Brant,” Thane called out behind him.

“My God,” Kalena breathed, her face as hot as molten lava.

“It’s all right.” Thane kissed her forehead and helped her to stand. He stuffed his semi-erect cock inside his pants and fixed his clothes. “Next time we’ll lock the doors because I plan on being inside of you a whole lot longer.”

She smiled. “We’ll see about that.

Kalena smoothed down her dress and ran her fingers through her hair a few times just before Thane called Brant back inside.

“I’m very sorry,” Brant said. He looked just as flustered at catching them in the act of sex as Kalena felt for being caught.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Thane said. “It seems one of us couldn’t make it to the bedroom.”

Kalena shot Thane a warning look and he returned a taunting grin.

“You have something for me?” Thane asked Brant.

“Yes, Alpha. It’s urgent. It was just hand-delivered by a Delta—straight from UCON.”

Thane’s brows furrowed as he accepted the envelope and pulled out a slip of thick vellum paper. His eyes moved quickly over the contents of the note and his expression turned from curious to troubled.

“What is it, Alpha?”

“UCON demands my presence at their next meeting,” Thane said slowly.

“Did it say why they want you to appear?” Brant asked.

“No, but given the circumstances, isn’t it clear why?”

Brant gave Thane a knowing look.

Chapter 23

“ARE YOU READY? Or would you like to do this some other time?” Thane asked Kalena just before she took a seat on a side chair in front of the coffee table.

She took a quick glance up at several laptops seated in front of them and the unfamiliar men standing in the room. “No, I’m fine. Better now than never, while I’m still able to recall some of the details.”

“This is Jugkar,” Thane said, introducing a thin male with blond hair and ice-blue eyes. “He works as one of my spies on this particular assignment. He’s a computer scientist by trade and has succeeded in hacking into the firewalls of dozens of notable security and financial systems.”

Jugkar nodded. “Hello, Kalena.”

Kalena returned the gesture.

“To my right, we have Tomas. Tomas is a vampire. He’s here on behalf of a very old friend of mine whose name is Tor. Tomas’s vampire abilities allow him to dig out old memories. He’s here just in case you wish to use that option to help us retrace your memory back to the night you entered the labs.”

Tomas was dark and brooding with long black hair that reached the middle of his back. His skin was deathly pale, but even that minute detail did nothing to derail the fact that he was easy on the eyes.

“Hi, Tomas.”

Brant, Thane’s Beta, was standing behind them. No one else was in the small den.

“The goal here is not only to uncover the evidence, but to recover the original formulas as approved by the FDA. It’s also crucial that we contact anyone who has ever unknowingly come in contact with the harmful replica of D996 so we can offer the cure.”

“I’m ready.” Kalena rubbed her thumbs together, nervously. “Where do you want me to begin?”

Jugkar turned to Thane, who returned a nod of approval.

Jugkar smiled, his bushy blond brows coming together in the center. “With your very first training day on the job,” he said.

“Okay. Wow, that’s really far back, but I think I can remember,” she replied. “Um, I was introduced to Rhonda, the VP of accounting, as well as the other team members in that department. I was given a tour of that specific area and told I wasn’t allowed in other areas, especially the labs. I had never ventured back there until the night I was kidnapped. I actually met Tracy across the street one day at lunch. She told me she was a new employee too, so we would meet up to eat lunch whenever we could, except it was always a late breakfast for her since she worked a different shift.”

Jugkar and everyone else listened intently.

“Can you tell me what your time was like with Rhonda? Were you given any special access to anything?”

“Yes, sometimes when she was away, she gave me some codes to approve the reports in her absence. She wasn’t supposed to, but she said she really needed the time off.”

“We’ll need those,” Jugkar stated.

“They were never the same. In fact, the accounting staff would complain every month about how the access codes frequently changed. I might be able to recall the last few I used,” she said.

Jugkar exchanged knowing looks with Thane from across the table and then slid a notepad over to her. “Write down what you remember. Whatever comes to mind.

Kalena wrote down two sets of codes, surprised that her short-term memory was so shoddy. “I think these are right. I don’t know for sure.”

“They’ll do,” Thane told her.

“Now, the next steps get a bit trickier. Research shows that D996 works to deplete memory in reverse order, and sometimes sporadically. Some of your recollections will be clearer than others, while some will be gone indefinitely,” Jugkar said. “My understanding is that the last thing you saw before you were injected was the inside of the labs and a particular report. Is that right?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Death reports.”

“How did you access these reports?”

“I…” she looked warily at Thane.

He placed a hand over hers for comfort.

“I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but when I entered the lab no one was there. The computer was sitting right there as if taunting me. I felt there was something strange about the company and its practices by the way it quarantined employees and such. Even the hiring and firing practices were suspicious. One screw-up from anyone in my department and that person was gone the next day with someone in their place within hours. Maybe it was by accident or maybe I did something, but suddenly I had access to all of the reports. Of course, I didn’t have enough time to read through every section because that’s when I got sidetracked and discovered that woman’s body. Becca, right?”

“Yes. She was working on the same assignment with Tracy. All evidence points to her cover being blown,” Thane replied.

“But how?”

“She and Tracy were put there to actively tweak the formulas and skew the results. I don’t think Becca was killed by mistake. The fact that Gavril has gone into hiding and abandoned the company tells me he’s on to me, too. Which reminds me…” Thane turned his chair and called out to Brant, “Get me an ETA on Danika. They’re to arrive today. I wanted to see her in the flesh before I leave to meet with UCON.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Brant said and then left the room.

“Do you think the code you used is one of the ones written on this pad?” Jugkar pointed to the notepad where she’d written the codes.

Kalena pressed her fingers to her temples. “I’m so sorry. I thought this would be easy, but I don’t know.”

“The drugs have really got her train of thoughts messed up.” This came from Tomas, who hadn’t said a word up to that point.

“Test it,” Thane commanded.

Jugkar leaned over the coffee table and began to type furiously on each laptop, going back and forth between each one. After he was done, he looked up with a frown on his face. “Unauthorized access code.”

Kalena released a muted sigh. “You said Tomas had another option for me. To retrace my memory?”

Thane looked warily from her to Tomas and then back again. “Yes, but it’s a last resort. It involves some rather invasive procedures.”

She frowned. “Invasive procedures?”

“He’d have to drink your blood,” Jugkar said.

Kalena cringed. “And then what?”

Thane was clenching his fists beside her as if this option weren’t what he preferred. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell he was uneasy.

“And then he’ll have your memories,” Jugkar added. “There is a good and bad side to it. The good thing, this just happened recently, so he won’t have to take much or go back too far.”

“And the bad?”

Jugkar looked up at Tomas, who hadn’t taken a seat at all.

“There’s a chance that Thane’s imprint will fade,” Tomas said.

Kalena’s heart dropped. “What happens to me if it does?”

“Don’t worry,” Thane said. “The antidote has already run its course. You’re fully cured.”

“But your imprint?” She spoke in a rushed tone, suddenly aware of the consequences of her decision to help Thane with his case against his brother, Gavril.

It also dawned on her how powerful the D996 drug—or weapon—was. She’d forgotten things she hadn’t even known she’d forgotten. Memories had been stripped from her without her knowledge.

Thane brought her into his embrace and kissed her forehead. Her heart warmed as he held her tightly.

“We’ll make love again after this,” he whispered. “Over and over again. This changes nothing. I assure you that we belong together. You will carry my imprint forever, and soon we will be mated if that’s what you want. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

Thane turned to Jugkar. “Is there another way, besides the codes?”

Jugkar shook his head. “This is the only way that gets us in to view possible victims and any distribution outlets that Gavril may have used. Ninety-nine percent of the employees have no fucking clue what is going on behind the scenes. Only Gavril and a very select few are aware of these secret formulas.”

“It’s okay, Thane. Let’s do it this way. I just need you to stay close. I didn’t even know they existed, so obviously a vampire has never bitten me. I’ve never been bitten by anything really, besides the occasional mosquito.” She tried to chuckle to lighten the situation, but when she turned around, Tomas had already dropped fangs.

Tomas stepped forward. “I’m an expert memory tracer. Don’t worry. I’ll go slowly. You’ll feel nothing more than a pinch. Almost like a needle.”

The vampire’s sly smile did nothing to calm her nerves.

“I hate needles,” she said and rose from the chair.

Thane followed her lead and held both of her hands as Tomas flanked her back.

“Close off the wound when you’re done,” Thane said, his gaze focused on the vampire behind her.

“Certainly,” Tomas replied in a hoarse whisper.

Kalena pushed her hair to one side, took one last look at Thane, bent her head, and closed her eyes.

She felt a cold draft of air on the back of her neck, and then one swift strike as Tomas’s fangs punctured her vein. She gasped as she gripped Thane’s hand tighter. Her skin prickled and her muscles tightened as Tomas drew on her memories.

They’d forgotten to mention one thing. Not only did Tomas have the ability to chase memories, he apparently had the ability to bring them back. They came washing over her with the force of Niagara Falls.

The images were in reverse…

Thane’s mansion and the gates to the ShadowRock estate. Her heart dipping in her stomach as the helicopter lifted them from Area S2. Her body pressed against Thane’s as they shared their first night of passion in his hut. Thane carrying her in his arms across valleys and through dozens of trees. The women of Area S2 and the way they’d scolded her and gave her looks of pity at the same time. The sting of a needle in her arm. All over her arm. Her bouts of vomiting while being kept in the dark cargo area of the van.

There was a brief pause, and Tomas siphoned faster…

She saw more images, still in reverse…

She was back in the labs behind the computer. She’d gone inside looking for Tracy, but had deliberately entered Rhonda’s access code into the system when she’d found the computer on. She saw the set of digits and special characters as clear as day now.

The vampire’s fangs sunk deeper into her neck…

Kalena’s memory shifted to her hands tied behind her back while she’d sat in a chair blindfolded. She was in a room. Male voices were heard. One of the voices stood out the most. The voice and his commands hurt and betrayed her. It was Gavin. Her lover. He had betrayed her.

“She’s seen too much. Get rid of her,” Gavin said. “Clean up her memory first. Three doses.”

He issued more terse commands, but her head spun out of control. She felt sick. And used. The voice belonged to Gavin, all right. The man she’d trusted. Only, the people he commanded didn’t call him Gavin. They called him Gavril.

Kalena’s blood thundered. Her heart pounded wildly as she gripped Thane’s hands harder.

More images…

Sex on black satin sheets with a man who could have been Thane. Only it wasn’t Thane. It was Gavin. She was in love with Gavin, but she could tell Gavin did not love her. He didn’t want to commit. He just wanted her body.

Kalena gasped and tried to shake the vampire’s lure, but she couldn’t. She wanted it to stop. The images had to stop. This couldn’t have been her life. It couldn’t have been…but as the moment passed, she realized that it was.

She’d had a lover while working at Silex Pharmaceuticals. She’d met him in the elevators on the way home from work one day.

“Hi there, beautiful lady.”

He was handsome. Tall and dark. Hard-set jawline. A full set of perfect, masculine lips. Impeccably dressed.

“Hi.”

He grinned. A dark smirk that had sent shivers up her spine.

“You look kind of lost,” he said.

“That’s because I am. I forgot where I parked my car this morning. I’m kind of new.”

“Can I help you find it?”

She’d hesitated at first, but then she saw the Silex Pharmaceuticals brand on his briefcase. “Oh, you work for Silex, too?”

He quickly switched the briefcase to the other hand. “Not really. I was on an assignment here today. I’m an independent investor, so to speak.” He held out his palm. “I’ll help you find your car.”

“I don’t even have your name.”

“My name is…Gavin. And you are?”

“Kalena.”

They’d met for dinner the next night. They’d gone out on dates at least two nights a week. She’d been intimate with him on the first date and every date thereafter. She’d never seen him at Silex Pharmaceuticals again. And not once had she made the connection between Gavin, her lover, and Gavril Silex, the CEO.

Tomas siphoned ounce after ounce, drawing on her memory until she was too weak to decipher them anymore. Without warning, the vampire extracted his fangs and shoved back away from her as if revolted.

Kalena’s eyes flew open and connected directly with the confused gaze of Thane.

“Oh, my God,” she panted and grasped her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Thane helped her toward the chair.

“She…your brother…” the vampire muttered from the opposite corner of the room.

“My brother what? Did you get the code?” Thane urged impatiently.

“Yes, but…” Tomas didn’t have time to finish.

Jugkar pushed a pad and pencil into the vampire’s hand. “Write down the damn code before you lose it.”

Tomas did as he was told, and Jugkar snatched the notepad from him and got to work on all three laptops.

“I’m sorry, Thane,” Kalena muttered, her eyes watering on instinct. The betrayal she’d felt back at the labs when she’d found out Gavin—Gavril—wanted his men to get rid of her still fresh from the memory retrieval.

“Why? Why are you sorry?” Thane looked panicked beyond reason. He turned to Tomas. “Why is she sorry?”

Tomas arched a brow at her. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I didn’t know…I didn’t know he was your brother.”

“She might be confused,” Tomas said and then slit his wrist with his own fangs and held it out to Thane. “The memory is still fresh in my blood for the taking. Won’t be for long…”

Thane shook his head. “I’m not interested in taking vampire blood.”

Tomas nodded toward her. “Then she’ll have to tell you herself.”

“Tell me what, Kalena?” Thane urged.

“I was with your brother,” she said.

“With him?” Thane’s gaze switched between her and Tomas. Without another word, he approached Tomas, lifted the wrist to his mouth.

Thane took the vampire’s blood for a minute and then literally stumbled back in the same manner Tomas had. Kalena was certain that the look of scorn and hurt on Thane’s face would be one she’d remember for ages to come.

“Kalena?” he spoke calmly, but his veins rose on his neck and his skin darkened as his face heated. She saw his markings like never before. They were the deepest black—every line, every curve. “My twin brother?”

She nodded and then shook her head as if trying to clear away the memory. “I couldn’t remember.”

Thane lifted his face up to the ceiling, took a ragged breath, and then scrubbed his hand down his face.

Kalena could tell he was doing everything in his power to keep his composure. He looked the way she’d felt the day Gavin—Gavril—had revealed his true colors. She was no more than a sex buddy for him. It was why she’d been hesitant to refer to him as her boyfriend. She was someone for him to relieve himself inside of whenever he felt like it. She’d wanted the sex just as much as he had. She’d agreed to those terms. She’d always known a committed relationship with him was not an option. For several weeks they saw each other, and he’d hinted many times that he would never be anything more than dating material. Something had told her to call it quits with him, but she had ignored her gut instincts.

“Thane? I’m in! I hacked the old Silex system!” Jugkar jumped up from his chair and did a little happy dance. “I did it!” He was the only one in the room with a cheesy smile on his face.

Thane blinked once, dropped his gaze away from Kalena and stormed out of the room.

Chapter 24

“OPEN THE DOOR, Kalena.”

Kalena heard Thane’s footsteps coming from down the hallway before he arrived at her door. She would never forget the look etched on his face when Tomas the vampire revealed her real connection to Gavril.

She drew in a deep breath, pushed off the windowsill, but made no move to open the bedroom door. Over an hour had passed since the revelation, and it was all she could think about. What little information the vampire had pulled from her memories had come back to her. Feelings of shame and betrayal still coursed through her body.

“I know you’re in there.”

He could probably smell her presence and even hear her heartbeat. He wasn’t going anywhere. This was his home, his domain. Did she really belong? But leaving here meant leaving Thane. But what did it matter? How could they go on now that they knew the truth?

Kalena glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she finally said.

“I want to talk to you,” Thane said, his voice muffled behind the door.

“What else is there to talk about? You have what you need. You helped me escape. I helped you by giving you the code. That was the plan.”

“Will you open the door and let me in?” he asked calmly.

If she opened the door, she’d see the face of a man that resembled the one who’d betrayed her. She’d see Gavril, Thane’s twin.

“I can’t…” she replied.

“Kalena, I’m leaving tonight. I’ve been called to appear before UCON.”

“I know. I remember when you received the letter over breakfast. I’m leaving, too. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“Don’t, Kalena.” His tone sounded strained.

“It’s better this way. You can’t possibly want me after I…” Not able to say the words, she wrung her hands together.

“I don’t care about that. Gavril lied to you. Even if we had known…that was then and this is now.”

“If I had entered Area S2 knowing full well that I’d slept with your brother, do you really think I’d be here now? Do you think I would’ve slept with you, knowing the things I had done” Her voice rose in aggravation.

Thane was quiet for a while, and Kalena almost thought he was at a loss for words.

“The fact is that you didn’t know,” he finally said. “We can’t change anything that’s already happened.”

“You’re right.” She turned and folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the closed door. Even now, Thane’s scent called to her. She wanted to go to him, but it was that same urge which had led her astray in the first place with Thane’s brother.

“Can we move past this and come together like we talked about?” he asked.

“Yes, we’ll move past it, but I can’t deal with all of this now. I look at you and I also see the man who would have had me murdered. He knew what the injections would do without the cure. He wanted me dead. I need you to understand. There is no way I can look your brother in the face again and not want to murder him. Or at least attempt to. He’s a very dangerous man. If he did this to me, he’d do it to anyone…”

“You’re right. I get it. The feeling is mutual,” Thane replied. There was a long pause. “I wanted to see you before I left. It could be a couple days before I return.”

An unsettling feeling rippled through Kalena’s belly, but she didn’t move to open the door.

“You won’t have to see my face during that time…or ever again if you choose,” Thane stated just before walking off.

Kalena cringed at the possibility of never seeing Thane again.

Chapter 25

JUST AS THANE reached the last few steps on the staircase, the doorbell chimed. His wolf ears picked up on the voices outside. Two of them were male. The female voice belonged to his niece, Danika. He even scented her. His anticipation tripled. A wolf could track his blood kin from miles away.

Thane rushed to answer the door, but before he could reach the foyer, a maid had already opened it.

Danika looked the same as the day Thane had last seen her. She had a head of lush, thick strawberry blonde hair like her mother. Thane had only seen it this color a few times. She usually kept it dyed, but in a darker shade. She looked younger now with the lighter hue. Female wolves aged slower than their male counterparts anyway. When she reached her maturity in a few years, she’d age even slower. Until then, Danika was still vulnerable. And she was still his responsibility. Seeing her now reminded Thane of how much Danika resembled her dad, Houston, especially when it came to temperament and personality.

“Thane.” She rushed into his arms, pressing her head to his chest. “I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me? Why? It was me who was supposed to keep you safe, yet I failed.”

She parted from him and looked up with innocent green eyes. “You didn’t fail. Gavril betrayed our family. He told me he would kill you and no one would think anything of it. He said once I turned eighteen, if I didn’t sign the company and the rest of Dad’s holdings over to him that he would kill me, too. I don’t know what’s happened to him honestly. He’s gone mad. He’s crazy.”

That asshole. Not only was Gavril trying to take over Silex Pharmaceuticals, he was also after money that didn’t belong to him.

“You’re safe now, but you have to listen to me, Danika.” He met her gaze. “Don’t go out in public for now. That means no outings of any sort without one of our Epsilons.”

Danika’s brows furrowed. “For months, I was confined to an itty bitty room with no windows. And I’ve been chaperoned and followed by vampires into the ladies’ room for nearly two days now.” She waved an arm out behind her at the two vampires who’d accompanied her into the home. “I don’t need any more guardians. I can take care of myself.”

“Not now, Danika. You can go out, but not without security. Gavril is still out there, and I don’t think he acted alone in this.”

“He definitely wasn’t acting alone. The horde of vampires who got me out of the room left several of Gavril’s guards dead. At least a dozen more were injured too. They had it coming, and they deserved it. But something just wasn’t right about them. They seemed just as deranged as Gavril.”

Thane swallowed. “I was warned there would be casualties in the process of getting you out. Was Gavril there?”

Danika shook her head. “I don’t know. I…sometimes he came by. Maybe every few days or so to talk me into signing papers.”

“Did you sign anything?”

“Of course, not. I didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not, or if you were already dead. What difference would it have made if I had signed anything? Sure, I suppose it would’ve been worse if he had control of Dad’s money. But the truth is, I don’t want my dad’s company. I don’t want his troubles, his money, or his enemies. Why couldn’t he have been here…?” A pained expression washed over her face and she pressed her palm against her forehead.

“Danika…” Thane reached to embrace her, hugging her close. “It’ll be okay.”

They moved to sit on a couch in the great room. A maid brought Danika some water and a tissue.

“You’ll get through this, I promise. But you have to do your part by staying close to the Epsilons that I assign to you.”

“Fine.” She shrugged. “Just make sure they can keep up with me. I don’t want to be cooped up in here 24/7. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I have to answer to UCON for all of this, so I’ll be gone for a couple days. There are guests on the premises and I’m leaving Brant in charge.”

“I’m a little curious. Vampires believe in fair trade. My traveling companions wouldn’t tell me what they were being paid. What did you offer them in exchange for breaking into Gavril’s compound to get me?”

“I haven’t paid anything…yet.”

“Would you mind telling me what you have planned?”

“I’ll tell you later when I get back. Don’t cause any trouble while I’m gone.”

“You love telling people what to do, don’t you?” she scowled.

“I’m your legal guardian, and yes I will tell you what to do,” he said, before starting off down the hall toward his study.

Chapter 26

THE STEEL GATE Casino was the official headquarters of the United Council of Nightdwellers. The establishment was located a few hundred miles north of the ShadowRock estate. It had taken Thane and the small entourage he brought with him just under an hour yesterday evening to arrive via private helicopter. Since the Heads of UCON conducted business only at night, Thane and his crew had taken refuge in a nearby hotel and resort—also owned by UCON—to rest.

The casino portion of Steel Gate was operated by a master vampire, and had been for several decades. The same master vampire that led the Council—Luxar Monte. The man who would finalize Thane’s sentence after judgment was passed. Being called to appear before the Council was never really a good thing, and this would be Thane’s second time doing it.

Two security guards brought Thane from the casino’s mid-level down a brick-enclosed stairwell that led into the underground basement. They’d gone so deeply into the level, the sounds of the casino had long faded out. Behind him were Zeff and Ulrick. Another of Luxar’s security guards flanked them. Luxar’s guards had clarified that only those responsible for the raid on Area S2 were wanted. What greeted him down below was deadly silence and the unusual vampire aroma that permeated the darkened space. Thane wasn’t in a position to cross paths with vampires in his daily dealings so he never got used to their scent.

The Council Heads were seated at a crescent-shaped table when the group entered.   The guards led them to the center of the room then exited.

Luxar Monte, the oldest living vampire and most likely one of the richest beings in the world, sat in the middle chair. He oversaw both the vampire and werewolf races as part of a thousand-year-old blood truce. Outside of ruling on the Council, he and his squad owned dozens of legal and underground casinos around the world.

Silvano, the first shifter to ever turn vampire sat to Luxar’s right. He had been named Chairman by the previous Council Head, long before Luxar ever took the seat.

Luka, Silvano’s firstborn—also a hybrid—sat next to his father. There weren’t that many hybrid Packs, but of the few there were, Luka enforced their laws.

Blanc, made into a master vampire by Luxar, was enforcer of the vampire laws. His job was oversight of every coven. He’d sat on the Council for only about a decade. Prior to Blanc accepting the position, the previous enforcer had been removed for breaking a law himself.

Upir, who enforced the shifter laws, was not in attendance. His seat was empty, making Thane, Zeff, and Ulrick the only shifters in the room.

“Thane Silex,” Luxar said, finally breaking the silence. “This is our second in-person meeting. We keep coming together under the most peculiar of circumstances. Would you mind introducing me to your entourage?”

“Zeff and Ulrick Vasser are my best Epsilons.”

Luxar tilted his head slightly to one side and cocked an eyebrow. “The same Epsilons who murdered dozens of prisoners held at Area S2?”

“I take full responsibility for any harm caused at Area S2 on that day,” Thane said. “Zeff and Ulrick were following orders I would’ve given had I not been detained.”

“Orders from whom?”

“My second. My Beta. As I said, they were orders I—”

“—you would have given had you not been detained. Of course,” Luxar mimicked. “I don’t need explanations after the fact. We have enough evidence now to conclude that you stand up for your Pack mates.”

Thane was glad that someone at the table understood him, even if that person was a vampire. The vampire that had cast the deciding vote against Thane, leading to his sentence of exile. Silvano and his son, Luka, were the only two on the Council who had ruled in Thane’s favor. Of course, it hadn’t been enough to override the ill-favored votes from Luxar, Blanc, and Upir.

Thane’s gaze shifted to Upir’s empty seat. Even if Upir were there as representative of the shifters, Thane didn’t expect any support from him this time around either. After all, Upir had been the first to lay judgment and pin the murder of Thane and Gavril’s parents on Thane.

“Do you know why you’ve been called again?” Luxar inquired.

“One can only speculate that it has to do with my breakout from Area S2.”

“Your escape from Area S2 didn’t cause as much concern as the destructive way in which you and your Epsilons chose to execute said escape.”

Zeff and Ulrick shuffled behind Thane.

“It wasn’t planned that way,” Thane replied.

“Let’s have them speak for themselves,” Luxar demanded.

Ulrick stepped forward. “Area S2’s prisoners aren’t exactly law-abiding citizens. We entered their territory to claim our Alpha, and they were violent toward us as soon as we got there. We killed several that hunted us down as we searched the area for our Alpha. I didn’t go there to get slaughtered before carrying out my mission. My brother and I are more than willing to pay the price.”

“Area S2 will need some renovation. The ease with which you breached the wall indicates this. Cleanup will be costly, however. I don’t think your Epsilons’ salaries will cover it.” Luxar arched a brow and his attention shifted to Zeff and Ulrick.

“Area S2 belonged to Gavril. He caused this mess. Let him clean it up,” Ulrick blurted.

The tension in the room lifted, and Thane held out a hand and gestured for Ulrick to assume his stance and remain quiet.

“For the record, when I got news of the numerous drugs that he’s been testing and forcing on innocents…” Luxar said between clenched teeth. “…I stripped him of everything he owns. The two prisons that he owned no longer belong to him. I tried to strip the Silex company, as well. However, after looking at the ownership records, it has come to my attention that Gavril isn’t the rightful heir. He isn’t even the owner. According to your uncle’s will, ownership is in limbo. So, I couldn’t take action or make decisions about the company. Obviously, the production of D996 in its altered and illegal form has to stop. Someone must pay for this mistake—this attempt to try and reveal what we are to the world. One thing I can do, and will if I have to, is go down the chain of command until your family no longer owns anything.”

Thane growled. “You throw me in a prison for a crime I didn’t commit and now you want to threaten my family lineage?”

“One shifter family is a small price to pay to ensure that we all live freely without human speculation about our existence. Right now, a member of your family is a threat to this same lineage you speak of. Don’t you think so?”

“I know he is, but I won’t be responsible for Gavril’s actions. I don’t condone them. My uncle never condoned them. Gavril murdered my parents because of his self-righteousness. I am doing everything in my power to restore things to the way they were before Gavril took control of the company,” Thane said.

“So you admit that you lied to the Council before by admitting to being responsible for the deaths of your parents. You withheld information about what Gavril was up to.”

“I had no idea about the drugs until I saw the physical evidence. I took responsibility for the murders to protect someone very dear to me.”

“The young woman, you mean? Houston’s only child and rightful heir to Silex?”

Thane nodded.

“You’d do a lot of things in the name of family, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d do a lot of things in the name of both family and Pack. I was brought up on those values, and I promised both Houston and my father before they died that I would take care of Danika.”

“Other than creating a drug that would lead to the possible exposure of our kind, a more serious crime has been committed by your brother,” Luxar stated. His tone had suddenly gone dry.

“I’ve already placed trusted individuals in key roles at Silex to clean this up. They will ensure that no other illegal drugs are produced in our labs. Humans who were exposed to the drug will be contacted once we pull their information from the system,” Thane said. “The drug’s creation, along with its misuse, and the murder of my parents are the only crimes that I know of to date. I’m sure there are others, but until I gain proof, I’m unable to speak on those.”

Luxar nodded. “That’s advisable. I’m going to give you one more chance to clear the air. Did you murder your parents or have anything to do with the murders?”

“I would never…” Thane growled.

“I misunderstood you the first time around, but partly because you withheld information. Now I see clearly what’s been happening. You’re not off the hook just yet, however. You’re being considered responsible for another very serious crime—a crime that you are without a doubt connected to.”

Thane shook his head slowly, puzzled. “What is that?” Other than the raid on Area S2, he couldn’t think of anything else.

“You’re responsible for the death of a Council Head—Upir Lyons.”

Thane’s head reeled in shock, and he heard audible gasps from both Ulrick and Zeff behind him. “That is very unfortunate, but I assure you…I had no hand in Upir’s death.” He didn’t expect them to believe him. After all, they’d pinned the murders of his parents on him without reasonable evidence.

“Upir was slaughtered in the compound that your entourage raided to retrieve Danika Silex. We already know the raid wasn’t the work of shifters, but you ordered it, and now one of UCON’s Heads is dead. That crime is punishable by death.”

“You have concrete evidence that I was at Area S2 when Danika was retrieved.”

“Yes.” Luxar lifted both elbows onto the table and linked his fingers together. “Yes, I do.”

“How do you know Upir is dead?” Thane asked. Upir not only represented the shifters in UCON affairs, he had also sat on the Council for several decades. Not as long as the others currently sitting, but long enough to have gained ultimate respect of several of the oldest wolf Packs across the country.

“His body has been identified based on ceremonial markings.”

Upir had once been an Alpha to two well-known Packs in the western U.S., so identifying him by his marks would’ve been easy.

“Did you or did you not order his death because he cast a vote against you here?”

“I did not. You said it yourself. He was there at Gavril’s compound at the time of the raid.”

Luxar was silent for about a minute as he exchanged glances with the other members at the table. “You have a strong urge for revenge in your heart…yes?”

“Yes,” Thane growled between clenched teeth.

“Are you trying to eliminate most of us here?” Luxar waved his arm to the left of him where the majority of the other Heads sat.

“You think that I mean to kill those who cast a vote against me?” Thane almost laughed. “My only aim was to rescue Danika and clean up the mess my brother made. It’s only coincidence that Upir, now dead, was part of the three-to-two vote that led me to Area S2. I had plans to clear my name, but killing Council Heads wasn’t part of that. Not even remotely.”

The Heads exchanged glances once again. Blanc, who was directly to the right of Luxar, leaned in to speak to the master vampire.

“Upir was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Thane added.

“No, Thane. Upir was in the wrong place at the right time.”

Thane shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“We found evidence in a UCON-owned vault. Evidence that suggests that Upir was funding Gavril’s little research projects—D996 among them. Gavril and Upir were working together on other projects, as well. We’re currently following leads as to what those projects might be.”

Thane’s breath escaped him in a rush as he processed the shocking information being laid before him. “Why would Upir help Gavril do this?”

“It’s too soon to confirm reason. We have only had enough time to speculate since this all happened. We all know that Upir was once Alpha of the NorthSky Pack before he gifted the title to another in order to accept the UCON position. Area S2 was owned by the NorthSky Alpha before he was killed.”

“Yes, Gavril killed him. That’s how ownership of Area S2 passed to him. That Pack disbanded over a year ago because it was left without a leader,” Thane replied.

“Precisely. We believe that Upir helped Gavril claim ownership of Area S2, which would then lead us to speculate that they both wanted the NorthSky Alpha dead for some reason.”

“And now Upir is dead and Gavril is missing…”

“And this is a surprising coincidence that there is—or was—a traitor on UCON helping your twin brother,” Luxar said. “And we had no idea up until now.”

Thane nodded. “Surprising, indeed.”

Luxar waved his hands in front of him at a few empty chairs. “Sit, please.”

Thane accepted the seat, but his thoughts raced through his mind quickly as he tried to piece together the missing information.

“What was the condition of your Pack and your estate when you returned?” Luxar questioned.

“Physically the same as it was the day I left. In terms of my people, they are still shaken up by what happened to my parents at the hands of their own son. They know that Gavril is still out there and they all want revenge.”

“That day will come,” Luxar said. “Judgment will be passed as it should have been months ago. I can’t promise your brother will live when this is all said and done.”

“Gavril was man enough to kill innocents. He should be man enough to accept his punishment.”

“If you reach him first, you will turn him over to us. Understood?”

Thane swallowed. “What will you do to him?”

“I’ve just uncovered all of his wrongdoings. Once I’ve mounted the rest of my evidence, I’ll ensure the punishment fits the crime.”

Blanc slid a thin sheet of vellum-style paper in front of Luxar, who then picked up a quill pen. Just as he had the day he sentenced Thane to exile, he pierced the vein on his wrist with the tip of the pen and signed the document in blood.

“Thane Silex, Alpha of ShadowRock Pack, I release you from your sentence.”

Luxar handed him the document. “Just remember, if you capture him first, I want to be the first to know. We need answers, and are very well prepared to extract them from memories. All of them. Every last memory, until all of them are gone.”

Thane nodded and grabbed the document that cleared him of all murder charges and released him from his exile sentence.

“Oh, and before I forget, there’s one more thing…” Luxar’s lips were set in a grim line and his expression was stone cold serious.

Thane could sense more bad news pending, but by now, he was getting used to it. “And that is?”

“The human that escaped with you? The raven-haired woman…” Luxar tapped his quill pen as if contemplating something. His forehead wrinkled as though he were in deep thought. “She was involved in sexual relations with your brother. And before you lay blame on Tomas for ratting you out, it wasn’t his fault. As you know, secrets travel very quickly within the vampire community. It doesn’t take long for news to reach us through the blood while the memories are still fresh.”

“Explain,” Thane inquired.

“Tomas belongs to Tor’s coven, but he courts a female who has pledged to Blanc’s coven,” Luxar said. “Word spreads quickly in the vampire community. Through the blood is one of the means in which we communicate. In this case, we cannot trust Kalena—“

“—Gavril lied to her and nearly had her killed. She had nothing to do with his crimes.” Blood pulsed violently against Thane’s temples.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Luxar shook his head. “We can’t risk it. She has no memory of certain events, and even after being called before us, Tomas admitted that some memories were lost. If she doesn’t know what her role was with Gavril, then how do we know?”

Thane’s heart beat frantically, and he was certain the vampires at the table picked up on it. He hadn’t questioned Kalena before—he’d had no time to—but every fiber in his being trusted her. Even if she were somehow coerced into helping Gavril, he knew in his heart that she wasn’t the type of person to knowingly do something that could harm and possibly alter the lives of dozens of people.

“You’ve known this woman for a very short time. How could you trust her? You’re an Alpha, one of the highest positions under our spectrum. Has she clouded your judgment?”

“My judgment has not been affected by any of this,” Thane stated.

“You’ve given her the blood, haven’t you? She’s been altered, yes?”

Thane nodded.

“Then she’s now inextricably tied to our kind and bound to follow our rules, as you are. You have two choices, only because I like you very much. For the judgment call you made without adequate contemplation, you will either: Relinquish the female to UCON or relinquish your title.”

Thane rose quickly from his seat. “You’re wrong on this matter, Luxar, just as you were wrong to sentence me prematurely before.”

Luxar raised one brow. “You’re right, one of us is wrong. You couldn’t extract all of her memories, but we can. Especially any memories she may have about where to find Gavril’s hiding place.” He grinned. “The choices have been laid before you. Choose. The girl or your title.”

“The girl. I relinquish my title,” Thane declared.

Complete silence washed over the room for several minutes until Luxar spoke again. “I didn’t expect that.” Luxar frowned. “You are sure?”

Thane growled. “She’s mine. I will lash out if she is harmed.”

He shrugged indifferently. “Fine. Your decision stands.” He leaned over the table, his next question directed toward Silvano. “Name an interim Alpha of the ShadowRock Pack.”

“Brant Cedona, Thane’s Beta,” Silvano replied.

Thane let out a slight sigh of relief at the mention of Brant’s name. Had UCON named someone he wouldn’t have chosen himself, he would have felt uneasy about the decision. What was important was that he knew he’d made the right choice. He would never turn the woman he cared about over to someone else to be chastised or questioned relentlessly.

“If I were you, Thane…I would find your brother. I would find him quickly and turn him over. The Council has pressing matters on our radar other than this one and Gavril’s tactics are becoming a nuisance to our advancement. I suspect you agree. If you want your Pack order restored, you will act accordingly.”

“I assure you…I will find him.”

“I’m glad we had this discussion and a chance to meet again to clear the air. I’ll be seeing you again soon I suspect,” Luxar stated and promptly excused himself from the meeting by getting up from the table and exiting the room.

Chapter 27

“YOU DON’T SEEM like the type of woman who would date Thane.”

Kalena nearly jumped two feet away from the bookcase when she heard the voice of the girl in the room. She spun around quickly to find her seated on a leather couch just inches from where Kalena stood. When the girl had entered the room was beyond her.

She was the youngest person Kalena had seen at the mansion to date, but then again, age was mostly irrelevant here. She had a thick mane of light blonde hair and a slender build, yet her style of dress gave her true age away the most. Kalena had volunteered at a public library in the youth section, and  the girl’s choice of designer clothes and accessories labeled her as a teenager.

Kalena shook her head. “You are?”

“Danika Silex. The troublemaker.” She smiled. “You’ve been moping around here all day.”

Kalena pressed her lips together in defiance. “I wasn’t moping. You were held by Thane’s brother, right?”

Danika frowned slightly and averted her gaze for only a second.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Everyone’s sorry.” Danika shrugged. “You don’t plan to stay here, do you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s just that history shows that most humans are simply interested in living longer. They accept the DNA and months later they’re gone. Living among wolves and vampires that have lived for hundreds of years can be a lot for an innocent human such as yourself.”

Kalena took a seat in the lounge chair adjacent from where Danika sat. “I’ve thought about that already. I’m not here just for the DNA.”

“Don’t tell me you’re here for Thane.” The girl’s smile was almost teasing, but her eyebrows rose in question. “I guess you can say he’s old in spirit, but young at heart.”

“I love everything about his spirit and his heart,” Kalena said without missing a beat. “So in answer to your question, yes, I’m here for Thane.”

Should Kalena feel selfish about being here for Thane because she couldn’t process the thought of leaving him behind so soon?

Danika narrowed her gaze, skepticism evident in her expression. “You have no idea what it’s like living the life of an Alpha’s mate…”

“And you do?”

“My dad, Houston Silex, was Alpha of the ShadowRock Pack until he handed the title down to Thane. And then old age crippled him. He’s long gone, but yes, I know the trials and tribulations of being the daughter of an Alpha. My mother was human, but she couldn’t take the daily pressures that came with her role. She left my dad to live a normal human life. She would probably still be living today if the man she married hadn’t insisted she fly all over the world with him whenever he went out of town on business. I have human stepbrothers that pretty much disowned me.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She was in a private jet that crashed into a mountain. When they found it, almost nothing was left, other than the ruins of the plane. Just ashes and metal.”

“I don’t know what to say. I…”

“You don’t have to say anything at all. Everyone’s sorry about it,” Danika said. “But, that’s just the way things are in our world. To sustain our way of life and keep our bloodline thriving, fathers, especially those that are in high positions of power, are known for executing lucrative agreements such as the betrothal I’m expected to follow through on in less than three years.”

“Betrothal?”

“Right. This man’s identity hasn’t even been revealed to me yet. All I’ve been told is that the union will keep the Silex gene alive.”

“There are still human cultures in this time period that have arranged marriages, so I’m not surprised,” Kalena said.

“Back to my earlier question…you do plan on leaving, right?”

“If that’s what’s best…” Kalena whispered. “I did something that can’t be undone.”

“Oh?”

“The D996 drug was administered to me, and unfortunately, I lost some of my memories. I say some, but the more I think about it, I wonder if I lost more memories than we all think.”

“Well that wasn’t your fault, unless you took the drug willingly.”

“I didn’t take it willingly,” Kalena said. “I dated Gavril for a short period of time. Not knowing who he was. When his followers found me in the lab, they turned me over. Gavril had me thrown into Area S2 with Thane.”

“Oh,” Danika said, slowly, raising her palm to cover her mouth. “Wow. Does Thane know about this?”

“Yes. A vampire extracted the information from me. I shouldn’t be telling you this. You’re too young. What was I thinking?”

Danika laughed. “I’m almost seventeen. I’m not a child. I’m more mature than some thirty-year-olds, which is why I never seem to fit in with human girls my age. My dad brought in a tutor. I was fifteen when I earned my Bachelor’s degree in Business and Economics. At this stage in my life, age is only secondary to knowledge and Pack status.”

“Well, aren’t you smart?”

“Smarter than most. You didn’t appear to be the type to date a man like Thane, but I’m shocked that you would even find anything remotely attractive about Gavril besides his looks.”

Kalena swallowed. “He lied to me when we met. And yes, the resemblance between the brothers is startling. I’m wondering how I couldn’t remember.”

“It’s likely that Gavril gave you the drug while you were dating him. You wouldn’t have known it.”

Kalena gasped. “I would’ve known. Isn’t it administered by injection only?”

“Says who?”

“Oh my God.”

“Don’t panic. You’re fully cured anyhow. Lucky you.”

Kalena frowned. “But my memories were taken away from me.”

“You can get them back. Most of them anyway.”

“How?” Kalena sat upright in the chair.

“The same way Gavril had them extracted from you earlier,” Danika offered. “But vampires don’t bargain lightly.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re of the mindset that everything must be bargained for. It’s how they’ve flourished throughout their existence. Some of the same negotiating techniques were instilled into shifter society when we first came under the laws of UCON, our ruling organization. Before then, the only sure way a shifter got what he wanted was to fight…and sometimes kill for it. That’s still done, as you’ve witnessed, but UCON has cracked down on those practices a lot more now that they enforce secrecy and the laws of our kind.”

“How do you know so much?”

“I told you. My dad was an Alpha. I’m expected to know this stuff, even though I will never lead a Pack.”

Kalena shook her head. “Well, I don’t have access to all my money so I have little to bargain with.”

Danika chuckled. “Money isn’t what impresses vampires the most. If you follow through with this, you stand to lose more than you might gain. You would risk your humanity. You could die or be turned.”

“Turned?”

“Exactly. Just like before, it would require extraction of blood. It’s up to you if you’re willing to pay that price or not to have all of your memories back.” Danika grinned. “Humans cherish their memories so much, don’t they? I understand, but your curiosity seems so great that you would even welcome back the bad memories. Am I right?”

“How do you know a vampire could help me get the rest of my memories back?” Kalena had to ask.

“From my understanding, that specific skill is gained whenever a vampire is turned by another. You just have to be weak enough or willing to let them in.” She bit at a stray nail on her thumb. “I’ve also done it before.”

Kalena felt her eyes widened. “Care to elaborate?”

Danika frowned. “In the years following my mom’s death, I often sought out vampires to drag memories from me about when I was just a very small child and my mom and dad were still living together and very much in love. My dad never kept a lot of pictures of her. Decades go by, and even us shifters forget the minute details sometimes. Especially when we haven’t neared our prime yet.”

“Oh…”

“Can you handle those memories? About you and Gavril?” Danika asked.

“I don’t know whether I can or not. But I have a right to know what happened to me. I want back everything that Gavril took from me.” Kalena rose from the lounge chair. “Where can I find a vampire that can help me?”

Danika held up her palms, sheepishly. “I’m already in enough trouble as it is. I’ll catch you later and we can talk about it more. Maybe at dinner time before I head out to a party.”

“Wait!” Kalena placed her palm on Danika’s shoulder. “If my memories could help Thane put Gavril away for good, wouldn’t you want to help me for that reason alone?”

Danika’s gaze shifted downward as she contemplated the question. She then pulled a card out of her back pocket and handed it to Kalena. “Invite only party. There will be vampires. If you can get someone to drive you out, then come if you dare.”

Danika exited the room just as quietly as she had entered.

Kalena glanced down at the blood-red invite with only a set of coordinates written in black on it. She stood in silence, looking at the shelves and volumes of books before her until she realized they obviously didn’t contain the answers she sought. As she turned to head out of the library, she knew she had already made her decision.

Chapter 28

“I’VE GOT A reservation here tonight with a friend,” Thane told the human greeter at the door of the restaurant.

“Your name, sir?” the greeter inquired.

“Thane Silex.”

There were two hybrid guards standing on either side of the greeter. They eyed Thane suspiciously as the greeter checked the guest log.

“You’re not listed,” she said.

“Impromptu meeting,” Thane replied.

“Let me have the name of your guest,” she demanded.

“Tor.”

The name had barely left his lips before Tor opened the velvet curtains leading to the restaurant’s main area and stepped out. The guards and the greeter instantly fell back.

“Welcome, friend. I’ve been waiting.” His face was slightly flushed, which only happened when a vampire had just finished a meal.

“Hello, Tor.”

Tor led him to a private area of the restaurant, a small section cornered off by folding screens. The table was already set, complete with gold plates and utensils and silk linens. The champagne glasses were chilled but empty before the server popped the cork and filled them. The waitress finalized the selections and then they were left alone.

Tor was at least five hundred years old, but he’d spent a good part of his existence in voluntary deep slumber. His blackish-blue hair was slicked back with a light coating of gel. He’d been made when he was still young, twenty-five to be exact, and was one of the older vampires in existence. Luxar, who was not currently in voluntary slumber, was likely the oldest. Tor’s coven was the only one made up of both purebred vampires and hybrids, but then again, the man had always been unique in his ways. He was known by all as the vampire who would not accept a position as one of UCON’s Heads because he preferred his privacy.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Tor said. “I thought UCON would have held you up.”

“And I thought I would be at UCON longer than a few hours,” Thane said.

“What happened?”

“There was a discussion and then I was stripped of my title.”

“Stripped?” Tor held his head back and laughed. “Is that what Luxar is up to these days…stripping titles?”

“I hardly find it funny,” Thane replied.

“Luxar’s decision amuses me, considering the fact that you are the only one fit to lead ShadowRock at this point.”

“They named Brant as interim Alpha. He’s fit to lead. In fact, I would have named him myself if it’d come down to that.”

Tor lifted his champagne glass and tossed the liquid down in one gulp. “You will reclaim your Pack. Interim means this is only temporary.”

“And if I don’t? What if this is the way things are meant to be?”

“Then it’s meant to be,” Tor chimed.

“What about our agreement?”

Tor lifted a brow. “What about it?”

“If I no longer hold the Alpha title, does that mean we can cancel this bargain for my firstborn daughter?”

Tor grinned. “Is that why you were so quick to step down? Because you want to cancel our arrangement?”

“I had two choices. The woman who I plan to mate or my title. I chose my mate,” Thane said. “In either case, I’m a man of my word, but just so you know, the title of Alpha may not be in my future anymore.”

“I didn’t agree to this arrangement with you because of your title. It’s your bloodline that I’m most interested in. My end of the bargain is complete. Danika Silex is now at your estate from what I’ve been told.”

Thane nodded. “She is.”

“Then tell me that you still plan to uphold what we agreed on…”

“I will, but I can’t promise happy endings. When it comes time, you will do the courting. If you fail to gain her interest, well then, that is on you.”

“Deal.”

“You’re confident?”

“Confidence is in my blood, but I’m merely asking for your permission to solidify the union…after she’s reached her prime, of course.” Tor passed his hand across the table and they shook on it. “I may look young, but I’m still old-fashioned in my ways.”

“Deal.” Thane lifted his glass and drank the crisp, smooth champagne. “A Council Head was killed during the raid on Gavril’s compound.”

Tor frowned. “Who was it?”

“Upir. I was almost certain I would be blamed for it until Luxar admitted that Upir was involved in some salty side dealings. Upir’s money trail led them to Gavril’s bank account.”

“Oh, now that’s interesting.” Tor sat back in his chair. “I never trusted Upir, yet I never entirely trusted many purebred shifters. Except for you and a handful of others.”

“I’m going to join in the hunt for Gavril. Too much time has been wasting away.”

“Need more help?”

“I have no chains binding me anymore. I’ll take responsibility going forward. Plus, your price is likely to be way too high. While others would be satisfied with cash or property, your requests aren’t tangible like that.”

“What can I say? I value life and legacy more than money.” Tor linked his hands together. “May I assume you will take your mate soon?”

“You may not assume anything. Times are difficult, as you’re aware. Plus my mate isn’t shifter or vampire…she’s human. A human that may not understand our customs.”

Tor sat back in his chair. “I’ve waited this long…”

Chapter 29

“ARE YOU SURE about this?” Tracy asked as she pulled out of the driveway of the ShadowRock mansion.

“Yes, please, let’s just go before Anna sees me,” Kalena said.

“Anna and everyone else are probably asleep at this hour,” Tracy said, pulling out of the gates onto a gravel road leading out to the main highway. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Thane will have my ass.”

“I’ll take care of Thane if and when it comes to that. Besides, why would he want to continue this relationship with me after I’ve been with his brother? I’ll leave soon, but not until I find out what really happened. Can you just drive me there and agree that I owe you one?”

“You can start by promising to make me some of those top-notch brownies you used to bring and share in the breakroom at Silex.”

“I’ll make a dozen just for you.”

They were on the main highway before Tracy spoke again. “I wish I had pushed more about that boyfriend of yours, but I was so busy. I had Thane’s assignment during the day, and to keep my dad happy, I was studying at night. Plus I didn’t want to appear too nosy. You and I had just met.”

“It’s okay. I withheld things from you because it seems he and I didn’t have a relationship to begin with. Just sex. But I agreed to it. I must have known nothing would come of it. Either that, or I lost my memories while I was still with him.”

“Well, don’t kick yourself in the head over it. I’m not the settling down type, and I’ve had a couple of relationships like what you described. I felt pretty much the same way you did.”

Kalena frowned. “Yeah, but I bet they were never as toxic. Your life wasn’t on the line.”

“Gavril will get what’s coming to him. I’m sure.”

“This is why I need your help. Danika said a more powerful vampire could dig deeper.”

“And she told you about the possible consequences of letting a vampire have that much of your blood, right?” Tracy asked.

“Death or the chance that I might turn into one.”

Tracy nodded. “Yeah, that’s why this sort of stuff is never done unless you absolutely trust one of them. You’d better be glad that our Pack is on good terms with this particular coven, or else I wouldn’t be headed there. Because of my family’s medical ties and the amount of information we’ve come across over the decades, it’s forbidden to allow any vampire to drink from us. There aren’t many wolves left who give freely, but there are enough of them to keep the vampires happy and deter them from pursuing the unwilling. I hope Danika hasn’t gotten herself entwined with this practice either. It’s not something the Silex family is known for.”

“Danika left an hour ago. I saw her get in one of the limos with a guard,” Kalena said.

“Back before she was captured, Danika and her friends had always been known for rolling with vampires, so I’m left to wonder about her.”

“Well, she’s gone through some things. The death of her parents. Her capture.”

“Listen…when we get there, I’ll scout out Danika. She can help us weed out the stronger ones or at least lead us to the right place.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter 30

NOT EVEN AN hour later, Kalena and Tracy had found a nook right next to the bar. The clubhouse, which resembled an old abandoned warehouse on the outside, was filled almost to the max with bodies. Mostly vampires and their consenting human followers, but according to Danika there were a fair number of shifters and hybrids in the place, too.

Danika had greeted them at the door as soon as they’d arrived, but like any other teenager, she’d dispersed shortly after, with two young hybrid males and two of Thane’s guards following closely behind her. After being locked up in a room for months, who could really blame her? The girl seemed unbothered by the recent events and her near death experience, but Kalena had to remember that Danika wasn’t a human at all.

“Dude…” Tracy leaned across the table to gain Kalena’s attention. “I’ve spotted at least ten hungry-looking vampires staring at us. It’s creeping me out. Either you’re going to put on the band so we can do what we came here to do and then leave, or not. If not, let’s bounce.”

“Okay, okay.” Kalena fidgeted with the wristband on the table. Vampires played by rules here. Blood wasn’t exactly a free-for-all in this establishment. Only those wearing a neon yellow wristband had given consent to be approached for blood. According to Danika, verbal agreement was also needed to feed.

Apparently, these parties were common in the vampire world when feeding from the general human population wasn’t feasible.

Kalena fumbled with the band but managed to secure it around her wrist.

“From what I hear, the younger vamps need more of your blood than the older ones. Keep that in mind when you choose,” Tracy said.

“Like I can tell a twenty-year-old vamp from a two-hundred-year-old one. Can you?”

“Not really. Most don’t know how powerful a vampire is until it’s too late…right at the moment when they begin to consume your blood.”

Kalena shuddered as she thought back to how Tomas had extracted memories from her with such ease. Was she a complete fool to want to go through this again only because she wanted to know the entire truth and not just some of it?

“And one’s headed our way right now,” Tracy said. “I’m not surprised. They always go for the humans first.”

The fact that Kalena would identify more with Thane’s people than with humans if she continued to take the DNA was only just settling with her. She was cured of the ailment caused by D996, so that meant no other doses were medically necessary.

Half a minute after Tracy had spoken, a dark figure appeared beside their table.

“Hello. You’re new here,” were the vampire’s first words.

Kalena lifted her gaze slowly, craning her neck slightly to take in the full length of him. He looked like any other man, but her newly developed instincts already confirmed that he was far from ordinary. The way he stared her down with hunger should have had her running in the opposite direction, but she wanted something too badly—her memories back.

“I am,” Kalena answered.

“As well as your friend,” the vampire declared, glancing at Tracy.

For the first time since she’d met Tracy, Kalena noticed that her friend was speechless. She pressed her lips together and nodded her head in answer to the vampire’s observation.

“The presence of and color of your wristband tells me that you’re game for a little fun,” the vampire said.

“Kind of.”

“As do the recent extraction marks on the left side of your neck,” he added.

Kalena gasped, and her hand went up to stroke the side of her neck where Tomas had taken her blood. “I didn’t know they were still there.”

“With your human eyes and the weaker eyesight of the wolf, the marks aren’t detectable. But they are there, and I can tell they are recent,” the vampire replied.

“I’m going to get right to the point with you,” Kalena said, staring the vampire right in the eye. “I’m not here to offer my blood freely. I want something in return.”

The vampire grinned. “What is that?”

“My memories.”

“Your memories?” He leaned against a wood beam next to their table and propped one ankle over the other. “Well, what happened to them?”

“I was given a drug. I can’t discuss it fully. I just need them back.”

“How far back?”

“Months. Maybe three or four,” she said.

“Hmmm.” The vampire narrowed his gaze. “That’s going to cost you a lot of blood, but I’m not complaining.”

“Just as long as you don’t kill me or turn me. And I want my friend with me when you do it.”

“Of course, you’ll need a friend. You’ll be as weak as a fly when I get through with you, but please don’t take that as a negative. We rarely take as much as you’re offering. On any other night, it would take me three feedings to get what you’re suggesting right now. It’s against UCON’s laws to kill a willing host. Therefore, I will need your consent to turn you if you don’t pull through.”

“No,” Tracy finally blurted out.

Kalena swallowed down her apprehension and met Tracy’s gaze. “I have to know.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m older than most here. I can help you. A five-minute feeding will get you about a month of memories. Ten minutes: Just under two months. Fifteen minutes or more: I can take you back just under three months. Any more than that and you’re putting yourself at risk of death. Only rogues kill hosts needlessly, which is why I need your consent to save you and turn you if it comes to that. My record is clean with UCON and I wish to keep it that way.”

“I’ll settle for ten minutes. Two months back should be enough…I hope.”

“And your consent…you have to say the words. You willingly offer your blood in exchange for your memories. You give consent to turn you, should your heart stop beating.”

Kalena repeated the words.

“Follow me. If you want your memories, you must focus in quieter surroundings.” The vampire turned on his heels and parted through the crowd.

“You’re crazy,” Tracy whispered as they followed him.

“Evidently so.”

Chapter 31

THE VAMPIRE LED them down a long, narrow hallway past the main party and into one of the smaller rooms. The atmosphere seemed more relaxed as there were fewer people around to observe what was going on, but Kalena could still hear the throbbing music through the walls.

Black leather armchairs and ottomans were placed strategically throughout the small room. Pillar candles sat in metal scones on the walls. The flickering flames were the only source of light. A lavender aroma floated throughout the room. Whether it was to create a calming atmosphere or mask the scent of blood and vampire, Kalena didn’t know. Maybe both, since the aura was doing its job. Most of the seats were occupied, but there was a common element: vampires feeding from others. Not just males feeding from women, but female vampires also feeding from men.

“Change your mind?” the vampire inquired.

Kalena shook her head. “As long as you keep up your end of the bargain.”

The vampire chuckled in return. “Never trust a vampire. If you’d ventured into any other coven in search of your memories, you might not have been treated so kindly. You’re lucky and safe here.”

“What does he mean?” Kalena directed her question to Tracy.

“The Blanc coven doesn’t allow rogues within their circle. There are ruthless covens, meaning if you step into a vampire party during a feeding, you’re pretty much fair game and labeled prey. Those vampires are called rogues because they don’t follow standard rules.”

“She’s right about our coven. We may be considerate to others not like us, but don’t take that as a sign of us being meek or vulnerable.” The vampire pulled out a leather stool and motioned for Kalena to take a seat. “You’ve done this already, so it shouldn’t be as painful.”

“Sure.”

After Kalena was seated high on the stool, he picked up her hands, turned her palms down and placed them in her lap.

“You should relax,” he said. “If you can remember, focus on a time period from which you want the memories extracted.”

“Okay,” Kalena replied, after a sigh of reluctance. She glanced to the left in search of Tracy.

“I’m here,” her friend reassured her. “I’ll time him. Ten minutes.”

Kalena relaxed her shoulders, took several deep breaths, and let her mind take her to the place she least wanted to return: the moment of revelation about Gavril, when she was tied to a chair and he’d ordered the men to administer the D996 shots.

The vampire touched her skin in the process of swiping her hair away from her neck, causing a chill to run down her spine.

Kalena closed her eyes and zoned out of the present. She took a moment to realize that the vampire was counting down. 7. 6. 5…

She shut out his voice and forced herself to return to the moment when Gavril had decided her fate. She hardly noticed as the vampire sunk his fangs through the vein on her neck. Her fingers stiffened then gripped the fabric of her jeans.

Focus. I sense nothing but fear. What’s happened has already happened.  Focus more.

This time his words were in her head, not spoken.

Weird. The other vampire, Tomas, had not had this type of power. In either case, he was right. The absolute worst-case scenario had already happened.

Kalena relaxed her shoulders, which wasn’t an easy task with a vampire’s fangs stuck in her neck, funneling her blood for nourishment.

“She’s seen too much. Get rid of her,” Gavin said. “Clean up her memory first. Three doses.”

“Why, Gavin?” Kalena screamed, struggling against the bindings used to secure her hands behind her back.

Gavin turned around and he looked as though he pitied her, but in one split second, the look was gone. “I have no choice. I told you I was a very dangerous man, but you agreed to continue seeing me anyway.”

Her gaze flew back and forth between the two men that had brought her to Gavin. They were wearing Silex security guard uniforms. “You lied to me! You work here, don’t you?”

Gavin laughed. “Maybe she’ll need more than three doses.” He directed this comment to the men. “As a matter of fact, bring me the first one.”

“A woman was murdered back there in the labs. Don’t you care? What’s going on here?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.

Gavin sighed and shook his head. “Obviously you can’t handle all of this. I should have known. Which further proves my point that it will be best if we erase everything you and I shared.” He came closer and threaded his hand through her hair.

“What do you mean?” She glared into his eyes, but she was sickened by the haughty look in his gaze.

One of the men handed Gavin a needle. She nearly passed out from the sight of it.

“I trusted you.” Her breath came out in a rush.

“That’s why you must now forget me,” Gavin replied. “When you wake up, you won’t remember much of anything. I’m going to put you away for a little while. A few months maybe, just to be sure that your memories won’t come back.”

“My memories?”

“You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he stated before piercing her with the needle through the meatiest part of her arm.

She shrieked and jolted out of her memory.

It’s already happened. The vampire’s voice was in her mind again. Interesting. Shall we delve a bit deeper?

Kalena nodded, closed her eyes again, and tried to focus once more.

A couple of minutes passed before her attention faded to the interior of some room. Sort of like a master bedroom, but a little more formal. She wore a sheer nightgown and was seated on the bed. A notepad and pen with the name of a popular hotel chain gave her location away. She wasn’t in anyone’s personal bedroom. She was in a high-end hotel. A tray of empty champagne glasses was perched on the footrest near the bed.

Kalena swung her legs over the edge of the bed, prepared to rise, but happened to glance over her shoulder to see Gavin pulling out a wooden box with some needles.

“How long do you have to take your medication?”

“Indefinitely,” he replied. Gavin was always terse in his replies, leaving her to wonder if he was bitter about the illness he claimed to have, or just bitter in general.

“You always take one shot right before we’re together, and then one right after. Why?”

“Because I burn the most energy with you.”

“Is that good or bad?” she asked.

“Good because the shots make me crave sex. Bad because the supply is exceedingly low.”

“Can’t your doctor just increase your prescription?”

“It doesn’t work that way. The medication is only for a select few, and it’s not mass produced.” He aimed the needle at the vein near his inner elbow and administered the injection.

She cringed. “Looks like you’ve gotten used to sticking yourself with that thing.”

“It makes me less of what I am now and more of what I want to become—without all the hassles, of course.”

“What do you mean?”

“We agreed, no intruding questions, yes?”

Kalena swallowed down her rising suspicion and rose from the bed. “We did.”

This sexual relationship with Gavin had gone on for weeks. After tonight, Kalena wouldn’t see him again. She doubted he’d miss her. There was no love here. Only the need for satisfaction. Hers and his. Yet, she wondered who was on the better end of the bargain.

The memory faded…

Kalena’s breathing slowed and her muscles grew slack as the vampire continued to feed.

A couple more minutes…care to go for another round?

How odd that the vampire could intercept her thoughts and pull her memories at the same time. But whatever he was doing…it was most certainly working.

“Okay,” she whispered and took a deep breath. But before she could pull from any more suppressed memories, the vampire’s hold on her neck ceased and a biting draft wafted over her.

On her next breath, she brought in a very familiar scent.

“Thane?” She pivoted on the stool, slowly.

Thane was not pleased. He held the vampire in a vice grip about the neck. The vampire’s eyes were still widened in shock and his face had reddened. She presumed this was either from all the oxygen being squeezed out of him, or the fact that he’d just eaten. His toes barely touched the ground as Thane dangled him.

“Kalena, what are you doing in this place?”

She stood from the chair. “I came to find out what happened to me.”

The vampire’s skin was now losing color fast, and several other coven members sprang into action. They cornered Thane and his two Epsilons like prey. Tracy, Danika, and the girl’s two guardians were also surrounded. Almost everyone in the room, except for the humans, had fangs or canines dropped.

“Put him down. He was only helping me,” Kalena urged. She didn’t want to see violence here. Not now, not ever again.

“Did he hurt you?” Thane asked between clenched teeth.

“No, I asked for it.”

Thane’s eyes shifted to all of the vampires circling around them. “Asked for it…or were lured into it?”

“Let him go,” a vampire from the circle hissed. “We’re under the guidance of Luxar. You know we follow the rules of UCON here.”

“No one takes from what is mine.” Thane must have squeezed the vampire tighter because his eyes glossed over.

“How do we know she’s yours? She’s not marked…she’s a human,” another vampire challenged.

Thane growled. “Well, now you know…”

Tracy moved to stand between them. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I was only trying to help.”

“This was my fault,” Kalena said. “I begged Tracy to bring me, and they did what I asked and nothing more.” Kalena approached Thane and pressed her palm against his chest. She caught his gaze. “I’ll explain everything. Put him down.”

Thane loosened his grip and the vampire fell to his knees, gasping for breath and rubbing at the bruise around his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Kalena said, pitying the vampire and feeling terrible about the way he had been assaulted by Thane.

The vampire glanced up slowly, his chest still heaving. “Next time, you oughta tell the vamp who’s helping you that you have a crazy ass shifter for a boyfriend.” With that, he got up and backed away through the crowd.

Thane stretched out his arm and opened his palm to her.

Kalena frowned and glared at him, but decided that arguing with him in the middle of a vampire party wouldn’t be very effective. Especially now that the vamps were looking at them like they were the enemies.

She placed her hand into Thane’s palm, and he led the way out of the building with Tracy and his two Epsilons following closely behind.

Chapter 32

“HOW COULD YOU do that to someone who would help me?”

“He was helping himself to your blood,” Thane replied.

Kalena unleashed her aggravation as soon as she and Thane were seated in the large SUV. The driver and Zeff were in the two front seats. Danika and one of the guardians she’d come with were in the middle seats. Ulrick had agreed to drive Tracy back to her home.

“It was the only way that he could help me get my memories back,” Kalena declared. “We’ve done this already. I needed to know more about what happened to me.”

His eyebrows rose and then drew closer together. “Why didn’t you tell me this was what you had in mind?”

“When I made up my mind, you had already left for UCON. Plus, you have your own issues to deal with.”

“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have helped you with this. This world…our society differs greatly from the human world. You can’t go around trusting everyone. We run in circles for a reason.”

“That was stupid of me to ask a stranger, I admit it, but I was willing to risk my life to learn as much of the truth as possible. The vampire said he was older and that he could help.”

Thane frowned. “He lied.”

“How do you know?”

“An older vampire would have been able to take me down the moment I threatened his existence. My ability to subdue him tells me that he was made recently…maybe in the last ten years or so.”

Kalena shook her head. “But he drew on my memories easily. Almost too easily…”

“He may have had skills, but he was no elder. He told you what you wanted to hear so that he could feed from a human.”

She swallowed, thinking about all the possible downfalls her choice could have resulted in.

“Never trust anyone outside of our circle. Do you understand?”

“He just wanted to help…and he did,” she stated.

“Never,” he stated firmly. “Many of the pureblood vampires, and even some of the hybrid rogues can’t be trusted. Not with your memories, and especially not with your life.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Well excuse me for choosing to believe that you wouldn’t want to know anything else about my no-strings-attached relationship with your brother and taking it upon myself to investigate the truth.”

“I don’t care how many strings were attached in your arrangement with Gavril. You’re mine now. My responsibility. And now that most everyone of both shifter and vampire blood knows it, the next person to introduce you to any harm whatsoever, whether intentionally or unintentionally, will feel my wrath.”

“The vampire never tried to hurt me. In fact, your brother is the only man who has tried to kill me. Tell me, does the same rule apply for your kind? Should I be skeptical and untrustworthy of all shifters, as well?”

In the middle of their quarrel, Danika had turned around in her seat and glanced back and forth between the two of them, wide-eyed. “Umm, you two are aware that you’re not the only ones in the car, right?”

Kalena’s neck heated when she realized she’d just dissed an SUV full of shifters.

“We’ll finish this discussion tonight,” Thane said. “It’s my fault that I didn’t tell you everything myself. You’re one of us now, and I plan to remedy that.”

Kalena sighed and settled back into her seat. She didn’t have enough strength to continue the argument with him. Another bout of nausea consumed her, but she was grateful she was sitting this time. However, Thane didn’t seem to miss her increased state of fatigue. He slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

Thane pressed his lips to her forehead. “Offering blood two days in a row isn’t something a human should do...not even an altered one. If you allow me to, I’ll help you regain your strength quickly.” This time he spoke softly to her.

She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes as she attempted to regenerate from the blood loss until she was able to reunite with Thane again. His warmth reminded her of just how much she needed him.

When they reached the ShadowRock estate, everyone exited the SUV. Danika disappeared quickly into the home with Zeff and her guardian on her heels. Nigel, the driver, waited beside the car for instruction from his Alpha.

“Nigel, I’ll take it from here. I’ll be spending time offsite tonight. Will you help get a message to Brant that I would like a meeting with him first thing tomorrow morning, here at the estate?”

Nigel nodded and handed Thane the keys to the SUV. When he was gone, Thane turned slightly and held out his palm. With his other hand, he held the passenger door to the SUV open.

“Will you come with me?” he asked her.

Kalena hesitated. “Why not here?”

“I want some time alone with you like it was before. We need to talk.”

“If it’s about what I did or said tonight…”

He frowned. “No, not just about tonight. About everything.”

She glanced at him uneasily before she slipped her hand into his. He helped her into the passenger side of the SUV, closed the door, and then steered them away from the mansion.

Chapter 33

IT WAS WELL past midnight by the time Thane and Kalena reached their destination in the woods. There were no streetlamps, sidewalks, or gravel-stoned paths leading up to the ranch like there were back at the ShadowRock mansion. The home was small, but sat on a large clearing in the forest. The hanging tree branches and moss overshadowed the ranch, making it look more secluded than what she was used to.

It dawned on Kalena that she hadn’t been to her apartment since she was caught snooping in the labs at Silex.

Thane brought the SUV to a halt a few feet from the porch and turned off the engine.

“This was where I came when I needed to be alone, way before my time at Area S2. When my job as Alpha became a little too stressful.”

Kalena sat up in the seat and glanced out of the window at the darkness surrounding them. “Does anyone actually live out here?”

“There are two shifter families here. They’ve been living out here for decades, though. It’s nothing like the surrounding towns where there’s a home on every corner. Out here, it’s more like every mile.”

“Is this your place?”

He nodded. “It actually belonged to my mother, whose great-granddad owned these woods before she was betrothed to my dad. Then the land transferred to the Silex family as part of the arrangement.”

“Arrangement? Kind of like the one Danika is in?”

“She told you about that?”

“We talked about it briefly yesterday. She wasn’t ecstatic about it then, but if I were a young teenager who knew my future was carved out for me, I might not be too happy either.”

“This is our way of life, and Danika’s situation is not as concrete as you would think.”

“No?” She pressed her lips together, almost turning completely in the seat to glance at him.

“Arrangements and betrothals can be reversed, broken, and re-arranged. Although, it’s not done often. Among our kind, our word is our bond. A broken bond lends to a faulty reputation. Carrying around a faulty reputation for hundreds of years can be taxing on one’s conscience. To us, a man’s reputation is everything and thus is something that extends to his family.”

“Is that why you wanted to clear your family’s name?”

He nodded once, and then reached for her hand across the armrest.

“Our freedom, your freedom, Danika’s freedom…came with a price,” he said.

“I understand. Danika told me…vampires don’t bargain lightly.”

“They don’t.”

Kalena exhaled. “Then just tell me. What did you bargain with to get us out of Area S2?”

“My firstborn daughter.”

She was silent for several minutes as she let that information sink in. The only noise that could be heard in the SUV was breathing, and even beyond that, the crickets and night owls cried out every few seconds.

“Is this why you hadn’t pushed that button to call for help before?”

“Yes. I also needed reason to believe that if I did that, no harm would come to Danika in the process.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Does this mean that when your wife gives birth, the vampire you bargained with will come and take your daughter?”

“No. Fortunately for me, I trust the vampire I made this deal with or I never would have bargained with him at all. What it means, is that I will stand by and thoroughly encourage a union between the two when my first daughter comes of age…if I have any daughters at all.”

“Is this about your family’s reputation?”

“It’s about many things, including family reputation. This is tradition among families with older bloodlines. It’s also a way to strengthen the union between two Packs or, in this case, a Pack and a coven.”

Kalena’s heart raced as she thought about what this could mean for her in particular. She assumed that Thane’s bargain included her—that it would be her daughter who was encouraged to marry into an arranged pairing. She was coming to conclusions too quickly. Things had changed since they left Area S2. After everything they’d discovered, it was impossible that Thane would still want her in his future and be able to stand the thought of mating with his murdering brother’s ex-lover.

“Are you angry about this?” he asked when she didn’t speak.

“No, I’ve come to understand that you aren’t human and things are done differently in your world. I won’t judge your rules and customs, but I hope you have mercy on your future daughter. If she doesn’t want this…”

“When the time comes, we’ll talk about it. Vampire Tor and I agreed that the courtship must be mutual, even though my permission to mate has already been granted. I’m prohibited from giving her away to anyone else even if a better opportunity comes along.”

“Do all shifter dads give permission?”

“Yes, Kalena, they do. In the absence of parents, any Pack leader may stand in their place. Matings are among the highest honors in our world. Any mating between a shifter and another must be realized and witnessed by a group of their peers before it becomes official. Kind of like a traditional human marriage.”

“Makes sense.”

Thane shifted in his seat. “Let’s get you inside.”

Once inside the ranch, Kalena noted that the interior was bigger than she expected. In the dark, it had been difficult to see just how big the house was, but as she stood in what appeared to be the general living area, she could see straight down a long, narrow hallway that seemed to go on forever.

“The housekeeper came to clean and dust the surfaces after they learned I was back from exile. It’s pretty late, but I can go see what I can find to make for dinner. Maybe something light before bed? Fresh trout?”

“Yes, please.” She nodded. “I’m hungry. Probably more weak than hungry, but I could still use something to eat.”

“You’re safe here, Kalena. Make yourself at home.”

“Sure.”

When he turned to leave, she reached for his arm. “Will you be gone long?”

“No.” He smiled. “The lake is just behind the house. I’ll be within earshot.” He grabbed her hand. “Actually, let me show you something…and then I’ll leave you to it.”

Hand in hand, they headed back onto the porch. Thane unzipped his fly and shrugged out of his jeans. His tanned skin glowed under the moonlight, and his muscles rippled as he worked to shed himself of the remaining garments. Kalena almost interjected until she realized what it was that he planned to show her.

His wolf.

The first time she had seen his animal was at Area S2 during his struggle to claim her in the fighting rings. The very next time was the day she’d been rescued by the helicopters.

Thane’s fists clenched and un-clenched. The veins on his neck literally pulsed with each heartbeat. His pupils narrowed and then widened until they resembled the eyes of his animal. One minute, he was a man. And in the next, he was wolf.

The wolf was massive. The top of its head came right in line with the top of her hips. His fur matched the deep, dark hue of Thane’s hair. When he tilted his head upward, his nose came just above her ribcage.

Kalena reached out and stroked her palm across the back of the wolf. “Thane.”

He gave a low muted growl in response and turned his nose upward to meet her palm just as it reached his face.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, wishing she could communicate with him in his wolf form.

He returned the sentiment by licking delicately at her hand and fingers. She stroked at his ear and back of his head and he seemed to find comfort in this as the low growls and licks to her arm and her face continued.

Kalena giggled. “You’re very affectionate,” she whispered. “But, of course, that’s not a surprise. When I met you and you brought me to your shelter, you were always gentle with me.”

Thane’s eyes sparked brightly when she made locked gazes with him. She brought herself closer to the wolf, rubbing her cheeks across his soft fur. He smelled of honey and sandalwood. Right now, right here. This was her confirmation that her bond with Thane went deeper, leading to a connection with the animal inside. The connection that had been there all along since the moment she’d woken up in his shelter and first sighted him.

Her stomach rumbled in that instant. The wolf shuffled back a little. His nose flared and his ears perked upward. He bowed his head once, spun around, and sped off into the night.

Chapter 34

STEAMY WATER FROM the hot shower pelted against Kalena’s skin. She closed her eyes and glided the sponge across her body. With Thane out hunting, her mind kept returning to the recently extracted memories. She wanted the memories, but these weren’t the type of memories one could just turn on and off when they wanted to. These memories were a bad reminder of what she’d been through and the decisions she’d made.

The shower stall fogged up with steam. Her sweat—and maybe even a few tears—mingled with the water cascading down over her hair and over her face. She wanted to wash the pain away. She wanted to wash Gavril’s touches from her body. The memories had encouraged others to rise to the surface and were now very much a part of her train of thought. What bothered her was that her last encounter with Gavril had been just a few weeks prior to her being thrown into Area S2. She almost wondered if her avoiding his calls shortly thereafter had anything to do with his complete three-hundred-sixty-degree change of attitude towards her. Probably not. She’d seen the self-serving egotistical side of Gavril before. Something told her that Gavril would’ve made the same decision to save his ass so that he could continue creating his human-killer drug.

Kalena dug her nails into the sponge and squeezed hard. She wished she’d picked up on his shady business before. Would she have told anyone? Who would she have confided in? Heck, she hadn’t even known that Gavril was part of the shifter community. The dealings involving the secret drug were happening every day around her at the very company she worked for.

Suddenly, a cold draft slithered across her wet skin. Before she turned, she caught the scent of sandalwood in the humid air and knew without a doubt that Thane had entered the small bathroom.

Kalena turned to acknowledge him, and even through the thick steam clouding up the bathroom, she could see that he was naked.

A few seconds passed, and then he strolled towards the shower, slid back the door, and entered the small space with her.

“You’re worried,” Thane whispered, dipping his head low to kiss her shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“I never intended to discourage you from finding out what happened, but I don’t like seeing you unhappy,” he said.

“I’m always happy with you,” she countered.

“Then why did you threaten to leave me before?”

“Doesn’t it repulse you that I…” She couldn’t finish. She couldn’t bring herself to say his name one more time.

“Don’t…” he said quietly. “From this night forward, I am the only man who should invade your thoughts. I want your thoughts to be happy…always.”

Thane took the sponge from her, held it under the water, and then massaged it across her body gently.

“Is this understood?” he asked.

“Yes.” She swallowed when his fingers brushed against her nipples. “But what about you…do I make you happy? Can I?”

Trembles raced up and down her spine as he massaged her. In the process, he dropped the sponge and now used his fingers and firm palms to work her tense muscles.

“There is no denying that I’m addicted to you completely. My feelings and emotions toward you are something I can’t hide. You’ve seen this already.”

He was referring to the markings—the heat and glow of his body whenever he was aroused or moved by her.

Thane spun her around and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, fervently. Her body fell into his, becoming pliant with each breath she took.  His fingers glided down between their bodies and separated the folds of her sex. He slid his fingers back and forth against her clit effortlessly. The scent of her sweet musk mixed with the aura of sandalwood and full-blown male arousal. His erection was already taut and pushing against her belly.

Thane bent to suckle her breasts and tease her nipples. She cried out in the shower and her back hit the wet tiles. His tongue was hot and hungry against her buds as he nipped and lapped at her heavy mounds. Heated sensations tore through her like a freight train. Her clit tightened with each tug of her nipple and soon her legs were trembled as a climax rose through her body.

“Will you allow me to return what the vampires took?” he asked. “Like we planned…like I promised…”

She nodded. “I want only your love.”

“And my love is what I will give you…”

Thane lifted her by the thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his torso. After turning off the water, he carried her into the bedroom and laid her out on the bed.

His markings had risen to the surface and were a stark black against his fair skin. His chest rose up and down as he panted. His gaze tore over the length of her body. His cock seemed to lengthen as he stood above her.

He growled. “Mine.”

“Yes Thane. Yours.”

He knelt on the bed over her. She fully expected him to take her instantly, but instead, he made love to her with his mouth, lips, and tongue. Not leaving one centimeter of her body unmarked by his tender touch. Before long, her skin burned with the essence that was Thane Silex. She knew he was intentionally leaving his imprints all over her again. She loved every minute of it. She felt sated and overjoyed at the prospect of being claimed by, marked by, and mated to the wolf.

“Please…” She breathed against his lips and took his mouth in yet another tender kiss.

Once her legs were wrapped around him, he placed his heavy cockhead against her opening and led himself inside her needy sex, one slow centimeter at a time.

Her insides milked him, pulling him deep into her warmth until he was settled between her legs. She climaxed again while looking into eyes that belonged to Thane’s wolf while wrapped in arms that had always brought her comfort and made her feel safe.

Thane drove into her long, slow, and deep, bringing her to the edge over and over again. He took Kalena to ecstasy more times that night than she’d ever been taken before in her lifetime. He made love to her completely and thoroughly.

Before long, the sun rose and the rays crept between the curtains, bathing their bodies until their skin glowed under the natural light. As Thane’s head rested against her breastbone, she turned to glance toward the radiant sunshine. It was the most beautiful sunrise she’d ever seen. With Thane. With the wolf.

This was a new day. Yesterday’s worries were now behind her.

Chapter 35

THANE AND KALENA arrived at the mansion a little later than expected, but once they arrived, brunch was set up for them in the dining room.

“I can have my food somewhere else while you have your meeting with Brant,” Kalena offered, as they walked hand in hand down the hallway.

“That’s not necessary unless that is what you truly want. Brant and I will talk some business, but it’s nothing that would upset you. I already told you what we’re meeting about.”

“All right,” she replied. “I just didn’t want to intrude.”

“There will be times when I require private meetings involving staff only or leaders from other Packs, but as my future mate, you are my equal. Even though my status of Alpha is in limbo, I have a dozen other businesses to tend to.” Grinning, he stole a sly glance at her. “Who knows…once I bring you up to speed on my portfolio, I could very well use some of your business and financial sense.”

She smiled. “We’ll have to negotiate that a bit more.”

Brant Cedona was standing when they entered the dining room. “Alpha.” He bowed curtly, and the pair shook hands. Brant then acknowledged Kalena with a short nod and a smile.

They seated themselves. Thane pulled Kalena’s chair out for her and pushed it under the table. Once they were all settled, Thane started the first discussion point.

“That will be the last time that you address me as Alpha,” he said.

Brant frowned. “I got the news from UCON, but you will always be my Alpha.”

The maids poured chilled water and fresh-squeezed orange juice in their glasses while the two men talked.

“I’ve already accepted UCON’s decision as final.”

“But they told me it was interim.”

“I don’t know how long it will take me to resolve this mess at Silex. UCON has reason to believe that Gavril got outside funding from another source to produce other illegal drugs. It could take months, even years, for me to get a handle on things. Luxar’s word was final, and I made my choice. There was no way I would hand over my mate to scrutiny. They have no evidence that Kalena committed crimes, so it’s against their own laws to force memories out that could ultimately kill her.”

The bluntness of his words left a pinching pain in her heart, but she wanted the truth. And Thane had promised her before they left his cabin that he wouldn’t sugarcoat anything.

“I fully expected to lead a Pack one day, but not this soon.” Brant rubbed his palms together and his brows furrowed.

“It’s soon, but it was forthcoming. When I was sentenced to exile, you should’ve claimed the title. You held down the Pack. You put your people’s needs before your own. Now I’m giving you my verbal invitation to claim the title and ascend as I have. Our Pack doesn’t need an interim. We need an Alpha.”

“But did you want this to happen this way?”

“I’ve made my choice and she is sitting next to me. You and I both know that I ascended to Alpha as a promise to my uncle.”

“I remember. You wanted to remain a Beta.”

“Yes,” Thane replied. “I’ve advised you for a very long time. There isn’t another wolf that I would’ve handed the title over to. If you don’t accept, this Pack will disband. Do you want that?”

“No. You were stripped from us once and I was proud to carry on your duties. I don’t want to lose you again as a Pack member either.”

Brant and Thane exchanged solemn glances.

“I’ll always be a member of the ShadowRock Pack. That will never change. The Silexes have pledged allegiance to this Pack since its inception. This is where my heart and duty lies. Whatever happens from here on out, my loyalties will always lie with ShadowRock.”

“Then I will accept.”

“I have one other favor to ask of you,” Thane declared.

“Anything.”

“As the new Alpha of ShadowRock, I’d be thankful if you would recognize the mating of Kalena and me.”

Brant grinned. “I’d be honored to, brother. Our Pack will be ecstatic to learn that you’ve finally chosen a mate.”

“I’m sure they will be.”

Kalena’s heart filled with warmth when Thane found her hand under the table and squeezed gently. She was ready. She wanted nothing more than to be recognized as Thane’s mate.

“I’ll get the word out about the ceremony,” Brant said. “I’m sure many will want to be here to witness this moment with you.”

“We’ll do this soon…before I leave again to join the hunt for my brother.”

Kalena tried to hold on to her joy, but the thought of Thane having to leave so soon again irked her.

“Now, let’s eat before the food gets too cold.” Thane said, waving his hand over the piping hot dishes.

* * *

BRUNCH LASTED ABOUT another hour. Brant and Thane went off to discuss other items on their business agenda, and Kalena excused herself to visit the study she’d found comfort in the other day. Thane’s library collection was vast, including everything from non-fiction business reference books to biology and chemistry manuals to heart-stopping thrillers. When things settled down, she hoped she’d come to learn more about Thane by immersing herself in the things he liked.

Kalena was just returning a leather-bound book to its place on the shelf when Thane came inside the room and wrapped his arms around her waist.

She spun around and sensuously pressed her lips against his. His body heated and vibrated against her. Light, tender kisses turned hungry and aggressive. His tongue danced with hers and they found their own unique rhythm. Thane felt so good against her, kissing her senseless. She didn’t want to let go. She never wanted to let go.

“Someone’s a little excited,” she said, after parting from the kiss.

His cock twitched against her belly, reminding her that there were only a couple pieces of fabric preventing their skin-to-skin contact.

“What can I say? Every time I scent you, I want to claim you over and over again,” he replied.

She palmed the side of his face and traced her fingers down his jawline. “I hope all of this mess is over soon. I want to start my new life with you.”

“Soon. Very soon,” he whispered.

Kalena nodded and then walked over to the end table where she’d left a couple books. She scooped them up and took them back to their respective spots on the shelf as well. “I checked my phone messages about a half an hour ago and my parents tried to reach me from a tourist rest stop in Greece. I haven’t spoken with them since they left for their cruise,” she told him.

“I hope you reach them soon. You can give the cruiseline my main line just in case they try to reach you again.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks. This is the longest I’ve gone without talking to them.”

“Oh. yeah…I invited Tracy and her father over for dinner. I thought you might like that since you two communicate so well,” Thane explained.

“I would,” she said. “I need to go check the closet to see if I have something to wear. I think I wore everything I had over the last few days, and Anna’s already gone for the evening.”

“Let’s take some time out tomorrow to go get your stuff from your apartment,” he offered.

“I’d like that. I don’t miss that place, but I miss my things. Plus, my rent is due next week and I don’t exactly have a job anymore.”

“I’ll take care of all of that. You can have my bank card for whatever you need in the meantime.” Thane kissed her cheek. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom in a bit. I’m going to see if I can catch Brant before he pulls out. I forgot to tell him something.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Kalena sauntered out of the library and headed towards the stairs, literally grinning from ear to ear.

Chapter 36

THANE’S FAMILIAR FOOTSTEPS thumped toward the room. The door handle rattled before he let himself inside. “There you are.”

Kalena smiled when she caught the scent of honey and sandalwood.

“I was just changing,” she said, thinking that she should slip back into the dress. As she gave it a second thought, she realized that being with Thane made her feel comfortable. It didn’t matter if she was nude or fully clothed in front of him. She’d bared all to him already and she didn’t want to hold anything back from him.

Thane walked up slowly behind her while she was still standing in the mirror and encircled his arm around her waist. He pressed his nose against her nape and breathed deeply. His fingers spread across her belly and she let her shoulders fall back against him. He met her eyes in the mirror as he smoothed the pads of his thumb against her skin. For a moment, he looked troubled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he warily averted his gaze. “Tracy and her dad should be here any minute. I should change into something else, too.”

Kalena turned around and unbuttoned his shirt for him. “Good idea.”

“Were you able to reach your parents?” he asked.

“No answer. I left a message and told them I was okay. I hope they get it as soon as they return from their cruise.”

“Good. We don’t want them to worry about anything,” he said, peeling out of his pants.

She smiled. “Although, it’s not unheard of for us to play phone tag for a week or two until we get to speak with each other in real time.”

Kalena couldn’t resist checking out his perfect physique. Like her, he was nearly naked, except for his boxer briefs. He was semi erect and the tip of his cock literally popped out past the waistband. When he looked up and met her gaze, that was all the encouragement she needed.

“Tracy’s not here yet.” She hooked her finger in the elastic and pulled him closer to her. “Why don’t we pass a little more time by taking care of this?”

He growled when she palmed him, sending spikes of pleasure across her skin.

“Good idea.”

“I learned a lot today hanging out with you and Brant,” she said, pushing her body into his and making him walk backwards.

“Yeah?”

“You were born to lead. And to take charge. You know when to concede, but you also know when to take the lead. You’ll always be a leader, no matter what title you sport,” she said.

His eyes sparked brightly and his markings appeared. “Kalena…”

“And as long as you accept me, I’ll always be your woman,” she said. “I trust your judgment. I’ll never go against your word again.”

“Kalena. You’ll always be my woman and my mate.” He pressed his palm against her face. “And remember, a wolf is stronger with a mate because she complements him. She knows when to concede and also when to stand up for what she believes in. We are stronger together. For the first time in my life, I’m looking forward to my future.”

The back of Thane’s legs hit the leather sofa behind him. He gripped her by the waist, and she lifted herself on her tiptoes to kiss him. He fell back into the chair and led her down to straddle him. Their mouths collided again, and her tongue swept his gently.

His thick shaft pushed out of the opening of his briefs and made its way between them. The head throbbed against her navel. He reached around her back and unhooked her bra. She threw the garment to the floor just as he bent his head and suckled her breasts. Her nipples were already ultra-sensitive, but now his tongue felt like heaven against them. She arched up into his mouth offering herself fully.

He gripped her cotton panties and pulled them aside until her pussy was bared to him. She lifted herself up slightly and then led her sex down over his erection, taking him inch by inch. They found a rhythm—a compromise—and followed each other into climax.

Thane remained inside of Kalena as they came down from their orgasm.

Someone banged violently on the bedroom door and it flung open, colliding with the wall with a thud.

Kalena’s heart literally jumped into her throat.

Her gaze jerked toward the sound and her heart reeled in shock as Thane’s twin brother, Gavril, appeared.

He held a gun in one hand and had a maid by the throat with the other. The maid’s eyes were lifeless. She was already dead.

Kalena screamed.

“A whore and a traitor! You sent UCON after me!” Gavril yelled. He pointed the gun in their direction.

Thane acted quickly, picking Kalena up by the waist and throwing her out of the line of fire. She landed on her back on the bed just seconds after Gavril had fired the first shot.

The bullet blasted through the window and glass shattered and fell to the floor.

Kalena grabbed a sheet from the bed and brought it up to cover her naked body.

She looked back and forth between Thane and Gavril. They were both in the middle of a shift. She could tell the way the atmosphere vibrated around them, and the way they allowed their animals to growl and tremble in between the shifting.

Thane shifted first. His naked body dissolved into thin air and his wolf emerged almost out of nowhere.

But Gavril never really completed his shift. After all, he didn’t actually possess the shifting gene. He just changed…

His body transformed first. His head was next. He went from human to beast in three seconds flat. Fur and black skin expanded until his clothes tore from him. He thickened and lengthened until his body was monstrously tall and wide. The top of his head was literally only inches away from the ceiling. He was, in fact, a monster. A hideously big beast.

The wolf and were-beast collided with each other.

Kalena saw nothing but blood and fur. She was witnessing a massacre right before her very eyes.

Her position next to the bed and on the side of the room away from the door, didn’t allow her escape. Her screams were no use. The only chance she had was to join the fight to immobilize the were-beast.

She picked up a lamp and hurled it at its back. That didn’t affect him and Gavril’s beast shrugged it off like an annoying fly.

Thane’s wolf and Gavril’s beast rolled around on the floor and toppled each other like two rabid dogs.

Kalena grabbed what she could reach and continued to hurl what she could lift and throw at the beast. It did not good. The beast was stronger, deadlier, and obviously out to kill.

As the beast clawed at the wolf, she grabbed up the thickest piece of glass near the window, ran toward the beast, and stabbed the sharp end into its back.

It howled and knocked her to the opposite end of the room, near the door.

“Oh my God. Help! Somebody fucking help us,” she cried out into the hall.

As she peered down the hallway, she saw the carnage and destruction that Gavril had committed to get to Thane. Three bodies lay on the floor.

Kalena gasped and grabbed at her heart as her body shook in panic.

Where the beast was leaning over the wolf, she saw a pool of blood on the floor.

“Thane!”

She charged again, this time with the broken leg from the nightstand. She took a mighty swing and connected the thickest part of her makeshift bat with the head of the beast.

“Graaaahh.” The beast turned swiftly, growled, hoisted her body up, and flung her across the room again.

This time her head landed against the hard metal chest near the bed. She saw black, red, butterflies, and…

…a shiny object lying on the floor. The gun!

She reached for it as blood and spit dripped from her mouth.

With what little strength she had left, she aimed at the beast and fired.

The beast spun around. He held up his hands as if in surrender.

She shook her head. No. He’d tried to kill her before. He’d try it again.

Gavril couldn’t be trusted. He’d kill her.

He took a step forward.

She put two bullets in his chest.

The beast charged.

She aimed for his head, squeezed her eyes shut, and fired once…twice…

The beast landed with a thump, mere inches from her feet.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she jumped and screamed. She almost shot the person before she realized it was Thane. He had shifted back into human form and was bloodied from head to toe. There was a large wound in his side.

He pried the gun from her hand and knelt over the beast.

The thing actually started mutating back into a human.

“I….” the human-beast croaked. Only he was no longer a beast. The beast was Gavril.

“What the fuck did you do to yourself?” Thane’s demand rushed out of him.

“Cure…” Gavril croaked again.

“Don’t try to talk…” Thane urged, clutching at his own wound, barely able to speak himself as blood coated his skin.

“I…wanted to be. More like you…and…Dad. Please forg—” Blood gushed from Gavril’s mouth and his entire body shook in seizure-like convulsions.

“I know.” Thane nodded and pulled Gavril’s head onto his lap. “I know.”

“Forgive…” Gavril pleaded.

Thane squeezed his brother’s hand tightly. “I forgive you, brother.”

Gavril let go and passed away in Thane’s lap.

Thane glanced up at Kalena and reached out for her.

“Oh, Thane…oh, God. What do I do?” she gasped.

“My babies.” His eyes were unfocused as he spoke. “You will take care of my children.” He slumped over his brother’s lifeless body.

“No!” She shook his motionless body, but to no avail. “You can’t…damn it, you said you wouldn’t.” She pounded on his chest.

Kalena shot up from the floor. She became sick to her stomach and threw up the food she’d eaten during brunch as she took off down the hall, but she didn’t care.

As she came to the bend in the hallway, she collided with someone—David McCarthy.

“What in the Sam Hill happened here?” he asked.

Her knees gave out.

“Help them…” were her last words before she faded.

Chapter 37

“KALENA. WAKE UP. Kalena, wake up.” A woman shook her shoulders gently. “It’s me. Tracy. Please wake up.”

Kalena fought to open her heavy eyelids only to be blinded by the lights.

“Dad, move the light. She can’t see,” Tracy said. “Kalena, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Kalena uttered. She clutched the soft sheets beneath her.

“Don’t try to get up. Drink this.” Tracy pressed a glass to her lips.

Kalena sipped the cool water and her body revived as hydration sated her. “Thane? Where’s Thane?”

There was a pause.

“We have to talk to you…”

Kalena shot upright from the bed and her fatigued muscles protested. “Take me to him!”

Violent, putrid memories flooded back to her. She tried to swing her legs over the bed, but Tracy and another pair of strong hands held her back.

“Please, ma’am, you must lie back,” the old man, who held a strong resemblance to Tracy urged.

“This is my dad, Kalena. We practice medicine. We help shifters and altered humans. Remember what I told you?”

“Yes, but where’s Thane?

“Thane is stabilized,” Dr. O’Neill said.

“Stabilized?” Kalena glanced warily back and forth between the two.

Tracy and Dr. O’Neill exchanged uneasy glances.

Kalena’s heart sped up rapidly in her chest, and a little machine beside her beeped excessively. “Oh, God…”

Tracy rubbed her arms. “Take it easy, okay?” She turned to look at her dad. “Will you check the other room please?”

Dr. O’Neill nodded and left them alone in the room.

“He was bleeding and I couldn’t stop it. He fell and…and…” Kalena blurted the moment the older doctor had left the room.

“Listen to me,” Tracy urged. “Get a hold of yourself or you’ll miscarry. Whatever happens, you have to live and be strong for your babies.”

“My babies?” Wide-eyed, Kalena looked around the room. There were no children. “I don’t see any babies.”

“Kalena, you’re pregnant.” Tracy nodded.

Kalena glanced down at her belly. “It can’t be…”

“It’s still early, but we think you might have conceived a few days ago.”

“I haven’t taken a pregnancy test,” Kalena said.

“You can if you need to, but we can smell it, Kalena.”

“Oh…” Her breath came out in a rush.

“Tracy!” Her dad stuck his head back in.

“Dad?”

“We need to get her in the other room with Thane. Brant’s orders.”

“I don’t want her standing or walking right now,” Tracy said. She pointed to a chair with wheels behind a writing desk. “Get me that chair. We’ll wheel her in there.”

Chapter 38

TRACY AND HER father wheeled Kalena into a separate bedroom of the ShadowRock mansion. She’d never been in this room. The walls were painted a lighter color than Thane’s master bedroom, and the furniture pieces, although the same style, were placed differently. The room was also smaller. There were at least five people already standing over the bed, but the only person she was intent on seeing was Thane.

He was lying on the bed, hooked up to several machines. Bruised and battered. Eyes closed. Unconscious but breathing.

Tracy wheeled her chair as close as she could, and Kalena reached for Thane’s hand.

“Please tell me he’s just sleeping,” she asked no one in particular, trying to hold her frustration inside.

“In a sense, yes,” Dr. O’Neill replied.

There were two vampires in the room: a dark, brooding figure she’d never seen before, and another with ashen skin and black hair past his waist.

Danika was on the opposite end of the room, biting her nails nervously. Brant stood beside her, a troubled expression on his face. There was another shifter in the room whom Kalena had seen inside the mansion before but had never spoken to.

The tension and sadness were so thick in the room that she knew the situation was dire.

Thane’s fingertips felt so cold against Kalena’s palm. When she looked at his face, she noted that his skin wasn’t the vibrant olive-toned shade that she was used to. His chest rose up and down, ever so slowly.

“Someone please tell me he’s going to be all right,” she pleaded. She couldn’t stand the silence.

“We don’t know.” Dr. O’Neill placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Why don’t you know? Can’t you get him to a regular doctor? If you can’t do anything to help him, they probably can. Right?” Kalena knew in her heart that she was being rude, but Thane’s life was on the line. She wanted Thane to live. She couldn’t lose him.

“Kalena, human doctors can’t help us,” Tracy replied. “My dad is trained in both human and shifter medicine. He spent several decades working as a surgeon for a highly rated hospital in the U.S.”

“What are you trying to tell me? That Thane’s never going to wake up.”

Dr. O’Neill knelt down beside her. “He’s been like this since it happened, and his condition has deteriorated. The only thing keeping him alive is the machine.”

“Oh my God…” Her hands shook. “He’s just sleeping. Can’t you see? Isn’t there a shot…a…something that you can give him?”

“Kalena…Thane—the wolf—is gone.” Tracy took her other hand and squeezed. “His wolf couldn’t regenerate from the injuries he sustained in the fight with Gavril. When a wolf’s soul dies, there’s nothing left, and there’s nothing our shifter medicine can do to help him. It’s the human part of him that’s hanging on by a thread. He’s living because of the life support machine, which was made for humans.”

“This isn’t fair. What have I done? I should have done something more.” Kalena couldn’t think. All rationale had left her.

“You did everything you could have possibly done,” Dr. O’Neill said. “You are lucky to have gotten away with your life. When Gavril attacked, he wasn’t in his right mind. He never was. He caused this way before you were in the picture. It may not be fair, but none of this is your fault.”

“It’s possible you’re carrying multiples,” Tracy said. “You have Thane’s pups to take care of. When you give birth, his shifter legacy will live on. As one of his Pack members and followers who loved him dearly, I ask on behalf of the Pack that you stay strong to deliver these babies.”

Kalena tried to hold them in. She tried to stay strong, but tears ran down her cheeks anyway. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I’ll be here for you,” Tracy assured her. “We all will.”

A shadow loomed over Kalena and she looked up slowly into the face of the dark brooding vampire that had once been standing in the darkest corner of the room. The other vampire, maybe his assistant, shifted over to the windows and closed all the curtains until the room was nearly pitch black.

“My name is Tor. I’m a very old friend of Thane’s.” When he spoke, his voice echoed across the room.

Kalena nodded. Her lungs burned so much from the pain that she couldn’t speak. She just wanted to be left alone with Thane.

“Thane’s wolf soul has died. It’s likely that the vampire blood that he’s taken over the decades is what’s keeping him breathing. It is also my understanding that he took vampire blood as recently as a few days ago.”

Kalena nodded. “For my memories, yes.”

“He will not live past this night,” the vampire said with no emotion at all.

“Can you give him more blood?” she asked.

“That is why I’m here, actually. The ShadowRock Pack has lost a shifter soul, but they don’t have to lose Thane, the man.”

She swallowed. “What are you saying?”

“He can become one of us.”

“A vampire? You mean he’ll be a real…v-vampire. Like a hybrid.”

“Yes and no. Hybrids can only be born from a union between a shifter and a vampire. Vampires can only be created.”

“What happens in relationships between a human and a vampire?”

“Well, that’s between the vampire and the human,” Tor replied. “The majority of accounts so far result in the human being turned.”

Kalena swallowed.

“Do I have your permission to turn him?”

“If it will save Thane’s life, yes, you have my permission.”

“His old life cannot be saved.” Tor shook his head. “All I can offer is my blood. If he’s strong enough, he’ll rise again as one of us.”

“He’s strong…” Kalena nodded.

“There’s not much vitality left in him, which is why I hesitate. There’s a chance this won’t work.”

“But there’s a chance it will, right?”

Tor nodded. “It is your choice.”

Kalena looked across the room at all of the faces staring at her.

Brant said. “As Thane’s intended mate, you have the right to make this choice for him. You carry his imprints and his offspring.”

Kalena turned to look at Thane again. She could have sworn his cheeks had lost more color.

“I just want him back. Is that selfish?”

Tracy gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “We want him back, too, Kalena. We’ve already come to grips with the fact that we lost his wolf, but Thane was, is also a man. A very good man who just wanted to protect his family’s legacy.”

Kalena glanced up at Tor. “Please, do it. Do it and I will pay you whatever you want.”

Tor’s lips widened into a smile. “I’ve been bargaining with Thane for decades. I’m sure we can come to some agreement later.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s fading away, so I have to do it now. Leave the room. All of you.”

“Wait, can’t I stay…?” Kalena asked, as everyone else filed out of the room.

“No,” Tor said, bluntly. “This process is between a creator and his subordinate. For the next twenty four hours, no one should enter.”

Kalena rose to a standing position and gave Thane a kiss on the lips before leaving the room.

Chapter 39

KALENA FLIPPED AIMLESSLY through the pages of the book she held in her lap. She’d read a few pages here and a few pages there, but wasn’t able to focus on anything but the dire situation she was in. She barely had an appetite, which was unusual for her. Since yesterday, Tracy had relentlessly checked in on her every couple of hours, insisting that she eat. Everything tasted like cardboard. The chef had even attempted to cook her favorite meal. She was restless. Over twenty-four hours had passed since she’d left the room where Thane lay unconscious.

She turned her attention to her belly, which was still flat. She couldn’t believe she was pregnant. She would be a mother. Nine months from now, she would have the children of the man she loved. Everyone who’d come in contact with her thus far confirmed that the levels of chemicals they picked up in her scent resulted from her carrying not one but multiple offspring.  It was a well-known fact that male shifter sperm often fertilized multiple eggs or the same egg, which resulted in identical or fraternal twins. In identical twins, like Thane and Gavril, only one twin got the shifter gene. When the sperm fertilized multiple eggs, all the resulting offspring had the shifting gene.

Kalena didn’t care if her babies ended up being identical or fraternal, she would love them all just the same.

She missed Thane so much and was eager to see him. Why was this taking so long? Had something gone wrong?

She exhaled, letting out her aggravation, and then slammed the book shut.

Ulrick and Zeff, who’d been assigned as her guardians, jumped up on all fours, their eyes wide and their expressions startled. When they realized that she was only expressing her anger and frustration—again—they grumbled, wagged their tails, and sat back down on the floor next to the door. Wherever she went, they followed. Kalena realized that they were not only concerned for her safety, but also for the safety of Thane’s unborn children. As long-standing members of the ShadowRock Pack and loyal friends of Thane Silex, they had a vested interest in ensuring that his babies were delivered.

Kalena understood. She was grateful that someone cared about them enough to want to protect them from their moment of conception.

Someone rapped on the door and all attention immediately turned in that direction. Ulrick and Zeff sniffed the air and then both shifted back to human form, virtually at the same time.

The person outside of the room opened the door, and Tor stood on the other side.

Kalena immediately rushed over to the other end of the room to meet him. “Thane?”

Tor grinned widely.

His expression turned Kalena’s sour mood into a positive one, but she was still a little weary as she asked, “Is he all right?”

“He’s perfect.”

Kalena breathed a huge sigh of relief. Ulrick and Zeff also showed their elation.

“He just wasn’t sure you’d want to see him since he’s…different,” Tor said solemnly.

She shook her head. “Of course, I want to see him. Why wouldn’t I?”

“He’s vampire now. Like me. He’s been around long enough to understand our ways, but he’s just now understanding what it really means to be without a soul.”

Kalena swallowed. Her blood rushed through veins as her fingers twitched nervously.

Tor must have sensed her hesitation because he explained, “He’s still Thane. He’s very much still the man I remember, but he’s different.”

“I want to see him.”

“He just wanted me to let you know that he turned successfully before surprising you. He wants to see you, too. Follow me.”

Tor exited the library and led the group down the hallway toward the back door of the mansion. The sun had gone down just over an hour ago, and night would completely descend soon.

None of that mattered. Kalena just wanted to reunite with the man she loved.

* * *

THE BLOOD CRAVING was strong inside of Thane. Under the descending darkness of night, he picked up on every scent, every sound, and every movement. If there was one critter around, whether a rodent, a deer, or a cricket, his senses honed in and he pinpointed its exact location.

As wolf, he had always been in tune with nature. As vampire, he was more in tune with the world and everything and everyone in it. But he was saddened. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t call his wolf. His soul was forever lost. The wolf had taken it with him to the place where souls went when they exited their host.

Yet, Thane was still here because of those loyal to him and more importantly, because of the woman he loved.

Kalena.

Thane stood on the veranda, glancing out into his backyard at the lake. He watched as the last remnants of sunset faded into the backdrop. He glanced to the left at his dark shadow. On the outside, he was still the same man. It would take decades to get used to his new anatomy. Tor was one of his most trusted friends, and one of the only vampires he had ever trusted. He was grateful that Tor was the one who’d turned him. Now, like any other subordinate he’d created, Tor had pledged to show him the ropes as vampire.

Would Kalena still want him? Would she still accept him for what he had become?

He loved her so much, and so had the wolf. But where did her heart lie?

He’d find out soon enough.

Behind him, he sensed people approaching.

He heard the sliding glass door part as someone opened it from the inside. Instantly, Kalena’s scent consumed him. Her sweet, fragrant aroma floated up under his nose and he fell in love all over again. His newfound vampire instincts reveled in her presence, and in that moment, he knew that his need for Kalena would never ever go away.

“Thane…”

She called out his name, and her voice caught on the breeze.

He spun around slowly and the sight of her took his breath away. Every single detail about her was magnified tenfold. Of course, she’d been beautiful from the very first moment he spotted her on Area S2, but now that beauty shined through like he was seeing her for the first time.

When she smiled, his entire outlook on life as it stood now did a complete three-sixty.

Kalena hurried toward him and embraced him. She wrapped her arms around him, and her softness and warmth felt like heaven. For a minute or two, he was shocked by her initial response to him. He’d expected hesitation from her, but the way in which she greeted him gave him hope.

“Thane, I thought I’d lost you. I’m so sorry about what happened. I regret that things had to end this way.”

“My regrets don’t matter because I still have you,” he declared.

She held him by the forearms and stepped back. “It’s really you. They said you were different. I didn’t know what to expect.”

“I feel different, I do. This will take some getting used to.” He took her chin gently with his fingers. “I don’t repulse you?”

“No, Thane…I don’t care that you’re different. Does it matter that I’m human to you?”

His thoughts flashed back to the hut on Area S2 when she’d asked him the same exact question. He smiled. “We’ve come a long way. I want to apologize for not telling you about the pregnancy.”

“You knew all along?”

“After we spent the night in the cabin, I sensed you had conceived. It’s why I invited Tracy and Dr. O’Neill over for dinner the other night. I needed their confirmation, and I didn’t want to scare you.”

“They say I’m carrying multiples.”

“I know. It runs in the family.” He slid his fingers through her hair, admiring how the moonlight highlighted every strand.

“Thane, what will happen to us?”

“If you’ll have me still, I want that official mating we talked about.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Do vampires mate?”

“Yes, Kalena. They do.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “My possessive urge hasn’t left me. Tell me that you’re still mine.”

Thane pulled her in closer to his body and she willing came, pressing her softness against him.

“I’m yours,” she declared softly. “But I do have one condition.”

“Are you bargaining with me?”

Kalena gave him a playful smile. “I heard that vampires love to bargain.” She traced the contours of the muscles on his arm with the soft pads of her fingertips.

“What must I do for permission to claim you?”

“I want to be like you,” she said. “I want to share your experiences. I want to feel what you feel and see what you see.”

Thane kissed her lips sweetly. She even tasted like heaven. The sweet rushing sound pulsing through the veins behind her ear brought out the blood lust in him. He reeled in his hunger. In due time, he’d have to acclimate her to his new urges.

When Kalena made eye contact with him again, she gasped. His eyesight was sharp enough, allowing him to see his image mirrored within her pupils. The vein on her neck pulsed frantically as she examined him with her mouth slightly parted. He ran his tongue along his sharp incisors, willing them to recede back into his gums.

“Do you want this?” he asked. “You want to be this way?”

“Yes,” she panted.

He leaned in, brushed his lips against her ear, and whispered, “You’re pregnant with my offspring. You’ll soon have my pups, and you’ll be their mother. For that alone, I will honor you forever. After you give birth, we’ll discuss this more, but for now…I want you to live.”

She didn’t have to answer him verbally. The long teasing kisses they shared right after told him that she understood his intentions.

“I love you, Kalena,” he told her.

“I love you more.”

Chapter 40

Two Weeks Later

THANE DIDN’T EXPECT that he would stand in front of the UCON Council Heads again so soon under these circumstances. Yet, here he was, fully prepared to challenge whatever sentence they dished out this time.

Tonight, Thane had come here alone.

“And so we meet again…” Luxar stood up from his seat behind UCON’s ruling table.

All the other Heads followed. Silvano. Luka. Blanc. There was still one empty seat, and dread rolled through Thane’s stomach as he tried to subdue the sour memories about what the missing Council Head had been accused of.

All of the Council Heads sat back down in their seats after greeting Thane with brief eye contact and a simple nod.

“I received your orders to appear,” Thane said. “Although, I don’t have a body to present to you. My brother was cremated and buried as all shifters are.”

“Not to worry. I have the evidence that he is no more,” Luxar said. “Word travels fast in the vampire world as I’m sure you’re aware. It is so ironic that you stand before me now as one of us, when just over a month ago you were wolf.”

“I’ve accepted my fate. I am what I’ve become. There’s no going back,” Thane replied.

Luxar frowned. “Unfortunately not.”

“I didn’t bring Gavril to you alive. You stripped my Alpha title for the interim, yet I can’t reclaim it because of what I have become, so what punishment do you have in store for me now?”

“Who said anything about a punishment? It seems that you’ve successfully kept the knowledge about the illegal form of D996 out of the wrong hands—specifically the humans. You’ve also made contact with those that were affected and offered reparations.”

Thane nodded. “That mission is still ongoing, but I was able to seize all of Gavril’s assets, including all three compounds that he owned. All evidence has been destroyed, and there are no new accounts of this drug being distributed.”

“Gavril had a very bad reputation and did some atrocious things. None of which favors the objectives of the majority of our kind. Now the rogues have taken note, which is not exactly a good thing.”

Thane swallowed. “I am doing everything in my power to ensure that there isn’t a Gavril copycat. However, I’m working with limited resources.”

“What if we extended to you all the resources you need?”

“What do you mean?” Thane asked.

“Before Upir Lyons was killed in the raid on Gavril’s compound, he was in charge of representing shifters and reducing the rogue population. As you know, we found out that he was doing the exact opposite. He was funding Gavril’s interest in creating a new breed of rogues.”

“Well what does this have to do with resources?”

“I’ve called you here to offer you a seat on this ruling table. There is no one here currently that speaks for the shifter nation.”

Thane narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “But I am no longer a shifter.”

“Your sons will be.” Luxar smiled and arched one eyebrow. “You have the chance to make history here where Upir failed the shifters.” He waved his hand toward the empty seat. “Go on. Test out the seat if you like. If you want it, it’s yours. Who knows…maybe one of your sons will rule here one day.”

Speechless, Thane swallowed as a dry lump rose in his throat.

He maneuvered closer to the table. Luxar produced a document made of thick vellum-style paper with a written declaration to rule as a Council Head written in blood.

“You are among the oldest, wisest, and most loyal of our kind. I have no doubt that you are the right person for this highest level of honor. There are other candidates, but none of your caliber. I hope you accept, but I will regret it if you do not.”

“I’m humbled that you’ve selected me,” Thane said. “I know where my duty lies, so it’s with great honor that I accept this chance to represent my kind.” He took the fountain pen, pierced his vein to extract his own blood, and then signed his name on the document.

It was official. He was now a Council Head–the highest honor among their kind. He would represent shifters, vampires, and hybrids to the best of his ability.

Wolf in exile. An Alpha torn between Pack and family. Man at odds with his destiny. Vampire ready to make his mark on the world.

“It is done. Welcome, Thane Silex.” Luxar smirked. “And you thought this roadblock would bring nothing but turmoil to the Silex name. Your family’s legacy has only just begun.”

Chapter 41

Four Months Later

KALENA FOLLOWED HER intuition and found Thane sitting in the library at his desk. All the blinds were closed tightly. The curtains were untied and pulled shut over the windows. Except for a few lamps sitting on some end tables providing light, the room was dark.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said quietly.

Thane glanced up and smiled. “I’ve been working on logistical matters all day. Not fun, but I need to get these things out of the way.” He placed his quill pen on the desk. “Did you have a great time at the spa with Tracy?”

She sauntered over to her mate, the love of her life. “I did. It was relaxing, just like she said. Can you spare a few moments?”

“I’ve been missing you all day, but I figured you’d get bored with sitting in the library with me another day while I oversee UCON matters,” he said.

“Not so much bored, but a little jealous that your eyes and hands are on your work instead of me.” She grinned.

“Ah, well, we’ll have to remedy that very soon then.” Thane pulled her between his thighs and grabbed her about the waist. “Why don’t we have dinner in bed tonight?”

“I like that idea.” She leaned down to share a long, passionate kiss with him.

When they parted, he bowed his head and kissed her growing belly. “How are my pups?”

“Very, very active.”

“I can’t wait to meet them, love,” he whispered.

“Me either.”

Chapter 42

HE NEEDED HIS woman.

Thane’s need could only be described as a relentless craving. A craving that he’d learned to curtail to protect the woman who owned his heart—to save her from even himself. The urge to ravage her completely would never stop. He was a different animal now. But he hungered for the same woman. The bloodlust inside of him would only build until he gave in and consumed what would satisfy this driving need once and for all.

Snowflakes fell all around him, piling as high as three feet off the ground around his home. It wasn’t until shortly before the triplets were born that he’d been able to set foot back inside the family home where the tragedy involving his parents had occurred. Newly renovated and restored, the old Silex mansion was now the birth home of his offspring.

When Kalena had suggested giving birth to his children here, it had surprised him and filled his heart with promise at a time when hopefulness was difficult for him. But out of tragedy, hope was reborn. He had a future eternal mate and three children to look after now.

As they’d been hired to do, four wolf shifters stood guard at nearly every corner of the house. All of them had spotted Thane the moment he materialized in front of the mansion. They either sat or lay on the wraparound deck or just outside of it on the snow-covered lawn. They were there to guard his new family. The main threat had been eliminated, but Thane wasn’t taking any chances. If the babies weren’t so young, he would bring them with him everywhere he went. Of course, that wasn’t possible. They needed their space and time with their mother, too. And more importantly, he wanted to see them grow into independent adults, fully capable of looking after themselves.

They were only five months old now. Two boys and one girl. Young and vulnerable. But with him as their father, and the loving-but-sometimes-overprotective Kalena as their mother, their future held promise.

Thane hardly noticed the biting cold as he peered up at the bedroom windows where the curtains were pushed aside, allowing a nice view of Kalena—his love. He felt as though he was more accustomed to her nightly routine than she was. As expected for this time of the evening, she stood near a dresser while folding and putting away some clothes.

She wore a long, silk robe that clung to her womanly curves, allowing him to admire how perfect she was. Perfect for him. Her hair was wrapped up loosely and carelessly in a bun, which meant she had recently prepared herself for bed.

Thane had just arrived home after attending a meeting at UCON’s headquarters out of state, which had resulted in nearly three days of discussions. But decisions had to be made in a timely manner, and none of the Council Heads wanted to drag the issues out over the holiday season. For the last half-year, they’d met to discuss the realignment of all territories, and had nearly accounted for all wolf Packs and vampire covens in the world, among other things.

Oversight of their kind would only work successfully if everyone were accounted for. The covens and Packs that appeared to have disappeared off the face of the Earth were the main sources of Thane’s—and the rest of UCON’s—concern these days. But business was over with for now. He was home. He hadn’t been able to get Kalena and the triplets out of his head all day. He was looking forward to the rest of this month and vowed to spend every day of his vacation with them.

Kalena had been patient with him as he worked through the kinks of the neglected position he’d accepted on UCON’s ruling Council just nine months ago. But she didn’t have to verbally express how much their relationship had suffered because of the time commitment involved. He loved Kalena with all of his heart. He didn’t want to lose her. His focus needed to be on her and his babies.

Every year, UCON postponed all meetings and suspended most business operations so that members could vacation. The holiday season was near, and many wolf Packs and vampire covens had extended their groups to include loyal humans who observed one religion or another and celebrated the special days. This time of year was about family for everyone. Thane had been used to the tradition, up until his parents were murdered. Except for the birth of his triplets, he hadn’t celebrated any holidays since then. This year would be the first. Kalena cherished the holidays, and Thane wanted his future mate to be happy.

Kalena stopped what she was doing and turned to look toward the window. He noted the smile that blossomed on her lips. She was getting better at detecting whenever he was in close range. That only meant that her body had fully accepted her enhanced abilities as a result of taking shifter DNA. Plus, his old wolf imprints hadn’t faded from her yet. But soon, they would. He wasn’t sure he was ready for them to fade, however. The presence of those imprints bonded them together spiritually. He often wondered if she would fall out of love with him and leave him if they were to diminish. Had she loved the wolf more than the man?

Kalena came to the sliding glass doors of the balcony and placed her palms on the glass. She wore nothing but her underwear under the long, silky robe. The fabric clung to her skin, revealing more than it concealed. Her breaths fanned against the window, fogging the pane with each exhale.

Thane’s gums tingled as his fangs threatened to push downward. His cock tightened behind his fly. The passage of time and the birth of his children had not changed his view of Kalena. He needed her, wanted her. And Kalena knew exactly how to drive him back and forth along the edge of sexual insanity.

As if she knew what he needed, she pushed the robe off her shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor in a heap about her ankles. Thane couldn’t bear to lurk in the shadows a moment longer, and literally flew inside the house and up the two flights of stairs to get to their master bedroom.

* * *

KALENA PULLED THE door open, and Thane crossed the threshold. She threw herself into his arms, choosing to take his lips instead of letting him speak. They kissed for what seemed like forever. Long, roaming kisses that caused warmth to gather deep in her belly. She parted from him long enough to glance up into his eyes, and was glad to see that he shared her joy after spending several days apart. He had only been gone for three nights, but it had seemed like an eternity.

“I missed you,” Kalena said, her gaze roaming across him. Her fingers pressed into the hard ridges of his sculpted chest. He didn’t wear a shirt under his leather jacket. Ever since the change, he’d mentioned that he liked to feel the natural air against his skin. She inhaled deeply and took in the woodsy scent that was unique to him. “The babies missed you, too.”

He kissed her forehead gently. “How are they?”

“They had a checkup with Dr. O’Neill yesterday. He said they’re healthy. I left their room a little while ago, but will probably be back in there for their last feeding in another hour or so.”

Kalena followed Thane’s line of sight to her enlarged breasts. They were still heavy with the mother’s milk she used to nourish their babies. A dose of modesty rose within her. Before the feelings could take root and settle, they diminished completely as her body thrummed with arousal and sexual awakening sparked between them. She’d known that he was due to arrive here tonight, and her anticipation had only grown while waiting for him.

“You’re hungry, too,” she taunted him and shoved the leather jacket he wore off his shoulders.

Thane’s lips curved up into a grin, and he threw the jacket on the ottoman beside them. When Kalena met his gaze again, desire burned through his bronze-colored eyes. She reached out and touched his hot skin as his chest heaved up and down. To this day, she was still surprised at how warm he was. He could control his temperature, almost as if by magic. One moment his blood could boil hot like lava, and in the next moment, his skin could feel as cold as an iceberg. This new ability of his always made their lovemaking spontaneous and intense. And she looked forward to it every time.

Kalena felt his heart beating in his chest and against her fingertips. They observed each other intently without speaking and with little movement.

He pressed his palm against her cheek. “Every night I want you more than I did the night before. It seems I can’t get enough of you. I always want more.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I knew my animal thoroughly before it left me, but now I’m different. I fear losing control.”

“I trust you. Completely.”

She pressed her body against his, and he groaned. His mouth brushed hers. He was gentle with her, stroking her lips with soft nips.

“One day, Kalena…there will be no holds barred,” he said against her lips.

“Why not this day? I’m ready,” she murmured back.

“I respect your life. I love you inside and out, Kalena. Why would you want to be something less than what you already are?” he asked.

“I want to be more. I want to feel and see everything you feel.”

He slid both hands down the sides of her torso and then dragged her closer to his chest with strong arms. He took her lips and she let him in, his tongue slipping inside her mouth with a slow, erotic stroke. Her knees grew pliant and she held onto his forearms for balance. She kissed him back with equal passion, her heart racing and her libido blazing as hot as the sun.

“I want you,” she whispered.

He reached behind her back and unhooked her lacy bra and tossed it aside.

Kalena hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down the length of her legs.

Thane stroked his hands up her sides again and cupped both breasts, admiring them under the dimmed lighting in the room. Then he bent his head and pulled her nipple between his lips. The flat of his tongue grazed the top of her breasts, and hot arousal filled her sex. Her clit pulsed eagerly with each tug of his lips to her hardened tips. He lapped hungrily at the liquid that flowed from her nipples.

“Good gods, Kalena, you taste good,” he moaned.

His teeth nipped her areola gently. He stroked, pulled, and tugged until she was moaning and shivering against him.

His mouth descended, leaving a heated trail down her chest and belly until he was on his knees before her.

* * *

THANE COULDN’T GET enough of her. The rich milky taste of her breasts had just been a teaser of what he knew waited for him between her creamy thighs.

While on his knees, he pressed loving kisses near her navel and right above the soft downy hair on her sex. His fangs threatened to rip through his gums, but he fought against it. She wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He loved her as she was…

Not able to contain himself any longer, he picked her up, walked toward the bed, and sat her down on top of it. Before kneeling down before her, he quickly undid his zipper and rid himself of his jeans.

When Kalena dragged her fingers up through his hair, he knew he was done for. He allowed her to steer his head down between her thighs. She was already wet and her pussy looked just as delicious as her milky breasts. He slid his tongue between her sex, and gently pushed back on her swollen labia with his mouth. His shoulders were broad enough to lure her legs wider until she was open and freely offering herself to him.

Sounds of her pleasure rose throughout the room, encouraging him and causing his balls to draw tightly against the base of his rock-hard cock. He made love to her in this position for a while, dipping his tongue in and out of her pussy until her thighs quaked against his face. He cupped her ass and licked her like he was enjoying exotic candy, alternating between long licks, short licks, and driving thrusts of his tongue into her sweet, tight sheath.

He was so in tune with her senses that her pleasure was his. All his. Electric waves of blinding sensations passed from her to him and then back again. Her body tensed momentarily, and then she let go, crying out as a powerful orgasm took her. She rocked and shivered against him, arching her back off the bed.

When Thane rose above her again and met her gaze, her eyes widened in surprise. He realized that he had inadvertently dropped about an inch or so of fang in the process of making love to her. He wanted so badly to feed from her—take her in that way. The urge would never go away.

Kalena wrapped her hand around the back of his head, bringing him down for a long, deep kiss. Her acceptance signified what he already knew. She wanted it, too. She loved him, despite what he had become.

* * *

KALENA LIFTED HER hips upward, pushing her sex against the crown of Thane’s cock. She was so wet and hungry for him—in more ways than she ever could have imagined. Her body craved everything he had to offer, including his bite.

He caught her off guard and entered her quickly. She inhaled sharply and then breathed his name against his lips. The thickness of his cock opened her wide, and she milked him until he was buried to the hilt within her.

His bronze gaze burned brightly into hers. She fell into his trance almost immediately. His lure. He could have had her any way he wanted. Taken her any way he desired. And she would have obliged him. Because of what he had become, he was more powerful than he ever was before.

He pushed in and pulled out, slow and steady at first. He held her gently and tucked her close to his chest.

“More,” she moaned.

That was all the encouragement he needed, and he began to drive into her. Thick, long thrusts that pounded her back into the bed. She couldn’t form meaningful words any longer, and soon her requests for more and more turned into strangled cries of satisfaction. He worked her pussy, delving deep into her and rocking his hips at just the right angle to hit all her sensitive spots.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she saw just how fucking aroused he was. In his eyes, she saw how much he wanted her. And how much more he wanted to take. His fangs extended past his lips. His mouth trembled as he growled in avid need. It was the sexiest thing Kalena had ever seen. A man on the edge of losing utter control.

She arched her back and exposed her neck, offering to him and tempting him.

She felt the cold tip of his nose against her throat. His hot lips stroked up and down her delicate jugular. It took just one more swipe of his tongue against her throat before another orgasm slammed through her, catching her off guard.

Thane groaned aloud, lifted his face to the ceiling, and welcomed release himself. Hot liquid streams pulsed up into her. He rode her through their climax, prolonging ecstasy for both of them. They were still interlocked in each other’s arms when the last shudders of pleasure threatened to fade away.

He held her like that for a very long time. And then he pressed his lips into her hair. “I’m afraid of hurting you more than I’m afraid of you leaving me. My control is fading, Kalena.”

Kalena reached for his hand and linked her fingers with his. “I will never leave you, Thane. I trust you with everything I have.”

Chapter 43

“HOW CUTE?” TRACY exclaimed as she wrapped a blood pressure sleeve around Kalena’s right arm. “Katara is beginning to look exactly like a female version of Thane, and Taylor and Toby are the perfect mix of both of you. It looks like Toby has your mouth, though. In fact, I think he’ll be the defiant one. Just like you.”

Kalena chuckled and looked over at her babies rolling around in the playpen together. At five months old, they could barely manage to stand, but they were already crawling and interacting with each other.

“I’m not that defiant,” Kalena replied.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tracy nodded. “Well, your pressure reading is perfect this time around. I’m glad Thane is back home. I think you’re more stressed when he’s away, which is understandable.”

“Yeah. Thane can take care of himself just fine, but something’s been bothering me. I just don’t feel right. Like something is missing. And if he’s gone for even just half a day, my body wants to go into panic mode, even though my brain is telling me to calm down.”

“It’s called separation anxiety. I’ve seen it happen when a person loses their mate. In these cases, the imprints begin to fade and the body reacts…actually overreacts,” Tracy explained.

“So, it’s true then? Imprints from a mating will eventually fade when the couple is no longer together.”

“His imprints are fading. What little still exists, exists in the blood of his children. Your children. The imprints will always be there in their DNA, but not entirely with you as their mother.” Tracy pressed her lips together and her brows furrowed. “It’s the truth, but you’re fortunate. The wolf is gone, but I can tell that you and Thane are still very much in love. Love trumps imprints any day. Look what the two of you went through to be together.”

“I do love Thane, but he seems to think I love him less than I did before.”

“I don’t know what he’s thinking, honestly. He doesn’t tell us, but it’s not very often that a wolf makes the decision to transform to vampire.”

Kalena shook her head. “But he didn’t make that decision, I did.”

“Thane is grateful that you did. We’re all grateful that you did. He would’ve made the same decision himself, I’m sure of it. Even as a wolf, he was well respected in the vampire society. He just needs time to adjust. He was wolf for centuries. He still has to learn self-acceptance.”

“I want to be there for him. I want to be strong for him now. He won’t even take my blood because he’s afraid that he’ll hurt me. He’s even refused to give me anything more than what he produces when we have sex. I get a taste of what it’s like to be vampire in those moments…and sometimes we can go for hours, but he knows it’s not enough to bring me fully into it.” Regret and indifference seeped through Kalena like a drug and she crushed her fingertips against her palm. “And it’s the only way we can truly bond after all the imprints fade.”

“Give him time, Kalena,” Tracy urged. “Thane will protect you and his children by any means necessary. If that means you remain as you are, he will accept that. He’s that kind of man.”

“Yes.” Kalena smiled, reluctantly. “Honorable and all that.”

“You want him to lose control…?”

Kalena hesitated. “I want him to be himself, who he is, even if it’s different. And I want him to bite me.”

Tracy burst out in laughter and playfully nudged her. “You are such a bad influence, and you know it.”

“Hey, don’t judge me until you’ve tried it.” Kalena shot back.

“Sex with a vampire?” Tracy squealed. “My grandfather would kill me.”

“I seriously doubt that…but it is everything…” Kalena sighed dreamily.

“No fair. You’ve had the best of all worlds. Human, wolf…now vampire. I need to get out more.”

“I didn’t say get into any serious trouble, but you should live…I mean really live.”

“If you take my advice and stop worrying about what will happen to you two when the imprints are gone, I’ll take your advice and start dating without running background checks and all that on potential suitors.”

Kalena laughed. “Seriously? You run background checks on your boyfriends?”

Tracy rolled her eyes. “Not really, but when you’re a doctor-to-be like me in a close-knit community, you kind of already have the scoop on everyone. Plus, I’m this close”—she demonstrated a short distance with her fingers—“from being betrothed to a man by my family. I might as well beat them to the punch, huh?”

Kalena smiled reluctantly. “I want you to find true love. You deserve that. Promise?”

Tracy nodded. “You have my word that I will try. Now give me yours.”

“I promise.”

Chapter 44

“WHAT DO YOU want most for Christmas this year?” Thane asked Kalena, rocking baby Katara in his arms.

Kalena looked up from the big leather sofa where she sat comfortably, nursing  Taylor and Toby. Last Christmas had gone by in a blur. During the entire month of December, she was confined to bed-rest. “I have everything I want right here. You. The babies. We’re a family. It would be selfish for me to insist on more.”

“You deserve whatever you want. You’re the reason I’m here, and you’re the reason I have children to carry on the Silex legacy. I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

She smiled. “You saved my life. Or did you forget?”

“I regret the trauma you went through, but I’m thankful you were sent to me that night.”

“What about the others in Area S2 that were wrongfully accused? What happened to them?” she asked.

“All of the prisoners in Area S2 were given a chance to state their case before UCON. Gavril had only recently begun throwing innocents out there, so we didn’t have to investigate that far back. Five individuals were found wrongfully accused and released. The prisoners that were found guilty of their crimes were transferred to another facility to serve the remainder of their sentences. As of just last month, we confirmed that all Area S2 prisoners, whether dead or alive, have been accounted for.”

“Since Area S2 has been shut down, how many facilities are out there now?”

“We still have two on the West Coast. Area S2 will be rebuilt, but only in the hopes of balancing the distribution to prevent overflow—not in anticipation of more prisoners. I’d like to see our crime rates reduced. We’ve been working endlessly on updating the records to account for all Packs and covens. This will make it easier to identify any misfits.”

“Rogues?” she asked.

“Yes…rogues.”

“Have you found them all?”

“Most of them. We’ve had a lot of Packs and covens disband over the last several decades. UCON’s records aren’t as impeccable as they can be, but we’ve made progress.”

“I’d say that getting murderers off the streets is major progress,” she replied.

“There are still rogues out there, and those are usually the ones who commit crimes and then hide out. We won’t force anyone into a group if they wish to remain outsiders, but we have to ensure that they aren’t troublemakers or pose a threat to humans or any of our families, covens, or Packs. That’s not to say that wolves or vampires don’t have their own squabbles within our inner circles. That’s another matter in and of itself.”

Kalena drifted her gaze down to Katara as she slept peacefully on her dad’s lap. Katara would definitely be a daddy’s girl. The baby girl had become wide-eyed and gleeful the moment Thane picked her up from her crib. As Katara had always done in the past, she’d fallen asleep to her dad’s voice.

“Looks like someone has finally given in,” Kalena noted.

“Yes.” Thane rose from the chair. “Taylor and Toby aren’t far behind.” He walked over to the adjacent side of the room and placed Katara down in her crib.

The boys had a healthy appetite, so they continued to nurse.

Kalena was lucky she was able to produce milk fast enough to go around between the siblings. When she had been pregnant with them, she often wondered how she would manage. She was now the mother of not one, but three children. Wolf shifters. It didn’t take long for Tracy and her dad, Dr. O’Neill Jr., to confirm that all three had the shifting gene.

If it hadn’t been for Anna stepping in to be nanny, or Kalena’s mother flying in from Florida every few months or so to help out, Kalena would be a wreck. For the days when she needed triple the amount of sleep because she was doing triple the amount of work, they relied on breast milk stored in the freezer. There was almost a six-month supply now. More than enough to go around between her babies should anything ever happen to her. Once the babies were born, the plan had been to bond with Thane as vampires do when they accept eternal mates. It was the reason why they’d stored so much milk. But Thane had been apprehensive. He constantly struggled with whether to keep her alive as an altered human, or give her the blood elixir that would make her vampire like he was.

What Kalena really wished for was the mating they’d always talked about. Things had happened so quickly, and time passed without regard to what was left to do. Between Thane’s business meetings, acclimation into the vampire society, and her transition to motherhood following the birth of the pups, time had slipped away from them.

Thane must have sensed her sudden change of mood because he came to take the boys, who had drifted off to sleep. He placed them in their cribs, and when he returned, he lifted her off the chair, sat down, and turned her to straddle him.

“No worrying, Kalena,” he said.

“I had my checkup today, too. Tracy says the imprints are fading.”

“Imprints were not what made me love you. My love hasn’t faded. My wolf loved you. I love you.” He gently lifted her chin. “Do you feel differently about me?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m just not good about letting go, but we both know that, don’t we?”

“Who said anything about letting go?” He kissed her gently on the lips.

No matter how many times he touched her, day after day she still craved more. Before long, a fire grew deep within her belly. She knelt in the chair, her thighs on either side of him, and took control. Holding his face in her palms, she kissed her way into his mouth, tasting him. He grew hard as she moved her hips and slid her heated center over his lap.

He’d already slipped his hands under her long dress, and his fingers dug into the meaty flesh of her ass.

“You’re making me hot for you,” he groaned into her neck when they parted.

“That’s the point,” she teased.

It took him less than five seconds to grab hold of her waist and then cross the threshold to reach the hallway where they were free to explore each other without disturbing the children’s naptime.

She eagerly wrapped her legs around his waist and threw her arms over his shoulders. He pressed her back into the wall, and she ran her fingers through his hair and up and down the expanse of this back.

Short of breath, Thane undid his fly and freed his thick cock with quick, jerky motions. It didn’t take him long to find the source of her arousal. He pulled her panties aside and slid himself deeply within her.  His hot, burning gaze bored deep into her soul as he held her open against the wall and plundered her.

Her lips parted on a scream as exquisite pleasure rocked her core. He moaned in tune with her cries of ecstasy. His eyes fluttered closed. He bent his head, parted his lips on her skin, and licked the delicate fleshy top of her breasts.

A raw, blinding climax ripped through her. She bit her lips to keep from yelling out too loudly. Her body shook against him and the wall in the aftermath.

Thane’s rhythm intensified. He flung his head back, his fangs extended from his gums. He was sexy, hot satisfaction, rendering her weak and giving her ultimate pleasure at the same time. He plunged his cock inside her hard and deep, drew back sharply, and then drove in between her creamy thighs again.

One orgasm folded on top of another, but this time, he joined her in release. Hot streams of semen flooded her core, the elixir sending her into a blissful, euphoric high.

It was a good thing that Thane was stronger now. A man built like a steel truck. Virtually impossible to break. He had died, been given the blood elixir of an ancient, and had risen again. His craving for sex and blood were now tenfold. He thrived on it and needed it. It was something she vowed to herself that she would always give to him. She couldn’t lose Thane. She was mother to his children. She wanted to be his everything.

His heart beat in tandem with hers as he regained his breath, but his desires didn’t immediately rescind. His cock was still hard in her sex, and her muscles tightened around the length of him. Milking him for more and encouraging him to remain aroused.

“Take me again,” she whispered in his ear.

Five seconds later, she found herself on the soft master bed beneath him as he began to once more make love to her. Gentler this time.

Chapter 45

JUST BEFORE THANE’S cell began to ring on his desk, his vampire intuition kicked in. Before he’d even answered the phone, he knew something was wrong.

Once he recognized the number on the caller ID, he had to answer.

He pushed the green square on the phone to accept the call. “This is Thane.”

“It’s Luxar.” The master vampire seemed panicked and out of breath. “I’m calling a meeting. All Heads are to report to headquarters immediately.”

Thane’s throat tightened. Something was seriously wrong. Luxar wouldn’t dare call a meeting in the middle of vacation. “What’s up?”

“Too complicated to discuss. Can you make it?”

“I’m on my way.”

Kalena was in the nursery, playing with the babies when he went to look for her. She looked up with a smile, which slowly turned down into a frown as he remained in the doorway, shuffling his car keys from hand to hand.

Her eyes dropped to the keys and then trailed back up to his face. “You’re leaving…” She dropped the little stuffed toy she was holding and rose.

Thane met her in the center of the room and embraced her tightly.

“Kalena, I’m sorry. I have to report for a meeting. Luxar wouldn’t call if this weren’t something serious. We both know that. I’ll be back in a few hours, depending on what’s going on.”

Kalena sighed in disappointment. “All right.”

He kissed her forehead. “Don’t be upset. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Sure,” she said reluctantly, but there was still a hint of sadness in her voice.

“There will be vampire guards here tonight, and if I’m not back by day, a couple Epsilons from the ShadowRock Pack will take over.” He brushed the hair out of her face and pulled her close for one more long kiss.

The babies had already crawled off the blankets they’d been playing on and managed to grab at Thane’s pant leg. He scooped them up one by one and kissed their little cheeks goodbye before gathering up a few belongings and leaving the mansion.

* * *

“THE EXECUTION WAS messy. Us vampires don’t kill each other this way. We don’t lay waste in this manner. This is more like a slaughter,” Luxar’s lips flattened in disgust as he looked down at the carnage on the ground.

Silvano stooped low and plucked up something that appeared to be a thick patch of fur. He brought it to his nose. “Smells like wolf and inferior chemicals,” he noted.

Thane swallowed against the rising suspicions taking root within him. The stench of vampire carnage revolted him. They couldn’t identify the victim. A young vampire, who hadn’t been strong enough to defend himself. He had clumps of blood and fur caked under his nails, which proved he’d put up a fight.

Silvano threw the fur back to the ground and said, “Despite the rumors of civil unrest between a few of the shifter Packs and vampire covens, the manner in which this vampire was executed doesn’t make sense. No one has owned up to it, and from the looks of his branding, he had no coven home. It’s a punishable offense to kill a vampire and then leave his corpse for humans to discover.”

“All evidence leads to a senseless, isolated attack. The attacker didn’t care about hiding this crime. This vampire was left in the open to be found. I have a bad feeling about this,” Luxar stated.

Thane followed Luxar’s line of sight across the field where they both focused on the dense forest just yards away. “The claw marks in his chest are similar to what I encountered in my struggle with Gavril. He went straight for the heart, and considering that this vampire’s heart is missing, I would presume it was taken.”

“Despicable,” Silvano grumbled.

“Do you think this is the work of Gavril? Not him, of course, but his experiments?” Luxar asked.

Thane nodded. “Very possible. In the past, whenever Gavril created something, he wanted to be known for it. He was the type to push his failures under a rug, never to see the light of day again. But what Gavril did and how he altered himself to shift without the dominant shifting gene was no failure. We have to admit that—despite the damage Gavril caused in our communities and all the lives he ruined.”

“Then there’s another beast out there. Like Gavril?” Silvano asked.

Thane nodded. “It appears so. A transformation like his could have taken months, maybe even years. I have evidence that he was injecting himself daily with whatever formula he used to become the beast. If he gave someone else access to the formula, it means that person could be even stronger. It’s been almost a year. They’ve been lurking…and now this…”

“We’ll need to deal with this issue immediately before more lives are lost,” Luxar stated. “We can’t let this beast destroy what we’ve built, and we certainly can’t let him roam freely and prey on the humans.”

“Sounds like our vacation has been cut short,” Silvano grumbled. “I’m not too happy about this, considering that we barely got a break last Christmas.”

“I’m not happy about this either,” Thane chimed in. “That beast will regret it when we catch up to him.”

* * *

THANE PUSHED THE thick wooden doors open, revealing the small holding room. There was a soft thud as the door hit the wall and then a wisp of stale air floated up to his face.

“Danika was kept here,” Thane said, crossing the threshold into the space.

Tor followed him inside, glancing from left to right to observe the surroundings.

“I visited this place yesterday but couldn’t pick up on anything unusual. I’m picking up on Danika’s and Gavril’s scents more than anything else since they’re of blood relation to me. I don’t understand it, but I’m still getting over his loss. For me, I lost Gavril way before my parents’ murders. He distanced himself from us so much that I still don’t know the person or beast he became.”

“It’s understandable. You shared a womb together. You grew up together. You loved him and you hated him. And you don’t have to apologize for either,” Tor said and then walked to the center of the room.

Most everything had been left as it was in the room. The raid on the compound itself had left the main facilities a mess, but the only telltale sign of a struggle in this room was the furniture. It was strewn about and, in some cases, split in half. Danika had mentioned thinking the vampires were there to lay waste to the entire compound, so she’d put up a fight before they could restrain her enough to reveal the real reason they were there.

He wouldn’t ask Danika to come here again. She chose to hold the memories at bay instead of reliving them. He couldn’t ask her to revisit them.

Her life had just now returned to normal, and she’d recently gone on a trip abroad with some shifter students from the university she was attending. She had already earned a Bachelor’s degree in Business and Economics to please her dad, but had recently expressed her passion to transition into International Relations. Thane saw Danika’s thirst for adventure as a good thing, and this new endeavor would likely keep her busy and out of trouble.

This whole situation wasn’t behind them just yet. It appeared that something like the beast Gavril had become was still out there. All evidence pointed to this conclusion.

“It took five of us to break into this place. I can pump my crew for more information, but I’m certain we weren’t dealing with normal humans. The rumors are that Gavril’s followers were all altered by shifter DNA. Some by injection, and others by harvested DNA from prisoners and cadavers at one of the prison facilities he owned,” Tor said.

“Maybe some of his followers were more. Like Gavril,” Thane stated. “Some people were under the impression that my brother was a loner. That’s a rumor, and far from the truth. He was a dictator. He wanted to lead, but not in an honorable way. He was very manipulative.”

“Were you able to recover any of the drug?”

“Negative. We found some test tubes and needles here, but the results were inconclusive. No one in their right mind would recreate that formula. Even the scientists I hired were cautious about the whole thing.”

“Gavril produced the experiment and became something rare indeed. His beast was strong enough to do some major damage. To a wolf. To a vampire. And now there could be more of these things out there? Every one of those murdering beasts must be destroyed.”

Chapter 46

THE WATER SHOWERING down on his body had run cold about five minutes ago, yet Thane stood there under the streams, allowing it to calm the tension in his body. It did nothing to wash away his worries or put him at ease, however.

He sensed a light chill creep into the bathroom, and then Kalena’s sweet feminine scent followed. Thane glanced up just as she entered their large master bath. Her white see-through negligee complimented her honey-kissed skin. The garment was so short that it barely reached her mid thigh. The image was all a blur through the foggy glass, but Thane got an instant erection.

Kalena had become relentless in her sexual pursuit of him. Heck, when he was wolf, she’d had a high sex drive. Now, she wanted sex morning, noon, and night. Apparently, a vampire’s pheromones were highly addictive. It was the main reason why vampires thrived despite the fact that they hadn’t officially come out. One taste of a vampire, whether it was through sex or just the mere act of kissing, and a person would submit freely whenever the vampire called. Thane hadn’t bitten Kalena for this reason. Despite her constant offers. Had she submitted to be bitten because of his lure, or was she hell-bent on becoming what he was?

Thane slid the sliding glass doors of the shower open and caught a full glimpse of her beauty. He grinned when she gazed down at his cock and licked her lips.

She pushed her straps down her shoulders. “Do you need some help?”

“Yes, but the water is chilly. I don’t want you to get cold.”

“Come out,” she said and then turned to reach for the oversized towel hanging on the rack.

He switched the water off and walked out into the waiting towel she held open for him. She started with his chest, drying the water from every inch of his skin. As she encircled him and pressed the towel to his wet skin, her fingers traced along his body. By the time she’d finished, his cock was so hard the veins along his shaft had filled themselves to the max.

“Sit down.” She pointed to a bench near the shower stall.

“Kalena…”

“I don’t want to talk,” she stated and then knelt down between his legs.

She cupped his balls with her palm and then wrapped her tiny fingers around his cock. She kissed his cockhead gently then slid her mouth down the length of him.

“Shit.” He grabbed at the edge of the bench and closed his eyes.

Soon the bathroom was filled with his moans and the sound of her lips suctioning his wet, hard cock. Her tongue felt so good against his rigid shaft that he let a little piece of control slip away. He grabbed her hair, his fingers rubbing against the base of her scalp and pumped up into her mouth. When she lifted her gaze to catch his, the intimacy and telltale signs of lust in her irises brought him to the edge. A climax blasted through him and his seed spilled into her mouth. She took all of him, milking and licking him until not a drop of semen was left.

She straddled him, laced her fingers around his neck, and kissed him. He returned the kiss, tasting her sweet lips mixed with his own flavor until he was hard again. She was already wet and slid down him with ease. Just as she reached the base, he pushed up into her to the hilt, making her cry out. He bent his head to suck her nipples. They were soft and tender and more than filled his hands when he cupped them. His fingers dug into the flesh of her plump ass as she rode him, rocking her hips in a decadent rhythm. She was in control, taking him deep within her sex over and over again.

When he released her tight nipple, he caught her gaze and saw his own savage expression staring right back at him, reminding him of who he was and what he had become. His fangs pinched into his bottom lip and his eyes flashed with hunger. He dropped his gaze to her pulsing jugular and swallowed.

Kalena smiled wickedly, her irises clouding over with passion. It was as though she knew he wanted her in a way that defied all logic.

For a moment, he tuned out everything but Kalena. The sounds of pleasure escaping her mouth. Her sweet scent mixed with the seductive draw of her arousal. The thrumming pulse of the skin just covering the vein he wanted to devour. The soothing sound of blood rushing through her body.

His mouth watered. His gums tingled as his fangs lengthened.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. They embraced each other as she worked her sex with a slow grinding force that drove him crazy.

As he’d become accustomed to doing, he slid his tongue across the vein, tasting her sweat and her skin. He was so close to biting her. He could literally taste her blood through the shield of delicate skin that lay across her jugular. Fuck, he knew she’d be as sweet as the finest fruit. Just one nip and he could break the skin. Just one bite and her blood would flow freely…

And so would all her old memories. Every last one of them.

He pulled his fangs back into his gums and tilted himself so that his shaft stroked against her clit. Her lips parted and she held firmly to the back of his neck as he gave her pleasure that rendered her speechless, unable to counter his refusal to feed on her.

Kalena cried out his name when her climax came. He reacted to her pleasure, his balls drawing up tightly, flooding with his seed, which then surged up into her. His orgasm shuddered through him with the same intensity in which he adored her.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, kissing her lips gently. “I love you, Kalena. Never forget that.” He wanted her to know just how much. Their love held them together. When all else failed, love would bind them forever. Nothing else. Not a memory. Not a bite. Only love.

She laid her head on his shoulder, her breaths coming in uneven sprints as she recovered. “My life feels complete with you in it,” she said.

Thane kissed the top of her head. He would protect her with everything he had, but she deserved the truth. He’d have to tell her soon about the beast lurking in the darkness, and about why he was so protective of her and his children. For now, he wouldn’t steal her joy or deny her pleasure.

Chapter 47

“DO YOU HAVE any children, David?” Kalena asked Thane’s friend, now the triplets’ godfather, as he rocked Katara and Taylor in his arms. Both babies were fast asleep, but for some reason, Toby wanted to explore. Apparently, he wanted more playtime with his blocks. As the youngest and smallest of the triplets, he was the most active.

“Naw. Never wanted any, but I can see what I’ve been missin’.” David grinned down at the babies. “I joined the Navy and served for most of my life. There wasn’t much time for all that. And then when I retired, I went lookin’ for adventure and found trouble instead.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind of trouble that gets you thrown into a shifter prison, that’s what.”

“I never asked you about why you ended up there,” Kalena said.

“A fight in a shifter bar over a woman. Stupid, I know, but I wasn’t the one pursuin’ the woman. She came on to me. I guess the guy needed to prove himself to his Pack so he approached me for a fight. Imagine bein’ surrounded by a group of men who circled you like prey? At the time, I didn’t know they were wolves shiftin’ back and forth into men, but once I was accused and thrown into Area S2, I figured it all out. I saw it all. I hid in a small area pretty well and kept to myself until Thane came along.”

Kalena shook her head. “What were you accused of, exactly?”

“I was forced to protect myself and I was prepared to do it in any way I knew how. My military trainin’ kicked in during the attack while the guy had the upper hand. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to get the hell outta there without gettin’ my ass whooped. I picked his lightweight ass up and cracked his spine across my knee. I only meant for it to immobilize him while I got away, but he ended up bein’ in a coma for a short while and not able to function. When he woke up, it didn’t take long for the guy to point me out in a lineup and claim that I started the fight. He’s paralyzed now. A wolf who can’t shift. I ain’t meant for it to happen that way, but I damn sure wasn’t gonna let ‘im kill me. After the breakout, I was cleared of my sentence when Thane took a seat at UCON.”

“How long was your sentence?”

“Five years.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she offered. “But I’m glad you’re out now.”

“Thanks to you for getting through to Thane,” he said.

“I’m glad he didn’t give up after all.”

“Me, too.”

“Did you take the shifter DNA?”

“Naw. I figure I’ll just go on and die when my time comes. I’m not afraid. That doesn’t mean I’m not loyal to Thane and his people.”

“You’re a good man, David.” Kalena smiled and then got up to follow baby Toby across the room. He’d somehow made it all the way to the large bay windows of the nursery. He held on tight to the windowsill and his chubby little legs wobbled as he tried to peek out of the glass.

As Kalena bent down to pick him up, she saw a strange woman pull up into the driveway in a red Jeep. She must have appeared as a casual visitor to the guards because they had opened the iron gates to let her in.

The woman parked the truck and got out. She was impeccably dressed in the same blazing red color as her Jeep. The guards on duty had her surrounded, but she appeared to laugh and chat with them like she knew them. She wore a black wool coat over her dress and red stiletto heels. Despite the winter season, she also wore large black sunglasses. She moved gracefully, and sex appeal oozed off of her as she talked with the guards. The guards’ expressions were both confused and utterly fascinated at the same time. Any man would stare at the blonde bombshell in the driveway, but…

An ominous turbulence gathered low in Kalena’s belly. Something didn’t seem right about this. Who was this woman? No unidentified woman had ever visited here before. Thane wouldn’t keep secrets. What was going on?

“David…?” Kalena whispered without turning her gaze away from the suspicious gathering in the driveway.

“Yeah? Has Thane got visitors again? I could have sworn folks weren’t arrivin’ ‘til next week…” His voice trailed off.

“There’s a visitor, but I don’t feel right about it.” Finally, Kalena tore her gaze away enough to scoop Toby up in her arms. “Will you take my babies to the safe house?”

“Safe house? What? What the hell?” David looked up, startled.

“I don’t recognize the woman downstairs.” Kalena sat Toby in a twin baby carrier and then took Katara away from David to sit her in the other empty harness.

David rose with Taylor still in his arms and was about to maneuver off into the direction of the window, but Kalena caught his arm. “Don’t…I know something isn’t right. Please, just take them.” She held up the carrier.

“All three of them?” he asked reluctantly but stood there while she buckled the straps to his shoulders.

“Yes,” Kalena said. “You have to go. Please.” She pushed him out of the door. “Use the back door. You remember where to go, right?”

He nodded backing out of the room. “Yeah, Thane showed me months ago.”

“Then go!”

“What about you?” he asked.

“Just take my babies and go. This has nothing to do with them.”

A door from the upper level opened. Once David heard it, he was out of Kalena’s sight in a split second.

Kalena grabbed the gun Thane had given her for protection, stuffed it into the waistband of her jeans, and walked toward the voices down the hall.

When Kalena reached the corner hallway near the great room, two of the housemaids were escorting the woman around.

“Oh, how lovely! I love this home. It’s so…I don’t know…grand,” the woman said in a thick southern accent. “I couldn’t resist coming out here early to congratulate the couple.”

Kalena swallowed, utterly confused. What was the woman talking about?

“Did you bring any bags? We weren’t expecting anyone until next week, but we never turn guests away,” one of the maids asked.

“Bags? Oh, my bags…I left them out in the car. I’ll get them later,” the woman said sweetly. Her tone of voice was stale and pretentious. “Where’s the happy couple?”

“Well, Thane is—”

Before the maid could say another word, Kalena stepped around the corner and revealed herself. “Hello.”

The woman swiveled around instantly, nearly spinning on her stilettos. The maids had already put away her coat and sunglasses. She was slim and tall. Her graceful posture reminded Kalena of a movie star posing for a picture. Her pretty face and mouth still remained pleasant, but her eyes told a different story. Her irises had almost turned black, which was a stark and unnatural reaction for a fair beauty. And there was no doubt…the woman was beautiful.

“Ilene is an early guest. She says she came all the way from Texas,” Nora, the maid, said. “We’ll prepare a room right away for her.”

“An early guest for what?” Kalena asked.

“Oh…you don’t know? Well bless your heart.” Ilene drawled. Then she laughed like a heathen.

Kalena felt sickened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, sugar. We haven’t met before, and we have some catching up to do.” Ilene shook her head and pursed her lips. “You must be Kalena—the bitch who killed my lover.”

Chapter 48

THANE HAD JUST left the main building of Silex Pharmaceuticals when his cell phone rang. His caller ID displayed the number from his residence. He answered immediately.

“Thane. It’s Constance. Your guests are arriving early.” She sounded panicked.

“What? No one should be arriving for a few days now. How many?”

“Well, just one, but the new linens you ordered last week aren’t here yet. If more people come early, we’ll be out of linens,” she urged.

Constance was known for overreacting, but she kept his house in order and virtually spotless.

“Calm down,” Thane said, softly. “You said only one person has arrived so far. That doesn’t mean everyone who will be staying with us will come early too. Who is it?”

“Oh…” Constance breathed heavily. “I don’t know her, but I told Nora to check the guest list. A pretty lady with a Texan accent. A shifter…”

Thane’s phone buzzed, indicating that he had another call. He glanced down quickly to see Jugkar’s name flashing on the screen. The young wolf shifter called Thane just about every other day now. He liked to talk, even if it was just to hash stuff out with Thane, especially if he was coming to a roadblock where the old Silex information system was concerned. The guy was a genius when it came to hacking into secret databases. It wasn’t odd that Jugkar was working over the holidays either.

“Silex, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m still here, Constance. I have a call on the other line. Do what you have to do in order to make any early guests comfortable. Everyone knows about the surprise. Just not Kalena. Not yet. Call the linen company and have them expedite the shipping.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thane switched over to the other call. “This is Thane.”

“It’s Jugkar. Are you seated?” Jugkar’s rushed tone came through the line.

“No, I was in the labs at Silex talking to some scientists about some of the old formulas. I’m walking out now.”

“Oh, man…you won’t believe what I uncovered.” The wolf’s giddy excitement flowed through the phone.

Thane stopped in his tracks. He knew Jugkar too well. When the man got excited, it meant he’d discovered some major dirt.

“What’s going on?” Thane asked.

“Man, I don’t even know if I can explain this in words. You’ve gotta see it.”

“I’m scheduled to be at UCON in thirty minutes. Can you sum it up, or should we schedule a meeting tonight.”

“It seems that Gavril recently bought a home down in Texas using a fake alias and the proceeds from a now defunct trust fund company. But get this…?”

“Yeah?” Thane pressed the cell phone tightly to his ear.

“There’s a woman living in the home by the name of Illene Northman. She’s been living there for years.”

“Northman? Why does that sound familiar?”

“Illene Northman is Upir’s stepdaughter. She’s one of us, Thane. She’s a shifter who can’t shift.”

Thane’s fingers shook and the phone almost slipped out of his sweaty palms. A dry lump rose in his throat. He had forgotten to breathe and his lungs burned. His phone buzzed again, but he didn’t even bother to check caller ID or answer this time.

“You there?” Jugkar asked.

Disturbing images from the day of Thane’s struggle with Gavril flashed through his mind. He could do nothing to erase them. All of the memories flooded back as the worst-case scenario played out before him.

Thane frowned and his blood quickened. “Gods, no…”

He dropped his arms to his sides, mustered all the power within him, and teleported to his home using the speed of light.

* * *

“YOUR LOVER?” KALENA shuffled backward. Her earlier suspicions were finally making sense.

“Don’t play stupid. You know very well who I mean,” Illene said.

“Gavril?”

“Bingo,” she said, taking several steps forward.

“Oh, God,” one of the maids cried out. Another raced for the door.

“Stop right there!” Illene demanded. “Take another step and I’ll claw both of your faces off.”

Kalena reached for the gun near her waistband.

“Don’t run now. Where’s that twin of his?”

“None of your business,” Kalena replied.

“Gavril and I really had a good thing going until his brother messed everything up. Until you put a bullet in his head. You two have ruined everything for me. All of my stepdad’s bank accounts were wiped cleaned by UCON after he was murdered and now I have nothing. That’s no way to honor a deceased Council member now is it?”

Kalena’s mouth dropped open and she felt nauseous.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. The rumors always come around. You got involved and threw yourself into an argument between two brothers. You killed a legend. An innovator. We were to mate. We were to be together forever.” She frowned.

“I killed a murderer,” Kalena stated.

“No!”

Kalena didn’t miss the deep growl that erupted with Illene’s outburst. The woman’s eyes were still as black as coal.

“We finally came into our own and became who and what we were born to be, and Thane couldn’t stand it. He was no innovator like his brother. He let you kill Gavril and did nothing to stop you. His own blood brother.”

Kalena saw tears pooling in Illene’s eyes and it looked like the woman would cry.

“Illene…Gavril murdered his parents. You know that, right?”

“Why bring that up?” she shouted, her eyes bulging. “They favored one son over the other because of circumstances. They treated Gavril like an illegitimate child because he couldn’t shift. You have no idea what it feels like to be…so…different. Gavril’s parents deserved death. I was the one who nurtured Gavril all those years they cast him aside. He could have been anything he wanted. Anything! And you both killed him…so both of you will die. There will be no surprise bonding ceremony. I want you both in the ground.”

Illene growled and her body began to rumble uncontrollably. The whole situation was like deja vu to Kalena as she realized that Illene was about to shift. But into what? A wolf? Or a beast?

Kalena grabbed her gun and aimed it. She was tired of this. Tired of having to choose between life and death for herself…and for someone else.

Illene laughed hysterically as her body began to shape and morph into something ugly and animalistic. The sharp tone carried through the living space like an echo.

“Shoot it!” one of the maids yelled out.

Before Kalena could follow through, the beast slapped the gun out of her hand and it landed on the floor more than six feet away.

One of the maids dived for the gun. The beast lunged and clawed the innocent woman across the back, and she stayed down.

Without a weapon to subdue the beast, Kalena was pretty much toast. There were more guns in the storage ottoman in the next room, but she had to get to them first.

The beast was clumsy and slow, but she was big enough to eat up the distance to get to Kalena. The beast barreled into her and pushed her forcefully into the wall. Kalena’s teeth rattled in her mouth and she tasted blood as she bit her tongue.

Eyes as black as coals stared at her. Kalena barely recognized Illene in there. It was like the beast had taken over completely.

Kalena saw fireflies and blinding light. Sparks of red and black. Everything would be okay because she knew her babies were out of harm’s way. Nothing else mattered.

One minute it felt like the air was being squeezed right out of Kalena, forcing her to give up. In the next, a gust of cold air whizzed across her. The beast was no longer holding her to the wall.

She opened her eyes at the very same moment Thane clawed the beast in the gut.

The beast squealed, nearly shattering every piece of glass around them.

Kalena grabbed the wall and panted furiously as her lungs refilled with air.

Streams of blood cascaded down Thane’s arm where he had punctured through the beast’s gut. The beast shook violently until fur retreated and soft creamy skin began to expose itself again. Illene emerged once more as the beast faded away.

A horde of other bodies had rushed into the home. A mix of vampires and wolves. Kalena didn’t bother to identify any of them as she watched Illene let go of her beast and become a weak, docile woman.

“What are you?” she asked Thane.

“What does it matter?” Thane replied.

“Vampire…” Her lips parted and her eyes fluttered as if she would faint from the revelation.

“I am no longer inferior. Don’t you see what greatness Gavril has achieved?”

“No, but I will see,” he said and grabbed her neck. “The truth…”

“No…” Illene shook her head, quickly. “You can’t bite me.”

“I died once over this,” Thane said. “No more.”

Illene’s clothes were in rags about her body and she struggled against Thane’s iron-clad grip. His fangs doubled in length as he held her several feet off the ground. She gasped right before Thane sunk his fangs deep into her shoulder.

Illene’s feet kicked defiantly about as Thane drank her blood. He had searched for the truth about why his brother had done what he’d done for so long. His expression looked sour through the feeding, taking putrid memories he didn’t want. But they were memories that would bring closure. When Thane pulled his fangs from Illene’s neck, he dropped her to the ground where she landed like a boneless waif at his feet.

“Get her out of my sight before I kill her,” he threatened.

Luxar, who must have teleported into the room sometime during the ordeal, stepped up to the woman. “Illene Northman, you’re under arrest. Until your punishment has been decided, you’ll spend your time in a vault.”

Four vampires lifted Illene up off the floor and shackled her with iron cuffs. As they carried her away, it appeared that she had no strength left to fuss or struggle.

Kalena rushed toward Thane and he instantly embraced her.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you,” he said.

“You would live on and take care of our children.”

Thane lifted his head. “Are they upstairs?”

“No, they’re with David. He got them out of the house in time. I couldn’t risk it. I didn’t recognize her at all.”

“Good. You did the right thing.” He kissed her lips. “I’m so sorry this happened.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied. “Now we have some closure.”

“Yes, we do.” Thane nodded.

Luxar who had stood off to the side patiently, moved in to stand near them. “What did you see?”

“Illene was Gavril’s main supporter. It had been her idea to introduce inner fighting in the prison rings. Collecting the dead bodies after the killings was their solution to overpopulation and suddenly they had unlimited access to shifter DNA without the threat of rumors being spread.”

Luxar rubbed his chin. “Makes sense. If the shifters were dead, they couldn’t ask why their blood was needed.”

“After Gavril created a successful formula, he used his abilities against innocents and murdered dozens in both human and beast form. Illene kept herself in check before she found out Gavril was dead, and then she just went berserk. The vampire we found slaughtered in the field is one of many she killed. It gave her a thrill to take down a creature she would never have been able to take down before if it weren’t for Gavril’s formula.”

“Are there any other beasts like Gavril and Illene?” Luxar asked.

“None that I could see. But Gavril was good at hiding things, even from those close to him.” Thane exchanged knowing glances with Luxar. He was certain this incident would result in lengthy discussions at a future meeting.

Luxar stepped back and excused himself. “I’ll leave for now while you comfort your family,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few nights, of course.”

“Thane?” Kalena lifted her gaze to meet his. “You forgot to tell me that we were expecting guests.”

His expression softened. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“A surprise of what exactly?”

“You’ll see.” He slid his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand gently. “Let’s give David a call and make sure our babies haven’t run him raggedy.”

Kalena smiled. “That sounds like something he would say.”

Chapter 49

Four days later…

KALENA TRIED TO hold back the tears, but they spilled out and down her cheeks anyway. Her fingers trembled nervously against the bouquet of flowers, but her dad’s reassuring squeeze comforted her. When she looked up again, Thane’s grin became contagious and she returned the gesture. He was so happy, and it reflected in more than just his expression. She could barely contain her excitement over learning that Thane had planned a surprise wedding ceremony to coincide with the night they would bond. He’d invited dozens, taking into account her human family members, too.

Now all of Illene’s cryptic comments made sense. That woman had sent out to ruin everything Thane had planned for Kalena. But by circumstance and fate, Illene had been shut down. And because love had prevailed, she would now marry the man who she loved.

“Who gives this woman?” Brant said, looking up from the notes he was reading from.

“I do.” Her dad kissed her on the cheek and then let her go to join her mate.

The moment she fell in place beside Thane, she knew she’d always stand by him. No matter what. In that instant, a flashback came to her from the very first moment she had touched him. It was the moment when the ring leader of Area S2 had thrown her into Thane’s arms. The same feeling of warmth and security flowed through her.

The exchanging of vows went by quicker than Kalena had thought. She was grateful to have had the chance to live out one of her dreams and have the beautiful fairytale wedding she’d always wanted. It was perfect.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Thane said as they walked off the veranda and through the smiling crowd. An audience of their peers. Wolves, vampires, altered humans, and some of Kalena’s close family and friends. They’d all just witnessed them professing their love and commitment to each other. Their mating had been fully recognized by all. And soon, she’d be bound to the man she couldn’t live without.

* * *

“LOOKS LIKE WE’RE snowed in for the rest of this week,” Thane said, placing his palm on her shoulder and then pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“That’s okay. We have everything we need. My mom and dad and the other out-of-town guests don’t seem to mind. My mom still can’t believe the home has two kitchens. They’ve been exploring all day, and she’s insisted on keeping the triplets while we do a little exploring ourselves.”

“Hmmm. Think we can move your mom and dad here?” Thane chuckled.

“Closer in this state, maybe? In the same home, no. I moved out for a reason. Let’s just put it that way.” She smiled.

“I get that. But they are family now. We’re a family, and we’ll build our future together here.”

“Good, because I love it here,” she said.

“We’ll need the space once the kids grow up.”

“We will, won’t we?” Time had flown past them, and would continue to do so. But Thane would never grow old and she would be forever altered. Unless…

Thane caught her reflection in the mirror. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“Giving me a family. And giving me life.”

“We did this together.” She turned around and he took her hand to help her rise from the stool. “But I’m so nervous.”

“About what?”

“Everything really. Being a new mom and your new wife. And now that it actually will happen, bonding with you.”

“I’m here every step of the way. I’ve never been married or mated, so I’m nervous, too. But I know that I love you and you look extremely sexy tonight.”

Thane took her face in his hands and kissed her. He covered her lips eagerly, and she nearly melted from his touch. She wanted to be skin to skin with him, so she pulled his shirt from his pants and pressed her palms against his rock-solid abs. He held her against him, his hands caressing the back of her neck as his lips roamed hot and hungry over hers.

He parted from her for a few seconds to help her unbutton his shirt and throw it aside. He undid his belt and let the pants fall to the floor. Once he was naked, they worked on ridding her of her white, see-through teddy. He was meticulous and gentle, pulling the light garment up over her head. He left her panties on, probably on purpose. He took her lips again and walked them back to the bed.

Kalena sat down on the edge and slid her panties down her legs. Then she laid back and spread her knees for him. She loved watching his cock harden like a rock before her eyes. This time, his cock pulsed as his eyes swept along her legs and he paused to admire her sex.

Thane crawled on the bed, moving between her thighs. His palms stroked up her legs and his lips left a heated trail on her skin. He slid his fingers between her wet folds, pushed his shoulders back against her legs to open her wider, and then took a hungry lick at her pussy. He played with her, dipping deep inside her and against her sex until she was arching on the bed. Pushing his tongue against one side of her clit, he flicked her there until she was feverish with need. She let go of all control, released all restraints, and surrendered to him. Intense energy raced down her spine, tightened in her loins, and then pulsed out of her. She cried softly as she came against his tongue.

As Kalena came crashing down from her climax, Thane rose above her and fit his body tightly to hers. She laced her fingers through his hair and took his lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and tasting the sweet honey that was hers. She wrapped her legs around him. His soft, guttural groan filled her mouth. He held her in his arms and drove into her pussy. His thrusting was persistent and matched the rhythmic rise and fall of her hips. He made love to her tenderly and thoroughly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“You won’t. This is love, Thane. Not pain,” she said, sliding her hair away from her neck and exposing her throat.

As he always did, he pressed his face to the curve in her shoulder. His lips trembled against her skin. His pacing slowed within her as he prepared to deliver the bite that would bind them together. A vampire to his mate.  He positioned his fangs against her jugular and drove them deep into the pulsing vein.

She screamed from the shock, but the pain lasted only a few seconds before there was immense pleasure. He withdrew his fangs and suctioned her blood from the wounds he’d made. He lapped at her skin, coveting each drop. She could hear him swallowing as her blood flooded his mouth. The feeding lasted for minutes. And with each pull from his mouth, she felt a little piece of her soul leaving her, binding her to Thane. One day, she’d give up her soul completely to be like her mate, but taking her as she was now was pleasure for him. She wouldn’t deny him that. She wouldn’t deny herself that. They weren’t exiled anymore or living off borrowed time. They had time to love and cherish. And grow and learn.

The intensity with which he fed took her to the highest levels of ecstasy, and she came apart again in his arms. He tore his mouth away from her wound and then sighed deeply. He licked his lips and moaned. His release burned through her like an exotic wildfire that could not be tamed. With every pulse of seed within her, she felt a little piece of vampire elixir consuming her.

When their shared climax was complete, she held onto him. Her sex throbbed with satisfaction and the bite on her neck tingled as he breathed heavily against it.

“You are my everything,” Thane said to her. “Remember when you told me that you would never marry a man? Well, you were right. You married a vampire.”

Kalena smiled; impressed that he’d remembered that declaration. “You are my man.  The only man for me. My wolf. My vampire. You are my everything.”

* * *

Want to revisit the characters from Wolf in Exile? Sign up for my newsletter to keep up to date with Vampire in Chains a standalone novel set in the same world as Wolf in Exile releasing in Summer 2016.

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About the Author

Amber Ella Monroe loves weaving tales where undying love is the main element. When she’s not writing, she’s plotting. When she’s not writing or plotting, she’s reading. She’s a thirty-something-year-old wife, mother, book hoarder, 90s music fan, earl grey tea drinker, dark roast coffee fiend, platform and stiletto shoe collector, Keurig lover, and martial arts/action movie fanatic.

She also writes romance as USA Today Bestselling author Ambrielle Kirk.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

AWAKENED

Book 1, Many Lives Series

BY LAXMI HARIHARAN

Copyright © 2012 by Laxmi Hariharan

To become herself, Ruby must turn her back on everything she ever knew

Ruby Iyer must save her city, save her friend, save her soul.  For the first time in her life, she knows exactly what she must do. As criminals run rampant, it's up to Ruby to save the city that she holds so dear. Armed with a weapon most would kill for, Ruby enlists the help of the sexy and irresistible Vik Roy, a rogue cop. Together, they embark on a perilous journey.

Vik may be the only person Ruby can truly count on—and need. The more they work side-by-side, the more intense is the attraction between them. And, when the chemistry finally ignites, neither can deny the desire for each other.

But when they begin to uncover secrets—secrets Ruby was never meant to learn—she doesn't know who she can trust.  Her friends may be her enemies, and her enemies just might be out to save her.

Now, it's up to Ruby to not only battle for her city, but fight to protect her heart as well.

Cover design & all stories copyright © 2015 Laxmi Hariharan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the author.

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

WCAUK Reg No 3455856552

Chapter 1

I SHOULD BE dead and headed for my funeral pyre. Except in a final desperate attempt to slow down my fall, I put out my hand, grasp the concrete edge of the platform and scream as my fingernails tear.

There's a low rumbling, growing louder.

The noise heightens, building, and then, it whooshes towards me.

The 8:05 a.m. local train to Churchgate station blares its horn, coming straight at me.

My heart slams with panic, mind gone white with fear and I can't think. Can't. Breathe. I've got to get the fuck out of here.

Stuck between the platform and the tracks, I look up into the man's face. Eyes gleaming, he's caught in the throes of arousal.

I'm afraid, so very afraid, and when he leans down, stretching out a hand, I shrink away towards an end that is more preferable. I look the other way and see the stream of white sparks spewing out of an open electric wire dangling on the other side of the tracks. Get out of here. Get out. Now.

"Help!" I scream.

Not one of the rush-hour Bombay commuters hears me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Look at me. Help me, somebody. I am here. Here. I scream again.

My voice, torn out of me, scatters over the crowd who have eyes only for the incoming train.

No one sees me.

None except him.

He's there, standing on the platform, staring at me.

He's waiting.

Waiting for me to ask him, to beg him to rescue me. I don’t have a choice. I have to ask him for help. Ask him. Do it. DO IT.

I fling out my arm and, bending towards me, he clutches my wrist. It’s him—the same guy who fondled my thigh earlier and threw me off the platform—he claws my other palm off the platform, jerks me up, high, almost at eye level with him. I hang there suspended, swaying.

Heat from the oncoming train rushes at me. It's on me, almost at me. I shriek with terror. My mind’s babbling, thoughts tripping over each other; the blood thunders in my ears. It's over. All over. A trembling grips me. I shut my eyes tight.

"Don't go too far, little girl," Ma's voice taunts. "You don't know what demons are out there."

Then, I'm flying through the dust. He throws me free of the track, out of the path of the train and towards the open electricity wire.

Blessed silence.

I've always been obsessed by the future. Is it because I don't have one?

Chapter 2

I OPEN MY eyes to the sight of a perfectly round object suspended above me. A finger appears in my line of sight. I follow it first to the right, then to the left. A hundred questions run through my head.

"Wait!" I catch my housemate Panky's wrist. "What happened?"

He blinks, "You don't remember?"

There is something inside of my chest, pushing me forward. A violet spark in my heart flickers. It zooms up my spine to the top of my crown, fracturing into flames. I squeeze his hand in a silent cry for help.

"I'll tell you what happened." A doctor strides in, on his face a look of concern, carefully schooled to nonchalance, "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I was run over by a train …" I snarl. Bad joke.

"Not quite," he replies apparently not noticing my irritability. "You missed the train, but did catch yourself a live wire instead."

He smiles at his own pun. He's the only one.

"Then how am I alive? Tell me," I growl, feeling I have no control over my life anymore.

"I was hoping you could tell me that." His voice is soft, placating.

I glower, but don't reply.

"How many people have ten thousand volts of electricity shot through their body, and then wake up looking like this?" He asks, his tone serious.

My breath catches in my throat and the room tilts slightly around me. "T-Ten thousand?" I gasp.

He nods, "The chance of surviving it is nothing short of a miracle." He says in an excited voice.

“Look, Doc," I plead, uncomfortable at the attention, "I had an accident, I survived. No big deal."

To my relief, he sits down once more in his chair. "So, how did it feel to be struck by such a high dose of electricity?"

I try to recall, but my mind goes blank every time I think about what exactly happened after I was thrown over the side of the platform. Instead, I ask, "How long have I been in hospital?"

"Since yesterday," Panky helpfully supplies.

"Yesterday?" The last thing I can recall is that … that creep, and his hand touching me.

I shudder, my skin crawling with disgust.

"We had to sedate you, to take the edge off the pain," the doc says. He looks down at his clipboard. "You've certainly made a fast recovery."

"Can I go home? I'll feel much better if I sleep in my own bed." I plead and am relieved when he answers, "I suppose that should be okay."

"Can you prescribe some strong painkillers? Adding quickly, "For when the pain comes back."

The doc scribbles out a prescription for me. Reaching to take it, the sleeve of my loose hospital gown falls back, exposing my upper arm.

Panky exclaims, "What is that?" He points to the exposed skin on my arm.

I look down, my mouth going dry. I have never got a tattoo, yet there it is. A darkly colored pattern on my upper arm.

I slide out of bed, and walk to the small mirror in the corner of the room.

A dark red, branching fern-like design winds up my left upper arm. It curls up and over my shoulder. The dark red turns almost black before disappearing below the hospital gown, only to emerge between the gaping folds on my back. Here it breaks into tiny hair-like tendrils, many with forked ends.

"It's cool, Ruby." Panky comes up to stand behind me. "Can I touch it?" Without waiting for my reply, he places a finger against the mark. "Does it hurt?" He asks.

"No." I shake my head.

"It's a Lichtenberg figure, also called a lightning tree,” he adds.

Panky's a walking treasure trove of pointless trivia, and people are always taken aback when he reels off these little known facts.

"Correct," The doc remarks, grudging admiration on his face.

"What is a Lichten—uh! —A lightning tree?" I turn to face them.

"It's a branching electric discharge pattern that occurs on the skin of lightning-strike victims," Panky replies.

"Well, at least lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place … if you're lucky, that is." The doc laughs at his own joke.

"But I wasn't struck by lightning, was I?" My voice comes out a little high.

“No,” the doc agrees, "but everything that happened to you is odd. This seems the least surprising consequence of it all."

"What is this pattern on the lightning tree?" I once again roll the sleeve back to look at the design.

"They are formed when delicate capillaries beneath the skin rupture from the shock of electrical discharge. These usually appear within hours of the incident and disappear within days. They normally tend to occur on the upper body," the doc replies.

The explanations only make it more disturbing.

"So you don't think this is permanent?" I touch the skin.

"Normally not. But in your case, it's difficult to predict, isn't it?" says the doc.

That’s me all right. Unpredictable.

And suddenly I've had enough. Tiredness rushes over me and I just want to get out of here, away from the questioning gaze of the doctor.

Walking towards Panky, I grab his arm, "Can we leave now?" I ask.

He gets to his feet and tries to pull away, but something makes me hang on to him.

"Hey! You're hurting me!" Panky's face loses color.

I loosen my fingers, allowing him to break free.

He takes a step back, cradling his arm, "What's wrong with you?" He asks.

There, imprinted on his arm are deep grooves outlining my five fingers.

I inhale in disbelief.

"You hurt my arm!" His face mirrors my shock.

"I didn't mean to. Honest"

"Seems you don't know your own strength anymore." Panky turns away, his lips curving downwards.

"I'm sorry," I place a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Panky," I whisper, "just get me out of here, okay?"

"As if I have a choice?" Panky asks his voice strained.

Chapter 3

LYING BACK AGAINST the cool tiles in the bathroom, I'm grateful for the wet towel Panky holds against my forehead. I've spent a sleepless night at the bungalow I share with him. My stomach is still unsettled. I'd tried to eat, only to find I'm unable to keep anything down.

"It's understandable, you being sick,” he exclaims, "I would be too, after everything you've been through."

"I owe you," I say, sitting up slowly.

"You do," he agrees. "Promise not to hurt me again."

"I promise." I say, glancing at his hand still cradled in a sling.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, little girl."

Trust Ma to jump in at the most awkward of moments.

I 'd never knowingly hurt him.

Panky pouts. "And get me front row tickets to the Lakmé Fashion Week?"

I hesitate and he raises his eyebrows

"Okay, okay!" I add, "Provided I still have a job."

Looking satisfied, he gets to his feet, "So, are you going to stay there all day feeling sorry for yourself?" he asks.

Not waiting for my reply, he walks back into his bedroom, and switches on the TV.

The newsreader's shrill voice fills the room.

"… And now an exclusive: we have the first lead on the identity of the girl involved in the Bandra train accident. Eyewitnesses say the girl was pushed off the platform and onto the live electric wire."

"Ruby!"

I am already at the doorway of the bathroom, holding on to the frame for support, as she continues. "We are talking to the policeman who rushed her to the hospital."

The camera switches to a cop standing stiffly at attention. “She was fine,” he says.

The reporter's voice probes, "So, she was alive?"

"Yes, yes, alive, of course." He pats his belly.

"Was she hurt?"

"No." He scratches his head this time, looking somewhere off-screen."

"So she was electrocuted by a live wire, and is still alive?"

"Ah! No, actually—"

The reporter jumps in, "Yes, yes, tell me!"

"Ah, yes, I mean, yes, she was still alive, though I think she hurt her arm."

I glance at the lightning tree on my arm. Panky is watching me closely, but I refuse to look at him.

The policeman looks at the camera directly. "It's a miracle!"

The reporter turns to the screen. "You heard him. The miracle girl, whose name has not been revealed, has since discharged herself. We ask that she come forward, and—"

I switch off the TV set.

"Well, you heard her. They want to talk to you." Panky exclaims.

"Panky, I don't want to talk to them."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to them, Ruby?"

He's pushing me and I don't like it.  I walk over to him and poke my finger against his chest.

"I told you already, no!" I scowl, unable to hide my displeasure.

"R-Ruby?" Panky's voice quivers and he shrinks from me.

The last time I'd seen him so afraid, he'd been facing off street kids who'd been trying to rob his wallet.

I'd jumped in to help him and we'd managed to give them the slip. We have been looking out for each other ever since. Now, he's staring at me as if he doesn't know me anymore. As if I'm going to hurt him.

What's happening to me?

Why am I not able to control my emotions anymore?

Reaching for the bottle of water by his bed, I gulp it down, then empty the rest over my head.

I want to say I am sorry but can't.

Instead, grabbing my backpack, I head out the front door.

Chapter 4

THE EVENING PRAYERS from the nearby temple mix with the hum of traffic. It's that special vibe, found only here, in the former seven islands of Bom Bahia—the Good Bay, as named by its Portuguese founders.

I pause by the gates of the bungalow next to a man seated there.

As usual he is bent over his notebook, writing. His shoes have seen better days. The sign in front of him reads:

The End is Near

There's an upturned hat in front of him for donations. He never asks for money.

He's a writer.

“He's a beggar.”

"How many days, then?" I ask, as I always do.

A running joke in my life, this Q/A session with the gentleman-beggar. He's never answered me. Till now. He looks up at me for the first time, and holds up his fingers: five of them.

A tremor runs down my back. I run past him, heading for the pub.

When I get there I slide onto my favorite bar stool, the one at the center of the counter.

At one end is an older man, his beard almost steel grey, a baseball cap perched on his head.

"Hey, Edward," I smile.

"How are you, pretty lady?" he says in that clipped German accent of his.

The third occupant is hunched over his glass, brooding into its depths.

Within seconds, a squat glass holding golden-brown liquid appears in front of me.

Martin the bartender plunks two ice cubes into the glass.

"Alcohol never solved any problems, little girl."

You should speak, Ma. I learned this from you.

I push away her voice and ask after Martin's daughter.

"She's doing well," he replies, "If you hadn't helped me with filling out the forms and preparing for the interview with the principal—"

I wave away his thanks.

"She's already made new friends, and her favorite subject is Math." He grins, shaking his head. "Imagine that?"

I smile, "At least it's not a convent school."

Ma had insisted I attend the local convent school. My idea of hell. Thanks to them, I know that being in this pub, drinking is "sin".

Running away from home at sixteen? "Sin."

Not keeping in touch with Dad since? Also, "sin."

It'd been a relief to leave, and not have to listen to them anymore. That was almost three years ago.

"Anything else—?" Martin asks.

I shake my head, and he moves away.

I ignore the new arrival who seats himself in the space between Mr. Broody and me. My eyes are hypnotized by the text running across the bottom of the TV screen above the bar.

Price of onions soars to INR 30/- per kg | First of the four blood-red moon eclipses to be seen in six days | Artifact stolen from Prince of Wales Museum in the latest in a series of antiques burglaries...

The new arrival smiles at me.

"I'll have what she’s having," he tells Martin, who plonks down a glass before pouring a measly amount of liquid into it.

He turns away only to be collared by the man.

"Bastard! Cheating me?" He grabs the bottle from Martin's hand, pouring from it till his glass is three-quarters full.

"Cheers," He raises his glass, staring at my breasts. I should get up and get out of here. But I don't. Not this time.

The lightning tree throbs a flash of pain down my spine.

Rage, buried inside, has been let loose by the incident at the train station. I can't hide my anger any more. It's invigorating.

I smash my fist into his hand and his glass splits open, liquid splattering onto his shirtfront.

He gets to his feet and swings at me. I duck and, picking up the bottle of whiskey, whack him on the chest with it. He drops back onto his bar stool with a plop. On his face: surprise.

With a scream, he springs out of his seat, lunging towards me. I move aside, and he crashes headfirst into the wall next to the bar. Straightening, he shakes his head and turns around. His eyes dart behind me.

Did he think I was going to fall for that?

Bar stool in my hand and I crash it down on him.

On his head.

On his stupid fat ugly head.

His head, which is bleeding now. And he's fallen off the seat and is cowering on the floor. Huh! How do you like that, you horrible, horrible man? Didn't expect that, did you? Here comes another one—

I'm going to hit him again. Hurt him more. Again and again and—

A touch on my shoulder and I leap round.

"He's had enough, don't you think?" The brooding guy from earlier nods at the man who's whimpering on the floor.

It's not enough.

Shrugging him aside, I turn back, weapon poised above my head, only to be gripped from behind. He squeezes my wrists, forcing me to loosen my fingers. Oh why not. What the hell. I let him take the wooden seat. Empty hands drop to my sides. Nothing will ever be enough.

The branches of the lightning tree still pulse. I bite my lips, trying to calm down. I must regain control. I slide my hand over the counter. A piece of broken glass cuts into my palm and the blood trickles down my arm. The pain takes my mind off the ache inside. Some of the pressure in my chest eases.

I look around at the mess, noticing it for the first time.

Did I do that? All on my own?

My head swirls. The adrenaline fades away, leaving me exhausted.

What's happening to me?

Opening my backpack, I hand over all the money in there to Martin. "It's not enough to cover the damage." I say, "But that's all I have."

He nods, calling to one of the waiters to help him throw the fallen guy out of the place.

Mr. Broody hasn't stopped watching; his amber eyes bore into me.

For the first time, I notice the telltale bulge of a gun harness around his waist. It's visible through the loose, cream-colored cotton shirt he is wearing. He's a cop? Faded jeans, frayed at the knees, with dark brown loafers. At least a foot taller than me, he is built leanly.

He looks at me from below thick yet elegantly curved brows. In his eyes, a hint of something—humor? Admiration? I can't tell.

"Vikram Roy," He introduces himself, holding out his hand, but I don't take it.

I walk past him, past the guy on the floor, out of the bar.

Chapter 5

HE WAS A good teacher, PW. Dr. Poonawala, my child psychologist.

Ma sent me to him to help me control my anger. Instead, he'd preferred to spend many of our sessions touching my budding breasts.

He'd told me not to tell anyone. They'd hate me if they found out, he warned. They wouldn't believe me anyway, he said. He was right.

Ma had not believed me.

I was lying, she said, when I told her what he was doing to me. Told me I was jealous of the time she spent with my brother. That I was making it up to get her away from him, so I could have her full attention.

Is that true?

I'd insisted my brother attend that birthday party at the Taj Mahal Hotel. Right before terrorists had bombed it. And he'd been killed. My fault. All because I'd wanted Ma to myself for those few hours. My eyes jolt open with a start. I am at home and in my own bed.

I take a deep breath, and the smell of my own sheets calms me down. I feel as if I've been asleep for a long time. I feel better though. Rested.

My phone vibrates and I reach for it.

<Unknown number: Bandra Station. Now >

A crank text message? In the normal course of things, I would have avoided it. But nothing's normal since the incident. And what's happening at the Station? Where's Panky?

Getting out of bed, I stretch my stiff legs and walk into the living room. Panky's left the television on as usual, but the volume is muted. The words scrolling across the screen leap out at me:

Bombay on high alert after bomb threat. Security beefed up at Dadar, Bandra and Churchgate train stations.

Fear grabs my heart. My legs quake. But my mind is racing ahead, listing out everything I know.

Panky's not here.

There's a bomb scare at Bandra station.

The text message!

Dread twists my gut. No. Not Panky. I can't let anything happen to the only person in the world I care about. But just the thought of having to go back to the station, to where it all started makes me faint with dread.

Pushing aside my terror, I reach for my clothes.

Chapter 6

I AM BACK at Bandra station to find people milling around outside the platform, trying to peer through the police cordon.

Walking up to one of the cops I say, "I must go in there."

He looks at me like I've gone crazy. "No way," he says. "Haven't you been watching the news? There's stuff going on inside you want no part of."

My heart beats faster at that, and I feel faint.

Panky's definitely in there. "Please" I plead. "You don't understand. My friend is in danger."

He is about to protest when another man, wearing street clothes, walks up to him and taps him on the shoulder. "Let me handle this," he says.

The cop salutes him before stalking off and I turn to the new arrival.

Amber eyes shine down at me. It's him. Mr. Broody. Vikram, from the bar. Before I can ask him what he's doing here, he gestures to the station.

"Go," he says. "I'll cover you."

Without questioning why he was letting me through, I run past him and into the station, bursting onto the platform.

The track right next to me is empty. There is a train parked on the opposite one. It's half way up the station with rear carriages extending beyond the length of the platform.

Any hope I have of Panky being safe is dashed when I see the bright pink sweatshirt on the hostage tied to the front of the train.

I swear aloud.

As I watch, he moves his head, looking straight at me. At least he's not too badly hurt. I heave a sigh of relief only to jerk in shock when a voice asks, "Here to save your friend?"

It's the creep who had thrown me off the platform. My heart begins to thud, the hair on my arms standing on end.

Still, when he tilts his head towards Panky, I take a step forward without realizing it.

"Stay where you are," he says, holding up a detonator.

Blood jerks through my veins, pelting my eardrums. Seeing him walk towards me makes me relive those terrified moments before I'd hit the train tracks. My gut twists and nausea bubbles up.

Then a ping from the lightning tree burns a swath through my skin, jerking me back to reality. Panky, I must find a way to save him.

"So, you press that button and he dies?" My voice comes out hoarse.

He nods. "It's just the beginning. Soon there will be many others all over the city, all giving up their lives for a bigger cause.

"Our new world, one populated with just the young ones. People like you and me. Out with the old ways. In with the new." He speaks in a singsong voice, as if he is repeating what he's learnt by rote. "You should join us, Ruby," he adds.

I start. How does he know my name?

A moving figure catches my eye. Beyond the creep, at the far end of the platform, Vikram is running towards us, only to be tackled to the ground by another cop.

My eyes jerk to Vikram and following my gaze, the creep looks over his shoulder. Hesitating, he turns sideways so he can keep an eye on me and on the struggling figures on the ground.

Meanwhile, Vikram turns around to face his assailant. I can't hear what they are arguing about.

The other cop reaches for a gun, stops midway in the process of drawing it out. He jerks his head to where Panky is still tied to the train.

Then, Vikram punches him, shoving him off.

Grabbing the other cop's radio, he is back on his feet and running towards us.

"No, don't!" I scream, holding up my hand.

Vikram stops. He's still too far away to hear me so I shake my head, warning him not to come any closer.

The creep waves the detonator. He plops it into his other hand.

Misses.

Catches it before it hits the floor.

The breath rushes back into my lungs and I feel lightheaded with relief.

He laughs and the hair on my forearms stands on end.

"Don't come any closer," I yell at Vikram, not sure if he can hear me.

"Yeah, listen to your girlfriend." He waves the remote at Vikram before turning to point the device at me as if it were a weapon. This is it. He's going to press the trigger any second now.

Then a figure darts onto the platform from behind me. Reaching the creep, she takes the detonator from him.

Chapter 7

"DR. B?" THE creep exclaims as I stare at the curvaceous figure clad in long white dress-shirt and loose pants.

Lustrous dark hair falls past her shoulders, framing an oval-shaped face with coal-dark eyes. The woman's eyebrows are perfect arches, framing the temple-shaped red-colored vermillion that spurts up in the center.

I know her.

It. Can't. Be.

Her voice slides over my skin, "You and I, we have much in common, little girl."

"We have nothing in common!" I try to sound confident, but my voice comes out trembling.

Vikram's looking from her to me his brow furrowed. I am sure he can't hear us, but he's watching us closely.

The silence stretches.

"Your protégé?" I ask, eyes flicking to where the creep is still standing, eyes nervously focused on the woman.

"I am a sucker for strays." She says, her voice soft.

A familiar voice. Reassuring. She's always been good in convincing people to see her side of things. But what is she doing here? It all feels unreal.

I swear inwardly.

My best friend has a bomb rigged to him. And I'm having a conversation with the biggest terror threat the city has ever faced: my mother.

But that's not something I'll ever reveal.

Oh! No. And it’s not because she is now a criminal. It's just I've never thought of her as my mother. Besides, she's not saying anything, is she? No sign that she's recognized me either.

"Bet you have an entire team of them—strays, I mean—by now." As long as I keep her talking, she won't pull the detonator. I hope.

"It's actually an army." Her eyes glitter in the sunlight, "I know what it is to lose a son, and for no fault of my own. Now it's time for the city to share my pain."

She likes being theatrical, my ma. She always had a dangerous edge to her too, but could she have gone this far? Is this the same person I ran away from? No. I still can't believe it. Easier to think of her by whatever name she's taken to calling herself by.

"Why do you want to kill him?" I ask. Inside, I am quaking.

"I don’t want to kill him,” she says. "At least not yet."

"You!" She gestures to the creep, "Get him down."

When the guy hesitates, she snaps, "Now!"

It's as if she's whipped him. He jumps down onto the tracks and, unchaining Panky, gingerly half carries-half drags him. He pushes Panky back onto the platform before heaving himself up.

Hearing me, he stirs, then manages to sit up cross-legged on the platform.

His eyes widen as he takes in where he is. He looks around, jerking a little when he notices me, but doesn't say anything. Just raises his eyebrows as if warning me to stay quiet.

Turning to her, I ask, "What do you want?"

She looks from me to him and back, "Which of you has the key you stole from my ancestor? You must have it. Hand it over now."

What is she talking about?

"You are crazy," Panky says, trying to sound flippant. He sounds more angry than afraid, and slightly slurred as if he's been drugged.

His knees are shaking so much he's pressing them together, locking hands around them to prevent them from knocking. He is terrified, but is trying not to show it.

"I have told you over and over again, I have no idea what you are talking about. I am simply renting that bungalow; it does not belong to me," he says, lower lip trembling. He may be wounded but his spirit is far from broken. Go Panky!

"No! Of course not, you could never own a place like that. And anyway. It belongs to me now."

Then her words sink in. For me and for Panky.

"You killed our landlady?" I ask, shocked.

She doesn’t even acknowledge me, instead says, "Last chance. Is one of you going to tell me where you have hidden it?"

I know she doesn't make idle threats. I swallow, clenching my fists at my sides, wishing for something. A weapon. Should have taken the sword with me.

"There are ways we have of getting the information out of you." She says without raising her voice.

Before I can say anything Panky replies, his voice low, angry, "You don't worry me. You can manipulate the kids in your army. But not me."

"Your friend has a wild imagination," she says, sounding amused.

"You'll never get away with this." His lip trembles. "As we speak, the police must be mobilizing their forces. I am sure help is on its way." His voice is filled with hatred, yet it's steady.

She gives him a strange look, as if noticing him properly for the first time. Then, walks up to him and bends down thrusting her face close to his. Panky shrinks back, yet his eyes meet hers.

"No one can save you or this city." She says in a low voice and I just about catch the words.

"Wha … What do you mean?" His voice quivers with anxiety.

"Do you remember 26/11, when South Bombay was attacked and the hotels were taken hostage?"

I find myself nodding.

A few years ago, terrorists had come in from the sea and held the city hostage over four long days. Yet the images of the buildings under siege, gunfire in the background—all of it is etched in my mind.

Straightening, she looks at me, "Well, this is much bigger. My people are everywhere in the system. Even as we talk, they are taking out the police and army control rooms, the fire brigade and all communication lines, including the Internet." She smiles, just a curve of her lips, "Soon the power grid too will collapse."

I don't believe her.

Does she hold that much power over the city? How long has she been planning this? Years, decades even? Enough to have her people, her kids implanted everywhere. And now when she gives the signal, they are ready to act, to bring down everything which defines civilization for us.

Panky looks scared enough to have wet his pants. Yet he persists. "But the police have radios, and I know some of them are sophisticated enough to have batteries which last for up to a year—"

She is quick to crush his hopes. "Not if the devices are not functional. I've taken down the communication towers and killed the operators. Then, it will be the two of you."

"You would kill your daughter?" he asks and I almost faint then. He knows she is my mother. How? How did he guess? When?

My eyes flick to Vikram. He's still frozen, watching us. He can't hear any of this conversation and I send up a prayer of thanks for that.

"If I have to," she says. "But I won't. Not when I've spent all these years making sure she's strong enough to face what's in store for her."

I have no idea what she's talking about. Besides, I know that she's never particularly cared if I am alive or dead either.

"I know what you are thinking. How can a woman treat her daughter so?" She looks at me as she says that.

And I do want to know. Why? Why? Why?

"Just because she is my daughter doesn't mean she'll be getting off lightly. She'll have to prove herself like everybody else. If she wants to be part of the new world, she'll simply have to pass the tests."

Is that what all this is? A test?

Is that why she kidnapped Panky?

My breath whooshes out.

Panky shuts his eyes, flinching at the violence in her voice. "You lie!" he says hotly. "You will not hurt her. I won't let you."

"And that's the least of my worries." She grins. I bet she thinks she has won the argument with Panky.

She straightens and flicks her hair over her shoulders, "Why am I even answering your questions?"

"You are going to kill me anyway. Humor me first?" His eyes shift to me for a second. He's trying to keep her speaking, buying himself time.

"Why not indeed?" She nods, and holds up two fingers of her right hand. "Two questions. It's still my choice whether I want to answer them. Agree?"

Panky nods. "Deal."

She's always liked to play games. Only this one involves Panky's life.

"Where does the 'doctor' come from?" Panky asks. "Are you a medically qualified professional?"

She stares, then laughs. "No one's ever asked me that before." Without giving him a chance to reply, she continues. "I have a doctorate in Portuguese history, specifically the impact of Catherine of Braganza on the history of Bombay."

A doctorate? Seriously? She was always obsessed with her Portuguese ancestor of course. But still, to spend years researching history, and doing it well enough to write a thesis on it?

"How interesting!" Panky cries.

"Yes, it was." Her face is almost kind. "So you see, I know the real value of the artifact in your bungalow."

"Artifact?" Panky's voice is puzzled.

What is she talking about? Something niggles the edge of my memory but can't quite place it.

"Yes, the key to making my plans come true—" She looks into the distance and goes quiet, contemplative.

The creep calls out to her, his voice soft, "Dr. B?"

Gathering herself, she says, "Last question. Ask wisely."

Without waiting for Panky, I jump in with, "Why do you want to raze this city?" My voice wobbles on the last word. I am scared, but I know this is perhaps my only chance to understand what she's up to.

"I have a vision for a new world." She says, "One populated by the young, who have been given a chance to overcome their fears."

"And where will this new world be?" I ask.

"Why, right here. Imagine a world without dirt, corruption or any vices. Without so many people. And this city restored to its original seven islands. Virginal beaches. White sands."

She stops, biting her lips as if realizing she's spoken too much. She raises the detonator, and I yell, "No, please don't hurt him."

"So nice to find real friendship. Perhaps I should spare him just for that," She tells me.

Dropping the arm holding the detonator, she turns to the creep.

"Go on, then, get out of here," She says.

The boy's face crumples. "But …" he protests.

"No buts." She says, "Here—I'll give you a helping hand."

I hear the unmistakable sound of an oncoming train and she pushes him straight in its path.

I hear myself scream.

Chapter 8

NO, I AM not sorry that the creep is dead. I just wish I'd been the one to kill him.

"He was a nasty piece of work, but what you did was evil." I force the words out.

"There's a lot out there far worse. At least I am trying to restore this city to its former glory. For too long have its citizens exploited it for their own selfish gains. With me, Bombay will rise again." She snaps, "Anyway, that is of no concern to you. You just do as you are told."

"Why can't you just do as you are told, little girl?" Her voice ignites the anger simmering inside.

A movement catches my eye. Vikram. He's got his gun trained on her. He takes a step forward, then another. He's within earshot when the radio hooked to his belt squawks. She jerks, turning around.

I take a step forward only to stop when she raises the detonator again.

Throat parched with fear, I run my tongue over my dry lips, pleading.

"Let him go." I say, "Take me instead. I will be of more use to you."

She looks at me; her jaw hardening, and I know then that she's going to kill him.  And that's all it takes.

A sliver of pain shoots up my spine, burning its way through the noise in my head. I know what I have to do.

"Vikram."

When I have his attention, I plead with him silently to follow my lead.  He looks from me to her and nods.

Then, in as tough a voice as I can muster, I tell her, "Go on, give the detonator to the cop. Me for Panky, that's a good exchange for you, isn't it!" I mean every word. I will give myself up to save my friend.

Vikram bends to place his gun on the ground before walking to us.

Reaching her, he holds out his hand and she drops the detonator into it.

I loose a breath.

He looks up, meeting my eyes properly for the first time since he arrived on the platform. He is afraid for me. Our eyes hold before he moves past me, walking towards Panky. He raises an eyebrow at me as if to say, Don't do anything stupid now. Ha! If only he knew.

"Hey, cop!" She calls out, "If you want to join me, just call. You are welcome anytime."

"Thanks, but no thanks." His voice is mild.

"Here!" She throws him the key to Panky's handcuffs.

Vikram switches off the detonator and unchains him. I heave a sigh of relief as he pulls Panky to his feet and leads him away.

Fear balled up in the pit of my stomach loosens.

"Your friend? He is the first." Face intent, she outlines her plan. "There are other bombs scattered around the city. When I give the signal, it will be like a string of fireworks!" She claps her hands, startling me. "A fresh start. A new world populated with the strongest, the smartest among us. And you," she looks from me to Vikram's retreating back. "Both of you are going to help me."

What she is saying ... It's so odd, yet so familiar. It even makes sense in a twisted kind of way. But she's wrong. This is all so wrong.

And then I know I just have to get away. I can't let her get to me, can't let her take me with her. I break into a run towards the exit, my breath coming out in quick spurts.

In front of me, restive crowds break through the police cordon and onto the platform and something slams into me from behind. Hard.

I look down.

A blot of red appears on my shirt and the world swims around me. Who shot me? She didn’t have a gun, did she?

Putting out a hand, I try to right myself and find I am grabbing at air.

A scuffle breaks out behind me.

I turn to see Vikram wrestling another man to the ground. He smashes his fist into the man's face, stilling him; only a second guy sneaks up behind him, catching him with a blow to the side. Vikram collapses. The man turns and drags Panky away.

I swear aloud. This can’t be happening.

Another shudder runs through my side. It hurts. So much. The pain vibrates out in concentric circles and nausea rolls over me.

Biting my lip, I keep moving, half stumbling till I reach the exit.

I am outside the station now and, around me, people jostle each other. A police siren grows louder in the distance as if coming towards us. An ambulance's urgent cry.

"Ruby," She walks towards me. "I was expecting you here, by the way." That pulls me up.

I look at her as she stops next to me.

Sweat drips down my brow, stinging my eyes.

It was she who texted me earlier? Was she also behind the creep pushing me off the platform?

Blackness pours through me and I clutch my side shivering with the effort to stay conscious.

A Mercedes draws up alongside us, and from the other side, two men appear, pulling Panky's limp body between them. I watch helpless, as they fling him into the back seat, getting in on either side of him.

"Just a guarantee, you know?" So saying, she slips into the car, riding shotgun. The window rolls down to reveal her face. "You have five days to come get him and when you do, make sure you bring the artifact."

She is loud enough that I can hear her over the commotion of the people milling around us.

All I can do is swear, as the pain from the wound surges again, sweat plastering my hair to my neck.

And then, she's driven off.

My knees buckle and I half sway, but am steadied by Vikram, who has made his way to me. Blood stains his shirt and I can't tell if it's his.

"I am going after them." I grimace.

He grips my arms, holding me upright.

"I am sure you are, but for now, you need to leave here. Immediately!" A look comes into his eyes. A touch of gentleness perhaps?

"What?" I blink in confusion.

"The cops are onto you. You do need to get away from here."

"In case you haven’t noticed—" The pain is knocking at my side, so each word comes out on a hiccough, "—right now I can barely move, let alone run away from here..." Then, his words sink in.

"What do you mean, about the cops? I haven't done anything wrong. Besides, you are a policeman, so can't you—"?

"Precisely. It's because I am with the police force that I can tell you how it looks. You flounced right in there and struck up a conversation with that woman as if you knew her all along. Now she's gone and you are here. Do you think they are going to simply let you go?"

Of course, he's right.

"Hey, don't blame me for—" I stare at the space behind him. What I see makes me forget the rest of the sentence.

Smoke pours out from behind the handsome Victorian building that is Bandra station.

Brick red tiles are ripped off the sloping roof of the building, as if like a zipper being undone. Is this really happening? It feels as if I am not here, that I am looking down on myself, watching as the sound waves from a resounding crash plough into Vikram. The force pushes him towards me.

A violent jolt runs through the ground, vibrating up through my bones, up from my feet; it's as if my head has been snapped clean off my neck.

At the last second, I move aside, pain forgotten, to avoid Vikram's falling body from crushing me. When I look up, it's to see one of the spires of the station crumple.

Chapter 9

THE DUST SWIRLS over me. It's in my mouth, in my nose, in my hair. I'm being buried alive. I scream and tear at it, and it clears abruptly to reveal a figure in white. She smiles and holds up her fingers.

All five fingers of her right palm.

I open my eyes.

Her maiden name was Braganza, so it's not unusual that she use it. But what artifact is she talking about?

And could she destroy the city? I refuse to believe that.

It's not a coincidence either. The five days that she said, I have to rescue Panky. The five days that the gentleman-beggar indicated were left till the end of the world. Something is building up all around me. I am being manipulated, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Trying to swallow, I find my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. A glass of water appears in my line of vision.

Then, my head is being held up so I can sip from the glass.

Gulping it down, some of the liquid splashes onto my face. I raise a hand to wipe it off; surprised to see my palm is shaking.

"You are going to live, then?" a low, rusty voice inquires and I stiffen. His sarcasm cuts through the fog in my head.

"Of course I'm going to live," I huff.

"You wouldn't have said that if it had been you in this chair the last three days." Vikram sounds on edge, his words strung together with a thread of fatigue.

"Three—?" I have no memory of being carried home or to the, bed, which is where I am now. Nice! The cop, it seems, loves coming to my rescue. In fact, he's making an annoying habit of it. Everywhere I turn, there he is.

Then, I remember. "Panky. They took him." The last image of what I had seen shoots through me, cutting through the haze of pain. Three days, I've been out for three days. That means only two days left to rescue Panky. I struggle to sit up and the world spins around me.

Vikram places his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back.

"Get your strength back first," he says.

I fall back against the sheets. Not because I am obeying him or because he is right, but because I do feel shaky.

"You were hurt too" I say, but when he motions with his hand I don't ask further. He's still standing, so I guess it wasn't anything serious.

"Thanks for taking care of me," I say finally.

"I had no option, you were half delirious and pleading not to be taken to a hospital."

I redden. I do hate hospitals. And I definitely don’t want to go there, not now with this strange lightning tree on my back which will invariably lead to other questions.

"All those people at the station, are they dead?" The words pour out in a rush. "I was there," I insist. "I could have done something, warned them."

Vikram runs his fingers through his hair. The strands curl around his fingers as if reluctant to let go. "I was there too." He turns. "There's nothing we could have done."

I want to believe him. Yet, something insists I take responsibility.

"You always thought too much, little girl."

I don't pay any attention to her voice.

"Panky?" I ask

"They drugged him before they took him,” he replies leaning forward. "It probably saved his life. If he had been left at the station, he'd be gone like the rest. Believe me, though, we're doing everything we can to find him."

Panky is still alive. I suppose I should be grateful for that. Still, the thought of the station collapsing, all those people wounded. Mothers, fathers, and children dead … a roaring fills my ears. No, I am not going to faint, not now. I bite down on my lips so a sharp twinge shudders through me.

"It wasn't just Bandra station that was blown up." He says.

"You mean—?"

"All the key stations on the Western Line—Churchgate, Andheri."

I am quite numb now. It's worse than I thought.

"The most crowded ones?"

He nods.

"How many people—"

"Thousands. You know how crowded those stations are at rush hour. And that's not all."

Before I can ask anything more, he switches on the TV set in the room. The newscaster's voice fills the room. It takes me a few seconds to understand why it sounds so different.

It's not the breathless, excited voice so characteristic to newsreaders on local TV channels. No, the man's voice is subdued, almost shell-shocked. Then, I see the images on screen and forget everything else.

The newscast washes over me, "... the thermal power station has also been bombed. The older part of the city"—South Bombay, where I grew up—"is already without electricity."

The camera zooms in on two men dragging the body of another towards a heap of already piled corpses. Next to them is a woman, wailing in front of a hut on fire. Half her arm is gone and she is bleeding from her forehead. People gathering up whatever belongings are strewn on the ground.

It feels as if we are at war.

It's horrible. And it hurts to see the city suffering so much. Can I possibly feel so much for this place? Always thought I had a love-hate relationship with this city, but I am wrong. It's as if one of my own has been hurt.

"You think she is behind… " I let the words hang in the air.

His eyes open so wide it feels like the sparks from them will leap right out at me.

"You saw what she did, and yet you ask that?" His voice is disbelieving, and he looks at me as if I am stupid.

I shrink back against the pillows but can't resist adding, "No. It's just that, well, we didn't see her set off the bomb."

His mouth opens and then closes. Shaking his head, he runs his fingers once more through his hair, mussing it up even more. Looking away, he swallows as if he is controlling himself.

I subside, folding my arms over my chest.

"So, you want evidence that that woman is behind the destruction of half the city? What she did to your friend and to that other kid at Bandra station is not enough?" He is speaking through clenched teeth now. "You are supporting her."

"No, I am not!"

"Yes, you are. You've no idea what she is capable of … if you only knew—" His hands clench into fists by his side and he's looking at me as if he'd like to shake me.

What's his problem? It's as if I am attacking him personally.

"I only asked a simple question. I don't see why you have to get upset about that," I say in a prim voice.

I know he is right. She must be responsible for all this mayhem. Everything points to that. Yet, a part of me refuses to believe it. She can't be that evil, can she? I definitely need proof. I fold my arms over my chest and look straight ahead.

"Do you know her?" His eyes fire golden darts of accusation at me.

"No." I meet his gaze steadily, "I don't."

He's the first to look away. I swallow, heaving a sigh of relief. He believes me.

His profile is towards me and he tightens his jaw. It pronounces his square jawline. I want to touch my cheek to his—

I dig my nails into my palm, using the pain to distract my train of thought.

Getting to his feet in a jerky gesture, he aims his remote at the TV set, changing channels at such speed that the high-pitched voices and signature music tones from individual channels merge into one shrieking medley. His movements are short, jerky. He's angry. For once, it's not me flying into a rage.

Vikram losing control is an awesome sight.

Putting my hands over my ears, I yell to be heard over the din. "What are you doing?"

He stops at another news channel. Measured tones fill the air.

"... In a video emailed to the newsroom, an unknown group has taken responsibility for the attack." The screen goes dark before a silhouette appears. The features of the person are not clear, but it's clearly a woman. "... Get out while you still can, for no one will be spared. Not unless you are young, and fit, and ready for the new world. Out with the old and the flawed. In with the young..."

The screen goes dark before switching back to the newsreader. "It's not clear how long the supply of electricity to the suburbs will last, and with the other essential support services in disarray …"

The camera focuses in on a group of boys and girls armed with mean-looking guns. They are turning away cars from a gas station.

"What are they doing?" I ask, trying to make sense of what I am seeing.

"Without electricity, it's only a matter of time before the service stations run out of fuel. They are seizing control already."

"They?"

He nods towards where a camera has zoomed in on the face of one of the girls. She is wearing bright-red lipstick and designer sunglasses. Then the screen goes blank as if the station itself is off air.

"It's starting …" Vikram does not elaborate more.

My imagination fills the rest.

With electricity grids blown, it's only a matter of time before power to the city will completely cease. It means mayhem. Law and order is a concept tenuous at most times in this city. Even on a normal day, there are many desperate enough to break the law just to survive. Now, they can run amuck, unchecked.

This isn't the first time the city has been hit. We have survived train stations being bombed; terrorist attacks on hotels, not to mention strikes and floods. But, never before has such a direct threat been made. This is serious.

Vikram raises an eyebrow in that restrained I know-better-than-you look. I prefer it when he is losing control of his emotions. That, I know how to deal with.

"Just a matter of time before the electricity here goes too," he says mildly.

"You seem awfully knowledgeable of what is going is going to happen next. Are you in touch with them?" I try to match his light tone, but it comes out sounding accusatory.

He taps his finger to his temple. "It's because I'm a cop that I know."

He knows just how to take everything I say and turn it around. I want to bang my head in frustration.

"And I don't think we have seen the worst yet." He adds.

"What could be worse?" I probe.

"Earthquakes. Tsunamis." he ventures.

I laugh. "No one can cause earthquakes or tsunamis."

A shutter comes down over his face at that. What is he trying to imply?

"Shouldn't you be out there, seeing to law and order, doing your duty or whatever?"

"I am doing my duty," he replies.

I look at him, curious.

He nods. "After all, she has a real interest in you, doesn't she?"

"Does she?" I ask, my voice cautious.

As if in response, his phone pings.

"Don't!" I just know whom the text is from even before I read the message. Vikram gives me a look, which implies, seriously?

He frowns at the message before showing it to me.

<Unknown number: Let's play>

"What does it mean?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Of course, I know what it means.

"Prank text. Looks like you have a secret admirer?" I chuckle, then wince as a pain cuts through my side.

Handing over the phone, I lean back against my pillows, parrying with a question of my own. "By the way, how did you know where I live?"

"I am a cop," he answers, as if that explains everything.

I wonder if my disbelief shows. As with everything in the city, the police, too, are overworked, underpaid and riddled with corruption. Not exactly well known for their efficiency though they do try their best.

"Well, you saw me at the pub, so it's not rocket science to work out that I live close by." I refuse to concede any ground.

He half smiles but does not comment. He sure is confident of himself. "You are quite unusual for a Bombay cop, no?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's just, I keep wondering what a guy like you is doing with the forces here. Everyone knows how corrupt and bureaucratic they are."

"What do you mean, a guy like me?"

I squirm under the intensity of his gaze. "I meant that as a compliment. It's just, you have to admit, it's unusual for a well-educated person like you to join the police,"

"I am not most people … and, unbelievable as it may sound, I actually do want to contribute to something bigger than myself."

"You mean you believe in giving back to society and all that." Even saying the words sounds strange. I mean, doing something for the greater good has always been just that, a concept I've read in textbooks. Here, for the first time, I am meeting a guy who believes in it.

"And my city." He nods. "I enjoy being a cop. Far-fetched as that may sound."

I have been put in my place very firmly.

Cringing at his rebuff I rush to clarify, "I just meant that you are the only one who got so close to the person who caused all that." I nod towards the TV. "And yet here you are with me?"

He looks slightly embarrassed at that. "I am of more use here, with you."

"If you want to be with me, you just have to say it," I say in an innocent voice, hoping to get a rise out of him.

Still, when he leans close, I shrink against the pillows. It's quite dramatic really, what with the light from the half-open curtain haloing his face. His nearness is unsettling. I want to lick his lips. The thought excites me, unnerves me enough that I lean back, just enough so he can move in even closer, covering the ground I have yielded. His nose is almost touching mine now. The deep, musky notes from his skin drum over me, and I almost taste the mint on his breath.

His next words floor me, "I could say I care about you."

Those individual sparks in his amber pupils set off small answering fires inside me. My insides churn. It's new, this feeling. Painful. The sensation ripping me apart.

He cares about me?

Even as I stare into his eyes, a shutter comes down, and just like that, they change from warm amber to grey-brown. He leans back, physically withdrawing and it's as if he's flicked a switch, turning off the charm.

"But that's not it," Vikram says, and I force myself to relax. "It's just that she's bound to track you down, and when she does I plan to be right there to get her … and hopefully put an end to all this."

As if in agreement, his phone rings.

Some connections break so others can be made.

He answers the phone, shooting me a glance before turning to walk over to the window. "Of course. I understand." He lowers his voice.

Not fair. I can't hear the conversation now. Who is he talking to? What is he saying? I edge closer and move my ear in his direction, trying to make out the words.

"No, I am okay. The phone's charged … for now …" His voice trails off. I know what he is thinking.

But for how long will the battery last? What happens when it runs out?

He continues to stare out, all the while running his fingers through his hair. He is more agitated than he's letting on.

Placing his palm on the window grill, he grips the bars. It makes the muscles on the top of his shoulder and the back of his neck bunch. A nicely outlined neck, too. He's just agreeably built; his muscles naturally defined, as if his workouts are of the more outdoorsy variety.

He listens for a few seconds before turning back to me, his face blank. "She's coming for you."

Chapter 10

"I NEED TO run out just for a little while, just to have a word with my team, and then I'll be right back—" He breaks off mid-sentence as I sit up in bed.

"What are you trying to do?" He asks sounding peeved.

"What does it look like? It doesn't make much sense to stay here now, does it?"

The pain at my side hammers away, insistent, I bite my lips to stop myself from groaning again. For the first time I notice the dressing running around my waist, below a T-shirt which I don't remember putting on.

More worryingly, I am no longer in my jeans.

I stop in the act of removing the bed cover, leaving it, as it is, not daring to look at him.

But of course, he has noticed. "Yes, I did take them off. And no, I was too busy trying to stop the bleeding and way too exhausted to see anything."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask," I protest.

"It's quite easy for me to read what you are thinking."

That's me, all right: can't hide my thoughts from showing on my face.

"Look, I spent a lot of time trying to halt that bleeding. You were very lucky the bullet only scraped your skin …" He lets the words hang in the air; he doesn't have to finish the sentence.

I look down at the bandage again. Did he see the scar on my back while dressing my wound? "I suppose I should be thankful that you saved my life."

"Don't thank me." He gestures, his forefinger raised. "Someone up there wants you to live, apparently."

"My point exactly. I survived. Cool! Now, I need to go after her and rescue Panky."

As I speak, I am scanning the room, trying to find a pair of jeans.

"And how do you plan to do that?" Vikram spells out the question very patiently, as if he knows the answer to it already. It makes me even more determined to find a way to get out of bed, and out of the house.

"I don't need your help, you know. I have survived just fine on my own so far." I have not the first clue how I am going to go about finding Panky, but I'm damned if I am going to admit that to him now.

"You know you do." He smiles.

"What?"

"Need my help. Just say it, go on. It's not that difficult." He walks to the built-in wardrobe tucked away at one end of the room and, opening it, scrutinizes the contents.

"That's right, go ahead, make yourself at home … It's just my—"

He turns, holding a pair of jeans. "I assume this is what you were searching for."

When I nod, he walks over and drops them on my covered legs. I look pointedly from the trousers to him and back.

"What? Ah! Okay." Turning, he assumes his position by the window, his back to me. Opening the curtain a crack he peers out, "I am just going to wait, just in case you faint or something."

"I am not going to faint … or something."

The effort of placing my feet on the floor makes the room swim.

Gritting my teeth, I slide first one leg, then the other into the jeans. Sweat breaks out on my upper lip. I feel quite light, non-existent, as if I am just a pale shadow of me. Managing to zip up the jeans, I lean back, closing my eyes and trying to regain my balance.

"Done?"

I grunt, not trusting myself to speak.

He turns and asks, "Will you be okay while I am gone? I will be back in fifteen …"

Don't leave me alone … It's just the end of the world out there, the city falling apart around me, after all.

"Go, go." I gesture.

When he hesitates, I try to sound casual. "Look, it's not as if I am going to die or something while you are gone. Besides, I certainly can't go anywhere," I snicker for effect. "Not the way I am now."

The curtain dropping back in place shuts off the light. Nodding curtly, he walks past without another word.

The front door bangs behind him and I stay where I am for a few seconds. My eyes track to the window, then back to the table near it and I see Vikram's phone. He's left it behind.

Feeling particularly satisfied at that, I struggle to my feet, stumbling over to it.

It's sweltering outside, the skies grey and swollen with the upcoming first rain shower. The air swills with the heat, making the roads a living furnace. Yet inside the small room with the curtains shuttering the city, I shiver … the pain is building up once more, echoing the tension from the clouds outside. The doorbell rings. I jump.

Chapter 11

HAS VIKRAM RETURNED to get his phone? I look around for a place to hide it. Now that I have it, no way am I letting it go. Not until I have learnt a little bit more about this cop. I slip the phone behind the pillow.

Too obvious.

I pull back the mattress and slide it under, sitting on the mattress for good measure. Then a voice comes through the door.

"It's me, Edward. Let me in."

I don't answer, and there is silence for a few moments.

He knocks again, "Remember? The artist from the pub."

Ed? What's he doing here?

I allow myself to relax and am about to make my slow agonizing way to the door, but hesitate at the last minute.

How did he find me? How does he know where I live?

Not that I don’t trust Ed, I mean, surely that sweet, ageing hippie can't be dangerous, right? Right?

The doorbell rings again, this time in three short bursts of urgency.

He bangs on the door. "Ruby, come on, open the door, I know you are in."

Something doesn't feel right. He sounds desperate.

"Ruby, sweetheart, what are you doing in there?"

I hate, being called that: sweetheart. Before I can move, there's a crash.

Seriously? He's going to break it down? A shot rings out, the bullet going through the door. I drop to the floor, hitting my already bruised side and cry out in pain.

Another shot hits the bed.

I move out of the path of the next one and cry out as my side protests. Head spinning, I place my palm over my mouth and bite down on it to stifle my next cry.

The sweat pouring down my forehead stings my eyes.

Crawling close to the wall, I fall against it with relief, supporting my back and neck even as the room insists on whirling around me. I wait for what seems like long minutes, but there is no further noise, just the dust swirling in the light which shines through the series of bullet holes in the door.

I swear aloud.

Where's the cop when I need him?

My heart beating out a wild rhythm, I look around for a weapon. The sword. I have to get to the other side of the living room, even though I just want to curl up in a corner and not move.

"I can walk," I whisper aloud.

My voice sounds strange to my own ears, as if coming from far away. I begin to crawl slowly, hugging the wall of the living room, as much as possible.

I finally reach the wall next to the bullet-hole-riddled main door, collapsing just below where the sword hangs.

Taking in a deep breath, I hiss it out through clenched teeth.

My side has gone completely numb now. The lightning tree is still alive, though. It's pulsing, waiting—

A shadow falls on me. It's from the wrong side of the room—the side of my bedroom. Ed has entered the bungalow through the back door.

He walks past my bed, entering the living room and keeps coming at me. The light from the open door is to his back so I can't see his face clearly, but his gun is pointed at me.

I am on my feet. Reaching for the sword, I pull the blade out of its sheath all in one go, and without giving myself pause to think, I hold it up over my head. Grasping it with both my hands, I launch myself at him.

My side screams while the lightning tree seems to grow in size. Violet icicles reach out to blaze across my body, enfolding me so it feels as if I am trapped inside a flower of flames. The sword strikes Ed's hand, knocking out the gun, but not before he fires it again. I hear the bullet thump the wall behind me.

Without giving myself a chance to think, I hold up the weapon and bring it down to the side of Edward's neck with enough force for it to stay buried between his neck and shoulder.

The vibrations from the impact pulsate through my upper arms. Pulling out the blade, I step away, letting him fall to the ground.

The pinpricks of light pouring in through the front door highlight his blond-grey hair. I lean closer, curious about this guy I have seen often but never gotten to know well. What is he doing here? His freshly shaven chin is smooth, his forehead unfurrowed. He is younger than he seemed.

His eyes pop open and I scream, stepping back hastily. Electric-blue pupils stare at me, unblinking. Heart racing in fear, I raise the sword and bring it down again on his neck. When I pull it out this time, blood gushes out.

His eyes fade to a dull grey. This time he is really gone.

I crumple next to Ed's body, in the pool of blood fast staining the floor.

Ed's blood.

The chill seeps through my bones and my teeth begin to chatter.

I killed him.

I killed Ed.

I am not a killer. I did it to save myself. He was going to kill me first.

The pressure inside me is still there, growing, pushing. What does it want? Crave? More blood. It needs more. Pick up the sword; cut through everything in sight.

The steel clatters from my hand.

I have to get this blood off me.

Still trembling, I crawl towards the bathroom, and into the shower stall. Managing to get upright, I hug the wall and let the water run over my clothes.

The band around my chest tightens, making me gasp. I can't control it. I've got to release this pressure. I look around, reach for a small pair of scissors right there next to the soap and hold the point against my jean-clad thigh. Just a little nick to release this horrible tight feeling inside. I pull the scissor against the jeans.

It stings and clears a path through the noise in my head. Follow it now. Follow the path. Focus. Focus this new pain. See how it throbs, wells, cries.

Can you cancel pain with pain?

Yes!

Sort of …

Sometimes you can cancel pain with pleasure too.

I know it's wrong to cut myself but it makes me feel better. Calmer. In control. Only way I can pay for my mistakes.

Just thinking about Ed, dead in the front room, makes my chest constrict. I gasp and swallow some of the tepid water into my lungs. Coughing, I turn off the shower and step out.

Towel draped over my wet shirt, I walk towards the bathroom cabinet and pull out the painkillers, thanking the doc for giving them to me. I spill two of the white pills, then a third, onto my palm, and swallow them with tap water. Grasping the still half-full bottle, I walk back to my bedroom. I am going to need these to keep going.

When I reach the doorway, I can't stop myself from glancing at the fallen Ed. The blood has wet his hair, turning it a coppery brown.

I turn away, towards my bedroom, and sit on the bed, just catching my breath.

Under the mattress, Vikram's phone vibrates. I pull it out. Mistake! I should have simply left it where it was. But now it's too late. I have to read the message.

<Unknown number: Want to rescue Panky? Lakmé Fashion Week. Now>

The phone slides from my limp hands onto the bed before bouncing onto the floor where it lies face up, its screen blinking in the sunshine.

Is it her again? Is she contacting me through Vikram this time? Or is the message meant for him?

I shake my head trying to clear it.

Either way, I am going to find out

Dressing myself in a fresh set of clothes, my movements slow like I am a million years old, I am glad when the painkillers finally kick in.

Picking up the sword from where I dropped it next to Ed, I run it under the kitchen tap. The water runs brown. Wiping the weapon on a dishcloth, I sheath the blade, before shoving it into the back of my waistband.

Vikram's phone goes in. Next, all the painkillers I have. Bandages and plasters. I shove it all into a backpack and swing it over my unhurt shoulder. Stepping over the threshold, I walk out and into the end of the world. When I pass the gates, I don't see the gentleman-beggar.

Chapter 12

WHEN I WALK out there are no cars, no rickshaws nothing in site. Impatient, I look around spotting a parked scooter. Walking towards it, I find the key still in ignition and climb on. Great, add 'thief' to my list of growing sins.

On the main road, I pass a car on fire and have to weave around an abandoned truck, past a rickshaw lying on its side. A cow stands in the middle of the street chewing on the grass growing between the dividers. Other than that, there are no people, any other moving cars, or any traffic on the road on my side of the road.

The other side of the divider is packed bumper to bumper with traffic. People have begun leaving the city. Have they given up hope so soon?

On the empty side of the road, a couple of teenagers cruise by on motorbikes. They seem to be in no particular hurry. Coasting along side-by-side, they talk to each other, laugh. Relaxed. As if they own the city. Weird. Don't they have somewhere to go? Be with their families?

I take the turn-off leading to the Hyatt and the fashion show.

Outside, the city is collapsing, but in here, security guards still keep out the riffraff. Big surprise. Fashion and this city stop for nothing. Not even for the end of the world.

One of them walks up to me, back straight, and clad in his khaki uniform. I push up the visor of my helmet. "Let me through," I say, my voice firm, trying to sound like Vikram. Hope he doesn't see how nervous I am inside. Do I sound like I mean business? I hope so. When he hesitates, I jump in with, "I have to get in, please?"

Is he going to pick a fight with me? I hope he just lets me pass.

He's reaching for his shotgun now and is pointing it at me. I pull out the sword, still in its sheath, and bring down the handle on his arm, so it doesn’t cut him. He yells in pain and the gun drops to the floor.

I rush past him, past guests queuing up to be security checked.

These people have no idea what's in store for them. Don’t they realize that soon no security guard in the world will be able to save them? But, of course, they don't know that. Not yet.

The billboard advertises a designer's spring collection.

A few miles away lies the still smoking ruins of Bandra station. People are leaving the city. But in here, the show goes on. This is ridiculous.

This is Bombay all right, a place where only the rich can survive in both good times and bad.

A dark-suited concierge runs out from behind his desk and hails me. When I don’t stop, he tackles me from behind.

The sword goes flying from me and I lie stunned. The man hauls me to my feet, and I butt him in the stomach. He crashes on his back. And doesn't move. I pick up the sword and run past.

I have five, perhaps ten few minutes to get to the fashion show and get Panky before the security reinforcements arrive.

I slip my sword into the backpack with the handle jutting out at the top, and head for the massive wooden doors. Throwing them open, I walk into the fashion show. A million music beats surround me, as the doors slam shut. The room stretches out, going on forever. It's almost pitch-dark.

Is this a trap?

The lightning tree pings a vibration that runs through my back. Someone's watching me. Is it her?

My eyes adjust to the dark and I find myself facing a model wearing a mask; it has one eye in the center and is crowned with an antler-like head sculpture. A shoulder cape with hanging crosses flows from her neck, with branches sweeping out from the torso.

From behind her, another girl walks out. She wears a velvet-covered trident-shaped instrument over her eyes, the three prongs shooting up far above the forehead. Small, black gossamer wings attached to her temples also rise high above her forehead. Something sheer, like a spider's web, rains down over her ultra-slim body.

Music—slow, droopy, sad—wells up, and the long-necked model stares at me. Another walks out from behind her, the next to her right, and then another.

I shiver, caught up in this make-believe world. It's only a fashion show, and these are just models. No, they are beings of the night.

The music switches off. A voice comes over the speakers: "You need to follow the pieces to unravel the story … story … ry."

The models fold back into two graceful lines, their ornate headpieces meeting overhead in an arc. Motionless, their heads are angled in anticipation.

The stillness is hushed, as if … waiting ... For what?

My hands are shaking and I clench them into fists, holding them tight. Tight. By my side.

A spotlight switches on. There ... Who is that?

Slung up from ropes in the center of the room is a young man. Gag around his mouth, his hands are tied around his back. He's wearing a pink sweatshirt.

"Panky?"

I run to him, face twisting, stomach churning. Too late. Too late. Again. Fear for my friend fills me. It's the second time I've let him down. The rope holding him up goes slack and the figure crashes at my feet.

A shot rings out. The models blink, looking around, bewildered. One of them screams and totters to the door on her heels.

"Ruby!"

Vikram?

"Here!" I scream to get his attention, but my voice comes out all squishy as I stand there looking over the still body.

Bending down I manage to roll it over and recoil in shock. The features have been bashed in beyond recognition. Feeling the burn rush up from my stomach, I stagger away from. Doubling up, I am sick.

Then, I am being dragged to my feet. Vikram's eyes slash into me with such ferocity that I have to look away. Why is he so angry?

Around us, the models hop towards the exit.

I struggle against him, still seeing the corpse's disfigured features in my head. It's still Panky. I can't leave him, not here.

"Let me go," I plead. "I need to save Panky."

His grip loosens, and I am about to slip out, when Vikram takes my breath away. He just hauls me over his shoulder, backpack and all, in a fireman's carry, and turns to the door. How dare he? And Panky? Are we leaving him behind?

Everything goes quiet inside. Serene. Black. Then something snaps and the memories come rushing back.

PW pushing me against the wall, pushing into me.

The creep touching me, shoving me off the platform.

And now, Vikram?

Enough of being pushed around. I hadn't expected him to force me into anything.

He understands me. Doesn't he?

His touch is so familiar, yet so strange. I know Vikram. I just don't want him to touch me against my will. I must fight back.

The violet fire rages inside and I resist him in earnest. Plunge fingernails into his back. Kick out with my feet. Bite his shoulder blades through his shirt. There's no reaction from him.

Doubling my knee, I aim at his chest.

This time, he throws one arm around the back of my thighs; gripping me so hard I think he is going to snap me in half. My legs are held immobile. I make my hands into fists. Hit him. Use my elbow to prod him hard. He continues walking. His long legs eat up the distance to the front doors.

"Let me go!" I scream, but my voice emerges muffled against his back.

It's like I don't exist, for all the reaction there is from him. I feel helpless. Out of control.

I am not going to cry. Not in front of him. I'm exhausted, tired now. I can't fight any more. My actions weaken.

He runs out of the ballroom, continuing past the landscaped garden—now deserted—past the empty reception and desks.

We are almost at the hotel exit.

He is going to carry me like this out into the open? Like this? A fresh burst of adrenaline runs through me. I fist my hands together; bring them down, hard, on his back. At the same time, I bend both knees; force them hard against his groin.

Success.

"Goddam it!" Vikram flings me down so I land with a splat on the muddy patio just outside the main entrance. "I am trying to get you out of here, and all you can do is strike out at me?"

Good question. I am trying to figure that out too.

I don't want to hurt Vikram. But the emotions buzz around in my head. It's so noisy, I can't think straight. I hate being handled like this, like I have no will of my own. Like it doesn't matter what I want.

Not any more.

Not by anyone.

Not. Even. Vikram.

I kick his legs out from under him. He crashes to the floor, the back of his head smacking against the ground with a thud. The next thing I know he is back on his feet, standing over me. Leaning over, he catches my hands, hauling me to my feet, forcing me to tiptoe.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He grinds out the words before letting me go, so I bounce on the balls of my feet, the jarring impact rattling my bones.

In that short gesture, I feel the power coiled in his muscles. He is stronger than me. The realization just makes me madder.

"What the fuck is wrong with YOU?" I yell right back. "How dare you? You carried me out of there against my will. You forced me to leave Panky behind. Why—" He flings himself at me, his body hitting me so the pain from the wound on my side immediately screeches in fury. My yell of surprise is cut off as huge chunks of the building rain over us.

Big pieces of concrete crash over us with a boom so loud it shatters my eardrums. It's more ferocious than anything I have heard in my life.

Chapter 13

CAN’T. HEAR. A. Thing. I swear my eardrums have shattered. Through the gap between Vikram's shoulder and ear, I see debris flutter. White and silver and shiny, like confetti. Around us, the destruction is just starting.

My ears are still shut down in self-defense. As if through yards of cotton, I hear the muffled boom from the next explosion rip through the hotel. The vibrations travel out, towards me, over me. My bones shudder. The ground beneath me tilts.

A man runs out of the hotel shouting and clutching a briefcase with blood streaming down his face. Behind him, the building is collapsing.

Vikram pushes himself up to balance on his arms. The rubble pours off him. Groaning with the effort, he turns; solid pieces of the hotel flip from his back. I gasp as, with a whoosh, the air bursts into my lungs, and with it, the noise growls back, propelling its way through my ears, clanging through my eardrums.

More people run out, including some of the models, who are walking on shaky legs, as if still on the catwalk. We move quickly to get beyond the hotel gates.

Some in the crowd are already pausing even before leaving the hotel premises, turning around to stare. Most are pulling out phones to film the clouds of grime, while more people continue to emerge from the hotel, T-shirts and tissues held to their mouths.

The building caves in on itself, as if a black hole has suddenly opened up in its center. A man next to me shouts, "Holy shit—it's gone!"

"I'm leaving this city!" another screams as he turns and runs. The better-off classes will soon follow him; it's just a matter of time before they abandon the city and escape to one of their many other homes in other parts of the country. Are things safer there? I have no way of knowing, of course.

Vikram grabs my arm; thankfully, it's the one attached to my uninjured side. He pulls me to my feet. He doesn't have to coerce me now. Together, we turn and run, chased by a horrible grey-black cloud of smoke and rubble.

Something wet falls on my face and I wipe it away. It's greasy, dark. Its blood mixed with white blobs of, what could it be. Flesh? Human flesh? I look at Vikram in horror.

As one, we turn and run, chased by a grey-black cloud of smoke and rubble.

Outside the hotel, the road is mayhem. There's a woman clad in what must have been a sharp red skirt-suit. Her jacket is torn on both shoulders and hangs from her as if a giant has tried to rip it off her and failed halfway. She shuffles along, one heel on, the other foot bare, muttering, "They're doing this, for what? To save the world from what?"

Why is she still wearing the jacket? And wouldn't it be easier to run if she took off both her stilettos?

Columns of smoke swirl past us towards the open grounds nearby.

Then, a third explosion, farther away, more muted. It's strong enough for pieces of glass to fly over us. One of them slices through a schoolboy running ahead, burying itself in his skull so he simply falls over. I stop, nearly tripping over him. Vikram's grip pulls at me, urging me to keep running. I jump over the body.

"The boy," I pant as I run, turning my head to see the fallen child. We show no signs of slowing down.

"He's dead," Vikram replies shortly.

I turn, ready to let loose a barrage of words, noticing for the first time the blood flowing from a gash on Vikram's shoulder. He has not let out so much as a gasp of pain. I swallow the retort rising to my throat.

A security guard runs past us—in the wrong direction, towards the hotel—screaming, "Get outta here!"

Vikram and I look at each other, continuing, pushing on till we reach the turn-off to the highway. My lungs are going to burst. Panting, I stop.

"Wait!" I gasp out, relieved when Vikram finally pauses.

I sink to my knees, letting my forehead touch the rough tar of the road. My mouth gasps open to suck oxygen into my greedy lungs. When I sit back on my heels, I see apocalypse. And all I can think of is, "Panky?"

Understanding dawns on Vikram's face. He sinks down next to me, cross-legged, and takes my freezing hands into his larger, warmer palms.

"That wasn't Panky," he says in a soft voice. "It was a corpse in his clothes."

"What do you mean?" The vision of the smashed-up face floats in front of my eyes. It makes the sickness bubble up once more within my gut. As if sensing my shakiness, Vikram presses my palms between his own. He exerts just enough pressure for it to be painful, cutting through my distress, forcing me to look at him. I hold onto that something steady I have glimpsed in Vikram's eyes right from the beginning.

"The body was rigged. It was someone else made to look like Panky—" The ground around us shakes with the next explosion, and a mushroom-shaped cloud rises up to the sky, but all I can think is that Panky's alive. He's alive.

"How do you know?" I ask.

"Trust me," He says, "She's holding him hostage to make sure you go to her. If she'd wanted to kill him she'd have done so at the train station."

His reasoning makes sense, and I know he's right.

Panky is alive. Alive!

The flames from the burning building pick out the gold in his eyes and I fling my arms around him in gratitude. I have to stretch my arms wide so they go around his shoulders. He smells like drying sweat and peppermint. And something deeper, more mysterious.

Feels solid too. Strong. I want to lean into him.

Instead, I stay still, and moving back a little peer into his eyes. There's no change of expression on his face. But he, too, doesn't move.

Then, a man streaks past us. Half of him is on fire and I smell burning flesh, sweet and acrid at the same time.

Gripping my hand, Vikram pulls me to my feet and pulls me away from the half-burnt man, away from the burning hotel, from the charred remains of my past.

* * *

IT’S LESS THAN three kilometers away from the hotel, but it feels as if we have been running forever.

The tarred road in front of me sways. I am tired. So tired. But we keep going. And going. Till we reach the main highway.

My legs give out, and I simply sink to the ground, my hand still clutched in Vikram's.

"I … can't," I gasp. "I just need to stop for a bit. I'll catch up with you …"

Pillowing my head against my upper arm, I lie down on the road and don't even start when he scoops me up and carries me into a vehicle, an SUV. I should protest, should say something, but I'm too tired to care. He places me in the front seat of the car.

I am still wearing my backpack, and I promptly slide down. Vikram's curse floats over me, making me smile, before he manages to hold me up with his chest over mine. Reaching for the seat belt, he tries to strap me in.

"Wait." I sit up long enough to pull off the backpack and slide it to the floor, the handle of the sheathed sword still jutting out of it.

This time when he straps me in, I groan as the seatbelt digs into my hurt side, the white heat searing through me. It's strong enough to drown out everything else, including the insistent pinging of the lightning tree on my back. Not good at all.

I am fading. Feel so light, as if I am going to float away. I don't want to pass out. Not now.

"Nice car," I gasp out. "Didn’t think cops could afford SUVs?"

When he doesn’t comment, I ask, "Why did you park so far away from the hotel?" I answer my own question. "Guess you couldn’t find parking in the hotel parking lot?"

"So many questions,” he mutters. "Should have just left you in there."

It brings a reluctant chuckle to my lips before white pain slices through my side, again making me inhale sharply. "Where are we going?" I ask, my voice a mere thread.

"Home," he replies.

Chapter 14

A SUDDEN PING rushing through the lightning tree on my back pushes me awake. I calculate we've been on the road for perhaps half an hour.

"Where are you taking me?"

My voice sounds petulant, even to me. It's not that I am ungrateful, or anything. It's just that he's saved my life. Again! And I don't want to be indebted to him, or to anyone else for that matter. I've managed on my own so far just fine, and I intend to keep it that way. More urgently, I need to figure out exactly what is happening to me, to everything around me.

I wiggle my toes. At least I can still feel them. It gives me the courage to move my awareness up through my calves, my thighs, reaching my waist. As soon as my inward gaze touches upon my back, the entire surface leaps to life, as if on fire.

I move forward a little, so my back no longer touches the seat back. As if that's going to help.

"Ah! So you're alive." One side of Vikram's lips quirks slightly in a way that implies he knows a secret I don't.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

All the reaction it gets from him is another look of mild surprise, as if to say, What are you talking about?

Once more, he wears that bland, almost haughty look.

Leaning forward, he fiddles with the radio until he finds a news report. A newscaster's voice fills the enclosed space. "There are unconfirmed reports that the Bhabha Atomic Research Center, which houses India's largest nuclear reactor, in Trombay, has been blown up. Police are now issuing warnings to evacuate around the reactor. They have advised people to leave the city if possible. They believe there is more—" The reporter's voice is cut off and static fills the air. Vikram jerks forward in his seat, trying to catch another channel. Nothing.

"The police are asking people to leave, instead of reassuring them, or declaring a state of emergency?" I exclaim

"The blackout is hitting all the communication channels. Soon we will be cut off completely, with no way of knowing what's happening in the house next door. The police can't guarantee the safety of any of the citizens. It's better if people leave the city." His somber reply makes me catch my breath, the cold logic cutting through my bubbling emotions. I subside, hating that he is right.

If only there were something, I could do about it.

"There's nothing you can do, little girl."

I settle for looking out the window. It seems almost normal. Well, as normal as it gets in this city. There is bumper-to-bumper traffic, which is reassuring. However, all the vehicles are on the other side of the road. They are heading away from the city.

We, of course, are going in the opposite direction, right towards South Bombay. Towards town.

We stop at the turn-off. The signals are not working, yet Vikram pulls to a stop. For what, I wonder, but don't have the energy to pick an argument about this. Meanwhile, on the other side of the street, a constant stream of vehicles sweeps by, slowly.

"How odd!" I exclaim.

"What?" Vikram asks, without taking his eyes off the road. Given that our side has no vehicles, I don't know why he has to stay so focused on the route ahead. There are no cars in front or behind us. It's all serene. It's weird.

"That." I gesture towards the slow stream of cars on the other side of the divider. The traffic is crawling away from the older part of the city and towards the suburbs.

"Haven't you seen a traffic jam before?" He looks at me as if I am losing my mind, but I don't pay him any attention.

"Yes, exactly—it's a traffic jam. An orderly traffic jam." I raise my eyebrows at him in a gesture meant to convey the deep significance of my words. When there is no answering response, I sigh. "Your time in whichever country you went off to study in has obviously made you a stranger to this city."

As if talking to a stupid person, I slow down the pace of my speech, asking, "When was the last time you saw anyone obey traffic rules in Bombay?"

My amusement must have finally communicated itself to him, for this time he actually takes his eyes off the road to raise an eyebrow at me. "Ah! None?" His voice mirrors my long-suffering tone.

"Exactly!" I clap my hands, pretending he has solved a difficult puzzle. "Look."

This time, his eyes linger on the line of traffic crawling their way away from us. "So?"

I have to spell this one out for him. "So, isn't it strange? No car is running over the dividers to overtake those ahead by getting on to our side of the road. And our side of the road, as you can see, is, like, completely empty. And"—I say dramatically—"there are no cops in sight either."

He looks at me, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're right," Vikram agrees. "But there's something else terribly wrong too."

He tilts his head, as if listening to something in the distance.

"What is it?" I ask, my voice cautious. He is trying to get back at me for making fun of him. "Ah! I see; it's my turn to guess is it?" I venture a hesitant grin, even as I rack my brains, trying to figure out what he is hinting at. Yes, of course, everything is collapsing around us. But as I listen intently, I realize what he is saying is true. There definitely is something different in the air.

Is it the rhythm of the vehicles?

Of course, this has never been a patient city at the best of times, with everyone always in a hurry to get somewhere. You drive with your clutch and using your horn, as if you can blast your way through the traffic simply by the force of how much noise you create.

And then, it strikes me: not only is there complete discipline on the roads, but also no horns honking, no revving up of cars, nobody leaning out of their window to abuse the driver ahead in the hope of bullying a clearing through the bottleneck. As if realizing their days in the city are numbered, drivers who spent their entire lives breaking the traffic rules have now vowed to follow them with a vengeance.

We stop at a red light. This cop is a stickler for rules. It's a clear stretch of road all the way ahead, and yet he insists on following all the traffic directives. Then, a Tata Sumo pulls up next to us, sheltering a family of four.

They are the only other vehicle heading into the heart of the city with us. It's a typical family. Dad driving the car, Mum is in a pink saree, with a pony-tailed daughter in the back seat. Suitcases are strapped to the roof; inside, they sit, patient, silent. Can they feel what is coming?

The light turns green.

We set off, and just like that, we are on our own. I turn back to the still moving stream of cars on the other side. I am totally fascinated by this out-of-the-ordinary scene.

"Those people," I nod towards the vehicles, "they are—"

"Leaving the city." Vikram nods.

"I knew it! Just like that, they would choose to go, those who can—the rich, the well off. They would just abandon this city and run."

"Do you blame them? You would be doing the same if you had a family to protect."

What will he say when he realizes it's my family behind the crazy stuff happening around us? But he is not going to find out, because I am not going to tell him. Not yet.

This cop doesn't even break traffic rules. If he finds out my connection to the person behind what's happening to this city, he is going to be very upset.

More like furious.

And disgusted.

He'll never look at me again. Not after that.

Just thinking about it makes me want to jump out of the car and run away. From here. From him. My heart thumps faster. Stomach muscles clench. My lightning tree stirs.

Oh! No. I take a deep breath.

Why is it that the thought of losing him makes me so upset?

I need to pull back a little. Just for a while. Take it easy. He's just a guy after all. A nice looking guy. Okay, a really hot guy. And he's kind. Hmm!

And he won't hurt me.

And the way he smells. How he looks at me.

"Don't you need to check on them?" His voice shakes up my thoughts.

"Who?"

"Your family?"

"Nah." I shrug. "I'm sure they will be fine. I mean, what can happen to them in SoBo, right?"

"Ruby."

That thread of I know something you don't runs through his voice once more. It does rub me up the wrong way. Don’t be rude now. Don’t. I settle for a snappy, "What?"

"You know the power failure is now total throughout the city, including South Bombay."

"Hmmph!"

"And once the backup generators run out, there will be no more electricity, no way to recharge phones."

I don't reply.

He's just trying to make me feel guilty for not showing much interest in the safety of my family.

There’s silence for a bit and then I finally say, "Well, hopefully, yours are all okay?"

"Yep." His tone is non-committal.

Guess he doesn't want to talk about his family either? Suits me fine. After all, if he doesn't speak about his, then I don't have to say anything further about mine.

Then, a random thought strikes me, "How did you know where to find me?"

Vikram pulls out his phone from his pocket and waves it at me in reply. Of course! I forgot I'd left it behind in the hurry. Which means he’s also stumbled across Ed. I refuse to meet his eyes.

"Umm, so, you found—"

"Yes. That was one nasty blow to his neck you dealt with the sword."

I am not surprised that all that damage came from me. I am just lucky PW insisted I take lessons in fencing as a part of that anger-management phase he put me through. He made sure I paid a heavy price for those lessons too. I push that thought away.

Some things you just fold inside of you and carry it around in a hidden pocket.

My toe brushes the backpack on the floor. The sword's handle still protrudes from it. Pulling it out, I lay the sword over the backpack, within easy reach. Reassured, I look outside the window.

The car's air-conditioning is turned up full force. A gush of air blows out of the vent in the dashboard, trying its best to lower the temperature in the SUV.

Vikram taps the fuel gauge; it's half-empty.

His eyes echo the same questions I have. How long before the fuel runs out in the petrol stations?

It's daunting to realize that I may be the only person, other than Vikram, to have seen the cause of this mayhem up close.

When a Mercedes draws up next to us, I gasp. It looks just like her car. Just like that, my heartbeat jerks to life, pumping in my ears.

"What is it?" Vikram follows my gaze

Hands shaking, I reach down, pull out my sword and unsnap my seat belt. Then I try to open the door but it doesn’t budge. What the—?

"Open the door. Open it." I swear aloud, not thinking straight.

"It's her," I say, my voice strained, shrill. "I am going to kill her." I mean it, this time. Kill her, get it over with it. So, she can't play with me anymore.

I peer through the darkened glass, trying to make out the features of the person inside the other car.

Then, I raise my sword to bring down the handle against the window.

The SUV brakes to a stop, with a sharp motion, enough for me to be thrown against the dashboard. The sword falls from my hand.

Vikram pulls me back, plonking me back in my seat. He shakes me by my shoulders.

"It's not her, Ruby." His voice slides off me, not getting through the noise in my head.

Everywhere I turn, there she is. Just as she haunted my growing years. Now she is trying to take over my life once more. This time I am going to put an end to her before she—

He jerks my face back to the car window.

The driver of the other car stares back, mouth open in surprise. It's not her. The Mercedes drives away.

"She's trying to mess with your head," he says. "That's why she made you come to the station, and now here to the Hyatt. Just so you can see her strength, in person."

I am breathing fast, short, shallow gasps. I turn back, look down, look anywhere but at him. He's going to yell at me now, make fun of me for letting her get to me. Tell me I’m crazy for thinking that was she in the car. Instead, he touches his forehead to mine in a gesture so simple it takes my breath away.

Chapter 15

ANOTHER HOUR AND we are passing the Haji Ali shrine. Thousands come to pray to the saint buried there. He too will be abandoned when the city empties out.

The stretch in front of us is still quite empty. But I am tired of seeing the opposite side of the road still packed with the endless stream of vehicles trying to leave the city.

"So, you are actually from this part of the city, from South Bombay aren't you?" I break the silence that has stretched since the Mercedes sighting.

"I suppose." His voice is reluctant, as if he'd rather not answer the question.

"You don't like talking about your past?" I probe.

"Do you?"

"You first," I challenge back.

When he doesn't reply, I don't push. I don't like being asked about my family either. Serves me right. He's only being as secretive as I am.

What is he hiding?

I turn to ask another question and am thrown forward. The car flies up, shooting through the air, only to crash nose-down. Like a cricket ball, we bounce once on the front tires, and then the car overturns, turning cartwheels before landing on its side—Vikram's side—in a sickening crunch.

There’s a second screech as another car rams us from behind, sending us into a tailspin. I look across to Vikram, seeing the world swirl around him. His eyes are still open with shock, staring straight ahead, his hands glued to the steering wheel. The sword, tossed on the floor, boomerangs through the air, hitting me on the back of my head.

I grab it. Hold on to it.

The SUV swirls once more, like milk lazily being stirred into chai, before jarring to a standstill. The shock jams me against the seat, the seat belt still holding me back.

Silence.

Except for a steady drip-drip-drip of liquid.

Vikram is hunched over the wheel, his face towards me, eyes closed, and a cut over his forehead that is already bleeding a trail of red over his cheek. The car window explodes.

Someone is shooting at us. There's glass on me. Over me. In my hair. And it cuts my knuckles. Streaking red against my white knuckles, still clutching the sword. My heart pounds. It's racing fast. So fast, it feels it's going to jump out of my chest. Blade in hand, I plunge it through the window, scrape it all the way around the frame, shaking out the remaining glass pieces. I cut through the seat belt and I am free, folding over to hit my forehead against the dashboard. The jolt lunges through the haze in my head.

No more shots.

But what's that smell? It's pungent, deep. It's the petrol from the broken fuel tank. I've got to get out of this car. Get out NOW! Push the sword through first, then my head and shoulders out through the opening. I slide through the frame and my back scrapes against some of the sharp edges. The glass carves through the soft flesh. I feel the drops of blood pop. And then it's just me and that straight line of red. Crimson. Gleaming. Just like that, the noise in my head fades.

I can breathe again.

Think again.

Concentrate.

I jump onto the tarred surface, the broken glass slivers crunching under my sneakers. Picking up the sword, I hold it out in front of me with both my hands, and running around the other side—wham! —I slam it at the windshield, denting it a little. Raising it once more, this time over my head, I close my eyes for a second, concentrating on the trickle of blood sliding down my back. It cleanses all remaining thoughts. Everything else drops away but for that straight silver line of pain tearing down my back, slashing across the lightning tree.

I don't have too long, for this high I am coasting on will crash. But before that, I bring down the broad side of the blade with so much force that it goes through the glass cleanly. I don't feel the vibration spiraling out from the force of the blow. I've got to get him out of this damn car!

Pulling out the blade, I bring it down once more—thwack! —In the exact, same space as the previous blow.

This time, the glass shatters. Bringing the sword all the way up, I drag it with all the traction I can muster in my muscles, all the way to the top of the windshield, and then around the edges, down to the bottom and center. The right side comes off.

A cloud of petrol fumes leap at me through the gap, almost gagging me. This car is going to blow. Soon!

Dropping the sword, along with its scabbard, I take one end of the windshield and pull at it till it gives away some more. Leaning through the space, I push Vikram against the seat and undo his seat belt. He groans, and his eyes flutter open.

Thankfully.

There is no way I can pull him out single-handed from the car.

"Wha—?" He looks at me, his pupils still dilated from the shock. The smell of petrol is now so strong that we are sitting on top of a firetrap.

"We have to get out of here. Now. Come on." I shake him and he moans but doesn't move. My pulse is beating in my ears, breath running shallow, coming out in pants. I have to get him conscious. Time is running out.

"COME ON. Vikram." I slap his cheek so hard his head jerks to the side. But his eyes snap open, and when he looks at me, amber sparks fly out of them. He's angry. But he's awake.

"Let's go," I say.

He leans forward, pushing his torso towards the gap. I grip his upper arms, and together with my pulling and his heaving, he slips through the opening.

Together, we collapse on the glass-dusted road.

Vikram is the first up. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me along. Just as we clear the shadow of the SUV, it blows, the force throwing us to the road.

I hit the ground, face down. The hard granite-like surface is unyielding. It cuts through my clothes, biting into the soft flesh of my breasts. Vikram lands on me, knocking the breath out of me, flattening me against the rigid concrete. He takes the force of the blast.

My eardrums are still vibrating with the noise, so all I can hear for a few seconds is a loud hum, like a siren. It grows lower in intensity but continues to buzz in my head. Vikram raises himself off me, pulling me to my feet. I break free of his grasp to run back to the car.

"Ruby!"

I need to find the sword. Bits of fire and pieces of debris surround the vehicle. I kick some of it aside but can't see the familiar curve of the sword. Panic grips me, and I drop to my knees. Disregarding the burning embers flying around me, I push aside some of the wreckage with my bare hands, not feeling the burn. That piece of metal has recently been the only barrier standing between me and the monsters in the real world. I swear aloud. Where is it?

"Here! Is this what you're looking for?"

I look up to see Vikram holding up the sword. It's stained in places with soot, but still all in one piece. Running to him, I grab it. I have become ridiculously attached to this weapon. As if it's the only thing that stands between me and a world gone mad.

Sheathing it, I reach behind, slipping it into the waistband of my belt, wincing as it slides over the now drying wound cutting through the dying embers of the lightning tree. Already, now that we are safely away from the scene of the accident, the adrenaline fades.

I begin to feel numb, my knees buckle, and I stumble as darkness closes in.

Vikram clasps his hand around my wrist and holds firm, steadying me. I swallow down the weakness. As usual, the dive of the aftermath feels bad, worse than the ecstasy of the high. The heat from the outside has been replaced by the agitation inside.

"You're welcome, by the way," Vikram says in a droll voice.

"Sorry, I mean, thank you," I mutter, darting a look at him from the corner of my eyes.

If I stay with him any longer, I am going to turn into a polite person—just like him.

The man in question doesn't look that great.

His wound is still bleeding, drops of crimson scattered over his forehead and cheek. His cheekbones are more pronounced than usual, as if the entire accident is already putting a strain on his system. It brings out his profile even more into sharp relief. His left cheek wears a red mark where I slapped him.

"What was that? What happened to the car?"

To our right the traffic continues, bumper to bumper. Not one person has stopped to help us.

Vikram looks over his shoulder at the smoldering remains of the car. "A bomb? A missile attack? An earthquake?"

"You don't sound like you care."

"I care that it almost killed us. I also know that we are incredibly lucky. Too lucky. It's not a coincidence we are both alive. Question is why has she not killed us yet?"

We look at the smoldering car, then at the other vehicle, which after hitting us has come to a stop a few yards ahead. It's parked, the motor running. They could shoot and kill us. Instead, it is as if they are waiting for something.

"They'll be back." Vikram's tone is nonchalant, but his forehead is furrowed.

"You think?"

He nods. "Once we get to the flat, we can look at your wound." He gestures to the bullet graze on my side.

"So we are going to your—"

"My place," he confirms. "It should be safe, I hope."

"When a cop can't feel safe in his own city, then it's time to leave," I mutter. "I don't get why no one has been in touch with you. You haven't even been reporting in on your whereabouts or anything. It's like, like—"

"They forgot all about me?"

I nod.

"There is no other way to keep in touch. My phone just died." He holds up said phone to me.  "And I am not carrying a 2-way radio or any other means of communication. Besides, I already told you. I have been assigned to shadow you closely."

"You mean, be my babysitter, don't you?"

He grins, not contradicting my assumption. "You said it. So it's not like they are going to follow me around, sirens blazing, to announce our whereabouts."

"After what just happened?" I nod back towards the car. "They don't need to. It's clear she knows where we are. But that's what you want, don't you? For her to come to us." As if on cue, there is a smaller second explosion from the remains of the vehicle. This time I don't even flinch; I am getting used to this new way of life. Killing people, getting shot at, cars being blown up. All in a day's work.

"I'm the bait, right?" I look at him accusingly.

"Yes." His agreement takes my breath away. He doesn't care what happens to me? "And that's why I am here. To make sure you are safe when she does come for you."

I want to believe him. I do. I can't deny it's reassuring to have him around.

I touch the sword tucked into my waistband. Just in case.

"How many times will you get lucky, I wonder?" a voice overlaid with a patently false American accent slashes between us. A Lamborghini has drawn up silently from the other direction and parked across the road ahead of us. A young man—boy, actually—walks over to us. He is the one who has spoken. With him is another boy, much taller, now standing silently behind him. Two more teens, a boy and a girl, get out from the back of the other car, the one that hit us earlier. So, this is what they have been waiting for—the reinforcements. Now they surround us, effectively cutting off all means of escape.

They are all clad uniformly in blue jeans and hoodies.

Reaching behind me, I pull my sword free from the scabbard, sliding the blade across my forearm. Gently now, nice and easy. The blood springs out. Scarlet, shining drops. And the pain cuts through everything, bringing the world into clear focus.

To my right, Vikram pulls out his gun.

Shaking off the last traces of weakness from my head, I hold up the blade in a defensive stance and raise my left palm, middle finger upright in the universal gesture of rudeness. One guaranteed to get a reaction.

"So impulsive. It's going to get you into so much trouble, you know?" He scolds me, then chuckles. "Classy, Ruby, just classy."

That's me all right, real classy.

Chapter 16

THE LIGHTNING TREE on my back screeches out a ping seconds before they simply point their guns at us and shoot. I push Vikram to the side and dive the other way, just as the breeze from the bullets hitting the ground swims past us. The sound of metal hitting tar and my other side, the "unhurt" one slams against the concrete.

I scream as the jolt from the hit shudders through me. My shoulder feels as if it has been torn out. I roll over, onto my back, sword held out in front. A shout from Vikram has me looking over to see him shoot from the ground. The thin guy on the far right howls with pain and drops his gun.

The girl next to him takes a step forward and continues shooting, spraying the ground between us. It pushes us further apart, and I roll away to avoid being hit. She isn't shooting at us. Just between us.

Even as this registers, another car—a Porsche—drives up. Two more boys clad in the hoodies-and-jeans uniform jump out, running at me with guns. I jump to my feet and with a wild yell throw myself at them. I hold the sword up and bring it down on the arm of the boy holding the gun closest to me.

The sensation of steel going through bone still shocks me. I'll never get used to it.

Blood gushes out of the boy's elbow. The severed hand bounces off the ground, once. It's holding the still firing gun, which turns on him as it hits the ground. Bullet catches him in the chin, going straight through his head and out the other side. He's dead. Gone, even as he opens his mouth to scream. I hold up the bloodied weapon and look at the other boy, who drops his gun and beats it.

I turn to find Vikram catch the fake-American-accent boy in the shoulder. The girl too is down; shot between the eyes. The skinny kid who was shot cradles his injured hand and, running to the divider, throws himself across it to the other side. He dodges between the vehicles before reaching the far side of the road. He turns, looks towards me across the stream of cars. I raise my sword towards him. He stops, turns, and runs the other way.

Mr. Fake American accent is helped to the Lamborghini by his tall, silent friend. As he is driven away, he shoots me a dirty glance. Yeah! Don't like you much either.

Vikram gets to his feet. The wound on his forehead is bleeding; red splashes over his cheek. A pool of crimson blooms just above his heart. He stumbles and my heart lurches. I reach him just in time for him to fall heavily on me. Pushing the sword into my backpack, I support him so he stays standing.

"Can you drive?" he gasps out, blood from his wounded forehead streaming down his face.

I nod, all the while looking around for something to stem the flow of blood from him.

He puts his arm around me, and my legs almost buckle under his weight.

I have to stay up. Keep moving. Get his wound treated before he loses too much blood.

We stumble past the fallen teens to get into the Porsche that Mr. Cut Hand and his friend had driven up in. These are not deprived kids. They have money.

Letting Vikram lean against the car for support, I bend down and, averting my eyes from the agony-twisted face of the dead girl, pull off her hoodie. I press it down on his chest to stem the flow. Vikram groans but brings his hand over mine, pushing the cloth against his body. Within seconds, the pink turns a deep red. His eyes flutter shut before opening to meet mine. Amber sparks flash like laser rays.

He is bleeding profusely. The corpses of this weird kiddie army surround us and the air is thick with violence. Yet, all I can think of is his palm over mine, dwarfing mine, our blood mingling as his breath stirs the hair on my forehead.

I slip my palm out from under his, not dropping my gaze yet. His eyelids flutter down.

This time when he opens his eyes, the fires are banked. Once more, he wears that bored look, but I know it’s an act.

I've seen the hunger in his eyes.

He winces and that pushes everything else aside. Guiding him to the passenger seat, I strap him in. The car starts with a muted purr.

Full fuel tank. I feel like I've won the lottery.

"Breach Candy," Vikram directs me, before lying back against the seat to close his eyes.

Huh! That's where he lives?

Breach Candy signifies serious money.

So, he is from the cream of the elite of Bombay City? And he's a cop? Well that explains his SUV.

"Are we going or what?" Vikram's voice slurs with pain. Chest heaving he takes in deep breaths to ride out the agony.

What is it about this guy that even seeing him hurt turns me on?

Chapter 17

FOR THE LAST fifteen minutes of the ride, Vikram has not moved. He is careful to keep his back and neck supported against the seat, stirring only once, when we turn off the road and towards his apartment.

Already the landscape is changing. I can feel that slight change in the air that signifies comfort, wealth, and a gracious way of life.

Around here, things seem normal, sort of, if you discount the lack of people and traffic.

Vikram signals that I should turn into the driveway of the building coming up, and I pull over in front of the dark lobby.

The headlights of the car illuminate my path as I rush around to the other side to help Vikram out.

His shirt is blood splattered, and he looks pale.

The weight of him on my shoulders pushes me down and awakens anew the aches and pains all over my own body. Great!

Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I focus on making it to the staircase.

"Which floor?" I pant.

"Eighth."

I swear inwardly. There's no way we'll make it that far without an elevator, not when he's hurt so bad.

"Perhaps just knock down the doors of one of the flats on the first floor?" I venture.

When he shakes his head, I stare. "What? Don't go all cop on me now. No one is going to mind if we crash his or her place. They are gone, trying to save their own lives."

It's not just that I am in too much pain to continue. I am more concerned about how he's going to climb all those stairs in his weakened state.

As if reading my mind, he simply shakes his head again. His body sags further into mine. His eyes have gone steely. More grey than brown now. A combination of pain and stubbornness.

"Fuck." Don't bother to hide the curses.

"Very innovative." His breath hitches in his chest.

"What?" I snarl as we begin climbing the stairs. He's trying to climb on his own, ignoring my arm, using the bannisters for support. Stubborn, pig-headed man.

"Your cuss words. Very original."

Stubborn, annoying, pig-headed man.

"FUCK!" I swear louder, just to make a point. The calmer he is, the more it makes me lose my temper. As if on cue, he smiles.

I'm mad now.

We resume climbing for what seems like a very long time, before I pause at the landing of the fifth floor. "WHAT. THE. FUCK!" I yell, kicking the wall, only to groan when my already broken body protests. I almost collapse as a spear of pain throbs through me, setting off all my wounds ringing. All at once.

"Done having your meltdown? Can we keep going?" Vikram asks from where he has stopped on the landing ahead of me. Voice steady, he leans against the wall, and as I watch, he sits down heavily on the top step.

He's hurt yet so controlled. His calmness reaches out to me and my anger fizzles out.  Forgetting my own aches and pains, I help him to his feet.

"Come on, come on, almost there now," I coax, voice soft. "Keep going. One step at a time." I croon. "That's it. One foot in front of the other." It's as much for me as it is for him.

Finally! The eighth floor.

The gloom is broken only by grey starlight pouring in through the windows in the corridor. I can barely see my hands in front of my face.

"The keys are in my pocket," Vikram gasps through the pain. I manage to pull them out on the first attempt. As I fumble with them, he goes limp, slipping against me. I can't take his full weight. I have no option but to let him slide to the floor, leaning over as much as I can to reduce the distance for his drop. Please, please, please let this not open his wounds further. At last! The door clicks open.

Without even waiting to catch my breath, I lean over to grab the fallen Vikram by his armpits. I drag him as gently as I can into the apartment. Shutting the door behind me, I don't bother locking it; after all, there is no one else in the building.

But what if she comes visiting?

Nah, it's highly unlikely she's going to find us that quickly. Not tonight, anyway. She's probably holed up in comfort gloating over the havoc she's created in one evening.

I heave Vikram onto the carpet of the living room floor and let him lie there before collapsing onto the sofa. A shelf opposite the sofa has photographs scattered across it. Fatigue knocks behind my closed eyelids. If I allow myself even a second of rest, I may just tip over the edge.

Pushing forward, I arch my arm to pull out the sword, drawing it out slowly, each move grating against my back like the serrated edge of a chainsaw. I wince, groan aloud, and drop the blade onto the seat beside me. When I look at Vik, he is conscious; amber eyes stare at me.

The windows and the door to the balcony are open, and the soft breeze from the sea blows in. Moonlight makes his eyes glow. Again, the full force of that amber blast pins me to my seat. I inhale deeply, and it's not from pain.

He blinks. The connection breaks. Now his eyes are back to a dull brown-turning-to-grey-with-pain color.

"Candles." He gestures to the kitchen. "In the drawer next to the range."

I limp to the kitchen. Lighting a candle for the kitchen table, I return, placing two more on the edge of the carpet so it throws light on his face.

He lifts the sodden-beyond-recognition hoodie from his side. The blood has stopped flowing, but the area looks all torn up. My head spins, and I feel a little queasy. It's easier to hurt myself than see him wounded.

"You sure the bullet is not still in there?" I ask, worried.

"I don't think so. I think it just went clean through me," he says through clenched teeth, pushing himself up to a seating position. "Help me to the bathroom. I may as well get under the water to wash this off."

Just the effort of speaking drains him. His color drops further, and he closes his eyes, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

His wound feels more serious than my own.

Shoving off the sofa, I stand behind him, jean-clad legs on either side of his head. I grab his upper arms, and together we get him to his feet. We stagger into the bedroom, into the bath. It's spacious by Bombay standards. Through the open window, I see the whites of the waves. It's a serene twilight. Another day is almost over. Another day in which we have not found Panky.

I clamp down on my panic. Panky is fine. He has to be fine. First Vikram. Take care of him. Then, find Panky.

He stands under the shower, fully clothed, wincing as rusty-red-colored water runs down the drain. Even though there is no power, the water is still running.

For now.

Returning with candles, I light some for the bedroom. I watch as he tries to unbutton his shirt. Fails. Tries once more. Fails again. But does he ask for help? No! Of course not. Pig-headed, stubborn man.

Stepping into the shower stall, I slip into the space between him and the wall and undo the buttons swiftly. His eyes are closed, forehead thrust against the wall as if his neck is too weak to support his head.

I peel the shirt off his shoulders; let it drop on the floor. My eyes widen on noticing the deep crater-like wound puckering the skin just above his left nipple and to the side. A few millimeters either way and …

Life can go in the flick of a second.

Stepping away from the shower stall, I rummage in the shelves below the washbasin, among the folded washcloths. I try to keep to the bath mat to avoid getting water all over the neat tiled floor.

Given this place is most likely going to be the next target on Dr. B's list, it's ironic that I am being this careful, but I do it anyway. I slip back into the space between his chest and the wall of the shower stall.

"This will hurt." I say, "Better take a deep breath!"

Following my own advice, I breathe in deeply and then, using the washcloth, I briskly wipe away the red.

Each time I touch, his body shakes.

The breath whistles out from his lips, stirring my hair, but no sound escapes him. Keep going, do it. Don’t look at his face. I know he's in pain. I can feel it. I bite my lips, to keep from crying out, and feel the blood drain from my face. Damn, why am I feeling faint when it's his blood? His wounds. Not mine.

Vikram softly says, "I can take the pain." His breath whistles.

"I am sure you can." I try to say it like I don't care, but it comes out all breathy. Soft. Is that my voice?

The amber blaze of his eyes flares. A laser ray of heat shoots through my underbelly. A slow burn. Nothing like the volts of electricity that had jolted through me. Nothing even like the violet flames pinging through the lightning tree on my back. It's slow, incessant. Desire curls inside.

This time he holds my gaze, refusing to blink.

I look away. I am not going to show how it's affecting me. Instead, I jab the now stained washcloth into his side with more effort than before. Enough to make him flinch.

Plopping the washcloth on the wet floor, I slip out again, not caring that I drip water all over the tiles. Turning off the shower, he too steps out of the cubicle, and wraps a towel around his waist over his dripping trousers.

"Bandages? Antiseptic?" I ask.

He nods in the general direction of the kitchen.

When I return he is sitting. Trousers off. Just the towel wrapped around his waist, on the side of the bathtub against the wall. I can see his bare legs. His bare, hairy, tanned, legs. Brown thighs. I force myself to look away. Look down and promptly notice his feet.

Hmm! Nice feet too.

They're broad with neat toenails.

Don't step on them now. I bathe the wound with antiseptic—that has to burn. He doesn't move. I blow on the wound. As if that's going to help at all, and smear on antiseptic cream.

"There!" I step back to survey the bandage wrapped all around his chest and over his shoulder. He gets to his feet, holding onto the wall, and sways his way back into the bedroom. Stopping at the worktable holding the computer, he pulls out the drawer and pops off the lid to a bottle of painkillers, and then carries them to a shelf next to it. Snatching up a bottle of whiskey, he washes down two of the pills with a healthy swig.

His room feels a lot more lived in, unlike the sterile neatness of the living room.

He turns to me. "You should see to your wounds too, and get out of those soaking clothes."

"I will," I tell him, only to find he is already leaving the room, heading towards the kitchen. Grabbing Vikram's phone, I walk into the bathroom, locking the door. Not that I don't trust Vikram—of course not. It's just that I don't want to be disturbed.

Pulling out the phone, I go through the directory. There aren't many names saved, which in itself is quite strange. When I flip to the photos album, my blood freezes.

Row upon row of teens.

Each holds up a board with their name on it.

A rogue's gallery.

Or a gallery of recruits?

A list of those enrolled into this kiddie army.

There are more than a thousand pictures—one thousand, five hundred and thirty-two, to be precise. Boys and girls aged from about thirteen to some who look as old as in their early twenties.

As old as Vikram.

Where are they now? How did she recruit them? Is Panky with them? Desperate for some clue, I flip to the videos.

The first I play simply shows the well-tended grounds of a building with a swimming pool. It looks like the garden around a hotel. The next video shows a bunch of the kids playing on the seashore. Is this place they are in by the beach? If so, which beach? As I am trying to work this out, the camera focuses on a familiar sign. The Retreat: a hotel situated at Erangal Beach, one of the relatively less inhabited beaches, set away from the city on Madh Island. It's north of the city, at least a couple of hours by road from her home in South Bombay. Is this where she is holed up now?

On seeing the next video, my hands tremble so violently I almost drop the phone. There he is.

Panky's strapped to a chair. His head hangs down, chin touching his chest. He's motionless. He can't be dead, can he?

He moves then, looking around the room. Cheeks sunken as if he hasn't eaten in days.

He's wearing the uniform of the kiddie army—not his usual colorful hoodie, but a black one. It hangs on him, like he's lost weight.

The door to the room opens. In walks a boy, broad shoulders, a military-style crew cut and wearing a cut-off black T-shirt that clings to his torso. He pulls up a chair, setting it opposite Panky.

Right at his heels is a woman.

It's her of course. No mistaking that loose white flowing shirt. Fresh jasmine blossoms are threaded through her braid.

I can smell them as if she is here in the room.

With me.

Shivering, I fling my free arm around my waist.

Panky does not acknowledge her presence. Not until Crew Cut slaps him. It leaves a mark on his cheek, drawing blood from his lips. I make my palm into a fist. When I get my hands on him—!

Panky' s awake and looking at them, with hatred.

"So you're back then? Ready for more questions?"

I chuckle at that, wondering who's questioning whom here. Seems his spirit is far from broken.

Without waiting for her reply he asks, "You said there was no electricity in this city? How does this hotel have electricity then?"

She purses her lip and looks as if she'd rather throttle him.

"Shut up, Panky, or you are so going to get yourself killed," I speak to the phone screen. I am surprised when she opts to answer.

"Because we have our own generators."

"Yes, but many in the city have their own generators too," he retorts. I groan and close my eyes. Can barely watch now. It's like seeing a tennis match in progress but played with bullets.

She makes a sound somewhere between a growl of anger and a snarl of desperation. "Yes, but for how long? Even the most long-lasting of generators will run out of fuel at some point."

When Panky opens his mouth, she stamps her feet in frustration. "And before you ask, yes, I have a source of fuel supply that will last me for years if not more. Enough of your questions. I only agreed to answer two of them remember?"

It's as if that's a signal for Crew Cut to step forward. He proceeds to hit Panky in the face, to the groin, till he is doubled over in pain, his nose bleeding.

I swear aloud and almost throw the phone at the mirror, stopping myself at the last minute. I grow still as another thought strikes me.

What is this video doing on Vikram's phone? Is he working with her? But how? Why would he do that?

Chapter 18

I SEE THE evidence of it and yet I can't believe it. No, it's not possible. Not the Vikram I am coming to know. But how much do I know him anyway? I just met him a few days ago. And he just mysteriously appeared, out of nowhere.

One thing is clear though, there's no one left to help us. She has broken down the city's support infrastructure. All emergency services are occupied with keeping the city functioning on some level. It's up to me to get Panky out of there. Before she kills him.

I now have no choice but to take Vikram's help to find Dr. B and Panky. He must know for sure how to find them. I am even more convinced about that after finding these videos on his phone.

Getting up from the bath mat, I place the phone down on the shelf below the mirror.

I strip off my clothes and catch sight of myself in the large mirror above the washbasin. On my right side, where the bullet scratched me, the wound is not deep, nowhere as grim as Vikram's, and is already beginning to scar. I have become an expert on scars.

I hold up my left arm and see the very first one: my virgin scar, the one that started it all.

Turning my back to the mirror, I peer over my shoulder. There—a fresh new scar on my back, slashing across the lightning tree.

I turn my left arm and touch the broken skin. This one doesn't hurt as much anymore. Shows no signs of disappearing either. Each scar is unique. Each has a story. I drop my arm and look away. I’m not ready for this.

Stepping under the shower, I let the water flow over me, wash away the blood and the dirt. Stand there until my eyes began to close, and am falling asleep on my feet. The water running out jerks me awake. I look at the last few drops trickling out of the showerhead in horror. Does this mean the city is also running out of water?

Just thinking about it drains me of my remaining energy.

Dragging myself out of the shower, I towel myself dry. I feel old, ancient. I have aged a lifetime in the last few hours. I splash antiseptic over the wound on my side and hiss in pain. It's like acid burning through my bones. I clutch the edge of the basin for support and, closing my eyes, I wonder if I am going to be sick.

After a few seconds, the world steadies back. Breathing out slowly, trying to blow away the black spots that still dance at the edge of my vision, I look at myself in the mirror, my forehead furrowed from the pain.

Life is the true killer.

I dunk the remaining antiseptic on the main bullet wound, as well as the cuts across my underarms, and on whichever part of the scar/tattoo/lightning tree on my back I can reach. Grabbing the remaining bandage, I wrap it around my side, a smaller twin to the one I tied for Vik.

Clad in the bathrobe, I hang the jeans and T-shirt to dry before stumbling out of the bathroom, phone clutched in hand.

I follow Vikram's example of downing a few of my own painkillers with whiskey.

My eyes are fluttering down with exhaustion when a crash from the kitchen jerks me awake. Followed by Vikram's voice. He's swearing. Some of the curses are more graphic than I would have guessed him to be capable of. Clearly, his vocabulary is more extensive than mine. Grinning, I walk towards the kitchen.

At least he's capable of some emotion, when pushed to it. I have seen him bleed. But somehow, Vikram losing his temper makes him a lot more human.

I walk into the kitchen to see Mr. Perfect standing there, leaning against the wall, surveying the scattered slices of bread and tomatoes, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

For a second I watch, wondering who this guy really is. Is he even a cop as he claims to be. Or just someone she has put up to staying with me. To making sure, he gets me to her with the "artifact."

Then all those thoughts go straight out of my head for even as I watch, his features twist in agony. Swaying a little, he puts his hand out to support himself against the table.

"Umm! Perhaps you should sit down?" I suggest, not unkindly.

"And how are you so steady?" Disgust drips from his voice. I should feel a little put off by that. But I don't. I just feel cheerful. It's good to not be the one losing control for once.

"You mean, how come I, a relative weakling of a girl, am still standing, while you, the big strong man, are all but flat on his back?"

My comment finds its mark. Some color comes into his pale face.

He averts his eyes. "It's not that." He sits down heavily.

"It's just we have very little time to waste, and I can barely stand on my feet."

I kneel down to pick up the dropped food, and am about to throw it away when he cautions, "No, don't, we don't know if—"

"If food is going to be freely available for much longer?" I find it hard to get my mind around it. "You think the situation is that serious?"

Sure, weird stuff has happened, is still happening, including the strange mark on my back. And yes, train stations are being blown up, and perhaps there is a nuclear leak around us. And here we are sitting in the dark, no electricity. And the water just ran out. Perhaps he is right?

He looks so solemn, sitting there, just staring at me. He's looking at me, eating me up with those eyes, and not saying a thing. When he speaks even less than usual, then it's serious, like really serious. This, even I am coming to realize.

Pulling out bread, cheese slices and tomatoes, I quickly slap them together into sandwiches. And pour out water into glasses.

The candles create an intimate environment.

It’s just as if we are dining out at a restaurant, like a proper date? Cheeks growing hot, I avert my eyes slightly.

Why is the thought of being on a date with him such a big deal?

I eat the sandwich; relax into that grey numbness which comes with the painkillers kicking in.

"How long have you known Panky?" Vik asks.

My senses are dulled enough by the painkillers that I don't register this as the first 'personal' question.

"I met him right after I left home. Nearly three years ago. But, I may well have known him all my life. He's all the family I have," I say simply.

Speaking about Panky reminds me why we are here in the first place. I put down my sandwich, unable to eat anymore.

"He’s the more sensible of the two of you."

I look up at that, in time to catch the teasing look in his eyes, and blink.

He’s trying to cheer me up, to take my mind off the task ahead of us.

Silence. A comfortable one.

A flash of lightning outside illuminates his face, haloing him for a second. Then, the unmistakable plop-plop-plop of rain.

We grin at each other and as one, spring to our feet, making for the window, peering out to feel the light drizzle.

Lightning flashes again. It plays with the white-capped brows of the waves before fading off to give the stage to a roll of thunder.

The faint smell of water mixing with parched earth wafts across my nostrils, and I breathe it in deeply.

This, more than anything, is what I identify with this city: the smell of the first rains hitting an Earth which, even though thirsty, seems surprised by the generosity begin showered on it by the skies. There is something deliciously romantic about being trapped in an apartment high above a city where everything is going slightly mental, while inside here it is dark, shot through with mellow light.

"Petrichor," his voice says from somewhere above my ears.

"What?"

"The scent of dust after rain." His eyes are closed, and his throat-chords ripple as he breathes in deeply.

I watch his chest rise and fall. The warmth of his body drapes over my shoulders. In front is the ocean, wide and mysterious.

He has my back. He's been my backup since the moment we met.

"Petros is Greek for stone," he says, "and ichor the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods."

I look up at him and blink as a few raindrops fall on my cheek.

"Wow," I exaggerate my surprise, widening my eyes, "never figured you for a romantic."

For the second time in under an hour, his face reddens. He looks at me then away. "Everyone knows what Petrichor means," he mumbles.

He's embarrassed. It's just it makes him feel vulnerable. Real. I want to hug him, but I don't.

"No, not everyone. Just nerds and—" Say it, say it. "And romantics," I mumble back.

"Neither of which I am." His voice is stronger. But he still doesn’t meet my eyes.

"Oh! Yeah! You are both. You are the first nerdy, romantic cop I have met." That gets his attention.

And I am treated to the full force of those golden-brown eyes now. Don't go all-awkward. Just say what's on your mind.

"You jumped to my rescue at the bar when that guy was being obscene. Then took care of me after I was shot. I find that romantic." Whoa! Did I just say that? It's my turn to look away. My cheeks grow warm. "Or maybe it's just me," I mumble and look away, staring straight ahead.

The silence stretches again.

An uncomfortable, frizzing-with-awareness-of-the-other-person kind of silence.

"How many cops do you know, anyway?" he finally asks.

I still don't look at him; I just hold up my right forefinger.

"At least you are honest." He turns me around, s-l-o-w-l-y, and wipes away the water drops on my cheek. His touch is soft. Slight. Almost not there. But so there. His hands on my shoulders are warm, heavy. I start and a quiver of desire unfurls inside. Slow. It curls up. Our eyes meet. And hold.

Neither of us looks away.

The lightning tree sends out a gentle twinge and a shiver runs up my back.

His breath stirs the fine hair on my forehead. He lowers his face, his nose almost touching mine. The soap on his skin smells different from the same soap on mine. Deeper, darker, secretive. Mahogany-scented, with a little edge. I lean in. Closer. Closer still. I want to feel that little jump of danger again. My heart picks up speed, and thuds to a stop when a clatter of thunder cuts the air between us. He walks back to the table.

"Better finish eating," he says, and picking up his sandwich, bites into it. "It's good."

Recognizing his words for what they are—a peace offering—I nod.

"Enjoy it. This might be the last proper meal you get in a while."

"You actually think this is like the end of the world, don't you."

"I know it." His voice is flat. He may be right, but just now, I don't want to think about what's happening out there. I want to find out more about this feeling crackling between us.

And then he throws me with, "Interesting tattoo you have there on your back."

When I start at that he goes, "I did notice it when I was dressing your wound."

"It's not a tattoo." I am not sure what it is, but even less so about what to tell him.

But he surprises me again with, "Perhaps I can help." He says and hesitates, looking away as if already regretting what he's said.

I stare at that.

Of course, he'd know about it. If those videos are anything to go by, he knows a lot of what's happening to the city, what she has been up to. Perhaps he's even working with her. Is he? I still can't bring myself to accept it. I push that away. No, I need more proof linking him to her. He's a cop after all. Perhaps he's got the videos as evidence. And he's using it to track her down.

I don't question why I am so ready to give him the benefit of doubt. Perhaps it's because when I am with him, something in him always reaches out to me and seems to calm me down. Perhaps something inside me has already decided to give him a chance. To believe in him. To believe he's actually here to help me.

Or maybe it's because I've barely met him and already I like him.

Or hell, I swear inwardly, just put it down to chemistry. Maybe it's because every time I see him, I just want to jump him.

When I don't reply for a few seconds he leans back, "Don't you want to know the significance of the mark on your body?"

His tone is puzzled as if he's trying to figure out what I am thinking just then.

Truthfully, I'd prefer to forget the existence of the lightning tree. It doesn't bother me anymore, except to warn me of danger; or when I feel something for Vik. Like just now, when I'm close to him, watching him, as he sits there, his fingers curled into fists at his side. His face looks strained as if he's not quite sure what to tell me.

Then his eyes meet mine and I realize he's worried. As if he does care for me, despite his denying it earlier.

And that helps me swallow down my fear of what he's going to tell me and I finally nod.

As if sensing the emotions twisting inside, he takes my hands, rubbing them so some of the warmth from his larger ones transfer to mine.

"Hey" he says his voice soft, his eyes almost melting pools of honey now, "It's okay. It's not as bad as you think."

I swallow, "What do you know about the lightning tree?" I ask. Seeing the surprise on his face I smile, "Panky figured out that one."

"Clever Panky,” he says, quickly adding, "We'll find him, you know that."

I nod.

"It's some kind of internal warning device isn't it?" I ask, "The lightning tree?"

Without letting go of my palms he says, "Yes and more. It's like an internal barometer. To help you read what your instinct is trying to tell you. You can trust it to help you find your way out of sticky situations."

"So why did this happen to me? Am I the only one who carries this mark?" I ask.

"As far as I know, there is only one more person. Someone with a similar genetic combination to you. She's exposing you to traumatic incidents merely to jumpstart your potential." He says.

"So she's doing this on purpose. Getting me pushed off a platform and electrocuting me?" I stare, not sure what to say. My mind's whirling with all this new information.

"She thinks she's doing you a favor. Helping you discover your talents quickly. She's toughening you up to play a bigger role in the future."

"The future?" I ask.

"The future of this city. Perhaps of this world." He stops and watches me closely as if trying to gauge my reaction to everything he's said so far.

"I don't know what to make of all this." I say, trying to pull my hands from his, but he doesn't let go.

Genetic make-up, lightning tree, not to mention this strange figure my Ma has turned into. To think a few days ago I'd been living a 'normal' life, hanging out with Panky, doing my laundry every week.

And now the city is collapsing around us and I am teaming up with a cop I barely know to try and stop it.

"How does she even know all this?" I shake my head, "And do you believe what she said?" I ask. "Her crazy vision about a new world."

He hesitates, then replies, "I don't know what to believe, except what I see with my own eyes. And right now," he looks out the window as if seeing the chaos out there, "it feels like she wants to destroy this city and build something new in its place. Can she really do it? I don't know. My guess is we've not seen the complete extent of her powers yet."

I swallow trying to digest all this, but my thoughts are whirling around in my head making me dizzy.

"Meanwhile," I echo his words, "I'm stuck with this strange mark. My personal internal barometer," I say, acknowledging his earlier comment.

"Except," I stare at him, widening my eyes, "I don't know what it's trying to tell me when it goes crazy around you."

I bite my lips, wondering if I am giving too much away, knowing I am flirting with him. Is he going to rebuff me now? I am wondering what he'll make of it when to my surprise his eyes soften even more.

His features take on a peculiar look as if he wants to tell me something but cannot quite bring himself to.

Instead, he rubs his finger up and down the back of my hand.

Another shiver runs down my back, and goose bumps pop on my forearms. I like what he's doing. I don't want him to stop.

As if hearing me, he lets go and leans back, and that familiar mask is back on his face. I swear inwardly, wishing he'd just stayed that way a little longer. I quite like the way he was looking at me just then.

"That you must figure out for yourself," he says, his voice cool.

He goes back to eating his sandwich when another thought strikes me. "And you know all this how?"

Without looking up from his plate he says, "I have my sources."

I frown at that. "You mean you have someone inside her team giving you information."

He doesn't say anything but I sense I'm not far from the truth. He rubs his hand over his face and I realize he's more exhausted than he's letting on.

Trying for more casual conversation I say, "Nice place."

"Yeah." He replies, his voice short.

"Your parents'?" I probe.

"No, it's mine." Again, silence.

"Gosh, you make a great dinner companion," I burst out, more than a little put off by his lack of conversation.

"So I've been told." He grins.

I stare, taken aback at the full voltage of charisma pouring my way. It's the first time I have been at the receiving end of all that charm. He can turn it on when he wants. I can see why he would be a hit with the girls. Oh! Yeah! He has that kind of quiet, rather deadly irresistible appeal. It hits you when you least expect it.

I want to stay angry with him. But I can't. My lips widen in an answering smile.

For a second there, I can see how it could be for us … if things were more normal … if we had actually met on a date.

"Tell me more about your family," I say.

He sends me a bland look.

"Your parents? Do they live in Bombay?" I am not letting go now.

When he doesn't respond, I add, "I saw their photograph in the living room."

"They're dead," he says, voice devoid of emotion.

I am shocked, speechless.

"No angry, irritable remarks from you on that?" he snaps back.

"Ah! I am sorry," I manage finally.

My apology seems to calm him. He gets a grip on his emotions. Picks up the glass of water, takes a sip.

"My father was killed in action. He was a cop."

"Like you?"

He looks at me as if not seeing me. Then nods. "I'll never be half as good as he was."

So, he had huge respect for his father and now misses him.

How does that feel? To look up to someone.

My own dad? He'd loved me in his own way. This silent presence that he was, a ghost in his own house. You never knew if he was around. He had looked at me with absent-minded affection as if trying to figure how I had arrived. I had taken them by surprise all right. Conceived on their wedding night. When they had not yet been ready to take the responsibility of a child. Is that why he preferred to hide himself in his study? Pretend I didn't exist.

My dad the scientist.

So clever, yet, so innocent when it came to the ways of the world.

He never did know what she was—is—up to.

"And your mom?" I have to find out more about him. It's a game now. This comparing our pasts and finding out where all I fall short.

His face softens into a smile, "She was a sweetheart. Feisty too. She had a quick temper." He looks at me again, and a look of surprise feathers across his face, gone quickly. "And she could be difficult sometimes. A lot like you, actually."

I am quick to protest, "I am not diffic—"

At the knowing look on his face, I shut up. I walked right into that one.

He laughs at that. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

Try as I might, I can't stay angry with him.

He yawns all of a sudden. Exhaustion shadows his face.

"Okay, then." He pushes back his plate back, his eyelids at half-mast now.  "It's Vik, by the way," He says, yawning again. "Call me Vik." He half grins.

I nod, struck dumb as he gets to his feet and walks off, yawning again.

I watch him as he walks to the door, then turns around. "By the way, you haven't seen my phone have you?" He asks.

I grow still and try to keep any emotion of my face, "No. I haven't. Perhaps you dropped it when we were running away from the hotel? In all the confusion I mean?"

I hold my breath wondering if he'll buy it, when he nods.

"I suppose." His brow furrows as if he's trying to recall when he last saw it. "Strange, wonder where I lost it." He frowns then, shrugs. "Well, good night."

He leaves and I stay seated, staring at the candlelight until I finish my own sandwich. Then, get up, wash the plates and dry them.

I am not going into the room till he is definitely asleep. That way I can avoid any awkward conversations like who is going to sleep where?

But, what do I wear to bed? Should I keep wearing my bathrobe? Take it off? How to make sure we don't touch each other during the night. But I do want him to touch me.

Maybe I should take the couch.

The thoughts chase each other in my head and I stay where I am, till my eyes begin to close and I begin to nod off.

My plan works too well.

By the time I follow him into the bedroom, Vikram is fast asleep under the covers so deeply I can't even detect the rise and fall of his chest.

I allow myself to fall on the covers next to him. In my bathrobe. Be okay to close my eyes, just for a little while.

Chapter 19

I AM AT Bandra railway station. It's packed with passengers on the way to work. It's hot. Of course it is. But today feels like the hottest day ever.

Someone has turned on a TV set fitted to the ledge above the platform, loud. The voice of the news presenter drones on in the background. "...The highest in ten years. Is this global warming, we ask? Or is it the suspected leak in radiation from the Bhabha Atomic Center, which is causing this? We don't know. But let's turn to our common person of the day and ask her this question."

The reporter on the TV set turns to me. "So, tell us what you think, madam?"

"Uh? Me?"

"Yes, madam, you. What do you think?"

I try to speak, but every time I open my mouth to form the words, something brushes my thigh, distracting me. Once, twice—the third time it happens, I look down to see a hand fondling me. I look back to the TV screen in desperation. I am not alone on the platform.

Someone will help me, right?

After all, this is peak hour; there are so many people about.

Someone, something, will come to my aid.

I see myself live on TV. I am being filmed. The creep is on screen. He is alive. His clothes are in tatters. His skin is torn in places, his face half cut off. There is blood, so much blood flowing from his wounds, yet he turns to the screen, meeting my eyes in the TV set, and he grins at me.

His hand brushes my thighs again; I can see him move his hand up towards the apex, that secret space between my upper thighs. Everyone in the station turns to watch. There is hushed silence as people wait to see what will happen next.

I angle my chin, not removing my eyes from his face on the screen, and part my legs so he can access my triangle, and when he touches me there, I moan.

And then he is dragging me by my hair to the edge of the platform. Everyone else stands frozen, not moving.

And I am shoved and falling past the tracks, just as the train thunders past.

The fire courses through my veins, yet I am cold, freezing. Trapped in a whirlpool of black, and purple, the green swirls around me. I know it is a dream, but can't get myself out of it. My veins are turning to violet icicles, erupting out of my skin, and I try to pull them out, to get rid of what is trying to hold me down.

Where is the blood?

I have to see the blood.

I need to scratch away the surface of my skin, fill the space with crimson regret. Spilling out the secrets of the past.

Someone is crying. Great gulps of anguish, like a child who has been struck so many times its spirit finally broken. It's me, I know. Can't stop myself. Warm tears roll down my cheeks.

A warm honeyed sweetness drips down my arms.

A slap to the cheek has me jerking awake.

I gasp, taking in a deep breath of air. Stopping mid-cry, I open my eyes to stare into amber flares. Strong, steady, he burns me up too, but in a different way.

His head is silhouetted against the pale pink of dawn shining through the open window. The breeze has that dreamy quality, a slight crispness to it, hinting at the rain showers from last night.

It's blessedly cool; at least a good ten degrees lower than the surly heat of the day. I try to bring up my hands to touch his face and find them shackled by his.

I have scratched his cheek, the fresh marks just beginning to open up the skin. As I watch, a droplet of blood pops out. I raise my head and catch it on the tip of my tongue.

He doesn't move. Just watches me, those amber eyes alert as always, wary with self-restraint. I can see myself in them. I lean forward and flick out my tongue to brush the drop of blood against his lips.

He deepens the kiss, slanting his lips across mine, pressing me back against the bed so just for a second my breasts are crushed against him. I have borne his weight before, but this is different.

Our lips break apart and I fall back. There's a strange look on his face. He is aware of me, aroused, no doubt about that. I also see pity.

He knows.

He knows that I cut myself.

And then, he knows that I know he knows.

Just like that, the fire in his eyes blanks out, replaced by that freezing desert-like brown sheet of glass. The one I itch to reach out and shatter.

"You are too impetuous, you know that?"

Does that mean I like to follow my heart?

"Not anymore." I say. "Life's too short to play guessing games."

"Get dressed," he orders, but his tone lacks conviction. Neither of us moves. He is still holding my hands, shackling them to the bed. I am very aware of not wearing anything other than a bathrobe. My breasts harden, rubbing against the rough cloth, thrusting against the fabric, pushing up against his chest.

Can he feel what he's doing to me?

Vik himself is in fresh jeans, a light blue shirt tucked in. He is even freshly shaven. The scruffy beard covering his chin is gone, replaced with the slightly lighter skin that comes from having been shielded from the sun long enough for it to look paler than the rest of his face, until the hair on his cheeks grows back. I have a full, clear view of the jut of his chin.

I am still close enough that if I lean just a little closer, my breath will fan over that thin upper lip. The one which lends him that characteristic stern, standoffish appearance, only to be broken by the slight dimple in his cheek—the one that peeks out on the rare occasions when he smiles. The pull I have felt right from the beginning feels stronger now. As if strengthened by what we have been through. It's not completely lust, not just attraction. I just feel intense curiosity about this man. I want to know him better, to find out what's inside of him. What he thinks, feels—

His tongue flicks out to touch his lips. Can he still taste blood?

His eyes light on my lips, down to my throat, my breasts, lower, lower still. I'm close enough to see the golden flecks in his eyes shine. Smell that hard man smell of his which tugs at me. Heat from him spools towards me hitting me squarely in my chest, pulling at my stomach, churning my guts and I shudder.

His eyes widen, and as if unable to help himself, he lowers his mouth brushing my lips once, twice, thrice. Teasing me, nibbling at me, caressing my lips till I feel the heat inside twist and glow, till the lighting tree on my back sizzles, sparking fire.

I moan and reaching up capture his mouth with mine, thrusting my tongue against his; and feel the shock run through him.

He's still just for a second, then he's leaning into me, on me till I am surrounded by him, his touch, his skin, that cinnamon smell of his, which is so Vik. Heat from his body pushes at me, begging to be let in, holding me captive and I feel a trickle of sweat running down between my breasts. Breath coming out in short bursts, I strain against him, trying to free my shackled arms, but he doesn't let go. He also doesn't stop there.

His mouth lowers to my throat, pushing aside the bathrobe till he bares the curve of my shoulder, then bites me, lightly.

My heart slams against my rib cage at that, my eyes flutter shut and I bite my lips to stop myself from crying out. At the pain trembling down to my belly.

He kisses the skin, licking his tongue over the exact same spot and this time I shiver, but he's already trailing his lips down to my breasts. His hand grips the flare of my lips and this time, I moan aloud as his fingers splay out over my belly.

And it's as if the sound gets through to him, for he's suddenly leaning back.

My eyes fly open and I look up at his face, want to trace his lips, run my fingers through his hair and once again I arch my back, push against him and this time he lets me go.

Even as I watch a shutter comes down over his eyes and they lose that bright glow I'd seen there just a second ago.

I know then, he's going to leave and walk away and I can't let him go.

Not now, not when I can tell he's feeling something for me.

When my insides are churning as if this is the only thing that matters. When the emotions overwhelming me wipe out all that has happened before this, making me feel clean. When I don't care who he is, or where he comes from or what his real relation is to Dr B. When something inside me senses that deep at his core, where it matters, he is honest at least as far as whatever 'this' between us is concerned.

I want him.

And I want to make him want me.

Make him show me how much he wants me.

And just like that, the last knot of hesitation dissolves.

As if sensing the shift in me, another plume of heat sweeps of him, slamming into me, and I feel his erection thrusting against me, pulling at me. And it turns me on so much that I surge forward, scissor my legs around his waist, gripping him tight and press my lips to his.

Desperation makes me slant my lips across his, and copying his earlier gesture bite down on his lower lip and hold it just for a second, enough to feel the exhale of pain as the breath rushes out of him before deepening the kiss when he opens his mouth.

I strain against him and this time he lets go of my hands before plunging his hands into my hair, scraping his fingers across my scalp. Grasping a handful of hair he slams his body to mine, so we are joined from mouth to waist. I push myself into him, putting as much of myself into it as possible. Can he feel, touch, see me as I am beginning to see him?

A shudder runs through him, and then he raises himself just long enough to hold the gaping the edges of my bathrobe and pull it aside with such force that the loose knot of the belt come free and it falls away revealing my breasts, the expanse of my waist and the plain, white underwear I had slipped into earlier.

I don’t even have time to think about how I look to him, for he lowers his head to one breast, taking a nipple in his mouth even as his hand cups the other, squeezes lightly before sweeping down over my belly to cup my mound through the cotton panties.

An intense pain spurts through me, and I gasp aloud, the sound swallowed by his mouth which is now kissing me, devouring me desperately as if he's been holding himself back for too long.

I arc my back off the sheet, pushing myself against his hand, parting my legs, before closing my thighs imprisoning his fingers, squeezing them, trying to tell him what I want. And when he raises his face, my eyes stutter open and find myself again drowning in the amber-gold of his eyes.

"Please. Please." I half breathe, trying to coax him on.

And it's as if my voice cuts through his thoughts. He's breathing hard, his chest rising and falling and I find myself watching half fascinated, half in resignation as the golden flecks in his eyes, turn grey, so his eyes look more grey-brown where they had been glowing just a second ago.

And then he's pushing himself away with such force my legs unfurl from around him, crashing to the side so the bed shakes from the impact.

He shoves himself off me, sliding off the bed so his feet hit the floor with a thud.

I shiver this time with the shock of suddenly being left alone. On my own. The heat from around me disappears as if being sucked back into him. A feeling of helplessness rushes through me, making the lightning tree on my back ping in protest and without realizing it I fold my arms around my waist, holding myself tight.

I frown and open my mouth to ask him a question but he's already rising to his feet and putting distance between us.

It's over. Just like that?

I know it, but can't accept it. A spark of anger ignites inside and I clench my fists, trying to clamp down it.

He's standing there now, not looking at me, running his fingers through his hair. He's still breathing fast and I can tell by the bulge in his jeans that he's still turned on. Not that he's going to do anything about it, not now.

Sure enough, he gestures to the chair next to the bed. On it is a fresh pair of jeans, a shirt, and sneakers.

"The best I could do" he says in a gruff voice, "The shirt belongs to me, the rest to a friend."

A girlfriend?

A spurt of jealousy has me biting my lips and I push the thought away from my mind. I look up to thank him, but he is already leaving the room.

Fine, if that is the way it has to be.

I swear to myself. This time more angry with myself than at him. Angry that I allowed myself to feel, to show him how I was feeling, for disregarding everything I had seen on that phone and still wanting to trust him. Still, wanting him.

Fuck!

Panky's out there somewhere, half scared to death and here I am making out with a man who in all probability helped kidnap him in the first place.

And yet, as I think that a part of me cannot accept it. Denies that it's even possible. The thoughts swirl around my head, warring with each other till I don't know what to believe anymore.

I spring to my feet, the bathrobe flying around me ignoring the warning the broken parts of my body issue to my brain.

I swear and look for something to vent my anger on.

Will I never be free of this rage inside of me?

I am more than a little worn out from these ups and downs, these feelings churning inside me, tying me up in knots.

Picking up the vase next to the bed, I hurl it against the wall. It breaks with a satisfying crash, but there is no response from next door.

He doesn't care, does he?

The glass of water next to the bed follows. This time with such force it bounces off the wall before hitting the floor near me. It shatters with enough noise that I know he must have heard that.

Still no response.

The adrenaline drains away, leaving me weak.

Picking up a broken piece, I look at it. Oh! But I want it. I can already feel the sharp edge cutting through my skin, spilling out the secrets of the past.

I no longer want to remember.

The piece of glass slips from my hand to the floor. I see myself reflected in it. Closing my eyes, I let the tears flow.

Chapter 20

I SLIP THE sword into the belt of my jeans. My shirt covers it so only the handle pops up right in the center of my back.

He has even found me a new backpack to replace my now bedraggled one. This one is a lot sturdier. It comfortably fits over my shoulders, hanging low enough so it does not rub against the painful scars on my upper back. He does think about everything. A real gentleman.

But I am no lady.

Slipping the phone into the backpack, along with the remaining painkillers, bandage rolls, candles and matches, as well as some kitchen knives, I swing it over my back.

Finding the kitchen unoccupied, I thump my way to the living room to find Vikram, gun in hand, ears cocked as if hearing something outside the door.

"What?"

He puts his finger to his lips, shushing me effectively. He gestures that I should position myself next to the door. I search for a ping on my lightning tree. I have come to regard it as my version of the sixth sense; my own personal warning system if something is about to go wrong. Nothing. It's silent.

Well, if the lightning tree is all-quiet, it can't be that bad, can it? Refusing to move, I place my palms on my waist in a defiant gesture and shake my head. Before I can say anything else, Vikram leaps across, taking me down, so we both roll away towards the bedroom just as a hail of shots rips through the door.

The sound of shots goes on and on. The bullets rip through the couch, the carpet, shattering the wooden chairs in the room to bits, tearing through the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.

They are taking no chances this time.

Our momentum carries us to the corner of the room on the same side as the door, out of sight of the firing line. I hit the wall, wincing as the lightning tree finally sends a warning tingle up my back.

A belated alert?

Thank you very much, I chide, as if it is a living thing different from me. But I don't want to get rid of the tree anymore, no. I have come to rely on it in this slightly altered reality I am living in; it seems to be more familiar than anything else around me.

As one, we sit up, our backs to the wall. Dropping my backpack, I rise to my feet, simultaneously pulling the sword from its usual resting place against my back. I don't even notice when it brushes against the fast-healing wound. Unsheathing it, I hold it out in front of me.

I don't need to turn to see that Vikram has pulled out his gun.

The door bursts open, and through it comes more of the teen army we had seen earlier. If anything, these guys seem to be even younger than the group who had waylaid us on the highway. The one who bounces into the room first must be just fourteen; he has the makings of a thin, scraggly mustache, as if he is attempting to make it grow by shaving erratically. He zigzags his way around the room, not quite sure where to focus. Then he comes to a standstill and blinks.

The one following him is a little older, taller, with a nondescript face and a nondescript build; everything about him seems to murmur, Don't notice me.

A third boy saunters in. Just a head taller than the gangly fourteen year old, he wears a cut-off T-shirt; he's the first person I have seen without the ubiquitous hoodie that I have come to expect of everyone who belongs to this strange teen army. Obviously, this is so he can show off his muscled forearms and biceps. They are impressive, well sculpted. The upper half of his left arm is covered almost completely in an intricate black tattoo, which disappears into the T-shirt. He sports a military-style crew cut; his hair is cut so close to his scalp that I can see the dark brown skin between the strands.

It's the boy from the video.

He wears tiny diamond studs, which glint as he moves, and a thick gold chain around his neck. But that's not what catches my attention. It's the massive machine gun in his hands, evil looking, as if it will simply mow down anything in its way. On his back is a sword. It's sheathed but is definitely longer, sharper and sleeker than the blade I hold out in defense. He is a walking armory, this one.

Jet-black piercing eyes rip through the scene in front of him, taking it all in, every tiny detail. He's intelligent. Oh! Yeah, there's no pulling the wool over this one. He's a leader of some kind—he carries himself with a self-assurance that screams 'I have proven myself, earned the position where I am now.'  He seems about my age.

Next to me, Vikram straightens, his body tense.

The boy's eyes continue to track over me, lighting up as he runs his gaze over my lips. He is thorough enough for my skin to prickle as he looks at my chest and then down to my thighs before he moves his gaze up to acknowledge the sword in my hand.

It's as if he has touched me, just then. I feel cheapened. I want to thrust my chest out in defiance and use my sword on him, so next time he will look at the blade first before he looks at my chest.

Next to me, Vikram moves restlessly. Outnumbered we may be, yet there is a certain tension in his body beyond the fight-or-flight survival, and it's not just the kind of scared adrenaline that comes from being cornered, beyond knowing we are trapped. It's as if he is waiting, anticipating something.

Crew Cut flicks a casual look at Vikram, before tracking back to me. His gaze shoots right back, locking onto Vikram's. There is a lot of silence in the air, a lot unsaid exchanged between the two. Just like that, I have been dismissed.

"Hello, big bro."

Bro? I shoot a glance at Vik's face, trying to see if there is a resemblance between the two at all. There's nothing I can put my finger on. Not in the features, nor in the build.

Vikram's face has resolved into a blank I-don't-care look, but his fingers curl around the trigger of the gun, as if he can't control his anger anymore. I know him well enough to see tell tale signs of his temper, the one that crawls beneath the surface, the beast he has hidden away deep inside. Something in the air warns me he is close to letting it out.

I know, because I am the same.

I leap forward, sword in front of me, coming close enough for my face to be directly in the line of sight of the other boy. Close enough to thrust my blade into his shoulder. He simply steps aside. His pace is so quick, his body blurs with the movement. Grasping my outstretched arm, he pulls so my sword goes flying and I simply unbalance to fall on him. I recoil from the touch of skin on skin, but don't want to physically cringe lest he sees my reaction. I will not show any weakness.

The boys behind him take a step forward. The one who entered first—who has been fluttering around in the corner like a cockroach—giggles in a way that has my hackles rise in both fear and anger. This one is insane. "Give her to me, boss. Please, pretty please!" he whines.

Crew Cut simply puts out his left hand, catching him straight in the face so he goes flying against the wall before whimpering and shutting up. He stares at me with burning eyes, creeping me out.

The other one's face is impassive; not moving, he waits for his orders. His eyes are fixed on Vikram too.

Without turning, Crew Cut says, "Take him, Rock."

It's the signal for Vikram to move forward, at which point, Crew Cut says softly, "I wouldn't, bro, no."

Then I am being turned around, facing Vikram, the nose of the gun pushing into my side, the same side as the bullet wound, and the pain that crackles through me now is simply unbearable. It's more excruciating than being shot, as if the agony of the wound re-opening is far worse than the actual act of the bullet biting through skin. A moan escapes my lips, blood draining from my face as darkness sparks at the corners of my consciousness.

A ping shooting up my back burns a clear path through the cloud of unconsciousness, and I open my eyes to see the amber blaze in Vikram's, his white-tipped knuckles clenched in desperation. His eyes are still locked with my tormentor. His cheek muscles ripple as if he is biting down hard. "Why are you doing this, Vishal?" He asks.

"Because you wouldn't. Someone had to man up, bro. You always wanted to stay on your high horse, be the knight in shining armor. Nothing's changed, I see; you never did learn your lesson, Vik." Is that genuine regret in his voice?

Then, he fires.

The bullet barrels out of the gun, the vibration ricocheting so close to my ears it feels as if a bomb has gone off next to me, blasting my eardrums so all I can hear is white noise.

Vikram topples to the ground, and lies there not moving.

On the wall behind him, a splash of blood mocks me.

"No!" I scream.

Then, do the only thing that comes to mind.

I bite the hand holding me, digging in my teeth; I will not let go. He screams, even as I feel the salty taste of his flesh. The bitter, coppery taste of his blood makes me gag. It trickles down my throat, it spills over my chin, and yet I refuse to let go.

Something hits me on the side of my head, hard, before everything goes dark.

Chapter 21

"RUBY! AS USUAL, you are too busy being a boy." Brushing a piece of lint from her shoulder, my ma looks at me. She’s wearing a long white shirt over loose linen trousers. "When you finally want to be a woman, no one is going to want to look at you, little girl." She smiles, her long black hair blowing slightly in the breeze. The reek of jasmine makes me gulp in fear. Dr. B stretches out her hand and pushes at me.

Then the floor is rolling. My stomach heaves and I sit up, almost puking out the contents. I swallow down the bile and will my insides to stabilize. The relative calm of dinner at Vikram's kitchen table feels a long way in the past. I have opened my eyes to a world gone crazy.

I am in the middle of a tidal wave, in the eye of a twister; my bones are clanging against each other. I look around, realizing it's not just me. Everything around me is shaking too. It is a helicopter, and I am on the floor, flung in a corner, my back awkwardly bent. I expect my hands and legs to be tied, but am surprised to find I can still move them freely. I look for the sword in its customary place in the small of my back. But of course, it is gone. As is the bag with the phone. My heart racing, I recall the red splash against the wall. The vivid scarlet is burnt into my brain.

Vik is dead!

No, he can't be.

I saw it happen.

Everything is mixed up in my head, which is throbbing in earnest from the blow I have been dealt. The whack has woken up every single injury in my body. Like babies aroused from a deep sleep and baying with hunger, each of them now sings at the top of its voice, competing with the others. Mouths wide open, they want to consume me.

Through blurry eyes, I see people moving around. They walk easily over the rolling deck, used to this unsteady world. Even as I follow them with my eyes, my body continues to move with the flow, back and forth. A full one hundred and eighty degrees I seem to turn, before being thrown back against a metal wall. The knock jolts me, waking me up a little more.

Around me are boys and girls clad in sweatshirts and jeans. Some have baseball cap additions pushed down over their heads. I am slap-bang in the center of the kiddie army.

As I watch their confident strides, I realize it's actually quite a well-run operation. There are no wasted movements. Each person knows what's expected of him or her. In the far corner are piled stacks of metal cylinders. A well-built muscular boy leans down to pull out a sheaf of metal, slinging it over his chest sash-style. It's a belt of bullets. There's no mistaking the cut-off T-shirt, the fern-leaf-like tattoos which run over one side of his arm and over his back. It's the one Vikram referred to as Vishal. Why does his tattoo feel so familiar?

Vishal turns around and my eyes flutter shut, trying to keep the illusion of my being knocked out a while longer.

"All right, listen up, people!" His voice rings with authority. It's compelling enough for me to pop open my eyelids slightly. I watch as those around me drop what they are doing. Is it respect or fear that has them snapping to attention?

"It's not going to be pretty when we land. It will be your mothers and fathers among the crowd. But remember, we keep our eyes on the big goal."

There is a muted assent from the crowd. "A new tomorrow."

"I didn't hear you!" he admonishes them.

"A new city. A new future. One which is only ours!" they chant in response.

"Death to all who get in the way." Vishal raises his machine gun.

"Death to all!"

The talk about death is very confusing. Why did it feel more obscene when people spoke about death, rather than when you saw it unfold in front of your eyes?

Vishal nods, and smiles slightly. "Remember, don't hurt the kids. All we have to do is get them to base. A taste of Youthenasia, that's all it takes."

Does he mean euthanasia?

"Like the first taste of mother's milk." One of the boys snickers.

"Youthenasia. Ambrosia … A slice of heaven," says another.

I am positive he pronounces it as Youthenasia. What's weirder is that even Rock's impassive countenance has softened. What are they talking about?

There's something else bothering me. It's been niggling away in the corner of my mind, something I can't quite pin down. Now, watching Vishal, it hits me. His tattoo is just like my lightning tree. He is the person Vik mentioned, the only other person who has a genetic make up like mine. I am not sure what to make of that.

One thing I know, I am going to make sure he never sees the lightning tree on my back.

"Five minutes to landing," comes the pilot's voice.

"All right, get ready, troops," Rock calls out, his voice rippling through the space like gravel vibrating on a rough surface.

As they scramble, I crawl forward, unnoticed, moving to a place from where I can see through to the open doorway of the helicopter.

To my left is the line of the sea. We are just crossing a rocky beach with small boats bobbing on the waves, some of the vessels on fire. I look to my right, swallowing down the surprise at the scene that greets my eyes: there are fires spread throughout the city.

We are flying above the most densely populated inner suburbs of the city, the ones beyond Bandra. A skyline of tall residential blocks clustered cheek by jowl with shorter, older apartments, all clumped pell-mell around twisted streets once snarling with traffic. Now, they are clumped with slow-moving cars, their weak lights cutting through the darkening shadows as if drunk on cheap country liquor. We are at Lokhandwala, a suburb that was once the haunt of new money. It was here, at this space on the banks of a long-covered drain that dumped sewage into the sea, that the creative intelligentsia who couldn't afford to live in Bandra had set up home.

I look out to see the sun rising over the horizon. It casts its bleak light over Armageddon. From our low altitude, I can see some vehicles have already been abandoned on the streets while smoke fumes out of windows of some of the high rises. Even as I watch, an apartment block falls in on itself. Next to it are shops on fire.

There, in the wake of fire, is a whole new breed of little people: a gang of thugs—kids—ranging in size from ten-year-olds to full-grown eighteen-year-old adults. As I watch, they swarm over the first car, pulling things out of it before setting it on fire. Some break into a wild jig around it, as if it's all part of some religious ceremony.

Hearing a movement behind me, I see Vishal staring down at me, his face expressionless. He leans forward to get a better view from the window. He gazes intently before nodding, apparently satisfied with what he sees. He grins. "Enjoy the view while you still can."

A ping sounds down my back, and I look away. I don't want to know what is happening outside anymore. With my left hand, I feel for the sword again, cursing when I don't find it. I want to feel the reassuring edge of steel in my hands now.

There is a sudden flurry of activity, and a gaggle of the kids rush towards me. One of them grabs me by my armpits, slamming me against the row of seats by the wall. Following their lead, I strap myself in. The fresh, glowing faces of the kids strike me once more. So different than the everyday malnourished faces I see on the street. These are all prime specimens of youth. Every girl and boy is perfect in features, in physique. The ugliest by far is Crew Cut—Vishal.

I feel small and tiny, almost alien among this Aryan army. As my eyes run down the row at chest height, I notice one of them is bulked up so much his chest muscles are the same breadth as the bust size of the girl next to him, a girl who wears a familiar scabbard tucked into the band around her cinched-in waist.

My eyes travel to her face, and she bares her teeth at me. She is spectacular to look at. Blue and pink streaks run through her lion's mane of hair. Light grey-blue eyes stare back at me, unblinking. Her hoodie is a deep purple, tight enough to stretch over her flat stomach, short enough for a belly button to peek out. She wears leather pants, this one.

Seeing me stare again, she touches the sword handle, gripping it possessively. A second warning ping runs through my lightning tree. I take a deep breath to calm myself. I have made myself another enemy. I have so many enemies now I am running out of fingers and toes to count them on. In fact, except for Panky, I have no one else to fall back on in this crazy shifted reality I am living in right now.

The helicopter is landing. None too gently, it drops out of the skies and bounces twice before coming to a stop. "Oops! Sorry guys," the pilot's voice says over the announcement system. "Not bad for a maiden flight, you have to admit, though." He's driving this contraption for the first time? You have got to be kidding me.

"Okay, people on the ground, go, go," Vishal yells. I am left there, still strapped in as the rest leap out. Just as he turns to go, Vishal hesitates long enough to grab the belt from his trousers, which he proceeds to tie around my legs. Grabbing hold of one of the last remaining boys, who is about to leap out of the helicopter, he silently points to the belt he is wearing. The boy makes a face but does as told, pulling it out to hand it over to Vishal.

My hands are then pulled to the front and tied.

"What?" I speak to the top of his head as he leans over, making sure I am secured. "Worried about me escaping, are you? After all, what could a defenseless girl like me possibly have you so worried about?"

"Defenseless, my ass!" He stands up, fixing me with those inscrutable black pebbles he has in place of eyes. Vikram's eyes are different. Warmer. Amber eyes which glow when he smiles. The thought of him wounded, probably dead by now, twists my insides.

No! He is alive. I have to believe that.

But even if he is, there is no one to help him. No ambulances, no hospitals, not even passing strangers. What do you do when there is no one else around? When all anyone wants to do is escape the nightmare we are trapped in?

This is my reality.

The lightning tree is now steadily pinging, the effect much like the ringing of a phone. It is insistent, calling to me to quench its thirst. Stay calm; bide your time.

Vishal leaves, but not before I notice his trousers now hanging halfway down his butt. The label of his underwear peeks through above the waistband of his jeans. The possible end of the world as we know it is no reason to abandon your designer clothes now, is it?

Vishal jumps out of the open helicopter and runs straight for the small motley crowd of people who are grappling with his teen army. He fires in the air and everyone freezes. I can't hear what he is saying, but then his team of five is pushing people back. They are going through the crowd, dividing them into two groups, pulling out the teens to one side.

Soon there is a raggedy group of five boys and three girls huddled on the left. All the adults are to the right. There is a scream as one of the girls breaks loose and rushes towards her mother, only to be caught by one of Vishal's goons, who flings her back to her position. The teens are pushed towards the helicopter.

Now it is the turn of the rest of the crowd to get restive, to push against those holding them back. A scuffle breaks out and a boy fires in the air, but that only angers the parents. One of the men makes a break towards the teens being marched towards us. The next moment, he is shot and on the ground. A boy screams and tries to rush back to help his dad, at which point there is full-blown firing, and half the crowd is on the ground, wounded. The rest cower, their hands over their heads.

It's not a scene from a movie.

This is the single most brutal piece of real-life killing I have seen.

More than anything, what worries me is the cold-blooded ease of the entire operation. We have been on the ground for less than ten minutes and at least twenty people are dead. And these kiddie soldiers are indifferent. They are automatons, stripped of all emotion.

Then the teens are in the helicopter. Rock prods them along, another massive gun in hand.

When one of the boys slows down, he shoves him along, almost bringing the boy to his knees.

He pushes the kids into the seats next to me. "Strap in," he commands, standing over them until satisfied they are all secure; then he takes his seat opposite us. Now he trains his gun at me. I stare down the muzzle.

The girl who had rushed towards her mother is the only one sobbing quietly. Most of the others are shell-shocked, not quite understanding what is happening around them. I kind of empathize—it's how I feel too. As if I am not living my life anymore. Except, I don't have the luxury of wallowing in bewilderment.

A couple of the boys act as if they are on a school trip to a very exciting unknown destination. Either they have never been in a situation of abject terror or they don't know what it is to be completely helpless. Apparently, even having people killed around them is not doing the trick. They've obviously not been burnt by something resembling ten thousand volts of lightning, or been shot at, or killed someone—for they don't show much fear. It's quite the opposite.

The boy whose father has been gunned down shows no acknowledgement of being orphaned. "So where are we going?" he asks in a whiny voice.

Rock walks up to him and slaps him. The sound is more punishing than a pistol shot. Bet the kid has never been slapped by his own parents. The boy stares back, more in shock than in pain at Rock's retreating shoulders. "Where are you taking us?" he persists. His voice is shaking with nervousness or perhaps excitement.

"Listen up, then," Vishal addresses the group. "You snotty, sniveling kids have obviously no idea how lucky you are to be here."

"Yeah, like being chosen by God, no doubt," the same boy retorts.

"How did you know?" Vishal bares his teeth, his smile cunning. He is only five or six years older than this boy, yet he seems more mature, ruthless. Like he has already offered his soul to the devil and lived to tell the tale.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Ah!" The boy swallows, fearful at being put in the spotlight and at the same time inflating with self-importance.

"Well?" Vishal walks up and holds his gun against the boy's nose. The muzzle dwarfs his face.

"Bonny." His voice trembles.

"I didn't hear you." Vishal cocks the rifle, the sound lending an edge to the sharp tang of perspiration in the air. It's muggy in the aftermath of the first rains outside.

"Bonny. BONNY," the boy screams.

The breeze from the open doorway blows through, tearing through his words, carrying them away even as he spits them out. Fear, surprise and sheer fighting for one's life is a potent cocktail of emotions, as Bonny is just finding out.

"Bonny?" Vishal laughs before lowering his gun.

His mirth cuts through the tension in the chopper. The boy joins in. Then everyone around Vishal is laughing. The kids cling to the sides of the helicopter, slipping to the floor, holding their sides.

A broad smile on his face, Vishal asks, "You sure had very imaginative parents, didn't you?"

Had? Am I the only one hearing what Vishal is saying?

I look around, but the kids are entranced by Vishal and the faces of the handsome, laughing gargoyles around him. Those adults—their parents—are all dead. But none of the others seem to care.

"Not to worry." He pats the boy on the head. "You are going to meet the mother you never had, the one you always wished for but didn't know existed. But first you still have to meet your maker, right?"

Bonny nods jerkily. He's not hearing anything being said. He's just pleased to be spared his life.

Then we are off again, lifting shakily into the air. We dip precariously low, almost hitting the ground, before shooting up in a near vertical climb. The blades of the machine cut through the low-hanging clouds. My stomach drops to the floor near my feet. The boy next to me groans, and a girl makes gagging noises, as if she is about to throw up.

Will we crash before reaching our destination?

Not that it matters. Vikram's already gone. And Panky? I feel numb. I may as well be more dead than alive, except for the slight, imperceptible shudder rippling down my back.

I am not as alone as I think.

Chapter 22

A TWENTY-MINUTE choppy ride later, the helicopter lands again.

This time, the docking is smoother. Vishal unties my legs; startling me out of the exhausted half-sleep I had fallen into. He removes the strap from around my hands, leaving me to rub the smarting flesh. I watch as he threads the belt through his waistband, buckling it up. From the open doorway of the helicopter, the unmistakable swishing back and forth of waves reaches me. We have landed on a beach.

I try to orient my geography to get my bearings. A twenty-minute chopper ride equals a two-and-a-half-hour road trip, perhaps more.

The girl who has my sword comes up to us.

"Don't bother yourself with her, Vishal. Just leave her to me." It's the second time someone on his team has asked Vishal to have his or her way with me. Am I in demand or what?

"She isn't as helpless as she looks, Sabina," he replies, not taking his eyes off me.

"I am more than a match for her. You know that." A greedy look sparks in her eyes before she rises on tiptoe to flick out her tongue and touch his lips. Very subtle. I roll my eyes, and without a second thought, kick her right in the middle of her stomach. I have to. It's downright rude what she is doing, arcing over me to slobber all over Vishal, almost squashing me between the two of them, as if I didn't exist.

As she doubles over, I grab my sword and leap around. Now my arm is around her neck, the tip of my sword pressing against the skin with enough force to draw blood.

There is surprise and something that seems strangely like admiration in Vishal's eyes.

I raise an eyebrow at him, as I straighten. Only to start when the sound of a dozen rifles being cocked fills the air.

Vishal holds up a hand, motioning the others to fall back.

"You don't want to do that," he drawls.

"Oh! Yeah?" It's the smugness in his voice that pushes me over the edge. I plunge the knife into the girl, and she screams. It's a shrill screech, going on and on, echoes in my ears. Like a siren, it cuts through the crowd. It has the effect of directing every single eye on me.

Then, to the accompaniment of my heart slamming against my rib cage, as if it were I and not her being murdered, I twist the sword.

Sabina gurgles, the blood rushing out of her mouth, spilling over my hand.

Pulling out the sword, I push the now inert body towards Vishal with enough force that he has no option but to hold her. Turning around, I leap out of the helicopter to the accompaniment of the bullets ricocheting off the open entrance, hitting the sand so the grains sting my ankles.

I run to the other side of the helicopter; it shelters me against the barrage, buying me a precious couple of seconds as I run away, leaping over the low wall demarcating the beach from the rest of the land. To my surprise, they have stopped firing at me. Then I see why. I've reached the mother ship.

There, ahead, just along the margin of the garden surrounding the building of a tall apartment block, is a wall of guns. It's another contingent of the teen army.

They point at me, all of them.

They won't hesitate to pump all the bullets through me, either, not after what I have just done.

I stop and hold up my hands. My sword is still gripped in my right. Vishal comes up to me and squeezes my wrist, so I have no option but to let go of the blade, which falls to the sand. Then, I too am falling.

Chapter 23

"FINALLY! THOUGHT YOU were never going to wake up."

A voice from the darkened corner of the room has me scrunching up my eyes till I see a familiar silhouette.

"Panky?"

"Who else?"

That long-suffering tone in his voice, more than anything else has me smiling. Am so relieved I want to burst into tears.

We are in semi-darkness and I know even without moving that I am tied down. Both my hands and feet are securely bound to the chair I am sitting on.

"I thought I'd never see you again!" I exclaim, trying to control my emotions.

I’m just so damn happy he is alive.

And just in time, too. Here I am, right in the heart of her bizarre headquarters, but at least I've found Panky. So what if we are both quite helpless? A slight ping stirs my lightning tree. I push it aside. It's only Panky, after all.

"You and me both." His voice wobbles at the end and he swallows, as if he doesn't quite have his emotions under control.

"Where are we, Panky?"

"I thought you might be able to tell me. I have been here for what seems like weeks."

"It's been just four days." A lifetime ago. So much has changed since.

Then a thought strikes me. "We'd better be careful what we talk about. You do know we are being filmed here."

"A little difficult to figure out what's happening around me when I am being beaten up, you know?"

I feel helpless that I couldn't stop it. "I am sorry about that, Panky."

He hangs his head, his chin slumping into his chest. Then looks up his forehead creased in a frown.

"So how did you find your way here? Mind you I am really happy you made it, just it would have been better if you hadn't been caught as well." His voice is half sarcastic, half apologetic.

Overall he sounds so like the Panky I know, that I almost chuckle.

"I had help," I say, my voice casual.

"The cop?" He asks. "I overheard them talking about how the two of you," he adds.

I nod, try to keep my mind of Vik.

He has to be alive. Just thinking of how I'd seen him hit the floor and lie there so still, makes me sick to my stomach. I clench my fists, nails biting into the palm of my hand and take a deep breath to calm myself.

"I may have killed one or two of them, definitely made many of them bleed," I say, almost as an afterthought.

More to distract myself, to stop myself from thinking of Vik.

"Good." He replies his voice hard and I blink at his response.

The Panky I know is the most peace-loving person on this planet.

Not anymore.

Violence can do that: bring out the beast in you.

"Gosh! You sure have changed," I say.

"You would too if they beat you up everyday." He says, then asks, "So did you bring the artifact?"

"I still don’t know what she's referring to," Even as I say that, my lightning tree pings. Again. But I don't need that warning to realize I know what she's been referring to all along.

"It's not a sword, is it?" I finally ask.

"So you figured that one?" he asks, not sounding surprised.

"Just a lucky guess." I am thankful to have dropped the blade on the sand when they captured me. At least it's not on my person anymore. "Who is this ancestor she is referring to anyway?"

"Beats me," His voice trembles again. "I have looked into her eyes, and she is quite mad."

"Not mad, just angry." A voice rings out from the doorway. The lights switch on around us, and I blink. We are in a closed-off cell, like an interrogation room seen in movies. There is a one-way mirror, through which presumably they can see us. They have been monitoring our exchange all along.

I get my first proper look at Panky. He's sitting on a chair identical to mine and is tied down, like me. He is in bad shape, too. As I watch, a twinge of fear runs over his face, his eyes going white with panic. He is terrified. I shake my head, trying to signal to him to stay calm.

Just then, she walks in followed by Vishal. She pulls up a chair, disturbing the thick dust on the concrete floor. Pushing the tails of her long shirt out of the way, she sits down.

Such a normal gesture.

"Anger is a fuel that can burn a path to creation," she says. "Bet you never heard that before, right?"

I shake my head, intent on drawing her attention away from Panky. "Bet it's something you thought of." My voice is light, trying to echo her tone. "I am tempted to say it's lame, but actually I do agree with you on this one."

"Don't you think I know how it feels, Ruby? To be angry?" The overhead fluorescent lights illuminate her ubiquitous long white flowing shirt, turning it translucent so I can see the outline of her bra beneath.

She comes towards me now, placing her hand on the chair, tipping me back until I am sure I will fall over. "You've come a long way, haven't you, in just a few days? I am pleased by the progress you have been making."

Bitch. The blood thuds in my ears. I want to yell, scream aloud. If my hands had been untied, I would have leaped at her.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, and almost choke on inhaling dust.

Coughing, I shake my head to clear it. "Enough of the riddles," I say. "Why don't you come out and say what's on your mind, eh? All this dancing around with words—honestly, it's rather boring." I pretend to yawn. And then my head is slammed back against the chair, flickers of pain bursting in front of my eyes. A fizz of hurt gushes through the middle of brain to be met head-on with a ping from my lightning tree. I had expected it to get rough, and yet the suddenness and intensity of the slap takes me by surprise. The rage bubbles under my skin like a patient underground spring roaring forth. My very own geyser of wrath. The nerve endings on my skin crackle with the tension in the air.

"Keep your tone respectful, there." That voice: of course, it's Vishal. He sounds so like Vik.

"You really are his brother." I know that's true now.

"Sure, blood brothers." He laughs, his tone sarcastic.

"So you are not related?" I ask, confused.

"Half-brothers." He bites out the word.

"And you would kill your own?" Why can't I believe that? I know how ruthless he is. I've seen him in action.

"We shared a father but that's about it. His mother hated me from the moment she set eyes on me."

Join the gang. I know how that feels.

"Our sister, though, she was my heart."

A sister? He never mentioned her. But I didn’t ask after his siblings. Just about his parents.

"Wait a minute, you said 'was'?" I blurt out.

"She's dead." His voice is as flat as Vik's when he spoke about his parents.

"I'm sorry."

His eyebrows rise in surprise. Guess he hadn't expected that.

"I know what it is to lose family. But to lose your sister as well as your parents—"

"How do you know about our parents?" He frowns.

"Vikram told me," I mutter.

I want to keep talking about Vik. If I keep speaking his name, say it often enough, I can anchor him to me. Keep him alive. Vik.

I plead, "You lost your sister, your parents. And now you'd harm your brother too?"

"There are hundreds dying out there in the city, so what's one more?" Vishal continues, in a bored voice. "I don’t care if he lives or dies."

Don’t say that. Don't talk about his being dead. "You believe that?" I snarl and am rewarded with another slap. This time I topple over.

"Get her back on her feet, Vishal." Her tone is mild, as if talking to a favorite son. One she will forgive anything.

What hold does she have on all of them? It's not like she's that charismatic. And she is like old. She has nothing in common with these kids. So, why do they follow her so willingly? My head whirls with questions.

I am straightened with enough force for the jarring thud of the chair to send a fresh wave of agony through my wounds. Now my lightning tree is pinging like crazy. All I have to do is bide my time, channel that anger. Use it. I know that now.

"So, where were we?" She looks to Vishal, who is now aiming his gun at Panky.

At her nod, he raises his gun. I have to do something.

"Your artifact. I can bring it to you." I say.

"Where is it, then?"

"Right here on this island."

"What?" Her eyebrows shoot up before she brings them down in a frown, almost meeting at the center.

"I swear. I had it with me before your men," I nod towards where Vishal stands, his gun still aimed at Panky, "got me. Let me go, and I will get it for you."

"I have no doubt you will but Vishal will accompany you, just for insurance. You know?"

Vishal struggles with the knots on the ropes for a few seconds, and then I am free. I take a last look at Panky.

"Don't hurt him." I hate having to plead, but I don't have a choice. I must do what it takes to save him.

"Don't leave me, Ruby." The panic in his voice makes me want to jump out and hug him.

I do not look at him again.

If I do, it will just weaken me. Instead, I fix her with an unwavering gaze. Refusing to show any weakness. Everything I am angry about in this life is right here, concentrated in this one woman.

"Oh! Vishal?"

He turns.

"Do make it quick. You don't want to miss the celebrations on the beach later."

"Nah! I am sure this will be rather"—he smirks—painless. Don't you worry, I will be back before you know I was gone."

So, while the city is collapsing around them, they are going to party? And then I know. That is what they are going to celebrate: the city being razed to the ground.

Without another glance, I turn and follow Vishal out of the room and into the corridor. Its dimness is a contrast to the glare of the fluorescence I just left behind. There are no lights here, and no windows either. It's a typical maze-like passage, so characteristic of hotels, with numbered rooms at regular intervals. I can just about make out the outline of the man ahead through the bluish-black space. I have forgotten that most parts of the city have no electricity just now. So how did the lights come on in the interrogation room I just left behind? The hotel has its own generators, but how long is that going to hold?

Vishal walks around and ahead of me. I follow him until we reach a door, and down the stairs of what is clearly the fire exit of the hotel. Starlight sieves in through the windows on the landing below. We are on the sixth floor—the top of the building.

As we pass by the windows, I peer into the dark and see the silhouettes of palm trees and beyond that, white-tipped waves.

Outside, the cycle of life continues. In here, I am caught in a cycle of destruction.

The door of the fire exit on the fifth floor is open. As we pass it, I hear a girl scream before the sound is cut off abruptly. I hesitate. I want to go and help, but can't seem to move.

Vishal turns, his gun now aimed at me, so I have no choice but to keep going.

"So, who else is in this building?" I address his back, fully expecting to be ignored. If nothing else, hearing my own voice makes the walk more bearable for me. Besides, I need to buy time to think.

To my surprise, Vishal replies, "Only those who want to be with us: the redeemers."

"The redeemers, is that what you are?" When he does not reply, I needle him. "Who are you redeeming?"

"The people of the city," he replies shortly.

"You think they need to be rescued. From whom?"

"From themselves." His tone is serious, indicating he means every word of it.

I laugh, making sure to inject as much disbelief as possible into it, and am rewarded when he stops and turns to me, the whites of his eyes flashing in the dark.

He raises his arm as if he is about to hit me, pausing before he can bring it down on me. "Don't push it, girl!" He bunches his fist.

I can see the tendons on his forearm pop as if he is fighting to control himself. Dropping his arm, he turns and continues. I sag against the wall, letting out a sigh of relief.

At least he doesn't refer to me as little girl. It seems to be my default title. An idea pops up in my head. I saw the way he looked at me earlier...

The silence lasts for two more floors. Here there is a flicker of candlelight in the corridor, and I can hear the sound of music, what sounds like electronica, in the distance.

"This place seems to have an unlimited supply of electricity?" I say and am rewarded with a short "It does."

"What do you mean?"

"It's hooked up to its own generator powered by a supply of fuel that's going to last us many years. Definitely longer than you are going to be alive." He glances over his shoulder. The look on his face says he is not joking.

I wince visibly, to show his comment has had the desired effect. Inside, my mind is racing furiously, as if it is me who is now hooked up to that generator. I. Am. So. Screwed.

As we reach the first floor, there is a loud screech, almost inhuman, as if someone is being strangled. It's followed by a blast, like the boom of a cannon. Then, silence. No way now can I continue. Not until I find out what's happening. I dig in my heels.

"So, what is this, then? Does every level in this place have its own unique theme? You know, like fifth floor: torture; third floor: kill 'em all; first floor: go ravin' mad?"

It has the desired effect, which is exactly what I want. Yet, I cringe as Vishal rounds on me. I am shoved against the wall. My wounded back collides with the hard surface, skewering me with spears of pain. His left hand collars me, pulling me up to the tips of my feet so my eyes are just below his eye level. With his right, he rams the gun into my side. His breath mingles with mine. Lover-like. I am scared now. I have badly underestimated the damage he can do to me. I am also aroused.

Is it just that I am not used to being so near a man? Or is it the specter of a violent end that turns me on? I have feelings for one brother, yet here I am, attracted to the other.

What does that make me?

Vishal's eyes bore into mine. In the dim light, they are bottomless pits of jet black. I look into them, boldly. In their depths is turmoil, and, something more. He likes me.

He is as confused as me.

I lean forward as if to kiss him, not breaking the connection of our eyes. The next moment, he gasps in pain. I have kneed him in the groin. He would have doubled over, except he is leaning heavily on me and I am pinned to the wall. He is heavy. I am sure my bones are going to snap.

Instead, I push at him, putting as much effort as I can into it. He's in enough agony to not resist. Panting with exertion, I heave again, and he falls to the floor. Stepping over him, I am off and running.

I take the steps two at a time, bursting into the faded lobby, a shell of what it used to be. Now it's like a war zone. To one side are a group of boys and girls tied down to the once opulent chairs—now thrones of torture. Some of the kids are bleeding. One of them is toppled over, still tied to his chair, blood from a wound in his chest pooling around him, caking his hair. He is dead, no doubt about that.

Hearing me, one of the girls—the same one who had called out to her parents earlier at Lokhandwala—turns. "Help us," she croaks. I turn away. I have had good practice; after all, at looking the other way from the poverty I see every day on the streets of this city. But the intensity of her gaze penetrates my back, and I stop and face her halfway out of the exit.

"Don't leave us," she pleads, tears rolling down her cheeks.

I want to reassure her, to promise. Empty words. I have no idea what is going to become of me.

Hearing a heavy tread coming down the stairs, I run now, out of the door, onto the wide porch, and down the steps leading to the beach. Retracing my path, I run towards the low wall I leaped over just a few hours ago. Eyes trained on the ground, I look for the sword. Where did I drop it? It has to be on the ground, here, somewhere.

Behind me, I hear the heavy pounding of footsteps coming up the gravel. Fear has my nerve endings pounding. The adrenaline is punching my gut, making me sick with urgency. The pinging of the lightning tree is almost off the chart with agitation.

I turn. I will face my death head-on. But my eyes are shut tight.

I am a coward at heart.

"Looking for this?"

The voice has my eyes flying open. Then, of their own accord, my feet are flying too.

I throw myself at him.

Chapter 24

THE SWORD IS knocked out of his hand as Vikram reels with the force of my body slamming into his.

I fling my arms around him, squeezing tight, trying to get in as much skin contact as possible. It's as if my eyes can't trust what they are seeing. I have not realized till then how much I actually believed him to be dead. Somewhere inside, I convinced myself I was never going to see him again.

Strange, how it takes someone being snatched away to understand how much they mean to you.

Now he is here.

He winces, and I let him go. His amber eyes show the ravages of his own painful journey to get here.

"You are hurt?" The words burst out of me, as if a dam has broken inside. "You are alive?" I know I am gushing, but I can't stop myself.

"Yes, and yes." He smiles through gritted teeth. "Barely." The word whispers over my forehead and Vikram sways. He is badly hurt. He's alive. Only just. But he is not dead. He is here, on this island. I can still hold him, touch him, and feel him.

I look around, hoping he's brought some backup. There is no one else.

It's just him.

He is all I need. I am not going to lose him this time. I don't question why this feels so important, as if I've just found something vital, something I thought was lost forever. That's me, all right, always searching for the missing pieces of myself.

Is that what he is?

I push Vikram aside. Through the gap between his neck and shoulder, I see the shadow of Vishal. His gun is trained on us. Making sure I am between the brothers, I trip Vikram so he falls to the ground. Leaning down to pull up the sword, I straighten, holding it out as if I'm a knight on a horse charging at an opponent.

Foolish. Stupid. Even as I do it, I am chiding myself. He has a gun, and I have a sword. My lightning tree is now going crazy, sending off large jolting pings as if it is a radio transmitter buried under my skin. It's urgent, as if an SOS. But to whom? To what?

As if I didn't already know that I am no match for that enormous machine gun contraption Vishal is carrying in his hands, he raises it at me. I stand there, helpless. I am going to die this time. Even as I think that, a surge of power vibrates through me. I leap forward, sword outstretched, jumping towards Vishal. My body is flung out in the form of an arc, stretched to my full height. I feel the now familiar gut-wrenching give of flesh and bone as the blade slices clean through his muscles, then I am flung aside as something slams into me. It's as if a brick wall has hit me, the impact propelling me back.

I look down to see a hole in my right side. It's tiny, the size of a coin, and it's smoking. I am hit.

Even as I watch, the blood gushes out. Each thump of my chest is echoed by a spurt of thick, dark, red, almost black-colored liquid from the hole.

My only consolation is that Vishal and his massive gun are also down. We lie next to each other like mirror images, twisting in twin parodies of pain. Except for the blade of the sword still protruding from him.

Vikram lifts me, holding me upright in the crook of his left arm. In his right is a handgun. He is not steady, either. We are propping each other up. "Press your hand to your wound to stop the blood flow," he says urgently, and I obey. At least, I try to follow his instructions.

I have grown to anticipate the rush of picking up a blade, the thrill of the cold steel cutting open my skin, followed by the screaming high of pain, and then that hurtling towards the release. Well, this time there is none of that slow build or release. Things around me are speeding up fast enough for me to feel clumsy. I see Vishal struggle back to his feet. The sword is still embedded in his stomach as if it's an obscene erection. Yet, he is steady. Raising his gun, he points it at us.

Vikram aims his pistol at him, dead on.

Neither is going to give in. I want to scream in fury, cry out with my helplessness at not being able to do anything. We will never be able to rescue Panky now, leaving him in the hands of these psychos.

The sound of footsteps running towards us alerts us to the arrival of Vishal's teen army. They surround us, lining up in a straight military-like formation, before parting in the middle for her. She walks up to us and stops in front of Vishal.

For a moment, I think she is going to reach out to touch his forehead, to soothe him. Instead, she grasps the hilt of the sword and pulls it out in one smooth movement. The blood follows the direction of the blade, spurting out of him, water from a broken tap. Vishal looks down, as if surprised to see he has actually been hurt. He takes a step back, sways, but stays standing. Glancing at Rock, he jerks his head at the hoodie the man is wearing. Rock takes it off and, holding it to Vishal's stomach, tries to stem the flow.

I will not let them take the sword. Will not.

She already has it.

I have to try one last time to get it back.

She is close enough for me to kick out my right leg and catch her in the chest. Next thing, she is slapping me. The sun is to her back, her face in silhouette. My ma is holding my sword. She is stealing it from me.

"It's mine," I scream, "give it back."

Vikram tightens his hold on me, warning me to back down—to stay quiet. But I can't stop.

"You only ever looked out for yourself. What about me?" I ask.

Someone is sobbing very loudly. Taking in large gulps of air. It's the heartrending weeping of a child. It's only when Vikram puts his other arm around me as well, hugging me tight, that I realize it's me.

"Your girlfriend seems upset." Her voice cuts through the fog in my head.

She holds up my sword. The downward sweep of her lips makes it clear she doesn't think much of it. It looks like what it is: a rusted sword, centuries old.

Did I dream that sudden surge of power through me when I held the blade?

Except there is no way, I could leap through the air, covering the distance between Vishal and me. The evidence: he is sinking slowly to the ground, his eyes even now burning holes into me. It's just what I need. Yet another person out to kill me.

Get in line.

She beckons Rock, asking him to take it. Her gesture is one of, “I can't be bothered to hold this piece of antique metal, doesn't quite fit my style.” So she chases me halfway around the city, kidnaps my friend, all to get hold of the sword. Now that she has it, she hands it to her flunky for safekeeping? I shake my head at the irony. Not so smart, are you?

It's not just about the sword.

It's also who is holding it.

I have been given just a glimpse of its true powers. Of how it can bridge the now with the other shadowy, world we can't see. Just how awesome this weapon is begins to sink in.

I want to whoop.

Instead, I groan as both the lightning tree and the fresh new wound send out a distress call, which seems to meet at the top of my head, somewhere. They clash in my brain, sending off a kaleidoscope of colors. I feel woozy, and the world whirls around me as if I am in one of those old-fashioned, hypnotic, screen savers.

"Don't worry, little girl, I'll take care of you."

I am at a real disadvantage here—wounded, and about to pass out. Yet, her tone makes me bristle. I want to fight back, do something; I can't simply give in and let myself be taken down.

Vikram senses the tension in my body and squeezes a warning. He is right; I need to just play along for now. Just until I can get my hands on the sword again.

Chapter 25

I AM BEING lifted and carried. I must be upside down, probably slung over someone's—Vik's? —Shoulder, for when I manage to pry open my eyelids just a little, I see gravel. In my delirious-with-pain state, each of the stones takes on the shape of hills rising up to me, reaching out to me as I pass them. Is that weird or what?

When he walks through the sand, it's a bit easier on me as I am being jolted far less. The sand is white, bleached by the sun.

We walk into the waves. I wriggle, wondering if I am going to be dropped into the sea. It's the last thing I want.

"No, don't," I mumble only to have Vikram shush me. He pats me on my back. The physical contact does reassure me, and I subside.

All around us, I can sense the kiddie army. They are silent the way students are in class in the presence of a particularly strict teacher.

"Leave her can do it." Vikram again. Why are they letting him look after me? Isn't he the enemy?

He definitely hates his brother. But for some reason, Dr. B has allowed him to stay with me.

"You always needed a keeper, little girl."

No, he's not my keeper. He's my partner!

Is he?

I can feel his voice rumble in his chest just below my thighs. It's pleasant and lulls me a little, calming me down. I wish he'd continue speaking.

My back and sides are numb. But it doesn't fool me.

The lightning tree and the wounds are quiet. But I know they will be back. For now, I am grateful for the reprieve.

I am placed on a large sofa back in the reception area of The Retreat. Vik lays me down, his motions careful. My eyes flutter open and I see him pulling off his shirt. Bundling it up, he presses it to my side.

I try to say something, but my lips feel numb.

I moan and my eyes flutter. My hand falls over the side of the sofa.

"Hang in there." Vik's hand wraps around mine in a death grip. It's an apt thought, considering I feel like I am at death's door.

As if reading my mind, he lets go of my hand and suddenly leaps at Vishal, who has just entered the reception area, a makeshift tourniquet holding up his bleeding side.

The momentum carries them past the sofa where I lie.

Chapter 26

THE BROTHERS ARE locked in a dance of death. The crowd watches, rapt. No one is trying to separate them. Many are cheering for Vishal. Some of the girls are rooting for Vik.

I am worried for him. Sure, he is a trained cop, but the ruthless determination, that single-minded cruelty I sense in Vishal, makes him a pitiless opponent. He is far more dangerous.

Vik—he is more vulnerable. Empathy, that's what he has. It's what is missing in his brother.

I know Vik will never hurt me.

He doesn't stand a chance against Vishal.

"You couldn't leave her alone, could you?" Yet there he is, roaring at his brother as if he is going to rip him to pieces. "You knew what she meant to me, so you had to go after her. Why did you not shoot me instead, brother?"

On the last word, his voice rises to an even higher decibel, only to be cut off with a solid thump that seems to shake the walls.

I wince.

Even in my half-dead state, I can tell it's bound to hurt. Whoever is taking the brunt of that hit is not going to leave in great shape. I am very worried it is going to be Vik.

Grasping onto the last bit of strength inside, I am trying to sit up, when a piercing whistle sounds.

The kids around me snap to attention.

"Enough!" She barks. "Rock. Get those two back on their feet."

She has only to train her eye on the teens them to fall back.

Bonny shakes his head in amazement. Yeah! He is only now realizing the enormity of the hell he has gotten into.

His eyes fall on me.

He's the only one to notice I am sitting upright. We exchange a look, and despite his snotty behavior earlier, I wonder if he can be of use to me, to us; assuming there is going to be a time when we can actually get out of here.

"Where will you escape to, little girl? You know I will always be there, wherever you go."

She is right of course, my ma. That know-it-all fountain of knowledge.

But for the moment, I have bigger worries, like wondering if Vik is still alive.

Rock walks across to where the two lie in a heap. He is wearing my sword slung across his chest. It looks much smaller on him. He helps Vishal to his feet and his face looks concerned.

He whispers something and Vishal nods.

Propping his hands against the wall, Vishal manages to right himself up of his own accord. The bandage on his side is torn. He accepts a second hoodie from one of his crew and ties it firmly around his waist.

Vik is heaved none too gently to his feet by Rock, and set against the wall. When Rock moves away, though, he slips down to the ground, lying there, unmoving.

Don't die. Not now. You have to stay alive.

He stirs slightly, just a twitch of his arms. Enough to have me exhaling a sigh of relief. He's alive. Barely.

"You can take siblings away from each other, but you can't take the rivalry out of them,” she exclaims.

She sure has a way with words; that much I give her. I am sure it's one of the reasons she is able to wield such a strong influence over this crowd of unruly teenagers.

Vishal presses the hoodie against his wounded side and limps across, taking his place on her right. The girls follow him with adoring eyes; they want him. The boys want to be him. There's a lot of hero worship going on.

He stands there, straight. Still. Steady. It's as if that blow to the side with the sword never happened. I bet he is in a lot more pain than he is letting on.

I try to focus closely on what she is saying. This here—" she gestures towards the two of us, just a couple of inert bodies, "Is a lesson on what you should not do." She nods to Vik, "His girlfriend's just been given an extra fast ride to Youthenasia. Something all of you have to look forward to."

At the mumble of surprise from the crowd, she clarifies. "She is just beginning to feel the effects." She jerks her head towards me. "You are not going to be shot full of it."

One of the boys yells, "Why not? We want it too."

"Patience," she says. "You'll get it, of course, just in the form of pills. It's as effective. Just less painful. I promise you a hell of a ride. A chance to come back changed, ready to face who you are."

Once again, I don't know what she is talking about. It's like nothing I have ever heard before. But it begins to explain how she was able to pull this kiddie army together.

"That's why you are here, isn't it?" She smiles at the crowd. "The opportunity you all want. A chance to be useful; to fight for a real cause. Something that makes your tiny lives worth living—belonging to a purpose much larger than you."

What has she shot into me? I am already so woozy; it feels like the worst—or the best?—trip ever. Already, the corners of my vision are fraying, the purple and black seeping in from the edges, tracking across my eyes like otherworldly spiders.

"Rock." She gestures again to the big man, who walks across to me.

He heaves me over his shoulder and carries me up the steps. The last thing I see is two of her other flunkies dragging the still struggling Vik behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the darkness claim me.

Chapter 27

THE ENTIRE ROOM bursts into spectacular, multi-colored brilliance. The walls morph and mutate, then fold in on each other an infinite number of times. Huge new structures form and loom over me, then collapse into themselves to leave pools of shimmering gold.

I hear a keening sound, soaring, swelling and the images grow stronger. I’ve heard it before, this call to the inner me—a high-pitched wail building up inside me, filling me and drawing me in, until it feels like I am floating, weightless. I heard it when descending the steps with Vishal, not that long ago.

Then, that last remaining conscious part of me is carried away, and the ceiling melts to the floor in places. The frames slip, meld into each other, only to slide away.

It's a hypnotic dance.

Colorful, primordial forms, resembling amoebas or bacteria, float by. I see the walls of the room, the window beyond, the glow of the stars outside—but the same shapeless star-like things are passing over that view, as if superimposed.

I close my eyes. The audio wave blasts upward, louder and louder, searching for a door I am unaware of.

Is this what it feels like to be at the space between the edge of this world and the oddness of the next?

I press my eyelids together in the hope of limiting the confusion. But it doesn't help.

The darkness is but a screen against which to project all the images in my head. Scenes, ever-shifting geometric forms and textures shift by.

Colors, a dizzying display of every conceivable hue, they blend and part, dancing seamlessly, then vanish all at once.

Dark creatures sail by. Tangles of long hissing serpents. Dragons spitting fire. Screaming humanlike forms. They seem real. They are real.

Time, linear thoughts, rules of reality no longer apply. I am trapped in terror. My heartbeat soars; it's hard to breathe.

But I have done this before. It's just like what happened at the incident when I was pushed off the train. When I was shot through with something unimaginable, changed beyond recognition.

"You can't avoid this anymore, little girl. It's time for you to face yourself."

"Go away," I yell, unaware of having spoken it aloud. Why is it that even here, in the middle of the hell of my own making, she intrudes? But I must step into my anger. Face my inner beast. The one I have lived with my entire life, and that needs to be released.

I breathe in, and out.

In. Out.

In.

Try to get a grip on myself.

It's too dark. Thick, smoky darkness oozes into me, clogging my insides, slowing me down even further. Black lightning. Black walls materialize before me no matter which way I turn. Closer and closer, the darkness surrounds me. I can barely breathe.

"Don't give in to the fear," someone commands. His light is strong, firm in my shifting world. I cling to the voice. Reach for his presence. He feels real, unlike the world I am trapped in. I don't want to give in to the fear. But it's much easier said than done.

I must tell it that I'm stronger. I must tell it that it has no effect upon me. But it does. I'm terrified. The darkness presses against me; it wants to destroy me.

Do you know what it's like to want love, but to be terrified of it at the same time?

To want good things to happen to you, even as you believe you don't deserve them? To find yourself changed beyond your wildest dreams?

To look in a mirror and be unable to recognize yourself anymore, unable to understand why this happened to you?

"Why me?" I cry out, allowing myself for the first time to relive the full horror of the incident. I am in there, falling off the platform, defenseless, at his mercy. The train speeds towards me, a dragon of fear rushing to consume me. Powerless, I can only scream in terror. But no one hears me.

Then he's there holding my hand, and I grip it tight.

"Help me," I scream.

Why can't anyone hear me?

It's a seemingly endless stream of dark rage. It's me—the anger inside of me. The wrath I have lived with, which wants to push through everything in sight, is finally unleashed. Needles of pain rip through my flesh, bursting from my skin. It's excruciating. I writhe, not aware my body is bucking and screaming in earnest now as something tries to hold me down.

Someone is wailing. It's me—my body is shaking wildly.

I hear myself making otherworldly squealing and hissing sounds. Such high-pitched screeches that surely no human could ever make. And I see her. A little girl huddled captive in a ball of fire. As soon as I reach her, she wails, "Don't leave me!" It's heart-breaking. "No one will help!"

She's the girl I saw in the hotel reception earlier.

And now she's me—I am shrieking as the grief at what I was, what I have become, what happened to me, pours out. Abandoned and helpless, I have felt such fear only once before. As a child looking on when Ma left me.

Careless amusement for her.

A lifetime of terror for me.

Is this what we do to our children? Do we even know how much our actions will affect them for the rest of their lives? The adult in me rages. I have lost so much of myself. Who will I be when all the parts come home?

"Don't leave me," I cry.

I allow myself to mourn the passing of my innocence.

For the girl I was, the woman I am becoming.

Crying like I have never cried before.

"I won't. I'm here. I will never leave you," he says.

Suddenly, the flames trapping the little girl disappear. Everything is covered in white snow. It's so cold.

Shivering, I take the girl's hand and she stops crying. I pull her up, out of the tunnel of fire.

She smiles, and as I watch, she splits into many little girls.

One at a time, they appear to enter me, my body jolting backwards with each one. I am whole again.

Chapter 28

I AM AWAKE and throwing up. My stomach is empty, and all I can retch is green liquid into a bucket being held out for me. I guess it's not the first time this has happened, then, though I have no recollection of how many times I have puked. My throat is raw. Hideously tender. I lie back, spent.

Exhaustion of the kind never felt before fills my bones. I can barely keep my eyes open. But for once, there is no noise in my head. Soft, creamy, silky, the space between my ears. I let myself drift in the relative calm. Somehow, I know it's not over.

Vik, I know he's in the room.

He's getting to his feet and walking to the door. I open my eyes just a crack to see him walk back. Someone's with him. They cross the window, their shadows falling over my eyes, so just for a moment it's dark again in my world. It passes quickly, and once more, the sun is shining. I shut my eyelids against the intrusion. Feel too weak to care. But, no, I must see what's happening. Open my eyes just a little. Enough to see the shadowy figure in white walking to the window. She's standing there, looking out.

How dare she come into my room?

But it's not my room. We are in what used to be a hotel, and what now doubles up as the headquarters of a dangerous terrorist in a city collapsing all around us. We are at her mercy.

All of us. Me. Vik. Panky.

It's amazing how quickly this cures the sadness inside me. Don't have to cut myself up to come back to normal. Just gaze through half-closed eyes, even as I pretend to be unconscious.

"So then." Dr. B turns to Vik, who is standing right next to me, as if he expects her to jump on me any minute and wants to be able to move at a moment's notice. He is trying to protect me. He takes a step forward, his face in profile. He is near enough for me to see how haggard he looks. His lips are chewed raw as if he's been biting them. The hollows under his cheekbones are accentuated by the growth of his beard. "Have you thought over my proposition anymore?"

What did she mean? What proposition? So, while I was facing my own demons, did these two hold a secret rendezvous?

Vik doesn't reply.

"Well?" She taps her foot against the floor.

Then, as if losing patience, she walks towards us, coming to a stop in front of him, at the foot of my bed.

The warm wind blowing in through the open window. The salty sea breeze carries with it the scent of jasmine shot through with that peculiar coconut-oil stink. It's her smell.

If I get out of here alive, I never want to see a jasmine flower again.

She grips his forearm. I can almost feel her squeeze his muscles. I bet she savors the way they feel; I know because I have felt it too, that strength below his skin.

She is coming on to him.

I am too surprised to do anything but stare through half-open eyelids. I mean, seriously, is this even possible?

But there it is, the proof, right in front of my eyes. She is propositioning Vikram. I can't just lie back and let her come on to him, can I?

I try to move, to say something, but find my limbs are too weak to do my bidding. Yet, I must have made some noise in my throat, for she turns to look to me, an assessing look coming into her eyes. Her hand drops away and my body relaxes. It makes me realize just how tense I have been so far.

"I might consider it." Vikram finally speaks.

He turns away ever so slightly, as if he can't bear to look at her properly. But his voice comes out steady, even flirtatious. "On one condition."

"I am listening," comes her reply. She is pleased he is at least speaking. What is Vikram up to?

"I get to know you better."

She stares back, waiting for him to continue.

He lowers his voice so I have to strain to hear it. "I am not in the habit of sleeping with people I don't know."

What the—? Did she proposition him, earlier, or was it the other way around? How long have they known each other? Is this how he got hold of those videos? Did she give it to him?

"And her?" I sense more than see her jerk her head towards me.

Then Vikram surprises me, totally. I hadn't seen this coming.

He takes a step closer to her. They are not touching yet. But now they are close enough for very little light to escape through the space between them. Once more, I am left in semi-darkness.

Vikram laughs, his tone light, even playful. "What does she know?"

Why that—that—Words fail me, and I settle for cad! My ears prick up even more as he says; "Besides I've always appreciated maturity in my women."

So, he's implying that I am brash and impulsive. Unlike her.

I hold my breath as he places his hand on her shoulder.

He is much taller than her, at least a head higher. Leaner too. Her curves seem to flow over him as she leans up to brush a kiss on his lips.

Vikram doesn't flinch.

But I do, inside, where everything is still beating in pain. It's good I don't show any emotion outside. Yet.

"So why all this? What are you up to?"

"Kay, call me Kay." They are on first name terms now?

"Kay," he obliges her, softening his words around the vowels. It sounds like an endearment.

He has never been half as nice to me.

Never.

Of course, we have chemistry, but not once has he said that he felt anything for me, even slightly. Have I been mistaken all along?

"Don't you want to know about your brother first?"

He stiffens, makes a gesture with his hand. "He doesn't count."

What could have happened that neither cares if the other dies?

"They have a lot in common, your brother and your girlfriend. Both have unique genetic combinations as you have guessed already. They have a big role to play in the new world. And so do you of course, if you choose to be part of it."

He asks, "Why are you wrecking the city? What are you seeing in that genius head of yours?" He taps her on her forehead lightly.

He is flattering her, too. I swear inwardly.

The atmosphere in the room has changed now; it's edgy, electric, mixed with lust on her part and curiosity on his.

"Have you seen the state of this city?" She says, "Teeming with people who are choking it, eating away its very lifeblood while pollution corrodes its very roots. It needs to be wiped clean for a fresh start. That's my gift to the generation of tomorrow."

"Revenge?" Curiosity gives his voice an edge. "For what?"

"My son's death. Innocent, he was, just a little boy," she mutters to herself.

"How did he die?" His voice softens in that tone I recognize. The one I thought he reserved just for me.

"It was the bombing—" Her voice breaks off, becoming more alert, as if realizing how much she has already told him.

"26/11?" Vikram fills the gap.

She nods.

It's amazing how much that incident affected the city. You were never more than three degrees of separation away from its reverberations, even today.

There is a pause, then she answers, "I couldn't save my innocent little boy. But I'll rescue the city. Rid it of its ailments and give it a new lease on life—"

"But why take out only the adults?" Vikram keeps his voice non-committal.

Good question. I want to know too. Not that a world without grown-ups isn't more attractive. Still, I don't get what her master plan is. Not yet.

"You want to know, don't you?" She is calculating, assessing. I can hear the wheels in her mind move. These two are playing a dangerous game. I don't know if I should be privileged that I am there to peek in on them, or insulted that they have completely forgotten about me as they engage in a dance of who dares first.

"You want to know all my secrets, do you?" She laughs.

He smiles, cajoling. "Go on." His voice is a caress, rippling over my skin. "Tell me."

Not even, she can resist Vikram at his charming best.

Her face cracks a smile. "The older we are, the more conditioned we get, the more cynical we become. Life has a way of robbing us of desires, of the power to hope and believe. I want all of that for my new world. I want to create a generation of young people who can live fearlessly, those who know their heart's desire and are still willing to follow their dreams. There is no place for the older generation who have already lost their way."

Vikram places a hand on her shoulder and leans down so his nose is almost touching hers. "It feels a bit unbalanced to have kids run amuck with no one to control them, don't you think." His voice is very reasonable.

She places her hand over his.

I shudder at that, but notice Vikram doesn't cringe. "My new world will be populated with fresh blood. Superior genes and unspoiled minds that are mine to mold. No longer will they be subjected to the conditioning from their parents that clouds their judgement."

Inside I am laughing insanely when I hear this. She is delusional. She, the master of conditioning young minds—the one so adept at crippling the other person's confidence so they don't know where they belong in this world anymore—she wants to kill off the adults so they don't have a chance to corrupt young minds.

"Tell me what it feels like to be on the verge of controlling this city."

The snarly cop I know doesn't fit in with the charming person in front of me, flirting with that woman. I want to jump out of bed and confront him. About what? He's committed no crime. All he is doing is trying to get her to speak. He doesn't feel anything for her. At least, I don't think he does.

For a second, she does not reply. Then, she says, "I will. But it's not as simple as it seems. Besides, I need your help right now. You need to make sure your girlfriend here is recovered enough for tonight."

"Tonight?" My eyes flutter down as Vikram looks at me, echoing the disbelief I feel. He's thinking the same thing. How does she expect me to recover and be on my feet in a few hours? "I don't know what you did to her, but she is in no state to go anywhere for a while." He adds, "I am a cop, not a doctor." I can hear the grin in his voice as he tries to humor her.

"Don't worry, it looks a lot worse than it is. It does that sometimes, Youthenasia. It takes you right to the edge and then back. Very quickly."

"Euthanasia? You are killing them?"

"No, Youthenasia," she clarifies.

"Whatever you call it." He gestures to me. "Why do you subject them to this—this," he flounders around for the appropriate words to describe what I am going through—"torturous experience?"

"Youthenasia," she repeats the word, relishing it. It feels like a kind of voluntary means of dying.

"Is that what this is? You think just giving it a fantastical name justifies it?"

"On the contrary. I simply give them a chance to face their fears and emerge stronger. It's what makes them strong. Don't you want that chance? To look your deepest horrors in the eye and banish them forever?"

"No," he says readily. "I face my fears every day when I step out as a cop. It's not easy, but I do it by choice. They need to be able to choose, too."

"Choice!" Her voice is disbelieving. "When did we have one? If we did, we wouldn't ever have been born."

Funny, I haven't realized how philosophical she can be.

"But why tonight? What's so different?" He asks, his voice soft.

He sure is turning on the charm now. I grit my teeth, trying to contain my anger, curling my hands into fists. The phony!

"It's a full moon night." Her voice hitches in excitement, the words tumbling out as if she is unable to contain her anticipation. "Tonight, the moon will block out the sun completely."

"You mean an eclipse?"

"Yes, but this one is special. The first of four blood-red moons."

"Yes, part of a lunar tetrad, four total lunar eclipses in a row. It's rare, but—"

"And I have the artifact." She darts a quick, meaningful glance at me.

"Ruby?" His voice jerks. "What does Ruby have to do with it?"

"It's not her." She lowers her voice so I just about catch it when she says, "It's the sword."

"The sword?" Vikram's voice is mild, but his excitement is palpable.

"Tonight, the one who places it on the temple altar, on the island—" She stops.

"What happens when you place the sword on the altar tonight?" Vikram asks. There is a tremor in his voice, displaying his excitement at finally finding out her real motive. But she can hear it too.

She pats him on his cheek. "You are just going to have to wait to see what happens."

Vikram places a hand on her shoulder and smiles coaxingly. "And anyone can place the sword on the altar? Me too?"

She places her hand over his.

I want to smash their joined hands.

"No, not anyone. It's got to be me. I hold the key."

"You?" His voice is amiable.

"The sword belonged to Princess Catherine of Braganza, and when wielded by a direct descendent—voilà"—she points to herself. "That's me. Well, then it acquires great powers. It gives me control to sweep away all the dirt, the crowds choking this city, restoring it to the original pristine seven islands. As it was when Catherine received it in dowry. Bombay is just the beginning of course. All the other big cities in the world too will be reborn."

Silence.

"You do know that Catherine of Braganza had no children, right?" Vikram's voice is cautious, as if prodding a sleeping snake.

How does he know this?

"Oh! But she did." Her voice drips satisfaction.

Then Vikram does something very unexpected. He chortles with mirth.

"You," he manages in a choking voice, "you actually believe these old stories?"

Uh-oh! That's not a very wise thing to say.

Then, she does something stupid too.

Chapter 29

SHE SLAPS VIK with such force that the sound echoes around the room. It's a strange drama playing out in front of me. She raises her arm once more, as if she is going to slap him again, but he catches her in a firm gesture. It's a battle of wills now. She is breathing deeply. He is, as usual, calm. Even by the light of the lengthening shadows, I can see he is angry, though, and trying to keep himself in check.

"Don't," he warns her, his voice deceptively quiet.

I know he is furious. It's just the way he holds himself: straight and proud, as if he has never been more humiliated in his life.

She shrugs out of his grasp. "You have no idea what you are dealing with."

Flashing a furious look at him, she makes for the door, pausing only long enough to say, "Make sure you clean her up and get down to the beach, will you?"

"Why me? Why not someone else?"

That makes me squirm. So he no longer wants to be with me, is that it?

It's as if she were just waiting to be asked. "Who better than you? The only one on the force with enough information, and intelligence"—she taps her temple—"to spoil my plans. But then, she came along and thwarted all your plans, didn't she?"

Who? Me? What is she rambling on about?

"Besides, as long as she is here, I know you're not going anywhere."

The door bangs shut after her.

Vikram sags against the foot of my bed, then, in an undisguised moment of relief, goes to the window, throws it open, leans out and takes several deep breaths.

"You look as bad as I feel," I say through dry, swollen lips, not recognizing the papery-thin voice which emerges from me.

He starts visibly, but does not turn around.

Has he guessed I was half-awake all through the scene that has just taken place?

"You are alive?" His voice scrapes over my sensitized skin.

I wince. "Yes … barely."

He turns then, a reluctant smile tugging his lips at that often-used adjective. "We seem to be doing that a lot. Surviving … barely."

I am in a small room stripped of all furniture, but for the carpeting on the floor. My bed faces a bank of windows, from which the sea spreads out.

Dropping into a chair next to my bed, he reaches for my hand.

"The bullet, it was laced with a drug wasn't it?" I wince, remembering my trippy dreams.

"Youthenasia, that's what she calls it,” he says, his voice soft as if he's being careful with me.

I don't mention that I heard Dr. B talk about it. I want to hear what he has to say now.

"Youthenasia?" I say it aloud as if hearing it for the first time.

He nods.

So, what I have been through was probably just a hallucination? Is this what she meant by facing your own anger? I try to stop shaking, but can't. A near life experience. It's the only way to describe what I have been through.

"Vishal mentioned it in the chopper." I venture.

"Vishal's part of this, all right," Vikram agrees, his voice grim. "You, and all the kids here. All of whom think it's one big party. They are all going to be shot up with the drug, and then be allowed to live through their visions."

I notice for the first time that he's still wearing the same clothes he pulled on at the apartment. But he seems far more stable than when I last saw him slumped against the wall.

"You were just pretending to be hurt, weren't you?"

He turns, and flashes me a grin, once more unleashing that charisma he keeps hidden away. There are more secrets to him than I will ever know.

"My brother packs a punch, but not so much that he can take me out that easily. Not when he was already hurt, thanks to you."

"You had me fooled." I should be angry, but find I am just relieved he is okay. Somehow, the nightmares have sucked out a lot of the discontent inside me. My insides have calmed into what feels like cool drenched earth after a particularly heavy storm.

"You are a good actor."

He mock bows to me. "They thought I was too out of it to shoot me up with the drug. Besides, I don't think she plans to keep me around much longer." His mouth twists slightly at that.

"And Panky?"

"I am sure he is fine." His voice is not convincing. Fear grips my heart. Dr. B had not mentioned him, either.

"We are going to find a way out of it this time." I know I will. I have to. This is the last chance for all three of us.

* * *

THE NEXT THING I know I am being shaken awake. It's pitch-dark now, and there’s a candle burning on the side table. In the halo of its light, I can see the outline of Vikram's profile.

"How do you feel?" He asks.

I am not sure why he is whispering, but I too use a low voice.

"Good." I reply and I mean it.

There are still twinges in some parts of my body. But overall, I feel okay.

"We have to go."

I snap to attention at the urgency in his voice. "Where—?"

He puts a finger to my lips. "Listen." He cocks his head, as if hearing something from the beach below.

Distant throbbing beats reach me, followed by cheers, then clapping. As a particularly high rumble of a pumped-up bass line vibrates the walls of our room, I look at Vikram, a question on my face. He holds out his hand, and when I take it, he tugs me so I am sitting up.

I get to my feet, and find I am surprisingly stable.

Ironically, the music I hear now echoes the soundtrack of the dreams I carry in my head.

As if reading my mind, Vikram asks, a wry look on his face, "Ready to face the music?"

Chapter 30

VISHAL WALKS IN looking well rested. All signs of our last encounter are gone.

"How touching." He smirks, looking at our joined hands.

To my disappointment, Vikram drops my hand and steps away. "Good to see you so well recovered … Brother." He bites off the last word as if it's an insult.

"You are not as strong as you think you are … Brother," Vishal mimics his tone.

"What have you done to Panky?" I demand, trying to stop myself from yelling the words at him.

Vishal shrugs, "He was fine, the last I saw him."

"What have you done with him?" I ask in horror, all manners of gruesome endings for Panky running through my mind.

Vik places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing a warning to calm down. I shrug it off, feeling more distraught with every second. "She already has my sword. Why can't she just let Panky go?"

"Your sword?" He laughs, a bemused look on his face, as if to say, Are you that stupid?

"It's not yours. Never was to begin."

In the silence that follows, Vikram jumps in. "And you? Why are you still here?"

"I am here by choice." Vishal scowls and, drops the bundle he is holding on the bed. "Your clothes." He says.

The bed separates us, but it may as well not be there. He looks ready to leap across it to punch Vikram in the face, the anger shimmering off him in palpable waves. Over his left shoulder the beginnings of his tattoo gleams with suppressed emotions.

"No guards at the door. And now you just want us to get dressed and come out and party with you? Are you just letting us roam around free then?" Vikram needles his brother, a sneer on his face. He is provoking him.

"Please," Vishal smirks. "There are hundreds of us and just the two of you! Besides, all that's out there is a little island. The mainland is miles away. Even if you get out of here, what are you going to do? Hitch a ride from a friendly passing truck driver?" He guffaws.

"Anyway, I can take you down on my own." He grins and for a second there, his resemblance to his brother is breathtaking.

Vik steps forward, fists raised. Frustration bounces off him in waves.

Vishal doesn't react to the threat. Just points to the clothes he has thrown on the bed, then at us.

"See you downstairs in ten minutes. Don't be late." He says. Turning to leave he stops at the door. "No, actually, do be late." He bares his teeth in a semblance of a grin, leaving us in no doubt of what he'd like to do to us if are not on time.

Chapter 31

THE BEACH IN front of us has been converted into an impromptu dance floor. A crowd of dancing, shaking teens stretches out into the distance. Lights have been rigged overhead and illuminate the faces below, caressing their skin in shades of blue and pink.

Vik is once more all cop, eyes scanning the floor left to right. I am sure he is recording it all, in that disconcerting way of his. To me, it's just a crowd letting their hair down.

"Well?" I ask, impatient. "What now?"

"There." He points to the expanse of water beyond the crowds.

"What? It's just the sea." I shrug

"Look closely." He puts his arm around my shoulder, steering my head to look to a point in the distance.

I peer into the distance and this time pick out a faint light in the darkness. As I screw up my eyes to try to look at it more clearly, I begin to make out a darker shape.

"It's an—"

"Island," he completes my statement.

"Is that the island she mentioned?" I ask

He nods. "We need to get there."

I look at him as if he has gone slightly crazy. "What? You mean, now?"

He nods.

"And how?" I wave my hands around, pointing to the crowd around me. "I suppose you think we can simply get on a boat and slink away in front of all these people?"

He smiles now, teeth flashing white in the dark. "That's the general idea."

"Why do we want to go there?"

"I am sure you heard what she said about the significance of the sword, right?"

I steal a quick glance at him. So, he knows that I was half awake, and witness to that rather charming scene between the two of them in the room. I nod, waiting to see if he is going to say anything more about it.

"Well, what she didn't tell you is that the altar she so helpfully referred to is there." He nods in the direction of the island.

"And you know this because?" I interrupt him as he opens his mouth to speak. "And don't give me this whole line about a cop can't reveal his sources. I want to know."

"A cop does not reveal his sources, ever."

"You are annoying, you know that?" I grumble.

"So we have to slip away, get the sword, rescue Panky." He grins, his foot tapping to the beats.

The music is getting to him too despite the seriousness of our situation.

"And then?" I ask.

"Then get on a boat to the island before dawn, while the eclipse is still visible."

"Yeah, that should be simple." I can't understand how he can be so relaxed about it. Just thinking about what needs to be accomplished in the next few hours has my head spinning.

"Piece of cake." Vikram stands there, grinning down at me. "Assuming we don't get killed first."

With every passing minute, he seems happier, while I am getting more stressed.

"You like to have fun at my expense, don't you?" I punch his shoulder, torn between being playful and wanting to hurt him.

The breeze from the sea ruffles his thick, brown-black hair. The lights sweep over us, picking out the sparks in his tawny eyes. It's those eyes I first noticed, and which now have me pinned to where I stand.

Can he read my thoughts? Of course not. Yet, as he stares at me, it's as if he knows me really well. Almost as well, as I know myself, maybe better.

He is smiling now at me as if he knows something I don't. His usual know-it-all smile, but this time there's something different about it.

"What?" I ask, half-heartedly.

My heart is beating fast, galloping in tandem to the bass beating out from the massive loudspeakers. The lightning tree on my back throbs; it rolls through me, kicking me in the stomach. That's a first.

I gasp in surprise, taking in a deep breath, diving right in, right then, into love with him.

Nothing I do is ever half-hearted, of course, so as the realization of how I feel dawns over me, I stand on tiptoe and raise my lips to his. There is no fear, no hesitation. I just know.

He leans down and touches his lips to mine.

It's like nothing I ever imagined it to be.

A rush of fire through my body sets my nerve endings jangling. As the blood pumps faster through my veins, the lightning tree on my back sings out in an explosion of pinkish-velvet. And this time, it signals danger of a different kind

Today is not the same as yesterday.

It's just so right.

I know now, why the lightning trees always gets restive when he is around.

I draw back, snatching my lips away from his.

"What?" He looks at me, eyes crinkling at the corners.

I want to lean in and kiss him again.

I look down at my feet, feeling suddenly shy.

My friend is languishing in a corner somewhere on this island and all I can think is how much I want to prolong my time with this guy.

"So what now?" I ask.

He jerks his head towards the writhing crowd.

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"Now, we dance."

"What?" I am repeating myself, but I can't help it. "We don't have Panky, we've got to find a way out of here, we certainly don't have a plan, and you want to dance?"

He nods. "Yes." But he doesn't explain further.

"That's it. Yes?"

"Yes. I have a plan."

"And are you going to tell me what your amazing plan is?" Sarcasm drips from my voice.

"No."

We smile grimly at each other.

"You are doing that thing again," I mutter.

"What thing?" He draws his eyebrows down together.

"That thing where you are going to tell me you are a cop, then imply you know something I don't and that you are not going to tell me what it is, and then you are going to ask me to trust you."

"Trust me." He grins, then, bursts out laughing when I almost stamp my foot in frustration.

"You are cute when you get angry," He says

"I am not angry!" I deny hotly.

"You are cute otherwise too."

That brings me up short.

The smile disappears from his face. He jerks me up against him so we are touching all the way, from chest to hip, to toes. "Trust me." He kisses me. Again.

A bone-dissolving, mind-blowing, “I am absorbing the very essence of you” kind of kiss.

I fling my arms around his neck and press myself against him.

The lightning tree explodes.

I am sure there are flames erupting from me. The darkness on the inside of my eyelids turns red. Then I am free.

I sway a little and he puts out an arm to steady me. He slides his hand down my forearm before entwining my fingers with his.

"Shall we?" He asks

If the world ends tomorrow, at least I will have danced with him. Once.

I let Vik drag me towards the heaving bodies.

Chapter 32

THE MUSIC IS so loud that even when I put my hands over my ears I can still feel the rhythm as strongly as hearing it. The stage, too, is brightly lit, giving the faces of everyone around me a ghostly white look.

Lightning flashes in the distance just behind the island we are supposed to reach before dawn, followed by a quick growl of thunder overhead.

Vik pulls me close and for a few seconds we hold each other.

I am on borrowed time.

I have to rescue Panky.

I grasp his head firmly with both my hands, bringing it down so our noses almost touch. Those amber lights in his eyes wrap themselves around me. I blink once, trying to commit to memory that flare of desire which burns between us.

"Listen." The urgency in his voice has me stiffening in expectation, when a couple bumps into us, shoving me against his chest. He tightens his grip around my waist to steady me. "Look, there are things you don't know about me."

"Try nothing. I don't know anything about you," I say lightly.

"Yes, but you do sense how I feel, right?"

I just nod.

Wow! He's going to say something serious now. I wait with bated breath.

"Haven't you wondered why she let me stay with you? Why she told me all her plans, although I am actually someone trying to hunt her down?"

That's it? That's what he wanted to tell me? Everything inside me wilts.

"Uh! I did think you were too old for her teen army," I blurt out. Yeah! Great. Remind him now that you are younger than him.

Stupid.

He shakes his head and bends down to touch his forehead to me, his shoulders shaking silently.

"Vik, wha-what's wrong with you? You okay?"

"Of course I am okay. What could be the problem?" There's a wide grin on his face. "You are right; I am not a teenager anymore." He chuckles. "Thank God for that!" His features are animated. It's the most alive I have seen him. Ever.

I smile, still unsure about why he is laughing so hard.

He leans back and looks, like, really looks into my eyes. It's like he is consuming me with his gaze. I swallow down the lick of fire that leaps up from my belly.

Panky. Focus on Panky.

"Well," I plunge ahead. "I figured you seduced her into sharing her plans." I ignore the frown on his forehead. "And she allowed you to bring me to the beach, because you are in on all this."

Ever since I found those videos on his phone, I have been wondering who Vikram really was. Why does she trust him so much? Enough to put him in charge of me? Enough even to give me free run of the place, with no guards? I didn't want to admit it to myself, but now that it's out in the open, it feels so plausible.

Does it?

His hands drop to his side.

"It's true, isn't it?" I insist. "You hooked up with her."

He takes a step back, physically withdrawing from me, and just like that, the warmth in his eyes shuts down.

"Is that what you think?" His voice is soft. Yet, I hear him clearly, despite the loud music.

I feel an irrational need to turn and run into the sea, to swim far away from here.

"Um," I stutter. "No, not really. No," I say firmly.

I have to believe him.

"You never did trust your instincts, little girl."

This time I do.

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I trust Vik.

"No," I say again and this time meet his gaze head-on. "I don't." I lower my voice. "But what other explanation is there?"

"I promised you. Didn't I?"

"Did you?"

"I told you I would protect you." He caresses away a lock of hair that has blown over my face, before placing both his hands on my shoulders. "And all I am asking you to do now is—"

"Trust you?" I interrupt, then surprise myself by adding. "I do."

"You do?" His voice is soft, those amber eyes turning to liquid gold.

I nod.

"Good. If—" He hesitates, looking around, "—if things take a surprising turn, just play along, okay?"

"What? What do you mean?"

A couple bumps into us again, and he lets me go. Talk about inconvenient timing. I turn to the couple, ready to tell them off, when the girl yells happily over the music, "Crazy, huh?" The look on her face blissful.

These kids are unbelievable. Many of them have seen their parents killed in front of their eyes. They have left behind their homes, everything familiar to them. Yet instead of being lost or sad, here they are, dancing away as if their lives depended on it.

Perhaps it did?

"We can all die happy, at least," she adds, without stopping her vibrational movements. Just watching her is making me dizzy.

"What do you mean die tonight? Who's dying tonight?" I ask

The girl is about to answer when suddenly the music is switched off. It's completely dark. Then, a single spotlight flashes on, training its beam on me.

A cheer goes up from the crowd, and then a disembodied voice comes over the speakers. "Ruby, come up, please."

Someone in the crowd shouts, "Ruby!"

Soon, the rest of the crowd takes up the chanting, "Ruby, Ruby, Ruby."

I look to Vikram for help, but he has disappeared. Gone! This is the diversion, then? He is leaving me to provide the distraction while he has gone off to have all the fun.

Fuming under my breath, I look around. The crowd has not let up. If anything, they chant faster: Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby!

There is no way out. The crowd parts for me and the chanting reaches a climax, only to die down when I reach the stage.

I swear aloud. Where's the damn cop when I need him most?

Mounting the steps, I stop in the center of the stage.

The crowds fall silent. Then massive spotlights switch on. The light is in my eyes and I can barely make out the faces of those in the crowd. I sense them staring at me, waiting for something to happen.

But what?

Then a figure is flung onto the stage. A lone boy, hands bound behind his back, blindfolded. The body rolls before coming to a stop in the center of the stage.

The crowd begins to scream, but I can't make out their words. The lightning tree on my back pings a warning and there's a sick feeling at the bottom of my stomach.

No, no, it can't be. Please, no, please, no. Not him. I walk over, and gingerly turn him over. It's Panky.

My lightning tree unfurls its anger in full.

I slip off his blindfold to find his eyes are shut. "Panky." I pat his cheek. He moans.

He's still alive.

I gently turn him over, trying to undo the ropes which tie his hands. As I fumble around, a knife appears in the corner of my vision, pointy tip aimed at me.

"Looking for this?"

It's Vishal, a thread of humor running through his voice as if he is amused. Swallowing down my anger I seize the knife and cut through the ropes that bind Panky.

Getting to my feet, I hold it out, intending to give it back.

All Vishal does is grin and hold up his hands, before looking to the crowd as if sharing a joke with them. They roar with approval. A voice screams out, "Fight."

And another yells "FIGHT" and another, until finally the entire crowd is chanting once more in unison.

"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!"

They are bloodthirsty, these kids.

If a show is what they are looking for—I seize the knife, and raising it, I face the audience, turning my back on Vishal.

I am not scared of him. At least that's what I hope my body language signals.

The crowd falls silent as she steps onto the platform from the other side, coming to a stop just by Panky's feet. I dart an anxious look at him. His eyes are still closed, but he moves his head, just a little, and I can't tell over all that noise, but I think he moans.

She raises her hand and silence falls. "Tonight, one of them will die." She pauses for effect, looks around, then flings her hands out. "Only one will come with us into the new world. Who will it be?" She points to where Vishal and I stand illuminated within the circle of the spotlight.

Seriously? She wants me to fight Vishal? And just to provide entertainment for this crazed crowd?

Before I can say anything, a voice pipes up. "Kill" it says.

Then another and another.

And then the entire crowd erupts once more. "KILL, KILL, KILL!"

They are crazy, this crowd, and all I can think is so many of them have exchanged one prison for another. They are happy to be pushed along on a path drawn by someone else.

Unlike me.

Dr. B. steps back and Vishal and I face each other. Once more, I wish I had my sword with me. Just holding it in my hands made me feel strong. Now all I have is this borrowed dagger.

Vishal and I circle each other and shuffle to the side, leading him away from Panky.

I leap, and Vishal simply steps aside so I sprawl to the floor, hitting my chin. The crowd roars in approval.

Then he does something surprising.

He holds out his hand to me.

I look from his hand to his face, and shake my head.

Using my legs for leverage, I push myself up to my feet.

The crowd is back to chanting now. "Vishal, VI-SHAL, VISHAL!"

We face each other again. I am half his size and a little shorter than him. I'll never be able to defeat him in a battle of strength. I am going to have to use my wits.

I focus my eyes, shutting everything else out. The noise from the crowd fades, the area around me shrinks. There is no more Panky or space beyond the platform. There's only my opponent, my knife, my throbbing lightning tree, and me—.

All my anger, my rage trapped in the veins of the leaves on the tree—everything is concentrated in that second. I jump.

So does Vishal.

We slam into each other and it feels like I have rammed into a wall. This time I fall on my back and lie, stunned.

I push myself back to my feet as quickly as possible and rush at him, the small dagger flung out in front of me, ready to slice through him,

"Here," Dr. B throws a sword at him and, catching it, he holds it in out in front like a shield.

My knife bounces harmlessly off the steel, sparks flaring at the contact.

We are back to circling each other now. It's my knife against his sword.

Chapter 33

VISHAL RUSHES AT me, sword held out. I am a little too slow this time, my strength already flagging. His sword cuts through the skin on my hand.

The pain stings, adrenaline rushes right behind. It wakes me up. The edges of my vision clear. Around me, it's as if everything has been touched by a bright, pulsing light.

I turn to where Vishal stands, his back to the audience.

"Ruby!" Vik's voice calls out to me and I grab the sword he throws at me.

How did he get hold of it? He would have had to get past Rock for that.

Does it matter?

All I know is that I have it, and now I must use it to save myself. Without breaking the move, I thrust the blade at Vishal and pull it out, blood spurting in the wake.

He looks down, stares, as if not understanding what he is seeing, before falling with a thud. I place my leg on his chest, holding him down. Then I raise my sword. And let it stay up. I am panting, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Vishal's eyes swivel from me to the blade in my hand, then back to me.

I know he is wondering why I haven't killed him off yet.

I am wondering the same thing too.

My gaze slides away towards where a hundred upturned faces are staring at me in disbelief. Yes, I want to tell them. I want to scream. It was me. I did that.

Then, silence, as if the crowd is inhaling a collective deep breath. Chaos breaks out. Voices rise in bewilderment all at once, and many in the crowd rush towards the stage.

I bolt from the stage to a waiting Vikram, who hauls Panky over his shoulder.

"Get Vishal to his feet." I hear her voice in the distance, trying to calm the crowd. "Now, everyone—"

This is our chance. I race to where a motorboat is fired up and waiting for us with Bonny at the wheel.

I keep looking behind to see if we are being followed. But there's nobody. I can't believe it. Are they going to let us get away?

Dropping a still moaning Panky into the boat, Vikram gets in, and before I have settled in completely, we take off.

Well? I raise my eyebrows.

"He's one of mine," Vikram says in response to my unspoken question, before yelling, "Watch out!" He pushes me to the floor.

Just in time too, as bullets cut through the air.

He covers my body with his, and despite the danger we are in, my lightning tree pulses at his nearness.

"Stay down." Vikram's breathing is urgent, his voice tense with strain, yet all I can think is that his body feels solid, a wide expanse of muscle. I breathe deeply of his warm, cinnamon smell and a coil of desire rises in my belly.

Then another barrage of bullets hissing by and I feel his body jerk, the vibration running through him travelling over me

Vikram swears aloud.

No. No. No. Has he been shot, again?

"Let me up." I push against him. My heart catches in my throat.

My lightning tree is now throbbing at rhythmic intervals, sending sparks of restless energy up my back. Vikram groans, and I can feel his body grow heavier as he becomes unable to hold his full weight. Mad with concern, I push against him.

I don't know whether to be relieved or more worried when he moves off me to rest his back against the shallow walls.

He holds his left upper arm. "It's not serious," he says through gritted teeth.

Bonny is lying almost parallel to the floor of the boat. He peers over the steering wheel, trying to keep the small boat on course.

Pulling off my shirt, I tie it above the wound on Vikram's arm.

"You okay?" I ask

He half groans, and nods through an ashen face. "Nice," he mutters his eyes half-closed.

"What?" I ask puzzled.

"You." He smile, "I like what you are wearing."

I look down at the thin, sleeveless T-shirt, cut low enough to reveal the swell of my breasts.

I flush. "Now you tell me that." I try to joke, but my voice wobbles.

"How did you get past Rock to get to the sword?" I wonder aloud.

"You have your secrets, I have mine." His voice trails off as he continues to stare at me. For the first time I see naked desire in his eyes.

I start in surprise.

His features are animated, glowing in the starlight, despite the pain. He loves the chase as much as me.

Our eyes meet and hold.

"When we get out of here—" His features resolve into lines of hope. I wouldn't have believed he had all those emotions hidden inside him. But he is full of surprises today.

"When we get out of here, I promise to kiss your wounds better." I complete his sentence, trying to be flippant.

But neither of us smiles. It's as close to a promise as he is going to get from me, and he knows that.

I look behind us to find two boats in the distance. They may have stopped shooting, but they are not giving up the pursuit. I look at the sword on the floor. Its blade glistens dully.

"How much further?" I yell, to make myself heard above the noise of the motor.

"Another ten minutes, max," Bonny, yells back, his words scattering in the wind.

I peer through the mist hanging over the waves to see the island silhouetted through the velvet of the lightening sky.

"Umm! What am I doing in a boat?" Panky suddenly speaks up. Sitting upright, he looks around with bewildered eyes. There's utter confusion on his face, combined with a look that says, Have you lost it completely?

I chuckle.

Vikram leans over to pat him on the shoulder. "Good to see you join the living, and just in time to see all the action."

"Like I don't see enough, being around her?" He may have been tied up and browbeaten by Dr. B, but Panky has arrived in far better shape than either Vikram or I.

"And you." He points to Vikram, "You are just like her. Both of you attract trouble wherever you go."

I grin, my smile threatening to split my face. It just feels so normal to hear Panky complaining.

"I think I prefer you unconscious like all the times I've seen you so far," Vikram says, in a considering voice and I stifle a chuckle. "It's Vik by the way," He adds and Panky rolls his eyes. "Like I don't know that by now." He turns to me, "Your boyfriend sure is formal,” he says.

Before I can respond, another spray of bullets zings by. We duck, but they miss us, instead throwing up a spray of water as they slice through the water

"Couldn't you have killed them all before waking me up?" Panky complains.

Vik and I exchange a grin at that.

"So you haven't yet told Vik about Dr. B, have you?" Panky says, taking me by surprise.

"Shut up, Panky" I say but Vikram's already heard him.

He looks at me, curious. "What about you and Dr. B?"

"Nothing." I shoot Panky a murderous look. He holds his hands up in apology but it's too late.

"Well?" Vikram has his cop face back on. That steady gaze, the dogged expression, which signals that he is not giving up till I speak.

I sigh with enough force to rustle the hair on my forehead.

"Nothing to say. You've already met Dr. B. She is … my ma." I look at my blade with renewed interest.

Complete silence in the little boat. I look up to meet Bonny's startled look. I glare at him fiercely, and his gaze skitters away.

Vikram growls, "What do you mean?"

"Told you already." I stick out my chin at a defiant angle. "She is my mother. Should I spell it out for you?" My tone is belligerent.

The angrier I get, the icier his gaze grows. I swallow and look away, my gut churning at the look in his eyes.

"And you were planning to tell me this … when?" His tone is casual, cold. I much prefer him to be angry with me. Anything, but this hell-frozen-over sheet that has slipped between us. I am very afraid I will never be able to break down this barrier.

I gulp, not replying.

He reaches out with his unhurt hand to wrap his fingers around my throat.

"You lied to me." He leans in so his lips almost touch mine. "You said you didn't know her."

His breath whistles over my cheeks, raising goosebumps on my skin. His palm is wide enough to span my neck, his fingers almost meeting. It's warm, and rough enough to send tingles of awareness down my back.

"I am sorry." I shudder with desire. With regret. "So sorry."

And I am. More than he will ever know. And not just for lying to him.

"I knew right away, of course. But, it was as if a part of me simply didn't want to acknowledge what I was seeing. My mind just shut down."

The look on his face tells me he doesn't believe me.

"Whenever I see her, it is as Dr. B. Do you understand? She was never a mother to me anyway." I finish, my voice shrill with desperation.

Vik's looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.

I've lost him. He is never going to believe me again.

"Any idea why she wants that sword you are holding in your hand? Why she is hell-bent on destroying this city? And don't give me that bullshit about her new world."

His voice is still soft, but his fingers are stiff. Just get angry with me already. Hit me, throw something, get it out okay? But no, he doesn't do anything like that. He just pins me down with that amber gaze.

"What is she up to?" he asks. "You should know, after all you are her daughter."

I wince at that, and feel the pulse thundering at his wrist. I was mistaken. He is beyond angry. He is livid.

"I don’t know," I lie to him. Again. "Perhaps she really wants revenge for her son's death—"

"You mean your brother?"

I nod. "My brother." I let everything I am feeling for him show on my face, hoping he'll read my unsaid plea.

"Perhaps you are right. She wants to take revenge for your brother's death. But surely laying waste to the city is a little extreme, don't you think?" He says.

"She may have given birth to me, but that's all there is between us." I swallow. I know it's not enough, but how can I tell him it's all my fault? Everything. If I tell him I am the cause of my brother's death, of her wanting to destroy Bombay, he'll never forgive me. Not this cop who has sworn to protect his city.

"Anyway, does it matter now? She's done what she has to do and now it's my turn—"

He is looking at me intently, yet it's as if he hasn't heard a word I have just said now. Vik tightens his fingers, and to my shame desire once more crawls up my belly, making me shiver.

"If you want to kill me now, do it," I whisper.

Anything is preferable to this horrid feeling of guilt raking my insides, making me feel angry—with myself.

"Always full of surprises, aren't you?" His voice slides over my cheek.

Yeah, that's me all right. Nothing is ever simple in my life.

His hand falls away, eyes sliding over my bare shoulders and the tattoo, my lightning tree that wraps its leaves over my left upper arm.

"You're right, it doesn't matter." His eyes trace the pattern for a second longer, before he turns away as we hit the choppier waves near the shore of the island

"We're here. Let's go." At Vik's signal, Bonny cuts the motor. I grab my sword and jump out, followed by the others.

Barely have my feet touched shore when bullets pepper the boat behind us. The small vessel instantly catches fire.

"Hurry!" He yells and we double our speed, clambering over the rocky mini-beach to reach the foothills of the small hillock before the boat explodes behind us.

Chapter 34

"WHERE ARE WE going?" I yell at Vik, who's already halfway up the small hill. He doesn't reply. Panky and Bonny are just behind us.

We make it up to the top of the hill in record time. The peak is flat, like a tabletop. It's a plateau. There are a few trees scattered around, but otherwise it's barren. A full moon hangs in the sky as if it's a static flying saucer weighted down by the sins of the humans on this planet.

Palm trees fringe the hilltop. The space feels eerie, ghostly, as if the spirits of generations past linger here, refusing to leave.

There, in the center of the clearing, is a small temple, a domed structure made of white marble, which glistens with an iridescent greenish fluorescence, reflecting back the moonlight. Our tiny party is silent. Is it my imagination, or does a tiny current of electricity run through the sword? I raise it in front of me. It's glowing with the same fluorescent light, matching the temple.

It's obviously a coincidence. Right?

As if in a dream, I walk towards the temple. I am drawn to the structure. It reaches out to me, alluring, glinting in the milky rays, more comforting than a lover's embrace, more secure than I have ever felt clasped in my mother's arms.

All thoughts drain from my mind. The noise in my head completely disappears.

Silence.

The only time I have been this clear in my head is when I have cut myself. Now I see clearly without hurting myself. With every step, I am more sure.

I have spent my entire life preparing for this moment.

I know now why I survived PW.

I am sure this is why she cut me out of her life.

I was spared for a reason.

Spared by ten thousand volts, reborn for facing my worst fears.

I walk at a steady pace towards my goal, Vik at my heels.

The other two fall in behind, Bonny supporting Panky, trying to hurry him along.

A shout rings out, and I hear footsteps behind me. Still, I can't stop. Not when everything in my life has been leading up to this moment. Right here, right now.

I continue.

There is a scream, sounds of a scuffle, guns being fired. I keep going through it all. One step in front of the other. Isn't this what life is about? Living, just one second at a time. To keep going.

My eyes are fixed on the goal ahead. I can't see anything else. The sounds behind me fade. It's just the temple and me.

I walk up the steps and under the low-hanging roof. Stepping over the threshold, I am in the inner sanctum. Here, the ceiling of the room tapers overhead into a dome.

It is empty, save for a small altar right in the center, a circular structure made of white marble, shaped like a large tulip with a plate fitted over its rim. Even as I watch, the surface shimmers—sparks of purple, green and white swirl up through the air. On the side facing me is a thin groove, running all the way to its center like the hand of a clock.

It's weird.

It's spot on.

Right past it is a window, through which I see the moon in the sky. It has grown larger in the last few minutes, almost filling the entire window. I can clearly make out the markings on its surface. It's scarred, just like me.

It's beautiful.

I am beautiful.

I laugh. Everything is so simple, isn't it? When you live in the moment, not worrying about the future or the past, everything simply falls into place. Into the now.

"Don't do it, Ruby."

It's her.

"Why should I obey you?" I point the sword at the altar and she winces. "Tell me!" I raise my voice.

"Because—I am your mother."

I can't believe, she said that. And with a straight face.

"So, why didn’t you stop PW from doing what he did to me?"

I hear Vik inhale, but don't dare look at him. Is he so shocked by my dirty secrets?

"Don't you realize I was trying to toughen you up? Ready you for the real world?"

Her voice is steady. She believes her twisted logic justifies everything she's done to me. PW touching me where he shouldn't. The creep feeling me up and throwing me off the platform on the live wire.

I swear at her, and she says. "You think I've wronged you, but that's not true. I am the best possible mother you could have had. The one who spotted your potential early. Everything I did, I did to help you find the real you. Fast. Of course you were too busy being a spoiled girl to notice any of it," she says. "All you wanted was to get my little boy out of my life."

Her face crumples a little as she speaks about my brother.

"I was just a child." I say. "You were the grown-up. You should have known all I wanted was for you show you cared for me, just a little." When I say this aloud, I know it's true.

"You killed him." The sorrow on her face is real.

She's right. I did kill my brother. And now I am going to make it right.

They are silhouetted against the doorway. Dr. B and Vik. I am blood-related to one and bonded to the other. I’ve never acknowledged the depth of my feelings to either. And now I'll never be able to do so.

Better this way.

"Don't—" she pleads.

That's Ma, all right. Always, telling me no. She takes her responsibilities very seriously. Can she tell I've made up my mind?

Behind me, the sun casts Earth’s shadow over the moon.

"Give that to me," she pleads, holding out her hand.

I smile and shake my head. "It's all my fault, so it's only right that I put it right."

There is no running away from the past or from one's destiny.

"You don't want to do this." She begins to cry in earnest. I feel sorry for her.

"Why? What will happen if she does?" Vik asks urgently. Neither she nor I reply. We’re caught in our own silent dialogue, and not for the first time.

"You are not the one. It's me," she bursts out, her voice desperate.

"Is that what this was always about? You versus me? In everything, including him." I say looking at Vikram in time to see his face redden slightly.

"I am the one, the direct descendent of Catherine of Braganza, to whom this sword belongs." Her voice tapers off as the greenish iridescence from the blade increases in intensity.

All three of us stare at the strange shimmering glow. The dust particles swirl, caught in the heightening glimmer.

"Does it now?" I smile, before turning to her. "If you are descended from Catherine of Braganza, guess what that makes me, Mother?" I add that last word because I can. Because I have learnt that the only way to hurt her is through a well-placed remark. I can be as cruel as her when I want to be.

That's me, all right. Her daughter.

A sound from Vik draws my attention. His eyes register surprise, then shock, and finally understanding.

There's no way he can know how I am feeling.

He puts out his hand as if to grab me, to haul me to him. "If you do it there is no turning back," he warns.

Doesn't he see I don't have a choice?

"Sorry, Vik."

As the shadow of the sun almost completely covers the moon in the beginnings of the first of the four foretold eclipses, I lower the sword towards the groove in the altar. For only the second time, I feel a surge of power rush through the sword. It virtually jumps out of my hand to slot neatly into the space. It's as if a key is fitting into a lock.

"No!" Ma screams.

Chapter 35

STANDING THERE IN that little temple, the full moon eclipse through the window framing me, I raise my sword. It clinks as the blade makes contact with the faded marble of the altar. There is no other sound.

In that millisecond, my ears pick up more stillness than I have ever experienced in this city. I can hear myself think for the first time in Bombay.

It's unsettling. Except, now I have no thoughts.

My mind is wiped clean.

I look at Vik, who is staring past me at the window, as is Dr. B, identical expressions of fascination and horror on both their faces.

Question: When do two completely different people wear very similar expressions?

Answer: When they are faced with a force of nature. Call it an act of God, a juggernaut of immense proportions.

I turn, and then I see it too. In the distance, there is a wall forming.

It's tall, as high as the skies, a pale green. As I watch, a sheet of water drowns out the moon. I blink and find that in that millisecond it has already changed positions. It's moving forward fast. Too quickly.  I am breathless, as if the life inside me is being squeezed out. It's no ordinary tide, but a super expanse of the sea: a tsunami.

Vik's hand grips mine and I cling to him. I am scared, so very scared. All my hair stands on end, and goose bumps pop on my arms, a sense of foreboding gripping me. Hell hath no fury like nature scorned, or a woman wronged.

I laugh nervously.

The sound echoes around the small space, falling like heavy rocks in that unearthly stillness. Inside, I am blabbering with nervousness. Vik tugs at my arm and I turn. His face is calm, almost peaceful. He is unperturbed. Yet his grip on my hand is so strong it hurts.

I wince as the pain cuts through me, reminding me where we are. As if in a dream, I follow him out of the little shrine, brushing past Dr. B.

A part of me notices when she turns to follow us. Even now, with death staring me in my face, I don't want to be anywhere near her, don't even want our shadows to cross.

I shrink against Vik. Any closer and my skin will merge with his. I wish I could dissolve into him, absorb some of that unruffled composure that my cop wears like a badge of honor. But we are not going to become one, not anytime soon, not in this life. So many things I have yet to experience.

1) Make love with a guy. No, strike that. With Vik.

2) Touch falling snow.

3) Scuba dive.

4) Find a good pair of jeans that fit just so.

5) …

Strange, when it comes down to it, I can't even hit five things on the list of things I want to do before I die. And I used to think it would take me many lives to get through everything I always wanted to do.

"You never did know yourself, little girl."

She is right here, Dr. B, not far from me. She too is terrified, fleeing for her life, and yet it's her voice I still hear in my head.

It's not her voice; it's my own. The one I've always carried around inside, and obeyed.

Vik drops my arm; he jogs around the perimeter of the small structure all the while looking to the distance, up at the skies and then back at the wall-of-green. What is he searching for?

His eyes are narrowed in worry, but his face betrays no other emotion, features as if carved in stone.  He runs back to me, and then I am being pulled along. My hand is chained to his, shackled so tight it grows numb. I don't say anything, though.

The silence is eerie; it's all around me, inside me, almost holy in its single-mindedness. I can't say anything; I can't break it just now. It's as if I am back at morning assembly at the start of a school day. We so need those prayers just now.

Our father who art in Heaven … I tremble inside.

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come … The wave of water racing towards us mocks me.

Thy will be done … The wave's here. Almost here.

On Earth as it is in Heaven.

A low ripple comes at us, rising from the ground in waves.

I can't take my eyes off that enormous wall of dark green.

It extends from the ground all the way to the sky, mating with the clouds, spewing out a boiling mass of black in front.

Vik climbs up the steps cut into the back of the temple, pulling me along. I trip over the first one, falling to my knees. The shock of bone against stone jolts through me, hitting the churning mass that is my stomach. Fear rams an iron fist through my gut and the corners of my mind collapse in on themselves. Without stopping, Vik hauls me up and half-drags me over the next step. I manage to get my legs to work and my feet grip the next.

Dr. B is right behind me.

Reaching the base of the small minaret, all three of us cling to it, perched on the ledge surrounding it. I am between Vik and her. Both hold me as if I am precious, something that can't be replaced.

I no longer care about her. All I see is the line of water almost upon us. A wail reaches my ears. There is no preamble.

Suddenly, the air is shrieking in my ears, mocking me, giggling at me, slapping me back against the stone minaret around which we huddle.

Nothing like looking at the face of instant death to put your own life in perspective. How small we are in the grand scheme of things. I don't want to die. A terrified scream is torn from me. "Ma …"

There is no reason for me to scream for my mother. I have never done this before. I have cursed her in the past. I have cried and called the powers above all kinds of names. I have never, in all this time, ever called to her. Never. Ever. It's ironic I call to her now.

Now, when she is the closest she has ever been to me since I was five.

My mother, the killer, the one I know of only as Dr. B. The egomaniac who wants to return Bombay to its pristine past. Seven islands fit for the dowry of a princess.

She, who is of royal blood, a direct descendent of Catherine of Braganza, and me: here we are, clutching each other and the stone tower of the minaret, clinging for life. Awaiting a watery death. Then, the monster is on us.

Have you ever seen gazillion liters of water rush at you at full speed? It has a life of its own and devours everything in sight—making the land bow down to it.

Apparently, some part of my brain has moved beyond being frightened senseless, for it marvels at the awesome sight directly in front of me. Nothing I can do now, except watch as it moves over the island below, crashing over the tabletop. The screams get louder the nearer it gets. It sounds like a very large cat mewling very loudly. It's close now, the wall of water. So close that if I reach out my hand, I can touch it. Yet, where I am less than a foot away, I am still completely dry. Incredible!

Opening its mouth wide, it swallows us.

For a few seconds, or perhaps hours, I can't tell—we are underwater. A world of green, blue, and purple. All the colors of nature reflected in a rainbow and mirrored in our hearts surround me. We are still clinging to each other, all three of us. Dr. B is holding on to me while I clutch Vikram around his waist. I am still pressed against him. My side plastered to his. I will not let him go. Bubbles of air race up from his nostrils. Then the water recedes, with a sound like an enormous suction pump. Dr. B's hold slips.

I don't want her to live.

I can't live with her.

We all have to die one day, don't we?

"No!" I scream, reaching for Ma for the first time as a grown woman. What am I trying to hang on to?

Once again she who pushes me away, her hand falling to her side. "You never could let go of memories, Ruby." She smiles and is gone with the wave, which flings her over and out of sight.

I will never forget this sight as long as I live: the vision of my ma, riding the crest of that wave as if she is on the back of a magnificent horse. The ferocity of Mother Nature fills her white shirt so it billows behind her. It stretches out as if she is wearing a long wedding veil or a habit. Against the dirty foam of the tidal wave, the color it feels pristine. She looks small, fragile against that massive swell of water. Nothing like the giantess, I remember her to be.

She has met her match.

So, have I.

Epilogue

WHEN THE TIDE clears, it leaves behind a grimy, sludgy mess. Water doesn’t always clean away dirt, it seems. I know, because I am here. Seven days and nights after a torrential tsunami crashed over everything in sight, burying the city under many feet of water, I am still alive. Barely.

Has all of Bombay been swept away? I don’t know. I can’t tell. My world has turned into a patchwork quilt - blue, green, and brown.

And Vik? He’s still alive right? He has to be. I’ve got to get out of here and find him. Yes. First, find Vik, then Panky. Just keep going. Don’t stop. I dive back into the water, kick back, and move forward a few inches. That’s it. Kick back. Move forward. Back … Forward.

I’m obsessed with the future … how is it going to look?

* * *

—Continue the MANY LIVES series with CHOSEN, Vik's story and a standalone novel in the series.

Vik never should have left his family; now their life is hanging in the balance, and only he can save them.

Download here > http://smarturl.it/FirstLife

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About the Author

Laxmi Hariharan writes urban fantasy romance with a paranormal twist. Based in London she is married to a filmmaker. She is also the proud owner of a mononym twitter handle @laxmi

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

HIGHLANDER’S KISS

BY JOANNE WADSWORTH

Copyright © 2015 by Joanne Wadsworth

There can be only one…for both of them.

Fae-blooded Julia holds the ability to read another’s aura and determine their true intent. Her skill has only ever aided her in life, until the day when their neighboring enemy clan arrive to discuss a marriage of alliance between her and their chief’s son. She misjudges their enemy’s intent and all goes horribly wrong. Her parents are captured and imprisoned and now she must find a way to free them. Only now standing in her path is a fiercely protective warrior who has traveled from the future into the past, a man who insists they are soul bound, and a man whose aura shows no sign of such a bond. She is wary, yet still, she can’t deny how much he stirs her deep within.

Highland warrior shifter Tavish Matheson has traveled through time to find the woman his soul demands is his, yet convincing her will be a mission all unto itself. When Julia is kidnapped by the enemy while on a mission to save her parents, he sets out in fierce pursuit. All he desires is to keep her close, rescue her parents, and most of all, to offer her his love.

He’s a warrior who will not be denied. She’s a lass devoted to her kin.

Copyright: Highlander’s Kiss

Copyright © 2015, Joanne Wadsworth

Cover Art by Joanne Wadsworth

First electronic publication: September 2015

First paperback publication: September 2015

Joanne Wadsworth
http://www.joannewadsworth.com

eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

Published in the United States of America

Prologue

Gilleoin — The Legend

IN THE TWELFTH century, a man named Gilleoin became the first and only known man to hold bear shifter blood, an ability gifted to him by The Most High One. His clan was called Matheson, and when he mated with a woman carrying faerie blood, they created a line shrouded in secrecy, a line that far into the future, now neared extinction…

* * *

Cherub — The Fae Angel of Love

The ancient House of Clan Matheson, led by Gilleoin, the Chief of Matheson, Scotland, 1210.

CHERUB DASHED OUT from under the high arch over the front door of the castle and into the inner courtyard. She twirled around, her gown of white silk billowing in the wind whipping around her, the golden ribbons at her waist rippling and tangling around her hands. Arms raised, she reached out with her fae senses and allowed the very wind itself to bring to her the secrets it held, as she’d done for over a thousand years.

As an immortal time-walker and the faerie king’s daughter, her duty was to aid those of fae blood who walked this Earth and she did so by ensuring the newly soul bound were brought together across the centuries and no longer separated by time.

Kirk, her warrior soul bound mate, swept in behind her, his chest a delicious wall of heat at her back. Gently, he caught her hands, whirled her around to face him then dipped his head to hers. His beautiful golden shifter gaze devoured her. “My elusive imp, it appears you sense lost souls this night.”

“I do, far into the future, within your own shifter clan.”

“Who exactly?” His excitement thrummed along their merged mind link to her.

“Tavish and Tor, your second cousins, although ’tis Tavish’s need that strikes me the strongest.” Tavish and Tor, brothers and identical twins, had recently sensed their mates on the last full moon, and now, once she brought them here into the same time as their chosen ones, their senses would rear even stronger. Their desire to find the other half of their soul would consume them.

“Tavish is committed to his kin and being on call as our clan doctor. His patients come first, Cherub.”

“Aye, but he will stop at nothing to find his mate, to ensure he makes her his.” She closed her eyes and searched for the lass Tavish’s soul was bound to. There, the intricate golden thread that belonged to Tavish swirled toward Julia’s soul, her dear friend and one of her fae kind right here in this time. Bringing Tavish and his chosen one together across this wide chasm that separated them would require a little of her mischievous fae intervention, but ’twas naught she wasn’t up for. Aye, a mated male longed for the chase and part of his journey in finding his chosen one was in the hunt, one she’d ensure Tavish was given.

On her toes, she reached up and kissed her mate’s stubbly chin. She and Kirk had completed the bond such a short time ago, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him. The moment they’d joined together as one, she’d taken a piece of his soul into her keeping and from that moment on, he too had become an immortal as she was. Her mate would stand by her side, for now and for all time. The exquisiteness of all she’d been gifted made her giddy with need.

Cloaking them both and ensuring none could see them, she rubbed the entire length of her body against his, her heart and soul singing at the luscious contact. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I could ask the same question. What did I do to deserve you? I was certainly granted my ultimate wish the day I found you.” He seized her mouth with his, his desire hot and hard and so very needy, the very same as hers pulsed. “To the skies, my elusive imp. I wish to show you just how very much I love you.”

With a swish of her fingers, she swept them upward toward the heavens and gave herself over to the depth of the bond they shared and the fierce love they held for each other.

Tomorrow, she’d ensure Tavish and Julia met. Tavish’s coming hunt would be one of the most intriguing she ever set in motion and she grinned wickedly at the thought. What a journey they would have ahead of them. Of that she had no doubt.

Chapter 1

Near the ancient House of Clan Matheson, Scotland, 1210, the following day.

JULIA BOWED HER head as she stood before her parents’ memorial stone wedged high on the cliff top ocean trail between the castle and her people’s fae village. A good hundred feet behind her, the sea crashed hard and sprayed high, while before her, the forest rose sure and strong, the tall pines swaying in the fierce wind that rushed across the choppy waves of Loch Alsh and swept up the sheer rock wall and over them. High above, gray clouds bubbled ominously and she shivered and drew her white shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Arabel.” She clasped her sister’s hand and faced her. “I didnae mean to drag you all the way out here on this miserable day, but I just couldnae come alone.”

“Dinnae be sorry. I needed to come as much as you did.” Her twin squeezed her fingers then rested her other hand on top of the craggy stone holding their parents’ names chiseled into the front.

Aleck and Adair.

Beloved parents of Arabel and Julia.

Taken from us far too soon.

Our hearts are broken.

“Sometimes, I can sense they’re close even though that cannae be.” Julia’s heart heaved. Her fae skill of aura reading rose and her senses cried out for the gentle hum she’d always heard when her parents were near. The silence of their lost auras tore at her, as did the weight of her guilt. “’Tis my fault they’re no longer with us.”

“Nay, you must cease saying such a thing.” Arabel gripped her shoulders and frowned. “’Tis Colin MacKenzie’s fault that they are dead, as well as his snake of a son. I wish we’d never set eyes on Colin or Jeremiah.”

“As do I, yet ’tis I who misread Colin and Jeremiah’s auras. Mother and Father would never have traveled without a guard to our enemy’s lair if I’d seen and heard correctly.” Unlike any other fae aura reader in her clan, she was the only one who could sense both one’s true intentions by the color of their aura and also the supporting sound their aura made. Even her aunt who held the same skill couldn’t pick up the clear and concise sound that fully confirmed what the one they focused on truly intended. Her stronger skill had never set her wrong before, until the day she’d met the MacKenzies.

“Father and Gilleoin both believed Colin MacKenzie wished for a marriage of alliance, that his word was the truth. We were allies at the time, no’ at war as we currently are.” The war between their clans this past year had grown bitterer and bloodier than ever since the kidnapping and slaughter of their parents. Arabel squeezed her shoulders. “The Chief of MacKenzie is the one who killed them, and with his own hand no less.”

“But—”

“No buts are permitted. You arena to blame.” Determination flared in Arabel’s blue eyes and lit the golden sparks glittering around the edge. Her sister was her closest confidant, identical to her in every way except for their fae skills. Arabel was a fire-wielder and held one of the greatest of the battle skills.

Breathing out, Julia tried to shake off her current frustration, but no matter how many times her sister told her that their parents’ death wasn’t her fault, she still struggled to fully believe it. She too was at fault.

“Come, let’s discuss this no more and instead leave Mother and Father an orchid.” Arabel lowered to her knees before the stone and tugged her down beside her.

Tears burned behind Julia’s eyes as she carefully removed the marsh orchid from her gown’s pocket and placed the brilliant burst of fuchsia-pink against the rough gray stone. Father had always picked Mother one of these orchids every time he’d crossed the wetland farther along the loch, and Mother had always tucked the precious bud behind her ear or within her long braid. At least her parents had left this world together, a blessing since Mother would never have survived without Father for long. Theirs had been a soul bound match, the same as what Arabel now shared with Finlay. Her sister was most fortunate to have been gifted with such a bond.

Arabel touched the orchid’s velvety soft petals, her bright aura clouding over and emitting a soulfully sad tune that tugged at Julia’s heart. “We’ll never forget them, Julia, and one day we’ll make certain Colin MacKenzie pays for our parents’ unjust death. He cannae be allowed to slaughter innocent people and get away with it.”

She would ensure he paid for it too. Her own aura, usually a melding of rainbow colors, now held a mournful black haze. She ran her fingers over the colors flickering on her arms and upper body and settled it back down. She’d never allow the MacKenzie to take another of her kin’s lives, would seek retribution, for both her and Arabel, somehow and some way. She rose to her feet and drew Arabel up along with her. Across the other side of the loch, several miles away and not visible from here, lay the MacKenzie’s lair. White caps rode the heavy swell of the sea, the rising storm gaining in momentum, just as the storm of despair did which raged right in her heart.

“Oh.” Arabel touched her head. “Finlay calls to me along our merged link.” Finlay had recently arrived here from the future with his brothers, Iain and Kirk, the three identical warrior brothers known as the ‘power of three.’ Their arrival had fulfilled a prophecy Nessa had spoken over twenty years ago, and along with their fae skilled mates, they were a force to be reckoned with. Finlay had discovered Arabel was his chosen one, a match their mischievous Fae Angel of Love had instigated when she’d first opened a portal and brought the ‘power of three’ into their time.

Julia adored Finlay, considered him a wonderful new brother. From the moment her sister had joined with him, she’d witnessed the telltale sign of their auras tugging toward each other’s, just as those who were soul bound did.

“You’re not returning to the future already are you?” She’d miss her sister and Finlay terribly when it was time for them to return to Finlay’s time. Aye, she’d struggle to survive the separation. Goodness. Just the thought of her sister soon leaving sent her dismal mood spiraling downhill even further.

“Nay, we’ll be here for some time. Finlay gave Uncle Gilleoin his word he’d remain at the keep with Kirk to care for our clan while he traveled to Stirling.” Gilleoin had been summoned to Stirling Castle by William, the King of Scots, and he’d left with his son and the seer of their clan, hers and Arabel’s grandmother, Nessa. So too Iain and his mate, Isla, had traveled with them, the two so eager to see all that they could of this time while they were here.

“What does Finlay need?”

“He said Cherub would like to see you, that she’s waiting at the sea-gate landing and would like us to return.”

“I wonder what Cherub would like to see me about?” It must be important. Cherub wouldn’t have asked her to come otherwise. The wind whipped Julia’s long golden hair about her waist as she turned toward home and followed the curve of the bay to where the House of Clan Matheson rose like a sentinel, its massive gray stone turrets and towering walls topped with battlements and double the guardsmen roaming the ramparts. ’Twas her sanctuary, and that of her clan’s as well. Never would she allow the MacKenzie to take their home from them.

Along the sea-gate landing next to two moored birlinns, Cherub stood with her hands raised to the sky, her cherry colored gown with its cinched bodice making her a bright beacon of color. The Fae Angel of Love controlled the air element, could halt the wind or send it churning if she so desired. She could also cloak her form and become unseen to another, or if she wished, so too she could become as one with the very air itself and take on a mist form.

“I’m no’ sure, but we’d best be away since Cherub awaits.” Arabel brushed her hands against her forest-green skirts then crossed to her horse and untethered it from a low tree branch.

Julia collected her own mare, mounted and with the reins in hand, slapped her knees into her animal’s flanks and rode back toward home. Bent low over her mount, she rode beside her sister along the high trail veering steeply downward toward the bay.

Arabel arched a challenging brow at her. “Do you care for a race? It might help clear our minds.”

“Always. Catch me if you can,” she challenged right back. Never one to allow her sister to win a race, Julia tucked herself tighter against her horse, her gown’s cream skirts beating against her legs as she urged her mare faster and whizzed along the trail. Stones scattered along the gravelly track, flew over the cliff’s verge and rapped down the rock face before disappearing into the churning, watery depths below.

“Cheat!” Arabel yelled and laughed and pushed her horse harder.

“How does one cheat when riding a horse?” She galloped down the trail and along the grassy verge of the loch and as she arrived at the sea-gate, a mere horse-head in front of Arabel, she slowed her mount and brought it to a halt. With her mare snorting frosty air, she rubbed its neck, tossed one leg over the saddle and—

“Julia, wait.” Arabel shot a look at her foot. “Your shawl is—”

She couldn’t halt her momentum, or free her slippered foot caught in the trailing ends of her shawl. She toppled over and went down, hard. She hit her head on the edge of the stone landing and black spots danced before her eyes. All went dark.

* * *

“JULIA, PLEASE, WAKE up.” Arabel’s voice floated over her. “Now.”

“I’m—” Oh dear, her head thumped as if horses stampeded within.

“Do as your sister says.” Soft hands fluttered over her temple. Cherub’s.

She forced the darkness away and blinked her eyes open. Arabel and Cherub wavered into view, their faces awash with worry. “I’m all right, just a bit—Oooh, everything is swaying.”

“Which means you arena all right at all. You’re also bleeding, and rather profusely.” Arabel gripped the hem of her forest-green skirts, exposed her shift underneath and tore a strip from the bottom of the ivory cotton. Carefully, Arabel wrapped the strip around her head and tied it off in a knot at the back. “This should help stem the blood flow until I can get you inside. You’re going to need stitches, several of them.”

“Nay, please, no stitches.” She touched the bound cloth at the back, her fingers coming away wet with blood. “I hate stitches, and I hate even more how rough you are when you administer them.”

“I’m no’ rough. But stitches are stitches. One cannae halt the pain when taking needle and thread to one’s self.” Arabel patted her hand. “Although I promise to be as gentle as I possibly can.”

“Ladies, wait a moment, there’s another option.” Cherub slid one arm under Julia’s back and helped her sit up. “I know of a healer within my mate’s clan. Tavish is known as a doctor in the twenty-first century and I’ve been to see him a time or two when I’ve had an injured kinsman who required far more aid than what a healer in this time can offer.” Cherub looked into her eyes. “Julia, in the future there are great advancements in healing and Tavish can ensure your wound is stitched without you experiencing any pain whatsoever. If you wish, I can take you to him.”

“You’re going to take me to the future?” She would gladly take Cherub up on her offer for that reason alone. Seeing the time and place where Arabel would soon live with Finlay enticed her to no end. “I would love to go to Ivanson Castle.”

“Then we shall.” Cherub glanced at Arabel with a slightly impish tilt to her lips. “’Twill be best if I take just Julia since Finlay willnae appreciate it if I take you so far from his side, even if only for a little while.”

“I’ll remain but only if you promise to bring Julia back here as soon as you can.” Arabel crawled to Julia’s feet and unhooked her shawl still snagged around her slippered foot.

“I give you my word I will.” With one arm wrapped around Julia’s waist in support, Cherub aided her to her feet. “Julia, you’re to hold on to me while we’re traveling through the vortex I open. No letting go, otherwise you’ll experience a far rougher journey than what is necessary.”

“I understand. I’ll hold tight.” She’d never traveled through one of Cherub’s portals. Eager, she gripped Cherub’s arm.

“Be careful as you travel.” Arabel stepped back, blew each of them a kiss.

“We will.” Cherub swirled her fingers through the air and the wind rose and whipped all about. A portal opened and she and Cherub fell away into the churning abyss.

Stars whirled through the dark and lightning flashed. Excitement buzzed through Julia and she gasped at the sheer beauty of moving through both time and space. What an adventure. She’d gladly fall from her horse again just to experience this.

* * *

FAR IN THE future and on guard in the misty moonlight, Tavish Matheson patrolled the battlements of Ivanson Castle. All remained quiet beyond the curtain wall, the surveillance cameras mounted on the topmost corners of the ramparts capturing the stillness of the night and nothing more. Beyond their keep, the forest stretched for miles upon miles within the mountainous ranges of the Highlands, providing their shifter clan with the perfect level of isolation they needed from the rest of the world.

Deep within the woods, an owl hooted then a second joined the first’s nightly call. He scanned the woods, his shifter sight alone allowing him to see so very well in the gloomy dark. Unease rolled through him and his bear pricked under his skin. Something was off, although he had no idea what.

“Anything interesting going on tonight, brother?” Tor strode toward him in his belted plaid and shirt, his golden shifter eyes bright in the near dark.

“Not a thing, although that alone is making me even more restless.” The wind rose and fog swirled over the treetops. The brisk breeze lifted his black hair and plastered his white shirt against his chest. He palmed his belted sword resting snug at his side. “Are you here to take over?”

“Aye, I’m on watch until dawn.”

“Good, then I might just go for a quick walk, let my bear have a wee stretch before I head to bed.” He clapped Tor’s shoulder as he walked past him then bounded down the stone stairs and jogged out the gate under the raised portcullis. Allowing his bear his release, might just help to settle him down.

More fog swirled, the wind rushing around him. Within the churning haze, two women suddenly appeared, one of them Cherub. He’d never mistake the Fae Angel of Love, not when she’d visited him a time or two along with the odd patient from far in the past. The lass she held onto with one arm around her waist staggered on her feet and clutched her head. Blood oozed through the ivory strip of cloth bound around her head. She must be another patient, and with her velvet gown of cream sweeping to the ground, its sleeves draping over the backs of her hands, quite clearly a lass from another time. Aye, her clothing was from centuries past.

“Tavish, there you are.” Cherub waved out to him. Her creamy skin sparkled, the glimmer a physical attribute held only by the eldest child born within the ancient royal line of the fae. “My apologies, I lost my focus as I opened a portal and missed arriving in your medical rooms, although no’ by far. I need your aid.”

“What can I do to help you?”

“This is Julia. She’s close kin, and took a nasty fall from her horse and wounded herself. Could you take a look at her injury?”

“Of course I can.”

“You all right down there, Tavish?” Tor gripped the crenellation as he leaned over it, his black hair falling forward over his brow. His gaze darted to Cherub and he grinned. “Welcome back, Cherub. So you’re the one causing the air to stir.”

“Evening, Tor. I brought Dr. Tavish a patient, a very important patient from Gilleoin’s time.” Cherub smiled at his brother. For so long Cherub had hidden her true self from their clan, preferring to remain cloaked on her visits due to her sparkly skin, but no more, not since she’d become mated to Kirk, one of their chief’s three sons.

“Let’s get the two of you inside and I’ll see to this very important patient.” Tavish went to scoop Julia up so she needn’t walk but then stopped. She wasn’t from his time, might find his actions far too forward. Instead, he offered her his arm.

“Thank you.” Julia slid her trembling hand through the crook in his elbow and curled her fingers around his wrist, her touch so sweetly warm and making his bear stretch deep inside him, as if itching to get closer to her. That had never happened to him with a woman before.

He shook the thought off as Julia glanced all about, taking in the high curtain wall, the forest then the gravel driveway which led around to the back of the keep to a large parking area in the rear. “I take it this is your first time here?”

“It is, although I expected to see something…different. Particularly since I’ve traveled over eight-hundred years through time.” She watched her feet with each unsteady step she made.

“Just wait until you get inside.” He guided her across the stony ground. “You’ll see ‘different’ then. That I promise you.”

“Julia, you’ll love seeing all that this time offers.” Cherub led the way under the arch and into the bailey. “Like electricity and running water. I have a home in this time which is located not far from here at Angel Bay. I dearly miss being there when I flitter all about.”

The brisk breeze rose, swirled Julia’s scent around him, a sweet white rose fragrance that tickled his nose. She smelled so soft and feminine and he dragged in an even deeper breath to capture more of her elusive aroma. His bear fairly purred his pleasure from deep within.

Julia’s gaze lifted to his, her blue eyes as stunning as a clear summer sky and holding glittering sparks of gold around the edges. “Did you say something? I heard a purr.”

“That was my bear.” Although how she’d heard his beast deep inside him was intriguing. He hadn’t emitted any sound. Only he could hear his bear. “My other half likes how you smell, and so do I.”

“You do?” Her cheeks flushed an adorable pink. “I sprinkle rose oil in my bath, ah, water.” The pink bloomed even brighter as she lowered her gaze. “Goodness, I cannae believe I just said that.”

“I’m rather glad you did.” He halted in the middle of the bailey next to Cherub, right beside the center well with its swinging wooden pail and sweeping ivy.

“Oh dear, Kirk calls.” Cherub touched her head. “There’s another emergency. Our connection can cut in and out sometimes when we’re separated by time so ’tis fortunate he could reach me as he has.” She gripped Julia’s hands. “I must go, but just know I’m leaving you in the best of hands. I trust Tavish. He’s a wonderful doctor, so kind and caring.”

“If you need to go, I understand.”

“I’ll return as soon as I can.” Cherub patted his shoulder. “I expect you to take good care of my kin.”

“I’ll take the utmost care. You do what you need to. I’ll keep Julia with me until you return.”

“Of course you will. I would expect naught less.” With a mischievous smile, Cherub backed away then twirled the air. She opened a vortex and as the wind rushed all about, she disappeared within the swirling dark.

“Cherub said you’re close kin. How close?” He steered Julia toward the front door of the keep.

“My sister, Arabel, is Cherub’s sister by marriage, so very close.”

“I’ve heard of a lass named Arabel. She’s mated to Finlay, right?” Which meant her sister held the fire-wielder skill. Even though Finlay hadn’t yet returned to this time, he’d heard all about what Arabel could do from Finlay’s brother, Kirk, during his flying visits in and out with Cherub. “Iain, Finlay, and Kirk are my second cousins.”

“Then ’tis a very small world indeed…or mayhap time.” She smiled and swayed, grasped his arm firmer.

“Here, let me carry you. You’re not stable on your feet yet.”

“I’m truly—”

He scooped her up and she gasped and clutched his shirtfront.

“—fine.”

“No, it’s best I carry you. I wouldn’t want you falling and hurting yourself again.” Too bad about the protocols between times. He wanted to hold her. Up the front step, he bounded then upstairs and along the passageway of the second floor toward his well-lit medical rooms at the end. Once inside, he set Julia down on the white-sheeted medical bed positioned in the center of the room, washed up at the sink and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. With a tray of utensils in hand, he walked in behind her and set the tray on the side table. “Head wounds can be dangerous, but I promise to take good care of you.”

“Cherub trusts you, which means I trust you too.” Her words warmed his heart and he smiled.

“Thank you. I don’t intend to lose that trust.” He picked up his scissors, carefully sliced the bloodied cloth away then gently separated her hair. The wound was long but thankfully not too deep. “Tell me all about yourself, Julia.” He yearned to know more. “Everything about the past intrigues me, particularly your time when Gilleoin reigned as chief of our clan.”

“I’m an aura reader and can sense another’s true intentions by the color and the sound of their aura, and Gilleoin is my uncle, wed to my Aunt Sorcha.”

“I’ve never met an aura reader before.” But that went someway to explaining her earlier comment. She’d heard the sound of his bear’s contentment. “What does my aura tell you?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, her smile making his heart lose a beat. Those sweetly pink lips of hers with their perfect pout, enticed him, made him want a taste. “Your aura is a pure white with a tinge of sizzling red at the edge, just as Gilleoin’s is. ’Tis a shifter’s aura you have, but there is more. When I focus on you, I can hear a gentle purr and that tells me you and your bear are as one, that your other half is rather content right now.”

His bear was certainly content, any and all restlessness he’d felt earlier having disappeared the moment she’d arrived. “Your assessment is absolutely correct. Where do you live when not buzzing through time with Cherub?”

“At the House of Clan Matheson on the shores of Loch Alsh.” She rubbed her forehead and grimaced. “There is an ache and it worsens.”

“Did you lose any awareness when you fell from your horse?” He’d give her medication for the headache, the moment he’d stitched her wound.

“How did you know I fell from my horse?”

“Cherub said so when you first arrived. Do you recall her saying so?” Her clear confusion likely came from her losing consciousness.

“I do now you’ve jogged my memory, and aye, I lost awareness, Dr. Tavish. My sister woke me from the dark.”

“Call me Tavish. There’s no need to stand on formality while you’re here.” He reached up and tugged the overhead light on its metal arm closer. Light blazed and Julia’s eyes went wide as she ogled it.

“Oh my, you have light without fire.”

“This light comes from a light bulb, and definitely no fire is needed. This is a form of the electricity Cherub mentioned before. Lower your chin if you can. I’d like to flush this wound and clean it well. I’m also going to numb the area too. The most you should feel is a slight pinch when the injection goes in then maybe the odd little tug as I stitch the edges together.”

“What is an in-jec-tion?” She twisted her tongue around the foreign word as she touched her chin to her chest for him.

“Doctors in this time use different tools to aid us in healing our patients, and since I’ve no intention of allowing you to feel any pain, I’m going to use an injection with a numbing agent inside.” He cleaned the wound then smeared each side with numbing gel to ensure she didn’t even feel the needle going in. No pain at all was his ultimate goal.

“Tavish,” she whispered his name, her voice so soft as she leaned back a little against him. “Did you know your name means twin?”

“Which I happen to be.” Injection in. “Did you not see Tor on the battlements outside? He’s the one who called out. We’re identical.” He threaded the needle and set to work stitching the wound. “He was pretty hard to miss.”

“I’m afraid I only saw a dark shadow. My vision was still a little spotty at that time. Arabel isnae just my sister but also my twin. She’s a whole five minutes older than me, and always reminding me of it.”

“Tor’s a whole five minutes younger than I am. I have no trouble reminding him of that either.” He ran another quick check over her head for any sign of swelling but there was none. Keeping a close eye on her throughout the night though would be a necessity, and he wouldn’t allow Cherub to take Julia away until at least the morning, that’s if Cherub returned before then. Another stitch. “Twins actually run strongly in my shifter clan. More often than not two cubs are born at once, although Iain, Finlay, and Kirk are the first triplets we’ve had.”

“Twins run strongly through my fae line as well.” She gripped the edge of the thin mattress either side of her, her knuckles going white. “I’m nervous. I’ve never been all that good at getting stitches and I fear the first one. ’Tis an awful kind of pain.”

“There’s no need to be nervous.” He covered one of her hands with his and her grip relaxed under his touch. “I’ve already made the first stitch, as well as the second.” He began the third stitch.

“You have?” She jerked her head upright and stared at the long length of thread that led from the back of her head to his hand. A smile lifted her lips. “Well, would you look at that. You are a very clever doctor indeed, with a most magical touch. Should I ever need stitches again, I am coming right back here to see you.”

“Thank you, but I hope you’ll never require stitches again. Look front and center for me.”

“Of course. My apologies.” She resumed the right position and he returned to his work, bringing each side of her wound nicely and neatly together. “Are you mated, Tavish?”

“As yet I’m not, although on the last full moon my senses arose just as the other unmated males in my clan’s did since the ‘power of three’ was unveiled and the fae village saved.” He inspected his stitches, five altogether, which would dissolve on their own in another six or seven days’ time. “All done, Julia.”

“Already?” She glanced at him with the sweetest smile. “I shall never forget your kindness. You have my most grateful thanks for your aid.”

“And I shall never forget the aura reader who paid me a visit from the past.” He dropped his utensils into the automated cleaning machine on the bench, collected a bottle of water from the small corner fridge then with two painkillers in hand, returned to her and held them out. “I want you to swallow these pills. They’ll chase away any lingering pain and allow you to sleep with ease throughout the night. I’ll also need you to sleep over so I can ensure all is well.”

“I would like to stay longer, to see what else this time offers. What herb are these made of?” She accepted the pills and humming under her breath, rubbed them between her fingers.

“Those pills aren’t actually made of herbs but a proven medication.” He uncapped the bottle lid.

“Would you look at that.” She nabbed the bottle from him, swirled the water within then fingered the notches on the rim. “How clever to put a top like this on the bottle. I see the cap can wind itself over the head of the spout through these ridges. What is this bottle made of?”

“Plastic, a manmade substance. Pop one of those pills on your tongue then scrape it to the back with your teeth. As soon as you’ve done that, take a sip of water and gulp the pill down, then repeat again with the second pill.” Her questions and delight at seeing so many new things touched his heart. He’d love to show her around his home, take her to some of his favorite places and watch her excitement continue to grow and bloom.

She swallowed the pills.

“Would you like to bathe and wash the blood from your hair before I organize a place for you to sleep?”

“Am I allowed to bathe? Whenever I’ve had stitches in the past, my sister hasn’t allowed me to get them wet.”

“Just this once you may bathe, then you’re to ensure your stitches remain dry for the next few days. I’ve actually used dissolving stitches, so there’s no need for me to even physically remove them once your wound has healed.”

“Then a chance to bathe would be most appreciated.”

“Good. Come with me. I’ll show you to my bathroom and get you sorted.” He set his hands on her waist and lifted her off the bed then slowly set her down in front of him.

Wobbling, she grasped his shirtfront and leaned her forehead against his chest. “I still feel so woozy.”

“Lean on me as often as you need to.” He tucked a lock of her wind tangled blond hair behind her ear then once she appeared steady on her feet, offered her his arm once more and guided her out the door and into his bedroom down the hallway. His four-poster bed took up half the large space, the remainder holding a blue swede settee and an armchair angled in front of a wide screen TV. His bathroom sat off to one side and he steered her across his room and through the door. Sandy colored tiles led to an open shower in the tiled corner, one without any glass sides. The shower curtain though could be pulled across if needed, although he rarely used it. The bathroom flooring was designed to funnel the water away into the sink hole.

Julia ogled the room and gasped as she sighted the massive mirror over top of the white marble vanity. “I can almost see my entire self in that looking glass. That is the largest one I’ve ever beheld.”

“We call them mirrors in this time, and it is a beauty.” He picked up the metal shower chair, set it in the center of the showering area then flicked the overhead fan on. It whirred and fluttered the white towels on the side rail. “Come here, Julia. Take a seat.” She did and he lowered to a crouch, bringing them eye to eye. “I don’t actually have a bath as such for you to bathe in, but instead I’ve got a shower in which you’ll sit underneath. That is how you’ll be able to bathe and wash up.”

“I see.” With one finger, she touched the button on his shirt then glanced at the ceiling above and each wall surrounding her. An intriguing look crossed her face. “And how does one shower inside a bathroom when there is no way for a shower of water to reach me?”

“Showers are a modern invention and it’s best if I show you, rather than try to explain how they work.” He removed her slippers and lobbed them toward the heated towel rail. There, they’d remain dry and out of the spray’s reach. From the shower caddy, he handed her shampoo and a bar of soap. “Feel free to use anything in this room you might need. What’s mine is now yours.”

“Are you certain I need to be sitting right here to have this…ah…shower?”

“Very sure.” He chuckled and popped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ve never met such a woman as you, and it feels like forever since I’ve had such an enjoyable conversation. Seeing your delight in all these new things reminds me of how lucky we are to live in this time with all our modern conveniences.”

“I’ve never had such an interesting and enjoyable conversation either.” She touched her forehead where he’d kissed her. “What do I do next?”

“You’ll need to take your gown off to shower.” She had a full-length shift on underneath, the top lacy edge of it showing along her neckline. “Will your shift cover you adequately? You can borrow a towel if not, but it’s best I remain with you while you shower since you’re not yet steady enough on your feet. The last thing I want you to do is fall and hit your head on these hard tiles.”

“Aye, I usually swim in my shift when needed so it will cover me adequately, although I cannae reach the stays in the back of my gown. Could you aid me?” She set the shampoo and soap on the floor next to her chair, rose to her feet and gave him her back.

“Absolutely.” He swept her long blond hair to one side and exposed the creamy length of her neck then with her gown’s cream and gold ribbons in hand, he unlaced her stays. “There, all done.”

“Thank you.” She wriggled the loose fabric down over her hips and the cream velvet swished to the floor. She scooped it up and hung it on the wall hook then wavered in her step, pressed her hands to her knees and drew in a long breath. “Everything spins when I move too fast.”

“Then take a seat. I set it there for you for that very reason.” He led her back to the chair and she plopped onto it and eyes closed, slowly breathed in and out. He hunkered down, rested his hands on her knees and gently rubbed. “I promised Cherub I’d remain with you and I will. Also, with dizziness usually comes nausea. Let me know if you feel sick so I can give you some meds to ease your symptoms.”

“There is no nausea, just dizziness.” She opened her beautiful blue eyes with their glimmer of gold at the edge and covered his hands with hers. “’Tis so comforting to be near you. You make me feel quite at ease.”

“It’s comforting for me to be near you too.” More so with each minute that passed. Gently, he turned one of her hands over, picked up the shampoo bottle and squeezed a dollop of apple scented shampoo into her palm. “This is shampoo, what we use to clean our hair.”

“It smells delicious.” With one finger, she swirled through the creamy colored mix then cupped the back of his head, drew him closer and buried her nose in his black locks. “Mmm, whenever I eat an apple, I shall now think about you and this very moment.” She rubbed the shampoo in her hands and grinned as the mix bubbled up. “Show me how to shower.”

This he couldn’t wait for, to see her surprise at the sight of running water streaming from the shower head. With the nozzle unhooked from the slide rail, he flicked the lever on then with his hand under the spray, waited for it to hit just the right heat—nice and warm and not too hot.

“That is so fascinating.” Julia scraped her chair closer and grasped his hand being hit by the spray. “’Tis like a waterfall of water, a heated waterfall.”

“There are metal pipes that bring this water right through these walls into this very bathroom. When one turns the lever on, water flows, or when the lever is turned off, the water halts.” He passed her the shower head. “You’re to control where the water goes.”

She turned the nozzle on herself and the spray hit her front and flattened the thin cloth to her body. Lifting it over her head, she laughed as water sluiced through her locks and down to her feet tucked under the chair. Her big blue eyes met his, the twinkle within making him catch his breath. Comforting didn’t even begin to describe how he currently felt around her. Inspired, thrilled, at peace and bursting with happiness, did.

“Here, let me help you.” He picked up the shampoo and squirted more into his palm since she’d washed what he’d given her away. From behind her, he gently worked the bubbles through her wet hair, the silky strands sliding so sensuously through his fingers.

“I feel like I’m in heaven. Thank you for taking such wonderful care of me.” She tipped her head back farther and sighed with delight.

Transfixed, he couldn’t take his gaze from her. Tiny dimples either side of her lush lips begged for his touch and her sheer exuberance warmed the inside of his heart.

She waved the shower head up and down her body until the wet cloth was plastered against each and every inch of her. Slim legs and shapely calves, soft hips and the roundness of her full breasts. Hell, even a heavenly tease of her pink nipples showed. His mouth watered and his bear fairly purred for more. Never had the sight of a woman ever caused such a staggering need to rear to glaring life within him, not once, not ever.

He took the shower head from her and rinsed the bubbles away.

Was it possible the Fae Angel of Love had brought his chosen one right to his doorstep? Never had he imagined meeting his mate like this. He mulled the thought over, although not for long. Everything about Julia captured and enticed him. There was only one woman for him, his soul bound mate and it was her. Of that he was certain.

His chosen one sat right before him, and his soul lifted and rejoiced.

* * *

WARM WATER STREAMED through Julia’s hair and with it eased the thumping in her head, or mayhap that was from the pills Tavish had given her. No matter which it had been, she’d never felt so relaxed and alive as she had in this moment. For so long she’d grieved for her parents, but this trip here into the future had relieved a little of the terrible burden she always carried.

Tavish leaned in behind her, touched his cheek to her cheek and whispered, “You’re all done.”

“Thank you.” She reached back with one hand and cupped his stubbly jaw. Being near him soothed her, in a way she’d never experienced around a man before, and the red edging his pure white aura shimmered even brighter. So too the gentle purr emanating from him rose to a wickedly low rumble. She swiveled around on her chair, rested one hand on the metal back and used it to keep her balance as she stood. Goodness. Her shift was plastered to her. She plucked it away from her chest, swiped a drying cloth from the rail and wrapped it around her. Such fluffy white cotton. Never had she wrapped herself in such a decadent cloth before. She rubbed her cheek against it. Tiny loops had been woven into the weave that thickened the cloth and made it lusher. “What is this called?”

“A towel.” His shifter eyes blazed with smoldering heat as he gazed at her. “Feeling warmer?”

“Very.” Heat flushed through her and she swayed.

“Hold onto me if you feel faint.”

“I cannae halt this dizziness.” Leaning against him, she nestled her cheek against his chest, his white shirt damp and clinging to his skin from the shower water she must have accidentally sprayed him with. “I wouldnae mind that bed to rest in now.”

“I’ll grab you something to sleep in first. I don’t have any women’s clothing in my wardrobe and I’d rather not wake one of the ladies in the keep to procure what you’ll need, but I could offer you a shirt, some sweatpants as well.”

The thought of wearing his clothing sent tantalizing thoughts swirling through her mind. She probably should say no and don her gown again, but any form of refusal wouldn’t leave her mouth. “I’d like that.”

“My clothing it is then.” He disappeared out the door into his bedchamber, those dark trews he wore hugging his tight backside, a backside she truly shouldn’t be admiring quite the way she was. Knocking her head had certainly scattered her usually good thoughts.

She shuffled about within the thick cloth, shoved her arms out of her soggy shift and tugged it down. The ivory linen fell in a wet plop to the floor and she stepped out of it, the towel still well secured around her.

“Here you go.” Tavish returned with a bundle of clothing in hand, a royal blue shirt and men’s trews, or what he’d called sweatpants. He scooped up her shift from the floor, wrung the water from it then laid it over top of the rail before he slipped back out the door and closed it after himself.

Against the wall, she leaned, dropped the towel completely and pulled his shirt over her head. The soft linen flapped down to her knees. She rolled the sleeves up to her elbows then tugged her wet hair out from underneath the collar and used the towel to dry it.

“Are you almost done?” His voice floated to her through the thick paneling of wood.

“One moment.” She flapped out his gray sweatpants and stepped into them although they slithered right back down her legs and fell in a soft puddle. She stepped out of them and picked them up. “The sweatpants are too big.”

“Let me see.” He stepped inside and eyed them in her hands. “I might have a smaller pair, one that shrunk in the wash not long ago.”

“Nay, this shirt will do.” ’Twas decent enough with only her calves and feet showing. She handed the pants to him, lifted the shirt collar over her nose and breathed in his warm and fresh scent trapped within the cloth. “I like your shirt.”

“I like seeing it on you as well.” He foraged in one of the drawers under the counter with its wide basin, nabbed a brush and gently detangled her locks before dropping the brush back in the drawer. With one hand at her back, he guided her into his chamber where the covers had been pulled back on one side of the bed. “Hop in. I want you to get as much rest as possible for what remains of the night.”

“I’m to sleep in your bed?”

“I’ve used the settee before as a bed, and I’d rather you sleep right here where I know you’ll be comfortable and where I can keep a close eye on you. You took a nasty fall and I intend to wake you every hour or two to ensure all is well.”

“Our clan healer does that too with warriors who’ve lost awareness during a battle. She fears they may no’ wake in the morning, so to set her mind at ease, she stirs them often during the night.” She eased under the covers and jiggled about on the thick mattress. “This bed is so soft and so big. There’s no need for you to sleep on the settee if you wish, provided you can keep to the other side of this bed.”

“Are you sure?” He toed off his boots, removed his sword belt and propped his weapon against the wall.

“I dinnae mind at all.” She pulled the covers back on the other side and wriggled back to make more room for him. He slid into the bed fully clothed then reached up behind him on the wall and flicked a switch which turned the overhead light off and plunged the chamber into near darkness. Only a shimmer of the moon’s glow trickled in through a gap in his navy curtains. The gentle moonbeams played over his high cheeks and firm jaw. “I hope Cherub takes her time in returning. I would dearly love to see more of your keep and these fascinating things of your time.”

On his side, he faced her. “When Cherub returns, I don’t intend to let you go, to just simply disappear back through time and never see you again.” His aura flared and the gentle purr emanating from him rose to a low growl.

“I’m sorry.” She rubbed his arm to soothe him and the growl tapered away. “I didnae mean to say something that would upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Aye, you were. Your aura told me so.” One’s aura never lied, other than for Colin and Jeremiah MacKenzie’s auras. Theirs lied with a lethalness that could kill.

“I just don’t care for the thought of you leaving. That’s all.”

“I can ask Cherub if she will bring me back to visit. Since Arabel will be living here and our parents—” Her gaze misted and she blinked the hot rush of tears away. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me what you were just thinking that upset you.”

“My thoughts have dwelled on my parents a great deal this day. They passed away and now my sister is all I have.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” He curled his hand over her hip, his fingers warm and soothing. He tugged her closer, his gaze intent. “Do you want to talk about them?”

“I miss them, terribly.”

“What are their names?”

“Aleck and Adair.” Talking might help. “My father was a great warrior who held fae blood and my mother had the most caring heart. She studied herbs and aided our healer when needed. Both came from the fae village.”

“How did they pass? If you don’t mind me asking.” He stroked her hip and she wriggled closer at his gentle touch.

“No’ long after Arabel and I came of age, the Chief of MacKenzie requested a meeting with Gilleoin and my father. He wished to enter into negotiations for the marriage of his son, Jeremiah, to one of Gilleoin’s nieces since Gilleoin had no daughters. That marriage was to be between Jeremiah and me. At the time our two clans were no’ yet at war as we currently are.” She covered his hand with hers. She couldn’t halt her need to share even more. “Unfortunately that meeting was just a ruse. I sat in on it at my father’s request in order to keep an eye on Colin and Jeremiah MacKenzie’s auras. They lied, which I didnae pick up on, and in doing so I misread their true intentions.”

“What happened next?”

“Later that week, as soon as my parents arrived at Colin MacKenzie’s keep to complete the negotiations, he had them tossed into the dungeon and then a demand sent to Gilleoin. My uncle was told to hand over his lands on the tip of Loch Alsh and in return the MacKenzie would release my parents. Of course many demands volleyed back and forth between them, and for several months until it became clear to Gilleoin that the MacKenzie was unable to listen to reason. That’s when my uncle set out for their stronghold with an elite contingency of his warriors. Gilleoin’s intention was to sneak in under the cover of darkness, rescue my parents and then return with them, but instead he discovered they’d been slain at the MacKenzie’s own hand, several months prior and afore the first demand had even been sent. Gilleoin was furious and attacked. When he left, ’twas with a bloody trail in his wake.”

“No one should have to lose their parents, and certainly not the way you and Arabel did.”

“I would never wish what my sister and I have gone through on anyone.” She plumped her pillow under her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered down and she pushed her eyes back open. All that had happened this day had tired her. “It has helped to speak to you of this.” It truly had.

“I’m glad you’ve shared this with me.” He tucked her closer, slid his hand right around her waist and palmed the lower curve of her back. “Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you as you rest.”

“Do you always watch over your patients with such dedicated care?”

“Always, but I shall be watching over you as if my very life depended on it.”

“You are so very kind and caring, exactly as Cherub said.” She focused on his aura then hers. No tugging.

’Twas a shame their auras didn’t move toward each other’s, as those who were soul bound did. He would make a wonderful mate. Certainly, the woman he was soul bound to would be one lucky lass.

She closed her eyes and drifted.

The dark rose and took her swiftly away.

Chapter 2

The ancient House of Clan Matheson, 1210.

AS DAWN BROKE the following morning, Cherub paced the chief’s solar, the missive she, Kirk, and Finlay had received from the Chief of MacKenzie scrunched in her hand. Their enemy had sent them yet another demand, one that had her frustration and fury rising. She clasped her hips. “The nerve of the man.”

“Calm down, my love.” Kirk stepped in her path and gripped her shoulders. Sheathed wrist daggers glinted from under his rolled cuffs, his tan leather vest stretching tight across his broad shoulders. “We’ll sort everything out.”

“Aye, we will.” She unraveled the missive and traced her finger along the top line.

A marriage of alliance is what I seek. Bring Gilleoin’s niece to me, the aura reader Julia, and following her marriage to my son Jeremiah, I shall forthwith return Aleck and Adair Matheson into your hands.

You have a fortnight to answer this summons. Expect their death if you dinnae.

“Kirk, in this missive MacKenzie states that Arabel and Julia’s parents live, which is a complete and utter lie. Gilleoin himself snuck into MacKenzie’s lair with an elite team of his own men and searched the dungeons for Aleck and Adair. When he didn’t find any sign of them, he seized one of the guardsmen and learnt exactly what had happened. The MacKenzie slaughtered them, with his own hands no less. They’ve been gone for so long, well over a year. Why is MacKenzie now attempting to revive them from the dead?”

“What if they never truly perished?”

“That’s exactly the question we need to consider.” Finlay tossed another log on the roaring fire. “Aleck and Adair’s bodies weren’t returned for burial, and other than Gilleoin being unable to find them, we have only one lone MacKenzie guardsmen’s word that they perished at MacKenzie’s hand.”

“There is also the fact that the MacKenzie’s demands ceased once Gilleoin had discovered the truth. Nay, I believe MacKenzie is playing some sort of game with us.” She tucked her cheek against Kirk’s chest. Heartache at the loss of her kin still consumed her. “I’m certain of it. This missive is naught but a lie.” Except what if it wasn’t? She couldn’t deny that thought nagged at her.

“Yet if there’s even an inkling of truth to it, and Aleck and Adair do in fact live, have survived this entire time, then we have to do all we can to find them and free them.” Determination flashed in Finlay’s eyes. He nodded at Kirk. “You know what needs to happen.”

“Cherub and I will breeze on into Colin MacKenzie’s lair and investigate further.” Kirk slid one finger under her chin and tipped her gaze up to meet his. “Do you agree?”

“I do, although if they do live, MacKenzie would never keep them in his dungeons, no’ when he’s well aware of all I can do. They could also be imprisoned anywhere by now. His lands spread from Loch Alsh all the way to Loch Broom, far across the mountainous plateau to the north. There’s so much land to search. MacKenzie also has strong ties with his surrounding allied clans. He could call upon any one of them to hold his captives for him.” Her heart ached for Arabel and Julia and what they’d soon be going through once they learnt of the MacKenzie’s latest demand. Fury would take hold and then no doubt hope would blossom. That was what Colin MacKenzie wanted, to ensure they all held that hope.

“Yet we still need to start our search somewhere.” Kirk stroked her back. “Perhaps he’s even counting on us eliminating the most obvious place to check first.”

“I agree with Kirk.” Finlay planted his feet wide and crossed his arms. “We need to search MacKenzie’s keep, then we’ll devise a plan if you come up with nothing. We’ll spread our search area out from that point. Certainly once Arabel learns of this missive, she’ll be forever haunted by the possibility of ‘what if.’ We have to take action. Doing nothing isn’t acceptable, which I’m sure Gilleoin would agree with.”

“We won’t rest until we discover exactly what happened.” Kirk crossed to Finlay and clasped his forearm in a firm warrior’s hold. “Gilleoin left this castle, his people, and his lands in our keeping until he returns from Stirling with Kenneth and Iain. He’d want us to search for his kin, until we’d scoured every inch of MacKenzie land.”

“He’d also never allow us to give into the MacKenzie’s new demand. If Arabel and Julia’s parents live, then we’ll bring them safely back home and not fall prey to the rest of what he’s demanded.” Finlay returned Kirk’s strong forearm hold. “We stand together as one, just as we’ve always done.”

“Aye, as one.”

Cherub nodded her agreement. The MacKenzie was clearly after control, and taking Julia from them would only end in more demands if they allowed such a marriage to occur. MacKenzie had lost the recent battle at the fae village, then failed at gaining the eternal life he’d been after by taking her and forcing her hand to spell his soul to hers and now he wished to raise the dead and gain a hold over Gilleoin’s clan through marriage to one of her closest. She’d never allow it. Julia was bound for another, the man who held the other half of her soul.

“What are you thinking that has that fierce frown on your face?” Kirk asked, his mind moving swiftly through hers as he sought the information he desired.

“We’ve spoken of this afore.” She sent all thought of Julia and Tavish’s mated bond from her mind. “A mated male longs for the chase, and part of his journey is in what he must overcome in order to be with his chosen one. That journey builds the foundation for their bond and all that ’twill be.”

“Are you speaking of Tavish and Tor and the other unmated males within our shifter clan?”

“I am.”

“What have any of them got to do with this missive from Colin MacKenzie?”

“For now, that I cannae say, but in time all will be made clear.”

“Is this one of those instances where you prefer I don’t deprive my clansmen of the chase that awaits them?”

“Exactly.” She tucked the missive into her plum gown’s pocket and glanced at Finlay. “You speak to Arabel and we’ll update Julia once we’ve completed our search.” She caught Kirk’s hand. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Always.” He wrapped his arms around her. “My place is at your side, just as yours is at mine. You can take me to wherever you please, whenever you please.”

Love overflowed her heart. She’d been gifted with such a wonderful and loyal mate and every day she thanked the fates that had brought them together. On her toes, she reached up and kissed his chin. “Hold tight, my tempting bear. We have a new mission to undertake.

“Be careful, both of you.” Finlay lifted a hand. “I’ll see you on your return.”

“That you will.” She smiled at Finlay, cloaked herself and extended her veil over Kirk then whisked them out the open window and soared toward the MacKenzie’s lair. If Aleck and Adair lived, she would see them freed. She wouldn’t rest until she had.

Chapter 3

THE DAWN’S RISING sunshine streamed through the gap in Tavish’s navy curtains and fluttered over Julia’s closed eyelids. Birds twittered outside and she wriggled, her legs trapped under one of Tavish’s muscled legs. On his belly, he lay half over top of her, his arm a warm and solid weight around her waist.

Soundly, he slept, her movement not even making him stir. He must be exhausted. He’d woken her throughout the night, each time for only a moment or two but his worry for her had been clear to see each time he had. She smoothed one thumb under the dark shadows lining his eyes then slid her fingers through his silky black shoulder-length hair. Tingles raced across her fingertips.

Sometime during the night, he’d taken his shirt off and tossed it onto the end of his bed and now his shoulders, so wide and heavy with muscle, lay temptingly before her. They rippled with strength and she pushed the covers back a little more and exposed his broad back and tapered waist. Black trews clung to his hips and his golden skin gleamed. Oh my, she truly shouldn’t be looking her full quite like this.

She pulled the covers back up and continued to mentally berate herself as she snuck out of bed. She tiptoed across the cold polished floorboards toward the corner oak chest. In the topmost drawer, a pair of white socks poked out and she tugged them free and pulled them onto her chilled feet. She trailed her fingers down the front of the shirt Tavish had loaned her. The buttons were quite shiny and made of a similar substance to that of the water bottle she’d sipped from last eve. They must be plastic too. Never had she seen buttons made of anything other than bone, wood, or sea shells. There was so much in this time she wished to see.

Propped on top of the chest, a colorful image was wedged inside a dark wooden frame. She picked the frame up and stroked the glass covering the image within, one incredibly lifelike and completely captivating. Tavish stood impeccably attired in pleated tan trews and a pale blue collared shirt and leather belt, his arm slung over another man’s shoulders, a man identical to him in every way. His twin. Tor wore a similar pair of trews to Tavish but in a forest-green and a pressed tan shirt. The two stood underneath a large elm tree with a thick matting of amber colored leaves at their feet, the stone walls of Ivanson Castle rising high behind them. Such a precious image. She would adore having one like this of her and Arabel.

Gently, she set the picture back in its rightful place then hopped across to the window. She slid one finger between the navy curtains and opened them an inch. Below in the stony inner courtyard, muscled men in billowy shirts and belted Matheson plaids strode toward the training area near the far curtain wall. They stretched then partnered up and tapped their swords together. With a heave, they struck and fought, each strike of their blade against the other’s ricocheting toward her. She jumped at the fierce clanging and checked on Tavish over her shoulder.

Eyes closed, he stretched then patted the space where she’d been. “Julia?” He jerked upright, flung his eyes open then as he spied her at the window, sighed raggedly. “You gave me a fright. I didn’t hear you wake up. What are you doing over there?”

“I wanted to see more of your time.”

“It’s cold out of bed.” He shoved the covers back and marched toward her. Those broad shoulders she’d not long admired led to a glorious chest holding a smattering of hair as dark as his head, and defined abs that had her fingers itching to touch him once more. Goodness. He must train daily with the sword to have built such strength within his body. He wrapped his arms around her and swamped her in his heat. “Let me warm you up. My shifter blood runs hotter than mere human blood alone.”

Her hands were squished between them, right against his chest. She spread her fingers wide, closed her eyes and breathed in his warm and fresh scent. “Mmm, now I’m much warmer.”

“I see my clansmen are already at training.” Over her head, he pushed the curtains right back and flooded the chamber with sunshine. “Sorry for sleeping in. I didn’t mean to. Let’s turn you around so I can check your wound, then I can show you around so you can see more of my time.”

“There is no pain.”

“I still need to ensure everything looks well.” He perched his backside on the stone windowsill, turned her around and tugged her in between the V of his spread legs. With her hair separated at the back, he began his examination.

She gripped his muscled thighs either side of her hips. Never had she been in such close proximity to a man before, and neither did she want to be anywhere else. What was wrong with her? Never had she acted so wantonly before. Perhaps the bump to her head had caused her to lose all good sense?

“There’s no sign of any infection, although there is a bruise. If you feel sore, or if your head aches, just ask me for some more painkillers and I’ll ensure you get them.”

“I’m sure I shall be fine.” She stepped out of his hold and walked around the bed toward his private bathroom. If he intended to show her around, she needed to dress, and in far more than just his shirt.

“Wait up a moment.” Stealthily, he followed her then swept in front and blocked her path. He slid one hand over her hip and the other around to the small of her back. “Would you like me to rustle us up a breakfast tray and bring it up here for us both, or for me to take you downstairs to the great hall so we can eat with my clansmen?”

“I would love to meet your clansmen.” She pressed her hand against his chest, right over his heavily beating heart. Its beat, so sure and strong, pounded underneath her palm and the red tingeing the white of his aura blazed brighter and surged with more heat. Even the gentle purr he emitted rumbled louder, his bear incredibly close to the surface. “What’s your bear like?”

“He’s been antsy of late, particularly since the last full moon should have led me to my mate but instead led me nowhere.” He covered her hand with his and trapped her fingers against his warm skin. “Julia, we need to talk. I actually wanted to speak to you about something very important last night, right after you showered, but with your injury I thought it best I keep this coming discussion until this morning.”

“What did you wish to discuss?”

“As your doctor, I’m not permitted a relationship with you, therefore I’m giving you notice I’m no longer your physician.”

“Oh, ah, all right.”

“Instead, I would like to ask for your permission to court you.”

“Pardon?”

“I would also like to ask your permission for a kiss.” He ran one finger along her lower lip. “Every time I woke you, all I wanted to do was kiss you. I still do, and it’s becoming a craving I can’t ignore.”

“But what of your mate?” She couldn’t allow him a kiss, not when he was soul bound to another.

“You are my mate.”

“Nay.” She stepped back from him. “I can see when two are soul bound, and your aura does no’ tug toward mine or mine toward yours.” Only those who were soul bound did. “I’m sorry, but we arena mated.”

“I say we are.” He drew her back against him, until the entire length of her body touched his. “You also have the lushest lips and I need to know what you taste like.”

“We truly arena mated.” She shoved one hand up between them. Desire had never risen in her before, but it had with him. ’Twas a shame they weren’t soul bound, that he was meant for another. “No kissing is permitted.”

“Your scent is driving my bear crazy right now.” Leaning in, he breathed deep. “So too you’re wearing my shirt and I love it.” He nuzzled her neck, right over her pounding pulse. “The need to bite you, to mark you as mine is strong. Forget about the aura-tugging. Every sign I can see leads me to only one conclusion. You are my chosen one.”

“Aura-tugging is the only sign that matters to me.” She ducked under his arm and whipped into the bathroom and shut the door. She couldn’t be his chosen one, even if she wished it. She pulled his shirt over her head then folded it carefully on top of the counter. From the heated rail, she nabbed her shift and slipped the dry and warm linen over her head. Thank goodness for the wonderful inventions of this time. Heated rails. Truly impressive. She lifted her gown from the hook on the back of the door and brushed the odd bit of dry dirt away. In the basin, she rinsed a spot of blood from one shoulder then donned the cream gown as best as she could with the stays that laced at the back. With her slippers on, she searched the drawer for the brush Tavish had tidied her locks with the night before and ran it through her hair.

“I have some clothes for you, Julia.” Tavish knocked.

“Come in.”

He opened the door wearing faded blue trews and a billowy black tunic with ties that swayed free at the neckline. Belted at his waist, his mighty sword gleamed while in his hands, he carried a bundle of clothing which he set on the counter. “Megan heard you were here from Cherub and just dropped these off. She’s the chief’s wife. I also informed her that I’ve found my mate.”

“I’ve met Megan. She and Michael are Iain, Finlay, and Kirk’s parents. Cherub brought them to my time to attend their sons’ wedding. That was a wonderful day.”

“She said Cherub and Kirk are waiting for you downstairs in the great hall.” His aura became flushed with a haze of blue, the color always signifying frustration and turmoil, not that she couldn’t tell by his clenched fists and rigid stance of his current emotions.

“Then Cherub’s here to collect me and I must go.” She wrapped one hand around his forearm and the blue haze of frustration in his aura receded. “You must believe me when I say we’re no’ mated.”

“A mated male knows when he meets his chosen one.” A look of longing flashed across his face as he lifted a lock of her hair and curled it around his finger. “Your hair is so soft and silky, and you look beautiful in your gown.”

“And you are a charmer with your touching words.” She let go of him and walked from the bathroom, through his chamber and out his open bedroom door. The passageway, lit with bright overhead lighting led toward a stairwell at the far end. She strode along the burgundy and blue runner as Tavish jogged in beside her.

“Julia, I don’t need the full moon to guide me to my chosen one, not when being near you tells me all I need to know. I’ve also no idea why our auras aren’t tugging toward each other’s as you’ve said, but that matters little to me.” He lifted a challenging brow. “Do you not feel anything toward me?”

“I dinnae have the right to speak of it if I do.” He was taken, and she would never come between a soul bound pair.

“That’s not what I asked.” He caught her hand, slowed her step then pressed her back against the wall. Head dipped, he touched his nose to hers, and murmured, “My desire for you is growing, in leaps and bounds. All I want to do is hold you, kiss you, to discover everything there is to learn about you.”

“The only thing you need to learn is that I’m not yours.” She fluttered a hand over her racing heartbeat. Those words sounded wrong even as she uttered them and they clashed inside her, made her cringe. “Let me go, Tavish.”

“That is still the wrong answer.” Smoothly, he slid his hand under her hair and palmed the bare skin of her nape, his gaze moving over the sensitive area where her shoulder and neck met. He rubbed one thumb over the spot. “I want to bite you, to mark you as mine, just as those mated pairs in my clan do.”

“’Tis an anomaly for sure.” She touched his neck in return, right over his thumping pulse point.

“It’s no anomaly, but the early stages of the bond taking form.” He eased closer, brushed his nose through her hair and nuzzled her neck. “Since the moment we met, I’ve struggled to let you out of my sight. When you walked into the bathroom and away from me, all I wanted to do was tear that door down so we were no longer separated. Now I’m about to take you downstairs to Cherub and Kirk when it’s the last thing I want to do. You are mine.”

“Tavish!” A man bounded up the stairs, a man identical to Tavish in every way, even down to the blue trews and the billowy black tunic he wore. “I got your message from Megan, that you’ve found your mate.”

“Allow me to introduce Julia to you.” Tavish lifted his head, wrapped one arm around her waist and drew her forward. “Julia, this is Tor, my brother. Tor, Julia.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you.” Tor hugged her then stepped back with a grin. “I’ll enjoy finally having a sister.”

“’Tis wonderful to meet you too, although mayhap you could speak to your brother for me. He believes we’re mated and I cannae seem to convince him otherwise.”

Tor cast a worried look at his brother. “She doesn’t believe you?”

“It appears my mate holds the fae skill of aura reading and as yet hasn’t seen the signal that proves we’re mated. Our auras should tug toward each other’s. For now, I’ll have to convince her in other ways.”

“Word has already spread of her arrival, and our clansmen are eager to meet her. Cherub and Kirk also asked you to hurry. They need to speak to Julia about an issue of great importance.”

“Which means I must go.” She snuck out of Tavish’s hold and descended the stairs. At his rumbling growl from behind, she picked up her pace. “Dinnae let you bear control you, Tavish.”

“My bear is about to burst from me and snatch you away.”

“I’m sure your bear would never do any such thing.” Not when she truly wasn’t his. She reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped through the front foyer. The main doors leading into the great hall were embossed with the chief’s arms that held two bears as supporters either side, those bears signifying all that they fought for—the survival of a loyal race of shifters—Gilleoin’s line. A line which must continue to grow from strength to strength and not be permitted to falter.

“If you remained at my side, neither my bear or I would have an issue.” Tavish swept in beside her, pushed open the door and motioned for her to move ahead of him into the great hall.

A good hundred of his clansmen sat eating at trestle tables, their boisterous chatter lightening her heart. “Now, this is wonderful to see. There are so many shifters. In my time, there is only Gilleoin and his two sons, my cousins, Kenneth and Ivan.”

“Ivan’s line alone lives here at Ivanson, while in this time Kenneth’s firstborn line continues to hold Matheson Castle, your home.” He captured her hand and slipped it through his crooked arm. “We have around two-hundred clansmen in all, although not all are present here today.”

“Where are the others?”

“Many are out and about seeing to their duties. We have specialist teams who work high level government cases. Even though we keep our shifter status to ourselves, there are a few trusted people outside of our clan who are aware of what we can do and keep our secret.” He leaned closer. “Our numbers are slowly dwindling though. Unfortunately it’s been over five years since our last clan birth.”

“Isla is expecting twins with Iain, so your clan shall have two new births in a few short months.” She slid her fingers down to his wrist and tangled them with his. She shouldn’t touch him so, except she just couldn’t help herself and his aura calmed when she did. Easing his frustration seemed to ease hers. “Iain and Isla are currently in Stirling with Gilleoin and Kenneth, as well as with Nessa. Iain and Isla were so eager to see all that they could while the chance presented itself.”

“What took them all to Stirling?”

“Gilleoin was summoned by William, the King of Scots, and had no choice but to go and attend him. He left Finlay and Kirk in charge of his castle and lands until he returns. They are doing a most admirable job. One can tell they are your chief’s sons.”

“All three of Michael’s sons are born leaders.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “I still want to kiss you.”

“I’m sure the urge will abate.” It had better, otherwise she might very well begin giving into him since she liked his touch so much. She turned her attention back on those within the great hall. Ahead at the dais, Michael Matheson, the Chief of Clan Matheson, sat dressed in a tan leather vest over a collared shirt, his sword gleaming at his side. Megan sat next to him in a cherry-colored ankle-length skirt and blouse. Kirk sat near his father, his plate brimming with slices of cooked meat and bread and he cut a sliver of meat and fed it to Cherub.

“Come and choose what you’d like to eat then we’ll sit with Kirk and Cherub.” Tavish steered her toward a side table filled with an array of steaming foods. He picked up two plates and passed her one then loaded his plate with crispy bacon, hot scrambled eggs and cooked tomato slices. She selected the same, although a much smaller portion. With her plate filled, Tavish set a hand at her back and guided her across the room to the dais and pulled out a chair for her next to Cherub. She set her plate down while Tavish sat next to her and Tor sat on his other side.

Cherub smiled and squeezed her hand, the sleeves of her regal plum gown accented with gold satin fluttering over her wrists. “How do you fare this morn?”

“I’m very well. Tavish stitched my wound and I felt not a pinch of pain as he did.” She leaned closer, lowered her tone. “Although I’m afraid Tavish seems to be under the impression that we’re mated, even though his aura tells me otherwise.”

“His aura does no’ tug toward yours or vice versa?” she whispered back.

“Aye, that is exactly what I’m saying.”

“How strange.” Cherub appeared confused. “Do you feel aught toward him? I ask that because the air itself brings me the secrets it holds, including the call of those who are soul bound. A few days past I actually caught Tavish’s soul’s need for yours, and I’ve yet to be led astray.”

“You did?” She snuck a look at Tavish. He and Tor spoke to each other and she breathed out then leaned back toward Cherub. “Well, I must admit I do feel desire for him, but I cannae tell him that. ’Twould only raise his hopes. One’s aura does no’ lie, or at least not an honorable man’s aura. Tavish is clearly honorable.”

“Hmm.” Cherub patted her hand. “Let me think on this new development a little and I’ll see what I can uncover.” She straightened then motioned toward Kirk’s parents. “You’ve met Michael and Megan afore.”

“Of course.” She smiled at them. “Thank you for the clothes, Megan, but with Cherub’s return for me, I shall no’ be needing them. Michael, I would love to see your home but I fear I willnae be here long enough to do so.”

“Since you’re mated to Tavish, I’m sure there will be here plenty of time over the coming days and weeks ahead for you to see everything.” Michael cut into his sausage and took a bite. “You’re always welcome at Ivanson Castle. I hope you’ll now consider it your home.”

“I heartily agree with that welcome.” Smiling, Megan picked up the tea pot in the center of the table and filled a cup and passed it to her. “I can’t wait to show you and Arabel around, that’s when Cherub finally brings my new daughter-in-law here for a visit. There’s honey in the bowl before you if you wish your tea sweetened, my dear. Milk is in the jug.”

“Thank you.” It seemed everyone believed she and Tavish were soul bound, his word alone ensuring it was so. And Cherub too had sensed the bond. She added a spoonful of honey to her tea and sipped the sweet brew as she mulled it all over.

Cherub nudged her knife and fork toward her. “You need to eat, then we need to talk further about why Kirk and I are actually here. There’s been a development since you last left, one regarding Colin and Jeremiah MacKenzie.”

“I can eat while we talk.” She picked up her fork, speared a bacon slice, chewed and motioned for Cherub to continue. If there’d been a development with their enemy, she wished to hear about it.

“I’m afraid I bring some quite startling news. We received a missive from Colin MacKenzie and in it he states”—she cleared her throat—“that your parents are alive.”

“Surely you jest?” She dropped her fork and it clattered against her plate. “What kind of game does Colin MacKenzie think to play?”

“Those were my thoughts exactly when I first read the missive.”

“What’s going on?” Tavish slid an arm around her shoulders, his full attention on her. “You’re very tense.”

“Cherub has received a missive from Colin MacKenzie and in it he states my parents are alive. A lie for certain.”

“There’s no chance his words could be true?” He glanced at Cherub for confirmation.

“’Tis unlikely, Tavish, although we cannae discount MacKenzie’s new demand. Earlier this morn, Kirk and I actually visited the MacKenzie’s lair and ran another full and complete sweep of his dungeons and keep. There was no sign of Aleck or Adair.” Cherub set her elbows on the table and pressed her hands together. “The only thing we know for certain is that the MacKenzie wishes to hold supremacy over us, in whatever way he can. He also wants to ensure fae blood runs in his direct line, which is why his demand included a request that Julia be wed to Jeremiah in a marriage of alliance afore her parents are released.”

“I wish to see this missive.” She needed to read Colin MacKenzie’s demand for herself.

“Of course. I brought it with me.” Cherub pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket, one wrinkled from being scrunched up and handed it to her. “Finlay has spoken to Arabel and she is both furious and distressed. She worries for you and what you might do.”

“My sister knows my feelings well. If our parents live then I will do whatever it takes to free them.” She unfolded the parchment and read,

“A marriage of alliance is what I seek. Bring Gilleoin’s niece to me, the aura reader Julia, and following her marriage to my son Jeremiah, I shall forthwith return Aleck and Adair Matheson into your hands.

You have a fortnight to answer this summons. Expect their death if you dinnae.”

Julia tapped the paper. “’Tis all as you’ve said, Cherub, although any possible marriage of alliance will never bring a halt to the war between our clans. MacKenzie must certainly know that.”

“There also isn’t a chance I’ll allow you to marry another man.” Tavish plucked her from her chair and dragged her onto his lap. “That I can promise you.” His aura spiked with black, his anger rising hard and fast. “Do we understand each other?”

“I miss my parents, Tavish.” Hot tears burned behind her eyes. “Even though I’ve no desire for a marriage of alliance, if there’s the slightest chance the MacKenzie has spoken the truth and they’re actually alive, then I would do whatever it took to see them freed. There is less pain in accepting an unwanted marriage than in losing my parents all over again.”

“I feared this would be what you’d say.” Cherub sniffed as tears pooled in her own eyes. “Even though we found no sign of your parents at the MacKenzie’s keep, we still need to search our enemy’s lands. They spread from Loch Alsh all the way across the mountainous plateau to Loch Broom in the north. Colin MacKenzie has holdings elsewhere too, as well as alliances with other clans with whom he might have asked to hold his captives for him. So too all we have is a fortnight in which to find them.”

“A fortnight will have to be enough.” She rolled her shoulders and firmed her resolve. She’d do whatever it took to discover the truth. “Cherub, you’re aware I can hear the gentle hum of my parents’ auras when they’re close. I’d never mistake the sound for another’s. I need to be present when the search begins.”

“How close do you need to be to hear the hum?” Cherub squeezed her hand.

“Quite close, within a hundred yards.” She snuck off Tavish’s lap and pulled Cherub to her feet. “We must go. There is little time to waste.”

* * *

“WAIT.” TAVISH SHOVED to his feet. There wasn’t a chance he’d let Julia go anywhere without him, not now he’d finally found her. “I’m coming.”

“I willnae pull you away from your kin. Your clansmen need you. You’re their doctor.”

“Don’t you feel the strength of the mated bond already taking a firm hold between us?” He cupped her cheeks in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Where you are, is where I need to be.”

“I—I—” Such pain and anguish swirled within her gaze. “I’m sorry.” She snuck in behind Cherub. “We must leave, with all haste.”

“I agree.” Cherub winked at him, and far too impishly for his liking. “Tavish, ’tis time to see if you two are truly soul bound. I highly recommend you dinnae fight the pull. We will need your aid in this search if you’re willing to offer it.”

“Of course I’ll offer my aid, and what pull?”

“Cherub, this isn’t a good idea.” Kirk stood, his sword gleaming in a baldric across his back as he snagged one arm around Cherub’s waist. “We need to take Tavish with us. A mated male knows when he’s found his chosen one, and by the way, you really should have told me these two were mated.”

“I’m thinking only of Tavish right now, my tempting bear. ’Tis all about the chase, remember?” Cherub disappeared, right along with Kirk and Julia. They vanished, right into thin air.

He was up for any chase.

The wind swirled and the front doors flew open and banged shut.

Now he knew exactly what pull Cherub referred to, the pull of the vortex which would take him through time. He raced outside in full pursuit, Tor one step behind him. In the center of the inner courtyard, dust churned into a swirling mass. Sprinting, he yelled into the rush of wind, “Tor, I have to follow where she leads.”

“Then I’m coming along for the trip.”

He dove into the dark abyss, Tor right at his side, just as he’d always been in life. The churning darkness swept him and his brother away. He’d never allow Julia to escape him, not even through time itself. His hunt for his mated one had begun and it was a chase he’d never relinquish. Finding Julia and completing the bond with her would drive him. She was his chosen one and he intended to prove it to her, however he must.

Chapter 4

LIGHTNING SLASHED AND thunder boomed within the pitch black. The wind heaved and twirled Tavish about. Traveling over eight-hundred years into the past would be a trip unlike any he’d ever experienced before. Searching within the misty gloom, he saw not a soul, not even his brother who’d been right beside him as he’d jumped. “Julia! Tor!”

“Here.” Tor flew toward him and clasped his forearm. “It seems we’ve lost the others.”

“I also don’t know exactly how long we’ll be in this vortex, or where we’ll come out. I’ll need your aid in finding my woman.”

“You’ll always have it.” Determination slashed Tor’s face, likely the same fierce expression that lined his own. “Maybe we should pick up our speed.”

“Let’s do that, together.” He clasped Tor’s forearm in return and with unwavering intensity, dove deeper into the churning, murky dark with his brother.

“Tavish!” Ahead, Julia tumbled and turned in the fierce wind, her cream gown lit with gold flashes as lightning sizzled all around.

“I’m coming.” Like an arrow zooming toward its target, he zeroed in on her and nabbed her around the waist. Tor, still gripping his forearm, swung around her other side and grasped his other forearm. Together, they kept Julia safely pinned between them. “Are you all right?” he bellowed over the rushing wind, his heart a wildly beating mess.

“I am now you’re here.” She wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, her long golden locks whipping around them both. “If one holds onto Cherub when traveling then one never experiences this kind of mad free-fall.”

“You let go?”

“Aye.” She burrowed her head into his neck and nipped his ear. “For some reason, I knew you’d dive in after me. I had to find you.”

“You knew because like me, you too feel our bond taking form. You’re my mate, mine to protect and care for.” Something he intended for her to learn, and fast. “We’ll search for your parents together. I’ll never leave your side. That I promise you.”

“It appears we’re slowing down.” Tor stared ahead through the dense fog that loomed.

A cloying mist rose up and swirled all around them. Lights flickered, as if the stars themselves had escaped the sky then an unearthly force sucked them all apart and they plummeted into the frosty depths of a loch.

Chilly water closed in over Tavish’s head and he kicked through the murkiness in search of Julia. Her cream gown glowed under the water and he grabbed her around the waist and powered upward. They broke the water’s surface right alongside Tor. White-capped waves crashed over them and he gulped in air and held Julia tighter to him in order to protect her from the rougher waters as best as he could.

“Look, land,” Tor yelled as a seagull squawked overhead then flew down and skimmed the choppy waves toward shore.

“Welcome to my home, and to the year twelve-hundred and ten.” Julia motioned toward a four-story castle a hundred feet or so inland. Its massive gray tower house overlooked the loch and the castle’s fortified walls were topped with battlements and guardsmen roaming the ramparts. A forest rose tall and strong behind it, the wooded land sweeping around toward the entrance of the loch where it jutted to a point. Smoke curled into the air from thatch-roofed houses cloistered tightly together and surrounded by a high stone wall. “That’s the fae village, Tavish.”

“I almost can’t believe I’m here.” He shook his head as he tried to take it all in. This was where their shifter clan had first begun, so far across the Highlands from his own home at Ivanson. At the sea-gate landing, four moored birlinns bobbed with the incoming tide, and on the tip of the landing Cherub and Kirk stood, both waving out. “I see we have a welcoming party.”

“Oh no.” Gasping, Julia clutched the back of her head.

“Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Nay, but I got my head wet and you said I wasnae supposed to.”

“It could hardly be helped.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Do you care to show me your home?”

“Since you’ve arrived for a visit, it would be rude of me no’ to. Let’s swim in.” She slipped out of his arms, caught a cresting wave and rode it in toward land.

“Wait up, woman.” Hell, she was a slippery lass to hold on to. He took off after her and he and Tor caught the next wave and cruised with it into land. Once his feet hit the sandy sea floor, he slogged through the water and scooped Julia off her feet before she made the beach. “No more disappearing with Cherub, or swimming away from me. For a mate, you’re certainly a handful to keep in my sight.”

“Julia.” Cherub rushed from the landing onto the pebbly shore and hugged Julia as he held her in his arms. “You should never have let go of me. Are you all right?”

“I’m absolutely fine. Dinnae worry over me.” Julia snuggled into him and his chest pumped out. As much of a handful as she was, he wouldn’t want her any other way. Her feistiness drew him toward her, her devotion and love for her clan as well. Lucky didn’t even begin to describe how fortunate he was to have been gifted with a mate such as the woman he held in his arms.

“At least you’ve all arrived safe and well.” Cherub glanced at Kirk. “Since everyone has arrived without any issue, you and I should continue on. We need to update Gilleoin and Nessa about the MacKenzie’s decree, then get started on a search plan. There’s little time to waste.”

“I agree. We’ll go now, head to Stirling then return.” Kirk eyed him and Tor. “It’s great to have you both here. I’ll catch up with you as soon as we’re both back.”

“You do what you need to.” Tavish nodded, his grip on Julia firm. “Travel safely.”

“We will.” Kirk wrapped his arms around Cherub and the two of them disappeared in a rush of wind.

Julia tapped his chest. “You can put me down now. I need to find my sister and assure her all is well.”

“I prefer to carry you.” His bear growled at the thought of releasing her. “That way I’ll know exactly where you are. We’ll find her together.”

“Julia!” A woman hurried down the winding castle trail toward them, her golden locks streaming behind her in the fresh breeze, a lass who looked identical to his mate in every way.

“I take it that’s Arabel?”

“Aye, please, set me down, Tavish. She’ll believe I’m injured if you’re carrying me about.”

“I’ll set you down on one condition, that you promise not to disappear on me again.” He’d keep her within arm’s reach, no matter what she promised.

“I’ll do my very best.” She kissed his cheek and smiled. “I can see you’re going to be a very demanding mate.”

“You better believe it.” Warmth rushed through him. Had she actually acknowledged their mated bond? Carefully, he set her on her feet, knelt and wrung her soggy skirts out.

“Look at you,” Arabel tsked as she arrived and hauled Julia into her arms. “You’re soaking wet. How’s your head?”

“All stitched, although I’m no’ supposed to get the stitches wet.” She motioned toward him and his brother. “Meet Tavish, my doctor, or he was my doctor afore he gave me notice he would no longer tend to me. Next to him is Tor, his brother.”

“’Tis lovely to meet you both.” Arabel smiled wide. “Welcome to the House of Clan Matheson.”

“Thank you.” Tavish wound one arm around Julia’s shoulders and in her ear, murmured, “By the way, I will be tending to you, although not as your doctor but as your mate, which you can be assured will be with the greatest attention to detail.”

“Your mate?” Arabel’s eyes widened and her mouth popped open. She darted a look between him and Julia. “Tavish said you’re his mate. Do you care to explain?”

“Tavish believes I’m his chosen one, although his aura does no’ tug toward mine, nor mine toward his. I should have seen it do so by now.” She tipped her head toward him, a curious look on her face. “Although you’re not the only one to believe we’re mated. Cherub too said she’d sensed your soul’s call toward mine. I also cannae deny that I find it very difficult to be parted from you.”

“It’s extremely difficult for me to be parted from you too.” He tucked her closer under his shoulder, even though all he truly wanted to do was kiss her, then lay claim to her in every possible way. The mated bond had formed between them and of that he had no doubt.

“Well, this is an interesting turn of events.” Arabel grasped Julia’s hands and squeezed. “Speaking from experience, as one half of a mated pair, these shifter men know when they’ve found their chosen one, no matter what your auras say. Now”—Arabel took one step back and rubbed her hands together—“allow me to dry all three of you.”

“That I would love.” Julia clasped her skirts and stepped away from him. “Arabel is a fire-wielder and holds one of the deadliest of the fae battle skills. You’ll both need to hold perfectly still while she moves around us and dries us all.”

“You make me sound far more dangerous than what I am.” Arabel smiled as she smoothed her palms over Julia’s shoulders and along her front then circling her, swished across her waist and down her skirted legs until her gown flapped dry in the breeze. Arabel circled him and Tor next, sending a delicious wave of heat over them both.

“That’s incredible.” He plucked at his now dry shirt. “Even my feet are all cozy and warm within my boots. That’s a spectacular skill.”

“Well, it does come in handy from time to time.” Arabel linked arms with Julia and motioned for him and Tor to follow her as she walked up the grassy trail winding upward toward the castle. To Julia, she said, “Finlay will be thrilled to see his kin, as well as rather surprised. Did Cherub and Kirk drop you all off then leave for Stirling?”

“Aye, they’ve gone to update Gilleoin and Nessa, then they’ll return as soon as they can.”

They all passed through the arched gates with its raised portcullis and armed guardsmen in their Matheson belted plaids. The bailey’s stone walls rose tall around them while up ahead, the front doors held the carved image of their clan crest emblazoned on the front, just as the front doors of Ivanson Castle did. Tavish stepped inside and entered the great hall with its sweeping ceiling rising to a high crown. Iron chandeliers hung from the wooden beamed rafters, while large tapestries of hunting and landscape scenes graced the walls.

“This way to the chief’s solar.” Arabel led the way around the edge of the great hall.

He passed two maids clearing trenches and tankards from the trestle tables while a lad swept the area around the wide arched stone fireplace. Logs crackled in the hearth and sent the fire’s heat wafting toward him.

“Finlay, I’ve brought you some guests.” Arabel stepped inside a side room and held the door open for them as they entered.

“Well, well, it’s Tavish and Tor.” Before a chunky wooden desk, Finlay grinned as he eased out of his chair and stood in tan pants and a brown leather vest studded with steel, his sword sheathed at his side glinting from the light beaming in through the narrow window behind him. “What a surprise to see you two here.”

“Cherub brought us, which was a bit of a bumpy trip, but we got here all the same.” Tavish caught Julia’s hand and lifted it to his lips. “I’ve found my chosen one.”

Finlay’s grin widened. “That’s the best news. You have my congratulations.” He set the quill he held in hand down, strode around the desk and clasped his and Tor’s shoulders. “I take it then you’ve both heard about the MacKenzie’s missive?”

“We have, and we’re here to aid in the search for Aleck and Adair.” He stroked Julia’s arm. “I’ll never allow my chosen one to wed another man.”

“Neither will we ever allow it.” Finlay nodded. “And on the search front, this morning I sent an additional twenty men to our warrior encampment on our eastern border with Colin MacKenzie, while another twenty will head out tomorrow. I’ve been considering the encampment as the base point from where we could begin our search. Not only do we have a strong presence there but the camp sits in just the right position to allow for multiple search routes to be taken, across land and sea, and also with Cherub on board, through the skies as well.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Arabel sat next to the fireplace and raised her hands to the sizzling flames.

“I agree. The encampment offers us a prime position.” Julia leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “So too I would like to be included in the search team. I can hear the gentle hum of my parents’ auras when I’m close to them.”

“Exactly how close do you need to be?” Finlay asked her, his gaze flaring with interest.

“Within a hundred yards.”

“Well, that’s a hundred yards more than what we currently have in pinpointing their location.” Finlay perched on the arm of Arabel’s chair, rested a hand on her knee as he said to her, “I can’t be a part of the search team since I need to remain here. I’d also rather you stay with me. I’m not sure I could handle having you too far from my side. Your help too in ensuring the keep runs smoothly, is invaluable. Do you mind staying?”

“Aye, I’ve no wish to be parted from you either, and I cannae aid in the search quite like Julia can.” She squeezed his fingers. “We’ll remain together.”

“Then Cherub and Kirk, Tavish and Julia and Tor will make up the first search team,” he instructed as he glanced at each of them in turn. “You’ll make the camp your base and join with Cherub as she takes you through the skies. Another team can head across MacKenzie’s land via horseback, and yet another via the loch. We can sort out the finer details once Cherub and Kirk return. I take it they’ve continued on to see Gilleoin and Nessa?”

Julia answered him, “They have. When do we leave for the camp?”

“Tomorrow, with the team of warriors I have leaving at that time. That’ll give Tavish and Tor some time to become familiar with this keep.”

“I’ll show them around.” Julia slipped away from his side and opened the door.

“I’ll join the tour later, brother.” Tor patted his back.

“Thank you.” Tor understood him as no other could. Right now he needed time alone with Julia and their coming discussion really couldn’t wait. He followed her as she led the way out of the chief’s solar and around the perimeter of the great hall toward the stairwell at the far side. As they climbed the winding stairs, he set a hand at the small of her back. Touch was vitally important to shifters, and even more so between mates. His need for her roared even stronger since they’d yet to complete the bond. “Where are we headed to first on this tour?”

“My chamber. I can see you have a need to talk, and so do I.” She strolled along a darkened corridor that remained bare of any other, each of the doors leading from it firmly shut. Before the fourth door on the left, she gripped the knob and glanced over her shoulder at him. “This feels like a monumental moment.”

“It is, and it’ll be one we’ll forever remember.” He covered her hand with his, turned the knob and steered her inside then closed the door after him.

She crossed the room and opened the shutters over her window. Sunlight beamed in and played over her four-poster bed with its sweeping golden bed curtains and plush white pillows stacked against the carved headboard. A three pronged candelabra stood on the bedside table next to a red-leather bound book. He wandered toward the side table where an oval mirror was propped behind a dish overflowing with silk hair ribbons in an array of vibrant colors.

Julia swished in behind him and his bear rose and prowled under his skin. “Your bear is growling. I can hear him.”

“He wants to meet you, to ensure you know that you’re ours.” His claws sliced out and back in as he faced her.

“Even your eyes are aglow with shifter gold.” She touched his chest and leaned in. “He calms right down when I touch you.”

“We both like it when you touch me.” Fur rippled across his arm then retracted, there one moment and gone the next. “We need to speak of our bond. Until we complete it and create the merged link of the mind, one that’s inherent in my shifter blood, then both my other half and I will never truly be at peace. I need to join with you, Julia, in all ways, for us to be able to speak to each other at will along a merged pathway known only to us. I want you to accept me and all that I am. My word is the truth. We are mated.” Hair rippled across his other arm. His bear needed to be set free, couldn’t be contained anymore. He gripped his shirt hem, hauled it over his head and tossed it onto the end of her bed. “I need to shift, and since I detest shredding my clothing, it has to go.”

“Then allow me to give you some privacy while you make the Change.” She walked to the door.

“No.” He nabbed her hand and tugged her back to his side. “Don’t leave me. It’ll make my bear antsier if you’re not here. We both want you, him and I.”

“You wish for me to stay?”

“I’ll use the dressing screen to shift behind if you wish, but I have no problem changing before you. You are my mate and I will hide nothing from you.” He motioned toward the hand-painted silk screen propped in the corner. “Although I’ll give you the choice.”

“Aye, use the screen, please.” Her cheeks flushed.

“Of course. Thank you for staying.” He toed off his boots, unstrapped his sword belt and set it on the side table then strode in behind the screen. Faded blue jeans unzipped, he shoved them down his legs then tossed them onto the table with his weapons. It was time to shift, to show her his other half. No more could he delay. “Are you ready?”

* * *

“AS READY AS I’ll ever be.” Julia clasped a hand to her chest as she waited for Tavish to shift. Suddenly, a sizzling display of bright lights flared behind the screen then a large bear plodded out, reared up onto his hind legs and roared. Goodness. Tavish’s bear was huge, with black fur the same beautiful shade as his head and his golden eyes alight. He dropped down onto all fours and prowled toward her, his pure white aura with its sizzling red tinge at the edge glowing even brighter.

Overwhelmed, and with a fierce need to touch him rolling through her, she dropped to her knees and held out one hand. “Come closer, Tavish. Let me pet you.”

Slowly, he padded around her, rubbed against her sides then came back in front and nudged her hand with his head.

“Thank you.” She sank her fingers into his silky pelt and scratched between his ears. One deeply satisfied purr rumbled from him, the heavenly sound of his content bringing tears to her eyes. “Your bear is beautiful, Tavish, as beautiful as you are.”

He bumped his muzzle into her belly.

“You wish another pat?” Heart lifting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against his furry one. She couldn’t deny her need to be close to him in his bear form, just as she’d needed to be close to him in his human form. She truly hadn’t wished to leave him so he could shift, had been secretly thrilled when he’d asked her to stay.

She sank down, tucked her legs underneath her and smiled as he too lowered then rolled onto his back and exposed his belly. With his paws up, he offered her a hopeful look. He definitely wished for a tummy rub.

“I like touching you, almost too much.” She smoothed her hands over his belly, her fingers sliding through his decadently soft fur. With one slow stretch, his purr deepened. “There’s been the odd time I’ve actually stumbled upon Gilleoin out in the woods with Aunt Sorcha. Gilleoin adores lying on the grass in a pool of sunshine while Sorcha sits beside him and rubs his belly.” She spread her hand over his heart, its steady and powerful beat soothing her further. “I need to ask you something, and dinnae get mad when I do.”

He remained still, so she continued, “If you’re wrong and we arena mated, then I shall never keep you from your true mate.”

Lights shimmered, in a blaze so bright she toppled back and Tavish loomed over her, all man and hard and hot flesh. “I’ve waited a lifetime for you and would wait forever until you accepted your destiny, but my bear won’t. He wants you and I’m not sure how much longer I can continue to hold him back. There will be no more talk of ‘what if I’m wrong.’ You are my true mate, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you. Allow me to court you.”

“I—I—” She palmed his wide chest, shocked he’d changed so swiftly in front of her. The smattering of dark hair on his chest thinned as it traversed between his defined abs and led downward in a teasing trail. Gulping, she couldn’t keep her gaze from moving lower. Dark curls covered the apex of his groin and his manhood rose from it, his shaft firm and long and lengthening even more as her gaze roamed over him. His shaft brushed against her belly and her fingers itched to touch him there.

“Want me, the way I want you. Touch me, Julia.”

“I…” She shouldn’t, yet she stroked down his sides and over his trim hips. She lifted up, pressed her nose into his neck and drew in more of his intoxicating scent. There was no halting what was between them, this all-consuming need or desire. “I wish for more.”

“Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll give it to you. I don’t want to push you for more than what you’re willing to give, so you need to speak your mind and be utterly clear with me. This bond is about the two of us, although your needs will always come first.”

“I’m no’ sure what I need.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rocked her hips against his, until his hard body carved its powerful heat right into hers. “These feelings are all so new and unexpected.”

“Then let me show you what you might need. Do you trust me?”

“Aye.” Her agreement came swift and fast, her trust in him absolute.

“That’s my mate.” He rubbed the tip of his nose to hers then cupping the back of her head, he covered her mouth with his. Moaning, he licked across her tongue then growled and dove deeper. He kissed her, so sweetly and so seductively, his warm and fresh scent swirling all around and embedding itself deep within her.

Kisses. She definitely wanted his kisses. A surge of heat flared in her core and pooled between her thighs. She wriggled against him, needing even more although she knew not what.

“Let me kiss more of you.” He ran his hands down her back and over her hips as he moved from her lips and nibbled along her jawline. Laving a path down her neck, he nipped and licked her skin until he reached the sensitive hollow where her neck and shoulder met, where her pulse pounded. Sucking her flesh into his mouth, he released a low rumble. “The urge to bite you is strong. Say aye. I willnae do so until you give me your agreement.”

Everything pointed toward a soul bound match between them. Threading her hands deep in his shoulder-length black hair, she stroked his scalp, her nails lightly raking over him. “Bite me. Show me that we’re soul bound. Prove to me that I dinnae need to see the aura-tugging as my skill usually shows.”

“I’ll make sure I prove it, and that you don’t regret giving me your trust. Give me a few moments though before I do. I need to taste more of your skin first, to calm and settle my bear.” He buried his head at her neck and licked her flesh. He swiped his tongue over her, back and forth until he dipped a little lower and laved the upper swells of her breasts where the low-cut neckline of her gown grazed her flesh. As he licked into the gap between her breasts the rough rasp of his tongue made her nipples bead and poke the thin cloth.

Another hot flare of desire burst to life within her and she stroked one thumb over his neck. Her mouth watered to take a bite out of him too. Wanting more, she nuzzled his neck, his pulse a heavily pounding beat under her tongue. She licked the spot, scraped her teeth back and forth and almost cried out at the intense wave of need that washed through her. Sweet heaven. She had to bite him, now

“Do it,” he whispered, so tantalizingly. “Then I’ll bite you.”

“I—” He seemed to know her every thought.

He slid his hand underneath the shoulder of her gown, eased the fabric down her arm and exposed her breasts. “I want your mark, Julia. You are my true mate. Bite me. I’ll never deny you what you need.”

She closed her eyes and unable to turn away, sank her teeth into his flesh.

“Harder,” he growled as he arched into her, his tone fierce and demanding. “Mark me so well that each time you see the evidence of what you’ve done, you’ll know deep in your heart the truth, that I’m yours, just as you are mine.”

“Being this close to you scatters all my thoughts.” With her heartbeat a pounding roar in her ears, she licked the other side of his neck then bit down a second time, stamping him with her mark.

“Aye, you’re mine, now and forever.” He buried his head at her neck and razzed his teeth over her skin. She moaned and rocked underneath him as she waited, as she held her breath in anticipation. He bit down and she clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh.

“More,” she whispered. “Give me more.”

* * *

JULIA’S DEMAND MADE Tavish’s pulse race with fierce satisfaction. His mate wanted more and he intended to give it. He swept lower, nipping around her breasts, each of his bites a mark of claim she’d asked for and which he desperately needed to give her. He flicked her nipple with his thumb then sucked the pebbled treasure deep inside his mouth. As he did, she pressed her breasts deeper into his touch, her nails digging into his shoulders, her claim a physical one that both he and his bear reveled in. His beast purred a mile a minute inside him. Aye, he’d known from the moment he’d met her that she was his and now he intended to ensure she fully embraced their bond as he did.

He licked his lips. Her breasts were full and lush and he ached for another taste of them. Heat surged in his loins and he bent his head and laved first one nipple and then the other. Nice and slow. She tasted heavenly. He razzed his teeth over one rosy tip, taking a second before drawing the aureole deep inside his mouth to treasure each and every inch of her. Sheer pleasure radiated through him and hardened his cock further. He rocked his hips against hers to alleviate some of the pressure, only he hardened even more. Never had he ever known such pleasure as this. He tweaked her other nipple and she arched her back, curving fully into him.

Easing both her breasts together, he gorged, kissing and licking, taking her nipples between his lips and rolling his tongue around them before nipping each one. The bites intensified his feelings for her, pulled his heart and soul ever closer toward hers.

“Tavish.” She moaned and rubbed against him. “That feels so good, too good.”

“For me too.” He lapped the tight buds until she clasped his face between her hands and dragged his mouth back to hers. He kissed her again, plunging his tongue inside her mouth and drinking in her sweet innocence. She met him kiss for kiss, entwining her tongue with his and driving him near mad in a delicious dance that had both him and his bear clawing for her.

His claws sliced out and he dug them into the floorboards to help curb some of his lust.

“Julia?” A knock sounded at the door. “’Tis Cherub.”

He shook his head, tried to penetrate the heavy fog of desire taking him. Had someone knocked on the door? Pulling back, he fought for a breath. His mate’s lips were plump and pink and wet and the last thing he wanted to do was to cease kissing her.

“Julia?” Another knock.

“Dinnae stop, Tavish.” Julia clutched his head, her eyes dazed with passion. “I need another kiss.”

“Cherub’s at the door.”

“What door?” Gasping, she jerked upright and stared at the door. “Oh, that door. I didnae hear her.”

“I barely did either.” He shoved to his feet, helped her to hers then dropped a quick kiss on her very full and tantalizing breasts before lifting her gown back up and covering her. “I hate losing this delicious sight.”

“You need to cover yourself as well.” She reached up on her toes, nipped his lower lip then whisked to her golden curtained ambry. She nabbed a fresh gown hanging from within and dashed behind the dressing screen. “Hurry,” she whispered in a rush.

While she changed, he grabbed his clothing from where he’d scattered it. He hauled on his shirt and tried to adjust his uncomfortably tight jeans. He left his black shirt flapping free and opened the door, and likely with a scowl on his face.

Cherub arched a far too innocent brow as she stood in the passageway with two bags in hand, one his medical case which he always kept fully stocked next to his chamber door, the other a case from his closet, one now stuffed with his clothing that poked out from under the top flap. “I hope I didnae interrupt anything important, but I come bearing gifts.”

Chapter 5

BREATHING SLOWLY AND surely, Julia tried to clear the sensual haze in her head that kissing Tavish had caused. Her man had sent every rational thought from her mind the moment he’d touched his lips to hers, thoughts she wouldn’t mind him scattering all over again. Mmm, and when he’d bitten her and nipped and devoured her breasts, such heat had shimmered through her and intensified all her emotions. ’Twas as if he’d pulled her heart and soul closer toward his, and all with his delicious touch alone. Aye, he’d shown her they were soul bound, a bond she fully intended to accept, tugging auras or not.

After shedding her clothes, she eased a clean shift over her head and donned a rich burgundy velvet gown that shimmered over her hips and swished to her ankles. The low neckline, embellished with white crocheted detailing, was mirrored with the same adornment along the ends of the sleeves that draped over the backs of her hands. She added a matching white crocheted girdle, belted it at her waist and adjusted the tasseled ends sweeping down to her knees. Her hair was likely a mess, so she quickly ran her fingers through it and tried to tame her long locks as best as she could.

Slippers on, she gripped the edge of the screen and peeked around it toward the door. Tavish’s broad back blocked all sight of Cherub in the passageway, so she stepped out and swished in behind him. Her mate, her fierce protector. She leaned against his back, rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of his black tunic and tried heartily hard not to slip her hands underneath the flapping hem and stroke over his warm skin.

Over his shoulder, he glanced at her, such hunger in his gaze and his smile wide. He set two bags down just inside the door and tucked her underneath his shoulder. “Cherub brought me my medical bag and some clothes. I hope you don’t mind if I leave them here in your chamber?”

“Not at all. Come inside, Cherub.” She motioned her in. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me, particularly for taking me to Tavish’s time and introducing us. ’Twas wonderful that you did.”

“You’re most welcome, and does this mean you’ve actually accepted that the two of you are soul bound?” Cherub’s plum skirts brushed the floorboards as she stepped inside.

“It means…” She looked into Tavish’s eyes, and likely with the silliest smile on her face. “I have. I trust my mate and his word. He has fully convinced me I am his.”

His golden gaze flared brighter and almost scorched her with its heat. “I want to kiss you again.” Sensuously hot words that nearly melted her on the spot. “And you’ll need to cease looking at me like that or else all completely forget Cherub’s standing in this room with us and do exactly as I please.”

“If that was a warning, ’twas a very bad one.” She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. She wanted his kisses, however she could get them.

“Oh, this is good news.” Cherub beamed then grasped her hands and pulled her attention back to her. “I also come bearing more gifts than just Tavish’s bags. I’ve had the chance to speak to Nessa and she asked me to impart a vision she saw regarding you. Are you ready?”

“Aye.” Her grandmother’s words always rang true, her visions a gift each and every one of her clansmen embraced. “Tell me what she said, word for word.”

“I shall.” Cherub squeezed her fingers and began, “Live as you’ve never lived afore, my dear. There is warmth and an all-encompassing heat at the end of the tunnel. That is the place you seek. All your heart longs for will soon come to light and from that sacred place, your journey shall begin.”

She mulled over Nessa’s words, considered them from every angle.

“That’s interesting.” Tavish turned her by the shoulders to face him. “What do you think Nessa means by it?”

“The first part must refer to my parents. Since the day I lost them, I ceased living, and no matter how many times Arabel and my grandmother tell me their death wasnae my fault, I still cannae release the burden that it was. It didnae help too that I saw such hope shimmering within Father and Uncle’s auras the day they met with Colin MacKenzie. They both hoped to strengthen the ties between our two clans and ensure we were allies. I’ve always sensed that I let them down.”

“You didn’t let anyone down.” He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “So too your parents’ death isn’t your fault, but that of the man who took their lives. You were only trying to do what was best for your clan.”

“Yet what if they’re truly alive and we cannae find them in the fortnight of time given to us? What if I’m left with no other choice but to wed Jeremiah in order to save them?” ’Twas a very real possibility and one that frightened her greatly. “My head and my heart are often at war, and in truth, I fear giving into their demands.”

“I’ll never allow you to walk away from me, or wed the enemy. Trust me to take care of you, to ensure that it so.”

She nodded. She would trust him, and fight for what was growing between them. “I wish to see our bond deepen.”

“We’ll deepen it.” He kissed her forehead. “That I can assure you.”

Cherub cleared her throat. “What of the last part of Nessa’s vision? There is warmth and an all-encompassing heat at the end of the tunnel. That is the place you seek. All your heart longs for will soon come to light and from that sacred place, your journey shall begin.”

“I’m not sure what she refers to with that.” But she’d keep Grandmother’s words close. “Was there anything else she said about the vision?”

“Nay, that is all.” Cherub tapped her hands against her sides. “Kirk and I also spoke to Gilleoin and he’s urged us to begin the search.”

“Finlay has already devised a plan. We are to head out with the warriors leaving tomorrow for the encampment, all except for Finlay and Arabel since they’re needed here. We’ll make the camp our base and from there head out in teams, the first being led by you as you take us through the skies, another team heading across MacKenzie’s land via horseback and another via the loch.”

“That is a sound plan, and one I’m in full agreement with. Let me tell Kirk what’s happening.” Cherub went quite as she spoke to her mate across their mated link. “Kirk too is in agreement. He’s outside tending to an issue but will join Finlay and Tor in the chief’s solar as soon as he’s done.” Cherub eyed Tavish. “He would like to talk to you further as well.”

“Then I’ll go downstairs.” Tavish scooped his weapons from the side table and stopped at the door, cast her one last smile. “Wait here with Cherub. I won’t be gone long.”

“Take as long as you need. I would like to hear more of Cherub’s trip.”

He blew her a kiss as he walked out the door and disappeared down the hallway. His leaving hurt, squeezed at her heart and she grasped her skirts and stepped into the hallway.

“Wait.” Cherub nabbed her hand, pulled her back into her chamber. “Give Tavish some time to do what he needs to. Our mated men cannae stand to see us worry or be in pain, and you are clearly consumed by both.”

“I miss him.” Her very soul ached at his leaving.

“I understand the feeling well.” Cherub closed the door and leaned against it. “There is something else Nessa spoke to me about which I’ve yet to mention. You and I are about to embark on a little trip.”

“To where?”

“To the MacKenzie’s lair. Nessa insisted I take you, for you to have the chance to listen and see if you can hear the gentle hum of your parents’ auras. Even though Kirk and I have searched his keep from top to bottom, Nessa said you too will need to see and hear with your own eyes and ears as well. Only the truth will set you free.”

Cherub tugged her toward the window and opened it wide. “I’ll cloak us both then take us to the skies. We’re traveling across the loch, although without the use of a portal since we’ve no need to travel a great distance. Are you ready?”

“Aye, as I’ll ever be.” To visit the MacKenzie’s keep for herself was what she desired. Her grandmother knew her well. She needed to know for certain if her parents were there, but even more than that, she truly wished to allow the truth to set her free, to ensure her head and heart no longer raged with confliction.

“Then let’s be away.” Cherub cloaked them both, whisked them through the open window then out and over the treetops. Cherub soared high and Julia’s heartbeat raced. Never had she traveled like this with her people’s princess before—cloaked and through the air. They soared, like birds in the sky. Far below, the castle became a mere dot of gray amongst the sparkling blues of the loch and the rich greens of the forest.

“This is incredible.” Excitement shimmered through her, worry too, as well as an abundance of hope. Her parents might truly be alive, and that was the one thought she’d now hold onto. For today and throughout each day of the coming fortnight as they searched.

Swiftly, Cherub took them even higher, through a layer of puffy white cloud, the air swirling mistily all about. Cherub sped across the loch and along the land toward the east then as they closed in on their destination, she slowly descended. She skimmed a cloying gray fog sitting low over the water then arched up and over the fortified walls of the MacKenzie’s lair and settled on top of the foggy battlements.

Below their high perch, men trained in battle leathers, dust rising at their feet and mingling with the hazy air. Their claymores crashed, steel ringing loud against steel.

“Do you hear aught?” Cherub murmured, her hand wrapped tightly around hers as the two of them remained unseen, even to each other.

“I’ll need a moment to focus. There’s so much noise.” Eyes closed, she deadened the clanging of swords and the screeching of a seagull somewhere out on the water as it sought its catch. Those sounds fell away and with her mind narrowed in on her parents, she held her breath and waited for the gentle hum.

* * *

PALMING THE HILT of his belted sword, Tavish sat in the chief’s solar with Tor and Finlay as they awaited Kirk’s arrival for their meeting. His heart grew heavier. Leaving Julia behind had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, each step he’d taken from her making his breath come harder. She was his chosen one and of that he had no doubt.

“You look distressed, brother, and for a man who’s just found his chosen one, you shouldn’t.” Tor closed the front of the armoire that held the chief’s armor and set a battle axe down on the table. He rubbed it clean with a soft cloth then slid the axe into the belt hoop on the opposite side of his hip to his sheathed sword.

“This mated bond is strong and I’ve a deep need to complete it and ensure I tie Julia to me in every way.”

“I remember the feeling well, that desperate need to cement the bond.” Finlay motioned toward the armoire. “Help yourself to whatever weapons you too might need, Tavish. Gilleoin would want you to be well armed while here in this time. The enemy lurks everywhere.”

“I’d appreciate the additional weaponry.” He accepted Finlay’s offer, selected an axe similar to Tor’s and sheathed it at his side.

“Excuse me.” A knock sounded. “’Tis Layla. I bring refreshments.”

“Come in, Layla,” Finlay called out. “Refreshments would be most welcome.”

With a tray of tankards in hand, a young woman with golden spiral tresses and her hair pinned with a crown of pretty red flowers and red and white ribbons fluttering down her back, swished in. “The cook bid me to bring you all some ale and oatcakes.”

“Give her my thanks.” Finlay shuffled some of the seneschal’s accounts littered across the chief’s large desk to the side. “Leave the tray right there, Layla. Meet my second cousins, Tavish and Tor, both recently arrived from the future.”

“Aye, word has already spread around the keep that we have newcomers.” She set the tray down then carried a tankard to Tavish, excitement flushing her cheeks. “Is it true? You’re mated to Julia?”

“It’s very true.” He accepted the earthenware mug and gestured to Tor. “My brother though has yet to meet his chosen one.”

“Oh, ’tis so wonderful you’re both here to find your mates, although ’tis unfortunate you’ve arrived at this most difficult time.” Layla whooshed across to Tor with a tankard, her deep red skirts billowing around her. “Since the ‘power of three’ arrived, I’ve been so curious about the future. All the lasses would love to travel to your time. We hear there is far more freedom for women in the twenty-first century. Julia is certainly quite lucky to have already witnessed your world.”

Tor smiled at her as he accepted the ale. “It’s been foretold our mated ones will hold a touch of fae blood. Do you hold fae blood, Layla?”

“Aye. My father comes from the village, is one of the leaders, although we’ve lived here at the castle since I was born. Father is also one of Gilleoin’s captains. You will likely meet him afore too long. Father holds the same skill as I do, that of the ‘power of thought.’”

“You mean telekinesis?” Tor’s brows rose in interest.

“I’ve heard Finlay call it that as well. ’Tis the same thing.”

“What of your mother?”

“My mother passed away at my birth.” She ducked her head. “Nessa is my godmother, and alongside my father, has raised me.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“It has been some time, although Father misses her greatly. They were mated.” Her gaze moved over the loose laces on Tor’s billowy black shirt and they slowly tightened. She touched the swaying ends of his ties with her fingers then smiled and tucked her hands away behind her. “I can levitate or move objects, can manipulate whatever I wish. If you find I do things you dinnae like, please tell me. I can be too forward at times, so Father always says.”

“Be as forward as you like. You’ve a most interesting skill and I’d love to learn more about it.”

“I’ve a very distracting skill too.” Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and she dipped her head. “Oh, but I am rattling on when I’ve clearly interrupted a meeting of great import. I must cease doing that. Please excuse me.”

“There’s no need to go.”

“I must.” She dashed out the door and waved over her shoulder. “Enjoy your ale.”

Tor stood at the door watching the lass as she disappeared into the kitchens beyond the great hall. Once she’d disappeared, his brother frowned as he faced Finlay. “What’s her father’s name?”

“Gregor, and Layla is also betrothed to Donnan MacDonald, the Chief of MacDonald’s son. They’re to be wed soon, once Gilleoin and Nessa have returned.” Finlay grumbled as ink blobbed from his quill onto the parchment. “I sure miss my computer with its spreadsheets, not to mention a regular old pen. I keep asking Cherub and Kirk to bring me a ballpoint. You’d think they’d remember one tiny little pen, but no, it always slips their minds.”

“I wish I had one on me to loan you.” Tavish selected a whetstone from the armoire, withdrew his sword and sharpened his blade.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to see to an issue.” Kirk strode in, his white tunic tucked into his belted plaid and his ever-present sword sheathed.

“We’ve sorted out the details regarding the search. You’ll all be leaving with the warriors who’ll be riding out to the encampment tomorrow, around midmorning.” Finlay lobbed his quill to him. “I need a pen, a real pen, with the ink contained within. Tell me you remembered to get me one on your trip home this morning.”

“Ugh, so sorry.” Kirk tossed the quill back to him. “I’ll get it the next time I’m home.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“I do get a little distracted by Cherub at times, and honestly, those are very interesting distractions.” Kirk dropped onto the seat next to the fire. “Before we leave on the search, Cherub and I also need to see to one more issue. Nessa requested my mate and I take Julia to the MacKenzie’s keep, for her to have the chance to listen and see if she can hear the gentle hum of her parents’ auras.”

“I’m coming on that trip.” Tavish halted mid-stroke with the whetstone. “Where Julia goes, I go.”

“Understood.” Kirk nodded. “Let me just reach Cherub and find out where she’s at so we can get that trip underway.” He tapped his head then frowned. “That’s strange. I can’t reach her along our merged link. Sometimes it cuts out when she flitters about, but she never said she was going anywhere.”

“Is it possible she’d take Julia to the MacKenzie’s keep on her own?” Cold fear chased down Tavish’s spine. He set the whetstone back and sheathed his sword. “I left the two of them upstairs together.”

“There’s every chance.” Kirk shoved to his feet with a low growl. “Unfortunately my mate has been on her own for over a thousand years and is still getting used to having me around and not acting on her own. If she’s gone to the MacKenzie’s lair though, then she’s going to be in a world of trouble with me.”

“We need to check.” Tavish raced out the door and bounded upstairs with Kirk at his side. He flung Julia’s chamber door open and stepped inside. Neither women were there, not even a trace of their scent.

Kirk gritted his teeth as he eyed the open window. “That is not a good sign. Change into your battle attire now and arm yourself well. We’re about to sail across the loch.”

* * *

ON TOP OF the enemy’s battlements with Cherub, Julia focused on her parents. If they were anywhere in this keep then she’d hear them, only not one soft hum echoed back toward her. Hot tears burned behind her eyes and she squeezed Cherub’s hand. “I hear naught.”

“Then we continue to search farther afield, but ’tis good you came.” Cherub hugged her. “Keep the faith that if they live, we’ll find them.”

“I shall.” She wouldn’t fail her parents a second time, not as she’d done in misreading Colin and Jeremiah MacKenzie’s auras. “Thank you for bringing me, even though ’twas a—”

“Who goes there?”

“Shh.” Cherub dragged her into the closest recessed archer’s resting spot. Even though they couldn’t be seen, the battlements weren’t all that wide.

“I said who goes there?” A warrior strode through the swirling fog in dark battle leathers, one gauntleted hand firm on his sword hilt and his fiery red hair brushing his wide shoulders. His aura, a dirty blood-red, saturated him and the thunderous rumble that accompanied his aura surrounded and smothered her. ’Twas Jeremiah, his aura so very different to what she’d first seen during their meeting. This was his true aura, and one that would have warned her to steer well clear of him had she been aware of it.

Jeremiah marched past their hidden spot then stopped, sniffed the air and backed up with a thumping step. He gripped the stone ledge above them, bent and peered into their darkened nook. “I smell vanilla and white roses, a woman’s scent, and there is only one woman who can remain unseen to a man’s eye. It appears we have a visitor. Come out and stand afore me, Cherub.”

Cherub squeezed Julia’s hand in a silent entreaty that she remain quiet, then she pushed her farther back into the nook and rose and uncloaked before their enemy. With her hands planted on her hips, she arched a brow. “You called, Jeremiah?”

“You’re on MacKenzie land, have trespassed and will pay dearly for doing so.”

“I also received your father’s missive and you’ve no doubt been expecting me. Where is he keeping Aleck and Adair, that’s if they’re truly alive?”

“They’re alive and far from here. When they first arrived, I was the one to personally escort them to their new accommodations, and they’ve remained there the length of their imprisonment. You can be certain though that when the deadline expires and Julia hasn’t been brought to me, then their death will be assured. I’ll see to it myself.” He spat on the ground.

Julia searched his aura but the inherent deceit that already swarmed through the dirty blood-red was so thick she couldn’t tell if his words were the truth and her parents truly lived.

“I’ll never allow one of my kin to wed you.” Cherub shoved him back then dissolved into a mist and reappeared in full form on his other side. She walked backward, drawing Jeremiah farther away from her hidden position in the nook.

“An alliance by marriage is what my father and I seek between our clans.” Jeremiah stalked Cherub. “There will never be peace unless Julia and I speak vows and wed. Does she no’ care for her parents? Does she wish them dead?”

Never would she wish her parents dead. She shoved out of the recess, rushed along the walkway and pounded her fists into Jeremiah’s back. “Tell me where they are! Tell me where they are!”

“Wed me and I shall.” He snagged her hands and rammed her into the wall behind her. “Guards,” he shouted, “come.”

Her head hit the stone and her breath whooshed out. Everything swayed then the wind rushed and Jeremiah was thrust from her. Cherub gripped her hand, cloaked them both and swept them high into the skies.

“Fire your arrows,” Jeremiah bellowed to his men.

Arrows flew, arched high and sailed right past them as they sped back toward the House of Clan Matheson.

“Are you all right, Julia?” Cherub’s hold on her tightened.

“I shall be. I’m sorry. I shouldnae have attacked him but I couldnae help it.” She rubbed her achy head. “This time I saw his true aura and heard the venomous strength of it as well.”

“Could you tell if he told the truth about your parents being alive?”

“All I could sense was his evilness.” The pain of her loss welled up again and suffocated her.

“Just breathe.” Cherub rubbed her back. “Put all thought of what’s happened from your mind. We’ll find your parents, and then we’ll free them. This I promise you.”

“Thank you.” Touching her heart, she strengthened her resolve. She had an entire clan who would aid her in her search, as well as a soul bound mate who would stand by her side no matter what the future held. Grandmother had been right when she’d said she needed to see and hear with her own eyes and ears as well. Her parents would never have wished for her to wed their enemy, not now she’d seen exactly who Jeremiah was.

Find her parents, she would. There was no other choice.

Chapter 6

ACROSS THE INNER channel of Loch Alsh, Cherub whisked Julia back toward the House of Clan Matheson while overhead, the afternoon skies darkened with the promise of rain. Foamy white waves crashed onto the pebbly shore.

“Oh dear, it looks like we’ve arrived just in time.” Cherub settled them gently down on the slick stone landing as Tavish and Kirk, wearing full battle attire, raced down the winding castle trail toward them. Cherub uncloaked them both and gently squeezed her hand. “Might I recommend you give Tavish a kiss. I’ve found distracting one’s mate in such a way works rather well, particularly when I’ve inadvertently gotten myself into trouble. Kiss your mate, and dinnae stop until you’ve completely muddled his mind. That is what I shall be doing.”

“Cherub!” Kirk stormed toward her, the claymore holstered in a baldric across his back bobbing with each step he took. Hands firm on his sides, he halted before her. “You, my elusive imp, have some serious explaining to do. I couldn’t reach you along our link. Where have you been?”

“To the MacKenzie’s lair.” She sidled up against him, lifted up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I should have taken you, but sometimes I cannae help but act alone, particularly when I’ve done so for over a thousand years. Allow me to apologize the right way.”

“Don’t go thinking you can get out of this argument by—”

Cherub kissed him and he moaned, gripped her tight and kissed her back. The wind swirled and the two of them disappeared on the breeze as Cherub took them away.

Right. Kissing seemed to work a real treat.

Glowering, Tavish stomped along the landing in black leather trews and sturdy boots, his war coat flapping open over a white tunic. His weapons gleamed at his side, a great two-handed claymore on one hip and a battle axe on the other. “We too will be having words. You’re never to leave me in such a manner again, or set one foot on MacKenzie land without me by your side. Are. We. Clear?”

“I couldnae hear my parents’ auras.” She rested her forehead on his chest, her burgundy skirts fluttering in the wind against her legs. “Nessa said I’d need to see what was there with my own eyes afore the truth could ever set me free.”

“Did going there do so?” His voice gentled as he gripped her upper arms, skimmed downward and threaded their fingers together. “Tell me what happened.”

“Jeremiah spoke to Cherub and I listened in on their conversation. He said my parents are alive and far from here, that when they first arrived at their keep, he was the one to personally escort them to their new accommodations and that they’ve remained there the length of their imprisonment. When the fortnight expires and I’ve not been brought to him, then their death will be assured. He’ll see to it himself.” She lifted her chin, looked deep into his golden eyes. “The truth is, my parents would be furious if I ever agreed to marry Jeremiah MacKenzie in order to see them freed. My resolve is now firm. We shall search for them, find them, and bring them home. There can be no other way.”

“I’ll never allow you to wed Jeremiah MacKenzie. You’re my mate. I’ll never lose you to the enemy.”

She untangled one of their hands and cupped his cheek. “My heart tells me we’re mated, even though my skill does no’. I’ve no wish to wed any man, other than you.”

“Then you and I need some privacy to talk, just the two of us, without any possible interruption. I certainly intend on showing you exactly how very completely mated we are.” He led her farther along the landing, bounded into a skiff, reached back and swung her on board beside him. “Take a seat.”

“Where are you taking me?” She plopped down on the bench at the stern, as eager and needy as he was for this stolen moment in time. Just the two of them. She longed for that.

“Where there isn’t another soul except you and me.” He released the mooring rope, coiled and stored it then with the oars in hand, sat on the center seat and rowed out of the bay. Once he’d cleared the rougher waters, he tucked the oars away, removed his war coat studded with bits of steel and tucked it under the seat then grasped the ropes.

The wind filled the sail with a hearty slap, and with his feet braced wide along the side, the skiff shot off like an arrow. “The wind is strong. Come here, Julia.”

She climbed over the center seat and seized his waist. The crosswinds at the tip of the loch slapped into the sail and pulled it taut. The skiff rose farther out of the water on the other side and as Tavish leaned back to counter the balance, so did she.

Flattened against his chest, his arms either side of her as he harnessed the wind power in the tight sail, he sent them flying across the water. Goodness, if she reached out, she might very well be able to touch the white-capped waves. “Do you sail like this often?”

“Tor and I often race together along Loch Bear near Ivanson Castle. There’s nothing quite like sailing the seas or enjoying Scotland’s freshest air. It clears the mind as nothing else can.”

The wind whipped her golden locks into a frenzy and she giggled at the sheer freedom that rolled through her. The sea swelled and crashed into the shore they sailed alongside and the forested hills of her homeland rose high and far into the distance. “This is wonderful, and just what I needed.”

“Me too. Don’t let go of me,” he yelled over the heavy thrashing of the waves.

“I shall never let go of you.” With her arms tight around his waist, she held onto him and smiled as his beautiful aura shimmered with sparks of silver, his enjoyment in their trip clear to see. She kissed his chin and nuzzled his neck.

“Do that again.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Keep touching me.”

“You are one very demanding mate.” But she obeyed his request. Such peace invaded her soul as she held onto the man who’d taken over her world. With the ropes in hand, his biceps bulged and his billowy white tunic flapped free, his hair now a wind-tossed mess which she completely adored. She stroked over his broad shoulders and arms, along his trim sides. Muscles bunched and rippled under her palms. Her mate was a man who held great strength, would fight to protect her and his clansmen, but also a man who held the gentlest touch when healing another. The fates had certainly shined on her. She’d been gifted with such a wonderful man, one her parents would have loved.

“What are you thinking?” His warmth enveloped her.

“Of how you make me feel, safe, protected, cherished.”

“Aye, you’re mine to protect, my mate, the only woman I will ever hold in my heart.”

“And you’re the only man I will ever hold in my heart.” She slid her fingers under the flapping hem of his tunic and smoothed over his muscled back.

They rounded the tip and as the wind eased and the skiff settled back down, Tavish jumped from the edge into the hull and took her with him as he did. “You can take a seat again if you wish.”

She plopped back onto the bench at the stern and rubbed her achy head. Jeremiah MacKenzie’s attack had caught her unawares and hitting her head a second time hadn’t been all that helpful. ’Twas just as well she hadn’t reopened her wound.

“Does your head hurt?” Tavish tied the ropes off to hold the sail in place then dropped in beside her. With the rudder in hand, he guided them alongside the rugged coastline toward one of her favorite places. “I noticed you’re rubbing it.”

“Nay, my head is fine.” She shoved her hands in her lap. She didn’t wish to speak of Jeremiah’s attack, not when she’d rather embrace this moment and the precious time she’d been afforded with him. “Will your kin be missing you and Tor back home?”

“They’ll know where we’ve gone since we ran straight out into the courtyard chasing you, Cherub and Kirk.”

“What of your parents? I didnae get to meet them while I was in your time.”

“You wouldn’t have anyway. Mum and Dad are away on holiday, touring a place far from these shores, two countries yet to be discovered in this time.” He spread his hand over hers in her lap. “Mathesons have traveled the whole world over and continue to do so.”

“Which countries are they visiting?”

“Australia and New Zealand. They’ll be back in another month, or maybe two. They’re enjoying their travels too much to return, although that might change when they hear I’ve found my mate, and that Tor will soon be searching for his chosen one. They’ll want to be close, offer their aid if we need it. For certain they’ll want to meet you.”

“I would love to meet them too. Tell be about the countries they’re visiting.”

“Australia and New Zealand are right around the other side of the world. Australia is around a hundred times the size of Scotland, while New Zealand would be three times the size of our fair land. There are so many countries and large continents that have yet to be explored, places I would love to explore with you when we return to my time. One can almost travel around the entire world in twenty-four hours should they wish to.”

Surely he jested. “One cannae even travel the length of Matheson land in one day, let alone the entire world.”

“We fly by airplane, a large contraption that can seat hundreds of people and fly thousands of feet high above in the sky.” His aura remained pure, ringing with complete honesty.

“And you’d truly take me in such an…airplane?” She’d always been such a curious child, yet her parents had never taken her or Arabel far from their Matheson lands due to the skills they held. Holding a touch of fae blood was both a privilege and a burden and they took extreme care as to who might see all that they could do.

“Of course.” He pointed ahead. “That looks like an interesting place to stop.”

A white sand beach curved around a glorious bay scattered with the odd boulder while a jagged rock wall rose high behind it and a river gushed into the swirling incoming tide to one side.

“That cove is one of my favorite places. Deep underground there is a large array of caverns just beyond the rock wall, caves that hold both hot and cold pools. I’ve explored this place often with my parents. Arabel too.”

“I’d love to see the caverns, although no swimming just yet for you. That wound isn’t to get wet. It needs time to heal.”

Thunder rumbled along the horizon and the clouds above swirled into a muddier gray. A drop of water splashed her nose and another hit her cheek. “We need to hurry and make landfall, otherwise I’ll get wet regardless.”

“We’re almost there.”

“I cannae wait to show you the caves. I’m so glad we’ve come.”

“As am I.” Tavish adjusted the rudder and sent them cruising toward land then lowered the sail and steered them into shore. Once the hull scraped the sand, he bounded out and hauled the boat half up onto the beach. The waves rolled in and splashed his leather trews as he held out his arms for her. “Come here, my true mate. I’ll carry you.”

She scampered to the bow, climbed onto the seat then jumped into his arms.

He caught her with a chuckle. “You’re clearly eager to be back on dry land.”

“Nay, I’m eager to be here and alone with you.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for bringing me. I needed this, to get away for a little while.”

“Let’s seek shelter.” He set her feet down on the soft sand then leaned into the skiff and collected his war coat and a Matheson plaid, which he slung over his shoulder. After tying the mooring rope to a boulder and fully securing their skiff, he guided her across the beach to the cavern’s entrance carved into the solid rock cliff face.

She skipped across the white sand and ducked inside just as the clouds opened up and the rain slashed down. “We made it, just in time.”

“How deep does this tunnel run?” He caught her hand and twined their fingers together as he walked with her along the darkened, slickly wet tunnel carved of stone. Water trickled through cracks above and splashed into puddles at their feet.

“For some distance, but we are no’ going very far.” She pulled Tavish to a halt. “The cold and hot pools are straight ahead, but since I’m no’ allowed to swim we should instead take this side vent. There’s a steamy cavern which is glorious to see.”

“What side vent?”

“’Tis right here.” She patted the wall and found the slim opening. Through the craggy gap, she squirmed then as the fissure opened up, she stopped and waited for Tavish on the other side.

He wriggled through and smiled. “Well, that was a tight fit. I never would have found that side vent if you hadn’t of shown me.”

“The first time Father found it, ’twas quite by chance. Come. We’re almost there.” She strolled to the end of the passageway and leapt onto the white sand a few feet below. Heat shimmered all around, the steamy air thick and humid. “You’ll need to breathe slowly until you get used to the heat.”

Within the round earthen cave with its high craggy ceiling, a thin shaft vented skyward and allowed a shimmer of light to beam through the tiny cavity above. Light rippled over the slick black boulders in one corner where cold water trickled over hot rocks. Steam plumed and filled the cavern. “Dinnae touch those rocks,” she warned him. “They’re very hot. The cold water flows in from the fresh water stream close by.”

“This place reminds me of a sauna.”

“What is a sauna?”

“A manmade room designed to replicate exactly this.” He turned her by the shoulders and parted her hair at the back to run another inspection of her wound. “Everything’s still looking good. This steam will be fine for you, even if your skin gets damp. It’s just soaking wet I don’t want.”

“Come, I’d like to show you something special.” With her hand in his, she tugged him past the boulders toward a chiseled rock basin carved into the ground across the other side of the cavern, one that held a bath-like pool of cool water. “The carved bath is rather shallow, knee deep at most, but if you get too hot, a quick sit down here is wonderful. Mother never used to be able to get Arabel and I out of this pool.”

“I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed so many wonderful times here. So too we shall share an equal number to come.” He knelt at the basin’s edge and swirled a hand through the water. “This is incredible.”

“I wish to dip my feet.” She unbelted her white crocheted girdle and dropped it on the dry sand at the rear then tipped off her slippers.

“If you’re hoping in then so am I.” With a wicked grin, he flapped his plaid out and settled it on the sand. He kicked off his boots, unstrapped his sword belt and laid his weapons next to her belongings then stripped off his tunic, rolled the hems of his trews to his knees and sat on the edge of the tartan. Feet dunked in the water, he patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

“One moment.” In no time at all she’d be far too hot with all these clothes on. She eased her burgundy gown over her head, dropped it on top of his shirt and sat next to him in her linen shift. With her long hem bunched over her knees, she dunked her feet next to his and swished them back and forth though the deliciously cool water, her toes just touching the smooth, stony base. “Since we’re all alone, I would like to speak to you about our bond.”

“Go right ahead. I’m listening.” He settled one hand on her leg, curled his fingers around her thigh and gently caressed. His white aura with its tinge of shifter red glimmered with sparks of gold and the gentle purr emanating from him vibrated stronger, deeper, his and his bear’s need for her shimmering through.

“What if I’m ready now?”

“Ready for what?”

“To complete the bond and create the merged link of the mind.”

“Are you certain?” Such hungry hope swirled within his gaze.

“I wouldnae want to push you, if you were no’ ready, but aye, I am.” She leaned closer, touched her lips to his. “Are you?” she whispered, sharing her breath with him.

“I’ve been ready since the moment I met you, but since you’re not from my time, I need to first ask you a very important question.” He lifted the edge of the tartan they sat on, tore a thin strip from it then moved onto one knee before her, clasped his right hand with her right and wrapped the thin tartan strip around both their wrists.

“What are you—” Her heartbeat raced at the symbolic gesture she understood well. “This isnae necessary.”

“You are my mate, the only woman I’ll ever desire. If we’re to complete the bond, then I’ll only do so once I’ve made you my wife in truth. I wish for a handfast marriage, Julia. Bind yourself to me as my wife for a year and a day, and the moment we can, we’ll speak vows before a clergyman.”

“Oh my.” Her hands shook. “You truly wish to handfast with me?”

“I want you as my wife, and that is my one and only stipulation before we complete the bond and all that it entails.”

Tears misted her gaze. “I do wish to speak handfast vows with you, to be your wife in truth.”

“Then I’ll begin.” He kissed the tip of her nose, his lips lifting. “I, Tavish William Matheson, of Ivanson Castle, pledge my troth to Julia, of the House of Clan Matheson. With this handfast, I take her as my wife for the next year and a day, and as my soul bound mate for all time.” He squeezed her hand. “I long to be your husband, to know none other can ever claim you, except for me. This way you’ll be mine, in every single way. None can ever tear us apart. Certainly not a MacKenzie, or their devious demands.”

“I cannae believe this is happening.” The depth of the vow she wished to speak with him, and the complete rightness of the moment rolled through her. She twined her fingers through his and looked into his eyes. “I, Julia, of the House of Clan Matheson, pledge my troth to Tavish William Matheson. With this handfast, I take him as my husband for the next year and a day, and as my soul bound mate for all time. I will never allow another to tear us apart, and in speaking this vow, I also promise to both trust my mate and his word.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, her happiness overwhelming her. “Kiss me.”

“Aye, we’ll seal the vows with a kiss, then I intend to make love to you, to devour every single inch of you, for you to know you’re mine, just as I’m yours.” He slid one hand around the back of her head, his fingers sliding through her golden locks. Gently, he drew her forward, captured her mouth with his and kissed her. She swayed forward, grasped his shirtfront and twined her tongue with his in a delicious dance she couldn’t help but desire more of. Their kiss grew wilder, more frantic and he tugged the handfast binding off and freed their hands. Rising up over top of her, he toppled her back onto his plaid, gently eased one knee between hers and nudged her legs farther apart. He settled himself fully on top of her, his glorious body a heavenly weight she desired more of.

“My husband.” She dug her fingers into his hair, his warm and fresh scent surrounding and embedding itself deeply within her.

“Knowing you can’t get away from me right now soothes me beyond reason.”

“I dinnae wish to get away.” Reveling in his closeness, she glided her hands over his bare back and down his sides. Her fingers itched to touch more of him. “I’ve always been a curious lass, and there is no one who sparks my curiosity more than you.”

“I need to join as one with you, Julia, more than I need my next breath. I long to complete the bond and form the merged link of the mind.”

“To have such a merged link, just as Arabel does with Finlay, is something I too desire.” Carefully, she caressed over his leather-clad buttocks, wrapped her legs around his legs and rocked underneath him. The sand made a sweetly soft bed, the steam dampening his golden skin and making it gleam in the trace of light filtering through from the vent above. “I want you inside me, all around me, and for us to never be apart again.”

“That’s exactly what I want as well. You are one very agreeable wife.” His lips lifted in a sensual smile and he lowered his head and seized her mouth once more with his. He slipped his tongue between her lips and licked the inside of her mouth, so smoothly and slowly, with such a seductive stroke he left her panting for more.

Raw and primal need swelled within her and she pushed her breasts into his chest and clung to him. Nipping and licking, her mate tasted her with such a soulful and greedy need, need that flared to raging life within her as well. Heat flooded her below and she moaned and scraped her nails down his back.

“I love it when you do that,” he whispered against her lips, “and I mean by marking me as yours.”

“Aye, you are mine.” She dug her fingers into his back once more and he rumbled his pleasure then kissed her deeper, until something brushed against her mind and pushed harder as if trying to find a way into her mind. Cradling his head in her hands, she pulled back a touch and locked gazes with him. The merged link was only possible between mates and his mind clearly battered at hers and demanded entrance. “We truly are mated.” Awe laced her words.

“You still doubted it?” His aura expanded and flowed out. “My mind is shoving against yours, trying to gain access. I want the telepathic connection.”

“Mayhap just a little part of me still held back on that truth, but not anymore, not when I can sense your need to form the merged link.” She gasped as his aura suddenly swarmed around hers, not only tugging but completely surrounding and melding into the rainbow of colors that made up her own. “Oh my.”

“What’s wrong?” He searched her gaze.

“There is naught wrong. Your aura is saturating mine, fully enveloping me.”

“Well, about damn time.” He slid one hand around her nape and his warm breath whispered tantalizingly across her lips. “You are my true mate. Claim me, just as I wish to claim you.”

Her grandmother’s words reverberated through her mind. Live as you’ve never lived afore, my dear. There is warmth and an all-encompassing heat at the end of the tunnel. That is the place you seek. All your heart longs for will soon come to light and from that sacred place, your journey shall begin.

Aye, her journey had now begun, right here within the all-encompassing heat at the end of the tunnel. She slid her fingers into Tavish’s silky black hair and nuzzled his neck. She licked over the mark she’d given him that very morning, right there within the sensitive hollow where his shoulder and neck met. His pulse throbbed under her tongue and dizzy with need, she scraped her teeth back and forth, her only desire to bite him, to mark him fully and completely as hers. “I wish to live, Tavish, to be a part of you, just as you will be a part of me.”

“Bite me.” He rubbed his body against hers, his aura flaring with more need and flushing hers with the same. Holding her head against his flesh, he sucked on her neck and she clamped down on him and bit him just as he’d asked her to.

He bucked and moaned against her, slid one finger under the shoulder of her shift and eased her sleeve down her arm. A low rumble vibrated in his chest as he freed her breasts and gazed at them, then he dipped his head and licked the hard buds which tightened further under his hot and marauding tongue. “You skin is so flushed. Are you all right?”

“I’m about to lose my mind.”

“Then we’ll lose our minds together.” He curved his palm around her breast, flicked one finger over her nipple and smiled at her. “Say aye.”

“Aye.”

“Thank you, my love.” He covered her mouth with his, captured her lips in a wickedly scorching kiss, his hard body a powerful stamp of heat that embedded itself into each and every inch of her. He licked her tongue and she couldn’t help but respond. She sucked it into her mouth and when she did, he delved deeper and growled, his bear rising to the surface and rippling right under his skin.

Mmm, he tasted so good. She melted into a pool of liquid heat, wishing this kiss would never stop. Naught had ever felt so right and a desperate spike of need rushed through her, so strongly, so fiercely. She rubbed her body against his, kissed him wildly in return and reveled in their beautiful bond. Being this close to him was sheer perfection. She seized his biceps and held on as he kissed her over and over, until their breath mingled as one and the heat between them blazed into a fiercely hot fire. “I need skin on skin.”

“So do I. Hands up.”

She lifted her arms and he swept her shift over her head and tossed it on top of the pile of their discarded clothes.

“Hell, you’re so beautiful.” With one finger, he traced around her beading nipples then down between the valley of her breasts to her belly button. His aura heated further, as did the molten gold of his shifter eyes. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“As you’re all mine.”

“Aye, always, from this moment forth and throughout all of time.” He clasped her bare bottom, dipped his head and sucked her nipple deep into his mouth.

“There will only ever be you.” She arched into him, desperate to rub against the hard length of his erection almost spearing through his black leather trews. She fumbled with the ties at his waist.

“Here, allow me.” He eased up, loosened the waistband then shoved the fabric down his heavily muscled legs. His cock bobbed free and brushed his belly, the shaft so thick and the plump head glistening on the very tip. Goodness. How on earth was she meant to fit all of him inside her? Obviously it must be possible since man and woman had been joining together since the beginning of time, only she had no idea quite how.

“What has that worried look flittering across your face?” He kicked his trews away, knelt between her legs, his balls pulling higher and firmer into the nest of dark curls covering the V at his groin.

“Every maid must be worried when first contemplating such a joining.”

“I never want to hurt you, only the first time there will be a little pain. I’ll do all I can to ensure it’s minimal.”

“May I touch you there?”

“I’d love nothing more.” He gripped her hand and spread her fingers around his long and full length. His cock was so velvety smooth yet also hot and hard.

She caressed his flesh and as a bead of his essence rose and shimmered on the top, she gently smoothed her thumb over it. He groaned, his thigh muscles bunching and his hands clenching. “Does this hurt you? My touching you like this?”

“Your touch feels incredible. This is my first time just as it’s your first time. Our mated males wait for our females, never allowing a joining with another. Which means all these new sensations you feel, so do I.” He pushed her back until she laid down once more then bent over her and licked her nipple. He drew the tip deep into the glorious heat of his mouth and played the tip to perfection.

She moaned, the sound almost animalistic. Wildly wicked tingles raced through her body, each raspy stroke of his tongue over the sensitive point sending a bolt of pleasure straight to her core. Heat flooded her below and he sniffed and lifted his head.

His hungry gaze swept down her body, from her breasts to her belly then to the golden curls covering her entrance. “Mmm, you smell incredible, like warm, creamy honey and that my mate, is one of my favorite foods. I need to taste you.”

“Wait.” She squirmed back and he captured her ankles, dragged her back and raised her legs. He hooked them over his shoulders until her bottom lifted off the sand and she lay fully exposed to him. “Tavish, please, you cannae think to taste me there.”

“By the end of this day, I’ll have tasted every part of you, and most definitely down there. You’re so beautiful, so pink and lush and my mouth is watering for more. Don’t deny me. Say aye.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and somehow whispered her agreement. “Aye.”

“Relax, my mate. I intend for you to enjoy this moment, and me for to enjoy it too.” He swept his hands along her inner thighs and parted her folds. As he dipped his head, his warm breath feathered across her skin and sent butterflies abounding in her belly. “Look at me, Julia. I want to see your desire when it comes.”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I wish to give you all of me. Taste and take whatever you please.”

“Good answer.” Grinning, he plunged one finger deep inside her and she bucked as pleasure ricocheted outward from her core and hardened her nipples further.

“Oh, that I like.”

“If I do anything you don’t like, then tell me.”

“Keep touching me as you are.” She doubted there’d be anything he did which she wouldn’t completely adore. “I wish to be loved by you, for us both to live as we’ve never lived afore.”

“All I want is to see to your pleasure.” He stroked her harder, faster, then rubbed his thumb across her nub until she arched into his touch. When he added a second finger and lowered his head between her thighs, she sank her hands into his dark hair and gasped as he licked and kissed her flesh in the most intimate of ways. Oh, her mate surely knew how to kiss. Never would she have guessed they could love each other in this way.

Exquisite sensations stormed through her. With each swipe of his tongue and deeply penetrating stroke of his fingers, she couldn’t help but lift her bottom higher and rock her hips. Something sat just beyond her reach, her need for more building higher and higher, until she cried out his name. “Tavish, I dinnae know what to do.”

“All you need to do is let go. I’ve got you, will always have you.” He sucked on her nub and sparks sizzled and flared. She hovered on the edge of a precipice she’d soon launch from.

“Cease, please. I cannae take anymore.” Except he seemed so determined to stay right where he was. Instinct took over and she reached down and glided over the hard length of his cock. Since he intended to drive her to the point of no return, she would do the same to him. She fondled his hot flesh, his shaft lengthening and heating deliciously in her hand. Stroking him in time with how he stroked her, she tried to hold onto some form of reason.

“Julia, halt.” He moaned, long and low. “Or else I’ll come before you do.”

“I wish to fly. Come with me.” She worked him in long pulls, her thumb swiping over the tip now slippery with his essence.

“Hell, you’re impossible to say no to.” He rose up, pressed every glorious inch of his body down on hers and took her mouth in a hot kiss, his fingers still stroking into her below with such exquisite perfection.

“Please, Tavish. I want to let go, but no’ without you.” She stroked him harder, everything within her needing his possession. “Come inside me.”

“Soon. First I intend to see to your pleasure.” He flicked her nub and she gasped and flew, soaring right into the heavens and amongst the brilliance of a million stars. Wave after wave of pure pleasure rippled through her core and a bright array of colors shimmered all around. His aura melded into hers and his gentle purr saturated her. “Are you ready for me, my mate?”

“Aye, beyond ready.” She clawed him to her.

His mind battered against hers, demanding entrance, and she spread her legs wider and wrapped them around his waist. With his hands on her hips, he carefully moved between her legs, slid the head of his cock along her slick folds then nudged at her entrance. “Do you accept me, all of me?”

“You’re my mate, my fierce protector. I shall always accept all of you.” She grasped his buttocks and looking deep into his eyes, pulled him ever closer. “Join us together and consummate our vows.”

With a deep roar, he plunged inside her, tore through her barrier below and as he did, his mind barreled deep inside hers. She welcomed all of him, both body and mind and reveled in their intense joining. There was naught she wanted more than to share all that she was with him, for him to make her his in every way. They were soul bound, each born to be the other’s mate, from now until the end of time.

* * *

TAVISH HELD PERFECTLY still, his body buried deep within Julia’s, his mind moving swiftly to forge the merged link that would only ever be theirs. He cemented the link, her thoughts wrapping around his as he whispered into her mind, “You’re my true mate, the one who holds the other half of my soul, just as I hold the other half of yours.”

“Aye, never have I felt so as one with another,” she murmured, her grip firm on his butt. “Or so wholly and perfectly full.”

“I’ll take this slow until you to get used to the feel of me.” He looked deep into her eyes and she smiled. He could drown in her smile and be a happy man as he did. “Keep your mind fully open to mine so I’ll know if I’m causing more pain than pleasure. I’ll stop if I do.”

“I am well, Tavish. There was a moment of pain but now ’tis gone. Look inside my mind and you shall see the truth.” She rocked underneath him. “I cannae halt what my body needs. I wish for you to move, to feel you sliding in and out of me, to feel your pleasure in doing so. We were made for each other.”

“You say the most beautiful things.” He dipped his head, molded his mouth to hers and kissed her. Ever so slowly, he slid his cock back out then as gently as he could, pushed all the way back in. She moaned her pleasure, her eyelids fluttering and every inch of her hot channel hugged him, the exquisite pressure tightening his balls to the point of pain. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long at this rate, except he had to. He intended to see to her pleasure once more before he came. He wanted her to experience only the sweetest joining with him.

“I can sense your thoughts. You’re thinking of my pleasure first. You wish to come but no’ afore I do once more.” She licked his neck, right over the mark she’d given him.

“Good. Then you know the plan.” He nipped her bottom lip then nibbled along her jaw and down her neck until he reached her thumping pulse point. Her soft, creamy skin looked ripe and ready for another mark, an entire series of marks. He intended for everyone to know she was his and no other’s.

“Your thoughts are even more territorial than I thought they would be.” She rubbed her thumb over the hollow on the other side of his neck and licked her lips, her own desire to mark him in the same way clear to see. “I wish to bite you again as well, for all to know you are mine and that I’ve accepted our bond in every way. I belong to you, just as you belong to me.”

“I love how you think.” He moved deeper inside her, and she met each of his thrusts with one of her own.

“Oh, that feels sooo good. You fill me completely, inside me below and within my mind. There is naught more enchanting than this bond.” She thrashed underneath him, her teeth scraping back and forth over his neck.

“Do it, Julia.” He stretched to give her better access and when she cried out and clamped her teeth down on him, he roared his pleasure and sank his teeth into her neck in return.

Her inner channel tightened wickedly around him and she lapped the new mark then inched along his neck and bit him again. “You’re my mate, my bear.” Her arousal flew down their link and swamped him. “Have to—must—”

Her channel contracted, pulsing over and over and he could no longer hold back. He bit the other side of her neck and bucking into her, came in a hot rush, his essence spurting thick and heavy to her core. No one could ever separate them, not now, not ever. She was his, always his.

“Dinnae leave me.” Her lashes fluttered down and she softly sighed. “Stay right where you are, my handfast husband.”

“I’ll never leave you. You’re my mate, the one woman I’ve waited a lifetime for.”

“You have my thanks, for bringing me so much pleasure.” Smiling, she succumbed to sleep and he carefully pulled out and tucked her safely within his arms.

He tightened his hold on her mind, both him and his bear so content. Through the vent above, the sky darkened and he allowed the pull of the coming night to tug him under. They’d remain here until the morning, then begin the search for her parents once the new day had dawned. He needed this night with her and he intended to take it.

Satisfaction rolled through him as he slipped further toward the dark.

Heavenly sleep took him.

Chapter 7

A BIRD’S PRETTY trill drifted into the cavern from outside and stirred Tavish awake. Stretching, he opened his eyes while through the vent overhead, the new day’s rising sunshine shimmered through and rippled across the chiseled rock walls and basin of water within their sacred underground cavern. Steam plumed from the corner mound of boulders where cold water trickled onto hot rocks. It swirled all about, keeping them both toasty and warm.

Lying on the tartan in front of him, Julia smiled in her sleep, her long blond tresses tangled around them both. He caressed her back and her smile widened. His own smile likely matched hers, the night that had passed all he’d ever hoped for. Speaking vows with her then joining together and creating the merged link of the mind, had soothed his very soul. All he’d ever desired was to find and hold his chosen one and now all his wishes had come true.

Gently, he disentangled himself from her, spread her legs and touched the smear of blood along her inner thigh. His bear stretched and preened under his skin. She’d given him her vow, her body, all of herself, just as he’d given her the same in return.

Needing to take care of her, he leaned over the cool basin of water, scooped a handful of water and gently washed the blood from her thighs before splashing his cock and cleaning himself.

“Mmm, Tavish.” She murmured his name in her sleep and he barely restrained himself from taking her all over again. She’d bled and must be hurting. He nabbed her cotton shift, flapped the sand from it then tucked it around her. Keeping her gorgeous body out of his sight would help in ensuring he kept his hands off her too.

“Julia.” Leaning over her, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “We need to talk. The search for your parents begins today.”

“I cannae wait to ride out to the encampment.” She stretched and lifted her long sooty lashes. Her blue eyes captured his, the sparks of gold rimming the edge flickering bright as she ran her gaze down his body. “First though, I have a request. You must always wake me with a kiss.”

“I already did so.”

“I missed it. Kiss me again.”

Grinning, he pressed her back into the sand, their bodies fully aligned from head to toe, the only barrier between them her shift. She rubbed against him and a fiery burn invaded his limbs and hardened his cock.

“I would like another kiss, please,” she urged him once more.

“When I woke up, I told myself I’d not touch you, that you needed time to heal. You don’t fight fair.”

“I didnae realize we were fighting.”

“I need to take care of you, not to topple you back onto the sand and ravish you all over again.”

“Ravishing is good.”

“There was blood and you must be sore. Time to heal is what you need, not to be ravished.” Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her, his mouth moving ravenously over hers and she kissed him just as hungrily back. Ragged for breath, he made himself pull away and roll onto his back beside her. Hell, it would take every ounce of his willpower not to succumb to this desperate desire he had for her and take her all over again.

“This need of mine cannae wait, and it appears neither can yours.” She sat up, her shift slithering into her lap. Her lush breasts bobbed free, the tips rosy and pink and making his mouth water. Her beautiful creamy skin and luscious pouty lips sent his thoughts into further free-fall.

“Stay right where you are, Julia. I mean it.”

“Dinnae turn me away, husband.” Smiling seductively, she slung one leg over his hips and straddled him.

How on earth was he supposed to say no to her like this? His greedy bear wasn’t helping him right now either. His claws sliced out, his beast riding him hard and his demand clear. He needed to mate. Joining with his chosen one and being as one with her was imperative. His hands moved of their own accord, reached up and cupped her breasts. “Tell me to stop.”

“Never.” She leaned in and offered him all he desired.

He retracted his claws, eased those delicious mounds together and sucked her nipples deep inside his mouth. He razzed the tips with his teeth and moaned at the delicious taste of her.

“I love it when you touch me like this.” She planted her hands on the sand either side of his head and wriggled against his groin, her folds sliding along the length of his erect cock.

Slowly, she moved downward until she grasped his shaft. She eyed his length and smiled, so wickedly, her thoughts extremely clear to see. She wished to take him in her mouth. Hell, the thought of her full and enticing lips sliding around him, of her taking him deep, saturated his senses.

“Hmm, your thoughts are most interesting and in agreement with mine.” She eased onto her belly between his legs, licked her lips and touched her tongue to the tip. With one slow swipe, she licked him from root to tip then played her tongue back and forth over the head.

“I’m going to have to learn how to halt certain thoughts from getting through to you.” The words barely made it past his dry lips.

“There is naught you can hide from me, not now.” She eased her mouth fully down over his shaft. The silken heat of her mouth seared him and sparks shimmered at the base of his spine and rippled around to his groin.

For the life of him, he couldn’t stop her, not when her touch was pure temptation and heated torture all rolled into one. Gently, he cradled her head in his hands and urged her on as she bobbed up and down. “You learn fast, my love.”

“Your aura also tells me exactly what you wish for, what you will or willnae like. Right now, the sizzling edge of red flares with more need. I believe I shall take you even deeper inside my mouth and see what happens.”

“No deeper. I’m not sure if I can handle any more of your aura reading right now, or your very clever mouth.”

“You wish to deny me of what I too would like to do?” Sensually soft words as she wrapped her luscious lips around him once more.

His cock pulsed with need and before he lost what remained of his control, he flipped her over onto her back and blood pounding, lavished attention on her. Licking and nibbling, he devoured her breasts before moving in a swirling trail downward. He kissed around her belly button, over her hips and along her inner thighs. Nuzzling her skin, his nose bumped the entrance to her core and he growled long and low as her sweet honey scent drifted around him. He needed to taste her just as badly as he needed his next breath. He slid his hands around her thighs, opened her wider and gave his bear permission to indulge. Lapping at her sweet folds, he rolled around in heaven. This was what he and his beast both wanted, and when her soft cries for more rang in his ears, he dived in and imbibed at the very heart of her.

Sensations stormed through him. His shaft throbbed and he could wait no more. He lifted up and plunged inside her fiery heat, taking her hard and fast, just as her thoughts demanded and just as his did as well. This bond was all-consuming and gave no quarter.

Kissing her, he tasted the delectable recesses of her mouth and claimed every last inch of her. He drank her in, allowing his desperate need for her to take him.

“Tavish!” She screamed his name, clutched his butt and pulled him in even deeper. “You’re my mate, my bear. Make me fly.”

“Always yours, and your wish is my command.” He tightened his mind around hers and pounded into her. His thoughts flew as she raked his back, as her inner muscles grasped ahold of him and dragged him in. He roared, his release exploding powerfully from him as she pulsed around him again and again. With his seed coating her womb, he finally eased his pace and rocked gently inside her. As he brought them both slowly back down, he whispered in her mind, “You’re my wife and always will be.”

“Aye, and now I’m a very sleepy wife once more. I need a wee nap after such ravishment.” She kissed him and cuddled into him. “Sleepy.”

“You rest and I’ll go fetch us some breakfast. I’ll be as quick as I can and wake you when I return.” They couldn’t leave on any search until they’d eaten. A nap wouldn’t hurt her or lose them any great deal of time.

He waited until she’d drifted fully off to sleep, carefully pulled out of her then touched the marks he’d given her either side of her neck and along the top rise of her breasts. She was his mate and such a treasure, one he’d never let go of and always keep safe.

After rising, he tugged on his leather pants, white tunic and stuck his feet into his boots. With his wrist daggers sheathed and his sword belt on, he snuck out of their steamy cavern, slipped through the tightly vented opening and walked along the craggy tunnel into the fresh morning air.

A clear blue sky with only a smattering of white cloud reigned high above and gave the promise of a warm summer’s day ahead. White foamy waves sloshed along the sandy curve of the cove while behind him, the cliffs stood tall and strong and the river mouth to the side, sent water streaming smoothly into the sea. He searched along his merged link and touched Julia’s mind. She rested, still deep asleep and unlikely to awaken. Certainly if she did, he’d know.

With a determined step, he strode to the beached skiff, removed a snare from a chest under the bench seat and marched toward the river mouth where the forest rose high beyond it. He’d need to head into the woods to set his snare. He followed the river as it weaved inland then veered away and squelched across the wetland. The odd marsh orchid bloomed, a brilliant burst of fuchsia-pink and he couldn’t help but stop and pluck a flower for her. The orchid’s color matched Julia’s sweetly pouty lips to perfection.

Once he reached the edge of the forest, he found a good spot to set the snare then foraged close by for twigs and wood for a fire.

A few minutes later, a soft snap dinged from the direction of his snare and he tramped back to it, removed the rabbit and with his arms full of all he needed, returned to the river and skinned and cleaned his catch.

Down to the beach, he trekked then stole back inside the cavern. Julia still slept peacefully, the sight of her snuggled on his tartan bringing a smile to his lips and warmth to his heart. He dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head, snuck back to the rear of the cave then dug a small pit in the grainy sand. He pulled stringy bark off the wood he’d collected, struck flint with his dirk and coaxed the sparks to life. He built the fire into a crackling blaze with the twigs and wood, the smoke curling upward and floating out the vent above.

The heat of the fire and the steamy recesses of the cavern had the heat rising and dampening his skin. Sweaty, he tossed his shirt aside then set to work fashioning a spit from the thin sturdy sticks that remained. With the skinned rabbit in hand, he threaded the meat into place and set their meal to cook.

The tantalizing scent of roasted meat swirled through the air and near the bath-like basin of water, Julia stretched and opened her eyes.

“You’re back.” She moved onto her hands and knees and crawled toward him, her full and heavy breasts swaying as she joined him and wriggled onto his lap. “That smells divine.”

“What smells divine?” He bent his head and licked one nipple, his naked wife in his arms swiftly stealing his senses.

“The rabbit.”

“What rabbit?” He licked her other nipple, the sweet taste of her consuming him.

“I was speaking of the rabbit you’re cooking.” She looped her arms around his neck and with her body curved into his, offered herself fully up to him. “I’m hungry.”

So was he. He seized her lips with his and kissed her until she murmured something about a burning rabbit.

Damn it. The rabbit.

He removed it from the fire and set it to one side to cool. They would definitely need a honeymoon, a month long one at the very least, one he wouldn’t mind spending the entirety of within this very cavern. After their mission to find her parents, he was bringing her right back here.

* * *

JULIA GIGGLED AS she sat in Tavish’s lap while he frowned at the crispy rabbit. “It matters not that our meal is a little burnt. The meat will still provide good sustenance.”

“I prefer my meat rare rather than well done.”

“So does Gilleoin. Do all shifters enjoy their meat rare?” She stroked over his broad shoulders and wide chest, his golden skin gleaming within the heat of the cavern. Oh, and those defined bands across his stomach, they bunched and rippled and completely fascinated her. He was all hard muscles and strong angles compared to her soft curves. She traced one finger down the rigid center of his abs to his waistband and a delicious thrill raced through her. Mother had always said that when one was newly wedded, time was needed between husband and wife to bond. Some couples even spent a month or more away on their own, somewhere close, but also somewhere special. She wished such a time with Tavish, to learn all there was about him, from his intriguing mind to his tantalizing lips and everything in between.

“Aye, all shifters in my clan do. It’s a bear thing. The rarer the meat the better.”

“What is your favorite meal?”

“It used to be a good steak and roasted vegetables, but now it’s the taste of you.” He turned her in his lap so she faced the fire, her back to his chest. “How’s your head feel this morning?”

“There isnae any pain. I would have told you if that was so.”

“I’ll check all the same.” Gently, he separated her locks and she shrugged her shoulders and indulged him as he wished.

“Is all well?”

“The wound is healing beautifully. I brought you something.” He reached over, lifted his shirt off the sand and picked up a bright fuchsia-pink flower that had been lying underneath it. “This is for you. I found orchids growing in the marshland.”

“Oh my.” She clasped a hand to her chest and touched the orchid. Tears misted her gaze as she reverently stroked its velvety petals.

“Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” He gently wiped a trickling tear away.

“Nay.” He would have no idea what such a gift meant to her, but just seeing the orchid sent a flood of warm memories through her. She opened her mind fully to his and shared all she could. “Each time Father walked through the swampland nearby on his way to this cove, he would pick Mother a flower and gift it to her. Mother always tucked it behind her ear or slotted it into her braid. This is a most beautiful and precious gift.”

“I had no idea.” He slipped it from her fingers and slid it behind her ear. “I’ll always pick you one as well, whenever I cross the swampland.”

“I will treasure this gift, more than you will ever know.” She wriggled her bottom into his groin and dropped a kiss on his lips. “Might I show you just how very much I’ll treasure it?”

“I’d like nothing more, but I need to feed you first.” He picked up the cooling meat, slid his dirk from his wrist sheath and cut a chunk off. He tore the meat into small slivers then slipped a morsel between her lips and ate a bite himself. He continued to feed her, until her belly was full and she held up her hands.

“No more for me. I need to cool down and wash this steamy heat from my skin.” She slipped off his lap, stepped into the basin of cool water and eased back until her head rested against the rim. Taking care not to wet the back of her head, she kept it out of the water. “Come and bathe with me.”

“Bathing will likely lead to so much more and I’ve already taken enough advantage of you.” A low rumble sounded deep in his throat, his shifter gaze burning an even richer golden hue. Slowly, he stood and prowled the chamber, from wall to wall before halting in front of her. “You need to hop out.”

“Or mayhap you need to hop in.” Hands on the basin’s smooth base, she pushed up a little and floated on the surface, her breasts bobbing high. “Once we leave to begin our search, there will be little chance for such an intimacy as this. There is also plenty of room here for two.”

“I shouldn’t.” Except he shucked his weapons and trews, his cock springing free and rising thick and high. She quivered with need as he slid into the water in front of her, his legs sliding in underneath her body as he rested his head back on the rim opposite hers.

“Touch me.” She stretched toward him, pressed her toes to his chest.

“You are teasing me beyond my endurance.” The clear surface rippled as he gripped her legs, ran his warm hands over her calves then slowly skimmed up her legs. Heat raced along the path he touched, his sweet caress moving higher, over her bottom, his hands kneading in firm circles as he traced all the way back down again. “You’re a temptation I’ll never be able to turn away from. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“As you’re all mine.”

“Aye, always yours.” He captured her feet and placed them firm against his chest. She giggled as his crisp chest hair tickled her sensitive soles. “I can already see the urgency of getting a large bath installed in our bathroom at Ivanson. Would you like that?”

“I would love it.”

“Whatever is mine is now yours.” He lifted one of her feet, massaged her heel, the high arch and around her toes then set her foot back against him and massaged the other. Kneading with delicious strokes, he worked up and over her lower limbs.

She sighed, her long hair swirling around and settling overtop of her breasts.

“Don’t dip down any lower. Keep your head out of the water.” He flicked her hair away from her breasts and tweaked her nipples. “And no covering yourself up either.”

“I didnae mean to.” A sizzling tingle radiated from the sensitive tips and rolled through her. “Could you do that again?”

His gaze roamed over her pebbled nipples. “You like it when I pinch your nipples?”

“Aye, there is naught I willnae like at your hand.”

“I intend to offer up far more than just my hands in pleasuring you.”

“As I intend to do the same with you.” She pushed up, sat astride him and clutched his shoulders, the cool water sluicing down her body as she did. His shaft, so thick and long, saluted her from the water and she fondled the tip then stroked to the root. “Never leave me.”

“I won’t. You’re my true mate.”

“Show me.” She touched the tip of her nose to his. “I need this.”

“You distract me as no other can.” He kissed her, hot and hard until he drove every thought from her mind and there was only him and this very moment in time. Gripping her waist, he lifted her up, kissed and licked her neck then drifted lower across the upper swells of her breasts. He rolled one nipple between his lips and as she arched back, he sucked her nipple deep inside his mouth which sent a torrent of tingles racing through her. He bunched his arms around her, his golden eyes twinkling. “I have other places I wish to devour right now.”

“Then dinnae let me stop you.” The water swished around her as he laid her back down and rested her head gently against the rim once more.

He ran his hands up her legs, lifted them over his shoulders and dragged her closer. Water ran off her and splashed into the pool and with his head bent, he kissed along her inner thighs, his breath puffing hotly against her skin. “If anything hurts, then tell me.”

“I promise I shall.” She grasped the sides of the pool and softly sighed as he slid his fingers along her folds and rubbed her nub. “More,” she whispered. Never had she been so brazen, but he was her mate and she wished to be open and honest with him, to have no secrets. She’d share her greatest desires, just as she shared her body with him.

“I don’t consider you brazen. Demand whatever you wish.” He spread her legs even wider then licked her flesh with his tongue, his gaze on hers as he built her pleasure to a pinnacle she could barely hold onto.

“You’re reading my mind?” Sweet sensations rolled through her and she searched under the water and skimmed the hard length of his cock. She caressed his hot flesh then pumped him in time with how he licked her. “Please, come inside me, Tavish. I dinnae wish to come alone.”

“Are you certain you’re not too sore?” He released her legs, lifted her against him until his cock brushed her entrance below.

“Never too sore for you.” She pushed down on him, melding their bodies in a way she completely adored, until he filled every single inch of her, both body and mind. “Mmm, now this is what I want.”

“You are going to be the end of me. I can see it now.”

“I certainly hope so.” Aching for more, she moved, lifting up and dropping back down. She picked up her pace and he thrust into her, harder and faster, each of his deeply penetrating strokes exactly what she needed. From the inside out, he’d taken her over and she never wanted it any other way.

“Julia, I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Neither can I.”

He flicked her nub and she flew over the edge. Heavenly spasm after spasm rocked through her as he came too, his seed shooting straight to her core. Together, they tumbled right over the edge and into oblivion.

Aye, never would she let him go.

Heart and soul, he was hers, for all time.

* * *

AS TAVISH HELD Julia tight against him, he worked to settle his breathing and slow his pounding heartbeat down. He wished he could keep her here in this magical place forever, only Tor would soon begin to worry if didn’t return and so too their mission to find her parents must begin. He kissed her, claimed her mouth once more, just as he’d claimed her body then searching her mind, sought to ensure she’d felt only pleasure and no pain as he’d taken her. Hell, he was insatiable. He and his bear, both.

“I like insatiable.” Julia smiled lazily as she gazed into his eyes. “I also enjoy reading your thoughts as you enjoy reading mine. Mostly though, I’m rather glad your bear enjoys devouring me.”

“My bear wishes to devour you over and over and never stop but unfortunately we’ve been gone for far too long and we need to return.” He rose from the water with her in his arms and even though he detested releasing her, he set her down on her feet.

“Aye, Arabel too will worry if I’m gone for too much longer.” She tugged her linen shift over her damp skin, shimmied into her rich burgundy gown and covered up every delectable inch of her skin. Slippers on, she belted her white crocheted girdle at her waist, the tassels swaying to her knees.

He dragged on his clothes, strapped his sword and wrist daggers in place then cupped her shoulders in his hands. “Ensuring your safety and wellbeing comes first on this trip. It can be no other way and if I feel your safety might be in jeopardy, I’ll bring you straight back home. If any harm came to you, I’d never forgive myself. Do you understand?”

“The encampment will be teeming with warriors and although right on our border with the MacKenzie, ’tis still secure and within our Matheson hands. We’ll also have the Fae Angel of Love on our side during our search.”

Cherub would certainly speed things up with her swift way of travel and he didn’t doubt she’d watch over Julia or allow any harm to come to her. He released her with a nod, tossed sand onto the fire, doused it and collected his tartan and war coat. At the tunnel entrance, he held out his hand for her. “Ready to leave?”

“Aye, I cannae wait to begin our search.” Brushing her skirts, she joined him with an excited smile.

“Neither can I.” He ran his fingers through her long golden locks, tidying her hair then fixed the orchid tucked behind her ear. With his hand in hers, he led her down the darkened passageway, motioned for her to slip through the gap where it forked then walked outside.

She bounded onto the beach and twirled around. The morning sun shone and the rays lit her golden locks and beautiful blue eyes. Such happiness invaded his soul at seeing her so happy and her clear love of this most enchanting place.

“Into the skiff with you.” He caught her around the waist and swung her on board while overhead two seagulls squawked and dove into the breakers. Both heaved back up, one with a fish flapping between its beak and the other cackling as it made chase. The wind whispered across his skin, bringing with it the salty scent of the sea and the promise of all he and his clan fought for, this land and their people within it.

“This is such a beautiful place, Tavish, and I love being here with you.” She sat at the stern.

“We’ll return, however often we can.” He uncoiled the rope, stored it under the skiff’s bench seat and pushed the boat into the water before hopping aboard. Hell, he’d much rather drag his woman right back into their steamy cavern and send her flying again to the heavens but instead he gripped the oars and rowed until he cleared the bay then raised the sail.

Julia smiled at him, her burgundy velvet skirts fluffed around her and her lips lifted in the most delicious way. “Homeward bound, my fierce protector. We have a great mission ahead of us, the most important I’ve ever undertaken.”

“Aye, homeward bound we go.” He’d been gifted with the most precious woman and he’d make damn certain every hope and dream she harbored was fulfilled. Finding her parents was at the top of that list. To give her what her heart most desired would drive him throughout the coming days. The MacKenzie better well have told them the truth, that he’d never slain Aleck and Adair. He sent a prayer soaring skyward that they lived.

Chapter 8

THROUGH THE GATES of the House of Clan Matheson, Julia led Tavish after they’d moored their skiff at the sea-gate. Blue skies shimmered overhead and the sun shone and spread its warmth across the land. Her body still ached from her night spent in Tavish’s arms, although she adored the change and snuggled her mind deeper into his. Joining as one with him had been so wonderful, then creating the merged link of the mind, such a gift. ’Twas a connection she never wished to give up, couldn’t believe was all hers to share with him.

In front of the keep, two lads loaded a cart with supplies for the warriors at the encampment, while across the inner bailey near the far curtain wall, a good fifty shirtless warriors wielded swords in a battle of strength against one another. Finlay, Kirk and Tor were amongst them, the three men training together as a team. They fought with immense skill, the clash of their claymores reverberating through the air, their moves graceful yet holding great strength. “We’ve arrived in good time. The men still train and the cart isnae yet fully loaded.”

“Then I’ll join Tor for a bit, warm up my muscles before we leave.” Tavish palmed the hilt of his mighty sword. “Stay for as long as you can. I don’t care to have you out of my sight just yet.”

“I will.” On her toes, she kissed his chin. “Be careful, because if you suffer even one scratch, I willnae be happy. Certainly whoever harms you will be wishing he never had.”

“I’ll be sure to inform one and all.” He clasped her hips and rubbed his body against hers, his warm and fresh scent wrapping around her. “Right now I’m still feeling a whole lot territorial.”

“I like territorial.” She palmed the mark on her neck then touched the mark she’d given him on his. Gently, she rubbed her thumb back and forth over it and smiled. “Go and train, so that then we might leave.”

“Aye, my wife.” Grinning, he stepped back, slid his sword from its sheath and strode toward his brother and cousins. Swinging his blade in a wide figure eight, he warmed up at the edge of the training men, his moves quick and precise. His shoulders were packed with muscle, his arms so thick and strong and giving evidence of the hours he spent training each day. Everything about him intrigued her, from his gentle healing touch to his fierce fighting stance.

She crossed to the center well draped in ivy where she could watch him with more ease and rested her bottom against the rimmed edge near the swaying pail.

Tor backed away from Finlay and Kirk’s battle and advanced toward Tavish, his weapon held high. “Glad to see you’re back. If you hadn’t returned soon, I would have come in search of you.”

“I needed some time away with Julia.” Tavish thrust his enormous sword against Tor’s as if it were an extension of him and not a massive blade that took such great strength to wield. “We’ve completed the bond and created the merged link of the mind.”

“Congratulations.” Tor beamed as he swung and their two blades crashed hard. “You hear that, Finlay, Kirk? Our clan now has another newly mated pair.”

“That’s the best news.” Finlay called out as he battled with Kirk. “Iain and Isla too will be thrilled.”

“All I can say is I’ve never felt so at peace. Now, it’s time to set out and find Aleck and Adair and if they’re alive, to bring them back home.” Tavish landed one hard blow after another and Tor met each of his fierce strikes with one of his own. “My mate needs her parents returned to her, and without delay.”

“Once the cart is loaded, we’ll head out with the traveling party.” Tor swung and Tavish caught his high strike and pushed back.

Tavish glanced at her. “Go and pack if you wish.”

“Just keep your eyes on the fight.” She blew him a kiss.

“The sight of you is far more appealing than the sight of my brother.”

“Watch out.” Chuckling, Tor swung and Tavish caught his hit. “She might be more appealing but I’m the one with the weapon.”

“Then let’s battle.” The two fought, both moving with such grace and stealth. Sweat glistened on their brows and dampened their tunics while the clash of their blades ricocheted all around the yard.

“Julia!” Arabel dashed out of the keep and hurried toward her, the white ribbons tied around her corseted blue gown rippling in the breeze. Her sister swamped her in a huge hug, her sweet vanilla scent encasing her. “I’m so glad you and Tavish are back. Is all well?”

“Very well.” She touched the mark Tavish had given her and smiled. “There’s been a development.”

“You completed the bond?” Her sister jiggled from foot to foot as she spotted the mark.

“We did, and we now have a merged link of the mind.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news. I’m so happy for you.”

Cherub shimmered into view near the cart, her skin sparkling in the morning sunshine. She waved out to them and walked across. “I’ve been out looking for you, Julia, well you and Tavish.”

“We spent the night at the underground caverns farther along the loch. We completed the bond and as we did, our auras finally behaved and came into alignment.”

“That’s the best news.” The wind lifted, fluttered Cherub’s navy skirts and blew a lock of her blond hair across her cheek. Smiling, Cherub hugged her. “Congratulations. Once you’ve packed, we’ll ride out. Kirk enjoys roaming the countryside on horseback when he can, rather than having me whizzing us through the air all the time.”

“I cannae wait to leave.” She kissed Arabel’s cheek. “I’ll keep in touch with you during the mission, however that can be arranged.”

“I’ll be waiting for news.” Arabel tipped her head toward the keep. “Go and pack.”

“I shall.” With her burgundy skirts in hand, she rushed inside and bumped straight into Matthew. She gripped his shoulders to keep herself from toppling over. “I’m so sorry, Matthew. I wasnae watching where I was running.”

“Little has changed since you were a bairn.” In his brown tunic and trews, his gray hair thinning at the top, he plucked a red-skinned apple from the woven basket he carried over one arm and offered it to her. “For you, my wee Julia. I’m driving the cart to the encampment and glad I am you’ve returned in time. Tor told me about your mate, a clever man that Tavish is, a healer of great ability. Tor said they call him a doctor in his time.”

“Aye, that is true.” She snuck the apple from his hand, rubbed it on her skirts until the red skin gleamed. She took a bite and the sweet apple juice ran down her chin. Wiping it away, she murmured, “Mmm, delicious. Thank you, Matthew.”

“You’re most welcome. I’ve heard about the plan to find Aleck and Adair. All within the keep are speaking of it.” He tipped his head toward the stairwell. “Be quick now. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can find your parents and bring them back home.”

“Save me another apple for later.” Munching on the sweet fruit, she dashed up the winding stairwell. Yesterday, she’d stood on the MacKenzie’s battlements with Cherub as they’d confronted Jeremiah, and now she was to join their warriors at the encampment and begin searching for her parents. Jeremiah’s words echoed through her mind. They’re alive and far from here. When they first arrived, I was the one to personally escort them to their new accommodations, and they’ve remained there the length of their imprisonment. You can be certain though that when the deadline expires and Julia hasn’t been brought to me, then their death will be assured. I’ll see to it myself.

She had to believe her parents lived, that they’d find them in time. No other thought would she consider.

In her chamber, she rolled her shoulders and inserted her never-ending resolve.

“Good morn, my lady.” Effie rose from the hearth where she’d cleaned the fireplace. She dusted her hands against her aproned sides and motioned toward the side table where a tray sat with a steaming cup of tea and an earthenware plate holding three of the cook’s mouth-watering raspberry and honey tarts. “I was in the kitchens when one of the lads brought the news of your return. I brought you a tray. Do you wish for a bath?”

“I’ll forego a bath, but thank you for the tea. Could you lay out my violet riding habit then pack a bag for me? I’m riding to the encampment along with the warriors this morn.”

“Aye, my lady. I’ll pack all you might need.” Effie wandered to her golden curtained ambry and foraged through her clothing. She laid the riding habit, a broad-brimmed hat, and sturdy black boots on the bed, then swept a traveling bag down from the uppermost shelf and carefully folded an assortment of outfits inside.

Apple finished, she crossed to her dressing screen with its length of twine hanging across the inside, slid the orchid Tavish had given her from out behind her ear and strung it up, the bloom facing downward so it would dry. Once it had, she’d store the gift in her keepsake box. This orchid would remind her of the night that had passed, of when they’d completed the bond and joined in all ways.

“Load the cart with additional weapons to send to the men.” Finlay’s booming voice filtered through her window, ringing with authority from the lower courtyard. Gilleoin couldn’t have left their clan in better hands than those of Finlay and Kirk’s.

She swished to the window and gripped the stone sill.

Amongst the battling warriors, Tavish wielded his blade with such precision, his biceps rippling and his tunic pulled taut across his wide shoulders. Her fingers tingled with the need to touch him again, to glide over his golden skin and slide through his silky black hair. The hem of his billowy white tunic fluttered free over his leather trews and gave glimpses of his trim waist as he fought. Goodness. She longed to be back in their cavern with him, to have his warm and fresh scent swirling around her, to see his golden shifter eyes spark with desire as he sent her soaring far beyond her body. She’d been gifted with a soul bound mate who’d stolen her heart, a man of many talents, from his dedicated ability to heal to his fierce need to protect. His pure white aura with its sizzling red edge tugged upward and a single stream slipped free and floated on the breeze toward her. She opened her window wider and held out one hand. The tendril swirled in and around her then settled on her palm. Her heart lifted as the tendril kissed her skin with its warmth then soaked into her very being.

“We’re almost there, Matthew.” Finlay squeezed the elderly cart driver’s shoulder then jumped onto the rear of the wooden cart filled with blankets, clothing, armory and other supplies for the warriors camped to the east. Finlay glanced at the cook’s son as he stacked a large sack of oats onto the rear. “Alan, bring the loaves of bread the cook set aside this morning, the beans and the fresh fruit the younger lads picked from the grove as well. There’s room for it all.”

“Aye, sir.” He rushed off to do Finlay’s bidding.

Tavish and Tor sheathed their swords and strode over to Finlay while Kirk bounded over to Cherub and Arabel as they chatted. Kirk swept Cherub off her feet and her giggles abounded.

At the cart, Tavish tucked the goods into the corner and made more room for the loaves, beans and fruit Alan and another lanky lad returned with. Both lads, brothers with barely a year between them, had brown hair and breeches a good two inches too short on their legs. Their pale blue aura, now tinged with a golden glow, depicted their desire to travel to the camp with the warriors although they were still too young. Mayhap in another year or two they could join the warrior men.

Tavish clapped both the lads on the back and thanked them, a sweet gesture and one that caused their auras to glow brighter with pride. They grinned and ducked their heads under the praise then jogged back toward the side door of the keep.

She smiled too, picked up her tea from the table and sipped the cooling brew then popped a sweet tart in her mouth. So delicious. “Do you have a sweet tooth, Tavish?”

He glanced toward her window on the third floor, locked his gaze on hers and grinned. “I do, and a terribly persistent one at that. How long until you’re ready to leave?”

“I’m about to dress. Do you wish me to have the maid bring your bags downstairs? They’re still sitting by my door.” She swiped another tart, leaned out the window and whispered, “Catch,” as she tossed the sweet pastry to him.

He caught the tart one-handed and popped it into his mouth. “I’ll be up in a moment. I wish to change myself.”

“I’ll lay some clothes out for you and have the rest of your belongings sent down.” She scooped his bag stuffed with clothing onto the bed, foraged within and pulled out a blue tunic with the Matheson clan crest embroidered on the front pocket and tan rawhide trews. He could wear his war coat as he rode, should he have a need for the added warmth.

“Is there aught more you need, my lady?”

“Only for you to take these bags downstairs and ensure they’re packed with the provisions going to the camp.” She snuck the last tart and munched.

“Of course.” Effie bundled the bags in her arms and closed the door with a dip of her head as she left.

She shed her gown and shift, flapped out the cream riding shirt Effie had left for her to don and gasped as warm arms wrapped around her from behind. She turned in Tavish’s hold and looked into his glittering gaze. “Your clothes are on the bed. Effie took my bags and yours downstairs.”

“Thank you, and I believe I need to make a stipulation that whenever you’re changing, you only do so while I’m in the room. I’d hate to think I might have missed out on seeing you like this.” He pulled her tight against his very hard and very hot body, where every one of those muscles she’d just admired from the window now lay in perfect reach. He’d already shed his tunic and it lay in a puddle of white on the floor, his trews riding low on his hips. She ran her hands over his corded back.

“I wish to make the same request.”

“I need to kiss you.” He stroked one hand over her bare bottom, swept the other around the back of her head then dipped her backward. “Except kissing will lead to so much more and right now time is ticking away.”

“There is always time for a kiss.”

“Then I’ll need to make that kiss count.” He licked her lower lip then sucked it into his mouth. “You taste so sweet.”

He kissed her deeper and a fierce heat swept through her, so wicked and wonderful it tightened her nipples and made her weep for him below. She moaned as a storm of need surged through her, as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her with such a soul-searing possession that had her arching into him for more.

Breathing hard, he pulled back, set her back on her feet then whipped her cream shirt over her head. He flapped out her violet riding skirt and knelt at her feet. “Step in.”

She did and he wriggled the heavy fabric up her legs and fastened the ties at her waist.

Rising, he brushed his big body against hers then held out her fitted jacket. “Arms in.”

“You are dressing me far faster than I ever thought possible.” She slid her arms into the sleeves and he fastened the jacket at the front then nabbed her leather boots and after slipping one on each of her feet, laced them up.

“Don’t expect me to dress you quite so quickly ever again. I’d love nothing more than to topple you into that bed right now and never let you get back out of it. There is a reason newlyweds always enjoy a long honeymoon, one which we’ve been denied of.”

“I too would like a honeymoon.” She pressed one hand to the heated warmth of his chest. “Do you need aid in dressing?”

“I need to wash up and shave first.” He strode to the side table and poured water from the jug into the basin. From the pile of cloths, he unfolded the topmost one, dipped it into the water and wiped his arms and chest.

“Here, allow me.” She snuck the cloth from his hands, stepped in behind him and stroked down the heavily muscled plane of his back until his golden skin gleamed. “May I shave you too?”

“I’d be a fool to say no and lose the touch of your hands on me.” He turned around, perched on the edge of the table and hands on her hips, tucked her in between his spread legs. The black leather molded his strong thighs and she snuggled into the V as she reached around him and picked up the bar of soap.

“Mother used to shave Father at times.” She angled his head to the left and inspected the sharp black stubble that had grown considerably overnight. “Father though preferred to grow a beard and ’twas one as golden in color as his hair, and rather ticklish too.”

“What made it ticklish?”

“When I was a child, he would rub his whiskered cheek against mine and make me laugh, Arabel too. Whenever he kissed my poor mother, she’d more often than not end up in a fit of giggles. Her laughter always soothed me. I long to hear it again.” Smoothly, she built a lather and smeared his jaw with the foamy bubbles then held out her hand. “Your dagger please.”

“Take care with that blade.” He slid his dirk free from his wrist sheath and passed it across. “I keep it fastidiously sharp.”

“Good. All the better to slice this stubble off with. I prefer you clean shaven so I can see your face and each of my marks on your neck.” She turned his cheek with one finger, held the blade nice and close to his skin and ran it in a smooth line down. With care, she drew the dirk along the next portion from his ear to his chin.

“You sound as territorial as I do, and when my stubble gets long enough, it softens.” He curled his fingers around her hips to keep her still. “I wouldn’t mind tickling you with it.” Softly sensual words that had heat flaring through her blood.

“Your words are getting me all hot and bothered.” She ran the blade right under his nose. “Dinnae move. I’ve no wish to cut your beautiful mouth, no’ when I’m in constant need of it.”

“You think my mouth is beautiful?”

“Aye, as beautiful as your stunning shifter eyes.” She tapped his jaw shut and slid the blade along his neck. Done, she dabbed his skin with a cloth, cleared the last of the suds away then leaned in and rubbed her cheek against his. “Mmm, now that is nice and smooth.”

“You’ve done a better job than I ever could have. I’m far more used to shaving with an electric razor.” He took the blade from her and sheathed it.

“I have no’ seen an electric razor.”

“I’ll show you mine when we return to the future, whenever that happens to be.” He stroked her back, drew her closer and nuzzled her neck. Gently, he licked the mark he’d given her and a deep rumble vibrated in his chest. “My bear would love nothing more right now than to mark you again.”

She stretched her neck for him. “Either of you may mark me whenever you—”

He bit down and she gasped.

“—please.”

“Time to mount up.” Kirk’s order rumbled through the open window.

Tavish growled as he released her, nabbed his blue tunic from the bed then donned it and the tan rawhide trews she’d left out for him. He pulled his boots on, eased his war coat over his shoulders and lifted something from the pocket of his pants which beeped when he touched a knob on the side.

“What is that?” She brushed her hair and picked up her jeweled hairpins her parents had gifted her. The sapphire stones sparkled a vibrant blue, just as her mother’s eyes had when she’d first pinned them into her hair. With her broad-brimmed hat in hand, she plunked it on and tied the ribbons under her chin.

“This is my cell phone. I must have left it in the pocket of these pants by accident. Cherub would have packed it without knowing. These are interesting devices, but I’ll show this one to you later, when there’s more time.” He pressed the button on the side again, slipped it back inside his pocket, opened the door and motioned her through.

She joined him in the hallway and he set one hand at the small of her back as he steered her downstairs and outside into the courtyard. Next to her mare, he cupped his palms together and gave her a boost into her saddle.

She gripped the reins, a sudden mix of worry and fear rolling through her. The moment of their leaving had arrived, their coming mission the most important one she’d ever embark on. That knowledge both scared and thrilled her. “’Tis time,” she whispered to Tavish.

* * *

“AYE, IT’S TIME.” Tavish squeezed Julia’s thigh as he stood beside her atop her horse, her anxious thoughts pummeling through to him along their merged link. “I’m with you now, and I’ll always be right by your side.”

“Thank you.” She gripped the reins. “You need to mount up.”

The last thing he wanted to do was leave her side but he did as she’d bid and walked to his war horse. He nodded his thanks to the stable hand holding the lead and mounted. Reins in hand, he slapped his horse’s neck and rode beside Julia as they followed Kirk and Cherub and the rest of their armed party under the arched gate and into the forest. The cart rumbled in behind them, with another two warriors taking the rear.

High overhead, blue sky winked through the thick canopy and birds chirped from their nests. The wind rustled the leaves and scattered the pine-needles covering the well-worn forest path lined with low scrub.

Julia tucked her fluttering hat ribbons underneath the front of her violet riding jacket then lifted higher and snatched an amber leaf as it fluttered down. She slid it into her skirt pocket and softly smiled.

“Do you have a penchant for collecting leaves that I need to hear about?” Everything about her intrigued him.

“When I travel, I like to collect something on each trip to remind me of the moment. Memories stored and kept for a lifetime. The orchid you gave me is drying in my chamber and I’ll add it to my keepsake box once it has, right along with this leaf. Do you no’ store such keepsakes away?”

“In the future we take photographs to remind us of special moments.” He lugged his cell phone from his pocket and focused the camera lens at her. She looked glorious astride her mare, her violet skirts sweeping her horse’s sides and the lush green of the forest surrounding her. Her broad-brimmed hat, perched jauntily on the top of her head, dipped forward and backward as she moved with her horse’s gait. Golden locks rippled down her back and her beautiful blue gaze with those stunning sparks of gold rimming the edge, locked on him. “Smile for me, Julia, and I’ll capture the picture and show you.”

“A picture? As in what a painter would paint?” Frowning, she tilted her head to the side. “Of which you have no paints in hand or a canvas to capture such an image.”

“Did you see the picture of Tor and me on my oak dresser?”

“Oh, I did.” A glimmer of understanding flickered in her gaze. “Does that wee contraption take such an image?”

“It does. Want to see?”

“Aye, very much.” She grinned and he snapped the image, took a few more of her then turned around and snapped another of the cart as it bumped along the track behind them, its wooden planked base creaking with each roll of its wheels.

He took one of Tor too sitting astride his war horse then eased his mount closer to Julia’s and stretched out one arm to show her the picture of herself first.

“Oh my.” She snuck the cell phone from his hand and ogled it. “That is incredible. ’Tis as if I’m on a horse within this very tiny thing.” She touched the screen, sliding her thumb reverently over it, which made it flick to the next picture. Gasping, she continued to flick through the shots he’d taken, learning quickly how the mechanism worked. “Could you take a picture of the two of us with this?”

“Of course I can.” He’d treasure such a picture of the two of them.

“I would like such an image for my keepsake box, framed too, just like your picture of you and Tor.”

“I’ll make sure that happens, that we both have one.” He snuck his cell phone from her hand and with the two of them riding side by side, he held the camera out as far as he could and at just the right angle to catch them both within the same shot. Perfect. He stroked one finger over the delightful image. Julia’s exuberance shone through and his pleasure in the moment did as well. Grinning, he handed the device back to her. “Take a look.”

She did and a soft sigh escaped her. Cell phone clutched to her chest, she met his gaze, hers a touch watery and shining bright. “This image is one I shall always treasure. What else can this miraculous wee device do?”

“Not only does it take wonderful pictures, but the primary reason for it is so one can speak to another, anywhere within the country, or even around the other side of the world if needed.”

“Impossible.” Eyebrows soaring, her look incredulous, she gazed at his surrounding form, as if she was checking his aura.

He searched deep within her mind along their link, found she was. “Am I telling the truth?”

“You’ve yet to speak a mistruth.”

“I’ll never speak a mistruth to you. You can see my every thought, know exactly what I’m thinking. Do you think you can handle living in my time?”

“As long as you are there, I’m sure it’ll be one big, wonderful adventure.” Smiling, she handed his phone back to him. “You must look after that device. Dinnae lose it.”

“I shall.” He powered it off and pocketed it.

Soon, the forest gave way to the rolling moors, the craggy hills of the Highlands rising high on their right, and the inner channel of Loch Alsh just visible beyond the fields to their left.

Julia pointed ahead at the fork in the pathway. “We take the left trail here. The right leads toward the road heading across the Highlands to Invergarry.”

Veering left, they rode through the rolling fields of heather awash with wildflowers. His very soul settled at being on this land, his mate so close, and his brother at his back. Trotting on, their traveling party rode alongside a fast-moving river that weaved through the lush green pasture. White-water streamed over wide boulders and flowed toward the inner channel of the loch only a few miles distant. His bear pushed under his skin, his need to shift rolling through him. Splashing through that river then lazing about in the sunshine on the grassy bank to dry off would be heavenly. Another time. Indulging his bear wasn’t possible right now.

As they left the grassy trail behind, they picked up their pace and rode along the sandy shore of the loch toward their land border with the MacKenzie. The sun dropped lower along the horizon, its golden rays flaring across the jewel blues of the water.

“There’s the encampment. We’ve made it just afore nightfall.” Julia pointed along the curve of the bay where tents dotted the edge of the forest running beside the mountainous border between them and their enemy.

As they passed the warrior on point watch, he sounded an alert, the horn trumpeting and sending word of their arrival to their clansmen up ahead. They rode on, past a large group of heavily armed warriors training right on the water’s edge. Shirtless, the men wielded swords in a fierce battle of strength against one another, while another thirty men swam toward a small island in the middle of the bay’s waterway, one that held a copse of trees and a wooden shack. As they swam back and reached the waist-depth water, they jogged into shore then swapped out with the battling warriors. They trained hard. Their enemy didn’t sit idle, and neither could they.

At the forest’s edge, another group of warriors aimed their arrows at a white ribbon tied around a wide trunk a hundred feet distant. Each warrior stepped forward to take his turn with the bow. With impressive accuracy, arrow after arrow thunked into the thin strip of silk.

“I’ll go and join the training men before the evening meal. Catch you two later.” Tor nudged his destrier past them then galloped toward a makeshift corral of beams hammered between the trees.

Near the central blazing fire pit, two apron-clad women wearing brown woolen kirtles chopped vegetables and meat on a trestle table and tossed the food into two large blackened pots bubbling on the fire. The heavenly scent of seafood stew wafted around him as he pulled his horse to a halt next to Kirk and Cherub who’d dismounted and spoke to one of Gilleoin’s captains.

“Mmm, that smells delicious.” Julia rubbed her belly. “The dinner hour nears and I’m famished.”

“Wait there so I can aid you down.” He jumped from his horse, swung Julia from her mount and set her on her feet beside him. Holding her close, he stroked up and down her arms and reveled in being able to touch her so freely once more. “How are your legs?”

“My legs are fine since I ride often, and adore it.” She untied her brimmed hat and swished it back and forth with two fingers at her side. “Although I would like to freshen up.”

The wind lifted her golden locks and unable to help himself, he threaded his fingers through the long strands and breathed her white rose scent in. “Even though there are so many warriors swarming this area, you’re not to wander off on your own.”

“I am never alone, not now we have our merged link and you can reach me as you please.”

“Julia.” Cherub waved out. “Come and join me in the ladies’ tent.”

“Coming.” She reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek, her chest brushing his as she did. “I shall see you soon.”

“You will.” He grasped her bottom, his hands getting lost within the mountainous folds of her skirts as he kept her close. “I wish for a proper kiss before any parting.”

“That was proper.”

“Then I wish for an indecent one.” A peck on the cheek would never do.

“I think not.” Giggling, she slipped out of his arms and dashed across to Cherub.

“By the way,” he called out, “where you sleep, is where I sleep.”

“I would never expect aught less.” She smiled at him over her shoulder as she cut a path along the grassy forest verge toward the far tent, her beautiful blue eyes drawing him right inside her. Hell, he’d love to be able to take her away from here, to spend days upon days with her, just the two of them and preferably with no interruptions from the outside world. He missed their cavern.

Sighing, he scanned the area. Guardsmen patrolled the entire encampment. His mate would be perfectly safe here, even if not in his direct line of sight. It was time to find her parents—who damn well better be alive—and kick some enemy butt along the way.

Bringing Aleck and Adair home was the one plan he intended to see come to fruition. The sooner, the better.

Chapter 9

JULIA HEAVED THE thick tent flap to one side and ducked inside after Cherub. Being separated from Tavish, no matter the short distance between them, sent unease churning through her. She crossed to the center pole, hung her hat on a hook then shrugged off her riding jacket and strung it over the top. “’Tis no’ easy being separated.”

“Give yourself a few minutes to get used to it. You’ve just completed the bond too which will make any separation particularly difficult.” Cherub wandered toward the corner pile of brown fur pelts, tossed her feathered bonnet onto a wooden crate holding a clay lamp next to it then plopped down on the furs. “Reach out to him along your link as you need to. I can assure you that he too shall be feeling the loss as you are.”

“I miss you,” she whispered to the man who she couldn’t imagine living without.

“I miss you, too. Kirk’s counseling me on the intensity of the bond, on how best to deal with the new and strengthened emotions rolling through me.”

“What are his recommendations?” More unease speared through her and she frowned. ’Twas as if Tavish were on the move, the distance between them growing farther by the second. “Where are you?”

“Kirk and I are running a perimeter check. I’m deep in the woods and about to shift with him. Knowing what scents to expect in this area is vitally important to our bears. That way I can better ensure your protection, and that of our warriors in camp.”

“I see.” She sat next to Cherub. “They’re running a perimeter check.”

“Kirk just informed me too. Shifters are driven by their bears. Their need to ensure our protection rides them hard.” Cherub shuffled around and faced her. With her legs crossed under her navy skirts, she rested her hands in her lap. “Let’s talk about the days ahead and the best way to move forward in finding your parents. We’ll search each and every one of the MacKenzie’s holdings by air.”

“What is the greatest number of people you can move through the skies?”

“I’ve transported as many as six afore, but I could push to seven, mayhap even eight. Truly, it comes down to however many can hold onto me. That is the number I can safely transport.”

“Does doing so sap your strength?”

“A little, but naught I cannae handle. A short rest in between trips allows me to recuperate sufficiently.” Frowning, she squeezed her fingers. “These coming days will be difficult, particularly since we’ll be crossing the enemy’s land, but we’ll return here to the camp each night and ensure we have a safe place to rest. Never forget you’ll have all of us by your side and there is naught we wouldnae do for you. I pray that Aleck and Adair live, that we’ll find them safe and well.”

“It feels as if the hundred yards I can offer in pinpointing them mightn’t be enough.”

“Yet we shall make the most of it and ensure that hundred yards works in our favor. ’Tis better to have you on hand than to be searching for them with complete blindness. Can you tell the difference between each of their auras?”

“Both are a gentle hum, although my mother’s is slightly higher in tune.”

“Julia?”

“I’m here.”

“Sorry, I just needed to hear your voice again.”

“Where are you now?”

“Trailing the forest’s edge. There are four guards positioned along this line of the border, not enough. Once we return, Kirk will dispatch another four men to double the number.”

“Be careful as you track.”

“I shall.”

“Mayhap we too need to stretch our legs as our men are doing.” Cherub rose to her feet and tugged her to hers as she did. “There is a glorious loch no’ far from here, one I’ve swam in a number of times. Let’s take a walk and enjoy the fresh air afore dinner is served.”

“I’d love that.” And she couldn’t be in more capable hands. No one came up against the Fae Angel of Love and won the battle.

Cherub opened the tent’s flap, peered outside then grinned over her shoulder at her. “All is clear.”

“Are we supposed to be sneaking out?” The sun lowered further, dancing along the edge of the horizon.

“I sneak everywhere. ’Tis habit, and I dinnae doubt that Kirk has asked a guard to watch over us.” Cherub cloaked them both as they stepped out of the tent. “Let’s enjoy this moment of freedom while we can.”

“You are a terrible influence on me.” She couldn’t help but smile. “A terribly good influence.” Her heart lightened as they left the tent behind. The wind rose and blew all around and the clanging of swords dulled as they moved deeper into the woods. Overhead, through the odd gap in the dense foliage, a last flare of brilliant red lit the skies as the dark descended. An owl hooted somewhere up ahead and she ducked underneath a low branch and gasped. Surrounded by towering trees, a beautiful loch, small and private and perfectly round, shimmered with the reflection of the rising moon over its smooth, glossy surface. Stars twinkled high above and added to the enchanting scene.

Along the water’s edge, they wandered, the odd boulder protruding from the embankment of soft moss. At the far side, a rocky ledge curved around the edge with tall pine and elm trees rising strongly behind it. “This loch is beautiful.”

“Even more so than I remember.” Cherub lifted her skirts, bounded up onto the ledge and held out a hand.

She accepted the help, hopped up beside Cherub and after toeing her riding boots off, she scrunched her violet skirts to her knees and sat on the stony edge. With her feet dangling in the cool water, she softly sighed. “This is why we fight so fiercely to hold this border, to keep these kinds of lochs and hidden treasures within our hands.”

“Aye, the MacKenzie is driven by his greed to have it all, but we’ll never hand one inch of our land over to him.” Cherub plopped down next to her, her vivid aura beaming a sweetly precious white glow with gold sparks rimming the edge. Cherub’s aura tugged toward the east, suddenly and quite strongly, as did her own aura of rainbow colors.

“I believe we’re about to have company, bear company.”

“Are you sure?” Cherub glanced all about.

“I’m very sure.”

“Drat.” Cherub frowned then shook her head. “They are very smart bears with a homing beacon that points directly toward us. Although I still cannae believe they found us quite so quickly.”

A low growl rumbled then two big bears, their pelts a stunning silky black, lumbered out of the thick tree line and prowled toward them, their noses to the air.

The bear in the front, who had to be Kirk, rose up onto his hind legs, slapped his paws down on the top of the ledge and heaved himself up. He brushed in behind Cherub and she turned, wrapped one arm around his neck and rubbed her cheek against his. “My mate is currently telling me off.” Cherub winked at her. “What of yours?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Julia.” Tavish’s bear clomped toward her, his golden gaze targeted on her and no other. He bounded into the water before making the ledge and disappeared under its darkened surface. A flare of bright lights deep within the water shone then her man emerged right in front of her, the water lapping the golden skin at his waist. He shook his wet head and drops flew.

She giggled and wiped her face. “I’m with Cherub, which means I’m perfectly safe, as you well know.”

“Thank you, Julia.” Cherub stood and hands to her hips, eyed Kirk in his bear form. “See, at least there is someone here who appreciates that I’ve lived over a thousand years and looked after myself and my kin the entire time.”

Kirk prodded Cherub’s hand with his muzzle then lapped her palm.

“Dinnae try and sweet talk your way out of this argument, my tempting bear.”

Kirk’s bear nibbled on her fingertips.

“Or eat me. I am no’ your next meal.” She dipped her head and kissed the top of his furry head. “Goodness, you are hard to stay angry at for long.” Cherub glanced at her. “Mates are beyond impossible at times. I’ll speak to you later. Kirk wishes for some alone time afore the evening meal.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You are most welcome. On the morrow, we shall head out at first light and begin our search. Be ready, both of you.” Cherub nodded at Tavish, cloaked both her and Kirk in his bear form and in a rush of wind, swept out over the loch. Their auras disappeared into the dark, the beautiful streams twirling around and blending together until they whisked away on the wind.

Leaning in, Tavish set his hands down on the ledge either side of her, the water beading on his chest and running in rivulets down. “Some alone time with you is exactly what I need as well.”

“Where are your clothes?” She pressed one hand to his warm chest, the heat he emitted washing over her.

“Within the trees.” He pointed to the closest and tallest of the massive pine trees. “Just a little way past that one. Care to join me for a dip?”

“I’m under doctor’s orders not to get my stitches wet.” She nuzzled his cheek where she sat and the sizzling red edge around his white aura exploded with a hungry blaze of starburst gold.

“I’ll make sure you don’t defy your doctor’s orders and get your head wet, the rest of you, not so much.” He eased her shirt hem free of the waistband of her riding skirt and lifted her shirt over her head. The cool night air brushed her skin and puckered her nipples. Gently, he eased her breasts together and licked the puckered tips with a hearty swipe and a fierce growl. “Rid yourself of your skirt as well. I’ll be able to scent if anyone approaches. We’re safe here, well out of sight.”

“As you wish.” She rose to her feet, tugged the ties of her riding skirt open and shoved her heavy skirts to the ground. She stepped over them and halted as Tavish’s golden gaze devoured her, from her head to her toes and everywhere in between.

Heat shimmered through her, a wash of warmth that pooled between her thighs and made him sniff and let out a hearty growl. Claws slicing out and in, he slid his hands around her calves and hauled her forward. She toppled over the edge and fell into his arms. Laughing, she wound her hands around his neck. “It appears you intend on taking advantage of me.”

“Absolutely.” With her cradled against his chest, he slogged through the water toward the mossy bank, the darkened surface rippling outward and the cool water lapping at her breasts. Carefully, he sat her on the embankment, tipped her shoulders back onto the moss and swept his hands under her bottom then dragged her forward a touch. With a sizzling touch, he caressed her lower cheeks. “I’ve always been one to make every opportunity count, and right now I’ve a desperate need to be as one with you.”

“As I have with you.” She speared her fingers through his wet hair and nipped his lower lip. “This is the second most magical place in the world, the first our cavern. I wish to discover every magical place there is on this land, and only with you.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He eased in between her legs, his erection rising out of the water, the plump head deepening to a rich plum color that had her licking her lips.

“You’re my fierce protector.” She rocked against him, her shoulders resting on the spongy moss as her lower body dipped under the water.

“You’re so beautiful, your body a feast I long to indulge in.” Head down, he ran his tongue around one nipple then the other. The aureoles beaded further and with one hot stroke across each sensitive tip, he sent a bolt of heat straight to her core and made her whimper with need.

“Again,” she pleaded.

“I love it when you get all demanding.” He grinned then swirled his tongue around the tip, his heated touch so deliciously divine.

“I never want this moment to end.” The sight of his mouth on her, his silky wet hair brushing her skin and the moonlight streaming over them from above, sent her desire for him soaring.

“I can sense what you need along our link. Brace yourself, my love, because I intend to send you catapulting to the stars.” He sucked her nipple deep inside his mouth and a torrent of tingles raced through her.

“That feels sooo good. Your touch sends me to another realm all unto itself.” She traced the ridged bands of his belly. Hard muscles honed to perfection rippled, layer upon layer, and as she brushed the head of his cock, his shaft, so thick and long, pulsed in her hand. Slowly, she caressed the tip then fondled him all the way to the base and palmed his balls as they tightened and drew upward.

“You own me, every inch of me.” His big arms bunched around her. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“As you own me.” She squirmed forward, brought them closer together and rubbed her breasts against his chest. The smattering of dark hair tickled and tightened her nipples and she sighed with delight. “Mmm, this I love. Kiss me, Tavish. I miss having your mouth on mine.”

He captured her mouth, his kiss long and dreamy, the stars above them twinkling in and around the moon and adding to the beauty of the moment. Goodness, she needed him, so badly.

She kissed him back, clinging to him as the searing heat inside her intensified. “More,” she whispered.

“What my woman wants, she gets.” He swept his hands down her sides and along her inner thighs then pushed one finger inside her and when she wriggled closer, he thrust a second finger in.

Her hunger raged, her need pounding down their link. “I love having your hands on me, having you surround me.”

“I’m sure I love it more. Your scent right now is near driving me insane. I need a taste.” He spread her legs even farther, revealed all of her to his ravenous gaze then with a deep rumble, dipped his head and nuzzled her mound. “Your body is all mine, a feast I want to devour, inch by incredible inch, starting right here at the heart of you.”

“I want that too.” She rubbed her wet legs against his and as he ducked his head, she tangled her hands in his midnight locks turned a sizzling blue on the ends under the moonlight. His tongue swept across her flesh and a wild storm of sensations rippled out from where he touched. He moved his mouth over her sensitive nub and sucked, hard. She moaned and rocked into his touch, needing more, needing all of him.

Licking her, he sent her soaring even higher, and when she lifted her hips and her legs fell wider, he accepted her offer, seized her bottom and drank from her so deeply, until every part of her belonged only to him and her thoughts raged with the need to join as one.

Panting for a breath, she struggled to hold onto all the intense emotions surging through her. She didn’t want to come, not without him, but so too she didn’t want him to cease his heart-stopping attention. Oh, she was far too greedy.

“I adore your greediness.” He lifted his head as he laved her nub, his desire-filled gaze targeted on hers. “I want to feel you come on my tongue, and then on my cock when I drive into you. Tell me that’s what you want too.”

“Oh, I want.” Rocking her hips, she grasped his broad shoulders, swept over his bulging biceps and down his arms. Her mate was so wickedly strong, each and every roped inch of him. More. She needed more. She stroked over his trim waist, gripped his firm butt and squeezed. Giddy with need, she glided around to his front and smoothed her hand around his velvet-hard shaft and worked him in long pulls.

“That feels incredible. I love it when you do that.” He thrust his tongue inside her, curled it into a spot that had her arching her back and crying out. “Let go, Julia. I’ve got you.”

“Not without you.” She pumped his cock in time with how he stroked into her and heat pulsed through her. She bucked as he caressed her with his mouth and lips, every flick of his tongue over her inner folds such exquisite torture. Her pleasure rose to the point of pain and she couldn’t halt her orgasm from taking her. Her core pulsed as wave after wave of searing pleasure rocked through her. She soared, her aura wrapping tightly around his and his rolling over to swamp hers. Together, they were one, or almost one. “Inside me, now.”

She couldn’t wait to have him deep within her, for him to be right where he belonged.

“I’m coming.” He lifted her up and dropped her down on top of him.

She clutched his broad shoulders, sucked on his neck then bit down.

He growled as he gripped her bottom and surged into her, again and again, his cock buried so deep she’d never felt so completely and wonderfully filled before.

Razzing her teeth back and forth over his skin, she rocked as he thrust and beyond territorial, she bit down and marked him a second time. Her mate, her fierce protector. She’d claimed him and he’d claimed her.

“Aye, I’m your mate, always and forever, no matter that time itself has kept us apart until now.” He lapped at the sensitive skin of her neck, his heartbeat thumping against hers then he roared and bit down, his mark all she desired. Her inner muscles tightened and locked him in place and he jerked, his seed exploding from him and shooting inside her.

Blissful spasm after spasm rolled through her, each of his possessive strokes in and out sending her soaring higher than before. He’d taken her over, from the inside out and never had she experienced such heights of pleasure or such a soul-deep peace. “You feel so good inside me, both body and mind.” She wrapped her legs around his hips to keep him right where he was. “I love you, Tavish. Always be mine.”

* * *

“ALWAYS, AND I love you too.” Even though he’d just come, Tavish couldn’t halt his rocking or his cock from lengthening all over again. Her beautiful words touched his heart. He wanted his mate, and with a hunger that held a firm hold on him and would never be appeased. His bear rumbled under his skin, demanding even more and he rubbed his body against hers as he smothered her in his scent.

“I can sense your need for me again in your mind.” She scraped her nails down his back and he arched into her possessive touch. “Take me again.”

He shouldn’t.

“Do it,” she demanded.

His mind went dark with lust and he allowed his fierce need its release. He sank his teeth into her neck and thrust. His mate accepted each of his deeply penetrating moves, her body molding to his and her pulse skittering out of time under his roaming tongue. He licked down to the upper swells of her breasts, nipped her flesh then slid one hand down between their bodies and rubbed her nub

“Oooh, so close.”

He flicked her clit and as she gasped and cried out, he took her hard and fast, his essence streaming from him and pumping into her. Sheer bliss took him and saturated his senses until the cool evening air brushed his slick skin and reminded him of exactly where they were.

Slowly, he eased his rocking and brought them both gently back down.

“Oh my.” She stretched against him, her beautiful breasts rubbing over his chest and her creamy skin lit a silvery hue under the moonlight. Her slender neck held his mark, and in far more places than one. “That was incredible.”

His bear purred his pleasure. Incredible didn’t even begin to cover how wonderfully they came together as one.

“I can see and hear that your bear is now finally content.” She captured his face between her hands, brought his mouth to hers and kissed him, so sweetly and sensually his cock twitched inside her and she giggled against his lips. “Mayhap I spoke too soon.”

“I’ll always be hungry for more of you, but right now I need to take care of you.” Driven to ensure her well-being, the doctor in him impossible to ignore, the lover even more so, he eased out and hauled himself up onto the mossy bank beside her. “Let me check your back and bottom.”

“The moss is soft, and I’m perfectly fine.”

“I would still like to check.” He lifted her onto her hands and knees before him then he crawled over top of her, his chest to her back as he glided his hands along her spine and over her shoulders. No redness. The moss had definitely cushioned her well.

“See, I told you so.” She scooped a handful of fresh water and washed herself, her full breasts swaying against his arms as he remained right where he was with her pert bottom rubbing against his cock as she leaned over the water’s edge. He dragged in a long breath, tried to still the desperate need still riding him but to no avail. He went rock hard from one second to the next.

“I want you again.” His pushed her down until she lay fully on her front on the moss, his body covering hers. “Tell me to back away.”

“Never.” She pushed him over onto his back and rolled over top of him, her breasts squished against his chest. “Dinnae move.”

“I can’t control my bear right now. He’s hungry.”

“Too bad. I want a taste of you first.” She wriggled down his body until she’d settled between his legs. Grasping his length, she slid her lips around him. With one mischievous wink, she sucked him deep inside her mouth and his cock throbbed under the mind-shattering onslaught.

“Julia, halt.” Except she didn’t. She bobbed up and down over his length and for the life of him, he couldn’t stop her, not when her thoughts ricocheted with so much need and love. As his chosen one devoured him, heat shimmered at the base of his spine and radiated out. He gritted his teeth and held on as sheer pleasure coursed through him.

* * *

JULIA INTENDED TO love her man every way that she could, and while they were still afforded such privacy. With her hair sweeping Tavish’s sides and her mouth on him, she rubbed her breasts either side of his balls and built his pleasure until his thighs shook.

“Julia, please.” Groaning, he rocked his hips. “I beg for mercy.”

She ignored his plea and kept sucking on him until she found a rhythm that made him buck and groan even harder. Mmm, her mate was very fine fare and she only wished to indulge in him further. She worked him in long pulls with her mouth while he cradled her head in his hands and pushed himself deeper inside her.

“No more, love. I can’t take any more.” He gripped her waist, flipped her over onto her back and planted his head between her thighs.

“I wasnae done yet.”

“You can torture me again later.” With the moonlight dancing over their bodies, he spread her flesh below and licked her, again and again before capturing her nub between his lips and rolling his tongue around her.

She shuddered and moaned underneath him, her own thighs now shaking as a whirlwind of pleasure crashed through her. Blindly, she grasped ahold of his arms, dragged him up and gasped as he pushed his cock through her hot heat.

“This is what I need, more of you.” He eased back then swiftly pushed all the way back in again. “Open wider for me.”

She did then urged him on, meeting each and every one of his powerful thrusts as he took her frantically. Her inner muscles locked tight around him, his balls slapping the insides of her thighs, the full and complete sensation of his possession sending wave after wave of pure pleasure rolling through her. His own pleasure at their joining radiated down their link and she wrapped her arms around him and soared to the stars once more, his seed shooting deep to her core. “I cannae believe I first denied we were soul bound. You hold my very heart in your hands, Tavish, and I never wish for you to relinquish it.”

“As you hold mine. I will live for you...with every breath I take.” He sent a wave of warmth down their link and swamped her in it. “Always.”

Aye, theirs was a bond to revere.

Overtop of her, Tavish stiffened, the change in him so swift.

“What’s wrong?”

“Stay very still.” He pressed one finger to her lips, pulled free of her and moved into a crouch. He searched through the darkened trees and breathed deep. “Someone comes, the scent not that of the men guarding the border or the warriors back at camp. These men reek of dangerous intent. Clothe yourself, and make it quick.”

She scrambled around the edge of the pool, scooped her clothing from the ledge and dressed in her riding habit.

“I’ll be back in a moment. I need to dress and arm myself. Go nowhere without me,” he whispered in her mind before disappearing into the trees.

All within the forest went eerily quiet. Not even the nighttime creatures made a noise. “Tavish?”

“It’s certain. MacKenzies come. They’ve snuck through our border defenses.” He returned just as swiftly as he’d left but now clothed in his battle attire, his weapons at his side. With his hands on her waist, he lifted her off the ledge then slung her over his shoulder and raced away with her.

“I can run.” Her belly thumped into his rock hard shoulder and she clutched his pumping arms as she searched through the trees for their enemy. “How close are they?”

“I spied them, dozens of them, so too close for my comfort. Hold tight, love. I need to get you to safety and warn the others.”

The ground blurred at the sheer speed he moved, the trees whizzing by. Everything spun and she squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again as the salty scent of the loch washed over her.

Tavish cleared the forest and halted on the grassy verge of the clearing. A heavy fog had rolled in across the loch and before her the central fire blazed. A serving girl carried flagons of ale and passed out drinks to the men as they sat on the grass and low boulders.

Tavish set her on her feet, released a piercing whistle and shouted, “The MacKenzies come. They’ve gotten past the sentries along the border.”

The men lurched to their feet.

“All to arms,” Kirk bellowed as he jumped up from where he and Cherub sat and shoved his sword-arm high into the air. Her kinsmen unsheathed their swords and axes. “Matthew,” Kirk yelled to the elderly cart driver, “get the ladies to safety. Everyone else, prepare for a battle. We will not fall, nor allow our enemy to take our land. We fight, as we always have and will, for our freedom and for our very survival.”

Tavish gripped her shoulders. “Go with Matthew. I need to know you’re well away from here and safe.”

“I dinnae wish to leave you.” Except she couldn’t stay and become a burden in the coming fight. That she knew to the depths of her heart. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I will.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “We have our connection. You can reach me whenever you need to.”

“Julia.” Cherub rushed toward her, grabbed her arm. “I need to remain for the battle. Go with the women. I’ll check up on you as soon as I can.”

“Look after Tavish for me.”

“Of course.” Cherub nudged her to go. “I willnae allow aught to happen to your mate. Believe that.”

“Thank you.” Reassured, she stumbled toward the serving girl and the two cooks. Tears blurred her gaze as she herded the ladies toward the empty cart now unpacked of the supplies they’d brought with them. Matthew hooked up the horses and bounded onto the front bench. She clambered up beside him while the lasses scuttled into the back and huddled together.

The MacKenzies were a thorn in their sides, and the last thing she wished to do was leave Tavish, but right now she no longer had a choice.

Chapter 10

TAVISH STRAPPED A baldric across his back and slid a second sword into it as Tor whisked into the supply tent beside him. He wouldn’t allow the MacKenzie chief to lay siege to their border and take it. He tossed his brother a black war coat studded with bits of steel. “Arm yourself well. We’ll be fighting as never before.”

“These MacKenzies are a menace.” Tor shoved his arms into the sleeves, slung a bow and satchel of arrows across his shoulders and hauled his sword free. “Kirk’s sending a team of warriors to go wide and come in behind our enemy. His intention is to divide their attention and trap them between us.”

“They’re close, very close.” Tavish ducked out of the tent and sniffed, the reek of their enemy now nearing an explosive point.

Cherub stood in the center of the clearing near the blazing fire, her navy skirts swishing about her legs and her white fur cape flapping from her shoulders. She raised her hands to the skies as Kirk stood guard over her. A mass of black cloud whirled and seethed overhead as she churned the air.

“Where does Kirk want us?” he yelled to Tor over the sudden gale.

“We’re to remain here and hold the encampment.” Tor grasped his shoulder. “We fight together, right at each other’s side.”

“As we always have.” He gripped his brother’s shoulder in return.

Shouts boomed all around as warriors took their positions in a strong line along the front of the clearing, their swords, battle axes and pikes in hand.

A fierce battle cry rang out and a good hundred MacKenzies swarmed out of the forest. Cherub sent the wall of wind she’d conjured right at them and half their enemy toppled backward and slammed into the trees. The rest surged forward.

* * *

A BLOOD-CURDLING battle cry roared in Julia’s ears, coming first from the camp then increasing in crescendo as it boomed throughout the forest. The MacKenzies were everywhere. She clutched the cart’s wooden seat under her knees as Matthew slapped the reins across the horses’ backs and sent them hurtling through the dark of the night along the trail they’d arrived along only a few hours ago.

As they rattled along the grass and gravel path, the forest caging them in on their left and the loch on their right, a mass of black cloud overhead churned and nearly obliterated the stars and moon. Ahead, one lone MacKenzie warrior burst through the trees and lifted a bow.

An arrow whizzed through the air and thunked into Matthew’s side.

She screamed. The reins went slack in Matthew’s hands and he toppled from the bench and hit the ground. Nay! She caught the flying reins, hauled the horses to a stop and ran back to Matthew. On her knees, she touched his face. Blood flowed from deep gouges in his cheeks and the arrow wedged deep in his side vibrated with each breath he struggled to draw. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Matthew.

“Matthew, please, stay with me.” She clasped him to her, the man who’d played sticks with her when she’d been just a child, who’d always picked her an apple or a piece of fruit when walking through the fruit grove. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I willnae leave you.”

“Lass, get back to the cart.” He gurgled and spat out blood. “You must go. Get to safety.”

“I willnae leave you on your own.” She lifted his head into her lap and rocked with him in her arms. “Go,” she shouted to the two cooks and the serving girl. “Hide yourselves well within the forest.”

“MacKenzies, they come,” Matthew rasped.

She followed his gaze out over the water. Fog churned and a galley sailed through the mist right toward her. At the center mast a MacKenzie flag flew and at the helm, with a mighty two-handed claymore holstered across his back, Colin MacKenzie stood, his biceps bulging and his legs spread wide. No one could mistake the Chief of MacKenzie, and certainly not her. His aura, a dirty blood-red, spiked with black as his gaze landed on her. ’Twas his true aura, slightly thicker and heavier than his son’s, an aura he too had hidden from her until now.

She kissed Matthew’s forehead and held onto him tight.

“Take cover, lass. Be away with you.” Matthew’s breath came harder.

“I’m staying.” Tears streamed down her face and splashed Matthew’s cheeks and she wiped them away as she held him.

MacKenzie bellowed an order and his men tightened the square sail. The galley cruised toward shore and as the hull scraped the sandy sea floor, Colin MacKenzie bounded out. In the knee-deep water, he surged toward her then stormed onto land. Smirking, he withdrew his sword and pressed it against Matthew’s chest as he eyed her. “Get up, lass, or his life will be forfeit.”

“I’m no’ leaving my kin.”

“Aye, you will.” He pushed the point of his blade down harder and Matthew groaned as blood bloomed on his tunic under the steel tip. “His final death will be at your hand. If that is what you wish, then so be it.”

“Leave him be.” She shoved to her feet and slammed her hands into MacKenzie’s chest. “What do you want with me?”

“The fae have mingled with Gilleoin’s line and his offspring now carry their added abilities. Worse, Gilleoin and his progeny will continue to grow from strength to strength if I dinnae put a halt to it. That is why I want you. No’ only are you Gilleoin’s niece, but your grandmother is the seer, Nessa. I want the strongest of the village’s fae-blooded kind mingling with my direct line, which means you will be marrying my son and giving him sons with your kin’s mighty fae skills. I willnae have it any other way.” With his fingers pinching into her arm, he hauled her toward his vessel and swung her on board. “Gordon, bind her to the center mast,” he snapped at his man.

“Aye, Chief.” A hulking warrior stormed toward her down the center aisle.

The wind from the churning storm rammed into them and she toppled into the mast. Her head hit and black dots danced before her eyes. Matthew. She couldn’t leave her kin to die alone. And Tavish. She needed to warn him, only she couldn’t hold on, couldn’t push along their merged link and tell him of what had happened. All went dark and she sank into complete and utter oblivion.

* * *

IN BETWEEN TOR and Kirk, Tavish swung his claymore at a MacKenzie and blocked the warrior’s swift blow. Their blades clashed dead center, steel ringing loud in his ears. “Let’s send these MacKenzies back to where they came from,” he yelled to his brother and cousin.

“We cover each other’s backs while we do.” Tor grunted and shoved forward. He met two attackers head on and battled.

“Colin MacKenzie has orchestrated this attack with complete precision,” Kirk gritted as he launched himself at the warrior he fought. “Thankfully though he didn’t take into account that Cherub would be here. She’ll even the odds up as no one else can.”

With a fierce shout, another wave of MacKenzies streamed through the trees. High above, Cherub reappeared out of nowhere, twirled her hands and sent a wall of wind at the MacKenzies rushing toward them. Over half of the warriors tumbled head over heels backward then Cherub whisked away and disappeared once more to aid their warriors elsewhere.

“She’s keeping the numbers we need to fight against at bay.” Tavish swung at his adversary and the warrior slammed his blade into his. With one foot shoved back, Tavish held his position then heaved forward. The warrior lurched back and wobbled. Tavish took advantage of the man’s misstep, swept one leg out and toppled him to the ground. Blade in hand, he slammed the hilt down on the warrior’s head and knocked him out. Weapons divested, he tossed them onto the blazing fire pit. No weapons, no fight. “Exactly where is the MacKenzie?” he shouted to Kirk. “Does he not lead his men into battle?”

Breathing hard, Cherub breezed in beside them again. “I spotted a galley in the bay and I’ve just sent a blast of wind at it.”

“Just the one galley?” Kirk asked her.

“I’ll do a sweep along the loch to make certain there aren’t any more. I’ll be back shortly. Stay safe.” She dissolved into a mist and swept high into the sky.

“They’re coming at us from all sides.” Kirk bounded forward and fought, matching his next opponent blow for blow. “The constant threat they pose must be eliminated.”

“We can’t let them get a foothold onto Matheson land.” Another warrior swung and Tavish whipped his blade into the man’s side.

Grunting, the warrior fell back a step. He grasped his side, eyed the long slice in his steel-studded coat and snarled at Tavish. “You, I will gladly kill.”

“You, I will gladly send right back home.” He thrust his sword and the MacKenzie blocked his swift blow. They fought, hard and fast.

“Kirk, we have a problem.” Cherub reappeared and with one wave of her hand sent the warrior Kirk fought against flying backward. “The cart has overturned. Matthew is hurt and I fear moving him. The ladies are missing and I’ve no idea where they are.”

“Julia!” Tavish searched along their link as he ducked his opponent’s next blow then twirled around and kicked him in the rear. The warrior went down and knocked his head on a protruding rock. Blood gushed and he moaned and slumped. “Julia!”

“Can you reach her, Tavish?” Kirk demanded.

“No, she’s not answering me.”

“Take command, Gerald.” Kirk motioned to one of their garrison’s captains. “Cherub, you remain here. I’ll call out if I need you.”

Tavish sprinted toward the corralled horses. If anything had happened to his mate, he’d never forgive himself. He snagged a destrier from its tethered post, mounted and thrust his knees into the animal’s flanks and tore along the trail leading around the curve of the bay, Tor and Kirk galloping at his side.

They rode, leaving a plume of dust the rushing wind whipped around in their wake. He urged his mount faster. Massive pine trees swayed on his left and the sea roared on his right. Ahead, Matthew lay on the trail and he hauled his horse to a stop and bounded down. On his knees before the older man, he touched the arrow speared right through his side. “Hold still, Matthew. No moving while I assess your injury.”

“You must go. Julia”—Matthew garbled for breath, grasped his hand and spat blood from his mouth—“MacKenzie. Galley.”

“Cherub’s already gotten rid of the galley. Did Julia go into the forest to hide? Where are the ladies?” He tried to clear Matthew’s airway as best as he could, although there was only one way to save Matthew and that was by taking him back to his time and removing this arrow. He eyed Kirk. “If Matthew’s to survive he’ll need surgery. Can you spare Cherub from the battle?”

“I can spare her for a few minutes. I’ll tell her to come.”

Mere moments later the wind rushed all around and Cherub appeared. She clutched a hand to her mouth and sank to her knees next to Matthew. “How bad is it?” she asked Tavish.

“If he’s to survive, we need to leave, with all haste.” As carefully as he could, he lifted Matthew into his arms.

Cherub nodded at Kirk. “No getting hurt while I’m gone.”

“Go, and make it quick.” Kirk clasped Tavish’s shoulder. “Tor and I will find Julia. I give you my word we will.”

“Send word to me when you have.” The dark ensued and the three of them fell away into the dark abyss of Cherub’s portal. Through the endless streams of time, they moved and mere minutes later they arrived in his medical rooms. Gently, he set Matthew down on the white-sheeted bed, flicked on the lights and hit the red alert switch which would bring his clan’s medical team running. The buzzer screeched through the halls and out into the bailey.

“I must go.” Cherub kissed Matthew’s cheek then eyed Tavish. “I too will aid Kirk and Tor in finding Julia.”

“I still can’t reach her.”

“The link can cut in and out at times, particularly with the wide chasm of time separating you.”

The gaping emptiness where his link should be loomed like a black hole. “As soon as you find her, bring her here to me. I won’t be able to focus until I know she’s safe.”

“I shall, the moment I can. Look after my kin.” She stepped back and disappeared within the dark, rushing vortex of time.

The door burst open and Megan and Connor arrived.

He forced his mind back onto the wounded man before him. He had an arrow to remove and a man to keep alive. Julia would be devastated if she lost yet another of her close kin.

* * *

JULIA’S HEAD THROBBED and her belly rolled as she pitched from side to side within the galley’s hull. The boat rocked and dipped. Waves slapped against its sides, the sound pulling her further toward wakefulness.

She opened her eyes and blinked as a new day dawned. Overhead, heavy gray clouds bubbled and brewed, the mass ready to open and spill its load. She touched the back of her aching head and groaned. Nay, she had no time for wallowing. With a wobble, she pushed herself upright and blinked to clear the haze. All around her, MacKenzie warriors rowed from bench seats and her enemy’s flag flapped in the breeze from the center mast. Damn. A whole night must have passed since her capture.

“Tavish?” She searched along their link except there was naught but an endless dark. Their connection had been severed, and only two things could cause that, either his moving beyond her reach, or death. Goodness. Death. She wouldn’t consider such a thing. Oh dear, Matthew. She’d left him on the trail and his death mere moments away. A tear trailed down her cheek, her heart heaving for the gentle man who’d never raised a weapon in battle yet had perished in a war between their clans all the same.

“About time you woke up, lass.” MacKenzie thumped down the center aisle in black boots, his gaze narrowed on her and the jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow bleeding afresh. Long war braids swayed at each side of his shaggy, brown head. He leaned in and extended his hand to her. “We’re about to make landfall and stretch our legs. You may do so too, but only with a guard watching your every step. Allow me to aid you to your feet.”

“I’ll never accept any aid from you.” She slapped his hand away, gripped the closest seat and hauled herself up. On her feet, she swayed, her violet skirts damp from where she’d been lying in the water slopping about the hull. She rubbed her chilled arms, leaned against the mast and surveyed the seas and coastline surrounding them. “Where exactly are we?”

“At Red Point, and we’re sailing toward Loch Broom.” His dirty aura leeched the blood-red into the fresh sea air and the heavy roar of his aura increased the pounding in her head. She forced her skill to settle until she heard naught but the wind rushing around her and the slap of the oars through the water.

“What’s at Loch Broom?” Loch Broom sat a good day’s journey to the north of Loch Alsh. She rubbed her brow. Scotland’s rugged coastline swept along her right and to her left, the northern-most tip of the Isle of Skye protruded. They’d sailed quite some distance already, any sign of Matheson land well and truly gone.

“Your parents, and by now, Jeremiah as well. After yours and Cherub’s surprise visit to my keep, I sent my son to my holding there with the order to slay Aleck and Adair within the fortnight if I didnae arrive with you.” MacKenzie bellowed to his man at the rudder. “To land we go. Lower the sail.”

Two warriors unraveled the knots securing the great square sail while the warriors rowing, slashed their oars swifter through the water and sent them on a direct course toward Red Point’s rocky tip and sandy shore.

As the galley reached the waist-deep waters, two warriors leapt out, seized the bow and hauled it half onto the reddish-gold sands. Colin MacKenzie caught her elbow and steered her toward the bow as he tossed out orders, “Gordon, keep Mistress Matheson under close watch. She is to be my son’s wife, so guard her well.”

“Aye, Chief.” Gordon bounded onto the beach, turned back and swung her from the galley onto the sand next to him.

She shuddered at the desperately difficult turn of events. “Tavish, where are you?”

No answer, and the quiet rang like a death knell in her ears.

Chapter 11

THE SURGERY TO remove the arrow from Matthew had taken slightly longer than Tavish had expected, but it had all gone rather well considering the extent of the man’s injury. The dawn sun rose as he closed up and left Mathew in recovery under Megan and Connor’s expert care.

For the hundredth time, he searched for Julia along their link and came up with nothing. It’d been over an hour since Cherub had last returned with an update, although each and every one she’d given him had ended in the same answer. No sign of Julia.

At least they’d won the battle. Two hours past they’d finally sent the MacKenzies fleeing right back to where they’d come from. Kirk and Tor had even found the two cooks hiding in a cave soon after, although they still searched for the serving girl. Hell, he just needed Cherub to return so he could leave and join them all on their search for his mate.

Exhausted, he shuffled into his bathroom and turned the shower lever on. He shucked his theatre smock and clothes, pressed his palms flat against the tiled wall and ducked his head under the steamy, hot spray. Water sluiced down his body and flowed over tense muscles.

He picked up the metal chair Julia had sat in such a short time ago and tucked it back into the corner against the wall. His thoughts barreled back to that day, to that moment when he’d stood right here with her.

She’d grinned from ear to ear and her words once again resonated deeply through his mind. That is so fascinating. ‘Tis like a waterfall of water, a heated waterfall.

The water had flattened the thin cloth of her shift to her body, and her laughter and big blue eyes had captivated him. Never had he seen someone so excited by the simple act of watching running water or feeling it cascade over their skin.

He squeezed a glob of shampoo into his palm and scrubbed the bubbles through his hair. The sweet scent of apples wafted with the steam and brought with it another vivid memory. I feel like I’m in heaven. Thank you for taking such wonderful care of me. She’d tipped her head back in enjoyment and sighed with delight. His heart had near melted when she had.

He’d take the upmost care of her, for the rest of her life and his. He’d certainly never allow another parting such as this to occur.

With his body soaped clean, he tipped his head back into the spray, rinsed the shampoo out and turned the lever off. From the vanity cupboard, he nabbed a fluffy white towel, dried himself then shaved his jaw, and combed his hair. He had to keep his hands busy until Cherub returned, as well as be ready to leave the moment she did.

In his bedroom, he pulled on a pair of black jeans and a loose-sleeved tan shirt, strapped his sword belt on and sheathed his wrist daggers. From the pocket of his discarded pants, he grabbed his cell phone and turned it on. The last picture he’d taken of him and Julia blazed to life and he stroked one finger over her cheek. His heart scrunched in on itself, his pain intensifying. “Hurry up, Cherub,” he muttered as he pocketed his phone and shrugged on his steel-studded gray jacket. His desperate need for Julia beat at him, was carved so deep, right down to the depths of his heart and soul.

At his bedroom window, he gripped the sill and surveyed the inner courtyard below. A good twenty of his clansmen trained. He left his chamber and marched back into the recovery room.

Connor sat in his scrubs next to their patient still in recovery, while Megan, her wavy black bob contained under a white cap, wrote on a chart at the end of the bed then clipped it back in place.

“How’s Matthew?” he asked Connor. “Has he stirred at all?”

“Not yet, but his vitals look good.”

Carefully, Tavish removed the mask over Matthew’s nose and squeezed the elderly man’s shoulder. “I need you to wake up, Matthew.”

Groggily, he opened his eyes then looked about the white-walled room with its stainless steel countertops and white painted cupboards. “Och, I f-feel…” He blinked and tried to clear his vision, his gaze moving from Connor to Megan then back to him. “W-where am I, Tavish?”

“In my time.” He set Matthew’s mask aside. “You’re alive and all thanks to Cherub who brought us both back through a portal so I could operate on you. Meet Megan.” He motioned toward her. “Megan’s the chief’s wife and a highly skilled healer of this time, also known as a nurse. Connor too aided me in your surgery. He’s an anesthesiologist and ensured you stayed asleep during the operation.”

“Opera—hell, the arrow.” Blue eyes fully clearing, Matthew wriggled one hand out from under the coverings, pushed the white blanket back and stared at his bandaged side. Frowning, he squinted at the IV hooked into the back of his hand then to the IV pole beside him. “The arrow’s gone. Well now, you certainly have got some powerfully strong healing skills. How did you take the arrow out?”

“With great difficultly, but I managed it all the same. You’ll also feel more like your old self in no time at all. For now though, I want you to take things nice and slow. You’ll be given a chamber across the hallway and you’re to allow Megan to care for you. She’ll ensure you’re up on your feet before the end of the day, just for a few minutes, but tomorrow she’ll have you moving around a touch more. There will be some rules during your recovery. No strenuous lifting, and only once I give you the all-clear, can you return to normal duties. I’ll be checking up on you regularly, ensuring your wound heals just as it should.”

“Wait.” Matthew jerked upright then groaned and slumped back down. “The battle. The MacKenzie took Julia. The galley. Did you find her?”

“What?” His world tilted. “Cherub sent the MacKenzie galley whisking back out to sea.”

“Aye, but only after it made landfall. The MacKenzie took wee Julia.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye.” A tear trailed down his cheek. “Julia wouldnae leave me, but the MacKenzie held a sword to my chest and threatened to take my life if she didnae, said my death would be at her hand. She’s such a gentle lass, but with a spark of fire in her soul. The last I saw of her was when the wind hit the sail and sent the galley back out to sea.”

Tavish gripped the metal bedrail, his thoughts barreling one over the other. He had to find his mate and get her back.

The air swirled and Cherub, Kirk, and Tor appeared in the midst of the churning breeze.

“Did you find her?” He clasped his brother’s arm. “Matthew said he saw the MacKenzie take her.”

“We scoured the entire forest and just found the serving girl hiding in a tree. She was the last one missing. She saw everything as the two cooks didn’t and recounted exactly what happened. Aye, the MacKenzie has her.” Tor blew out a long breath. “Cherub, Kirk and I have already been to the MacKenzie’s keep and we’ve searched it from top to bottom, as well as the entire length of Loch Alsh. There’s no sign of either Colin MacKenzie, the galley, or Julia. We can’t go any further without you. You need to open your link with her, find out where she is. Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready.” He grasped Cherub’s arm and eyed Connor and Megan. “Keep an eye on Matthew.”

“Will do.” Connor nodded, his gaze filled with compassion. “Find your woman and bring her home. We can’t lose a newly mated pair.”

“We willnae lose her,” Cherub bit out with determination. She opened a portal and the four of them fell away into the dark abyss, all connected as one.

They traveled through time and space and a few minutes later arrived on the top of a mountain in the middle of a long range of mountains sweeping a rugged coastline. A cold wind whipped around and through him. “Where exactly are we?” he yelled to Cherub over the rush of the wind.

“On the mountains near Gairloch, along Scotland’s western coastline.” Cherub motioned toward the sea only a few miles distant. “We need to search the waterways along this area of the land first. If MacKenzie’s still onboard his galley with Julia, then this is the best place to start.”

In the valley below, a river wound in and around the hills then snaked outward toward the sea. Across the choppy ocean waves, the northern tip of the Isle of Skye rose, a line of lush green land with a heavy gray cast of cloud swelling overhead. Slowly, he breathed out, closed his eyes and focused on his mate and their merged link.

* * *

JULIA SLOGGED UP the sandy length of Red Point beach. The ocean wind slammed into her from behind, plastered her violet riding skirts to her legs then whisked across the moors and over the forest rising high ahead. The cold air wrapped its icy tentacles around her and she shivered, her thin shirt on top not nearly enough protection against the elements.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Gordon offered her his arm and she near rolled her eyes. As if she’d accept any help from the enemy.

“I’m fine.” She trudged on, her feet numb within her boots.

“Take my tartan.” He held out his MacKenzie plaid.

“Nay, I’d rather freeze than wear your clan’s colors.”

“Take some water then.” Gordon swung a skin from over his shoulder and held it out to her. “Ye must drink.”

“Julia?”

“Tavish, I’m here.” She clutched onto their connection, her pace quickening as she waved off Gordon’s offer of a drink and crossed the sand. Following the trail across the moors toward the forest, she sank deeper into his mind and rolled around within his returned thoughts, even as worried as they were. “Are you all right, Tavish? Where have you been?”

“Caring for Matthew, in my time.”

“He’s alive?” Dear heaven, please let him be alive.

“Alive and well, and the arrow gone. Megan and Connor are looking after him, two of our clan’s other medical personnel. Tell me exactly where you are.”

“At Red Point, on the moors near the beach, along with a good thirty of MacKenzie’s men, although I dinnae intend to be here for long. I wish to leave, and with all haste.”

“As I intend for you too as well. We’re close. I’m with Cherub, Kirk, and Tor on the mountains. I can see Red Point from here.”

“I know where my parents are being kept, that’s if Colin MacKenzie is telling the truth. They’re at his holding at Loch Broom. He sent Jeremiah ahead of him and he should already be there. His desire is to ensure my grandmother’s strongly skilled fae line mingles with his own. I’m to wed Jeremiah once we reach his holding.” She strode past two warriors lighting a fire within the protection of the tree line. With her violet skirts in hand, she hurried deeper into the forest along the scrub-lined path. “I’m in the forest now, with a pesky guard.”

“Wait a moment while I relay everything to the others and we formulate a plan.”

Snuggling deeper into his mind, she stopped beside a wide trunk and gestured toward a thicket twenty feet to one side through the thick bracken. “Gordon, if you dinnae mind, I wish a few moments of privacy.”

He scrubbed his hand over his bristly jaw then nodded. “Go no farther than that thicket. You have two minutes and no more.”

“How gracious.” This time she did roll her eyes. Although she’d take those two minutes and make them work. She hurried through the brushwood, scrambled onto her knees behind it then skirts bunched up, crawled through the dense undergrowth deeper into the forest. Once she was assured she was out of his sight, she jumped to her feet and weaved through the trees. Up ahead, the sound of gushing water traveled to her. A stream. The thick copse gave way to a river that cut through the forest toward the sea. Rocks lined the bank on both sides and three of MacKenzie’s men knelt at the edge filling their skins. Grrr, how annoying. Colin MacKenzie’s warriors were everywhere.

She backed up a step, as quietly as she could. “Tavish, I cannae see a way out of here.”

“Cherub has us cloaked and soaring your way. Give me your location, and be as specific as you can. I’ll ensure there’s a way out.”

Hope soaring, she clutched her chest. “There’s a river running through the forest, one with three warriors filling their skins. I’m backing away from them now. My guard will be searching for me soon.”

“We’re over the woods and I can see them. Keep moving backward, slowly and carefully. Don’t draw any unwanted attention to yourself.”

The wind lifted, breezed all around and with it brought an intoxicatingly warm and fresh scent, one holding a sweet tease of apple. It swirled about and saturated her senses. “I miss you.”

“As I miss you.” An arm wrapped around her waist from behind and drew her back against a solid body. Warmth infused her, and her mate’s presence calmed and settled her deep inside.

She curled her fingers around his firm forearm and turned around in his tight embrace. Cherub had him cloaked, his form not visible and she dearly wished to see him.

“Cherub’s to your left. Grab ahold of her so her cloaking extends over you too. Kirk’s behind her and Tor’s on her other side.” Tavish nipped her ear. “Hurry, love.”

A bellow sounded. Gordon. She patted the space around her and found Cherub. As soon as she slipped her fingers around Cherub’s arm, Cherub covered her with her cloaking and they lifted up.

Gordon stormed along the path and shouted to the warriors at the river, “The Matheson lass has escaped.”

“That was close, too close,” she whispered in Tavish’s mind.

“You should never have been taken from me. I’m sorry I allowed such a thing to occur.” He nuzzled her neck. “Tell me you’re all right.”

“I am now.”

Cherub took them higher, over the treetops and onward as she breezed toward Gairloch. The forest gave way to the rockier terrain of the Highlands as they swept toward the high mountain peak with its sheer stony sides.

She clung to Tavish as he scraped his teeth back and forth over her sensitive skin. “Please, bite me.” She stretched her neck. Nothing else would settle her quite like his possessive touch did. “Now.”

“I shall never let go of you again.” Tavish sank his teeth into her flesh and she whimpered for more. “Where you are, is where I need to be, whether there is a battle raging or not.”

“I agree.”

“The moment I get you all to myself, expect a damn sight more than just a bite. I intend to ravish you, right after we rescue your parents.”

“Ravishing and a rescue sounds perfect.” She swept one hand around Tavish’s neck, reached up and sucked on his neck. She licked his pounding pulse point then bit him. His desire surged down their link and flooded her and she went to bite him a second time only they began their descent.

“We’re here, everyone.” Cherub set them gently down on the mountain peak, the wind churning all around and the gray clouds out at sea swelling toward shore. Rain lashed the ocean then hit Red Point beach.

She released Cherub and Tavish did the same.

He fluttered into her sight, his golden shifter gaze bright as he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. “I need to kiss you, except the kiss I wish for is one for behind closed doors.”

“I love having you back in my mind.” His passionate words and returned touch sent her thoughts flying. She longed for that kiss, but he was right. This wasn’t the place or time. Taking a long breath, she wriggled around in his hold and faced the others. “Thank you all for coming for me.”

Cherub hugged her, her soulful aura sparkling, just as her creamy skin did. “I would say anytime, but I’d rather you never fall into the MacKenzie’s hands again.”

“I second that.” Kirk pulled Cherub back to his side, rubbed his chin over the top of her blond head. “It’s good to have you back, Julia.”

Cherub leaned back against Kirk, her smile wide as she gazed at her mate over her shoulder. “And you, my tempting bear, must cease your mischievousness behavior when we are in flight. Distractions can cause me to drop people.”

“What mischievous behavior?” In tan rawhide pants and a white tunic under his loose fur vest, Kirk twirled Cherub around and grinning, kissed the tip of her nose. His claymore sheathed snugly at his side, gleamed as it swayed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You are the worst liar.” She giggled and kissed the tip of his nose in return.

Tor clapped Tavish on the back then hugged her, his black war coat flapping in the breeze. “Julia, I’m so glad to see you’ve suffered no serious injuries at the MacKenzie’s hand, although no more high-tailing it off with them. We’ve been searching for you all night.”

“What of the battle?” She stretched back against Tavish, soaking in even more of his delicious scent.

“We won the war.” Tor rubbed his hands together. “And sent those damn MacKenzies fleeing.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

“Aye, and now we need to find and rescue your parents.” Cherub swatted one of Kirk’s roving hands then offered her arms to them all. “We need to travel to Loch Broom, with all speed.”

“Hold on.” Frowning, Tavish touched the back of her head and blood spotted his fingers. He spun her around. “You hurt yourself again? When did this happen?”

“A small injury. I knocked my head on the mast when the galley flew out of the bay.”

“I’ll need to take a closer look at it.” He shrugged out of his steel-studded gray coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “Arms in. You look cold.”

She pushed her hands down the sleeves, his heat trapped within the cloth warming her through. “Thank you.”

“Chin down.” His tone brooked no argument.

She did as he bid while he parted her hair and assessed her injury.

“It’s a new wound, an inch lower than the last one and thankfully not deep or long enough to require stitches. Did you lose any awareness at all?”

“I may have.”

“For how long?” He turned her again, the worry in his aura spiking out in sharp waves.

“Not too long.”

“How long? And be exact.”

Clearly she wasn’t getting out of answering this question. “The entire night, although I would like to point out that one usually rests during the night once one is asleep. That was all I was doing. Resting and sleeping.” She reached up on her toes and brushed her thumbs along the darkened shadows under his eyes. “Which it appears you didnae do at all.”

“This conversation isn’t about me but you. Keep your eyes open.” With one hand, he tipped her chin up and peered directly into her eyes, his golden gaze so intent and those luscious lips of his so close. “Do you feel faint at all?”

“Aye, very faint.” She swayed toward him, her heartbeat racing. Goodness. She needed to regain her focus. Tor, Kirk, and Cherub stood waiting, and she needed to find and rescue her parents. No more could she delay. Swiftly, she ducked under Tavish’s arm and grasped ahold of Cherub’s hand. “I’m ready to leave.”

“Julia Matheson.” Tavish caught her around the waist. “You should be in bed, resting. Losing consciousness is dangerous, particularly for a solid night.”

“Yet I just woke up. I dinnae need any more rest. What I need is to find my parents, and then I shall rest once that is done. You may oversee that rest if you like.”

“I’m sorry, Tavish.” Cherub arched a sympathetic brow at him. “You really can’t argue with a woman when she’s in this kind of a determined mood. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return, then you can tend to your mate to your heart’s desire.”

“Thank you, Cherub.” Julia squeezed her hand. “I need to get my parents back and now we have a destination, to Loch Broom we go.”

“Aye, to Loch Broom. I’ll open a portal and take us directly there rather than fly us through the skies. There’s an inn I’ve visited afore, one close to the loch’s entrance and at a good guess, I’d say his keep will be close to that point.” She glanced over her shoulder at Kirk. “Ready to leave?”

“Always, my elusive imp.” He banded his arms tight around her waist. “How are you holding up?”

“My energy is depleting. I’ll soon need a rest, but for now I can manage one more jump through time.” Cherub swirled one hand through the air and the wind rose and tunneled around them. The dark ensued and they all fell away into the churning abyss.

Moments later they reappeared on the rise overlooking Loch Broom. Dark and ominous clouds gusted in from the sea. Loch Broom weaved inland for several miles with the odd longhouse nestled along its rocky shoreline. Cattle grazed within the lower pastures and sheep dotted the craggy hills rising high either side of the waterway. This ruggedly wild land was so difficult to reach when one traveled the dangerous mountain pass directly across the mainland.

Cherub swayed and Kirk turned her in his arms and eyed her. “You need to rest now, before we go any further.”

“Aye, an hour or so to replenish my strength would be appreciated, a meal as well if possible. Transporting so many so far can be draining.”

“You also haven’t rested since well before the battle. We’ve got time on our hands right now. Not only will Colin MacKenzie be searching for Julia but Red Point is still a half day’s sail away from here.” Kirk motioned toward the winding downward trail where at the base, nestled amongst a stand of towering elm trees, a quaint stone building with smoke puffing from its chimney, beckoned travelers. “We’ll head to the inn for a meal. None of us are wearing our Matheson plaid. We’ll appear as no more than any other warrior or traveler would.”

“We also need to keep a low profile,” Tavish added. “Ensure no one discovers who we are or where we’ve come from.”

’Twas a sound idea and Julia nodded her agreement. She too longed for a hot meal. At the side of the inn, a wooden beamed enclosure housed horses and a lad with a woolen cap, his tunic’s sleeves rolled to his elbows, brushed a horse tethered within. Two other horses dug their snouts into a wooden pail holding feed and gobbled it down.

“Look, right there.” Cherub pointed toward the loch’s entrance. On the jutting, rocky tip overlooking the ocean, a castle stood, its stone curtain wall rising high. The MacKenzie’s banner flapped from the uppermost corner of the gatehouse. “That must be our enemy’s holding.”

“That’s it all right.” Tor’s gaze narrowed on the very strategic location the MacKenzie held. “From that point, the MacKenzie will be able to keep an eye on one and all sailing these seas.”

“Let’s go. I’ll rest, restore my strength then we’ll be underway once more.” Cherub tugged on Kirk’s hand and started down the trail, her white fur cloak resting over her shoulders and her navy skirts flapping. Tor followed them and so did she.

“Julia, slow down for a moment.” Tavish tilted his head in that angle she was fast learning meant business. “If you feel unwell at any time, then you must tell me.”

“I promise you I shall. Now cease worrying.” Before he could issue yet another demand, she picked up her pace and skipped ahead down the trail to prove she was mightily well. This mission was far too important to allow a little head wound to get in her way, one that bothered her not at all. So too Arabel was counting on her and she wouldn’t let her sister down. Not again. Bringing her parents back home was all that mattered, however it had to be done. Surely they lived. The MacKenzie had been so adamant that they did, and she wouldn’t allow herself to think otherwise.

Tavish grumbled as he caught up to her. “I will worry as much as I like.”

“You are one very stubborn mate.” Thunder rumbled overhead and a drop splashed her nose. “We’re about to get wet.”

Cherub glanced skyward. “’Tis best I allow those clouds to remain where they are. No’ only do I need to conserve what strength I have but sweeping them away will alert the MacKenzies to my arrival. Our enemy’s warriors have seen me in action, and far more than once.” The heavens opened and Cherub tugged her cloak’s hood over her head and dashed toward the inn’s front door with its low hung eaves and stony facade.

Kirk chased her and Tor loped after them.

Two lively children squealed from under an apple tree at the side of the inn and with baskets in hand, tore barefoot into the stables where the lad tending the horses too had sought shelter from the rain.

Julia grasped her skirts and darted around a lanky brown-haired dog in the center of the yard and ducked in through the front door, Tavish one step behind her. She brushed the rain from his gray jacket and handed it back to him. “I’ll warm up quickly now I’m inside. This search is becoming quite the adventure.”

“Adventure or not, just don’t forget whose land we’re on.” His golden gaze blazed as he leaned in and nipped her ear. “I won’t lose you again.”

“How can I help ye fine folks?” The innkeeper, a crinkly-eyed man wearing breeches and a loose plaid tossed over one shoulder, ambled over from the bar toward them. “The wife has beef stew cooking and fresh bread warm from the oven. There are travelers aplenty here today.”

“Beef stew and fresh bread would be most appreciated.” Kirk tucked Cherub under his shoulder, her head tipped down within her hood and her cloak fully protecting her identity. Cherub always took great care with whom she allowed to see her. Her glimmering skin was a physical attribute held only by the eldest child born within the ancient royal line of the fae and since Cherub was the king’s firstborn and she’d yet to conceive a child, she was also the last to hold the unique skin trait. It certainly made her easily identifiable.

“Then find yourselves somewhere to sit. I’ll have the barmaid see to ye all.” The innkeeper plodded off through the side door into the kitchens.

“I’d love a moment to freshen up.” Cherub peeked at her from under her hood. “What of you, Julia?”

“Aye, I’ve a great need to freshen up.” Her windblown hair must look a fright and she wouldn’t mind washing the blood from her hair. With the blood out of Tavish’s sight, mayhap her new injury would also be out of his mind. A side stairwell led upward to the top floor of the inn and a young maid of perhaps ten and four swept the floors near the bottom step. She squeezed Tavish’s hand. “Cherub and I will be back soon.”

“Keep your mind open to mine.”

“I shall.” She crossed to the lass with Cherub at her side. “Excuse me, we’ve a need to freshen up. Is there a chamber available where we could?”

“Aye, my ladies, right here on the lower floor. Come with me.” She set her broom in the corner, tucked one errant brown lock under her white frilly cap and led the way along the lower corridor. At the end of the hallway, the lass opened the paneled door and motioned them inside. “This is Mama and Papa’s best chamber and has a view right across the loch as well as a side door and a private garden. ’Tis all yours for as long as ye need it.”

“You have our most heartfelt thanks.” She smiled at the lass and walked inside. A large bed covered in a patchwork quilt of bright blues and greens stood against one wall and a posy of wildflowers sat in fluted holder on the bedside table next to it. The window faced the loch, offering a perfect view of the sea entrance and the MacKenzie’s stronghold sitting on the jutting point only a short distance away. She opened the door to the outside garden and gasped. Lavender bushes and scattered wildflowers surrounded a pathway leading down to the loch. “I would dearly love to stay here for a day or two, to enjoy the countryside, that’s if this inn were no’ on MacKenzie land.”

“This is a lovely spot, although a sure shame to be located right here.” Cherub joined her underneath the covered doorway and motioned toward the castle where guardsmen patrolled the barbican. “Do you sense any hum?” Cherub kept her tone low so as not to be overheard by the maid as she lit the fire across the other side of the chamber.

Eyes closed, she focused on the castle and her parents possibly imprisoned within. Once she heard the gentle hum of their aura then she’d know for certain that they lived. She touched her chest, right over her rapidly beating heart, but not a trace of a hum resonated toward her. “There’s naught.” She opened her eyes and blinked the hot burn of tears away. “I need to get closer, Cherub. I’m still too far away.”

“I’ll take you straight into the castle myself, the moment I’ve restored my strength.” Cherub had expended such a great deal. “Soon, very soon.”

Julia faced the castle once more. Several warriors heaved slabs of stone from the rear of a cart and handed them to a stonemason and his team who disappeared around the other side of the keep. Another cart rumbled past the inn and down the bumpy trail toward the castle, the rear stacked with the same stone blocks. “They are at work on constructing the outbuildings.”

“Aye, I’d say ’tis a relatively new keep.”

“Is there aught more you need, my ladies?” The maid rose from the blazing fire and dusted her hands against her aproned skirts.

“Nay, thank you for your aid. We’ll be fine now.” Julia smiled at the lass.

The girl dipped her head and closed the door behind her as she left.

Cherub pushed her hood back and picked up a drying cloth from the side table and dabbed her wet cheeks.

Julia pulled the garden door shut, slid her sapphire jeweled hairpins from her tangled hair and set them on the side table.

“Here, let me aid you with your hair.” Cherub patted the chair before the looking glass. “We’ll need to get rid of the spots of blood at the back if you wish to keep Tavish calm.”

“I cannae believe I hit my head again. ’Tis just as well I didnae hurt myself too badly.” She sat and Cherub carefully cleaned the blood away. Sighing, she sank even deeper into Tavish’s mind and rolled around within the exquisite space. “The chamber is lovely and looks right out over the loch toward the castle. There’s a door leading to a private garden.”

“I’d rather you be right here with me in this main room. Hurry it up, love.”

Cherub set the washcloth aside then gently worked the comb through her hair and detangled the knots.

“I’m not quite sure what I did afore this merged link took form.” She smiled at Cherub over her shoulder. “Although now I’m mated to Tavish, I hate to think of only living in the future and completely leaving my kin here behind.”

“You’ll never have to leave them behind. I’ll gladly bring you and Tavish back and forth through time as needed. My duty is to my people and I will never forsake any of you, no matter what time or place you reside in.” Cherub finished tidying her hair then brushed her own and set the comb down. “All done.”

“Thank you.” She hugged Cherub, squeezed her extra tight. “Never have our people been so lucky as to have you as our princess.”

“’Tis my pleasure to aid my people, however and wherever I can.” Cherub squeezed her back. “You are my sister, just as Arabel is.”

“Julia, how much longer will you be? I can’t stand this separation.”

“I’m coming.” She walked to the door with a grin. “Tavish is getting anxious.”

“So is Kirk. Mated men are quite the handful at times.” Grinning and with her hood back in place, Cherub swished past her and led the way along the corridor to the main room.

Julia followed, weaved past a score of patrons seated at small tables then alongside a fire roaring within the wide hearth. Each table was separated from the other by wooden screens, and farmers and travelers all partook of the stew and tankards of ale while they chatted. In the far darkened corner, the men sat with a clear view of everyone within the room and the front door. She joined Tavish as he stood, his gaze sweeping over her.

“Do you feel better?”

“I do.” She sat down and Tavish slid in next to her, securing her safely between him and Tor. Leaning against him, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder and allowed the peace of the moment to roll through her. Being this close to him soothed her very soul. “My mate,” she whispered in his ear. “Always mine.”

“Aye, always yours.” He slid one arm around her back, and stroked his thumb in a slow circle over her hip.

Mmm, she wriggled even closer, almost purring under his delicious touch. She’d missed him terribly while they’d been parted. Thankfully she’d been out of it for most of that time, would never have wanted to experience the endless hours of fear as he unfortunately had. “Thank you for saving Matthew’s life. I cannae wait to see him.”

“He’ll make a full recovery, and I don’t doubt he can’t wait to see you either. As soon as he woke up from surgery, he told me what had happened to you. Until then, I’d had no idea.”

“I never want to lose our link again.”

“Agreed.”

“Here we go, my lovelies.” A barmaid flounced in, a tray of tankards in hand and her bountiful breasts almost spilling from her blue kirtle’s low neckline. “My apologies for the wait.”

“Thank you.” Tor accepted a tankard from her.

“One of the lasses will be out shortly with your meals.” Raising an appreciative eyebrow at Tor, she leaned in and gave him a rather stunning eyeful of her wares. “Be sure to holler out if ye need aught more. I have a willing hand, no matter what ye might need it for.”

“Cheeky, lass. Go on with you.” Tor swatted her bottom, which sent the lass giggling as she sashayed away.

The serving lass who’d shown them to their chamber hurried through the kitchen door and across to them with a platter of breads and cheeses. She set it on the scratched wooden tabletop while another lass with an apron tied around her waist brought out a tray holding bowls of stew. She passed one to each of them, laid out spoons then whisked back to the kitchens.

Kirk slid his dirk from its sheath, sliced the bread and handed them each a piece.

Julia dunked hers in her stew and bit into the end. Delicious. The richly flavored beef juices danced on her tongue and the hot meal warmed her belly.

“Where are your hairpins?” Tavish tucked an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. “You had them in before you left for the chamber.”

“Oh dear.” She patted her head. “I left them on the table when Cherub combed my hair. They were a gift from my parents and I cannae lose them.” She slipped off the bench. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I can retrieve them for you if you wish.” He rose.

“Nay, I’ll be quick.” With one hand on his shoulder, she pushed him back down then snuck around the room and down the darkened corridor. In the chamber assigned to them, she picked up her hairpins and pinned them back in place. These had been the very last gift Mother and Father had given her. These sapphires match your eyes, her mother had said then slid a matching set into Arabel’s hair as well. Mother had hugged them both, held them tight. That moment was embedded in her mind, her precious hairpins a most treasured keepsake. Soon, she’d hold Mother again. She had to. For if they truly were dead, then her grief would rise as sharply and as painfully as it had the first time. Mourning them all over again, would break her heart.

Outside the window, the rain eased and the clouds broke apart. A glimpse of blue sky dotted through. She thrust open the garden door. At the castle, a guard shouted and the portcullis rose from within the arched front gate, its clunky sound reverberating along the shore and across the grassy field toward her.

Horses’ hooves pounded and a dozen armed warriors rode out of the bailey. In single file, the warriors galloped along the trail leading farther around the craggy tip then disappeared.

Another warrior rode out of the keep in leather pants and a thick fur vest over a dark shirt. He galloped along the grassy verge of the inner channel of the loch and on a direct path toward her. His fiery red hair brushed his shoulders and his dirty blood-red aura swirled all about.

’Twas Jeremiah.

Her heart leapt within her chest.

Chapter 12

“TAVISH, JEREMIAH RIDES this way.” A gentle hum whispered through Julia’s mind and her heart lost one very necessary beat.

“Are you certain?”

“Very.” Clutching Jeremiah from behind sat a cloaked woman. “Mother’s with him. I hear the gentle hum of her aura.”

“Stay right where you are. I’m coming.”

“Mother!” She screamed her name as she stumbled outside. Rushing along the path with her mother’s gentle hum increasing in tempo, she yelled frantically and waved her hands.

Jeremiah hauled his horse to a stop next to her and sneered, a look of victory sparking bright in his eyes. “Well, well. If it isnae Julia, my wife-to-be. About time you arrived.”

“I will never be your wife. I am here to rescue my kin and naught more.”

“Julia?” Mother pushed her hood back, heaved free of Jeremiah and jumped to the ground. Mother grasped her, held her tight. “What are you—I cannae believe you’re—how did you—oh goodness, I’ve missed you.”

“You’re alive. You’re really alive.” Tears pooled in her eyes and flowed down their mashed cheeks. “Where’s Father?”

“At the castle. He’s gravely ill and Jeremiah agreed to bring me to the healer for the herbs I need. I must bring his fever down if he’s to survive.”

“I agreed on one account.” Jeremiah bounded to the ground, his holstered claymore bobbing at his back. “You were to keep your hood in place and no’ expose yourself, even to the healer.”

“But my daughter—”

“Julia!” Tavish roared her name as he raced across the field toward her, Tor, Cherub, and Kirk one step behind him.

“Damn it,” Jeremiah spat. “And now we have even more Mathesons here on our land.” He grabbed Julia around the waist, tossed her up onto his destrier and bounded in behind her. Arms pinned tight either side of her, he slammed his knees into his horse’s flanks and they flew back along the trail toward the castle.

“Mother! Tavish!” She shoved against Jeremiah’s punishing hold. Behind them on the trail, Tor nabbed her mother and whisked her back through their chamber’s open garden door. The others had gone, had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

A breeze churned the grass and whipped the long stalks about then a blast of wind hit her. Jeremiah’s horse reared onto its hind legs and whinnied. Its hooves crashed down and she went flying.

“Got you.” Tavish scooped her out of thin air and plastered her against his rock hard chest. Cherub and Kirk stood right behind him. “Let’s just get one thing straight, for once and for all. Where you are, is where I need to be.”

“Aye, I agree.”

“Julia, come.” Cherub nabbed her hand and tugged her backward.

Jeremiah bounded from his horse, landed on the ground and stormed toward Tavish. He swung his claymore from its holster and Tavish thrust his sword high and blocked Jeremiah’s fierce blow. “Who are you?” Jeremiah scowled at him.

“Tavish Matheson, Julia’s mate and her handfast husband.”

“If you’re her husband, then you stand in my way.” Jeremiah came at Tavish, slashing again and again in a clear attempt to take him down as quickly as he could. “Be prepared to die. Julia will be my wife afore the end of the day.”

* * *

TAVISH SPRANG FORWARD and fought. It was time for Jeremiah MacKenzie to learn that no one would ever take his wife from him, a message he intended to make certain got through. He certainly had no greater incentive than to fight for his woman. He slashed and Jeremiah met each of his deadly strikes.

“Whistle out if you need me, Tavish.” Eagerly rocking from foot to foot, Kirk palmed his sword from the sidelines, his gaze narrowed on Jeremiah. “I want in on this fight.”

“This is my battle, one I intend to win.” He was a Matheson, and no one ever tangled with the ‘Son of the Bear.’

“Those are strong words, Matheson, but you’re on MacKenzie land and we dinnae spill our own blood here, only that of our enemy’s.” Jeremiah’s gaze glinted with determination and he slammed his blade hard into Tavish’s, one hard strike after another.

Tavish grunted and fell back a step then bounded back. He struck, his blows strategic as he came at Jeremiah first on one side and then the other, all wielded in order to weaken his enemy. He blocked Jeremiah’s next high swipe then dropped low, rolled clear and came up on his adversary’s flank and struck again, swiftly and surely.

“Nice move, Tavish.” Kirk gritted his teeth. “Now bring him down so we can find Julia’s father and be done with this lot.”

“I’ll be right with you.” He met each of Jeremiah’s blows with the same intensity as the aggressive warrior heaped on him.

“Tavish!” Julia pulled free of Cherub and rushed toward him, her golden locks streaming behind her. “Dinnae get hurt, no’ one scratch. Do you hear me?”

“Get back.” He glared at Kirk. “Keep her behind you and safe.”

Kirk hustled Julia out of the way.

Jeremiah struck his ribs, the blow ricocheting and rattling his teeth. Damn it. He should have been keeping his focus on the warrior he fought and not on his mate. Julia screamed as MacKenzie swung again.

He caught the next blow and arms shaking, shoved his two-handed sword hard against Jeremiah’s. He heaved forward and battled. Whisking his blade through the air, he caught MacKenzie off guard and sliced into his arm.

Jeremiah grasped his bicep and growled as blood poured through his white-knuckled fingers. Not a death blow, but a damaging one all the same for a warrior who would need his sword arm if he wished to fight.

“This battle isnae over.” Snarling, Jeremiah nabbed his horse, bounded onto the beast and rode toward the castle, his injured arm swinging loose at his side.

He should have expected the man to run once injured, wanted to chase him and put an end to the fight only Julia ran toward him and he caught her in his arms and gripped her tight.

“We have to reach my father afore Jeremiah does.” She clasped his face and kissed him. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“You’re to go straight to your mother. Tor will watch over you while Cherub, Kirk, and I see to your father’s rescue. We’ll find him, that I promise you.” He dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her with all the fierce need contained within his soul. Seeing her in MacKenzie’s hands had nearly halted his heart from beating. “We’ll meet you on the hill where we first arrived. Tell Tor. He’ll get you and your mother there without any issue.”

“My father is ill, sick with a fever. Mother never had the chance to explain more than that. Be careful.” She kissed him again. “Stay safe and come back to me.”

“Always.”

Julia raced back to the inn and he wiped his blade on the grass, sheathed it then grasped ahold of Cherub. He had a mission ahead of him, one he couldn’t falter in. “Let’s be away.”

“Hold tight. We are running out of time and I’m going to make this flight quick.” Cherub cloaked the three of them and took them high. They flew over the curtain wall and descended down into the bailey before the tower house.

Jeremiah galloped through the main gate. “Secure the keep. Our enemy has arrived,” he bellowed and all hell broke loose.

* * *

FEAR AND WORRY coiled deep in Julia’s gut as she left Tavish and ran back to the inn. Leaving her mate to fight this battle without her at his side had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done. With her heartbeat a raging mess, she stumbled through the garden door and inside the chamber. She drank in the returned sight of her mother. Even though she looked pale, dirt smeared across her cheeks and her skirts ragged, she was still alive and that was all that matter.

“Mother.” She grasped her close, ran her hand over her fair hair pulled back into a long plait and let the tears flow. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Mother rocked her in her arms, the gentle hum of her aura a sweetly soothing sound she’d known since the day of her birth and that had only ever brought her comfort. “Tor just explained everything to me, that you’re mated to his brother, Tavish, and that you’re here to rescue your father and me.”

“Did Tor explain that they’re from the future?”

“Aye, that your sister is mated to a man named Finlay, who’s from Tor and Tavish’s clan. The ‘power of three’ has been unveiled and Nessa’s prophecy set in motion.” She shook her head as if dazed. “I cannae believe all that has happened while we’ve been gone.”

“What of Father?”

“He’s so sick. A week past, he suffered a nick to his arm from one of the warrior’s blades and the wound festered and a fever rose. It rages strong and willnae abate. I convinced Jeremiah to take me to the healer. He didnae care to lose his prisoner afore the fortnight of time had expired. Jeremiah told us of the MacKenzie’s demand sent to Gilleoin.”

“Tavish is a gifted healer, one they call a doctor in his time. Father couldnae be in better hands once Tavish finds him.” She glanced at Tor. “Tavish said to take us to the hills where we first arrived. He’ll meet us there with Father, the moment they’ve rescued him.”

“Then let’s be away, before the enemy storms this inn.” Tor opened the outside door and gestured them through. “To the stables. We’ll ride.”

She gripped Mother’s hand and tugged her out the door and around the side of the inn to the stables.

Tor halted next to two horses tethered to a post, cupped his palms and tipped his head toward her. “You first, Julia. Speed is of the essence.”

She set her foot in his hold and he hefted her up then aided Mother as she mounted in behind her.

“Hold tight.” With the reins in hand, she slapped her horse’s neck and bolted from the inn, her mother’s arms wrapped firm around her waist. Tor galloped in beside her and they rode up the hilly trail to the crest. “Where’s Father exactly?” she shouted over her shoulder. “I can inform Tavish. We have a merged link of the mind.”

“Your father’s on the upper floor of the main tower.”

“Tavish.”

“Tell me you’re safely away.”

“I am. Father’s being kept on the upper floor of the main tower.”

“We’ve already searched within the dungeons below and we’re heading that way now.”

“Then hurry.” She urged her mount onward and upward, made the top rise and sat high on her stead. MacKenzie’s stronghold sat on the jutting rock at the tip and guardsmen swarmed the battlements. “They know you’re there.”

* * *

WITH JULIA’S WARNING ricocheting through his mind, Tavish negotiated the cramped inner stairwell of the main tower in the near dark, Kirk and Cherub right behind him. The space was tight, designed that way to ensure a man couldn’t swing his sword should the tower be under siege. He made the second landing where a trace of light trickled through the slatted boards covering a narrow window and he nodded at Kirk and Cherub. “Two more floors to go. We’re almost there.”

He scaled the next two flights then halted at the very top, his senses on full alert. The gloomy corridor, this one lit by one single candle in an iron wall sconce, held three cells with wooden doors and a mail-clad warrior standing on guard outside the last one.

As the warrior straightened and glanced their way, Cherub nabbed him and Kirk and swiftly cloaked them.

“Tavish, I’ve got this one,” Kirk whispered.

They crept closer.

A clunk sounded and the guard grabbed his steel helm which now held a dent in the top that matched the length of a blade, Kirk’s blade. The guard’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slithered to the floor, his keys jangling at his side.

“Nice hit,” he slapped Kirk on the back as Cherub released and uncloaked them.

“They drop fast when they don’t see you coming.” Kirk grinned as he tapped the downed man’s steel helm once more with his sword. “The next one’s yours.”

“Thank you.” The urge to fight still flared strongly through him.

“Hopefully there won’t be a ‘next one.’” Cherub lowered to the guard’s side, hauled his keys from his belt and tossed them to Tavish. “Unlock the door and let’s pray there’s a window. I need fresh air in order to work with my element.”

Tavish turned the key and shoved the door open.

A candle flickered on the floor next to a single pallet wedged in the corner. A ratty gray blanket covered the legs of a man who could only be Julia’s father. Aleck Matheson’s arms were outstretched and each of his wrists restrained with cuffs and pulled back against hooks.

“Who goes there?” Aleck rasped, his voice weak and his gaze cloudy. He rattled the chains, his hands fisted as if he were fully prepared to fight even though immobilized. “I demand you bring my wife back to me.”

“Aleck, ’tis Cherub.” She rushed to Aleck’s side and pressed one hand to his forehead. “You’re hot, very hot.”

“Cherub?” He blinked, his body burning with a fever and the heat easily reaching Tavish. They’d arrived just in time. He waited one step back as Aleck got his bearings and understood they were here to help him, not hurt him. “Is it really you, Cherub?”

“Aye, ’tis me, and Adair is safe and waiting for you on the hills beyond this castle. I’ve brought my mate, Kirk, and his cousin, Tavish. They’re Mathesons, from Gilleoin’s future clan and Tavish is mated to Julia, your Julia.”

“Nessa’s prophecy has been unveiled?”

“Aye. You and Adair have missed a great deal during your imprisonment. Are you ready to leave?”

“Aye, and quite some time ago.” His pale hair, dirty and long and shaggy, swayed about his sunken cheeks as he shoved his wrists out.

“Here, I’ve got the key.” Tavish knelt before Aleck, rustled through the keys and slotted one that appeared the right fit into the lock. With one swift turn, he released the lock and the cuffs clanked open and fell away. Aleck tried to hold himself up, but he swayed. Weak he might be, but strong of heart he was. “I’ve got you.” Tavish heaved Aleck up and slid his arm under the man’s shoulder. “Brace yourself against me as needed.”

“I’ll un-board this window.” Kirk slid his blade between the wooden slats over the window and cranked one of them off then tore the rest free with his hands and flung the window open.

Tavish whistled at the sheer drop that would see any man who tried to escape this way end up a mangled mess on the jagged rocks below. The sea crashed in and sprayed high. “There isn’t a chance we can all fit through this window, Cherub.”

Footsteps thumped up the stairs.

“I dinnae need the window, Tavish, just the fresh air.” Cherub stepped through the door into the darkened passageway, twirled her fingers and sent the wind streaming through the open window whooshing past her and slamming into the warriors pounding their way. Grunts and bellows sounded. Hands dusted, she closed the heavy wooden door and shoved the bolt home. “My apologies, there is a need to lock us in since I dinnae wish for any of our enemy to jump into the portal I open. This will be a trip for four and no more.”

“A sound idea, my imp.” Kirk clasped Cherub around the waist. “Grab ahold, Tavish.”

Supporting Aleck at his side, he nabbed Cherub’s other arm and motioned for Aleck to do the same.

Once they were all connected to her, the Fae Angel of Love grinned then did as she was born to do, her duty, that of protecting and guarding her kin. A more dedicated protector of their people, Tavish had never known. With a flick of her fingers, she swirled the fresh air tunneling around them and sent them falling away through the most blessed portal ever.

A few moments later, they reemerged in the clear light of day on top of the rise overlooking the inn, the wind churning all about and his mate sitting astride a horse with her mother behind her and Tor atop a second horse. Relief poured through him.

“I love you,” he whispered then sent that love swarming down their link.

* * *

“I LOVE YOU too.” Fresh tears streaked down Julia’s cheeks as Tavish’s love saturated her along their link. She tossed one leg over her horse, jumped to the ground and bounded into his arms. She ran her hands over him, checking him for any sign of an injury. No nicks or even one scrape. She grasped her father, his body gaunt and hot but oh, he was alive and that’s all that mattered. “I cannae believe I have you and Mother back,” she cried as she hugged him. “I’ve missed you, Father, more than my heart could bear at times. I see you’ve met Tavish. He’s my mate and handfast husband. We’ve no’ long spoken vows.”

“I’ve missed you too, cannae believe you’re here.” Father held out his hand for Mother and she dashed across and joined them, snuck under Father’s other arm and helped to hold him up as Tavish did too.

Jiggling about, she hugged both her parents and allowed her sheer joy and happiness its release. “Father, Tavish is a healer in his time, and you must allow him to look after you. He’ll rid you of your festered wound and fever.”

“All I desire is to have my family close and to be together once more.” Father glanced at Tavish. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. Glad I am to see my daughter has such a courageous and loyal husband.”

“I would do anything for you, for both your daughters or your kin.” Tavish glanced at Cherub. “Have you enough strength to transport us back to the future? The sooner I tend to Aleck, the better.”

“Of course. I have rested up enough, and seeing my kin safe and well has given me an added boost of energy.” Cherub swished into the center of their group and twirled her hands through the air. “Everyone hold onto me. We’re heading to Kirk, Tavish, and Tor’s time.”

They all did as she bid and the air churned.

Tavish caught Julia close as they fell away into the dark and breezed through the endless streams of time. Gently, he stroked the back of her head, each soft and loving caress warming her through from the inside out.

She snuggled deeper into his embrace, her parents either side of her. Wonder and love filled her heart. She had her parents back and she’d never let them go again, or the man she’d been gifted with as a mate. She opened her mind more fully to his and shared every one of her thoughts. “Thank you for returning my family to me. You’ve given me the greatest gift.”

“They’re safe and I’ll ensure your father is soon well.” He kissed her forehead. “The day you arrived with Cherub to be tended, is the day I received my heart’s desire. I now live for you.”

“I need to kiss you.”

“I need to bite you.” He chuckled as they bumped down inside his medical rooms. “Soon,” he promised as he aided Father across the room and onto the white-sheeted medical bed. Mother whipped to Father’s other side as he lay down and rested his head on the pillow.

Cherub, still standing beside Kirk, swirled the air once more. “We’ll be back soon. Arabel and Finlay need to be here.”

“Travel safely.” Excitement bubbled inside her. Soon her sister would be here and their family would once again be complete.

Tavish tossed his jacket onto the side chair, washed his hands in the metal sink, dried them then pulled a tray of utensils forward. He returned to Father’s side, removed the bandaging around his wounded arm and eyed the pussy mess. “Let’s get you all cleaned up. I’ll have you back on your feet as soon as I can.” He struck a look at Tor. “Could you bring the IV pole over here?”

“Sure.” Tor did so and her mate took charge, cleaning the wound then stitching it closed.

“Well, this is rather handy.” Blue eyes twinkling, Father’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Glad I am to now have a healer for a son.”

“My profession certainly comes in useful at times.” Tavish inserted what he called an IV into Father’s wrist then fiddled with a bag he hooked up onto a pole.

“I’ve always had such a love of the healing craft.” Mother watched him, her interest piqued, just as Julia’s was. “What does this bag of liquid do?”

“This bag holds fluid which contains some wonderful nutrients, including pain relief as well as the necessary medication to heal your husband’s festered wound. With all of that medication combined, and with it traveling straight into his blood, his fever should begin to recede fairly quickly.”

“And the stitches?” Mother quizzed.

“They’re dissolving ones. Aleck may bathe if he wishes, although afterward I want you to ensure he keeps his wound dry and out of the water until the stitches have gone, which will be in about a week’s time.”

“Did your mate say dissolving?” Mother asked Julia as they both aided Father into a seated position on the bed.

“He did. This time is so very different to our own and great medical advances have been made.” A time she couldn’t wait to embrace.

“You should tell your mother how we met.” Tavish winked at her then said to Mother, “The wound was shallow and even though infected, only three stitches were needed, although if you feel your husband’s wound looks worse and isn’t healing as it should, then call out. My chamber is just one door farther down the hallway from this medical room. I’ll make sure you’re given rooms on the same floor.”

“Thank you.” Mother hugged him, her smile bright. “I shall adore having a doctor for a son as well.”

Megan breezed into the room in a red woolen skirt and white blouse with a ruffled neckline, her dark wavy hair bobbing on her shoulders. Surprise lit her eyes. “Well, hello one and all. Tavish, you’re back. I wasn’t aware you’d arrived.”

“Meet Julia and Arabel’s parents, Aleck and Adair.”

“Oh my.” Megan clapped and beamed then rushed across and hugged them. “This is such an incredible surprise. I’m Iain, Finlay, and Kirk’s mother, which means we’re all now very close kin.”

“There’s an awful loud ruckus coming from in here.” Barefoot, Matthew clomped in, his IV pole in hand as he wheeled it alongside him. His great plaid was belted at his waist and a peek of the bandage wrapped around his upper body showed through the thin white linen of his loose-sleeved tunic.

“Matthew.” Julia raced across the room and gathered him in a hug. “You’re walking about and oh, you look so very well. The arrow is gone. ’Tis incredible what Tavish has done.”

“Aye, your mate removed the pesky thing, and all while I slept. Just dinnae ask me how he did that. Make sure you keep your mate close, lass. He’s a keeper.” He shuffled toward Aleck and Adair with a grin on his face. “’Tis about time you two returned. Your daughters have been quite the handful to watch over of late, both of them whisking here and there and without nary a word of where they’re going.”

“’Tis so good to see you, Matthew.” Father gripped Matthew’s forearm and Mother embraced Matthew, as gently as she could with his wound.

A rush of wind swirled and Cherub and Kirk arrived with Arabel and Finlay.

“I cannae believe what I’m seeing.” Tears flowed down Arabel’s cheeks as she dashed toward their parents and clutched them to her. “You’re both back and alive. You’re alive, truly alive.”

“We have our parents back.” Julia wrapped her arms around Arabel and their parents. A fresh wave of tears fell, soul-cleansing tears. From the day Gilleoin had told her and her sister the devastating news of their parents’ death, a piece of her heart had died, but now her heart was once again alive and bursting with so much happiness and joy. This moment was one she’d cherish forever.

A click sounded from behind her and she glanced over her shoulder.

Tavish blew her a kiss, his clever device in hand. “Smile, love.”

She beamed as he circled their group and snapped pictures of them.

Chatter abounded, each of them talking over the other in their rush to share all their news.

An hour or more passed before Megan declared the evening meal would soon be served, and for those who wished to join the rest of their clan downstairs in the great hall, could do so after they’d had time to bathe and change. Megan grasped Mother’s hand. “I’ll bring all you might need to your chamber, clothes and such for you and Aleck. The one a few doors down shall be all yours, and for as long as you need it.”

“You have my most grateful thanks.” Mother squeezed Megan’s fingers in return. “I cannae wait to see more of this time since my daughters will soon be living in it.”

“Then I hope you and Aleck will consider Ivanson Castle your home just as your daughters soon will. You are both welcome here whenever Cherub brings you for a visit.”

“Aye, I will gladly bring one and all.” Cherub twirled around with a giggle. “This is a most wondrous day.”

“It surely is.” Julia nabbed Arabel’s hand, caught Cherub’s hand too, and the three of them all danced around in a circle together.

Dizzy, Arabel stopped and grabbed a breath. “All right, time to show Mother and Father to their chamber.” She kissed Julia’s cheek then Cherub’s. “I’ve never been so happy.”

Neither had Julia. She opened the door for everyone and Matthew padded out then her sister led their parents down the hallway to their room.

Kirk swiped a blue pen from Tavish’s countertop and tossed it to Finlay with a grin. “Here’s your pen, as promised.”

Finlay chuckled and pocketed it, one hand on the doorway. “Thanks ever so much, but now I’m leaving you in charge of Gilleoin’s accounts and ensuring the rents are received, as well as watching over his lands and clan. I’m going to stay here for a few days with Arabel and get to know her parents while they heal. Are you up to holding the fort while I do?”

“Absolutely.” Kirk glanced at Tor. “Want to give me a hand back on the other home front?”

“Of course. That’s where my mate resides and where I’ll need to be to find her come the next full moon.” Tor clapped Tavish on the back. “Will you remain here for a bit too?”

“Aye, until Aleck and Matthew are all clear to return. We may even take some time out to show Julia’s parents and Matthew the sights.” Tavish pulled his brother into a hug. “I’ll see you when we return to the past. I don’t want to miss your journey in finding your mate.”

“Aye, I long for the next full moon when I can begin the chase. I’ll stop at nothing to find her.”

“Then let’s be away.” Cherub held out her arms for Kirk and Tor and the two men joined her. The wind swirled and the three of them disappeared through time.

Finlay closed the door behind him as he headed after the others, leaving her and Tavish completely alone.

“Goodness, it’s so quiet now.” She leaned against the wall and smiling, crooked a finger at her fierce protector. “Whatever could we do now we’re all alone?”

“I know exactly what we’re about to do.” He pulled out another set of instruments from a drawer, set it on the bed then steered her across the room and settled her on top of mattress and moved in behind her. He directed the light on the overhead metal arm over her head until the light shone on the back of her head. Carefully he separated her hair at the back.

“Tavish, this isnae quite the kind of ‘whatever’ I was referring to. You also said my new wound wouldnae need stitches and Cherub has already cleaned my hair and the wound site for me.”

“I’ll give it all another clean with my sterilized water. I need to ensure no bugs are introduced to the open area. Definitely no stitches needed though. That I promise you.” He nipped her ear from behind. “And I also haven’t forgotten you lost awareness for several hours, which means I’m going to have to wake you throughout the night to make certain all is well.”

“Wake me as often as you please, just ensure you make it interesting when you do.” She giggled and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Goodness, I cannae believe what now comes out of my mouth. You have completely corrupted me, Tavish Matheson.”

“I hope so.” He gestured toward the window overlooking the inner courtyard. A fiery red sunset beamed, its brilliant rays searing the forest’s treetops beyond the curtain wall. The dark descended and stars twinkled in the night sky. “Since it’s so late, would you care to take a shower with me before bed?”

“Most definitely. Now, hurry it along.”

He chuckled, finished tending to her then swept her off the mattress and carried her into his chamber and knocked the door shut with his hip. A mischievous glint lit his golden shifter eyes as he strode past their big bed and into his bathroom.

“’Tis hard to believe I now live in two times.”

“A new world has opened up for both of us.” He crossed the sandy colored floor tiles, slid her down his body and onto her feet. He unbelted his weapons, laid them on the countertop then shucked his tan tunic and black trews until he stood unclothed before her. With one finger, he teased along her lower lip. “May I undress you?”

“I’m no’ quite sure why you haven’t already.” She pushed her fingers into his silky black hair, cupped the back of his head and tugged his mouth down to hers. His warm lips caressed hers, so softly, so deliciously, then he rubbed the entire length of his body against hers, all hard and hot heat that had her panting for more. She pulled back an inch and grinned. His pure white aura with its sizzling red shifter edge swarmed around and completely covered hers. “You’re my one and all.”

“As you’re my one and all. I wish to wrap myself around you, inside and out.” He unfastened the ties of her violet riding skirt, allowed the fabric to slither to the ground then lifted her cream shirt over her head and whisked her to the shower and sat her on the metal chair. He flicked the shower lever on and stuck his hand under the water. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“I’m allowed to get my hair wet?”

“You are. The wound is healing nicely, and the stitches fairly close to dissolving.” He slid the shower head from the slider and passed it to her. “I also want to watch you bathe, as you did the last time we showered together.”

“Mmm, this I will enjoy.” She ran the warm water over her locks, down her back and over her breasts before relaxing back into the chair and into Tavish’s hands.

He worked the creamy shampoo into a foam and ran the bubbles through her hair. The sweet scent of apples swirled within the steam, a fragrance that saturated her senses, just as her mate’s warm and fresh scent did.

A soft sigh escaped her, the water soothing her tired muscles as she rinsed the shampoo out.

“Would you like a massage?” Tavish knelt at her feet, a bar of vanilla soap in hand.

“Aye, very much.” She craved his touch, however he offered it.

He massaged her feet and calves, stroked upward, over her knees and along her inner thighs. Leaning in, he bumped his nose against the entrance to her core and with a low growl, breathed her scent in deep. His claws sliced out and in. “My bear is clawing for a taste of you. You smell like the sweetest, warmest honey and he wants to devour you.”

“Devouring sounds good.” She hooked one leg around Tavish’s back and drew him ever closer. “I intend to request daily showers with you, from this moment forth.”

“That request I’ll gladly grant.” Gently, he stroked over her hips, around her breasts and back down her sides. Rubbing his body against hers, he whispered, “You’re clean, from top to toe. Rinse off so I can actually begin the devouring.”

She rinsed them both, rose from her chair and slid the shower head back onto the slider.

Tavish crowded her from behind, one hand sweeping her wet hair over her shoulder and the other sliding around her waist. Water pummeled into her, his erect cock brushing over her lower cheeks as he rubbed against her. Nuzzling her neck, he razzed his teeth back and forth over her most sensitive spot and growled under his breath. “Look at me.”

She turned around in his embrace, looked deep into his eyes as she traced the tip of his impressive erection with one finger then palmed his balls with the other.

“You have an exquisite touch.” He bent his head, suckled one nipple then moved to the other.

“So do you.” Heat rippled through her and she captured his mouth with hers and kissed him, until every wonderfully muscled inch of his body was wrapped fully around her. This was what she needed, to join as one with him.

“I need to join as one with you too.” His mind moved swiftly through hers as he read her thoughts. “I also want to know your every dream and desire. Tell me them, so I might fulfill each and every one.”

“I want you to make love to me, right here in this shower, in our bed and wherever else you might fancy. Once we return to the past, I want to spend time with you in our sacred cavern, all alone.”

“You have a deal.” He gripped her fingers, flattened the backs of her hands to the slick tiled wall behind her and licked his lips. “Anything else?”

“I wish for your babe, to start a family with you, a child all of our own.”

“Then be prepared for a loving like no other. I’m about to make you mine, in every single way.” He eased her breasts together, swiped his thumbs over her stiff nipples then licked around her aureoles. Greedily, he kissed each nipple, sucked them deep inside his mouth until every inch of her sizzled and burned for more. She needed this, needed him. She always would.

Delicious heat radiated through her and she arched her back, thrust her breasts ever deeper into his exquisite touch and whimpered. Her legs shook. “Tavish, I’m no’ sure I can stand on my own two feet for long.”

“One second.” He nabbed a fluffy white towel from the handrail, spread it over the tiled floor under the water’s spray and laid her down on top of it. “This better?”

“Infinitely.”

“I aim to please.” Between her legs, he knelt then grasped his cock and rubbed the head over her nub. White-hot pleasure radiated through her. “Are you about to come, my love?”

“I believe so. Mayhap you can love me hard and fast right now, then slow and easy in our bed later.”

“Aye, my love, as you wish.” He clasped her hips and before she could draw her next breath, he plunged inside her. Pounding into her, he gave her everything she’d asked for and more, his mind barreling into hers and locking around tight.

Her inner muscles clamped around him, the sensation of both his body inside her and his mouth on her neck, sending her senses soaring. He bit down and pleasure stormed through her. She’d been gifted with a mate she’d never expected, with a soul bond as deep as time itself. Grasping his shoulders, she held on for the ride of her life. “Thank you for saving me from the enemy, for rescuing my parents, for being mine and for offering me all of your love. Your kisses are what I’ll always crave, always desire, and always demand you give me more of.”

“I love you, Julia, and demand away. I’ll give you everything you ask for and more. This I promise you.” He thrust and she met each of his deeply penetrating moves then urged him even deeper. He plunged balls-deep inside her, his seed shooting to her core and sending them both flying over the edge and streaking toward the heavens.

Her next mission had begun, one she intended to spend a lifetime pursuing, that of tying her mate to her in every possible way, heart, body and soul. They would always be one, from this moment forward and throughout all of time.

* * *

TAVISH SOAKED IN the beauty of his mate lying underneath him, her tight channel squeezing his cock and dragging him ever deeper inside her. Such a wildly desperate need to mate with her still consumed him. She was the only woman he’d ever hold deep in his heart, ever kiss, ever crave, and ever desire. She was his true mate, his heart and his home, his everything and all.

With such a ravenous hunger rolling through him, he scooped her off the damp towel on the floor and wrapped her in a fresh clean one before carrying her to their bed. “I want your scent on my tongue, to have you so deeply entrenched within me that you’re as much a part of me as I’m a part of you.”

He laid her down on the large mattress covered in his thick black fur.

“Get ready for round number two, my mate.” He tugged the towel off her, slid onto his belly between her knees and raised her legs. Over his shoulders, he hooked her feet until her bottom lifted off the bed and she lay fully exposed to him. Time to give both him and his bear exactly what they both desired, more of her. Out the window, the night sky twinkled with a myriad of stars. Moonlight beamed in and played over her lush body. He stroked along the pinkness of her lower folds. So beautiful. So enticing. She was all his and with her inner thighs spread, he plunged one finger inside her.

“Oh, aye, that I love.” She bucked and moaned, her beaded nipples hardening even further and his cock lengthening and filling as if he hadn’t just come. “Come here, my fierce protector.”

“You’ll have to wait until I’ve finished devouring you. Are you ready for more?”

“Aye, always.” She fisted the fur bedcover either side of her, a delicious grin on her face. “Devour away.”

He stroked into her harder and faster, rubbing his thumb across her nub until she arched into his touch and panted. Then he added a second finger, dipped his head and licked her flesh as he desired and as his bear demanded. The other half of him, contained so deep within, rumbled his appreciation. Aye, this was just the beginning. He removed his fingers and thrust his tongue inside her, stroked the inside of her channel then retreated only long enough to begin doing the same all over again. Building her next orgasm to a peak, he lapped and pleasured her with his mouth and tongue alone.

“Tavish.” She tunneled her mind deep inside his, her passion rising to such a height the desire she shared with him had his cock throbbing, so heavy and full as he drank at the very heart of her. “I cannae take any more.”

“Wait there, my sweet love. I’m coming.” He took one last lick of her below, lifted up and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her, twining his tongue around hers and gorging himself on her full lips. She was his, an intoxicating and heady blend he would never be able to get enough of.

“Inside me.” She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh and making his bear roll around with pleasure at her very clear marking. He kissed her and she swished her hands down his front, brushed the head of his cock with the soft pad of her thumb then with her sweet fingers firm around his erection, worked him in long pulls.

His spine tingled and the pressure in his shaft built, with such a swiftness he could barely contain himself. Kissing her, he savored the luscious recesses of her mouth then gave into the need to join them both together. Blood pounding, he pushed his cock deep inside her hot sheath, her mouth-watering scent bathing him below.

“More,” she moaned against his lips. She clutched his butt, pulled him in even deeper and rocked underneath him. “You’re my fierce protector, the other half of my soul.”

“Just as you’re the other half of mine. From this moment forth, we’ll always be together. No one will ever separate us again, not the enemy and certainly not time itself.” He thrust deep, every inch of her welcoming heat pulling him in further. “Bite me, my love, the same time as I bite you. I want your full possession.”

“That I will never deny you of.” With her mind open to his, her body wrapped around him, she sucked the skin of his neck between her lips.

He slid his hand around the back of her head and held her against him as he razzed his teeth over her fiercely beating pulse. “Now,” he demanded.

She sank her teeth into him and he bit her in return. Bucking into her, his pace wild and feverish and driven by the very heart of his bear, he marked her and made her his, forever and for all time.

Meeting each of his pounding thrusts, she bit him again on the other side of his neck and he roared his pleasure, bit her again in the same way and sent them both spiraling over the edge and flying straight to the stars.

Never had he experienced such a perfect union, his shifter soul connecting and locking tight with hers. Forever, they’d keep each other safe and close, a forever he desired with all of his heart and soul.

Chapter 13

INSIDE THEIR SACRED cavern two weeks later, Julia slumped on top of Tavish, the sand underneath them a heavenly bed and the bath-like pool of water next to them offering a cool reprieve from the steamy heat. Happiness and peace invaded her soul as she played her fingers through her mate’s silky black locks.

The day before, Cherub had brought them, her parents and Matthew—all now fully healed—back to the past and that very day their clan had celebrated their safe return with a hearty feast, a celebration that had lasted all day and night until the two of them had finally been able to sneak away.

“You certainly do keep your word,” she whispered in his ear. “Do you recall all of my requests?”

“Let’s see.” Smiling, he caressed down her back and over her bare bottom. “We’ve made love in my shower and our bed, many times over, and now we’re back in the past, we’ve also done so here within our sacred cavern.” Slowly, he rolled her over on their tartan blanket and came up over top of her. A delicious spark lit his beautiful golden shifter eyes. “But you also requested I give you my babe, for us to start a family all of our own.”

“That I did.” Her courses were late, only by two days, but still two all-important days.

He breathed deep, scented the air then released a low growl, one that rumbled in his throat and vibrated against her chest. “You smell incredible. Like vanilla and hot honey all rolled into one, but there’s something else, a heady new aroma I’ve never caught the scent of before.”

“What do you think that might be?”

“Have I ever told you our shifter males can scent when our mates are at their most fertile, as well as the change within our chosen one’s body when they conceive?”

“Nay.” How intriguing.

“It’s been that way since the very beginning. Your scent calls to the very heart of both me and my bear.” Wriggling down, he dragged in another deep breath and on his knees between her legs, spread her thighs wider. Gently, he smoothed one hand over her hip then bent and nuzzled her flat belly. “You’re carrying my cub.”

“Aye, a babe all of our own. I may even have conceived right here in this cavern, the very first time we came together.”

“The timing would be just about right.” A sensual grin lifted his lips. “I need to make love to you again.”

“I need that too.”

“I love you, Julia. You’re all I could ever desire in a mate, all I could ever hope for as a wife and the mother of our children.” He rose up and kissed her, so deeply and passionately her core pulsed, and when he slid so perfectly inside her, his aura fully enveloping hers, joy overwhelmed her.

Her mate held her very soul in his hands, just as she held his in hers.

Love. Theirs had transcended the endless streams of time, and forever would.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed the first book in Joanne Wadsworth’s Clan Matheson series. Please feel free to search for the other full-length novels now available at all e-retailers. Coming next is:

Highlander’s Heart, (Book 2)

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About the Author

Joanne Wadsworth is a Bestselling Author who adores getting lost in the world of romance, no matter what era in time that might be. Hot alpha Highlanders hound her, demanding their stories are told and she’s devoted to ensuring they meet their match, whether that be with a feisty lass from the present or far in the past.

Living on a tiny island at the bottom of the world, she calls New Zealand home. Big-dreamer, hoarder of chocolate, and addicted to juicy watermelons since the age of five, she chases after her four energetic children and has her own hunky hubby on the side.

So come and join in all the fun, because this kiwi girl promises to give you her “Hot-Highlander” oath, to bring you a heart-pounding, sexy adventure from the moment you turn the first page. This is where romance meets fantasy and adventure…

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER

BY CJ FLYNN

Copyright © 2015 by CJ Flynn

A young woman discovers that her grandfather's ramblings of seers and the undead are not creations of his dementia, but the keys to unlocking family secrets long buried.

Family secrets never stay buried.

When Allie Stuart begins researching the seedy underworld of supernatural creatures, vampire machinations, and paranormal counterplots, her search engine leads her straight to Nathan Carter and his merry band of conspiracy theorists.

Facing thirty and feeling overwhelmed by her grandfather’s Alzheimer’s, a relationship that is cooling down instead of heating up, and a detour in her research career, the odd ramblings of the ParaLine group offer an amusing distraction. Nathan Carter, however, has other plans for Allie. When he decides to use her as bait in a war against an undead prince, Allie comes face to face with the reality behind Carter’s narrative. The truth, and the family secrets it reveals, will bring more change than she would have ever wished for.

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER

© copyright 2015 CJ Flynn

Example Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

I DIDN’T SEE weird flashes of light all the time.  Just sometimes, like when a migraine was coming on, or when work stress got the best of me.

Or, like now, when jackass truck drivers cut me off in heavy traffic on rainy Saturday mornings.

My car horn sounded like a cross between a bleating sheep and a dying cat, but I pushed it with all I had.  When the truck driver made eye contact in his mirror, I saw that strange flicker of green again, filling his cab.  I ignored it momentarily, stuck my middle finger out the window and waved.  He returned the gesture, like I'd done something to endanger his life, before gunning his engine and roaring further ahead.  I let him go.  Allie Stuart did not engage simple-minded morons in road rage games.  I returned my eyes to the road, the green flash still lingering at the corners of my vision.

No need to start showing off my own brand of crazy this early in the day. A couple of Tylenol should do the trick once I reached the nursing facility.

My phone rang, the sound muffled by my purse, and it took a few rings' worth of digging for me to find it.

“Hey beautiful.  What are you up to?” Colin's voice was deep and rumbling, a combination that usually made my knees weak, but lately, something had changed.  My boyfriend of three years had seen me through some of the hardest times I'd experienced in my adult life, but I’d felt a distance between us the last few months.  I didn't know the source of my frustration with our relationship, but I was growing desperate to find it.

I pushed the thought away and tried to put a smile in my voice.  “On my way to Park Manor.  My morning sucked, and now I'm running late for my lunch date with Papa."

The trucker was still ahead, but moving further ahead.  I calmed down with each car length that grew between us.  Colin's warm voice helped that along, at least.

"Tell your grandfather I said 'Hello' when you see him."

"I will.  I've been worried about him this week–he's been saying some pretty crazy things on the phone, about my mother and how she died," I said.  A car accident had taken my mother and stepfather ten years ago, but my grandfather's ravings managed to break open the wound every time.  My grandfather's Alzheimer's was getting worse, and though I usually tried not to dwell on the things that came out of his mouth, his stories the past week had been too weird.  “He was ranting about them–saying they had been hunted–that she and David were killed and it wasn't an accident.”

There was a long beat of silence on the other end of the phone.  "You know that's not true, Allie."

I bit my lip as I changed lanes and the pain distracted me from the tears welling in my eyes.  How much longer would I have to ride this roller coaster?  "So, what’s going on there?”

“They’ve scheduled one last meeting for today and I think we’re going to get a decision from the buyer.  It shouldn’t affect tonight.  I can fill Ben in on the details while I'm on the way back and I'll be all yours by the time you get to my place.”

Colin’s business partner and best friend, Ben was meticulous about the details of their meetings, but he was usually pretty good about getting things done when Colin and I had plans.  We were meeting in New York to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, a day early, and I was excited for the distraction.  Maybe a night on the town, just the two of us, would kill two birds with one stone.  Get me out of my own funk and get us out of the funk we'd been in for the last couple months.

“Well, I hope it works out.  It'd be huge for you and I won't have to hear about it anymore.”

Colin laughed.  “I need to get going.  We’re all meeting for lunch before the meeting.”

“A pre-meeting meeting?”

“That’s business, baby.  I’ll see you later,” he said, his voice going soft at the end.

My mouth twisted into a small smile at the butterflies in my stomach.  His words seemed full of promise, and I couldn't deny how badly I needed something–anything–to change.  “Alright, call me when you get into the city.”

"Love you," he said, already starting to sound far away.

"Me too."

* * *

PARK MANOR WAS a little over ten minutes from the town I'd grown up in, and was the best care facility I could afford.  I was lucky enough to have a close friend and colleague working as a physician at Park Manor, who’d bumped us up the waiting list.  Dr. Harding Fields had made the initial transition easy, and had even managed to earn a modicum of trust from my grandfather before his disease had ruined his ability to remember new people.

I’d been stricken by a load of old-fashioned Catholic Guilt as soon as he’d been moved in.  I figured it was a suitable homage to my grandmother, the woman who had instilled it in me so well. In the end, though, the move had been worth it.  The level of care my grandfather received at Park Manor far surpassed anything I could have provided him.

As I pulled the car into a parking spot a few rows back from the main building, I looked at the clock in my dash: 11:48. That gave me enough time to meet my grandfather and take him to lunch.  I wasn't going to be late after all.  Finally, something was going right.

I crossed the parking lot, hunched against the drizzling rain, and stepped off the pavement onto the emerald green grass, hopping over blossoming puddles.  I earned a short reprieve as I passed under a copse of leafy, spring trees and made it to the door with minimal damage.

Thick Persian rugs and stately antique furniture decorated the lobby, making it look more like a hotel than a hospital.  Residents and staff alike were scattered throughout the room's seating areas: clusters of chairs and couches dotted the room, creating little islands on the large, soft rugs.  Saturdays were busier than usual, as the ranks swelled to include visitors.  The aroma of strong coffee brewing at the corner sandwich stand wafted over to me and I longed for it. But I ignored my craving, determined not to be deterred, and strode to the reception desk.

“Hello, Allie.” The receptionist, Kara, granted me a wide smile.

“I didn't know you'd be back so soon," I said, grinning.  "How's the baby?”

“We’re all doing great." Her voice dropped and her eyes danced.  "He keeps his daddy on his toes.”

I laughed.  "Bet he wouldn't give it up for anything."

"Not for a million bucks."  She beamed, and I decided the day might turn out right after all.  "So what can I help you with today?"

“Is my grandfather still upstairs, or has he come down for lunch?"

“I can find out," she replied, smiling.  Kara punched a couple of numbers into the telephone.  "Hey, Sue.  It's Kara.  Allie Stuart is here–” She waited, her mouth still open.  I watched as her sunny expression changed to one of worry.  "Alright, alright.  I'll send her up."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"There's been some kind of incident–she couldn't really explain.  You should get up there." Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed her.  The worry there sent me sprinting for the elevators.

After I jabbed the up arrow, I paced back and forth across the ceramic tile.  Dread flowered in my stomach, growing with each passing moment.  I ran through several possible scenarios–a nasty fall, an attack on a nurse, maybe even a code blue.  I halted my wild imagination and started counting.

Seventeen tiles.  Turn.  Seventeen tiles.  Turn.

I let out a growl of frustration and spun around, darting for the metal door marked "STAIRS."

I first heard the commotion as my feet hit the landing between the third and fourth floors, and my chest constricted in panic.  I stormed up the remaining stairs and burst through the door on the fourth floor.

My grandfather stood at the nurse's station, surrounded by five or six members of the staff and a few residents.  He brandished a cane like a great sword and paced the floor in front of the tall desk.

"There's no reason for this!" my grandfather said.  He was agitated, possibly experiencing paranoia, and clearly in the middle of some kind of lecture.  I stared at him, trying to take in every detail of the situation.

I took a few careful steps, attempting to close the distance between us without alarming him or anyone else.  Ten steps and he still hadn't seen me.  I was close enough to notice that his grey-blue eyes, the color same as mine, were bright with fear and excitement.

A young nurse named Sam approached my grandfather.  He held his hands out in front of him, palms up, as if my grandfather were some crazed dog.  "Sir, if you could calm down enough to tell us what happened..."

"I'll TELL you what happened," my grandfather cried, still waving around the mystery cane; his worsening illness had affected his coordination, but he certainly had no problems walking. The stripes on his pajamas made him seem taller and skinnier than usual.  His white-gray hair stood up all over his head, thick as the day he'd graduated high school, and looking as if he'd run his shaking hands through it more than once.

"That devil woman–" He stabbed the cane in the direction of a short, stout resident with iron gray hair, wearing thick glasses and a white cardigan sweater over her shoulders.  "That devil woman broke into my room and stole a plate of cookies."

My mouth dropped open.  As far as I could see, she was the very picture of a sweet, elderly lady.  Even if she had stolen his cookies, which I highly doubted, this whole business with the cane seemed an overreaction at best.  At worst, this was the sort of episode that could get him thrown out of Park Manor for good.

"I did no such thing," the old woman said, shaking her finger in my grandfather's face.  "I brought you those cookies, you ungrateful old man."

"Liar!  My wife baked me those cookies."  He lunged at her, the cane in his other hand forgotten.  I watched in horror as he grabbed the old woman's shoulder and shook her.

She slapped at his hand and pulled away from him.  "Julia's long gone, Harold.  You're getting crazier every day!"

Another primal scream issued from his throat and my blood pressure ratcheted up a few notches.

"Mr. Quinton, please settle down.  Your granddaughter will be here any minute and she'll be able to explain–" said a middle-aged nurse with a sticky-sweet voice.  She tried to step closer to him, but my grandfather shrieked at the top of his lungs, the sound fierce and animalistic.  Everyone in the circle took a step back.

I figured it was my turn to give it a shot and took several steps forward.  Only a few feet separated us when he finally noticed me.  He let out another screech and swung the cane in a wide arc, missing me by inches.  My heart raced, but I held my ground, believing I was the only one who could get this under control.

“Papa, it’s me, Allie.  I understand there’s been a little confusion today, but I think we can figure out what’s going on.  Just give me your cane, and we’ll see if we can’t sort this out.”  I gave him a small smile, hoping my words would ground him.

In the background, I heard the elevator ding, but I kept my attention focused on my grandfather.  He stared at me, eyes wild, and I didn't see a single flicker of recognition.  I shuffled toward him again and he flung the cane away, charging at me.  I dodged, but not soon enough.  Before I realized what had happened, his fingers clenched around my throat.

"It was you!  She's gone because of you!"  His face was inches from mine.  I felt the heat of his breath on my face as flecks of spittle hit my cheeks.  Pure shock rushed through me as his fingers closed tighter, fingernails digging in, and my breath caught in my throat.  His grip was stronger than I expected, and it was a long moment before I tried to pull away from him.  I looked up at him, into eyes the color of blue steel, and felt hope slide away.  The grandfather that had read me books as a little girl, the grandfather that had given me rides to every soccer practice I'd ever had, was gone.

Strange currents of warmth and calm wafted through me, chasing thoughts of my grandfather away.  It began in my fingertips and work its way through the rest of my body like a weird electrical surge.  I gasped for air as my grandfather’s grip on my throat released.  The surge of oxygen rushed to my head and a savage burst of violet filled my vision.

"If everyone could take a step back.  Calm down.  No need for anyone to get upset," a new voice said, cutting through cacophony of shouts and cries from the people surrounding us.  The warmth in my chest was joined by hope as the tension in the room slipped away.

I turned to my head to the right, toward the voice, and was conscious long enough to notice the strange look of concentration on the face of Harding Fields.  The last thing I felt was regret I'd neglected to take that Tylenol after all.

Chapter 2

I WAS STARTLED into awareness by the crash of breaking glass.  When I opened my eyes, I saw Harding standing near a counter littered with the remnants of a broken coffee mug.  He swore a few times as another coffee cup rolled toward the floor.  It fell and another loud crash rang out. Sharp pain burst at my temples and I shut my eyes as bursts of violet burned across my vision.  A groan escaped my lips.

"You're awake now, I see," Harding said, as I strained to open my eyes.  He crossed the room and sat on the edge of a coffee table next to me.  "Are you alright?"

I tried to remember what had happened, but the headache blocked out anything my senses tried to tell me.  I struggled for a moment to get some bearing on the situation before giving up and pinching the bridge of my nose.  "Where are we?"

Harding looked away from me, as if he too had noticed we were somewhere other than fourth floor lobby.  With a sideways grin that belied the exhaustion etched around his eyes, he patted my leg and waved his hand toward the far wall, loaded down with medical posters and a crowded bulletin board.  "We're in the staff lounge."

I was curled up on an old leather couch.  A row of lockers stretched away from us toward a little kitchenette on the far wall.  I had no memory of how I'd ended up here and my head throbbed as I searched for any memories.

"What happened?"  I asked.  I couldn't seem to clear away the cobwebs from my brain.  It was like chasing shadows.

"Can you tell me what you remember?"  he asked, reaching forward to place a cool hand on my forehead and brushing my hair from my face.

I closed my eyes and tried to recall what had happened.  My morning had been rough; I could remember problems with my dishwasher, some bad traffic trying to get to Park Manor, and a hurried conversation with the receptionist.  Once I hit the point in my memory of trying to deal with my grandfather, things got hazy.  My throat was killing me, aching each time I tried to swallow.  I relayed what I could remember to Harding, and reflexively reached for my neck, trying to remember exactly what my grandfather had done.

Harding grabbed my hands and the memory of my grandfather's fingers dimmed.  "Your grandfather's been taken to Park Falls Hospital, Allie.  They're going to hold him for at least seventy-two hours, in the psych ward."

I blinked at him.  Why were they holding him?  The question flitted away from me.  If I could just push past this headache…

"Allie?"

I shook my head and mentally picked up the thread of thought.  "Why are they holding him?"

Harding's eyebrows knitted together.  "His outburst.  He tried to attack a staff member, but we were able to get the situation under control."  He stood up from the coffee table and began rummaging through a doctor's bag.  "I'm going to check you over once more, but I think you'll be fine.  The excitement must have been too much for you.  One moment, I saw you talking to your grandfather, and the next, you were flat on the floor."

I groaned.  How embarrassing.  So much for being able to control the situation, keep my grandfather calm.

His eyes dropped away from mine as he began the expected battery of tests.  Again with the eyes.  Blood pressure.  Temperature.  My mind catalogued each task as he worked, but it was like watching television with a layer of petroleum jelly smeared over the screen.  I brushed my fingers over my throat, knowing there had to be some significance.  Harding's words travelled through my brain and I moved my fingers across my face, rubbing at my eyes.  I was missing something, or Harding was leaving something out.

As his hand found my wrist, measuring my pulse, I saw another violet starburst across my vision.  That same violet etched around Harding in a dull glow, just for the briefest of moments, before my eyes watered and the strange color disappeared.  A soothing wave of warm energy passed through my system.  Harding was famous for his bedside manner.  Able to calm even the most anxious patients, his voice and hands were trusted to repair any situation.

"Something isn't right, Harding.  You're not telling me something, or my brain is just finally broken from all this stress.  I wasn't at the elevator when you came in.  I felt my grandfather... I saw you–" I saw purple, I thought to myself.  Yep.  Brain.  Broken.

He released my wrist and helped me sit up.  "Let's focus on what comes next, okay?  I'm going to make some calls, see if I can find out who he's working with at General, and we'll go from there."

Another wave of calmness washed over me.  This was what I adored about my friend.  Steadfast, caring.  He was right, of course.  My grandfather had had enough outbursts over the years that even I couldn't remember every detail.  The scratch in my throat was probably just a cold coming on.  I touched the tender skin of my neck as Harding stood up and turned away from me.

Cold dread passed over me, as I relived my grandfather's fingertips clutching at me.  I let out a little gasp and my own hands tightened.  "Harding."

He turned to look at me, his gaze weary and guarded.  "Are you okay?"

"Are you sure you're telling me everything?  I swear to god, I can't shake this feeling that my grandfather–" I cut myself off and blinked back tears.  Surely my memory was off, I'd hit my head on the floor...

Harding let out a sigh and settled next to me on the couch.

"What?"  I asked.  My brain stumbled over the memory of the angry look on my grandfather's face, over the harsh words I couldn't even remember.

"I'm sorry, Allie.  I haven’t told you everything."

"What are you saying?"

"He did attack you.  He did.  And you blacked out, and you didn't seem to remember.  The finer details didn't seem important–"

"The finer details?"  The volume of my voice ratcheted a notch above conversational tones.  I pushed myself off the couch and stared down at him.  "He attacked me!  How is that not important?"

He rubbed his hands over his face.  "Because it affects you more than it does him!  He won't remember it, and you will.  It's not where our focus should be, and I think you know that deep down.  You know it wasn't really him.  Your grandfather would never knowingly hurt you."

I went over the scene again as things began to clear.  My grandfather had attacked, his fingers clenched and purposeful.  I remembered how that strange calm had fallen upon the room like a heavy blanket.  I could remember what my grandfather's hands felt like, cool and dry, softer than should be possible for a man his age, but...nothing else.  A flash of fear and then that calm.  Something still wasn't right.  I halted mid-pace and turned to look at him.

"You did something.  When my grandfather... you did something.  You weren't there and it was hell, and then suddenly everything was okay."

Harding reached out to steady me and shook his head.  "Don't be ridiculous, Allie.  You bumped your head when you blacked out, but you're going to be fine.  You'll be back to normal in no time."  His face softened.  "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what happened right away, but I really was hoping that bump on your head would let you forget.  I know it was scary for you, but nothing out of the ordinary happened.  You know how our patients are, and what kinds of things go on here every day.  We're trained in handling situations like this.  Use a calm voice.  Be authoritative but friendly.  I was doing my job."

"No, Harding.  This was something else."  My mind was clearing and suspicion tightened my chest.  Something strange had happened, something more than just a calm, but firm tone of voice.  I couldn't shake the thought, even though everything Harding said seemed perfectly logical.

"Allie, listen to yourself.  What explanation could there possibly be?"  Harding rested his hand on my shoulder and gave me the sort of smile I'd give the average crazy person.

The questions rushing through my brain scattered again and I frowned.  I had never been so mentally disorganized in my entire life.   "I don't know.  I've never felt anything like that."

His hand slid down my arm.  My thoughts slowed as I traced his face.  His cheeks and ears were red, and his breathing seemed quick.  A sheen of sweat stood out at his temple.

"You're sweating," I said.  My voice rang in my ears and I dropped my gaze from his face.

"It's warm in here, don't you think?"  His voice was low and serene.

"Oh.  I guess."  The air around me cleared as my headache finally melted away.  The strange violet color flitting at the corners of my vision dissipated as my mind hefted off the last of the confusion and suspicion.  I smiled at my longtime friend.

Of course, I was just worn out from the whole thing.  Nothing weird had happened, at least, nothing weirder than my grandfather threatening everyone with a cane and trying to choke the life out of me.  I pushed that thought away and did a quick physical inventory.  With my head finally clearing up, I felt worlds better.   "I'm going to be okay, you said?"

"Shouldn't have so much as a lingering headache."  He gave my upper arm a squeeze before taking a step back from me.

"Can you tell me what happened?  Why was he freaking out?"  I stretched my shoulders back and a surge of energy rippled throughout my body as normal feeling returned to my limbs.

"Carol Hawthorne was the nurse on duty.  She said she wasn't sure what triggered it, but he woke up around three and went pretty wild.  Made a pretty big mess in his room. They got him sedated, but it wasn't enough.  It's been a long morning, between his confusion over what year it is and the drastic mood swings."

I clenched my teeth and ran my fingers through my hair.  My brain shifted into high gear, moving away from what had happened to what was going to happen. He was losing any sense of time, all control of his emotions, and was confused about people and places.  Alzheimer's left him nowhere to go but down.

"Why didn't they call?" I asked.

"I'm not sure they thought it necessary at first."

"What's going to happen next?"

"I have no idea."  Harding blew a sharp breath through his lips and shrugged. "Won't know anything until tomorrow."

"This is a nightmare."  Everything replayed in my head again: my grandfather with the cane and a wild look on his face, his insane ramblings, and the weird way everything seemed to...deflate.  The memory of it made my skin itch.  Whatever had caused my grandfather to go off, I hoped the doctors at the hospital would find a way to prevent it from happening again.  I didn't think I could stomach another violent outburst.

Harding watched me, looking exhausted, but determined.  "It feels like a nightmare right now, but I've seen worse.  We'll get through this."

My agitation subsided and the errant thoughts of the afternoon drifted away again.  I turned away and walked back toward the sofa, but didn't sit down.

"I need to get out of here.  I need to go home."  There was nothing I could do and I had no plans of loitering at Park Manor, or in Park Falls.  Period.  If my grandfather had had a run-of-the-mill meltdown, I might hover around to see what I could do for him, but the feel of his fingers around my throat wasn't something I could just wipe away.    "No visiting hours, right?  Is there some paperwork or something I need to sign?"

"Nothing that has to be taken care of today."  He leaned closer to me and his face softened.  "Are you going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine.  I'm going into the city tonight."  I took a deep breath and gave him a tight smile, trying to maintain some level of composure.

I left the lounge after saying goodbye, trying to remind myself that no matter how upset I was by the entire situation, Harding was my friend.  He would do the best he could.  I was powerless to do anything but wait.

Blood throbbed in my ears as I felt a high-pressure storm system push against the backs of my eyes.  By the time I was in my car, tears streamed down my cheeks and my hands were trembling.  I dropped the keys twice before I was able to start the car.

Chapter 3

THE TRAIN ARRIVED at the West Fourth Street station–the closest stop to Colin's West Village apartment–shortly after eight.  I clutched my bag to my chest and allowed the crowd to push me out of the car.  I strode through the throngs of people flooding the city on the first warm evening of the year.

The smells of the neighborhood met me as I ascended the stairs to the sidewalk: exhaust fumes and hot dogs mingled with the dampness of a late afternoon rain.  I craned my neck to see over the pack of pedestrians inundating the sidewalk.  I was still holding out hope that Colin would meet me at the station, even though it wasn't what we'd originally planned.  A pleasant surprise like that would help me forget about the entire day.

Spotting no familiar faces, I pushed on as I fished my phone from my pocket to check for messages.

Nothing.

The ride to the West Village was so uneventful that I tipped the cabbie an extra dollar and practically hopped from the car.  As I fumbled for the key to the front door of the building, an angry looking man juggling an armful of flowers approached me.

"You Allie Stuart?" he asked, his voice a deep grumble as he noted my overnight bag.

"Lucky guess," I answered.

He shoved the flowers at me and frowned as I nearly dropped them.  "Remind your boyfriend this is the only time I deliver this late for him.  The extra tip ain't worth it."

As he stomped off, I wondered what the hell that had been about. I couldn't help but smile as the heady smell of gardenia and roses invaded my senses.  So far, so good.  I shifted my bag and plucked the envelope from the bouquet, anxious to read the note.

Please don't kill me.  Can't make it in tonight, but I'll be there first thing in the morning. Love you.

The note was sloppily written and did the contents no favors.  No doubt it was the work of the angry florist, but it still ratcheted up my annoyance level two or three notches.  Is that what he expected?  That I would just sit around tonight and wait for him until tomorrow?  We had been through this before, and every time he canceled a date, he overcompensated with huge bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolate I could never finish.  None of it made up for the lost time.

I turned around and jammed my keys in the lock.  After hefting my bag up four flights of stairs, I made my way into his apartment and slammed the door shut behind me.  Muttering, I tossed my bag in the guest bedroom and stomped across the polished wood floors to the pristine, white kitchen.

Of all the conceited… such a prick… on my birthday…

I stared down at the flowers.  The right thing to do would be to find a vase, get them into water, and take them as good intentions.  They would only serve as a reminder though, of the feelings in my stomach right now, and of all the other times this had happened before.

So much for a fresh start, so much for getting things back on track.  I looked at the clock, trying to gauge what time I'd make it back to the station in Poughkeepsie if I caught the next train out.  My plans for the night were ruined and it seemed like righteous revenge to ruin whatever plans Colin had for tomorrow.  My vision blurred as I stared at the digital numbers on the microwave.

The thud of the flowers landing in the garbage can echoed in the empty apartment.  As the sound came back to me, I let go of the tears I was holding back and sank to a stool in front of the bar. The bouquet of pink and white flowers, at first so beguiling, now seemed a mockery of the hopes I'd had for my night.  I laid my head down on the cool countertop and allowed the sobs to overtake me.

When I was finally cried out, I stood up and went to the sink to wash my face.  As I dried the last of the tears away, I looked around his apartment until my eyes fell on a stack of papers on the coffee table.  Even from my spot in the kitchen, I could make out the name of his publishing company, and it caused my burning anger to resurface.  Colin's work had taken up more and more of his time in the past few months, and it didn't take a genius to understand it was by his own design.  He loved meeting new people, making connections, traveling.  It was his dream job, and everything else seemed to come second.

I let out a sharp hiss of air as an errant thought popped into my head.  There I sat, taking pity on myself for all the awful things that had happened to me.  Not just that day, but in the weeks and months leading up to it.  I had been sitting around, wallowing in all the shit that just seemed to keep piling on, but I hadn't really done anything about it.  Colin was most likely out partying with his new clients and I was sitting around as the clock ticked closer and closer to the end of a beautiful night in the liveliest city in the world.  Straightening my back, I took out my phone and scrolled through the phone book.  My eyes fell on a name and a small smile crept across my face.  Perfect.

In the years I'd been with Colin, I'd grown to consider Ben, his best friend, my good friend as well.  We shared a love of old books and greasy pizza.  I didn't even fault him for his apparently deep-seated need to talk over movies.  As their business had grown in the last year, I'd spent less time than usual with Ben, and I couldn't deny the part of me that longed to hang out with him and catch up.  If Colin decided to take issue, he could shove it.

After a few rings, Ben answered.  "Hello?"

"Hey!" I practically shouted at him, determined to pack as much cheer and not-gonna-take-this-shit-anymore-attitude into my voice as I could.

"Hey, Allie.  What's going on?"

I fumbled for a second, trying to figure out what to say next.  Placing the call–making the decision to get off my ass–had seemed the most important step.  The follow-up was somewhat lacking.  "Um… well, Colin isn't going to make it in, I guess, and I'm sitting here all dressed up with no place to go."

There was a moment of silence on the line.  "Oh."

I hadn’t expected that reaction, but then, I wasn't sure what I thought would happen.  Trying to save face, I pushed on.  "So, I thought I'd call and see what you were doing.  We haven't done anything in awhile, just the two of us, and I thought it might be fun."

"Oh." That word again.  "Yeah, that'd be okay."

"Really?"

"I guess.  You're right.  It's been a while."  His voice seemed to perk up the longer we talked.  “Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Yeah, that'd be fine.  You pick the place, okay?  I hate deciding on a place to eat, and I don't know what Colin had in mind."

He laughed.  "I can figure something out. Give me about forty-five minutes?"

"No problem."  I sounded more confident than I felt, not sure how I would kill forty-five minutes, but I was growing excited at the idea of getting out after all.

* * *

IF COLIN LOOKED like summer on legs, Ben was his moody, darkest winter counterpart.  When I opened the door to Colin's apartment, I had to hold back a gasp.  Ben was a good-looking man, but there was something about his longer-than-usual hair and the way his tie was just a little loose that made me take a second glance.  As long as I'd known him, he'd been a serial monogamist, but it didn't take much to figure out why women kept falling at his feet.  Even if I couldn't have my good-looking man on my arm for my long anticipated birthday dinner, I was more than willing to accept the company of this one.

He held his arm out to me as I locked the apartment door.  "I know this great place, not too far from here."

"Honestly, I'm so hungry I don't care where we eat.  If it's a close walk, it gets major brownie points.  I don't even care if we have to eat with our hands."

Ben's laugh filled the small hallway outside Colin's apartment.  It made me happy that he remembered the night that Colin and I forced our best friends to accompany us out.  My friend Laura had picked an Ethiopian restaurant and hadn't given a thought to the traditional methods of eating.  She'd ruined her manicure and complained for weeks.

I turned my head and looked at him.  Despite my initial thoughts when I'd met him at the door, I realized upon closer inspection that he looked as if he'd had a rough couple weeks.  He was thinner, like he hadn't been eating well, and his skin was pallid, in high contrast to his blue-black hair.  I wondered what the past few weeks had been like for him, wondered how he'd handled the stress of preparing for the big deal in Philadelphia.  His relaxed, smooth face provided no answers and I resigned myself to ignorance.  No matter how badly I wanted to know, I couldn't bring myself to ask.  I needed this night to be about something other than Colin.  I took a deep breath, forced the thoughts of him out of my head, and focused on having a good time with Ben.

He held the door to the street open for me and I stepped into the warm May air with a little thrill of anticipation.  The streets were alive with the foot traffic of a busy Saturday night.  The sound of a lone guitar in a nearby park mingled with the gentle clop of a horse-drawn carriage giving tourists a jaunt through the Village.  Colin's family money had afforded him an amazing place in one of my favorite spots in the world.  It was a definite perk, and the thrill of being part of the city for a night let me forgive him a little for his transgression.  I was even willing to forget about it the rest of the night, for my own sanity, and for his own safety.

“You’ll love eating at this place," Ben said, breaking through my thoughts.  "It’s been in the neighborhood forever. My mother knew the owners when she lived here.”

“What kind of place is it?”

“French, but not stuffy.  Their specialty is seafood–mussels.”  The excitement in his voice fueled his pace as we walked a little faster.

Good food in great restaurants had a way of erasing even the worst of my moods.  “I’m starving.”

Before I knew it, we arrived at the restaurant, a little place called Bistrot Odette, tucked between a shoddy-looking art "gallery" and a bookstore.  The front windows, arranged on either side of the single, frosted glass door, were filled with old, purple velvet drapes and fake ivy in gold planters.  It looked like the perfect place to settle in and forget the troubles of day-to-day life.

I grabbed Ben’s arm as he reached across me to open the door.  "Before we go in, I have one request.”

Ben smiled, his warm eyes lighting up in the golden glow that filtered onto the sidewalk through the restaurant door.  "Sure, Allie.  Anything."

It seemed vital that he understand at least a little bit what I was trying to accomplish here.  I wanted a fun night.  If I didn't head him off at the pass… "I don't want to talk about Colin, okay?  I know how this is going to go otherwise, and I don't want a lecture about the communication issues we're having.  Again."

He blushed.  "You asked."

He was referencing a late night phone call a couple months back.  Remembering my tears and the empty bottle of wine, I blushed and waved him off.  "I know I did, but that was then and this is now.  He's off-limits tonight."

He held up his hands.  "Understood."

"Good.  Now open the door for me.  No need to be rude."  I grinned, hoping we could keep things light.

He opened the door in a mock-grand sort of way and ushered me into a tiny, noisy dining room.  There were six tables set in the middle of the room. Rather than the dark, private place I had envisioned, it was casual and cozy.  Tiny white lights threaded through wood slats on the ceiling bathed the entire dining room in a warm glow.

A small, redheaded woman bustled toward us as the three waiters in the dining room looked up.  “Benjamin! How wonderful to see you tonight!”

“Bonsoir, Madame Rollin.  Comment allez-vous?"

"Tres bien, merci."  She smiled up at him, her light blue eyes twinkling.  Her red hair was graying and she looked to be about sixty.  Her flowing skirt and a long, trailing gave the illusion she was still moving, even though she was firmly anchored to Ben's arm.  She turned her smile on me.  "Who is your lovely friend, Benjamin?"

"I'm sorry; this is my good friend, Allie.  Her boyfriend is my partner, Colin.”

“Enchantée! Colin is a very nice young man.  Very handsome.  He is a lucky one to have you.”

The older woman captivated me; her accent, although barely noticeable, added an ethereal quality to her already light and airy voice.  She escorted us to the last available table, a spot in the back corner of the room.  We squeezed around it, our elbows bumping.  She placed menus in front of us and relayed that night's specials.  I watched Ben as she spoke, unable to follow a word she said. Leaving us with a wink and a bottle of house red, she promised to send someone over to take our orders.

“I can’t believe I’ve never noticed this place,” I said, watching as he filled my glass.

“I think that’s sort of the point.  No need for everyone to get wind of it.”

"My grandfather would have loved it here," I said.  "He met my grandmother when he was attending school in France.  It was always his favorite cuisine."  Was. The words felt flat and strange, as if he were already dead.  When had my mind switched gears, as if I no longer considered him truly present?  The thought of it was like a bucket of water on my face and I sagged my shoulders.  The whole day wouldn't be so easy to forget after all.

"Did you go see him today?"

I nodded as I took a long sip of my wine.  The ghosts of his fingertips were on my neck and I closed my eyes in an attempt to block out the image as the wine warmed my throat.  This is not what I wanted to revisit.  I'd take a thousand purple bouquets with hasty notes rather than relive the confrontation with my grandfather.

"How was he?"

I shook my head.  "It was not a good day.  Not at all."

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now–" I pinched the bridge of my nose as memories of the day pulsed in my brain.  I couldn't do this and still have a decent night.  Time to deflect, move on, march forward.  I flipped open the menu.  "What do you recommend?"

Ben didn’t answer right away, and I kept my eyes trained on the page in front of me.

He reached across the table and pointed at the page in front of me.  “Their mussels are out of this world; they make them about eight different ways and all of them are equally amazing."   His voice had taken on an odd quality, as if he were reciting a restaurant review.  "I like the Saffron Mussels the best but, if you’re not feeling up for seafood, the soufflés are excellent."

I ran my eyes over the page, dizzy at all the French.  Safran popped out at me and I decided on Ben's recommendation.  "That sounds good."

I kept my eyes on the menu, reluctant to look up.  My grandfather's panicked, rage-contorted face jumped into my head and I hoped Ben wouldn't press me about my day.  I just needed a few moments to collect my thoughts and file them away, and I could get on with the night.  There wasn't really an escape from what had happened, but I was equally aware that there wasn't much I could do about it tonight.  My grandfather had been the type of man who lived in the moment; he loved freely and tried to fill every moment with some little measure of happiness.  He would heartily disapprove of dwelling on situations that couldn't be helped.

My thoughts were interrupted when a waiter came to take our order.  Ben ordered for us, and for a brief moment, the exhaustion that etched his face lifted.  He talked and joked with the server, but another awkward silence descended after the man left.

"Um, I'll be right back, okay?” Ben said.  “I just need to use the restroom."

I looked up at him and nodded, trying to figure out where all the vim and vigor I had felt outside had disappeared to.  Following Ben with my eyes, I took a chance to stare out across the restaurant, taking in the comfortable scene all around us and wondered what I had to do to be a part of it.

Madame Rollin fluttered from table to table, her long, silky scarf trailing out behind her.  She talked with her patrons, filling their glasses as she went around the room.  When she reached me, she did the same, a smile gracing her elegant features.  Contentment blossomed in my chest as little pale yellow stars danced across my eyes.  I gave her a weak smile in return, hoping there wasn't something in the restaurant that would bring on a headache.  She placed a hand on my shoulder and peered down at me.

"You seemed so sad from across the room, and I cannot allow it.  Tell me why you look this way."

Her words surprised me, but I was even more surprised that I responded so openly.  "My grandfather is ill, and he had a rough day.  I'm here for my birthday, and instead of being with my boyfriend, I'm with Ben.  No matter what I do, it just feels like one thing after another keeps piling on me and I can't get out from underneath it all."

She stared at me for a long moment before shaking her head.  "Un malheur ne vient jamais seul.  How do you Americans say… When it rains, it pours.  This happens all the time, to everyone.  You can either do something about it, or not.  My mother taught me you should drink some wine and forget it once in a while.  Wine tonight, worries tomorrow."

I laughed and nodded.  "That seems like good advice."

"Whether it is good or not, I cannot say.  All I know is that you're going to have some good food, drink some good wine and spend the evening with a charming boy.  Do not think too hard."  Her voice raised a little as Ben approached the table and she gave me a small wink before clearing out of his way.  "The wine.  Drink more."  She turned her back on us then, leaving Ben staring at me with a raised eyebrow.

I couldn't help but sigh as I took a sip of my drink, inhaling the sweet, pungent fragrances from the glass.  "This whole place smells amazing.  It really does remind me of the food my grandfather used to make when he wanted to doing something special."

"Is that what you were talking about with Madame Rollin?"

"No, not quite."

"What then?"

"She said I should drink more wine."  I swirled my glass around, and the last of my sour mood disappeared.  "And that you're charming.  She's right on both counts."  Wine tonight, worry tomorrow, indeed.

He took a long drink and poured another glass.  I watched him drink almost a third of it before I slid my own glass closer.

Chapter 4

“I MIGHT BE a little drunk,” I said.  The world spun and the floor tilted beneath me.  We had spent three hours at the restaurant and consumed way too much wine.  I had taken Madame's advice to heart, but a little voice in the back of my head warned me I'd probably regret it.

“At least that makes three of us,” Ben replied.

“Three?” I asked, looking around.  I stumbled as the edge of my shoe caught in a crack.  We were just a block from Colin’s apartment and I had every intention of making it there without falling on my face.

Ben caught my arm and righted me.  He grinned and help up three fingers.  “Two.  I mean two.”

I giggled.   “Don’t scare me like that.  I thought maybe we'd picked up a straggler.” I looked down the street for oncoming traffic as we prepared to cross.

“S’rry.  I was never good at math.”

By the time we reached Colin’s street, another wave of tipsiness washed over me and I began giggling.  The scent of spring in the air brought forth age-old emotions of renewal and energy and I felt giddy.

“What a day, my friend.  What a day.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben asked, glancing over at me as we walked.

"Yeah.  It really was a terrible day.  Too many bad things.  Too much...disruption.  But right now, I feel fine.  Do you think that's a good thing, or a bad thing?”

We stopped in front of the apartment building and Ben turned to face me.  His smile was lopsided.

“I guess that depends.  I consider it a good thing.”

"You're sure it doesn't mean I'm ill-adjusted or something?  Like, would a normal person have a nervous breakdown after this sort of day?"

"How do I know?  Maybe a normal person wouldn't even have had this kind of day. Which, by the way, is still mostly a mystery to me."

On impulse, I hugged him.  “What are you plans for the rest of the night?  Are you meeting up with some hot date?”

He shook his head.  “No way.  I'm heading home after I drop you off.”

“Why don’t you come upstairs for a while and watch a movie with me?”  That little voice peeped up again, reminding me not to do something I'd regret.  I didn't think I could regret anything, not really.  The evening had turned out better than I'd hoped.  Good food, good wine, good company.  Not a total waste by a long shot, and I didn't want it to end.  If I went upstairs and crawled in bed, the morning would arrive in a flash and I'd have to start all over.  "I mean it.  I’m not even close to tired yet."

“I’m not sure…” His gaze shifted from side to side, as if someone were watching.

“It’s no big deal.”  I gave him my best pleading look.  "Besides, it's my birthday.  It's not polite to say no."

"Your birthday isn't until tomorrow."

"Humor me.  It's almost midnight."

He shrugged and followed me up the steps to the door.  The small black and white tiles in the hallway set my head spinning and I had to concentrate to get up the narrow flights of stairs.  In a few twirling minutes, we were in the apartment.  I shrugged out of my coat and headed for the guest bedroom.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.  Pick something to watch.”

I was anxious to get out of my clothes and uncomfortable heels.  After I'd changed into pajamas, I picked up an old, framed picture on the dresser.  The picture had been taken three years ago, a few months after Colin and I had started dating, at a birthday party for the mutual friend who had introduced us.  We were on the beach, with the water at our backs, dark in the sunset.  Even though it had been late in the summer, I was still pale and my hair was tied up in a messy knot on my head.  Colin was tall, muscular.  His sun-golden hair was a deep contrast to his cool blue eyes.  We looked young, and extremely optimistic.

Could we get that back?  There was a part of me that dreaded what the next morning would bring, when he finally showed up.  Could I go along with whatever he had planned and try to forget how I'd felt when I'd received that bouquet?  If only he'd tried to actually talk to me.  Didn't I deserve a certain level of personal contact after all these years?

I slid my phone from my purse and dialed his number.  It rang three times before going to voicemail.  I hung up without leaving a message.

The flood of emotion I’d been holding back all night flowed out of me.  I sat on the bed, dropping the frame next to me, and held my head in my hands.  How many times now had he skipped one of our nights together?  A dozen?  More? How many fights had we had over this very thing?

The alcohol I’d had with dinner amplified my grief, my anger at Colin.  I was embarrassed at myself.  A sob bubbled in my chest and I took several shuddering breaths.  I almost didn't hear the soft knock on the bedroom door.

I sniffed and wiped my hands across my face, not caring how I looked.  I opened the door to Ben.  His eyes were clearer and the redness in his face was fading.

“You all right?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

I nodded my head, and then reconsidered.  “Not really.”

“What happened today?” he asked.

I took a deep, shaky breath and motioned for him to follow me back into the living room.  Breakdown interrupted, my thoughts slowed to a translatable speed.  I grabbed a throw and settled myself into one corner of the low, squishy couch, while Ben settled into the other side.

“It was one of those days.  Everything went wrong.  I overslept, and when I got to Park Manor, Papa was in the middle of some kind of... episode.  Some run-in with another resident.”  The last moments of the encounter replayed in my mind.  "I tried to step in... he came at me."  I stopped and ran my hand over my throat–would I ever shake the memory of what his hands had felt like?

As Ben watched me, I wondered how much I could avoid saying.  "He grabbed my throat and after that, everything gets hazy."

“How is he?  How are you?"  His face was as transparent as plastic wrap.  I saw surprise, worry, fear... maybe even anger.

“He's okay.  I'm okay.  Harding got everything under control." I paused, remembering the way everyone had grown so calm. "It was strange–" I cut myself off.  Harding's bizarre behavior was something I'd have to spend time on later.  I'd never known him to keep the truth from me before.

Ben wasn’t a fan of Harding, though as far as I knew, they had only met once.  "Will they kick him out?”

“I’m not sure.  Three different doctors will evaluate him, before someone makes a decision I have no say in.”  I looked down at my hands, hating to even think about what the next few days would bring.

“Everything will be alright."  His words seemed dim and far away.  He didn’t know what to do about the situation any more than I did.

"I don't know if I can believe that."  I pulled my legs closer to my chest.  "I have no idea what they’ll decide."

“I’m so sorry."  Ben reached across the couch and grabbed my hand, squeezing it before dropping it to the blanket.  "Is there anything I can do?”

I laughed.  “Yeah, give your best friend some lessons on how to be a decent boyfriend, okay?  Let him know it's not okay to blow off your girlfriend the night before her birthday.  That threw a wrench in my whole evening."

His cheeks reddened and he bowed his head.  “I can’t believe he stayed.”  He looked away.

“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning closer to him.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, tell me," I prodded.  "Do you know something else?  Something you're not telling me?”  Terrible thoughts raced through my head and I pushed back a surge of dread.  Was there more to the story?  Was there…? I swallowed the thought and closed my eyes.  There couldn't be someone else.  It just didn't add up.  But…

“It’s nothing, Allie.”

“Ben.  You don't get to do that.  Not today.”

He sighed and was silent for several moments.  When I began to think that I should let it drop, he turned and looked at me.

“I don’t understand him.  I just don't.  I can't imagine having what you guys have and not trying to take care of it–” He looked over toward a set of double-paned windows that overlooked the street below.  "This is a big city to have no one to turn to.  My family lives too far upstate for me to see all the time, and work keeps me too busy to have a lot of friends.  All I'm saying is, if I knew I had someone waiting for me at home, you couldn’t keep me from the first train back, special occasion or not.”  Ben's voice had dipped low, as if he'd forgotten I was even there.

His words struck something in me I didn't know existed and there was a slight flutter in my stomach.  Ashamed at my own reaction to what he'd shared, I tried to think about what he was really saying.  My heart broke for him as I imagined him coming home every night to an empty apartment.  He was one of the best people I knew; he remembered every birthday and tried to check in if he knew something big was happening in my life.  He'd even made the trip out to visit my grandfather several times.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even brought him up."  It didn't feel like the right thing to say at all.  I frowned.  "You deserve to have someone waiting for you at home, Ben.  I hope you know that."

He turned his gaze away from the windows and stared at me without speaking for several moments.  "I'm glad someone thinks so."

"Of course I think so.  Anybody would be lucky to have you."

He gave me a half-smile.  "I wouldn't wish me on anybody.  No one should have to put up with how much I work, or the kind of company I keep.  Can you imagine some lightweight trying to keep up with the likes of you and Colin?  This conversation right here is a perfect example.  I'm drunk as a skunk.  Put right under the table by a hundred pound girl."

I gave him a good whack on the arm and mentally forgave him for trying to change the subject.  "Oh, whatever.  I've met some of the girls you bring around.  That last one would put any red-blooded Irishman to shame."  I pictured the tall, willowy blond he'd been dating a few months back.  Big boobs, long hair, and in the three meals I'd shared with her, I'd only seen the intake of an awful lot of liquid calories.  She'd been a world-class flirt, too.  Lots of draping all over people.  People like Colin.  I scowled.  "She seemed like kind of a slut, though."

Ben's eyebrows shot up and a look of shock registered in his eyes.  "Really?  Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

I felt blood rush to my cheeks.  "That's a horrible thing to say.  I'm so sorry," I whispered, holding my hand against my mouth.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned away from me.  It wasn't the reaction I'd expected; none of his usual humor, or even anger.  Just silence.

I knew better than to give him shit about the girls he dated.  “That was out of line.  I'm sure she was really nice.  And probably really great at checkers." Just keep digging a bigger hole, Allie.  Good work.  "I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

He pushed himself off of the couch without even looking at me.  Not good.  “Forget it.  I should get going.  It's late, and you need to get to sleep.  Colin probably has some huge day planned to make up for screwing up tonight.  He'll be pissed if you're too tired and hung over to really appreciate it.”

There was something in his tone that made me regret that our conversation had gone so off track.  He didn't deserve any shit about any of those girls.  I knew my discontent with Colin was making me trash talk his relationships, but it didn't matter where it came from.  If that girl had been a flirt, then I was being a world-class bitch.  "I'm so sorry, Ben.  Please just forget I said anything."

“Don't apologize."  He finally smiled at me again, but it didn't do anything to hide the sadness in his eyes.  "I'm the one who's sorry–I'm acting like an idiot.  I should go, though.  I don't want to make your day any worse.”

The thought of him leaving was unbearable, not like this.  We'd always gotten along so well, and I didn't want my anger at Colin to damage my friendship with Ben.  “No, please stay,” I said as I stood up and put my hand on his arm.

His eyes darkened again, but this time it was different.  A look I’d never seen and couldn’t name clouded his face.  “I can’t.”

“I don’t want to be here alone; I hate it here by myself."  I felt like a child, but couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of me.  "Don’t go.  We'll watch a movie."

He hesitated for a moment before setting his coat back down.  “Okay.  But for the record, she was completely lousy at checkers.”

* * *

BY THE TIME the movie had ended, the lovely buzz of the wine had worn away and I was left with a cotton-stuffed head and the feeling something had changed.  The feeling that things weren't going to be the same in the morning.

I uncurled my legs from underneath me and stood from the chair.  Ben had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, one leg hanging off the couch and a long arm looped around his head.  I covered him with a blanket and crept from the room, shivering as I padded across the cold floorboards.

I crawled into bed–Colin's bed.  No matter what happened, no matter where I'd stashed my suitcase, I couldn't bring myself to crash in the guest room.  My mind raced.  Something fundamental had changed.

Would tonight be the last time I slept in this bed?

* * *

I WAS AWAKENED the next morning by a not-so-gentle shaking of my shoulder.  “Allie.  Allie, what’s going on?  What was Ben doing here?”

I rubbed a hand over my face, blinking several times.  I was in Colin's room and I vaguely remembered stumbling into bed sometime around three in the morning.  What time is it?  “What?”

“Why was Ben here?”  Colin leaned over me, an angry look on his handsome face.

His angry look roused me from the last refuge of sleep.  I glared at him, my own anger rising to match what I heard in his voice.  “What are you talking about?  Why are you mad at me?”

He gave me a look like I had three heads.  “Didn’t you get the flowers?  I thought we could do something today.”  He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest.  He'd probably been drinking the night before, but with his deep golden hair and perfectly coordinated forest green t-shirt, he still managed to look just short of perfect.

It totally pissed me off even more.  “Of course I got your flowers!  And what does that have to do with Ben?  I showed up here last night, all dressed up with no place to go, and he was nice enough to take me out for dinner.  For my birthday.  Which is today, by the way.”  I pushed against his shoulders, aghast at his behavior.  As soon as he moved, I slid away and shoved back the feather comforter.  My feet hit the cold wood floors and I let out a little yelp.

Colin ignored me.  “He can be such a sneaky bastard.”

“Colin!”

He set his jaw in a firm line and made a sour face.  “Oh, come on.  He was still here when I got home, reeking of booze.  Probably thrilled I couldn't be here last night.  I swear to god, Allie, if anything happened between you two–”

It was that comment that really set me off.  I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.  “How can you even think that?  He was a good friend to take me out for dinner.  You couldn't even be bothered to do more than pay some pissed off florist to deliver wilted flowers and the worst card ever written.”

I stormed across the hall to the guest bedroom and slammed the door before Colin could even reply.

He knocked on the door as I wrenched on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.  “Please come out, Allie.  We need to talk.  I’m so sorry–for everything.  I should have called.”

"You never should have canceled in the first place."  I grabbed the knob and yanked the door open.

Moving as fast as I could, I walked through the apartment, gathering the rest of my things.  Colin was close on my heels.

I stopped at the front door.  “I can't live like this anymore, Colin. This has gone on far too long.  I’m ready to be the most important thing in your life, not the least.”  I left the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind me.  My heels echoed as I rushed down the stairs, anxious to get outside and squash the anger rising in my chest.  I was furious at myself for losing my temper.  Furious at Colin for his behavior and attitude.  Furious at Ben for leaving me to deal with Colin by myself.

As I reached the front door of the apartment building, fingers wrapped around my upper arm.  Colin pulled me back to him and pressed me against him, kissing me hard on the mouth.

"I love you, Allie.  Please, don't leave like this."

I grabbed his hand and pushed it from my shoulder.  "Colin, this is bullshit.  You do not get to abandon me on my birthday and then think one kiss is going to make up for it.  You haven't even said 'Happy Birthday' yet!  If you can't be bothered, then fuck you!"  Tears filled my eyes.  He reached for me again, but I took two steps back.

"Let me make this right, Allie."

My anger dissipated by the minute and weariness took its place.  "I'm not sure I want you to."

Chapter 5

EIGHT YEARS OF intense schooling and a PhD in human genetics had taught me nothing about how to cure summer boredom.  The news that our research grant had been canceled filtered down about two weeks before the semester let out.  Without any research money, the project I'd been working on with a colleague had been indefinitely postponed, and with it, my hopes of getting a postdoctoral fellowship.  I was doomed to be an adjunct professor until I retired penniless, unpublished, and unknown.

Half way through my first official day of summer, I began the tried-and-true method of pacing around my living room, racking my brain for something to do.  I'd devoted about fifteen minutes to self-pity, wallowing in boredom and frustration.  The whole way home on the train from the city, I'd made myself a lot of big promises.  I hadn’t made any decisions about Colin, but I needed to be happy about something.  I promised myself I would make some kind of change that made a difference in my life.  I refused to waste my first summer vacation in years, rotting my brain away with harsh household cleaners and too much sunshine.  All that fever pitch promising hadn't yielded any actual plans on how to achieve the great change, though.  That's where the pacing came in; scrubbing my floors hadn't done anything more than make me smell like lemon pine trees.  Pacing begot action.  Pacing was movement forward.  And backward.  And forward again.

I groaned and stalked back into the kitchen.   I would start with a list, figure out some things I could accomplish.  If I started small, maybe new things would come to me.  I grabbed a notebook from my bag and dropped into a chair, ready for inspiration to strike.

1. Clean the garage.

2. Reorganize filing cabinet (office)

3. Plant an herb garden

4. _____________________________

I jotted the first three things with relative ease, but number four tripped me up.  Everything I'd come up with was really just an extension of the same shit I did every day, and I wanted something new.  I needed it.

I stared over at the laptop peeking out of my briefcase.  I used it rarely at home, usually preferring my desktop for research, but the light little computer had come in handy for plenty of writing projects.

That was my best kept secret, of course.  Those little writing projects.  Sometime during my last year of postgrad, I'd started researching the fringe science theories that so many of my fellow students loved to mock.  There was something sort of charming in the work of scientists who didn't seem to give a crap what their own colleagues thought.  After I'd defended my dissertation, I began looking for some outlet to the research I'd done outside of my field.  I never dreamed of trying to publish something; it was just fun to speculate on what others were doing.

When I found a little online publication called Mad Scientia, I'd submitted a few columns on a whim.  I'd been writing regularly for them ever since.

My content tended to focus on some of the safer fringe theories out there, like scientists figuring out ways to extend human lives, or cold fusion, but I loved the pseudoscience theories tossed my way from time to time.  Things like sixth-sense paranormal abilities.  Supernatural creatures roaming the earth.  I'd heard it all, but tried to keep my column as close to safe as fringe science writing could get.  If anyone I worked with ever found out, I'd be eaten alive and laughed right out of my little adjunct professorship.

I'd never had so much free time since I started writing it, though.  Maybe it was time to check into some of those crazier theories, do a little more research.  I’d been trained to ask questions, look for new possibilities, and methodically find answers.  It was time to do a little reading and put my brain to work on something my colleagues wouldn't think of looking at twice.

* * *

CONSPIRACY THEORIES ARE Melting Your Brain: Try Not to Get It on My Shoes

By: Allie Stuart, Resident Skeptic

(cont.)

... And even deeper down, past the Google searches and the links on Yahoo! Answers, lies a vast pool of arbitrary websites and communities, password-protected forums and heavily moderated chat rooms where the most radical theorists endlessly debate Le Conseil Cimme, their favorite conspiracy.

Le Conseil Cimme is rumored to be a power-hungry vampire cabal, based somewhere in Western Europe.  If you believe the rumors, twelve or so years ago, this clandestine investment group allegedly began filtering funds into EU and US coffers and has since built a strong base of political power.  The upper echelons allegedly focus massive amounts of resources into finding and shaping paranormal abilities in humans.  There's even a lot of chatter out there about other superhuman creatures silently waging a war against these vampires.

It's not exactly typical stuff so far, but the ultimate kicker?  Mysticism.  A strange combination of the Kabbalah, medieval magic and mythical creatures has led to the bewildering underlying currents of Le Conseil Cimme.

The articles and fact sheets list details at length: midnight rituals, blood wars, internal power struggles, and at least one accusation of vampirism in the White House.  It's the conspiracy theory to end all conspiracy theories; the undead exist and they're slowly taking all of our money and power for themselves.

The community of conspiracy theorists grows every day, but many of the accepted foundations make it difficult for even the least skeptical of brains to swallow the theories.  In the case of our supernatural overlords, does it seem all that likely?  How many people would have to be involved to keep the secret?

Don't wander too far off the beaten path, old friends.  There's plenty of weird science out there focused on telepathy and clairvoyance without trying to expand it to the stuff of ancient legends.  Let's concentrate on cracking the telekinesis code before we expend too much thought on werewolf power-seekers.

* * *

I STARED AT the article preview on my screen, the black text swimming across my blurry vision.  Seventy-two hours had passed since I'd decided to dig a little deeper on some of the notes I'd been keeping for years.  I loved the theories about telepathy, and I'd let my fingers do the walking.  A far-reaching search across the internet had given me so much more than I'd bargained for, and I started a journal of the stories I found.  Some of it had been repeated, but occasionally there was a little glimmer of something unique.  It all coalesced around this supposed power group, and way too many people seemed to focus on paranormal abilities.

After missing a night's sleep and going through more coffee than I cared to admit, I'd started writing.  I'd been staring at the thing for too long, rewriting and restructuring.  After another failed attempt to frame the article without offending at least the major portion of my audience, I decided to throw in the towel.  I scrolled through it again, removed a spare adverb or two and clicked "Submit."

One second later, sticky sweat broke out across my forehead and panic sent my heart into a heavy rhythm that rang in my ears.  I had done what I'd promised myself.  Taken notes, researched theories, tried to find a common thread.  But it was all too scattered and strange to form any kind of real cohesive theory to investigate.  If I looked beyond the obviously insane theories of global power structures occupied by vampires and tried to investigate any sort of paranormal abilities or supernatural creatures, there just wasn't any strong science to start with.  I understood the allure: it was so appealing to think of all the undiscovered things in the universe.  No matter how serious most of my readers were about certain aspects of science, there was a lot of love out there for the romantic unexplained.  No wonder people thought this was so crazy.  It was.

If some of my regulars didn't stop reading altogether, they would bury me under a mountain of scathing emails over it.  My palms were slick with sweat and pricks of fear tingled along my spine.  I had just wanted to try something different, see if I could find anything worth really checking out.  I didn't expect to find nothing.

I also didn't expect myself to be so dismissive about it.

I waited for the article status to change to "public" and took a deep breath.  The snap of the laptop lid echoed in my kitchen as I closed it and I pushed myself back from the table.  My coffee, untouched and stone cold, sat next to the laptop like a carefully placed prop.  I tossed the coffee down the drain and set the cup in the sink.  I had spent the last three days on this.  It was time to get on with the rest of my life.  There were chores to be done.  Closets to clean.

Chapter 6

BEN CALLED THE next day, exactly at noon.  "How's vacation?" he asked.

"Completely annoying."  I dropped the toothbrush into the sink and wiped a rag over the newly scrubbed faucet.  "What am I supposed to do with all this time off anyway?"

"Take a vacation, maybe?  Garden?  I have no idea what people do in their free time."

"See?  At least you understand."  I wandered out to the back porch and dropped into one of the chaise lounges.  Runoff from a morning rainstorm overflowed the gutters and spilled onto the grass in huge sheets.

"Anything else going on?" he asked.

"I haven't heard from Colin."

"That's not what I meant."  A hint of annoyance shadowed his words.

I sighed and looked down at my short, ragged fingernails.  "I don't know anything new today.  My grandfather went back to Park Manor last night, but he remains under observation."  I glared out at the yard.  "I'm not really sleeping."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

I heard the sounds of the city around Ben as I waited for his reply.  I longed to be there.  My hometown was okay when I was busy, but the boredom was a great reminder that all I'd wanted for years was to get the hell out of this place.  A blaring horn cut across the line.  It was a few moments before he spoke again.  "I'm worried about you."

"Oh, don't be.  I'm getting a lot done at least.  Did some more writing today.  Even cleaned out one of the upstairs closets."  I thought of the aqua travel case I'd come across, filled to the brim with makeup brushes and ages-old cotton swabs.  Even the gold stitching on the case had brought back memories.

"I came across some things of my mother's yesterday and I couldn’t stop thinking about her."  I blurted the words, heat rising in my cheeks.  I hated talking about my mother.  "She used to call me by my full name all the time–I hated it.  It was like a sign, you know?  That's when I knew she would be out of it for a while.  I remember the first time she did it." Even though he was far away and on the phone, it felt like he was right with me.  I usually avoided talking about my mother, but there was something about Ben that made it feel safe.  I knew he wouldn't judge me for what she'd been like.

"After your father left?"

I looked out across the yard, watching the steady rain that blotted out the woods.  "Before.  There was this one night; she was getting ready, waiting for him to come home.  They had dinner plans that night and she was showing me this new lipstick.  Showed me how she put it on.  Handed it over and told me try it out.  She snatched it right out of my hands, before I'd had even a chance…." I trailed away, thinking about the golden tube she had given me.  The bright pink makeup inside had been one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

Ben was silent, the background noise going in and out.  "She was sick."

I sniffled, feeling a line of moisture on my lower eyelids.  "I just didn't understand it back then.  She used to tell me all sorts of things while she was getting ready to go out with him...anecdotes about finding a husband or a boyfriend.  Silly things.  That night, I got a lecture about playing hard to get."

"How old were you?"

"Nine.  She didn't wear makeup for three years, you know."

"After he left?"

I nodded, silent.  My throat had knotted up as I thought about it again.

"Allie?"  His voice was cautious and I felt a flare of affection for him.

"I don't even know why I told you all that." I took a breath and changed my tone, as if it was all some big joke.  "This is why I hate vacation.  Too much time to reflect."

Ben chuckled on the other end of the phone.  "You're okay then?"

"Getting there," I replied, feeling suddenly isolated from him.  I stood from the chaise lounge and walked back inside, looking for something to keep my hands busy.

"I should probably get going," he said, after a moment or so of awkward silence.

"Thanks for checking in on me."

I dropped my phone onto the counter and wandered into the living room.  My laptop sat on the coffee table, and I stared at, hoping it would deliver some inspiration to get me out of the funk I was already sliding into.  My resolution to change things up was still floating around in my mind, but I didn't know where to start.  The column had been a bust.  My stats showed the usual number of readers and a few comments had been left, but it wasn't anything like the deluge I'd expected.  So much for shaking things up.

I closed a few orphan browser tabs before I noticed a small email alert flashing in the system tray at the bottom of the screen.

From: "carter, nate" nate@paraline.org

To: biogirl@madscientia.org

Subject: Conspiracy Theories ARE Taking Over the Internet

Ms. Stuart,

My name is Nathan Carter.  I've been a long-time reader of your column, but I've never taken the time to write before now.  I hope you don't find me forward in contacting you via email instead of leaving a comment on the website.

I run a small website called ParaLine.  You may have come across it in your search for Le Conseil Cimme.  We keep the public portions of the site on the small side, but our forums are very active.  Once a month, some of our members meet in purpose to discuss matters that are better left unrecorded on the internet.  I would love the opportunity to talk more about what your research uncovered about our "vampire overlords."  I think I may have some information you'll find useful.  If you could find the time, we would love to have you to a meeting.  Our discussion last week revolved wholly around paranormal abilities.  Might be a nice tie-in to future articles.

Looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Nate Carter, President, ParaLine.Org

I grinned, in spite of my ambivalent mood. The feedback on my article had been surprisingly mundane, but this was exactly what I'd been hoping for.  I wanted to hear from someone who actually believed everything I'd written.  These ParaLine people deserved a closer look.

* * *

MY PHONE RANG in my purse as I wrestled a large microfiber mop into the backseat of my Honda.  I reached between the seats and managed to answer before it went to voicemail.

"Hello?" I resumed my battle with the mop.

"Hey, got a minute?" Harding's voice was quiet and urgent.

I stopped my battle with the mop.  "What's going on?"

"Any chance you can come up here?  I need to talk to you."

I stared at the mop as dread blossomed in my chest.  "I'll be there in ten."

I smacked at the mop handle again as I hit the door with my hip.  Cargo secured, I dropped into the driver's seat.  I clicked my seatbelt and mentally began working my way down the list of possible catastrophes.

* * *

WHEN I ARRIVED on my grandfather's floor, I was surprised to find Harding waiting in the sitting room, accompanied by the head nurse, Rosemary Benton.  The distance between us stretched as my mouth grew dry.  My grandfather had been back at Park Manor for less than twenty-four hours.

"Allie, we need to talk," he said, his tone calm and quiet, as soon as I was in front of him.

I nodded and felt my face grow hot.  I knew it.  Something had happened.  "That's why I'm here."

I was pretty sure I knew what was coming, and followed Harding and Rosemary out of the room.  We walked in silence to one of the small, private cubicles situated around the main sitting area.  I made a detour to the coffee stand.  I’d need the caffeine to survive the rest of the day.

"Rosemary, do you mind if I fill Allie in?" Harding asked, looking at the nurse.  She nodded, once, and I felt a great deal of respect for her self-control.  Her purple scrubs and tall, curly hair-do were misleading.  Underneath the Southern belle attitude she carried so well, Rosemary Benton was capable and strong.  I knew the other families at Park Manor appreciated all she did for their loved ones.

"The report from the night staff didn't reach me until lunchtime, but the nurse's notes were pretty clear: Harold had another rough night,” Harding said.  His professional demeanor slipped as his annoyance peeked through.

I groaned and covered my mouth with my hand.

"It wasn't nearly as serious as what happened over the weekend, but one of the nurses submitted a request for a formal resident evaluation.  Dr. Billings approved the request."  He shifted in his chair, still clutching my grandfather's chart in his hand.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He woke up screaming around three a.m.," Rosemary replied.  Her tone was clinical, but warm.  "When the nurse on shift, Ginny Parks, got to his room, he had already removed all of his bedding from the bed.  She discovered him trying to move the mattress."

"Did he say why?"

She exchanged a glance with Harding.  "Vampires," answered Rosemary.  "He was going to block the door to keep out vampires.  And werewolves." Her voice was quiet, as if she was embarrassed to even tell the story.

“Keep in mind his mental condition, Allie.  Hallucinations, confusion, agitation.  This isn’t unusual.”  Harding gave me a reassuring smile, the kind of thing I assumed doctors practiced in front of a mirror.

I rubbed my hands over my eyes.  What a fucking nightmare.  I took a deep breath and looked up at Harding.  "So, he's going to be moved again?" My mind raced.  I knew the facility's protocol well: if his current level of care was judged inadequate, he'd be moved.  No way around it.

"Not necessarily," Harding replied.  "They may decide to let him stay."

"He reacted so badly last time..." My grandfather had moved to his current room a year ago and it had been a terrible transition.  He'd repacked all his clothing at least twice and kept screaming the new nurses were trying to poison him.  I shuddered, remembering the endless phone calls.

"We know," Harding said.  "I would prefer he be allowed to stay where he is, but at least two of the nurses on this floor feel they're unable to provide the proper care."

"And what exactly is the proper care for someone like him?  What do you think is going on?"

"He needs better supervision and he needs more one-on-one interaction," Rosemary said.  "But it's not something our fourth floor staff is equipped to handle."

I looked down at my hands.  These cubicles were designed to give families a modicum of privacy to speak with doctors or each other.  Countless people had sat in this very chair, this hard blue chair, and had countless similar conversations, all while sipping scalding hospital coffee.  The implications of Harding's words were dizzying.

I struggled to find words and, after a pregnant silence had settled over the room, Harding spoke.  "I'll let you know as soon as I know something."

That was the cue our conversation was over.

Nurse Benton left the room first, but Harding seemed to be waiting for me.  Leaving the coffee untouched, I followed him out.  My stomach churned and I was surprised when he walked me back to my grandfather's room.

"Don't you have any other patients?" I tried to infuse some lightness into the situation, but my brain was overloading at the notion of moving my grandfather and learning an all-new staff.  Again.

"Of course, but this is where I'm needed most today."  He smiled down at me as we walked.

The door stood wide open when Harding and I arrived at my grandfather’s room.  I looked the room over, relieved to see few traces of his rough night of bogeymen defense.  Vampires?  Really.  You'd think a man with an imagination like that would come up with something more original–like a banshee, or a Yeti.  It did creep me out a little, though, after the hours and hours I'd spent reading about the myths surrounding the undead.

He was sitting in his old recliner, watching a movie with the volume turned up too loud.  A nurse I didn't know bustled around him, dropping off his afternoon pills and tidying up the sitting area.  A small table was pulled up next to the recliner and perched upon it were a large mug of tea and a plate of cookies.  Harding hung back in the doorway but gave me an encouraging nod.  I took two steps into the room.

Papa's attention snapped to me as soon as I started moving toward him.  “Annie, you were supposed to bring Rose to see me.”

I grimaced.  Papa had been asking to see my mother more and more lately.  It didn't matter if I brought her or my dead Aunt Annie did, but he wanted to see her.

I froze halfway across the room, still a bit gun-shy after the events of Saturday.  “I’m not Annie, Grandpa,” I replied.  “I’m Allie."  I didn't look anything like my aunt, or my mother.

“You’re too tall to be Allie,” he replied, his eyes clouding somewhat.  When he'd first spoken, he wore a clear expression, so very sure of his thoughts.  Now, that look had faded and he seemed confused, even worn.  It made him seem older.

“Don’t I know it?  That kid was a pip squeak,” I said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.  The nurse left the room without comment.

Harding stepped forward and his voice dropped.  “Allie, listen.  I'm going to do everything I can to prevent him from being moved."

I was too tired to think through all the implications of the last twelve hours.  "I appreciate that."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do."

“You can tell me who the hell you are, that's what you can do!" My grandfather said, raising his voice and glaring at Harding.

"Papa, this is your doctor.  Don't be rude."  I dropped my hand onto his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.

"It's alright.  Sir, I'm Dr. Fields."

"If you say so."

Harding laughed and pointed to the name stitched on his jacket.  "They put it right here to remind me."  He nodded at me.  “Allie, I’ll talk to you later.”

"Let me walk you out."

As soon as we were in the hallway, I led him into a small alcove.  "You'll let me know if you come up with anything?"

"Of course."

"He can't move, Harding."  I felt pressure building behind my eyes and took a couple of measured breaths.  “He won't survive it.”

"Allie, you need to trust me.  I'll do my best."  He placed a hand on my shoulder and the purple visual auras that had been absent since I'd left New York flared again.  I took another deep breath.

“I know." I gave him a pained smile.  "I’ll talk to you later?”

“Got any plans tonight?"

“I'm ordering pizza and watching the Food Network.”

“You lead a fast life, kid."  He winked at me.  "Call me if your plans change.  I’m not on call tonight.”

“Will you come over and paint my toenails?” I asked, smirking.  It was my favorite question to ask him.  A few years back, we'd made a bet on the World Series and I was determined to never, ever let him live it down.  Harding was a lousy gambler and I knew my baseball stats.  It was time for the Red Sox to win the series.  Everyone knew that.  I was just glad I didn't have to pay my wager.  The recipe I had for soupe de poisson was a family secret.  My grandmother would return from her grave to strangle me if I'd lost it in a bet.

“Don’t count on it.  That was one time and it's the worst wager I've ever made.  I don't even like fish.”

He left then, winking at me again before ducking out of sight.

I walked back to my grandfather’s room.  He had switched from the movie to the home shopping network and was working on a fresh plate of cookies from Mrs. Winslow.

“What do you suppose that is?  Is that a dress made from a blanket?"

I stared at the television.  "I have no earthly idea.  Why did you turn off the movie?"

He waved his hand at me, sending cookie crumbs flying.  “You know, Julia lived in a place like this once: no privacy and an old lady that brought around cookies.  This place is crawling with old women.”

“Grandma lived at home until she passed away, Grandpa.  That was a long time ago.”

The room was quiet for a few minutes and I hoped he'd fallen asleep.

“Some days, Annie." His voice was a low whisper. I looked up, wondering if I should be scared.  “Some days, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

I had to look away from him for a second to collect myself.  After a few moments, I turned back and looked at my grandfather.  I squeezed his hand.

“I think we all have those days.”

* * *

HOURS LATER, I pulled into the narrow, gravel driveway that led to the back garage of my cottage.  I parked beyond my porch and took several bags from the car, feeling adequately soothed by the retail therapy.    The rain had picked up again and I made a mad dash up the back steps, trying not to get too wet.   I was surprised to see that the back door stood open, with only the screen door closed.

A cold finger of fear worked its way up my spine, and my heart hammered at the back of my throat.  I wasn’t alone.  I could feel it.  I set the bags on the step and reached into my coat pocket for the small can of mace I kept there. My other hand clung to my keys, several of them protruding between my fingers.

I managed to make it into the house and over to the knife block by the refrigerator without creaking any boards.  I grabbed the largest knife from its slot and began the slow trek across the kitchen to the stairs.  I strained to hear any sound and wondered if I was being stupid… Should I have called the police?  Should I have gone back out?  What if I did leave the door unlocked and the wind blew it open?

As my mind worked, I caught the smallest noise from upstairs, and I recognized it immediately.

It was the sound of the faucet turning.

Chapter 7

I STARTED TOWARD the first landing, stepping on each board with the careful precision of someone walking through a minefield.  The water in the upstairs bathroom was now running full-blast, but I couldn't hear any movement.

Three steps to the landing.

The door opened and I heard footsteps in the hall as I turned onto the last segment of stairs.  I imagined the headlines as I moved. Naive College Professor Killed in Home By Showering Hitman.... Hyperactive Homeowner Hatchets Harmless Handyman.... KILLER IMAGINATION: Living Alone for Too Long is Deadly Busine–

It was impossible to say who screamed first, Laura or me, though I’d lay my bets on her.  I counted us lucky I didn’t discharge the mace or swing the knife.

Clutching a towel across her chest, Laura looked at me, aghast.  We stood face-to-face at the top of the steps.  “What on earth is wrong with you?” she said, her voice a little screechy.

"Local Girl Stabs Best Friend for One Too Many Surprises," I said.  I stared at her as I took deep breaths to stop the trembling warble of my heart.

"Why do you have a knife?"  Laura asked, resetting her towel and sitting down on the top step.

I leaned back against the wall, dropping my knife-hand to my side.  “Is that a joke?  What are you even doing here?  How did you get in?”

“I still have a key, you know, like I've had for years.  But.  I'm here for your birthday." She gave me a world-famous smile, her eyes lighting up and a dimple appearing on her left cheek.  "I know it was almost a week ago, but really, I figured, better today than not at all, yes?"

I tucked the mace back in my pocket and shook my head, blinking a few times.  I didn't know what to say, so I gawked at her, still in shock.

“I surmised from your emails that you had a bad weekend and I figured having a birthday right in the middle of all that probably set you pretty close to the edge."  She stood up and headed toward the bathroom.  I followed along and she talked to me over her shoulder as she went.

"So, I got up this morning and decided to cash in some of those vacation hours I’ve got stocked up.  The woman in HR told me I had over sixty for the year already.  It’s why I got that little raise, you know.  My billables were higher than anyone else in my department.  So, I got on the train from Boston and took a taxi from the station.  I can't believe you turned thirty and won't let anyone throw you a party.”

My mind stumbled over her words for a second; Laura had been my best friend for twenty years but her fast-talking still tripped me up from time to time.  “Wait…so why are you here?  You got a raise?”

She spoke slowly, like English wasn't my native language.  “I came down to see you.  For a belated birthday celebration.  I even brought you a cake."  Laura grinned at me like a Cheshire cat.  "Plus, Seth is in New York for the next two weeks.  I thought I might surprise him at his hotel one night this week.”

Seth was a guy Laura had been “dating” for a number of years, though they didn’t consider themselves a couple and often dated other people.

“I hope he doesn’t travel armed.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.  You’re thrilled to see me.  What are you doing home now anyway?  Shouldn't you be out shopping or at a book club or something?  Who hangs out around the house during summer vacation?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.  “It's not really vaca– Forget it.  Get your shower and meet me in the living room in a few.  The guest bed’s all yours.  I changed the sheets yesterday.”

Leaving her in the hallway, I closed my door behind me and leaned against it.  The thoughts of death and conspiracy had come too soon for my tastes and I berated myself for being so stupid about the entire situation.

I crossed my bedroom and discarded my rain-soaked clothes.  I grabbed a pair of old jeans and a gray Henley from my closet and tugged my hair loose.  Laura was still in the shower–singing some strange song in another language–and I was glad for a few more minutes’ peace before I’d have to share the entire timeline of events from Saturday forward.

As I went down the stairs, I heard a low knock at the front door.  When I opened it, I found Ben standing on my doorstep, clutching a long, thin box, wrapped in silver paper and speckled with water droplets.

“Hi,” he said.  He smiled at me, even as his face and hair dripped rain.

My heart pounded again as I looked him over. My sightings of Ben in anything other than a t-shirt and jeans were few and far between.  Today, he stood on my step dressed for serious business.  He wore a black suit and his tie hung loose from the collar of his crisp, white shirt.  It was my second time in a few days seeing him dressed so well.  Maybe I was enjoying it a bit too much.

“Hi,” I whispered. I remembered my manners enough to offer him entry to the house. “Why on earth are you here?”

He stepped inside and laughed.  “Well, I felt pretty awful about the weekend and I realized that I never had a chance to give you your birthday gift."

“I can’t believe you came all the way out here,” I said, as I closed the door behind him.

“You didn’t tell me you were expecting anyone, Allie.” Laura’s voice drifted down the stairs.  “I’ll be right down.”

Laura grinned at Ben as she came down the stairs.  She was dressed in a short jean skirt and long-sleeved t-shirt.  I took notice of the borrowed shirt, but decided not to say anything.  “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Too long.  I've been busy with work.”  He smiled and looked back and forth between us a few times, obviously uncomfortable.

“What brings you all the way to the end of the line?  Did you drive out here?”

“I did,” he replied, answering her last question first before resuming silence.  I avoided looking at him, embarrassed by...I had no idea.  Flustered, I made a weird little noise, catching Laura's attention.  She scrutinized me for a moment before smirking and shooing me out of the entryway.

“Let’s not stand here, Allie.  Invite him in.  I want to eat popcorn and hear about your horrible weekend.  I’m pretty sure I brought enough wine.  Three bottles.”

Ben’s face turned red as Laura grabbed his arm and led him to the kitchen.  It was the biggest room of the house, and when it had belonged to my grandparents’, they’d always hosted their friends in the warm, homey kitchen.  I'd kept the tradition alive.  Laura took Ben's coat and maneuvered him into one of the old farmhouse-style chairs around the huge kitchen table.  I started the popcorn.

“So, tell me what happened with Papa," she asked, taking a seat across from Ben and putting her feet up on the chair next to her.

I groaned.   I knew I owed her as much detail as I could stomach to give.  She'd known him for as long as she'd known me, and he'd doted on her just as much as he had doted on me.  Laura's single mother didn't have time or energy for a lot of the things that made childhood a little sweeter.  My grandfather had made sure Laura never wanted for those little moments.

"Can we save it for later?” I asked.  “I've gone over and over it all for days, and I just don't have it in me to repeat it all again."

"Oh, don't give me that.  If you’d called me on Saturday like a normal person, you wouldn't have to be telling me now."

"He's had a couple bad days.  On Saturday, he just sort of snapped, I guess, and after what happened last night..." I looked down at my hands for a moment, trying to block the visuals of everything that had happened since Saturday.  I imagined him, in the darkness of his room, trying to pull apart the bed, to build some defense against a conjured enemy.  I took a deep breath.  "Now, he's up for re-evaluation by the Resident Wellbeing Board and may have to move to a different unit."

Laura made a sour face.  "What the hell kind of name is that?"

"Resident Wellbeing Board?  I don't know.  It’s just a name."

"Well, then, we'll deal with that when we come to it.  I want some time in front of the Board."  Laura had been my best legal advisor during my grandfather's illness.

"Laura, no.  We’ll have to live with whatever they decide."

Ben cleared his throat and I turned toward him, feeling run-over.  Laura had a way of taking control of a situation that left me spinning.  "Don't you think it would be beneficial to take her advice on this?" he asked.

I shook my head.  "I don't know.  I don't think so."  I dumped the finished popcorn in a huge bowl and set it down in front of Laura.  I dropped into the chair next to Ben before fishing out a handful.

"I want to see his contracts again," Laura said, leaning her chair back on two legs and tossing back a few pieces of popcorn.

Ben rose to his feet, and arranged his posture like an attorney in a courtroom.  He jutted his chin out as he talked and his voice took on a strange, lecturing tone.  "And I'm assuming there will be interviews with his doctors?  Can you find out what they're going to recommend?"

I held up my hands, looking between my two friends and holding back a giggle.  "Settle down there, law dogs.  I haven't had time to process everything that happened.  When I have legal questions, you'll be the first to know."

"You didn't tell us what happened," Laura said, frowning.  "Last night?  Is he alright?"

I bit down on my bottom lip.  "He's okay, yeah.  Actually talked to me today, which I wasn't expecting."

"So, what happened?"  Laura asked.

I shook my head and grimaced.  "It's stupid.  He-" I closed my eyes for a moment.  "He took his bed apart and he told the nurse that he was trying to block the door."

"From what?"  Ben asked, the smile on his face small and encouraging.

"Werewolves."  I let out a single laugh.  "And vampires.  Werewolves and vampires.  Isn't that … ridiculous?  I can barely bring myself to talk about it.  He’d be so embarrassed if he had a clear head."  I felt my cheeks burning and looked down at the table.

I looked up again, and noticed that Ben was staring down at the table, his face pink.  The heat in my cheeks deepened.

"You don’t have to tell me anymore,” Laura said.  “I know how private he is.  We’ll make sure he’s taken care of the way he deserves.”

Her words took a huge burden from my shoulders.  My family wasn’t as large as it had once been, but I knew better than to think I had to handle any of this alone.  I smiled at her.

“And now that’s settled, tell me what happened with Colin."  Laura gave me another smile.

It was starting to feel like I might have one less family member before the night was out. I glared at her.   “It didn’t work out like we'd planned.”

“Oh, surprise, surprise.”

“Laura!”

“What?  It’s true.”

Ben tucked his hands in his pockets and came closer to the table.  “Listen, I better head out.  I came to drop off the gift and, well, honestly, to check on you.  Give me a call later, okay?"  I looked over my shoulder at him and managed a small smile.  The easy comfort of the weekend had vanished, leaving me feeling awkward and off-balance.

“Well, you can’t leave without eating dinner,” Laura said. "You came all this way.”

I whipped my head around to glare at her and she stuck her tongue out at me.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You're not imposing at all!  Allie, tell him what we're having for dinner.”

I stared at her, trying to keep my expression blank, and I heard Ben laugh behind me.  I turned in my chair toward him, trying to arrange a nonchalant look on my face.

“Do you even have any actual food?” he asked.

“If we were snowed in, we could survive, but only via a varied collection of side dishes.”

Everyone laughed but me.  I was horrified at the constant state of bare cabinets and blushed, but Ben gave me a lopsided grin.  Our gazes locked for an instant before he turned away.

“I’ll make you a deal, then,” he said, pointing at Laura.

“I do love a good negotiation,” she replied and he rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go to the store and figure out something for dinner if you'll cook.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Laura said, smiling up at him.

He touched me on the shoulder as he passed and I kept my head down.  I loved to cook; my favorite memories of my grandparents took place in this very room, surrounded by fresh ingredients and bubbling pots.  There was a very deep-seated part of me that almost couldn't bear to cook anything without them there.  I avoided it whenever I could.

Before the front door had even closed, Laura turned on me, her eyes large.

“Alexandrie Rose Stuart, I want to know about your entire week.  Immediately.”  She said it in the same way my mother sometimes had, the way my grandmother always had.  It was the French version; the awful, pretentious spelling that my mother and grandmother had thought would be a stunning remembrance of our roots.

“What is wrong with you tonight?  Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to share every last detail about every last thing with you, in front of Ben?”

“That’s why I’m asking you now.  You don’t have to be such a hard-ass about it.”

"Well, you don’t have to be such a flirt," I countered.  There.  "It's almost embarrassing."

She laughed at me again, reaching across the table to pat my hand.  "Don't be mean.  Tell me what happened.  Start with Colin."

I sighed and resisted the urge to try to change the subject.  I didn't know where to start, let alone finish.  My last words to him echoed in my head, the finality of them twisting my stomach. I bit my lip; I wasn't even remotely ready to discuss it.

And who invited Laura in for all this questioning anyhow?  I didn't ask for company.  I didn't ask for legal counseling or emotional counseling.

"Allie, just tell me."  She was serious now, all trace of humor gone from her expression.

I sat down at the table and straightened out the salt and pepper shakers and an old wooden bowl that I kept filled with bananas.  It was a useless delay tactic, but I used the few seconds it garnered to shore up my thoughts a bit.

"I went to the city on Saturday evening, for my birthday.  Colin and I had plans for dinner."

"Right," Laura said.

"He didn't come back from Philly, though.  Just paid some florist to deliver some last minute flowers and a shitty note.  Never even called."

Laura stayed blessedly silent, but raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"So, I called Ben and asked him to take me out.  We drank too much, he crashed on the couch, and when Colin came home the next day, he and I had a huge fight."

"Oh, thank god."  She covered her face with her hands and let out a deep laugh.  "I thought for sure you were going to tell me you'd slept with Ben."

"It's not funny," I said, feeling heat creep up my cheeks.  "It was the worst fight we've ever had."

"So, what are you going to do?"  Laura asked.

I looked up into her familiar brown eyes and felt calmer than I had a few minutes prior.  She always knew the right question to ask–always knew how to best sort through all the bullshit–without hitting me over the head with it.

"Haven't really thought about it yet.  Everything with my grandfather has been kind of distracting."

"How do you feel?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond.  "I don't know," I whispered.

"Do you still love him?"

"I don't know."

She raised an eyebrow at me, the careful, manicured line of it the perfect emphasis.  Laura had been my best friend for twenty years: she didn't need much explanation to know my thoughts.

We fell silent as we waited for Ben and filled the time with small, busy tasks: setting the table, opening a bottle of wine and preheating the oven, just in case.  After twenty or so minutes of amicable silence, I heard Laura clear her throat.  I turned to face her, distracted from my task of wiping down the counters, and was surprised to see such a worried look on her face.

"Is something wrong?"  I asked.

"It's...well, listen.  If you don't, well, if you don't love him anymore or if you aren't sure, it's better for both of you to end it.  Don't put yourselves through the pain of dragging it out.  It's going to hurt no matter what, but one is definitely worse than the other."

Her words surprised me, to say the least.  Laura was rarely so serious; she had an overwhelming tendency to be the peacemaking comedian.  I watched her face, waiting to see if anything else would surface.  After a few moments of silence, I nodded at her.  There'd be time to think about her words later.

Ben came in through the back door then, carrying two pizza boxes and a white take-out bag.

“What happened to cooking dinner?” I asked, as he set them on the table and opened them with a flourish.

“Like I’d like you cook us dinner for your birthday.  Not happening.  Besides, I read online this is the best pizza in town.”

I grinned.  It was the best pizza in town.  "Sounds perfect.  Did you get the cheesy bread?"

Ben nodded as he motioned to the white bag. “With extra sauce.”

“I hope you got extra cheese, too,” Laura said, snagging the bag off the table.  “The bread is really just a delivery device.”

Ben shook his head as he hung his jacket on a chair.  As we made up our plates, our conversation shifted to the inevitable: work.  Laura filled me in on a possible promotion and some big case she was working with a partner.  Ben piped up with the occasional lawyerly comment from time to time and made sure the wine kept flowing.

I took a long drink and smiled, toasting myself for having survived the day in one piece.  After finishing my first slice of pizza, I let out a small sigh.

"Feeling alright, Allie?" she asked.

I nodded.  "Better than I have in ages."

She clapped her hands together and gave me a toothy grin.  "Then I vote we continue this impromptu gathering by eating cake and opening presents!"

"Can we play Pin the Tail on the Donkey too?"  Ben asked, as he stood from the table and began clearing away the dishes.

"Only if you're the donkey," she shot back as she brought a few wrapped boxes over to the table, including the one Ben had brought.  I stayed in my seat as they bustled about the kitchen; Laura opened a bakery box while Ben took out small plates and forks.  Cake was all I could handle: singing and candles were out of the question.

* * *

HOURS LATER, AFTER Ben had left and Laura had turned in for the night, I curled up on my bed with Ben’s gift.  I grinned, full of happy exhaustion, as I ran my hands over the soft blue cloth cover of a very worn, early edition of one of my favorite books, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.   I opened to the middle and breathed deeply of the yellowed pages, heady with the aroma of dust and ink.

I flipped back a few pages and a small note card fluttered out of the book.  I picked it up and flipped it over, reading the simple message:

Happy Birthday.

The note, in Ben's scrawled cursive, sent a strange pulse through my stomach.  Butterflies indeed.  I kicked myself for it.

The contentment garnered from the impromptu birthday party slowly evaporated.  I set the book on the nightstand, as my mind was drawn back to the usual repertoire: my grandfather, work, Colin, my grandfather, Ben.  After shutting off the light, I crawled into the cocoon of my old feather comforter, but it did nothing to calm the thoughts rocketing through my brain.  I was wide awake.

Chapter 8

MY TASK LIST was a multi-paged monstrosity that grew each day.  In the days since Laura had left, I’d worked my way through the cabinets in the kitchen, the old papers scattered about my office and donated no less than three bags of clothes to a veterans’ group.  The piles of junk in the garage loomed closer and on the ninth day of summer, it was time to tackle the mess.

I wrenched the broken garage door up on its track and surveyed the dusty, musty space.  The remnants of my grandmother's life were stacked along the back wall: neatly labeled boxes containing everything from old kitchen gadgets to baby clothes worn by my mother and aunt.  Along the right-hand side, and in the rafters overhead were haphazardly stacked boxes of books and photos, travel mementos and old letters.  His workbench wasn't in much better condition. This clutter had been the earliest sign of my grandfather's illness.

I grabbed a pair of work gloves and dug in.  I cleared through most of the things along the back wall with ease, pulling containers and sorting them into “keep“ and “give away”.

By the time I'd cleared through the first stack of his belongings, I had settled into a comfortable, mindless zone.  When my hands brushed over a stack of notebooks, I nearly tossed the whole pile, before my blank brain picked out the curious leather binding of a thin, hand-bound book.

I flipped it open, curious about the contents.  The paper was thin, with faint blue lines running horizontally across the page.  Only the first twenty or so pages were filled in, with blue ink and a hand that seemed familiar.  I perused the pages, but none of the text made any sense.  The letters were scrambled, and though I picked out a French word or two, I couldn't make heads or tails of it.  Was it something of my grandfather's?  Or perhaps, some strange journal that my mother had kept after she'd fallen sick? I checked the first few pages carefully and determined from the handwriting it must have belonged to my father.  It had been twenty years, but it was the same script that had filled the first ten birthday cards of my life.  Further questions surfaced in my mind: why was it here?  Who had kept it all these years?

The last time I'd seen him was etched permanently in my mind.  I had turned ten about a month before, and they'd commemorated the occasion by having a massive fight about his job.  Instead of going out to dinner like they'd promised, I was dumped off unceremoniously at my grandparents' house.  I didn't see them for two days.  They showed up with a few suitcases of my mother’s and my things.  A small truck brought the rest not long after.  We never went back to the house they owned again.  My father left for a business trip and when he came back, he told me that he wouldn't be coming home.

"We'll still see each other, Boo.  Every chance I get.  This is just the best thing for everyone right now."  He'd planted a quick kiss on my forehead, and tousled my long, tangled hair.  "You help Papa and mémère take care of your mother.  She's going to need you to stay strong."

I remembered hiding in the garage after he left, sobbing until there was nothing left to cry out.  It was the last time I'd cried over him, but the memory of his last words had stayed with me.  I'd been strong for her, and when my grandmother had thrown every last item of his in the trash, I'd been right there to help.

Whoever had hidden this book had done so without my grandmother’s knowledge.  I was so curious to read what was in the journal that I longed to cancel my night out with colleagues.  But I knew it would take me longer than an evening to unravel its mystery.  I crossed the room toward the old workbench and tucked the book on a high shelf.  It would have to wait.

* * *

WHILE I’D WORKED in the garage, I’d felt the tension creep its way into my shoulders and back.  I decided on a long bath instead of a shower and settled on the edge of the tub to start the water. The soothing rush of it was hypnotizing and as I sat on the cool porcelain, the aching tenderness eased.  Already, steam had begun to fill the air.  I swirled some bath salts into the water.  Then, I walked over to the shelf behind the door and flicked on my iPod dock.  Steady, slow blues began to tumble out of the speakers and I smiled for the first time that day.

My thoughts turned to Colin.  We had danced to that song on a frigid night in his apartment, after the old radiators began to fail.  His soft, thick hair was dirty blond in the winter and his blue eyes were perpetually teasing.  I recalled him as he'd been: the square set of his jaw, the strong lines of his cheekbones and lips.  He was all angles; the planes of his face were smooth and defined.  He was taller than me, but so was everyone.  He loved to hold me, loved to touch.  It had taken me ages to get used to it.

He was quick to laugh, quick to make others laugh.  I had been drawn to him when I first met him; he was light and energy, impulsive and enthusiastic about so many things.  He was a brightness that was lacking elsewhere in my life.

That impulsive energy shaped his temperament.  He was as quick to anger as he was to laugh, and it was nearly impossible to get him out of that mood until he was good and ready.  He held grudges for days and days and often took his bad moods out on other people.

He loved going to parties.

He hated quiet nights at home, unless he was working on a new piece.

He was a good friend.

He was easily jealous.

He was clever.  Intelligent.

He was impatient and a little...spoiled.

He was the kind of person that always knew what he wanted and he decided one night, almost three years ago, that he wanted me.  And he loved me.

But...then came the realization that it all seemed hollow... the lists of traits, the pros and cons, all of it meaningless.

I no longer wanted him the same way.  All of his travel and focus on work created the sort of distance we couldn’t overcome.  I had tried for so long to keep up the most basic of rituals, but after too many nights of unreturned voicemails, I’d given up even looking forward to his nightly phone calls.  It wasn’t that long ago that after a day like today, sifting through family memories, finding strange mysteries, I would have been dying for my phone to ring.  Instead, I was thankful for the silence.

I looked ahead to the future and I didn't even see him there.

I was done.  It was time to move on.

* * *

AFTER GETTING CLEANED up and dressed for my night out, I was anxious to get on the road.  Harding and I had a long-standing tradition of nights out at The Maven, a pub near campus, with several other colleagues.  I relished a night of hanging out with my friends from work, and hoped it would let me forget about things with Colin for just a bit.  As I fumbled in my purse for my keys, I had the sinking feeling that I’d lost them sometime between making a sandwich run and locking up the garage for the night.

Just as I found the keys buried in an unused cell phone pocket, I heard a car door slam in the driveway.  I set my keys on the counter and walked to the kitchen window.  I could just make out the front bumper of Colin’s car.

Shit.  So much for a reprieve.  I dumped my bag on a chair and went to my back door to wait for him.

Colin walked up the back steps, looking awful. I opened the door and he stepped inside without a word.  His wrinkled clothes, sour smell and tousled hair gave the impression that he'd been awake for days and had let a lot of whiskey nurse him through it.

“Colin. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.  You could have called.”

I didn’t think it possible, but his face fell even further.  “I’m sorry,” he said, his words slurred.

I couldn’t resist touching him, kissing him on the cheek.  Had I done this to him?  Regret filled me.  We'd been through so much, and even though I knew what I needed to do, I felt cold-hearted.  I hadn't even bothered to send him a text saying I'd call him.  Just because I didn't want to be with him didn't give me room to be an ass.

“It’s okay,” I replied, my voice gentle.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are?”  he asked, his voice brightening.

“Yes.  I was going to call you anyhow, because I need to talk to you.”

He smiled at me and my heart broke.  "Well, let's talk, then," he said.

His eyes were bright and he looked...happy.  I groaned, searching for a way to delay the inevitable.  "Ok.  But if we’re staying in, let me get out of theses clothes."

He followed me up the stairs and I forced myself to keep calm.  I turned on the light in my bedroom as we entered, glad that I'd taken the time to straighten up before heading to the bar.  Colin stretched out on my bed while I went into my closet.  Once out of his sight, I pressed my forehead against the wall, second-guessing everything I'd decided during my bath.

I took off my clothes, feeling war-weary, and put on a pair of yoga pants.  After slipping into an old, gray t-shirt, I went out to Colin again.

He was resting against my pillows with his eyes closed and his arms tucked behind his head.  He looked long and lean, clad as he was in dark khaki pants and a white t-shirt.  I was torn between stretching out on the bed next to him and going back into my closet.

He smiled at me before he opened his eyes and I wondered if there was a way to postpone this.  I was a few short minutes away from chickening out completely.

"You okay?" he asked.  His voice was gentle as he looked at me.

I nodded, amazed at myself for being able to respond.  "Just tired."

Concern crossed his gaze and he shifted off of the bed.  "We don't have to do this now, Allie."  He bent his face to mine and kissed me.  I didn't respond for a moment, his lips catching me by surprise.  I had been so sure of myself.  I kissed him back, opening my mouth, and immediately drew back.  The sour taste of his mouth reminded me what I'd made up my mind to do.

He cupped my face between his hands, and I covered them with my own before sliding his hands away.  "I'm sorry.  We do have to do this now.  I want to talk.  We need to talk."

I backed away from him and sat on the edge of my bed, folding my legs beneath me.  He arranged himself next to me, letting his long legs stretch out in front of him.

"What's wrong?" He traced his finger along the edge of my cheek, his eyes full of concern.

"We need to talk about what happened."  I took several deep breaths, pushing myself to go forward.

“Can I go first?” he asked, before I’d opened my mouth to speak.

I nodded, surprised.  My nerves jangled as the seconds on my alarm clock ticked on.  His eyes were tracking over my face, and I saw hesitation in his gaze.

He let out a sharp breath.  “I love you, Allie.  So very, very much and I’ve been an idiot lately.  I was an idiot to let you walk out of the apartment, to risk losing you.  I want to take this to the next step.”

I felt tears welling in my eyes and I couldn’t hold them back.  “Colin.  Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

"What?" he asked, confusion etching his words.

"I shouldn't...I mean...." I stopped myself, hating the lack of control I had over my own words.  I took a deep breath and tried again. "I mean, I should have gone first."

He dropped his hand from my face, something unknown creeping into his eyes.  “Why?”

“I can’t do that.  I can’t take the next step.  This isn’t good for either of us and it hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“How can you say that?”  He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine.  "There's too much good here.  How can you say that?"  He kissed me again, as if he were trying to prove something.  To himself or me, I didn't know.

When his fingers brushed over the top of my breast, I broke away from him and stood up.  “But it’s true, isn’t it?  We have different lives, different goals than when we met.  We’re not even moving in the same direction, only further away from each other.”

The covers rustled as he stood from the bed.  He was next to me in a heartbeat and his fingers grazed my chin. I allowed him to turn my face, surprised by his flashing, angry eyes.

“No, it’s not true.  We could be moving in the same direction.  I can do my work from anywhere.  You're done with school–you could work anywhere."  His voice was bordering on anger.

I shrank away from him and shook my head.  “I can't just work from anywhere.  I need to be here, for Papa.  But, it doesn’t matter where I am.  This won’t work.”

"I don't get you, Allie.  I love you.  You love me.  Isn't that enough?"  The anger in his voice was married to a few extra notches in volume.  I began to reconsider my idea to start this conversation in the middle of the night after what had probably been a week-long bender.

I couldn't bring myself to answer his question.

"You do still love me?" he asked, after the silence in the room grew to be too much for both of us.  His tone was icy and the extra volume had disappeared.

I turned to look at him and I hated myself, deep down.  "I do love you, but I don't think I'm in–"

He cut me off.  "Don't.  Don't even say it."

I waited again, not knowing if there was anything even worth saying.

He stalked away from me, over to the windows that looked over the backyard.  “So, that's it then?  We have one fight and you're ready to throw in the towel?"  He wouldn't look at me as he spoke.

I sighed.  “It wasn’t just last Saturday, and you know it.  We've been heading down this path for awhile."

“Are you fucking around on me?  Is that what this is about?”

Rage flickered in my brain, followed closely by guilt.  In the wake of my silence, Colin stormed out of the room.  I debated whether or not I should follow.  Shaking myself, I made up my mind and went after him.

He was standing in the kitchen, staring at the back door.  He turned and paced the room a few times before coming to stand in front of me at the stairs.  I saw the hard set of his jaw, the deep line near his eyebrow visible.

"I'm done with you."  It came out like a growl.  "I don't need your fickle bullshit.  You're a fucking ice queen, Allie, and I don't want you in my life."

Fear sliced through me as he took a step closer.  I held his stare, hoping that he didn't notice my trembling.  I tried to count the seconds as we stood there, but the moment seemed to stretch on to infinity.  With a small grunt, he spun away from me and stalked out of the house, leaving only the echo of a slammed door behind him.

Chapter 9

HARDING TURNED HIS head from the river and grinned at me.  "We're just out here to mope, aren't we?"

"This is prime moping real estate.  I could rent it out by the hour."  My tone was flat and I was compelled to look away from him.  I gazed out along the river, tracing its slow, steady path toward the Hudson.  The orange glow of the early morning sun sifted through the trees, spraying across the water like liquid gold.

"It's been a month, you know."

I nodded, but didn't look up from the water.  "I know."

"You've wasted a whole month, Allie."  His tone was hard and I whipped my head around to look at him.  The smile had vanished completely.

"What?  What are you talking about?"  My words caught in my throat and my shaking hands betrayed me.

"When I met you, you were so...lively.  You liked to go to the city, go out to eat.  You had ambition.  Two weeks before the school year let out, you were telling me about all these plans you had for the coming summer."

"That was before."

"Before what?  Before the breakup?"

"It's kind of a major thing for me, Harding."  I stood up from the rocky soil along the riverbank, brushing off the backs of my legs.

"What are you?  Seventeen?  You can't let it shut you down this much, Allie."

"Don't you dare lecture me, Harding!"  I spun on my heels and hurried toward the path that led back to my house.  "You can't show up here at the crack of dawn and start in on me!"

"Please, listen to me."  He fell in step with me.  "I know you're not handling your time off very well.  You like to work.  I get it.   And I know you think your relationship was a failure, but you're wasting this time you have."

I stopped inside the cool shade of the oak trees.  "Who are you to tell me that?"

“Maybe I’m the only one who can tell you that.  Enjoy the break.  Spend time with your grandfather.  He's not getting better, Allie.  Hell, he's not even staying the course.  Each day, he's slipping a little bit more, and you don't know what the next day will bring.  It'd kill him if he knew that you were just moping around here.  I knew him before he was so sick, remember.  He wouldn't want you to live this way."  He grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a shake.  "You have got to snap out of this funk you've put yourself in."

I remembered a similar conversation we'd had a few weeks prior.  I had brushed him off then, content with my newly adopted schedule of sleeping in and hiding out in the house for long stretches of time.  This time, however, the urgency in his voice struck me.

"I don’t think I know how.”

"When was the last time you left the house?"

"Yesterday - I went to the store to get something for dinner."

He rolled his eyes.  "Aside from running an errand, when was the last time you left the house?"

I remained silent and looked away from him, ashamed at how I was behaving.

He nudged me with his shoulder and I looked back at him, blood rushing to my cheeks.

"Come to New York with me."

"To do what?"  I asked, surprised.

"Anything you want.  I've got use of a friend's loft for the weekend.  It’ll help you shake off this thing with Colin and when we get back, we’ll figure out a way to make the most of this time with your grandfather."

Something struck me as strange about his request - we'd never spent so much time together before.  "I'm not sure..."

"It'll be fun.“  He gave me a million-dollar grin and waggled his eyebrows.  “You can go shopping."

I did have a fondness for shopping.  I threw my hands in the air and shook my head.  "Fine.  Let me think about it."

* * *

HARDING LEFT SOMETIME later, after making me promise I'd call him around lunchtime.  I wandered the house, feeling restless and not a little confused.  The place was a mess: dishes stacked up in the kitchen, unopened mail piled on the table.  I surveyed the damage of the last four weeks, wondering what the hell I'd been thinking.

Determined to get at least something straightened out, I began slowly working my way through the old cottage.

By the time I'd hauled the last bulging trash bag to the garage, my phone was beeping spastically with Harding's attempts to reach me.  I grabbed it off the counter and quickly called him back.

"It's only three o'clock, you know," I said, as soon as he'd answered.

"You were supposed to call me hours ago!"

"I'm sorry.  I've been doing some work around the house and I got distracted."

"Oh."

"And if it's still alright with you, I'd like to go to New York.  I've got something in mind."

* * *

THE DOORBELL RANG promptly at five and I threw open the door with quite a bit more energy than I'd planned.

"What are you wearing?" Harding asked, by way of greeting.

I looked down at my t-shirt and grinned.  "Do you like it?"  I'd ordered the shirt online weeks ago.  It was bright red with "Expendable" written across the chest.

"I don't get it."

I waved my hand across the shirt and stood aside so he could enter the house.  "It's a Red Shirt.  You know.  From Star Trek."

Harding stopped in the living room and stared at me, eyes wide.  "What are we doing?  Is this a convention kind of thing?"

"Of course not.  I don't go to conventions any more."  I picked up my light jacket and my bag from the sofa and grinned at him again.  A wave of excitement had formed in my stomach and I was determined to ride it out.

He narrowed his eyes at me and opened the front door for me. "I can't help but feel like this is going to end badly for me."

* * *

"WHAT ARE WE doing?  I think you can tell me now."  His voice was tight as he gestured to the building. We had come to a stop in front of a small corner parish church.  Harding had speculated for the entirety of the trip and now stood fidgeting as he waited for my reply.

I grinned at him, finally ready to share the surprise.  "We're attending a meeting of paranormal conspiracy theorists."

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't respond.  I saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, combined with… fear?  Was he shy about the group?  Afraid of being recognized and embarrassed at being seen at such a silly, unprofessional gathering?  Guilt settled over me like an old coat and I second-guessed my decision at coming here tonight.

I blew out a breath as Harding reached around me to open the wrought-iron gate in the fence surrounding the small churchyard and motioned me through. Too late to change plans now.

An old felt sign hung outside a narrow green door set into the stone wall of the building and I stifled a giggle as I read the words:

AFS - Weekly Meeting – 7:30pm

AFS.  Nathan Carter had told me they publicly called themselves the Association of Freethinking Scientists, a name created to hide the “true” purpose of the group.  The ParaLine moniker was reserved solely for the online forums.  I followed Harding down a set of concrete steps to the basement, my shoes squeaking on the inset rubber treads as we walked.

A gray-haired priest sporting a roman collar and the traditional black garb of his occupation was waiting outside the only open meeting room in the church basement.  He gave us a stern look and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Mitchell,” he said.  His voice grew stiff as he nodded at Harding.  “We were told not to expect you this evening–we haven't seen you in weeks.  You know this is against Carter’s rules.  No surprises.”

I looked at Harding and raised my eyebrows.

“Sorry, Father McCullough,” Harding answered, without acknowledging me.  “Little miscommunication between Allie and me here.”  He waved his hand toward me and I smiled at the priest.

His eyes brightened.  “Ah, of course!  Carter’s friend!  We’ve heard good things about you, Allie.  Heard you’re fighting the good fight.”

I bit my lip as I tried not to laugh.  I had no idea what he was talking about, but figured it was better to go with the flow.  I took the neon-green piece of paper Father McCullough offered me and followed Harding into the meeting room.

Two rows of folding chairs were assembled on either side of a narrow aisle, all facing toward a podium.  I gazed around the room as Harding led me to two chairs in the last row, noting the small card table loaded down with jugs of red fruit punch and snack cakes.  Nearly everyone else in the room was clustered around the table, save for a small man standing at the podium.

I looked him over as I took my seat.  He was shorter than average, but had deep golden blond hair and the sort of square jaw line that probably made a lot of women ignore his height.  He wore wire-frame glasses and a burnt-orange t-shirt.  There was something almost magnetic about him.  Even the group members gathered at the back of the room kept turning their heads to look at him.  It had to be Nathan Carter.

He looked up from his podium as Harding sat in the folding chair and a wide grin replaced the echo of concentration.

“Mitchell!” He dropped from the podium and strode over to us, grin still in place.  “Fantastic that you’re here – I didn’t expect you tonight!  And I see you’ve already met our guest of honor.”

I shoved down the surprise at his recognition of Harding, promising myself that I'd find ample time for lots and lots of questions later.  Harding was obviously hiding something from me, but at least his unease at coming in made more sense.  Maybe I wasn't the only serious scientist that loved weird theories after all.

Carter thumped Harding on the back before extending his hand to me.  “Nate Carter.  It’s great to finally meet you, Allie.”

I grasped his hand and forced myself not to pull away.  As soon as I'd touched him, a weird vibe had worked its way up my spine and I felt a tingle around my eyes.  The little auras were back, bringing deep purple starbursts to the corners of my vision.  I knew I would need to figure something out soon.  The auras were happening more frequently, and the headaches that sometimes came with them.  Forcing myself to ignore them for now, I gave him my best smile.  “It’s great to meet you, too.  You can thank Mitchell here for getting me out of the house.”

“You two know each other?”  Carter’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.

“Unfortunately,” I said, giving a little wink and hoping my light tone hid the nervousness in my voice.  I was starting to forget why I thought this was a good idea.  I looked down at Harding as he shifted around in his chair.  Maybe I wasn't the only person Carter made nervous.  “Mitchell’s an old friend of mine.”

“What a small world,” Carter replied.  “Connections in high places, my friend.  Sam and Mia will be jealous.”

Harding rolled his eyes and gave my forearm an awkward little pat.  “Nothing to be jealous of, I promise.  Allie’s not nearly as high on the internet totem pole as she likes to think.”

“Hey, now," I countered.  "I wasn’t the one that started throwing my name around as some great internet celebrity.  I write a very rarely read column on an obscure website.” I took my seat again as Carter dropped in the seat next to Harding.  The weird vibe from Carter dampened with Harding between us.

“Have you had a chance to meet everyone yet?” Carter asked.

I shook my head.  Despite my confidence coming into the meeting, I was starting to feel like maybe I didn't want to meet everyone.  My yoga pants, dirty dishes and very empty house felt more appealing with each passing moment.

“Some ambassador you are.” Carter’s eyes were twinkling as he smirked at Harding and I wondered at the man’s boundless enthusiasm.  On the surface, he was all smiles and laughter, but there was something else simmering underneath.

Whatever it was, I didn't have much time to ponder it. He stood again and motioned for me to follow him.  “I’ll introduce you around.  Have you looked at the agenda yet?”  He gestured to the neon green paper.

“No, I’m really terrible at this whole meeting new people and doing new things…thing.”  I felt the heat creep over my face and fanned myself for a moment with the agenda.

He gave me a wink and led me across to the group clustered around the snacks.  “Guys, looks like our special guest showed after all.”

En masse, they turned to look at me and I shifted my feet.  I hated being on display.  "Um.  Hello," I said, managing to squeak out the words in a completely unnatural voice.

Not counting Harding and me, there were eight attendees for the meeting.  I doubted I'd ever seen a more varied group in my life and I tried to keep my face smooth as Carter introduced me around the circle.

"This is Sam Ellis and his wife, Mia," Carter said, gesturing to a short couple who looked more like twins than husband and wife.  They wore matching rimless glasses with large, thick lenses and both had the pale skin of people who'd spent too much time in front of computer screens.  "Sam and Mia are our researchers.”

Sam wiped the back of his hand under his nose as Mia gave me a large grin and stuck her hand out.  "Pleased to meet you," she said, her smile not waning a bit.  "I'm a huge fan."

"You really think that article was a good idea?" Sam asked, cutting off his wife.  "I mean, Le Conseil Cimme is nothing to mess around with.  People have disappeared for saying a lot less."

I swallowed.  In a fit of boredom about two weeks ago, I'd taken Carter's advice to heart and researched and published a piece on the whole Le Conseil conspiracy.  Even though nothing I'd come across had changed my mind, I had been shocked at just how much information was out there.  These eight people were not alone in their interest.

"Now, Sam, we talked about this."  A tall black woman sporting gray curls down to the middle of her back stepped in between Sam and me.  "Ms. Allie is here to get a feel for us.  We all agreed we'd try to avoid bugging her with all of our ideas." She turned a careful, prim smile on me and inclined her head.  Immediately, some of the twisted nervousness in my stomach slid away.

Carter nodded at the woman.  "This is Ms. Emma Hayes.  She's our recorder."

I held out my hand and she grasped it lightly, shaking once.  "Pleased to meet you," I said, echoing Mia's earlier words.

"It's nice to know you, dear."  She stepped away from the group then and glided toward the front of the room.  I watched as she acknowledged Harding with a small nod and took a seat in the front row.

Carter tapped me on the shoulder and I turned my attention back to the group.  "This is Chris Nye and Gerry Yager," he said, pointing to two men standing toward the back of the assembled members.

"What's your job?" I asked, unsure if I was even using the right terminology.

The man called Chris turned red and stepped further back while the man named Gerry stepped forward and narrowed his eyes.  "It's my job to be worried about who you really are and why you're asking questions."

A small noise erupted from the vicinity of Emma Hayes. "Now, Gerry.  You won't talk to our guest that way either.  I swear, if you and Sam were my boys, I don't know what I'd do with you."  When I turned to look at her, she had risen from her seat and was coming back to the assembled members.  "This is not how we behave," she added, as she reached us.  She had her hands on her hips and seemed much taller than she had been a few moments prior.

Gerry turned away from her and ducked his head.  "Sorry, ma'am."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," Emma stated and nodded in my direction.  "You answer her question.  That's why we asked her here, so she could get a better idea of what we're really like and see what people are really worried about.  It won't do to behave like a suspicious old coot."

Gerry held out his hand.  "Gerry Yager.  I'm a guardian."  He narrowed his eyes as I shook his hand and I wondered if he was judging even my handshake. "It's my job to make sure we aren't being tracked or infiltrated in some way.  I always have to know who knows about us, what they know and what they're doing with that information.  Chris is my deputy."

I blinked a couple times, amazed at the difference between this man and the other members of the group.  I also couldn't help but wonder what he thought of Harding.

"And you met Father McCullough, of course," Carter said, pulling my attention away from Gerry.  The priest had come into the meeting room and locked the door behind him.  "That's everyone.  We're small, but varied."

A few of the other group members lingered, chuckling at Carter's description.  The rest had moved away, taking seats close to the podium.  A small scuffle arose between Chris and Gerry as Chris dropped into the empty chair next to mine.  Gerry took the seat at the end of the row, next to Harding, and glared at his "deputy."

I bit my lip as I retook my seat, trying not to look at Harding for fear I'd burst out laughing.  It only took a few moments for everyone else to be seated and Carter resumed his position at the podium.

"Now, I'm assuming everyone had a moment to look at the agenda for today's meeting.  Even though Allie has joined us tonight, I'd like to keep on point as much as possible.  She’s here as a guest, and we’re not going to put her on trial just yet.”  He got a few chuckles out of the group before moving onto the next order of business.

I dropped my eyes from Carter to the agenda as he continued on through his opening, scanning over the page.

June 12, 2010

NC, -presiding

EH - recording

GY, CN – oversight

Agenda – Copy 9/10

7:30pm – Opening & Bulletin            NC

7:45pm – Finders Update                  P&ME

7:55pm – Fundraising                  Fr.JM, EH

8:00pm – Concerns                        GY, CN

8:15pm – Discussion                           NC

8:45pm – Closing                        NC

Reminders

All agendas must be returned to Fr. JM for destruction.

Questions regarding any portions of the meeting aside from the main discussion are limited to post-meeting only.

Tonight’s post-meeting will occur at Fenwick’s Diner.  Meal compliments of EH.

Do not share with anyone what you see here tonight!  We are only as safe as our group is quiet!  Remember the three Cs: Covert! Cautious! Calculating! - GY

The first half hour of the meeting was less fireworks and more business than I expected.  True to the agenda, Carter discussed some brief information regarding usual "club business" and Sam and Mia spent their full allotment on explaining the new information that had been added to the group's password protected website.  In a brief interlude, Ms. Emma Hayes and Father McCullough laid out the plans for the coming expenditures of the group (including a road trip to a possible UFO landing site outside of Winthrop.  I felt my attention wavering a bit until Gerry and Chris rose from their seats and took to the podium.

Chris cleared his throat several times, until Gerry nudged him with an elbow.  "Uh, sorry.  Yes, I'd like to get started tonight by discussing the most recent break-in attempt on our server."  He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down at a sheet of paper he'd pulled from his pocket.  "On June third, around two a.m., I noticed several attempts to break through our firewall.  With the help of Sam, I was able to stop the attack and we eventually traced the IP address to a proxy in Russia-"

"And we all know what this means!" Gerry interrupted, stepping out in front of the podium.  "We've been the target of these attacks before, and we're pretty sure this one can be traced back to The Hive."

A wave of murmurs swept through the group and Carter had to settle everyone down until Gerry could talk again.

"Covert! Cautious! Calculating!"  Gerry pounded his fist into his hand, but the usual aggression of the gesture seemed lost.  His brow furrowed as he stared out at the assembled audience, surveying them as if there were a lot more than eight people watching him.  "Russia is a known hold-out of some of Le Conseil Cimme's most dangerous operatives; this is something we've known for years."

A tickle in my brain caused me to sit up straighter and the gears began turning.  I remembered reading something similar, and had found it interesting that an organization supposedly staffed by vampires could be global.  Russia was just the beginning: their influence stretched across Eastern Europe, through Germany and France and hopped the pond into the United States.  All of the six populated continents were supposedly well represented.

Gerry's words seemed to have a profound effect on the other members.  What had once been quiet attentiveness shifted to fluttering nervousness.  Sam and Mia Ellis seemed especially worried, while Carter and Emma whispered in hurried tones.

Even a few months ago, I would have had a hard time not laughing, but the past two months had opened my eyes to some of the things people seemed to take seriously.  I didn’t buy into what they were selling, but I had a certain amount of respect for how firmly they believed.

I looked at Harding, who gave me a single shrug.  He leaned closer to me.  "I'm left out of the loop on a lot of this.  Gerry doesn't trust me."

"Wonder why?  You have some 'splainin' to do.  And I want you to start with Mitchell."

"That's my line, Lucy."  He winked at me.  "I'll fill you in.  Promise."

I turned back to the stage and focused on Chris, still standing behind the podium.  He was staring at the paper he'd brought with him while Gerry paced in front of the podium.  He looked up after a few moments and cleared his throat again.

"I'm going to recommend we limit emails, texts and phone calls for awhile.  At least among the group."  His face blossomed with red blotches as he spoke, while Gerry nodded.

Another outburst from the group.  Mia stood from her chair looking flustered and shaken.  "This is exactly what they'd expect.  We can't kowtow to what may not even be a real threat!"

I raised my eyebrows at Harding, biting my bottom lip as he gave me another shrug.  The arguing continued around us, but I let it drown out for a minute.  What a surreal place to be.

A piercing whistle quieted the rabble of voices.  Carter had made his way to the podium and Gerry and Chris had stepped aside.

"Settle down."

I was watching a master at work; I knew it by the way he held his shoulders, by the assured tone of his voice.  The whistle had been enough to lower the rabble to a din, but the near-whisper dropped the room into silence.  Nathan Carter, despite the open forum for his merry band of conspirators, was the one running this show.  That strange tingle flared up around my eyes again, and I pinched my eyelids shut as bursts of yellow clouded my vision.  Of course.  Perfect timing for a migraine.

"The news Chris and Gerry bring you tonight should come as no surprise.  What we do here–what other groups like this do all over the country–is a threat to the power of these people.  We will not back down, not for a second.  We will not cower; we will not hide what we know.  Each day, they grow more powerful and more dangerous.  Each day, the balance tips further in their favor.

"Our main discussion tonight covers a sensitive topic, something many of you probably aren't even aware of.  It's dangerous information to have, and it has come knocking at our own door.  We will not sit idly by and wait to be absorbed by these power seekers.  We will not be silenced by fear."

I expected applause, but the crowd remained quiet.  As I looked around the room, every pair of eyes was on Carter.  When I turned my focus back to him, eggplant purple flickered at the corners of my vision again.  I blinked a few times, stunned at the feelings flooding the room.  The resolution and the determination were palpable.  Every ounce of focus, even my own, was centered on Carter.

Harding touched my shoulder, snapping my attention from the podium.

"What's going on?"  The words were in my head, but I didn't know if they'd come out my mouth.  Carter could have been casting a spell, his draw was so intoxicating.

"He should run for president," Harding whispered.

I turned my gaze to him, taking in his steady smile and bright, clear eyes.  He seemed completely unaffected by the energy of the group.  "That's a scary thought," I whispered back.

Another beat of the heavy silence passed before Carter's steely visage was replaced with an enchanting smile.  "And we wonder why everyone thinks conspiracy theorists are lunatics."

I laughed along with everyone else, relieved the bizarre mood of the room had shifted to something lighter.  The others visibly relaxed as Carter stepped from behind the podium.  Gerry passed one of the folding chairs to him and he settled into it.

"Our latest information has revealed some startling information," Gerry said.  "I'd like to break with tradition for a few minutes tonight.  Emma?"  He held his hand out, palm up, toward the older woman.

She bowed her head to him and stood, rearranging her long dress around her before lifting her head to acknowledge the group.  "I believe many of you know my sister, Mrs. Ava Potter, is what many call a psychic."  There were several nods throughout the group.  She acknowledged them before moving on.  "She's missing."  Emma dropped into her seat and Mia patted her on the shoulder.

Gerry gave a single nod to Emma.  "Mrs. Potter isn't the first paranormal we've heard of that's gone missing.  Over the years, many others have disappeared.  Clairvoyants, empaths, telepaths.  We've even begun to hear rumors that other supernatural creatures are disappearing."

My attention wavered as my head began to spin.  Paranormal humans?  Supernatural creatures?  It wasn't the first mention of them I'd heard in regards to Le Conseil Cimme, but Carter was beginning to outline a far more detailed involvement than I thought possible.  Curiosity was overtaking any incredulity I'd had when we’d first arrived.  Someone somewhere took this all very seriously and small pockets of people all over the country were drinking the kool-aid.

The audience raised questions, but my mind had wandered too far off the path to really absorb any of it.  I snuck occasional glances over at Harding, who seemed enthralled by the various discussions.  What's going on? The question was bouncing around in my head like it was equipped with moon boots and I was beginning to grow weary of the meeting.

Exactly as the agenda promised, Carter wrapped things up at 8:45, but both Harding and I declined to meet everyone for coffee at a diner up the street.

Carter bypassed his friends to catch us before he left.  "Mitchell never joins us for coffee," Carter said, clapping a hand on Harding's shoulder.  "I'm beginning to think he has a thing against caffeine."

Harding chuckled.  "I promise - I've got nothing against caffeine.  Couldn't survive without it."

"Oh, believe me,” I said.  “The blame this time is squarely on my shoulders.  I'm an old lady and it's past my bed time."  I gave Carter my best bright smile, hoping he couldn't see through my lie.  My discomfort was mounting and I was ready to get back to the normal world for a while.  A place where people were people and vampires were the latest teenage fad.  The very idea of such a place was overwhelmingly comfortable.

"Don't be afraid to join us again, Allie.  We'd love to get to know you better."  Carter held out his hand to me and I shook it, almost surprised I didn't shiver when he touched me.

"Count on it."  I was on a roll now.  Why stop with just one lie?  Lies, damned lies, and statistics.

We exited the building quickly, after returning our agendas to Father McCullough.  I gave the old priest a smile too, but it was real.  Carter had creeped me out some, but the other members of the ParaLine group seemed well intentioned and kind.

As soon as we were a safe distance from the brick church, I spun to face Harding.

“You don't even have to ask."  He held his hands up, palms toward me.  "This is something I don’t want to be professionally associated with, that’s all.  I have an interest and I like the people.  Doesn't mean I'm going to run out and buy a cross and some holy water anytime soon.”

“Did you know I was bringing you here?”

“Actually, no.  That really is ironic.  I'd decided to skip this when you agreed to come to the city."

I was skeptical of all of this, but decided not to press further.  For now.  I took a deep breath of the warm air and smiled.

"It was better than I expected, even if Carter was a little weird."

"How do you even know him?"

"You saw.  They're apparently fans.  Fans. How weird is that?"

"For how long?"

I shrugged.  "Since summer started.  I wrote something online that caught their attention."  Even though he now knew about my association with the group, I couldn't quite bring myself to tell him everything about the columns I wrote.

Harding's face belied his worry and I bristled.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"There's no problem.  I just hope you're being safe."

"Well, obviously, I am.  You're a member of this little club or whatever."

He laughed.  "I guess you really lucked out–" he cut off as his phone began to ring.  He motioned me forward as he took the call and I went ahead.  After a few minutes, he jogged back to me.

"I need to meet with a colleague for about an hour, if it's alright?"

"Can I still head to the apartment?"

"Absolutely.  I've got time to take you there, and get settled.  I'll only be an hour."

"I suppose I can live with that."

Chapter 10

BY THE TIME we reached the Meatpacking District, I’d set aside the weird parts of the meeting.  It had been silly and strange, but I'd loved almost every minute of it.

When the cab stopped in front of a stark, gray warehouse, I tried to remember the last time I'd been to this part of the city.  A year or more?  Colin had loved it here; he loved any place that was trendy.  I tried to erase thoughts of Colin from my head and was mostly successful.  Counting steps, tracing the numbers that marked the address of the building–anything that might work.

"Are you sure people live here?"  I asked, peering at the shadowed face of the building.  "You're not bringing me here to kill me or anything, are you?"

"You're a very dark person, Allie," Harding replied, giving me a curious look.  "I never kill people indoors.  What's a sacrifice to the gods if they can't see it?"

"You've been spending too much time with Dr. Falchion, I see."  I grinned at him as he held the door of the building open for me.  Dr. Falchion, the chair of the Archaeology department, had long carried a torch for Harding.

Harding and I ascended in the old elevator without speaking, and I found myself drifting to thoughts of Colin again.  We hadn't talked since that night–I hadn't even tried to call.  I was still sad, though, still unsure of my footing.  Slowly, things were starting to settle into some sort of plan again.  Today had been a big step in my own recovery, and despite some of the weirder moments, I felt better than I had in months.

There was only one door in the hallway.  Harding took a set of keys from his pocket and opened three dead bolts on the door marked '801'.

I expected the loft to be stark, perhaps even barren, but I was pleasantly surprised.  The floor throughout was smooth, honey-colored bamboo and covered in places by large, thick rugs the color of fresh cream.  As I stepped into the seating area clustered in front of the large windows, I caught the lights of the skyline that glittered over the rippling surface of the river.  Incredible.

"It gets better." Harding's voice echoed in the cavernous loft.  I heard the flick of a light switch and the view in front of my eyes changed as thousands of fairy lights sparked to life.  The river became the backdrop to a rooftop patio with a bubbling hot tub, several chaise lounges and a large outdoor kitchen.

Harding came to stand next to me and chuckled.  “Unbelievable, right?”

“All of it.”  The décor was all flawless, luxuriant.  It was honestly unlike any place I’d ever stayed.

“It pays to have friends in high places, I guess,” Harding said, crossing over to one of two sets of French doors in the apartment.  “This is your room.”  He directed me through the door, tapping his fingers against the frosted-glass panes.

The ceilings were lower than in the main room and a king bed dominated the far wall.  Through an adjacent door, I spotted a private bathroom and nearly sighed in ecstasy at the large tub situated in the very middle of the room.

I floated out to the main living area again.  Harding was standing in the industrial-grade kitchen when I returned from my tour of the loft.  His laptop was open and he didn't look at me as I settled on a stool at the concrete-topped bar.  “There’s wireless if you need it," he said, without looking up.

“Of course there is.  Anything I’ve missed?  Is there like a secret butler or massage therapy room or something?”

Harding laughed, shaking his head and lifting his view from the screen.  “No, but there is an excellent stock of wine in the cabinet over there.  Help yourself.”

I spun on the stool to face out to the rest of the apartment and was struck by something odd about the place.  “Harding?”

“Hmm?” he said, again focused on his computer.

“Does anyone live here?  I mean, there's no stuff.  This place is like a hotel."

He looked distinctly uncomfortable when he first met my gaze, but his face smoothed before I could analyze him further.  “I’m pretty sure he uses this place for visiting clients and whatnot."

I chuckled to myself.  “Effective sales tool.”

“Indeed.” He had turned his attention back to the computer and looked mildly concerned.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.  Nosey, nosey me.

“It’s getting later than I thought.”  He closed the laptop and came around to my side of the kitchen island.  “I need to head out.  Will you be here or should I meet you somewhere?”

“I’ll be here.”

He crossed the kitchen to open a large, commercial refrigerator.  After glancing inside, he closed the door and gave me an apologetic smile.  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing in the refrigerator, but there's a bodega nearby.  We can walk there later.”

“I should be fine."  I had already formed concrete plans for the patio and a bottle of wine.

“Thanks for being so cool about this.”

I laughed him off.  “Are you kidding me?  Who could possibly be bothered by this?”

“Point taken.  See you later,” he said as he left the loft.

I wandered over to the wine cabinet and took my time selecting a bottle of French wine.  I figured it was one of the less valuable wines in the cabinet, but it was still something I’d never be able to afford.

I located the corkscrew and foil cutter in the impeccably organized kitchen and poured a glass before walking onto the patio.  A light breeze swirled over the roof and I took deep breaths of the salty air.  The events of the past month had sent my mind into a high gear of frustration and with each pull of the warm night air, I felt my thoughts shift down, ebbing closer to a more normal speed.  It was my first weekend in the city without Colin in years and I was enjoying myself.  I was completely at home in my own skin.

* * *

AFTER I POURED a second glass, I returned to the patio and grazed my fingers over the soft canvas chaise lounge.  The potted flowers covering the patio scented the air: deep floral perfumes that drifted across the air in little currents, changing and twisting as I moved.  I wandered to the opposite railing, my back to the apartment, and looked across the rooftops again.

"Good evening." A silky voice, with a soft Irish lilt, slid from the darkness.

I dropped my glass, sending a ruby spray of wine across the patio stones, and gasped when I saw the source of the voice.  A slender man, dressed in a pair of khaki pants and an expensive-looking brown sweater, stepped closer to me.  He was pale in the moonlight, sort of pearly and sickly, with brilliant red hair and unnaturally bright green eyes.

He was also grinning wickedly.  It terrified me.

"Forgive me for frightening you," he said. "I'm a friend of Harding; my name's William Tensley."

"Mr. Tensley," I whispered, holding out a shaking hand.  The shock of having a visitor in a stranger's apartment had set me deeply on edge and a few little stars of deep red aura were dancing in the corners of my eyes.  "I'm Allie Stuart."

He raised his eyebrows, a curious look etching his round features.  "Allie Stuart."  Another smile curled the edges of his lips.  "Harding mentioned that he'd be in town tonight, but he failed to tell me he was bringing a friend."  Tensley stepped closer to me and I saw his nostrils flare.

I stepped around him, looking down at my shattered wine glass.  "I'm such a klutz.  That glass probably cost more than my car."

Tensley rumbled with laughter. "I'm sure no one will even notice.  It's certainly not the first thing to get broken around here."

My hands trembled as I bent down to pick up the larger pieces.  "I'm sorry to be rude, but why are you here?  Harding didn't mention that anyone would be dropping by."

"Ahh, as previously mentioned, he didn't seem too keen on the information-sharing this weekend."

I shrugged and walked back into the apartment, trying not to let on that I was very uncomfortable turning my back on him.  I dumped the glass into the trashcan and hissed as one of the shards sliced through my palm.  In a breath, Tensley was at my side, cradling my bleeding hand in his palms.

"Careful, love.  Harding cannot return to find you injured under my watch."

I pulled my hand away from him and stared down at the cut.  The flow of blood was already slowing.  "Your watch?"

"Ahh, that's not to say that he sent me, but rather, he would hold me responsible for any injury in my presence."

"Why are you here?  You never answered my question."  My voice shook as I moved past him to the sink.  I washed my hands under the hot water before wrapping my palm in a thick white tea towel.

"I really dropped by to say hello, if you can believe it."  He smiled at me as I settled down on a high barstool in the kitchen.  He walked around the island to get two wine glasses and poured one for each of us.  "Harding and I occasionally do some work together.  I haven't heard from him in awhile."

"Oh?  What do you do?"

"Medical...things."

My gut twisted and I raised my eyebrows at him. "That sounds official." I took a sip of my freshly poured wine, thankful for the break in eye contact.

"I'm no doctor, won't even pretend.  I'm an investor, mostly in pharmaceuticals, and Harding occasionally offers off-the-record advice."

I cleared my throat and stared down at my still-shaking hands.  Tensley was lying through his teeth, but I didn't know why.  Who was this guy?  Harding may have been joking about sacrifices to the gods, but who knew what kind of friends he kept?  It was getting hard to ignore the fact that there was an awful lot about Harding I didn't know.

"So then, any idea when he'll be back?"  His voice was louder than it'd been out of the patio and it echoed in the loft.

"Any minute." I looked at him and held back a shudder.  Something was not right about him. "I think he expected it to be a very short meeting."

The conversation lulled then and I spun lightly on the bar stool, swaying back and forth a bit.  A clock ticked loudly from somewhere in the living room, and the air compressor in the freezer let out a low hiss.

"I don't usually find myself struggling for conversation."  Tensley smiled at me, his voice still sending bad shivers down my spine.

"I don't usually find myself alone in strange apartments with strange men."

That creepy grin gave him a wolfish quality and I felt a sliver of ice glide into my stomach.  "An admirable quality, if there ever was one.  It's good to know that Harding keeps such respectable company."  His voice had dropped to a whisper and he moved around the bar, edging closer to my stool.

I glanced away from him, searching the spotless counters for a weapon, should the need arise.  I wondered how Harding's friend would feel about two broken glasses.

Or about the disappearance of an innocent young scientist from his loft.  Did every creep seem so...creepy to his victim?  Was it too early to start calling myself a victim?

The clicks of the locks were the best sounds I'd ever heard.  Harding stumbled as he walked into the loft, trying to pull the key from the last lock.

"Hey–oh.  Hey.  William."  Harding flushed bright red and looked embarrassed.

"Harding.  I was getting to know your friend here.  Ms. Stuart."  He spoke my last name with a slight emphasis.

Harding looked over at me for the first time, a strange look in his eyes.  He smiled at me, and the look warmed me, reminded me I was safe.  Tensley moved behind Harding, leaving his wine untouched.  He stopped near the door and gave me one last glance.  I shivered again, feeling like a mouse caught in a trap.

"Well, I need to be going anyway.  It was good to meet you, Ms. Stuart."

I nodded.  "Likewise, Mr. Tensley."  I lied through my teeth.  He didn't seem to notice and glided through the door without making so much as a scuffing sound on the wood floors.

I spun around in my stool and jumped off, immediately getting closer to Harding.  "Who the hell was that guy?  Is this some sort of crime boss' house or something?  Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Harding burst out laughing.  "Don't be crazy, and forget about William.  He's an old friend, but he's insane."

"He's a creep."

Harding shrugged.  "Probably.  Just forget about him, okay?  Are you hungry?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and the fear I'd felt earlier evaporated.  "Don't distract me.  There's something strange about you, Harding, and I want to know what it is."

Harding pinched his lips together, trying not to laugh.  "You're so worked up, Allie.  There's nothing weird about me, or at least, nothing unusually weird."  He grinned.

I wasn't buying it.  "Give me a break.  I'm not that stupid," I snapped and turned away from him, toward my guest room.

"Hey, hey.  Don't be like that."  He grabbed my arm and turned me to face him.  "I'm sorry that he came here, and I'm sorry that he made you nervous.  I want you to feel safe here."

I looked away from him and twisted my arm out of his grasp.  "Tell me what it is, then.  There was that thing, weeks ago, at the hospital.  And the whole Mitchell thing?  And this friend of yours doesn't seem totally legit.  Something's not right."  I was rambling and nervous and I couldn't help but pace a few steps as I yammered on.

Silently, Harding took a seat on the couch and looked back at me.  "You're wound up, Allie."  His voice was soothing. I took a deep breath as the baritone words wrapped around me.

"I'm sorry." My voice sounded weird in my ears and I shook my head, trying to clear away the cottony feeling behind my eyes.  I rubbed my hands over my face and those little auras darted forward again.  "Damn it.  This is so frustrating.  I hate feeling this way."

"What's going on?" Harding asked.

I slumped into an armchair across from him.  The weird lights in my vision were really starting to get to me, but I debated whether or not it was worth telling him.  My own fear finally overrode any embarrassment I was feeling.  "Every time I get stressed, weird things start happening to my eyes.  It's like I'm seeing these auras, all different colors."

Harding's eyebrows rose a little.  "Are you getting headaches?"

"Sometimes, but not always.  I've been trying to take an ibuprofen when it starts."

He stood up from the couch and walked over to kneel down in front of me.  "Are you seeing them now?"

I sighed and nodded my head.  "Unfortunately.  It started when Tensley was here, and they're sort of going in and out now."

He held up a finger in front of my face and tracked it back and forth.  I watched the tip of it, wondering what this little test could tell him.

"Hmm."  He leaned back on his heels.  "I can't really do much here for you.  If you want to, I can get you in for some x-rays."

"You really think that's necessary?"

He gave me a sly grin.  "You can always just go see an eye doctor.  Thirty is pretty old, you know.  Your eyesight might just be giving out on you."

I smacked him on the arm.  "Oh, very funny.  I'm so glad I have a friend who's such a compassionate, caring doctor."

"I think we should just keep an eye on it.  Even if you are on summer break, you've been under a lot of stress."  He patted me on the knee.  "Just try to keep tabs on when it happens, see if you can find a pattern.  We'll go from there.  Unless you really just want to get your head checked, I think that's probably the best thing for now."

I nodded.  "Ok.  But I'm only skipping a full brain scan because I trust you."

"Well, don't go basing any major decisions on that."

Chapter 11

I STOOD ON the patio the next morning, overlooking the city stretching away in the distance, and contemplated calling Ben.  We had exchanged a handful of awkward emails in the past four weeks, but I was apprehensive thinking about the conversation we needed to have.  I gripped my iPhone in my hands and flicked through my address book.  It took three trips through it before I got up the courage to call.

He answered on the second ring.  "Hello?"

His voice softened me, and I felt like an idiot for waiting so long to call.  "Hey."

"It is so good to hear your voice."  His voice was raw and I felt unwelcome tears slide from my lower eyelids.

"I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to call you.  You didn't deserve that."

"No, it's okay.  I'm glad you're calling at all.  I should have called you."  He paused for a long moment and let out a sigh I barely heard.  "I didn't know what to say."

I laughed and it rang hollow as it echoed back to me through the phone.  "Tell me about it."

"So, how are you?  What are you up to?"

"I'm good, and I'm in New York."

"By yourself?"

"No, I came in for the weekend with Harding."

He was silent a beat too long.  "Oh.  Well, I'm glad you're doing well."

I froze, unsure of what to say next.  When I finally spoke, the words choked out in a near-whisper.  "God, this feels weird, doesn't it?"

"Yes.  I hate talking on the phone."

"Do you want to meet for coffee?" I blurted, not even thinking about any plans Harding may have.  Guilt reared its head.  Harding had gone out of his way to bring me to the city and make sure I had a decent time.  I knew it wasn't fair to just abandon him, but now that Ben and I had talked, I wanted to see him.  He had been Colin’s best friend for years, and I didn’t know if we could still be friends.  Of all the possible changes I had considered after the breakup, I couldn’t fathom my life without Ben.

Ben gave the name of a nearby coffee shop and we arranged to meet in an hour.  I hung up my phone, tingling with excitement at seeing him, and strode back to my room. Bath first, then hair and makeup.  I didn't have a ton of clothes with me and finally settled on a jean skirt and t-shirt that I had planned to wear anyway.

Harding stumbled out of his room as I was grabbing my purse from the kitchen counter.

"Are you going somewhere?" He was still dressed in his pajamas and shuffled to the coffeemaker.

I looked at my hands and nodded.  "I'm meeting Ben for coffee."

Harding's shoulders slumped as he dumped ground coffee into the French press.

"I was going to leave you a note," I said, after he didn't respond.  "I won't be gone long."

He turned and gave me a small smile.  "I didn't really have anything in mind for today.  I just wanted to get you out of town for a while.  Too easy to go crazy in a sleepy college town over summer."

"You're sure it's okay?"

He nodded.  "I'm not lacking in stuff to do.  Don't worry about me."

I closed the distance between us and gave him a hug.  "Thanks for being such a good friend, Harding.  I don't know what I'd do without you."

He returned the hug and chuckled.  "Don't get sappy on me, Stuart."

* * *

BEN PULLED OUT a chair for me at one of the small, circular tables clustered in front of the windows. I dropped into the seat, taking a quick look around.  We were surrounded by snuggly couples sharing tables.  The confidence and excitement I'd felt an hour ago disappeared completely.  What am I doing?

He greeted me with a wide smile.  "I ordered you a mocha."

I couldn't help but grin as I drank him in, thrilled to see him after so long.  His dark hair was longer, brushing against the top of his eyeglasses when he moved his head, but everything else was exactly the same.  It bolstered me with an odd sense of relief and the roller coaster of my emotions continued.

"How are you?" I asked, amazed that all trace of the earlier awkwardness was gone.

He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table.  "I'm better now.  I'm glad we could do this."

"Me too.  You have no idea...the last few weeks have been so strange…." I struggled, searching for the right words.  My attention shifted from Ben's eyes to my own stuttering words to the rich smells wafting at me from the espresso bar less than ten feet away. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment.  "Harding came over to my house yesterday and convinced me that I'd spent enough time wallowing.  I decided to come into the city with him for the weekend."

Ben smiled tightened.  "It's good that you got out of the house, at least."

The server brought our drinks just in time to save me the horror of boring him to death with all the mundane details of the past few weeks.  Mounds of whipped cream leaked down the sides of my cup.  I took a small sip and set the cup back on its saucer.

"You would not believe the night I had last night," I said, after we’d both had a few sips.

"Tearing up the town, eh?"

"Oh, hardly."  I took another sip of the coffee and began the lengthy story of how I'd come to know Nate Carter and his group.

"And they knew Harding?" he asked, as if that was the most important part of the story.

"Yeah, it's apparently some sort of hobby for him, conspiracy-theory watcher.  He even uses a pseudonym to protect his reputation."

Ben rolled his eyes and took another taste of his still-steaming drink.  "I'm sure that's effective."

I shrugged.  "I doubt it matters much.  Carter is way too concerned with vampires taking over the world to worry about some doctor slumming it with the paranormal-weirdoes."

"You're probably right about that."

I ran my fingers through my hair and looked around the coffee shop again, debating if I should tell him about Tensley.  He'd been creepy, even scary, but in the bright light of day, his sinister looks and wolfish smiles didn't seem as bad.  I plunged ahead.  "So afterwards, Harding had some meeting or another and I hung around at the loft.  Great patio, good wine."  I considered a sketch hung on the wall behind Ben before turning my gaze on him again. "Met a strange guy, though."

He seemed tense as he twisted his coffee cup around in his hands.  "Who was it?"

"Some guy called Tensley.  He has some kind of business connection with Harding."

"William Tensley?"

Ben crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair.  "I don’t know him, but from what I know about him, he comes from old money.  Invests in a lot of weird projects.  We were approached a few months ago about publishing a series of books on occult history and he was a financial backer for it.  It was going to require a pretty substantial research budget, and the word around town wasn't good about the prospects for the book.  We wouldn't even hear the pitch.  I heard he played a big role in turning off everyone.  Hard to work with, strange hours, and lots of demands."

I shook my head in disbelief.  "Some gossip is true, then.  He seemed pretty crazy."

"I can't believe you let him in."

"I didn't.  He had a key."

Ben's face had grown concerned as our conversation shifted.  "Stay away from him."

"I'm planning on it."

Ben looked away from me, staring at the people passing by on the street.  "How long are you here for?" he finally asked, turning his gaze to me again.

"’Til this evening and then it's back to the usual grind, I guess." I let out a sharp sigh and shook my head.  "I've got to find something else to do that doesn't involve cleaning my house and running down to Park Manor every five minutes to deal with my grandfather."

Ben reached across the table and squeezed my hand.  "Let me know if you need anything."

"I appreciate that," I said.  I squeezed back and gave him a shaky smile.

The thought of returning to regular old life was daunting.  My conversation with Harding echoed through my head, his warning that the auras were likely caused by the stress of dealing with my grandfather.  In the past month, it had been an endless cycle of nurses, new meds, and bizarre phone calls.  No wonder my head was playing tricks on me.

"Allie?"  Ben dipped his head toward me and I looked up to meet his gaze.  He drew his eyebrows together and frowned.  "Is everything ok?"

I took a deep breath and shook my head.  "Just distracted.  It's sort of silly, but I've been getting these weird... lights in my vision.  Some kind of aura.  I get headaches some, too."

"What are you going to do?"

"I already talked to Harding about it.  He doesn't seem to think it's anything to really worry about."  Harding's assurances hadn't done much to silence the little voice in the back of my mind.  I had family history.  My mother was nuts and my grandfather was suffering from severe Alzheimer's.  What if this was just some precursor to my own battle with mental illness?  Who knew what could be lurking behind those genes.  I sighed.  "It's stupid, I guess, but I can't stop thinking about my mom.  What if I'm crazy?  What if this is just my brain's way of letting me know that it's about to take a flying leap into the deep end?"

He stood from his chair and grabbed my hand.  "Come with me."

He dropped some bills on the table and led me out of the now-sweltering coffee shop.  Once out on the street, we ducked between two buildings and Ben stepped close to me.

"I want you to listen to me," he said, cupping my face between his hands.  "You are not crazy.  Just because you have some family history doesn't make you the walking dead.  There's a lot more to it than just genetics, and you know that.  If you want to pursue it further, then tell me, and I'll help you out however I can.  But–and I really hate to say this–I think Harding is probably right.  Let's face it, Allie.  You're really terrible at handling stress."

I laughed and wiped away a little wetness on my cheek.  "Shut up.  I'm great at handling stress."

"If by great, you mean terrible."

"You already said that."

Ben pulled me into a close hug and I held tight to him, thankful for the gravity he lent me.

"Now what?"  I asked, as I pulled back from him.

"Take the break you've earned.  I mean that.  Time to rest."

I nodded.  "I know."

"And as for the rest of it–and I know this sounds cliché–but do it one day at a time.  Help your grandfather in any way you can.  Be a good granddaughter and bake him cookies.  Whatever you need to do."

I straightened my shoulders a bit and lifted my chin.  "I'm a terrible baker," I said, grinning.  I leaned forward and hugged him again.  He laughed as he looped his arms around my lower back, lifting me so I stood on the balls of my feet.

"Now that we have that all heavy stuff out of the way, what do you say we walk to the river?"

"Sounds like a plan.  I'd like to be back by lunch though - I don't want to desert Harding for too long."  I stepped away from him and started toward the street but I hadn't taken two steps when Ben grabbed my wrist and pulled me back.

"Whatever happens, Allie, please don't forget that I'm here for you.  If you need me, for anything at all, call me and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay, Ben.  I won't forget."  His tone of voice sent fingers of worry down my spine.

"Promise me.  Promise me that you'll call me if anything happens."

"What is this about?  Are you okay?"

"I'm worried about you."  His chest lifted with the deep breath he took and his fingers slid down, interlacing with my own. "I don't want you to feel like you have to go through anything on your own."

I took a step back from him and smiled.  "I know."  And I did know.  For the first time since I'd broken up with Colin, I was absolutely sure where I stood with Ben.  He was too important to me to just let our friendship slip away. "I'm glad we had this chance to talk, Ben.  I really am."

He winked.  "Forget I'm being so serious, okay?  Today's not the day for grand...anything."

Permission to forget.  I grinned.  "Right you are.  To the river, then?"

We strolled out of the alley and into the bright sunshine, arms brushing together.

* * *

THE REST OF my afternoon had gone by quickly.  After a short stroll with Ben, I treated Harding to lunch at his favorite sushi place.  We were back on solid footing by the second round of Saki and out of the city by nightfall.

I was exhausted by the time we made it home.  I'd crawled into bed without much fanfare and waited for sleep to come.

I nestled down into my feather comforter as the cool wind blew through the windows.  I listened to the rustling leaves in the woods beyond the house–their distant whisper caressing me as I closed my eyes–and took a deep breath through my nose, enjoying the heady smell of salt that drifted all the way from the Hudson, several miles away.

Deep within the woods, above the whisper of the wind in the leaves, I heard the cracking of small branches.  I rolled over on my back and held my breath, listening carefully.

Again, the cracking noises.

The crickets chirping in the undergrowth ceased their endless lullaby, cut off by a sharp snap that echoed through the silence.  I sat upright in bed and listened.

Utter silence.

I rolled out of my bed, keeping low as I crossed to the windows overlooking the woods.  I peered through a small slit in the blinds, searching the empty yard for any sign of movement.

The sound of footsteps thudded on my front porch but went no further.  I dropped away from the window, crossed over to my bed and grabbed the bat I kept underneath.  Looking down, trying to avoid making so much as a whisper against the wood floors, I crept to the bedroom door.  I waited behind it, out of sight from the front and back windows.

Minutes passed without so much as another sound.  I waited, my palms sweating against the lacquered wood.

After almost fifteen minutes, a lone cricket began its long aria, and not long after, his chorus joined him.  I gave up then and let the bat drop to my side.  Taking several deep breaths, I crawled back under my covers and buried my head between the pillows, trying to convince myself my imagination had run away from me.

Chapter 12

THE TRAIN RATTLED so hard under my feet that I found it hard to tap out the message I was trying to finish.

-So someone uploaded this paper that had all this information about other creatures.  Vampires are mentioned, of course, since that's what they're so obsessed with, but there's also a lot about shape shifters, fairies, and witches.  It's like reading a who's who of fantasy creatures.

I'd spent the last three days trying to fill Ben in on all the details of Carter's ParaLine group.  He was more interested than I expected.  His reply came quickly.

–How long did it take you to read all this?

-Longer than I care to admit.

–What time does your train get in?

I checked the scheduled time before texting my reply.  Laura had concocted a pretty grand plan for the Fourth of July Weekend.  Swank hotel room in the city, with a room facing the river for a premium firework viewing experience.  Shopping, time at the spa, time at the beach.  My whole body felt like liquid just thinking about it.  She'd told me to give her a check for a paltry amount to cover expenses, and I knew it wasn't anywhere near enough.  We fought on the phone about it a few times, but she eventually told me to shut up.  Ben encouraged me to send her the check.  And shut up.

I was hoping I'd be able to sneak some time in with him, but I'd tried to avoid telling Laura anything about the phone calls and texts he and I had exchanged over the past few weeks.  I didn't know enough about what was happening between us to even try to define it.

As the train hurtled underneath the hot streets of New York, I tapped my foot and clung to the plastic hand strap.  The subway was packed with holiday tourists and I'd missed my first connection.  I glanced at my watch; being twenty minutes later than I'd planned was far outside my comfort zone.  Laura had promised me that the front desk would have a key for me regardless of when I arrived.  Her train wasn't due until later in the evening.

When I arrived at my stop, I was ejected from the car, bag in hand, as the wave of people thrust out of the station.  I followed the swell up the stairs and out onto the street.  It was a sweltering, sunny day and the streets were alive with the energy of a long holiday.  I hitched my backpack higher up on my shoulder and flagged a taxi.  Sliding into one of the yellow cabs, I gave the cabby the address for a hotel a breath away from the Hudson River.  I sagged into the sticky vinyl seat and closed my eyes as we zipped into traffic.  It wasn't a long trip from the subway to the hotel, but I had zero interest in hoofing it.

The cab dropped me off at the door of a red brick building, with a glass-walled atrium that stretched to the roof.  I gave in to the urge to crane my neck back, taking in every detail of the glittering facade.  With a happy sigh, I strolled inside.  After dropping Laura's name at the front desk, I was given a white keycard and directed to a bank of elevators on the opposite side of the enormous lobby.  Despite the number of people in the space and the fact that the whole room was open to all the floors above, there was a certain quiet dignity to the place.  The elevator took me up fourteen floors, to a room bigger than my house.  I dropped my bag on the floor next to the door, and took my time exploring the suite.

Two bedrooms, a dining and living room, and an enormous bathroom with a tub I could swim in.  Perfection.  Everything was shades of white and charcoal gray, and a huge bank of windows stretched along two walls in the living space.   The view over the river was breathtaking.  White sailboats skirted in the water, arcing toward the Statue of Liberty in the distance.  A girl could get used to this.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and opened a text to Ben.

-I'm in heaven.  Shutting this phone down and sinking into the bathtub with some kind of bubble bath that smells like bergamot and lemons.

–I don't know what bergamot is.

-It's delightful, that's what.

–Can you eat bergamot?

-Yes.

–You're killing me here.

I grinned and shoved the phone into my backpack.  I set it on the king bed that dominated the smaller of the two bedrooms, grabbed a thick, white robe from the closet, and made a beeline for the bathroom.  Laura's train was scheduled to come in around eight, and we had plans to spend the evening at the hotel's rooftop bar.  A heavy amount of primping was required, and I still had to iron my dress.

The bergamot and lemon gel created luscious mounds of white bubbles in the jacuzzi tub.  I dipped my head under the surface of the water before coming up for air and leaning back against the edge of the tub.  I'd never been so grateful that my closest friends had told me repeatedly to shut up.  Totally worth it.

Just as the water started to get cold, I heard the door to the suite open and close.  Two voices echoed in the living room, both unfamiliar, and both male.

"Hello?"  one of the voices called out.

I jumped from the tub, sloshing water over the side and across the tiled floor.  Snagging the robe off a hook on the door, I wrapped it tight around myself, and panicked.  Who the hell had come into my room?

There was some talking outside the door and I heard footsteps just outside.  The knob jiggled.

"Hello?"  The same voice.

Wincing, I double-checked the lock.  After several silent moments, I took a deep breath and decided that someone had to break the stalemate.  I was in a fancy hotel in New York.  A keycard was required to even get to this floor.  The odds were good that no one in the living room was going to murder me.

I checked the belt on the robe and gingerly opened the door.  "Hello?" I said, peeking my head out of the bathroom.

Two men were standing five feet away, wearing khaki shorts and shit eating grins.

"Hello."  The taller of the two, a man with chestnut brown hair and green eyes, spoke first.  He dragged the word out a little, like we were all starring in a movie.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.  "What are you doing here?"

"Surprise!"  The other guy's grin broadened and he stuck out his hand.  "You must be Allie.  I'm Seth.  This is Kyle."

My eyes widened.  "Seth?  Laura's Seth?"  I didn't take his hand.

"In the flesh," he answered.  "Laura said you had no idea we were going to join you guys this weekend, but I think I screwed up the time.  She's not here yet, is she?"

"Um, no."  I folded my arms in front of my chest.  Any sense of relaxation I'd built up in the tub had evaporated.  I looked between the two guys, trying to puzzle out what exactly was going on.  Seth was shorter than I'd imagined, and in person, lacked some of the charm that he seemed to have in photos.  His blond hair was a sandy mix of gold tones, and he had dark brown eyes.  I could sort of see what Laura saw in him, but they hadn't moved to let me out of the bathroom yet.  I was growing less impressed by the minute.

"Well, we're ready to party whether she's here or not!" Kyle held up a huge case of cheap beer and let out some sort of party whoop.  Seth, at least, had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

"Ok.  Well, before we can do any of that, I'm going to get dressed and see if I can talk to Laura.  You guys just make yourselves comfortable, I guess."  I slipped past them, still clutching my robe closed, and darted into the bedroom.  My phone was beeping even as I entered the room.  There were four texts from Laura.

–Stuck on a call.  Probably won't make the 4.  Going to try for the 6.

–I may have failed to mention that we'd have guests joining us tonight.  Hope you don't mind.

–Hope you got my last message and you're decent.  They're on their way.

–Call me when you get this.  Seth says they caught you in the shower.

It flashed with a new message as I finished reading.

–Please don't kill me.

My annoyance dropped off some.  In all fairness, she'd at least tried to warn me.

-I'm probably going to have to.

–I wanted it to be a fun surprise.  They were supposed to meet us at the bar.

-What time do you think you're going to be here?

–Train won't get in until after 9.  By the time I catch a cab - probably close to 10.

I tapped my fingers against the back of my phone, trying to come up with a game plan.  I really wasn't feeling hanging out with Seth and Kyle until Laura showed up, but I wasn't about to hole up in a hotel room either.  I opened a new message to Ben and hesitated.  I'd wanted to see him, had been scheming for days about how to see him without ditching Laura.  Now that there were two new additions to our weekend, I didn't feel guilty about taking off for a bit.

-What are you up to?

I began working my fingers through my tangled brown hair as I waited for him to reply.  If I didn't get it brushed out, the natural waves in it would turn into a humidity-soaked rat nest.

My phone beeped.

–Nothing much.  How's the bathtub?

-Had to bail.  Got plans for tonight?  Looks like things have changed over here.

–Nothing I can't cancel.

-Come meet me in the bar. 12th floor, outside. How soon can you get here?

–Give me an hour.  Margaritas are on me.

I tossed the phone on the bed.  After fiddling with my hair a little more, I put on a gray skirt and white top.  A little lip gloss, a little mascara and a few more tweaks to the hair.  Ready.

Kyle and Seth were seated on the balcony, a six-pack nestled on the table between them.  They were watching some sort of video on Seth’s phone and the tinny sound carried into the hotel room.

I popped my head out the door and gave them a small smile.

“Listen, sorry for being kind of an ass earlier.  You guys just surprised me.”

Seth nodded.  “No worries.”

“Ok then.  Well, I hope you guys have a good night.”  I started to turn and head out, but Kyle stood from his chair and came to the door.

“Where are you headed?” He gave me a big grin.  It was the sort of smile that probably got him laid a lot in college, but it didn’t do much for me.

“Out for a drink, with a friend.” I waved my arm toward the hotel room.  “You guys will have plenty to keep you occupied, I’m sure.”

“You can drink with us,” Kyle answered.  “We brought more beer.”

I grinned.  “I think I’m good.  I’ve been promised margaritas.”

* * *

BEN WAS SEATED on a long, low couch against a brick terrace wall.  The glinting river stretched behind him, reflecting the evening sun.  I grinned when I saw him and as our eyes met, he stood up to greet me.

"Hey," he said, pulling me into a huge hug as soon as I got close enough.  "You look amazing."

"So do you," I said, as I wrapped my arms around him.  He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves pushed up and a pair of dark jeans.  I had no idea what we'd do after this, but I didn't care.  If I could spend the night staring at him, it'd be fine by me.  Those weeks of phone calls and texts came rushing back.  What had we said?  Where had all those conversation taken us?  I wasn't calling this a date, but as I drank him in, a small part of me wished I could.

"Do you want to get something here?"

I stepped back from him.  "Laura hasn't even left Boston and she invited Seth and a friend of his to hang out with us this weekend.  I want to get out of here before they try to talk me into a game of beer pong."

He grimaced and shook his head.  "Let's ditch this place and get some food."

Chapter 13

AFTER GRABBING SOME sushi at a place Ben picked out, we found ourselves in a small bar that was supposed to be the best place in town for anything featuring tequila.  The only waitress working at Boe's Tavern that night approached our table, with our drinks and Ben's appetizer balanced on a small bar tray.  I smiled at her, but received no real reaction aside from a blank stare and a nod.  Ben thanked her and received a small, false smile for his efforts.  She moved off to another table without asking if we needed anything else.

"With service like that, who cares if the liquor's watered down?" I said, swapping our drinks across the table.  Ben didn't exactly strike me as a margarita man, but who knew what kind of impressions our server had formed?  Maybe she thought I was the kind of woman who thoroughly enjoyed a whiskey shot with a Guinness chaser.

As he picked up a chip to stir the guacamole dip, he smiled at me, his deep blue eyes lighting up.  "Are you suggesting something amiss about this fine establishment?  Should I be offended at your judgment?"

"I'm sure this is a wonderful place.  I bet you bring all your dates here."  The words were out before I could stop myself.  I looked down at my neon-yellow cocktail, tracing the half-assed rim of salt with my finger, and wondered if it was enough liquid to either drown myself or get seriously drunk.  Either would be suitable, but I doubted my good luck.

Ben raised his eyebrows when I caught his gaze.  "Are you calling me a man-whore or saying we’re on a date?  I can’t tell.”

I blushed.  "That makes three of us," I replied, thinking back to that night so long ago.  Had it started there?  A failed date with Colin had landed me at this table, in this crappy, over-priced nightclub?  Was there a map for that somewhere that I'd missed reviewing along the way?  I felt another strange twist in my stomach and took a sip of my cocktail before trying to start our conversation up again.  “So, you've been working a lot?"

"Yeah.  We've been busy.  Things have been weird, but yeah, overall.  We're doing really well."  He stared down at his hands, fumbling with his cocktail napkin as much as he had his words.

A lot of unspoken stories lingered in his words, and I wondered for a moment what an appropriate response would be.  I took a long sip of my margarita and pushed thoughts of Colin and the publishing company from my head.  It was a world I didn't need to worry about anymore.  My time in the city wasn't about Colin.  It wasn't about deadlines or arguments or business trips or bad dates.  It was about summer and free time and being my own woman.  And alcohol.

The noise in the crowd was changing and I noticed some shifting around on a small stage at the back of the bar.  A college-aged duo took to the stage, both men clinging to acoustic guitars.  I looked at Ben and together we turned to watch the act.  About twenty minutes in, after several long, jam-style guitar interludes and at least as many sarcastic conversations about marijuana usage and the average barfly, we finished our drinks and left cash for the waitress.

"Do you want me to take you back–"

"No," I answered, cutting him off. "We haven't danced yet."  I grinned at him.  Two watered-down margaritas hadn't exactly given me a strong dose of courage, but dancing to loud music was better than anything else that might happen back at the hotel.  I had no idea what awaited me there; Laura still hadn't texted me to let me know about the train situation and we were getting close to the time she should be arriving.  I didn't have high hopes for her making it to the city tonight.  I was content to be with Ben, hit a few bars, and just dance.

For now.

There were several clubs within a few blocks and we picked the first one we came to.  The crowd inside was light, and there were at least ten couples out on the dance floor, dancing to a pre-recorded track piped over the speakers.  We snagged a table halfway across the room from the stage and settled in.  I let Ben order the drinks as I looked around the club.  Though unusual compared to my typical night-out preferences, I was excited to be out and... Single.  What a strange feeling.  Even at Ben's side, I was my own woman.  Single.  Available.  Free.  I smiled to myself as I glanced around at the patrons again, as if everything would look different simply because of my relationship status.

The lights in the club dimmed.  The doors propped open as more people flooded in, easily doubling the crowd size in ten minutes or so.  At exactly ten o'clock, the lights went almost completely dark and a slow, steady bass thrummed through the sound system.  House music boomed to life as the lights flashed back on.

I spent three minutes convincing Ben to join me on the dance floor.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, looking as if he was on the verge of giving in.

"I don't kid about dancing.  It's a little known fact about me–I love it."

The atmosphere was electric, a striking change from the anonymous place we had first entered.  The DJ was brilliant, spinning the right blend of older favorites with newer tracks.  I lost myself in it, soaking up sensations I hadn't experienced in years.  Colin hated to dance and Laura and I didn't see each other enough to make it a regular thing.  The vibrations of the subs and the waving, rolling motion of the crowd swept me up and I clung to Ben as we moved through it.

I moved closer to him as more people joined the dancing crowd.  The song changed, the pace amped up, and we moved faster.  I dropped my arms from his neck and stepped closer, not caring when his fingers grazed my hip.  I watched him dance, separate from me and somehow connected.  We moved together easily, even though I could count on exactly one finger the number of times we'd danced.  I tilted my head back and he pulled me closer, his eyes blazing in the swirling blue lights of the club.  When I put my arms around his neck again, he wrapped his arms around my waist and the world fell away from me.  I slid in closer, loving the loud pounding bass that overflowed any other thoughts in my head.

We exited the club hours later, the closing beats of the music washing over me.  My ears were ringing and the sounds of the busy street, even so late at night, were far away and muffled.  Ben's shirt clung to his chest soaked in sweat, his hair still sticking up in every direction.  I laughed at him as he ran his hands through it.

"You're just making it worse," I said quietly, turning to face him.  I reached my hand up and brushed his hair down, trailing my fingers through the back.  He watched me for a moment as I worked and I realized then how close we were.  My arm was inches from his face and I noticed for the first time the light hand he kept at my waist.  We hadn't stopped touching since we'd first set foot on the dance floor.

I stopped combing my fingers through his hair but neither of us moved.

“You look tired,” Ben said.  He lifted his hand from my hip and traced a finger along my cheek.

“Thanks.”  I tried to sound humorous despite my sudden discomfort.  A little voice in my head kept reminding me: You can't do this!  You're not the kind of girl that dumps a guy and jumps right to his best friend!  I shut out the words.  “You know, I always heard that’s just a nice way of saying ‘You look awful.’”

“Of course I don’t mean that.  You look like you’ve had a long day.”  He stepped back from me and I felt the palpable tension drop away.

I hesitated at his tone, at the odd familiarity in it.  Whatever had been there, whatever had come up while we danced, was gone.  "I did.”  A long day, preceded by too many long weeks.

“Can I take you home?”  His voice was still low, but the tenderness had slipped away.

“When you put it that way…” I wanted that tension back, that stirring tightness in my stomach.  I couldn't help myself.  A recurring theme for the night, it seemed.  I'd had too much to drink and was still reeling from the beating energy of the club.

His gaze swept over me, a look in his eyes I could finally name.  He wanted me.  "Allie."

Blood pounded in my ears.  I didn't know how to respond to him, didn't know what we were doing.  Every part of me longed to slip into his arms again, until I knew I would never forget the feel of his embrace.  Dancing with him had set me on fire; I'd never felt anything like it.  But... that little voice warned me that I couldn't let myself do that.  Whatever this was, or whatever it was going to be, I just didn't know if it was the right time.  I linked my fingers through his and stepped close enough to whisper: "I wish I knew what to do, Ben."

He brushed his thumb across my knuckles.  "Try not to think so hard."

A shiver rushed through me at the caress of the wind that swept between the tall buildings.  I needed the alcohol out of my system before I could process what was going on.  "Walk me back to the hotel."

He didn't look at me as he slid the jacket from his shoulders and draped it over mine.  We crossed the street in silence.

I took a chance and watched him out of the corner of my vision.  He looked unsettled, maybe even upset, and I wondered if his conscience was as mouthy as mine. My thoughts drifted back, to how it had felt minutes ago, pressed close against him, feeling the heat of his body through my thin, silk blouse.  I shivered and the silky lining of his jacket slid against my shoulders as we walked.

The sounds of the city melted into the background, leaving us with the company of the salty air drifting on the wind and the clicking of my heels over the pavement.  My mind hung on the sound, clinging to the rhythm, as I was lulled into a comfortable haze of margaritas and quiet.  The past few weeks had worn me out.  After telling both Harding and Ben about everything going on with my vision and the headaches, I'd become even more aware of the auras that popped up at the strangest times.  Between my own brain playing tricks on me and my grandfather's brain doing a real number on everyone, I had wanted this weekend with Laura desperately.  A text had finally come through while we'd been in the club.  She wouldn't be in until mid-morning.  Even though the night with Ben had totally been worth her change of plans, I still felt like I was wandering in the woods without a light to guide me.  The boozy fog in my brain lifted as we got closer to the hotel and I made myself the promise that I would try to get a better bearing on my life when I returned home.

"I feel so useless.  Like everything is out of my control.  The auras are still making me crazy, my grandfather is becoming more of a stranger to me every day, and my best friend is so busy she can't leave for a holiday weekend.  I haven't even gotten up the guts to ask you how you're really doing because I'm not sure I can really handle the answer.  I don't know what I'm doing here."  My words drowned out the methodical beats of my heels as we crossed the street in front of the hotel.

He chuckled a bit.  "You definitely don't need to worry about me.  I'm doing okay.  It's not exactly the greatest place to be right now, trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my best friend and what's happening between us.  I wish I could fast forward through this part.  Get past all the weirdness."

"I've made a mess of everything."

Ben shook his head.  "No, you haven't.  Things are messy right now, the way they always are when something big happens.  It'll get better."

"You mean it will start to feel normal?"

"Maybe."

We arrived at the building and Ben watched as a drunk couple sauntered past us.  "Can I walk you up?"

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” I replied.  Maybe it could be my mantra.  Repeat until my lime-tinged fog abates.  Reconsider in the morning.

“Why? I don’t bite,” he said, grinning at me.

Oh, but what if I want you to?  I sifted around for another excuse and alighted on the most probable.  “It’s not me I’m worried about.  Laura's text said the guys were supposed to check into another room, but I'm not sure I really trust that."

He frowned.  "Then don't stay here at all."

"Where exactly am I supposed to stay?" I asked, tucking my hands into his jacket pockets.

"With me.  We'll grab your bag, and you can crash at my place."

I weighed the pros and cons in my head for about thirty seconds.  The hotel room upstairs was beyond amazing, but I didn't trust Seth and Kyle to have found another room.  "Stay here.  I'll get my stuff."

Chapter 14

I WAS AWAKENED at noon by a hard knocking.  I rubbed my eyes, confused for a minute as to where the noise was coming from before realizing it was the bedroom door.  Ben and I had taken a cab back to midtown and I'd been so exhausted that after changing clothes, I'd collapsed into his bed without so much as turning on a light.

I opened the door, belatedly wondering if my pajamas were at all appropriate for the situation.  The harsh light of day cast all my ideas and revelations of the previous night into doubt.  What if I embarrassed him?

If he cared, though, he didn’t mutter a peep about it.  His only response was to hold up a drink carrier from Starbucks and a white bag.

“I picked up bialys.”

I moaned, the smell of onion and yeast already invading my senses.  My grandmother used to make bialys when I was younger, for very special occasions, and they were one of my favorite things.  I hadn’t had one in ages.  “You went all the way across town?”

“Of course,” he replied as as we walked to the kitchen.  He began toasting the bialys.  "I don't require as much beauty sleep."

I sat on one of the tall stools, drinking the hot Brazilian roast he’d brought.  As the smell of toasted onion filled the kitchen, my stomach growled.  "You're my hero."

I was definitely feeling awake by the time the roll was in front of me.  The first bite was exactly as I remembered: perfect.  It brought back memories of a steamy kitchen on cold winter mornings, the pungent scent of raw onions settling over me as my grandma began the long process of chopping and frying the filling for the bread.  The dough would complete its rise before I awoke, and it was always my job to make the craters for the golden onions and toasted poppy seeds.  I closed my eyes and smiled.  Perfect, indeed.

“These are amazing,” Ben said, after he’d taken a few bites.

“I haven’t had them in forever.  Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure.  I’m the lucky one to have company for breakfast."

His words reminded me to check my phone.  There was a voicemail from Laura, letting me know she was finally at the hotel.  I sent her a few texts, letting her know where I was, and that I wanted to meet up with her later.

“So,” I began, clearing my throat.  “Did you have something in mind for today or are you taunting me with baked goods before handing me off to Laura and the boy toys?”

“I have no plans of handing you off to anyone,” he answered, his tone a bit too serious for the casual atmosphere.  I raised my eyebrows in response and he shrugged.  "We can meet up with Laura later."

I got a weird little flutter when he said 'we'.  Aside from the obvious relief of not having to deal with Kyle for the rest of the weekend, I was dying for more time with Ben.

"I guess I’ll go get dressed.  Any guidelines for me?  Can I wear shorts or is this going to require a dive suit?”

“No, no dive suit.  Don’t wear stupid shoes though,” he replied as he began cleaning up the remnants of our breakfast.

“Stupid shoes?  There’s no such thing.”

I spent the entire time I showered and dressed trying to figure out his plans for the day.  By the time I joined Ben in the kitchen, I had narrowed it down to three guesses.

“If I guess correctly, will you tell me?” I asked, leaning next to him against the counter.

He nodded.  “Sure, why not?”

“Are we going sailing?”

“Sailing?  Did you forget who you were talking to?”

“Right.  Afraid of water.”

"Hey, hey, hey.  I never said I was afraid of water.  That's just absurd.  Drowning, however, well.  Who's not afraid of drowning?"  He winked and nudged me in the elbow.

I grinned and nudged him back.  “Right, right. Excuse me.  Drowning, then.”

“So we’ve established that we’re not going on a boat.  What’s your next guess?”

I pretended to think for a moment, placing my forefinger against my cheek.  “Are we going to a play?”

“At one o'clock on Saturday afternoon?”

“Well, it could be some kind of community theatre thing.”

“Yeah, like a ballet recital.”

I play-slapped him on the arm.  “You could help me out here.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re a nice person?”

Ben laughed at me and shook his head.  “You’re really terrible at this.”

We left his apartment and walked for several blocks before Ben turned onto a narrow dead-end street.  At the end of the road was an old brownstone, its only entrance a door covered in bizarre flyers.  I inspected the flyers as he opened the door for me, surprised to see advertisements for psychic readings and hands-on, miracle healings.

"Where on earth are you taking me?"

"Well, I figured I should indulge your side-interest in this paranormal stuff.  I have a friend who knows the owner of this shop."  As we entered the vestibule, I saw the name of the place: Paranormal and Supernatural Studies, Book Store and Library.

"Creative name," I commented as we went through a glass door on the right side of the foyer.

We were greeted almost immediately by a short man in a pin-stripe suit.  "Hello, I'm Christian Michaels.  How may I help you?"

The main room of the bookstore appeared to be the old living room of an apartment.  There were two cushioned chairs perched in front of the window, and stacks of books lined the walls, some on shelves and others piled haphazardly on the floor.  The odor was thick, comprised mostly of musty paper and the musky perfume from the large, spindly plant in the corner of the room.  A single desk sat in the far corner, a simple ledger lying flat on the surface.

"Mr. Michaels, I'm Ben Elridge."  He walked forward, hand outstretched, as the man came out from behind the desk.

"Ah, Mr. Elridge.  Yes, yes.  I was informed of your potential visit."

His words distracted me from gazing at a low shelf loaded with thin pamphlets covering all manner of strange subject matter.  Mr. Elridge?  Had some publishing friend recommended this shop?  Even though I'd known Ben for a long time, this was a good reminder of how little I knew about parts of his life.

"This is my friend, Allie Stuart."

Mr. Michaels raised his eyebrows and bowed his head to me.  "Welcome to my store, Ms. Stuart.  Is there anything in particular I can get for you?"

I smiled, feeling silly.  "Ah, nothing in particular, no.  This is sort of a surprise for me.  I wouldn't even know where to start."  I laughed nervously.

"Well, then the first question is an easy one.  Are you a skeptic or a believer?"

I blinked, surprised.  "A skeptic, I suppose."

"Lovely.  I too, am a lifelong skeptic."  He motioned for us to follow, leading us through a curtained archway.  Rows of shelves lined a large room; the only hints of the apartment it had once been were the faded lines in the ceiling, marking the repairs after the walls had been knocked down.  "To the left of the main aisle, all shelves house books on the supernatural.  On the right are books on the paranormal.  The shelves that line the outer walls contain what we call 'Inspirational'."

"Inspirational?"  I raised my eyebrows.

"Encouragement to believe.  Long treatises to convince you of the inconceivable."

I grinned, suspecting that, given the chance, I would grow to appreciate Mr. Michaels' sense of humor even more.  He left us then, apparently not the type of proprietor to hound his customers.

I turned to Ben and clasped my hands together.  "So, what do you recommend?"

He beckoned me to follow and we delved into the paranormal shelves.  "A friend of mine is an author.  He comes here to research for his fantasy novels."

After several minutes of looking, I pulled out a book entitled Paranormal Practices: Encouraging Your Extra-Sensory Abilities.  "This cannot be real."

"I'm assured that many people think it is."

Remembering Emma Hayes' story about her sister, I flipped through the table of contents, looking for the section about Telepathy and Empathy.  Maybe these books would reveal something my internet searches had not.

A couple of hours later, a familiar voice jolted me from a book on European vampire legends, and I looked into the face of Nate Carter.  "Allie?"

"Carter!  What are you doing here?"

"I come here every week.  Michaels puts back the best for me."

"This place is amazing."  I tucked the vampire book under my arm, intending to leave it up front with my other selections.  Carter didn't come across as creepy in this setting.  Without an audience and podium, he seemed much closer to normal.

Ben appeared from behind another shelf and strode to my side, his expression wary.

"Hey," Carter said, holding out his hand.  "Nate Carter.  I'm a big fan of Allie's."

"Ben Elridge."  He glanced between the two of us.  "Fan?"

"Her column is really amazing.  I love everything she's been writing about the vampire cabal."  He gave Ben a warm smile.  "It's a small world, isn't it?  I never run into anyone here.  This place is a hidden gem."

I smiled at him, surprisingly at ease with his humor and eagerness.  Any trace of the dominating group leader I'd seen weeks ago was long gone.  "It is.  We've been here most of the afternoon.  Ben's friend suggested I might like this place, given my current infatuation."

Carter laughed.  "I knew we'd get you hooked.  Before long, you'll be writing articles explaining how telekinesis works.  What are you looking for today?"

I peered at the stack of books next to my chair.  "Um.  Paranormal abilities, creature legends and spells."

"Spells?"  Ben asked.  He picking up a thick book bound in blood-red leather and flipped through the first few pages.

"Caught my eye," I replied, shrugging.  "Never know when a girl might need some protection spells."

Carter grinned and raised his eyebrows at Ben.  Ben's face flushed, his cheeks matching the book in his hand.

"Not that kind.  Like physical protection."  I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked down at my hands.  "I'm being silly.  I thought someone tried to break in a few weeks ago and something in the contents caught my eye."

"Why didn't you tell me?"  Ben asked.  I noted the flashing anger in his eyes and the hard edge in his voice.  Not exactly a conversation I wanted to have in the bookstore.

"Hey, Allie, listen.  I need to grab some other stuff and head out.  Don't be a stranger.  Everyone's been asking about you.  If nothing else, we've got our annual 'science fair' next month, on the eighteenth.  Everyone brings in their latest projects and we cross our fingers, hoping the whole place doesn't explode."  Carter inclined his head before ducking through an archway in the back corner of the room.

Ben, suddenly fidgety, took the books from my hands.  "Let's get these and head out.  I'm getting sort of hungry and I want to hear about this break-in before we see Laura.  Maybe over dessert you can fill me in on all this writing you’ve been doing.

I sighed and gathered my books.  "It’s not a big deal.  I probably imagined it and now I'm being an idiot."

His jaw twitched, and he stared at me for a long moment before nodding.  "Even if it’s not a big deal, I want to hear about it anyway.  You're not going to get out of telling me about the column so easily.  I knew about everything you were researching, but I didn't know you were writing about it on the internet."

"You’ll be bored to death."  I smiled at him, hoping that would be enough for him to drop it, and led the way back to the front room to check out.

Mr. Michaels wrote up my receipt and offered me a small list of other books to read.  When I reached out to take the list, he pulled it out of my reach and frowned.  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Nate Carter.”

“He reads this thing I write online.  I attended one of his meetings earlier this summer.”

He nodded.  “I’m familiar with his group, and I’m sure you’re a very bright young woman, so what I’m about to say should come of no surprise to you.  Be cautious around Mr. Carter.  He’s… curious.”  He held the paper out again.

I took it.  “Thanks, for the list and the advice.  I’ll keep it in mind.”  Mr. Michaels hadn’t told me anything about Carter that surprised me, but I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of reputation he had in this larger community.  Maybe I’d find some time to do a little digging of my own.

Ben waited for me by the door, and we left without speaking.  Once we’d rounded the corner, he nudged me with his elbow.

"Did you think it was silly?"  Ben asked.  His voice was low, as if he was still within hearing distance of the store's proprietor.

I shook my head.  "No, I loved it.  I don't know if I believe any of it, but I think I understand the need to explain the unexplained."

"I used to think it was all crazy, but I'm not so sure anymore."

"Why's that?" I asked.

Ben shrugged.  "Not sure.  It's just a feeling I have."  He fell silent then, his long legs keeping him a couple of steps ahead of me.  He'd hailed a cab before I'd even reached the curb.

Chapter 15

"LAURA IS KIND of a dirty drunk, isn't she?  I'd forgotten that."

I gave Ben a hard whack on his shoulder.  "Don't say that about her."

"Hey, I'm totally fine with it," he said, holding his hands up.  We were in the back of a cab, heading away from the swanky hotel and back to Ben's apartment.  "When a lady demands that kind of privacy with her boyfriend, I'm happy to oblige."

"We were supposed to spend this weekend together.  Without men.  It wasn't very nice of her to leave me out on the streets."

Ben snorted.  "Yeah, yeah, you're practically a lost puppy."  He held up his hands again as I moved toward him.  "Please don't hit me again."

I shook my head and looked toward the snaking, heavy traffic that surrounded our taxi.  The fireworks would start in less than an hour and we were hoping to make it back to Ben's in time to see them from the roof.  Laura had made it pretty plain that she would be more than happy to keep Seth all to herself for the night and Ben and I had bailed on the big hotel party.  So much for a luxe weekend.

The cab dropped us off just in time for us to race up to the roof and settle in to watch the show.  Ben had stopped off at his place to grab a few blankets and a bottle of wine.

"This view is amazing," I said, as we settled onto one of the blankets.  "I can't believe I've never been up here."

"My dad always said this is why he bought the place."  He passed me the bottle of wine as he talked.  "Best views in midtown and no rent control.  Perfect investment."

I grinned and took a long swig of the white wine.  I'd heard the story a hundred times before. Ben’s father had bought up the whole building for a steal just after he’d graduated from law school and had used the rental income to fund most of his other business investments.  Every member of the family had lived in the place at some point or another.  Ben was the latest inhabitant of a one bedroom that his older brother had lived in for years.

The first of the fireworks exploded over the Hudson and I slid a little closer to Ben.  He wrapped an arm around me as I shivered a little.  Way better than a hotel party.

We finished the bottle by the time the show ended.  After scooping up the blankets, we made our way back to his place without speaking.

He grinned at me as we went inside and ambled to the kitchen.  He opened a bottle of red wine and I watched as the burgundy liquid splashed against the side my glass, sending the musky scent of oak and chocolate wafting through the air.  I took the glass he offered me and sipped it, allowing myself to enjoy the elevated feeling that was overtaking me.  Aside from the previous night, I hadn’t had much to drink in the past few weeks and the alcohol was affecting me more quickly than usual.

We drank in silence for a few minutes, and I savored the quiet.  My thoughts bounced around.  What was I doing?  Where was this going?  Ben slid his wine glass over the island as he moved around to my side, a strange look crossing over his features.  I couldn't ignore the butterflies in my stomach or the fluttering beat of my heart.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, Allie,” he whispered, as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I feel like a terrible person.” I bit my bottom lip, as if it could possibly prevent the thoughts in my head from spilling out of my mouth. “Like the worst kind of traitor in the world.”

This seemed to stun him, but he let it go.  “Why?”

I was frozen, unsure of myself.  I couldn't sort out my feelings over anything that had happened in the past few days.  The truth, the ugly, awful truth, was that I'd barely thought of Colin since Ben had met me for coffee.  By the time we'd left the dance floor last night, I couldn't focus on anything but the way he made me want to kiss him, or the way he'd held me when we'd danced.  The level of comfort, of friendship I felt with Ben had always felt right, but this was new.  When I'd felt his arms around me on the dance floor, it had been like some missing piece fell into place.  I hadn’t even realized that it was missing.

The weight of this slammed into me and I groaned.  “I’m such an idiot.”

Ben’s voice sounded almost panicky now.  “Is this about Colin?”

“Not really,” I admitted.  This was about Ben.

“Do you still love him?” His words stunned me even further and I dropped my gaze to the wine in my glass.  I hadn’t expected so blunt a question.

“No,” I answered.  “I haven’t really loved Colin for a long time.”

“What happened?” he asked quietly, stepping closer.

“I fell out of love with him,” I replied.  “We didn’t fit anymore.”

His dark eyes burned into mine when I looked up from my glass and I shifted a bit under his gaze.

“Do you really believe that?” he asked.

I nodded.  “Of course I do.  It’s all I’ve been able to think about for weeks.”

He refilled my glass of wine and looked down at his hands.  “Does he know that you feel that way?”

“Yes.” I picked up the glass from the counter.  Bringing it close to my nose, I took a deep breath, loving the heady smells that drifted up to me.  I took a sip of the wine and closed my eyes at its velvety taste.  I held onto the pause in the conversation, trying to get my wits about me.  Why was he dwelling on Colin?  Colin wasn't the interesting part, not anymore.

“So, what happens next?”

“I don’t know,” I answered.  I dropped my head into my hands and sighed.  I knew what I wanted.  Knew for the first time in weeks, in my head, what my heart had been pattering on about.  "I don't know."

I excused myself and escaped into the bathroom, not waiting for his reaction.

Standing at the sink, I turned the cool water on, thankful for the noise.  I examined my reflection in the mirror: my pale face was red from the wine and my eyes looked bright.  I cupped my hands under the stream, enjoying the soothing feeling of it running over my fingers.  My thoughts slowed as calm settled over me and I made up my mind.  No matter how hard I'd tried over the course of my life, my plans and worry often worked out to be quite useless.  As I watched the flow of cool water tumble over my fingers, I gave myself permission to let go.  Whatever happened would happen.  The least I could do was stop worrying and let myself enjoy it.  After a long moment of staring into the bowl of the sink, I heard the low strum of blues guitar fill the apartment.

I shut off the tap and dried my hands before going out to the living room.  Ben had moved our glasses to the coffee table and was standing in front of his stereo, the only luxury item in the place.

Delight washed over me as he turned up the volume on the song: it was one of my favorites.  I went to the couch and sank into it.  As Ben joined me, I took a drink of my wine.  After he sat, I turned toward him and pulled my feet onto the couch.  Without a word, he grabbed my feet and put them in his lap.  I sighed and closed my eyes as the strumming blues guitar twisted through my body.  The muscles in my shoulders and neck relaxed as his fingers rubbed along the soles of my feet, working the tension and stress out through my toes.

“Do you like this?” he asked, after a few minutes had passed in silence.

“This is perfect,” I answered.  My vision swirled underneath my closed eyelids, each touch of his fingers sending jolts of electricity through my legs and into my stomach.

“Good,” he replied softly.

The next song continued for several minutes before changing.  He was playing a mix of some kind; I had been fortunate enough to receive one of his mixes before.  He had a gift for knowing good music, almost as strong as his gift for recognizing a good book.

Ben’s fingers touched my ankles and a delicious shiver worked its way up my leg.  I gasped, shocked out my reverie as I was, and he jumped slightly.  His look told me he was horrified with himself.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” I managed, even though my heart was still beating too fast.  I dropped my feet from his lap and stood from the couch.  Letting things happen as they would did not mean I needed to throw myself at him.

I walked around the couch to the windows and looked out over the city.  The music was drifting along and I tried to sink into it again, nearly succeeding.  I watched his reflection as he set his glass down and stood from the couch.  I couldn’t make out his face, but his slow steps told me the music was getting to him to.

I turned to him when he stopped behind me.  He was closer than I expected and I had to tilt my head to look at his face.  The angle made my breath catch and I took a step back, looking down into my wine glass.  I couldn’t believe the next words that came out of my mouth.  “We should open another bottle.”

My glass was refreshed so fast it made my head spin.  “I might have to stay here tonight.  I’m not sure if I could remember how to even get back.”  Was there a difference in letting things happen and making things happen?

He shook his head.  “I don’t think I’d let you leave anyhow.”

“Oh?”

“Too dangerous.”

I looked into his eyes–he was still just inches away–and smiled tentatively.  “I’m not sure it’s more dangerous than staying here.”

The look that flashed in his eyes made the tension in my stomach move deeper down in my abdomen.  My breath caught in my throat.

Ben didn’t seem to notice and took my glass from me.  The song changed to a blues cover by a pop artist. I was about to tease Ben when I remembered the gist of the song to be about a man in love with a woman who can’t decide who to love.  Discomfort crept through me again as my logical mind tried to take hold.

I was playing with fire.  I was aware of the fact that there’d occasionally been something hiding beneath the surface, something bubbling and waiting, even when I was with Colin.  I'd wondered from time to time what it would be like to be with him, in the way people do without ever intending to act.  The past few days had been a roller coaster of new feelings, of noticing new things about him.

I had noticed the gold flecks in his dark brown eyes.  I had noticed the gray hairs beginning to show at his temples.  I had noticed the way he held his head when he talked about something uncomfortable.  I had noticed the way he looked at me.  I had noticed the way I was beginning to look at him.

But had my decision in the bathroom been too hasty?  Could I bring myself to let go so completely?

Ben didn’t move as I rushed through my thoughts, and when I finally surfaced, again unsure about what to do, I looked him squarely in the eyes.  He pulled my arms around his neck and held onto my waist.  We were swaying to the music in the next beat, and I had almost nothing left to fight against whatever was coming.

I leaned my head on his shoulder, loving how right it felt.  My thoughts swayed back and forth in time to the music, pulling me away from what was happening and pushing me right back in.  “This seems like a bad idea, Ben.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“I don’t know.”

We continued to dance and I weighed the decision in my mind. I knew, logically that this was an impossible situation.  My carelessness, the idea that I could just wait and see, was foolish.  It was simple.  Ben was Colin’s best friend.  Colin was my ex-boyfriend, who was until quite recently, my boyfriend.  This entire thing should be off-limits, but I couldn't change that feeling in my stomach.

I tried to think of a way to put that to him without sounding like I was making a whole lot of assumptions.

“Ben,” I started and he pulled back slightly to look at me.

“What is it, Allie?”

My other option, of course, was to wait and see what would happen. Maybe nothing would happen.  Or maybe something terrible would happen.  Panic rose in my stomach, not liking when things didn’t fit together neatly.  I could feel the internal war, between doing what was right and doing what felt right.

“What are we supposed to do?” I asked, thinking that perhaps he needed to be brought in on my mental debate.

“We keep dancing to this song.  It’s easy.  You love to dance and you never get to.”  His hands trailed up my back, and he pulled me closer.  “I don’t usually care for dancing, but you’re starting to change my mind.”

The song was nearing an end and I was beginning to feel a gentle heat settling into my stomach, replacing the awful, twisted tension.

He leaned down and his breath tickled my ear.  “I don’t want to talk about this because I’m afraid we’ll ruin it.  What if it’s just...right?”

“How can we know?  How do we know it won't ruin everything?”  I wanted him to stay close, I wanted him closer, but my brain fought my impulses again.

“We don't.  I only know what I feel, Allie.”

“What do you feel?”

Without hesitation, he bent his face and brushed his lips against mine.  They were unexpectedly warm and soft, and a sigh escaped my lips.  I wanted to press harder, deepen the kiss, but something held me back.  I pulled away from him.

“I feel like it’s too soon.  This isn’t a good idea.”

When he turned away from me, I felt deserted.  Tears stung my eyes.  What the hell was wrong with me?

The situation was out of control; I knew that.  I didn’t want to think about my feelings for Ben, because it would make me re-examine our entire friendship.  I wasn’t prepared for that kind of self-honesty.  I thought back to our weird conversation in Colin’s apartment, ages ago.  He had almost let it slip, then.  I knew.  I knew now exactly how he felt.

“Ben.”

He seemed exhausted as he turned to face me.  “Yes?”

“What are your intentions?”  I was an absolute idiot.  I could have not have phrased my question in a worse way.

He chuckled and gave me a quick wink.  “What makes you think I have any?”  I hesitated to answer and his smile fell away.  His eyes deepened in color and his voice came out in a low whisper.  “I have every intention.”

I didn't give him a chance to say another word. I closed the gap between us, and before I'd even come to a complete stop, I crushed my lips against his.  Without hesitation, he gathered me to him and I knew that all of my internal arguing didn’t matter.  Whatever the consequences, everything in that moment was beyond perfect.  My emotions over the last several weeks had left me feeling raw and alone, but in that moment, it all evaporated.  His kiss was intense and being in his arms was like a soothing balm. This felt right.

He peppered the long deep kisses with sweet, small pecks near my lips, over my cheeks and my forehead.  His hands were on my back, on my waist, on my arms.  I ran my own fingers up his sides before wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling myself even closer against him.  He rained kisses on the side of my neck and I breathed in his scent as he bent over me.

“Do you want to talk anymore?” he asked, lips tickling the skin at my throat.

I shook my head. “No.  No talking.”

He laughed and brought his lips to mine again.  My feet lifted from the ground as he held me, pulling me closer against his chest and spinning us around gently.  I knew then that we were nearing the inevitable Point of No Return, but whatever hesitation I'd had vanished.  This was no time for worrying about Colin, or how this exact moment would affect every other thing in my life.  This was for me.

He was for me.

The room fell away from me then, leaving only me, Ben and the music spilling over us.  I moaned against his lips as his warm fingers trailed along the hem of my shirt, flickering against my skin and sending deep waves of heat through my stomach.  I loved the feeling of him touching me; his rough hands splayed over the skin on my back and traced down my spine. My hands fisted in his hair as his lips dropped away from my mine and he dipped his head.  His teeth trailed along my neck and I moaned again.  Who was this man?  This careful, quiet friend of mine?  Where had he learned to kiss like that?  Had his hands always felt like this?

His hands skimmed over my thighs and he lifted me from the ground again.  I wrapped my legs around him and the friction of it sent fire through my abdomen.  We fell backwards, dropping to the couch with me in his lap.  He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for something–what did he see?  What did he want to see?  I traced every inch of his face as he lifted his hand to my cheek, and I pressed against it and closed my eyes, savoring the moment.  The path to this point didn't matter for once and I smiled in spite of myself, in spite of the serious heat between us.  His eyes never left mine as his hand trailed the edge of my cheek and down over my throat.  I leaned toward him, pressing my lips to his again, and drank him in.  He tasted like the wine we shared and smelled of sweat and sandalwood.

I inhaled and dipped my head to his neck, touching the tip of my tongue to the soft skin below his ear.  The scent was more concentrated there and I nuzzled against him as his hands wound underneath my shirt.  He freed me of the binding cotton t-shirt and I gasped as the cool air of the room circulated over my skin.  The shock of being so exposed in front of him never came; the look on his face was its own caress, following along as his hands rubbed over my stomach and breasts.  Though it was far from the tender gaze in his eyes moments ago, it didn't send me searching for cover.  As he stared at me, his eyes burning with an intensity I'd never seen, a rush of power surged through me.  I did this to him.  He wants me.  I ground my hips into him, feeling the ultimate proof of that between my legs and grinned as he moaned in response.

"Allie."

The sound of my name in his throat pulsed through my ears and into my chest, sending my heart into a faster cadence.  The grin fell away and I kissed him again, almost heartbroken in that moment that I wasn't closer to him, wasn't a part of him.

His hands were on my back again, pressing me closer against him as he bent his head and kissed my chest, smooth lips rough against the sensitive skin of my breasts.  His tongue darted out at the skin just below the line of my bra and I arched into his hands, my mind going blank as my head rolled back.  It had been too long since I felt this, been touched like this.  He used his lips like he was paying homage and his touch was the guide for the rush of heat over my body.  I slid into it, the feeling of my own power over him giving way to the power he had over me.  His hands moved over me, caressing my breasts under the bra as his lips worked back up my neck.  I held his head in my hands and pressed my hips against him again, wanting his skin closer to mine.

His name echoed in the loft, escaping from my lips on a breath that I didn't know I was holding.

The next sound in the room, though, wasn't a gasp or a breath, or even the scrape of his jeans against the leather of the couch.  The next sound was the locks on the door turning as someone used a key.

Chapter 16

IT WAS AN artful tableau: the sort of thing I could see as if I were hovering above it.  Each element, frozen in time.  Each character assuming a position indicative of both mental state and personal stake in the situation.  Ben had his head turned toward the door, an indescribable look on his face.  Colin stood, framed by said door, with a mixture of revulsion, anger and disbelief in his eyes.

And there I was: the center of it all, topless, freezing and red-faced.  Do I cover my chest?  Do I scream in protest?  Is it possible to sink into the floor and disappear?

I was the first to move.  I slid from Ben's lap and snagged my shirt off the floor.  Without a glance at either of them, I darted into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me.

My mind reeling, I tugged the shirt over my head and stared at my face in the mirror, blotchy and red with deep embarrassment.  I was that girl after all.  That girl that broke up with her boyfriend and moved onto his best friend before the sheets had even cooled.  I crossed the bathroom and pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear what was happening on the other side.

I raked my fingers through my hair, smoothing the tangled mess that Ben and I had created, and took a few steadying breaths.  As much as I wanted to hide in the bathroom until Ben had handled the situation, I knew better.

I wasn't going to be that girl.

I cracked the bathroom door and looked out.  Ben had moved around the couch and stood stock still, looking more collected than I thought possible, while Colin stared at him.  I couldn't take my eyes off Colin; his face was etched with a rage I'd never imagined possible.

Less than a minute had passed since he'd first entered and I wondered if a single word had been spoken.

Ben shuffled his feet and ran his fingers through his hair.  He didn't seem nearly as collected as I'd first thought.  He stepped closer to Colin and held out his hands.  "I can explain."

"I have eyes, Ben." His voice had an icy bitterness to it that I'd never heard before.  I sucked in a breath as Colin closed the gap between them. "You're fucking my girlfriend.”

Colin turned from Ben and stormed out of the apartment.  He slammed the door so hard that the panes of the windows across the room rattled in their frames.

I pulled the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the living room.  "I'm sorry, Ben."

He turned toward me, his shoulders slumped.  "For what?"

"You shouldn't have had to handle that on your own."  I crossed my arms over my chest and stared down at the floor.  "I'm a chicken shit."

"There was nothing to handle, Allie."  He walked over to me and held out his hand.  "This isn't between you and Colin.  It's between me and him."

I glanced at his hand for a moment before he reached forward and tipped my chin up.  I tried to avoid his gaze, but knew that would be the real chicken shit thing to do.  I had no idea what to feel now.  Had I really been in his lap ten minutes ago?  Had everything really gotten so out of control?

"I mean it.  I'll handle this." He bent his head toward me, but I turned away from him.

"I don't think that's the right thing to do.  I should talk to him."  I resumed my seat on the couch and curled my legs under me.  "I knew this was a mistake."

"You've got to be kidding me," Ben said, dropping into a chair opposite the couch.  "Don't pull that with me, Allie.  I'm not buying it."

"Not buying what, exactly?  That this is a mistake?  That much should be clear to you.  I don't even know how we got here!"

He glared at me.  "You know exactly how we got here.  Phone calls, day and night.  More texts than I've ever written to anyone in my life."

I was angry now.  Everything I'd been trying to tell myself over the past few days had been absolutely right.  I wasn't ready for this.  The timing was all wrong, and I didn't buy for one second that Ben didn't know that.  "Yes, I know.  But is it really all supposed to add up to this?  Is it worth it?  He's your business partner and your best friend.  There's more at stake here than whatever is happening between us.  It isn't right."

"Fuck whether or not it's right, Allie.  You always try to do that, and I've known you long enough to know you probably always have.  You don't want to take a chance on something because you're afraid.  For months now, you've been talking about how hard things are with your grandfather, or how much you hate what's happening at work, but I don't see you doing anything different.  So, don't try to tell me what's right for me or what isn't.  I know what's at stake, and I think you’re worth it.”

My heart jumped into my throat, and I felt tears well in my eyes.  He was right, and I was an absolute idiot.  I stood up from the couch and crossed over to him.  Dropping to my knees, I wrapped my arms around him and let the tears flow.  "You're right.  You're so right."

He pulled me into his lap and kissed my forehead.  "You're going to have to get used to that."

I laughed and leaned up to kiss him lightly on the mouth.  My heart won over my brain at that moment and the little voices telling me to stop this disappeared.  Whatever I'd failed to do about the other stuff going on in my life, I knew this was something I couldn't afford to mess up.  "I think it's worth it, too."

"Then let me handle it."  He kissed me again, as if for good measure.  "Have some faith."

"I'm not sure-" My words were cut off by the muted ringing of the cell phone buried deep in my purse.  I hesitated but Ben nodded.

"You should get that."

I grabbed my bag off the floor and fished out the cell phone before it had finished ringing.  “Hello?” My voice sounded thick and awkward.

“Allie, it’s Harding.”

“Harding?”

“I need you to come down to the hospital.”

I pushed off Ben's lap.  “What's wrong?”

“Your grandfather has just been brought here by ambulance.  I don’t know the details yet but I’ll know everything by the time you get here.”

“I’m in the city.”

There was a longer than necessary silence on the other end of the line.  “Just get here.”

The line went dead and I turned to face Ben, terrified.

“My grandfather is in the hospital.”  Ben was next to me in a matter of moments, trying to slow down my scattered and hasty movements as I tried to gather my things.

“Settle down, Allie.  What’s happened?”

“Harding didn’t say.  I need to get there.  I need to get to the train station.  Can you call me a cab?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to do that.  I can handle this by myself.”

“I know you can handle the hospital.  It’s the trip I’m worried about.  It’s past midnight.”

I stopped trying to cram my foot into the wrong shoe and looked at him.  “You really, really don’t have to do this.  You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know I don’t.  It’s not like that.  Just finish getting your shoes on.  I’m going to grab you something to stay warm and make a call.”

I nodded, deciding that it wasn’t worth arguing over.  I was just glad to have further instructions to follow.  I finished tying my left shoe and decided that I should go to the bathroom before we left.

We were out the door in five minutes.  I kept my phone clutched in my hand as Ben hustled me through the building.  To my surprise, a black town car was sitting at the curb.  Ben shrugged when I looked at him.  “I called in a favor.  It’ll take us to the hospital.”

Our ride to Park Falls was silent.  I spent the trip curled against Ben on the cold leather seats, unable to think of anything other than my grandfather.  I hadn’t seen him since Thursday, which seemed to only amplify my guilt.  My jumbled thoughts and feelings at least made the trip faster.  We were pulling into the parking lot at the hospital when I looked over at Ben.

“You’re amazing for doing this.”

He just squeezed my hand.  “Let’s get inside.”

Chapter 17

I ALLOWED BEN to lead me through the glass sliding doors and to the visitor’s reception desk.  The security guard checked something in his computer and directed us to the correct room.  When we finally arrived, Harding was waiting.

My grandfather lay in the bed, his eyes closed and his chest moving up and down in a rhythm that seemed too harsh for his frail body.  I could hear his raspy breathing from the door.  Stepping closer, I traced his face with my fingertips and tried to find some resemblance to my grandfather.  The man in the bed looked too pale, too old.  I willed myself to look back at Harding and Ben.  “What happened?” I asked.

Harding stepped forward with my grandfather's chart in his hands.  “Late last night, one of our nurses noticed he was coughing in his sleep.  They started him on a low dose of cold medicine.  Over the course of the day, his breathing has sounded worse.  I wasn't scheduled today, so they put an appointment for him on my calendar tomorrow.  He got up to use the restroom sometime around eleven and collapsed.  His nurse found him, they called an ambulance, and me.  I'm treating him for pneumonia now, but we haven't done a chest x-ray yet.  He hasn't regained consciousness since the nurse found him, Allie.  I'm waiting on lab results right now, but we're not sure what's happening."

I tried to process his words.  I longed to look at the chart in his hands, but if there were no labs back, it wouldn't do any good.  I tried to think of questions I should ask, tried to think of the miracle thing they could check that would bring some answers, but my brain was blank.  I could only think of what I had been doing when he'd collapsed.  Frivolous stuff: having some wine, listening to music, making out with Ben.  My grandfather had been lying on a cold bathroom floor, maybe in pain, maybe scared.  And I hadn't been there.

I rubbed my hand across my face, desperate to relieve the pressure building behind my eyes.  I stared at Harding until little auras appeared in my vision.  Lavender flickers appeared around him and feathered out.  I closed my eyes and pressed the heels of my hands into them.  I knew I couldn't handle a migraine now.  "Was he hurt when he fell?" I asked, my voice so low I wasn't sure he'd heard me.

He stepped next to the bed and gestured toward my grandfather's head.  "We think he hit his head.  There's some swelling behind his ear that I'm concerned about."

I moved my fingers over the bump I found before reaching down to squeeze my grandfather's hand.  Fear coursed through me as I calculated how long he'd been unconscious.  So many unanswered questions.  "Is he going to get a CAT scan?  MRI?"

Harding nodded.  "We'll be taking him down soon.  His vitals were a mess for a while, so the nurses only took blood.  We’ve just been trying to get him stable.”  His voice was still that same soothing tone and he'd moved so he was just inches away from me.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ben take a step closer.

“When do you expect him to wake up?”  Ben's voice matched Harding's calm tone, but had the opposite effect on me.  I took a deep breath and stepped away from them both, eager to put some distance between us.

“We don’t know yet.”

I turned my back on them both and walked around the bed to a chair tucked between an end table and the window.  I picked it up and set it as close to the bed as I could.  Without saying another word, I settled myself into it and looked over at my grandfather.  There was nothing to do but wait.  My body was tense, and I desperately wanted to do something, anything.  He was the only family I had.  The only person left.  I reached forward and grasped his hand.  A little ripple of shock went through me as I touched his cool, waxy skin.

Harding cleared his throat.  "I'm going to check on those labs, find out for sure when they're taking him to radiology.  Hit the call button if you need anything."  He backed out of the room and pulled the door closed as he left.

Ben was at my side before the latch clicked.  He knelt in front of me and took my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles.

His hands were warm, and a little rough.  I closed my eyes, focusing on the warmth, wondering if there was some way I could bridge it over to my grandfather.  The difference in their two hands shattered my heart and tears slid down my cheeks.

My thoughts ticked by with the seconds on the clock, going over every little instance in the past few weeks.  I had visited every day, and even as his brain became more muddled, my grandfather had seemed physically well.  It wasn't cold season, and as far as I knew nothing serious was going around.  There was no telling what was going on without test results, but I knew it could be hours before we knew anything.  I replayed those last days with him, before I had left for New York.  Easy games of cards, watching movies, reading books aloud.  I tried to enjoy what time I could with him; the more lucid moments had him telling stories about my grandmother when they were first married.  Now, here we were, sitting in a dark hospital room that reeked of floor cleaner and stale sheets, waiting.  I agonized over that question again and again: what would happen next?  I shook myself and tucked my hands between my knees.  It was no time for drama.  There was vigil to keep.

After about thirty minutes, a nurse bustled into the room and checked the monitors.

"He's still stable," she said, turning toward us.  Her nametag read "Anna Johnson" and she looked to be in her mid-forties.  She had the steady look of a competent nurse.  I instantly felt a little more at ease.  "I've been with your grandfather since he was brought in, and I'll be here until seven.  Please call me if you need anything."

The rest of the night and next morning slipped by in a blur.  Harding and various nurses came in and out, running tests, changing out IV bags, all of the various things that go on in a hospital room.  We waited and waited, but he never woke up.

Around ten-thirty in the morning, Ben tried to get me to eat an apple from a lunch box he'd grabbed in the cafeteria.

I nudged his arm away and pulled my legs up onto the chair.  “I can't eat right now,” I whispered, a fresh wave of tears threatening to overflow.

“You need to eat, Allie.  You need to keep your strength up.”

“For what?”

He shrugged and placed the apple back in the little cardboard box.  “I’m just trying to help.”

““I appreciate your trying to help. I just can’t eat. You should go home. I’ll be fine.”

The lab results had come back inconclusive, and Harding had requested more testing.  Papa still wasn't awake.  Nothing had changed.  It was my job, and my job alone, to sit there and wait for something to change.

“I want to stay here, with you.”

“You don’t need to stay with me.  I'll let you know something as soon as I can."  I turned away from him and looked at my grandfather, searching for some sign that he was coming around.  I was grateful that Ben had stayed by my side, but a tiny little part of me wanted to do this alone.  For a long time, it had just been my grandfather and me. Other people had come and gone, but he was the one constant in my life. If this was his time to go, I felt like it should be just the two of us.

“I know that.  Like I said, I want to stay.”

My expression hardened as I turned to face him.  The hours of waiting had heaped weariness on my shoulders.  “Maybe I just want to be here by myself.  Be alone with him.  I don’t need you here.”  A sob caught in my throat as I spoke, wishing immediately I could take back my words.  He didn't deserve that, didn't deserve what the mess I brought to the table.

He pushed back from his chair, hurt etched on his face.  I thought he was leaving, but he pulled my chair around and knelt down in front of me.  Cradling my face in his hands, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.  "You don't have to do this alone, Allie, but if you need some time with him, I get it."

I didn't deserve his kind, sweet words, but I soaked them in.  Not knowing what else to say, I wrapped my arms around his neck and let the tears fall again.  He pulled back, settling onto the floor and bringing me with him.  He cradled me in his arms and rocked me until I didn't have tears left.

* * *

I AWOKE LATER to the sound of someone entering the room.  By the time I opened my eyes, Laura was standing over me.

“Wake up, Allie, wake up,” she whispered, shaking my shoulders.

“I'm awake.  I'm awake,” I replied, my voice rough in my throat.  I tried to figure out how much time had passed since Ben had settled me into a large green recliner and left me alone with my grandfather. Sunlight peeked around the corners of the light-blocking window shade, but it was tinged red.  I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes and gave Laura a weary smile.

She returned it and looked over at my grandfather.  He still hadn't regained consciousness, but a nurse had come before Ben had left to move him in the bed.  He lay on his side, his breath much shallower than it had been earlier.

Laura sat on the armrest of the recliner and reached down to grab my hand.  "We're going to get through this, Al."

"I know."  I took a shaky breath and pinched the bridge of my nose.  “How did you know I was here?"

“Ben."  Her voice was thick.  I wondered what she knew, or guessed, about why he'd known what was going on and she hadn't.  "He met me at the train station and took me to your place so I could pack a bag for you.  I'm glad he's got his head on straight; I was a mess when he picked me up."

"He was with me when Harding called," I said, answering a question she didn't ask.  "We came out together, and he stayed with me all night."

She gave my hand another squeeze, but we didn't speak after that, not for a long time.  Laura was probably one of the few people who remembered my grandfather as he'd been.   She had known my grandparents since she'd been nine.  She and her mother had lived alone across the street, and my grandparents treated Fallon, Laura’s mother, like a daughter.  We had been best friends for so long that my grandfather often thought she was my sister.

“Rose?”

My head shot up and I spun around.  My grandfather looked groggy as he opened his eyes.

Harding was in the door before I even had a chance to react.  I made eye contact with him as I gripped my grandfather’s hand.

“Papa?”  I said his name loudly, hoping it would be enough to anchor him for a little while.

His gaze turned toward me, but his eyes still struggled to focus.  “Rose?”

I held myself from sighing and watched as Harding began doing various tests.  “It’s Allie.  Laura and I are here.  You’re in the hospital, but you're okay.” Harding was nodding as he checked my grandfather’s blood pressure.  I wondered why a nurse wasn’t running through the tests, but decided not to question him.

“Allie, you girls shouldn’t be here without your mother.  Where’s the baby?”

“There’s no baby, Grandpa.  It’s just me and Laura.”

“What do you mean, there’s no baby?  Where’s Ava?”  He was growing agitated and coughed as he tried to push himself up in the bed.  The force of the coughs wracked his whole body.  Harding placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down.

I held my breath as I watched him.  Even through the coughing fit, he still looked at me as if he thought something was very wrong.  I hated these bad times with him, when he couldn't even remember what year it was.  He jumped through time, regularly revisiting some of the various nightmares of my childhood.  The death of my baby sister was one of the big ones.  I remember her frailness, striking to me even at the age of four.  She'd been a year old when she'd died and my mother had never recovered from the shock of it.  Ava's death had been the beginning of the end for our family.  Even as an adult, I couldn't imagine the pain it had caused my grandparents.  As I watched my grandfather struggle to match what had happened back then with the words I was saying now, I cursed the disease and what it had taken from him.

Laura stepped around the bed and grabbed my grandfather’s other hand.  He turned to look at her, his eyes still dazed, but the coughing subsided.  “Harry, listen to me,” she said, her voice quiet.  She had been the only person aside from my grandmother to call him Harry, a nickname he usually wouldn’t tolerate.  “You’re in the hospital, alright?  It’s just Allie and me here.  You don’t need to worry about anyone else, okay?”

He nodded and began to pull his arm away from the prodding hands of Harding.

“Allie, you need to bring your mother here.  I need to see her.”

Harding nodded at me and I looked steadily at my grandfather.  “She’s not coming.”

“Where’s my wife?”

The agitation is his voice rose and I feared another coughing fit would come.  “It’s just us, Papa.  Me and Laura.”

“Enough of this, Allie. I’m tired of this fighting with your mother.  She and David need to come back.  You need to tell her, she’ll only listen to you.”

I closed my eyes, wondering if there was anything else we could dredge up from the dark years of family history.  My mother and stepfather had died over ten years ago.  At least we were moving closer to the present.  "It's okay.  We'll see what we can do."

Chapter 18

THE SNAP OF the screen door echoed through the night like a gunshot as I let it shut behind me.  I jumped at the sound as I stood on the porch, distracted momentarily from my goal.  I took a deep breath to calm myself and mapped out my route again.  Four long strides to the edge of the woods.  From there, the path through the trees was familiar– I had made the run daily for years.  Not in any recent years...exactly, but I couldn't think of a better way to relieve stress that didn't involve a bottle of wine and someone male.

The only thing racing faster than my pulse was my mind.  The last three weeks had been day after day of hours logged at the hospital, hours logged running various errands for my grandfather.  He had pulled through those first scary days after his fall, but it hadn’t exactly been easy street after that.  He was confused, sometimes terrified, and still quite sick from the pneumonia that had developed.  For all the nurses did, I was still bone-tired, and after leaving the hospital each night, I crawled in to bed to rest up for the next day.

Tonight had been different.  I had fallen asleep early, and had been plagued by nightmares.  Now, just after three in the morning, I couldn't seem to shake myself out of it.  I had tried the usual methods: a long bath, hot tea, and a thick research book on multi-organelle defects.  Even an hour-long stretch of late-night, re-broadcasted golf tournaments hadn't netted me any shut-eye.

After spinning my wheels on a new article for MadScientia, I'd finally given up on resolving the stress and worry in any conventional manner and had turned to a preferred method from my past.  I'd pulled on a pair of shorts, laced my worn out running shoes and struck out into what remained of the night.

These were my woods; this was my land.  If there was any place left in the world untouched by the strangeness that had woven itself through my life in the past weeks, it was here.

I jogged in place a moment before propelling myself down the steps and across the yard.  A brief surge of adrenaline coursed through me and I launched myself into the dark trees, not hesitating as the ground beneath my feet changed from dormant grass to thick undergrowth.

Whip-like branches lashed at my shirt, scratching the soft skin of my upper arms.  I ignored the jabs of pain starting in my abdomen, focusing only on pushing my arms and legs through the brush.  Leaves and branches crunched underfoot and I heard the small, rushing tributary to the west.  My entire body now campaigned against the forced exercise.  I gritted my teeth, steeling myself to maintain my speed, but failing.  A stabbing pain shot through my side and I slowed my pace again, this time to a light jog.  The sheer effort of it kept my mind gloriously blank.

I almost collapsed into the tall, damp grass of the clearing as soon as I reached it.  Unable to pull in enough oxygen, I took useless, gasping breaths and closed my eyes, blotting out the star-strewn sky above me.  When my breathing and heartbeat regained similar rhythms, I gulped in air.  With each breath, an uneasy calm settled over me.  The despair of uncontrolled circumstances threatened to unmoor me again.

I sighed at my own dramatic internal monologue and began moving in place, ready to head for home.

A large crash echoed through the woods and I whipped around, crouching low and moving closer toward the cover of the undergrowth.  My eyes had adjusted to the darkness but I couldn't make out anything that would be responsible for the bizarre noises ripping through the trees.  The sounds were coming from my left, and heading straight for the river.  I moved further away, keeping my back at an odd angle between the forest line and the river.

It was closer, whatever it was; I crouched even lower, as I made out the first flash of a strange shape. The next instant, a young doe burst onto the riverbank, limping and wild-eyed, its right flank slick with blood. Her injuries were not enough to slow her down even a little.  With a small leap, she landed in the river, thrashing some before steadying herself and swimming across the cold, deep water.  After she pulled herself onto the opposite bank, she turned and looked back, standing stock still for just a moment.  Whatever she saw, or didn't, seemed to calm her and, after a moment, she collapsed onto the rocky ground in silence.

I stared at her, stunned.  After a long glance, I turned back to the woods, waiting for whatever had chased her to appear.  The silence stretched on and, after an eternity of waiting and held breath, I began picking a slow path back to the house, listening for the predator.  I kept off the path and stayed low to the ground, turning back only once–at the last possible spot–to check on the doe.

She hadn't moved.

The woods remained silent and I made it back to the house in one piece.  Whatever had chased down the deer was hopefully long gone.  I slid the deadbolts into place on both the front and back doors and retreated to my room, hoping for some rest.  Hospital visiting hours were early.

* * *

I PULLED A small tote bag loaded with things for my grandfather from the passenger seat and locked the car behind me, anxious to get out of the sweltering summer heat. The hospital observation unit was peaceful on Tuesday mornings, something I had come to appreciate.  Having spent most of my time here over the past few weeks, the schedule and routine of the place had become intimately familiar.  Mondays and Tuesdays were the slowest days, lacking the burst of visitors that the weekend brought.  By Wednesday, the patients had recovered from the onset of guests and doctors seemed to schedule lots of tests and follow-ups.  Thursdays and Fridays brought an assortment of bright, youthful volunteers who brought books to read and dogs to pet.  Tuesdays were good days.

As I waited for the elevator to the sixth floor, my phone rang.  I fished it out of my purse and didn't even have to look at the screen.  The custom ring tone let me know it was Ben.

"Hey."  Even after three weeks of careful tap-dancing and negotiation, trying to figure out what this was and what we were doing, I couldn't think of a more creative way to answer the phone.

"What are you up to?" I relished the tone of familiarity in his voice that hadn’t been there weeks before, not until after that night in his apartment.  "About to go up and see my grandfather.  What's up?"

"You're going to hate me."

My stomach dropped.  We had plans, the first time we'd been able to work anything out since my grandfather had been in the hospital.  He was driving in after work, while I slaved away in the kitchen preparing a meal of salmon and mushroom gratin and little pain-in-the-ass tarts that involved tomatoes and goat cheese.  "Why?"

"I can't come out tonight."

"Why?"  What was it with men?  Why did everything have to involve multiple tiers of questions?  Couldn't he just tell me what was up in one go?

There was a pause on the line.  "I've got a business meeting tonight.  Last minute."

I bit my lip and leaned against one of the brick pillars that flanked the door.  "Oh."

"I ran into Colin last night."

"Oh."  I stared down at my feet.  "This is never going to work out, is it?"

"We don't seem to work so well when we try all this planning."

I chuckled, trying to hide the hurt that was squeezing my chest.  The warning bells clanged in my ears.  "What happened with Colin?"  I managed.  As far as I knew, it was the first time they'd seen each other.

"Nothing really.  Just–nothing."  He paused.  "We worked it out."

I twisted the tote in my hand, wondering what that meant.  "Did you fight?"

"Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Fine," I replied.  I pushed a hiss of air through my teeth.  "Let me know when we can reschedule.  I need to go anyway."

"I'm sorry, Allie."

"It's okay.  I'll talk to you later."

He ended the call and I tried to push past my disappointment.  We had tried to find time together and failed.  I leaned my head back and banged it on the brick a couple of times, gritting my teeth at the dull thud.  There were more important things to deal with now.  Untwisting the tote, I opened the door to the observation unit and plastered a smile on my face.

More important things.

* * *

CELIA, THE YOUNG nurse at the station, waved at me when I came out of the elevator on the third floor.

"How are you today?" she asked.

"I'm good - tired though."  I pushed the phone call and my cancelled plans from my head one last time and forced a smile over my face.

"Well, he's having a good day today.  A friend from the nursing facility came by and played checkers with him this morning.  She said he was talking more than he has in weeks."

A wave of relief washed over me.  I could have hugged her.  My grandfather had been eerily quiet during his hospital stay; it had been like pulling teeth to get answers to the simplest questions.  I didn't bother hiding that relief as I excused myself and went to his room.

Another first: he was sitting in a recliner, fully dressed.  Getting him out of bed each day was an ordeal and the nurses hadn't tried to get him to change into normal clothes since his first day back.  Each day, when they finally got him out of bed, he had simply exchanged his pajamas for a fresh pair.  He repeated this before going to bed each night; I had been doing more laundry than ever before.

"Hello, Papa," I whispered as I leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"Hello," he replied, grabbing my wrist.  "Which one are you?"  There was no anger or meanness in his voice and his eyes were bright.

"It's Allie.  I brought you a few surprises today."

"What did you bring me?"  He reached for the bag I set on his bed and a little smile played across his lips.  Like a curious child, he rifled through it.  I knew when he'd found the best surprise of all.

"Cherries!"

"They're the last of the season; I picked them up down at Wilbur's."

"These are my favorite," he said, as he picked a few from the bag.  He looked at me for a long moment, cupping them gently in his hand.  "Is it ok–?"

"Of course, enjoy," I said as I took the tote from him.  "I brought a book to read too, if you'd like."

He nodded and began rocking the chair as he ate the cherries.  He put the pits into a tissue from his pocket and talked to himself between bites.  I watched him for a moment before I turned my attention to the tote bag.  I set aside the bag of cherries, open so that he could take more, before I took the rest of the objects out of the bag, laying them out on the tray table: a fresh tube of toothpaste, two prescription refills to drop off with his nurse, and the book, a hardcover about a young boy and his dog.  I also had a deck of cards (though he couldn't remember how to play anything, he liked to shuffle them) and a small notebook.  He stopped rocking and surveyed the items.

"Why don't we read for a while?"

His eyes didn't reveal any real sense of familiarity and he stared at me for several moments before giving me a single nod.  He took a fresh supply of cherries and waited for me to begin.  His eyes didn't waver from me as I took my own seat and, when I began reading, I wondered if he was even listening to the words or just watching me talk.

We kept it up for more than an hour, the reading and the eating.  By the time we had finished three chapters, my voice had grown hoarse and my eyes were already tired.

"Rose, do you remember your great aunt?" he said at one point, his gaze still steady.

"Which one?"

"The one with the curly red hair."

"Estelle."

"She always made cherry pies in early summer.  Brought them around to all of the family members.  She was the one that brought your grandfather here to America, when he was still a teenager.  It was lucky that he was so good at the prep table; he was an idiot."

"You shouldn't talk about your father that way."  In the interim weeks since his hospitalization, my grandfather recognized me as his granddaughter about half the time.  Otherwise, he generally operated under the assumption that I was actually my mother.  Apparently, today was one of those days.

"Your Edward seems like a smart man; that's probably why your mother likes him so well."

Yep.  He definitely thinks I'm my mother.  Good old Rose.  Any information about my father, though, was worth prodding him for.  My mind trailed to that strange ledger I'd found at the beginning of the summer.  The man who had given me my dark hair and slender face was still a mystery in so many ways.  "What do you mean?" I marked my spot in the book and set it aside.

"Oh, surely you've noticed by now.  She doesn't think that Robert boy is right for you, and she likes Edward."

I was well aware of the fact that I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open, but I couldn't seem to get things under control.  For as long as I could remember, my grandmother had been as outspoken against Edward as anyone.  After he was gone, she had told my mother, repeatedly, to forget all about him.  My grandmother's list against him had been as long as my arm: he worked strange hours, he kept weird company and he hid his business dealings from pretty much everyone.  Add in her general dislike for his attitude toward my mother's illness and his all but absent parenting skills and he might as well have been an outlaw or a murderer.  Or the kind of person that didn't attend Mass on Sunday.

"She thinks he'll be the boy you marry, though she'd kill me if she knew I was telling you this.  You know how your mother is, Pea."  He patted my hand gently.  "And I told you already how I feel about this whole situation with Robert.  You need to do whatever makes you happy."

I had no idea who he was talking about; my mother hadn't talked about life before my father much at all and certainly never spoke a word about anyone named Robert.  Just a year before she'd met David, my stepfather, my father had been her sole obsession, the focus of all her stories and ramblings.  Their time together was like an open book for me, in many ways–a book seen only through her unreliable eyes.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say next.  "What do you think of him?" I asked, finally, hoping that he would answer.

"He'll take care of you, and he does seem to love you.  It's–funny, you know–" he drifted off, his gaze shifting away from me and focusing on something near the opposite wall.

"What is it?"

"Well, he's just odd.  I've never met someone with so much–instinct."

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes, it’s like he knows what’s coming, or what you’re going to say next.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I looked away from him, the spell broken.  He hadn't made much sense in weeks, jumping from timeframe to timeframe, making up people and telling most of his favorite stories in a new way.  I chalked his words about my father up to the usual confusion that dominated him.  He had slipped into that silent thoughtfulness again and I probably wouldn't have him back anytime soon.

Similar thoughts had brought forth a deep panic in the past few weeks.  Harding had kept my grandfather in the hospital for so long because the infection that had caused the pneumonia was only nominally responding to antibiotics.  He'd had a few bad episodes since being admitted.  Lost consciousness, apnea, and an irregular heartbeat had caused a deep well of dread to form in the pit of my stomach.  When I thought of these episodes and how they seemed to further affect his mind, I found myself wondering how long it would be before my grandfather was lost to me forever.  Now, though, as I watched him stare at nothing, the panic didn't come.  In its place was only resignation.  I turned away from him, needing a distraction for my hands.

The nurses generally tried to keep his room tidy, but he was a messy patient.  I worked my way around the room, gathering things up and throwing away trash.  As I moved around, he ignored me, finally engrossed in something other than his thoughts: a Golden Girls marathon blared on the television.  The bawdy sitcom sounds of it were a welcome change to the blanketing silence and I lost myself in the dialogue as I worked.

We ate lunch at the usual time, and then occupied a good chunk of the afternoon with a slow walk around the unit.  Harding was waiting in my grandfather's room when we returned.  He helped my grandfather settle into the recliner before motioning for me to follow him from the room.  We walked down the hall to a little privacy cubicle for visiting families.

"What's going on?" I asked as he shut the door.  I took a seat in one of the hard plastic chairs, my hands clasped in my lap.

"We did another full blood workup this morning. His results are worse than they were when he arrived here."  He tossed my grandfather's chart onto the table and sat in the chair opposite me.

I sighed and dropped my hands from my lap.  This wasn't what I wanted to hear today, not after it had been such a good day.  "So what's the plan?  Better antibiotics?"

Harding shook his head.  "We can't really press this any harder.  He's doing okay right now, but his body is fighting a very difficult fight.  We're seeing some signs of organ failure."

His words echoed in my head.  I kept my hands clasped together and took five deep breaths.  "That can't be.  He seems so much better today.  It's been a good day."

He nodded.  "I know.  But that doesn't always mean that a patient is getting better.  Sometimes–" he cut himself down and stared down at his hands.  "Sometimes, it's sort of a brief reprieve.  A patient seems better for a few days, spends time with family, and then–"

"Dies."  I finished the sentence for him and looked out the little window on the opposite wall.  I had read the little pamphlets hospice had dropped by in the early days of his hospital stay.  "There has to be something, Harding.  This can't be his time."

Harding didn't say anything when I shoved my chair away from the table and started pacing the room.  The last few days had seemed markedly better, even though Harding had told me that they weren't seeing to the response to the antibiotics the way they'd hoped.  His pneumonia hadn't really improved, and they were having trouble getting him to eat.  I knew that the way he'd eaten the cherries had been out of the ordinary for his appetite, but I didn't care.  I had enjoyed the thought that maybe it was because they were his favorite, or because I was the one who had brought them, but my brain knew what my heart couldn't accept.

He was dying.

I could only think of one last question: "How long?"

"It's hard to know.  It could be a week, or it could be a month.  We'll do the best we can, Allie, to make sure he's comfortable."

I nodded, but didn't know what else to say.  A week, or a month.  So very little time.

He stood up from the table and put his hands on my shoulders.  "Is there anything I can do?"

"How difficult would it be for you to get me out of here?  I know what's coming, and I know what I need to do, but I can't... I just can't be here right now.  I'm not ready."  My breath hitched in my throat and I covered my face with my hands for a moment before looking up at him again.  "I need to get out of here and I don't trust myself to drive."

"Give me five minutes."

Chapter 19

HARDING FOLLOWED ME up the steps and waited as I unlocked my front door.  I was overwhelmed by guilt as I dropped my purse onto the table.  "I left him there.  I told him I'd be back and I just left him there instead."

"He was asleep, Allie."

I shrugged, not even bothering to wipe the tears away.  "I should have gone back.  He won't–he might not be there much longer, and I can't even bring myself to sit next to him."  The steady panic I had felt since leaving the hospital increased as I thought of him, sleeping in that uncomfortable bed, all alone.

Harding crossed the kitchen and rested his hands on my shoulders, turning me slightly to face him.  I looked into his eyes and felt immediately calm.

"I–” I shook my head and stepped away from Harding.  My head cleared and I slid into one of the old chairs.

"Allie?"

"Sorry," I replied.  "Had a bad moment there."  My brain felt like mush.  I couldn't shake the feeling that something odd had just happened.

"Why don't you go lie down for awhile?  I need to head back for the rest of my shift.  We'll figure out something about your car later."

"Oh.  Yeah, alright.  Listen, you'll call me if, well, if anything happens?  If anything changes?"

"Absolutely.  And Allie?"  He paused and frowned.  "I know this is the worst news I could give you, but don't think you have to go through this alone.  You don't."

I nodded and watched as he left, shutting the door behind him.  After a few minutes, I got up from the table and shuffled across the kitchen to get a glass of water.  My head felt heavy and with shoulders drooped, I retreated to my bedroom.

* * *

"ALLIE?  ALLIE, TIME to wake up."

I opened my eyes as I heard my name repeated a few more times.  Harding was leaning over me, hands clutched behind him as he stood next to the bed.

"What's going on?  Is everything okay?"

"Of course, everything is fine.  He's okay."

"What time is it?"  I shoved the covers off and nearly leapt out of the bed, feeling as if I'd been caught sleeping in class.  It had grown dark outside my bedroom windows.

"Almost nine.  I came here right from work."

"Give me a few minutes, okay? I'll meet you downstairs."

He nodded and retreated from the room.  I closed the door after him and leaned against it, feeling uneasy.  The panic that had been simmering just below the surface at the hospital had evaporated, but I still couldn't shake away the thoughts of what was to come.  Was I ready for what the little pamphlet had described?  I took a few deep breaths before heading into the bathroom to freshen up.

Harding was waiting in my kitchen, looking uncomfortable.

"Thanks for coming back to check on me," I said, as I got myself a glass from the cabinet.  "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Is there any chance you're hungry?  I didn't have lunch today."

My stomach grumbled in response.  I took a long drink of tap water before nodding.  "Let's go get something, I don't care what."

Without much additional planning, we left in his car and headed toward town.  Options were fairly limited: most fast food places were in neighboring towns and most of the local places only served breakfast and lunch.  We drove in silence, giving me time to inventory again.  The sleep seemed to help considerably and I knew, no matter what might happen, I could handle whatever came my way.  I had no choice.  My grandfather's battle had been long and difficult.  The end was inevitable, but it would be my job to make it as comfortable as possible for him.

"How are you?" Harding asked, as we pulled into a small parking lot across the street from an old-fashioned diner.

"I'm okay, actually.  Better than before, anyhow.  I'm sorry I freaked out at the hospital."

"It's okay to freak out.  It's not like I gave you any good news."

I shook my head as we exited the car.  "It's not that.”

"You don't have to explain.  No matter how much you prepare yourself for something like this, there's no way to really know–until you know."

"So why does it feel so sudden?"  Our conversation halted for a moment as we went to a booth in the far back of the diner.  A waitress took our drink orders and left without trying to make any small talk.  I stared at the little container of sweeteners, trying to figure out what to say or how to act, but my mind felt frozen.

"Wasn't it just a few months ago that he was my grandfather?"

Harding waited.  He wasn't the type of person to answer rhetorical questions.

"It happened so fast–like one day he was normal and well...and the next he was this old man who could barely take care of himself."

"It does seem that way, even to me.  I remember when we first met, that was almost six years ago, and he really wasn't that advanced.  Compared to now–"

"I feel powerless."

The words hung between us.  The waitress came then, delivering two glasses of iced tea before fumbling with a green notepad.  We ordered our food and, after the waitress left, silence descended again.

"This is the shittiest summer I've ever had."  And then, because there was simply nothing else to do, I laughed.  Harding stared at me for a few moments, his eyes wide and eyebrows arched, before he finally joined me.  The patrons at the next table stared at us.

* * *

"WHY ISN’T THERE a book store open?"  I stared around the small section of downtown Park Falls that I could see.  My frustration at living in the small town wavered from day to day, but after the day I'd had, a strong part of me craved the lights and sounds of New York.

"Because it's after ten.  It's amazing we were able to get food at all."

"Sometimes, I hate this place."

Harding grinned at me and shook his head.  "Bookworms aren't notorious night owls or anything.  I'm pretty sure even the stores in New York close at ten."

I sighed and hung my head.  "You're ruining my pipe dreams."

Harding gave a chuckle as we continued our walk.  I hadn't felt like heading back to the cottage yet, but our small town left much to be desired for nighttime activities.  Especially on Tuesdays.

The streets downtown were deserted, with only a handful of cars in various, scattered parking spots.  Not many people lived right on Main Street, but the distant sounds of a small neighborhood could be heard in the still summer night.  TVs blared and a few different strains of music floated through the night.  Air conditioning was by no means a common thing, especially in the older homes in town, and everyone had their windows thrown open to the cool night air.  I loved the odd feeling of it, like we were part of a more communal world but somehow distant from it.

We reached the end of the strip and turned right, away from the residential neighborhoods and toward the river.  As we crossed the street, ignoring the crosswalk sign, I caught the sound of footsteps over gravel and turned my head to look for the source.  A small gravel lot across the road, surrounded by a tall chain link fence, seemed the likeliest place for the noise.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"It sounded like footsteps, from the lot over there."

Harding looked to the side as we continued our walk toward the river.  He was silent for several seconds and slowed his pace some.

"I don't hear anything," he finally said, once we were well past the lot.

Uneasy, I shrugged.  "I guess I imagined it then."

"Do you want to head back?"

I shook my head, starting to feel foolish.  "No, no.  We'll loop back anyhow.  It was nothing."

We did eventually loop back to downtown and we were a block away from the car when I stopped and listened again.  "There.  Did you hear that?"  I pointed toward a service alley that stretched between two tall buildings.  Harding almost immediately pushed my arm back down and placed a hand in the small of my back.

"Let's get back to the car."

"You heard something, didn't you?  Or saw something?"

"I didn't hear anything, but you're starting to make me jumpy."

"I'm not jumpy."

"Allie."  His voice was stiff and he was looking straight ahead, toward the small lot where we had parked.  I followed his gaze and almost immediately took a step back, moving behind Harding.  There was a man standing directly in the middle of the sidewalk, about fifty yards from us.  He was staring at us, his shoulders square and his head erect.  In the darkness of the back street, I could make out few details but I could see his skin almost perfectly.  Dressed completely in black, what little bit of his skin was bared glowed in the moonlight, pale and bluish.  His hair was blond, but the silver of the moon made it look white.

I couldn’t see the movement of his eyes, but after a long moment of silence, a grin stretched his face, making it look like a bizarre Halloween mask.

My vision exploded with deep red flashes of aura.  I resisted the urge the shut my eyes against them, knowing I shouldn't look away from our stalker.  "Harding, what's going on?  Who is that?"  I risked turning to look at my companion, who was still staring straight ahead.  When I looked back, the man had disappeared.

"We need to get to the car, Allie.  Now."  His tone brooked no argument, so I followed closely as he hurried toward the car, right past where the man had been standing.  I fought the urge to hold his hand, or his sleeve, or something.  I looked every which way as we walked, panic and fear pushing me toward the car and the safety of the brightly lit parking lot.

"Who was that?" We were back in the car, after Harding had done a careful check, of course, and nearly halfway back to my house.

"Just some guy.  Probably out to give people a scare."

"That's not right, Harding.  He seemed–well, it seemed like he knew us."  I recalled the man's direct gaze, the way he'd stared us down, and that strange grin.  He wasn't someone out to give people a scare; I knew it in my gut.  Even if I couldn't explain it.

Harding's face twitched as he glanced in the rear view mirror.  "Doubtful.  It was just some guy.  We're fine now."  He reached a hand over and touched my arm.

"Don't give me that.  There's something up, something you're not telling me.  Who was that guy?"

"I don't know!" Harding's voice turned high and angry as he spat the words at me.  His foot slammed down on the gas as we exited town, open highway stretching before us.

I knew he was lying.  I just couldn't imagine why.

Chapter 20

THE PORCH LIGHT beckoned like a lighthouse and I crossed the yard, anxious to get behind a locked door.  The man on the street had completely creeped me out, and Harding had done nothing to calm me down.  After dropping me off to pick up my car, he'd sped off into the night without another word.  I'd driven home clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached.  Even the thought of walking across my dark driveway gave me the heebie-jeebies.  When I reached the top porch stair, I caught a movement in the kitchen and pressed against the wall, out of view of whoever, or whatever, might be there.  After a tense couple seconds of fear induced paralysis, Colin's face appeared in the window and I had to hold my hand across my mouth to prevent myself from screaming.

"Colin!" I cried, relieved to see a familiar face.  Despite what happened between us, I’d still rather be with him than whatever may be out in the trees.  "I'm so glad it's you," I said, letting myself in the back door.  As I took another look at him, my relief sank away.  His eyes were burning and anger was written across his features.  I thought back to my phone call with Ben, and wished I'd pushed him to tell me what had happened with Colin.  Whatever Ben seemed to think, everything was clearly not okay.

I hadn't spoken to him since our breakup, let alone after what had happened in Ben's apartment.  In the pale moonlight glowing through the window above the kitchen sink, I saw the hardness of his face, the firm set of his jaw.  His eyes were narrow and piercing.  He was unfamiliar to me in that moment.  All the kindness–all the love–was gone.  He stared at me, still and silent in the dark kitchen.  My stomach tightened in a knot.  I knew what was coming.

"We need to talk."

I shivered and settled into one the chairs, not even bothering to turn on the lights.

"I want to know how long you've been fucking Ben."

My mouth fell open in a gasp and I slapped my hand over it.  I hadn't expected such crudeness, not toward me. "I'm not sleeping with Ben," I said, shaking my head.  "I haven't even seen him since... that night."

"You're a terrible liar."

The shock had worn off. Incensed, I stood from my chair and glared at him.  "How dare you.  What you saw that night was–” I stopped.  I couldn't go on, couldn't put into words the emotions that had rumbled through me then, or in the weeks that had followed.

Colin crossed the kitchen in a few strides, until he was close enough that I felt his breath on my face.  "You're a manipulative bitch.  Do you think I didn't know he was in love with you?  Or that you knew how he felt?”  The smell of whiskey was weak on his breath, but only because it was so well hidden behind stale mint gum.

I stepped back from him, but refused to release the stiffness in my back.  "Get the hell out of here, Colin.  You're not welcome in my home."

He grabbed me, wrapping his fingers around my upper arms.  "You're worthless, and you're ruining everything."  He gave me the slightest shake, barely moving more than his elbows.

"Get your hands off of me!"  My voice was high and panicked as I tried to twist out of his grasp.

His fingers tightened and I braced as he gave me another, much harder shake.  My teeth rattled in my head, clicking against one another.  I screamed and wrenched away, using all of my strength to back away from him.  He reached for me again and I kicked out at him as I turned and lurched away.

My foot struck his knee and he fell, shock and pain overwhelming the anger in his eyes.  For a long, horrible moment, we stared at each other before he fell to the ground.  His face collapsed in tears and we were frozen in a strange silhouette:  My shoulders shook with silent sobs as I gasped for breath and his whole body was wracked by whatever demons were troubling his head.

As he lay there, I fumbled for my phone and jabbed in a few numbers.

Rather than answering his phone, however, Harding burst through my back door, eyes wild with rage.

Chapter 21

WITHOUT A WORD, Harding launched himself at Colin.  I gasped, not sure if I should be more surprised by the physical confrontation or the fact that Harding was suddenly in my kitchen.  Before I could decide, Harding had grabbed Colin by the back of his shirt and hauled him toward the front of the house.  As they exited the room, he turned toward me with a deadly look in his eyes.

"Call this fucker a cab.  Tell them he'll be waiting on the curb."

I did as he said.  Even as my pulse settled down, I didn't dare leave the kitchen.  The front door had slammed moments after Harding had hauled Colin from the room and I didn't feel any pressing need to be involved in whatever was happening out there.  I slumped into a chair and waited.

Harding reappeared long after my heartbeat had slowed to a normal rate.

"I don't think he'll be back, but you need to have the locks changed just in case."

I stared at him, still trying to process.  The image of that man in the street, and the look on Colin's face as he'd shaken me.  The fear that had engulfed me just before he'd released me and Harding had appeared in my kitchen.

Harding had appeared in my kitchen.

No phone call required.  He just showed up, hauled off my ex, and started dispensing security advice.

I had some fucking questions.

Harding dropped into a chair and let out a shaky breath.

I folded my hands together on the table, trying to organize my thoughts.  "I have some fucking questions."

He stared at me for a long minute before nodding.  "Okay."

"Why are you here?  And don't feed me some line.  I want the truth.  There's something weird about you, Harding, and I want to know what it is."

I expected some sort of half-assed explanation that didn't make sense, but to my surprise, Harding dropped his hands into his lap and shrugged his shoulders.  "Okay.  But don't freak out when I tell you, because this might be hard to accept."

"What?"  So, I didn't expect that.  I waited for a few moments for him to continue speaking, but when he didn't say anything, I waved for him to continue.

He seemed to take a deep breath.  "I'm an empath."

"What?"

He rolled his eyes.  "Stop saying what."

"No.  Really.  What?"

"An empath."  He shrugged again.  "It's... an ability.  I can sense what people around me are feeling.  In your case, I don't even have to be all the close to you when you're feeling something so strong as that bolt of fear you sent out a little while ago."

I don't think there was a word for exactly what I was experiencing as I looked at him.  Dumbfounded didn't even begin to cover it.

"Listen.  Harding.  I know this will probably piss you off, but really.  What?  I have no idea what you're talking about."

He sighed and his shoulders slumped.  "Do you remember when we were at the meeting and Emma started talking about her clairvoyant sister?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Are you kidding?  I heard every possible crazy thing you could imagine at that meeting."  For some reason, I was feeling more like I had my own two feet under me.  Whatever it was Harding was trying to tell me couldn't be as weird as all the crap at Carter's meeting.

"Okay.  She made this big speech about her sister.  She's clairvoyant.  A Watcher.  Like a sixth sense.  Emma's sister can see what's happening anywhere in the world if she has something to connect her to that person or place.  Hell, maybe she can even see what will happen."

"Is that what you're trying to say? That you could see what happened here with Colin?"  I was dreaming.  I had to be.  There was no way this was a real conversation, happening in my grandmother's kitchen with the hand-made oak cabinets and the cheap linoleum and the painted wood paneling.  People just didn't talk about other people seeing the future in kitchens where someone had painted over the paneling.

"No.  That's just what she does.  I can't really see it, per se.  I can only feel what people are feeling when something's happening in that moment."

"I'm still confused."  My brain was not computing what he was saying.   I'd read so many things about paranormal abilities, and even though there was the tiniest, smallest little part of me that believed some human beings could do more than the things documented in science textbooks, I could not make heads or tails of what he was trying to say.

Harding pushed his chair back and walked over to the sink.  He pulled a glass from the cabinet, turned the tap on, and threw the water glass as hard as he could against a cabinet on the far wall.

Glass shattered everywhere as I jumped out of my chair and spun toward him.  "What are you doing?"  My voice was loud in the small room and the fear that had pervaded my being when Colin had been here returned.

"There.  That shock?  That fear you're feeling?  It's coming off of you in waves and I can feel it as plain as if you were telling me how you're feeling.  It doesn't matter if it's fear or happiness or whatever.  I can feel it all.  In your case, because I know you as well as I do, I don't even have to be in the same room.  Or even the same building.  I just know it."

I slid to the floor, leaning my back against the wall, and repeated his words in my head over and over.  "So, you call that... empathy?"

He nodded.

A little thought began to surface in my brain, a little ripple of memory from Carter's meeting.  He'd talked about people going missing, clairvoyants, telepaths and... empaths.  I tried to remember if he'd said anything else but my mind came up empty.  "So you can tell what I'm feeling?  All the time?"

He scratched his head and blushed.  "If I wanted to, sure.  But I can sort of filter.  I've been living with this a long time."

I stared at him, still trying to parse what he was telling me with what I was so sure I had known to be the truth.  This stuff–this paranormal mumbo-jumbo that Carter and his cronies liked to talk about–it wasn't real.  And yet, here Harding stood, telling me exactly the opposite.  I pushed myself away from the wall and stood up.  "I think I need some time to think about this," I said.  "This doesn't exactly make a lot of sense."

He gave me a lopsided grin.  "Tell me about it."  He stood from his chair and gave me a stiff little nod.  "If you want to ask me anything, just... let me know, okay?"

I held my breath, trying to figure out if there was anything I needed to know, if there was one question out of the dozens surfacing in my brain that had to be answered.  Finally, I blurted out the only thing I could think of: "Is that it?  You just feel what other people are feeling?  Nothing else?"

He bowed his head.  "It's a little more than just being able to feel what other people are feeling."

"How so?"

"I can be sort of a guide.  I can sometimes help people feel differently.  I'm just not very good at it."

A note of panic zinged through me.  I remembered that day, weeks ago, when my grandfather had attacked me and my memories afterward had been so fuzzy.  His voice had been so soothing, and it had almost been enough to make me forget the whole thing.  If Harding could do that...  I shuddered.  There was a small part of me that was fascinated by what he was telling me, but I couldn't stop thinking about how this ability could be misused by the wrong person.  Harding was trustworthy, and good, and it was still scary to think of what he might be capable of.  "I really hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I need some time to process this, and I think it's probably best if you left."

"Allie–"

"Please?"  I debated what else to say, or do.  He had told me a huge thing about himself, and I couldn't begin to process it with him standing there looking at me.  Still, even knowing what I now knew, there was a fundamental thing I couldn't ignore.  Harding was my friend.  My very good friend.  He deserved better than being tossed out of his ear.

I crossed the room and held out my arms.  He stepped toward me and looped his arms around me.  I hugged him tight.  "Thank you for telling me the truth, Harding, and thank you for coming here, for helping.  I just need some time to understand."

He stared down at me for an agonizing minute before pulling away from me and walking out of my house.

* * *

WEDNESDAY MORNING DAWNED early.  I had locked the door after Harding had left, and returned to my seat, attempting to make sense of what he'd told me.  On its face, it actually seemed simple enough.  Something in his brain chemistry allowed a heightened sensitivity to the feelings of the people he was closest to.  But that neat little explanation didn't hold up under closer examination.  He hadn't been anywhere near me, hadn't been able to watch my body language or see some hidden emotion in my eyes.  It defied a tidy explanation.  Either he was a very, very good liar, or he really, truly could tell what I was feeling, even where we were miles apart.

It went beyond that, too.  No matter what I tried, I couldn't get past the feeling of invasion.  He'd tried to change what I'd felt, what I'd remembered.  If it had been up to Harding, I wouldn't remember the terror of my grandfather's hands around my throat.  It was dishonest, but it seemed almost... noble.  I didn't know how to handle that.

I tried to compartmentalize the night.  Harding's revelation went into a square little box deep in my brain.  When I had a clearer head, I could look through those books I'd picked up with Ben, maybe even get back to that bookstore.  There was bound to be more information out there.  Some key to understanding what my friend was, and what it was he was trying to tell me about himself.

The only real downside to tucking away what had happened with Harding was that it left me alone with my confrontation with Colin.  I couldn't stop picturing that terrifying look in his eyes.  Haunted by what had happened, I'd waited at my kitchen table for the sun to rise.  Just after dawn, I heard a horn honk.

Laura peeled up my driveway, her tires crunching over the gravel.  She parked as close to the porch as she could get and was up the stairs without even bothering to shut her car door.

“Are you alright?” she asked, as I opened the screen for her.  She put her arms out and I stepped into her hug.

“Not really.”

“I’m so sorry, Allie.  I feel like such a shit friend.  You’ve been going through all this crap with Colin and Papa and I don’t even know how this could have happened.  How did he get in here?  What was he thinking?”

“I don’t know.” I pulled back from her.  “Please don’t apologize.  You haven’t been a shit friend.  You’ve been down here more times than I can count this summer.”

She shook her head.  “It isn’t good enough.  It’s so hard to be far away from home.”

I steered her into a kitchen chair and set a mug down in front of her.  “Let’s have some tea and get some sleep.  We’ll talk more later.”

“Yes to the sleep, but no to the talking.  I’m taking you away as soon as we get up.”

I settle the tea kettle on the stove and turned to face her.  “I can’t leave, Laura.  Harding said Papa—“

She cut me off.  “I know what Harding said.  We talked last night, and he told me everything that happened.  He filled me in on Papa, too.”

“Then you know I have to stay.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me.  “Fine.  Then I’m staying here.”

“What about work?”

“I already handled it.  I took all of my vacation time, and I put in a request for a transfer.  I told Marie that if she didn’t put it through, I’d quit.”

I gaped at her.  Her boss, Marie, was a powerful attorney with a lot of attitude.  Every associate tiptoed around her like she had a screw loose.  “You did not.”

“I did.  And I don’t want an argument about it.  It’s time I come home.”

The whistle of the kettle interrupted anything I might have said.  I poured the water into our bugs and dropped in some chamomile tea.  With any luck, we’d both be out before the newspaper delivery.

Chapter 22

LAURA’S METHOD OF therapy wasn’t exactly my preferred way of doing things.  Later that night, she tossed clothes on the bed.  “If we’re not going to Boston to forget your troubles, then we’re going to White Plains to forget about your troubles.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Well, we have to do something.  At least for dinner.  You need to shake this funk.”

I gathered up the dresses and took them back to my closet.  “It’s not a funk.”

“Well, whatever.  Pick something out.  We’re going out to eat, and we’re not going to the Maven.  I want to leave the city limits, do you hear me?”

“I thought you said it was time to come home.”

“I didn’t say it was time to start eating dinner at college bars.”  She took the armload of clothes back and started laying them out again.  “Pick.  Something.  To.  Wear.”

I rolled me eyes and grabbed a gray and yellow dress that I’d bought for some fundraiser at the university.  “Will this suffice?”

“I’ve seen worse.”  She picked at some imaginary lint.  “Now, go get ready.  I’m going to find a place to eat that isn’t McDonald’s.”

* * *

MY PHONE BEEPED with a new email as I pulled the dress on.  I had sent Ben a long email before getting in the shower, but I hadn’t expected a reply so quickly.  I frowned when I saw the sender.

From: "carter, nate" nate@paraline.org

To: biogirl@madscientia.org

Subject: August Meeting

Allie,

Hope you're still planning to join us on Friday!  It's promising to be an interesting meeting - Sam & Mia are giving a presentation I think you'll enjoy.  Don't forget about coffee afterwards.  Leave Mitchell behind this time - he's a stick in the mud.  :)

Carter

I groaned.  Shortly after my grandfather began to show signs of improvement, I’d made myself a promise to sneak away to the city to see Ben and maybe get back to the bookstore.  An invitation to another meeting from Carter had sealed the deal.  I knew there was no way I’d be able to go, not after Harding’s news about Papa.  I would be lucky if I saw Ben before Christmas.  Anything with the ParaLine people was out of the question.  I tapped out a reply:

Sorry. Won't be able to make it!  Last minute plans.  I’ve decided to stay home this weekend. Talk soon.

A.

Laura clicked in on tall heels just as I locked my phone for the night.  “I hope you’re almost ready.  We’re going to Poughkeepsie.  It isn’t exactly the most interesting place to be, but I found a fusion restaurant with good reviews.”

Much to my surprise, the place was packed.  We moved through the crowded lobby toward the bar and I felt a small thrill to be out for the night, far away from the thoughts that had been filling my mind in the past few weeks.

Laura ordered two glasses of wine from the bartender before turning on her bar stool to face me. “So, I think we need to have a little chat about something.”

Her eyes were glittering and I knew we weren’t going to have a serious conversation about job changes or crazy ex-boyfriends.

I rolled my eyes.  “What might that be?”

“How long has it been since you ended things with Colin?”

"About two and a half months," I answered.

"So, why, after all that time, did he show up at your place in the middle of the night?"

This was the part I'd left out when we’d gone over everything: the why.  "He thought–he thinks I'm sleeping with Ben."  I looked down into my wine as I said it, hoping that she didn't notice the heat on my face in the dim bar.

Laura laughed heartily.  "That's the most insane thing I've ever heard.  How could he possibly think such a thing?"

I frowned, hurt by what her words implied.  "Why is it so unlikely?"

Laura shrugged and took a sly slip of her wine, eyeballing a blond guy across the bar.  "It just is.  You're both too boring and, well, frankly, too uptight to be carrying on like that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"  I tried to keep the edge out of my voice, but couldn’t tell how much I succeeded.

Laura waved her hand through the air, batting away the idea of such a tryst.  "Oh, Allie.  You're just too careful.  I mean, I'm in full support of you dating and all...” She shrugged.  "I was just saying.  If you were dating Ben–it would complicate things.  You don't like complicated–" she stopped and looked at me for a long moment.  "Oh.  Oh, Allie."

"What?"

"Are you sleeping with Ben?"

I moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear but dropped my hand down to the table and crossed my fingers together.  "No, not sleeping with him.  But some stuff happened.  And, well, Colin walked in on us."

Her jaw dropped.  "When did this happen?  Why didn't you tell me?"  Her voice was a little too high pitched, almost screechy.

I shrugged.  "Calm down.  It was right before my grandfather was in the hospital.  I don't know.  I wouldn't even know where to begin.  I still don't."  The scattered feelings that had haunted me for weeks were rushing forward again.  I closed my eyes against them as I took a long drink of the cool white wine.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Laura asked.

I shook my head.  "I'm sorry.  I don't mean to ruin the fun.  It's just...it all feels so weird, and so messed up.  We talk all the time, and there's definitely something there, but we can't... I don't know.  It's bad timing."

"Maybe right now, it is.  But it won’t be bad timing forever.”

"I don't know.  Listen, do you mind if we leave it alone?  I just want to have dinner and forget about the last twenty-four hours for a little while.”

"Then we’re going to need some help."  Laura motioned to the bartender, a young man with an easy, wide grin.  "Good evening, ladies.  I'm Alex.  I've taken over for Claire."  He motioned to the tall redhead woman who had served our wine.  "What can I get you?"

"We're hoping to ease our troubles.  Any suggestions?"  Laura asked, leaning in closer to him.

"I think I have something that should do the job.”  He reached under the bar and set two martini glasses in front us.  Grabbing several bottles of alcohol and a shaker, he proceeded to pour a blend of liquors that contained absolutely no mixers of any kind.  I looked at Laura out of the corner of my eye and saw that she had her eyebrows raised.  When he poured the drinks into the glasses, I was still skeptical that they would be even drinkable.  "I call it the Slippery Succubus."

Laura took the first sip and gave him a million-dollar grin.  "That's amazing."

Buffered, I took a sip of my own and sighed.  "I'll have another, please."

Chapter 23

LATER, AS WE left one of the bars that Laura had chosen for "dessert," we began the futile search for a cab.  Growing frustrated by the lack of readily available transport, I stopped on the street corner and turned to face Laura.

"Let’s just call for one," I said.  We had wandered too far off the beaten path.  Gone were the bars and restaurants.  We were surrounded by dark, derelict buildings in a collapsing residential district.  I wasn't spooked, but I was starting to feel dirty.

"My phone's dead," she answered, showing me the black screen.

I reached into my own bag and was dismayed to find myself empty-handed.  "I can't believe it.  I must have left mine at home.”

"You're not the girl I grew up with, Allie Stuart.  How very careless of you," she said, winking.

"You're exactly the girl I grew up with.  Why didn't you charge yours?"

Her smile was sheepish as we crossed the street, heading...west?  I wasn't sure anymore.  "I did.  I've been, um, texting quite a bit tonight."

"Really?  With whom?"  I wondered how I could have missed this, but the bar had been crowded and we'd spent the night talking to various other patrons.  At this point, the best I could hope for was that I hadn't done anything to embarrass myself.

"Seth," she said, looking off to the side, toward the empty street.  Litter gathered in the gutters, the only sign that anyone ever spent any time in the area.

“How shocking.”

Laura nudged me with her shoulder.  "I think I need to find someone else to occupy my time.  He’s not as smart as he looks."

I laughed, looking around at the neighborhood where we found ourselves.  The emptiness of the place was starting to get to me.  There were other signs, as we walked, of inhabitants, but the street felt so quiet for a warm summer night.  Absent were the people noises: televisions, chatter, and arguments.  There weren't even any smells of car exhaust or burned food.  "Do you know where we're at?  How'd we even get here?"

"Of course.  I think.  There's another busy street a few blocks from here.  Maybe we’ll find a cab there."

"What time is it?"

"I think around one," Laura answered.

We continued walking, but as we came to the next cross street, I stopped.  "This is a dead end."  Between two low brick buildings, the street narrowed to a single car-width and ended at a wall after a few hundred feet.  Trash cans and discarded boxes cluttered both sides of the alley, hiding who knows what.  I fought back the shudder that crawled down my spine.  The sounds of the city had all but left us.  The corridor was an urban desert, dark and lonely.

"This can't be right," Laura replied, turning to look for a street sign.  "I think we need to head left."

I turned around, ignoring her, as I heard footsteps behind us.  "We need to get out of here."  I started back the way we had come, hoping to find a busier road.  We needed to get back to civilization.

Laura grabbed my arm and I spun around to look at her.  Her face was pale as she pointed.  "Left."

We turned, and I saw lights ahead in the distance.  I straightened my posture, cold practicality fighting through the haze of too many cocktails.  We had a bit of ground to cover, but there were bars, restaurants, and lots of people ahead.  Less than ten blocks, if my sense of distance was intact.  I kept careful attention on the footsteps a hundred or so feet behind us, but I didn't dare turn to look.

I knew Laura had heard them, but we kept our silence.  After another block or so, the footsteps disappeared. My shoulders relaxed some; we had overreacted.  I fought the urge to giggle.

The noise was barely a noise - it was lighter than the lowest whisper.  Was it fabric rustling?  Another footstep?

My mind snapped away from it as a hand closed around the back of my neck.  Someone yanked me backward and I grasped at the gloved hand over my mouth, trying to shout, cry out, anything that would draw attention to what was happening.  The hand squeezed tighter, cutting off the scream that bubbled in my throat.  My heels scraped across the concrete sidewalk, my whole body twisting to get away from my attacker.  My backwards momentum was stopped only by the force of my head slamming into something.

A red glare erupted across my vision and I pushed my eyes open wider, trying desperately to see around the light.  My gut told me to scream, but something was blocking my airway.  The adrenaline pumping through my system whisked away the pain in my head and I blinked, trying to see where I was and what had happened.  The dim street was gone, the end-goal of lights and clubs and people had disappeared.  I saw the outline of buildings, closer than would be possible on a normal street.  Another alleyway.  My focus shifted as I felt Laura's weight against my side and a heavy arm across my throat.  Tentatively, I tried to move away from the wall and met immediate resistance.  The arm moved away from my throat to wrap around my chest, but I couldn't make anything else out.  The red glare had died down and the pitch-black alley left me blind.

A low growl issued from the darkness, just a few feet from me.  "Don't move.  There's no need to make this any harder than it has to be."

I felt pressure from Laura's arm and in a flash, she had pushed herself away from the wall.  I saw, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, another long arm, fully covered by a black sleeve, wrapped around Laura's bare shoulders, pinning her back.  The dark silhouette of a head moved toward her shoulder and I heard her scream.

Underneath the scream, there were the undeniable sounds of bones crunching.  In the next instant, I felt a pressure against the side of my neck and heard another scream from Laura as the figure at her neck was thrown back.

There was nothing after that.

* * *

WHEN I CAME to, there were still arms around me, but I at least had a voice to match.  Ben's disembodied voice floated above me as I struggled to open my eyes.  My head was throbbing as Ben moved.

"Ben?"  I managed to get his name out in a hoarse whisper.

He hushed me and pressed his lips to my temple.  We were outside, and I recognized the shape of the building he was walking toward.  Home.  I was home.  How long had I been unconscious?  I tried to move my limbs, but my entire body felt like lead.

"Just stay still, Allie.  I'll have you inside in a minute."

I slipped in and out as he carried me inside and tucked me into my own bed.  There were footsteps downstairs, but I didn't know who else was in my house.  I tried to ask, but my mouth wouldn't cooperate.

"I'll be right back, okay?"  Ben tucked the covers around me again and gave me another kiss.  His face was soft and concerned as his eyes raked over me.

I closed my eyes and nodded.  The door of my bedroom clicked shut and I heard his footfalls on the stairs.  There were muffled voices downstairs, it seemed like two others besides Ben.  I concentrated on his voice, trying to pick out at least some of what was being said.

"–should have taken them both to the hospital... not equipped to deal with this."

"–and then what?... Be okay.  Just let her rest, and give her the pain..."

Ben's voice didn't carry as well as the other one and I strained to hear more, but several seconds passed before I heard him speak again.  "...about Laura?"

"Let me worry about her."  The other voice was finally loud enough for me to recognize it as Harding.

There were more murmurs and then the back door slammed.  I heard a car in the driveway and by the time Ben made it back upstairs with a few pills and a glass of water, I could feel the seeping edges of my consciousness slipping away.  Every part of my body hurt.  I took what he offered without another word and welcomed the darkness as it numbed my pain.

Chapter 24

THE NEXT TIME I awoke, my head was clear except for the nagging headache behind my eyes.  As I started to sit up, I felt a strong set of arms pull me back to my bed.

"Stay here," Ben's voice whispered from the darkness.  "It's too early to get up yet."

Overwhelming panic and confusion rushed through me.  I vaguely remembered overhearing a conversation between Ben and Harding, but everything that happened between then and now was pretty fuzzy.  I had to know what happened.

"What happened?  How did we end up with Harding?  Where's Laura?"  I sat up too fast and was overwhelmed by the blood rushing from my head.  In a daze, I allowed Ben to pull me back down against the pillows.

He kissed my forehead and rubbed his hand over my arm.  "Calm down.  There's plenty of time to figure out what happened.  For now, though, I can tell you that Laura is safe and sound.  Harding is taking care of her."

"What are you saying?  You don't know what happened?"

He hushed me and planted more kisses over my face.  "We'll talk in the morning.”

"I don't remember anything, Ben," I said, curling against him.  I felt soothed as his warmth spread through me.  "What day is it?"

"It's very, very early on Friday morning."

Friday? Was it really possible that I'd slept so long?  "Are you angry with me or something?" I asked, tilting my head up, trying to find his face.

He moved closer, until there were only a few inches between us.  In the low moonlight, streaming through the open window, I could make out the basic shapes of his face.  The outlines of his eyes, nose...lips.

He shook his head.  "I don’t have any reason to be angry.  I'm just relieved that you're okay."

A sob rose in my throat.  I was so relieved to see him and in the dim light filtering into my bedroom, I didn't care what had happened over the past few weeks.  I couldn't chase away the fear that had embedded in my chest after whatever had happened in the alley, but knowing he was with me was a soothing balm over my wounds.  There was safety here, in his arms.  I tilted my chin further and hesitantly, touched my lips to his.  Tears begin to slide from my eyes, but before I could wipe them away, Ben deepened the kiss.  Distracted for the moment, I opened my lips against his and the mood shifted.  In a moment, Ben had pulled me underneath him and I intertwined my legs with his.

As I felt his body move against mine, our clothes twisting a bit, I fought the urge to put a stop to what was happening between us.  There were so many questions unanswered, so much we had to talk about.  But maybe it didn't matter.  Ignoring my need to talk too much, I continued kissing him, loving the feeling of his soft, gentle lips.  Sighing against him, heat rushed over me, wherever our bodies touched.  His hand slid against me, brushing over my breast, cupping it.  I gasped as his thumb brushed my nipple and arched my hips into him.  His weight over me was anchoring, pulling me back from the brink of panic.  Every last worry, about Harding's little revelation, about what had happened to Laura, even about my grandfather, melted away as his lips peppered my neck and my face.  How could anything that felt this amazing be bad?

I traced my nails up his spine and through the hair at the back of his neck before pulling his lips back to mine and crushing him against me.  He moved when I did, our bodies melding together.  Letting go of his hair, I pushed my hands under his shirt, craving the feeling of his skin anywhere I could reach it.

He pulled back.  "We...can't do this.  Not yet, not like this," he whispered.

I whimpered and shook my head.  "Yes.  We can."

He eased away from me, rearranging my shirt a little and brushing the hair back from my face.  "You're killing me.  You have no idea how much I've wanted this.  No idea how long I've wanted you."

He gave me the most heart-rending, achingly tender kiss I've ever felt.  If I never felt anything for the rest of my life, I didn't think I'd care so long as I could remember this.

I sighed against his lips.  "Then why stop?"

"Because you're perfect.  And this isn't."

"I'm so sorry," I said, resting my head against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart.

"Don't be sorry.  We'll talk in the morning."  He pulled me against him as he resumed his place at my side.  His fingers brushed through my hair and the fuzziness of sleep drifted behind my eyes.  "Do you need anything?"

It was then that I realized how thirsty I was. "I could really use a glass of water," I said.

He chuckled and slid away from me, leaving a warm spot on the bed.  I heard him fumble around on the nightstand before he handed me a cool glass of water.  My lips were as dry as my voice and they were instantly soothed.  I drank half the glass in a few gulps.

Taking the glass back, Ben kept me close to his chest as he put it on the stand.

I was asleep in minutes.

* * *

LATE MORNING WAS warm and sunny–a beautiful July day.  My headache had blossomed and I searched for ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet, trying not to wince each time I moved.  All of this pain had evaporated when I'd been with Ben, but an empty bed had left me achy.  I heard noise in the kitchen below and wondered how many people were in the house.  After brushing my teeth and cleaning myself up a bit, I shuffled down the stairs, my body weak after the encounter in the alley.  All of the sleep had added to the bruised feelings in my muscles.

Thankfully, it seemed that Ben was the only other person in the house.  He had arranged a plate of bagels and spread on the table and handed me a large mug of tea.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice different from earlier that morning.

"Ok, I suppose.  My head hurts."

"Do you need anything?"  He stood from the chair, but I motioned him back down as I began spreading plain cream cheese over an onion bagel.

"I took some Advil."

"Harding was here," he said, his voice tense.

I ignored his tone of voice.  My feelings about Harding were divided, to say the least.  I wasn't ready to talk about Harding.  "Is Laura alright?  That man attacked her first."

"She's fine.  You're both lucky it wasn't worse than it was."  He looked at me, his eyes burning.

"I wish I could remember what happened.  I remember being in the alley and I remember you bringing me inside, but beyond that...?"  I mentally flicked through the memories like photos in a book, trying to understand what had happened.  The holes in my memory seemed even bigger than they had earlier in the morning.

"No one knows."  His voice was strained.  He spun away from me then and I knew he was lying.  I hadn't forgotten that other noise in the alley: the breaking of bones.  None of my bones were broken, but I couldn't account for the other two people in the alley.

"This doesn't seem right," I said, moving so that our gazes met again.  I needed his help, couldn't he see that?  What wasn't he telling me?  "Things aren't adding up.  What happened?"

"I don't know.  Harding hasn't exactly given me many details."  That was what was pissing him off so badly; his face was transparent in his anger.

"So Harding knows something else?"

Ben shrugged and stood from the table again, this time to clear his plate.  "Maybe you should talk to him."

"Oh, I will."  I knew something Ben didn't: what Harding was capable of.  The holes in my memory felt familiar.  I hadn't forgotten about what he'd tried to do when my grandfather had attacked me.

Ben sighed, his back to me at the sink.  "You need to rest."

"I will rest, when I'm good and ready, but not until someone tells me what happened back there.  I need to know the whole story."  I tried to keep my voice even, but I couldn't keep the annoyance from creeping into my tone.

I saw his jaw twitch as he turned to face me.  "I doubt anyone knows the whole story, but we can worry about the other stuff later.  You need to concentrate on resting, maybe take a bath. "

I set my bagel down on my plate, exhausted.  I ran through the past forty-eight hours in my head over and over again, flitting between fear, anger and confusion.  I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, welcoming the distraction of bright lights and swirling patterns.  After a moment, Ben rested his hands on my shoulders before he slid them down my arms and enveloped me in a hug.

"I don't know what to do."

"Have patience," he replied, squeezing me gently.

"Don't I need to give a statement to the police?  Or go back to the hospital for a follow-up?"

"Harding took care of everything."  The edge was back in his voice.  "Just rest."

I turned on my stool, staying in the circle of his arms.  "You already said that."

"It must be true then," he said, bending down to kiss my forehead.

"A bath does sound pretty good."

"I have a few errands to run - you have no food in the house and Harding gave me a prescription to fill for you."

"What is it?"

"Valium, to help you relax."  I must have made a face, because Ben chuckled.  "See how you feel after the bath."

I tilted my head toward his face and kissed his lips.  "Will you bring ice cream?"

"I'm sure I can manage that.  I'll have my cell phone with me, so call if you need anything."

I nodded and slid off the stool, grabbing my cup of tea.  I waited for him to leave before locking the back door and walking a slow circuit around the downstairs.  I wasn't so confident about being alone, but after making sure the doors and windows were firmly locked, I retreated to my bathroom.

I followed my usual routine religiously, taking comfort in the familiarity of it.  As I peeled off my t-shirt, I winced and, curious, turned to look at my back in the mirror.  Scratches grazed across my back, red and swollen.  I touched a three-inch tear across my shoulder and jolted at the remembered feeling of hitting a brick wall.  Bruises on my elbows and my throat underlined the harsh pieces of memory I did have.  As the fear and anger warred in my head, I brushed away at a single tear that slid down my face.  I settled on the edge of the tub and ran my fingers through the sudsy water, wincing again.  More scratches on my palms.  A surprising amount of my skin was rubbed raw.  Another tear.  When I pulled my legs over the tub, letting my feet fall into the water, I nearly cried out in pain.  Checking myself again, I wasn't all that surprised to find my heels cut up as well.  Slowly, I touched my feet to the water again, waiting for the stinging to ease before submerging them completely.  Then my legs.  When I had adjusted to the aches and pains making themselves known, I let the rest of my body sink below the water line.  I didn't even bother wiping at the tears.

A book lay unopened near my left hand.  The idea of trying to read seemed ridiculous and instead I found myself staring at my ghastly reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. I tried to inventory the damage.  Only my face and neck were visible over the edge of the tub.  My hair was a tangled mess, pulled back into a loose ponytail by someone who didn't regularly make ponytails.  My eyes were puffy, highlighted by dark, tired circles and my skin was downright pallid.  The crying had brought out the usual blotches in my cheeks.  I stopped just before the bruises on my throat and turned my head away from the mirror.

The silence in the bathroom was oppressive and I began to rethink this whole "bath sounds good" idea.  Studiously avoiding the mirror, I drained the tub and wrapped myself in one of the fresh towels hanging on the rack.  I walked into my bedroom without gathering my clothes off the bathroom floor.  The bed was still tangled from my long hours of sleep.  Holding the towel around me with one hand, I shook the sheets out and crawled underneath the covers.  The darkness of the room lulled me to sleep once more.

* * *

THE COVERS MOVED so gently that I almost didn't notice.  It was late afternoon and the low, orange sun burned around the edges of the pull down shade.  Still heady with the daze of sleep, I waited for Ben to pull himself closer to me before acknowledging him.

"I wish I hadn't slept so long."

He placed a light kiss on the back of my neck.  "It's fine.  You obviously needed it."

I rolled over to face him, pressing my fingers gently against the place he had kissed.  The last time we were in this bed seemed a hundred years ago.  "What are we doing?"  I whispered.

"I wish I knew," he replied, looking down at me.  "I've never, well, I've never been through something quite like this before.  How I feel–the feelings I have for you..."

"You have feelings for me?" I asked, grinning.  Sleep had worn off and a gentle heat began spreading out from the center of my body.  It crept over my stomach and my breasts, down between my legs and to the tips of my toes.

"Don't be coy," he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against mine.  I welcomed it, feeling better than I had that morning.  Readjusting my position, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

I waited for the feelings of dread to come, for those flashes of guilt that had overwhelmed me in his apartment that night.  It had been a few weeks ago, but it had felt like years.  As he played his fingers over my collarbone, dancing toward the towel that was the only barrier I could hide behind, I flushed again.  His touch was like coming home.

His lips trailed behind his fingers and I drifted amid the feel of it.  As I pressed myself against him, trying to make any space between us disappear, he wrapped his arms around my waist and the towel slipped away.

There was no rush this time, no fever pitch to pull us along.  Ben trailed his fingers over my bare chest, tracing the curves and planes left unmarred.  He leaned away, sliding off his shirt and pants before returning to me.  I gasped at the temperature difference of his hot skin against me, shuddering as he touched his lips to mine.  I marveled at the absence of pain, as if the bruises were gone, the cuts reduced to nothing, because his lips danced over my body.  The whisper of his breath carried me away and, if even just for a short time, I was me again, free of the pain and trauma.

I knew with every inch of me that this was it; there would be no interruptions, no delays.  Perfect.

Chapter 25

I SETTLED INTO one of the canvas patio chairs, my entire body still echoing with the slow ache of healing.  Forty-eight hours of rest and pampering at the hands of Ben had done wonders, but I still had a long way to go.  The afternoon sun was warm on my skin and a cool breeze slipped over me.  Ben was gone for the day; he had returned to the city for a few meetings that couldn't be delayed any longer.  Much to my surprise, I was enjoying the silence and alone time.  I was used to being by myself, and the constant attention and hand wringing were wearing on me.

The last few days had been a balancing act between focusing on my own recovery and constant worry for both my grandfather and Laura.  Nothing about my grandfather’s situation had changed.  Each day, the nurses watched his vitals, kept him comfortable, and fed me updates over the phone.  It had been significantly more difficult to find anything out about Laura.  Harding had informed me in a few short texts that she was recovering, but wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened.  I knew I had to trust him, but with each passing day I was growing more nervous at the lack of information.  When Ben had told me he’d be gone, I’d made up my mind to relax.  News would come when there was news to tell.

When my cell phone rang, nestled safely in the mesh cup holder a few inches from my hand, I almost jumped out of my skin.  I recognized the number and hastily put the phone to my ear.  The muscles in my arm protested.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Stuart?" An unknown female voice echoed on the line.  Her crisp tone set me on edge.

"Yes?"

"This is Nurse Stevens, at Park Falls General.  I'm calling to let you know that your grandfather has been taken into ICU.  He's fallen unconscious and we've been unable to revive him."

"I'm on my way," I replied, already halfway to the backdoor.  After pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top from the dryer, I scrambled around my kitchen, trying to figure out if there was anything I needed to take along.  Frustrated with my indecision, I grabbed my purse and bustled from the kitchen, ignoring the soreness in my muscles.

I was in the car and onto the main highway less than three minutes after I'd received the call from the hospital.  As I sped toward the hospital, I wondered why Harding hadn't called me personally.  When I came to a red light, I pulled my phone from my purse and opened a blank text, still frazzled.

On my way to the hospital, I texted.  Are you there?

I dropped the phone onto the seat and moved through the green light.  Panic and dread coursed through me.

There were three more lights before my turnoff for the hospital.  Tension thrummed through me, highlighting the fact that I had not succeeded in pushing away the pain.  I pulled my fingers through my hair, my mind coming up with a thousand other reasons for my grandfather's ICU transfer.  I considered calling Harding, but realized I was being foolish. I needed to trust him; he would call as soon as he was able.

As I pulled up to the second traffic light, I grabbed the phone again, this time sending a text message to Laura:

-Papa is being moved to ICU.  On the way now.

My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel.

It came as no surprise that I was stopped at the third light as well.  I began tapping my fingers again as I checked my mirrors.  The highway had been practically empty, but another vehicle had appeared.  A large, black pickup was barreling down on me and I rolled my eyes.  Speed demons.  The high school students were still on summer vacation, and they were growing restless as the hot, muggy days stretched on.  I watched them approaching in the mirror, turning away to check the traffic light.

Feeling the ever-present need to do something, I turned to my phone once more.  Looking down, I pulled up Ben's number and hit send.

When I turned my gaze back to the truck, I gasped when I realized how close it was.  They weren't slowing at all.  I braced without thought, straining my shoulders back into the seat and clutching the steering wheel, but the effort didn't prevent me from hitting the airbag.

Hard.

Chapter 26

"...BEEN ANY WORD...?"

"–about thirty minutes..."

"...too long–"

"...bring more."

* * *

"...TO MOVE."

"...happening?"

"Bring her..."

* * *

"AGAIN?"

"...orders...no choice..."

"–dangerous...warned him."

"...more?"

Chapter 27

MY LIMBS FELT heavy, like I was swimming fully clothed.  I fought to keep my eyes closed, though I wasn't sure why.  Through the haze of my consciousness, I grasped at random ideas, wisps of fully formed thoughts.  I struggled to retain control of myself as my body awakened.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to ignore it, and tried to get a better handle on what was going on.  My hands and ankles were bound, with the added bonus of being pulled behind my back.  Something soft was pulled over my mouth and nose and I was lying on my side on a very hard floor.

I waited, aching as pain began to seep through me.  I felt all the scrapes, bruises and raw skin...awaken.  The familiar twinges from the alleyway were there, and as my brain shook off the daze, I catalogued the new ones.  Nothing seemed broken, but there was new stiffness in my back and neck and it felt like at least one of my ankles and a wrist were sprained.  The fog lifted after several minutes, and I fought the urge to cry out.  I needed an outlet for the pain that enveloped my body.

A voice drifted toward me, a woman, young.  "I'm not sure why we're still waiting."

"The longer we wait, the more dangerous this is.  Surely, by now..." a male voice trailed off.

"This was a mistake."  The woman again.

"Both of you need to shut up.  You can't possibly think you know all the details.  He'll let us know when our plans change."  This was another male voice, sounding older than the first.  His voice dripped with presumed authority.

"Oh, I'm sure he let you in on all the secrets, James."

"Stop!  No names!"

"Oh, like any of us use our real names anyway," said the woman again, her voice more familiar by the minute.

"What are you talking about?" asked the older man.

"I always figured everyone was too careful to use their real names.  I know I am."

"You both need to shut up.  Check her, make sure she's–just check her."

I willed myself to keep still as the female moved toward me.  Even a quick peek could be dangerous.

Whatever her definition of checking me over was, she did it quickly.  Her smooth fingers brushed my arm as she checked the bonds, but made no other contact.  I assumed I passed inspection when she retreated back to her companions.  The break seemed to remove the need for further conversation.  I took the chance to listen to the room around me, trying to get a handle on where I was without opening my eyes.  The floor felt like concrete and there were no sounds to be heard now that my guards had quieted.  Not so much as the ticking of a clock or the thrum of traffic interrupted the silence.

As I strained to hear anything else, a heavy metal door opened and footsteps echoed in the room.  I held still as my captors moved about, talking occasionally, but without giving any further information.  A great deal of shuffling and movement swelled when the door had opened and as the new visitor cleared his throat, it ceased.

"Is she awake yet?"

"Yes."

I sighed, wondering how long they had known.

"Ms. Stuart?"

I opened my eyes and gasped when I recognized the face and voice of Nathan Carter.  I regretted it immediately.  Pain flared across my forehead as yellow exploded across my vision.  The auras were so bad, Carter looked as if he glowed.  I squinted, willing my vision to settle down, and both the pain and auras dimmed a bit.

"Ah, forgive me."  Carter leaned forward and removed the gag.  "I realize this is an extremely uncomfortable situation for you."

"Carter?  What's going on?"  I asked, my voice scratchy.

Mia and Sam were seated at the table, dressed almost identically and wearing similar, vacant expressions on their faces while Father McCullough hovered nearby.  Carter was a few feet from me, practically glowing with some unspoken excitement over what was going on.  The look of his face shook me to my core.  It wasn't the guise of some nerdy, internet-addicted conspiracy theorist.  It was the face of a man who seemed to know exactly what he was doing and why.  Every misgiving I'd had about him solidified in my chest. To see his accomplices seated all around me, however, rocked me.  Every last one of them had seemed honest and true to their cause.  They were scared by what they thought they knew, but for the life of me, I didn't understand how kidnapping fit in with their conspiracy theories.

I now had a label for what was happening and I hoped that Harding, wherever he was, could feel every last bolt of panic coursing through me.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Ms. Stuart," Carter said, his voice low and even.  He was stood over me, his face drawn.  "You've managed to end up in the middle of a fairly complicated situation and I've had to use you as leverage."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."  Careful, controlled statements.  I knew that was the only way I could ever gain the upper hand, if there was one to be gained.  I wondered at all that had passed: how much of this was Carter's doing?  Had some of his cronies caused the accident?  Had it been Mia on the phone?  Was my grandfather even in the hospital?  Anger and fear warred in my head as I stared at Carter.  I had questions and if I could get him talking, maybe I'd find answers.

"I'm not sure how else I can put this to you."  He turned away from me and I took the opportunity to push myself into a sitting position, leaning against the concrete wall behind me. I held my face still, determined not to let anyone know what pain I felt.  I didn't hold many cards and giving away the extent of my injuries seemed too high a cost.  Mia and Sam watched my movements carefully, their bodies tense as I shifted around.

I was being held in a small, concrete-block room.  More distressing than all the hard concrete and the metal door was the lack of natural light in the room.  Were they holding me underground?  The room was sparsely furnished with a small wooden table and a handful of mismatched folding chairs.  There was nothing else to give me even a hint of where we were.

"Your friend, Harding," Carter began, his voice cracking a bit, "has some very strange connections.  He has information I intend to get."

Harding?  If Carter knew his real name, there was no telling what else Carter knew about him.  What could Harding possibly know that Carter wanted?  I was still missing something.  Probably more than one something.  Anger flashed through me as I looked at him.  This whole conspiracy thing of his had gone too far.  Carter and his cronies were insane for thinking any of it was true.  I was insane for goading them on and I knew that perhaps the wisest thing I could do at this point was keep my mouth shut.

"I'm going to need your help."  Carter's eyes flashed and I felt a strange burst of pain in my head as he stared me down.  The yellow auras wavered in and out.  If I made it out of this alive, I would get those brain scans.

I kept my eyes locked on his for barely a moment and if I'd had to testify to it, I'd swear they were turning yellow.  The pain in my forehead increased the longer I looked at him and I finally dropped my gaze.  The pain ceased immediately, replaced by a strange, stuffy feeling, almost comfortable by comparison.  I heard my next words leave my mouth without them ever forming in my mind.  "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing you're not already doing." Carter gave me a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.  His three cronies had gathered around him in a semi-circle, looking uncomfortable behind their frozen gazes.

"Can I have something to drink?" I asked, trying to think of ways to keep him talking.  His strange smile had broken that stuffy cloud over my thoughts and I felt a little tickle at how familiar it seemed.

He motioned to Sam, who hastily left the room.  "Is there anything else you need?"

"How long do I have to stay here?  How long have I been here?"

"As long as necessary.  For both our sakes, I hope it's a rather short time. Though, you've been with us for about twenty hours now.  Longer than I had planned."  His brief, unguarded expression sent chills down my body.

Sam returned, carrying a plastic cup.  Emma Hayes followed him, cloaked in a...long black cloak.  I couldn't help but stare.  She had that same frozen look in her eyes as everyone else.

Sam thrust the cup at me, a bent straw leaning against the edge.  I leaned forward to reach it and sighed when the water hit my tongue.  It was cool and clean, the best thing that had happened to me since the truck had hit me.  I held back another sigh.  After several long sips, it was gone.  As soon as Sam had taken the cup back, Miss Emma moved toward me, one hand sliding out of the deep folds of her cloak.  I saw too late what she had in her hand.

As the needle pierced my skin, I heard myself cry out, but the drug worked quickly.  I was out before I could even react.

Chapter 28

I WAS JOSTLED awake some time later by a thick pair of arms lifting me at my knees and under my arms.  I cried out in protest as one of my captors hauled me over his shoulder.  The motion had ripped the drug fog from my brain.

"Please don't say anything, or we'll have to gag you again,” Sam said, turning his head toward me.

"What's going on?" I managed, my throat aching with thirst.

"We have to move you again.  This should be the last time."

"Carter didn't tell us to chat her up, Sam."  Father McCullough followed Sam out of the concrete room, staring at me as we moved.  I stared right back, wondering what had happened to the kind old man who had greeted me in the church basement.  The warm twinkle in his eye was gone.

I closed my eyes for a few moments, humiliated and scared. We walked through the metal door and up a flight of stairs, our progress slowing some as we ascended; I was a heavy burden. My body shook in pain as we proceeded; my limbs were pins and needles from having been bound for so long.

I must have blacked out at some point because, next thing I knew we were in a run-down parking garage.  I stretched to try and get a look around, hoping I would see something that would tell me where we were, but the sky was pitch-black and a single security light buzzed somewhere beyond an RV parked haphazardly across three spaces.  Sam carried me up the steps and inside camper.  The living area was rundown.  There was a TV blaring with some late-night show, and food containers scattered all over the dining table.  It looked almost as if someone had been living in it for a while.  Sam carried me through to the bedroom area and set me down on a couch.  He stepped backwards from the room, closing a plastic accordion curtain as he left.  I was alone and wanted to sob at the feel of the soft cushions beneath me.  I didn’t understand why they were moving me from one place to another.  We'd gone from the scene of the accident to here, but if Carter was waiting for Harding, why didn't they stay in one place?  How would Harding ever find them?

Carter must have known about Harding's ability.  He must have had at least a sneaking suspicion that Harding could find me.  That one thought led me to the next inevitable question: and what if he did?  If I was just collateral for Carter, did he really intend to let me go?  Did he expect to get away with kidnapping me?

I shoved the thoughts away, determined to focus on the things I could do something about, and surveyed the back room.  Besides the couch, there were two end tables and a wardrobe cabinet.  The only other entrance to the back of the RV was the window behind the couch, but the built-in sliding blind appeared to be sealed off.  To finish off the hostage nightmare, the entire room was decorated in red and brown with cheap, polished particleboard cabinetry.

After several silent minutes, the vehicle began to creep forward.  The drug haze had returned and I zoned out as we traveled, unable to keep track of turns or time.  Finally, the vehicle stopped making turns or adjusting its speed.  I guessed we were on a freeway.

Emma came through the curtains after awhile, her cloak exchanged for an all-black outfit that looked like a Halloween spy costume.  She crossed the room carrying a small stainless steel tray and a bottle of water.  After setting the tray on one of the built-in end tables, she brought the bottle to where I was sitting and held it out to me.  I took long, deep gulps through the straw, the cold burning my throat.

After I finished, she took the bottle.  "Are you hungry?"

I shook my head.  Who knew what kind of drugs she'd lace through my meal?

"You should keep your strength up.  Eat something."

I considered this for a long moment, deciding between a snarky comment or being complacent.  I took a long look at the tray and outlined the long, thin syringe resting at the edge of it.  I opted to eat.  The more time I could between doses of whatever they were drugging me with, the better off I'd be.

"I'll take something to eat."

She nodded and left through the curtains.  Sam had left me slumped over and I stayed that way for the duration.  Now, the drug haze finally gone, I pushed myself up higher against the back of the couch.  Wincing against the pain, I rearranged myself into a weird, straight-backed position and slid my legs together, trying to get the blood flowing again.  I was surprised to discover that the binding around my ankle had loosened considerably.  I wiggled my foot, stretching the binding even further.  Finally, with a deep breath, I lifted my knee, forcing against the pain that thudded through my joints, and slid my right foot loose.

With a steady eye on the doorway, I slid my other foot free and tucked my legs together, hoping that Emma wouldn't notice when she came back in.  As my head reeled, trying to figure out what advantage could possibly be gained, I watched for any movement beyond the little bedroom.  I strained to separate out the various voices and road noise.  I could hear the opening strains of the theme song for a cop drama on a TV somewhere upfront, interspersed with conversation.  After a few moments of consistent din, I heard a low thump, directly above me.

Emma opened the plastic curtain and came through it clumsily, gripping the edge of the wardrobe cabinet for balance as the RV hit a bump in the road.  For a moment, the noise from the television rose in volume before she shut the door.  She crossed to the other end table, the one closest to me, and set down a small plate of food.

"We're not supposed to move around in this thing while it's moving, but Carter insisted that I check on you.  You won’t be of any use to them if you’re dead."  There was something weird about her tone as she said this, something that matched the odd, vacant expressions I had seen on the others.

What am I missing?  Why is everyone so out of it?  And who is she talking about?

Dread welled in my gut.  I needed to get out of here, and it wasn't just because I'd been kidnapped.  I didn’t have all the pieces, and I was starting to feel like this was bigger than just Carter and Nathan.  There were greater forces at play and I didn't want to be around when they finally revealed themselves.

She bent over the plate, arranging something out of my direct vision.  I looked at the doorway from the corner of my eye and, taking a deep breath, pushed myself off of the couch and directly into Emma's side.

She fell, her shoulder bouncing off the sidewall before she fell back toward the couch.  I cringed as she smacked her head on the corner of the table, but there was no blood when she hit the carpet.  I waited, wondering what my next plan of action would be.  I heard raised voices outside the door, but the volume on the TV never changed.  I couldn't tell if anyone had heard anything, but I didn't think I had long before someone came to check on Emma.

As I was considering if there was a place I could hide and untie myself, the back window shattered, the sound muted by the sealed blind.  A large, pale hand burst through the plastic and in the next instant, that same hand tore the blind clear out of its track and tossed it to the floor.

The hand disappeared and was replaced by a pair of heavy-looking black leather boots.  Slender, muscular legs clad in black pants and a narrow torso followed.  Before I could even get my wits about me, a tall man stood in the room with me, his head turned toward the curtain.  He seemed to listen for only a moment before removing his ski mask.  Before I saw his face, I saw his white blond hair.  It was longer, very straight and seemingly unaffected by any static from the wool mask.  It was also very familiar.  He was the man who had followed Harding and me the night Colin had broken into my house.  I stared at him.  The steady pain in my head flared as I took him in, and I tried to blink away the aura flares again.  The red ones freaked me out more than any of the other colors I saw.

The skin on his face looked just as pale as his hands and his ice blue eyes glittered in the weird RV lighting.  He was staring at me now, his eyes scanning over my entire body.  I fidgeted, wishing desperately that I could cross my arms over my bruised and beaten body.  I couldn't help the fear that coursed through me, even as the thought occurred to me that a friend of Carter's probably wouldn't break through the back glass of the RV while it traveled at full speed.

In a wink, he was at my side, and began to cut away the binding on my wrist with a small knife.

"I am Daniel," he whispered as he worked.  "Benjamin Elridge has contracted with us for use of our services.  I was supposed to locate you before they moved you again."  His voice was like silk, with a slight accent, perhaps Russian.  "I have failed."

I raised my eyebrows, his words bouncing around oddly in my head.  "I'm not sure I understand any of that, but I guess I believe you.  Where are we?"

"We are on a rural highway, heading out of New Jersey."

I groaned.  "Jersey."

He nodded again.  "We need to leave now, before someone comes looking for her."  He gestured toward Emma, who was still out cold on the floor.

"Leave?" I asked, feeling suddenly hysterical.  "We're in a moving vehicle!  I don't even understand how you got here–was that you?  That thump I heard?  Were you on the roof?"

Amusement glinted in his eyes, but he ignored my questions.  He was focusing on the room beyond the accordian door.  “Do you know who’s driving?”

“I’m not sure.  Counting Emma, there are five of them.”

He nodded.  “I believe we can handle them without trouble.  Once I break down this door, things will happen very quickly.  I will work my way forwards, and you will follow behind.  After I incapacitate the driver, you must take over the vehicle and bring us to a stop.”

“You think the two of us can take on four people?”

“We have the element of surprise, Ms. Stuart.  Are you ready to begin?”

Before I could protest, he wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me to my feet.  He shoved through the accordian door without even bothering to unlatch it and I watched in awe as he flew through the camper.  Father McCullough was watching tv, and didn’t even turn around before Daniel pushed his head to the side and slammed it into the window frame.  Sam and Mia both jumped from their chairs and came at Daniel as Carter started yelling from the drivers’ seat.  His words were drowned out by the sound of two people being thrown into a dining table.  Daniel leapt forward, and I followed as quickly as I could, knowing it was my time to help.  Daniel grabbed Carter out of the seat, tearing the seat belt and causing the RV to sway wildly.  I dove into the seat as I heard a low growl from Carter.  I didn’t look, but knew from the sound of another thud that Daniel had taken care of him, too.  My hands tightened around the large steering wheel and I jammed my feet against the pedals, hitting the gas and the brake at the same time.  The RV bucked and the engine howled as I released the gas and pushed the brake again.  The back end fishtailed and we finally spun to a stop.

Daniel grabbed me from the seat, shoved the door open, and jumped.  With a jarring thud, he landed on the road without so much as a slip in his grip on me.  I looked at him, my eyes wide.

It's the drugs.  There’s no way any of that just happened.  I chased away the thought and blinked a couple of times.  There would be time for processing later, I hoped.  For the moment, I was just glad to be away from Carter, whatever new dangers this man might bring.

"Can you walk?" he asked.  His face was impassive, as if he were asking the time.

I tried to move one of my legs and was stunned by the wave of pain that rushed toward my thigh.  "I doubt I could get far.  I've been tied up for, well, for however long I've been gone."

"I will carry you."

It didn't seem like a question.  Before I could respond, Daniel placed his other arm under my legs and darted into the thick trees that lined the road.  Once we were in the tree line, he took out a cell phone.  After a moment, he spoke a few quick words in Russian and hung up.  He pocketed the phone without another word and began moving through the woods.

Before long, we were out in the moonlight, free of the trees.  Daniel had carried me to a gravel parking lot.  Parked at the edge of the lot, almost completely obstructed by a large black truck, was a small, European coupe. Daniel carried me to the passenger side and lowered me into the leather seat.  Through the searing pain in my arms and back, I managed to buckle myself in before slumping against the cushiony chair.

Daniel sped from the parking lot, slinging gravel and dust all over the truck.

We pulled out onto a different highway, heading north.  As I settled further into the seat, I closed my eyes.  The adrenaline was gone and I was suddenly bone tired.  My whole body hurt and my stomach ached with hunger.  The haze of the drugs still hung over me and thickened a bit as even the memory of adrenaline disappeared.  I panicked at the feeling of it: the drugs were clearly still in my system.  After several silent minutes, during which I was able to settle myself a bit, I turned my head toward Daniel.  We were clear of any towns for the time being and I noticed that he had significantly increased the speed of the car.

"Will you answer my questions?"

"As best I am able."

"Who are you?"

"I am Daniel.  I am an associate of Benjamin Elridge."

"Ben knows what happened?"

"Yes, he called me three nights ago to request that I track and retrieve you."

"As a favor?"

Daniel gave me a sideways glance.  "Not exactly."

I knew a dead-end when I saw it and decided it wasn't worth pushing him for more information about Ben.  "What day is it?"

"The twenty-eighth of July."

"I've been gone four days?" It was almost more information than I could handle.  As my clouded brain tried to remember those days, I was horrified to realize I remembered precious little.

"Yes.  It took time to find you, as they kept moving you and our time for finding you was limited."  His response confused me, but I didn't put much stock in that.  I was fried; almost everything confused me.

"Where are we going?"

"We are driving to upstate New York."

"Why?"

"Those were my instructions."

"Why was I taken?"

"In an attempt to lure Dr. Fields to their location."

"What did they want with him?" I knew I was firing questions at him, spitting them out almost as soon as they popped into my head. I blinked several times, my nerves frayed and pain putting an edge in my voice.

"That is not a question I am at liberty to answer."

"Will I see Ben?"

"Yes."

"Where's my car?"

"It was totaled and has been taken care of.  I personally consider it amazing that you survived the accident at all, let alone without serious injury," Daniel replied, his voice almost thoughtful.  I decided to abandon my questions for the time being, even as they continued to pile up in my mind.

After staring for a while out the window at the blurred wave of passing trees, broken occasionally by intermittent bare patches of tall grass, I asked, "What's going to happen now?"

He didn't answer right away, but when he did, it seemed rehearsed.  "All of this will be taken care of.  You will not have to speak to the authorities."

"What if I want to?" I pressed.

"It is up to you to decide the best course of action.  I highly recommend that you wait until you have all the information."

I chewed that over in my head, trying to sort through all that had happened in the past few days, so much of it a blur.  I worked my way through each event, examining the people, the places. As I replayed Daniel's rescue over and over, my mind couldn't believe its own recording. It had seemed so impossibly fast–so impossibly impossible. Even now, as I peeked at the speedometer, I saw that we were traveling well over 140 mph. Did normal people ever comfortably drive that fast? At half the speed, I would be clinging to the seat, or arguing with the driver–or both. I felt safe, however, in this speedy car that probably cost more than my entire college education. As I once again looked out the window–trees and roadway rushing by–I thought of speed and, like a puzzle, another piece clicked into place.

"You were in the alley, that night, weren't you?  And that night I was with Harding?  How long have you been following me?"  I knew there was a hint of anger in my voice, but I couldn't help it.  The drugs had left my senses dulled and I felt my usual self-control wavering.

"I have heard that you are an exceptionally bright woman, but it is not for me to answer."

I blushed in the darkness of the car, both at his comment and at my own emotional reactions.  Sighing, I rested my head against the headrest and looked through the windshield at the night sky.  Silence descended once more and I allowed myself to be soothed by the gentle thrumming of the pavement beneath the tires.

Chapter 29

"ALLIE, WAKE UP."  Someone shook my shoulder.  Strong arms lifted me from the car before I'd even had a chance to open my eyes.  As I regained my vision, the blurs of Ben's face resolved into his eyes, his lips.  In a burst of raw emotion, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, allowing him to hold me as we stood in the driveway.  The last of the drugs had worn off while I'd been sleeping, but his embrace wrapped me in warm relief and the throbbing pain ebbed away.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Ben said, his lips pressed against my hair.  I reveled in the moment, pushing back the dread over what I had learned from Daniel.  I didn't know why Ben was here, or what exactly Daniel had meant by "contracting services."  The intensity of the last several hours had dissipated and I took the opportunity to get a good look at my surroundings.  The car was parked in a large, circular driveway, right in front of one of the biggest houses I'd ever seen.  The grey stone edifice was downright imposing; it stretched three stories toward the sky and was topped with a steep gabled roof.  Wide, curved stone steps stretched from the driveway up to a sprawling portico.

It was still night and lights burned throughout the mansion.  As I took in the expansive estate and the expensive cars parked in the driveway, curiosity and fear coursed through me.  Who owned this place?  What were we doing here?

"I have a lot of questions."  My throat was parched and my voice came out in a ragged whisper.

"I know."  He eyes dropped from my gaze.  "Do you want to walk?"

I hesitated, before nodding my head.  He was still hiding something but I didn't know enough about what the hell was going on to even take a guess.  "I wouldn't mind a little help, though."

Ben wrapped his arm around my waist, waiting for me to begin walking.

"What is Daniel?" I asked as we started up the steps.

Ben made a sound like a snort.  "That's quite the loaded question.  Just hold tight for a bit and it'll probably be answered.  We're about to meet with an old family friend.  Someone my father and brother have known for years and years.  He'll explain."

The wide double doors opened as we approached but I didn't see anyone in the foyer.  Ben continued across the marble floor, the soles of his dress shoes tapping against the stone, and directed me through a set of French doors along the west wall.

In the very center of the next room was a huge, oval-shaped conference table.  The whole space was over-sized: massive furniture, high ceilings, even the doors in and out towered over everyone.  It was clearly a space where business was conducted regularly, and I didn't think it was the kind of business where everyone came to the table as equals.  Every detail practically dripped with wealth, from the expensive cream wallpaper to the mahogany table.

Seated at one end of that table was Harding, flanked by William Tensley.  Opposite him were two men, a willowy, exotic looking woman with golden skin and coal black hair, and Daniel.  The man seated at the head of the table was startling in appearance.  His skin was olive-toned, but there was still an oddness to it that I couldn't properly describe.  His dark, almost black hair fell in smooth waves over his shoulders and he held his posture in a decidedly regal way.  He did not acknowledge us when we entered the room, but his associates looked in our direction with disinterest.  They moved almost identically and their looks were mirror images.  Both men had silver hair, pulled back in smooth ponytails.  Their violet eyes blazed at us from even this distance.

The auras in my vision were going off like violent, red alarms.  I held myself in check, trying not to crush my hands against my eyes to make them stop.  I didn't even dare blink.

"Good evening," the man at the head of the table said, turning his head to look at Ben and me.

I was startled by the intensity of his viridian eyes.  Every feature seemed highlighted, underscored.  His hair was impossibly dark, but somehow rich and full of color.  His skin was pearly, from somewhere underneath the olive tones.  He was at once the strangest person I had ever seen and the most beautiful.  I was staring, but I couldn't drag my eyes away.

"Welcome to my home."  He stood and walked toward us, something that seemed to surprise the others in the room.  He gave a small bow, his head bent toward me.  "Please allow me to introduce my colleagues, Ms. Stuart.  You have already met Daniel, he is my guard.  Acelin and Alaric are my most trusted advisors.  Sadira is Alaric's wife."  The twins nodded at me and Sadira retained her smooth, emotionless expression as she acknowledged me.

I nodded at them, but I found I couldn't tear myself away from the interesting looks and melodic, accented voice of the man talking to me.

Finally, pressing a hand against his chest, he continued to speak.  "And I am Sorrell, prince of the Vampiric Court of the Americas."

The audible gasp in the room was mine.

Chapter 30

A VARIETY OF odd, melodic laughter filled the room.  Ben was still clinging to me and was the only person, aside from Harding, not smiling.

"Forgive me, Ms. Stuart.  I realize this must be very startling for you.  I must say, I don't usually agree to giving that sort of information out freely, but Dr. Fields feels that you have been dragged too far into this situation to be 'left out of the loop', so to speak."  Sorrell didn't grin, but his eyes danced with a mischief that surprised me.  Perhaps vampires didn't get big reveals very often.

"I'm sorry," I said, stammering.  "I'm not sure I understand."  Vampires.  Insane.  This was insane.  As crazy as all those conspiracy theories had sounded when I'd read them online, it still couldn't match what I was seeing.  Between Sorrell's admission and Harding's special ability, I was starting to think I was the crazy one for not believing.  I shook my head, trying to formulate some sort of response, something better than what I'd already offered.

More of the soft laughter.

"Benjamin, please help Ms. Stuart into one of the chairs.  We will be here for a while."

Ben guided me into one of the leather chairs and I relaxed a bit once I was situated.  My shoulders and back were tense with the information I had just learned, but a comfy chair wasn't going to take that away any time soon.

"Perhaps you would like me to explain?" Harding offered.

"I believe you have done enough, Dr. Fields.  It is my duty to clarify this situation–" Sorrell was cut off by several loud, punctuated shouts in the foyer.  Daniel left the room without a sound.  When he returned a few moments later, after some additional scuffles, two guards flanked him.  All three men were dressed in black and they moved synchronously.  Between them, they were holding Nate Carter.

A low hiss issued from Sadira, but Sorrell grinned, a wicked set to his mouth.  For the first time, I saw his teeth and shuddered at the fangs.

"The others are below," said the guard on Carter's right.  He was American, and looked younger than the others.

"Mr. Carter.  How kind of you to finally join us.  I have heard rumor that you've been looking for me."

"Sorrell!" Carter growled, his tone menacing. "I will kill you!"

Sadira, Acelin and Alaric all jumped to their feet, hissing and flashing their fangs.  In the same moment, Daniel had grasped Carter's throat in his long, thin fingers.  It appeared to be hardly any effort for him, but Carter squirmed and gasped.  Vampires.  Insane, yes, but perhaps not as impossible as I thought.

"That is highly unlikely, Mr. Carter.  Now, if you would kindly enlighten us, why have you sought me out?

"To enact revenge, Sorrell.  For Jake."

I stared at Carter, trying to understand what had happened, as if a short verse of explanation might burst to life on his forehead.  This was the man who had organized a group of conspiracy theorists into holding meetings in a church basement?  Had it all been for this?  Was everything else a lie?

This was Le Conseil, the vampire power cabal that he'd been so worked up about?

Or were there more?

The answer pulsed in my head.  There has to be.  A group of ten or twelve vampires could not have spawned such a massive, rumor-laden group as Le Conseil Cimme.

Sorrell seemed to like drama and once the tension had built sufficiently, he bequeathed Carter with an answer: "Your brother's fate was an unfortunate one, but not unwarranted.  He sought the impossible and he paid the price."

"You lured him, with your promises of wealth and immortality."  Carter's face was a livid red, with veins standing out on his neck and forehead.  I imagined, if I looked at him with just the right focus, I might actually see the waves of hot, yellow anger jumping off of him.

"Lies.  Keep him silent." Sorrell's voice took on a dangerous edge.  He stood from the table and crossed his arms behind his back.  Daniel moved closer to him; the others moved back.  "Ms. Stuart, I believe it best that we continue our conversation in private.  Benjamin?"

Ben nodded and helped me from the chair as Sorrell left the room.  He hung back and I followed after Sorrell by myself.  The pain of my bindings, the accident, and the attack in the alley had left me with a stilted, strange gait.  I promised myself, if I managed to ever escape this surreal hell, that I would lock my doors, shut off my phone and sleep for days.  Preferably after a heavy dose of pain meds.

I went through the door after Sorrell, keeping my gaze away from those who followed each step I took.  After entering a small study, I took the closest available seat, a low, leather couch.

Sorrell sat in a plush armchair angled toward me.  He crossed his long legs and rested his hands in his lap, the gesture familiar and comforting, as if he were a therapist and I his patient.  His face pulled into a thin smile.

"I hope you understand the highly unusual nature of your situation.  We typically exist in complete privacy and I require utter discretion from my human employees.  Benjamin's brother, for example, is the perfect associate.  He works diligently and keeps his mouth closed.  Harding, however, has always been a bit of a wild card in this organization.  His abilities make him useful, but he has a tendency to draw unwanted attention to us."

"Abilities?" I tried to wrap my mind around his words.  My best bet here was to keep things short and sweet: ask questions, gather information and process all of it later.  I couldn't even begin to think about Ben's connection to all of this.

"He has told me that you are aware of his empathic nature."

"That doesn't mean I totally believe it," I replied automatically.  Despite the back and forth discussions at Carter's meeting, and through the occasional emails that followed, I could never commit myself to the idea that there were humans in the world with preternatural abilities.  I had wanted so badly to believe that Harding's "ability" was nothing more than a heightened sensitivity to the body language of the people around him.  Even now, staring straight at a living, breathing, fully-fanged vampire, I didn't want to believe what I was starting to know was true.

"Ms. Stuart, I am a vampire.  I regularly subsist on a diet of human blood.  I assure you, your personal system of belief is no longer adequate."

Fear spiked in my chest at his words and I sank deeper into the couch.  I let the truth that I'd wanted to deny wash over me.  Whatever my feelings had been about Harding's invasion of my psyche, I could not deny the real truth of what he was.  It fit.  He knew when I was in trouble, knew when I was hurting or uncomfortable or scared.  And he never took advantage of that.  The way I had been so dismissive and distrusting pushed a flair of remorse through my gut.  I owed him a deep apology for my actions toward him in the past weeks, but this was not the time for apologies.  This was the time to get more answers.

"Why do they work for you?"

"Because it pays well," Sorrell replied, smiling.  "Benjamin's family has worked for me for three generations now, for mostly the same reason.  Harding–well, everything about him is unusual."

"What do they do?"  They was safe.  I wasn't sure of Ben's role in any of this and I wasn't sure I could stand to dig deep enough to find out.

Sorrell shrugged.  "Various, necessary tasks.  Mostly, my human employees are paid to be available when and where I need them.  Benjamin's brother fulfills the role of my day associate.  He handles my business during normal operating hours.  Successively, his father and grandfather held the role before him."

I could only nod, wondering which question would be best to ask next.  I was beside myself.  This was absurd, insane and completely terrifying.  On the other hand, I was very interested in surviving this day.  It seemed best to cooperate.

"To explain tonight's situation," he began.  "Nathan Carter has long been a thorn in my side.  A small sliver, really, but annoying nonetheless.  He has a personal, imagined vendetta against me and this is not the first time he has tried to act on it.  About seven years ago, I asked Harding to begin monitoring his activities.  When he started his internet network, in an ill-advised attempt to gather information about our world, we began taking steps to minimize him.  Unfortunately, he recently discovered Harding's true purpose, and kidnapped you in an attempt to lure Harding to him."

My mouth dropped open, but I still couldn't find adequate words to express my scattered thoughts.  I had never met anyone even remotely like Sorrell.  Between his words, his startling eyes and the odd, hypnotic tone of his voice, I was struggling to keep up.

"It was not, however, Carter's first attempt at bringing you into this.  He recently crossed paths with a young, rogue vampire that we have been hunting for over six months.  Somehow, he managed to convince the rogue to go after you, but your friend Laura botched his plan."  Sorrell's face remained still as he talked.  There wasn't an emotion or a hint or reaction to be seen.

"What do you mean?"

"The rogue, his name is Chase."  Sorrell's nose wrinkle in distaste, the first reaction he'd given me.  "He had been training for weeks to resist the smell of your blood.  I do not believe that the vampire counted on Laura."

I was sure complete horror was written all over my face, but Sorrell seemed to pay it no mind.  "Young vampires struggle against their thirst and can rarely be so close to humans without killing them.  It probably won't surprise you to know that this struggle intensifies around humans that–appeal–to that particular vampire's sexual tastes."

I shuddered and drew my knees to my chest, not caring how childish it made me look.  That attack in the alley had been meant for me, and my best friend had been hurt instead.  My email to Carter surfaced in my mind; he had known I was unprotected and seen a chance to act.  Perhaps Carter had intended to capture me then, instead of using his conspiracy buddies.  Laura had just been collateral damage.  She could have died.  "Is she okay?  I mean, really okay?  Harding said..." I had no idea how to continue.  If Harding had lied about so much else, he could have lied about her too.

"She will be fine.  She suffers some.  From that which causes our Change."

I started.  "She's–what does that mean?  She's becoming a vampire?"

"No, not quite that, as I understand it.  Dr. Fields will better enlighten you."

I stared at him for a moment before remembering that it was probably better to avert my eyes.  "Why isn't she changing?"

"Daniel has been tracking you since that first meeting with Carter in New York, as part of our attempts to understand exactly what Harding was up to.  He saved your life, and hers.  His intervention came before all the necessary steps were completed."

"I still don't understand how I could be any kind of bait for Harding."

"Harding is able to more closely sense the emotions of people closest to him.  I can only assume that as your friendship has grown, his link to you has grown.  He knew you were in trouble in Poughkeepsie while he was still in New York."

Another piece of the puzzle slipped into place, but I struggled with its implications.  I couldn't deny the feelings of betrayal that coursed through me as I thought about Ben and Harding's actions over the past few months.  I frowned and shook away the daze that had settled over me.  It was time to sit up and pay attention.

"What happened to Chase?" I asked, deciding to hold off on additional questions about Ben or Harding.

"He was questioned after Daniel captured him."

"And then?"

Sorrell looked at me, his eyebrows raised slightly.

I understood his silent answer and nodded.  "What about the others involved with my kidnapping?"

"I haven't made any decisions about the situation yet."

"Do they know the truth about your"–I struggled, trying to remember the word he has used–"court?"

"It is our belief that Carter simply told them about Harding's abilities and not the truth about what he knew.  I imagine that, even to that particular crowd, his story would sound insane."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked, my mind beginning to organize all of the information I had absorbed in the past several hours.

Sorrell didn't answer me immediately.  He seemed to be considering something.  "You are interesting to me, Ms. Stuart.  I must admit, in a situation like this, I would normally kill someone in your place.  But something about you has intrigued me."

"What on earth do you mean?"

He chuckled.  "Are you not frightened, Ms. Stuart?"

My stomach twisted as I stared at him.  Fright wasn't even the word for it.  There was no word.

"Of course, even if you were, you'd never tell me.  You remind me–"

There was a gentle knock at the door, so light that I almost missed it.  Without any kind of visible response from Sorrell, the door opened and Sadira entered, followed closely by an impossibly small woman with tight, red curls.  She was carrying a silver tray, loaded with food and drink.  The woman turned to me when Sorrell motioned to her and I was shocked to see that she was really a young girl, perhaps no older than thirteen or fourteen.  Her skin, however, had the same pallid undertones that the other vampires had.  She was the only vampire aside from Sorrell that truly unnerved me.

She placed the tray on a table in front of me and bowed her head.  They left the room as quickly as they had come.

"I doubt that your captors properly cared for you; you must be hungry," Sorrell said.

I looked down at the tray, loaded with a dish of fresh fruit, a plate of cheese and meat and two small loaves of bread.  There was also a crystal glass filled with ice water.  It was far too much food for just me, but I thought it rude to say so. I tore off a piece of bread and layered it with the cheese and salami.  It was easily the best thing I had ever tasted, hungry as I was.  Sorrell watched me eat in silence for several minutes and when I felt full, I took a long drink of water before turning my attention back to him.

"Do you have additional questions?"

"I am pretty surprised you're being so candid with me," I admitted.

"To be perfectly honest, so am I."  His voice was soothing, but still cool and detached.  I found myself once again trying to settle on any of the questions rolling in my head.  The silence of my meal hadn't given me enough time to properly sift through all the new information.

"You were saying something, before the food was brought in."  His words still hung in my mind.  I reminded him...of what?  Of who?

"Ah, so I was," he replied.  His position hadn't changed throughout our time in the study and I was beginning to be unnerved by it.  "You remind me of someone I once knew, someone I considered a friend."

I raised my eyebrows but didn't speak.

"Perhaps the most interesting thing about you, Ms. Stuart, is how connected you are to certain people in my organization.  I have always prided myself on my ability to keep our culture's existence a secret in this country.  It is extremely interesting to me that at least three of these associates of mine have been so willing to risk so much, just for you."

"Three?" I asked, confused again.

"Your father, Ms. Stuart, worked for me for many years."

I hadn't expected to be surprised again so easily.  I didn't remember many of the important details of my father, simply because no one ever talked about him.  I remembered how he used to read stories to me, using different voices for the characters.  He had a thick head of hair and was very handsome.  He taught me how to tie my shoes and how to catch a baseball, so that I could play with the other kids in our neighborhood.  He worked constantly.  And he left.

"I didn't really know my father very well."

Sorrell nodded.  "Your father left me many years ago, when you were still very young.  We have been tracking him ever since."

"What did my father do for you?"

"He was a brilliant man, a trusted advisor.  He was also a watcher."

"What?"  His phrasing was familiar, but I couldn't place it.

Sorrell considered me for a long, long minute and I felt anger bubble to the surface.  He would not answer me.  He had told me so much, why deny me this?

"Perhaps someday, you will know more.  Today is not that day."

"What's going to happen now?" I kept my voice carefully guarded, in an attempt to keep my anger at bay.  The thought of more secrets to explore, more questions to ask, was making me tired.

"We believe strongly in vengeance."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Nathan Carter must suffer retribution for the crimes he has committed," Sorrell continued, his voice still even.

"What do you mean?"  I felt like a record, like an idiot who couldn't understand anything and had to keep repeating the same question over and over.

"Despite all of the harm he has caused me, all the annoyance, you are the true victim of his actions.  You have physically suffered at his hands.  It is our custom that you have proof of his penance."

"I assure you, we can bypass that."

"You must understand this," Sorrell pressed, standing for the first time.  "Come."

Chapter 31

DANIEL ESCORTED US into the bowels of the mansion.  We passed through the luxury of the place and went deep into a world of beige concrete and dim, florescent lighting.  It lacked the evil ambience of a castle, to be sure, but in such company, I couldn't help but be amazed at the air of fear Sorrell and Daniel lent to such base surroundings.

At the foot of a set of metal and concrete stairs, Daniel opened a barred metal door.  We crossed the threshold into some kind of holding cell.  Carter was on his knees, staring at the floor.

"Stand," Sorrell growled.

Daniel faded into the background, his posture alert.  I shifted further away from the scene in the middle of the room and braced against a concrete column, with a perfect view.  Already, the bile rose in my throat.  There was no clean ending to be had here.

Carter's hands were tied behind his back and he struggled to his feet.  His eyes were barely open as he considered us; the bruises from a beating he'd received at some point were already turning a fearsome purple and black and his lips were swollen and red.  I tried not to stare at the bloody cracks running along his temples.  Whoever had delivered his punishment must have been careful to leave such painful memories on his skin without killing him.

"Your sins against my organization are unforgivable.  The decision to bring harm upon Ms. Stuart, whom I consider to be under my personal protection, was a fatal mistake, Mr. Carter."  Sorrell circled slowly, forcing Carter to shuffle against his bonds.

"This won't change what you did, Sorrell.  Others know of you, of your crimes.  You cannot survive for long.  You'll pay for what you did to my brother.  You'll pay for what you did to our family."

Sorrell laughed.  "You are but a mouse to me.  I have survived far greater threats than you can even imagine.  And as for your brother, he was a weak man with the desire to become something he was not."  Sorrell moved closer to Carter, staring directly at him with a cold, calculating glint in his eyes.  "If only you could have seen him, Carter.  Begging, on his knees, for me to change him.  Begging to leave his human life behind."

Carter only glared at Sorrell, his once kind eyes blazing with rage and madness.  Sorrell looked at him, his eyes flickering red, and bared his fangs.

"You should be glad to die, Carter.  Your madness will be quiet once and for all."

The fire that had blazed in Carter's eyes dimmed as he looked at Sorrell.  There was nothing in his face that I recognized.  Gone was the confidence he'd carried in the meeting, that kindness he'd shown in the bookstore.  He seemed to gather something from deep down inside of him.  "Would you kill what might be valuable to you?"

"You have nothing to offer, Carter."

"I have information about who sent me."  His chest heaved as he took a deep breath.  "And I have abilities that might be useful to you."

The latter half of his statement caught Sorrell off guard.  "Beyond your ability to create chaos over such trivial matters?"

Carter bowed his head and I blinked my eyes a few time as the air around him seemed to shimmer.  There was a strange flash of yellow, that same flash I had seen before.  I shook my head as I looked around the room.  The change had been fleeting and it was easy enough to convince myself that I'd imagined it.

"You are a pusher, Carter.  How very unexpected." Sorrell's eyes lit up.  “It’s too bad that can’t save you.”

A pusher?  Sorrell had said my father was a watcher and now, he was saying Carter was a pusher.  What was all this?

“But what about who sent him?”  I asked, trying to buy more time to understand what was going on.  ”There’s no way he has the resources to orchestrate all of this on his own.”

Sorrell dismissed my words with a wave of his hand.  “I do not need him to find out more about his operation.  He must be punished for the crimes he has committed.”

I searched for the right words that would stop what was about to happen.  “Isn’t there some other way to punish him?  If I’m his victim, shouldn’t I get to choose whether or not you spare his life?”

“This is not how we do things—“

“Can’t you make a deal with him? Anything.”  I stepped away from the column, trying to put myself between the two men.  “I can’t allow this to happen.”

"That is enough, Ms. Stuart.”  He turned his gaze toward me.  “I do not deal with manipulative maniacs.  I do not even dine on them, no matter how much I wish to see if the taste of one's blood runs in the family."

Carter shouted something unintelligible and dove toward Sorrell.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daniel dart forward.  Sorrell, however, merely reached out and plucked Carter from the air.  He had him by the throat, his fangs grazing the pulsing vein under his jaw.

"No!" I shouted.

Sorrell didn't even turn away from me.  The sound of breaking vertebrae filled the room for a quick moment and all went silent.  Carter's face was frozen in shock, as if he hadn't registered what was happening before he died.

I slid to my knees, sobbing.  Sorrell dropped down next to me and pulled my face up to meet his gaze.  His skin felt like smooth, cold leather against my face.  I shuddered as I looked at him.  His fangs were still out and he looked wicked.  The bloodlust in his eyes came off him in waves, permeating the air around us with the scent of wild fury and hunger.  "Do not turn away.  Understand.  You have entered a world guided by a completely different set of customs than the ones you are used to.  There is nothing that can change this.  What you have witnessed is one of the most important rites in our world.  There is a punishment for every crime."

"It's barbaric," I replied, my voice cracking and awful.

"Yes."  The reply did not come from Sorrell.

Daniel was at my side then and I nearly jumped when he touched me.  He lifted me from the floor and carried me out of the room.  I couldn't get the look on Carter's face out of my brain, and I knew I would never forget the moment he died.  I didn't bother to take in my surroundings as Daniel moved and when I looked up again, we were all back in the study off the conference room.  Sorrell left us without saying another word to me.  After the door had closed behind him, Daniel set me down on the couch.

"You must stop crying now."

I wiped harshly at my tears, anger boiling underneath the fear and horror that overwhelmed me.  "Must be easy to say when you've probably seen people killed more times than you can remember.  I've never... I've never seen anything like that."

"I remember each and every death I have ever witnessed."  He knelt down in front of me and leaned back on his heels.  His face was expressionless, even though his voice carried an unmistakable tone of remorse.  "It is acceptable that you are upset.  Humans have many preconceived notions about the world around them, but every time one is challenged, their entire outlook changes.  It is a narrow and frustrating way to exist.  Inflexibility is not a trait to be envied."

"There was no need for that.  He didn't deserve to die."

"It was an honor to bear witness to such a thing.  Your pain has been avenged by the Prince of one of the most powerful courts in the world.  That is no small thing."

"I never asked for that."

"You didn't need to."

He was silent after that and I allowed myself several more minutes of tears.  The situation was out of control.  Fear thudded through me.  I thought I had witnessed horrible things in my life, but I had never seen someone die in such a fashion.  I took several deep breaths, attempting to calm myself and think logically about the situation.  I almost laughed aloud.  The entire thing was insane.

I had been thrust into an unknown world and I couldn't even begin to understand the dangers ahead of me.  At this point, it was best to remain careful and neutral.  Even with all the information being thrown my way, I needed to figure out a game plan that would help me survive.  There was no way to tell what would knock me out of Sorrell's favor.  How much distance could there be between where I sat now and a death like Carter's?  I wiped away the final traces of my tears and straightened myself up.

"I need to speak to Sorrell."

Daniel looked impressed and nodded.  He left the room for a few minutes and, after an almost uncomfortably long wait, Sorrell returned.

"Sorrell, I owe you an apology.  It was rude of me to behave the way I did."

Sorrell nodded.  "You are such an odd creature, Ms. Stuart.  It's a miracle that I haven't killed you yet."

I forced myself to meet his gaze and he seemed to find amusement in that.  After a long silence, he nodded again.  "You are under my protection, now, Ms. Stuart.  Do not expect similar trouble again."

I nodded, feeling it unnecessary to give verbal thanks.

Sorrell bowed his head and within a moment or two, there was another knock at the door.  Daniel walked into the room and held a hand out to me.  I took it, prepared for the coolness of his skin this time.  He helped me from the couch and inclined his head to Sorrell.  We exited the room and I was surprised to find the large conference room empty.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"4:30 in the morning."

I groaned.  "Where are we going?  Are you taking me home?"

"There isn't time.  Sorrell has been kind enough to grant you quarters for as long as you may need."  We had already ascended two flights of stairs and arrived at a set of white French doors.  Daniel opened the door for me and guided me into a large sitting room.  I gasped as I recognized elements of the decor.

"Sorrell owns the loft in New York."  My stomach twisted.  What else had I missed?

Daniel nodded as I crossed over to a long, white sofa.  There was a cream-colored blanket tossed over the arm and I longed to lie down and curl up with it, but it wasn't time yet. Daniel walked around the room, turning on a couple of low lights.  "Both Ben and Harding wish to speak with you."

Chapter 32

BEN STOOD HALFWAY across the room, the coffee table stationed imposingly between us.  The room was large, but not enough to contain the distance between us.  Where to start?  What to say?  He looked the same, except for the slump in his shoulders and the worry etched over his face, but was he the same person I thought he was just a few days ago?  Was he the same man who’d held me, who'd been so gentle with my broken body?  I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the questions to go away.  There wouldn't ever be enough time to process any of this.

"I cannot believe you never told me about..."  What to even say?  What were the words to fill in here?

"Allie, I can't even begin to explain what this has been like for me.  You–well, you were never supposed to get this close to these people.  I've never had to deal with this situation before."

I gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes.  "That is such a cop out.  You should have been honest with me."

The worry evaporated from his face, replaced by some mix of hurt and anger.  "I have been!  Is this the kind of person you think I am?  Someone like my brother, who just turns his gaze away from whatever nightmare goes on here?  I had no choice, Allie.  None.  After you were taken–” He stared down at the floor and shook his head.  "I did what I had to do.  I've tried to keep my distance from this organization, but when Harding told me what he knew about Carter, I couldn't figure out another way."

I dropped onto the couch behind me and curled tight, bringing my knees against my chest.  I groped for the blanket and pulled it tight around me.  Whatever answer I had expected, it hadn't quite been that.  I'd built this moment up in my head, expecting him to confess some long-time employment with Sorrell and his associates.  I was ready to walk away, to hate everything about it.  I hadn't expected him to risk everything... for me.  "What do you have to do?"

Ben hesitated before taking a seat in the chair at my right.  His face was to the ground and his messy hair and rumpled clothes were a sign of the days he'd had.  Just looking at him, I felt a pang of regret for my earlier harshness.

"Sorrell has been trying to rope me into this for a long time.  He saw his chance, and he took it.  In exchange for help finding you, he's contracted me as an assistant to my brother for one year.  He went on and on about how change is coming and I need to be a part of it."

I gaped.  I couldn't imagine working for someone like Sorrell for any amount of time, let alone a year.  "But what will happen to your business?  You can't afford to spread yourself so thin."

He shrugged.  "I'll figure something out."  He stood up and walked around the coffee table, bridging the distance between us.  He sat next to me on the couch and pulled me closer to him.  "I need you to know that I wouldn't do it any differently.  It's worth it, just to have you here, safe and sound."

I wanted so much to curl into his chest and believe that I really was safe and sound, but I didn't trust the world I'd been thrust into.  I pulled back from him and shook my head.  "I'm sorry you had to make that decision, Ben.  I don't know, given what I know now, that I would have ever asked you to sacrifice that for me.  I don't know anything about this world, or these people.  How can this be real?"

Hurt lingered in his eyes, but he didn't try to bring me closer to him again.  "I wish it wasn't."

"Do you know what I just saw in there?"

Ben's face visibly paled as he, once again, lowered his head.  "I can only imagine."

"I saw–I saw a man die, as if it was nothing."  I closed my eyes as tears welled.  The memory of that sound was so clear.  Bones cracking.  It was the sound of death.  The sound of knowing I wouldn't ever be the same.  Nothing would be.  Now that I knew about this world, and the kinds of things that went on, now that Ben would be forced to do some unknown work for them for a year.  Nothing could be the same.  I gave up trying not to cry.

The pain and fear that had been building in my chest all summer long came out in long, harsh sobs.  I mourned for Ben, for what he had to give up to find me.  I knew that he never would have worked for Sorrell otherwise, and I knew what a huge sacrifice it must be.  I didn't deserve it.

He closed the distance between us and cradled me against him.  I didn't fight him.  I still didn't know where we stood, or what kind of relationship we could build, but I couldn't bear to dishonor what he'd done for me.

Even wrapped in his arms, I had never felt so alone, unable to reach out and touch even Laura or my grandfather.  I didn't know where I was and I didn't know whom to trust.  Everything here was too perfect, too beautiful, to house such madness.  A man had died in the basement, probably more than one, on more days than today, but there were no outward signs.  I curled tighter against him, trying to force the images out of my head as they paraded past.  Carter dying, his eyes bulging with the pressure on his neck.  Sorrell's fangs, his wild eyes, as he held the vanishing life in his fingertips.  Daniel's face, so cold and impassive as he watched.

A sharp rap at the door cut off my thoughts.  I blinked several times, trying to regain my mental footing in the unfamiliar room.  Ben pulled away from me and sat back without saying a word.  He nodded at me, and I took it as a signal to call out, "Come in."

The tiny redheaded vampire from earlier came into the room, bearing a silver tray.  She was alone and even more off-putting than before.

"Hello," I said, bowing my head to her.  I could barely move my arms to hold the blanket over my shoulders; moving to greet her was out of the question.

"Good evening."  She bowed at me, not disturbing her tray in the slightest, before turning to address Ben.  "If you would, please leave us.  I am to tend to Ms. Stuart alone."

I glowered at her.  "That's not necessary.  He can stay with me."

Ben stepped away from the couch.  "No, it's alright.  I'll check in on you later.  I have some things to take care of before daybreak."  His face was blank as he walked past the little vampire and out into the hall.  The door closed behind him with a soft click.

She turned to face me and gave that little bow again.  "My name is Beata.  Master Sorrell has sent me here to give you something to help."

"Help what?"

"To help you sleep, and to help rid your body of any of Carter's drug that may remain."

I was skeptical but unwilling to fight.  I knew, despite Sorrell's claims, that I was being held.  There were no bars on the windows, but I wasn't free to waltz out either.  "Alright."

She set the tray down on the table and moved closer to me, a syringe in hand.  I balked at the sight of the needle, but her ice-cold touch stopped my squirming.  "I know that this must not be easy for you, but you mustn't move.  It will be over presently."

I looked away as the needle pierced my skin, dread consuming me as I remembered the syringes that Carter's partners had used.  Beata clutched my wrist, even after she was finished, and it took me several moments to calm down.  My attention focused on the band of ice at my arm and I looked down at her small, white hand.  It reminded me of the petite porcelain dolls my mother had as a girl; I’d seen the remnants of the collection only once but their delicate features were unforgettably beautiful.

She released me as my gaze settled on her hand.  Already, I was feeling drowsy.  I stretched out on the couch, trying to protect my various injuries.  She turned away from me and I was asleep before the door closed.

* * *

IT WAS NEARLY four in the afternoon when I woke up.  While the sleep had done wonders for my muddled brain, my body ached from my ordeal and the stiff fabric of the couch.  I stumbled across the room, wincing with each step, and limped into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.  My skin was too tender from lying on concrete floors and ratty old carpeting to even consider taking a bath, so I sufficed with a washcloth and some soap over my face and under my arms.  I was happy to discover deodorant, a hairbrush, a toothbrush–the bathroom contained a full complement of toiletries.  I almost cried with relief when I discovered the tiny bottle of green mouthwash.

Feeling as refreshed as I could possibly hope for, I hobbled back into the bedroom to take further stock.  A clean blouse and straight black pants were laid out on the dresser and a pair of silk slippers sat on the floor.  I gingerly peeled off the tank top and yoga pants, disgusted at myself for not changing before sleeping.  I tossed the entire bundle into a trashcan and donned the new clothes.

It had taken me over an hour to clean up.  By the time I made my way back to the sitting room, my stomach growled and my throat ached.  On a silver tray in the center of the small table were a plate of sandwiches, a large tossed salad and a carafe of ice water.  There was a small bottle of painkillers next to the water and I gulped two of them down.  I tried not to concern myself with the idea that someone had entered my room to deliver all of that food.

As I settled down at the table with a plate of food, I was surprised by a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Harding entered the room with slow steps, his face barely concealing the exhaustion that was coming off him in waves.

I gasped as I took in the change in his appearance.  "What happened to you?"

He smiled at me and gestured toward his face.  "I don't know what you're talking about."  His hair was matted and filthy, sticking up in all different directions and his white dress shirt was stained with days of wear.  He looked exactly like I felt.  "We searched for you, for three nights.  Ben and I went on our own during the day, even though we weren't nearly as effective.  I haven't slept since you disappeared."

"Oh, Harding."

"Please, don't."  He dropped into the chair across from me.  "I came here because I need to tell you the truth.  Sorrell didn't tell you everything last night because I asked him not to.  There are some things you need to hear from me."

I waited, wondering what sort of terrible news he could have left.

"I've been tracking Carter for about three years.  He's been creating a lot of problems for Sorrell, and I was tasked with finding out more about him."

"Is that why you were so nervous about the meeting?"

He nodded.  "I knew if they were interested in you, it couldn't be for any good reason.  After you met Tensley, he filled me in a little on who you were, and why you might be a person of interest, for Sorrell, or for anyone else that cared to dig deep enough."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't tell you too much, because I don't know that much.  We're only told what we need to know to work.  All Tensley could tell me was that your father had ties to Sorrell, and some other people are looking for him, and have been for a long time."

"Why?"

He shrugged.  "I'm not sure.  I could make a few educated guesses, but I don't think they would do you any good.  As much as I hate to say this, you'll only be able to find out what you need to know from one person."

"Sorrell."

"Exactly."

"Why do you do this, Harding?  How can you work for these people?"

He looked down at the table as his cheeks flushed.  "I don't condone what they do, but you have to understand what it can be like out there for people like me.  When they found me, I was half-crazy and about to lose everything I had.  My family had stopped talking to me, I was flunking out of school, and I spent most of my time wishing I could just...die.  Sorrell's organization was different.  I could learn about my ability, learn to control it.  Nowhere else offered me that kind of sanctuary."

I tried to imagine Harding as a young man, his life falling apart as he was constantly bombarded by everyone else's emotions.  I would want to find a safe place, too.  "I'm so sorry, Harding."

He shook his head.  "Don't say that.  I'm not sorry.  This is my life, and doing what I do makes me who I am.  I try to do the right thing, stay away from trouble when I can.  I need you to understand something, though.  I'm not telling you all this so you'll feel sorry.  I'm just trying to tell you that I never betrayed you.  Once I knew who you really were, I tried to keep you safe.  Even after Tensley met you, it still took them awhile to figure out who you really were.  The night Daniel followed us... it was a warning.  I just need you to know that I would never do anything to put you in harm's way."

I nodded, but didn't have any words to give him.  I couldn't imagine the secret lives of my friends, couldn't imagine the things they'd been through that led them to this time and place.  I had so many questions about this strange world of vampires, and about my father's role in it.  Harding was right.  There was only one person who could tell me the truth.

"I need your help, Harding.  I can't stand to even be asking this, because I know how much me being here has already cost Ben, and probably you, but I need to find a way to speak to Sorrell again.  I have so many questions."

"I'll see what I can do, Allie, but I wouldn't expect him to just tell you everything you want to know.  He's going to want something in return."

"I know."

Chapter 33

MY REQUEST TO meet with Sorrell was granted.  Shortly after night fell, Daniel escorted me to a large dining room on the opposite end of the house from Sorrell's study.  Sorrell was stationed at the head of the table and Harding was seated next to him.  I took the seat across from Harding and Daniel moved to stand behind his prince.  It reminded me of some sort of bizarre mobster scene.

"Ms. Stuart.  I hope you have been treated well in your time here thus far," Sorrell said, glancing at me only briefly before looking down to consider a single sheet of paper lying on the table.

"Yes," I answered.  I tried to remember my purpose in asking for this meeting.  I had so many questions, and I knew better than to try to get every single one addressed.  The most important thing was to get as much information as I could about my father.  Anything else I found out was just a bonus.

"To what end have you requested this meeting?"

"I want to know more about my father."

Sorrell raised a single eyebrow and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth.  "In exchange for what?"

I froze.  This was the part I expected, but still didn't have an answer for.  "I'm open to suggestions."

"You–" Sorrell was cut off by a horrible, high-pitched scream from the foyer.

The sound was guttural, animal.  In a flash, two guards entered the room.  Daniel grabbed me from my seat and spirited me to the back of the room.  Harding stood closest to the door and everyone was silent.

The screaming continued, shot through with cries of war and the gut-wrenching sound of broken glass crashing against the stone floors throughout the house.  I pushed myself back against the wall, thankful for the vampire standing over me.  After several tense minutes of staring at the door as though it were something alive, the sounds faded, but didn't dissipate altogether. It was as though the battle had moved away, down another passageway–and dozens of running feet could be heard giving chase. I didn't voice the thought, but guessed it was a good thing that whatever was going on out there, stayed out there. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Harding held his hand back toward us.  I watched, holding my breath, as he crept into the hallway.  He returned a minute later and came to Sorrell.

"They've brought thirteen."

Although its portents meant little to me, it was enough to propel everyone else into motion.  The two guards and Sorrell immediately slipped from the room, through the door opposite of where we came in.  Harding darted into the fray, not hesitating as he ducked back into the hallway.

Daniel turned to me.  He looked torn–like he wanted to follow Harding out the door, but felt obligated to stay with me.  His gaze flicked from the door back to me and he stared into my eyes.  "I should take you away from here."

"Absolutely not.  I have to know that Ben and Harding are okay."  They were mine.  They were leaving with me.

Daniel stared at me for the briefest moment, an eyebrow raised.  He dragged me from the room without further comment.

We took the same exit Sorrell had, ending up in a tiled hallway that ran along the back of the house.  Windows and doors ranged along the exterior wall; it was an obvious vulnerability.  Daniel halted me at the end of the hall and we waited, looking out into the black night.  In the moment that we paused, the power flickered off, plunging us–and probably the entire property–into darkness.

I looked out into the garden and saw, for the first time, a tall, pale figure bathed in the light of the moon.

"Has he seen us?"  I watched the man in the garden, ignoring Daniel's closeness.  The man was a vampire, I knew now that I had something to compare him to, and he was waiting for something.  His attention did not shift from the forest.

"I do not believe so," Daniel answered, his voice low.  "I believe that he is waiting for reinforcements.  We need to get across here and find Sorrell."

"Reinforcements?"  The word invaded my mind.  There were more.

"There is no time to explain.  We need to move."  He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto his back.  I clung to him as he slid closer to the wall.  We moved.  At the peak of health, I couldn't have run at half that speed.

We were through the kitchen and into some kind of adjoining sitting room before I could get my bearings.  Daniel set me down on a chair and went to the door of the room.  He waited, his hand on the knob, listening.  I watched, holding my breath and straining to hear anything at all.  After a moment, there was a loud thrashing sound above us and a crash so heavy that the walls shook.

“What can we do from here?” I asked.  I couldn’t drag my thoughts away from Ben and Harding.  Where were they?  They couldn’t be safe–no one here was safe.  I had to get to them, tell them what we had seen.  Harding would know what to do about the man from the alley.  Ben would be able to tell me what was really going on.

“Do not leave this room.  I will find Sorrell and return for you.”  Daniel barely looked at me before he opened the door.  With a quick glance back, he motioned for me to stay behind and slipped out.

I waited exactly two minutes before forcing myself to my feet.  I was through with waiting for someone else to provide answers about what was happening around me.  Harding and Ben were somewhere inside the mansion, battling god-knows-what and putting themselves in danger to protect an organization I still didn’t understand.  Sitting around waiting for someone to tell me what to do next was what had landed me in this position in the first place.  It was time to step up, find my friends and get the fuck out.

After creeping over to verify the door was locked, I took several deep breaths.  I peered around the room, searching for a weapon. The room was small, furnished with a couple of plush chairs and a small writing desk. A smooth stone fireplace stood in the corner of the room, the mantle curving away from the wall like a bow. On the hearth was a heavy, cast-iron set of tools. Without hesitation, I grabbed the only viable weapon in the room–a large poker–and went back to the door.  Pressing my ear against the wood, I waited for a hint of what was happening outside.

Silence.

I opened the door without a sound and, cringing with the first step, entered into a large, familiar hallway. Sorrell's study was to my right and the conference room would be nearby. I clutched the poker in my right hand and took several careful steps, eyes wide, always listening.

It took awhile to navigate the hallway; I kept to the shadows and edged along.  The pumping adrenaline flow eased the pain in my body and dulled the headache; each step was easier as a new strength to survive pulsed through me.  I stepped into the foyer and took a long look around.

Sadira lay a few feet from the front door; her body was slashed with deep gashes, as if someone had taken a sword to her.  Black-ruby blood was smeared around her, glistening in the moonlight streaming through the door, stunning in its still-fresh vibrancy.  The tangy, coppery scent bit at my nostrils.  I turned from her and started up the stairs.

Once I reached the first door on the second floor, the noises of a battle began to fall over me, inching closer from somewhere down the hallway.  I scrambled into the first room, poker held out.  The stench of blood was strong.  A low growl from the back corner of the room pulled my attention away from the gore covering a large, white bed.  I took a few careful steps and peaked around the footboard.

Beata was huddled on the floor, covering the body of an unfamiliar vampire with her small frame.  She stared at me, her fangs bared and her violet eyes rimmed in burning red.  A pool of blood surrounded her, staining her pale pink dress and her porcelain skin.

"He is mine," she hissed.  "He killed my mother.  He killed my mother..." she trailed off for a moment, her eyes blazing.  With a final hiss, she turned from me and fell on her offender.

I couldn't look away as she began tearing at his throat.  My body was frozen, even as my mind convulsed in terror at what I was seeing.  Her fangs and claws acted in concert, and my own blood boiled as his body gushed forward rivers of the stuff.  Each slash from her fists sent a fresh torrent spreading over the floor, staining everything it touched with the copper red of death.  My vision flashed with vermillion as I tried to look away.  There was no way to escape my new reality.  Not after this.

The door slammed against the wall and a pair of strong arms lifted me back to the hallway.  Daniel was holding me by my wrists, his eyes wild and his fangs out.  "I have found Sorrell.  The others are coming."

We turned back toward the main staircase and ran down the opposite hallway, aiming for a part of the house I hadn't visited.  I still had my poker, though it felt anemic compared to the weapons the vampire commanded.  We stopped in front of a set of French doors and Daniel looked down the hall again.  Even in the darkness, I could see flickers of movement at the other end.  The fight was moving closer, accompanied by a wall of chaotic noise and the smell of even more blood.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement.  Before I could react, a small man leapt from one of the adjacent rooms and aimed for Daniel's throat.  Without waiting for the scene to unfold, I turned and propelled myself through the double doors behind me.

I would have been safer in the hallway.

Chapter 34

TWO VAMPIRES CIRCLED in the center of the room, fangs bared and eyes flashing with the thrill of bloodshed.  I froze in the doorway, clutching my impotent weapon.  The vampire from the garden moved in a slow, menacing dance inches from Sorrell. He was covered in blood; Sorrell was spotless.

My gut, my brain–even my feet–screamed for me to leave, but I didn't know what awaited me in the hallway. If Daniel had been killed by the vampire that attacked, I would be on my own, in a houseful of enemies. If I stayed here and Sorrell lost this fight, I would die. There was no easy option: just me, the sharp iron poker, and two deadly vampires who had yet to notice my presence. My gaze flicked between them.  Shy of opening my own wrists to shed blood, I doubt I could have done much to draw their attention.

They continued to circle one another and as their movements brought them closer to me, I dove behind the couch to hide.  I was sure they had seen me.  How could they not have seen me? But they made no indication that they had.  I shifted around to the side so I could see what was happening while still maintaining the protection offered by the furniture.  From this vantage point I had a better view of the unfolding scene.  The other vampire continued his circuit, drawing in closer to Sorrell and moving near enough to me that I could have reached out my hand and grabbed his ankle.  I saw his face contorted by seething rage, his fangs like daggers to my frightened eyes.  The acrid odor of blood on his clothing poured off him, filling my brain with panic.  This was a mistake.

His thick, Scandinavian accent broke the silence. "Your time here is over, old friend." The cool control of his voice belied the barely controlled rage in his eyes.

"Zev, it has been a very long time.  Surely, you could have called?" Sorrell's voice was smooth and he didn't even look like he was breathing.  "There was no need to bring an army."

Zev laughed.  "Times change, but the value of my services does not."

"Who sent you?"

"When our informant failed to properly infiltrate your organization, I was sent by my mistress to take control of the situation."

Sorrell’s expression changed, as if something had become clear to him, and I wondered what it was.  Had Carter really gone so far off the deep end as to work with vampires? It certainly explained a few of the finer points of his plans.  Was Zev the puppet master?

I didn't have time to consider further.  Zev lunged at Sorrell, a move Sorrell clearly did not expect. But he managed to block Zev and they tumbled to the floor in a burst of tearing claws and animalistic cries.  Sorrell gained the upper hand and leapt to his feet.  Zev rolled away and sprang up, hissing. Gone were the masks: the cool, collected prince and the seething, impatient mercenary.  Two raging, deadly hunters stood toe to toe and the air around them vibrated with electric energy.

I could barely breathe as I watched them, all my muscles tense, fear raising the hairs on my neck. What should I do?  They had to know I was here, but they were ignoring me.  I was nothing but a nuisance.  Something to be dealt with after the main event.  Sorrell might opt to leave me alone, but Zev?  There was no end to what Zev could do to me.  Tear me limb from limb.  Drink me dry.  I shuddered, but my feet would no longer obey.  I was frozen in place, crouching behind the couch and waiting for the end.

Blood leaked from two long gashes down the side of Sorrell’s face even as the wounds closed and the blood flow ceased.  The growls that issued from his throat weren’t the only sounds filtering around me.  Guttural cries from the hallway.  Raging screams from the room next door.  I couldn’t tell who was winning or losing, but I doubted it would matter to me in this room.

I focused on the danger I could see, and tried to follow their movements, but their preternatural speed made it impossible to track. One moment they were a blur, limbs swinging, slashing, gouging. In the next moment they were on the floor, rolling, hissing, blood flying. I couldn’t tell them apart–whose hands gripped a neck or whose claws slashed at a face.

Then it seemed to be all over. In seconds, Zev had Sorrell pinned to the ground, his teeth at his throat.  My brain overloaded with what-ifs, flashing by faster than I could comprehend.  I didn't know all the stakes, didn't know what this fight and invasion was really about, but I knew one thing was certain: I preferred the enemy I knew.  In the next instant, I made my decision.

I sprinted across the room toward Zev's huddled form, holding the damned poker in both hands.  With a single, deep breath I stabbed the poker into his back, just below his rib cage.  I ripped it back, tearing a huge gash through his torso.  Crimson blood gushed from the wound and he released Sorrell.  A snarl erupted from Zev’s throat.  He spun around, lunging at me.

I stumbled back, and swung the poker at him, aiming for his throat or his ribs or his knee.  Anything I could hit.

I saw Sorrell rise behind Zev and as I took a final slash with my poker, Sorrell launched himself into the air.  Without hesitation, Sorrell grasped the other vampire's hair in his hands and yanked his head backward.  He buried his mouth in Zev’s throat and tore it out, sending thick, black-red blood spraying over the room.

I clutched the fireplace poker, my fingers pulsing.  Zev’s blood streamed down my face, collecting around my eyes and mouth.  I dropped the poker and stared down at my trembling hands, as if they belonged to someone else.  I had chosen to save the man–the vampire–who was the single connection between so many things in my life.  As the blood on my hands began to bubble, generating a weird sort of heat everywhere it touched, I felt the shock of my decision scorch through me.  The strange blood boiled over me painlessly, reducing to a fine ash before it disappeared altogether.

Sorrell crouched in the middle of it all, looking like the fierce animal I knew he really was.  I couldn't even look at him, couldn't fathom how he'd torn someone's throat out.  I gazed around the room for a moment, taking in the blood splashed across the walls. So much blood.  Its dark stain splattered garishly over the warm tones of what must have been some sort of secondary study.  Even as my eyes wandered around the room, the blood dissipated.

What.  The.  Fuck.

Ben burst into the room, followed closely by Daniel.  Ben was wounded, a deep slice across his forehead and his body stiff with unseen injuries.  He stopped a few feet away behind Daniel, and his eyes locked on me with a piercing gaze I'd never seem him wear before.  Another change in our relationship.  Everything that had seemed so drastic the night before was mild in comparison to what I'd experienced in the past hour.  I returned his steady gaze before looking down at the dead vampire.  His body, lying face down on the wood floor, disintegrated into the same gray dust–lifeless, dull, flat.  I looked at Sorrell, now standing straight up, a few feet from me.  The blood everywhere had disappeared.

"He was very, very old.  His blood goes quickly.  There was not much human left in him."  Sorrell said this so matter-of-factly, as if he was recounting the weather patterns over the past twenty-four hours.

I thought of the scenes I’d seen everywhere.  The gore in the bedroom.  The coppery blood staining Beata’s blond curls.  “But… it’s everywhere.  There’s blood everywhere.  All over the house.”

Daniel spoke with the same cold tone of his boss.  He shrugged his shoulders.  "Not all of it is vampire.”

Ben reached out to me, offering his hand palm up.  I stared at it, not sure what strings were attached.  Shock filtered through me and my vision narrowed, flickering with hazy red auras and pulsing energy.  A low buzzing noise filled my ears and I wavered on my feet.  The ground swirled around my shoes.

"Alexandrie."  Sorrell said it like my mother used to sometimes, like my grandfather: Alezandrie.  "I am in your debt."

Sorrell's smooth voice reeled me in.  My vision returned to normal as Ben circled his arms around me.  I leaned into him, deciding that I'd worry about later, later.

Sorrell swept from the room and Daniel retreated a bit, hovering in the doorway as additional guards moved into place.  The house had grown quiet, and the study had returned almost to normal.  A few pieces of furniture had been knocked over and the large Oriental rug was shoved toward the fireplace, but no blood, no trace of the death that occurred here remained.

* * *

SOMETIME THE NEXT night, a gentle knock on the door awakened me.  Harding had left me a large bottle of painkillers and I had taken two before crawling into the deep, feather-soft bed.  As the rattling sound of the door roused me from sleep, I groaned and felt around on the bedside table for the lamp.  Soft white light flooded the immediate area and I eased myself up, pulling the covers around me before saying: "Come in."

Ben walked into the room, looking worse than he had the night before.  The gash on his head had been stitched up and was now a garish, swollen purple.  His eyes were bruised and his walk was stilted, heavily favoring his left side.  I sympathized with him; my entire body was stiff and aching and all but the slightest movements hurt.

"How are you?" he asked, stopping a foot from the edge of the bed.

I looked at him, hesitant to answer.  It didn't matter how I was, I needed to know how he was.  I hadn't suffered any injuries during the fight, but Ben had clearly been more involved than I was.  My injuries were old news, and I had waited so long to see him, to know if he was okay.  Now, standing in front of him, I wasn't sure what to say.  My brain was still overrun with everything I had seen and heard in the past forty-eight hours.  My long sleep had been punctuated by fitful dreams.  Each time I'd awakened, drenched in sweat and heart pounding in my chest, it felt like hours before I'd fallen back to asleep.

"I don't know," I said, after a long moment.  "How are you?  Are you okay?"  I gestured toward his face, longing to trace my fingers over his cheeks, but something held me back.  We had so much ground to cover to find each other after everything that had happened.

"I'm fine."  He was so stoic, so cold.  "Can I get you anything?"

"I want to go home.”

"That's what I came to talk to you about.  Sorrell needs to speak with you, and then you'll be free to leave."

"How will I get home?"

"We'll make arrangements."  His voice was formal, all business.  I pulled the covers tighter around me, feeling cold in the artificially dark room.  He'd held me in the study and for those few moments, I'd thought that we could repair the breach.  He had given so much to keep me safe, and I didn't know how we could live with that.  Would he see more fights like this?  Would he grow to resent me for all I had cost him?  Now, in the harsh reality of long sleep, I wondered if it was really possible to repair anything.

He gave me a long, searching look and turned away.  I watched him walk out, wondering what would happen next.

Chapter 35

ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES later, I had managed to wrap myself in a simple dress provided by some anonymous donor.  It was soft and weightless against my taut, bruised skin.  My hair was combed, but still unwashed, and I was beginning to lose track of how long it had been since I'd been home.  I slid into a pair of silken ballet slippers and settled onto the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths as I moved.

There was another knock at the door, but Daniel didn't wait for an invitation to enter.  He opened the door and looked me over.  "Sorrell will see you now, and then I will take you home."

I breathed a sigh of relief.  Home.  I stood from the bed and inched toward the door.  Daniel wrapped an arm around my waist and half-carried, half-walked me to Sorrell's formal study.  I was relieved when we walked past the second study; no matter how thoroughly the blood-dust had disappeared, I didn't trust my own memory to not recreate the scene in lurid detail.

Sorrell was waiting for me, standing and staring into his glowing fireplace.  Though the weather outside was summer-warm, perhaps even hot, the house was cold, regardless of whether it was night or day.  He looked up when we entered, but stayed silent.

Daniel helped me to the sofa again, and retreated to the far side of the room.  Panic rose in my chest.

"Last night, a group of assassins was sent here by a very old friend of mine.  Our world is changing, and with it, the friendships of old are changing, mutating.  Thirteen vampires were sent into this dwelling, a significant number amongst my people."

"Why is it significant?" I asked, fear threading through my voice.  I had wondered, had dreamed about, the things Sorrell had in store for me.  He had said that he was "in my debt" but surely such a thing was hugely inconvenient for a vampire such as Sorrell?  Especially when the debt was owed to a simple human.

"The number thirteen, said to be the number of elemental creatures in our world, is holy.   Any time it appears, it is a sign of change.  This time, it is a sign that a reckoning is at hand, and that everyone here must pay a price for their loyalty to me."

His voice was so matter of fact that it shook me to the core.  I stared at him, the insane, twirling thoughts of the past forty-eight hours falling away from me with the clarity of the situation.  He looked back at me, his eyes black and steady.  He showed no scars from the previous day's battle, a most enviable situation at the moment.  I ached from sitting on the couch; I longed for my own bed.

"It was no small thing you did.  You helped to kill one of the favorite pets and children of the Queen of Cimme."

I gulped.  I knew nothing of the vampire hierarchy, but I didn't need much of an explanation.

"In time, I will tell you more.  For now, dear Beata will come in to give you another dose of the detoxification medicine and then Daniel will take you home.  Until other arrangements can be made, he will stay with you, to protect you."

"What happens next?" I croaked, finally managing to speak.

"We are at war, Ms. Stuart."

If Sorrell was expecting some kind of dramatic reaction from me, I had no doubt he was disappointed.  I stared at him for longer than was proper before I dropped my gaze and looked at the floor.  My brain struggled with his news and I wondered why on earth it should even matter to me.

"I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but so?"  I took a deep breath, feeling a thin stream of steel stiffen in my spine.  My head was pounding, but I had to know, my curiosity begged me.  "What does that have to do with me?"

Sorrell steepled his fingers under his chin and pursed his lips a bit, but the look in his eyes did not change.  He regarded me with a strange mixture of curiosity and amusement.  "I think you will find that there is much we can learn from each other Ms. Stuart.  This is not the last time we will meet, for there is much that binds us."

I narrowed my eyes, his words reminding me of an earlier conversation we had shared.  Even though I longed for my own bed, I knew I was not yet done at this place.  "You said you owed me a debt."  The words rushed out of me.  "Under any other circumstances, It's not a debt I'd really want you to repay.  I don't know that it's much of an advantage to have you owe me anything, but I need answers."

Sorrell bowed his head.  "This is related to our previous conversation."

"I have questions.  About my father.  About vampires.  I–"

He held up his hand.  "I will not stand here and be interrogated by you."

Frustration burned through my brain.  His life for a few simple answers?  Didn't seem like such a hard bargain to me.  "But–"

Sorrell frowned and turned to face Daniel.  He stared at his guard for a long, tense moment before turning to face me again.  "I believe there is a solution."  He jerked his head toward Daniel.  "Daniel, you may escort Ms. Stuart to my library.  She may have one hour of unfettered access."

* * *

SORRELL’S LIBRARY WAS located at the far back of the house, near what Daniel explained were his private quarters.  Daniel entered the room before I did, and I was surprised by its lack of sumptuous decor or dramatic lighting.  The furniture was sparse, a few well-padded chairs and two long, solid cherry tables. Books of all shapes and sizes lined two walls and on first glance, I recognized several modern-looking tomes.

"I think you will find more information over there," Daniel said, pointing to a low shelf that ran beneath the tall windows facing the back garden.  “These are the records that Sorrell is required to keep, as prince of the Court.”

“What sort of records?” I asked, trying to hold back any overt curiosity in my voice.  Were real, straightforward answers finally at hand?

“We are required to keep registries of all vampires and all other supernatural creatures.  There are also extensive records containing information on paranormal human beings.  You are permitted to view the open journals, but the volumes under lock and key are off-limits, even to me."  He retreated and stood guard at the doorway.

Three neat shelves stretched before me, containing nearly identical, leather-bound books.  A small section at the end of the shelves contained the same journals, but each shelf was framed in glass and bolted with a single lock in each corner.  Fighting over the definition of the word unfettered seemed fruitless against a man like Daniel, so I ignored them and focused on the volumes I could access.  I pulled one out at random and flipped it open.  The feel of it was familiar to me, but I wasn't sure why.  The front page contained a header and a range of dates: Paranormal Humans, 1965 - 1970.  I flipped through it; only half the pages were filled in.  Frowning, I stood and walked to the nearest chair.  The second page contained a single header, but was far more informative than the first page had been:

ANDERSON, Neil Timothy

Birth: 22 June 1954

Death: N/A

Discovery: 1 October 1968

Last Known Location: Gleason, Tennessee, United States

Ability: Telepath (Reader)

Physical Description:  Approximately 170 centimeters at recording date.  Slender build.  Blond hair, green eyes.

Notes:  Anderson is a normal-range telepath.  He is able to receive and communicate thoughts to a single recipient, but cannot read thoughts from many at a single time.  He can hear the thoughts of all humans, including paranormal, but his ability does not extend to supernatural beings.  His use in the Court is limited due to limitations of ability and location.

Recorded By:  Liam Elridge

Recording Date:  Orig: 3 October 1968, Transcribed to Current Edition: 14 May 1971

* * *

I FLIPPED THROUGH the book, but none of the other names were familiar to me.  Liam Elridge had written all of the entries and I couldn't ignore the strange feeling in my stomach every time I saw the name.  Ben's father.

A lifetime of unfettered access to this room couldn't answer all of my questions.

I returned the book to the shelf and grabbed the next several volumes.  At the very least, I understood now why Sorrell had sent me here.  I found what I was looking for not long after, on the fiftieth page of the volume labeled 1975-1980.

STUART, Edward Mathieu

Birth: 8 August 1956

Death: N/A

Discovery: 13 November 1977

Last Known Location: New York City, New York, United States

Ability: Seer (Watcher)

Physical Description:  Approximately 183 centimeters at recording date.  Average build.  Black hair, brown eyes.  Requires eyeglasses.

Notes:  Stuart is an extraordinarily gifted telepath.  He was discovered during an attempt at conning three young men into betting against a baseball game.  His victims caught wind of the scam and were planning to kill him.  An associate of the Court discovered the men in a back alley in Harlem and captured Stuart for the Prince.  He is able to perceive events in the distant future or in the next few moments.  His ability is not limited to humans.  Stuart gained the favor of the Court by accurately forecasting a deception by one of the underling vampires from Connecticut. (Addendum to orig. record - LHE, 3 Dec 1977) His use in the Court is highly flexible and his assignment is directly to Prince Sorrell.

Recorded By:  Liam Elridge

Recording Date:  Orig: 18 November 1977, Transcribed to Current Edition: 29 January 1982

* * *

I PORED THROUGH it over and over, as if each additional reread would yield more information.  My little memory blip over the word watcher made sense; Harding had tried to explain to me what it was, had told me about Emma Hayes' sister.  Maybe it had been his way of trying to tell me more.  I closed my eyes as tears threatened to spill over.   What else didn't I know?  What had he kept from us?  The questions overwhelmed me as I stared at his dossier and I closed the journal with a sharp snap.

Several minutes passed as I let it all sink in.  There was more I would need to know in the coming days, questions that would have to be answered by someone, but the time was not now.  I needed to gather what I could before my time in the library ran out.  I set my father's volume aside and returned to the shelf.

1990 - 1995.

1995 - 2000.

2000 - 2005.

2005 – 2010.

Current Record.

Harding's page was easy enough to locate in the 2000 - 2005 record and I took brief solace in the fact that I found Ben's name nowhere in Sorrell's ledgers.  As I narrowed my focus to the final volume, I wondered what I would find.  The pages inside were chronological rather than alphabetical.  I located an entry for Nathan Carter near the end, written in a stark hand by Patrick Elridge, Ben's older brother.  He had been labeled a Pusher.  According to the book, he could control the actions of those around him.  It explained so much about how he had been able to handle Sam and Mia and the others.  So many lives could be affected by these strange powers.  It was no wonder someone felt the need to keep a record.   I wanted to know more about Carter, but I knew I would likely not see anymore.  The record had been updated recently and matched the date of his death:

29 July 2011

It was a short entry, as if just those numbers could convey all that had happened that day.  It wasn't just the day he'd died.  It was the day my world had turned upside down.

There was a final page in the book and I flipped to it with growing disinterest.  My mind was overwhelmed and I could feel my body shutting down already.  My hour was nearly up.  It was almost time to go home.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I would find on that last page.

STUART, Alexandrie Rose

Birth: 1 May 1981

Death:

Discovery: 6 June 2011

Last Known Location: Park Falls, New York, United States

Ability: Yet Unknown.

Physical Description:  Approximately 160 centimeters at recording date.  Average build.  Dark brown hair, blue eyes.

Notes:  Stuart’s father is a former trusted advisor of this court.  Her genetic tendencies are as of yet unknown.  Subject number 21.  Given regimen of trial drug to amplify any natural abilities.

Recorded By:  Patrick Elridge

Recording Date:  31 July 2011

Chapter 36

DANIEL AND I reached my house a few hours later, but I had yet to come out of the daze.  The words on the page scrolled across the backs of my eyelids every time I closed my eyes, but no amount of consideration would answer my questions.  Subject no. 21?  Genetic tendencies?

More answers given, more mysteries revealed.

I sighed and looked at my house as the car came to a stop.  What a normal-seeming thing.  A house.  Some trees.  Was there really such a thing as normal?  Could there be, after all I’d seen and learn?  As I climbed out of the red coupe, I was surprised to see Daniel stepping around the car to meet me.  He held out a set of keys.

"This is a replacement.  Your other vehicle was damaged beyond repair by Carter's stunt."

I stared at the keys in his hand and looked back at the coupe.  "Carter wrecked my Honda.  It was ten years old, had a rusted front fender and smelled like a ketchup packet.  How exactly is a Mercedes a replacement for that?"

Daniel shrugged, but I didn't miss the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.  "There are no Honda dealers open after nightfall."

"I can't accept this."  It felt like a bribe, or hush money.  How could I ever explain it?  How could I even afford to insure it?

"There is an American saying: Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."  He took my hand and folded the keys into my palm.  "We'll be in touch."

I shook my head.  "But how will you get home?"

"I am not leaving.  Sorrell has ordered me to guard the property."  Daniel bowed and slipped away, disappearing into the darkness past the corner of the garage.

I stared out into the yard, still dazed to find myself at home. So much had happened since I'd last been here; it astounded me to see that it was exactly as I had left it. The back porch still needed a fresh coat of paint and I needed to clear the weeds from the flowerbeds again. How...normal. Vampires lived in a world where garage doors jammed shut. Watchers existed in a place where cobwebs sprouted in the eaves of an old roof.

My eyes scanned over the garage and my mind flitted over those journals I'd seen at Sorrell's. They had seemed familiar. Dread poked holes in the haze of my thoughts as I crossed the few yards between the car and the old building.

Tucked high on a dusty shelf, partially covered by a few canvas drop cloths and a used paint tray, I found the old journal that I'd come across earlier that summer. I slid it down and brushed away a thin layer of grime.  It was the same kind of book that had been in Sorrell’s library.

The jumbled words still didn't make sense and I wondered if they ever would. Frowning, I tucked it under my arm and went back to the house. There would be time later for consideration. Now was the time for sleep.

There were lights on in my kitchen and I flicked my gaze out to the driveway again. How could I have not noticed before?  Harding's car was parked ten yards from the house.  Lights in the kitchen. Cars in the driveway.

Not time for sleep after all.

My guests were seated at the kitchen table and of the three of them there, I was most relieved to see Laura.  Ben and Harding sat facing each other, wearing identical stony looks. Laura, pale and small-looking in the dim light from over the stove, sat next to Harding. They were silent and still, moving only after I closed the door behind me.

"Thank god." Laura's voice even sounded thin in the quiet house.

I managed a smile. "I wish I could say the same, but I was really hoping to fall into bed and sleep until someone could prove that vampires didn't exist."

Ben blushed and looked down at the table. "We needed to know you got here safe. We all did."

"Daniel once made it from New York to Philadelphia in under an hour. We figured it was important to be here to scrape you out of the front seat." Harding gave me a small smile, but I couldn't return it.

Nothing was funny or light under the circumstances. There were no jokes that Ben or Harding could make right now that would make me forget what I'd seen. The room felt smaller than usual as I looked at the three of them.

"Listen, I appreciate that you're all worried about me, but I need some space. I need some time to myself." I couldn't even bring myself to manage worry at Laura's appearance. Sorrell had assured me she'd be fine. That was enough. For now.

Laura rose from the table and crossed the distance between us. She put her hands on my arms and gave me a small nod. "Call me when you're ready."

It was what I needed to hear. Harding followed her out the door, giving me only a glance before shutting it behind him. I watched through the window as they walked down the steps before turning to face Ben.

"There's a lot to talk about," I said, trying to figure out what I needed to say to him. "But I don't even know where to start."

"I'm not leaving." He stood and walked over to me. "There's nothing in the world that would make me leave you in this house alone. I'll sleep wherever you want me to, I don't care if it's the couch or the bathtub, but I'm not leaving."

His words sent a shiver through me and I couldn't deny the comfort they brought me. I had no way of knowing now if I was truly safe, no way of knowing what waited in the woods for just the right moment...I shook the thoughts away. "Whatever you need to do."

He reached across the distance between us and laced his fingers through mine. "I know this will take time. We have a lot to work through."

I looked down at our linked fingers. There was warmth in his touch, and I didn't know until that moment how much I'd missed it. I blinked back the tears that welled in my eyes. "We'll figure it out."

He leaned his head down and kissed the tips of my fingers. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you earlier.  I need to figure out how to...be there."

I stepped back from him, clinging to the last shreds of my resolve.  I trusted that we could work through this, but I needed some time to myself to process what had happened. I craved silence and peace just as much as I craved his touch and his lips. I needed to know that everything was okay, that everything would be okay, but for once, I needed that answer to come from my own mind.  "We'll talk in the morning."

* * *

SLEEP ELUDED ME, no matter how badly I needed it.  I lay across my bed two hours later, staring down at the strange scramble of words strewn across the pages of the old journal. I knew now, though I couldn't explain why, that it had belonged to my father. The handwriting had grown familiar as I'd looked it over, and I was slowly beginning to pick out patterns. I flicked my gaze to the latest Google search I'd run, trying to further narrow my options. I was sure now, after looking again and again at that pattern, that he'd used a four-square cipher as the basis of his code, but I couldn't figure out the passwords.

Frustrated, I slammed the lid of my laptop shut and tossed the book onto my nightstand. I'd barely known my father. Seven years wasn't long enough to know a father. He'd liked baseball and my grandmother's cooking. He'd been the only person to call my mother Rosie. I'd always thought he was some kind of business consultant, that it was his work with companies across the country that kept him away from home so long. He'd loved to tease me and reveled in reading me books far beyond the comprehension of the average kid.

I closed my eyes, trying to picture him in my head. Was there something that marked him as different? He was a Watcher. He could see the future. Had he known all along that he'd leave my mother? Had he known all the pain our family would experience over the years? Had he watched my sister Ava die, years before it happened?

The night after she had died, when he'd brought me home from the hospital and my mother had stayed behind, he'd tucked me into bed with a single teddy bear named Kissy and a blanket that looked like ocean waves. He'd sat next to me, wiping the tears from my face and brushing my hair off my forehead.

"She was our little bird, Allie girl, and it was time for her to fly away."

I'd closed my eyes and nestled my face into that old bear. "Will mama always be so sad?"

He'd stared at me for a long time before answering. "We spent hours before you were born picking out your name. You were a strong girl, even before we knew you. Your mom used to tell me how stubborn you were. We wanted you and another child, so you would never be lonely, and we knew what it meant to be a big sister. You would be a defender and a caretaker. And so you were Alexandrie." He tucked the covers around me again, even though I didn't need it. "You'll take care of your mama, and you'll stand up for what's right, always. No matter what happens, in the end, everything will be okay, baby girl. You'll make sure of it."

I stayed in that memory as long as I could, filling in the blanks that had appeared over the years. His hair was always neat and his cheeks were always clean-shaven, but other elements of his face had started to drift away from me.

When I opened my eyes, I pulled the book back over to me, not caring as the tears dripped down my nose and stained the page. Taking up a pen, I scribbled the words on the blank page at the back of the book, knowing the answer without needing to confirm it.  His logic was simple, clean.  Familiar to him, but backwards, so as not to draw the eyes of others.  A different language and a neat, four-square cipher.  Well hidden, in plain sight, just like the world he’d worked in for so long.

Alexandrie = EIRDNAXELA

The defender of men.

L'Oiseua = AUESIOL

Ava.

The bird.

His words washed over me again–“In the end, everything will be okay”–and a calm that I hadn't felt in weeks settled over me. I closed his journal again. Further decoding his cipher could wait until tomorrow, but there was something that could not.  I closed the book and ran my fingers over its spine.  It seemed so inconsequential.  A leather-bound journal full of random scrawls.  I moved to tuck the book into my bedside table and noticed a little gap between the last page and the back cover of the book.  I flipped it open to the page and traced my fingers over the back panel.  There was a small break in the cardboard, where it was glued to the leather.  I ran a fingernail along the seam, and tucked inside, found a single sheet of paper, folded in half and sealed with wax.

My name was scrawled across the top of it, and I froze.  It was the same handwriting as in the rest of the book.  Hands shaking, I broke the seal and opened the letter.

My darling girl,

I'm taking a great risk leaving you this letter, but if this book falls into the wrong hands, the contents of this page will be your least worry.  There is so much I have kept from you, more than this or any other book could hold, and I doubt I will ever have the chance to tell you.  I wish there was more time to fill in the blanks, but I know that if you're reading this, that you also know who I am and what I am capable of.   I have seen what may happen, and I know that this is the most trying time of your life so far.  Though I do not know them personally, there are two men around you who will fight to keep you safe.  Trust them and yourself to know what is right.  If you ever require assistance, reach out to a man named Ernie Haden.  He may be the only other person you can trust.  If you've found this journal and understand its contents, there is one more vital thing you need to know.

Shortly after you were born, I saw a vision of you, many years away.  You were powerful in your own right, and hunted after for what you could do.  If there was ever anything I've wished for most, it was that the sorts of things that have tainted my life would never touch yours.  My dear friend has helped me in this, has provided a way to keep your abilities subdued, but I doubt it will last your entire life.  My only hope is that by delaying the onset of your abilities, your life path will have changed enough to lead you in another direction.

Our abilities are not always passed on, but when they are, they usually manifest differently in each person.  I have great reason to believe that your own abilities are beginning to surface.  Do not shy away from them.  Do not be afraid to learn what you are capable of.  It may be the only thing that saves your life.  Trust what your eyes tell you.  The colors you see tell you the truth about the people you meet.

I love you, forever, always and in the ways I see.

-Papa

I read it twice, three times, and I still couldn't slow my beating heart.  His words were haunting and the proof of his ability was even more unsettling than anything I'd seen Harding do.  The little flickers and flashes, bursts and stars... it wasn't migraines.  It wasn't even my imagination.  I would need to dig deeper, find out what it meant.  I had so many questions to ask of a man I barely remembered.  I folded the letter and slid it back into its hiding spot.  In the coming days, I would finish deciphering my father's words and try to find more meaning in his letter.  Maybe even track down this Ernie person.  But in that moment, I knew I had reached absolute capacity for discovering new information.  I could find out more tomorrow.  Whatever ability he thought I had, it certainly wasn't manifesting itself at three a.m.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself from the bed. Ben was still downstairs, probably stretched out on my old couch. I had no way of knowing if he'd found sleep before I had, but I couldn't stop myself from walking across the room and unlatching the old lock that kept it sealed. In the dead of night, the creak of the ancient wood echoed through the house. I left it open and shut off the light before finding my way back to my bed by memory. As I lay my head against the pillow, my heart beat hard inside my chest, wondering if what I had done was enough.

It wasn't long before I heard his footsteps on the stairs.

I held my breath as I waited, wondering what my next action was supposed to be, wondering what he expected from me.  He made it to my doorway, but I couldn't look at him.  Without speaking, I pulled the covers back, staring at the silvery-white expanse of sheet between me and the edge of the bed.

He climbed in like he'd been there all his life and I forced myself to find his eyes.  He looked at me, the pale moonlight etching his face with deep shadows and bright highlights.  I took in every inch of his face, searching for some outward sign of what had happened in the past few days, but in his eyes I found only hope.

He was the same.

Inching closer, I rested my hand against his cheek, interrupting the shades of moonlight that played there.  He tilted his head and kissed my palm without breaking eye contact.  I let out the breath I'd been holding since I'd first found out about the strange creatures that walked next to us without ever showing who they really were.

In all the world, there are but two truths: that which we know by day and that which finds us in the night.  Here, with the quiet serenade of the wind in the trees surrounding us, I looked across the pillow at Ben and I knew then, that for me, he was both.

* * *

Continue the Mythos of Cimme series with book two, Tracer.

Tracer on Amazon Kindle

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About the Author

CJ Flynn is an author, farmer, and mother.  She has been writing for most of her life, and has used her skills professionally in writing technical documentation, online articles, and marketing.  Her first love has always been fiction.

After moving back to begin a small family farm in her home state of Ohio, CJ left behind the technical and marketing writing to focus solely on her fiction.  The Mythos of Cimmeseries is her first published fiction work.

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BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

DARK WINGS

BY SKYLA MADI

Copyright © 2013 Skyla Madi

Violet Ashton is an exemplary angel with ninety-nine kills under her belt.

Nothing could make her underestimate herself until she's sent to hunt down Death, one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse. Or as Violet knows him–Lucas Cross, her ex-mentor and ex-lover. Defining the line between what her job requires and what her heart wants is the hardest decision she's ever had to make.

Lucas Cross is an angel turned demon.

The only thing he had to worry about was helping his brothers end the world, that was until Violet blew into town. From the moment he saw her again his normal self has fought hard to keep down the demon that desperately wants to kill her. Torn between love and hate, Lucas is determined to push all of Violet's limits.

The feud between the Never Dark realm and The Underworld is at boiling point and if Violet can't complete her mission Earth will pay the ultimate price.

DARK WINGS © 2013 Skyla Madi

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

Collide

*

Violet

MY HEART RACES in my chest and I’m powerless to control it.

There it is. Sequin Nightclub.

My fingers tremble against the steering wheel of my SUV and I swallow hard. My old stomping ground. I pull the emergency brake and wait. When I was human, Sequin was the ‘it’ spot. It was the most luxurious nightclub this side of Concave City. I glance up at its dirty exterior and cringe. Things have changed since my last visit. Colors have dulled, wood has decayed, and the crowd has… downgraded, for lack of a better word. I try not to judge the pathetic, little humans sauntering down the sidewalk in their tiny clothes and cheap leathers, but they make it incredibly difficult.

We protect them? What for? Look at them. They’re so… insignificant… in the grand scheme of things.

Sighing, I stare long and hard at the club, analyzing its purple and pale walls. They’re weathered, coated in a thin layer of dirt.  Even at midnight, I can tell just how neglected the club has become. I mean, surely it’s a tear down now?

For the briefest moment, the dazzlingly pink ‘SEQUIN’ neon sign I’ve been avoiding catches my attention. Its bright, blinding light projects against the building, making its obvious neglect look more, well, obvious. Yep. It’s definitely not what it was back in its heyday. Now that I think about it, this is a bittersweet moment for me. Bitter because it reminds me of a simpler time—a time I miss—and sweet because, once it’s gone, I can finally forget that life. Every time I come to Earth it won’t remind me of what I had…

… Of what I lost.

“Shit!” I jolt forward, sitting upright as he steps out from the nightclub and into the light.

Shards of glass stab into my heart and blood drains from my body at the sight of him in his crisp, black suit. I don’t believe it. What they told me is true… he is here.

He is one of them.

I watch, paralyzed, as he lures a scantily clothed woman into a nearby alley and I cringe as her ass pops out from underneath her micro mini skirt when she bends over in front of him, seemingly to pick up something she has “dropped”. I clench my jaw. If she’s looking for her morals, she definitely isn’t going to find them underneath the sole of her white pumps.

Who wears a bright, purple, latex skirt and a bikini doused in sequins to a club, anyway? Is that what counts as attire these days? Maybe it does. Maybe things have changed in the years I’ve been absent.

Where have I been? Humans call it Heaven. We call it the Never Dark. It’s an alternate universe the human brain can’t even begin to comprehend. Hell, I still don’t understand it. All I know is, I was human once and then I died. After my death, I was chosen to become an angel, to protect the earth and all of its inhabitants. Why? Shit. I’d love to know the answer to that one too. All I know is, one day I’m a weak human with more baggage than an airport cargo bay, and the next I’m kicking ass and saving humanity as an angel.

Yup. An angel.

Don’t get it twisted though. We’re not the biblical guardian angels that protect humans or guide them through the rough patches of life. That’s fictional. We have better things to do than lead you to your soulmate. There’s a war going on. A war that threatens to rip the human world apart. To prevent it, we hunt the things that go bump in the night. Your worst nightmare couldn’t come close to the horrors I’ve seen. No, I’m not talking about vampires. They no longer exist. Angels destroyed them all decades ago, every last sparkly one of them, and you’re welcome. The things I hunt are much more lethal—things that pose a threat to humanity as a whole. Take tonight for example. The handsome fellow with the broad shoulders who leads that woman into the alley? That’s Death.

No. Not that Death. We have no quarrels with Dave, his long black robe, or the big, sharp scythe he drags along with him. This Death, the one in the alley fifty yards from me, is deadlier.

Much deadlier.

Ever heard of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Yep. He’s that Death. Normally, we don’t have any problems with them, either. They end the world when its time has come and that’s how things go. The problem is, he’s much, much too early. It’s 2016 and the world isn’t scheduled for a restart until the year 3000. Unfortunately, I was handed the task of finding out what he’s doing here and to “kindly” ask him to leave. If he doesn’t comply, I’ve been ordered to kill him. Easier said than done, of course.

He smooths the palm of his hand over the small of her back as she straightens her spine and gingerly presses against him. With a smirk, he guides her deeper into the alley. Grimacing, I pull the tasteless, over-chewed piece of gum from my mouth and stick it in an empty ashtray concealed in my car door. I let them flirt and scowl from a distance, just waiting for the right time to attack.

Then his smoldering brown eyes meet mine and my heart stutters as something knots deep in my stomach, catching me off guard. Shock seizes my muscles and twitches at my lips, but I don’t dare to let it register on my face.

This isn’t supposed to happen.

He isn’t supposed to see me, at least not yet.

He’s as beautiful as I remember and my stomach turns at the thought of thinking something so wrong.

His short, black hair—once kept in a clean crew cut—is messy, like a woman has just run her hands through it. I inhale through my nose as he watches me intently with his dark, brown eyes. Can he see me as clearly as I see him? Can he hear my heart race over the loud thrum of the club’s music? He runs his wet tongue along his bottom lip and I swallow hard as something hot and wild settles in my core.

Of course he can.

My ability to see well in the dark makes it easier for me to see him smirk as he cocks his head to the side and studies me curiously. The both of us knew this moment would come, the moment we crossed paths again… I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

The skank he’s with follows his line of sight, but her pathetic human eyes can’t see well enough to know what he’s looking at. Smiling, she flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder and places her hands on his chest. Her lips move as she talks and trails her manicured fingernails down his fine, black suit. With a kiss on his jawline, she drags them back up and caresses his tie in her hands. When he doesn’t respond, she leans closer, her lips barely grazing his ear. Again, he doesn’t acknowledge her. Why would he? Those dark eyes only see me.

Exhaling, I reach over and grab my gun that rests on the passenger seat. I open the chamber and double check the sulfur bullets. Twelve. Twelve is enough. They won’t kill a demon of his level, but they’ll leave a nasty bruise and give me plenty of time to get my threat across.

I open my door and slip from the car. Cool air whips at my face and it’s so beautifully refreshing. I savor it as I clip the gun into its holster on the back of my catsuit with the rest of my gadgets. It’s mandatory that all field angels wear the required uniform. I refused to wear it in the beginning and as a result, I had my ass handed to me by a low level demon. It hurt, to say the least. Since that night, I’ve worn one to every mission. You see, the catsuit is designed for speed and protection. Having it skin tight helps me move faster and prevents it from snagging on foreign objects. It also makes me feel like a superhero… which is pretty damn cool.

I slam the door shut and stalk toward him. He doesn’t run from me like most demons do. Instead, he faces me front on and chuckles, exposing his perfect white teeth. His evil grin punches me in the gut and my ribs clench my heart.

This is a job. He isn’t the same person he used to be.

The girl finally spots me and takes a step forward, shielding a quarter of Death’s body with her own. She looks younger up close, much younger than I originally assumed.

I stop within ten yards of them, my legs shoulder-width apart. Death smiles wickedly as I raise my arms above my head and tighten my ponytail, draping my bright red hair over my shoulder.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again, Violet.” He says, his voice deep and husky.

It vibrates through the air and clings to my suit, tickling me all over. Oh, how I’ve longed to hear it again.

The skank turns abruptly to face him. “Who the fuck is she, Noah?”

At least he’s smart enough to use a fake name. I cringe at the pitch of her irritating voice. It’s high and whiney, like a chirping bird in the early hours of the morning.

“Who the fu—”

Ugh. I draw my dart gun and shoot the girl in the neck. With a quiet gasp, she crumbles to the cold, dirty floor and I return the gun to its holster.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” he groans, running his fingers through his hair.

My fingers twitch at his movement. This is a lot harder than I thought it’d be. Seeing him… right here… in front of me.

“Why are you here?” I demand, clenching my jaw.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he bends down and strokes the girl’s cheek with the back of his finger. I ignore the pang of jealousy that tears through my chest at the sight of his gentle touch. A long time ago, I knew him personally.

I knew him before he became Death…

…before he was torn in two.

Back when he was Lucas.

Just Lucas.

An angel.

My mentor.

Lucas was the one who recruited me, who taught me everything I know about demons and how to kill them. What I am now is because of him and I owe him everything.

I stare at him. Even though he’s a demon, he hasn’t changed in the slightest. He still has those gorgeous high cheekbones, a jawline to die for, and big brown eyes. Lucas is every attribute I love in a man. He is my weakness.

Lucas straightens himself and steps over the unconscious girl at his feet, forgetting about her and whatever they planned on doing together. I tense as he steps closer and he notices, acknowledging my edgy movement with a flare of amusement deep in his irises.

“You’re as beautiful as I remember, V. Not that I expected anything short of perfection.”

V…I flinch. V was Lucas’s nickname for me. It’s something he’s called me from the beginning, something I once detested, but eventually fell in love with. That nickname brought me immeasurable happiness once…now it brings me nothing but pain. Who does he think he is, anyway? Using old nicknames and mannerisms against me? That’s low, even for a demon like him.

“You’re wasting your breath.” I state, frowning.

He looks me up and down with a compellingly hungry stare and my lips part, letting out a rush of air. I know the look all too well, only now it’s amplified. I’m not going to lie, he both exhilarates and terrifies me…but it’s not worth the risk. A demon is never worth the risk.

Lucas’s stare lingers on my breasts for a second too long and I clear my throat, garnering his attention. Our eyes lock and his glisten dangerously.

“Come home with me, Vi. For old time’s sake.”

I purse my lips. I don’t know what bothers me more…the fact he didn’t pose it as a question or the fact he thinks there’s still a chance we can fool around. Is there a chance? My heart races in my ears, begging me to hold him in my arms. How long has it been? It feels like an eternity has passed since the night I saw him last.

I can’t muster the courage to speak, so I shake my head. Chuckling inwardly, a cocky smile spreads over his face. There was a time when he only had to bat an eyelid at me and I’d jump him, but now it’s different. Now he’s another thing entirely.

“We were good together…once.” He states, stepping closer.

I cringe, unwillingly recalling our training sessions together.

His sweat.

My sweat.

How his strong hands felt on my body…

A warm flush floods me, settling at my core. I shake my head. He’s screwing with you. It isn’t him. He isn’t Lucas, he’s Death. Give him the warning and leave.

I hold my head high. He can’t get to me. “I don’t know whether your Council told you or not, but you are nine hundred and eighty-four years early.”

He chuckles and I flinch, because it sounds so authentic…so genuine. For a few seconds, I forget he’s my enemy.

Until he opens his mouth again.

“I can do as I please.” He tells me, smoothing his palms over the front of his jacket. “I’m not hurting anybody.”

Not hurting anybody yet, but he will. There’s no way around it. How do I know? Well, let me break it down for you. Lucas—or Death, rather—is a category five demon. In my world, demons are ranked by the damage they do. Banshees, Tracker demons, Seers, and other “underworldly” creatures that blend in with society are category one demons. They’re allowed to roam Earth freely provided they don’t kill anybody, and most of the time, they don’t. Then there’s you category two demons which are your Succubi and Incubi. They pass off as human easy enough and generally stick to morally questionable careers in the sex industry. They’re safe, but can still inflict minimal damage to humans if they wanted to. Category three demons are your vampires, but they’ve been wiped out, leaving only werewolves and Shards in that category. Shards are catlike demons that prey mostly on wild animals, but have been known to completely shred a human or two. Category four demons are fallen angels and your average human-like demons. An angel becomes a demon when they turn their back on the Never Dark realm. It’s rare, but has happened on a few occasions. And last, but not least, cat five demons are the worst. These demons cause mass destruction and death wherever they go. They pillage, plunder, rape, and possess for the fun of it. These demons are Skatters (dumb, gimp-like creatures that are sent into a frenzy by a rapidly beating heart), necromancers, the four Horsemen of the apocalypse, Lucifer, and the Underworld Council. These demons are highly dangerous and must be removed from Earth immediately, unless scheduled otherwise. It’s sad, but sometimes life on Earth needs to be balanced out. Only once in history has the earth been completely wiped of life by the four Horsemen and then started again…or so I was told.

“You’re not welcome here, and if you don’t leave now, I’ll kill you.”

“You’ll kill me?” He simpers, his eyes darkening in a way that has always terrified me. “You forget one thing, my sweet V.”

I tilt my head. “And what’s that?”

“I taught you everything you know.” His sinfully dark voice wraps around the words like a boa constrictor wraps around its victim and they squeeze me tightly.

Because I remember…

Because I still dream about it…

Because I loved him…

Growling, Lucas launches forward and I duck just in time as he swings at me. Adrenaline surges through me with the force of a tsunami behind it as he moves fast. I duck and dodge, block and roll as he comes at me full force, throwing devastating punches and debilitating kicks. Most of them I manage to dodge, until one kick hits me square in the stomach. Air is forced from my lungs and I gasp as I fall backwards, hitting my head against the concrete. I groan as pain sears across my skull and buries itself in my eyes. I roll onto my side, blinking desperately as my vision blurs. If it were any other demon, I’d be dead by now.

I shake my head, trying to get my bearings. A few seconds pass, feeling more like an eternity, before my vision returns and I push myself back onto my feet. Glaring at me, Lucas removes his jacket, throwing it down onto the damp concrete, and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, stopping them at his elbows.

He’s barely out of breath and I gasp desperately, trying to force more air in.

“You’re faster, stronger, and meaner than you used to be, but it isn’t enough to beat me.”

I spring toward him, hoping to catch him off guard, but even in the middle of rolling up his sleeves he’s expecting my attack. Nothing is more infuriating than an opponent that knows what you’re going to do before you do it. He grabs my waist in his large, strong hands and throws me to the side. I growl in frustration as I slam into a brick wall and it cracks under the force. I push off the wall, recovering quickly. My hair comes loose from my ponytail and frames my face in wild disarray.

“Give up, baby. You’ve never had what it takes to beat me—even when we were the same species.”

Asshole.

I circle him. He circles me. We test each other, try to anticipate the other’s moves. In the calm, I try to remember everything he’s taught me and everything I know about him. I trained with him for years. There has to be something I can use. I make a mental check list of all his strengths. He’s tall, he has reach on me…so if I run at him, he’ll knock me out before I get within a few feet of him. He is strong and lean, shredded in a way humans only wish they could be. If I wrestle him, he’ll pin me in no time and break my neck without a sweat. The only weakness he has is…is…well, nothing. Painful tendrils of dread burrow through my chest. Lucas is unstoppable. There is a reason why he’s the Never Dark’s top recruit and their greatest loss. Couple that with his new found strength, speed, and stamina…I’m out matched—a hundred to one.

“Realize something, did you? You’re no match for me and you never will be. Why they sent you, I have no idea.”

A light growl escapes my lips and Lucas smiles at me. He knows I pride myself on my kills—on my successful missions. Say what you will about me, but don’t ever demean my success.

I dive at him, catching him by surprise. Our bodies crash together, stone against stone, and we tumble to the floor, locked in a full-blown wrestle. He slips from my grip and rolls onto my back. I try to shrug him off, but he hooks his arm around my neck and squeezes. I gasp for air and I’m denied it as my esophagus compresses, refusing oxygen from entering my lungs. My brain swells in my skull and tears burn at my eyes. He’s going to kill me.

He’s actually going to kill me.

I clench my teeth until they groan, threatening to shatter in my gums. I’m here because I’m the only one that can stop him. I know that. I know I’m better than he says I am.

I hiss as I tug on my arm and it scrapes along sharp pieces of crumbling concrete and broken glass. Freeing my hand, I straighten it before thrusting my elbow into Lucas’s ribs. He grunts as it connects and loosens his grip. Air floods into my lungs and I inhale, filling it until there’s not more space. I elbow him again, and again, and shove him off me as he tries to recuperate the oxygen he lost on the impact. He rolls onto his back and I spring to my feet.

“Don’t have what it takes, huh?” White hot rage bubbles through my veins. “You have no idea!”

I pull my leg up, bringing my knee to my chest, and drop it against his face. Relentlessly. Lucas would never hurt me. The Lucas I knew would have fallen to his knees at the sight of me. This “thing” isn’t Lucas.

A gruesome crack echoes through the alley and blood splatters the concrete. Blood coats his face and rolls down his cheeks. He groans and rolls to the side, letting the blood drip off his slender nose and create a red puddle beneath it.

My chest rises and falls rapidly, leaving me breathless. “You have until sunrise to leave Earth or I’ll come back and finish the job.”

Turning my back, I walk away from him, not knowing if he’ll attack me from behind.

He doesn’t...

...but I wish he did.

I don’t look back until I’m in my car and by that time, he’s gone. A sad feeling swirls around my stomach and tears threaten my eyes. I inhale, then exhale. I do it again. And again. Until I’m clawing at the zipper of my suit, I tug it down, exposing a bare sliver of flesh to the cool air in my car. I force a slower inhale through my nose and blow it back out, until I no longer feel claustrophobic in my suit.

“Don’t be an idiot.” I breathe deeply, banging my forehead on the hard steering wheel. “That wasn’t Lucas.”

It wasn’t him.

I turn the key in the ignition and my SUV roars to life. Without a thought, I drive off in the direction of our headquarters. Exhaustion slams into me.

Oh, no.

I still have to fill out a report of tonight’s events. I sigh and prop my elbow against the window. The simple movement aches, making me aware of all of the bumps, scrapes, and bruises that I’ve sustained. The fight between Lucas and I was a lot more brutal than I thought it would be…but, in retrospect, my physical pain is the least of my worries. I just went head to head with my friend, my mentor, and the love of my life. My heart aches.

Really aches.

I haven’t seen Lucas in years, not since our last passionate night together, and then he was taken…ripped from my life without warning. I’ve mourned him every night since.

The thruway rolls silently under the wheels of the car. Don’t cry. You’re not going to cry. I bite my lip and blink a million times, but I can’t shake the tears. So I let one fall. And another. And another…

Until I can’t stop myself from sobbing.

I cry. I cry because he is lost to me. Forever.

I begged for this assignment. I thought that if I saw him again, I’d be able to put what we shared behind me. I thought if I saw him as this demonic beast it would be easier for me to move on…if tonight is proof of anything it’s that there’s no way it’s going to be that easy.

Chapter 2

Tribulation

*

Lucas

“DAMN IT!” I shout, slamming my fist into the brick wall of a Starbucks.

Below my fist, the wall cracks and my knuckles burn as skin is torn from bone. It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the searing pain in my chest.

Violet.

My Violet.

She’s as beautiful and as fierce as I remember…

She’s the warrior I always intended her to be…

I tuck my bleeding fist under my arm and force myself onto the sidewalk. Drunk humans push past me, cackling and hollering like their life has meaning. They don’t notice the blood that wets my face or soaks my shirt and why would they? They’re too absorbed in themselves to notice the beasts walking among them.

Grunting, I swipe my forearm across my nose and collect more blood. My nose has long since healed itself from her brutal kick. She bested me. I wasn’t guarding my ribs like I should have been. I grin. Despite how much it annoys the fuck out of me, I’m a little proud she managed to one-up me. Once upon a time, her ground game was her weakness. I always instructed her to keep the fight standing, but she took me down right off the bat.

When I was her mentor, he ground game barely improved. Mostly because whenever I got her there, it ended with us naked. It’s hard to train a girl the basic of wrestling when all she wants to do is fuc—honnnnnnnk!

I whip my head to the left as the horn of a yellow taxi rips through my right ear, pierces my brain, and flies out the left, sending a sharp headache pulsing into my eyes. I clench my jaw and squeeze my fists, willing myself not to pick up the obnoxious vehicle and send it through the closest skyscraper. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my slacks and force myself to keep moving as the impatient fucker slaps his horn over and over again, demanding drunken pedestrians stop crossing the road.

Where was I? Oh, right. Violet.

My Violet.

She’s become so strong—much stronger than I anticipated. The way she stood before me, her body looking so ridiculously fit in her tight uniform…fucking hell. If only she’d taken me up on my offer. I would have loved to have carried her back to my place and given her a slice of the past. How long would she have let me ravish her body before she remember that we were natural enemies and tried to kill me? I chuckle at the thought.

I inhale through my blood clogged nose and visions of her tightening her red ponytail fill my mind. I developed a fetish for her hair at her first training session. Unexpectedly, she showed up to training and had changed its color from blonde to a fiery red. It suited her perfectly. It took away that innocent touch she had from her human life and transformed her into something else entirely. The way it twirled around her as she practiced her defensive maneuvers…and the smell of fresh strawberry that emanated from it and engulfed me whenever I got close…those were the moments I lived for. My fingers twitch. Oh, how I fucking long to run my fingers through her waves again, to tug on it slightly as I often did when we made love.

It took me forever to convince myself I was no longer in love with Violet. All those years I ignored the urges to mourn her and pine for her are wasted, ruined by the one angel I didn’t want them to send.

Why her? Why her?

I was expecting a fight. I knew the Never Dark angels would freak out when they saw my brothers and I had come to Earth early, and I knew they’d send someone after us. What I didn’t know was that they’d send her. Out of all the qualified angels they have…they did it on purpose—to fuck with my head. She may be my only weakness, but I won’t let them get to me that easily. They’re out of their mind if they think I won’t kill her to achieve what my brothers and I have set out to achieve. Killing her would be better for the both of us because if War sees her…there’s no telling what he’d do.

Anger consumes me. It burns through my bones, setting fire to my blood. Why have they put me in such a hard position? This was supposed to be easy! Violet’s smug face flickers by my line of vision and my dead heart beats to life. I clench my chest. Thinking about her hurts. Thinking about the life she’s had without me…has she seen other people? Has she leaned on someone else for comfort? Does she even love me anymore? Why are the answers to these questions all I can think about? Why does it matter? Why does she matter?!

“Argh!” I launch forward and slam my fist into the stop sign on my right.

Groaning, the pole bends in half, like an under watered sunflower.

“I hate her!” I shout, kicking the pole as hard as I can.

The pole is ripped from the ground and tossed across the road, just missing a homeless man who sleeps peacefully on a small, metal bench. People stare and whisper, but I don’t give a shit. I could wipe out this entire city with a click of my fingers.

Violet. I bare my teeth and swipe at my nose. I hate her…or at least my demon side hates her. Sometimes, Death spares me a few moments of normality and all I can think about is her. Those few moments are the worst of my life. I hate my human emotions. They’re weak, especially when it comes to Violet.

I swallow hard and let Death take over. Piece by piece, he consumes my thoughts and my feelings until Violet is just another filthy angel I have to destroy.

Love is absent and hate is prominent.

I picture myself staring into her bright blue eyes and squeezing her by the throat until every last breath is gone. Like I said, Violet is my only weakness and it’s a weakness other demons will try to exploit if they ever find out.

You have until sunrise to leave Earth or I will come back and kill you. My lips twitch as her words ring throughout my mind. I could leave, but I have things I need to do. Yes, the world is scheduled to end in the year three thousand, but at the deteriorating rate of humanity’s lack of humanity, well, the date has been pushed forward.

In six months, Conquest, Famine, War, and I will destroy Earth and there’s nothing anybody can do to stop it.

Not even Violet.

Chapter 3

Recollection

*

Violet

Past. New Wings. Circ. 2009

“VIOLET, ARE YOU there?”

My eyes flutter open as I’m pulled from my dreamless state by a sweet, feminine voice.

I blink, slowly at first, trying to clear the oil that blurs my vision. The faster I flick my eyelids, the quicker the sharp corners of the world return. I groan and scratch my head, losing my fingers in the tangles of my messy hair. My head hurts. It thumps painfully, like a team of ballers are playing basketball on the top of my skull. In an attempt to ease it, I close my eyes.

“Violet? Can you see me?”

My eyes shoot open and I focus on the face that hovers above my own. I didn’t notice her before. Light purple irises, thinly shaped eyebrows, a small pointy nose, and heart-shaped lips…she has such a pretty face.

“Yes,” I reply, rubbing my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth.

Where am I? I need water.

The woman offers me a kind smile and it makes me feel…safe. She takes my elbow in her small, soft hand and eases me into a seated position. I clench my jaw and hiss through my teeth as my muscles are forced to support my body. What happened to me? I ache all over and, ugh, I’m going to puke. Grimacing, I glance around. I’m in a hospital…I think.

“What happened” I ask, peering down at my simple, white gown. “Where am I?”

I take notice of her yellow sundress. It’s so bright against the pale colors of the room.

The woman lowers herself onto the end of my slender bed and I watch her, cautiously, as she tucks a long, wavy lock of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. She’s nervous. I can see it in the way she swallows and the way her eyes scan my face, trying to figure out my current emotional state. Is there something wrong? Subtly, I wriggle my toes and exhale in relief. Good. I still have my legs.

“Honey, this might be a little hard for you to understand, but—”

“Who are you?” I interrupt, narrowing my eyes.

No one has ever visited me in hospital. Not once. Not ever.

The sound of a boot squeaking against polished tiles pierces my eardrums and I wince as it echoes around the room. I wait, impatiently, as the person with the loud boots grabs the curtain in their hand and pulls it back.

Oh.

I hold my breath at the sight of the tall, broad shouldered man in his well-fitted black tee and loose, black cargos.

“Well, I’m Sadie and this,” she gestures over her shoulder. “Is Lucas.”

Lucas.

He doesn’t say hi. In fact, all he does is stare at me as he moves to the wall behind Sadie and leans against it, bending his leg at the knee.

“He found you…and brought you here.”

I tilt my head. He tilts his, crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his chest. He’s beautiful, in that strong, manly kind of way. The air around him has this arresting magnetism I can’t seem to shake. His black hair is cut short and styled with discipline. It’s the kind of haircut you’d expect from the commander of an army. To match, his posture is straight, almost rigid, like he has all the self-control in the world.

He found me?

Embarrassment spreads up my neck and settles in my cheeks as I recall the events that lead me here.

How I must’ve looked…

What he would have seen…

I gulp.

“You brought me here, huh?” My voice cracks and I hate it.

He nods, covering up a slight wince. “Carried you over my shoulder.”

Lucas’s voice is deep and smooth, complimenting his looks. I peer at Sadie whose eyes now curve with…concern? Sympathy? How much does she know about what happened to me? I shiver as a bout of uncleanliness claws its way through my body. If she’s a doctor, I’m guessing she knows a whole lot about my attack.

“And where are we?” I ask, tucking my blonde hair behind my ears.

“The Never Dark realm.” She replies.

I frown The Never Dark realm? What kind of creepy town has a name like that?

“So…Canada?”

Jesus. How’d I get all the way from Concave City to Never Dark, Canada?

Lucas laughs quietly, drawing my attention. When our eyes lock, his brown to my blue, he swallows his chuckle, but I still see the glimmer of amusement in their depths.

“No. Not Canada.” Sadie smiles politely. “Never Dark.”

She tells me about it—about this realm—and, to be honest, she sounds fucking crazy. I don’t believe her at first. How can I? I mean, angels and demons? Come on. I’d sooner believe that a monkey will be elected president.

But…

Eventually—after I make Lucas pull back all the curtains and open the bathroom door in hopes to expose camera men filming me for their prank television show—do I realize Sadie is (quite possibly) telling the truth. Why? Because I feel “different”. Everything feels different, as if I’m bouncing on a different frequency.

And…it makes sense.

Somehow, she’s convinced me that I just might be living in a completely different world.

“…an alternate universe, so to speak.”

“Never Dark.” Frowning, I turn my head and glance out the window. In the distance, behind bright city lights, the vivid moon hanging effortlessly in the night sky. I narrow my eyes. “It seems pretty dark outside to me.”

Sadie covers her thin lips and laughs into the palm of her hand. “It’s not called the Never Dark realm because it’s never dark. It’s more of a statement. There are no demons here, no darkness.”

A headache forms behind my eyes and I grimace as it pounds rhythmically. It’s slow at first, but it beats faster and faster until it hurts to focus. Dropping my head, I close my eyes.

Demons. Darkness. Angels… there is so much for me to try and wrap my head around.

I run my fingers along my eyebrows, clearing the thin line of nervous sweat that has formed.

“So, you’re telling me that I died? And I’m no longer human? That I don’t live on Earth?”

“Yes.”

This can’t be real. I glance around the room. It looks like Earth. I mean, all of the objects are the same. There’s water, electricity, hell, there’s even a television above my bed. No luminous glow surrounds my body, nor do I have a halo above my head, and where are my wings? Aren’t angels supposed to have wings?

Slowly, I slide off the bed and land on my feet. A slight bout of vertigo sends my brain spinning in my skull. I gasp as my legs turn to jelly and my knees give way. I grab the bed, clenching the blankets tightly in my fists as Lucas and Sadie flinch forward.

“No.” I say, stopping them in their tracks. I avoid their concerned looks. “I’m fine.”

Or as fine as I can be.

I did die, after all.

Those men took my life from me…and for what? Sex?

Disgusting.

Steadying myself, I let go of the bed. Lucas said my ribs were shattered and my hip was dislocated. He told me those men broke my jaw and cut my skin…but, strangely, I feel no pain. I’m a little dizzy, but am otherwise in perfect health. I smooth the palms of my hands over my ribs, feeling them through the fabric of my gown. They’re all in one piece. Why don’t I remember much of the attack? Was I unconscious?

As I examine myself, Lucas pushes off the wall and mutters something to Sadie. With a nod of her head, she leaves.

The beat of my heart picks up in tempo and it vibrates through my ribs. I don’t notice the tense air whirling around the room until Lucas is only inches away from me. His smell swirls around me and I inhale, filling my lungs with the essence of lavender body wash and a calming, musky cologne.

“My ribs were shattered?” I ask, stroking the solid bones with my hand. “All of them?”

He shrugs. “Most.”

He reaches out with his large hand and my muscles tighten of their own accord. Whether it’s in hesitation or anticipation, I have no idea. I stare at his hand as he waits for me to give him permission to touch me. Without a word, I lower my hand. Taking my movement as consent, Lucas gently slides his fingers along my ribs and presses them lightly against each spur.

“These eight.” He states, stepping closer.

I swallow hard. I feel his stare on my face, but I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with him. Not when he’s this close.

Lucas switches sides and I hold my breath as he gracefully plays my ribs like the keys on a piano. “And eleven on this side.”

When he returns to his own personal bubble, I finally lift my gaze high enough to make eye contact.

I can trust him. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.

I hug myself. “My death was brutal, but I’m in perfect health. There are no scratches, no bruises. I’m barely missing a hair on my head. How?”

“When you make the transition, your body is restored to perfect health. Your mind, too.” Turning his back, Lucas strolls toward the window. “Earthly grievances don’t matter here. Not when there are more important things to worry about.”

I step forward, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, until I’m standing beside him, looking down at the city below. God, we’re up high. My lips part. The city is exactly like the ones we have on Earth. There are tall skyscrapers, roads, shops and people.

Surprisingly, Heaven (this is technically Heaven, right?) has absolutely none of the features I expected it to have. There is no luminous glow to anything, no fluffy clouds or pearly gates, and there’s definitely no giant man with a long white beard sitting on a throne.

But, even though this is nothing like the heaven I imagined, I still believe them. Every muscle, bone, and blood vessel in my body is telling me they’re speaking the truth. It’s like it’s wired into me. In fact, I can’t deny it even if I wanted to. My brain won’t let me.

“Was I dead when you found me?” I ask, no longer looking far enough to see past my faint reflection on the glass.

I look like shit, but then again, I was dead not so long ago so I guess it’s an improvement.

Lucas clears his throat. “Pretty much.”

I tip my head to the side and think back to my previous life. Strangely, it’s a little foggy. It’s seems to be some kind of distant memory that doesn’t affect me the way it should. I feel…detached...just like he said.

What they told me settles in deep as realization hits me. An alternate Earth…an alternate universe…

Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be recruited to join some kind of angel army on an alternate Earth. I’m no warrior. I mean, I can barely push a loaded shopping cart if it’s too heavy.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a strong girl. In my human life, I was always the victim, always the one who ended up hurt. I was naïve, determined to see the good in everyone and that came back to bite me in the ass the night of my death. I frown. It all comes back to me now.  It was late…and I agreed to let a man that I’d met in a club walk me home. When we got out of sight, things escalated and before I knew it, he had three other friends that wanted to ‘walk me home.’ Nervous, but convinced nothing bad was going to happen, I let them, and sadly, I never made it to my front door. I was left abused and dying in an alley two blocks from my house.

“Thank you for saving my life.” I mutter, peering sideways.

“I didn’t save your life.” He says, clenching his jaw on an off. “You died. I just gave you a chance at a new one.”

I turn my attention back out the window. “Why me?”

“Because,” Lucas says. “You’re a fighter.”

Chapter 4

Reports

*

Violet

Present Day

“REMEMBER WHAT I taught you, V. Here’s your chance to make me proud.” Lucas announces, bending his knees.

I smirk, placing my feet shoulder width apart. “You going to keep running your mouth or are you finally going to hit me like a man?”

His lips twitch into a breathtaking smile and a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. God, I love it when he gets all worked up after a training session. If I’m lucky, he’ll slip into my shower afterwards like he did two days ago. He’s becoming bolder about our relationship, uncaring if people see us flirting and teasing each other. He’s come a long way from that serious, scary mentor who never wanted to lay a finger on me.

‘This is business. You’re my trainee. People will talk. I’m a professional.’

Excuses. Excuses.

None of them matter when he’s sneaking into my home early in the morning when the rest of the realm is sleeping. I don’t mind it. The thrill of it turns me on.

“Try not to get hurt, sweetheart.”

I chuckle. “Right back at you, baby.”

Like a rhino that puts its head down and rushes full force toward its threat, Lucas launches off his powerful back foot.

Shit.

I bend my knees as he drops his shoulder and angles it so he can knock me on my ass as hard as he possibly can.

During this training session, Lucas is no longer my mentor, he’s my enemy. He’s an enemy who, in a few more steps, will knock me off my feet.

My heart thrums in my ears and I force myself to breathe evenly as I time my next move.

Three…

Two…

One…

I jump, but Lucas is tall. Clocking in at six foot two, there’s no way my five foot nine frame can jump him entirely. Like I expected the moment I leapt into the air, Lucas catches my shins with his shoulder and air is whooshed from my lungs in panic as I fall.

To prevent myself from face planting and losing a few teeth, I snap forward and grip his broad shoulders in my hands. He curses and reaches up to grab my legs, but I move quickly and spring off his shoulders. My hair whips me in the face and my tank top slides up, exposing my flat stomach as I flip over myself. Somehow, I manage to stick the landing, minus the slight stumble.

Before he can turn around, I kick him behind his knee and his legs buckle. He grunts as I grab his shoulders and use all my strength to pull his large, off-balanced body to the floor.

It almost works too.

Only he’s better than me—stronger than me. That’s why I’m the student and he’s the mentor. Following his knees, he drops to the floor. With one backwards leg sweep, I crash to the mat flat on my back. Lucas dives on me, crushing me underneath his weight.

Our breath rushes out quick and deep, and our sweat thick and slippery on our skin.

Though Lucas and I have had multiple sexual encounters, we’ve never been in this kind of predicament before. At least, not in the training room. Here is where he makes it his life’s mission not to engage with me on a level other than professional.

When we train, he usually shouts orders from the sideline with the occasional demonstration, but today he is eager to get hands on with me, and although I didn’t win, I can still see the incredible amount of pride reflected in his perfect brown eyes.

“Well done,” he pants, his eyes flicking over my face.

I lick my lips and nod my head. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t move off me, instead, he runs the back of his index finger through my red hair. Lucas and I have been training together for twelve months and his desperate need to avoid being seen as a mentor fraternizing with his student is driving me insane. I want to be with him in more ways than I am now. I want to touch him without worrying who is watching. It’s not illegal or forbidden for us to be together. Lucas just feels he has a reputation to uphold, and I guess so do I, but, my god, he’s alluring.

He lowers his face until his lips graze mine and my breath hitches in my throat.

I want him. Now.

“Violet?” Lucas whispers.

“Mm?”

He shifts his weight to caress the sides of my throat. Goosebumps pebble along my flesh. I feel them as they spring up along my collarbone and spread underneath my red tank top.

“I hate you.”

I frown, then gasp as his hands wrap around my throat and he squeezes. Hard. I try to beg, try to fight, but I’m powerless to stop him as he crushes my esophagus in his hand. His brown eyes flicker between black and brown, like a faulty light bulb. In a matter of seconds, as blood swells in my temples do I see his face as it begins to contort and change.

His cheeks hollow out and his eyes sink into his skull.

Soon, I’m no longer looking into the face of my mentor, but the terrifying face of a hideous demon.

I inhale sharply, jerking out of the horrible nightmare by the sound of my phone ringing.

I run a lazy hand over my face, attempting to wake myself up. What time is it? I squint toward the window. Early morning sunlight filters through the moth hole in my beige curtain and I groan. Normally, I don’t hesitate to answer my phone at this ungodly hour, but not today. Why? Because I know the person on the other end is my boss and he’ll want to know why I didn’t hand in my report last night. I let it ring out and when silence fills the room, I settle back into my bed and close my eyes.

Ring. Ring.

Ick. I’m an idiot to think Cole would give up and leave me alone. He’ll call all day if gets him his report quicker.

The phone rings again.

And again.

And again.

Until I’d rather him nag at me than listen to another bar of this annoying ringtone. Pinching the bridge of my nose in one hand, I throw my left arm out and grope the surface of the bedside table. My gun, an alarm clock, and my lucky knife crash to the floor as I wave my arm about, trying to find my phone. It isn’t until I’ve successfully knocked everything off that I slide my fingers over the corner of the screen.

Yawning, I pick it up and bring it to my ear. “Mmhm?”

“Well, well. Look who finally decided to answer her phone.” Cole Nark’s gruff, baritone voice grumbles through my earpiece. “Enjoying your beauty sleep?”

I roll my eyes. “Hardly.”

Cole is the chubby, little human in charge of our Earth headquarters. God knows why, he’s useless for the most part. All he does is stamp reports and clear angels for teleportation between the realms. There’s not much to it, really.

Anyway, Cole has had it in for me from the moment I suggested we replace him with an angel who knows the business. It turns out, he didn’t appreciate me trying to push him out of a job. Not that my suggestion mattered. The Council believes it’s important to associate with those we protect…

…and I believe whoever came up with that rule should have been shot on the spot.

“Good. If I can’t sleep, neither should you. Why isn’t your report on my desk?” He demands.

“I got in late.”

“Aw. Too tired to do your job, were you?”

I roll onto my side and pull the blankets over my shoulders, tucking them underneath my chin. “Something like that.”

“I’ve got news for you, Violet. This gig isn’t just about cool gadgets and tight clothing. There are reports that need to be written! Applications that need to be filled!”

I sigh. “Like I said, I got in late.”

Can he not hear it in my voice? The huskiness from lack of sleep? Even angels need their rest.

“I don’t care if you got in five minutes ago. You know the protocol. Mission. Report. Rest. Not Mission, rest and report whenever you feel like it!”

In my mind I can see him doing the hand gestures that he does with every.

Single.

Word.

“It’s a waste of time. I have nothing to say. I did what I was told to do. The end.” I kick back the blankets. “I’ll text it to you and then you can fill out the report.”

Cole growls and in the background, I hear glass shatter. “Did you fight?”

I shrug and sit up. “We may have fumbled a little.”

I definitely broke his nose. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

“Then you need to write the report. You know that all field altercations must be noted and filed.”

“Honestly, I can’t be bothered.”

Not that I’d admit it to Cole, but seeing Lucas drained me.

Mentally.

Physically.

Emotionally.

The thought of picking up a pen and describing exactly what happened in sterile, detached terms is…painful. It hurts.

“If you aren’t ready for this mission, maybe I should contact your leaders in the Never Dark and have them put someone else on the job. Hmm?”

Is he blackmailing me? Of course he’d threaten me with that. I clench my jaw. He’s lucky I swore an oath not to take a human life or I’d tear his head clean from his shoulders.

“No, sir.” I swallow hard, forcing my attitude down. “I’ll be there with the report in thirty minutes.”

“Good.” He hangs up.

I blow air out of my cheeks and fall back against my bed. I knew I should have made the trip to HQ last night…but I just couldn’t clear my head.

Or stop my pathetic tears.

There’s no ignoring it now. The last thing I want is for higher authorities to pull me off the case. This is my case. Only I can deal with Lucas. I need the closure.

I climb out of bed and saunter across the room to my bag that sits on the glass dining table. My heart beats sadly in my chest, pumping a depressing, sticky oil through my veins. I really don’t want to write the report…

But at least I get to be alone when I do. Here, I can throw things. I can cry and yell at the top of my lungs if I want to. Writing the report under supervision at HQ doesn’t give me that freedom. It doesn’t give me the privacy I desperately need to properly accept Lucas’s fate and grieve my loss. The thought of anyone at HQ seeing me pine over a demon, over a lost love, doesn’t sit well with me.

Since Lucas’s death, I’ve withdrawn from the social circle the rest of my colleagues seem to thrive in—a circle I used to thrive in. I went from being the life of the party to the person people avoided inviting. Day in and day out, I wake up, I do my job, and I go to sleep. Through incredible pain, I finally understand why (in the beginning) Lucas said he was there to protect Earth, not make friends…because losing them is too painful. Losing Lucas was like losing a part of me. I lost the part that made me happy…the part that made me care.

I should have kept my distance. I shouldn’t have let myself fall for him.

I pull a clean report from my bag and dig around for a black pen. When I find them, I shove my bag off the table and drop into the chair. I wince as the cold plastic presses against my bare skin. Thankfully, it warms up quickly.

All right.  I clear my throat and hunch over the form. How I do this?

It’s funny, I’ve filled out this exact form a million times without fail. I could fill it out blind drunk and still put my answers in the right place…but this time is different. This time a single word can make or break me.

Sighing, I put the tip of the ball point pen against the paper.

I located Death (formerly known as Lucas Morello: agent 37675) outside Sequin nightclub in Concave City at…

* * *

I PARK MY black SUV in the private parking around the back of the headquarters and climb out of the car.

On the surface HQ boasted to be an award winning antique bookstore that a little old lady runs from nine a.m. to three p.m. on days she remembers to come in. Obviously the bookstore is a front. I know, how shocking. The real purpose of the building dwells below the endless shelves of decaying paperbacks and the filthy wooden floor.

The Never Dark Earth Headquarters.

I hate this place.

Exhaling, I check my reflection in the side door of my SUV. I’ve washed my face a million times, but I’m still flustered from seeing Lucas up close and personal last night. God, he looked amazing.

Oh, I feel sick just thinking that.

Straightening my white tank top, I adjust the leather belt holding up my denim jeans. I hate wearing normal clothes, it makes me feel vulnerable. I wear the suit so much I’ve become dependent on it, like a baby with a blanket. I don’t know why…I guess it makes me feel safe.

I tuck my report underneath my arm and cross the parking lot scattered with cars. The warm morning sun kisses my skin before its balminess is blown away by a cool breeze. The weather is what I miss most when I’m not on Earth. I can’t explain it, but it’s more “authentic” here.

I approach the coarse, metal door at the back of the bookstore and press the palm of my hand against a scuffed tile to the left of the handle. I wait three seconds before I tap each one of my fingers against the center and hit it with the bottom of my fist. Whizzing, the tile shoots up, exposing a fingerprint and retinal scanner. I do it, following the protocol on auto-pilot. With an approving beep, the panel closes and a large clank signals that the door has been unlocked.

I grab the handle and tug it. It creaks and moans as it swings open enough for me to slip inside and close it behind me. Pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head, I proceed down a small, dimly lit hallway and stop at the top of an extremely narrow flight of stairs. I take the first step and the walls almost touch me from shoulder to shoulder. It’s a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare. Now that I think about it, I wonder how Cole manages to fit down here. I mean, he’s not a morbidly obese guy, but he’s a far cry from thin. I, however, am naturally slim so tight spaces have never been a problem.

My least favorite part about walking to the lobby is the scenery (or lack thereof). There’s nothing but concrete.

The walls.

The stairs.

The floor.

The ceiling.

All of it. Concrete.

And if that isn’t depressing enough, the dull grayness of the walls absorb the incandescent light that attempts to illuminate my way.

When the urge to shoot myself in the face is an all-time high, I finally enter the lobby...and then I remember it’s just as dreary and cold as the staircase that led me here.

Fuck my second life.

Gray lounges, stone pot plants with flowerless bushes, and a strange hospital smell that tickles my nostrils.

“Hi!”

I cringe at the sugary, high pitched voice as I drag my stare across the new royal blue carpet to the reception desk.

The girl is new. The receptionist we had the last time I was here was old, bordering on ancient. This new girl reminds me of Barbie, yet somehow more “fake” than the famous plastic icon. I slide my gaze over her obnoxious platinum blonde hair and orange bottle tan.

“Violet Ashton,” I say, sliding my report along the high bench.

“Are you here to see Mr. Nark?”

I nod. “Unfortunately.”

“Aw, he ain’t so bad.” She lowers her green gaze to her computer screen and taps her fingers along the keyboard. She’s irritatingly upbeat, even makes typing on her computer an exciting event. As I watch her, I try to come up with a logical reason as to why she was hired in the first place. Maybe she’s a closet genius.

I smirk. Maybe I piss rainbows.

“Ah, Janet, you’re doing a wonderful job looking after all our angels here,” Cole Nark calls.

I watch him as he strolls from his office, smiling triumphantly at me, delighted that he managed to get me out of bed. Truth be told, I’ve never wanted to punch someone in the face so bad in my life. Smug bastard.

I sigh as he saunters over and leans on the counter, dropping his elbow against the granite surface.

“Violet isn’t giving you a hard time, is she?” His beady, brown eyes flare mischievously at Janet. “Do I need to teach her some manners?”

I grimace. Well, I guess this explains why she was hired. It’s common knowledge what kind of man Cole is. Sleazy and shameless. Luckily for me, he has a thing for blondes. Or Barbies. Or Oompa Loompas. To be honest, with him it could be any one of those three.

Cole licks his hand and pats down a stray hair that’s popped out of his usual mess of brown hair.

“What is wrong with you?” I ask, scowling at him.

Janet giggles and I gag. Perhaps Cole is the definition of a ‘panty dropper’ to Earth women these days…I shudder at the thought.

“Report?” he asks, extending his licked hand to me. I don’t bother to hide my disgust as I give him the report.

“Is the color of your hair natural?” Janet wonders aloud as Cole flicks eagerly through the folder.

I glance at her. “No. It isn’t.”

“That red is so beautiful, like a bright cherry. You know, you should wear it down. It’d look so much nicer if it framed your face. It’d make your crazy-pretty blue eyes pop, too.”

I don’t respond. Mostly because no one in their right mind would take ‘beauty’ advice from this clown-like woman, and even if I want to respond–which I don’t–what would I say? Thank you for telling me how to wear my hair. You are such an important figure in my life I will definitely take your advice into consideration. Fuck off. Taking the high road, I swallow my sarcasm and nod. I haven’t worn my hair down in a while. Lucas loved it when I did. He always encouraged me to wear it down, even during practice. He said he liked the way it curled around my face and shoulders when I fought. ‘Absolutely mesmerizing’ were the words he used.

…absolutely mesmerizing…

“Let’s go to my office,” Cole suggests, pulling me from my thoughts. “Janet, darling, I’ll be back to chat with you later.”

He winks.

She giggles.

And I throw up in my mouth a little.

* * *

I SCOWL AS Cole slams the report down onto his big, dark wooden table and drops into his seat. I thread my fingers behind my back and lean against the door frame as he makes annoying clicking noises with his mouth.

He places his swollen hands on his head and exhales in frustration. “Did Death leave Earth?”

I frown. Since when does he care? “I issued him his warning. Whether he has left or not, I don’t know.”

“You didn’t kill him?”

“No, sir. That wasn’t the mission.”

Cole’s brown irises darken and he furrows his brows. “Your mission is to protect Earth, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why isn’t he dead?”

I narrow my eyes. Why is he asking such a stupid question? He knows the rules. He knows we can’t kill without authorization or a damn good excuse.

“Because that wasn’t the mission. You know the repercussions of an unauthorized kill.”

Cole snaps, tossing the report into the air. I clench my jaw as he leaps from his chair in an attempt to intimidate me. Yes, Cole is tall and yes, he’s a male, but I’m stronger. I can snap his neck without trying. I can rip his heart from his chest and pluck his spine from his body without breaking a sweat. Even so, they make me show him respect. They make me call him “sir” and tell me to follow his orders when he should be bowing at my feet, begging me not to hurt him. Oh, how easy demons have it. They kill whoever and whenever they want. They’re not bound by oaths and laws like we are.

The pages of my report scatter in the air and I watch a sheet of paper as it gently glides down and lands on my boot.

“You angels and your fucking righteousness!” Cole yells, his face turning bright red. “Death is out there walking the streets, doing God knows what to humans, and you didn’t kill him when you had the chance?”

Don’t kill him. He’s not worth it.

“I told you already,” I say, forcing the tone of my voice to be even and calm. “That wasn’t the mission.”

“Screw the mission! Screw their mission!” He shouts, throwing his hands in exasperation. “I want him dead and I want his head delivered directly to me!”

My patience wears thin and snaps like a cable wound too tight. I dive at him, gritting my teeth as I slide across his table on my knees, knocking his nametag, papers, and the picture of his two children onto the floor. Cole grunts as I collide with him, knocking him back into his seat and whimpers in fear as I land on him, my knees digging into his stomach. He gasps for air, his chubby neck jiggling with every deep breath he took. Pathetic. I grab his tie and pull his face closer to mine.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want. I won’t kill anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary—demons, humans, or otherwise. Understand?”

His panicked breath blows over my face and the putrid smell of coffee and cigarette engulfs me. Whimpering, he nods quickly.

I take my knees out of his stomach and slide from his lap to stand beside him. I straighten my top as he hunches forward, greedily inhaling air. He may be my boss when I’m on here on Earth, but he has no right talking to me like that. I’m superior to him in every way.

“Read the mission log. If he doesn’t leave, I’m instructed to kill him. If he does, then there’s no harm done. I did my part, what happens next is up to him,” I add, whirling on my heel.

I storm from Cole’s office, pushing past the curious people that loiter by the door. I keep my sights in front of me, not daring to look at anyone of my colleagues that have suddenly appeared as they whisper and gasp among themselves.

“He better leave! It’ll be your head if he doesn’t.” Cole shouts after me.

I blow air out of my nose, huffing in frustration. I’m well aware of the repercussions if this mission doesn’t pan out the way I want it. If this goes sour I can forget all about being a field angel.

As I march, I hear Lucas’s name in juicy whispers. Of course my mission is the talk of the realm.

Lover vs. Lover…

The battle of the century…

A clichéd rivalry as old as time…

Chapter 5

War

*

Violet

Past. Lucas’s death. Circ. 2012.

MY EYES FLUTTER open and I arch my back, forcing the sleep from my tired muscles. Sighing, I splay my palm over the mattress, reaching over to his side of the bed. In the dark, I brush my fingers along the small of his back and he jolts at my touch.

“Did you have that nightmare again?” I whisper, sitting up.

Lucas keeps having this recurring nightmare. Given our profession, nightmares aren’t a rare occurrence, but they bother him for days after. From what he’s told me, three demons show up and drag him to the Underworld. Since demons can’t get into the Never Dark and Earth is the only place they can invade he’s only on edge when he’s here. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t eat. And he spends most nights sitting up in bed, watching…

Waiting…

The nightmares started out as nothing, he says, but over time they’ve become worse—more vivid. It doesn’t help that tomorrow night is my first assignment and he’s worried I’m going to get hurt. My mission is to kill a tracker demon and I’m not losing any sleep over it, considering trackers are at the bottom of the food chain.

But he is.

Because he loves me.

Because he doesn’t want to see me fail.

Lucas leans back on his elbow. He’s close. Close enough for me to plant soft kisses against his bicep.

“No. I thought I heard something.” He murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

I pause and listen. All I can hear is the click in the ceiling fan that races above the bed and the patter of rain on the roof.

“I can’t hear anything.” I say, resting my forehead against his arm. I give him a few seconds to be satisfied with the silence before I push on his shoulder and he drops against the mattress. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”

“I can’t help it.” He slips his arm behind my head and pulls me in close. “It’s your first time back on Earth. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I can handle myself.” I say, curling into his side and resting my head on his shapely chest. “You know I can.”

I hear his smile. “I know.”

Lucas runs his fingers through my long red hair and kisses the top of my head. I tilt my chin and he plants another on my nose. God, he smells good, like soap and man. He shifts his body, rolling its devastating muscle mass in my direction, and he kisses my mouth. His lips are easily my favorite thing about him. They are so full, so firm. With every kiss, he uses them to overpower me, to hypnotize me into a delectable stupor and I willingly fall into it.

I glide the tips of my fingers down his taut stomach and drag them along the hem to his black sweatpants. He shouldn’t wear them so low on his hips…but he does…because he’s perfect.

Click.

I freeze and Lucas pulls his mouth away from mine. My hair prickles along the back of my neck and that only occurs when something bad is about to happen. I shiver as my heart thunders in my chest, bruising itself against my ribs.

“Lucas…” I whisper, unable to keep the fear from my voice.

“It’s probably nothing.” He throws off the blanket. “Stay here.”

I catch his bicep as he pulls his body toward the edge of the bed and swings his legs over. Turning his head, his stare meets mine. He’s worried. I can see it in the squiggles of his eyebrows and the downturn of his lips. If it’s “probably nothing” like he says it is, why is his body coiled so tightly? Why does he shrug from my touch and reach for his gun on the bedside table?

Smash!

My heart leaps into my throat. Lucas whips on his heel, his arms outstretched, and his gun firmly in his hands as he points it toward the bedroom door. Quietly, I slide from the bed and bend down. I clench my jaw as I push up on the mattress and reach for the blade tucked safely underneath. I weigh it in my hand and squeeze the hilt. Nerves dance with fear in the pit of my stomach, mostly because I’m unfamiliar with the blade. The weight of it is different to my old one. It’s heavier…and thicker. This blade is a gift from Lucas earlier tonight for making it to Earth for my first assignment. It’s going to suck getting blood on such a beautiful piece of art.

In the dim lighting, I flick my thumb over the handle and swipe the elegant letter ‘V’ that’s engraved so beautifully into the metal. The letter is surrounded by intricate vines and tiny detailed flowers. ‘A beautiful blade for a beautiful angel’ is what he said when he presented it to me.

I push myself to my feet and circle the bed, following Lucas into the hallway. It’s quiet, eerily quiet, and I can’t help but wonder if the white walls either side of us are drawing closer. I jump as thunder claps in the distance, the sound cracking across the sky like it’s is being split open around us. Glancing over his shoulder, Lucas presses his index finger to his lips and I roll my eyes at him as I adjust the tiny, thin strap on my pink tank top.

Smash!

I grip my knife tighter. Whatever it is, it’s in the kitchen.

We reach the end of the hall and I follow closely behind Lucas as he leads me out into the sitting room. I step out from behind him and open my eyes a little wider, desperate to see in the dark. Normally, I can. Normally the dark isn’t a problem, but this time…this time I can’t see. I gasp and squint as a red lamp flicks on, casting a red glow around the room. Shielding my eyes, I blink until the light no longer burns.

And that’s when I see him.

The demon.

Casually sitting in the red love seat, he beams wickedly, exposing perfect, straight teeth. A human wouldn’t notice that the stranger in our room is a demon, but it’s obvious to me. The scent of burning wood, followed by a slight hint of sulfur, tickles my nostrils and gives him away. Team that with the black irises, pale skin, and a presence that electrocutes my skin. There’s no denying it.

Demon.

Instinctively, I inch closer to Lucas. I’ve trained hard, but there’s no way I’m ready to fight a demon like the one sitting before me. I can feel it in his aura…the power his large body contains. He’s built like a minivan, with his broad shoulders and muscle on top of muscle. He’ll squish me like a bug.

“Sorry, brother, did we wake you?”

A cold shiver rips down my spine at the sound of his dark, gravelly voice. Brother?

Lucas flexes his fingers around the handle of his gun, refusing to lower it. “Wade?”

Wade? Why does that name sound so familiar? Then it hits me, Wade is Lucas’s eldest brother. From what I recall, he has three brothers. Wade, Jacob, and Mikael. I didn’t know Wade was a demon. Then again, why would I? Lucas has kept me in the dark about his old life. He told me a brief story about the deaths of his brothers. A car accident, naturally, but I’ve always known there’s something more to the story. It never added up. Are all of his brothers’ demons? Or is it just Wade?

I glance at Lucas and analyze his tense jaw. He doesn’t look surprised that his brother is sitting in the sitting room of our hotel room. Was he expecting it? Air rushes from my lungs…are they going to take Lucas from me?

“Wade…” The demon chuckles, exposing his white teeth. A strand of his long, dirty blond hair falls into his face, but he makes no move to push it away. “I no longer go by that name.”

“No?”

“War,” Wade says, lifting his hand. A flurry of smoke blows from underneath his fingernail and dances over his knuckles. “is who I am now.”

The smoke dissipates and War grins at us. I crouch slightly and narrow my eyes, waiting for Lucas to give me the order to attack him. I’m not ready, but I’ll give it everything I’ve got.

A light sweat bubbles along my top lip as adrenaline courses through me. Is this it? Is this where our adventure ends? War’s intimidating gaze flickers to me as I shift my weight and clench my knife tighter in my hand. His eyes are an icy blue, the complete opposite of his brother’s warm chocolate irises.

War drags the tip of his index finger over his lower lip as he assess me from head to toe. I forget I’m only wearing skimpy, white underwear and a pink tank top until his darkening stare lingers on my hard nipples. Demons have heightened sex drives. They have an excessive sexual appetite. Excessive, being the keyword, and I’m very aware how wrong this situation can go. Demons aren’t known for their gentle foreplay or for keeping a body in one piece.

“Who’s this delightful little—”

Frustration prickles up the back of my neck and I open my mouth.

“Don’t worry about her. You’re here for me,” Lucas cuts in, saving me from saying something I shouldn’t. “Why?”

War watches us and the tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I don’t know how long we watch each other. Seconds, maybe minutes. However long we remain in a silent standoff is irrelevant, I suppose. It’s over when War puckers his lips and whistles high and short. The second he relaxes his lips, and they tug up at the corners, warm breath tickles the back of my neck. Gasping, I drop to the floor with a backwards leg sweep and catch my weigh on my hands, still grasping the hilt of my blade. Whoever was behind me, breathing heavily on the back of my neck, collapses to the ground with a harsh grunt. Whipping around, I dive onto the stranger and straddle his hips between my thighs, pressing the sharp edge of my blade against his throat. He’s not as strong as War. He doesn’t make my skin prickle.

He gasps in pain as my blade bites into his neck. I blink a few times and his facial features become sharp and clear. Another brother, I’m assuming. He looks nothing like Lucas with his dark eyes and thin lips, but there’s an odd familiarity about him. I don’t take my eyes off him as his mouth curls into a wry smile. I look at the thin scar that runs through the middle of both his lips. I wonder how he got that.

“Aren’t you strong?” he grunts with a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting that.” I press my knife harder and he winces. “Go on, darling, I like it rough.”

Does he think I’m playing? Does he think I’m not capable of killing him? Being Lucas’s brother doesn’t give him a free pass. That’s not how we work. Anger flares in my chest. I’m more than capable. Gritting my teeth until my jaw aches, I rip my knife across his throat. Blood squirts onto my top and spatters against my skin. I love it. I watch, clenching my knife in my fist as his life drains out of him and his eyes gloss over. I check him over. The man beneath me definitely isn’t a lower level demon so surely I’ll get extra brownie points for killing him when it comes time for my assessment?

Exhaling, I climb off of the demon and turn my focus back to War. He watches me, amusement and something else, something sinister, flashing in the dark depths of his crystal eyes. I scowl at him. If he wants me, he’s going to have to go through Lucas and, believe me, he’s not as gentle as I am.

“What a sexy little pet,” I snap my head toward the sound of the smooth voice and a new demon steps out from the kitchen. The third and final brother. “I want one.”

Snarling, I lunge forward only to be caught mid-leap as Lucas wraps his arm around my waist, preventing me from severing the demons head from his shoulders.

I struggle against him. “Luc—”

“Not yet,” he whispers, craning his head toward my ear. “Not yet.”

I stop struggling against him and angle my head so our eyes lock. He wants to wait? What for? I frown and his eyes soften…almost pleadingly. Relaxing my muscles, I nod my head. Slowly, Lucas lowers his arm, releasing me from his vice-like grip. I glower at the new demon as he surveys Lucas and me with his big black eyes. The demon swats at the brown hair that curls around his chin and grins, triumphantly, even though one of his brother’s is dead on the floor.

“Why are you here?” Lucas asks, his voice surprisingly calm.

Why is he talking to them? That’s number three on his ‘not to do’ list. I know because he’s made me write them out a million and one times, over and over again.

“Have the dreams not been obvious enough?”

My stomach rolls.

“I…I just assumed they weren’t real.” Lucas scratches the back of his head with the tip of his gun. “That was you?”

War nods. “Now we’re here to collect.”

Lucas lifts his gun once again. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Oh, on the contrary…” he smirks. “You don’t have a choice.”

They can’t just take him. An angel can only become fallen if they choose to switch sides. There is no transition that works against their free will.

“Lucas already died,” I point out. “And he became an angel, not a demon. He can’t switch teams now. Not unless he wants to.”

War simpers. “Yes, someone thought making him an angel would stop the Underworld from claiming him... apparently not.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you take him,” I tell him. “And I’ll carve out your black heart if you try.”

War narrows his eyes and I gasp as the surrounding walls burst into flames. Lucas steps closer to me as the flames burn brightly, but at the same time, burn nothing. The fire doesn’t crackle and smoke doesn’t billow. Relief washes over me. It’s a demonic party trick and it’ll take a hell of a lot more than that to scare me.

“How lame—” I choke on my words, as a strong arm wraps around my neck and squeezes.

Lucas snaps his large body in my direction, pointing his gun to the left of my face. Caught off guard, I have no room, no leverage, to use my blade on my attacker. My heart leaps into my ears and pounds relentlessly as a sharp object is pressed into the base of my spine. Is this it? Is this how my second life ends?

“Drop the knife,” the demon snarls in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin.

I recognize the voice immediately. It belongs to the demon I killed moments ago, but how? I sliced his throat. Despite his order, I don’t drop my knife. They’re going to kill me anyway, with or without it.

“Let her go, Mikael.” Lucas orders, his finger twitching against the trigger.

His voice is calm, but I see the tension in his biceps and around his eyes. I know him well enough to say that, internally, he’s panicking.

“You’re going to shoot me?” Mikael snorts and I wince as he digs the pressure the blade harder. “Isn’t it obvious? We can’t be killed.”

“And if I rip your heart from your chest?” Lucas counters, narrowing his dark eyes.

Mikael’s muscles tighten, preventing oxygen from properly reaching my lungs. “I’d like to see you try.”

Lucas grits his teeth and I shake my head as best I can. It’s not worth it.

“I believe Famine asked you to drop your knife,” the demon by the kitchen states.

Our eyes lock and I realize he’s talking to me. I frown. Did he say Famine? Who’s Famine? I glance at War and it hits me like a ton of bricks. Demons. War. Famine. I peer back to the kitchen, trying desperately to ignore the tendrils of dread burrowing through my chest. He must be Conquest. Shit. My knees buckle and Mikael takes on the majority of my weight. These demons make up three quarters of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse…and they’re here, in my hotel room.

“The knife!” Famine booms in my ear, sending my brain rattling around my skull. “Drop it!”

I keep my stare on Conquest as I peel my fingers from the hilt of my knife. Defeat refuses to settle in my stomach. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.

I drop the knife and flick my hips forward as it falls, hilt first. The adrenaline in my blood peaks and time slows as blood rushes through my veins. Before the knife hits the ground, I clench my teeth together and kick the hilt of the blade, sucking air between my teeth as pain flares over the top of my bare foot. Lucas reacts by squeezing the trigger. A bang rings out. Behind me, Famine grunts and I lose balance as I’m tugged back. Famine recovers quickly and presses his knife against my throat. I hiss and struggle, clenching my jaw as the blade bites into my flesh, but I can’t keep my eyes off my knife as it slices through the air, hurtling toward War’s chest. I expect it to make contact. I expect it to pin him to the chair and hold him there…

But he’s quicker than I expected him to be.

War catches the blade with his bare hands just as the tip of it pierces the fabric of his black shirt. Damn. The world returns to normal speed and my heart no longer pounds in my ears. The adrenaline I felt moments ago is nowhere to be seen, but fear is here, meticulously twisting my intestines together.

War peers down his nose at me and I watch, silently, as blood trickles from the palms of his hands and rolls down his wrists. Fuck.

An angry growl demands our attention. Across the room, Conquest makes a bow and arrow appear in a show of smoke and embers. His white shirt tightens over his wide chest as he cocks his arm back, pulling the string as taut as he can. He lines it up with Lucas’s face…and lets it fly.

“No!” I shout, my heart in my throat.

Lucas zips out of the way and the tip of the arrow just misses his cheek. The arrow whips by my head and buries itself into the wall somewhere behind me. Relief rolls through my muscles and I sag in Mikael’s hold.

“Idiot,” War growls at Conquest, cocking my knife back. “We’re not trying to kill him!”

He throws the blade with a simple flick of his wrist and it spins through the air at an incredible speed. I grimace as it slices through Conquest’s flesh and muscle, the tip of the blade making an exit out the other side. Conquest howls in pain, his shout ripping from his throat, and his bow and arrow dissipating in a swirl of thick smoke. Hissing, he grabs the handle of my knife and pulls it from his arm. Blood pours from his wound and drips onto the white tiles at his feet.

“Patience isn’t my strong suit,” Conquest states through clenched teeth, but War ignores him. “Apologies.”

“Forget your impatience. You should be apologizing for your bad aim.” I point out, straightening my spine.

“Violet,” Lucas warns, his voice low and full of caution.

I ignore him. I’m dead anyway. “Didn’t your father ever teach you not to play with big boy toys? You might take someone’s eye out.”

Scowling, Conquest throws the knife and it stabs into the floor at my feet, an inch from my big toe. Despite the anxiety wrapping itself around my organs, I smile at Lucas’s brother. “Almost.”

“Enough!” War booms and the flames surrounding us roar with him, filling my spine with steel. “I’m tired of this game. You’re coming with us, Lucas, and you will take your rightful place in this brotherhood.”

Rightful place? Brotherhood? I glance at Lucas. Where does he fit in to this brother of apocalyptic—oh. My heart deflates. Death?

“I’d rather die,” Lucas snarls, making War chuckle.

“I admire your strength, Luke. Unfortunately for you, your death isn’t an option, but hers…” He points a long, thick, calloused finger in my direction. “Her death can be arranged.”

Famine pulls his blade from my throat and kicks the back of my legs. Grunting, I drop to my knees and he places the cool, sharp edge of his knife against my jugular. I clench my teeth and breathe through my nose, not daring to swallow or take deep breaths.

Lucas’s gaze flicks over me and for a brief second, I see a beautiful sliver of defiance in his chocolate eyes. I’m ready to fight this if he is.

Different hues of light flicker over his face as the flames dance around us, threatening no one. As I watch his face, his defiance is swallowed up by apprehension and…well…defeat. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I swallow hard. “Lucas…”

He turns away from me. “I’ll go with you, but on one condition.”

I say his name again and this time my voice cracks.

War beams, satisfied that he’s pulling my whole world apart. “Name it.”

“You let Violet go.”

My heart cracks painfully in my chest and tears well in my eyes. Exhaling, Famine crouches low and breathes against the back of my neck.  I’m numb to him, numb to the gross shiver that ceases my spine as he slides his hand underneath my left breast and cups it in his hand. “I was really hoping I could keep her.”

A low growl rumbles through Lucas’s chest as Famine continues his shameless assault. My stomach churns as the feel of his large hands bring back memories of the night of my human death. All those unwanted hands touching me…

Rubbing me…

Hitting me…

“We’ll let the girl go.”

Sighing, Famine removes his hand from my breast and his knife from my neck. I swallow and open my mouth only to bite my tongue as he plants his foot between my shoulders and kicks me forward.

“Unh!” I catch myself before my face slams into the floor.

I barely have time to recover before thick, black smoke engulfs me. I cough and gag, trying to clear my airway as it fills my lungs.

“Lucas?” I gasp and force myself to my feet, only to collapse back to my knees.

Fire licks me from the inside out. It feels as though acid is seeping through my pores and singeing my lungs. My eyes water and I squint through the pain, desperate to figure out what is happening. Then I notice, through the smoke, that everyone else is unaffected. I’m the only one inside. It circles me.

It chokes me.

And all they do is watch.

Tears roll down my cheeks and dry up instantaneously. Our eyes meet through the mess that separates us. Brown to blue. His are soft…apologetic. I open my mouth to beg him not to go with them, but smoke swoops in and steals my pleas. I cough and choke, dropping my head against the cold floor. For the briefest moment, my consciousness is fleeting.

I don’t know if I pass out or not. All I know is, in one moment I’m suffocating and in the next, air is flooding my lungs, making my head spin. I splutter and spit, cringing at the awful taste of smoke, sulfur, and sodium at the back of my throat.

Then I lift my head…

…and Lucas is gone.

Chapter 6

Uncover

*

Lucas

Present Day

“LEAVE,” I DEMAND, breaking the silence in my dimly lit room.

The slender redhead nods sheepishly, gathers her clothes, and leaves. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and drop my head into my hands. I wait until the door clicks shut before raking my fingers through my hair. Tonight, I asked specifically for a redhead, hoping to acquire my ‘Violet fix,’ but the woman they brought me didn’t compare.

No one has.

I’ve tried to replace her. I’ve dipped into many of the temptations the Underworld has to offer in the hopes of numbing down her presence. After a while, her voice quietened, but she never went away.

During the quiet periods, I didn’t have a problem sleeping with other women. I’ve had countless women in my bed since my induction as Death and it’s not because I want to, but because I need to. Before becoming a demon, going a long time without sex has never been torturous, but now…I just might tear down buildings to get what I want. It’s funny, I’ve never felt shame in my massive sexual appetite—or guilt—until I saw Violet watching me, her blue eyes thin, her red ponytail blowing in the wind. I clench my fists against the urge to run my fingers through her hair. When was the last time I did that?

I sigh and push off of the bed, ignoring the reflection of my naked body in the large glass window as I bend down and scoop up a pair of ruffled, black slacks. I slide into them mindlessly, not bothering to button them up before I cross the large, sparse room and rest at the bar on the other side. I grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey by the neck and tip the rest of its contents into an empty glass. It’s kind of sad, really. The night started out with so much promise…and yet, here I am.

Alone…

…polishing off my last bottle of whiskey.

I sip at the lukewarm liquid it as I saunter over to the wide sheet of glass window that overlooks the entire expansion of Concave City. Where is she staying, that Violet of mine? Is she with someone? A stranger? A familiar lover? Jealousy flares and incites my rage. I clench my glass and it creaks in my hand.

I growl low in my chest and imagine lips parting and her long hair curling over her bare breasts, exposing her beautiful pink nipples as she rides someone else’s cock.

Someone. Else’s.

Not. Mine.

Anger—white hot anger—flares in my chest. No! I slam back my whiskey and whip around. Without thought, spurred by rage and jealousy, I throw my glass hard across the room. I whirl back to the window as it shatters against the paneled wall and crumbles onto the carpet.

I rake my stare over the sleepy city. She’s out there somewhere and she’ll come for me again when she realizes I haven’t left Earth. Maybe she’ll kill me. Maybe she won’t. Honestly? I want her to kill me. I want her to tear my heart from my chest and end my suffering. I’d beg her to if I could…but I can’t. She’s going to come for me and my demon side, Death, will fight her. He’ll do everything in his power to stay alive and, despite my love for Violet, Death will crush her like an insect.

The urge to warn her bubbles to the surface and I try to suppress it by pressing the hot palms of my hands against the cool glass. Would she even listen? Of course not. Listening to my orders has never been her strong suit. Where would I find her, anyway?

I close my eyes and then it hits me. I know exactly how to find her. I whirl on my heel and stalk toward my desk. Without thought, without hesitation, I press the intercom button and say, “Mena, bring me the witch.”

I pull my finger off the button and circle my desk before dropping into my chair.

The witch can help me.

* * *

THE DOOR CLICKS and then creaks as it’s pushed open a crack. Mena, my assistant, pokes her head inside my room. “Mr. Cross?”

Her long, dead straight black hair spills over her shoulders as she scans my room, squinting her almond eyes to locate me in the dark. She spots me sitting behind my large, oak desk and pushes the door open as she straightens her posture. I watch, silently, as she smooths the palms of her tiny hands down the front of her tight, black dress and swallows nervously. I close my eyes and listen to the pound of her heart. It beats rapidly and I can’t help the quirk in my lips.

Humans. They’re scared of everything.

Behind Mena trails Eva, the beautiful witch I saved moons ago. The only witch I trust enough to work with.

“I’m not one of your call girls, Lucas,” Eva’s warns me in that strained voice of hers that I like so much. “You don’t get to summon me in the middle of the night.”

Perhaps it is selfish of me to pull Eva from her sleep. A woman of her age needs plenty of rest. “Unfortunately,” I chuckle playfully.

Mena leaves without a word and on the other side of the door, in the narrow hall, I hear her exhale in relief. She should consider herself lucky. The assistant I had in the underworld lasted three days before I grew tired of her incessant nagging and obliterated her body into a fine, pale ash.

Rolling her eyes, Eva lowers herself into the armchair opposite me, placing her weathered hands on my desk. “What is it you want?”

What is it I want exactly? It’s simple, really. I want to see Violet. I want to talk to her now…as an acquaintance not an enemy. Clearing my throat, I lean forward and place my elbows on the table.

“I need you to locate someone.”

Eva frowns. “The redhead you had sent to your room wasn’t enough?”

I simper. Not even close. “No.”

She sighs, unimpressed. “Who do you want?”

“Violet Ashton. She’s here in Concave City, somewhere.”

Eva leans forward, intrigued. The dark purple fabric of her dressing gown makes a gentle whooshing sound as she moves to rest her elbows on the table. “There’s a woman out there you know more details about than solely her first name? Color me interested.”

“Can you locate her or not?” I snap, leaning back in my chair.

She shrugs a shoulder as she quirks an eyebrow. “Maybe. Do you have anything of hers I can channel?”

“No.”

“Then unless you have a strong connection with the woman in question, I won’t be able to locate her,” Her lips quirk with a smug smile. “And I know for a fact that you don’t have a connection with anything other than a bottle of whiskey. So, can I go back to bed now?”

She’s fishing. I know she is. I clench my jaw on and off. I trust Eva, I do, but I don’t trust my brothers. If I let Eva inside my head to locate Violet and my brothers find out I’ve been looking for her…God knows that they’ll do.

But if I don’t…if I don’t talk to her…I’ll spend the rest of eternity regretting it.

“Damn it…” Exhaling, I sit forward and hold my hands out toward Eva. “Channel me.”

Her gold eyes flare. “Like I said, unless you have a connec—”

“Just fucking channel me,” I bite out.

Without hesitation, she clasps her soft, papery hands around mine and closes her eyes. Eva scrunches her face and then smooths it out. She does it over and over until finally…she gasps and opens her eyes. “My, my,” she exhales, shocked. “What a connection…”

I look away from her and fixate my attention on a painting of the apocalypse on the far side of the room. It’s an old painting—a biblical painting of the four horsemen. How fitting. It’s a gift from War and it’s worth more than this entire building.

Eva closes her eyes again and I wait in silence, admiring the pastel man riding a pale horse, sending everything surrounding him into a state of decay. That is my role in the end of the world. The final horseman. Death.

Minutes pass and I finally drag up the courage to look at Eva’s face. I’ve done this location thing plenty of times and it has never taken this long. Eventually, Eva opens her eyes and her thick, dark lips inch down into a sad smile.

“You’re in love?” she whispers, tilting her head.

I knew it! I knew it doesn’t take that long. I yank my hands back and slam them against the table, forcing myself to my feet. My chair shoots back and tips over, but Eva doesn’t jump, her face doesn’t change. Why would it? She isn’t scared of me. She never has been. I’m like a son to her.

“I asked you to locate the female. I didn’t ask you to snoop around in my fucking head!” I shout, leaning forward, imposing my authority.

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, Eva looks up at me disapprovingly. “You better watch your tone with me, Lucas, or I’ll—”

“—you’ll what? Hm? What are you going to do? I saved you from War. I took you from him and gave you a better existence.” I raise my hand. “One click and I can send you straight back.”

I’ve never thrown her past back in her face. I’ve never used the torture she went through as a threat, but right now, knowing she’s seen every little detail about the past Violet and I shared, it’s the only ammo I’ve got.

Eva’s expression tightens, but she doesn’t snap back at me. She rarely does. Instead, she pushes her chair back and rises to her feet. “Goodnight, Lucas.”

Guilt twists in my stomach, burrowing in deep. As much as I want it to be, it’s not her fault. I allowed her to enter my head. In a puff of smoke, a warm tingle engulfs my body and I disappear into a puff of smoke, only to appear a second later right in front of her, blocking her from the door. I have to admit, the coolest thing I’ve gained since joining my brothers in the Underworld, is the ability to teleport wherever I want in the blink of an eye.

Eva sneers at me and the energy that exudes from her body is warm and powerful. She’ll fight me. I mean, she’ll lose, but she’s got the balls to try.

“I’m sorry, Eva.” I say, wrapping my arms around her slender shoulders and pulling her into me. “I’m not myself today,”

The tension in her shoulders melts away, but she keeps her hands balled into tight fists at her side. “And I suspect the redhead has something to do with it?”

She pulls out of my embrace and I narrow my eyes as she peers up at me. I’m not saying anything that could put Violet in danger. Eva snooping around in my head was risky enough. I trust Eva—I do, but she used to work for my brother War, and I sure as hell don’t trust him.

“She’s staying in an apartment complex,” Eva confesses. I zip over to my wardrobe, ignoring the smoke that surrounds me, and pull on a t-shirt. “The address is 173A Boundary Street, Velmount.”

I grab the black hoodie that hangs off the wardrobe door and put it on.

“Lucas—”

As I slip my arms in, I disappear in a puff of smoke before Eva has a chance to finish what she wants to say. My need to see Violet again outweighs any need to be polite.

* * *

I HATE THE suburbs and their near-identical houses—not to mention the incessant barking of neglected dogs. Thankfully, this street isn’t like the others I’ve come across. There are more apartments than houses and, by the looks of it, no one is allowed to have a dog since there are no backyards. I stroll along the footpath, reading plaques and mailboxes as I pass them. What was the address that Eva gave me? 173A Boundary Street?

Surprisingly, I don’t have to follow the street for long. I step around a large chip in the concrete and an unclipped bush and there it is, written in metal on the white, concrete wall. 169-176.

I focus on a window on the second floor. In one heartbeat, I’m on the outside and the next, I’m in. I glance around the room, my nose twitching at the smell of weed and potato chips. In the bed across from me sleeps to young men, nakedly spooning each other as they dreamed peaceful dreams.

Frowning, I zip back outside and glance at another window. In the blink of an eye, I’m inside a bedroom—a different bedroom.

And then it hits me.

I freeze as the smell floats through me, pinning my heart mid-beat. I part my lips and inhale, filling my lungs with the scent. Her scent. My blood begins to sizzle as her energy sticks to my skin. I close my eyes for a moment and imagine the taste of her flesh on my tongue.

What I’d give to feel her hands on me just one more time…

She coughs and I open my eyes. My stare glues to the queen bed and Violet who sleeps restlessly on it. To humans, demon smoke is undetectable, but angels can pick up the scent and feel it burning at the back of their throats. With a frustrated kick, Violet shoves the blue blanket down and it slides off the edge of the bed, pooling on the floor. My fingers twitch and the muscles low in my abdomen clench. I see her… I see her lying there in a camisole and skimpy underwear, the black lace meshing nicely with her cherry red hair that sprawls around her like a mesmerizing flame on a wick.

My throat runs dry as I wait for the smoke to dissipate. When it does, I approach her bed. The closer I get to her, the more my skin buzzes. One would argue that the reason I can feel her presence is because we’re supernatural enemies, but I’ve always felt her on my skin whenever she’s near. Always.

I reach out and push a thin, soft lock of hair off her cheek, making her nose twitch and her eyebrows knit together. If she woke up, would she be mad? Would she let me talk or would she grab her gun?

I watch, cautiously, as her eyes flicker beneath her lids. Funnily enough, I don’t have the heart to wake her. She works hard. She deserves her sleep. I lightly touch her cheek with the back of my hand. Her skin is warm and soft, like I remember. I brush the back of my index finger along her jaw line and she catches her bottom lip between her perfect white teeth with a soft moan. I tilt my head back and glance at the white ceiling. I’d never do anything to a woman without consent, but my God she’s making it difficult to stand by that moral code. Before I lose control in more ways than one, I plant a kiss on her cheek…

…and I go home.

Chapter 7

Disposition

*

Violet

I PARK MY car in the private parking around the back of the headquarters and enter the building. As I descend the stairs, I pull my hair into a loose ponytail and clear my throat, desperate to get rid of the smoky taste in the back. Lucas. Fucker was in my room last night. I know he was. I swipe the back of my hand across my cheeks and over my jaw. Underneath my skin, my blood tingles—not from my own touch, but from his. Who does he think he is? Sneaking into my room while I sleep?

“Back so soon?”

I startle as the overly-cheery Janet greets me from her desk as I step into the lobby. Nodding, I walk past her, not in the mood for any kind of chit chat, forced or otherwise. I march down the wide hallway with a thin manila folder in my hand. Inside it are the details of my next move against Death. Why? Because I woke up sometime last night with an uneasy feeling swirling in the pit of my stomach. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t fall back to sleep with the distinct hints of smoke and thick rivulets of energy floating around my room. If I’m being honest—truly honest—I spent the night crying like a little bitch…

Because I still fucking love him.

Because now have to kill him.

I hoped that he would listen to my warning...but he didn’t and he’s left me with no choice.

I knock on Cole’s office door, tighten my ponytail, and wait patiently.

“Come in,” Cole calls, his voice muffled.

I open the door and step inside. Cole Nark sits at his desk, patting the edges of his mouth with a napkin. My stares falls to the small spattering of pink frosting on his shirt, the residue of his usual morning donut.

“What do you want?” He sighs, apparently still feeling emasculated after I dominated him yesterday. Serves him right.

I bite my bottom lip and fight the urge to smile smugly. “I have a mission adjustment that I need you to sign off on.”

He extends his hand and I give him my folder. I stand across from him, my hands behind my back, and watch his face as he reads it. His messy eyebrows knit together. “What the hell is The Darkside?”

I roll my eyes at the originality of the name. “It’s a nightclub-slash-hotel in the south of Concave City. Intel says Lucas owns it and is living in the Penthouse suite. He didn’t take my threat seriously and now—”

“Oh, now you’ll kill him?” His voice holds a sarcastic tone that sends frustration zipping down my spine. “You seem surprised that he didn’t listen to you. D’you honestly think he would?”

I glower at him. “Just sign the damn thing so I can go.”

Grunting, Cole lowers the folder and reaches for a pen. “Do you need back up?”

I simper. I’ve killed ninety-nine demons, I don’t need help. I placed my hands on my hips. “No.”

“I’m assigning you back up anyway.”

I step forward and place my palms on his desk. “The last thing I need is a handful of humans running around shooting their guns. I’ll make you a deal. If I haven’t torn the heart from Lucas’s chest by three a.m., you can send back up.”

Cole taps his chubby fingers against the folder in thought. I glance at his worn nails, nails that have been chewed down to the skin and cringe. “Fine, but if you fuck this up, Ashton—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupt. “It’ll be on my head. I get it.”

Exhaling, Cole signs along the dotted line, approving part two of the mission.

I stalk from his office and storm through the lobby, not daring to look in Janet’s direction. When I make it out into the fresh air, I slow my legs and glance up at the bright, blue sky. Tonight, I’ll be making the biggest, most difficult kill of my career and the man I’m going to kill isn’t the same man I met, the man I fell in love with. He is a demon…and killing demons is what I do.

The mission is simple. First, I’ll need to go dress shopping. If I’m going to storm his club, The Darkside, I’m going to need to blend in. At half past eight, I’ll show up, sweet talk him into taking me upstairs to his room…

…and then I’ll end it there.

* * *

I GAPE AT the tiny leather shorts I hold in my hands and then lower it back to the table. People actually wear this?

“Can I help you?” a woman calls over my shoulder.

“Me?” Startling, I turn around. The woman pushes off a rack of jeans and swallows the distance between us.

She beams, exposing her bright, white teeth. “Yes, you.”

She flicks her long, wavy black hair over her shoulder and smooths the palm of her hand over her stomach, flattening the fabric of her tight, black dress.

“Uh,” I glance at the endless swirls of ink that wrap around her arms, cover her chest and paint her neck. I frown. Perhaps this shop is too outrageous for me. “No. I’m just browsing. Thank you,”

She saunters up to the table I stand in front of and rests against it. “So you’re, like, not after anything in particular…or—?”

I blink at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence. Or is a conjunction, it’s meant to connect a sentence…isn’t it?

“Um…” I clear my throat. Why is she staring at me like I’m the one not-fully-here?

“I’m going to The Darkside. I need a dress.” I glance at her dress and then at her name tag. “One that isn’t see-through, Tasha.”

She scowls and her eyebrow piercing sticks a half an inch out of her skin. “What kind of dress are you after?” she asks, the fake politeness clear in her voice. “Short? long? Maybe you’re after a dress with shoulder pads and a face veil?”

I laugh. Sarcasm. Nice. “Just tell me what people usually wear to The Darkside. Preferably something with more fabric than a handkerchief.”

Tasha rolls her big, brown eyes. “This way, Grandma.”

I follow the assistant across the room to a rack against the far left window.

“These are last season’s dresses. They’re longer… kind of.” She leans against the rack, preventing me from browsing through the array of dresses. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

I shift my weight onto my right leg. I don’t have time for this. I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “No, I’m not. Anything else?”

She shrugs, running her tongue across her top teeth, forcing her lip to protrude outwards. “I like you,” Tasha says smiling at me like we’ve been friends for a lifetime. “If you need anything, I’ll be at the cash register.”

I stare at the rack of dresses for a moment after she leaves me. To be honest, I haven’t worn a dress in a really long time—not since I was human. I don’t even know what to look for. Long or short? Thick or thin?

I search through the dresses for at least twenty minutes and contemplate giving up and going to a new store when I see it, the dress I’ll wear to The Darkside. It’s not black, or overly provocative. I pull it off the rack and hold it out in front of me. It’s perfect.

“You can’t wear that to The Darkside,” Tasha calls out.

I glance over my shoulder and watch as she bags a micro mini skirt and leopard print crop top for a customer.

“Why not?” I ask, hugging the dress against me.

“Because it’s white and virginal. You’ll get eaten alive.”

I smirk. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

Tasha cocks a thin eyebrow at me, fighting a devious grin. The girls at the counter pay for their clothes and leave the store. I admire my choice as I cross the store and saunter over to the counter. The dress is short, at least mid-thigh, but if I move appropriately, I won’t have to worry about flashing random clubbers. The chest piece very low cut, but instead of showing bare skin, it’s covered in a beautiful white lace, cutting across the chest, over the shoulders, and down the arms. Lace is hopeless protection in a fight, but there’s no way I’ll be let into the club wearing my catsuit, and Lucas would know immediately why I’m there. If I have any chance at beating him, I’ll need to catch him by surprise.

“May I ask what your plan is?” Tasha asks, taking the dress off my hands.

“You can ask,” I say, grinning. “but I’m not going to tell you.”

Somehow, I don’t think telling her that I plan on ripping a heart from a chest is going to go down well. I smile at myself.

Fucking humans.

Chapter 8

Confined

*

Lucas

THE DARKSIDE IS packed to the rafters tonight. One more body and we'll have a health and safety violation.

I stand in the dull control room watching for any sign of Famine, War, and Conquest. Tonight they want to discuss plans for the apocalypse. Under any other circumstance I’d close the club and pretend I’m not home, but I guess the apocalypse does fall under very important business.

I lean against the wall, my leg propped up on the control panel, and watch the humans socialize, not realizing they’re surrounded by violent beasts from the Underworld.

“A lot of beautiful women here tonight, sir,” Dex, my head of security, points out.

“There are a lot of beautiful women here every night.” I say, sipping my whiskey.

A beautiful woman isn’t a phenomenon and courting one certainly isn’t worth my time tonight.

Dex chuckles and it’s low and deep in his throat. “I suppose you’re right.”

I glance up to see a flash of white as she walks past the camera. If it were any other female I’d have thought nothing of the woman in the white dress, but I know that ass from anywhere.

Violet.

I drop my leg, push off the wall, and lean in close, ignoring Dex who grunts in annoyance as I push on his shoulder.

“Zoom in,” I order and he does.

The cameras don’t record in color at night. It’s too dark in the club, but there’s no mistaking those lips or that body. I know them. I’ve explored every inch with my tongue.

“Who is she?” Dex asks.

She tucks a stray lock of hair back into her high bun, the movement making her short, white dress cling tighter to her voluptuous curves.

“An old friend,” I mutter, squeezing the glass of whiskey in my hand.

I clench my jaw as panic dances with frustration in my stomach. Of all the fucking nights Violet has to come looking or me! She isn’t meant to be here. I need to get her out before my brothers show up or another demons decides to pick a fight. My men can smell an angel from a mile away.

“Would you like us to remove the woman, sir?” Dex offers, his tone suggesting that he’ll do more than just remove her.

“No. I’ll deal with her.”

In a black haze I teleport to my room and I stalk over to my desk. Sitting on the surface, in a small wooden box, I retrieve a sedative and slip it into my chest pocket. I’ll play this dirty if it means keeping her safe...

...which I realize is a fucking crazy thing to do.

I teleport back to the control room and head down the emergency stairs, careful not to spill my drink. The walk is bleak and white and, with every floor I descended, it occurs to me that I’ve never taken the stairs before. Then again, why would I?

Big, red words scrawled along the wall catch my attention, ‘Emergency staircase. DO NOT OBSTRUCT.’ It’s the only shred color in this depressing stairwell.

In no time at all, I push through white double doors and I stalk onto the club floor. Music blares, vibrating the hairs in my ears, and the air is hot, almost thick.

I peer between gyrating bodies and circles of excited friends, but the club is too full for me to locate her quickly. And where do I start?

When I saw Violet through the camera, she had just entered the club by the front door. By now she could be anywhere. I close my eyes and listen for her heartbeat. It’s interesting, really. Everyone has a unique heartbeat. No two are the same. To the human ear thump thump is a passable way to describe the beat of a heart, but I can hear different pitches and the slight creaks that follow. Just by listening, I can guess the size of the heart, whether it’s a man or a woman, and a demon or a—bingo. I open my eyes.

An angel.

I move through the crowd in the direction of the pulsing in my ears. Her heart is beating faster than normal. She’s nervous, scared, and a little...excited? The closer I get the louder it becomes until, finally, I spot her sitting by the bar, her eyes desperately searching the crowd. Randy, the bartender, leans toward her and I watch as she parts her cherry colored lips and shouts her order into his ear.

I smile to myself as I witness him pour chilled water into two shot glasses. She’s at a club—my club—wearing a dress made for the sole purpose of ending up on my bedroom floor, and orders water in a shot glass? She’s most certainly up to something.

I walk toward her and somehow she still hasn’t spotted me. She can’t feel my presence creeping over her skin? It’s not the strangest thing, I suppose. There are a lot of demons in here tonight. Maybe Violet’s radar is out of whack being here.

As I slip past a recently vacated stool, three from her left, a drunken douchebag in an ugly, light gray shirt and black slacks cuts me off. I grit my teeth as he leans into Violet, breathing his alcohol-laden breath all over her. Whatever the human whispers to her makes her muscles tighten.

I focus on him and eavesdrop into his conversation. “…we can go back to my place.” Hiccup. “…watch T.V. Maybe have se—”

I allow the surrounding sounds to swoop in and pull me from listening to the end of his sentence. I don’t expect Violet to be celibate now I’m not there for her…but God help the men who are fucking her if I ever find out their names. As for this guy, I’m going to tear his head clean off his shoulders just for thinking he’s good enough to talk to her. I’d do it right now if I wasn’t running so short on time. My brothers will be here any minute and I need to get Violet out of here.

Violet shrugs the stranger off, her repulsion and fear clear on her face. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t take the hint and grabs at her, pulling her closer to him. To be honest, I pity him. It won’t take her much to rip his body from his head. She’s (quite possibly) the strongest person in this room, excluding me. She could take them all on and win, if she really wanted to.

Satisfied, I wait for her to crush him. Instead, she glances awkwardly at the people around her, waiting for them to help. Naturally, they don’t notice. Why would they? They’re too busy, consumed with their own little groups to notice if someone else, someone who is alone, needs help.

Exhaling, I slam my drink down onto the bar, catching a few drops of whiskey on my hand, and grab the sleaze by the back of the collar. He yelps as I yank him off of her.

I release his shirt as he whips around to face me. I tilt my head on the slightest angle and analyze him. Bubbles of sweat form along his thin upper lip and simmer along his brow. He sways gently, his skin pale and coated in an oily sweat. On closer inspection, it’s mind-blowing that he can even keep his eyes open.

“Who the hell are you?” he slurs, touching my suit with his long, grubby finger.

I pull back the slightest amount and his arms falls back to his side. “Death.” I simply say.

He laughs and glances over his shoulder at Violet, whose big blue eyes watch me intently. He’s out to impress her. I can see it on his stupid boyish face. The asshat presses his palm against my chest. “Look, pal, I don’t know who you think you—”

An impulsive flare of rage bursts from the core of my being and I shove his hand away, grab the back of his neck, and slam his face into the bar.

“Lucas!” Violet snaps as the bar vibrates and the boy crumbles to the floor, clutching his face. “What is wrong with you?”

“What?” I shrug as she bends down to check on him. “I thought I showed great restraint.” I brush the front of my suit and reclaim my drink. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

She scowls up at me as she rises to her feet. “That’s not the point.” She leans over the bar and asks Randy to call an ambulance. While she does that, I tip the rest of my drink down my throat and place the empty glass on the bar.

“I came to see you tonight, but I think I’ve changed my mind.” Violet turns away from me, but I snag her by the elbow, forcing her to face me. Damn curiosity.

“You came to see me? Why?”

Glancing around us with a frown, Violet leans in. “Isn’t there somewhere private we can talk?”

The darkness in the pit of my stomach flared, warning me not to trust her. But despite that…despite the natural urges to gut her like a fish, I nod. If I can get her to my room, at least, then I’ll have a chance at keeping her hidden from my brothers. I extend my elbow to her and she takes it without hesitation. I wonder what it’d be like to have her on my side? As a team we’d be unstoppable.

I escort Violet toward the elevator on the other side of the club. It’s guarded by two of my best security guys. When they see me, they step aside without a word, allowing us to gain access. They keep their eyes on Violet as we pass them. They know she’s an angel. They can smell it. They’re good guys to have, but if they so much as twitch in her direction, I’ll rip their heads clean off their shoulders.

Once the elevator doors are closed, she pulls away from me and we’re engulfed by silence. It’s painful, almost deafening. I press the button to my room and watch her as she admires the grandeur of the elevator. I designed it myself. It’s wall to wall gold, not real gold, of course, but there’s no way you can tell the difference. The elevator rises with ease and, before we reach the level I want us to be on, I hit the stop button. Gasping, Violet grabs at the bar and the elevator stops with a jolt and a loud clank. Defensively, Violet turns her body in my direction, her legs shoulder-width apart, as if to gain more balance. The hem of Violet’s dress stops well above her knee and tightens around her thighs, not giving her the movement she needs to properly defend herself. A rookie mistake. I made this clear to her when she showed up to class in a skirt. I taught her to always be ready for a fight. Always. Still, it’s nice to see her legs again. She has the most incredible legs. They’re well defined with muscle and the stilettos she wears make them seem longer, like they go on forever. They don’t, of course. Her legs stop right where I crave to be. Where I need to be. At the apex of those beautiful thighs is the tightest, most perfect little cu—

“Is everything okay, sir?” Dex’s voice rings throughout the elevator.

Not taking my eyes off Violet, I press the intercom button beside my head. There’s something missing… “Everything is fine.”

I know what it is. I step toward her and she clenches her hands into fists at her sides. Is she going to fight me? Here? In the elevator? She doesn’t stand a chance.

“Relax,” I say, smiling as I extend my hand toward her, exposing the palm of my hand. She watches me cautiously, working her jaw as I step closer to touch her. I can’t resist. I revel in the sensations rippling over my flesh as I swallow the distance between us, our bodies only inches apart. “You know I like it when you wear your hair down.”

Slowly, I reach around the back of her head to free her hair from the single clip holding it up. I glance at her face as I move in close, my chest and my heart exposed. She watches my chest, her eyes glued on my weakness. It wouldn’t take much for her to slam her hand inside and rip my heart from my chest. It would make her life easier. This torment would all be over...

She doesn’t.

Instead, she lowers her stare and it’s in this moment, as I expose my heart to her, I realize she struggles with the same past I do.

I pull the clip from her hair and her long red locks fall around her, draping over her shoulders, down her back, and around her breasts. I toss the white clip over my shoulder and I admire her for a little while. Under my gaze, her sun-kissed skin flushes the sexiest shade of pink, sending painful tendrils of regret through my chest.  I take a step back, not wanting to overwhelm her…or myself.

“Why’d you want see me?” I ask, leaning back against the opposite wall.

Violet watches me quietly, her eyes flickering between love and hate. The darkness inside me flickers erratically, desperately fighting to push its way to the surface. It spews bad thoughts into my mind, trying to convince me that I’m in danger, that she’s a threat. It whispers to me, telling me that she’s come here to kill me. Subtly, I grit my teeth against him, Death, and refuse to cave to the pressure. Eventually, the emerging desire to tear her head clean off disappears.

“I know you were in my room last night,” she mutters, her blue eyes softening.

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, fighting a smirk. I reach out, push a button and start the elevator again. It shakes for a moment before continuing its ascent.

“Maybe you dreamt that I was in your room?” I say, stepping towards her. “I have that effect on people.”

Violet makes no attempt to keep me away as I slowly swallow up the distance between us and press her hard against the elevator wall.  Her aura sends my heart pounding. In my veins, my blood pulses and staying in control seems almost impossible.

Subtly, I inhale the sweet strawberry scent of her hair and fight the urge to grasp it in my hands and bury my nose in it. Would she let me? Would she let me bunch her dress at her hips and slide her panties to the side? Her chest rises and falls at a deep and rapid pace. I bet she’ll have a hard time not reciprocating my advance if I really tried.

“I wasn’t dreaming.” She states, trying to shove me. I barely budge as she struggles to find strength in her footing because of her shoes.

Another error on her part. How any times have I told her that footwear is an important part of fighting? Did she listen to me at all?

I press harder against her just to get under her skin a little more. “Prove it.”

She tips her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “My skin was alive. I felt you at the back of my throat.”

“Ah,” I curl a lock of her red hair around my index finger, unable to bite back my grin. “Nostalgia. Isn’t that how we used to end our Sunday nights?”

Scoffing, Violet shoves me again and this time I take a step back, releasing her hair. With the extra space she folds her arms tightly across her chest. “It wasn’t a dream and it certainly wasn’t nostalgia.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I smile and, like a cat that grows tired of a worn piece of string, I no longer feel the need to play with her. “Fine. I was there.”

“Why?”

“That doesn’t—”

“Why?” she demands.

I frown. “Your persistence is getting rather annoying.”

I’m certainly not going to admit why I was in her room. Death won’t let me, even if I wanted to. The elevator dings, signaling my floor, and the doors pull open with a groan. Like a cautious cat, she steps out of the elevator and into the hall. Directly across from her is the entrance to my room.

Stepping around Violet’s tense body, I pull a key card from my chest pocket and slide it through the lock mechanism. With a single beep and a loud click, the door unlocks. Pushing it open, I step aside.

“I’m not going in there.” Violet says, inching backward.

I peer at her. “And why not?”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I’m the same naive, inexperienced girl I was when we met? I thought you were going to take me to a sitting room, not your bedroom.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I...” She swallows hard. “I shouldn’t.”

“If you don’t try to kill me,” I slip my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “I won’t try to kill you.”

Her blue stare flickers over my face. She analyzes every crease, every frown line, until she’s satisfied with whatever she sees. As she steps inside, I close the door. Violet’s gaze flits over everything as she walks around the room, taking all of it in. She grazes her fingers over every surface, never settling on one thing in particular. She doesn’t think I see her snag my envelop opener off my bookshelf and tuck it into her sleeve, but I do.  My lips twitch up at the corners. She really is going to try and kill me?

She saunters around the room, almost bored. Nothing seems to impress her, not until she approaches the wall-sized window that showcases the view of the entire city. The view impresses most of the women I bring up here. Tossing my key card onto my desk, I saunter across the room and stand behind her.

A feeling of satisfaction swirls in my stomach. It feels good having her here. Better than it should. What would it be like having her by my side permanently?

“I want to know why you came to my room.” She asks, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Why? Do you think it will change your mind about killing me tonight?”

She flinches, tensing her shoulders. A long, painful second passes before she turns to face me. The light of the city reflects in her eyes, but the color of her irises are shadowed by darkness.

“Nothing will change my mind. It’s my job.”

At least she’s honest. “Do you hate me that much?”

“Hate you?” Violet flinches again. “I’m not doing this because I hate you. I’m doing this because I love you…and I know it’s what the old you would’ve wanted.”

I touch her face, stroking her cheek with the back of my hand. “The old me was ignorant. I didn’t understand…but now I do. I’m not here without reason, Violet. This is humanity’s mistake, not yours. Don’t risk your life trying to save them.”

“They can do better. You know that better than anyone.”

I hiss, pulling my hand back. They can do better? They never do better. They claim to, but somehow history always repeats itself. “You’re as gullible as I remember.”

She glares at me. “I know—”

“You don’t know anything. That’s your problem.”

“I know you still love me.” She shoots back. “That’s why you came to my room.”

“You seem certain.”

“I am,” Violet tips her head on the most endearing angle and I hate it. “I just want to hear you say it.”

“It won’t change anything.”

She shrugs. “Maybe not.”

Of course I still love her. She’s the love of my life—of all my lives—but what good would telling her do? It won’t change anything. It’ll only make things harder.

Violet parts her mouth as she lets out a lengthy exhale and I drop my gaze to her lips. Do they still feel the same?

“If you’re going to kiss me, you better do it before I come to my senses.” She states, inching closer to me.

I shouldn’t. I know what she’s doing. She’ll wait until I’m completely distracted, until I lose control of myself in her body and then she’ll stick me with the envelope opener. Still, even though I know the risk, I grab her by the face and pull her close, crushing my mouth to hers. I sigh. Kissing her mouth is like moistening a dry throat with chilled water after endless miles of hiking.

Heaven.

Violet’s lips are exactly as I remember, soft and full. Plump and fucking perfect. I kiss her harder and, to my surprise, she doesn’t pull away from me or tear my heart from my chest, so I keep going, curious to see how far she’ll let me go.

“Lucas...” She moans as she gasps for air. “We can’t... I can’t...”

“We can.” I flick my tongue along her lower lip and she opens her mouth, granting me access. “We will.”

The temperature in the room skyrockets as our tongues slide together and she claws at me, desperate for me to be closer. I wonder, as she all but rips my clothes from my body, if we stop, will she die? Violet clings to me like I’m the only thing keeping her alive, like this kiss is her saving grace. Maybe it is. Maybe I still mean that much to her.

I glide my hands up the contour of her body, over her hips, up her waist and into her hair. Her body is impeccable and her hair is soft. Am I dreaming? Am I finally touching her for real? I squeeze her hair in my fist, until it tugs on her scalp, and she moans with delight. My stomach rolls as the blood in my body plummets south and engorges my raging cock. I haven’t been this wound up in years. Not since I was first forced to be in a room alone with the intriguing Violet Ashton.

I growl and it releases itself from the base of my throat. It’s a frustrated growl, but I don’t think she can tell. As bad as I want to, I can’t go much further than this. I want to—holy fuck, I want to—but my brothers will be here any minute.

“Bed,” I groan, snagging her lower lip between my teeth. “My fucking bed.”

“You know how I like it,” she hisses, freeing her lip.

I know exactly how she likes being taken to bed. I slide my hands from her hair and down her back, over the curve of her ass. Oh, how I’ve missed her.

“This dress is fucking sin.” I tell her, snagging her thighs and pulling her up onto my hips.

Laughing under her breath, Violet wraps her legs tightly around me and throws her arms over my shoulders. “I knew you’d like it.”

“Like it? I love it.” My obvious arousal pushes against at the apex of her thighs and I feel her warmth through the pathetic fabric of her thin panties.

If only my brothers weren’t coming, I’d shred the fabric that withholds her body from me and fuck her until she all but begs me to take her back to the Underworld and make her my queen.

I carry her to the bed, drop her against the mattress and cover her body with mine.

“Be mine,” I whisper, planting a kiss just underneath her earlobe. She shivers. “Leave this life behind. Let me show you a better one.”

I trail kisses down her neck, managing to produce a sedative from my back pocket.

“You know I can’t,” she exhales. “I can’t betray my oath—my family.”

Stalling, I pull away and look into her azure eyes. Am I not her family? Have I not risked everything for her? On more than one occasion? Her eyes flicker constantly between various emotions. Love. Hate. Desire. Sadness. Lust. Anger. This is how she wants to play it? The clench of her teeth gives her away before she swings her arm. I catch her wrist, grab her jaw and drop the sedative right down her throat. I clamp my hand over her mouth as she thrashes underneath me. Her eyes are wide with fear and, for the briefest moment, I think about letting go, but then her eyes grow heavy and her movements become weak. No more than a minute later, she falls asleep.

Perfect.

I kiss her on the lips and roll off of her. I glance over my shoulder as I sit on the edge of the bed and in the dim light from the window, the envelope opener glistens in her hand. So she was going to cut my heart out... I’m curious, would that have been before, during, or after sex? Strangely, I smile to myself, unable to hide the pride rushing into my chest. I have to admit that she’s come a long way.

A beep rings through the room, pulling me from my thoughts. I pluck the tiny blade from Violet’s hand and push off the bed. In no rush to take the call waiting on my intercom, I drop the envelope opener on my bedside table and pull open the top drawer. Somewhere, underneath useless pieces of paper and (technically) pointless still-wrapped condoms I find a pair of handcuffs.

Quickly, I handcuff Violet to my bedpost, saunter across the room, and press the intercom button. “This better be important, Mena.”

“Sorry to disturb you sir, but your brothers are here.”

Worry punches me in the gut. “Tell them to meet me in the conference room. I’ll be right out.” With a quick, longing glance at the only girl I truly want over my shoulder, I open the door and leave the room.

Chapter 9

Restrained

*

Violet

MY EYES FLUTTER open as a groan releases itself from my chest and vibrates in my ears. What happened? I move my hands to rub my face and that's when cool metal bites into my wrist. I look at the metal cuffs that trap me on his king bed. Shit. My heart slams against my ribs with as much force as a wrecking ball. Oh, no. I tug on the handcuffs, but they don't budge. I yank and pull, twist and shake, but they don't snap. I’m fucking trapped! That motherf—

“You’re wasting your time,” I jump at the sound of the gruff, baritone voice in the room. “You’re not getting out of those. Not unless I let you out.”

I whip my head in its direction and am met by black, volcanic eyes. My stomach plummets. I didn’t even notice that he was still in the room. A rookie mistake. He sits on the edge of his desk, sipping at an almost empty glass of whiskey, pinning me with an angry stare.

I inhale through my nose, slowing the rush of blood as it leaves my face, and then exhale. “Let me go, Lucas.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Not done with me yet? What does that mean? I glance out the window. It’s still dark. What time is it? Is Cole’s backup inbound? If they are, I pray to God he’s sending a decent sized group of angels and not humans. The amount of demons in this place tonight…they could take out a small army of angels with ease. Humans? They could completely decimate a large army without breaking into a sweat.

“If my brothers saw you tonight…” Lucas say, placing his glass on the surface of his desk as he pushes himself upright. “Do you have any idea what they’d have done to you? To me?”

A sharp pang of anger slices through my chest. His brothers are here too? What I wouldn’t give to behead them all. “I have a good idea.”

“Death would be too kind.” He snaps, rubbing the back of his neck.

A thin lock of my hair falls into my face and I blow air out of my cheeks to move it. “I’m not afraid of them.”

“You should be!” He snaps, his eyes darkening, his nostrils flaring. “You should be petrified. Their very names should paralyze you with fear.”

I frown. “But they don’t.”

Lucas scoffs as he pulls his shoulders back and runs the palm of his hand down his face. “You’ve always been fearless,” he mutters. “you’ve always made my life difficult. I just…” He glances at me, his eyes soft and pleading. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, V.”

I roll my eyes, despite the heavy pounding of my heart and the tears that threaten to make themselves known. “Careful, Lucas, your humanity is showing.”

He clenches his jaw and tilts his head, cracking his neck. His body shudders as he fights an internal fight. Clenching his jaw and bearing his teeth, he grips his hair in his tight fists. Growling, he jolts toward the end of the bed and I scurry backwards, drawing my knees to my chest and pressing my back into the wooden headboard.

“You keep pushing, don’t you?” Lucas sneers, his palms flat on the mattress. “I should rip you apart, limb from fucking limb, right now. Is that what you want?”

My lips part as pale, azure flecks of lava float in his irises, glowing like the moon. I swallow hard. “No.”

“No?” He smirks. “For a girl who wants to live, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

“I risk my life to save the lives of those who can’t fight for themselves.” I state, matter of factly.

“All humans know how to do is fight. You’re on the wrong side, Angel.”

“The wrong side?” I spit. “Your mind is diseased. It’s warped by a demon you have no control over.”

He pushes off the bed. “You’re still alive so I’d say I have great control.”

Ugh. Touché.

I glance around the room, analyzing the deep mahogany walls that encase us. I can’t see much of the old Lucas in the décor. He’d never choose wood over black leather and glass. His old tastes were more sterile and less…regal. One of only two things here that screams “Lucas” are the beautiful countryside paintings that hang on three of the four walls. He always has been a sucker for the outdoors. Other than a medium sized bar, a huge bookshelf, and a large oak desk, there’s nothing else in the room. My eyes fall back to the bookshelf bursting at the seams. Two of two familiar items that remind me of the “old Lucas”. I wonder if he still reads.

Finally, I drag my stare back to Lucas who has moved to the right side of the bed. He watches me, his head tipped on the slightest angle. I’d find it endearing, if it weren’t for the terrifying azure specks in his eyes. His demon is present. One wrong word and I’m a goner. I clear my throat. “Why am I still alive?”

The glowing slivers in his eyes fade. “Because I want to talk.”

Talk? A sluggish chuckle rumbles through my chest. “Funny. Talking was the farthest thing from your mind the last time I was handcuffed to your bed.”

Sitting, he places his hand on my ankle and my heart stops dead in its beat. I part my lips and focus on keeping my breathing calm as he slips his hand up my calf, toward my knee. Lust explodes inside me, turning my insides into a mess of needy, desperate goo. To combat it, I bite down on my tongue, hoping the pain will stop the arousing tingles from engulfing me completely. A bout of nausea swirls through me. He’s a demon…to feel such strong urges…the Council would have me whipped.

“I remember it well.” He mutters, pausing as he slides his hands over my knee. “But I mean business this time.”

Our eyes meet and the specks in his irises have vanished completely. “Business?”

He nods. “I need you to leave.”

I frown. Do I look like I’m eager to stay? I shake my arm, making the metal handcuffs rattle against the wooden headboard. “And I’d be more than happy to oblige, but unfortunately, I’m handcuffed to your bed.”

“No. Not my bed,” Lucas shakes his head. “I need you to leave Earth.”

I snicker and then stop when I realize he’s serious. Me? Leave Earth? Fat chance of that happening. I fought tooth and nail to get this mission. I’m not the most experienced angel. I’m not the strongest or the fastest. I went to hell and back to prove to my superiors that I was more motivated than the other angels they were considering. I had to show them that I was hungrier. They knew my history with Lucas, but I had to prove to them that I was capable of killing him. I thought I was. I thought being driven by the idea of Lucas becoming something so evil was all I needed to get the job done.

But it wasn’t…

He looks the same. He smells the same.

And I am still so very much in love with Lucas.

But it’s not him…deep inside he has another face…and it’s anything but the man I met, the man I love.

“I’m sorry,” I really am. “but I’m not going anywhere. Not unless I have your heart in a box.”

A lazy smile hints at the corners of his mouth. I’m glad he thinks I’m being funny. “You manipulated me with your body and then you were going to kill me… How’d I not see that coming?”

“You should have. Do you honestly think I’m still attracted to you after all the evil that you’ve done?” It’s not a total lie…the thought of all the evil things he has done makes me sick.

Lucas lunges at me. He’s fast, much faster than me, and I wonder how I possibly managed to get the upper hand in the alley. He’s so quick I don’t get my feet up in time to kick him away. I gasp as he snatches my ankles and pulls my legs straight, tugging me down the bed. The handcuff bites into my wrists and I hiss as he holds his body above mine, pinning me down with his hips.

I breathe in his intoxicating scent, wood fire and whiskey, and pray the rise and fall of my chest doesn’t betray me. His unyielding gaze completely unnerves me…and yet I can’t tear my eyes from his.

Lucas leans in and kisses me on my collarbone. Without a word, he drags the tip of his nose up the side of my neck, inhaling as he goes. An involuntary gasp falls from my lips and heat pools in my cheeks. My skin is alive and it’s like he’s exposed me to a live wire, like he’s stripped me bare with just the tip of his nose.

“You know, you’re not as repulsed by me as you think,” he mutters, kissing the lobe of my ear.

Truth is, no, I’m not. Lucas is a triple threat. He’s strong, smart, and sexy, and let’s be honest, it’s rare to find those three things in a male. I also happen to know that he’s fiercely loyal, disciplined, and passionate. He is perfect—was perfect. Him being a demon is a big deal breaker.

“All that love talk…was it all part of your plan or do you love me?” he asks, avoiding my stare.

I suck air into my lungs and our eyes lock. Speck by speck azure crystals pop up in his dark irises. The longer I take to answer, the more his eyes darken. Their intensity sends shivers down my spine and suddenly, I’m afraid to say yes or no. Telling him I loved him wasn’t part of my plan, I had a brief moment of vulnerability and I flaked, but I’m sure as hell not going to let him know that.

“What difference does it make? I’m going to kill you, Lucas. Whether I love you or not is irrelevant.”

He clenches his jaw and his eyes burn with frustration. Leaving me, he paces the room, raking his fingers through his short hair. The more her paces, the angrier he becomes. As an idea hits him, he stops pacing and disappears in a puff of smoke. My breath hitches as smoke swirls and disintegrates only for him to reappear by his desk. With his back turned, he hammers a few buttons on a small black box that sits on his desk.

“Mr. Cross?” A woman asks, concerned.

“Send Eva up.”

“Right away, sir.”

Who’s Eva? I ask him multiple times and he ignores me, focusing only on the bottles that line the back wall of his bar. He continues to ignore me until hid door beeps and opens, letting in a beautiful old woman. Eva, I assume. She wears long elaborate robes, the color of red wine and lets her natural, silver curls grow wildly around her face.

Eva takes one look at me and snaps her head in Lucas’s direction, pinning him with a frustrated glare. “You brought the redhead here?”

“She came to me.” He states, leaving the bar. “I’m merely hiding her from my brothers.”

She cocks a thin eyebrow. “What do you need me for?”

“A favor, a big favor. Please?”

They stare at each other for a few minutes, having a silent argument. Eva sighs. “Don’t act like you’re giving me a choice. What do you want me to do?”

Lucas shrugs. “I need you to compel her to leave Earth.”

WHAT? I shoot off the bed and pull as hard as I can on the bed post, desperate to break the cuffs. The metal bites into my skin until it burns and aches, threatening to break the skin.

I don’t want to be compelled. I have absolutely no resistance against it, especially when done by a witch of her age.

“Compulsion is an exhausting thing to do, Lucas, and on an angel takes it to a whole other level of strength. I’m too old.”

I keep pulling, keep struggling, but I can’t break free.

“I know, Eva, but I wouldn’t ask this of you unless it was important.” He lowers his voice, but I can still hear. “She will ruin everything we’ve worked hard for. If, by some miracle, she manages to kill me our contract is terminated and you go back to working for War.” He clears his throat. “She is dangerous, Eva. She can send you back.”

“Is that the only reason?” Eva mutters, stepping closer to Lucas. She lowers her voice to a whisper, a whisper I can barely hear. “You couldn’t care less if this apocalypse is stopped.”

A silence falls and I stop struggling to strain my ears. “I care about her...and I want to keep her safe...” He whispers, turning his back to me. “Earth isn’t safe.”

The witch looks up at Lucas with such compassion and understanding and it sends dread barreling through my stomach. He’s appealing to her humanity, that’s all! He is manipulating her into controlling my mind.

“Oh please,” I scoff, tugging on the bedpost again. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t care about me. You don’t have the people you care about compelled. You don’t take away their free will!”

“On the contrary, my dear.” Eva says, slipping past Lucas. “I’ve been inside his head. I know how his mind works. I know why his heart still beats.”

I snap toward her and she stops in her path. “If you come near me, witch, I will hurt you.”

I pray she doesn’t see through my empty threat. Lucas turns to face me. His features are sharp, pulled into a terrifying expression that bares his teeth. I didn’t know Eva is so precious to him. I glare at him, planting my feet shoulder width apart. “Strike a nerve, did I?”

His dark eyes glow pale and his exposed skin begins to whiten. For me, it’s proof that Lucas isn’t the same man I met. He is split in two, controlled by a demon he has no power over. He growls and shoot forward in a breathtaking mix of smoke and blue fire only to be stopped by Eva raising her hand. Lucas freezes an inch from her palm, the fire fades, the smoke dissipates, and his eyes stop glowing, darkening back to almost human standards.

“Relax, Lucas.” Eva chuckles, keeping her friendly stare on me. “I’m old, but I’m not useless.”

She takes a few steps toward me and I lower my stance, bending my knees in defense. Extending her other palm in my direction, she begins to chant in Latin, her gravelling voice sending chills down my spine.

“Ah!” I shout, as a sharp pain radiates from the back of my head to the front and pounds in my temples. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I fall to my knees. My brain swells in my skull and my ears threaten to bleed. Whatever she’s doing to me hurts like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’m on the brink of imploding. I clench my jaw against a scream that forces its way up my throat. I fight it back. I fight it back with everything that I have. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. I lower my head.

“Look at me,” Eva demands, stepping closer.

Of its own accord, my neck snaps up and her molten gold eyes lock me into place. She continues to chant in Latin and no matter how hard I try I can’t take my eyes off of hers.

Amongst the sound her chanting and the blood vessels bursting in my ear, I hear Lucas at the bar pouring himself another drink. It seems as well as becoming a raging, psychopathic demon, he’s also become an alcoholic.

I wince as Eva crouches low and inches closer. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s almost like she’s digging around in my brain, searching my memories. A few of them played at the front of my mind. The day I woke up in hospital…

My first training session with Lucas…

When he told me he loved me…

The first time we had sex together, and finally, the night he was taken.

I scowl at her, but I’ve lost the ability speak. All I can do is drool. Those memories are for Lucas and I only. No one else has to see them. Eva bends down closer to me and I’m enveloped by a scent of honey and rosemary. In a split second, my mind hazes over and all my worries are sucked out of my head. Peace washes over me and I feel…calm. Calmer than I’ve been in a long time.

“You’re going to go back to your headquarters and return to the Never Dark realm. When you’re asked why you left, you’ll simply tell them that you are no match for Death. Once this is over, you won’t remember the compulsion.” Eva sways, but quickly recovers her balance. A thin line of blood rolls from her nose to her bottom lip, and as we keep eye contact, my thoughts begin to change. The burning need to kill Lucas and set things right disappears… the only thing I want is… to leave Earth. I shake my head and clarity swoops in as the pain fades.

The witch wobbles on her feet and I reach out for her, but I’m too late. The soft fabric of her robe grazes over the tips of my fingers as she falls in a crumpled heap on the ground. Lucas is at her side in a flash, checking her vital signs.

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, unsure why I even care.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He scoops the suddenly frail, old woman into his arms and lays her on his bed. I try to remember why Eva fell, but I can’t. It’s like…these past few days are hazy? I can’t even recall when Eva came into the room. I shuffle and the quiet sound of metal scraping wood pulls me from my thoughts. I’m still handcuffed to the bed.

“Can you let me go?”

Lucas studies me curiously for a few moments. He seems awfully…uncertain. I stare back at him, no longer sure why I don’t want to kill him. I promised myself that I would end his suffering, but now I’m certain I’m no match for him. The thought scares the hell out of me.

He steps closer as he reaches into his chest pocket. “You know, I like you like this.”

I frown. “Like what?”

“Not angry.” He smiles, reaching around me. “And handcuffed to my bed.”

Of course, I walked right into that one. I sigh. “Just let me go so I can get out of here.”

The thought of being around him…being in the same room…I just can’t. A sad look crosses his features. “Once I let you go… we probably won’t see each other again.”

“I know.” My voice quivers. Damn. That didn’t come out as confident as I wanted it to.

He unlocks my handcuffs in a snap and I flinch away from him once I’m free. His power prickles along my skin, intimidating me. I rub my wrist to sooth the pain, but it barely helps. I don’t think anything short of ice is going to stop the ache.

I barely have time to react as Lucas snaps forward, gripping me by the hips and pulling me in to him. Smoke engulfs me and I feel weightless. I feel…non-existent. A split second later my feet find the ground again and the scent of smoke evaporates, but still lingers at the back of my throat. In the clear, I recognize the room. My room.

“Why’d you do that?” I demand, clenching my stomach as it rolls.

Lucas releases me and I step away. His demon magic crawls all over me. I can feel it on my skin, like a million tiny spiders.

“I brought you home. I thought I was being a gentleman,” he says, grinning mischievously.

A gentleman? Oh, please. He knows exactly how angels feel about demons and their abilities. “I could have found my own way home,” I retort, crossing my room to lean against the reflective glass of my wardrobe.

“What kind of host would I be if I didn’t make sure you got home safely?”

I push ten frustrated fingers through my hair. “Whatever.”

I need to clip my hair up. I can’t have it resting against the back of my neck. It’s making these random flares of heat worse. I rush over to my vanity table and search for a clip large enough to hold my hair up and away. I don’t own a lot of hair clips, but I know I have one or two lying around here somewhere.

I lift a large blue casefile and find a big, gold-edged hair clip pinned to a file about a werewolf who has ripped apart four people in Concave City this month. Now there’s a demon more my speed. I grab the clip and pin up my hair.

I turn around and my chest slams into Lucas’s. I squeak as I bounce off of him and he catches me by the hip before I fall back into my vanity table—slash office desk.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and disgustingly, I become breathless as his scent swarms me.

He smells amazing. He’s always smelled amazing. A strange, light pang flutters in my chest and I can’t tell if it’s because of the teleporting or because of the admiring look in his eyes. He is a demon, I remind myself over and over. He’s going to end the world.

I gulp. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just trying to memorize you’re features,” he confesses and I tense as he trails a lazy finger up my forearm. I peer at it. “this is goodbye, after all.”

“Yeah…” I flick my gaze from his finger on my forearm to his face, and his uncertain expression morphs into something unruly. “I guess it is.”

He knows exactly what his touch is doing to me. I let out a slow, controlled exhale. I’m not going to do this. It’s wrong and against everything I’ve been taught. I watch in sweet, torturous agony as slides his wet tongue across his bottom lip. Oh, God. I know exactly what that feels like on my skin. Delicious desire burns at the core of my being my core. How long has it been since I’ve had sex? Without thought, without any kind of rational control, I throw myself at him and kiss him with everything I’ve got.

Lucas

* * *

I HOLD HER close as she presses her body and lips hard against mine. She strokes my tongue with hers in the most delicious fucking way, making the reaction in my pants unstoppable. This is what I want. This is where I want to be. Her heart beats hard against my chest and I listen to it. I hear her excitement as it dances with her fear in a messy, but infinitely beautiful beat. I wish I could record it. I wish I could listen to it whenever I doubt myself because it’s filling me with all of the confidence in the world. Violet wants this as much as I do. For years, I’ve imagined this moment, the moment when Violet Ashton allows herself to want me again.

I slide my left hand up the back of her tight, white dress and into her soft hair. Even though she just clipped her hair up, I pull it out and let her hair fall down her back and around her slim shoulders. If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it the way I’ve been imagining it.

Wild.

The clip hits the ground with a small thud and Violet kicks off her tall, white stilettos.

“We shouldn’t…” She gasps, breaking away from my mouth for a greedy gulp of air.

“We should.” I kiss her, desperately, and guide her backwards, grabbing her body by the handfuls.

I push her toward her mirrored wardrobe as we voraciously devour each other with as much intensity as our fight in the alley outside Sequin. I wanted her then too. I would have taken her in the alley if she allowed it.

Breaking the kiss, I flip her and shove her forward. Gasping, Violet catches herself against her mirror and presses her torso against the cool glass.

“Unzip me,” She orders, pulling her hair to the side.

With every pant, her hot breath fogs the glass and it drives me crazy! I clench my teeth against the urge to rip her dress clean off. Instead, I kiss the back of her neck and pinch the puny, white zipper between my thumb and index finger. I watch in the mirror as her dress slides down her arms and exposes more and more of her flesh the lower the zipper is pushed. Eventually, the pathetic white fabric pools around her feet and I take a step back to admire her beautiful body. She is every bit as perfect as I remember. Perfect, fair skin…soft, subtle curves, and an ass that could probably save the world.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ. You’re so damn sexy, V.” When was the last time I’d even seen a woman so perfect? It’s no wonder I haven’t been able to satisfy my hunger. No one measures up. Devouring a million women could never be as satisfying as a single, small taste of this one.

My one.

Violet turns around to face me and I’m grateful that I can see well in the dark. My gaze falls to her impressive bust and my mouth waters at the sight of her delectable nipples covered by thin white lace. Violet flicks her hair so it drapes all around her, the way I like it, and stalks toward me. Her stare doesn’t leave mine as she reaches out and presses her palms against my chest.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, gliding her hands up my chest,  clasping my top button.

“How much?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but you were the last person I was with,” she swallows hard, popping a button. “intimately.”

Guilt slices my chest. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She releases the last button and my shirt falls open. Her heavy lidded stare falls to my bare stomach. “I didn’t want anyone else.” Our eyes lock. “Still don’t.”

I grit my teeth behind my lips. This whole time...

Violet presses her warm hands against my stomach and I quiver at her presence as it travels over the surface of my skin.

“We could be great together,” I groan, closing my eyes as she touches every inch of my torso.

“You can’t fool me, Luke,” she kisses my throat. “We’d be a disaster and you fucking know it.”

Growling, I grab her and lift her off the ground. She moans in delight as I boost her high and throw her onto her bed. Violet lands with a squeal and a bounce and I dive on top of her, not giving her a damn second to recover. We wrestle for a moment, an aggressive struggle for the top position.

I win, naturally.

I pin Violet underneath me and kiss her hungrily. I devour her mouth like it’s my first sip of cool water after spending a week in the dessert. I’ve imagined this for so long. I never thought I’d have her again. Not in this lifetime.

I slide my hand down her flat, smooth navel, loving how her body heaves in response to my touch. She flexes her hips up in a rhythm, hinting for me to bring my fingers lower.

“You want me between your legs?” I ask, planting soft kisses up her neck.

Nodding, she blows out a heavy exhale. I’ve never seen Violet so desperate—wait. That’s a lie. She’s always been desperate for me to pound her into next week. This time is different. I can sense her detachment. To her this is one last tango.

“When this war is won, I’m going to take you back to the Underworld, V. I’m going to chain you to my throne and make you my queen.”

I slide my hands south of her hips and toy with the hem of her underwear. Violet moans and it exposes every nerve in my body. “Not going to happen, Cross.”

“It’ll happen,” I tell her, kissing her bottom lip. “I’m not giving you a choice.”

She chuckles, lazily, as I trail kisses from her lips, down her neck and across her chest. I use my teeth to free her nipple from the confines of her bra and it pops out in all its hard glory. Fuck. I love her nipples. They’re big and so damn edible. I barely have time to suck it to the back of my throat before Violet forces her fingers through my hair and urges me back up to her mouth, pulling me off her breast with a pop. “Skip the foreplay, Lucas. Your mouth isn’t what I want.”

“No?”

She shakes her head and I kiss her. Hard. Our lips melt together like ice on a hot slab of concrete. The only thing running through my mind is her. God know when I’ll see her again—if I’ll see her again. I slip my hand underneath the fabric of her panties and she spreads her thighs, opening herself up for me. I slide into her wetness, parting her beautifully with my fingers. I groan, breaking our kiss to stop my head from spinning.

“Ohhh…” She rushes out on an exhale, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’ve missed you.”

She reaches for my belt and fumbles with the buckle. Thank God pregnancy isn’t a possibility because I’m diving in bare and I’m going to fill her with enough cum to impregnate an entire suburb. I move between her thighs as she lowers my zipper, grips the hem of my pants and pushes my slacks over the curve of my ass. A gentle flick of my hips is all it takes for my cock to spring free. I pull her panties to the side, hook her leg over my hip, move my hand and fill her completely.

She moans, arching her back as I impale her on my warm cock. Her soft, velvety pussy grips my thick shaft and I can barely move.

“As tight as I remember.” I grunt, pulling out and leaving only the tip inside. “Damn.”

Violet wraps her legs around my hips and locks her ankles together. Grabbing me by the collar of my shirt, she tugs me closer. “Show me how much you missed me.”

I sink into her until I can’t possibly get any deeper. Buzz. Buzz. We freeze.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl, against her swollen lips.

“Ignore it.” She kisses me, eager to pull my thoughts from my phone that buzzes in my crumpled pocket. Buzz. Buzz.

I try to ignore it, but nothing is a bigger buzzkill than a vibrating phone in your pocket while you’re trying to fuck, and for me, it usually means business.

“Give me a second,” I say as I pull out and roll off of her.

I pluck my phone from my pocket and Dex’s name flashes on the screen. He’s my head of security, so I have to answer. “This better be important.”

“Angels are attacking!”

Beside me, Violet sits up, her eyes narrowed and accusing. Why is she mad at me? Her people are attacking my club. If anyone has a reason to pout it’s me. I exhale. I guess it’s safe to say that this is over. I run a hand through my damp hair.

“Keep one alive and kill the rest. I’ll be there soon.”

I slide my phone back into my pocket and my dick back into my pants all while ignoring the shade Violet is throwing in my direction. Undoubtedly, she heard the conversation, so there’s no need for me to inform her. I glance at her and she pulls her knees to her chest, hiding her body from me. Such a shame…

“What are you going to do?” She asks, her voice riddled with guilt.

I look away as I leave the bed. I can’t look at her, not when I know what I say next is going to break her heart. “What I have to.”

I manage to do up my second button before she snags my forearm. “You can’t kill them,” she pleads. “they’re there as backup for me. They don’t know I’m not there.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Lucas, please, they’re just doing their job.”

I snatch my arm from her grip and her breath hitches in her throat. “We’re enemies, V. I’m just doing my job.”

“Enemies…”

“You’re right… We are enemies.” She swallows hard as deep frown lines carve their way through her doll-like features. “Somehow, I’ve forgotten that.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” I bite out, clenching my jaw in regret as soon as it shoots out.

Gritting her teeth, Violet reaches for her blanket and pulls it up her legs, shielding her beautiful body from me.

I finish buttoning my shirt, zipping my pants, and getting my shit together all under her angry stare. When I’m done, I pause in awkward silence. What now? I’m supposed to go back to the club and forget any of this happened? Damn. This is it. This is the last moment I’m going to spend with Violet. I guess I should make it count.

“Look, I’m…I should…I didn’t…” I flick my tongue over my lower lip as I scramble to find the right words.

Violet wears a brave face now, angling her eyebrows in a way that makes her look pissed off as she squeezes her plump lips into an angry pout.

“If I could go back and redo our history, I’d do everything in my power to be more professional while training you. I’d try harder not to fall for you.” Her glare softens. “I was always uncertain about my future and despite that, I still dragged you into my life. It was never my intention to… involving you in this was…” I clear my throat. “You don’t deserve this, V.”

Violet’s fierce blue eyes and compact room disappear and not a second later, I’m encompassed by the familiar surroundings of my own chambers. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. Something feels…different. It seems the one place I’ve sought solace suddenly feels, I don’t know, empty?

I peer over my shoulder at my vacant bed. Eva must have recovered and left. I bet she’s pissed at me.

I adjust the cuff of my shirt and teleport to my club downstairs. This better be quick. I’m in no mood to deal with this shit tonight. I cringe as music blares, but there are patrons here to enjoy it. I step forward, once, and peer down my nose at the three angels kneeling in shattered glass and spilled alcohol. They look the same, their faces bloodied and swollen.

“Only three of them?” I ask, glancing at Dex who waits behind them, looking smug. I ignore the five other members of my security team standing behind him.

Nodding, he swipes at his forehead and places his hands on his narrow hips. I watch his face as his pride is sucked out his ass. He nods and I lift my hand, signaling for the music to be cut off. It only takes a few seconds for the room to be swallowed by silence, the only sounds are the ones of a busy city in the distance. I peer around the room, expecting to see the bodies of a handful of angels, but there aren’t any.

“We were breached by how many angels?”

“Three—four including the redhead you took to your room.”

Rage builds in my stomach like fizz behind a cork. I was interrupted and pulled away from Violet for three fucking angels? Three?!

“You called me to deal with—” I clench my teeth and pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. “Three?”

“Yes, sir. I thought—”

“Tell me,” I interrupt. “How many angels have you taken down at once?”

“Seven, sir.”

“Seven? Impressive.” Glass crunches under my feet as I step forward. “Just to clarify, how many angels kneel before you?”

“Three, sir.”

“Three.” I run my hands over my face. This isn’t happening. Dex is usually the most competent demon I have. Believe it or not, it’s quite hard to find a demon that knows how to follow orders or has some semblance of common sense. “Do you know what that means?” Dex shakes his head. “Do the fucking math!”

“It means I should have killed them myself,”

“Yes, you should have.” I glance down at the angels who have their hands tied behind their backs. Not one of them make eye contact with me—which is pretty fucking rude considering they’re in my house. “I should slaughter you where you stand.”

Reaching down, I check the stars they have pinned to the chest pocket of their uniforms.

Two.

Two.

One.

I laugh. The headquarters sent three inexperienced angels to a building filled with demons, and for what? For me? I crouch in front of the first angel. His blond hair is dishelved, his uniform ripped, and judging by the gash in his chest, he’s lucky to be alive. The kid is young, eighteen, maybe. I almost feel bad. Almost.

“Humor me,” I chuckle, hooking my finger underneath his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Why’d they send you?”

He flicks his green stare from the ground and puckers his lips. With a jolt, he spits and I close my eyes as his warm saliva and sticky blood hits my face. Fucking animal. I wipe my face on my sleeve. Tonight is not a good night to play with me. Growling, I grab the angel by the collar of his uniform and yank him to his feet. He’s defenseless as I spin him around and press his back against my chest. I pull on his oily, blond hair and yank his head back, exposing his throat. “Make them watch!” I snap, squeezing the kid’s hair in my fist.

Handing me a blade, Dex and Ryan, another member of my security team, forces the angels’ to look in my direction. Without hesitation, I run the knife across the angel’s neck. Gargling, his blood pours out and soaks into my clothing as he twitches in my grasp. Freeing the blade, I let him go and he falls into a crumpled heap at my feet. I wipe the blade against my chest and kick him away. “Next.”

Dex yanks the second angel to his feet and shoves him forward. Catching him, I press his back against my torso and position the blade against his throat. To be honest, it doesn’t matter if any of these intruders talk. Either way, my night is going to end the same.

Drunk and alone.

“You,” I say, flicking my head to the third angel. “Why are you here?”

His long, red hair sticks to the blood on his face and his green eyes glistens with fear. He doesn’t say anything, so I try a different approach. “If you tell me the purpose of destroying my club and scaring away my customers, I’ll let you live.”

He swallows. “We’re here for Violet. We’re backup.”

My lips pull up at the corners. “You’re backup?”

I chuckle. I wish I could be there when she finds out they sent the weakest angels to her defense. It’s a good thing she wasn’t in any real trouble ‘cause she’d be dead. “Well, isn’t that a waste of not-so-good talent. Violet isn’t here. She’s at home snug in her bed.”

“And why should we believe you?” The man in my grip demands, struggling against me.

Grinning, I lower my head mouth to his ear. “Because I tucked her in.”

My men laugh and, strangely, I want to kill them for it. I cut the angel’s throat and let him go. He crashes to the floor and I step over the two dead bodies at my feet before crouching in front of the redhead. He flinches away from me, fear leaking from his brown eyes. He’s only a one star angel—and a poorly trained one at that. Whoever trained him is an idiot. He shouldn’t be on Earth. He should be fetching coffee and chasing down signatures on the Never Dark realm.

“You’re free to go.” Red slumps into himself and I snatch his jaw in my hand, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “Tell your boss if he sends angels to my club again, I’ll burn HQ to the ground. Understand?”

He nods.

I let him go. “Get out of my face.”

Dex bends low and cuts the angel’s ties. Without hesitation, dives out of a shattered window and he flees from the club. I stand up. “This place is a God damn mess. Clean it. I want it ready tomorrow night.”

I teleport back to my room before they answer me. I don’t want to look at them. I kick my shoes off and cross the room, sparing a glance toward my bar. My stomach churns. Something must be wrong with me. I don’t even want a drink.

Exhaling, I rip my short open, scattering buttons around the room. My clothes smell like her…I smell like her. I need to wash it off before I drive myself crazy.

I shower for an hour at least. At first, I decide not to wash her from my body. Then I decide I probably should. I’m clearheaded when I get out of the shower…or at least I am until I re-enter my bedroom and catch wind of her scent in the air. She’s everywhere. On my bed. In my pillows. I used to think sleeping surrounded by brimstone and sulfur was bad, but that’s nothing compared to her sweet smell.

Refusing to sleep on my bed, I make myself comfortable in my desk chair, me feet propped on my desk. When I close my eyes, all I see is Violet…

Her red hair…

Her slim waist and wide hips…

I miss her already.

Chapter 10

Parting

*
Violet

The next morning

“I STILL CAN’T believe it,” Cole mutters, sipping at his hot morning coffee.

Speaking of which, I can really go for a coffee right about now, too. Dragging myself to headquarters at six a.m. was torture and do you think Cole offered me a coffee when I showed up with my uniform not adequately zipped and my hair barely brushed? No. He didn’t. Admittedly, I’m normally a morning person, but last night… Last night I didn’t get much sleep which isn’t surprising after the encounter Lucas and I had. Not only did I miss him terribly, but the guilt of sending fellow angels to their inevitable death bothered me. I should’ve never taken Cole up on his back-up deal, but in my defense he sent three barely trained angels to an over packed hive. That fuck up is on him.

All I can do is pray he doesn’t ask me to recap what happened…to be honest, it’s a bit of a blur. I showed up, we rode the elevator, I entered his room and then he took me home. It doesn’t make much sense, but that’s all I’ve got. Not to mention that I had all the means necessary to kill Lucas… and I didn’t. Instead, I tried to fuck him. If my superiors find out I tried to bed a demon, they’ll banish me from the Never Dark realm.

A fallen angel.

“I sent three angels down there. Two of them are dead,” he groans, slamming his hands down on the desk. Coffee spills over the rim of his red mug and drips down the side. “The third one came back so shaken up we’ve had to send him back to the realm for therapy.”

“The other two, are you sure they’re dead?” I ask, carefully.

He pins me with a dark glare. “I found two God damn heads mounted on stakes right outside our fucking door. Of course I’m sure!”

The door clicks shut behind me and I don’t bother to turn and see who it is. The answer is in the ghastly, overly sweet smell that bombards my senses, making my eyes water. What’d she do, swim in a pool of her perfume?

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Janet whispers as she saddles up beside me. I glance at her and her new bright red hair-do. Smiling at me, she pulls it around her shoulders and fluffs it behind her ear. I’m not going to lie, it irks me. I clear my throat, desperate to get the bitter taste off the back of my tongue.

“Can you tell me the logic behind your decision to send three angels to Death’s nightclub?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Logic? There was no logic.” Cole narrows his eyes at me. “I was distracted when I signed their names off. I didn’t think to check their rank.”

“And now they’re dead.”

“I’ve owned up to my mistake, Ashton.” He grumbles, leaning his elbows on his desk. “It’s time for you to own up to yours.”

I feign shock. “Mine?”

“Death is still alive and that means you fucked up somewhere.”

Damn. “It’s in the report I gave you,” I tell him, not wanting to disclose what I wrote in front of Janet or waste any more time.

I can’t explain it, but I’m filled with anxiety this morning. It’s wreaking havoc on my body, on my mind. I don’t want to be on Earth—not for a second longer than I have to be.

“Well, I’m not in a reading mood today,” Cole lifts my folder off of his desk and tucks it under his arm. “So, what happened?”

“Uh…well…” I gulp and my hands start to sweat as my throat dries. I swipe at my forehead, trying hard not to focus on Cole or Janet as they wait in anticipation. “Luc—Death—was one step ahead of me.” I clear my throat. “He always has been and always will be. I need to spend time tackling issues I can handle, not chasing after ex-lovers in hopes of freeing them from their demonic chains. Besides, they have angels more capable than me, maybe they’ll stand a better chance at taking him down.”

“But it’s so romantic,” Janet coos, twirling her red hair around her index finger. “Angel versus demon, lover against lover—and the guy is a total babe—for a demon, that is.” I frown at her and she touches a hand to her chest. “Sorry…I pulled his file yesterday for Mr. Nark. I might’ve had a tiny peek at its contents.”

Huh. I watch her with a blank expression on my face. What exactly goes through that chemically abused skull of hers? When did it become acceptable to look through files you don’t have the clearance for? And why, WHY, is she wearing sunflower-yellow lipstick and gold shimmering eye shadow? When is something so drastic acceptable in any workplace? Oh, God. I’ve turned sour. I sound just like Lucas did when we first started working together.

“You can’t do that.” I tell her, angling my body in her direction. “You can’t go through—”

“It’s fine. She was with me,” Cole brushes off my frustration, but he doesn’t understand the principle of the problem. “What’s the next step?”

“There is no next step for me. I want to leave Earth—effective immediately—and go back to the Never Dark for a new assignment. “I don’t think I can do what needs to be done. I have to clear my head and the only way I can do that is in a Death free environment.”

“And you need me to sign a clearance waiver in order for you to leave?” Cole asks, sitting back in his chair as he swipes his index finger along his lower lip.

“Yes.” He raises an eyebrow at me. Ugh. “Sir.”

Smirking, he brushes his palms down the front of his black shirt and shifts in his chair, placing the folder on the table. “What will you do for me?”

I cringe. It’s not usually a sentence that turns my stomach, but it’s Cole Nark we’re talking about, that sentence can mean anything.

“I may not be human, but sexual harassment laws still apply in this workplace,”

Rolling his eyes, he scoffs at me. “Relax, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then for the sake of keeping my breakfast down, please elaborate.”

Cole scowl at me, his eyes almost disappearing under the fat around his eyes. “Will you put in a good word for me? When you get there?”

An incredulous smile spreads across my face. “You want to be an angel?” Try as I might, I can’t stop the giggle that falls from my lips.

Subtly, he sucks his stomach in. “What’s so funny?”

Reaching up, I tighten my loose ponytail and purse my lips against an outburst of laughter that threatens to come out. “Nothing.” I don’t sound convincing. “I just had no idea you wanted to fight demons.”

I try to imagine him and his plump physique doing half the shit that we do and I almost fall to the floor in a fit of laughter. Picturing him in a tight catsuit is the only thing gross enough to stop me from doing so.

“Nobody else seems to be bloody doing anything,” he booms, sucking the humor from my body. “I figured if I become an angel, I could actually get something done.”

“If only it was a simple as that,” I tell him. He manages this place so surely he knows of our protocols. They’re extensive. Most main missions are intricately thought out and planned by a council and those who are second in charge.

“Isn’t it?” Janet butts in.

“Absolutely not.” I keep my attention on Cole. All I need is his permission to leave and I’m good to go. “With all due respect, sir, being an angel isn’t as simple as dying, becoming an angel, and then kicking ass. There is a long process you need to go through and months—sometimes years—of training before you even get the chance to set foot on Earth.”

“I know the process,”

He slaps his hands against his desk, startling Janet. Grumbling to himself, he pushes his chair out from under his desk and vacates it. Janet and I watch in silence as he approaches his filing cabinet and yanks the first drawer open.

“What’s up with him?” I whisper to her while Cole closes the top drawer and tries desperately to open the second.

“His brother was killed last night, a werewolf by the looks of it.”

I frown. “A werewolf?”

“Yes Ashton, a fucking werewolf,” He gets the second drawer open. “While you’re prancing around in a nightclub, chasing after demonic ex-boyfriends, people are getting slaughtered by the demons you’ve neglected to kill.”

I bite my tongue, determined to come off as the bigger person. “I’m sorry to hear—”

He raises his hand, flashing his palm at me. “Spare me the pity party.” He turns back to his cabinet and, with a rough tug, manages to pull open his filing cabinet. He retrieves a sheet of paper and, from where I’m standing, I can’t see what it’s for. Leaning over his desk, Cole plucks a long, black pen from a cup that reads ‘I hate Mondays… and Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Thursdays.’

I try to contain my relief as he scribbles his signature three times over different designated sections on the page.

“Here’s your clearance.” He slides the paper toward me, along the smooth wood of the desk. “Give me your gun and get the hell out of my office.”

With a quick nod, I take my gun from the holster at the back of my catsuit and place it on his desk. Without hesitation, I grab the sheet of paper and flee from his office as quickly as I can.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving and I’m stuck here. Fml, right?”

I glance over my shoulder at Janet who followed me from his office. “Fml?”

“Fuck my life…you’ve never heard it?”

Oh, thank God I am getting out of here. I should have known it was an abbreviation for something ridiculous. “Right. Anyway, I need to see Tom as soon as possible. When is the next available slot?”

I march toward the reception desk and Janet straightens her black pencil skirt before she slips into the chair behind the desk. I clench my clearance slip against my chest. I got the slip quicker than I expected and my next step is to book an appointment with Tom for teleportation. Tom is Earth’s resident Veltra angel, the only one we have at this headquarters. Veltra angels are the only ones who can teleport between the realms (which is super annoying) and with the amount of angels that arrive and leave every day, Tom is usually quite busy. I don’t mind waiting. After last night’s nausea inducing demonic teleportation I’m looking forward to doing it the “normal” way.

Janet taps her slender, manicured fingers against the keys on her keyboard and I wait (semi-patiently). Glancing around the room, I notice that they’ve put a new painting on the wall. If I recall the art classes I took in high school correctly, the piece is titled The Last Judgement by Michelangelo. It’s a replica, of course—the original is painted on the altar wall inside the Sistine Chapel. Still, it’s kind of creepy having a miniature version of it hanging in here.

“Tom is scheduled to teleport someone here within the next hour and you won’t have much time to catch him once he arrives. He’s set to return immediately to bring another.”

“Pencil me in. I’ll wait for him in the teleportation chamber.”

I turn on my heel and leave as she glances down at her white keyboard to type my name in. I don’t want to risk an awkward goodbye. Janet strikes me as the kind of person that says goodbye with hugs—probably kisses, too.

I tuck the permission paper under my arm and squeeze it tightly to my side. I’d hate to lose it. I head past Cole’s office and down the long, corridor toward the teleportation room. The HQ isn’t overly large, but it sure is intricate. There are so many doors I have to go through and security guards I have to show my form to before I even make it to the reception of the teleportation chambers, but when I do, tension leaves my shoulders.

Almost there.

“Name?” Gladys the receptionist asks, peering over the small gold glasses that perch on the bridge of her nose.

My nose twitches and I fight hard not to turn my nose up at the foul stench of her perfume. Perfume is a guess, of course. It’s the only logical explanation for the strange smell. I mean, there aren’t any cats here, so the chances of it being cat urine are slim to none. I swallow hard, taking a bitter taste down with it.

“Ashton, Violet.”

“Form?” Her thin purple lips match the short plum-colored curls that coil around her ears. On closer inspection, she’s very color coordinated… in every way. The small purple diamonds that hang on a short gold chain from her ear lobes glisten in the bright white light. As she glances downwards at her computer screen, I see a faint amount of purple eye shadow, barely noticeable behind her thick black eyelashes.

I hand her my form and with two loud thuds, she stamps it and hands it back to me.

“Tom should be here within the hour. Take a seat.” She hugs her mauve cardigan around her chest, making me conscious of the cold air in the room. For some reason, the air-conditioning is blasting, chilling me right to the bone. I sit down on one of the plastic chairs across from the reception desk and place my stamped form on the empty seat beside me. The room is grim, bare, and white from wall to wall. Oh, so quickly Gladys’s choice to wear so much color is something to be revered. The various shades of purple are the only semblance of color—of happiness—against the brutal onslaught of white.

Quite rapidly, I become bored. There are no books, no magazines, not even the white noise of a radio to keep me entertained while I wait for Tom.

I glance at Gladys. Maybe seeing her wings will be sufficient entertainment. I watch her for a few minutes, trying to remember how to see her ‘inner angel.’ If I recall correctly, all I have to do is focus. Jesus. When was the last time I was able to focus? I have no idea.

Surprisingly, after a few minutes of relentless staring and abusive inner dialogue, two big masses of energy emerge behind Gladys. Wow. I forgot how impressive seeing wings really are. Before my death, I imagined angels with big, bird like wings, but it’s not like that all. I mean, they’re wings that I can see with my own eyes, but they’re constantly moving…swirling and gyrating, moving the mass around in a beautiful dance. Miniscule green lines of aura zip through the mass, lining them like the veins in a body, making her area of expertise organization. All of our assistants, warehouse workers, and receptionists have the green veins. You’ll find that what you become in our society is determined by the color of the aura in your wings. These colors are grown and determined before you awaken in the Never Dark realm. Mine are red, making me a field angel. Blue is intellect—a color commonly found in the wings of our scientists, weapons development crew, and small time tinkerers. Purple is the rarest color. Only Veltra angels have the purple veins and out of the twenty thousand angels in our society, we only have one hundred travel angels.

Sighing, I let Gladys's impressive wings dissolve into nothing and I shift in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Naturally, there is plenty of room to move about, but nowhere to get comfortable which makes the wait ahead of me suddenly seems too long. Heaviness tugs on my eyelids and I struggle to keep them open. For what feels one hours I play the of war with my tiredness until I can't hold it back any longer. At some point, I give in and I take a nap on the chair.

* * *

I QUIVER AS he grazes his warm lips across my ribs and over my nipple. Catching it between his teeth, he tugs softly at my sensitive flesh before making his ascent to my ear lobe. He roams his hands over my body, exploring the rises and dips of my curves and I quiver, running my fingers through his short hair.

“Kiss me,” I whisper.

Pulling back, he smiles down at me. “Where?”

“On the mouth first,”

Lucas touches his lips to mine and a soft moan rumbles at the base of my throat. I keep my eyes open, for some reason, and even in the dim light I can make out the sun-kissed color of his skin and the incandescent pigments in his dark hair. Ending the kiss, he runs a soft, warm index finger down my cheek and traces my bottom lip. “And second?”

Electricity crackles between us, but I am so not finished kissing him. I grab a fistful of his hair and pull him back, crushing his mouth to mine. The feel of his lips, the wetness of his tongue, breathes life into me and lights my body up like a Christmas tree.

Lucas trails his kiss away from my mouth makes way down my throat. Swallowing hard, I close my eyes as a tsunami of tingles floods my entire body. They course through every single one of my veins and expose every nerve ending in my body. The feeling grows stronger as he moves over my breast and draws closer to my panty line.

“Lucas...” I open my eyes only to close them again and I fight against the urge to thrash against the sweet agony of his lips. He traces the tip of his index finger along the edge of my lacy underwear and plants soft kisses along the inside of my thighs. His eyes lock onto mine as he moves into a kneeling position and reaches for the hem of my underwear.

Catching my bottom lip between my teeth, I lift my hips slightly, allowing him to pull my panties off with ease. Smirking, he drops his gaze from mine down to my warm center. My heart pounds in my chest, harder than ever before.

“So beautiful,” Lucas murmurs, his fingertips grazing the skin of my thighs ever so gently...

“Violet?”

My eyes snap open and I straighten my posture.

“Ah,” I hiss, clenching the kink in my neck and swiping drool from the corner of my mouth.  I swear I only shut my eyes for a second. I blink rapidly and, slowly, the sharp lines of the world return.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

I meet Tom’s smiling azure eyes and a hot flush rolls through me. How embarrassing.

“No, no.” I groan, running my hands over my face. “I’m the one that should be apologizing.”

Tom smiles warmly at me, exposing his perfect white teeth as he tips his head on a charming angle. “Late night?”

Oh, he has no idea. “You could say that.” I push myself to my feet and smooth my palms down my suit.

“It’s nice to see you relaxed for a change.”

“Relaxed?” I chuckle. “Try exhausted.”

I glance at Gladys, who types away on her computer, acting like Tom and I don’t exist.

“Come on, we should go,” Tom says, hugging his charcoal suit jacket tighter around him as he peers around the room. “Do you have any belongings?”

I do, but I leave them in a locker at HQ. “Just me.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

He turns and I follow closely behind him as he leads me down a white corridor. Like always, I he escorts me through a boring maze of white walls before we finally reach room we’re going to use. From the back pocket of his dark slacks he pulls out a key card and swipes it through the tiny slit provided.

“You feeling all right, Violet?” Tom asks, stepping to the side so I can enter the room first.

“Me?” I feign confusion. No I’m not all right. There’s something sitting in the pit of my stomach, making me uneasy, and I can’t figure out what it is. “I’m fine, thank you,”

I step into the room and ignore him. I don’t know why the teleportation chambers are so out of the way. It’s merely an empty room. There’s no furniture, no windows.

Nothing.

“Remind me, do you get nauseous when teleporting?” he asks, producing a small, clear container of bright green pills from his chest pocket. How many times do I have to answer this question?

I shake my head. On my first trip to Earth, I’d had to take at least three pills to ease my stomach. It was horrible, but seeing Lucas teleport with little to no discomfort forced me to suck it up. It’s easy once you get used to it.

Shrugging, Tom pops two of the pills and tosses them into his mouth one by one.

“You get nauseous?” I ask curiously. It’s hard to believe teleporting makes a Veltra angel nauseous. It’s their only skill.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I just like the taste.”

A straight lock of black hair falls into his face and he quickly slicks it back before extending his hand to me.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, stepping forward.

The moment I slip my hand in his, the hard floor drops out from underneath me and weightlessness takes over.  Weightlessness is the first phase of teleporting. My body vibrates, signaling phase two. I’m pulled in different directions, each of my limbs twisted and tugged until I explode into tiny particles—another strange sensation. I can’t see my physical self, but my consciousness is still aware of my body. I can’t explain it. The feeling alone is the weirdest, most exhilarating feeling in the world. It’s like I’m everything, but at the same time, I’m nothing. Visually, teleporting is amazing. To be honest, nothing make sense. Colors smash into each other, creating even more shades. It’s like I’m inside a kaleidoscope while someone twists it and the patterns begin to merge and change. It really was a blissful state. All worries are sucked out and you’re awed by the sheer extravagance of it all. It takes a few minutes before the tingling subsides and you feel like you’ve been ‘put back together’ again. Eventually,  the weightlessness disappears and gravity takes hold, sending a dull ache shooting up my spine as it supports all my weight once again. I’m only one hundred and thirty-two pounds, so feeling the stress on my spine is unnerving. Slowly, the colors fade and reality sets in. I glance around the room and it’s...white.

Always white.

I pull my ponytail so it drapes over my shoulder and I can see it in the corner of my eye. It doesn’t do much to keep the unyielding white from suffocating me, but it makes it easier on the eyes.

Tom clears his throat, drawing my attention and places his hand over his mouth, making crackling noises. “Good morning, passengers, this is your pilot speaking. We have successfully arrived at the destination. We hope you enjoyed your flight and thank you for choosing Thomas airlines.” He lowers his hands and smiles, his eyes flaring delightedly.

I can’t help it. My lips pull up at the corners. “Really? You’re that guy now?”

He shrugs. “I like to see you smile,”

I tip my head to the side. Is he...flirting? Jesus. It has been so long I can’t tell anymore.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Since when?”

He crosses the room, sauntering lightly on his long legs, and his smile stretches into a grin. “Since always.” He opens the door. “After you.”

Dipping my head, I zip across the floor and out the door. The last thing I should be doing, the last thing I want to be doing, is encouraging a romantic relationship I have no interest in pursuing – not that Tom isn’t worthy, he is...it’s just...well, not Lucas.

As we exit the room, I think about my return and what it really means. I’m no longer on Earth and the thought alone brings immense comfort, but it’s not enough to shake the nerves that have been building up in my stomach since last night. How many angels will think I punked out and ran home with my tail between my legs? How many angels will think I couldn’t bring myself to kill Lucas because I’m still in love with him? I hate that I’m bothered by what everyone else may or may not be thinking. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’m just going to count my lucky stars. If I’d been caught almost bedding a demon, I’d be absolutely, one hundred percent screwed.

Dead.

Thankfully, killing Lucas is no longer my problem, but I still have to deal with the Council. They’ll want to know why the Four Horsemen are on Earth and why I didn’t kill Lucas when I convinced the Obss Angels I could. On Earth, Cole Nark is the biggest pain in my ass, but here...he is nothing compared to the mega-assholes that run the show. Cole has no real authority over me. He tries to assert his dominance from time to time, but I can set him straight whenever he pushes it. I can’t do that here. If you so much as talk out of turn to any of my superiors, they’ll kick your ass without hesitation and you’ll sit in “the hole” for a week. I’ve experienced it, both having my ass kicked by a superior and sitting in the hold, and it’s no fun at all. Unfortunately, being an angel comes with a long list of rules and obligations. You can’t become an angel and expect to run your own show. Every demon I kill and every decision I make should have someone’s approval. It isn’t unheard of for the Council to kill an angel if they continue to break the rules.

Tom and I step into the waiting area before the open lobby of Never Dark HQ. I all but groan as we’re met with white furniture and white walls once again. Kill me now.

“Tom!” We stop as a male angel calls his name.

Tom pauses for a moment before clicking his tongue in realization. He strides forward as the muscular angel rises to his feet and strides over to us, wearing his uniform with pride.

“Jared, hi,” Tom greets, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

I eye the reception desk as they shake hands. The last thing I want to do is stand around and make new friends. To be honest, I just want to go to bed, catch up on my sleep, and deal with whatever I need to deal with tomorrow.

“Violet Ashton, right?” Jared asks, extending his hand to me. “I’m Jared Rees. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jared Rees? The name clicks in my head. Of course. If I recall correctly, Lucas was instructed by the council to bring Jared back exactly one year after I was initiated. Lucas was there through his transition and spoke highly of him on occasion.

I place my hand in his and he clasps his fingers around mine. His hands are warm and big, but his grip is soft. Lucas once told me that you can tell a lot about a person from the initial hand shake. Judging solely by this handshake, I’d say Jared doesn’t take anything seriously. He seems big and scary with his broad shoulders, tan skin, and short buzz cut, but there’s a softness to his face. Maybe it’s the laugh lines around his eyes.

I take my hand back and place it on my hip. “Good or bad?”

Tom snickers. “Can I put money down on an answer?”

Playfully, I nudge him with my elbow. I’m not as bad as I used to be. I’ve really turned a new leaf since I lost Lucas. I’ve got my head screwed on straight, I follow orders, and I haven’t been summoned to the Council room in a long, long time. Didn’t he get the memo? I’m on the straight and narrow now.

“Good,” Jared’s smile falters, but he catches it before the corners of his mouth completely turn down. “mostly,”

“Mostly?” Hmph. Figures.

“The Council is hitting panic mode. We don’t have much time left to stop…you know.”

Death.

War.

Famine.

Conquest.

The impending apocalypse I was supposed to stop.

I nod and glance at his hands. The mission slip he slip he holds in his grasp piques my interest. “What’s your mission?” I ask, an attempt to change the conversation.

“Trackers on the outskirts of Concave City. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Nothing anyone can’t handle. I don’t know why they have angels out killing insignificant demons while demons like the Horsemen are getting closer to ending world.

“How is he?” Jared asks. “Were you able to—”

“Reason with him?” I look away. “No.” But then again, I guess I never could.

I wave Tom and Jared off, dismissing them abruptly. Without a glance over my shoulder I march toward the reception desk, my head slightly tilted and my gaze averted so no one can easily recognize me.

The young man behind the desk locks his bright amber eyes with mine. He knows who I am. I can see it in his wide eyes, in the downturned quirk of his smooth russet lips.

“Name?” he asks before I’ve even reached the desk. Like he doesn’t already know.

“Violet Ashton.” I rest my elbows on the bench as he types diligently away at the keyboard.

“Form?”

“Oh,” my stomach drops. I must have left my form on the seat next to me back at Earth HQ. I whirl on my heel. Maybe Tom can rush and get—damn. He’s gone.

Sucking air between my clenched teeth, I turn around. “I don’t have it.”

The receptionist’s gorgeous amber eyes become hidden under his frown. “You don’t have it?” I shake my head and he runs his hand across his forehead. I wonder how many times this has happened to him today. Do other angels forget their paperwork or is it just me?

“This isn’t what you’d expect of a rank four angel,” he says, exhaling.

“I know,”

“And I hear this isn’t the first time either.”

“I’m sorry,”

What does he want me to say? I can go into a big speech about last night and how I failed to get much sleep because I allowed my demonic ex-boyfriend to slip his cock inside of me, but (for some reason) I don’t see that conversation doing me any justice.

Exhaling, the guy slumps his shoulders. “Lucky for you, Gladys got in contact and sent your reference code.” He hits a key. “Welcome back to the Never Dark.”

“Thank you.” I turn on my heel and practically sprint from the room. I sigh in relief when I enter the main hub of the Never Dark HQ.

Compared to the Earth headquarters, NDHQ is colossal. I marvel at the tall Doric columns that stretch up to the ceiling to support the grand, glass structure. Unable to help myself, I reach out and I run the tips of my fingers along the base of a column as I pass by it. They’re smooth and cold, and as hard as stone. I’m unsure if the columns are made out of marble or if it’s steel, coated in plaster, and then painted to replicate a marble column. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. It’s still breathtaking.

I inhale through my nose and let the familiar smells of paper and domestic cleaner flow into my nostrils. Home sweet home.  I don’t know what it is about the Never Dark that just makes me feel welcome and safe. It just does.

I walk past office doors and office areas. Past lunch rooms and board rooms. Although the HQ is huge, we’re only allowed to use the bottom four levels. The other five are reserved for the Council and their important guests. If you need a level higher than four, you need a key pass or an exemption form. Those levels are strictly off limits to normal angels like me. Workers come and go from there, but they all hold level five or six stars and you do not want to poke your head into their business because they will crush it without hesitation. We have a general idea of what’s up there… Lucas told me that the fifth floor is where they hold rogue angels. What they do with them, I don’t know. The sixth floor is (apparently) a science lab. The seventh is the Council room where new angels are taken for their initiation. That room is frequented by lower level angels, but only by request of the Council. One of the next two floors is separated into six very large apartments in which the Council members live and the remaining floor is a mystery. Nobody knows.

The levels we use are the offices on level one and the training rooms and gyms on level two. Level three is the armory and level four is the infirmary. We have lots of clinics around the main city of Never Dark, but the main hospital is here in the headquarters.

“Violet?” a loud, feminine voice calls, pulling me from my thoughts.

Damn! I’m almost out the doors. I slow my steps, but contemplate dipping out the door and racing home before anyone has the chance to whisk me away for something else.

“Violet?” She calls again and this time I recognize the voice. Lana. My assistant.

In the beginning I refused to have an assistant, but the Obss angels forced it on me. Apparently, a heavier workload brings a thicker stack of paperwork and longer, more frequent, meetings which I can’t always complete or attend. That’s where Lana comes in. She keeps all of it in check for me while I’m gone. On occasion, if I’m in a remote place and remember to wear my headpiece, she calls me and tells me where to go and what to do.

Once I got used to having Lana follow me around, my arrogance wore off and I realized she was actually pretty helpful. I don’t know what I’d do without her now.

I turn around, plastering on a fake smile. She waves her slender hand, making her jet black fringe slides down her forehead and into her eye. She swipes it away with a colorful manicured hand while clenching her clipboard with the other.

“Welcome back!” She smiles as she straightens her mahogany silk blouse.

“I’m happy to be back,” I tell her. “I’m gonna go home. Come find me tomorrow and we can go through everything I missed.”

“You can’t go home just yet,”

Sighing, I turn around. I need sleep.

“It’s the Council,” she shouts and I stop. “They’ve requested to see you now.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up as my blood drains into my shoes. I ignore the tingles that prickles down the back of my neck as I twist my body to look at her. People walk all around us, but I’m oblivious to them. I haven’t seen the Council in years...not since the night Lucas was taken. What could they possibly want now that can’t wait until tomorrow?

“They need to see me now?”

Lana nods before ruffling through her green folder. Her jade eyes lock with mine as she hands me an exemption form for the Council room and my stomach clenches.

“Fuck.”

Chapter 11

Relinquish

*

Lucas

I TURN THE shower on and set it to maximum heat. The cold streams of water that hit my back quickly turn into searing blades of fire and it hurts… but I like it. The burning pain from the shower takes away from my seemingly never-ending internal pain. I had Eva use her location spell this morning and she confirmed that Violet has indeed left Earth…like I wanted

I’m meant to be happy, and I am in a way, because it means I don’t have to worry about my brothers getting their filthy claws on Violet, but it also means that we’ll probably never see each other again. It’s a future I became content with not so long ago…but now that I’ve seen her and touched her again, the thought of not doing those things enrages me. I clench my teeth against a bout of pain cutting through the center of my body. Death tries desperately to push away the vulnerable feelings swirling inside me. I know I should let him. It would be easier if I did. For now…while I’m alone in the shower… I just want to savor the short moments we spent together.

* * *

I STAND IN front of my floor-length mirror, sizing up my outfit and adjusting the cuffs on my jacket. Running a hotel, a club and planning the end of the world is hard work, but not draining enough to not look good. Besides, women dig it. I shift my weight onto my right leg and my gray slacks tighten. Although I like the way my custom suits look, I miss the days when my comfort took precedence over my appearance. When I was an angel, I had a uniform. It was both snug and comfortable, and when I wasn’t working, I stuck to jeans and t-shirts. On the rare occasion, when I was trapped in the office, I chose to wear dress shirts and slacks.

I run my hands down the front of my steel gray suit. I don’t usually wear gray, black tends to be my color of choice, but tonight I’m after something to lighten my mood. I reach up and tighten my blue tie and push my fingers through my hair. The tie contrasts well against the steel dress shirt I’ve chosen to wear.

Exhaling, I turn away from the mirror and stroll over to the minibar. I saw the way Violet looked at me every time I poured myself a drink. There was a time when I didn’t need alcohol, but after everything I’ve done...after all of the suffering I’ve caused – and will cause – I drink it like water.  Despite the negativity punching me in the gut, I pour myself a glass anyway. It’s the only thing that can silence him.

Taking my glass, I turn around and the glistening traffic down on the ground below catches my eye as I walk over to the window. I sure am going to miss this place. It beats living in the Underworld. Even though the Underworld is lawless, has awesome bars, and strange demon-women that let you put anything anywhere, it isn’t peaceful. Not like Earth. Walking through the heart of Concave City at peak hour, listening to car horns and people screaming is more peaceful than the Underworld.

I mindlessly drag my sight over the skyline, and down the length of glittering buildings. I revel in the internal peace I suddenly feel...until my attention catches on gleaming red brake lights in the sea of traffic below. It flings my mind back to Violet once again.

She’s gone.

Lifting my glass to my mouth, I slam down a large mouthful of whiskey and bare my teeth as it stings the back of my throat. I have to forget about Violet.

“I have to move on.”

I inhale deeply, relaxing all the muscles in my body and I part my lips as darkness and anger wraps around my organs and constricts my chest. I managed to hold Death back while Violet was here. He was out in full force until I saw her outside Sequins. I could have killed her...but I pulled my punches. Now she’s gone and I should move past everything that happened between us.

I close my eyes and the worry I feel for Violet’s safety slowly diminishes. Thicker blood flows through my veins and it’s unearably hot. Who does Violet think she is anyway? Did she honestly think she could kill me? She doesn’t have what it takes. She never has. Every need I had to see her again is replaced by regret that I didn’t squeeze the life out of her when I had the chance. I like blood. I liked the way its warm stickiness clings to my skin. The feeling of taking another’s life force is addicting and it pisses me off that I didn’t add Violet’s to the mix. A sick smile spreads over my face as a thought dawns on me. I’ll make up for time lost. I’ll replace Violet’s blood with the blood of another.

I whirl on my heel and head for the door, placing my empty glass on my desk as I passed it. Today should be fun.

Chapter 12

Compulsion

*

Violet

I SHIFT ON my cheap wooden chair and thread my fingers together. I have the same unsettled feeling in my tummy as I did the day I was interviewed after Lucas was taken.

My heart pounds in my chest. What will the Council say? What will they do? The room is dark. My gaze follows a luminous green LED strip as it lines the shape of the floor before disappearing into the darkness behind me somewhere.

It’s unnerving to say the least. Security angels dressed in their matching red uniforms line the wall behind me. What the hell is going on? Maybe they just want to see how I am? They could be concerned about my feelings? I clear my throat to stop the scoff that threatens to seep past my lips. The Council doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings. All they care about is victory against the demons. That’s all.

“Rise!” someone, somewhere, shouts.

The deep, intimidating voice is intimidating and it echoes throughout the hall.  Quickly, I rise from my chair. If there’s anything in this world that scares the shit out of me, it’s spiders, the Council, and becoming a demon—not necessarily in that order.

Up on the high-rise in front of me, the Council members enter. As they cross my vision and take their positions, sitting behind a long, oak desk, I try to match their names to their faces. If I recall correctly, Ahearn is the tallest Council member. He wore his dirty blond hair in a short ponytail at the base of his neck. He rarely speaks, but when he does it’s terrifying. His voice is deep and mean, laced with a thick Russian accent. If there’s anyone on the Council I should avoid offending at all costs, it’s him. Fun fact, every Council member is represented by a color. Ahearn’s is read and I can’t help but wonder if his is red because he’s soaked it in blood. I mean, it’s not completely implausible. He knits his eyebrows together and my heart stutters. I shift my gaze to Ahriman, the Persian Council member. Lucas told me that back in Ahriman’s prime, he managed to take down his demonic twin brother, also named Ahriman. Ahriman came out of that battle with more than a scratch, that’s for sure. He has a large, thick scar on his jaw line, marring his caramel complexion. The scar runs down his neck and disappears into his blue robe. His black stare connects with mine and I drop my gaze to the ground. The last thing I want is him to think I’m gawking at his freakish scar.

“Sit,” Ahriman commands and I sit without hesitation.

“Miss Violet Ashton,” Ahearn starts and I lift my head. “Welcome back to the Never Dark realm.”

“Thank you, sir,” I reply, proud that I manage to sound confident despite the uncomfortable buzzing on my voice box. “It’s good to be home.”

“You do not return home with exciting news…”

I swallow hard and shift forward on my seat, gripping the edges of my chair in my hand. “No, sir, I am afraid I don’t.”

He narrows his eyes. Shit.

“You did not fulfil your task? I was told that you begged for this assignment,” I turn my attention to Willow, the green Council member.

“Yes, ma’am, I did beg for it. I had every intention of tearing Death’s heart from his chest, but—”

“I didn’t ask for an excuse.”

I nod sheepishly. “Sorry,” Ugh. I hate feeling like a child.

“Do you remember what you told the Obss angel before they granted you the mission?”

I knew they were going to use that against me. I promised the Obss angels that I was the right person for the job. I convinced them that sending me was a sure thing. I guess I overestimated myself. Again, I nod.

“Answer me!” Willow orders, slamming her fist down on the table.

“I told them—”

“I can’t hear you!”

“I told them that I was more capable of killing Lucas than anyone else.” I shout, slumping back in my chair.

“And?”

“And that he and I used to be involved…I told them I could use that to my advantage.”

“And yet here you sit,” Zeon interjects, bumping his shoulder against his twin sister’s. “Tell us what happened.”

I clench my jaw. I didn’t realize I was going to be interrogated by the whole crew. Zeon and Nektosha, a.k.a., the Latin twins, occupy the colors purple and yellow.

I clear my throat. “The first night I saw him, we had a fight in the alley of Sequin nightclub. My mission was only to threaten him and tell him to leave Earth. I did. Soon after, I found out Lucas was still on Earth, so I came up with a new plan and ran it by Cole Nark, which he approved.” I scratch my head. “Later, I went to Lucas’s nightclub and I was going to kill him, but he drugged me and I passed out. When I woke up, I was handcuffed to his bed.”

“He drugged you? Angels have a high resistance to alcohol, narcotics, and tranquilizers.” The last Council member to step out and take their seat was Sebastian, the orange Council member. He’s younger than the rest of them and painfully boyish with long brown hair that curls under his chin.

“I’m aware. Whatever he gave me with wasn’t a standard drug. Anyway,” I want to proceed carefully. I definitely do not want to slip up about what happened when we got to my place. A buzz zipped along my brain as I try to recall waking up. I frown. “I was scared…I was restrained…I thought I was going to die. There was a women there, an old woman…and she was unconscious.” Why is it so hard to remember? “At some point I realized he was too strong for me. I couldn’t kill him.” I cringe. Even I hear how stupid it sounds.

“How did you get away?” Sebastian asks, adjusting his robe.

“He…” Damn. This isn’t going to go down well.  “He teleported me back to my apartment.”

“And?”

“And that was it.”

Willow rises from her seat and I follow her lead. It’s a rule. If you are in front of the Council, you can’t sit unless all of them are seated.

“Guards,” She orders, placing a firm hand against the surface of the table. “Get the chains!”

I step to the side, glancing over my shoulder. “Chains? Why the chains?”

Willow peers at her fellow Council members. “I suspect, beyond reasonable doubt, that Violet Ashton has been compelled.”

Compelled? The guards bend low and scoop up a long, metal chain I didn’t notice at their feet. “What? No!” I expose my palms to the advancing guards. “I haven’t been compelled. Please,”

I back away with nowhere to go. My muscles tightening, cramping against my bones and organs. What is going to happen to me? I’ve heard storied about angels that have been compelled and what the Council does to break it. It’s a painful five hour process and if they can’t break you out of your compulsion, you die. The Council watches me, callously and emotionless. There is no changing their minds. They’re convinced I have been tainted. I bend my knees as the guards begin to cage me in.

“Fighting this will only make it worse,” Sebastian booms. “It’ll be over soon,”

I straighten my legs. Am I supposed to accept this? They’re going to try and break me out of my supposed compulsion. Is it true? Have I been compelled? I wish I knew. I clench my fist and broaden my shoulders. I try my best to relax, even though I’m trembling with fear. Surrounding me, the guards wrap the thick chain around my torso, trapping my arms against my sides. When I’m secured, I bite my lip and trail along with the guards as they drag me away into the darkness.

* * *

“AHHH!” I TRY to curl my body, desperate to get away from the pain as the high pressure hose burns my skin.

The cold water hits the naked flesh of my back and I scream out in pain, unable to hold back the flood of tears. When it started, minutes ago, I tried to run, to get away from the hose, but I’m chained in a standing position, my bare back taking the bulk of the assault.

For two hours they continue to spray me and that’s only the first segment. Who knows what’ll come next.

“Ahhhh!” The jet of water sears its way down my spine and over the curve of my ass. I’m swollen. I can feel it. A million and one tiny flames dance along my skin, burning me right down to my bones. Air is forced from my lungs as saliva runs off my lip. I’m crying too hard. I gulp for air and hang my head.

Eventually, when my tears dry up and I’m certain all of the skin has been stripped from my bones, the hose is stopped and guards enter the room. My vision is blurry, but I can see well enough to know there are two of them. Without saying a word to me, they unhook my chains down from wall and I crash to the ground. I try to move, but I don’t have the energy to get back up. The skin on my back continues to tingle and burn and…is there any permanent damage?

I blink until the sharp lines of the world return. When I can see, I keep my gaze on the blinding white floor tiles. One of the guards dresses me.  I peer at him as he removes the chains from my wrists and slips a black t-shirt on over my head. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and I add him to the short list of men that have seen me naked without my consent. The cotton fabric clings to my wet breasts and I’m thankful it’s not white. The other masked-guard advances on me with a black pair of sweatpants. I stare at his skin-tight black mask. Why wear them? Why can’t I see their faces? Or their eyes? In the reflection of his glossy eye coverings, I see an exhausted female. Me. I look deathly pale and tired. Only a few more hours. C’mon, V. You’ve been through worse.

When my ankle chains are gone and my pants are on, I’m pulled to my feet and dragged from the room. To my relief, the next room is the opposite of the sterile washroom. A small bulb above a small wooden chair is the only like in the dimly lit space.

“You just got back from Earth this morning?” the guard beside me mumbles.

I nod slowly.

“Some homecoming…”

I simper. “Right?”

The two guards drag me across the room and drop me into the chair. I don’t fight them as they tie my hands behind my back. When they’re done…everything is silent. A few short moments later, soft clicks echo through the room and I remain focused on my wet, pale feet. The clicks draw closer and I finally lift my stare as the petite shadow enters the room. The woman in the high heels sways her hips as she walks and tilts her head to the side.

“Violet,” she greets me, flicking her long, blonde hair over shoulder. “Good to see you,”

Chloe Rohdes. Oh, God. Not her.  I scoff and she slaps the bulb above my head, making it swing. Chloe Rohdes is Lucas’s ex-ex-girlfriend. They were an on and off thing…before I came along.

“Lucas says hi,” I tell her, smirking.

She raises her hand, cocks it back, and lets it fly. Her palm collides with my cheek, tossing my head to the side, sending fire searing along my cheekbone. I hiss, dropping my stare back to my feet. Tears sting my eyes and I grit my teeth against the burn. I bet she’s wanted to do that for a long time.

I lift my head up again and her hard palm forces it back down. “Sorry, V. Council’s orders. I have to slap you around a little bit.”

I shake my head at the delight in her tone. “Who’d you have to blow to land this gig?”

Chloe cackles and hits me again. And again. And again. It goes on like this for a while. Once, she uses her fist and splits my lip. She apologizes and it’s not sincere at all. My face goes numb and staying conscious becomes difficult. Before I know it, I’m in a different room, a kitchen maybe, having various herbs stuffed down my throat by an old woman who hovers over me. Something about an old woman chanting in a foreign language seems familiar to me, but I can’t place it. Once I’m drugged up on herbs and every inch of my skin was soaked and aching, I’m left alone in a private cell. It’s a small cell, approximately six by eight foot with a mattress, a silver toilet, and a steel shower. Groaning, I roll onto my side, trying to make sense of what’s happening to me. I clench my stomach and cry as my organs tear themselves apart. The herbs crawl through my veins, trying to make their way to my brain. They pluck and pull at my memories, trying to rid my body of the alleged compulsion. With every passing second the pain grows sharper and sharper. Searing pains tear over the back of scalp and I roll off of the mattress and onto the cold, hard floor. I scream until my chest aches, until my throat bleeds. I’ve never experienced pain like this—so constant, so unyielding. Bile creeps up my throat and foams in my mouth. Am I overdosing? I roll onto my stomach and crawl on my hands and knees across the jagged concrete over to the toilet. I hover above it for a little while, looking at my distorted reflection. My hair is a mess, my face swollen and bruised. A bout of nausea rolls over me. This is it. I’m dying. I throw up, violently, into the toilet. It keeps coming and coming until I have nothing left in my stomach to expel. As a single herb rolls over my lower lip, I let go of the toilet and crash against the floor.

Chapter 13

Aversion

*

Lucas

I DON’T KNOW why I leave the club looking for trouble. I never go out looking for trouble, but tonight I feel like hurting people…I feel like causing death. In my defense, that is the purpose of my existence. On a good note, I haven’t thought about Violet since I left the club over—I glanced at my watch—half an hour ago. Good enough for me.

I walk around Concave City, admiring the pathetic humans as they walk past. They’re so wrapped up in their world, in their meaningless existence. I’ve noticed, as I stroll around with a coffee in my hand, that there’s a lot more people out and about than usual. Is there some kind of special event? It has been a long time since I’ve had to burden myself with the ridiculous amounts of human holidays and social events. They don’t know it, but it’s all a scam to suck money from their pockets. They make them work their asses off all week and then coax them into blowing it all on alcohol on the weekend. Keep them inebriated. Keep them in line. It’s quite tragic, really.

I’m about to turn around and find a better hunting location when I spot a young couple break off from a group of friends and run off. Dumping my coffee, I follow them as they run across the road into a nearby alley, giggling like a pair of pre-teens.

There’s no light in the alley, but I can see well. The humans on the other hand are finding it difficult to navigate. I could be standing within arm’s reach of them and they’d never know.

The female comments on the smell of the alley and I breathe through my nose, inhaling the stench of piss and beer. I shrug my shoulders. It’s not too bad for an alley in the middle of the city, I’ll admit.

Stopping five yards out from them, I lean against an empty barrel and watch. The male is a short thing. I mean, the female practically towers over him. I pull a small flask of whiskey from my pocket and rest my elbows on my knees as I watch him try his damn hardest to seduce the long-legged babe with his sloppy, drunken kisses. A chuckle bubbles up my throat and I smile as I push off the barrel. Sadly, the crazy public fuck I was hoping for is unlikely to be anything more than a drunken, awkward scramble. It’s clear to me that this guy isn’t going to be able to have sex with her—at least not without lying down on the floor—and by the expression on the girl’s face, he isn’t the kind of guy she’d lie down on a dirty floor for. I take a swig of whiskey and glance over my shoulder at the abandoned parking lot behind me. Now I think about it, this alley is familiar. The buildings…the abandoned parking lot at the other end…I’ve been here before…when I was an angel. My black heart twists painfully in my chest. This is the alley I found Violet lying in… dying in.

I step into the alley, I’m sure I heard whimpering coming from down here. I tread lightly and slowly, not wanting to scare the girl. I know I shouldn’t bother with it. I have to get back to headquarters as soon as possible, but…if I can just see if she’s all right, I’ll be on my way. Fifty dollars says it’s a drunken girl crying because she got into a fight with her boyfriend. I step further into the alley and there she is, lying on the concrete, shaking and crying hysterically. Her dress is pulled up, exposing her ass and her handbag is split, its contents strewed all over the place.

“Are you okay?” I ask cautiously, inching closer, my hands outstretched in a soothing manner. Are you okay? Of course she isn’t okay.

Her whimpers become panicked and she’s tries to crawl away from me, but her tiny arms can’t carry her petite frame. “Please,” she gasps. “Don’t.”

Then I notice the blood. Lots of blood. I run over to her and roll her onto her side. Her eyes are closed, too swollen to open.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, pushing her hair out of her face. “You’re going to be okay.”

She isn’t going to be okay. She’s lost too much blood.

I grip the hem of her short purple dress and pull it down over her hips, covering her bare thighs. I don’t have to be a doctor to understand what exactly has happened here. Poor girl, there’s blood coming from all of her orifices. Most of it is dry. She must’ve been like this for a while, barely holding on.

“What’s your name?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t move. I press my ear to her mouth. She’s still breathing…barely.

Fuck. I can’t tell because of the swelling, but she’s young, at least nineteen, maybe twenty. I glance around for something, anything that can tell me about the girl. The contents of her handbag are spread out all over the concrete a foot away from me. Abandoning her, I search through them, looking for a driver’s license or I.D. card—anything that can tell me what her name is. I grab her purse and locate her driver’s license. Violet Ashton. Concave City. Despite myself, despite the attitude I’m going to get from my superiors, I pull out my cell phone and dial the HQ.

“Jordan Aft speaking.”

“Jordan, it’s Lucas Cross. I need you to get a message to the Never Dark for me, to Sally, the recruitment officer. Tell her to run the name Violet Ashton, Concave City, in her system. Call me back.”

I hang up and wait impatiently, staring at Violet. I lower my ear to her mouth again…this time I hear nothing. Shit. I press my fingers to her throat. She’s gone. Damn it! I tap my cell phone on my knee. The window to create an angel is short and I’m running out of time.

Buzz, buzz. I answer my phone.

“Jordan?”

“Violet Ashton, Concave City. No parents, no siblings. O negative blood type. Scorpio. Eligible for the transition.”

No family. I glance down at her and I can’t process the fact that she has no one that’ll care if she dies tonight. The thought alone constricts my chest.

“Do you remember when I said that I don’t want to be a mentor and turned down that last kid?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I want to mentor this girl.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“We’re running out of time! Call Sally and tell her that I’m bringing back Violet Ashton. See if Luke is free—if he isn’t, get another Veltra angel down here immediately. Tell whoever it is that I’m in an alley on Rock Street and need to be teleported now.”

I disconnect, stand up, and pull Violet into my arms. I can’t help but wonder what makes this girl so special? Why do I suddenly want to take someone under my wing? I stare at her lifeless. It’s clear it’s not attraction. I have no idea what she looks like under all the swelling and blood.

Maybe…maybe it’s because she’s a fighter. She had no idea if she’d even be found, but she held on right up until I found her. It’s almost as if…as if fate is at work here. There was nothing I could do to help her, but maybe I can give her a second chance at living.

I glance up the alley and see the run down janitors’ shed and the graffiti of a devil woman with large breasts painted on the concrete wall in front of me. Did I walk this way on purpose? Did my subconscious steer me this way? Whatever pulled me here, Death is pissed. Fire ignites in the pit of my stomach and blood turns thick. I push off the giant tin barrel I’m sitting on and grab it, lifting it about my head. Growling, I throw it at the concrete wall across from where I’m sitting. It clangs hard against the concrete wall across from me. The couple snaps apart with a shrill scream. I zip up to them and grab them both by the throat. They claw at my hands and thrash their legs, but I need this. I need to feel blood on my skin. I need to feel like I’m on the right path—the path my brothers want me to be on.

“Please,” the girl cries, gasping. “Don’t.”

Her whimpers become panicked and she’s tries to crawl away from me, but her tiny arms can’t carry her petite frame. “Please,” she gasps. “Don’t.”

Sorrow…sorrow I haven’t felt in a long time punches me in the gut. I drop the couple and they run, leaving me alone in the alley with my memories. I fall to my knees, trying to shake them from my mind. War said I’d forget about who I was…he said I’d forget about her…I haven’t. None of my brothers care about their previous lives, but I’m plagued by it day and night. I try to suppress it, Death tries to suppress it, but certain triggers always send it barreling through. I can’t live like this. I can’t live with this torture!

I run over to her and roll her onto her side. Her eyes are closed, too swollen to open.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, pushing her hair out of her face. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Stop!” I yell, punching the concrete beneath me. The concrete cracks, the sound echoes, but it doesn’t stop and it won’t stop. If I ignored her cries and didn’t step into this alley years ago, I never would have known Violet Ashton…

I wouldn’t have felt that urge to protect her…

I never would have fallen in love with her...

I have to protect myself from my memories…and the only way to do that is to destroy the source that forces me to remember them. Earth. I rise to my feet and storm through the alley. I pull my phone from my chest pocket and call Dex.

He answers on the first ring.

“Dex. It’s Lucas. Close the club, I’m coming home and I want it cleared out, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Good. “Call War, Famine, and Conquest. Tell them to meet me in the boardroom.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket. I never voluntarily invite my brothers to my club, but I figure the sooner we end this stupid world, the better. I’ll force the memories of my old life from my mind by destroying all of the familiar places. It’s a long shot, but one that has to be made.

Chapter 14

Consciousness

*

Violet

I OPEN MY eyes to the ceiling of the same stupid, boring cell I passed out in. To be honest, I’m kinda bummed none of this is a dream. I wanted to wake up in the teleportation reception room back on Earth. No such luck. What happens now, anyway? Was I meant to wake up and suddenly remember things? Because I don’t. Does that mean they were wrong and I was right? I wince as I sit up. My whole body aches, like I’ve been hit by a truck. I glance down at my black tee...I’m covered in vomit.

“I need a shower,” I groan and, instead of pulling the vomit-covered shirt over my head and adding more to my hair, I tear it from the collar down and let it fall into a heap on the floor. Thankfully, there’s no bruising to my breasts, stomach, or legs, but I don’t even have to look at my back to know it’s a completely different story. I close my eyes. My face feels like tight, and sore, not as bad as it felt before I passed out—whenever that was.

Opening my eyes, I slip out of my sweatpants and drag my exhausted body to the shower.  I turn it on and the second the first drop hits my skin I… I remember! I remember everything. The shower spits and choke before the hot water shoots out and drenches my abused skin. Steam brews and envelops me and I stand there, still, as voices echo in my head.

Eva’s. “Compulsion is an exhausting spell, Lucas, and on an angel, takes it to a whole other level of strength.” Lucas’s. “I want to keep her to be safe… and Earth isn’t safe.” Mine. “You don’t have the people you care about compelled… you don’t take away their rights.” I turnthe water off, hardly washing.

It’s true.

Lucas had me compelled.

“Unh!” I almost slip diving out of the shower, but I scramble—unbalanced—and rush to the door.

“I remember!” I yell, my throat aching. “Hello?” I grip the bars and peer through them, trying to see down the long white hall. “I was compelled! I remember everything! Hello?”

A guard slinks into the hallway. “Shower. We’ll bring fresh clothes for your hearing with the Council.”

I rush back to the shower and scrub myself eagerly. I need to get out of here. I don’t want to be trapped for another second.

The harsh soap scratches against my skin as I wash my body. How could Lucas do this to me? He was an angel. He knows the phobia of being controlled by a demon, of losing your free will. He knows what the Council does when they suspect compulsion. Everything I just went through is his fault. The least he could have done was compel me a decent back story. There are a lot of holes in mine and I see them now that I’m not in some forced stupor.

How selfish...

How cruel...

Lucas will pay for what he's done to me. My credibility has plummeted in the eyes of the Council and my peers. Slaughtering him is the only way I can get it back.

* * *

“MISS ASHTON,” WILLOW says, impatiently tapping her manicured fingers against the desk.

“Good...evening?” I say, awkwardly. I have no idea what the time is. “You were right, I was compelled, but I remember everything now.”

Sebastian, the orange Council member, leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table, his bright blue eyes piercing mine. “It is very important that you tell us everything that happened.”

I nod, feeling more comfortable now I’m back in my uniform. “The story doesn’t differ much, but you might find something in the details. I went to his club, and then up to his room with the intention to kill him. We fumbled and he drugged me with something strong enough to make me pass out. When I woke up, I was handcuffed to his bed. He asked me to leave Earth, told me stop trying to ruin his plans. He referred to his brothers multiple times so I guess they’re in town, too.”

The Council stiffens.

“When I refused to leave, he had me compelled by his witch.”

“I doubt Death went to all the trouble to compel you just to get you off of Earth. He must’ve told you something he doesn’t want anyone else to know.” Willow points out.

I frown. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“No?” I shake my head and all twelve of their eyes narrow. “Then this was all for nothing. Your trip was all for nothing,” Nektosha says, her accent thick and smooth.

“And you brought us nothing,” her brother adds. “All that time wasted. The human world is about to end and all you’ve done is prance around town with an ex-lover.”

“No, it wasn’t like that, I—”

“Silence!” Ahearn shouts. “You have disappointed us all.” He glances at Willow. “I would like to suggest that Miss Ashton is stripped of her four star ranking. Remaining at one star indefinitely. It seems like tracker demons are better suited for her capabilities.”

I gape. “Are you out of your fucki—”

“All those in favor?” Ahearn raises his hand.

One by one they raise their hands and I fight back the urge to cry. After all that I’ve been through, after all I’ve done…they’re just going to kick me to the curb?

“I trust you can find a tracker mission within the next few days,” Willow simpers. “Leave the complicated stuff to the grown-ups, okay?”

I slump my shoulders, unable to bear the weight of devastation that descends on me. I don’t watch as they leave the room, one after the other, and I linger for a little while after they leave, trying desperately to regain my composure. It doesn’t take me long. The silence of the room is enough to drive me from it. In a tear-filled haze, I rush from the room and slip into an elevator. Sighing, I lean against the railing and catch a glimpse of my face in the reflective surface of the opposite wall. I look...horrible. I reach for my face, for the swell in my lower lip. The tip of my finger barely grazes it and I wince, flinching away. Chloe sure did a number on me...Christ. And the Council...how could they do this to me? I risk my life and it’s not good enough.

The doors close and I pull my hair around my shoulders, creating a curtain to conceal the majority of the damage. Grinding my teeth, I hit a button and the elevator creaks and groans as it descends. Eventually, it stabilizes, dinging as the doors pull open. I tip my head, look at my shoes, and step out of the elevator, heading straight for the exit across the lobby.

“Violet?” I pull my shoulders up, hoping Lana gets the hint and stops approaching me from the right. Not now. Please, not now. “Oh my God!”

I hear her clipboard hit the floor and the soft click of her heels as she jogs over to me.

“I’ve been worried sick.” She says, leaning in close, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

I nod, keeping my face hidden behind my hair. “Fine, thank you. If you don’t mind—”

She swipes at my hair. “Jesus Christ. What’d they do to you?”

What didn’t they do to me? “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You look like you’ve been hit by a train.”

“Yeah, well, Chloe hits harder than I thought.” I smirk, despite myself, and turn away from Lana.

“Where are you going?”

I walk away. “Home.”

Lana marches along beside me. “I’ll walk you.”

“I’m more than capable of walking on my own.”

“But you don’t have to.” She cuts in front of me, stopping me dead in my tracks. I exhale and shift my weight as frustration prickles at my chest. “You’re not my boss anymore.” I flinch and her eyes soften. “They told me about the demotion…let me walk with you as your friend, V. Not your assistant.”

Friend? How long has it been since anyone has referred to me as a friend? Lana pulls her long black coat around her, hiding her pretty red dress underneath it. We walk in silence through the lobby. I keep my head down, but people still stare and whisper. I’m having déjà vu of the day I walked all the way home by myself after Lucas had been taken by his brother’s. People stared and whispered then, too.

“You’d think they’d handle things more discretely up here,” Lana mutters, glaring at a small gathering of angels to our left. “What are you staring at? Get back to work!”

They flush red before turning and stalking away from us. I smile.

Eventually, we make it outside. The freezing cold air soothes my burning cheeks and I drag it in through my nose. Ah. Home. I look around my city. I love being here. It’s always bustling with purpose—and not the same kind of purpose you find on Earth. Our world isn’t fueled by alcohol, sex, money—although they do make the Never Dark slightly more bearable. It’s fueled by death, the death of Demons, and the prevailing of mankind.

I’ve always found Never Dark interesting. It’s not like Earth (despite all the luxuries we bring back). We have no countries and no borderlines. Our entire world is one major city run by angels and everyone here has something to contribute. Despite being angels, we still have to survive off actual food and water to nourish our physical bodies. To help, we have farms on the outskirts that provide us with the food we need to sustain us for the rest of our supernatural lives. The elderly angels (very little in number) choose to stay on the outskirts of the city mostly, in beautiful cottages until they pass on to the after-afterlife. I often hear angels discussing whether or not there’s a God. Some say yes, some say no, but I guess we’ll never know.

“Are you really okay?” Lana asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “You seem distracted and you look…well…dead.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s pretty bad.”

“I’ll be fine in a few days.” I push forward, but she catches my elbow, forcing me to stay put.

“Look, I know you’re not the kind of person that likes to talk, but you need to... It’ll be good for you.”

I simper. “Good for me, huh?”

She shrugs her shoulders, offering me a kind smile. “So they say.”

Maybe venting about my life would help…the theory is nice, but sharing feelings and spending time? It all seems so exhausting. Long story short, I’m not used to people caring about me because I’ve never let them. I didn’t have parents or siblings. I was raised in a shelter before I moved out at eighteen. I’m not used to having shoulders to lean on. The moment I let someone ‘care’ and walk me home, I died because they didn’t actually care about me, only what I could provide.

“I’m okay, Lana, but if I ever want to talk you’ll be the first person I call.”

I drop onto the first step, wincing as my knees ache.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to walk you home?” Lana asks, remaining at the top.

I wave her off. “I’m good.”

“Can I give you something to think about before you go?”

I kick an empty can of Coke that lays abandoned on the fourth step from the bottom. Is she ever going to quit? Will I ever make it home? “Go ahead.”

Lana bounces down the stairs, her eyes wide with excitement. “It’s the perfect answer for your situation,”

“Situation? This isn’t a situation.” I tell her. “This is a big fucking mess.”

“Fine, I have something that will fix your big fucking mess.” She places her hands on her hips. “What if you don’t kill Lucas?”

“I didn’t.”

“No, in the future.”

“I can’t.”

Lana stomps her foot. “You know what I mean. What if, and this is a pretty big what if, what if you kill one of his brothers?”

I chuckle. She makes it sound like killing demons is a walk in the park. It’s not. Even trackers have their difficulties. And I’ve seen firsthand how strong Lucas’s brothers are. “That won’t work. You can’t kill what isn’t assigned to you.”

“I’m sure the Council won’t care if you kill one of the four Horsemen. If you want to earn your stars and the respect of the Council back, Violet, there are always options. You’re going to want to be quick, though. Earth probably isn’t going to exist in a few more weeks.”

“Thanks, but look at me.” I point at my swollen face. “This is what happens when you swim in water that is too deep, so I think I’ll pass.”

“Violet, you—”

“Look, I get that you’re trying to help and all, but I just want to rest for a few days. The thought of going back to Earth right now makes me want to kill myself.”

“Okay, fine, but if you do decide you want to regain your pride, let me know and I’ll help you.”

Lana whirls on her heel.

“You’re crazy!” I call out.

She flips me off and storms into HQ, leaving me wallowing in the blissful sounds of a busy city and my own self pity.

* * *

"OPEN, YOU SON of a b––" The door to my apartment jars and I give it a hard shove. The door shoots open, throwing me into my sparse living room. As silly as it sounds, I've missed my stupid jarring door.

It has only been a week since I was last in my apartment, but it feels like a whole lifetime has passed since then.

I love being here, but if I’m being honest, my apartment is as depressing as the cell I was just in. I glance around the room. I’ve never taken to decorating my space or filling it with meaningless junk. I’m rarely home, after all. The bed, the couch, and the t.v. are enough to sustain the brief lengths of time I spend in this realm, in my home.

I make my way through the desolate living room and into the bathroom to assess more of the damage done to my body. Hissing, I slide out of my catsuit and stand in front of my huge bathroom mirror. I touch my face and frown. I look awful. My cheeks and mouth are purple and swollen. It should turn yellow in a few days before disappearing completely. Until then, I’m not going anywhere. I look like I picked a fight with a concrete wall and lost. I press down on the inflamed skin and wince. “Assholes,”

I reach for the small bottle of painkillers that sit on my countertop. I pop the lid and tap the tube against my palm, gentle enough to force a few pills out. I swallow them with two handfuls of water and stroll from the bathroom to my bedroom.

I step around the clothes and open books are scattered across my floor and I turned the fan on and it circulated warm air around my room. With a loud grunt, I collapsed onto my bed and closed my eyes. I wondered if I could hide out in here forever—it’s what I’d like to do. Unfortunately, killing demons is the name of the game, and if you’re not killing, you’re not in the game. I rolled over onto my back and thought about the things Lana had said. She was right about everything and I knew that, but the thought of having to do those things terrified me. When you make new friends, it isn’t just the awkward social conventions you have to worry about. It’s also their losses and their deaths you have to deal with. I’m not sure I could be the person to offer support in those times and I’m definitely not the type of person that would want support in those times, at least, not anymore. Did I ever consider Lana to be a friend? No, not really. She was my assistant and that’s as far as I thought it went. Lana, on the other hand, seems to feel obligated to see how I’m doing and I think she genuinely cares. She’s definitely toughened up in the year that I’ve had her as my assistant… maybe I could be her friend. As for the regaining my pride thing… I don’t know how I’d manage. The four Horsemen are a powerful bunch, but it’s worth a shot, I guess. Lucas cared enough to have me compelled, so surely he cares enough to kill one of his own brothers if they hurt me. It was a long shot, but probably one I’d entertain when I’m feeling up to it.

My body ached at the thought of fighting right now and so I shook it from my mind. What I needed was sleep and I closed my eyes. It didn’t take long for me to drift off into oblivion.

Chapter 15

Disposition

*

Lucas

I RESTLESSLY TAP my fingers against the wooden table top as I wait for my brothers. I didn't want to call them. I don't want them in my home, in my personal space, but I can't end the world without them. We all play our part at scheduled times. There's going it alone.

I adjust my black tie and cross my legs over each other, flicking my foot impatiently. I glance at the clock. They’re lat—

“Mr. Cross?” Men’s voice rings over the intercom and I freeze as a wild kick hits me in the stomach. “They’re here.”

“Send them in.”

I wait a minute, maybe, and one by one they appear in a thick puff of smoke. I frown. They’re lucky I took the batteries out of the smoke alarm. War adjusts his green polo before stuffing his hand into the pockets of his jeans. None of them dress like me. They drape themselves in mainstream t-shirts and worn jeans while I opt for fine cotton and expensive leather…then again, I am the only one who owns a high end hotel, I suppose.

War drops his large frame into a chair at the end of the table opposite me, and Famine and Conquest take up the chairs on either side of him.

“Something must be wrong, brother,” War says, entwining his fingers and resting his thick elbows on the table.

I tilt my head. “What makes you say that?”

“You never invite us here of your own accord.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, well, some things are bigger than my distaste for you three.” I scratch my cheek. “I want to fast track the apocalypse to the end of next week.”

They laugh at me, as if I said something hilarious. As if I am the crazy one.

“Impossible.” Conquest spits. “There’s no way we can gain the Council’s approval for another fast track and there’s no way we can end the world in only eleven days.”

How do you reason with a simple mind? “What if I told you that it’s very possible?”

“It’s not.” Famine yawns, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “We’ve managed to bring it almost nine hundred years before schedule. Six months is close enough. The Underworld Council isn’t going to budge.”

“Who says we need the Council’s approval?”

Conquest and Famine flinch, stiffening in fear, but War cocks his eyebrow with intrigue. If I can get War to do what I want, Conquest and Famine will blindly follow.

“We need the Council’s approval, Death.” War mutters, frowning. “That’s the only law we have to abide by.”

“Screw the law!” I slam my hands against the table. “We are the Horsemen. Without us, there will never be an apocalypse. The Council needs us. We don’t need them.”

Famine scoffs and pushes his chair back, placing his feet on the table. The soles of his sneakers are filthy and fragments of mud fall onto my clean surface. “We end Earth and then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we have to go back to the Underworld and deal with the Council. Once they learn what we’ve done they’ll kill us. They can replace us easily, it’s not like we’re one of a kind.”

I smile at Famine. “We won’t go back to the Underworld. We’ll destroy Earth and then rebuild it the way we want. We’ll make it our own.”

Conquest and Famine open their mouths to contest me, but War raises a thick, callused hand and they shut their mouths. “What’s this about, Lucas?” He asks me.

I don’t like the sinister gleam in his eye. “I want more power. That’s what this is about.”

He leans forward in his chair. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

I glower at him. How does he know? Am I that much of an open book? No, I can’t be. I’ve given nothing away about her. “Her?”

A wry smile tugs at War’s lips. “You’re not the only one with a witch, Death. And you’re sure as hell not the only one keeping a close eye on her.”

Famine turns his devious smile on me. “Her?” Realization flickers over his face. “Ohhh, her.”

The amount of pressure I’m putting on my jaw causes it to ache. I want to tear their hearts from their chests. Inhaling, I unclench my jaw. “Violet isn’t on Earth. I saw to that myself.”

“You know how angels operate. She’ll be back within a week or so,” Conquest points out. “And maybe I’ll get to her first.”

The look in Conquest’s eye isn’t one of lust, but one of hate. The last time Violet and Conquest met, her blade went through his forearm. He’s still nursing a bruised pride, it seems.

“You can fight over her all you want.” The words leave a bad taste in my mouth. “But I have bigger issues that need my attention.” I button up my jacket. “You’re either with me or against me. If you’re with me, you won’t have to live under the Council’s rule. If you’re not with me, stay the fuck out of my way. I’ll give you until tomorrow night to decide.”

“It’s kind of a big deal. I’m going to need more time than that,” Famine says, standing up. He narrows his green eyes at me, but I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of anybody.

“Tomorrow night is more than enough time. We’ll get back to you, brother,” Wade announces. He pushes his large body out of the chair and disappears in a black haze of smoke. The other two follow. When I’m sure they’re not going to come back, I hit my intercom button.

“Mena? Send Eva to the meeting room, now.”

“Right away, sir.”

A few minutes later, Eva enters the room, clasping her hand over her mouth as she lets out a hoarse cough. “Gosh, open some windows in here. It smells like demons have died.”

I roll my eyes as she strolls over to me and drops into the chair on my left. “What’d your brothers want?”

“Never mind.” I lean back. “I need a favor. It doesn’t require too much on your part…”

She arches an odd, well-shaped eyebrow at me. “What do you want?”

“I need you to search for Violet every day in the off chance that she comes back to Earth. My brothers… I can’t let them have her.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Trying to locate her means I have to touch you every day, and God knows my stomach isn’t as strong as it used to be.”

I grin at her. “It’s only twice a day. I’m sure your stomach can handle that.”

Her lips twitch. “This girl is really something special, huh?”

“She’s my only weakness...”

Eva exhales. “Fine. I’ll look for her once in the morning and once in the evening, but if War comes after me because I helped you find her before he did, I’m outta here.”

Easy enough. “Deal.”

Eva leans forward in her chair, extending her soft, papery hands to me. “Do you want to try and locate her now?”

I nod as I place my hands in hers. She closes her eyes. “You’re selfish, you know.”

“I know.” I’m selfish. I’m ready to end the lives of seven billion people to end my haunting memories and to keep Violet away from my brothers and me. A part of me hopes that if we ever met again in an after-afterlife she’d see my actions as a romantic gesture instead of a psychopathic one.

Chapter 16

Renewed

*

Violet

I STAND IN front of my mirror analyzing myself. I haven’t left my house in days and I’m sure the number of missed calls on my phone are about to tick over to the six digits mark. If I don’t make myself known soon Obss angels will show up at my door, demanding that I sign up for a mission. Luckily for them, I feel good today. The swelling has completely gone down and the bruising is fading. I let my hair down and it covers the slight bruising on my neck. Once I put makeup on over the top, they’re barely noticeable.

I’m fine when I leave home and I’m fine when I climb the stairs to HQ. Inside, however, I’m a ball of stress. People stare at me and the half-star that was sewn into the fabric of my new uniform. Every time someone’s gaze falls onto my ranking, it hurts my pride. Lucas did this to me...Soon after I enter, Lana falls into step beside me wearing her usual office get-up—long black formal pants with matching pumps and a nice white, silk shirt.

“Oh, good. You’re still alive.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Unfortunately.”

“Did you think about what I said?”

Not really.

“Yeah and I still think you’re crazy,” I tell her. I spent most of my time sleeping and re-reading Romeo and Juliet. Depressing stuff.

“Come with me,” she demands, turning on her heel.

“Lana, I’m behind on my missions—”

She snatches my wrist and drags me off to the side. People watch curiously as she pulls me through the office and into an empty room, slamming the door behind her. “Lana—” She silences me with the flash of her palm. I cross my arms tightly over my chest.

“Do you want to know what I’ve been doing the past few days?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“I’ve been working with Govlonsky.” I cringe. “Yeah, that’s right. They reassigned me to a dude that spends most of his time spitting tobacco into a bucket. Do I deserve that because you fucked up?” I open my mouth. “No,” her shoulders slump. “No, I don’t. You need to make this right for the both of us. You are a kick-ass angel, better than most. I know you can kill one of the Horsemen, hell, you could probably take two, so don’t mope around here collecting your Tracker missions like it’s something you deserve. You are a hell of a lot better than that and you know it.”

Her cheeks are flushed, her fists clenched into balls at her side. I’ve never seen her so worked up. Then again, I would be too if I had to be in the same room as Govlonsky. But… some things are just meant to be endured. God knows I’ve forced myself through plenty of unsavory situations. I step past Lana and turn around.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with Govlonsky, but I can’t help you right now. Maybe when I get my rank up I can request to have you back as my assistant, but until then, you’re just going to have to put up with it.”

Turning away, I exit the room, keeping my head down as I make my way to the missions’ office. In retrospect, calling it an office isn’t exactly correct. It’s more of a hole in the wall that we line up in front of. Seeing the office sends excitement shooting through my veins. I’m pretty excited to kill demons this morning, to be honest.

The line before me dwindles as angels receive their missions and soon I’m at the front of the line. “Violet Ashton,” I say to the receptionist with the pretty gold ringlets and she hands me a small glass mission tablet. I read the instructions.

Demon: Tracker.

Number: 2.

Location: Outskirts of Concave City. Logansville.

Great. Concave City. They couldn’t have given me a decent city like Port Burney or Los Hades. I ignore the warnings and tips on tracker demons that fill the next six slides and sign along the dotted line. Exhaling, I hand the tablet back to her and she gives me the form for the teleportation chamber. When I get there, the receptionist signs my forms immediately and I don’t have to wait longer than a second before Tom pops through the door, wearing loose jeans and a polo as well as beaming brightly.

“Violet, I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”

I smile. “Good, thank you.”

He flicks his hand, gesturing for me to follow him. I do. We walk through the maze of corridors until we reach his room. Clearing his throat, he closes the door behind us and I stand directly in the center of the room. Tom, however, leans against the way, bending his leg at the knee. He has all the time in the world, apparently.

“Are we going?” I ask, confused because he hasn’t taken up his position.

“I thought we could have a chat first.”

I tip my head. “What’s been happening with you?”

He stuffs his hands in the pocket of his jeans. His knits his brows together, curving them curiously, and I don’t miss the sympathetic gleam in his eyes.

Cautiously, I shrug. “The usual.”

“A little birdy tells me it’s not ‘the usual.’”

I arch a brow. If he already knows what I’ve been through, why doesn’t he ask me straight off the bat?

“Feeling a little nosey today, Tom? Not enough people to teleport?” I brush a speck of dust off my shoulder, trying hard to seem indifferent to his questioning. Truthfully, it hurts me every time I think about it.

He smiles at me. “I just want to make sure a friend is okay. Are you?”

Do I look okay? Can he see the subtle bruising? The deflation in my posture? “Are you referring to my compulsion?”

He nods.

“Yes, I was compelled, but I managed to remember it, so everything’s fine now.”

He glances down at my half star. Ouch. There goes my pride again.

“I bet it hurt… remembering your compulsion?”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” I sigh. “Yes, it was horrible.”

“It’s a barbaric technique, but it sure is effective.”

Sure is. I purse my lips. I don’t even want to talk about it. Taking the hint, Tom strolls over to me. He slips his hand in mine, a friendly gesture, and weightlessness consumes me. Colors swirl and mash before me as I’m pulled into tiny particles and then put back together again. I love being nothing. Strangely, it makes me feel like I have purpose... Like my broken heart and bruised pride aren’t a big deal. A dull ache at the base of my spine makes itself known and becomes as it supports all of my weight. The beautiful hues of nothingness disappear and the painful white walls of my existence surround me, boxing me in. I let out a disappointed sigh.

“You really enjoy teleporting, don’t you?” He asks, releasing my hand.

“Of course, don’t you?”

He shakes his head. “It gets boring after a while.”

With a wave, he disappears into nothing. I could never get bored of the pretty colors… I exit the teleportation room and slip into the reception room where Gladys sits with a straight spine, her nose buried in a book. I clear my throat, but she doesn’t lift her stare. It isn’t until I slip the form along her desk that she finally pays me any attention. Pursing her lips, Gladys stamps my forms and I exit the teleportation chamber.

“Vi! You’re back!” Janet squeals as I step out of the waiting room. It seems she’s been waiting for me to arrive and she’s even taken the liberty of assigning me a nickname. Oh goody.

“You’re really excited…” I point out, glancing awkwardly at the angels passing by.

“Of course I am. It’s been a while since I saw you last.” She twirls her red hair around her finger. Her makeup isn’t too extreme today. Her eyeliner is laid on a bit thick and so are the fake lashes, but the subtle blue eyeshadow she’s wearing beautifully frames her eyes. “What are you up to?”

“The usual… killing demons and stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Awesome! Hey, I get off shift in an hour, did you want to hang out? We could see a movie or get drinks?” She picks at her nails and straightens her black pencil skirt.

“Oh, sorry, Janet. I’m kind of in a hurry. Maybe next time?”

I step around her and head for the location room as quickly as I can without it coming off as running away.

“Violet?” I glance over my shoulder. “I like it when you wear your hair down.”

I give her a tight smile. “Thank you.”

* * *

BY THE TIME I get a proper reading on the location of the Trackers and leave the Earth HQ, it’s night time. Bare branches interlace above me as I crawl through the thick underbrush of the Logansville Parklands, searching for the Tracker demons. The dry smell of decaying leaves tickle my nose and thorny wild vines tug at my catsuit, but fail to cling to the material. Rain drizzles down upon me, making me shiver whenever a few drops land on the bare skin at the back of my neck. I push past a few tiny trees and crush a few small saplings under my boot before I stepping out into the opening. Oops. The last thing Earth needs are less trees.

“Sorry, little guy,” I crouch down and try to rest the sapling up against another. When it looks comfortable (enough), I cautiously make my way through the clearing, wiping the sticky sap of the sapling on my thigh. In the distance, I hear the unmistakable growl of a tracker demon and my muscles tighten. A small smile plays on my lips as the growl surrounds. Two tones mesh together. There’s more than one and they’re hidden by the dense shrubbery. I close my eyes an inhale through my nose. I love this. Killing demons is what I live for. I open my eyes.

The thick dressing of the trees above allow a faint light to filter through. Right on cue, and with a gnarly growl, a Tracker leaps from the shrub, making itself known. My heart shoots into my throat and I gasp as I drop to the floor, letting the huge, black dog fly straight over my head and into a thick tree stump. It yelps and I scurry to the left, keeping both trackers in front of me. The smaller brown Tracker rushes and I let it get as close as I can before grabbing it by the throat and lifting it off the ground. The ropes of muscle in my arm ache as I hold it at arm’s reach so it can’t bite my face with its long teeth. The Tracker thrashes around in my grasp, growling and snapping at me. I reach for my knife at the back of my belt and it’s not there. I spot it two feet from my left, not far from the big black Tracker that has managed to gain its equilibrium. It lowers itself for another launch. I tense, contemplating my next move. It bares its fangs and I wonder if throwing the small Tracker at the black one the second his paws leave the ground would do anything to slow him down.

The black Tracker crouches and prepares for launch...only, his paws never leave the ground. The Tracker’s yellow eyes flared with fear and he turns on his paws, his tail tucked between his legs, and runs, disappearing into the parklands.

“Great, now I have to chase it,” I mutter to the little brown Tracker I still hold in my hand.

“Or you could pick on someone your own size.”

My heart swells painfully as his voice pierces through my flesh and ignites my blood. I drop the small, brown Tracker and he flees into the shrubbery, yelping like a lost puppy.

I turned towards the familiar voice and resentment slithers through my stomach. I do not want to see him right now, but there he is, leaning against a tree in his sexy business pants and sexy white buttoned shirt with that stupidly-sexy black tie. His dark eyes rake me from head to toe as I stand before him, confused and angry.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips.

“Me? I’m here to protect you. Who knows what’s lurking around here.”

I spit. “Protect me? You mean like the time you had me compelled?”

He smirks. “Precisely.”

“I was sprayed with a hose, beaten, and drugged until I remembered. And you’re lucky I did remember, otherwise I’d be dead right now...”

“I’m sorry,” he says. His eyes watching unapologetically as he twists the tip of the blade against his index finger without cutting the skin.

He’s not sorry. He’s not sincere. “You were an angel… how can you bring yourself to fight against your own people?”

He chuckles and the sound chills my bones. “They aren’t my people anymore. Demons are my people—I’m a demon.”

It sucks hearing those words come from his mouth. I chew on my bottom lip and swallow hard. “Right.”

Lucas’s eyes soften, becoming pleading and desperate. “Let me make you like me?”

I flinch. “What?”

He takes a cautious step forward. “Let me make you a demon. We could be together forever… we can love each other again without hassle.”

A bitter taste floods my mouth. I can’t keep up with him. He hates me and then he loves me? He wants me off Earth one minute and can’t live without me the next? God, talk about whiplash. “No. I’m an angel and that’s all I ever want to be.” The thought of becoming a demon makes me sick. That’s the last thing I ever want to do. Even if I do crave being back with Lucas again, I never want to become a demon to achieve it. It’s just not worth it.

“Ah, well, it was worth a shot.” His eyes turn eerily dark, his face etched with anger. It’s like my refusal flipped a switch. He reaches around his back and produces a small blade from his pocket. “Angels fall, V. I did.”

He extends his hand, one last chance to be with him. My heart compresses...a part of me wants to take his hand and never look back, but the other part… the other part wants to end his suffering because the man that stands before me isn’t the one I fell in love with. I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “You didn’t fall. You were pushed.”

His lips curl into a sardonic smirk and he drops his hand by his side. There goes my chance.

“You’ve always had a good sense of humor. I think I’m going to miss that the most.”

Lucas dives at me, fast. I panic, unsure if he’s only trying to scare me or if he’s actually going in for the kill. It isn’t until he gets within two feet that I see the ice in his irises, the hollows of his cheeks, that I realize he isn’t Lucas.

He is Death.

Chapter 17

Clash

*

Lucas

I SWING AT her and the blade barely misses her beautiful face. Violet drops and rolls across the damp floor of the reserve. I didn’t come here to hurt her. I came here to keep an eye on her and keep her away from my brothers, but somewhere between then and now, my inner demon took over. She launched to her feet and I swing again. Clenching her teeth, she dodges my punch and kicks me square in the chest. Air is knocked from my lungs and I stumble back. Violet has become so strong, stronger since the days we used to train. I knew I made the right choice, making her an angel.

Violet steps into the dim light that breaks through the canopy and I catch a glimpse of the half star that’s sewn into the chest pocket of her uniform.

“Aw, did I do that?” Her hands clench. “At least now you won’t be in over your head.”

She leaps at me, baring her perfect white teeth in anguish. She comes at me hard, throwing combos she learned in my absence, all of which I manage to dodge. I grin at her as we duck and dodge through the forest, neither of us getting the upper hand. Violet growls, infuriated, and lunges at me. Cocking my leg, I kick her in the stomach and she grunts as it connects and throws her back. Surprisingly, she lands gracefully with her feet and hand planted firmly on the ground.

“Funny,” she says as I slip my knife into my pocket. “I was expecting you to hit a lot harder than that.”

I push off the soft forest floor, launching myself at her. She barely manages to get out of the way as my fist connects with the huge oak tree behind her. Pain radiates through my hand and up my arm, but I ignore it, turning my attention back to her. Her red hair dances around her as the cool wind blows it in different directions. Her blue eyes flicker with fear as the deafening crack of a tree, undecided on which way to fall, fills the forest.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you so scared before,” I call out to her.

She fights hard to shake her fear of me, but she can’t. I can see it in her eyes.

The sound is deafening as the massive tree slams to the ground, knocking Violet off balance. I take the opportunity to lunge at her and I catch her too, shoving her flat on her back.  I throw my weight on top of her and she thrashes under me. To be honest, I enjoy it more than I probably should.

Catching me guard, she punches me in the face. Her fist collides with ny cheek bone and she flicks her hips, shoving me off of her. I grab for her legs and miss.

Violet scrambles to her feet and I reach for the knife in my pocket.  She kicks my hand, trying to force me to drop the blade, but my grasp is too strong. I leap to my feet, enjoying the way my heart pounds, and swing the blade at her, narrowly missing her face.

“Ooh, that was close.” I chuckle.

And my amusement is short lived as she slams her fist into my stomach and follows with her right, aiming for my face.

I catch her fist and spin her around. Grunting, I plant my shoe between her shoulder blades and kick her into a pile of strange, glowing mushrooms.

She lifts her weight on her trembling arms and collapses. I approach her panting body, ready to go in for the kill...and something stops me. I stop me.

I stop Death.

My blood is on fire, my flesh sliced by imaginary shards of glass. I can’t keep fighting Death. It’s going to kill me. I tilt my head and my neck cracks. Bubbles pop up and down my spine and my physical body threatens to dissolve, exposing my true face.

My demonic face.

I clench my teeth and his, pressing my hands against my head, desperate for the pain to stop

I can’t hold it off...I can’t hold him off...

Before my demon can get the upper hand, my legs are kicked out from underneath me. I crash to the floor and that’s all Death needs ti take control.

Violet scampers to her feet and runs from me. “I can’t fight you, Lucas!” She shouts, climbing onto the trunk of the fallen tree.

“You don’t have what it takes.”

She freezes. Ah. Violet and her pride. It’s going to be the death of her. Frowning, she turns around and watches as I push myself to my feet.

“You’ve won...what else do you want from me?”

Her chest rises and falls with deep breaths, mine does, too. It’s not secret, this fight is going to go on forever. Unfortunately, I don’t have forever. There are things I need to do, a world I need to end. I can’t spend all night exchanging blows with her even if I want to.

Pointy leaves of a small tree to my right brushes against my shirt. I glance at...and an idea formulates. I grip the thick base of the tree in my hand and pull it from the ground. Lining it up, I aim it at Violet.

Her eyes widen.  “Lucas, what are y—”

Growling, I throw the tree at her. I’m convinced it’ll hit and, momentarily, guilt punches me in the gut. That guilt quickly turns to rage as she throws herself back, letting the tree pass cleanly over her stomach. She flips backward and disappears behind the fallen tree.

I sprint toward the tree trunk and vault over the top only to land on vacant ground. The tree I threw has collided with another and a pool of splintered wood litters the ground. I look around, searching for my red-haired beauty, but she’s gone. I rake the angry fingers through my hair.

“Shit! Dammit! Fuck!” I yell, kicking the tree trunk. My head hurts, my stomach hurts, my hand hurts, and now, I have to find Violet before my brothers do.

* * *

“HEY! I’M DRIVING here!” Some douchebag in a yellow taxi shouts, honking his horn at me as I cut across the semi-busy road. Ignoring him, I push through the crowds of people that litter the sidewalk. I’m myself again. No demon is forcing my hand. How convenient.

I have no idea where Violet has gone. I walked around the parklands for a whole hour before raking every street in Logansville. She was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, I teleported back to the center of Concave City to find a place called the Lion’s Den. It’s a dodgy little bar tucked in an alley. War owns it and I don’t know if he’ll be there, but it’s worth a shot.

I find the dirty bar relatively quickly and enter without hesitation. Shamefully, I fit right in with my dirty clothes. I squeeze past drunk bums and easy women and make my way to the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks. Damn. He’s a big boy, both tall and wide.

“War, where is he?”

He dries his tattooed hands on a white tea towel and throws it on the bar, intimidating to a human maybe, but to me he’s just being a nuisance.

“Who’s asking?”

“Death.”

Immediately, the man stiffens and turns toward the white phone that hangs on the wall. Around it, I notice the mahogany wall paint is peeling and I shake my head. Why my brother wastes money on these unsavory places is beyond me. He has the means to buy out every decent hotel in this city and chooses to relax in squalor? Oh well, it’s no concern of mine, I suppose. I don’t mind being the brother with the higher standards.

The bartender dials a four digit number and speaks quietly into the receiver. With a nod of his head, he hangs up and turns his back to me.

“He’s downstairs.” He presses the blue button positioned next to the telephone. “Go through the green door and follow the staircase down.”

I follow his orders and enter a narrow staircase. The pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol fills my nose, leaving a bitter taste at the back of my throat. Hopefully, this won’t take long.

I proceed down the staircase until I come to another door. Opening it, I enter War’s underground den. Cheers and screams almost deafen me as I push through the crowd to see what the hell is going on. The unmistakable sound of flesh slamming into flesh stands out above the roar of the crowd and I spot the two men at the root of the commotion. They grapple each other, exchanging blow for blow to the ribs. I shake my head. Of course War has unsavory, illegal fights going on underneath his shitty bar.

I scan the room. Along the edges of it, barely clothed women dance in makeshift cages. Not a bad idea, I guess.

“Lucas?” I startle as a strong hand wraps around the curve of my shoulder and I turn to find a familiar face.

“Leo.”

Leo is War’s right hand man. The only thug of War’s that I actually I like. Leo’s loyal but not stupid. Smart, but not cocky.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he shouts over the top of the crowd.

“I wouldn’t be here unless it was necessary. Where’s War?”

Leo turns and I follow him through the crowd over to another staircase. We ascend it for a few steps before entering another room.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise?” War laughs. “I never expected you to set foot in my club.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well, it’s definitely a big drop in standards from my own club.” I stroll over to the bar, eying the topless woman that tends it, and pour my own drink. “How you can even stomach this place is beyond me.”

I glance out the window in front of me and watch the men in the cage. War’s little box is the ultimate seat to view the fights and girls that dangle from the ceiling.

“We’re animals, Death. We belong amongst animals.”

I finish my glass of whiskey in one mouthful. “We are gods, not animals.” And I truly believe that.

Amusement flashes in War’s black eyes. “We want in on your plan.”

I shrug. “You’re a few days late. I had a cut off time, remember?”

“Big deal. We’re telling you now,” Conquest interrupts.

He sits on War’s right. He nudges the blonde woman that sits on his lap, blocking him from view. Smiling, she slides off, takes his empty glass and strolls over to the bar.

I run my fingers over the slight stubble on my chin. “Okay, fine.” I glance at Mikael who leans against the window, watching the fight and ignoring us. I guess he’s not down with taking over the world early. “We’ll do it next week.”

“No,” War states. “We’ll do it tomorrow night.”

I narrow my eyes. “That’s not nearly enough time to plan it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I want to rule now, not next week.”

“I suggest you—”

“You will suggest nothing!” War booms, making the girls in the room squeak. “You forget your place. You were the last brother brought into this group and you are the last brother I’ll take orders from.”

I grit my teeth and flex my jaw. War is not someone I want to fight with right now. It’d be wasted energy that I could use to find Violet. “Fine. Tomorrow night it is.”

“Good. Now, enjoy the women and enjoy the fight.”

“No, I have things I need to do.” I place my glass on the glass countertop of the bar and head for the door since it’s clear they don’t have Violet either.

“She’s gone, by the way,” Conquest grunts and I turn to look at him. He flicks his head, clearing his long dark hair out of his face. He glances at my dirty clothes and then back to my face. “After the fight you two had in the parklands, she ran all the way back to headquarters. Your precious angel almost copped an arrow to the head. She didn’t even see me coming. She only just made it inside as my bow connected with the door. That place is lucky it has all the charms and crap, otherwise I’d slaughter each and every one of those arrogant pricks.”

I leave the room, not knowing how to take what he said. I knew my brothers were tracking her, too, so the fact they knew what happened between us doesn’t come as a shock. To be honest, I’m relieved she made it back to headquarters. She needs to get as far away from me as possible. I lost myself to Death tonight and she barely escaped with her life. Next time…next time she might not be so lucky.

Ugh. I stop in the stairwell and lean against the wall. I give myself a damn headache. I’m hot then cold. I love her and then I want to kill her. This kind of indecisive behavior is going to kill me. I can do one of two things to protect her from my brothers. I can trap her in the Never Dark by ending Earth. Or I can kill her myself. If only my heart could decide.

* * *

“YOU LOOK LIKE shit,” Eva points out, resting her elbows on my desk. I smile as she sits in a dark royal blue robe, her legs crossed at the ankles as they rest upon its oak surface. I’m surprised she can even get her legs up that high without dislocating her hip.

“Nah, I feel great.” And I do, strangely enough. I approach her, extending my hands. “Can you look f—”

“That’s why I’m here.” Eva slips her hands in mine and closes her eyes. “She’s not on Earth.”

I take my hands back. “Good.”

Pulling my tie off, I start unbuttoning my shirt and Eva takes her leave. When I’m alone, I sit on the edge of my bed, plagued by the same old problems. Alas, tomorrow night…it all ends.

Chapter 18

Passion

*

Violet

I STORM FROM the teleportation chambers at the Never Dark headquarters, angrily pulling leaves and bits of stick from my hair. People stare at me. You know, the usual. Why wouldn’t they stare? I’m a mess, dirt covers my uniform and whatever slivers of flesh that are exposed.

I stalk right through the lobby and out into the street. I follow the road until I come to an apartment complex similar to mine. It’s late and although I know where Lana lives, I have no idea what number her apartment is, and strangely, the chart by the buttons doesn’t have any names.

I try my luck on apartment seven, since it’s my favorite number, and wait a few minutes before pressing it again. And again. And again until a gruff, tired voice answers.

“Hello?” the man asks.

“Yeah, hello. Is this Lana’s apartment?”

No answer…and then the line disconnects. What an asshole. I press number nine and another tired male voice answers. “Yeah?”

Great.

“Is this Lana’s apartment?”

A scuffle comes through the speaker and I pull away because the distorting noises hurt my ears.

“Violet? Violet, is that you?” Lana’s asks, breathlessly.

Awkward. “Um, yeah. I can come back later…”

“No, no. Please, come up.”

An annoying buzzing noise rings out and the steel gate to my left clicks open. I glance at the stairs in front of me. It’s a good thing I’m still worked up and I need to burn off this aggression. I run up the stairs, determined not to stop until I reach room nine. As I pass number seven, I kick the door and continue up the stairs to Lana’s apartment. When I reach it, Lana opens the door before I get the chance to knock. Panting, I eye her from head to toe.

“Hey!” She greets me, her smile wide and hopeful.

She’s wearing a men’s gray t-shirt and her black hair is a mess with half of it still in a ponytail, the other half sprawling over one shoulder. Lana’s usually flawless makeup is smeared around her eyes and lips. She stares at me with equal wonderment and I realize I probably look as wild as she does. Without a word, she steps aside and lets me in. Her apartment is nice—nicer than mine, anyway. Her walls are a deep red, as opposed to my beige. The skirting boards are wooden too, giving the place a real classic, royal feel.

Closing the door behind me, Lana runs to the other side of the room and shuts what I assumed is her bedroom door.

“Sorry, George is sleeping.”

George? I’m not even going to go there. I stand by the kitchen as Lana shuffles around in it. She pulls a bottle of Vodka and two shot glasses from her cupboard and sits them on the breakfast bar.

“Come.” She orders, pulling out a stool from underneath the bar. “Sit.”

Sitting sounds like a good idea, actually. My muscles ache. I saunter over to her and slip onto the stool. Despite the hard wooden look of fit, it’s actually pretty comfy.

“Rough night?”

Rough doesn’t begin to cover it. I can’t even bring myself to look at her. I grab my shot as she finishes pouring it and tip it down my throat, hissing as my eyes water. I hate Vodka, but it’s strong, and strong was exactly what I need right now. Lana shoots her Vodka smoothly, as if she’s tipping only water down her throat. “You look like shit. Tell me what happened.”

I slam back another Vodka and cringe. “Lucas happened.”

Her eyes go wide. “What? I thought you were hunting Trackers?”

“I was, but then he showed up with his split personality and scared them off.” I lean forward. “And he threw a fucking tree at me!”

I startle as Lana explodes into a fit of laughter and I glare at her.

“I’m sorry,” she giggles. “I wasn’t expecting that.” She leans across the bar and frees a small stick from my hair. “Why’d he throw a tree at you?”

I purse my lips, the bottom one stinging with a fresh cut, and launch into the story. I tell her everything from start to finish and she makes sure to laugh at every unnecessary moment.

Bitch.

By the end of it, I’m laughing my ass off, too.

“Wow, is Miss Violet enjoying herself for the first time in her second-life?” Lana calls, crossing the room and turning on her stereo. Rock music I haven’t heard in a very long time fills the room and Lana bounces away to it.

Movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. The door to my left, her bedroom door, opens and out comes the man of the hour. George? Did she say? To be honest, I forgot he was even here. I try not to stare at him as he crosses the living room floor, but…his naked torso is beautiful. It’s sculpted to perfection and covered in flawless ink. We can’t have it all, though. Yes, he has an amazing physique and a beautiful face, but...he isn’t very tall.

“Can’t sleep, baby?” Lana giggles, reaching out for the hem of his black sweatpants.

He plants a kiss on her mouth and saunters over to the bar. “Not really,”

George pours himself a shot and drinks it without a flinch. When he’s done, he pours me one.

“Thanks…” I manage to drag my eyes from his chest to his face. He’s a handsome guy, I suppose. I mean, there are things that make him look really young, like the dimples, the big blue eyes, and the fact he doesn’t have facial hair. Naturally, I’m just not that into boy-looking men. I glance at Lana, who eyes him hungrily. Good for her, I’m glad one of us was getting some kind of sexual action.

“I’m going to go back to my apartment to sleep. I have to go to Earth in the morning.” He announces, walking toward Lana.

I focus my attention on the gothic-like paintings on her wall while they whisper dirty things to each other. One painting in particular catches my eye. It’s a picture of a skeleton in a beautiful blue Victorian era dress, her long dark hair blowing in the wind behind her. She stands atop a mountain beside a grand manor overlooking a cracked, deserted road. There are no trees in the picture. Instead, the ground and the sky are painted in a weird brownish hue.

“Do you like it?” she asks, pulling my attention.”

“I don’t know… It’s kind of depressing.”

She laughs, nudging a shot in my direction. I look around the room and her boyfriend is gone. I was too focused on the painting to even realize. “That was George, by the way.”

I nod. “He seems nice.”

Lana arches an eyebrow at me. “Nice?”

“He’s a little on the short side, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and I like it like that. I don’t have to stand on my tippy toes, I can wear his pants without worrying about the bottoms being trapped under my feet, and I’m not eating chest hair when we have sex because he is the perfect height. It’s face to face, you know what I mean?”

I smile. “Good for you. I’m glad you’re happy.”

I want what Lana and George have…but I can’t. Not as long as I keep running into Lucas. I mean, how can I move on if he’s hiding behind every corner waiting for me? And not to mention he’s demonically unstable. He wants to protect me one minute and kill me the next. What kind of functional relationship begins like that? I don’t want to see Lucas again, not after the compulsion and especially not after tonight. We are polar opposites…now more than ever. We’re like two magnets, desperate to be together, but the universe keeps forcing us apart. I can’t kill Lucas. My heart won’t allow it…but it is my duty to protect Earth and I will gladly take one of his brothers down to save it.

“Do you think I can do it?” I ask Lana. “Do you think I can kill one of the Horsemen?”

“Absolutely.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the bar. “I’m curious, though. What made you change your mind? You seemed pretty adamant this morning.”

I shrug. “I’m ready to move on…to take back everything he took from me.”

“Hold onto your hats, ladies and gentlemen. Shit is about to get real.”

* * *

I OPEN MY eyes and a headache thrums away in the back of my head, right underneath Lana’s chin. Her long arms are wrapped around my waist and she snores into my hair, blowing hot are against the back of my neck. I frown. How the hell am I going to get out of this? I grab her wrist and move her arm.

I’m not sure how much we drank last night, but I feel like shit and my back hurts from sleeping on this soft sofa bed.

Lifting her arm, I return it to her by dropping it against her side.

Lana’s eyes fly open as I pull away from her and shuffle away. She takes one look at my frown and chuckles tiredly.

“Sorry, V.” Arching her back she stretches her arms above her head with a loud yawn. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Sleeping with you is like sleeping with a boa-constrictor, you know that, right?”

“Ouch.” She grins. “Do you always treat the women you sleep with, with a treat em’ mean keep em’ keen attitude? Because it’s working.”

I scoff as she slides out of bed, running her fingers through her dark hair before walking toward the kitchen. “What do you want for breakfast?”

I cringe as my stomach turns. The thought of food makes me queasy and I’m seventy percent sure I was still drunk.  “Nothing. I gotta’ go. There’s a Horseman I need to kill, remember?”

Lana opens the fridge. “You’re not going anywhere until you put something into your stomach.”

I exhale and toy with the string of the gray sweatpants I’m apparently wearing now. At some point last night, I must have showered. I’m not sure how, but it happened.

I guess I do I need to refuel...all I want to do is go back to sleep. Lucas once told me that drinking before a mission was the most stupid thing an angel can do. That kind of stress on the body is unnecessary, he’d say.

With a sigh, I drag my tired body from the sofa over to the breakfast bar and sit down. From the refrigerator Lana takes out bacon, eggs, bananas, and apples. I watch on in stomach turning horror as she peels two bananas and dices the apple and then puts them in a bowl. She places the bowl on the littered bar between us. “We’ll snack on this until the real food is cooked.”

We chat while she cooked. She told me about how she died. She was in a train crash on her way to work. A scout picked her up and the next thing she knew, she woke up in the Never Dark hospital and they told her what had happened. The very next day she was being trained for assistant work.

“I wanted to be something cool, like a Veltra angel or a fighting angel, like you, but apparently I don’t have that skillset,”

I don’t know what I’d like to do if the fighting position wasn’t available to me. I’m not good at anything else. I suck at organizing  definitely wouldn’t describe myself as highly intellectual.

I fight.

I can’t do anything else. This is what I was born to do, to fight demons. Lucas told me that once and I believe him. I have no parents and no siblings. It’s meant to be.

“Do you have a family?” I ask, grabbing a fork.

Lana evenly dishes out the eggs and bacon onto big, ceramic plates and hands one to me.

“I did. I come from a huge Italian family. You?”

“No.”

I shovel bacon and egg into my mouth. “Do you miss them?”

“We can’t. The transition cuts our emotional ties to the human world, remember? I think about them a lot, but I don’t feel sad. I know they would feel sad when they think of me… and I don’t want that, but there’s nothing I can do about it. This is my life now. Helping stuck up field angels with their paperwork.” She winks at me and chews on the corner of a piece of bacon.

I eat breakfast quickly and leave Lana with only one thing on my to-do list...

Kill a Horseman.

* * *

“OUCH!” I HISS, stomping my foot as I pull the last stick out of my hair.

Stepping back, I look at myself naked in the mirror. My bruises have healed up nicely. You can barely tell that I was almost beaten to death at the beginning of the week. Yay for freaky healing powers.

My long red hair clings to my body and I shiver. I hate when wet hair touches my skin. On the plus side, I feel so much better after breakfast and a shower. The gross nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach has vanished and the thrumming headache has ceased.

I’m not completely cured, however. There’s still this unnerving feeling swirling around my stomach, a side effect of going after Famine today.

I can’t fail.

Everything rests on my ability to fight. I was trained by Lucas Cross and I need to prove that I was.

I slip into fresh new uniform and it feels nice against my skin. Unlike my other one, this one isn’t filled with dirt and leaves...yet.

I pull my hair into a ponytail and tighten it and then I flee from my house. When I make it to HQ, Lana is waiting for me on the front steps, Lana, wearing a cute all black business dress with a short white tie.

“Took you long enough,” she calls out as I jog up the stairs. I shrug as we enter HQ. “I grabbed as much information on Famine as I could. I have a list of all his usual hangouts. All the bars and strip clubs he owns and visits regularly. There’s a place called The Lion’s Den he goes there a lot, but I suggest you avoid that place at all costs. It’s usually crawling with demons and it’s owned by War. Your best bets are The Soft Kitty and Big, Busty Babes.”

I sigh. “So my best bet at finding Famine is at strip clubs? Remind me why I’m doing this again?”

“You’re doing this because you feel terrible that I have to put up with Govlonsky and you want to make things right. Now go.” She turns away from me only to spin back around. Lana tosses a tiny headpiece at me and I catch it as it bounces off my chest. “Take your head piece so we can communicate and don’t switch it off like you usually do.”

She disappears into a filing room and I head over to the missions office. Once again, I’m given a mission that only requires the death of two Tracker demons. The receptionist with the pretty golden ringlets glares up at me. “You’re slacking off. These are the same two demons you failed to kill yesterday. Get it done.”

I run my tongue along my front teeth. It takes a lot of strength not to mock her and I deserve a cookie for taking the high road. “I’ll be sure to do it this time.”

“You better.” She hands me the missions tablet and I sign my name along the bottom.

Blondie gives me the forms for the teleportation chamber and, with a superficial smile, I turn away from her.

Tom doesn’t say much when he teleport me today. From what I gather, he’s feeling ill, even the green pills he slammed down didn’t help him. I guess I’m not the only one who hit the bottle hard last night. We teleport with ease and I’m too distracted to full appreciate the serenity of it today.

I step out of the teleportation chamber and walk right up to Gladys, who is still wearing too much purple. She signs my forms and sends me on my way. I do my best to get out of HQ as quickly as I can. The last thing I want is to bump into Janet or speak to Cole Nark. I’m not in the mood for his shit today and he’s definitely going to roast me for not filing a report after my last mission.

I bounce up the stairs, step out into the morning sun and grab the first car I see. I want to have Famine’s head on a platter before lunch. When I pull into the parking lot, I glance at the clock on my dashboard. It’s a few minutes to noon, meaning the strip club will soon open.

Every ten seconds, I look over my shoulder, waiting for Lucas to spring out and attack me. He never does, and by the time twelve p.m. ticks around, I assume he has no idea I’m even here. Good. The last thing I want is for him to show up and ruin the fun.

I slide out of the car and the gravel crunches beneath my boots as the front door opens and a furry pink curtain is put up in the entrance. I glance up at The Soft Kitty’s exterior. It’s a black building, excluding the big, pink cat sign at the front. I don’t know who in their right mind thinks The Soft Kitty is an appropriate name for a strip club. Whoever came up with it needs to be fired ASAP and while we’re at it, get rid of the guy that designed the sign too. A giant pink cat licking its paw and winking with ‘The Soft Kitty’ written on it’s collar is a huge no.

“Classy,” I scoff as I stalk toward the club. I feel dirty walking up to the club. I feel worse entering it, but I pull up my big girl panties, bite my tongue and saunter through the pink, fluffy door.

Like I expected, inside is dark and seedy, and the furniture is worse than I imagined.

Fluffy, comfortable and tacky.

Pink vagina-like booths line the walls and make their way into most of the decor. What the hell was this guy thinking? I stop as music swirls through the air and a girl strolls onto the stage. I stop to watch for a moment, not because I want to see a girl slowly grind to the club beats, but because she has the biggest, fakest boobs I’ve ever seen. How she manages to lug them around is beyond me. She notices me gawking and smiles in my direction. A fierce heat creeps up my throat and pools in my cheeks. I turn to the bar and the man that tends it is at least fifty years old. I wait for him to finish wiping down the bar before engaging him in conversation. I open my mouth as he tosses the towel over his shoulder and eyes me suspiciously.

Behind me, a handful of drunken men stumble in and cheer at the girl with the basketballs strapped to her chest. That’s when I spot the two security guards that wait on either side of the stage.

“What can I get you, love?” the bartender asks, his husky voice saturated by an Irish accent.

“Um, nothing to drink. I—”

“Sorry, we aren’t taking auditions right now, but if you show me what you’re packing underneath that sexy suit of yours, I’ll pass on my recommendation for when we’re hiring.”

I frown. The man looked so sweet with his gray hair and short moustache, but apparently he’s a pig. I’d kick him through the wall, but he’s definitely not a demon and I’d kill him for sure.

I clear my throat. “That’s not what I’m after, either,”

“Then what do you want?”

“I’m looking for the owner, Fa—Mikael. I’m a friend of his.”

The bartender stiffens before grabbing his towel again and starts wiping down the bar. It’s an odd thing for him to do, considering the place just opened and no one has ordered a drink yet. “Mikael doesn’t have friends.”

I rest my elbows on the bar. “Okay, I lied. We aren’t friends. We’re business partners.”

He rolls his brown eyes. “Yeah, okay. Look, if Mikael took you home and didn’t call you again, let it go. You aren’t going to track him down. Although you’re definitely someone I’d call again after a one night stand, Mikael isn’t that kind of guy. He’s probably had ten more of you by now. Sorry to say it, darling.”

I clench my jaw, inhaling through my nose. “Again, I think you’re misunderstanding what I’m after exactly.”

“I don’t think I am.” I snap forward, snatching his collar in my fist. He tries to pull away, but I’m too strong for him. Cocking his arm, he swings at me and I catch it in my hand. He gasps as his eyes go wide.

“A-are you a demon?”

“No, darling,” I smirk. “But I’ll show you just how demonic I can be if you don’t tell me where Mikael is.”

Fear pools in his brown eyes. “I-I don’t know. I swear.”

I analyze his face. Maybe he’s telling the truth. “You’d want to hope that’s the truth because if I find out you’re withholding important information from me, I’m coming back for you.”

I let him go and he falls backwards, cowering into the corner of the bar. I leave The Soft Kitty no closer to Famine. Exhaling, I cross the parking lot and climb back into my black Jeep. I wasted so much time waiting for this godforsaken place to open Famine could be anywhere by now. Maybe Lana can help. I straighten my legs and reach into my pocket for the headpiece. The second I turn it on, her voice is in my ear, nagging.

“Jesus Christ, Violet. I thought you were going to keep it switched on.”

I turn the key in the ignition. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“I chewed my nails down to the bone worrying about you.”

I roll my eyes. “Relax. I’m okay. Famine wasn’t at The Soft Kitty.”

“So go to Big, Busty Babes.”

I drop my head against the head rest and sigh. “I was only inside for five minutes and I’ve already had enough of strip clubs.”

“Well, I’ve been stuck in HQ all day, fetching information for Govlonsky’s mission, so don’t complain because you’re sick of running around different strip joints, staring at nice boobies and sipping martinis.”

“I’m not staring at nice boobies or sipping martinis,” I protest.

“Still. My life sucks and you need to fix it.”

“Fine, I’ll go to the other strip club.” I frown as Lana chews in my ear. “Are you eating?”

“Yes, it’s lunch time. I’m eating an apple.”

My stomach grumbles. I’m so hungry it burns my chest. I pull out of the parking lot and one hundred yards up the road I spot a drive through burger place. I pull in and order a large cheeseburger with fries and Coke. As I drive, I devour my meal and it’s disgustingly satisfying.

* * *

I CAN’T BELIEVE I’m going to say it, but Big, Busty Babes is marginally classier than The Soft Kitty. It isn’t painted black, and that’s a start.

Unlike The Soft Kitty, BBB’s exterior is a subtle mahogany, all brick, and I don’t have to walk through any weird furry curtains to get inside. Compared to The Soft Kitty this club is much nicer inside too. There are no pieces of furniture that resembles any body parts, only sleek black leather couches. The floor glows white as LED strips run underneath. It gives me a headache to be honest, but I still prefer this place more.

I make my way over to the bar that’s manned by a big breasted blonde in a tight black dress that stops just underneath her ass.

“What can I get you?” she asks as I lean on my elbows on the bar.

“I’m looking for someone. Mikael?”

“Mikael Cross? The owner?” She scoffs. “Good luck finding him. He hardly ever comes here. I’m the manager, though, is there something I can help you with?”

“Do you know where I might find him?”

She shrugs. “Nope. Sorry.”

Ugh. I slump onto a barstool. “Give me a shot of tequila, please. No lime. No salt.”

The girl pours me a shot and slides it over. I down it quickly, biting my tongue against the burn. “You want a job? We could use a red head.” She flicks her head to the main stage.

I glance over my shoulder at the three naked blondes grinding chrome poles to the club music. I shake my head. “No thanks, it’s not really my thing.”

She arches a brow. “But catsuits are?”

“Apparently. It’s a long story.” I tap the bar. “I’ll have another one.”

She slides the shot over to me and I reach for it…only my fingers never come into contact with it. I hit the ground hard, knocking the air from my lungs. He, a stranger, picks me up by my throat, holding me just above the ground. I gasp for air and the black-eyed brute smirks at me.

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” I manage to squeeze out. “Can’t be too good for business.”

He squeezes harder, cutting my oxygen off completely. “Why are you looking for him?”

The bartender jumps the bar and runs to the front door, pulling it shut. “I asked you a question, you piece of shit!” He booms, his black eyes flashing red.

Does he know how difficult he's making it for me to speak? I grasp desperately at his hand which only makes him squeeze me tighter. Baring my clenched teeth, I kick him between the legs. I gasp violently as he drops me and I stumble to catch myself.

“Fucking bitch,” he growls, hunching over.

I inhale and my head spins as oxygen floods back into my lungs. I back up against the barstool and hunch over it, waiting for my second wind to hit me. The man recovers quickly and his cornrows bob against his shoulders as he dives at me. At the last second, I grab the wooden bar stool and smash it over his head. It breaks apart in my hands, its sharp snaps cutting into my hands.

Groaning, he stumbles back, clenching his head. When he lowers his hands, I see the thick splinter of wood embedded in his forehead. I wince as he plucks it out and a thick line of blood runs down his face and over his full, dark lips.

Fuck. I catapult over the bar as he snaps forward, roaring like a lion. He grasps the surface of the bar and pulls it clean off. He plows through the bar and I grab the cup hanger above me, I flick my legs up and I swing around to kick him in the face. Unexpectedly, he dips back and then shoots forward, grabbing my legs in his thick, strong hands. He yanks me and my sweaty hands give away. “Ah!” My head cracks against the bar as he tugs me off and dumps me on thes floor. The brute lets go of my calves and I pull myself through his legs, ignoring the head-splitting pain at the back of my skull. I leap to my feet as he turns around and I clench my jaw before pulling my knee to my chest and letting it fly, planting my boot in his nuts again.

“Arggh!” He keels over and I throw my elbow into his face. “Unh.”

Stunned, he falls backwards, his large body shaking the floor crashes against it.

Wasting no time, I grab a shard of glass dripping in Vodka, and I jump at the brute, slamming the broken glass into his chest, directly into his heart. His eyes widen and he gargles on blood as it spills from his mouth. Slowly, he disintegrates into a thick, black sludge. I kneel in it, my chest rising and falling heavily. When I stand up, I toss the glass to the side and lift my gaze to the bartender who cowers behind a leather couch.

“P-please, don’t hurt me.” She sobs. “I-I was only doing what they told me to do.”

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” I run my arm across my forehead, clearing off a thin sheet of sweat. “But next time, tell me when someone is behind me.”

She nods

I take one step…and I feel it at the back of my throat. Smoke fills nostrils and thick arms seize my waist.

My heart plummets. My stomach twists. “No!” I lunge forward, but it’s not quick enough and the feeling of being weightless consumes me. The bar disappears and I appear somewhere else in a black haze. Somewhere familiar. I glance around the room as the smoke clears.

A big, glass window that overlooks the city…

A bookshelf…

And the bed…the bed I was handcuffed to before I was compelled.

Hands grip my biceps and Lucas’s touch tears through me as he spins me around with tremendous force. “What the hell are you doing?” he demands, his eyes wildly searching mine.

I shrug out of his grasp. “How dare you!”

“How dare me? How dare you! I told you!”

I scoff. Screw him. I pace the room, from the bookshelf to the window and then back again. Lucas watches me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his denim jeans. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him were something so casual. His white t-shirt clings nicely to his well-formed chest.

“I told you to stay away.” He grumbles, his tone thick with annoying attitude.

I stop at the bookshelf and pull out a thick book with gold edging. He told me to stay away? I don’t know who he thinks he is. Whipping around, I launch the book at his head, spurred by the rage in my veins. He catches the book and tosses it to the side before pointing his long, tanned index finger at me. “Don’t throw my things.”

“Don’t throw your things?” I grab another book and another book until Lucas is too inundated to catch them all. Growling, he drops the books in a pile and runs at me, his body morphing with smoke, and then he disappears.

A deafening silence fills the room and I wait…nothing.

I inch forward and he crashes into me, slamming me against the wall.

I trash against him, stomping his feet with my boots. Grunting, Lucas kicks my ankles and forces his thigh between my legs, pinning me to the wall. “Stop!’ he snaps. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me?” I groan. I wish he would make up his mind. “Just kill me and get it over with.”

“I want to kill you,” He presses his nose to my throat, inhaling deeply. “But I can’t, V. I fucking can’t.” He exhales. “Your blood smells so sweet.”

Every nerve in my body stands to attention as his hot breath warms my skin. Pushing off me, he turns around and rakes his fingers through his short dark hair.

I open my mouth and a pathetic gush of hair blows out.

“What were you doing at Famine’s clubs?”

“I was looking for him.”

“Are you insane?” he yells, startling me. “I’ve bent over backwards trying to protect you from them! Don’t you know how much you mean to me?”

“I shouldn’t mean anything to you anymore. You don’t mean anything to—”

He grabs my wrist and tugs me forward with incredible force. He crushes his firm lips hard against mine, cutting me off. “Don’t you fucking say it,” he mutters against my mouth, “because I know you don’t mean it.”

I swallow hard. I don’t mean it, but I have to draw the line somewhere. We can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep running in circles. I’m betraying everyone. I’m betraying my oath, my family. We’re like magnets, desperate to be together, but the universe keeps forcing us apart.

I want to move on…but I can’t. Not while he’s here.

Lucas kisses me, eagerly, and I kiss him back, burying my fingers in his hair. What is wrong with me? We’re enemies, plain and simple, but I guess underneath all our supernatural obligations and hate, underneath our opposing roles, there’s old love.

And passion.

And trust.

As long as one of those is showing, so will the others. Lucas slides his hand over my hips and around to my ass. I gasp into his mouth as he tugs me hard against him before moving a hand to my hair. With a swift pull, he frees my hair from its tie and it bounces around my shoulders. Tangling his fingers in my hair, he yanks my head back, ending the kiss.

“Lucas,” I exhale, as he reaches for my zipper. “We can’t do this.”

“We can do whatever we want.”

Weightlessness overcomes me as a slight pang of nausea rolls through me, leaving a smoky taste at the back of my throat. I take in my surroundings as the hazy smoke evaporates. I’m still in Lucas’s room…and I’m on my back… on his bed.

Lucas hovers above me, holding his weight on his arms, his hands planted either side of my head. He watches me in amusement, his beautiful dark eyes glistening with a hundred different emotions.

“No cussing?” He asks, his mouth curving into a cocky smile.

I squeeze his hair in my fists. “Oh, I hate you.” And I tug his mouth to mine.

That’s all it takes to release years of need, years of never having enough. Kissing me, he unzips my catsuit and slides his hand inside. The feel of his bare, rough hand on my naked skin has my body trembling.

“I’ve missed you,” He says between kisses.

“I miss you,” I mutter back as he props himself on his elbow so he  can wrap one arm around my waist, holding me close while the other palms my right breast.

My nipples ache as they strain against the confines of my bra. Flicking my hips, I roll Lucas off me and straddle him.

“Get them out for me, baby,” he holds onto my waist with a firm grip as I shrug out of my catsuit and reach around to unclip my bra. His brown eyes glaze over with lust as my generous bust bounces free.

“Jesus, V,”

I toss the bra to the side as another groan falls from his lips, sending piping hot desire burning through my core. He pushes himself up, wrapping his arms around me, and sucks my nipples between his lips. I shut my eyes, allowing his hot mouth to devour me. Every now and then he grazes me with his sharp teeth, making me shiver. How long has it been? Too fucking long.

Growling, Lucas flicks his hips and shoves me onto my back. “No more playing,”

I moaned gratefully as he forces his tongue into my mouth while he worked at my suit, forcing it lower and lower. He breaks the kiss and I lift my hips. He moves down my legs, tugging either side of my catsuit, his eyes not leaving mine for a second. “Do you remember how good I fucked you the day you got your uniform?”

I nod, my lips parting. The way he busted my zipper in the elevator at HQ…the way he looked at me while his friend drove us home… the way he bent me over the sofa when we finally made inside after we splintered his front door... God. We had such chemistry.

I hold my breasts as Lucas manages to take my underwear down with my suit. Eventually, I’m completely exposed, watching him destroy me with his eyes.

Smirking, he tugs off his white shirt, exposing his beautiful chest. I press my thighs together as he undoes the button on his jeans and kicks them off. Oh…I try not to stare at the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, but there’s nothing in this world that can distract me from such a gorgeous sight.

Licking my lower lip, I open my legs and he falls back onto me.

Where he belongs.

He kisses me everywhere, ferociously, and I can’t keep my hands still—up his sides, over his chest, through his hair, and down his arms. I trace every familiar bump of muscle and every depression while he teases me by positioning himself at my entrance, but doesn’t push.

My pulse goes haywire, thrumming at a million different locations in my body. Pulling away from my mouth, I watch as he wraps his delicious lips around his finger down and then pulls it out to lower it to my clit. My hips jerk of their own accord as he circles me, making me wet and ready for what he plans to give me. He’s perfect, and relentless, a mix of love and pure animal instinct. It doesn’t take long for me to come, and when I do…it is the greatest feeling in the world. Lucas takes all my moans inside his hungry mouth and I arch my back, pressing my hard nipples against his bare chest. Touching each other for the first time in years is…is…incredible. It’s the closure I need. Sex with Lucas one last time before I return him to the Underworld will be worth it.

Unexpectedly, Lucas thrusts into me and I gasp. It’s painful, it’s pleasurable. It’s a million and one things wrapped up in a pretty little box. I close my eyes, savoring every feeling, every emotion—

“Look at me,” he demands. I open my eyes and my stomach coils just looking into his lust-darkened eyes. “I want you to keep your eyes on me.” He leans down and tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you.”

I groan. “How badly?”

“Do you want me to show you?” A scary, devious gleam fills his eyes and it intrigues the fuck out of me.

I nod.

He pulls out of me and flips me over, positioning my ass up on an angle. I gasp as a flashback of Lucas punching a huge tree to the ground fills my mind. I forget how strong he is.

“I’ve fucked other girls,” He confesses as he hunches over me, grazing his lips against my neck. I scowl and he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head right back, until my neck ached. “Some blondes. Some brunettes. Most of them redheads.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He rubs every inch of himself over my sensitive flesh before plunging in. I grip the sheets as pleasure rips through my womb. “Because I pretended that each and every one of them was you.” With relentless power, he slams into me harder than he ever has. “It’s the only way I could come.”

Faster and faster.

Harder and Harder.

Why does his confession turn me on so much?

“Does that make you mad?” He asks, chuckling in my ear. “That I’ve had endless amounts of women since being with you?”

I grit my teeth. “Yes.”

“Good.” He licks my cheek. “I dream of you every night, fuck until I can’t move with only you on my brain.”

He grunts, pressing his knees into the insides of my thighs so I open wider for him. Pulling against his grip, I glance over my shoulder to see him straining to hold on.

“Yeah, fucking look at me. I want to see those beautiful eyes when I come,”

He says other things to me, things I’ll never repeat in a million years, and thrusting as hard as his body lets him without shattering my spine, he finds his own release.

When every drop of him is released inside of me, I flatten my body against his mattress as his length softens. I close my eyes as the smell of him engulfs me.

I feel…drugged.

And I feel hurt...not physically—no, nothing like that. I feel hurt because this is the man I love… and I can never be with him. When he goes back to the Underworld, it will be another girl making him feel how I just made him feel and the thought alone makes me sick.

Sighing, Lucas rolls off me and pins me protectively to his side.

“I never thought we’d be able to do this again,” he breathes, his chest rising and falling as his body began to cool down. “I thought I’d settle for second best for the rest of eternity.”

“Why do you do it?” I ask, wrapping my arm around his chest.

“What?”

“Have sex with other women?”

He purses his lips for a moment. “I don’t want to…I just…I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the way Death is. It’s the way my body is wired now.”

I trace his nipple with my finger. “Do you like being a demon?”

Lucas tenses underneath my fingertip as he gently twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “No, I hate it with every fiber in my being… I’ve done horrible things, V.”

Ignoring the fact that he is a demon, can I forgive him? I can’t possibly hold him accountable for what his dark side chooses to do… can I?

“If you could, would you cure yourself of being a demon?”

He answers instantly. “No. I’ve done too much.”

I frown. How can you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved? Do you give up, or do you fight for them? Where is the line that blatantly states ‘this is enough’? How much further do I have to fall for him?

The hairs on the top of my head rustles as he yawns. “I’ll make you mine again tonight. When Famine has finished preparing the horses.”

My ears prick up at the mention of Famine’s name. This could be the big break that I’ve been waiting for. “Horses?” I ask curiously, trying my hardest to come off as uninterested.

“We have horses in Logansville.” He runs his fingers under my chin, forcing my head back gently, so our eyes meet. An electrical current zips through me, exposing all my nerves just by the look in his eyes. “Let me turn you and we can ride the apocalypse together.”

I chew on my bottom lip. I knew he was going to ask that question. As much as I want to be with him…to feel him inside me and have his hands roam my entire body whenever I like… I can’t. Not like that. Sex won’t happen between us again, at least not in this lifetime. And for the sake of the sex that just occurred between us, I pray there’s an afterlife even for us.

“Okay,” I simply say.

“Okay?” The look of pure shock that spreads over his face is adorable. I smile at him as I nod. He pulls me tighter against him as he buries his nose deeper into my hair. A sickening feeling creeps over me. Not because I slept with a demon, but because I lied to him. I’d die before I give anyone the chance to turn me into a demon.

Even Lucas.

Chapter 19

Vanished

*

Lucas

I RUN MY hand over the soft mattress, searching for Violet’s warmth. Only the cool, empty surface of the mattress greets me. My eyes shoot open and I sit straight up. Out of the window, between two skyscrapers, the sun is setting below a block of apartments.

“V?” I call out and wait for a response. Maybe she didn’t leave. Maybe she’s just in the shower. “Violet?”

No answer.

I launch out of bed and slide into a pair of drawstring pants. I throw on my white t-shirt and pace quickly toward the bathroom. It’s empty. I glance around the room. None of her clothes litter the floor and no note is left on my bedside table

I push my fingers through my hair. I have to find her. She was searching for Famine earlier and there’s no doubt she’s hunting for him again. I pause. Did she lie when she said she’d become a demon for me. Did she run? Did she change her mind?

“Let me turn you and we can ride the apocalypse together.”

She sucked her bottom lip in between her straight, white teeth and chewed it. “Okay.”

“Fuck!” I grab the bookshelf and rip it away from the wall. She played me. She lied to me and here I was, the idiot who soaked up every word she said. She never wanted to become a demon. She was fishing for Famine’s location. The sex, the talk—it was all a lie?

Before I found her in Famine’s club, I made the decision to turn her against her will. I was going to after sex, but then she agreed, and so forcing her fell to the wayside.

She fucking betrayed me. She fucking used me. Rage swells in the pit of my stomach. My real side hates being betrayed, but my demon side absolutely detests it. The urge to spill her blood grows…but then I recall the way she makes me smile. She makes me feel less evil and more…I don’t know…me? I can’t end what we have. I need it again. I need it for the rest of my life. Going elsewhere is no longer an option.

I want her.

I want all of her.

And that’s exactly what I’m going to have.

I storm over to my bedside table and yank open the top drawer. I pull out the blade I made for her first trip to Earth and run my fingers over its sharp point and the soft curve at the base of the hilt. I trace the complex design that surrounded the letter ‘V’ and smile. This is the knife I’m going to use to turn her into a demon against her will.

* * *

MY SNEAKERS KICK up dust as I shimmy along the edge of the stables to avoid being seen. I glance up at the sky. The menacing black clouds that brought unnatural flashes of lightning with it unnerve me. War and Conquest must be back from the Underworld, which means I have very little time left to change Violet.

I slide further along the stable wall until I come to a steel gate. A muzzle brushes against my t-shirt and I hear one of our horses snort, but I see nothing else. As I lean against the door to my horse’s stable, her pale white coat begins to glow in a white hue that borders a pale green. She knows the end of the world is happening and she’s dying for me to saddle her up.

She doesn’t have a name. I inherited her when I became a demon. I didn’t want her, but War insisted. I’m glad he did. She keeps me company.

“Not yet,” I whisper and she snorts in annoyance, her glow fading. I round the corner to enter the main barn, but before I have a chance to open the big wooden doors, Violet flies out of it and slides across the dirt. Quickly, she jumps to her feet and wipes the blood from her mouth. I guess she found Famine.

Famine, in his ripped jeans and flannel shirt, storms from the barn. In his hand he clenches a pitch fork with long, rusty prongs. Smirking, Violet runs at him. At the same time, Famine swings the pitchfork up over his head and waits for her to get closer. When she’s within range, I dive at Famine, grasping the pointy prongs, and I yank the weapon from his hands.

“What the—” He glances at me over his shoulder and Violet took her chance.

Jumping, she kicks Famine straight in the chest. He stumbles backwards and that’s all she needs to knock Famine on his ass with a leg sweep. I take the pitchfork away and lean against the barn wall, watching them fight. I’m not going to let her kill Famine and I’m not going to let him kill Violet, but I am going to let them battle it out. Mostly because we were all about to become family.

She straddles Famine’s hips and squeezes his throat. “Not so tough now, are you?” she growls.

“I told you many years ago, I like it rough!” He punches her in the side of the head and she’s thrown off of him. Clenching my jaw, I grab onto the wooden panels of the barn, forcing myself to stay put and not to tear his knuckles from his hands.

“Nice to see you, brother.” Famine half chuckles, turning to face me. “Enjoy watching your bitch die.”

He pulls her off the ground by her hair and she groans in pain. He positions his knee directly below her face and I can’t remain still. A low growl rumbles through my chest as I push off the barn and launch at him, knocking them both to the ground. Violet rolls free as I pull Famine to his feet. We go punch for punch. Sure, we match each other in strength, but I’m the one with all the training. I drop low, slamming my fists into his stomach and I duck even lower as he swings for my face. I jump to my feet and pound his ugly mug before pinning his back against my chest. A few yards away, Violet hunches over, trying to catch her breath.

“Take your time. We’ve got all night,” I say, squeezing Famine’s throat.

“You have no idea how long we’ve been fighting, so give me a break,” she pants, her chest rising and falling with every breath.

“Fuck!” I fly forward as Famine flips me over his shoulder. I hit the dirt hard, my breath abandoning me for a second. “Damn…”

I force myself to my feet and face Famine. He stares at me, smiling that big, cocky smile.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I tell him, “brother.”

“You don’t get to use that word. You’re not my brother. You have no sense of loyalty. You have no respect for us. The only thing you care about is your whore and I’m going to take that from you.”

I snarl and Famine is tossed to the side as Violet punches him in the face.

“You lied to me,” I snap at her, unable to wait until later to talk about what she did.

Famine comes back swinging and she dodges a fist that’s aimed for her jaw. “You really want to do this now?” She smash her fist into his ribs. “I’ve have bigger things to deal with than you.”

Famine swings for my face and I manage to block it before swinging hard and connecting with his nose. A disgusting crack crepitated through the air as bone connected with bone and he goes went down hard.

“All you wanted was his location? For what? To prevent the apocalypse? I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but the apocalypse is happening and you will be by my side when it does.” I pull the blade from my back pocket.

Violet keeps her attention solely on Famine as he rolls around, clenching his face.

“This is about more than just the apocalypse. It’s about me gaining back the respect of my Council. You took that from me.” She tightens her ponytail and wipes more blood from her lip. Her gaze settles on me and then the blade. “I love Earth and you did, too... once,”

We stare at each other, the silence speaking a million words. I do love Earth…

That’s all it takes for me to become distracted. Her. Always fucking her. Famine snatches the blade from my grasp and slams it hard into Violet’s side. Her mouth opens, her eyes widen. Time stands still for a few moments and my heart begins to beat so loud I can hear every thrum drumming in my head with a deafening rhythm.

“No!” I yell, causing a few bats to scatter. I shove Famine out of the way and kneel before Violet as she stands, gasping at me in shock. She falls into me, grabbing my shoulders for support. “You’re all right.” I tell her.

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach, then it shatters and its sharp shards dig in deep, making the pain I feel in my chest unbearable.

“T-there’s a blade in m-my s-side,” she stutters as tears spill over the rim of her pretty blue eyes, the same blue eyes that were filled with such passion and lust less than a few hours ago. Slowly, I help her slide to her knees, her hands pressed tightly against the skin around the knife.

“I know, I know.” I reach for the blade, but pull my hands back. What do I do? I rake my fingers through my hair. The thought of causing her more pain sickens me. “It’s going to be okay.”

It isn’t going to be okay and she can tell by the fear in my voice. Rage bubbles and boils. The need for rational thinking flies out the window. I rest Violet against the ground and rise to my feet. I turn on Famine who rubs his bloody hands on his flannel shirt. Plastered on his face is that same cocky smile I hate so much.

“Are you mad, bro? That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it? I did the hard work for you.”

I did try to kill Violet this week—try being the operative word. It took me until today to realize the reason why she isn’t dead is because I was never going to kill her I couldn’t. Behind me, Violet whimpers.

“Don’t be so beat up about it. Shit happens. We’re going to rule Earth, man. You can have as many bitches as you want.”

I clench my teeth. I’m not like my brothers. I try to be, but they’re pure evil—right down to their cores. I love Violet and…if she…if she’s going to die…then I want to make her happy. The plans for the apocalypse are over. If she loves Earth so much, then I’ll give it back to her. I dive forward and slam my fist into Famine’s chest, grabbing his beating heart. His eyes widen as he gasps, flinching every time my fingers twitch around his heart.

“Do it,” Violet croaks.

And with a sickening squelch, I do it.

I tear my brother’s heart from his chest.

Chapter 20

Fading

*

Violet

I WATCH AS Famine’s lifeless body falls to the ground. His cold, unresponsive eyes stare blankly at me and I feel a smile twitch at the corners of my mouth.

“Violet? Talk to me! Say something!” Lana screams through the ear piece.

“I-I’ve been… stabbed.” I put as much pressure on the stab site as I can without making it hurt more. At first it didn’t hurt, it was like…there was this cold feeling in my side and I glanced down and saw the hilt of the blade, my blade, sticking out of my flesh. That’s when the cold pain turned white-hot and sharp.

“Shit! What do I do? What do you want me to do?” Her voice is fast, laced with panic.

I zone her out as warm, sticky blood runs down my body. There’s a metal taste in my mouth, as if I’ve sucked on a coin and I don’t like it. Am I dying? Every breath and every movement causes me unbearable pain. I grab at my side, trying desperately to pull the knife out, but I can’t. I cry out in pain.

“What’s happening?” Lana demands to know.

Warm, sticky hands rub against my cheeks, tilting my face upwards. His dark eyes are soft, pleading. They’re overflowing with pain and desperation.

“I-I’m not sorry,” I groan, my voice barely audible. The searing pain flares again and I gasp, making Lucas flinch.

He reaches for the knife, but decides against it, knowing I can’t afford to lose more blood. “I-I’m not s-sorry for finding F-Famine.”

His eyes turn cloudy and he purses his lips together.

“B-but, I a-am sorry for lying t-to you.”

“Violet, what are you say—” Lana stops talking when she realizes I’m talking to someone else.

“Don’t be sorry. You did your job just like I taught you. I’m so proud of you.” Lucas scoops me up into his arms and I scream in pain as the knife buries itself deeper. Then weightlessness overtakes me and the pain is gone. Am I dead? Did I die?

Unfortunately, those few seconds come to an end, and when gravity takes hold, I’m right back where I started. I try to breathe, to get as much air in my lungs as I can, but it hurts. God, it hurts so much,

Lucas hover his face over mine. He can’t go any further than this. Charms protect our headquarters from demons.

“Hey.” Lucas’s breath warms my face, keeping me awake for a little while longer. “You’re going to be okay. You’re with your people.”

I open my mouth, but I can’t talk. No matter how hard I try, my tongue remains motionless and only groans escaped my lips. My eyes threaten to shut until his blood-covered index finger tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I stare into his dark brown eyes. His eyebrows curve with a concerned expression and he even manages to keep a small smile on his lips. He kisses me. “I don’t want to lose you now and I won’t. You will get through this. You’re a fighter.”

Burning hot tears roll down my face as he traces my half star.

“I’ve done terrible things to you… terrible, disgusting things, and there’s no way I can take them back, but I can tell you I regret them above all else.” The entrance door to HQ clanks and I cling to Lucas. He pries my fingers from his t-shirt and kisses my fingertips. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Thick, black smoke engulfs me as the door opens.

“You’re such a dirty old man,” a familiar voice giggles. I have never been so happy to hear Janet’s voice.

“I’m just saying, if you want someone to go to The Soft Kitty with, then I’m your guy.”

“No, I don’t want—Oh my god! Violet?”

Cole swears under his breath and pulls his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to need a few guys up top. A stabbing.”

Janet’s face appears above mine. I try to smile at her stupid kitty-cat ears and whiskers. She always goes over the top and I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated it more.

“What happened?” Tears blackened by mascara fall from her eyes and land on my face.

Cole kneels down beside me. “You’re gonna’ be all right, Violet. Just hang in there, buddy.”

He assesses the damage, being careful not to touch the knife and I scan the parking lot until my stare falls on Lucas’s face as he hides behind a car. I want him to hold me. I feel like I cab die then. Now, I don’t want to die, I feel like I’ll be leaving too much behind. The door flings open again, and with a sympathetic smile, Lucas disappears. More hot tears burn my cheeks. A few angels surround us. One makes a comment on the smell of smoke and they get me inside as quickly as possible.

Halfway down the stairs, I lose consciousness.

* * *

MY EYES FLUTTER open and instantly a headache consumes me, forcing me to shut them again. For the brief time my eyes were open, I noticed I’m in a hospital. Everything is white and in the background I hear beeping noises and the distant chatter of discussion. Every now and then, I hear the faint sound of shoes clicking against the hard floor and smell the crisp smell of an antibacterial cleaning product.

For the second time, I slowly open my eyes. The headache is still very much there, but I push through it. The curtains are drawn, but the bright glow that seeps in from the edges tell me it’s midday—roughly. I groan, trying to shift in the hospital gown so it doesn’t bunch around my thighs.

“Hey, you,” Lana’s peers around the curtain and her bright green eyes flare with happiness. “You’re awake.”

I squint at her yellow sundress.

“Wow. You’re bright,” I croak and frown. I don’t sound like me. I sound old and weak.

“Yeah, I figured if you wake up you might like to see some color. This place is dreadful.”

I shrug. “It’s a hospital.”

Lana squeezes my hand “I’m so happy you’re alive. It was touch and go there for a while...with you and Lucas.”

Dread fills my stomach. She heard the conversation between Lucas and I. “How much did you hear?”

She drops into the recliner beside my bed and crosses her legs. “All of it. I heard Lucas. I heard a man and a girl named Janet… I heard Tom freaking out as he transported your bloodied body. Once I heard you arrived here, I came as quickly as I could and I’ve only left to eat. You were in surgery for a little while and needed a blood transfusion. They put some healing serum into your drip so you’ll probably be let out tomorrow morning.”

I nod and an awkward silence fills the room. Lana purses her lips.

“What is it?”

“He loves you.” I detect hint of disapproval in her voice.

“Who?”

She roll her eyes. “Who else? Lucas.”

There’s no point lying to her. She heard everything. “And I love him.” She watches me intently. “But some things just aren’t meant to be.”

She pats my hand. “I’m going to get some coffee, but before I go I wanted to let you know that The Council wants to see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Every muscle in my body aches. Seeing the Council is the last thing I want to do. Famine is dead and I have to claim the responsibility of an unauthorized kill. I can’t palm it off on Lucas because the Council will know something is up.

“What do I tell them?”

“Tell them you were in Logansville tracking Trackers, like your mission said, and you came across Famine. I’ll leave his death up to your gruesome imagination.”

She leaves the room in search of coffee and I remain in the hospital bed, completely freaking out. Before now, killing a Horseman to claim my pride back seemed like a good idea. Now that I officially have an appointment with the Council—the same Council that had me blasted with a hose and drugged—I’m scared out of my mind.

Hours flew past a lot quicker than I wanted. Only the Council and Lucas occupied my thoughts, and before I know it, it’s dark outside. I’ll be released in the morning and standing in front of the Council tomorrow afternoon. Great…or as Janet would say, “FML.”

* * *

I GLANCE OUT the window. The morning sun is shrouded behind a thick layer of clouds. In the distance trees whip wildly around the place. Funny. The weather reflected my exact mood—cold and miserable.

“Are you ready to go?” Lana asks, packing the last magazine into her backpack.

I turn to her. “I really don’t want to. They’re going to find a way to fault me.”

“Don’t be such a downer. They’re going to praise you. You saved Earth from the apocalypse.”

“You clearly haven’t met the same Council as me. They had me beaten and drugged.”

She shrugs. “You’ll be fine.”

Once I sign out of the hospital, we head for the elevator where Lana hands me an exemption form. I stare at it as she nudges me into the sterile elevator and the doors close behind me. I look at the buttons for a little while before pushing ‘7.’ As the elevator goes up, I take a good look at myself in the reflection. Pale skin. Large bags. I look like shit.

The elevator doors open sooner than I expected and I’m greeted by a Council guard immediately. Without a smile on his mature face, he takes my form and walks me to the doors of the initiation room. I’ve never really taken notice of the corridors on this level before. They’re elegant and comforting. I like the way the lime carpet matches the dark columns.

I jump as the huge black doors in front of me slowly open. I look into the same dark room and stare down the same wooden chair as last time. I swallow hard. This isn’t going to be easy. The guard nudges me forward, but I dig my heels in. The fear swirling around my stomach is crippling.

“Is there a problem?” The guard demands.

“Uh…” I swallow again and slowly put one foot in front of the other. “No…I-I guess not.”

The guard follows closely behind me, right up until I sit on the wooden chair. My knees knock together and guilt suffocates my conscience. I slept with Lucas. I slept with a demon… what if they know?

“Rise!” Willow demands. My chest constricts and I rise to my feet.

Fuck.

Chapter 21

Underworld

*

Lucas

THE WHISKEY GOES down smoothly and I drop the empty bottle into the wastebasket beside my desk. That’s the last bottle. I sway drunkenly against the edge of my desk, looking out at the city. The strange clouds and unnatural lightning has long since passed. Maybe Violet has, too. I shake the thought from my head. It doesn’t sit well with the alcohol and stirs a need to destroy something. Soon, my body will heal itself from the damage of the alcohol and I’ll be as right as rain. But until then, I sit in the blissful fog of incoherency.

I glance down at my hands they’re still bloody—dry, but still red. I don’t want to wash it off, at least, not until tonight’s events fully sink in. Famine stabbed Violet and I killed him. All of it is such a blur… it happened so quickly and, shortly, I’ll be summoned back to the Underworld where I’ll remain trapped until it’s time to end the world in a few hundred years or when they replace Famine. Whichever comes first. In the meantime, Dex will take control of all my assets while I’m gone. To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to Earth. When War and Conquest realize what has happened they’re going to kill me. I’m still tossing up whether to tell them it was me or Violet who killed Famine. If Violet survives, she has to claim the kill herself, otherwise her Council will make assumptions and banish her.

“Lucas?” I swipe my hand over my face as Eva’s comforting voice fills the silence. The door clicks shut. “Is everything okay?”

I drag my gaze from her pointy purple shoes to her concerned face. “You know I’m upset?”

She nods. “I was experimenting with some aura spells. I was a little worried when the saddest aura I’ve ever felt was coming directly from your room. Tell me what happened…”

I stare at her face and I feel… safe. Looking at Eva somehow makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. “Famine is dead. I killed him.”

She frowns. “And that’s why your aura is so sad? You hate your brothers—more than I do, and that’s sayin’ something.”

My lips twitch, an almost smile. “That’s not the reason. Violet and Famine were fighting… I distracted her and he…” I swallow. “He stabbed her and I…and I lost it. I tore his heart from his chest.”

Eva gasps, pressing her slender fingers against her lips. “Is Violet okay?”

“That’s what’s killing me. I have no idea. She was in such bad shape when I took her to the angel headquarters… I could’ve turned her into a demon. She was borderlining death… I could’ve saved her.”

All I had to do was force my blood into her wounds and she would have become a demon…but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“Hey, you did a good thing. She didn’t want to be a demon. It would subject her to an eternity of torment.” She extends her hands to me and I hesitate. “Can I take a look? At what happened?”

I watch her hands. What do I have to lose? I place my hands in hers and she closes her eyes. They move rapidly behind her lids, her fingers twitching around mine. Seconds tick by. Minutes pass. I can tell by the way deep lines carve their way through her features that she is engrossed in the events. Her eyes flick open and she presses my hands together.

“That must have been hard for you…”

I nod.

“I can do a spell… it will tell us if she’s alive.”

I pull my hands back and push them through my hair. “Her body would be in the Never Dark by now...”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to need something that belongs to her.”

“I have nothing.”

Eva narrows her eyes at me and her molten gold irises sparkle, even in the dark. She isn’t looking at me. She’s looking into me. “Underneath all that darkness in your aura, I see a hint of red.”

“And what does that mean?”

She turns from me and approaches the unmade bed. The black sheets are tangled into a knot and my pillows litters the floor. “Red in your aura symbolizes Love…” She bends low and plucks something from one of my pillows—a long red hair. Eva smiles knowingly at me. “Or passion.”

“Is that all you need?” I ask, steering the conversation away from sex. Eva nods, smirking as she kneels on the floor and wraps the strand of hair around her index finger. She places her palms together. “If I’m strong enough, I should be able to gain visual access to the Never Dark realm and locate her.”

“What do I do?”

“Watch.” She closes her eyes and mutters. Quietly at first and then louder, and louder, and louder. I watch her intently. Waiting for any sign on her face that says Violet is okay… or dead. I gasp as the hard walls of the room dissolve and become translucent, displaying the night sky and light pollution in every direction. Above us, beautiful colors dance and mingle. I’ve never seen anything so remarkable. Eventually, the colors float away and I glance at Eva. Blood drips from her nose and rolls over her thick, dark lips.

“Eva?”

She shakes her head. “Watch.”

Eva rocks back and forth, chanting and humming as we zip through time and space. A familiar building brings my attention back to the spell. It’s the Never Dark Council room. I spot Violet standing fiercely before the Council and relief crashes through me. There’s color in her lips, her eyes, and in her cheeks. She’s never looked so beautiful, so courageous. Violet purses her lips, full of confidence. However, she doesn’t fool me. I can see the slight tremble in her bottom lip.

One by one the Council men and women enter and take their seats. Violet’s hands twitch at her sides and I grit my teeth. The last time I stood in front of the Council was at Violet’s initiation. They ordered the guards to beat Violet until she ‘learned some respect.’ I was powerless to help her, just like now.

“Miss Ashton, we see you’ve been very busy,” Ahriman starts. “Famine is dead, is he not?”

“Yes, sir.”

He adjusts his blue robe around his shoulders and sits forward in his chair. “Tell us how you killed him.”

Violet’s mouth opens, but nothing came out. She runs her fingers over her forehead. “It’s a little blurry…”

“We have ways to make you remember,” Willow snaps, threading her fingers in font of her.

Violet glowers at Willow from underneath her brow. “That’s not necessary.”

“Then speak and make it quick.”

“I came across Famine in Logansville while I was hunting trackers. He was preparing four horses—strange horses. One was a pale white, one was red, one was—”

“We don’t care what color the horses were. Get to the part where you killed him.”

Violet nods. “I stabbed him through the chest and hacked at it until there was nothing left. I scooped it all out, too, just to be safe.” Her eyes remain unflinchingly on Willow’s face.

“Do you know the offense for killing a demon you’re not assigned to?” A smug smile spread over Willow’s lips.

I clench my hands into fists.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s thirty whip lashings, a star demotion, and house arrest for two weeks.”

“Well then, guards!”

Violet stiffens as the guards advance on her. I run to Violet’s side to protect her, to do something, but I’m not really there.

“No, no, no,” I mutter under my breath. “That’s not fair.”

“Wait!” Sebastian booms, standing up. “A decision should be determined by a majority vote, Willow. Violet saved the Earth. She made a mistake letting Death compel her, but she has more than made up for it with the death of another Horseman. I think that requires a reward, not a punishment.”

“What she did was unauthorized,” Willow argues. “We punished an angel yesterday for the unauthorized killing of a Skatter demon.”

“Yes, but he did it on purpose. Violet here stumbled across Famine. Look at her mission schedule, she was meant to be in Logansville. Check Earth’s classified weather reports. There was nothing natural about the storm that was brewing yesterday. Violet is a hero, not a criminal.”

“Sebastian has a point,” Ahearn agrees. “We should vote. Those in favor of punishing Violet Ashton raise your hands.”

Willow sticks her hand up. And she’s the only one.

Violet and I exhale in relief at the same time. Thank Lucifer for that.

“It’s settled, then. Violet shall be rewarded, not punished,” Seth announces. “I’d like to suggest she is returned to previous ranking and then promoted. She has endured a lot and we are lucky to have her fighting for us.”

The Council dismembers and I look at Violet. The happiness in her eyes says it all. She does like being an angel. She enjoys fighting for what’s right, she enjoys defending the little guy.

The Never Dark realm fades away and the beautiful array of colors return. I watch them for a little while. Violet’s favorite part of being an angel was the teleporting and I’d have to agree. There’s something about the colors that wash away all the anguish and replace it with contentment.

The colors disappear and I’m pulled back to reality by a soft thud. I glance at Eva who has collapsed against the floor.

“Eva?” I rush over to her and pull her into my arms. Blood trickles from her nose and down the front of her black robe. I scoop her up, lay her on my bed and tuck her under the blankets. Her eyes flicker open and her voice is weak.

“Please tell me you didn’t just tuck me into your nasty bed?”

I chuckle. “I did.”

“Gross.” She crunches her nose and points a finger at me. “You don’t deserve her.”

I smile. “I know.”

She drops her hand onto her body as she falls into a deep sleep. I stare at her for a little while as she sleeps peacefully. I can’t be all bad… right?

A shiver erupts over my skin and the room fills with whispers as the Underworld calls me back. I close my eyes. I’ve already done one selfless thing tonight, why not another?

Leaving Eva, I rustle through the drawers in my oak desk, trying to find the spellbound contract I had her sign when I saved her from War. I pull out a folder as thick as my forearm and flick through it. My body twitches as I fight the summoning. Before I leave, I want to free Eva. I find the contract at the back of the book and tear it in two. Grabbing a pen from my holder, I scrawl across the paper.

Dear Eva,

You’re free, friend.

Lucas.

I drop the pen and weightlessness consumes me as I travel back to my own realm.

Happy…Content…and craving the next time I see Earth’s pretty surface.

Epilogue

*

Violet

THEY SAY THAT it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. I call bullshit. Some people would argue that the experience of loving and losing a person is worth it. It’s for the experience, they say. I disagree. To lose someone you care for immensely is the worst feeling in the world. I’d take kidney stones or a broken arm over the depression and the sharp heartache that follows me around any day. When you break an arm, you get up and you get it fixed. With a broken heart, you’re stuck with the memories forever. You carry around the shadows that are left over from losing the one you loved and they never seem to go away.

I’ve been to Earth three times now and I’ve driven past Lucas’s building every time. Today was no different. He hadn’t surprised me on any of my hunts and so I assumed he’d gone back to the Underworld. The last time he left for the Underworld, I didn’t see him for three years. This wait might be nine hundred years longer. I’d be long gone by then, but he’d still be as young and sexy as he was now. If I hadn’t loved him in the first place, I’d be able to move on now, but instead I watch his club like a depressed, lovesick stalker. Today, I came to say my goodbyes because I was forcing myself to move on. In the last few weeks, I’d grown as a person. I’d made friends and I’d gone to parties. I hadn’t made the step to start seeing people, but I knew it was coming. I needed to do something for myself for a change and it was going to be hard, but I couldn’t live a life with Lucas. He was a demon. The exact thing he’d trained me to kill. Our love is over… and has been for a long time. I just refused to believe it. Lucas loved me. He gave up the apocalypse for me and I’d never forget it, but I needed to forget him, for the sake of my own happiness. I was given a second chance at life and I was prepared to live it.

I started the car and drove off. As I went, I kept glancing in my rearview mirror until his building eventually disappeared from sight. I looked ahead. The late afternoon sun warmed my cheeks. Today would end, as most days do, and tomorrow would bring a new day.

A new me.

And I was ready for that.

* * *

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About the Author

I’ve been writing since 17 and at 21 I’m a professional daydreamer and giver of both real and fictional life.

Aquarian, lover of the written word and author of the #1 BESTSELLING Consumed trilogy.

I write like I live my life — fast and carefree — and I have no specific genre. I hop from YA to NA to Erotica to Contemporary romance almost as often as I change shoes.

Most of the time I write, but I can also be found (occasionally) cooking for my family, reading, playing video games and watching movies. I aspire to write a series in every romance sub genre, from; fighters, rock stars, bikers and student/teachers to dark, dystopian, college and anything else that springs to mind.

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

DESIRING DEATH

BY C.P. MANDARA

Copyright © 2016 by C.P. Mandara

When Death Is This Sexy, Resistance Is Futile.

Imagine a famed vampire huntress with a taste for death, so successful not a single vampire has ever managed to escape her wooden stakes or evade her silver knives. Her name is Violetta, and all that is about to change.

Monsieur Martinet, vampire extraordinaire, is a master of his kind and can exert the kind of control over humans that Violetta has never seen before. He is a powerful force. He may well be unstoppable. And that's going to be a problem, because Violetta has killed every single one of Martinet's monstrous family - and he has a score to settle.

He's going to abduct her, imprison her, and then tie her down until she begs for mercy. And that's only the beginning...

Desiring Death © 2016 C.P. Mandara

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter 1

Venice – Il Ballo in Maschera

SHE WAS THE harbinger of death. If the rumours were to be believed, he did not have long left in this world. Infuriatingly, her scent teased him. Having become accustomed to the less than savoury smells of humans, such as blood, vomit, sweat, and terror, he found her unique essence fascinating. Was it jasmine or perhaps magnolia that assailed his nostrils with the fragrance of purity? Whatever it was, he found it intoxicating.

So she had finally come for him. He could not wait to meet Violetta, the famed vampire huntress who had killed most of his coven in these ten years past. To say they had a score to settle was the understatement of at least the past five centuries. Although he’d been alive for several more, there were truly gruesome happenings before that. Take the plague for instance, the One Hundred Years War, witch-hunts, or the Crusades perhaps, which couldn’t really compare with the likes of her.

The partner he currently held in his arms was in a trance-like state of euphoria and awaiting his command. She was stunningly attractive, but then all his women were. Her long blond ringlets were arranged into a mass of curls on the top of her head, pretty black lashes fluttered from behind her feathered masque, and a pair of pouting lips were captivating in the brightest shade of carmine. He could lure his heart’s desire with a single glance, and he wasn’t ashamed to say that he used the fact to his advantage. Lady Harriet, unfortunately, had been far too easy to bring under his control. She and all her twittering friends had little more than fluff inside their heads, and he could keep them in check with both eyes closed. He required a challenge. An intelligent mind and a quick wit would be a delicious start. Then he would dish out the revenge that had been festering inside him for months, growing like a malignant tumour with each new death she had doled out, until it was almost too painful to bear.

Twirling his lady friend around the parquet floor of the dance hall and listening to the sound of her heels as they clipped across the wood, he caught a flash of brilliant red hair. She whirled out of his sight as quickly as she entered it, but he was confident that it was his nemesis. He sensed her exhilaration upon having finally found him, and a certainty that justice would soon be served. Delving past her emotions, he burrowed deep into her head to see if she would let him discover her secrets.

His feelers reached out gently - insidious little tendrils of power that could skirt the four corners of her mind, suck out whatever he wished to know, and leave as quickly as they had entered. She wouldn’t feel a thing. They could also infiltrate every pore of her being. He could sink himself into every nerve, sinew, muscle, and fibre. With little more effort than it would take a fly to flap its wings, he could control her heartbeat or even stop it, if he so desired. If she thought she was famed for death, her body count would be a mere drop in the ocean compared to the corpses he had managed to amass.

Violetta’s partner quickly pranced her to the other side of the ballroom, but even though she was now out of sight, she was most certainly not out of mind. His invisible probes dug their claws into her head and had a good look around.

The girl was, incredibly, unsullied by the touch of his kind. She must have dealt out death with the skill of a medieval executioner to have remained impermeable to the ranks of the undead. It didn’t worry him overmuch. There were two possible outcomes from their meeting. Either she would serve his life as a grand feast for the gods (if indeed there were any for the beast that he’d become) or he’d manage to have a little fun with her. Both options were tempting enough. He’d been dancing with death for the better part of the last century, and so far, his body had proved to be indestructible. If she could terminate the thick thread of immortality that remained steadfast inside his body, he would probably thank her wholeheartedly - if he had a heart, of course.

Feeling the eyes of the huntress upon him as she glided back towards him, he deposited his partner on a sentient gentleman who was waiting patiently for a dance by the large opaque mullioned windows. The air was redolent with the scent of gardenias and their perfume streamed through the partitions. He wrinkled his nose as his acute sense of smell was overwhelmed for a moment. Then, Sir Henry picked up his partner’s hand and led her gently towards the floor, smiling softly as he did so. The man had been observing Lady Harriet for some time, and every now again he was happy to perform a charitable deed if it suited his purposes. Whilst the gentleman’s thoughts were not particularly pure, he had a feeling they’d be in line with his salacious friend’s. He didn’t spare Harriet a glance as she waltzed away into the crowd. Striding purposefully outside towards the sickly aroma of flowers, he awaited his enemy with an almost childlike glee.

She took her own sweet time to arrive. Away from the safety of her compatriots, she was considerably more wary of him. Good. He wouldn’t mind witnessing a sliver of fear in those beautiful wide violet eyes that were famed for their intelligence as much as their beauty.

Plunging forth into the inky darkness, he let his senses reach out silently into the night, becoming the omnipotent being that all creatures feared. Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, he knew she was close.

‘What a pleasure it is to meet you at last, Violetta.’

He made sure the resonant tones of his voice penetrated her eardrums, and he felt her body clench. It was a beautiful, instinctively sexual response, and she was unprepared for it. The predator inside him preened its feathers. The sound of her breathing, a little faster than it should have been, assailed his ears in sparkling clarity. When she spoke, she nearly deafened him, and he had to quickly tone down his sensitive hearing.

‘Are you ready to die, Monsieur Martinet?’

Her voice was clear and deceptively calm, although he wasn’t fooled for a moment.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ he drawled, nodding his head politely. ‘Feel free to do your worst, Madame.’

Turning around to feast his hypnotic blue eyes upon her, he widened them to their full potential. These were eyes that could see through a person’s soul in an instant and rifle through suitcases of hidden secrets with casual indiscretion, inhaling them all into his head to be used to his advantage at a later date.

Her eyes widened in fear, as he’d intended them to.

‘You have the gift,’ she gasped in a tight voice, already backing away from him in panic.

‘Ah oui, mon petite,’ he said menacingly. ‘Did none of the others tell you?’ He let himself enjoy the faint tremor that shook her body and rattled her composure. Then, he pushed his will upon her, rooting her legs to the spot as if she had been encased in concrete. Moving slowly towards his now immobile prey, he glared at her with his bright blue irises. ‘I suspect that’s because you killed them before they had a chance to talk about dear old Daddy.’ The look he gave her was faintly mocking.

She narrowed her eyes in response and tried to fight his control. Struggling to regain the use of her legs, the force of her will was quite impressive, but ultimately futile. He could see why most of his coven had fallen under the almost indomitable power that she wielded, though. This one was strong. He knew her agile body would be lightning fast and that she would know all the tricks of the ‘death’ trade, but it didn’t change anything. The fact remained that she was no match for his particular talents.

‘You have killed all of my children, chérie. For that alone you should die. Regrettably, I find that death falls far short of my expectations in the revenge stakes. It is, in my humble opinion, over far too quickly. So I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse. Two minutes. You have two minutes in which to kill me in any way that you choose, without interference on my part. If you fail, however, the consequences will be high. I hasten to add that they might even be catastrophic for a woman of your nature, so think long and hard before accepting my challenge.’

He watched her eyes narrow as she waited for his verdict. Her little brain was whirring over all the cruelties that he might care to inflict upon her and not a one was correct, although some of her ideas certainly had merit. He wasted no time in setting her thoughts straight.

‘If you fail, I fancy you’ll be the first of my new breed of children. Depending on how exacting my desire for revenge is, I might even take you for a bride - an eternal one, Violetta.’ Her horrified shudder amused him. Delving inside her head once more, letting his talents have free rein, he listened attentively to her thoughts. The first thing he discovered was her terror at having her body overpowered by nothing more than his gaze. She had never witnessed that kind of control before, and her thoughts were already running rampant with the significance of what killing him would mean for mankind. Now that he had demonstrated his skill, he had just painted a great big red cross on his forehead. No matter. Death was the least of his concerns. Her thoughts then began taking on a different hue, and this time, she wondered how he might use his particular brand of control over her, should she fail. Violetta speculated between whether he would want her as his servant, to fetch and clean for him, or as a blood slave to feed upon, which was the considerably more unpalatable option for her. He resisted the urge to laugh. His designs on her were a little more carnal in nature, although he had no objections to tasting the delightful life force that flowed through her. He pondered on what the spicy red fluid coursing through her veins would taste like. A Bordeaux? No, that would be a little heavy and old. She was more of a Cotes de Provence rosé, soft, fruity and fresh – with a hint of summer and berries.

Her thoughts, which were becoming more jumbled and crazy by the second, forced him to pay attention once more. She was on the verge of accepting his challenge and fairly confident she stood a fighting chance at extinguishing his life. Her only concern was the ‘eternal bride’ threat. She did not fear death, surprisingly enough, unlike ninety-nine percent of her fellow mortals. The thought of becoming immortal, however, would shatter her mind to pieces. The eternal damnation, the loss of her soul, and becoming the evil she had fought so hard to destroy had her all a-flutter. He heard her deep inhalations of breath as she actively calmed herself down and thought through his proposal logically. In the end, she estimated her chances of success outweighed the risk of her mind’s destruction. Her reasoning was disgustingly noble. She believed that this would be the greatest service to the world her life could offer, and it was her duty to accept.

‘Two minutes should be more than enough time for what I have in mind, Monsieur. Release me.’

‘Say please.’ He gave her a dark look and a feral smile.

Attempting one last gargantuan effort at freeing her feet and finding herself still tightly pinned to the spot, she gave in gracefully. ‘Pretty please, Monsieur. Let me kill you.’ Well, not so gracefully after all.

* * *

RELEASING THE INVISIBLE glue that had held her feet pinioned to the soft grass, he watched as she fell forward before managing to regain her balance. Flexing her feet gingerly beneath her, she winced, but then her gaze hardened.

Kicking off the ridiculous shoes she’d worn for the evening’s proceedings, Violetta let them fly in the air. The lavender sandals hit him full force in the stomach before they dived towards the floor.

‘Death by stilettos? Now that’s one I haven’t seen before…’ He let his voice trail off into the cool night air as he stared at her face. She was mesmerising. The wind had taken her red hair and whipped it forward around her face. The lights from the ballroom behind her had illuminated it into seething orange flames. The soft lilac of her dress appeared almost translucent in the bright light, and her silhouette could be seen in sharp relief through the thin organza. The laser-cut silver filigree mask she wore was cast half in shadow and hid a good portion of her face, serving to give a mysterious but very alluring air. Although oxygen was not a pre-requisite for his kind, he sucked in a breath. For one tiny split second, he found himself entranced by the beauty before him, and he could have almost been persuaded to kiss her hand and kneel at her feet. In the next, he was angered by his momentary lapse in concentration and visions of the bloody massacre his coven had become haunted his thoughts. She would pay - in the worst way possible. In fact, if he lived through her attempts on his life, he would make it his mission to watch her suffer every hell imaginable.

‘Your two minutes begins now,’ he said coldly.

‘So be it,’ she whispered, and bending forwards to get a grip on the end of her dress, she pulled the floaty material upwards. Two creamy white thighs were revealed and black leather holsters encircled each. One held a small solid silver dagger and the other a sharp wooden stake.

It took all of his will power for his tongue to remain in his mouth. She had legs that reached up to the planet Venus, kissed it, and returned. The limbs of a dancer, they were slim, athletic, and beautifully smooth. He wanted them both beneath him. As quick as the vision of loveliness appeared, it vanished. A monstrous Medusa rose in its wake, and it was clear that she was all about business-as-usual. Her mouth had hardened, her eyes had lost their luminous gleam, and the hint of innocence he had seen within them might have been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Here was a killer, a practiced deliverer of death, and she had no remorse for what she was about to do.

The chit wasted no time in flying at him, little good that it did her. He neatly sidestepped her advance and watched as she soared past him, heading towards the flowerbeds. There was a flutter of marigolds, a confusion of fuchsias, and a petulant little yelp as she got herself tangled up in the English roses. Then the tang of blood bloomed upon the air, and he cursed her every which way to hell as his mouth watered with the seductive aroma. He knew he should have fed before tonight’s proceedings, but the lure of feeding from her would make his abstinence all the sweeter. His hunger might put him slightly off-balance, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Violetta’s second attempt on his life had her diving for his back, and he saw her in his mind’s eye, flying towards him with both hands gripping the cold silver hilt of her weapon. It was rather unsporting of her, but he had expected nothing less. She did not think him worthy enough of honour, so why should she play by the same rules? Employing the same tactic as before, he simply moved out of her way as soon as her feet had taken to the air. He watched with bored eyes as she fell heavily to the floor, dropping the knife and knocking all the air out of her body.

When she managed to refill her lungs with the precious substance of her kind, she spat at him and swore viciously. It seemed that failure did not become her.

‘You said you wouldn’t stop me!’ There was hysteria in her voice, and whilst he shouldn’t have admitted it to himself, it was rather pleasing to hear.

‘I said I wouldn’t interfere. I didn’t say I’d make it easy for you. You have control of both of your legs and I haven’t stopped your heart from beating, so count yourself lucky.’ He raised his eyebrows at her prone form in challenge. ‘Your two minutes are nearly up. If you’d be so gracious and remain where you are, I might be charitable and show you a good time before I decide whether to kill you or not.’

Her eyes flashed with an almost zealous intensity and she got to her feet with alarming speed. This time he was completely unprepared for her attack, as she had not broadcast her intentions in her mind. The girl was a fast learner. Holding a rough wooden stake in a grip of iron, she slammed it into his chest with impressive force and gave him a wide smile of victory, revealing nearly every one of her pearly-white teeth.

Her smile was short-lived. The stake did not sink deep into his flesh as she had expected but merely bounced off his chest, causing her to fly backwards. He heard something in her body snap, and then his synapses were flooded as he felt her pain. It splintered through her shoulder and her wide eyes almost shot forth from their sockets, giving him a look of utter incredulity. For a moment, shock deadened the pain.

‘You should be dead,’ she whispered.

‘Should be, would be, could be - but still am not, more’s the pity.’ He pulled her to her feet with her good arm and did not miss her sharp intake of breath. ‘Your two minutes is up,’ he said with quiet derision, ‘but I find I’m feeling generous. If you can stab me with your bad arm and your little silver blade over there, we’ll call it quits.’ He let her eyes follow his as they directed her to the fallen dagger, glinting forlornly in the soft moonlight with a freshly honed blade that would melt through flesh and bone.

When she hesitated, he reached for the knife himself, but his hellcat surprised him. Flipping her body over, she cradled the dagger in her good arm and spun it around to slice through the pale skin of his throat.

Again, she did not achieve the desired result. The blade merely scraped against the hard stone of his neck, and when she drew the edge back, she looked at the dulled surface in horror.

Grasping her fractured arm, he pulled her towards him and let her bitten-off scream warm the hollows of his mind. ‘You cheated,’ he accused her, his grip on her arm tightening.

‘You lied,’ she retorted, trying to wrench out of his grasp. ‘There was no possibility of your death this evening, was there? You are far too old. Older, even, than they say you are.’ Her expression was bleak and her face had taken on an unnatural pallor, but there were still twin shards of fire blazing from her violet eyes.

‘I did not lie.’ He sighed softly. ‘I had hoped that my body had not hardened into one of the Masters of my kind. It appears that you are too late, however, to put an end to my suffering. So, in order to entertain myself in the light of my new knowledge and misery, we shall begin to put a start to yours.’ He paused, lost in thought for a moment, before his cold face took on a smile of sorts. ‘If I am to take on a bride as the first of my new children, it would be wise to start training her in the art of pleasing me, would it not?’ His eyes were now dark voids of immeasurable power, and he directed them towards her. He painted an image in her head of what he wanted her to do and let her feel the dangerous pull of his insurmountable will as it surrounded her like a shroud.

‘No,’ she whispered, as his thought bloomed in her head like a blood red rose surrounded with thorny spikes. He projected a vision of perfect beauty polluted with the seeds of evil, for there she was on her hands and knees crawling towards him. Mud forced its way beneath her fingertips as her body ignited in flames of heady, potent arousal. Her breath ran short and her limbs quivered as she sought to reach the inverted V of his legs. She wanted him with all-consuming passion, and the emotion scared her. He had her hands running up the soft wool of his trouser legs, and she threw her head back, letting her red hair cascade in a curtain of soft waves as pleading words dripped wantonly from her lips. They were dirty words, hateful words, words of carnal sin, but it mattered not. Her whole body ached to see his naked flesh and feel her lips upon the most delicate part of him.

Whimpering under the image he had planted in her mind, she tried to shake her head to get rid of it, but he had locked her whole body down in a state of paralysis. Fear flooded her as his visualisation continued. Her hands continued their exploration, finding the long, hard length of his manhood captured and restrained behind several cloth boundaries, and her need to free him increased. She caressed him with her fingertips, gripped him softly in her hands, and ran her soft, wet tongue along his fly before letting the tips of her teeth nip lightly at the head of his covered cock. Her hot breath spilled over him, and he jumped and pulsed underneath her. The ache in her loins grew. She could feel moisture pooling between her legs and a gnawing hunger that could not be appeased with anything less than his domination of her body. Body, mind, and soul – everything hungered for his touch. Another whimper left her as she continued to fight his control and think of anything bar the images he was propelling into her brain. A crucifixion cross, her mother’s face, a bright-red sun setting on a bleeding ocean - all of these images managed to flutter across her eyes before he pushed them roughly away and forced her to continue with his monstrous vision.

Her body now made its way up his, hands taking a gentle hold of his balls as she palpated them softly in her fingers. Her lips found the shiny buckle of his belt, and her tongue lapped at the cold lines of steel before her teeth worked at the supple leather, anxiously trying to free it. Her hands encircled his waist before they impatiently pulled the dark fabric of both trousers and pants down his legs. As his cock sprang up to meet her, eager for her touch, she cared not that they were in a semi-public place, and she didn’t spare a thought for her embarrassment at the possibility of being caught. She simply speared her throat with the beautiful hot essence of male-hood and worshipped him with her lips and tongue, too impatient to continue any games of teasing. He suddenly released her from his vision, and her jaw opened in a silent O of shock.

‘Perfect. Come over here, and I’ll put that hole to good use,’ he said with dark amusement. Her mouth snapped closed, and she stared at him, dazed and confused at her body’s response.

‘Shall I make you do that right here, right now?’ His voice was a seductive whisper on the breeze, and it entered a head that was in turmoil. She had to choke back the immediate answer of ‘yes’ that wanted to burst from her lips before she managed to issue him with a, ‘Go to hell.’ The energy she had to expend to get those three words past her lips took all of the fight out of her. He laughed, a soft throaty chuckle that had her body clenching in desire.

‘It appears I’m not going anywhere soon, but when I do, rest assured I’ll be taking you with me.’ His attention turned back to the bright lights that glittered behind them. He decided he’d toy with her a bit, enabling his arousal to simmer gently before whisking her away to his abode, deep in the heart of the Dolomite Mountains. There would be no escape for the poor wench as soon as they entered his home. All mortals who entered either died or took the change, but not one life had ever managed to flee its confines.

‘Let me go,’ she whispered miserably, her arm in agony and her head a spinning vortex of shock and repulsion.

‘Why on earth would I do that, when I have only my revenge to keep me warm at night? Speaking of revenge, I think I would like to dance, chérie.’ He held his gloved hand out, his fingers turning slowly to beckon her forward. When she didn’t move, he simply commanded her body to obey, and she advanced into his awaiting arms helplessly.

‘I can’t dance,’ she hissed. ‘My shoulder is broken.’

‘You will do anything I tell you to, and believe me when I say that your pain will be my pleasure.’ He led her slowly back from the neatly manicured lawn and they re-entered the rich, warm glow of lights. She could not fight his control over her, hard though she tried. When he took her in hold to begin the fast Viennese waltz, pain shot through her humerus and brought tears to her eyes, but she could not utter a word in protest.

‘You’re beginning to see what your life will be like, then?’ He nestled her face in his neck and let her smell the spicy sandalwood of his aftershave. He played about a little with her hormone balance, and it wasn’t long before her lips were on his neck, tasting him in an almost drugged state of lust. She barely knew what she was doing, but she would remember it all when he released her from the sensual haze. He would make sure of it.

The dance continued and he led her around the floor effortlessly. Their feet moved in perfect unison, their bodies sat perfectly aligned, and their timing was impeccable. It should be, because he’d had several years’ worth of practice. Finding perverse pleasure in their closeness, he let himself inside her head to examine the severity of her fracture. Immersing himself deep within her body, he quickly assessed the damage. It took him barely two seconds. It had been a bad fall, that much at least was apparent. She had fractured the bone in several places, and it was already beginning to swell. She would bruise badly, and there was the possibility that she would not retain complete use of the limb. Bringing her out of his trance, he decided to allow her the use of her voice.

‘I feel faint and a little nauseous,’ she whispered, closing her brilliant violet eyes, which looked all the more vivid against her newly pallid face.

‘You will. It’s a nasty break. It needs medical attention.’ He tipped a finger under her chin as they paraded around the ballroom, and two of his fingers reached for the pulse in her neck. ‘Your heartbeat is racing, my dear. Is it the pain of your injury or my presence, perhaps?’ He drew a single finger down her injured arm and watched her face blanch in agony.

‘Can you withstand it, Violetta? Or would you like me to take the nasty ache away?’ He smiled an evil smile that left her in no doubt of his intentions.

‘And what would be the price of such a good deed?’ Her voice was breathless and thready, her pupils were dilated, and she felt horribly dizzy as the room spun by in a blur of motion.

‘Your complete surrender, my dear. Your capitulation to my every desire and your soul, of course.’ He let his lips graze both her eyelids before they swept towards her mouth. Again, she tried to resist his lure, and again, she failed. Her mouth actively sought his, but he pulled his face away before they had a chance to connect. Her face crumpled in disappointment before she could mask the sentiment.

Giving her a playful wink, he bent down to purr in her ear, ‘Lack of control is infuriating, is it not?’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheek in a gentle caress. ‘I need you to call your hounds off, chérie.’ He glanced over at the motley crew of fanatics that had gathered at the entrance. Some were from the top tiers of society and others from near the bottom, but they all had one thing in common. They hungered for his blood. Before the night was over, they would get their blood, but it wasn’t going to be his.

‘No.’ Her word of refusal was the gentlest of murmurs, audible to no one bar him, but it seemed she had not given up the fight entirely. How wonderful. The girl had spirit, and he admired that. This was going to be a lot more fun than he had anticipated.

‘No?’ He let his eyes linger on her thoughtfully, admiring the delicious curve of her neck and the hammering of her pulse before deciding on the best mode of torture to apply. It didn’t take him long to come up with an answer. ‘Well, if you’re going to be awkward, darling, and make me do my own my dirty work, perhaps we can make a start on your education. It will be infinitely dirtier, I assure you.’ He smiled darkly as their feet ate up the floor of the ballroom, easily outshining all the other couples that were currently strutting around. The proud peacocks, anxious for attention but not co-ordinating their moves as they should, had to make way for the belle of the ball. Violetta could have worn a halo around her head and she wouldn’t have danced any better.

The bright colours swirled all around in delicious hues of lavender, indigo, peach, crimson, teal, aquamarine, and cerise. Some of the dresses the patrons wore were full and flounced, exactly as they would have been at the advent of the masked ball, but others were deliciously daring, exposing thighs, backs, and breasts. It was clear that the echelons of Venetian society had gathered in full force and were sparing no expense for the occasion. Swirling sequins dazzled, gold jewellery glittered, and the beautiful Italian teardrop chandeliers spun their lights gracefully on the revellers below. Masked, enigmatic patrons were everywhere. Full-face masks covered some of the guests and others, similar to hers, hid little more than the eyes. The room was full of secrets, muted whispers, and lies.

Martinet gave Violetta no time to dwell on the fact. He suddenly whisked her far away from the sparkle and glare of the masked ball and thrust her into a cold stone room. Then he carefully gauged her reactions.

* * *

ABSURDLY, THE FIRST thing she noticed was that her feet were bare. As her eyes began running up the length of the rest of her, she discovered she was pretty much naked all over bar the addition of a silky smooth, cream negligee, and that could hardly be classed as clothing. She wore no panties underneath the flimsy garment, and he knew that would make her feel even more naked. Positioned before a large king-sized four-poster bed, trimmed with rich crimson velvet drapes, she felt cool air prickle at her skin.

His hand snaked out from behind and circled the delicate flesh of her neck. ‘Cold, chérie? I think that can be easily remedied.’ His lips pressed themselves to the vein in her neck, and she shook with impossible need. He made her explode with arousal, bringing her to life instantly, and Violetta shot up as if struck by ten thousand volts of electricity. As his body pressed up against her back, she crackled and sizzled as if set alight.

‘Do you like my room, Violetta, or is it merely my body that has your heart rate doing a tremulous tango?’

Ignoring the comment and the implications of his remark, she raised her eyes to examine the room in detail. Rugged stone walls encapsulated them, and whilst they should have given the room a cold, perhaps even dismal feel, he had placed candles in hundreds of small nooks and crevices to vent their delightful amber ambiance in beautiful flickering waves across every available surface. Faded tapestries hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, softening the harsh lines of rock, each telling its own story. There was an oak armoire, a set of drawers, and a bedside table as furniture, but it was the books that were liberally strewn around the room that had captured her attention. He had accumulated quite a collection. Some were of a venerable parentage, presented with thick hardback covers and gold lettering. Others were from a considerably more modern era, with dog-eared pages and creased spines to attest to their popularity. Last but not least, her gaze came to rest upon his bed, and her body stiffened.

The four-poster was of Jacobean origin, and the craftsmanship was exquisite. Intricate carving adorned its dark oak panels, and the red satin sheets stood out in perfect contrast, not a single wrinkle to be seen. Reading her thoughts, he found himself smiling as she thought him a perfectionist. She couldn’t have been much further from the truth with that observation. Then her eyes skimmed over the bedframe, and a glint of steel caught her eye. It was a pair of handcuffs, one attached to the narrow dark oak post, the other open and available for use. There was also a reel of thick black rope wound around the pole and when her gaze turned to investigate each post in turn, it was to find they were all similarly attired.

He drank in her thoughts and smiled to himself at both her fear and her lust. The first she would readily admit to, but the second would be a challenge that he would relish every second of.

‘Yes. They would be for you,’ he whispered, and his teeth grazed her neck to feed her fear and let his dominance be known.

‘I shouldn’t think you’d need to tie me up,’ she spat, pushing him away from her and landing clumsily on the bed. Stifling a sob, she began to take in her new predicament and continued, ‘Can’t you just control me by thought alone?’

‘Of course, but tying you up and watching your body struggle as I make it crave the sweet release that only I can bring it would be rather satisfying. I’d love to hear you beg, my name whimpered pleadingly on those soft, sweet lips of yours.’ He came up behind her and pulled her legs backward, pushing her knees to the floor and pressing her stomach into the shiny satin. Kicking her legs wide apart, he knelt down and positioned himself between them, holding her there in perfect stillness. He allowed her the luxury of breathing but little else as his hands roved over her erotic attire, feeling the gentle swell of her breasts and the sharp points of her nipples as they peaked beneath his touch. His hands smoothed themselves down her back, across the undersides of her arms, lingering at the pulse point in her wrist before they moved lower. He let himself caress the beautiful rounds of her ass, pushed up prettily for his attention, and felt his erection burst into life, pulsing and throbbing in his pants as he pushed his body into hers, letting her feel exactly what she did to him.

‘I will never beg,’ she managed to get out through gritted teeth. ‘I will never utter your name past my lips, and I will never crave anything which you might choose to inflict upon me.’ The last sentence roared through her lips, but he knew that terror had begun to spin its web around her vital organs - the ones that he now controlled.

‘You will do all of that and more,’ he said with a seductive murmur, curling his fingers around the edge of her negligee and sliding it upwards, feeling her try to fight him once more as he began to unwrap her body and reveal the most secret parts of her flesh. She could not raise a single fingernail to stop him. ‘So sweet, so beautiful,’ he crooned as his lips bent once more to her neck and his incisors elongated with hunger. Pressing the razor-sharp needles into her neck, making sure they did not puncture her skin, he let her witness his other appetite, the far more deadly and insatiable one.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered, but he ignored her plea and scraped his teeth along her neck. ‘Please don’t,’ she whimpered, feeling him press down upon her vein.

‘See? You’re already begging, and I’ve barely even started with you.’ He chuckled and released his hold on her neck. Denying his body her sweet sustenance was harder than he thought, but there would be plenty of time for that later.

‘You’re right. We’re jumping ahead of ourselves here. You’d require training first. Obedience training. Did you know that’s the hardest part of becoming a vampire? You are always required to be totally subservient to your Master. Even though we choose our children with the utmost care, the complete submission required to become one of the undead will break one in three. Most go quietly mad. Some seek revenge and try to kill their makers, but the rest? Well, they usually kill themselves or find someone else to do it for them if they’re lucky enough. As you can see, I never was.’ He cupped his hand over her sex and let his fingers stroke her labia. A tormenting little caress that would increase anticipation and expectation, not that she would ever admit it. ‘You will be trained to submit in every way imaginable, and I mean every way.’

‘I will find a way to end your miserable life,’ Violetta said in a strangled voice, desperately fighting her body’s reaction to his caress. ‘I will mete out my own brand of justice when you are least expecting it, and I’ll make you suffer the agonies of a thousand hells.’

‘That just makes the game more fun, darling. You do your worst, and I’ll try and do mine.’ He pressed the tip of a single finger into her entrance, circling the tiny wet hole, and smiled as she shuddered. ‘Have you had a lot of experience in your few short human years of existence, Violetta?’

She snorted, and he took that as a ‘no.’ Her mind was showering him with thoughts of his death; gruesome, bloody, and involving several stabbing implements that she felt the need to use repeatedly.

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ he said as his fingers withdrew from her sex and moved backwards towards the tiny, tight puckered hole that might just be virginal. ‘Has anyone taken your ass?’ She choked and gurgled as he pressed the thought home in the deepest recesses of her mind. Clamping her lips tightly against the response that threatened to burst through them, she felt sharp pain simmer between her eyes as he tried to elicit her reply. She fought him, but it was nearly more than her strength would allow.

‘Fine. I’ll leave you a few secrets for now,’ he said as his finger pressed against her sphincter, once, twice, and then withdrew its unwanted attention. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to discover them all.’ He squeezed her breast through the thin silk of her shift sharply, making her gasp, and then they were catapulted back into the madding throng of the ballroom, their feet having not missed a single beat.

‘How do you do that?’ she whispered, her purple eyes so big they were beginning to resemble the flower she was named after.

‘Trust me, you don’t want to know. Well, not yet at any rate.’ There was a look of pure devilment in his eyes. ‘There’s a lot you don’t want to know about me, so the fewer questions you ask the better.  I can guarantee you won’t like the answers.’

It took a full two seconds before the pain of her earlier broken bone began to consume her. He isolated the darkened pupils behind the mask and watched her expression as it twisted and almost disfigured her face.

‘Call the cronies off, and I’ll take away the pain.’ He flicked his gaze back to her friends, who were staring at them with ill-concealed impatience. Death was in the air, and the general consensus was that it was going to be his.

‘I believe we’ve had this conversation. The answer’s still no.’ She gave him a mutinous look and fluttered her long eyelashes at him. It was about all she could do as he artfully manipulated the rest of her.

He clucked his tongue. ‘Tsk, tsk. This simply won’t do. You’ve yet to learn the consequences of disobeying me, but you will, chérie. When I say jump, you say how high, how far, and in what direction, sir?’ He narrowed his eyes and let the force of his gaze burn her flesh. ‘You will do exactly as I ask,’ he said, his voice deceptively soft, ‘or this is what will happen.’

He pushed a myriad of thoughts into her head, and they exploded with vicious aggression. Her mouth opened instantly in a helpless, silent scream - for what had once been a charming and genteel ballroom was now a massacre of the worst violence imaginable and the walls glistened with blood. The vision began with him dancing with one of Violetta’s protectors. She was an elderly dame named Georgette, but the lady’s eyes rolled in her head and her movements were that of a marionette, jerky and uncoordinated. He made it obvious that he was controlling her. Martinet built up the scene, ensuring he had the full attention of his huntress before taking Georgette’s head in his hands and twisting it sharply. There was a sickening crunch before he discarded her body like a worthless piece of trash. His eyes twinkled with merriment as he grabbed his next victim, a gentleman by the name of Connaught. He felt her throat constrict. It appeared Connaught had been one of her stoutest supporters and had taught her everything she knew. Her memories revealed they shared an affection that she didn’t lavish on many. This time, the death he doled out was merciless. He used his teeth to tear off half the man’s neck and let his pointed talons rake down his body, tearing his clothes to shreds and reducing the flesh beneath to bloody ribbons. Violetta’s knees would have folded had she had control over them.

‘Stop,’ she pleaded and he knew her brain cells had begun to implode inside her head. ‘For God’s sake, stop,’ she whispered, but he was having far too much fun. His next target was, for all intents and purposes, her mother, and she was a huntress in her own right. They shared a close bond and a common goal, having been firm friends for all twenty-four years of Violetta’s life. They had shared blood, sweat, and tears together, along with smiles and laughter. The woman had filled in as a substitute mother and he wondered, fleetingly, what had happened to her real parents.

Focusing on the task at hand, Martinet pinned the woman against the wall and rubbed his body against hers. Her body filled with fear as soon as she realised she could not move a muscle. She had managed to pull a silver dagger out of her bodice before his gaze had come to rest upon her, and it now sat at a careless angle, drooping like a wilted flower in her useless hand above his head. Flicking it away with his thumb and forefinger, he gave her a rictus grin and slowly flexed every digit in his right hand, enjoying her look of terrorised panic as he moved his hand towards her sternum. He then punched his fist through her chest and ripped out the tangled remains of her heart, torn arteries still pumping blood in a futile attempt to sustain life. The light died in her eyes, and her mutilated body plummeted to the ground.

‘Enough!’ screamed Violetta. She didn’t care who heard her in the staid confines of Venice’s moneyed aristocracy. Her body was shaking all over, and a fine sheen of sweat coated the back of her neck.

He bore down on her face and hammered his message home with a biting tone. ‘You have no power here. I hold all the cards. You had your chance, and you lost everything. At this moment in time, your life is worth less to me than a casual encounter with a particularly annoying bug. I care not if you live or die, but at the moment it entertains me to see you fight, so I may allow you to see another dawn or two while I instruct you on the arts of pleasuring me. You have no choice, no will, and no say in the matter. So you’d do better to please rather than annoy me. I can make you suffer worse torments than death, chérie, and I’ll be happy to prove it to you. Now call off your hounds before I do all that you have seen and much more.’

He released her then, pushed her away from him with more force than necessary, and left her tottering unsteadily on the highly polished floor. He withdrew from the crowd silently but remained a firm presence in her mind. It took her a moment to get her balance, but he aided her with his invisible control.

‘Tell your friends that you are about to finish me off in the gardens and will return with the evidence in due course. That is what they usually expect, is it not?’

‘They will want blood,’ she replied by way of thought.

‘They will get it - yours. But don’t worry; your wound will not be mortal. Now be a good girl and get over there before I renege on our deal and begin a storm of carnage that would impress Genghis Khan.’

‘Yes, sir,’ was the caustic reply, and his echoing laughter in her head was not a pleasant sound.

‘You’re learning.’ With that, the pain from her arm vanished and full mobility returned. Her heart rate slowed, her mind cleared, and she was left with two choices: Obey or watch all of those around her be slaughtered in a mindless fury.

Or was there yet a third choice?

Chapter 2

Watering the Garden

MARTINET HAD STOPPED the pain radiating out from her shoulder as she made a beeline towards the gathered crowd of her friends, but she didn't think him any less of a monster for his small kindness. If he'd wanted her to speak in a calm, even voice and be in the slightest bit believable, it was the very least he'd have to do. The speed in which he'd managed to set her body to rights had been astounding, though. One minute she'd been crippled with agony; heart racing, skin deathly white, and barely able to get a word past her dry lips. In the next, her cheeks were once again rosy in colour, eyes sparkling with health, and her breathing returned to a slow and easy pace. Violetta was now gliding across the parquet floor of the ballroom as if she hadn't a care in the world, a hand flouncing up to caress a lock of red hair as she toyed with it in a flirtatious manner. He prevented the growl that wanted to escape from her throat at his meddling interference.

'I am not trying to attract a suitor, so leave me be.' She pushed the thought at him with a little more force than necessary and knew he'd received it when she heard his answering laugh.

'Bored of suitors already, Violetta? How many have you had in that short lifespan of yours? Can't be more than a couple, can it?'

The reply of 'none' wanted to fly from her lips, but she managed to hold it in, barely, while she directed her thoughts towards puncturing his body with numerous sharp and delightfully pointed instruments of death.

'My, my, my, such temper in one so young. You'll need to learn to control that, sweetness, or I assure you there'll be repercussions.' It was clear by the tone of his voice that Martinet was amused and, if anything, it just infuriated her more.

'I will never stop trying to kill you,' she bit back telepathically. 'Every waking moment you will need to watch me, because if you let down your guard for the merest instance and I find a way of ending you, it will be done. Leave me here, beast, and go find one of your own kind to torment.'

'Oh, I would,' came the soft and menacing reply, 'but you've killed all the ones in these parts, I believe.' The voice that uttered those words was deadly.

A flash of horrific pain hit her as he let her shoulder make its presence known once more. There was a tight gasp and her feet went out from under her, pitching her body forward into the thronging crowds. Almost as soon as it had appeared, the pain vanished - but it had served its purpose as a warning. Violetta knew she would have to guard her viperish tongue or face the consequences. Setting out both arms to steady herself, she apologised to the portly gentleman she had just careened into and exchanged the required pleasantries before making her excuses to depart. The balding man, whose eyes had taken on a luminous gleam at having such a pretty maiden fall at his feet, held on to her arm for a few seconds longer than necessary. With a little effort on her part, she managed to wrench herself away with a smile and continue forward to her objective. What would she say to them? Was it possible they would believe her lies? Eleanor, an older huntress and her mentor, would see through her in a second. She would have to direct her speech at someone less astute. Connaught was the obvious choice. He was still a good friend but not on the same personal level as her so-called 'mother'. He would not be able to read her so keenly. He would not smell the lie. At least, she hoped he wouldn't, for the lives of her friends rested upon him believing her. She had no doubt that Martinet would carry through with his threats if she failed and create a massacre of the grandest proportions. Violetta wouldn’t allow it. If he took a life tonight it would be hers, for she wanted no one else involved in this fiasco.

'So noble, Violetta,' he drawled in a bored fashion. 'Do get on with it, dear, or I may have to get out my hankie.'

Her back wanted to stiffen at his comment and her tongue wanted to lash out, but neither options were apparently available to her, so it was with great chagrin that she found herself smiling sweetly and turning her face around to address Connaught with his familiar nickname.

'Con, I've found him,' she whispered in a sickly sweet girly voice that was full of excitement and awe. They were not her own words and the inflection upon them was all Martinet's own. He manipulated her with far too much skill and for that alone she wanted to scratch his eyes out. In her head, she was horrified that he'd already began plucking secrets from her mind, and what was even more galling was the knowledge that it would be the first of many. He had her at his complete and utter mercy.

'Good girl,' whispered Con with a congratulatory wink and a pat on the back. It was clear that he suspected nothing was amiss by his relaxed posture and wide smile. 'Now that you have him where you want him, what are you going to do with him?' The question was an old one and said for rhetorical effect, but she didn't feel the desire to smile as she normally would have. Alas, Martinet had other plans for her. Tinkling peals of laughter erupted from her throat and her face returned Con's large grin.

'Be back in five minutes,' she cooed, while her hands flounced the folds of her dress back and forth. She wanted to roll her eyes at the ridiculously childish action, but that too was denied her.

'Sort him out, Vi, and make it snappy. You know how Eleanor hates these stuffy affairs. She's been looking at her watch for the past half hour and snapping everybody's head off.'

Violetta knew the feeling. Wanting to grind her teeth painfully together, she instead formed a bright smile of farewell and gave Con a little wave as her feet began to move once again. Her hands itched to run themselves through Con's fine, sandy hair as she often did in a manner of friendly affection, but she had no control of them tonight. Walking off into the distance, towards the soulless black of midnight, it felt bizarre to realise that she wasn't in the least bit afraid. Even her emotions were under his command. It was a sombre, if not somewhat dismal thought. Did she have a hope in hell of getting out of this mess? Positive thinking, she berated herself. Where there was a will... there had better be a way, because she was far too young to die.

The sounds of chatter faded away slowly as her feet searched for a secure landing place on the soft grass. The beautifully groomed gardens were the reason the Green Castle, or Castello Verde, had acquired its name. In the daylight, they were truly stunning and home to all manner of flora and fauna. At night, twinkling solar lights kept the pathways alive but the vibrant colours of the flowers were snuffed out. Petals hid, stamens cowered in their protective green casings, and everything took on shades of grey and black. It could pretty much be the state of her own continued wretched existence, if Martinet were to be believed. Speaking of the vamp, where on earth was the guy? As her eyes scanned left and right, there was not even the merest flicker of movement that could be detected in the humid night air. There was barely a breeze, very little noise, and it left her feeling eerily... alone. Spinning around in a three hundred and sixty degree circle, she confirmed what she already knew. The place was deserted. Maybe he had decided to let her go after all? Maybe the beast had the tiniest twinge of conscience and... Her thoughts broke off abruptly as a figure flew from the rooftops and landed behind her. Before she could recover from the shock, an arm flew round her neck in a tight arc and began constricting her airway.

'Drop that pretty little glass vial you've got hidden away in your right hand. Now.'

That the voice and arm belonged to Martinet was not in question. He injected the words into her ear with such rancour that she wondered if he'd kill her there and then. A few seconds of terrorised silence passed. His grip tightened around her throat. As she gurgled in protest, her hand stubbornly clutched the precious little bottle even more tightly because it might be the only lifeline she had left.

'You're a tenacious little chit, aren't you?' he growled as he shook her body forcibly. 'Do you really want me to employ "other" tactics?'

She burbled insensibly as he began to cut off her air supply, but she didn't drop her precious cargo. If he was going to kill her, then it would be better if it were sooner rather than later.

'You surprise me, Miss...' He let the sentence hang in mid-air and Violetta felt him give her a push to answer it. She held on to the words that threatened to erupt from her lips, even though it was a hard won battle.

He frowned. 'I'll stamp that wilfulness out of your body, Violetta. Mark my words. All you are doing is waving a bright red banner in front of my face saying "spank me", and the outcome for your arse, delectable though it may be, isn't looking good.' Sarcasm dripped off his tongue.

While Violetta did not respond to his words, she did stop struggling. The intelligent part of her brain said that the action was worthless, for his strength more than quadrupled hers. Feeling her hands shake around the smooth glass vial and a bead of sweat drip down her neck, she wondered why he didn't just pluck the offending item from her fingers and smash it against the wall. He was more than capable of such a feat.

'Ah, but where would be the fun in that? It's much more amusing to watch you do my dirty work for me, and the more painful and unpalatable you find my ideas, the better.' His arm softened around her throat, but she did not feel in the slightest bit relieved. 'Last chance, Vi. Drop the bottle.' Her spine stiffened at the use of her nickname, which had previously been reserved for friends, but her backbone did not waver. She would not drop her little present. He would have to take it from her. Smiling darkly at the thought, she imagined throwing the contents of the tiny tube all over his body and watching as his skin blistered and burned.

'Oh, I think not, precious,' he purred into her ear, and with his free hand, he ran his fingers through the tempting, glossy red waves of her hair. Without warning, his fist closed around a handful of her locks and yanked tightly downwards. Her head flew back sharply and her eyes immediately connected with two bright blue orbs that had danger written all over them.

'Your face looks so much better when it's immersed in pain. Not quite so smug now, are we?' His breath tickled her ear as his hand purchased an even tighter grip on her hair. The roots in her scalp began protesting at the cruel treatment. 'Drop it. Now.'

Violetta's head stung furiously as he forcibly tried to wrench several follicles out at once, but still she retained her tight grip on the bottle. 'What's to stop me from flicking the cork stopper out of this bottle and throwing the contents all over you?' She asked the question in a saccharine-sweet voice laced with irony. They both knew he would not take the bottle from her. It was far too risky.

Sighing, Martinet released her hair and the impressive grip he had maintained around her neck before walking backwards a couple of steps. She waited for something to happen, but the whole world had gone silent and the only thing she could hear was the sound of her strained breathing and a heartbeat that felt like it had just witnessed a murder. On the plus side, she guessed he had released his hold on her. Turning around slowly, she watched his steely gaze bearing down upon her. Her internal organs began to liquefy.

'Afraid, Violetta? What's stopping you?' He took another casual step back and lifted his arms in the air, as if urging her to do her worst. If that was the way he wanted to play things, so be it. Her thumb flicked at the cork stopper. Whilst there was probably only twenty centilitres of water held inside the small tube's confines, it would be enough. With a little hiss, the cork popped free and there she was, holding her escape ticket, just a few scant inches away from her prey. All she needed to do was throw it. A quick flick of the wrist and her nightmare of an evening would be over. She would watch him writhe and roll around the floor in the throes of agony and not feel the slightest bit of remorse knowing she had delivered his last steps upon the planet earth. He was a monster that needed to be stopped. She was a trained huntress. She had been primed for this moment for the last ten years of her life. It was time to put that training to good use. She thrust the contents of the vial at him.

Chapter 3

The Duchess

IT WOULD HAVE been more accurate to say she tried to thrust the contents of the vial at him. Her brain sent down the order to her arm as requested, but her body did not compute the signal or perform the action required. Martinet had her fingers fixed in place and she couldn't move a single one of them.

'Have I scared you, Princess?'

Her eyes narrowed, and whilst she knew it was foolish to taunt him, she couldn't resist the impulse.

'Do I look scared?'

He raised his eyebrows and glowering contempt descended upon her. The look he wore left her breathless with anticipation. Anticipation of what, she had no idea... but her body was certainly looking for something.

As his lips formed a wry smile, she cursed herself for not trying to cover her thoughts. It was little wonder Martinet did not have a bride, for he would have been an insufferable husband to live with. A snort of laughter confirmed he'd heard her comment.

'Oh, you think so?' He smirked at her and unleashed the full power of his eyes upon her. She felt her blood go cold, ice literally flowing through her veins as he locked down her body. The control he could wield with his mind was terrifying in the extreme. Even her vocal cords had been paralysed and try as she might, not a whisper could escape her lips.

'No, precious, you can stand there and listen to me for a moment,' he said. 'You're going to have to get used to listening to me, so we'll start practising now. You only get to speak when I ask you a direct question. That's rule number one. There will be many more, if you don't prove too tiresome, but that will do for the time being.' He moved forward slowly and caressed her cheek with one of his long, elegant fingers. 'Insufferable, you think?' He bit his lip and laughed merrily. 'That's not something I remember ever having been called before - stubborn, demanding, and boorish, perhaps, but never insufferable. Most women would happily form a queue to warm my bed.'

He looked at her for a moment, assessing her, as if he knew she was desperate to loose her tongue upon him, before taking pity on her and granting the boon of speech. 'You may give me your thoughts, precious,' he said, and his patronising tone said it knew exactly what she was about to lavish upon him.

She did not disappoint. 'I am not one of them,' she spat with such venom it would have made a viper proud. 'I do not want to share your bed. I do not want your horrible hands anywhere near me, and I will always, always be looking for a way to kill you. You'll develop a twitch because of me, Martinet.' She returned his grin in the most unpleasant fashion she could muster.

'A twitch? And why would I be developing one of those, sweet pea? Do tell?' It was obvious he found her antics terribly amusing.

'Because you'll be permanently looking over your shoulder.' Her teeth snapped shut together on the last syllable, indicating she meant business.

He snorted in amusement, though, which diffused her tough statement somewhat. 'I'll have you dribbling at my feet in no time, Violetta. I have a one hundred per cent success rate with women and I don't expect you will prove the exception to the rule. You may take a while to train, but you'll get there eventually - on your hands and knees, of course.'

She hissed at him and her violet eyes loomed larger than life in her head, framed by her beautifully pale porcelain skin. The urge to do irreparable damage to several delicate parts of his anatomy was upon her, but unfortunately, without the use of her body, it left her strangely helpless and she didn't like the feeling one little bit.

'Feeling vulnerable for the first time in a very long time, Violetta?'

He gave her a disparaging glance and turned his back upon her. His shoulders were drawn in a tight line, and if she didn't know better, she would say the man was furious. There were a few interminable seconds of silence and trapped inside her body, motionless and once again mute, real fear began to consume her. Oh yes, she held a few priceless drops of holy water in her hands, but the chance that she might ever be able to use them was slim. Questions began to pour through her brain as adrenaline began to overload her system. What did he want with her? Would she be constantly bound? Did he intend to keep her a prisoner? Would he really use her in the way he had implied? How did she get herself out of this awful mess with her life intact?

'My brothers and sisters felt fear too, Vi.' She should have been glad that the silence had been broken, but his slow, almost disembodied voice would have made her quiver in horror, had that option been available to her. The loathing and contempt she felt emanating from his back was pure and unadulterated hatred, and it was all for her. 'Not just fear, of course,' he continued, 'there was also terror and shock as you came at them with your many implements and varied methods of death. Some were quick and merciful, but others were dragged out with a good deal more vigour, weren't they, Violetta?'

It was a strangely odd thing to be glad that she could not use her voice, but she had to admit that being unable to answer that particular question was a good thing. 'Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll never require an answer of you. But I do wonder as to why you dragged some of those deaths out and bloodied your instruments with far more enthusiasm than absolutely necessary. One could almost gather you were beginning to enjoy yourself, meting out those latter killings.'

Having him read her every thought was as disconcerting as it was annoying. How could these vampires cope with this kind of intensely personal interaction, day in, day out? It would drive her crazy.

'Ahh, so now you're beginning to understand my world. Are you looking forward to becoming a part of it?'

She made him wait for her answer. If she was to be marooned inside the shell her body had become, then there was no rush to respond to his taunts. As she listened carefully, she heard soft strains of Strauss as they seeped in porous lines from the large windows and doors that had been left open wide to cool the occupants within. The night air did little to freshen her body. Martinet had the most peculiar effect upon her. Not liking the direction her train of thought was taking, she decided he had waited long enough. Her answer was short and to the point: Go to hell. Although her voice was still trapped deep within her larynx, she didn't miss his answering laughter. She was glad she could be such a source of amusement for him.

He released his hold on her abruptly and, having been put hopelessly off balance, she stumbled to the ground. The jarring jolt had twin tears flowing from her eyes. His pain management had ceased, apparently.

'You're going to look so beautiful, splayed out on my bed this evening, chérie. Should I use the soft black rope to tie you up or would you prefer the harsh metal cuffs?' He appeared to consider the matter. 'Hmm, the cuffs, I think, because seeing your wrists adorned with the marks of my possession would be very satisfying. Every time you moved, the gentle pain of their chafing would remind you of me.' He gave her a wolfish grin.

Gritting her teeth, Violetta tried to summon up a sneeringly derisive reply, but the pain of her fractured limb was making all normal thought process virtually impossible. If he had not brought her to her knees of his own accord, her shoulder would have taken her legs out from under her regardless. Neurons fired and sizzled within her brain, screaming morphine for the most part, and for once in her life, she was rendered speechless. If Martinet knew the level of her current agony, he made no show of the fact, for he carried on with his delightful bedtime story, obliviously.

'When I get you back to my humble abode, Vi, should I strip you like a lover, gently removing every single piece of annoying frippery that mars the beauty of that truly amazing body beneath it - or should I be rough? Would you like that? I could rip, tear, rend, pop, and sever - buttons and zippers would not stand a chance, lace would melt under my fist, and that stunningly gorgeous and ridiculously see-through dress you're wearing would be history. A pity, perhaps, but on the plus side, you won't be required to wear clothes under my roof. During your initial training, you will remain naked at all times and this will help both of us understand your body and its reactions in order to maximise and prolong both elements of pleasure and pain. Pleasure will be your reward for good behaviour and pain will be my reward if you decide to flaunt the rules.'

Violetta heard his threats somewhere in the midst of the agony-filled void her body had entered, and she automatically bared her teeth and growled in response. The reflex was shockingly unladylike, even for her, but it was as instinctive and unstoppable as a force nine gale. 'I will not share your bed,' she managed to grind out, but even as she uttered the words, she knew them to be a lie. Escape from this monster would be a miracle and one, for all her many talents, that she might not be capable of.

'Your body has already submitted itself into my care. I suspect your mind will take some convincing, but where the body leads...' The sound of his annoying laughter, ringing out loudly in the night air, got her back to her feet when little else would have managed the task. Glaring at him with eyes full of fire and hatred, she once again found her voice.

'Do you think that chaining me to your bed will bring them back? Venting your perversions upon me will sully their memories, surely?' Her words were bitter and she almost chewed and swallowed them whole in her resentment of him.

'Oh, if only that were possible, chérie, but my soul is so black that even were you capable of such a deed, my forgiveness would not necessarily follow. I find myself attracted to you in the worst possible way and seeing as how I've witnessed, in my mind's eye, every single death you've meted out to my brethren, helpless to do anything other than watch the contempt and brutality that you have shown our race, I find the prospect of bringing you low a very tantalising one. Training you to become a wanton, shameless servant who will be desperate for the slightest touch of my hand is a heartily appealing project. The pièce de résistance, I think, will be making you fall in love with me - for that would be the ultimate revenge. When the fear, hate, and loathing have all worn off, and I've made you into a docile, adoring little thing, you'll be forever tied to me, knowing that your feelings will never be returned. Ah, just think, chérie, you'll be trapped in your own personal living hell and it will be utterly inescapable.' He sighed theatrically and said, 'Cue Romeo and Juliette, and the biggest tragedy of all ages. Except that I won't be killing myself anytime soon. You'll have to off yourself and be content with a mini catastrophe.'

Violetta had listened to his ridiculous tirade in disbelief. Who did this vamp think he was? The odds of her falling in love with him were about the same as her suddenly growing wings and sprouting a shiny gold halo: non-existent. She knew what he was and that in itself would be enough to ensure she remained forever distant.

Letting him hear her thoughts, enunciating them carefully in her mind one by one so he could feel their full benefit, she carefully orchestrated a distraction, whilst her good wrist prepared to do its worst. This was what she had been trained for - remaining strong and calm in the face of adversity. She would win this battle, for she could not afford to lose.

In a single fluid move, the contents of her vial exploded in a thousand teardrops, like a fractured sheet of glass, almost invisible in the velvet black darkness that enveloped them. Monsieur Martinet had danced his last dance. The holy water had taken flight.

Violetta was smart enough not to have looked in the direction she was aiming. If she had, she knew it would have broadcast her intentions to the beast louder than any stray thought might have done. Now that the deed had been completed, she raised her head to admire her handiwork and was amazed to find that nothing and no one was in front of her. She wasn't sure what she had expected - blood curdling screams or puffs of hissing smoke - but utter silence and an all-consuming emptiness did not mark a vampire’s passing in her opinion. Her fingers grabbed a handful of the damp, sweet-smelling grass from the earth below her and she roared.

'Get out of my head, Martinet. Release me this instant!' His eerily dark laughter confirmed every one of her suspicions. Brought back out of his vision, she found herself still clutching the tube of purified water, but the stopper was still tightly wedged and her body was once again immoveable.

'What, no fist pumping, cheering, or loud rejoicing? You disappoint me, chérie. Too bad you can't swear at me.' He blew her a slow and sultry kiss. 'You are going to prove such a delicious challenge. To have you drowning in the sea of love and hanging off my every word as a human would be quite a task all in itself, but to have all of that adoration after I turn you into a vampire tickles me enough that I might decide to give it a shot...'

His words were thankfully cut off as a couple of revellers spilled out onto the stone balcony of the Castello, clutching tall glasses of champagne and waving them around airily in a flirtatious fashion. A tall brunette, wearing a tight black sheath that could almost be called a dress, was baiting her companion.

'There's no one out here, Frederico. It's just the two of us and a sliver of moonlight. How romantic.' The woman giggled and graced him with an exaggerated pirouette. The twirl appeared to be unnecessary, for Frederico's eyes were already popping out of his head. They were currently focused on the soft swell of the brunette's buttocks, which were just about covered by the plunging lines of her dress, but there was plenty more tanned flesh on display if one were slightly disappointed by the fact. The whole of her back was exposed and sheer panels of fabric revealed most of her waist and midriff. Being blessed with a tall and willowy frame which was currently balanced on spike heels, the woman had a silhouette that any Bond girl would be proud of.

'Do you want to kiss me?' She purred her question seductively but apparently did not require an answer for she was already bending her neck forward in an inviting manner. Frederico needed no further encouragement, and with eyes drunk with lust, he plunged his hands through the brunette's hair and pulled her close for some lipstick-stealing action. Judging by the ferocity of his kiss, Violetta suspected that he had been tormented and teased for some time.

'Lovely evening for a stroll, Duchess.' Martinet's voice, sharp and sardonic, broke the lovers' embrace abruptly. There was a shocked gasp, a twist of an elegantly aristocratic head, and a glint of light upon a slightly elongated canine.

Violetta wanted to scream. Castello Verde was full of the undead this evening, and here she was, one of the most famed vampire huntresses of all time, having been rendered more helpless than a baby. She could not even utter a sound.

'Damn you, Martinet. You are disturbing my dinner plans, wouldn't you know.' A long pink tongue darted out to caress her fang before she took a deep, calming breath. 'But I see I am disturbing you also. What have you got there, Michel? A tasty young morsel with which to do your worst? Perhaps we should share?' The mischief and malice combined in her voice put the fear of God into Violetta and if they hadn't, the Duchess' next words would have.

'I've heard you like to make a mess of them. Blood and gore everywhere, isn't that right, darling?'

Violetta wanted to slam her fist into something. Was this to be the end of her short-lived career? Ripped apart under the cover of darkness by two mean-minded, bloody-thirsty vamps?

'Sorry, Maggie, but you'll have to search out other avenues of amusement this evening. I have plans for this one. Lots of plans.'

The Duchess' eyes narrowed and her eyes sought out Violetta, pinpointing her with perfect clarity in the almost non-existent light.

'Ahhh, wait a moment. Isn't this the little huntress you've been seeking, Violetta Cancellaro?'

'Cancellaro.' He smiled and rolled the word about on his tongue as if testing it for authenticity. 'Yes, I believe it is,' came his ironic reply. 'As it happens, she walked right into my lap, trying to kill me, of course.'

The Duchess' hand shot up to cover her face as she smothered a snort of amusement. When she had managed to get herself back under control, she said, 'You know that the odds were two to one as to whether you'd make it through tonight alive?' Her eyes twinkled with mirth.

'I had heard the figure mentioned, oh ye of little faith.' He gave her a faintly mocking look and winked.

'Oh, don't look at me. I told them there wasn't a woman alive who could take you down. They all fall panting at your feet, don't they, Michel? Out of curiosity, though, now that you have her, what are you going to do with her? Plate her up and suck her dry?'

Violetta really wished they wouldn't speak about her as if she were already dead. It was slightly demoralising, to say the least. From the expression on the Duchess' face, it was clear that she assumed Violetta's days were numbered and of the single digit variety.

'No. I'm going to play with her. We have a little score to settle. If she proves to be entertaining, I might even keep her for a pet.'

The Duchess clapped her hands together. 'Divine. You really are the monster they say you are - how wonderfully enchanting. And to think I didn't believe them at first.' She shook her head in awe. 'You do know she's untouched? I can almost smell her virgin blood from here.' She raised an eyebrow and gave Martinet a look of pure devilment.

He gave Violetta a measuring look. 'Surely not,' he replied. Chewing on a finger thoughtfully, he turned his attention back to the Duchess and said, 'Don't worry, I've had my fair share of breaking-in virgins - she'll be completely unsafe with me.' Having said his piece, he looked down and then frowned. Frederico had sunk to his knees in front of the Duchess and his tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth. His eyes lolled at awkward angles and his hands flapped around uselessly in his lap. It wasn't a particularly pretty sight.

'Maggie, sort him out, poor boy,' he admonished her.

The Duchess, who seemed to have forgotten the tasty little after-dinner treat she had brought along for the evening, cast her gaze down upon Frederico and bit her lip. 'Oops,' she said most unapologetically, followed by, 'Damn it, Michel - I find I have almost lost my appetite for the pathetic human in light of all this new excitement. Can I watch you instead? You know how I love to watch them being broken in, so to speak.' She pouted prettily and raised her beguiling eyes up to his.

'She's a killer, Maggie. I wouldn't hang around if I were you. If I have a lapse of concentration, she'd dice me up in a second.'

Damn right, thought Violetta, who would have loved to do some pretty fast dicing in less than a second, given half a chance.

Martinet ignored the snide comment and directed his next sentence towards the Duchess. 'Did you know that Lachlan had more holes in him than a Krispy Kreme donut store after she'd finished with his body? She's callous, brutal, fast, and exceptionally cunning. I'd cut your losses if I were you. Even though I have her utterly shut down and helpless over there, she's still clutching her tube of holy water, just waiting for an opportunity to throw it all over me.'

The Duchess did not seem at all perturbed by his warning and Martinet suspected he had said exactly the wrong thing to her, which was immediately confirmed when she said, 'How perfectly wonderful,' and clapped her hands together in glee. What was it with women?

'Just think of the fun you can have with her,' she gushed. 'You can break the chit down piece by piece and mess around with her.' The Duchess closed her eyes, tipped her face heavenwards towards the abundance of brilliant stars, and inhaled a large breath of the fragrant night air. 'I love Venice,' she murmured as her eyes slanted seductively. 'I love the romance, the history, the sights, the smells - but most of all, I love its utter absurdity. A city built on stilts! It hasn't changed much in six hundred years, but I guess you knew that.' She sucked in another portion of the sweetly scented air. 'I adore gardenias almost as much as I adored my maker and every sordid little detail of my training he required me to complete. Alas, he's been dead over two hundred years and no matter where I turn, the sex has never been the same.'

'Are you offering, Maggie? I'm sure I have a slot you can have somewhere before Christmas.'

The Duchess gave a little grunt of amusement. 'Very funny.' She giggled. 'You're a man-whore, if such a term can be used for our kind. I wouldn't go near you with somebody else's barge pole, even if it was twenty feet long.'

'You'd love to go near me, Maggie, and we both know it. The power that I might wield over you is what keeps you away.' He raised his eyebrows and stared straight through her.

'Yes, that too, but I need someone to stand faithfully at my side. I always have. You're not tormented by the same troubles, are you, Michel? I, for one, miss the bond of maker and slave, the fundamental power exchange and my complete and utter submission to his every syllable. He was from Venice, of course, back in the days when there was plenty of trade to be had in spices, silk, and grain.' The Duchess shook her head as if to free it from the memories of an age long past before directing her lidded gaze towards Frederico. Tapping him on the head gently, she whispered, 'Sleep.' His eyes immediately closed and he slumped to the ground in a stupor, his limbs tangling beneath him. 'Well, that's my problem taken care of,' she said with a cheeky smile. 'Now let's see how you deal with yours.' She looked at him expectantly and batted her eyelids.

Martinet gave her an exasperated look and waved his hands about with an air of annoyance. 'Isn't there something else you'd rather be...?' He was cut-off mid-sentence.

'No, absolutely nothing,' said the Duchess, almost dribbling with the prospect of some good old-fashioned entertainment. 'Please let me watch,' she begged. 'I haven't had this much fun in centuries.'

'You need to get out more,' said Martinet, rolling his eyes, already knowing there was little chance that he would get rid of her. 'Fine, if you can stand the threat of death by sainted water, you may watch. To be honest, I'm intrigued about your virgin theory. What say we give her an orgasm and test the waters?'

The Duchess giggled delightedly in response. 'Oh goodness, you're just as evil as they say you are. How perfectly wonderful.' She was already shuffling backwards, away from the soft spill of light from the Castello's heavy wooden doors and into the darkness beyond. 'Please don't let me distract you. I'll stand in the shadows over here while you go do your thing.' Making a show of smoothing the skirt of her expertly tailored dress, the Duchess backed away towards the dull grey stones of the walled garden so she would remain hidden away from view.

Martinet rolled his eyes and muttered softly under his breath, 'Women.' They were the bane of his several lifetimes.

'I heard that, Michel.'

'You were meant to,' he replied. 'I know how sensitive those ears are, Maggie. And whilst on the subject, can you make sure we have no more unannounced visitors? I don’t want any annoying humans deciding to take a midnight stroll right now. I need my wits about me.'

'Already got the problem in hand, darling,' she replied, waving a beautifully long black velvet opera glove in his direction. Sinking back into the dark gloom, the Duchess then disappeared from view entirely.

Having been given centre stage with an attentive audience, Martinet found himself somewhat reluctant to humiliate the girl. That in itself was crazy, as he intended to do far worse to her in the next few weeks, and it would make a mostly fully clothed, public orgasm seem like child's play in comparison. He was going to strip her bare, manipulate her actions, hormones, and thoughts until she didn't even know herself any more. She would become his slave in every sense of the word, and not only that, she would come to adore him. She would be what was termed as 'one of Martinet's women'. She would vie for his attention, be trained to please him and only him, and respond to his every command. He wanted her utterly helpless under his hand - as his coven had been under hers. Would he kill her? Perhaps. There was always the slim chance that she might kill him first, but that simply added fuel to a fire already blazing wildly out of control. It was a challenge he could not resist. If she proved to be tempting enough and passed the relevant tests, he would change her. He cared not for her thoughts or feelings on the matter. He would rule her body with an iron fist that showed no mercy and he would rule her mind as a dictator. She would have no choice but to obey. He couldn't wait to see the initial fear, loathing, and hatred that would be reflected in her eyes, knowing that before long, he would change it to drugged desire, adulation, and simpering obedience. She would be his little pet, one who would pant for him while he was near and pine for him when he was not. His revenge would be all the sweeter as she knew exactly what he intended and would be fighting him every step of the way. He wished her luck. Now it was time to show her who was boss and hopefully reveal one or two secrets in the process...

He had to admit that curiosity had got the better of him. A twenty-four-year-old virgin? It was surely an impossibility in this day and age, but the Duchess was rarely wrong in these matters. If she was, he mused, it would put a decidedly wonderful slant on things. Deflowering virgins was one of the most delectable pastimes known to his kind. If she had absolutely no knowledge of sex, he could mould her exactly as he wished because she would have no preconceived ideas on the subject. If the huntress could be tamed, and that was by no means a likely outcome, if she was virginal, his job would be made considerably easier by the fact. The time had come to test the waters.

'Bend over, Violetta.'

Chapter 4

Orgasmic

AS HE ISSUED the command Martinet returned her voice, allowing her to form facial expressions once more. This was for his benefit, rather than hers. He wanted to watch her reactions and study every nuance of each emotion that might choose to cross her face. Taking charge of Violetta’s body, he then made her bend over smoothly from the waist. She did not stop moving until she rested at a near perfect ninety-degree angle. It was a good spanking angle. He knew, because he'd tested the theory on many occasions. The expression that now featured on her face, due mostly to her automatic obedience to his command, was priceless. It was a cross between murderous rage and hideous embarrassment. He noted how her cheeks had flooded with colour at being so easily manipulated and it gave him cause to wonder. The next command he issued should take the guesswork out of the equation.

'Lift your skirt up, chérie, and display that beautiful backside of yours.'

She summarily exploded, like a can of coke that had taken a vigorous ride on a trampoline. Score one for the Duchess, he thought.

'How dare you!' Violetta's violet eyes went a dangerous shade of purple and she shrieked her displeasure at him. 'Is this how you get your kicks? By issuing stupid commands and ogling bottoms? You are insane!'

Martinet had to bite his bottom lip quite hard to keep from smiling at her fraught response. Of course, she had no option but to pick up the hem of her floor-length lilac frock and pull the entire length of it up, over her back. Her rump was now blatantly on display for his perusal and it was even more beautiful than he had imagined. The cherry on top was that her face had darkened to a beautifully deep scarlet. There was little doubt about the matter now and the Duchess had been right on the money.

'Very nice,' he commented appreciatively, knowing it would rile her. He wasn't lying, though. The view was magnificent. Although the human eye would have been able to see very little about five metres away from the Castello's grand oak doors, his were able to spot the tiniest of details, even from the respectable distance he held himself at.

For instance, he could tell from the washing tag that her gown needed to be laundered by specialist dry-cleaners. She'd left the thing hanging out of the back of her dress and would probably be mortified if she found out. The tag also told him that it could not be ironed. It was all thoroughly exciting stuff. He also knew that pale white Egyptian cotton had been used to trim her dress and that the method used to complete the task was a blind hem stitch. He would put money on the fact that her satin bikini panties had been designed by Calvin Klein, even though the waistband had been twisted and the only lettering visible was a 'C'. It helped that he'd studied ladies’ underwear in great detail over the years. From La Perla to Victoria's Secret, he'd seen it and stripped it from more than his fair share of willing participants too.

'Slide your panties down your ankles.' The command was issued in a silky voice. He was well aware that that particular order would have her frothing at the mouth and he was not disappointed. The look she gave him could have killed a mortal.

‘Do you have to do this?' There was a hiccup and a soft sob. The distress in her voice was most pleasing.

‘Yes,' he replied and watched with avid enjoyment while she peeled her delicate underwear slowly down her smooth, long legs. It took a little longer than it would have normally, due to her broken arm, which he allowed to hang limply by her side for the time being. From early on in their relationship, he intended to define, quite clearly, that good behaviour meant pleasure and that bad behaviour had such dire consequences that it wasn't worth thinking about.

He would fix her arm later, if she pleased him. It would take him a few minutes, but after he'd finished, it would be impossible to tell she'd ever broken it. Knitting bones together and threading nerves, sinew, and fibres back into the right slots was not difficult for him. Earning the reward of that boon, however, would be horribly difficult for her. Violetta was going to quickly learn that exemplary conduct would earn her rewards, but naughty behaviour would ensure that humiliations and punishments would be heaped upon her. It mattered not to him which path she chose; he would probably have equal fun with either. He frowned. Scrap that thought. He'd have far more fun if she disobeyed his every word and fought like a hell cat. He was counting on it.

When the panties began to slide down towards her ankles, he took a moment to savour the anger and fury she directed at him. He knew her mind was rebelling against his absolute control, but she had yet to find an override switch for his commands - nor would she. Once he was inside a mind, there was no way, to his knowledge, that he could be removed. As soon as he had a little of her blood inside him, the bond would become even more pronounced and it would grow stronger with each subsequent feeding. The sooner he drank from her the better, because then there would be no going back. They would be intrinsically bound and then, there was only death or rebirth to consider.

He smiled as he felt her mind give a little push towards his. She was already raging mad and struggling for all she was worth to try and stop the inevitable progress of her flimsy undergarments, but she would soon learn that resistance against him was hopelessly futile. When her panties finally piled in a pretty little puddle at her feet, she was beside herself with mortification. Her modesty was wonderfully enchanting. He watched her squirm. He was beginning to wonder why he hadn't tried this revenge game earlier. If he'd known how much fun it would be, he could have been at it for centuries...

'Each time you try to fight me, chérie, I shall make things a little more difficult for you. That way you'll soon come to realise that obedience is the only option worth considering.' His tongue licked his lips thoughtfully. 'Let's see. Hmm, I suppose I had better check whether you're aroused before I get carried away.'

He approached her slowly, his soft leather brogues making no noise on the verdant carpet of short grass beneath him. He purposely took his time. He wanted her to feel each one of his silent steps, knowing that she would just about be able to watch him from the corner of her eye. He knew her heart rate was at its maximum setting and that her mouth had run so dry she was unable to swallow. He also knew heat had begun to pool between her legs, fiery liquid heat that had nothing to do with his exceptionally clever talents - and yet everything to do with him. Either she found him charmingly attractive or she was turned on by his dominant behaviour. It was probably a combination of the two, but there was no denying her body's response. Good. If she found him attractive, it would make things easier for him and much more humiliating for her.

'Are you wet for me, Princess?' With his final step, he reached the beautiful twin peaks of her buttocks and drew his hand leisurely across them with the lightest of touches. He noted that they were firm, taut specimens and that they wobbled in all the right places. After a few moments, he pursed his lips and decided she was not going to answer his question. How terribly rude! Squeezing one of her delectable ass cheeks sharply, he was rewarded with a gasp. It appeared she hadn't lost her tongue after all.

'Answer the question.' His tone was abrupt.

'Fuck you,' she whispered in a panicked, thready voice.

So, the huntress was losing her edge. What a pity. He knew that if he let his control of her slip, her legs would buckle out from under her. The girl was scared.

'Oh, you will be, precious, if we can tame the huntress out of you. Now answer the question or I'll make you answer it, and believe me when I say you won't like my tactics.' His voice was a seductive murmur and he let it penetrate her entire body. By the way her teeth clenched tightly together, he guessed she didn't much like the effect he had on her. Too bad.

He decided to go easy, just this once, and give her an opportunity to speak. He waited. A long, pregnant pause lit up the night sky and the tension around them had a torque a Mercedes would have been proud of. She was in a spin and there was no right way to turn. As he suspected, no answer was forthcoming. Her lips remained held in a tight line and she would not look at him. He had never considered, even for a moment, that there would be, which was why she had been positioned exactly like this, her buttocks thrust up in the air and bared for his hands. Licking his lips, he felt a glimmer of excitement begin to stir within him. He had not felt such a powerful sentiment since the death of Jacques de Molay, the Grand Master of the Templar Knights, who had been burned at the stake in 1314. Also a vampire, Molay had been a close friend and confederate during some of Martinet's more 'unstable' years. His ugly death had nearly been the end of him, but that was another story. Thankfully, the subject matter today was a far more palatable emotion.

'Oh, Violetta,' he sighed delightedly, 'you and I are going to get along splendidly.' With no further ado, he began unfastening the thick leather belt from around his waist. He didn't hurry. He took his own sweet time as he wanted her to hear what he was doing. The chink of metal as the clasp became free, the swish of movement as it slithered through the loopholes of his trousers, and a final, slow drag as he unthreaded the tongue. She was a smart lady. He knew she'd quickly put two and two together and would realise exactly what he had planned for her. He casually glanced her way, and although he was eagerly awaiting her reaction, not a whit of it was reflected upon his face. He looked at her with a lazy, bored expression and voiced his next question.

'Do you want to run, Violetta?' His voice was a dangerously low drawl. He gave her mind an extra hard push to make sure she answered him this time. He knew she felt it, because her head snapped back in shock. Yeah, and that's only the half of it, sweet pea, he thought.

'Yes,' she whispered, and there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice. She wasn't lying, not that she would have been able to. He could feel her body trying to prime itself for flight, but that avenue was not open to her. To be fair, just about all avenues were locked down and closed, but it would take her some time to realise that and get used to his omnipotent presence. He would look forward to the day she gave up fighting him, but suspected that once it happened, her appeal would dwindle significantly. He wasn't going to let the thought concern him - there was always death for her to look forward to.

'So, are you going to answer my earlier enquiry? Are you wet for me, precious?' He began to double the belt over in his fist, and tapped it against his palm a few times for good measure. Meanwhile, he watched her lips intently and waited for them to move.

'Oh, I believe I already did,' she murmured and smiled sweetly at him. The shock of her cheeky riposte nearly, oh so nearly, made his breath catch. So she had been playing with him? Unheard of. The fighting hellcat was back. How exquisite.

'I can make you answer me in a polite fashion the easy way or the hard way,' he said before unleashing his killer smile.

'You'd better get used to the hard way, then,' she said, letting her violet eyes bore into his.

Martinet bent his neck to the left until he heard it crack. This one had plenty of cheek, and in more than one area. Clearing his throat noisily, he said, 'Good. I much prefer the hard way. But you do realise this might hurt, chérie? What with that poor arm of yours, I'd have thought you might want to play it safe.' The mocking words dripped from his honeyed tongue.

'I'm a huntress,' came the sharp retort. 'We're taught to handle pain.’ She glared at him with wonderfully narrowed eyes and her pupils were so large they nearly obscured her pretty violet irises. 'I've had vampire talons sink their wrath into my back, arms, legs, and breasts. Fangs have tried repeatedly to sever prominent arteries in my neck and thighs. Fists have broken my nose and bruised my ribs. Nothing you can do with your belt will compel me to answer the question. I can withstand a great deal of torture.'

Martinet merely smiled. It had been a magnificent speech, but it had little merit upon the methods he was likely to use. He decided to re-educate her on the matter. 'Ah, but this isn't going to be the same kind of torture you're used to, chérie. This will be a mix of pleasure and pain, and when we combine the two, I think that pretty pink tongue of yours will start telling me all sorts of secrets without my having to search for them.'

She didn't deign to respond, but her eyes, those gloriously vivid eyes, told him all he needed to know. This was a battle she expected to win. Little did she know, there wasn't a female in the land who'd managed to best him at this game and she wasn't going to be the first.

A faint buzzing noise entered his sphere of hearing and distracted him for a moment. He couldn't help but watch the slow, meandering path of a lone mosquito with his eagle-eyed vision. The insect had obviously spotted some fresh, juicy flesh that would almost certainly bear a tasty reward and was homing in for the kill. Entertainingly enough, with regard to mosquitoes, it was the female of the species who did the damage and readily sought out the blood of humans. She needed it in order to lay her eggs. Unfortunately for Violetta, in the land of the undead, it was the male bloodsuckers that wreaked the most havoc. The hungry beastie landed with skilled precision on her right buttock and prepared to take a long, soothing drink of the red stuff. Reaching forward with his index finger and thumb, his lightning-fast reflexes squashed the unfortunate soul between his fingers. No one was going to have the honour of dining from her before he had taken his fill. Whilst the chit aroused him sexually, it was the thought of taking her blood which really excited him, not least because he knew that his taking of her blood would destroy her - if not physically, certainly emotionally. As soon as he had ingested some of her precious nectar, she would be a huntress no more, for his venom would forever live inside her. Her downfall was all he had lived for these past few months and the irony did not escape him. Revenge kept him motivated in a way nothing else could.

Turning his attention back to the belt in his hands, he caressed the supple leather and inhaled the faint scent of tobacco it had managed to acquire over the years. It was his favourite, and he suspected that after today's events, it might rise even further in his estimation. Hell, he might have to frame the thing. With that thought uppermost in his mind, he tightened his grip and set his sights on his mark - the sumptuous curve of her ass.

Giving her no warning whatsoever, he brought the strap down. A loud crack resonated through the night air, followed by a shocked gasp. Giving her a minute to process the stinging slap, he ran a single finger down the line he had made. His huntress tried to remain stoic and bit down on her lip, not wanting to give him the pleasure of hearing her moan. Little did she know, but he wasn't going to stop until he heard her scream in pleasure, so he wasn't in the least bit worried about her holding back a few petulant whimpers.

Bringing the belt back up, he let his hand feel the long length of worn leather in an almost reverent fashion. He knew she had bitten her lip in order not to cry out, but it was early days yet.

He counted to three and let the belt fly once again. It was another sharp slap and this time he was rewarded with a hiss. He pressed his fingertips down into the fresh pink stripe to see if he'd done the job properly. She gave him a strangled moan, which she cut off almost as soon as she had uttered it, but it was enough. Giving her no time to recover her wits, he let the belt loose once more.

When the belt sank its teeth into her ass for the third time, he managed to get a curse out of her. It was a pretty innocuous one, but he suspected she'd get more inventive the longer he continued. For now he allowed her a small break to compose herself while he feasted his eyes upon her striped rear. Three blazing lines were beginning to surface, and knowing he was the one who had put them there was very satisfying indeed.

'Did they sting, precious?' He didn't receive an answer to his query, but it hardly mattered as he already knew the answer. Just to make sure, he ran a hand over one of the blossoming streaks of pale pink flesh. Hearing the strangled invective she tried so hard to hide was music to his ears.

'Now I shall find out if that nubile body of yours is hot for mine. You just stand there while I go check, chérie. At her infuriated roar, he chuckled and to fuel the flames of her ire, he placed both of his very talented hands down upon her - hands that knew how to play a woman. They could perform a slow, sensuous rhumba or a fast and intense salsa; for that matter, they could execute the whole of Rachmaninov's third piano concerto, if he were so inclined, but for tonight it would have to be short and sweet. They had an agenda to complete and he wanted her to be firmly secreted away in his mountain mansion before the sun released its potent morning rays upon them.

Letting his fingers walk up the insides of her splayed legs, he bent over slowly and pressed his soft lips into one of the rosy stripes. The mewl she emitted was choked and confused. She had expected it to hurt, but he sensed she was surprised to find the sensation was actually quite pleasant. Violetta had a lot to learn about her body and he would be more than happy to teach her. He was going to have a double dose of fun with this one. He would train her to slather at his feet first as a human before rebirthing her in his own image as a vampire, that which she despised and hated. Then he could have the ultimate revenge - for the huntress would become the hunted. Maybe he could even give those friends of hers a call to finish her off. It would be a fitting demise for his most hated enemy, killed by those she once loved.

Letting his teeth scrape along the raised line of the belt mark, he began to slide his hands further up her legs. Moving with teasing slowness, his fingers rubbed little swirls into the wonderfully yielding flesh of her supple, inner thighs. He smiled as he felt her jaws clamp down upon a soft little moan of pleasure. He had a feeling she wouldn't manage to keep those delightful little sounds hidden for much longer. Working gradually towards his goal, his fingers luxuriated in the soft mass of red curls he found at the apex of her sex. Barely kissing her with his fingertips, he knew she felt it as he’d let himself sink deep into her mind. He also knew she would have given anything to escape his wandering hands, and that, in his eyes, made the torment far more gratifying.

Cupping her sex and cradling the heat he found there was an almost divine experience. There was another hiss and she gave him a baleful glare, but he wasn't the least bit interested in her face. Two of his fingers formed a two-pronged fork and were aiming for her labia, doling out tiny little flutters of movement. They then progressed to a firmer intensity before he began caressing the lips intently, feeling them swell underneath his fingertips.

Interestingly enough, when he was anchored in the minds of most humans, he found a need to distance himself from the constant babble of chatter they felt necessary to process on an almost endless basis. Inane, useless chatter for the most part, which could drive a lesser man insane. With Violetta, however, he found himself wanting to know what she was thinking, what she felt at each touch he might choose to bestow upon her, and he wanted to be there, inside her, when she reached that magical pinnacle that would force her to lose some of that rigid control that she tried so hard to maintain.

His forked fingers dipped into the valley that surrounded her clitoris and performed and intimate dance that would do little but frustrate her. He slid forward and back, again and again, until he detected in her an urge to buck her hips in time with his delicate ministrations. Allowing her the privilege of that one small movement, knowing that the action would madden, humiliate, and tease her senseless, he continued on the warpath he had forged. Employing soft, sinuous caresses to some of the more intimate parts of her body, he knew it wouldn't be long before her voice would resurface. Whether she would plead for relief or beg for him to stop remained to be seen, but it would be interesting to find out. In any case, it was time to up the ante. Applying the most delicate touch to the tiny little nub between the apex of her thighs, he waited to see what would happen.

In the end, the result was almost comical. Her eyes bulged, her breath caught, and she made a gurgling sound in the back of her throat. He could almost feel the pressure behind her eyelids as they burst open in shock. Hearing the enraged expletive that rattled inside her head, unable to find its way out, was most pleasing - but her next words, when she finally managed to get them past the confines of her lips, were even better.

'Please stop.' They were a mere whisper of sound, pained and desperate, and truly a delight to behold.

'You mean to tell me that you don't like this?' His voice held a mocking, incredulous tone. Pressing harder with his fingers and working her clit a little faster, he made it clear that he wanted a reply but added a little push for good measure.

'I... I...'

Violetta's head was a jumble of turbulent emotions that were being tossed around in a spin cycle filled with the drug desire. She didn't know which way was up, had no idea what her body was doing or what it might be capable of. Drowning in a sea of tantalising fingers that worshipped her flesh by sliding and slipping everywhere they could, she had no way of fighting him. She was completely lost.

So, the signs were encouraging, Martinet thought, as he swam deep inside her head. She had all the markings of an untried, and taking her virginity from her would be the icing on top of an already very chocolaty cake. He was almost bursting with exhilaration at the prospect of her downfall. He wanted to rub his hands in glee. Good grief, it had been years since he'd performed a 'Virgin Conversion', so to speak, and this time he could have some real fun.

'Would you like me to introduce you to the little death, chérie? Watching you dance upon my fingers would be a wonderful sight to behold, would it not?'

'Get. Off. Me.' His lioness roared her malcontent at his treatment of her and he had to bite his lip in order not to laugh out loud and spoil the moment. Keeping his mirth in check was difficult, though. Her hips wanted to waggle enticingly, beckoning to be used, her buttocks itched to sway, and the ends of her ball-gown looked particularly endearing wrapped around her ears.

Thrusting a single finger inside her, he delighted in the fact that it was immediately coated in a sweet, hot liquid musk. Whilst her level of arousal was hardly breaking news to him, the thin layer of her hymen, which prevented him from extending his long middle finger to its greatest potential, was. How incredible. He could barely believe his luck. Here was a complete novice, absolutely clueless in the ways and workings of love, and he could train her untutored body to please him in any way he chose. A wicked smile lit up his face. The big bad wolf had ensnared Miss Hood, and hell if he wasn't going to eat her from the inside out. Patience might need to be employed at first, alas, but good things came to those who waited, and he had waited longer than most.

While his finger gently pumped inside her delightfully tiny channel, he let his thumb tickle her clit. A few pleasant pulsations to start and then he would begin the fight to the 'little death', for he knew without doubt that she would fight him with everything she had. No matter that she found him extremely attractive or that her body responded in a primal, elemental way to his - she would know exactly what submitting to him would mean: the loss of her family and, most probably, the loss of her life. It would simply make his victory all the sweeter, for she was fighting the inevitable.

Choosing that moment to release his control over her body, he observed that she barely noticed she was once again her own woman. She would figure it out in a few minutes. He wasn't worried. She was too far gone to run, and at this moment in time, her body was an instrument of pleasure that only he could play. Letting his thumb state its intentions, he moved it faster and harder. As he watched her legs, it didn't take long before both her thighs had developed a subtle but noticeable quiver. After another thirty seconds of his 'heaven and back' thumb action, it would progress to an earthquake-size tremor. The girl was panting, her fists were furled into tight knots, and he was surprised she hadn't managed to drop her precious little tube. He knew she still harboured a strong wish to throw it at him, but his fingers could prove very distracting when employed with the right precision.

'Have you ever had an orgasm before, Vi?' This time he didn't voice the question out loud but merely let it echo around a few corners inside her head. It would annoy her more.

'That's none of your goddamn business,' she replied in the same telepathic manner, but with a good deal more volume. Cute. It appeared she was a fast learner. He could only hope her talents would be equally skilful in other areas.

'I don't think you have, Vi, and isn't that the shocker? You have no idea what you've been missing, but the good news is you're about to find out.' His free hand snaked across her chest and reached under the almost transparent lilac organza of her dress. He inveigled his way under the satiny camisole beneath and found a succulent breast hiding between its many folds. His efforts were rewarded as his fingers brushed against a nipple that had already burst free from its protective shell. Closing his fingers around the pointed peak, he pulled gently. His body rocked with hers as he felt a heady zing of pleasure shoot straight down to her core. She was close now. It wouldn't take much to send her flying through the gates of delirium. Feeling her struggles beneath him confirmed his suspicions. Legs kicked out, arms flailed, and shoulders tried to wrench themselves free of his tight hold - to no avail. He had a vicelike grip upon her and intended to see his little experiment all the way through to the end.

Removing his hand from its very snug resting place, he reached for the belt again. She needed a distraction and this would help. Keeping one hand busy between her legs, he used the belt to rain down soft slaps across her buttocks and thighs. It was an awkward position, but that was the upside of being a vampire. He could hold any position for hours and not feel the slightest bit of discomfort. Well, anywhere except inside his pants, perhaps. There was plenty of discomfort there, and would be for a few hours yet, he suspected. He'd have the problem taken care of one way or another.

As her backside came into flower, sporting a beautiful shade of peony pink, he watched her squirm madly to avoid the gentle slaps. They were nothing more than annoyances and there was no real bite to them, but she wouldn't be able to concentrate very carefully while he continued to heap them down upon her. They would help spread a slow burn throughout her body. Keeping up a measured pace and watching as her hips surged forward in pleasure, he monitored her carefully. He attuned himself to her pulse, her blood pressure, and her rapidly increasing breathing rate. For a virgin, she was incredibly wet. Trying his hardest to squeeze three of his fingers inside her, he found himself grateful for her copious lubrication. Stretching her wide open, with slow little thrusts, he knew there would be a little work involved to get her ready for his cock. When he got her back to his cliff-side palace, or prison, as it would forever remain to her, they'd play about with a few of his toys. Start small and work your way upwards, that was his motto, and his humble home, Oscura Dimora, had quite the collection of toys, and everything else they would need for her training. Or should that be taming?

Her head was a jumble of thoughts. Nothing was particularly coherent. He heard various things, of course: her need to avoid the stinging slap of his belt, her wonder at the intense sensations spiralling rapidly out of control inside her, and the powerful hatred she harboured for him and his kind. That last thought he intended to nurture. She'd think he was the anti-Christ by the time he'd finished with her.

His fingers finally sank as far as they could go without taking her precious virginity. They'd save that for later. When Martinet heard her cry out in a keening wave of pleasure as his thumb raced around her clit, he knew it was time. He let the belt fall from his hands and it nestled in the dark grass with barely a sound. Taking from his trouser pocket the small silver dagger he'd misappropriated from her earlier attempt to kill him, he slowly ran the cold length of metal down her arm, gently scoring her flesh, wondering what she would do. If he'd timed the moment accurately enough, and with his fingers doing their worst, she would barely feel it. If he hadn't, she might well snatch the instrument out of his hand and prepare to dance with him. The blade reached her wrist and he pressed the point into her radial artery. Her eyelids fluttered close, but not due to the blade. It seemed she hadn't even noticed it. Her whole being was concentrated on one teeny, tiny sexual organ. That suited his purposes perfectly. Running the knife slowly back up the naked flesh of her arm, past her elbow joint, before letting the blade slide over her shoulder blade, he manoeuvred the sharpened point to the carotid artery in her neck. She didn't have a clue what he was doing. The blade did not register at all in her brain and as he neared one of the most important arteries in her body, that which fed the brain with succulently laden, oxygen-rich blood, he could have put an end to her life with one simple slice. It wouldn't be particularly quick or painless, and it would be very messy, but it demonstrated just how breakable humans were and why they shouldn't be messing around with the likes of his kind. He drew the blade back just seconds, a few scant seconds before his huntress would climax, and the urge to kill her was strong. All those deaths she had caused. All those friends she had murdered. His eyes saw a thick curtain of red wash down upon them and he felt himself filled with rage. What a fitting end to her career this would be! A death similar to those she herself had doled out with frightening regularity, and which gave her little cause for remorse. The girl had no conscience apparently, but that was fine because neither did he. He stabbed his blade forward as she began writhing and convulsing underneath his talented fingers. The 'little death' was a fitting term indeed.

Chapter 5

Blood

THE SMELL OF blood was one of the few things that could make his concentration waver. All vampires could be driven insane with the scent if they were hungry, and he had not fed in over a week. This was not particularly dangerous for one as old as himself, but the urge to tear into Violetta's neck and sink his fangs into the veins beneath was strong. He held himself in check. He had already reined in the urge to kill the girl, merely stabbing a tiny nick on the top of her shoulder blade, and he was now waiting for the blood to run so he could coat her shiny blade with it. Then she could send her friends home happy in the knowledge that an old coot such as himself had been exterminated from the face of the earth. There would be much rejoicing in the land, although Violetta wouldn't be doing a happy dance any time soon. For one thing, her arm was in tatters, and for another, she'd be tied up in his bedroom - awaiting the whims of her captor. Him.

For some reason, the area around the shoulder bled particularly well. Perhaps it was due to its proximity to either the brain or the prominent artery in the neck, but in any case, it did not take long before a small river of blood was flowing down her back, and whilst it smelled rather delicious, he really couldn't have that at this moment in time. Using the flat of her blade, he liberally coated it in the oozing scarlet ribbons, before dropping it to the ground. The sticky blood wasn't going anywhere, but if he didn't staunch the flow, her dress would be ruined, and when she re-entered the ballroom, the hunters would know something was amiss. Applying fierce pressure to the entry point of the wound, he cursed when he realised he had stabbed her with a little more force than had been absolutely necessary. He had managed to get carried away in the heat of the moment. Unable to remember the last time that had happened, he swore a second time. It would not happen again or his plans would be for nothing.

Feeling his fangs begin to fill his mouth with the intoxicating, metallic tang of blood scenting the air, he knew it wouldn't be long before he could heal her wound. He just needed a couple of seconds. His hunger was so acute that his venom would be released shortly, and he was not to be disappointed. Feeling the first droplet drip down onto his tongue, he scooped his right index finger inside his mouth to collect it. When he applied the tiny drop quickly to her puncture wound, the blood flow stopped almost instantly. She still had no idea what had happened, but as she turned her newly awakened, lust-filled eyes around to meet his, he saw her fury there and realised he hadn't managed to achieve his initial objective. In her hand, she still had a fierce grip on the bottle of holy water and she was currently preparing to throw it at him. Again. Maybe he wasn't quite as good as he thought he was.

'Stubborn little thing, aren't you?' As her hand rose in the air and her lips began opening in order to vent something loud and unpleasant upon him, his fingers dived back inside her. They'd just have to go for the multiple. She wouldn't be much good for anything after two in a row, but just to make sure, he'd lavish her with the full routine this time. Everything he had, he'd throw it at her. This time she wouldn't merely be a puddle on the ground - he'd make sure she was nothing but pulp from head to toe.

Of course, now she'd come down from her post-climactic high, and her faculties were once again firing on all cylinders, she would have realised he'd cut her. It was probably going to have ticked her off a little. When a closed fist full of holy water came flying at him, he caught it in mid-strike and felt her arm shake with rage. She'd seen the knife below her, she'd be able to feel the puncture wound on her back, and she wasn't stupid.

It was time to neutralise the situation. Putting her into a relatively simple trance, he decided the first place to start was with some hormones, so he liberally sprinkled a bit of testosterone and oestrogen around in her bloodstream. Then he raised her core temperature just a touch and made sure her heart rate didn't slow down. He wanted to keep her in that freshly revved up and gagging-for-sex state. He returned one hand to her nipple and began to tug gently at the teat, while his fingers liberally coated themselves in her ejaculate, of which there was an abundance. Whilst she might not think much of him, her body had decided that he was God. It had responded to his touch and fingers almost instantly and, if anything, her need of him had surprised them both. As he worked her over with gentle strokes in the real world, inside her mind, he was about to play dirty. Horribly dirty, he hoped.

Rifling about inside her head, he searched for something he could use. He wanted her secrets, her innermost desires - those naughty little interludes in her mind that she hadn't shared with another living soul. He wanted to find out what made her tick and then send her second hand spinning. It wasn't long before he found something he could use. If he hadn't already discovered that she was a virgin, he would have realised it from her complete lack of sexual knowledge. Even her fantasies were relatively tame, but they could work on that. Give them an inch and they soon wanted a mile. He bent his neck to the left, back to the right, and then donned his bow tie. Plunging into the deepest depths of her head, he was about to act out a scenario that would have her diving headfirst into the big 'O' in spectacular style. The bottle didn't stand a chance.

Chapter 6

Inside My Mind

THE HOTEL LOBBY was a whirl of electric ceiling fans. The heat was oppressive and there was no relief from the sultry ambience that had fallen down around the milling occupants. Beneath his feet, the floor was smooth, glossy, and made of teak, whilst the walls were composed of engraved woodwork, comprised of painstakingly chiselled patterns of pretty scrolls and latticework that would have taken several carpenters years to complete. A few stray palm trees dotted the open floor, elegantly swathed in tiny white lights, and a marble fountain took centre stage, spurting out gentle arcs of water and creating a pleasing 'burbling' effect. Large, circular leather sofas in shades of brown and cream were positioned near the bar area, with a few matching ottomans for good measure. A couple of rosewood cabinets, adorned with books, knickknacks, and large vases filled to the brim with an eclectic mix of tropical flowers completed the effect. They were many miles from home.

There were no windows to be found in the lobby, but they were hardly needed. Inclement weather was not a common occurrence in the tropics. The lack of them afforded the most magnificent view of the ocean, which currently held itself perfectly still and flat, as if it were lethargic and thoroughly enervated after the intense temperatures of the day.

Martinet lounged indolently against the bar counter. He was dressed for comfort in lightweight beige slacks and a white linen shirt that hung open at the neck. As he was going to be undressing himself in short order, he didn't want to make things too hard on himself. In his hand, he cradled a freshly shaken Pina Colada, which was bubbling over with enthusiasm. He watched the condensation begin to fog the glass and it wasn't long before his fingers were soaked with tiny beads of water. They'd be wet with something else entirely before long, and speaking of 'something', here came his delightful étranger, sailing through the wooden double doors and searching for a soft place to land. He immediately turned his back on her and struck up a bland but friendly conversation with the barman. If there was one thing all women hated, it was being studiously ignored.

His disinterest was instantly noted and her eyes had flown over in his direction, slightly taken aback and confused. Violetta was a woman who attracted attention wherever she went, so being swiftly dismissed was not something she was used to. She had a tall, almost regal body, finely honed limbs, a beautiful English rose complexion and hair that could set the world on fire with its red, blazing flames. Discreetly admiring her from the mirror's reflection that ran all the way along the back of the bar, Martinet had the sudden urge to bury his hands in the auburn inferno and twist ropes of her silky hair around his fingers, inhaling her scent and flooding his senses with her unique perfume. It annoyed him. He wished he did not find her quite so attractive. Hopefully he would become inured to her charms in short order, or his libido was going to have a marvellously entertaining time as he completed his numerous games of revenge.

In the far corners of his acute peripheral vision, he devoured her. When he'd initially turned his back on her, she'd almost stopped in her tracks, slightly shocked at his abrupt behaviour, but she quickly managed to regain her composure. She shouldn't feel too bad. She had the complete and adoring attention of the barman, who was now only half-listening to the conversation he was carrying on, judging by his monosyllabic answers, and he couldn't say he blamed him. Violetta was dressed to kill. He should know. This might have been her fantasy initially, but he had most certainly embellished parts of it - to his complete and eminent satisfaction.

She was garbed in a laid-back, dark-brown silk number that flaunted a little bit of lace and a few tiers of ruffles in all the right places. It gave her a carefree vibe, but it certainly didn't have the same effect on him. The ruffles stopped upon her upper thighs, the cut-out lace panels gave tempting glimpses of flesh just above her full breasts, and the strappy crystal sandals she wore shot her body up to heights previously unknown. He wanted his hands up her skirt, his mouth suckling just below those lacy wisps of fabric, and her feet bare - along with the rest of her. Next time he played out these kinds of fantasies, he'd make sure she was naked from the word go. It would save time and angst. Namely his angst, but he was the important party here in any case.

Watching her check out his backside as she sauntered towards him, he observed that she wasn't displeased with his physique. His rejection of her initial advance hadn't dampened her spirits in any way, shape, or form. As she carried her little clutch bag carefully under one arm, her stance stiffened and her eyes hardened. She was preparing for battle. The violet eyes roamed over him carefully, and unless he was mistaken, she liked what she saw.

He'd discovered over the years that women had certain qualities they wanted from prospective partners, and up there in the top five was the need for a firm, pert backside. He obviously ticked that box because her gaze then swept him over from top to bottom. She was now checking out whether he'd be taller than her, even in heels, and whether he worked out. He ticked those boxes too. He saw her lips curve into a coy but most certainly interested smile. He had her attention. There was one box that had yet to be ticked, though - the one thing that every woman in the world went gaga for. He simply waited as she sidled up beside him and smiled at the barman, biding her time. They'd get there soon enough. The barman looked at her expectantly, but her attention was elsewhere. Finally she turned her head and stared directly at him. Bingo.

He raised his brilliant blue eyes to hers and blinked slowly, letting his thumb caress the curved glass of his cocktail. It took several moments before she could tear her eyes away from his long enough to notice his drink of choice. Then she smiled and the balance of control tipped.

'Nice drink,' she said, trying, rather miserably, to hide her amused smirk.

'I'm glad you think so,' he said, sliding it smoothly across the bar counter until it sat directly in front of her. 'I bought it for you.' The two black straws and a bright red umbrella that sat in the glass trembled.

Directing his gaze back towards the barman, he ordered a margarita for himself. As the barman busied himself with his new task, stealing sly glances at Violetta whenever he thought he could get away with it, she appeared at a complete loss for words. Staring rather stupidly at the drink in front of her, realising she had been neatly cornered into accepting his offering, she was trying to think of a way to extricate herself from the situation, even though she actually wanted to be there, and what was more, wanted to follow the evening through to a very satisfying conclusion. He knew this for a fact. Being able to read minds was such good fun.

'You need to suck it to derive much benefit from it,' he commented absently, keeping a perfectly straight face.

Violetta found her voice rather quickly after that, as he suspected she might.

'Gee thanks, Einstein. Are you always this slick with the ladies?' She hopped up elegantly upon a shiny chrome barstool and propped both elbows on the counter. Ah, a stance of power. This he understood. She was trying to tell him to back off with her body language, but her eyes were saying something else entirely. Who was it that said eyes were the windows to one's soul? It must have been someone with a moustache and a beard, no doubt, but in any case, they might have been on to something.

'No, I'm usually much slicker, but I have a feeling you'd find idle pleasantries rather boring. Isn't that so, Princess? Why waste time on such trivial frivolities when we could quickly progress to far more interesting things?'

He got a glare for his troubles, which was so much the better. He was beginning to annoy her and get under her skin. That was exactly where he wanted to be. Scrap that, he wanted to be inside her skin, preferably thrusting away at a rate of knots.

She ignored his loaded question. 'Why did you pick a Pina Colada for me?' It was a safer subject, she wrongly thought.

'For several reasons. It's a long drink, so it should keep you occupied for at least ten minutes, it looks deliciously virginal even though it has quite a kick, and finally, because it's sweet, frothy, and doesn't look particularly... intelligent,' he finally answered.

Violetta's jaw worked itself up and down, but no sound came out. It took a few moments before she managed to get over her astonishment at his statement and recover her composure. She finally managed to speak several seconds after his attack. 'Do you always insult women whom you're trying to chat-up?'

'Now where on earth did you get that idea from? I bought you the drink so you could drink it, and keep quiet, thus allowing me to drink mine in peace. Now if you'd be so gracious, drink the thing and go sit somewhere else.'

Violetta gave him a searing glare of annoyance, which backfired on her rapidly as she found herself trapped between his two mesmerising irises. Giving a growl of disgust at his behaviour and managing to tear her gaze away with more effort than should have been necessary, she relaxed into her barstool. What was most maddening to her was the fact that had she not been ordered to sit elsewhere, she would have. Now, if she wanted to stand her ground, she would have to endure his company for the length of her cocktail. Had it been anything other than a Pina Colada, she would have dumped the contents over his head, but he had deliberately picked her favourite drink - which was even more exasperating to her. Apparently, it was not going to be her evening.

Picking up the cool glass and wrapping her fingers carefully around the wet surface, she stirred the contents with her straw and watched as the cubes of ice gently danced around one another. Taking a long, slow, and comforting swallow of the fragrant liquid, she beckoned over the barman, who immediately raced forward to do her bidding. He hadn't really taken his eyes off her since she'd sat down. Why he had to make his visions so life-like was anybody’s guess, but the barman was beginning to annoy him immeasurably.

'Is he normally this miserable?' It was a conspiratorial whisper, but she made sure it was just loud enough that the irritating man would be able to hear it.

The barman thoughtfully rubbed his tanned bald head and grinned at her. 'No. Normally he's much worse, ma'am. I think he likes you.' There was a knowing wink. The barman did not lower his voice as Violetta had done, but if the strange man overheard their conversation, he made no show of the fact.

'So what's his problem?'

The barman twisted his lips sympathetically and sighed. 'He's had a few deaths in the family. He needs cheering up, I think.' Placing a small terracotta bowl of spiced peanuts on the counter next to her and making a great show of polishing an already immaculately sparkling wine glass, he made it clear that he had no wish to continue the conversation. Violetta consoled herself by trying to place his accent, which could have been Malaysian or something similar, and for a moment she couldn't remember for the life of her why she would be so far away from home. Her head felt oddly fuzzy and disjointed. The disturbing thought left her mind almost as soon it had entered, and she felt compelled to take another soothing sip of her cocktail.

'He needs drowning, more like,' she said, but it was barely a murmur under her breath.

The dark-haired stranger pulled a circle of lime from the side of his salted martini glass and proceeded to eat the whole thing, rind and all. Violetta couldn't help but suck in her cheeks and wince.

'Oh my God,' she said aghast, covering her mouth with her hand. 'I bet that tasted disgusting.'

The stranger deigned to give her a slight incline of his head and the response, 'There's only one thing that tastes good these days. Everything else hardly matters.'

Violetta didn't want to ask the question, but he'd popped the idea inside her head and there was no way of stopping it. 'And what, pray tell, is that?'

'Annihilation,' he said, drinking the rest of his margarita in one long, smooth, sensuous gulp before adding, 'but oblivion would also work, I think.' He straightened himself up, cracked his neck to the side, and picked up his blazer, which had been laid casually across the end of the counter. Without a single glance back in her direction, the sexy, moody stranger strode out of her life without so much as a 'goodbye'. The scene was set.

* * *

VIOLETTA WATCHED HIS retreating form and tried not to pine after him. What was it with bad boys? What was it about that morose, sulky exterior that left her so intrigued? The butt was good, the figure was slim but filled in all the right places, and the eyes, oh those eyes, she could have swum in them forever. There went one troubled soul. She was almost tempted to go after him, but his sharply sarcastic tongue would probably be most unappreciative of her grand gesture.

After squirming about in her seat for several seconds, she finally couldn't resist asking, 'Where's he off to?'

After several moments of silence, she thought the barman had decided to ignore her, but finally he pursed his lips and sighed. 'He's suicidal, ma'am. He's lost everyone he's ever been close to. You'd do well to move on and forget him.'

After inquiring whether she'd like another drink and finding the answer to be 'no', he disappeared into the back room without further comment. This enabled Violetta to shoot out of the bar, faster than a teetotal nun, to search for the manic-depressive who could obviously only be saved by her.

There was no one around, of course. The wooden walkway she found herself on had been lit up with bright candle lanterns, and tiny fairy lights glittered from above. They had been suspended on a leafy trellis littered with hibiscus plants. On either side of the large planks she stood on, there was nothing but water, a very large expanse of water, as it happened. They were in a hotel that appeared to have been placed in the middle of the ocean.

As soon as she realised there was nothing but water wherever she looked, Violetta almost ran back to the bar for comfort. She felt oddly off-balance and unsettled. Looking down the row of planks as far as the eye could see revealed little more than a vast array of twinkling, flickering amber lights, but she guessed the walkway probably ended somewhere sensible and not in the middle of the big watery waste that was, for tonight at least, her home.

Placing one foot in front of the other, she navigated the wooden slats with care. High-heeled sandals had been a silly choice of footwear for a midnight stroll on what appeared to be a path little better constructed than a rope bridge, but she'd made up her mind to search for the stranger and it would be fair to say she was a stubborn-minded individual. So she concentrated on moving forward, very carefully, and let her eyes become accustomed to the dark. There was little in the way of sounds to be heard. A couple of splashes from a few over-exuberant fish, but other than that, the world had gone to sleep. She looked for a watch, but found her left wrist naked. How strange. She never went anywhere without one. Trying to analyse the thought and make sense of it, she found no answers forthcoming. What was wrong with her this evening? Her brain didn't want to focus, that was for sure. It was becoming so frustrating that she wanted to shake herself.

In the distance, she began to make out the shape of several small villas, each rearing out of water by the addition of four wooden columns. They looked like long-limbed wading birds, rising majestically out of the deep blue. Suddenly there was a flash of movement and she caught a glimpse of silver reflected on the water. It made her jump and in the next moment she was falling.

She'd taken a misstep and her sandaled foot had managed to wedge itself in one of the gaps along the walkway. A shocked gasp left her lips as her body buckled forward and prepared to meet several slabs of timber. Her arms shot out instinctively to soften her fall, but in the end, they found themselves redundant. The stranger appeared out of nowhere and his arms snaked around her, pulling her smartly upright. He managed to dislodge her foot out of the two planks it had become trapped in, and without a single word being spoken, he slung her up over his shoulder and carried her down the remaining pathway until it widened out in front of a small enclosure of wooden huts.

Violetta was too shocked to do little but stare agape at his backside. Being slung upside down was not something that happened to her very often. She was a tall woman and most men usually kept their distance, finding her a little intimidating. Just as she was thinking she should be pummelling her hands upon his back and demanding that he right her this instant, he must have read her mind, for she found herself once again back on her feet, the landing brutal.

'Nice ass,' she commented when her teeth had recovered from their vicious snap together, and she gave him a furious stare through shuttered lashes.

'Nice panties,' he countered in that awful, deep, sexy voice that did funny things to her body, and then he tilted his head and looked sideways at her.

Violetta looked down to discover that the ends of her dress had become entangled in her stocking top, displaying a fair amount of flesh and a sizeable portion of her tan bikini panties. Growling, her face flooding with heat, she managed to tear the offending garment back down, but she'd already seen his smile and her body had almost frozen. It was the wide smile of a predator. The smile of a man who knew what he wanted and how to have it expertly delivered in his lap. She felt her heartbeat stutter and she wanted to run. Every nerve-ending screamed for flight and she would have given in to them had the stranger not abruptly turned his back on her and sat down on the edge of the decking. She had been dismissed without a word for the second time that evening and the feeling was not a warm and fuzzy one.

Deciding to head straight back to the bar and somehow get her butt the hell out of this place, her eyes strayed down to his hand, which was playing with something. Long and silver, it must have been what she'd spied reflected upon the water, and it could only be one thing. He flipped it over and over in dexterous fingers, and the knife appeared to come alive in his hands - a living, breathing entity.

Violetta had already begun to turn her body around in order to stalk back to safety, but the sight of the knife stopped her. He was a human being, albeit an extremely unpleasant one, and he was obviously in pain. Whilst she had no idea if he really intended to kill himself, she could hardly leave him here like this. The man needed help.

'Do you want to talk?'

'I think we already covered that at the bar.' The stranger didn't even turn around to glance at her.

She knew she should have just walked straight back the way she came as his surly remark hit home, but like a moth drawn to a decidedly enticing flame, she couldn't help but try one last time. 'What do you want?'

'I want to fuck the hell out of you.'

Violetta was not a particularly quiet woman, but he'd thrown her a massive curve ball and it seemed she'd swallowed the thing. It took her several seconds before she could suck in air.

'What did you say?' Her voice was incredulous.

'If you want a repeat performance, you have to beg. That goes for the sentence and the sex.' He kicked off his shoes, letting them sail away in the water beneath him. He then removed his black blazer and let it go the same way.

'You're mad,' she whispered, her feet already backing up behind her. At least one part of her body was sensible, Violetta thought.

There was a sharp thud and she watched as he buried the small knife he'd been playing with deep into the timber decking. There was a dull twang as the thing vibrated rapidly at the impact and then silence resumed. She bit her lip and wondered absently why she was not running away as fast as her legs would carry her, but it was already too late. In the next instant, he was up on his feet and striding purposefully towards her. His fingers were already unbuttoning his shirt, revealing tempting glimpses of the tantalisingly hard flesh beneath and she felt her feet automatically backing up until they reached the edge of the planks.

'There's nowhere else to go, Violetta,' he drawled as he came within a hairbreadth's length of touching her. He brought his fingertip underneath her chin and tilted her face upwards to meet his.

'How do you know my name?' She looked up at him, and there was a mixture of angst and desire in her gaze. It was difficult to know which was stronger. One thing was for certain, he seemed to have all the right cards in his hand and she wanted to know why.

'That's the least of your worries, precious. What you should be asking is: "How do I know every move you're going to make, seconds before you do?" The flat of his hand reached down to slap her left knee away, the one that had been about try and find a soft spot around his groin area. The knee landed back on the wooden deck with a considerable thump and she felt herself wobble precariously.

'How in the hell...?' Her shocked words left her lips and were instantly cut off as she felt herself falling backwards. Her hands floundered helplessly at his naked chest, but there was nothing she could grab on to for purchase and as her heel skidded and splintered across the deck, there was the sinking feeling she was way past the point of no return. Preparing to take a deep splosh in the uninviting wet and salty stuff, she closed her eyes and braced herself for impact.

Amazingly enough, she didn't end up going for a midnight swim. The impact still happened, but the splosh did not. Mr Grumpy had managed to save the day by encompassing two tight arms around her body and somehow managing to retain his balance with her heavy weight in his arms.

'You're not that heavy,' he mind-blowingly said before bringing her face up to meet his.

She hadn't said that last thought out loud, surely? But if she hadn't, that would mean the man could read... No. Violetta refused to consider the possibility. She knew of only one creature that could read minds and that would make him a...

'Vampire.' He poured the single word into her lips with sultry intent and then all further thought left her. He took her with a fierce, all-consuming hunger, and damned if he didn't recreate the same reciprocal need in her. His lips were soft and he locked them cleverly around hers while his fingers threaded their way through her hair. He gave gentle tugs with his hand to position her just where he wanted her, and the man was good. Here was a beast who knew exactly what he was doing and how to use each and every little action to the best advantage. A hand came up to caress the soft spot directly under her jawline, and as he pressed his chest into her body, she wanted to melt. That was a lie. She'd already melted and was little more than a puddle of liquid in his arms. The vamp had skills. His finger was tracing a light path over the top of her lips and she already yearned for the taste of his tongue, thrusting against hers. To encourage and hasten the proceedings, she gently coaxed herself into his mouth and hoped he'd get the message.

'Such a greedy little thing, aren't you? And here I was thinking you'd put up a fight, me being one of the dreaded un-dead and all.'

Violetta didn't want to let that comment inside her head because she was really having far too much fun, half out of her mind with lust. It fluttered about a bit and begged for attention, but she did her best to ignore it. It was relatively easy as soon as his tongue was brought into play and, oh dear God, Master seducer didn't even begin to describe him. There was nothing the man couldn't do. One hand cupped the heat of her sex while his teeth grazed and nibbled at her lips. His tongue battled hers for supremacy, and she was more than glad to offer her submission. He had her breathing hard in seconds and her eyes were nearly black with desire. Everything began to wobble and shake, and it was almost as if all her dreams were about to come true at once. A tall, dark, brooding stranger had just saved her from imminent death and was now about to have his wicked way with her. Talk about a schoolgirl fantasy. It was sublime. Letting her body relax into his strong arms, she wound her hands around his neck and kissed him with an end-of-the-world-is-nigh, apocalyptic passion.

When he tore his lips away from hers, she gave him a guttural moan of protest at the loss of contact, but he was quick to return, laving a wet path along her neck with his tongue. Then she felt two sharp teeth elongating rapidly and steering themselves towards her jugular, scraping against her delicate skin. She tried to rear up from his grasp in sudden panic, but the tight hold he had on her body made any movement virtually impossible.

'Holy hell, you were just about to bite me!' The accusation was an angry, shrill one. For some reason, she knew she could not be bitten. It was an important detail, but her brain did not offer up any more clues. Alas, he did not seem in the least bit bothered by her protests and his teeth continued their abrasive journey up and down the soft skin just below her ear. When she tugged his hair sharply, to let him know she meant business, he finally raised his head before clucking his tongue in annoyance.

'Yes, I believe we have already ascertained that I'm a vampire. That's what vampires do. They find a suitable neck, grow a set of fangs and then they...'

'I'm familiar with the mechanics, thank you very much,' she said through gritted teeth, 'I'm a huntress!' There it was. That's what was so important. She killed vampires. Oh good lord.

He pouted for a second. 'Can't you just forget about killing things for a minute and let me finish the job in hand? We're in a rather delicate position here.'

He wasn't joking. The man still held her in the deep dip he had caught her in. She was bent double and half her body was currently suspended over the ocean, head first. As lovely as he was, the idea of being bitten by a vampire was not tempting and would result in a rather permanent lifestyle change in her case. The consequences were a little too high to be considered. 'No, you can't bite me. Put me down.' Her voice was firm and authoritative, but the stranger took no notice. Once again his lips were back on hers and she was drowning without the aid of an ocean. Up to her neck in a thirst for flesh that could not be quenched with anything less than bodily fluids, she knew it would be far too easy to become lost in him.

Get him off you, the voice of reason called, and quick, before he does all of those terrible, wonderful things you've heard so much about. The trouble was that the rest of her body did not want to listen or take the sensible option. Her conscience had been left somewhere far, far away on dry land and that was just peachy as far as she was concerned. Or it was until his lips began nuzzling at her neck once more, and his teeth gave her a vicious nip which made her cry out. Damn. Where was a stake when you needed one?

‘You need to stop. We can't do this. Christ, I should be looking for ways to kill you and you should be running. I'm the best there is.'

His free hand reached up towards her breast, gave it a modest squeeze, and then he let his thumb rove gently over her nipple. He raised his mouth from her neck to reply, 'I've also been told that, but it wasn't in relation to killing people and the clientele were ninety-nine percent female. Very happy females, as I recall. Why don't you let yourself go for a change, chérie, and see where the moment takes you?’ His hand squeezed harder, cleverly manipulating the soft mound of flesh before his fingers managed to tweak her nipple through the sheer fabric of the camisole beneath. He once again pressed his fangs to her neck, and this time he applied some pressure.

'Don't touch me. Get off me, you bastard!' She began to struggle in earnest, although she didn't manage to release one single limb from his all-encompassing embrace. But the words did manage to get through to him, as he removed his teeth from her jawline and gave her a look of irritation.

'Well, as you've asked so nicely, I suppose I must consider your request,' he sighed. He appeared to give the matter some thought and she could feel her heart doing cartwheels beneath his chest. There was no way she could be bitten. Please, please, she begged, let this be a vamp with a semblance of morality.

'Fine, fine.' He stretched his neck first to the left and then to the right, and a subtle cracking noise could be heard. Violetta winced inwardly. There was then a calculated pause before he said, 'Never say that we vampires are not gentlemen. We can overcome our basest desires in order to please a woman any day of the week. You have asked to be let go, and so you shall be.'

Violetta barely heard the last word he had uttered for she was falling. Into the goddamned ocean!

Chapter 7

Drowning

WHEN SHE HAD asked to be released, she expected to be put down on terra firma. A silent scream bubbled in her throat. It had no time to be let loose for the water was rushing up to greet her and panic was already beginning to consume her. Although she had many great talents in the world, swimming was not one of them. Being bitten now seemed like the much more preferable option when faced with a certain death situation, and then there was no more thought, for she plunged into the water and sank to the bottom of the sea.

Violetta's thoughts came tumbling back down around her as soon as she was immersed in the deep black pool of the ocean. The thing that had surprised her most about the fall was that the water was warm. Not just mildly, pleasantly tepid, but bathwater, beautifully-hot warm. Where in the world were they? It was somewhere close to the equator, at any rate. As her hair writhed all around her in suffocating waves, she tried to dash it out of her face with her hands. To what ends she hoped to achieve was unclear, for there was little to see anywhere around her in the dead of night. The world began to revolve in slow motion as her body sank silently downward, but then things suddenly went into overdrive.

When she finally stopped falling, everything seemed to operate in reverse. It was almost as if the ocean had rejected her and wanted to spit her out, for now she was shooting back upwards and a moment of hope began to take root in her brain. Maybe she'd manage to get to the surface, maybe she'd be able to float to one of the thick timber poles beneath the small huts, and maybe she'd somehow find a way to get back up and into the small cluster of villas without dying. It was a lot of maybes, though, and she didn't really fancy her chances. Her breath was compressing tightly in her chest, her lungs felt like they were about to explode, and all she could see was a never-ending aquatic graveyard of blue-black darkness. She wanted to scream, but there was nowhere for it to go. Surely the vamp wouldn't leave her here to die? But then, that was what vamps were good at, wasn't it? Certain death, blood, suffering, and all that...

As her head burst up through the surface of the waves, she opened her mouth and took in a great gulp of much needed air, along with a sizeable portion of salt water, which had her spluttering and coughing. Spying her antagonist, standing still as a sentry on the jetty above, she cried out towards him in a blind panic, 'I can't swim!' As her arms splashed and flopped against the waves in helpless circles, having no clue what to do with themselves, she looked up at him pleadingly.

'Can you not?' His voice carried loudly over the waves and she had no problem hearing his next acerbic comment. 'Then I suspect it's a rather unfortunate phenomenon finding yourself in the middle of the ocean.'

Violetta's head went under the water once more, and she had to flap around frantically to bring her head back to the surface. 'Help me!' Her cries were frantic, her tone pleading.

He didn't seem at all concerned with her plight, standing tall against the skyline, his back illuminated by the soft yellow lights of the villas beyond. To make sure he well and truly got the urgency of her message, she began screaming it over and over until she heard his voice again.

'Look,' he said testily, 'I want to help, really I do, but you've asked me not to touch you. So, keeping that in mind, a rescue is going to be a little bit difficult. On the plus side, your unfortunate demise might restore peace and sanity to my world, so be a good girl and go quietly.'

There was lots of shrieking, lots of sploshing, and a frustrated roar before Violetta managed to get her next sentence out. 'What do you want?'

'Your soul,' came the unerring reply, 'but I'll settle for a good fuck, as I think I've mentioned. No kicking or screaming. You do everything I say. We have a deal?'

'Yes.' Violetta had just managed to swallow yet another mouthful of salt water and was eager to agree to just about any term he had, bar one. 'Anything you like, but no biting.' The 'ng' sound came out wrong, mostly uttered underneath the water in bubbles, but she guessed he'd get the message.

'I hardly think you're in any position to barter, are you, my dear?'

Lots of sounds greeted him in response, mostly splashes and gurgling, but the words 'rather' and 'die' were most definitely mentioned.

'Do you want to test that theory?' It was a casual question, but then she went under the deep blue for the longest time and he'd just about primed himself to jump in, before she managed to get to the surface in time.

There was a frantic gasp for air before her final terms were spoken. 'No biting.'

'Fine. We have a deal,' he said resignedly. He had no idea he could be so noble. It was an almost painful thought. He contemplated it meditatively and couldn't help but wonder if he was losing his touch in his old age.

Violetta, still floundering around madly, watched his unmoving body for several painful moments and had an awful suspicion that he might have changed his mind.

'Well? Are you going to rescue me or not?' Her voice was more than a little agitated now, pretty much like the rest of her body, which was rolling about in the waves like a set of die in a Las Vegas gambling den.

He immediately snapped out of his reverie. 'There is such impatience inside you for one so young. Of course I'm coming to rescue you - why do you think I removed my blazer and shoes?' With that, he took an elegant dive off the wooden jetty that a dolphin would have been proud of, and hit the water at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. Then he disappeared.

Violetta was unsure what made her more nervous - the possibility of drowning or the possibility of being attacked by an underwater vampire who was no less dangerous than a shark. She knew he didn't need to breathe, so there was little chance she'd see his head above water before he reached her. In his world, air was about as precious as a grain of sand. Lucky for him, she thought, swallowing yet another mouthful of briny liquid as she tried desperately to stay afloat. Looking down upon the surface of the ocean, trying to see past the gentle waves, she looked for signs of movement, but of course there was nothing. Vamps moved with remarkable agility and speed. This meant she wouldn't see him until he was nearly in front of her, but she wondered if he'd get to her in time. She was exhausted. Her arms felt heavy and her body could have been a lead weight, dragging her down at every opportunity. Fight as she might to stay afloat, going under was happening all too frequently and she didn't know whether she'd have the energy to pull herself back up next time. Plunging under the waves for the umpteenth time, she felt her dress billowing out all around her and a sense of total desolation and despair. She didn't trust the vamp in the slightest. He might, even now, be watching from the sidelines, waiting for her to drown in a pool of her own misery, so he could have an easy late night snack. It wasn't as if he'd be shedding any tears if she'd breathed her last breath. As she inhaled water into her lungs, her eyes frantically darted to and fro, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, before all conscious thought left her. As her eyes began to see black spots slowly spreading across her field of vision and her eyelids drooped, she wondered if he would have managed to swim a bit quicker had she offered to be bitten...

Suddenly there was an almighty force beneath her body and she felt herself shooting upwards, breaking through water's edge and then falling back down into a pair of sturdy arms. She was then roughly thrown over his shoulder, and he used the flat of his hand against her back to help her cough up the remnants of the ocean deep. It was not a particularly pleasant experience. When she'd finally managed to give back most of the fluid she'd stolen, he twisted her around in his arms and sighed.

'If there was a wet T-shirt competition in these parts tonight, you'd win by a mile.'

Violetta, furious after her near-death experience, flared a pair of violent, violet eyes his way before her hand reached up to slap him. He simply caught it, imprisoned it, and smiled. 'You humans are so frustrating,' he sighed, reaching up to caress the tip of a nipple, clearly outlined by the soaked, see-through material of her dress. 'You know I'm a killer, you know I'm dangerous, and yet, still, you act in a totally deranged manner after I've taken the trouble to come and rescue you. If you want to die so badly, be my guest.' He abruptly released his hold on her and her body instantly began to sink.

Violetta screeched and flapped about, her arms lashing out to find some kind of purchase on his body before she went under yet again. 'I'm sorry,' she sobbed. 'I'm sorry. I'll play by your rules. Just get me out of here.' Her hands managed to find their way around his neck and she clung on to his body for dear life.

'Hmm,' he said, tipping his face down to meet hers and letting his dark gaze do its worst. 'So, let me reiterate our deal to avoid confusion. We're going to have sex and you're going to do everything I say. The "everything I say" part is rather important. We clear?'

'We're clear, we're clear! Everything you say. No kicking or screaming. I remember.' Her arms had taken on an almost limpet-like quality around his shoulders and she buried her face in his neck. 'No biting, though, please.' Her voice was small and resigned against his chest.

'That was the agreement.' He nodded. Picking her up once again, cradling her backside in his arms, he watched as her breasts moved and swayed with the current. He observed her for at least a full, silent minute before he issued his first command.

'Touch yourself for me.'

Violetta saw where his gaze had stopped and she knew exactly what he wanted from her, but had absolutely no idea how to go about it. 'I don't know what you mean,' she whispered, and then added in a panic, 'but I'm willing to do it, if you explain. Touch myself how?'

Martinet sighed and rolled his eyes. Virgins were one moment delightful, and in the next, paradoxically, a pain in the ass. 'Your breasts, darling - I want you to touch them for me. I don't mind if you knead them, stroke them, rub them, or pull at them - just do what feels nice. I want you to pleasure yourself for me.'

The girl looked at her hands rather helplessly for a minute and bit her lip. It wasn't so much that she didn't know where to place her hands, or even how to begin, the issue was that he was watching her. He waited for the inevitable plea and it wasn't long in coming.

'Couldn't you just close your eyes? Or perhaps look in the other direction? I don't feel comfortable...' She yelped. He'd relaxed his tight hold on her, which meant her body was sinking back into the water.

'Now where would the fun be in that? The whole point of this exercise is that I become aroused watching you play with yourself. I want to see those eyelashes flutter, I want to hear you moan in heat, but most of all, I want to watch for that special moment when you forget I'm even here.' He smiled cynically, 'Though I'll most probably remind you, shortly after.' He whipped his hands out from underneath her and let her splash around for a bit. She was even more stubborn than he'd given her credit for, or completely stupid. He wasn't quite sure which.

'OK, OK!' Her hands were quick to grasp both her breasts in compliance with his wishes, and he rewarded her with the comforting presence of his hands.

'The next time you fail to obey my order immediately, I'm walking and I'm not coming back.' The biting words rang out loudly and echoed in her head. If Violetta was in any doubt to the sincerity of them, one glance at his humourless face told her all she needed to know. The man was deadly serious. Well, what did she expect? It wasn't as if he had a conscience. He was a deranged, monstrous, sexy-as-hell, drop-dead-gorgeous blood-sucker and she'd do well to follow his instruction to the letter and run whenever an opportunity presented itself. For now, she was going to do everything he said. It helped that a hundred-weight of endorphins had now started to rattle through her body at breakneck pace and all she wanted was for the beast to get his hands on her and show her a good time. She'd heard so much about the act of lovemaking, and had yet to put any of it into practise. Now that she had no choice but to follow his every instruction, the embarrassment of being watched left her, to a degree, and she began to explore her body as instructed.

Long fingers stretched out and fanned over the generous expanse of her cleavage, giving the twin mounds of protruding flesh little more than a gentle sweep of her fingertips. Violetta had never thought about touching her body before and was surprised to discover that even a gentle touch was actually quite pleasant. Ignoring the dark, brooding, sexy vampire, who was now eye-balling her wet dress and the many curves it revealed from head to toe, she let her fingernails scrape across her delicate flesh, delving inside the wet folds of material that flopped all around her. When they caught the underside of her breasts, she bit her lip and inhaled deeply.

It wasn't long before she was experimenting with different touches. Her thumbs applied a little pressure to her outer curves and then she allowed them to massage the soft skin in small concentric strokes, pressing harder and harder until it achieved the desired result - a soft groan of pleasure. If she'd known how much fun this would be, she'd have done it years ago.

'You've only just begun, Princess. When you progress to the nipple, you'll find out what you've really been missing.' He wore a large smirk across his face as he greedily took in her body and hands, but at that moment in time, she couldn't have cared less. With each soft stroke, she felt herself relaxing into the soothing heat of the water and the large hands that cushioned her backside and wrapped around her neck. The feeling that washed through her was one of safety and protection, although she knew all too well how insane that was. The thought fizzled out as soon as it formed, almost as if someone had whipped it out of her brain. Surely not. That couldn't be possible, could it? Her hands faltered in their task.

'I want to see those nipples hard, chérie. I want to admire them poking through the wet fabric of your dress, proudly stating their intentions. They need to beg to be taken. Get them as hard as you can, Vi, so the feel of my hot tongue and lips against them will be almost painful, for I mean to show you just how sensitive those delicious nubs can be.' He brought his lips to the shell of her ear and began to nibble at her lobe. Wondering how she could concentrate on anything with his warm breath tickling her neck, somehow, she managed to obey. His voice, dark, sinister and dangerous as hell, had a tone that compelled her to follow and hang off his every word. She was in no mood to fight its treacherous pull, for her body was in heat. Finger and thumb had now paired together in a pincer grip and she was lightly pulling at her left nipple. The feeling was exquisite. Her body arched up, out of the water, and his two hands had to catch her as she swiftly returned. Little tendrils of electric pleasure flowed through her as she repeated her actions over and over, alternating between both breasts until she decided to get greedy. Playing with them both at once, but this time letting her fingertips tug at the delicate teats more sharply, she revelled in the fierce pressure and gasped at what the additional stimulation did to her. Arousal flowed through her, bursting out of every pore, driving her insane with the need to move, squirm and undulate her body. It wanted something, she had no idea what, but there was definitely something her fingers were seeking. They moved faster, tugged harder, and squeezed her flesh almost painfully in their quest for that elusive, indefinable something. What was it she now craved with an almost ethereal passion? Her hands were not going to stop until she discovered the answers to her questions...

'Ah, but that's where you are wrong, chérie.' His voice came out of nowhere and made her jump. Her hands dropped to her sides and her heartrate accelerated painfully for a minute. Making an irritated mewl of protest, annoyed that he had disturbed her quest for pleasure, she took a moment to realise that he had been correct in his predictions. She had completely forgotten he was there. Her cheeks flooded with colour at the thought, but it didn't stop her hands continuing their explorations.

'Uh, uh, uh.' The safety of his arms beneath her was removed and she quickly whipped her hands out to the side and began to splash about for all she was worth.

'Lie flat. Arms out to your sides, legs splayed wide. If you keep that position, you'll float. Obey or face the consequences, Princess.' He kept a single hand beneath her, to allow her to comply with his wishes, and his hypnotic blue eyes bored into hers. She didn't have the strength to resist them. Automatically following his commands, her body had almost taken on a life of its own. Legs were spread open wide and arms thrown out to the side, as she wondered what on earth she was doing. He was quick to remove his hand as she assumed his required pose, and for a moment she felt nothing but agonised panic, but amazingly, she remained above water.

'Make sure those hands stay where they are. If you feel your head slipping under the water, just flap them about a bit, like this.' He demonstrated what he meant by using his own two arms, stretching them out to his sides and moving them forward and back in a gentle sweeping motion. She nodded her understanding. 'Now that you've done all the hard work and aroused yourself, rather beautifully I might add, you're all mine. I can do whatever I like to that body of yours and there isn't a thing you can do about it, because if you deviate from that position you're holding, you'll sink, and I believe I've already mentioned I won't be rescuing you. However, if you allow me a little fun, then I'll get you back to dry land shortly. For now, just buckle up and enjoy the ride.' He winked at her, and even that tiny, harmless little action had her body trembling with excitement. What was the beast going to do to her? Unsure whether to be scared or deliriously pleased at the thought of him having his wicked way with her, she could do nothing but wait expectantly for his next move and unfortunately, he was in no hurry.

'Orgasms are usually better when they're delayed. It's called edging. If I bring you to the point of near-climax and stop just as you're peering over the cliff to the pathway of gratification, that will rev up your libido somewhat. If I do it several times I'll have you sobbing and begging for mercy. That should mean that when you finally achieve your goal, you'll feel as if your whole body is imploding from the inside out. Fortunately for you, I'm one of these people who has to do everything properly. Actually, that may be unfortunately for you, depending on your tolerance for pain, but we'll talk about that later. I'm jumping ahead of myself.'

Violetta's mind tried to process the sounds coming out of his mouth, but most of it flew in one ear to be immediately ejected by the other. There was a good reason for her lack of concentration. Her vampire had just positioned his body between her legs and his hands were making their way underneath her sodden dress and slowly up her legs. Her immediate reaction was to close her legs and try her best to slap him out of the way. It didn't matter that they'd agreed to have sex; actually doing it and having his hands on her was another matter entirely. As her legs began to close, though, her body began to sink.

'Hold that stance, darling, or you'll be diving to the bottom of the ocean in short order.' This time she did hear his words, and when she felt her body begin to dip haphazardly in the middle, her bottom pulling the rest of her downwards, she decided it would be sensible to do exactly as he said for the time being. Her legs thrust outward once more and her arms stayed proudly perpendicular to her body. He had rendered her helpless in one easy move and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She would have to endure whatever it was he was about to throw at her. It couldn't be half as bad as drowning, could it? As his hands once again reached under her skirt and slowly crept upward, she began to wonder.

'I don't even know your name,' she said in a little voice that couldn't possibly have been hers, sounding raspy and breathless.

'Michel,' he offered amiably enough before adding, 'but you may call me God.'

'Ha, ha, very funny,' she whispered, but once again, her voice sounded wrong, for his hands had found the innermost tips of her thighs and were caressing the edges of her satin panties. It took all the strength she possessed to remember to hold her position and not squirm away from his tormenting fingers.

'Oh, believe you me, you will be calling me God before the night is out, and that's a promise.'

* * *

MARTINET CAST HIS gaze along her body, from the tips of her toes to the interesting glare that turned down the corners of her mouth and brightened the gleam of her shimmering violet eyes. The effect was quite breathtaking, and had he been a creature that needed to breathe, she would surely have stolen every wisp of air inside him.

'You have no idea how beautiful you look like that, you know. All soft curves and beautifully outlined contours. Your dress looks like it's been spray-painted on and with your nipples poking out like little homing beacons for my mouth, well, it does funny things to my insides, precious.' The glare deepened and he could see her body twitching, itching to move and run away from him as fast as her legs would carry her. Alas, that wouldn't be an option for her any time soon. She was such an ungrateful thing, he thought. Most women would happily die for his attention, and to be fair, plenty had when he'd been nothing more than a mere fledgling. She should be grateful he had a measure of control these days.

His fingers moved inside the lace hem of her panties and ran delicately along the textured surface. He approved of her soggy wet panties and the soaking wet dress, but had to wonder what else might be wet for him. Although this was his vision and he controlled things to a certain extent, for the time being her level of arousal was her own. If he had to play around inside her head to achieve his desired result, he would, but he hoped that wouldn't be necessary. As his fingers tangled in a thatch of tight curly hair, he took a moment to consider whether his huntress was a natural redhead. All would be revealed shortly, but for now he was going to have a little bet with himself. He was almost certain that she was. Burrowing his hand inside the front of her panties and grasping a handful of her hair, he gave it a mild tug. She let out a gasp but did little more than flap her hands anxiously in protest. There wasn't a lot else she could do, which was why he’d placed her in this position in the first place. Thoroughly enjoying himself this evening, considering how miserable he'd been these past few years, he decided he deserved a little pick-me-up in the form of her deliciously ripe, untrained body. Oh, the things he could do with her.

Pressing his body into her crotch, letting her feel the thick length of his cock as it rubbed against the entrance to her sex, he watched as her eyes widened and winked at her. 'It's impressive, isn't it? Don't worry, you'll be getting your fair share of that later. One of the benefits of being a vampire is that when you go through the change, everything improves slightly. In my case, I went from python to anaconda.’

'How nice for you,' Violetta murmured in a strangled kind of whisper.

'Not half as nice as it's going to be for you,' he said with a wicked smile. 'We'll need to get you wet enough to accommodate me first, and that's going to require a little bit of work on my part, but don't you worry about a thing. You just lie back and take it easy, sweetheart.' Her frustrated scream and vigorous arm waving did nothing to cool his ardour. He was already pushing her panties aside, so that the clever fingers of his right hand could work her clit, while the talented fingers of his left could thrust away happily inside her. His feet would have to paddle madly to stay afloat, but that wasn't going to be hard graft for a being such as himself.

She was wet, and mad, and really, really magnificently tight. Beginning with a single digit, he spread a little of her own lubricant generously around her perineum, the area that was above water in any case. It was a blessing she was soaked because he didn't feel particularly patient this evening. One dextrous finger became two and he used them in tandem to stretch her wide open. Using long, gentle thrusts which would relax and torment her, he scrutinised her face carefully. The glare slowly disappeared, to be replaced with a look of surprise and, perhaps, disbelief. We haven't even started yet, he thought in amusement. Pumping her over and over with his fingers, he couldn't help but notice she was truly beautiful in each and every response, her body sending little ripples of current this way and that as she trembled and splashed.

Her flapping arms were becoming a little bit more uncoordinated now, and it was only when she began to sink beneath the waves that she remembered to flutter them about frantically. That was when he decided to up the ante a little bit. He was going to give her an early showing of the Martinet Magic Mouth, or the triple 'M' for short. It had a one hundred percent success rate. Having been tested on both males and females in its long and glorious career, it had received not one complaint. It wasn't about to sully its tick sheet tonight either.

Placing two hands underneath her buttocks and letting his body float to the surface, much the same as hers except the other way around, he used his feet to keep himself buoyant while his head dipped towards the apex of her thighs. He began his gentle torment by blowing a thin stream of bubbles at her sex. Watching her body buck and twist at the sensation, he blew a little harder. By the way she was thrashing about, you'd think he was causing her pain, but he knew differently. Next he let his mouth clamp over her panty-covered clit, imparting scorching heat while his hands grabbed her dress and pulled her closer to him. He tongued her thoroughly through the salty wet fabric and watched her squirm. Then he gave her a few tantalisingly slow licks from the top of her clit to the bottom. From the tight grip he had on her thighs, he felt her legs wobble and knew he'd hit the right spot.

'I'm going to have great fun edging you to bigger and better orgasmic accomplishments, and we'll practise every evening until you can successfully withstand at least ten attempts before going for the prize result. We'll have you an edging queen in no time.' He swept the covering of her panties away with his thumb and then let loose the real power of his mouth. Delivering soft laps, small flicks, a few long sucks and popping her clit back and forth between his lips, he had her mindless in no time at all. The poor chit would have sunk on numerous occasions too, had it not been for the strong grip he had around her waist and the constant movement of his feet.

'Ready to call me God yet?' He brought his head up, shook his hair, and watched as he splattered her body with tiny pearls of water, lit up by nothing more than the wan light of a waxing moon. While they were on the subject of waxing, that hair she had down there would have to go, but he'd issue his demands later. Right now he wanted her limp, panting, and breathless.

'You're an asshole.' His Princess had the most delicious temper. He wondered if they should work to subdue it or if he would let it have full rein and then show her the consequences of such displays of emotion. They would not be tolerated in the vampire world, and even though he was not yet positive he would change her, the odds of it happening were beginning to look ever more favourable.

He blinked at her several times and then pressed his index finger sharply against her sphincter. He gave her a lengthy sigh to make sure she sensed his displeasure at her curt comment. 'No, darling, this is an asshole and I intend to do big things with it later. That will take some practise, though, so you can breathe easy for the time being.' A hand forked through his hair to bring the dark mass away from his brow, and his face dipped below the surface of the water once more, seeking the sweet spot of her body, which tasted far better than any human food ever had.

He suckled and tongued. Flicked, forked, pulsated, and tickled, and just as her face creased up tightly with the painful effort of holding her orgasm back, he stopped. He withdrew his tongue, licked his lips, and tilted his head towards her with the biggest smile on his face.

'You...' Her voice was tight and venomous. It was clear she was in pain, the pleasurable kind at least. He cut her off before the woman earned a spanking her bottom couldn't yet cash.

'You call me an asshole again and I'll stretch this tight little hole of yours to proportions you would not believe possible.' Withdrawing his fingers from her pussy, he pressed his lubricated fingers against the smaller, puckered hole that was a touch further down and pressed for entry.

'No, no, please God, no,' she whimpered, her body thrashing and bucking at the contact as she sank into the wet wasteland of ripples below her.

He raised an eyebrow. 'I told you you'd be calling me God before the night was out, didn't I?' Satisfied that she'd come down from her high, he lowered himself back down into the water and began to work her over again. He lightly nibbled upon her inner thighs, blew more bubbles gently across her sex, and gave her only the lightest of teasing, tormenting touches with his tongue. His fingers pulled no punches, however. They worked inside her with a consistent rhythm and she was now copiously dribbling with her body's own lubrication, more than ready to feel his cock pounding away inside her. It would be too.

At this moment in time, he wanted this as much as she did. One might even argue more, but there was a reason behind his madness. Why was he intent on giving her so much pleasure when she had lavished him with nothing but pain in the last few years? The reasoning was simplicity in itself. Give her a taste of heaven, make her yearn for his every touch, and then deny the very thing she had become addicted to, or at the very least, put her through the gates of hell in order to achieve it. Revenge, revenge, revenge - the word was always going to be uppermost in his mind with regard to his dealings with her. So she could have the ace of diamonds tonight, but come tomorrow, when she was tied up on his four-poster bed for the foreseeable future, unable to move more than a few centimetres in any direction - and suffering under his constant touch that aroused but never quite delivered, she'd be getting the joker. Oh, he would have fun with her all right.

Taking another sip of her honeyed sweetness, he suckled gently, meanwhile letting his fingers pound into her core. Her taste was all over his mouth and it had a drugging effect on him. It made him want to suck her inside him whole, like a half-starved teenager.

He had to keep one arm underneath her body constantly now, because without it, she would most certainly have drowned. She had little strength left and with his mouth attacking her sex like it was a Christmas dinner laden with all the trimmings, she could barely think straight let alone coordinate her limbs in an orderly fashion. His fingers stroked the inner walls of her slick channel before his tongue thrust inside her, burrowing its way in as deep as it could go in order to sample the delights of her body. He put one finger on her clit and delicately rubbed as he drank from her sex. He heard the coiled scream in her throat getting ready to pounce, and then felt her body stiffening and her heartrate accelerated rapidly. He then pulled away brusquely and smiled down at her.

'How's that feel, precious?'

She did scream then, a tearing sound of frustration and woe. 'Don't stop,' she pleaded. 'Oh God, please don't stop.'

'You don't get to call the shots here. I'm in charge. You just need to follow my lead.' He winked at her and slowly licked his lips.

Violetta splashed at him frantically, her hands sending volleys of water cascading all over his body as her eyes shot daggers at him.

'If that's the best you've got, sweetheart, you're going to have an extremely long night ahead of you.' Using both hands to scoop up a sizeable portion of water, he threw it at her over-sensitised sex.

Her mouth formed a pained line and he watched the muscles of her pussy clench over and over again as she gasped out loud. Still no orgasm, but it was a close run thing. 'What do you want?' Her voice was thick with misery. Being denied intense pleasure did not suit her, it seemed.

'I want you to beg me sweetly to continue and then I want your lips on my cock, showing their eagerness to return the favour. Think you can do that?'

'You want me to what?!' The woman looked as if ten thousand aliens had landed on the planet earth and just demanded that she take them to her leader. If they had, the little critters would have been in luck because he was right next to her.

He rolled his eyes. You'd almost have thought the woman was a twenty-four-year-old virgin... Well, it was time to set her straight. 'I want to get you on dry land. Actually, wet sand will do, and then I want you to drop to your knees, unfasten my fly, open your mouth, and swallow me whole.' She looked at him blankly. It would have been funny, except at this moment in time it really wasn't. 'Goddamnit, just say "ahhh" and I can probably help you out with the rest. You agree to that and I'll let you have a taste of the good stuff. We set?' He raised his compulsive blue eyes to hers and allowed them to work their magic. The woman - why were women so damned awkward? - spewed out a gaggle of mismatched words, one of which could have been yes, and he was prepared to err on the side of recklessness. His patience was wearing thin, and it was strangely unlike him. He felt a roaring need to do the 'me Tarzan, you Jane' thing. It was slightly worrying. Her appeal would dwindle in the morning, he was sure of it. Right now he was looking forward to playing out his vision to the supreme satisfaction of both parties. He'd be generous and let her go first, though.

His tongue returned to her luscious nest of curls and foraged greedily for the sweet nectar within. This time he added a little more pressure, a tiny bit more friction, and to make sure she felt it, a bit of G-spot stimulation. Inserting two fingers deep inside her, he bent them into a 'C' shape and began beckoning her towards him with firm strokes. She sobbed. She begged. She thrashed. She writhed. She pleaded. She moaned, and then she begged some more.

'Come for me, baby,' he murmured against her wet flesh. 'Come screaming.' He clamped his mouth tightly around her and suckled her little clit, flicking it with his tongue until he felt the earth move. It was the ocean, to be more exact, and it was caused by Violetta's flailing hands and thrashing limbs as she tossed around like a woman possessed. It seemed he'd found a woman with a bit of spirit - how utterly enchanting. He let her crash around happily, knowing that with his arm underneath her, she wouldn't come to much harm, but he kept his lips pressed to her crotch until the very end. From the first violent convulsions as she initially tumbled over the edge, until he felt the last and weakest paroxysm subside from her body, he revelled in her every tremor. Never had he seen anything more beautiful. His huntress was a sight to behold in her soaking wet dress, the outline of her body stunningly depicted in dark brown silk, and the red glow to her newly awakened face brought out something primal within him. He felt his cock strain against his trousers and bit back a moan of intense torment. He'd get his in a moment, one way or another.

Waiting until she managed to catch her breath back, and giving her not a moment more, he said, 'You know you can stand up now, right, Vi? We've been in shallow water for the past ten minutes or so.'

His purring kitten changed her spots in the twinkling of an eye. There was an almighty roar of malcontent, some more splashing as she found her feet, and then some fierce eyeballing as she made directly for him, her hands shaped into rather unattractive claws. His hellcat looked magnificent. The dress was now a second skin, her eyes radiated a decadent, lush heat that had only just been awakened and her hair, plastered tightly around her face, gave her a fantastically sleek, sylphlike look. His mouth watered.

Oh, the things he was going to do to her when he got her back to his place. Imprison her, tie her up, deny her, tease and torment her. He was going to do all that and more. He was going to drive her insane, just as she had done to him, and when he finally tipped her over the edge, he'd let her kill herself if he was feeling generous. His desire for revenge was never very far from his thoughts and he intended to get even. Screw that. He intended to destroy her. There was a lot of hard work to get from this point in time to that, so he guessed he'd better get on with things, but at least his morose mood appeared to have lifted. Finally his life had purpose, goals, and... a beautiful woman with which to play.

Deciding that the best and quickest course of action to get him where he wanted to go was to lead her to the shoreline, he waded quickly out of the waist-deep water and limbered up his muscles. Bringing his knees up high for a few strides, he made sure he was ready to take off when she managed to get close enough. The frantic splashing from behind told him all he needed to know. So he began to run, but took his time and adopted an unhurried pace. His huntress would be feeling a little tired from this evening's strenuous pursuits, and he didn't want her to expend all her energy just yet. She'd be needing a great deal of it in short order and he wanted to be shown a good time.

When his feet hit the soupy, syrupy sludge of the shallows, his toes had no time to wallow in the sand. He had a huntress on his back and she was coming at him with considerably more speed than he'd bargained on. He upped his pace. It wouldn't hurt to tire her out a little bit, he supposed. After all, she was after his blood.

He tossed his head over his shoulder and estimated she was about five metres or so away from him. He figured he'd wind her up a touch and raised his voice so that it carried loud enough to be heard behind him. 'Out of curiosity, why are you chasing me?'

'Because I'm going to kill you,' she roared, her hands still in those interestingly-shaped claws she'd formed earlier. He observed that she had the most incredibly long, bright pink nails and thought they should be one of the first things he got rid of when he had her safely stowed away. The woman could take an eye out with those things, and while he was a vamp and he did heal, certain injuries were more painful than others.

'With what? Your bare hands? Good luck with that.' He sent her a playful wink. Many had tried, all had failed. He couldn't help but grin as she frantically slapped at her thighs. Ah ha, this is my vision, chérie, and I've had enough of stakes and knives for the time being, he thought. Her face suddenly lost all colour as she realised she was unarmed and unable to deal with the large threat he presented.

'Oh, God.' Though his huntress was breathing hard, the words were clearly audible and the horror that surrounded them was unmistakeable. It seemed she was a lady who rarely went anywhere without her weapons of destruction. Oops.

Although they were running along at quite a pace, she managed to turn abruptly on her heel as the stupidity of what she was trying to do sank in. She then took off at a hasty trot in the opposite direction. This was a much better result all round, in his opinion. He much preferred the chase from the vantage point of 'chaser', not least because he got to admire her tremendous buttocks as they wobbled in glorious unison, from left to right. Her dress hid nothing. She'd almost be better taking the thing off because it was hampering her running and she needed all the advantages she could get.

He let her sprint for a few minutes. The exercise wouldn't do her any harm. It was good for the heart, wouldn't you know? 'We're on an island in the middle of nowhere, precious. You can run, but you can't hide.' He watched as she put a little more velocity into her long stride and exulted in her pounding pulse. Being an omnipotent predator was a whole lot of fun sometimes. He could pounce upon her whenever he chose, because whilst she might be out of breath, he didn't require the substance and the speed they were currently travelling at was a slow walk in the park in vampire terms.

'Would you prefer to add another ten minutes on your workout, sweetness, or should I just jump you now? You did agree to this, remember?' He projected his words loud and clear, letting her know he was not in the least bit tired and could keep up with her ad nauseum if necessary, although he was sure it wouldn't be. Judging by her laboured breaths, his huntress was getting tired and that was exactly how he wanted her. It would make her just a little bit more pliable beneath him when he tumbled her to the ground in a few seconds' time.

'If you call agreeing to have sex with a vampire while you're at risk of drowning a fair bargain, you're out of your mind,' she bit back, one word at a time, as she fought for breath.

'Who said anything about fair? That kind of thing doesn't trouble us nocturnal types, Princess, and you should really keep to your word when dealing with the undead. They play nasty when crossed.'

Deciding he'd had quite enough of the chase, he pounced, his feet taking to the air in a burst of preternatural speed, and grabbing his huntress by the shoulders, he flipped her over so she faced him, before smacking her down in the powder-white sand below. Fine, silvery grains sprayed everywhere.

He used a little more force than absolutely necessary to bang her into the ground. It wouldn't do her any harm if she was a little breathless and winded. The less aggravation he had to deal with the better, in his opinion. He was on top, she was beneath him, and that was pretty much how things were going to be from this moment forward. Unfortunately, being the gentleman that he was, he didn't do the job properly. She was still very much living and breathing beneath him and the girl intended to let him know how much she disapproved of his manhandling.

She fought him tooth and nail, but mainly nail, because he was careful not to let her teeth get near anything important. Those damn nails of hers had a party, though. They gouged into his chest, raking impressively long lines down his naked torso and that stung a little. After a little bit of a struggle, which he couldn't deny was most enjoyable, he managed to get a lock around both her wrists. Squeezing them tightly, he slammed her fragile hands into the earth above her and scraped them along the sand until they were stretched out tight over her head. Her chest heaved with the exertion of trying to wriggle out from underneath him, but you didn't escape a vampire once they set their sights upon you. She was locked down, panting for breath and giving him some of the best evils he'd been fortunate enough to witness in his long and illustrious career as a member of the undead.

'Keep squirming like that and I'll be taking you with a bit more enthusiasm than I'd originally planned. Don't feel the need to stop on my behalf, though - the feeling is most agreeable and my nether regions are applauding you most wholeheartedly.' She stopped all movement instantly, as was to be expected, and he gave a silent sigh of relief. There was only so much territory he could control within a vision, and she was making things difficult for him. It was rather ungenerous of her, considering this was her fantasy.

'Get off me.' Violetta had to battle to get those words past her lips. His body weight on top of hers was crushing the air space in her lungs.

'Say please.' His big blue eyes gave her a piercing look and blinked slowly. He felt the rush of heat that shot straight between her legs, even if she hadn't computed it yet.

'Your weight is killing me,' she managed to grate through teeth clenched tightly in pain.

He gave her a lazy smile and bent down to kiss the tip of her nose. 'Don't make me repeat myself, Princess.' To drive his point home, he twisted his head to rest against the curve of her throat and scraped his teeth against the soft flesh of her neck.

'You promised!' The screech was impressive, considering he had yet to remove his weight from her body.

'Then play nicely and I might keep my end of the bargain.' He nipped at her jugular for good measure, to show he meant business.

'You win,' she squeaked, and her head scrabbled about frantically, trying to dislodge him. He kept his teeth exactly where they were. 'Please,' she added with a soft little whimper and a hiccup. Immediately raising his heavy frame from her body and supporting his weight on his knees, he was careful to keep a good hold of her hands. He wanted no further scrapes this evening, if at all possible.

'You're going to learn to obey me, Princess,' he purred in her ear. 'You're going to learn to be silent unless spoken to, you're going to be trained to follow every command that leaves my lips as soon as it's issued and you won't even think of defying me. The consequences of failing will be far too high.'

'You'll have to kill me first,' she snapped back at him.

'It is a distinct possibility,' he agreed, and then let her raise both wrists a little as he moved into a more comfortable position before crushing them back down into the grit and covering her mouth with his. He was not gentle. His lips crashed into hers and his tongue immediately followed suit in a whirlwind of motion. He didn't want that pretty little head of hers to think - she just needed to feel him. Hormones would take care of the rest.

As soon as they connected, her eyes fluttered closed and her throat raised, almost in an act of surrender. At least one part of her body knew what it wanted. As he wedged a thigh between her legs and pressed it up to her groin, he heard a loud groan of pleasure. Perfect. Releasing one of her wrists quickly, but not softening the pressure of his mouth, he ripped the insubstantial elastic of her panties apart and flung them into the heavens beyond. She wouldn't be needing them for what he had in mind. Returning his hand to her wrist, amused that she had not even noticed its disappearance, he lowered his body once again over hers but did not transfer all of his weight. He was going to rub and grind against her for a few minutes and heat up all of that deliciously wet flesh.

Hard planes of muscles sinuously ground up along the twin mounds of her breasts and he let his thickened cock press against her silky smooth mound. The pleasure that coursed through him was indescribable. It would make life difficult for him later, but he was used to dealing with problems. They had become his middle name in the past few years.

Hearing a heated cry escape from her at his mouth's bruising treatment, and watching her back arch into the air, he slowed the sucking motion of his lips. Giving her a chance to breathe and re-enter the kiss, he felt her gradually responding to him. His huntress settled down pretty quickly after that, the tiger becoming a veritable pussycat in less time than it would take the former to make breakfast out of the latter.

Speaking of breakfast, he realised his need for blood was growing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fed, but being hungry kept him sharp and when you had a meeting with an infamous killer, you needed every edge you could get. She was going to keep him on his toes for a few days yet, he had little doubt, but not when her body had a fever that was raging hotter than hades. If he knew women, and he knew women, she'd be insensible for a while yet. Keeping the soft motions of his lips and tongue fluid, he increased the weight of his body against hers, ever so slightly, to keep her in place as he got busy with other things. Releasing one of her wrists, he used his free hand to caress her breast through the sheer wet covering of her dress. He wanted to rip the thing off her with his bare hands and celebrate her form with his lips, tongue, and fingertips, but he knew that would be too much for her to stand just yet, and he wasn't entirely sure he was up to the task without exploding, either. He smiled ruefully. This woman had taken him back hundreds of years in a single evening. How was that even possible? He'd had more notches than any normal bedpost could withstand. His control was legendary. He had women flocking to his door, and yet tonight he wanted to have a goddamn party in his pants. How irritating.

He straightened his jaw and applied himself diligently to the job before him. His fingertips tugged at her nipples, they gently smoothed the outline of her breasts, and if the woman had a soul, which he very much doubted, he sucked the thing into him with each and every breath he took. Releasing her other wrist, he let his hand tangle in her hair and realised he wanted her closer to him - much closer. Cradling the back of her neck in his hand and tugging at her locks, he deepened his kiss once again before pulling away to let his tongue stroke softly at her lower lips. She mewled pitifully as if in pain, and then grabbed both his shoulders in order to make him continue. He obliged but gave her a nip on the lip to let her know that he was the one who dictated the moves, not her. It was a mistake. She opened her big violet eyes in shock, but her pupils were so dark and lust-filled he found himself instantly lost. Looking into those twin lilac portals, he found himself wishing she was an immortal. Dangerous fucking territory. Snap out of it, he thought in disgust. Distance yourself.

But that was going to be a little hard with one hand pushing the wet silk of her skirt up her thighs while the other reached down for his zipper. He wanted to feel flesh on flesh. This time there was no need to mess about and find out if she was wet. Judging by the thrashing motion of her head and arms, sending sand flying everywhere, she was more than ready and desperate for the slightest attention. The girl desired to be used and it was safe to say he was about to give her exactly what she wanted, if she knew what she wanted, which she didn't.

He pulled his face away from hers and they both took a minute to regain their composure. She needed to catch her breath, and he needed to get a grip on himself, which was, quite frankly, annoying.

'Get up,' he ordered roughly, and it was clear it was in no way a question, for he had her hands tightly in his and was using them to pull her body upright. When she was standing, he let her go but noticed she was more than a little unsteady on her feet. 'Lose the dress.' Another command. He almost felt like his old self again. Now to wait and see whether she would obey. Actually, that was a lie. He knew she wouldn't take off the damn dress, but he was used to dealing with disobedient females. 'Lose the dress now or I'll rip it from your body and make you walk back to the hotel naked. Sex and sand do not mix.' He watched her hesitate as he knew she would, and he stalked forward to do exactly as he'd threatened. The look on his face was monstrous - he'd had plenty of years to perfect it. She looked around desperately, as if seeking a place of refuge, but the woman wasn't stupid. She couldn't outrun him, she couldn't fight him, and if she were brutally honest, she'd realise she didn't want to. Her body belonged to his. He'd concentrate on warping her mind over to the dark side later, but for now, her body would do.

As both of his hands reached forward to grab the neckline of her dress and found the limp, almost translucent fabric, he saw her body shake. He would need to get her close to him again. Lots of skin contact would make her docile and mindless, and stem the shock that was threatening to overwhelm her. That meant he had little time to spare. His hands flew in opposite directions and a loud tearing sound lit up the night air.

'Stop!' She'd managed to yell the sound at the top of her lungs and it surprised him enough that he needed to take a step back from her. The expression on her face was one of defeat. With her eyes darting to and fro, sizing up all of her non-existent options, she had nowhere to go. Placing her hands in the air, as if they might ward him away, he watched intently as a fit of tremors overtook her fingers before she slowly lowered them in order to roll up the edge of her dress. There was then a lengthy pause, which he mightily disapproved of, before she began to pull the dripping fabric upward. He wanted to stand dispassionately and admire her shapely figure in the normal way he would appreciate one of his bedfellows. When the dress hitched over her mid-thighs, he thought he was doing quite well too. He wasn’t openly drooling, so that wasn't bad all in all. Alas, the woman had to work hard to get out of the soaking material and when she began to shimmy back and forth, he felt his central incisors try to take a chunk out of his bottom lip. As her backside wiggled and her breasts bounced, he had to bite his tongue, causing a good degree of physical pain, in order to make sure he stayed where he was and didn't go gung-ho and flatten her straight back into the ground. When the hem of her dress wavered above her sex, he swallowed thickly. She had a shockingly beautiful physique and the need to bury himself inside her grew to rather painful proportions. If the bloody woman didn't get a move on, he was going back to the original idea of ripping the dress from end to end.

The thing slithered up her midriff, displaying a concave stomach and creamy white flesh utterly devoid of a single blemish. She was perfect in every way and she was his. His, his, his. Since when had he been so territorial? Up and up the silk rose, twisting and pulling against her damp flesh, and then she was completely naked, utterly vulnerable and boy, oh boy, was he going to take advantage of her. Without another word, he grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the water's edge.

'No, not back in...' But her querulous little complaint was stopped in mid-flow as his lips claimed hers. His arms hoisted her into the air effortlessly and he wrapped her legs around his waist. She could conserve her energy for now, because in a few moments, she'd be requiring all the reserves she had. Together they waded back into the tepid ocean, with her arms tight around his neck and their faces locked together. His cock pressed against her naked sex and grew with every step he took. The telltale quivers of her body told him all he needed to know in return. His huntress was ripe for the taking and ready to be introduced to the wonders of coitus. He was more than happy to oblige her. Removing his hands from her waist, he shucked out of his trousers and pants. He wasn't worried that she might fall in; the grip she had around his neck was merciless and her nails were digging into his flesh in heated anticipation of what was to come. The negligible pain spurred him on and he found himself scoring the tips of his fingers up her back and arching her down towards the water as he positioned the entrance of her sex directly over the head of his cock. He didn't enter her, but just let himself pulse against her - the tip seeking a warm home in which to bury itself would do the job of introductions very nicely. She moaned. A throaty moan directed straight into his ear, and as her teeth grazed his lips, he couldn't help himself. He surged forward inside her.

She was so goddamn tight and wet, he thought he'd lose it. Her vaginal muscles clamped around him with an iron-grip and sucked him inside, but nowhere near far enough. Of course. His precious Princess was a virgin. That was easily remedied, though. Using his hands as leverage around her waist once more, he began to gently pump inside her. He used slow, tiny motions that had her rocking back and forth against him as his hands migrated to her backside in order to get a better grip for what he was about to do. She'd given up trying to kiss him, her thoughts were all over the place as desire began to flood her body, and if only she knew what she needed, his little kitten would have taken it by now. Her inexperience had her bouncing back and forward on the knife-edge to climax, caught inside a delirious mix of pleasure and pain. As she buried her face in his neck and began to lap at his flesh, he knew it was time.

Placing his finger on her clit and rubbing furiously, he surged, breaking through the barrier of her hymen in a single thrust, but not giving her a single second to process the pain. Flinging her body down on his, over and over again, grinding himself against her little nub of sensory nerve-endings, he knew she would be airborne in another three or four of her franticly pulsing heartbeats. The pressure against his neck increased. The damn chit was going to give him a hickey if she kept that up, but hell if he cared. He bounced her up and down with skill, getting a little faster and a touch harder with every lunge of their bodies. Another thrust and they both tumbled into the black heart of oblivion, and he was only sorry that the stay would be such a short one.

Feeling himself spurt into her, he felt oddly groggy, and the pleasure that was usually short-lived seemed to go on and on. He felt her convulse around him, her muscles squeezing down upon his cock, milking him dry with intense contractions of pleasure. Feeling increasingly dizzy as he emptied himself, he was only just aware of a continuing pain in his neck. What on earth was the crazy woman up to now? Biting him? Using a hand to try and bat her away from him, he just managed to make out a finger and thumb as his hand uselessly flopped back. Too late, he realised she had dug her fingers into his neck and managed to get his carotid artery in a pincer grip. If he wasn't much mistaken, his blood pressure was just about to hit the floor. As his vision went double, he managed to summon just enough energy to wrench her away from him, splashing back into the sea to put some distance between them. She came at him again, but a few precious moments was all he needed to put his world back in colour. Snarling, he reached forward and grabbed her by the hair. Twisting her neck fiercely in his hands and bringing her flesh up to his mouth, he plunged his fangs deep.

Chapter 8

Gondolas

BEFORE THE FORCE and intense pleasure of his bite had the chance to hit home, he released her from his vision abruptly. She was sobbing pathetically from the knowledge that he had stripped her of her virginity and the ability to perform her day job in one fell swoop. It would take her a few seconds to realise that her travels had been nothing more than a pleasant delusion, but for now his work was done. Her body shook uncontrollably in the awkward position she held, still bent over double from the waist. It would have been an almost comical sight, had he not found her behaviour maddening beyond disbelief. In the throes of passion, his little Princess had been plotting his demise. That was a first. Never before had his performance been so lacklustre that someone had managed to nearly kill him during the event. He was mightily peeved by the whole situation. His prowess in the bedroom department was legendary. What on earth was wrong with her? Grinding his teeth in annoyance, he realised there were other things he should be concentrating on.

Zeroing in on the little vial she still carried, gripped tightly between trembling fingers, he noted with some small semblance of satisfaction that they had little control or coordination to keep it safe for much longer. Her body pulsed and contracted in the throes of one of the most powerful climaxes known to the female kind, and he should know. He'd perfected his technique over several centuries. Unfortunately, she could still function perfectly throughout the procedure. Doling out death was far more important than appreciating pleasure, apparently. Martinet was still seething. The woman should not have been able to operate in any conceivable way as he brought her to climax. It meant he was not doing the job properly, and he always delivered the goods. He knew her body had climaxed hard against him, was sure of it, yet still couldn't believe that she'd been concentrating on killing him the whole time she'd been riding him. It left him cold. What did he expect, though? She was a trained murderess. This was second nature to her. It mattered not that she'd been a virgin. There was only one thought in her head and that was to kill. Getting a grip on himself, he returned his attention to the tiny glass bottle. He needed to keep his wits about him around Violetta, and he would do well to remember the fact.

His eyes descended to the tube, which was shaking madly, and he knew that at least one aspect of his plans was going to come to fruition. Another couple of convulsions and the vial would no longer be a problem. Admiring the shape of her delectable buttocks as they swayed to and fro, and the beautiful twist of her mouth as she cried out, he watched intently as the vial began to slip slowly through her fingers - fingers already slick with sweat. The little ampoule didn't stand a chance. Even if it had, she'd have less strength than a butterfly flowing through her stretched, tortured limbs. It would take a few moments for her circulation to return. She suffered another seizure of pleasure on a grand mal scale and her limbs flew everywhere, in helpless abandon. The vial then sailed out of her fingers and headed south. Victory was his.

He was certainly racking up some points this evening, but he was smart enough to realise that he would need to be constantly on his toes around the huntress. Suspecting that determination would be her middle name, he reckoned he could wipe the smile off her face within a week or two if she was given the right incentive. He hoped she'd rise to the challenge of sexually entertaining a vampire master before long, or he was sure to become rather jaded with her presence. Time would tell. On the plus side, humans were pathetically easy to kill and he'd probably be able to dispose of her with relative ease.

A splintering sound was heard, exploding inside his finely-tuned eardrums like the opening bar of a marching band, his head whipping round in horror. The vial should have landed safely on the grass, where it would remain whole and intact. His jaw dropped as he realised his error. He had thrown her silver dagger carelessly between her feet little more than a few seconds ago, and unbelievably the tiny bottle had found the only thing it could smash itself upon. Could she have directed it there, in the state she was in? The thought was an impossible one. She was in no fit state to do anything. Be that as it may, tiny droplets exploded all around him in horrific clarity, and he could not escape a single one of them. They froze in his vision for a split second in time, letting him know they were going to fly everywhere, and he knew they were going to do some damage.

As the first fleck of fluid landed on his leg, he waited in disagreeable anticipation for the pain to hit. He was not to be disappointed. Her friends were at least wise enough to have doctored the water with something unpleasant. Garlic oil. The stuff was the equivalent of dropping hydrochloric acid on a human, and it burned and sizzled just as nastily. It wouldn't kill him, but he'd learnt long ago that pain and death did not necessarily follow hand in hand. The worst part about this ordeal was that he had to keep his mind sharp to control the girl, whilst making sure she didn't have an inkling of what the water did to his kind. If he made out the water was harmless, she was unlikely to try the same trick again. It was a good theory, but putting on a show of nonchalance for her benefit was going to take all of his formidable resolve and more. The drops sank into the material of his trousers and burned into his flesh. He could have ripped them off to lessen the damage, but it would have made little difference. The worst had been done and all he could do now was try to ensure it never happened again. Giving himself a moment before trusting himself to speak, he allowed her the privilege of standing upright once more.

Slowly raising his eyes to hers, he said, 'So I guess that means you can cross stakes, silver, and holy water off your list of rapidly diminishing death-delivering items.' The words came out reasonably steadily, and for that he was thankful. The garlic oil was beginning to do its thing upon his legs and in quite spectacular fashion, but he still managed his trademark smile at the end of the sentence. Only a fellow vampire would have been able to spot the tiny strains of discomfort that had begun to tighten his facial expression.

'You bit me,' she accused, aghast, her mouth pulled back in a grimace of horror.

'Oh, do keep up,' he said with a tired sigh. 'I pretended to bite you. That little morsel of fun happened only inside your head. The real thing is far better, and if you're a good girl, I might even give you a demonstration.' There was no accompanying smile after the sentence, and didn't that say it all?

'No, you bit me earlier.' Her voice was rising and sounded slightly hysterical. 'My knife,' she pointed to the blade between her feet, 'is covered in blood. My shoulder stings. You bit me.'

'Pumpkin,' he sighed, 'you'd know if I bit you. There'd be a post-orgasmic, flashing blue lights, shocked-at-the-brilliance of the world type of aura about you. All you've had is a knife plunged into your shoulder. If you're hankering after a set of puncture wounds, though, I'm sure I can oblige.' He used his index finger to beckon her forward and displayed a set of prominent fangs for her benefit. 'It's jolly good...'

'Fine.' She managed to get her trembling hands under control and used them to smooth her auburn waves carefully around her face. Rearranging the long folds of her dress, which had become decidedly rumpled as she'd worn them dangling around her face for the duration of the spanking, she then took great care to pick up the knife by its unsullied handle and looked at it with displeasure.

'You be a good girl and give it to your friends. You know exactly what will happen if you don't, Princess.' He waved her back into the ballroom beyond, where a lively orchestral tune had just struck up. Her face turned to the lights streaming through the open doors and he knew she wanted to make a break for the safety of the walls within. She had much to learn. Nowhere would be safe for her anymore. In fact, safety would not be a usable word in her vocabulary from this night forth. 'After you've finished with your death buddies, come back here and we'll go party at mine. I'll show you what you've been missing all these years.' He unearthed his fangs again for good measure, and curled his tongue around a sharp point.

He knew she had to bite down the urge to scream at him. It would have been immensely entertaining had he not been coping with third degree burns.

'You wouldn't want to give me any hints or tips on how to remove that arrogant head of yours from your body, would you?' Her voice held a simpering, sweet quality, and her little girl antics made him want to throw her down on the ground and cover her entire body with grass stains.

'What can I say?' He shrugged. 'You'll probably need to take a step over into the other side of life to find out, though. You'll never kill me as a human.'

'You're the most vile and loathsome creature I've ever met, Martinet. Using my fantasy was a low blow. Sexy stranger you may be, but you were hardly a knight in shining armour. Next time you grope around for fantasies inside my head, make sure you do the job properly,' she barked.

'You came, didn't you? What more do you want? Rose petals and a fanfare? Tell you what, next time I'll get out the horse and carriage and we can go for a proper ride...' Martinet didn't bother continuing. He was presented with her back as she stomped off, and damned if she didn't have a mighty fine ass to ogle.

'Your performance was appalling, by the way.' She did not raise her voice to utter the condemning statement, but she was well aware that she didn't need to. What was it with women who always needed to get the last word in?

He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, 'Good thing I'll be getting plenty of practise in later then, isn't it?' He had to raise his voice quite significantly to make sure he could be heard by her inferior ears. No reply was forthcoming, but he knew she'd heard him by the stiffening of her neck and the tightening of her fingers. Alas, she didn't quite manage to hide the infuriated shriek that burst forth from her lips and refused to be stoppered by both of her similarly maddened hands. Increasing her already rather fast pace, she continued to stalk off towards the welcoming light of the ballroom, giving him not so much as a second glance.

The Duchess stepped silently out of the shadows and almost startled him, which was shocking in itself. The girl had made him forget about everything else around him, including, most importantly, that the whole scene had been witnessed.

'Are you okay, darling?'

'Never better, Maggie. I have a thing about virgins, wouldn't you know? Well done for spotting that little titbit. You're a sharp creature, aren't you?'

'I can smell the garlic from here, Michel.' She sniffed the air as if to emphasize her point. 'The girl's gone and there is no one left to impress. You don't have to pretend for my benefit.'

'I'm impervious to pain, Maggie.' Martinet gave her a bored look. She would always suspect, but she'd never know it was a lie for certain, and that suited him just fine. Vampire politics were difficult things. Her answering snort told him all he needed to know on that score, unfortunately.

'You are just as magnificent as they say you are,' she said cheekily, giving him a sly wink as she walked calmly away, slinking back into the shadows with a speed and agility that belied her venerable age. She didn't finish the conversation on words of praise, however. 'You do know she's going to run, don't you?'

'Oh, I'm counting on it,' he replied.

There was a titter of laughter and then the Duchess disappeared from his life as quickly as she had entered it. And she did manage to get the last word in. 'Run for your life, precious,' she whispered softly on the wind. It was clear that her last sentence was not for him. Trust the Duchess to be on the side of the underdog.

‘Women,’ muttered Martinet, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He had to hand it to her, though. Never before had the sentence seemed more apt...

Chapter 9

Details

VIOLETTA WANTED TO pull things apart. She wanted to curse and rail, stomp and tear, and she wouldn't have been averse to letting a nuclear bomb explode at this moment in time, even if it took out most of the Provincia di Venezia with it. She had never felt quite so impotent in all her life. He held all the cards, every single one, and there didn't appear to be a single thing she could do about it.

Curling the blood-soaked knife into the back of her hand and concealing it within the folds of her dress, she began to forge a path through the patrons of the ballroom. The bright sparkle of the crystal chandeliers was the first thing to catch her eye and it dragged her head upward, where she admired the elegant frescos that adorned the ceilings. Cherubs danced in sunny blue skies and the intricate, gilded plasterwork that contained them almost took the beauty of the images away. The impressive room was made up of an array of archways featuring tall, rectangular, mullioned windows, and these were decorated with elaborate cream drapes and pelmets. The lighting was soft and provided a warm glow to the dancers below, but there was no mistaking the energy of the room, even if you discounted the lively tune the string quartet had just struck up.

Due to the lateness of the hour and the free bar situated to the rear of the Castello, the dancers were looking a little less formal than they had at the beginning of the evening. Bow-ties were hanging around necks, top buttons had been unfastened and shirt lapels pulled wide apart to ease the heat that now pervaded the length and breadth of the hall, and that was just the men. Some of the women had lost their masks, and others were wearing their feathered and sparkled creations at a rather unseemly angle. Skirts had been hitched up, necklines had been dipped, and a few had taken to dancing barefoot. Violetta would not have recognised the glazed looks on the women's faces before her dealings with Monsieur Martinet, but now she knew all too well what those dark, almost feverish glances meant. Here was a dance hall in heat and they all had one thing on their minds.

Images of Martinet came flooding back to her, and she had no idea whether it was her weak-willed mind that had placed them there or whether he was doctoring things from his end. Her broken arm did not hurt, so she knew he was still inside her, monitoring her every move, but she had no idea how much control he had over her thoughts. Oh God, that was a lie. Judging by the way he'd manipulated her fantasy and got inside her head, he had total control of them. The thought was both mind-blowing and horrific. How could one single being wield so much power?

When one gentleman partygoer made to stand in front of her and proffered his hand for a dance, she took one long look at him and the arm was swiftly withdrawn. She'd had more than her fair share of the male species for this evening and she wasn't going to go near them for the foreseeable future. Pushing past him with renewed purpose, she set about her task. Her colleagues were waiting for her with great big smiles of undisguisable glee lighting up their faces, ready for good news. If only they knew. Plastering a weak smile to her face, which she felt subtly widened by her vampire antagonist, she tried to look suitably euphoric. A vampire kill would inspire those powerful and compelling emotions inside her and she could do nothing less than convince them of her magnificent success. If she failed, she had no doubt that Martinet would do exactly as he had threatened and massacre the lot of them. Whilst Violetta knew they did not fear death, she could not have that on her conscience. Their group was one of the few bands of vampire hunters left in the world, and if it disappeared overnight in its entirety, the world would rock on its heels. It would leave vampires, such as Martinet, with a safe breeding ground to increase their numbers exponentially, and she could not allow that to happen. The human race had to be protected at all costs. A world of bloodsucking monsters was unthinkable.

Withdrawing the silver dagger from the floaty folds of her skirt, she passed it to Connaught, her smile of satisfaction for a job well done entirely Martinet's creation. Her eyes gleamed with accomplishment and pleasure.

'Was he hard to kill?' Connaught wasn't looking at her face - he was examining the blood on her knife in greater detail. It was almost as if he didn't believe she had killed him.

'He was very hard, yes.' The words that tripped out of Violetta's mouth were not her own and she was not impressed at the vision of Martinet's body that swam before her eyes. The hard planes of his chest, the sculpted muscles that burst from his abdomen in beautiful lines, and if one cared to look lower, there were other hard things. Violetta was not amused.

Connaught, meanwhile, had slipped a finger into the lines of swiftly congealing blood and he brought it to his nose to inhale its scent. He frowned. 'Doesn't smell as coppery as it should and it's not quite as thick as I'd expect.' Handing the knife back, he gave her a puzzled look.

'He was a master, Con. His blood will be purer and thinner.'

Con's expression turned into one of disbelief. His tongue lolled about uselessly in his mouth for a moment before he recovered the gift of speech. 'He was a what?'

Violetta knew there was no need for her to repeat the statement. Con just needed a few moments to process the thought on his own. Darla, who did not suffer from the same reticence as her peer, burst in with, 'Did he have the gift?'

Huddled in their own little corner, you would have thought they were a group of old ladies discussing village gossip. Darla was interested in power, Georgette wanted to know if she'd just killed a handsome hunk, and Rafael had tactics on his mind. A barrage of questions came at her from all angles and she didn’t know where to look. She wanted to physically slap her hands over her ears and scream at them to shut up. All Violetta wanted to do was run far, far away from everybody. Oh, if only that were possible. Martinet kept her smiling sweetly and chatting away animatedly, answering all their questions with an enthusiasm that said 'I've killed tonight and oh boy, I've enjoyed myself'.

'How did you kill him?' Con asked the most pertinent question, as always. His intelligent grey eyes tilted up towards the light and his whole face creased in concentration as he tried to figure out how a little slip of a girl like Violetta could kill a hardened, master vampire and come gliding back into the ballroom without a mark upon her.

She had no idea how to answer that question, considering she was still working on the schematics of how to do the deed herself. Martinet, adorable creature that he was, provided an answer for her.

'Quickly.'

'You must be joking,' she thought grimly in reply. 'I'll make sure it's drawn out and hideously painful.'

He replied in kind, 'I'll remember that when the time comes to kill you, chérie. Drawn out and hideously painful suits me just fine. Whether it'll look just as good on you is another matter entirely.'

Violetta waited for him to laugh, but he was obviously short on humour as the evening wore on, due to the ominous silence on his end.

'Was he attractive?' Georgette, who was wearing the most expansive pink ball-gown that had graced the halls of the Castello in at least the last one hundred years or so, had only one thing on her mind. Whilst the woman couldn't have been a day under sixty-five, and if rumours were to be believed, she was considerably older, she was quite the feisty one. Primping one of her pristine grey ringlets in her hand, she winked slyly. 'You know I need details. When you get to my age, life suddenly gets very dull. When men get to my age, they become even duller, so I like to live vicariously through young little starlets such as yourself. So don't keep an old lady waiting. Was he dishy?'

Violetta could have groaned out loud at Georgette's persistence, Connaught looked embarrassed, and Darla gave a big groan of annoyance. Rafael, casually propped against the wall with one leg, looked at her with an insouciant, heavy-lidded half-smile. 'Come on, Violet, was he everything you'd ever dreamt of? Set Georgette's mind at rest and we can get on to discussing the more interesting stuff.'

Glaring at the beautiful Rafael, while resisting the urge to kick him, she had a moment's pause to realise that the man was probably the antithesis of Michel Martinet. Short blond curls, deep chestnut eyes, and a vivacious love of life that nearly always kept him in good spirits, gave him the face and temperament of an angel. His sense of humour, however, could be likened to Martinet's. It was sarcastic, cutting, and often horribly dry.

'Do tell us, Violet. Was he terribly hideous or delightfully gorgeous?' It was clear that Georgette was not about to let the question go until she had received a satisfactory answer. Raising an ornate black-lacquered Japanese fan to her face, she began to swish it about in frantic flurries, sending her ringlets flying. The pretty petals of pale pink cherry blossom that had been painted onto each rib of the fan appeared to blur into one as Georgette swung it to and fro, wafting undercurrents of her perfume to the room's occupants, which was a little overpowering at close range.

Violetta took a step back and decided she did not want to answer that question at all. Especially seeing as how dear old monster vamp was sucking up and drinking in every word they were saying. Keeping very quiet, she wondered if he'd answer it for her. She attuned her ears to the loud chatter of the ballroom beyond and watched the swing and sway of the brightly coloured dancers as they whirled around the floor. No such luck. Her lips did not move an inch. Georgette, however, kept the fan flickering at high speed, and if the question wasn't answered shortly, her old-fashioned attempt at air-conditioning might just manage to take her wig off.

There were really only two options to her dilemma. She could either ignore the question, knowing she would never hear the end of it, or she could answer it and have her face explode in heat, giving the assembled hunters a good laugh at her expense. On second thoughts, maybe there were three options. She could always lie.

'I'm not going to allow you to lie, precious,' came the ominous, I'm-always-going-to-be-in-your-head voice. 'You should know that naughty girls who tell fibs get spanked. I have no problem baring that delightful backside of yours for another round of hand tennis and you might also be interested to know that I've won awards in the subject. I'm a veritable John McEnroe.'

Violetta might have noticed the slightly strained quality of Martinet's voice had her brain not been about to explode. The man was conceited, obnoxious, and insufferable. He was going to drive her insane. Breathing in deeply, she tried to think her way around the problem. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Lie, cheat, or ignore. Lying seemed like the obvious choice. Smiling sweetly at Georgette, she opened her mouth and prepared to tell the assembled small crowd of hunters how truly dreadful and unsightly her master vamp was. The threat of a spanking did not quell her spirit in the slightest. If she had to dance with the devil, it certainly didn't mean she had to sing his tune.

The trouble was, when she opened her mouth to deliver her best acting performance to date, not a word of sound escaped her lips. Looking rather like a goldfish on the hunt for food, Violetta realised if she continued trying to form words with no sound issuing from her lips, her comrades were going to think she had gone mad. The urge to stomp her foot like a three-year-old toddler having a tantrum was also not going to do much for her reputation. It appeared he had left her no option. It was to be the truth or nothing. Never before had she wanted to murder a being quite so much as she did right now, but that was probably not going to be fresh news to him, nor would it give him a reason to quake in his boots. The vamp knew exactly what she was about and found controlling her every move so very easy. He would probably be able to do it backwards in his sleep. Bastard. She refused to give in that easily. There had to be some way out of this mess... and then it came to her. Smiling, mostly by herself, for the first time since she'd met Monsieur Martinet, she straightened her shoulders and elongated her beautifully swan-like neck to its highest proportions. Let the vamp suck on this, she thought.

'I suppose he was reasonably attractive in a vampire sort of way.' The words came out beautifully. All elegant, aloof, and slightly snooty, and then her face immediately went bright red as she had known it would, spoiling the whole damn effect. Glowing like a flaming beacon in the night, her half-truth was immediately spotted. Rafael snorted and Georgette clapped her hands and beamed from ear to ear.

'I knew it! He was hopelessly gorgeous!' There was a loud squeal of delight before several metres of bright pink crinoline skirt swirled around in a complete circle, tornado style, and once the whirlwind had started, it was clear it was going to need some help in order to halt its progress. In the end, Rafael came to the rescue, grabbing Georgette around the waist and squeezing the bulging material tightly around her to dispel some of the storm wind that had gathered. There was a round of applause at his attempt of gallantry and he even managed to straighten her wig, which had managed to rest at a jaunty angle over one eye. 'Georgie, for heaven's sake, sit down. Violet's just killed a master vamp. She hasn't managed to accomplish world domination. Yet,' he added for good measure with a wink.

The elderly dame was deposited in a plush red velvet Queen Anne style chair, and she landed with quite a thump. Not in the least bit daunted by her close call with a hard and unforgiving parquet floor, she once again turned to her friend and barked, 'Details!'

Violetta glowered, lowered her eyes, and clamped her jaw together. She was not about to big up the vamp who already had the kind of inflated ego that would rival a hot air balloon, to say the least. Georgette would just have to remain clueless for once. So she hummed to herself quietly and examined her bright pink nail polish, which had a few scratches after tonight's rather energetic escapades.

'Violet, for goodness sake, look at me and then answer me, dammit. You know I don't get out much and you need details when you get to my age.' Georgette clucked her tongue and gave her that hurt, disappointed expression she reserved for particularly fractious children.

Violetta continued to look at the floor, which had a really interesting wood grain - it was probably oak but could possibly have been maple, at a pinch. Her ruse was to try and pretend that she hadn't heard a word. Of course it didn't work, but it wasn't Georgette who pulled her up on her wayward behaviour. Her eyes stopped examining the wooden floor panels and pulled themselves rapidly upward, whilst her mouth took on a beatific smile. Her hands removed themselves from lounging behind the back of her dress to resting gently clasped together in front of her. Her posture was also undergoing immediate improvement and she was beginning to feel like someone had rammed a broomstick up her backside. Shoulders were subtly straightening themselves, butt cheeks and abdomen were being sucked in to waif-like proportions, and her neck was beginning to lean forward towards Georgette in an almost conspiratorial fashion. She did not have a good feeling about this. When her lips began to move, things went from bad to worse.

'Georgie,' she simpered, batting her eyelashes, 'he had the most adorable hair. Silky strands of soft, touchable, ebony waves that curled lightly around his neck. Add to that high, aristocratic cheek bones and the most piercing blue eyes you have ever seen. I almost cried when I had to kill him.' Violetta had already been incensed at being used as his own personal puppet once again, but after that remark, she wanted to punch rather large holes all over his body with a jack hammer. She wasn't sure he'd deflate after the ordeal, but she'd sure feel a hell of a lot better. She heard him tsk inside her head, as if telling off a naughty child before she felt a hand run down her backside. Only just managing to stop her body jumping up in panic, she had an equally hard time trying to stop the curse that wanted to explode from her lips. It wasn't as hard a task as she feared. Horrifically, they were going to continue to spew their ridiculous drivel. 'Oh and muscles, Georgie, he was positively bursting with the things. He had a washboard abdomen that clothes would have paid to be cleaned upon. Nice bum, squishy in all the right places, but his best feature by far was his eyes.' Her hands began waving around at that point, to make it clear to her audience she was fully involved in the conversation and enjoying herself. Oh God, why didn't he just tear her vein out now? But the madness continued. 'They lit up the night sky, Georgette. Think of the deepest blue you can imagine, a clear summer's sky at twilight, perhaps, and then add a luminous, shining heat behind them. They were eyes that ate women for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, two at a time. You could spend a whole day gazing into them and never grow bored. He was divine. The beast was deiform in every possible way that could matter and if I'm honest, I could hardly contemplate killing him.' If it wasn't enough to have to choke down the bile that would have threatened to spill at that statement, had it been allowed to, she could now feel beads of teardrops begin to pool in the corners of her eyes. Her indignity was to know no bounds, it seemed. Looking terribly distraught, she waved her hands in the air as if that might stop her from crying and gave a choked apology to her shell-shocked collection of friends. 'I'm sorry, everyone. I think I need to turn in for the evening. It's been a long night and I'm exhausted. In the morning, I'll be right as rain, but I think I need to rest up now.'

The entire group looked at her sympathetically, with the exception of Rafael. He used the foot he was balancing on to push himself away from the wall and he walked towards her, smiling lazily.

'You've never been this upset after killing a vamp before, Violet. You're not losing your touch, are you?' He picked up a tendril of her bright orange hair and caressed it gently in his fingertips. Violetta moaned softly and wished he would walk right back to where he had come from. She'd had more than enough stimulation from attractive men this evening and she didn't need any more. 'Was he more beautiful than me, Violet? Did he set your heart aflame?' The question was dark and mocking, but there were glowing embers in Rafael's eyes which spoke of something else entirely.

Wishing she was more experienced in the ways of men, at least enough to decipher them a little better, she once again felt her lips move, and the automatic reaction of clamping her hands over her face carried upward to her brain before it was immediately snuffed out by Martinet.

'Much, much more beautiful than you,' she heard herself say in horror, which was closely followed by, 'and he certainly set something on fire.' For some reason unbeknownst to her, she felt her legs once again under her own control and deciding not to tempt fate, she used them, quickly. Waving a hasty goodbye to the ladies and gentlemen who had swarmed around her, hoping for splendid tales of blood and gore, she pushed through the crowd in a blind panic. Her need to escape was great.

Dashing through the sea of faces, she noticed Georgette's eyes were still goggling with fascination, Connaught looked somewhat concerned at her hasty departure, and Rafael? Well, he looked faintly amused. The tips of his fingers lightly skimmed her forearm as she brushed past him and she spun around to watch his gaze narrow as his eyes feasted upon her. It was a look she instantly recognised, having only just recently discovered it, and damned if it didn't make her run even faster.

Chapter 10

A Bid for Freedom

IT WAS ALL she could do not to break into a fast run as soon as her feet hit the gravel drive of the Castello, but running would attract the kind of attention she did not need, so even though all instincts were screaming at her to make a break for it, she reined herself in. She did not turn her head to admire the elegant stone portico reception with its high plasterwork arches and intricate artwork, she did not stop to retrieve her beautiful shot silk shawl that had been deposited with a coatroom attendant on arrival, and she did not respond to any of the eager male glances being directed her way. She'd had quite enough of men for the evening.

Concentrating on weaving her way between the tiny borders of the boxed hedge garden, she made her way past trumpeting angels spouting fountains of water and large topiary arrangements of neatly clipped, cone-shaped trees. The front of the Castello walls had a panel of hedging that had been arranged into crenelated lines, resembling that of a fortress. It would have been a beautiful sight to behold had she not had her mind on other things. Listening to the grit crunch below her feet she slipped and skidded, wishing she’d thought to retrieve her shoes. Heels weren’t much use for running, though. Setting her sights on the soft glow of lamplight from the street just beyond the imposing cast-iron entrance gates, she walked as fast as her legs would allow her. When she finally reached the solace of the cobbled street and the castle gates had disappeared from view, she broke into a sprint and let her feet fly.

The adrenaline running through her body was at overload status. Every sense was on high alert. She listened for the tiniest sounds, kept her eyes peeled to all that was going on around her, and embraced the cool night air as it whipped her hair into a violent tangle. Violetta had a plan.

It was a relatively simple one. She needed to get herself inside hallowed walls, and those of St Mark's Basilica would work very nicely. He could not follow her inside there. No vampire alive would ever willingly step inside those holy walls.

In her rush to escape, she found her bare feet tumbling over uneven cobblestones, but she refused to slow her pace. Time would be of the essence. Even though she was carefully guarding her thoughts, Martinet would soon realise that the image of herself chatting to her friends in the grand ballroom was a false one and there was only so much chatter and small talk that could be invented by one mind alone. If she concentrated, she might gain ten minutes. It might sound like a long time, but to a vampire that could move at the speed of light and travel with the wind, it was no time at all. He'd be able to make up the distance in the blink of an eyelid.

As her next footfall landed her shoulder gave out a sharp jolt of pain. It made her gasp but did not slow her down. Distance, it appeared, would have its own pitfalls. It was quite possible that the vampire could only provide pain management and mind control if she were nearby, thus the more distance she managed to place between herself and the beast, the more her shoulder would pain her. She was soon going to find out, one way or another.

'Distance isn't much of an object for me, now that a drop of my venom is in your veins and you can finish with the delightful drivel you are currently pretending to voice to Georgette. Your friends left the building five minutes ago.'

The sound of his gravelly voice in her head had her gulping for breath and stumbling simultaneously. She immediately panicked. There would be no time. His hands would be all over her in an instant and she would be destined for nowhere but death. Her body teetered forward, balance skewed drastically to the right, before she managed to steady herself.

'Don't stop on my account, Princess,' he purred darkly. 'I've got to pick up my coat. That should give you a fighting head start, ma chérie. No one rushes around in Italy, bar you apparently.' There was a small pause as he cleared his throat. 'Oh, one more thing. As you blatantly disregarded my instructions, the pain management stops. Consider it part of your punishment, although we'll work on some finer aspects of correctional behaviour later this evening. If you think that bottom of yours stings now, you wait until I've finished with it this time tomorrow. That purple dress of yours is going to look so pretty, ripped to tiny smithereens on my red satin sheets.'

The voice disappeared from her head and panic increased tenfold. If she had been sprinting before, now she was racing and thoughts tumbled around her head, disorganised and jumpy. It was a small consolation, but Violetta guessed she could be thankful for that. Martinet wasn't going to be able to read anything too coherent inside there for a while.

It took over a kilometre of fast running before she managed to calm herself down and get her bearings. Taking care not to divulge any landmarks, she concentrated on nothing more than Rafael's face as her feet hit the smooth pavement beside the Grand Canal. Sparkling glass shop fronts blurred before her eyes, decked out in pretty, bright coloured awnings, and there were padded chairs littering the pavement in a state of disarray where earlier 'al fresco' diners had left them. Looking up, the buildings began to tier in three and four stories, decorated with stone and black wrought-iron balconies that would worship the sun come morning. She wondered if she would ever see the sun again. The thought was sobering. Her feet increased their pace but her lungs were tired, so damn tired. When the Rialto Bridge loomed up in the distance, graceful and elegant, with its presence providing a way to cross the expanse of water and enable her to reach her destination, she nearly sobbed in gratitude.

Crossing the four-hundred-year-old footbridge might have been a problem during daylight hours, when swarms of tourists would make the ornamental stone structure virtually impassable, but thankfully at this late hour, there were no more than a couple of lovers decorating its yellowing balustrades. Her legs felt like lead, her left arm was pleading for mercy, and it felt like an inferno of fire had engulfed it. The pain was indescribable, but her feet moved forward determinedly.

The vamp continued to keep a firm presence inside her head, taunting and tormenting her at every opportunity. At first, when her arm had been manageable, she had kept all details of her whereabouts firmly out of her thoughts, but with each new lurch of her foot, that became impossible. She could think of nothing, bar stopping the pain, and she knew that was a weakness she couldn't afford to give in to. Her life depended upon her remaining focused.

She was no longer running. There was little she could do about it. Her feet had slowed to a painful crawl and her body was not functioning as it should. Dizziness, fatigue, and shock were beginning to take their toll. There was no other option but to plough on through, so she gritted her teeth and ignored the provoking comments that frequently flew her way.

Bouncing off the walls of a narrow alleyway that could barely accommodate one person at a time, Violetta used both hands against the cold stone to push herself onward. Boutique hotels, pizzerias, and quaint little shops selling all manner of Venetian coloured glass and trinkets hit the back of her retina, but did not make it into her thoughts. It was the only defence she had left against him, and considering the state of her head at this moment in time, it was an impressive enough feat in itself. She hobbled along as best she could and when finally the tall, pyramidal spire of St Mark's Bell Tower came into view, her relief was palpable. A tall and imposing structure, it loomed high above Venice and was a beacon to tourists and locals alike. At this precise moment in time, it could have been an angel, much like the delicate wind vane in the form of Archangel Gabriel that decorated its tip, although it was not visible to her in the night sky. Just a few more metres, she pleaded with her legs, and the angel must have heard her, for the close proximity of the basilica spurred her on from a crippling walk to a slow and laboured jog. At least it was an improvement of sorts.

When she finally rounded the bend and found herself in the Piazza St Marco, if she'd had an ounce of air left in her body, she would have breathed a sigh of relief. Salvation was just a few small steps away.

The wittering inside her head continued and one particular little shot struck her right where it hurt.

'You will be trained in the arts of pleasure, obedience, and servitude. You will excel at them all, and when I get bored of tasting the delicious vintage that flows throughout your body, I will change you and then your torment will really begin. Will you fight me, Violetta?'

She wasn't able to prevent her immediate response of 'Every step of the damn way.' She cursed herself inwardly for reacting to his words, hoping he could not trace her through them, but she couldn't think straight at this moment in time. The only thing on her mind was the desperate desire to reach her goal before he was able to manifest himself in front of her. As the five arched portals of St Mark's Basilica rose majestically before her, Violetta drew her head aloft and wanted to weep. Dragging her body onward, fuelled by her desperate desire to see another sunrise, she knew she had a chance at survival. It was a slight one.

Chapter 11

The Basilica

A FOREST OF columns and patterned marble slabs flew past. She didn't give them a second glance. Her slow jog had managed to increase in pace to a run. As The Winged Lion, which hung above the entrance to the Basilica, came into view, her body wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. She could now afford to splurge on the last vestiges of her energy. Twisting her head upwards, she saw she was surrounded by the beautiful upper level mosaics depicting the life of Christ, and then came the four bronze horses of St Mark. She had reached her destination. Flinging herself up the stone steps and banging on the door hysterically, she could only hope there would be someone to receive her at this hour.

The door opened silently and she was greeted by the dim interior within, lit by little more than candles and a few strategically placed bulbs, but oh, how they reflected the light. Rushing inside her sanctum and striding forward, as if being further inside the church would help in her plight for safety, she couldn't help but be stunned by the richness of its design. There was a reason it had been given the nickname of Chiesa d'Oro, or Church of Gold. Glittering mosaics lined both the floor and the ceiling, and the gold glass created a shimmering movement that was truly incredible. Looking up into the vast height between herself and the domed ceiling, she had reason to feel very small. Then something clicked inside her and she realised that not only had she not seen a priest at the door, but no one had made a sound since her entrance. Spinning around to scan the area behind her, she saw that while the door had been closed firmly shut, there didn’t appear to be a soul in sight. Whilst Violetta would normally have been more than capable of taking care of herself, she was in no fit state to defend herself this evening. She could only hope that the benevolent priest who had opened the door had left her some privacy in which to pray.

'My, what an impressive effort, chérie. Futile, of course, but impressive nevertheless.' Jumping up in shock, she looked around and searched frantically for a member of the clergy to come to her rescue. There was no one to be found. 'The priests have been disposed of, chérie. It's just you and me.' And there he was, pristine perfection, looking cool, calm, and unruffled. His full-length dark-grey coat had not a mark upon it, his loafers were polished to a high shine, and his hair flopped in beautiful ebony planes against his face. Not even the wind was able to mar his beauty. He was lounging against a sixteenth century font to her left and looked exceptionally comfortable there. She wanted to burst into tears.

Speechless, she watched as both his hands cupped together and gathered water from the font. He liberally splashed himself with it and she knew he wanted a reaction from her. Goddamn, the man was an utter bastard. She refused to give him one. Violetta Cancellaro was not going to run over to him and try to tear his eyes out of his head. That would give him exactly what he wanted. She could not school her expression, however.

Her mouth dropped open in dismay. 'You,' she accused, though no further words were forthcoming. Her hands were shaking at the thought of what he might have done to the priests. If she had not come here tonight, they might still be alive. She had an awful moment where she wondered how many deaths would be heaped upon her conscience. 'Why did you have to kill them?' Her legs crumpled and her knees sank to the tessellated carpet of marble below. They hit the cold, unforgiving floor with a dull thud.

'Oh ye of little faith,' he mocked. 'Contrary to popular belief, I do not go around murdering messengers of God or deflowering virgins on a regular basis. For you I'll make a special exception, but the general rule is to steer well clear of them.' He raised an eyebrow at her, knowing full well that she did not believe him. 'Relax, chérie. I sent them to sleep. They are having a quiet snooze up near the altar.'

She immediately scrabbled to her feet and turned around to confirm his words. On closer inspection she found two figures, both clad in voluminous black cassocks, which could be seen strung across the front pew. A few halting steps forward, and she could see that he had in fact told the truth, for both chests were rising and falling and the sound of gentle snores could be heard. She remembered to breathe.

'Come now, Princess. It's time to take a little trip. I have a four-poster bed and several sets of handcuffs with your name on them, although I think that the dark black rope would look particularly fetching wrapped around your alabaster arms. What do you think, darling?'

She thought, with a growing sense of fatality, that there was no way she was going to win this fight. He had her figured out every damn step of the way. If this were a game of chess, it would be checkmate. 'We are not going to...' Violetta searched around desperately for words to describe what they might do together in his bedroom '...make love,' she squeaked. Although she already knew, without a doubt, that the expression was completely wrong. There was no love and not an ounce of kindness to be found anywhere in Monsieur Martinet.

His lips quirked. 'You are indeed correct, darling. We are not going to "make love".' He began walking towards her, laid-back strides, and his smile was that of a killer beast. 'We are going to fuck. Over and over again, until you get it just right, and then we are going to fuck some more. Perfection takes a lot of practice and I'm the kind of vamp that likes things just so.' He came within touching distance of her trembling body and reached out, beckoning her forward.

'Why aren't you dead?' Turning her head swiftly, making sure she did not look upon his beautiful face, she let anger flow hotly through her veins. Why couldn't this dreadful beast be stopped? Was he truly immortal? If that were the case, she was already damned to eternity and the hell beyond.

'Give me your hand, precious.' He reached out five elegantly long fingers and beckoned her forward to emphasize his point. She stared at him, horror-struck and appalled.

'You are so pathetically easy to read, darling, it's almost laughable. 'You can't escape me. Deep down, you know that. You can fight me, but you also know I'd enjoy that. If you give me any trouble, I'll simply knock you out.' He raised his eyebrows and looked at her intently. 'Would you prefer that? Not knowing what might happen to that amazingly beautiful body of yours, while your mind is hidden away in the dark depths of unconsciousness?' The last sentence was whispered in her ear as his hand snaked out to grab her wrist and pull her sharply into him. He ran his hand over her naked buttocks, caressing the belt lines from earlier, and then pressed down upon them. Violetta couldn't help a bleat of complaint. They stung like fire.

'Mmm. You'll feel those, and the latter ones I'm going to give you tomorrow for a couple of days. Will you earn yourself any more this week, I wonder?' He gave her rounded butt cheek a swift nip and was entertained when she spun around to face him with rage burning through her violet eyes. 'How does it feel to be parading yourself around the streets of Venice with no panties?' His hand leisurely explored the globes of her ass before he let a single finger dip to the valley between them. He ran it slowly downward and noted her very visible trembling. 'Quite decadent, I suspect.' His finger slid to her sex and dipped inside to test the waters. She squeaked in mortification and tried to pull away, but his immoveable grip held her fast. 'I don't think I will allow you to wear panties ever again, Princess, although that may not be saying much as your lifespan could be likened to a ticking time-bomb.' His finger, now generously lubricated, circled the tight little hole of her sphincter, and twist as she might, she could not escape it. 'You'll certainly have to be on your best behaviour, I fear. If you annoy me, I'll probably kill you. If your performance upsets me, I'll kill you. If you bore me, I'll most certainly kill you. I'd say the odds of a long and eventful life are looking less than favourable.' The tip of his finger burrowed inside her, though not where she expected, and she squawked in alarm, wriggling like mad to try and avoid his explorations.

'You can't do this here,' she mumbled in shock, feeling his finger work its way inside her, unsure as to whether she wanted to slap him or fall into a puddle of desire at his feet. She needed to concentrate, but her body had turned into a pile of uncoordinated mush.

'Oh, I believe I already am, chérie. I can do anything I like, anywhere and with anyone I choose.’ Pulling the hard point of a nipple that had been taunting him through the sheer outline of her dress, he laughed as another pitiful squeak left her lips.

'Why aren't you dead?' She repeated her sentence slowly and purposefully. Her jaw was set tightly and her eyebrows were trying to form a deep 'V' of consternation.

'Chérie, chérie,' he purred with his beautiful French accent, rolling the r's with impossible skill, 'I thought we'd covered this. I am unstoppable, unbeatable, unscrupulous and completely unethical. You do not stand a chance. Churches will not destroy my hardened flesh, knifes will not pierce it. Stakes will not find their mark and even the most beautiful of huntresses will not be able to crack the impenetrable shell that has encased my body. Face facts: you are mine, or to be more precise, your body is mine.' He pulled his finger out of her incredibly wet hole and moved back underneath her dress to give her bottom a swift smack. 'And I intend to utilise every inch of it to my absolute satisfaction. I will have my revenge, Princess. You have no idea what I have in store for you, and that's probably for the best. If you did, I'd wager you'd kill yourself now.' Clearing his throat, he ran his wet finger along his bottom lip and sucked upon it. 'Delicious.' His blue eyes clouded over in front of her and she knew that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would not be good.

'Envision yourself tied to my bed, sliding about on my red satin sheets - completely naked bar the soft black ropes that would enfold your wrists and ankles in its firm embrace. I would feed you, bathe you, and see to every single one of your needs, bar the most important, perhaps. For I intend to create a raging desire within that perfect body of yours that will swiftly give you a thirst for pleasure that is unquenchable. My hands will familiarise themselves with your beautiful curves, my lips will kiss every exposed inch of flesh, and my body is going to torment yours in ways you could never imagine. Yes, that will be a fitting start to your stay, but there will be plenty of work ahead of us. Those delectable heart-shaped lips of yours will be trained to utter the dirtiest of words, your stamina will have to improve if you're having sex several times daily with a vampire, and you'll need to be taught technique. I'm a hard taskmaster. I think obedience training is where we will have the most difficulties, but we will get there in the end, chérie.'

His smug, self-satisfied demeanour and the careless lilt of his words had her reeling. Violetta could stand no more of it. The moment his fingers removed themselves from her body and all stimulation stopped was awful. The pleasure he had bestowed upon her had taken the edge off her broken shoulder, but now she had recovered her wits, it made itself known again and the agony was incomparable to anything she had felt before. This evening had easily been the worst night of her entire life, but she refused to give him her body on a platter and he should know he wasn't getting a free meal. Even though the pain that coursed through her was debilitating in the extreme and now encircled her entire body, she wrenched herself up to full height and looked Martinet square in the eye.

She spoke clearly and enunciated each of her frigid words very carefully. 'If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me.' As she said her sentence, she felt her head swim with the glimmering gold of the Basilica. The light bounced off her retinas and refracted into a thousand tiny beams inside her head. Blinking stupidly, she tried to focus, but her eyes swam in the blurry lines of double vision. She was going to faint and there was little she could do about it. She hadn't drunk or eaten a thing in hours, had suffered a stress overload, and had also managed to break her shoulder, all in the space of a few hours. Her body was about to shut itself down. The thought was unbearable. Would he kill her? Would he kidnap her? Endless possibilities of nastiness fluttered through her head before the bliss of blackness came down all around her in a suffocating net. There was nothing she could do to save herself. Her life was in the hands of a monster. As her skull went flying towards the marble mosaic of the Basilica floor, she couldn't utter a single sound.

'You can try,' was the ominous reply to her earlier question, and that was the last thing she heard. The lights had gone out.

* * *

MARTINET CAUGHT HER just before her head hit the undulating journey of a myriad of mosaic tiles. Her hair dusted the floor and her arms flopped out at an awkward angle, but no further damage was done to her body. His, however, was not in such great shape.

The garlic oil had burned simmering welts into the flesh of his lower legs and they throbbed and pounded through every pore of his being. He desperately needed fresh blood. His injury had sharpened his hunger even further and now the slow, dragging pulse that ran through Violetta's body was pure torture. He knew he could not drink from her in the state she was in. It added to his torment. Her smell was intoxicating in the extreme, and if he took her vein now, he wouldn't have the necessary willpower to stop before he extinguished her life. That couldn't happen. It would be far too quick and painless. If he was to get any peace in the barren, endless life she had left him with, his huntress would need to pay for the deaths of his family. If he somehow managed to avenge their murders, there was a chance that he might manage to make it through his eternal hell with his mind intact. If he were to become a raving lunatic, and there was a distinct possibility that he might, the omnipotent, preternatural being he had become would wreak havoc upon the world of man, and it wouldn't be pretty. He had been responsible for more than enough carnage in his youth and he had no wish to repeat the experience. He needed to find some kind of solace within himself, and at the moment she was the only plausible answer.

Flinging her over his shoulder, grateful that the oil had only affected the lower half of his body, he strode forth from the hallowed halls of the Basilica. The cloying scent of incense and candlewax filled the air, and although he had a great respect for buildings as exuberant and exotic as this, he would be glad to escape its opulent, dizzying confines.

Whilst on the subject of dizziness, he had counted on her fainting, and thankfully, she had obliged him. With his hunger so acute and his legs feeling as if they'd been stung by a box jellyfish, he would have been in no state to chase her around Venice, and putting her in a trance would have required more energy than he had available right now. His body was suffering as it tried to repair the damage she had wrought with her holy water, and it required more blood than was currently available. Nausea rolled off him in waves, violent muscle cramps rippled all over, and he was unsteady on his feet.

He could only be thankful he had seen fit to place a drop of venom within her body before he let her run. Oh, he knew she had been headed to the Basilica, on that score he had read her like a book. He hadn't needed to rummage inside her head for that little detail, and while it had been a slow and painful stroll for him, he had still managed to enter a good ten minutes before her feet passed underneath St Mark and his band of angels. Long before she had graced the threshold of the cathedral, he had spirited himself away in a small alcove to await her arrival.

Keeping a firm presence inside her head as she made a beeline for her destination, he had concentrated on getting her adrenaline level high and forcing her to run as fast as she was able. With the injury she had sustained, her body would be weak and the additional fatigue of running would push her to the edge. As soon as the 'fight or flight' hormone had left her, the shock of what had happened had sunk in and her blood pressure hit the floor, much the same as his. The difference was he could still function under the hardship.

Hitting the deserted streets outside, he forced himself to walk as fast as he was able. Normally the dead weight upon his back wouldn't even have registered as an encumbrance, but today his body suffered and throbbed under the ordeal. He didn't let it bother him. She was far too precious a cargo to consider leaving unattended somewhere. She was also far too beautiful. It was still unbelievable to think that she remained a virgin. It was something she would not remain for much longer. The thought kept his legs moving.

Throwing his head back to admire the sheet of sparkling diamonds in the night sky, he sighed to himself. His objective had been captured and rendered ineffective. Tick. Alas, the night had only just begun and there was lots to do. He needed to get her back to Oscura Dimora before sunrise and his usual methods of travel were unavailable to him, due to his 'low power' mode. This meant he had to go with the standard 'old-fashioned' version, which in his book equalled a car, albeit a top of the range German one. He pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket and spoke the single word 'Luca' into it. A rapid chorus of speed dial bleeps took care of the rest.

'Get me the car. Bring it around to Piazzale Roma and make sure the tank's topped up. Be with you in thirty minutes or less. Thank you.' Sliding the cell-phone back into his pocket, he frowned. That was one problem easily taken care of. Now, how was he going to get an unconscious girl all the way across Venice without being set upon at every turn? The answer, of course, was exceptionally easy: a gondola. There were hundreds of the things everywhere.

Approaching the Venetian Lagoon, and thankful they were under the cover of darkness, with the streets lit up by nothing more than the beautiful three-tiered lamppost lanterns, he found a suitable vessel that looked seaworthy and, more importantly, he knew where the oar was kept. It was amazing how many secrets one could discover over the years. Now it was time to put his simple plan into action.

Lowering his load carefully within its confines, not wanting to place any further stress on her body, at least for the time being, he laid her down on her side and placed her arms in front of her head to stabilise her body. The water was relatively calm, but you never knew what you might meet on the canal at this hour. When satisfied she was relatively safe, he applied himself to the task of crossing the breadth of Venice. Firstly he used his talons to tear the mooring lines to shreds. It was far easier than unravelling the cord and he was impatient. Standing tall, to the rear of the boat, he got to grips with the long wooden oar. Setting it in its oarlock, or forcola, as the Venetians called it, he began rowing with a forward stroke.

The simple action of rowing sent his mind back centuries. He could easily remember Venice during the hay-days of the gondola, where there might have been as many as ten thousand boats gracing the canals. That was way back in the seventeenth century. In current day Venice, there were only about four or five hundred left in service, but on the plus side, there were no traffic jams.

It took a reasonable amount of skill and a good degree of balance to get the thing moving in a straight line, but this wasn't the first time he'd had the privilege of rowing one. Handling the rocking gondola with care as he initially pushed it away from its mooring, he soon got them moving with a long stroke and a smooth rhythm. The oar was heavy. It was a thirteen-foot pole of solid beech, and whilst this normally wouldn't have been a problem, today his hands shook against it, even though he held it loosely. It couldn't be helped. Pulling the paddle back and letting it slice silently through the black water, he headed for the Rio de San Zulan, which would cut through to the Grand Canal in relatively short order. He moved as fast as he could. He knew his strength was going to diminish rapidly as his body tackled the burns that littered his lower legs. Once they were in the car, his lack of strength wouldn't be a problem. Thankfully it was an automatic and all he would need to do was sit and stare for just over two hours. Propelling a gondola was another matter entirely. It was hard work if the journey was anything over ten minutes, and theirs certainly would be.

The Bridge of Sighs sped behind them, spanning two buildings and stretching high above the canal. The sad and angry stone faces carved upon it stared into his back, but he didn't let it worry him overmuch. He could remember a time when convicted prisoners would be marched from the old prison in the Doge's Palace across to the new prison on the other side, and they were not happy times for all concerned. Executions at the hands of the inquisitors were messy, bloody, and nasty affairs, much like the deaths Violetta had lately favoured and which she had probably planned for him this evening, except she was now on the losing end of the equation. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest as the gondola quietly threaded a path through the water, and wondered where his revenge would take him.

She had picked a bad time to try and kill him. At the moment he was still consumed by grief for Adelise, who had passed away exactly ninety-one days ago. The last of his family had died the most hideous and painful death at the hands of this huntress. From the deepest place imaginable, he had grieved and it ravaged his body and mind to the point of madness before he managed to come out the other side. He had tried to let it go, let it pass through him so it would leave him intact if not insensible. She had been the last of his line and the oldest, bar him. When she died, it felt as if something central to his being had been ripped away, never to return. He had lost a part of himself that day, something so intrinsic to his being that he would never be the same again. A cold carcass of a man remained, where before there had once been love and light. That would never return. No being on earth could give him back that. He would have walked into the light and killed himself seconds after her death had that been an option, but he had known. While he had tried to deny it, even to himself, he knew what kind of a beast he had become. He had been granted the ultimate gift of immortality and power, but for him the cost had been too high - far too high. He felt tears pool in his eyes and blinked them away. This was not the time or place for them. He had an agenda and come hell or high water, the chit would pay for what she had done to his family. The only question was, would he show her more mercy than she had shown the other members of his brethren? What would be a fitting course of revenge for the woman who had removed every single colour bar black and white from his life? Oh, and red, of course. Every night he dreamt in varying shades of blood-soaked red.

Chapter 12

Memories

BY THE TIME he managed to reach the Piazzale Roma, the time was approaching two a.m. and the journey had taken longer than he'd anticipated. Though his body was now visibly quivering all over, he knew the worst was yet to come and he had not a moment to lose.

Thankful that the streets were virtually empty at this time of night, he slung his comatose prisoner over his back once again and hopped onto dry land. His legs were shaking, but they were able to make the short walk to the Santa Chiara Hotel without giving way beneath him, even with the sack of potatoes on his back. Why, oh why hadn't he fed before this evening's proceedings? But he already knew the answer to that one. He would need to be on permanent guard around her, and that was always easier when there was hunger in his belly. A sated vampire was a sloppy one.

Spying the coach park beside the hotel, he immediately headed towards it, which was where his Audi S8 had been parked. He always carried the key chip in his pocket and tonight was no exception, so all he had to do was place his finger upon the door handle, wait for the release click, and pull. Dumping her unceremoniously on the back seat, he pulled her knees up to her chest and breathed a sigh of relief. She would have to make do without a seatbelt, just this once. He wasn't sure he had the necessary energy or coordination in order to get her into one. His eyes zoomed in on her face and he bent down to check her pulse once more. His normally acute senses, which should have been able to read these things, were becoming more and more muddled with the loss of blood.

Reaching down, he bent her neck gently to the side, allowing him access to her carotid artery. He compressed it. A reedy, fluttery beat met the tips of his fingers and her face was deathly pale, but he suspected she'd make the drive up to the mountains in one piece. She had to. There was no other option. For the moment he needed her alive. His sanity depended on it. Slamming the rear door shut, he moved to the front of the car. Sliding into the black Valcona leather seats, he fired the engine up and listened to the deep monotone roar as the car sprang to life. Hugging the steering wheel tightly he sat up straight and moved the gear selector lever to drive. It was time to hit the road.

The roads, much like the streets of Venice, were eerily quiet at this time of night. All he had to do was set the cruise control, sit back, and enjoy the ride. If that were at all possible in the state he was in, which it wasn't. To keep himself occupied on the long journey home, while the car's twenty-inch alloy wheels ate up the motorway, he fiddled with numerous dials and switches until the radio came on. It wasn't long before he was in a world of his own. He always listened to classical music when driving. It relaxed him, and as of late, life had been much more stressful than usual.

Beautiful strands of orchestral music soon began to weave in and out of the surround sound Bose speakers and they wrapped their calming influence around him. It helped. Little by little his grip upon the wheel lessened, although the shaking of his hands did not. And then Verdi's Messa da Requiem began to pour from the stereo and he was spirited far, far away, to a time and place where this mess had all begun.

It hit him then. Hard. He relived each of their deaths every day, one by one. Whilst he supposed he should have been grateful that their suffering had finally ended, his anger increased tenfold with each soul that departed from his grasp. These were his brethren, those who had stood by him in both good times and bad, some for many hundreds of years. The first death that Violetta had doled out to his youngest son was about to re-enact itself in his brain for the umpteenth time, and it was not going to be a pleasant affair. Rubbing a tired hand over his forehead, as if it would help erase the memory, he then banged his head against the seat rest, as if the action might prevent what was about to happen. It was wishful thinking. He'd never managed to escape one of his flashbacks, and tonight would not be any different.

Gilles had been handpicked for Violetta's first assignment, probably because he was the youngest and most inexperienced of all Martinet's children. He would have been the easiest target for a huntress earning her wings, and indeed he had been. The huntress had come at him with virtually no experience whatsoever and it should have been an easy win for the vampire, except for the fact that he had been actively seeking death for the better part of the last decade.

Gilles had been the sensitive one. He would look at you with soulful, caramel eyes and instantly know what you were thinking. That had been a human trait which became much more pronounced as he was turned. It made him an excellent companion, as he knew when to provide company and when to stay away. He always had just the right words to offer and the gentlest touch of his finely boned hands would provide comfort. It wasn't often you found that in a vampire. He could also keep his mind quiet, and for that alone Martinet had been eternally thankful. As head vampire, his mind was always full of chatter and babble, and sometimes trying to concentrate on the simplest of tasks could become an impossible feat. All of his children had a constant presence inside his head and whilst he knew how to shut them out, it required plenty of energy and concentration that he didn't always want to expend. Gilles seemed to quiet the voices inside him, and lull them into submission, for a few minutes at least. It had made the weight of several hundred years of existence considerably lighter.

Violetta had stalked him in the streets of Paris and he had made the job considerably easier for her by moving at the speed of a human, rather than using the impressive velocity he had been granted as a vampire. The man rarely used the preternatural traits he had acquired, unless they were for the benefit of others. It had been his trade-off and had enabled him to cope with the new life he had been given.

He hadn't wanted to be turned, but Martinet refused to feel guilty for acting. Gilles had been condemned to death and was suffering with terminal cancer when they crossed paths. That was bad enough in itself, but made much worse by the fact that he was a doctor, and an oncologist to boot. He knew exactly what was coming for him and how the man hadn't gone crazy was anybody's guess. Stoically, he had worked up until he was barely strong enough to stand before taking to his bed. That had been Gilles all over - selfless to the core.

At first there had been a debt between the pair. The doctor had helped his family, having a background in Haematology and he'd kept their secret. He carried Martinet's venom, of course, so he could be checked upon at all times, but he never betrayed their kind. Quite the opposite, in fact, because he actively tried to help them with his research and though nothing conclusive had ever been found, the debt remained. Gilles had been one of the good guys and Martinet would have protected him with his life. The trouble was, his life was of no use to him. The disease ate away at his body with an appetite for destruction that was unstoppable and no matter how many specialists Martinet bankrolled or how much money he threw at the problem, a problem it still remained. Death had come for him and there were only two answers to that question.

When Gilles had long since given up the pretence of eating, Martinet ensured that a nurse was there at all times to make him as comfortable as possible. There had been no visitors and he had no family to speak of, so the evenings had been Martinet's alone. Keeping a vigil beside the dying man's bedside, he had sworn not to interfere with the last days of the doctor's life. Gilles wouldn't have let him in the house under any other terms, not that he could have physically stopped him. Given no choice but to succumb to a dying man's last wishes, Martinet had little option but to agree with his request. This he did willingly, but he hadn't counted on several things back then. He hadn't known that his affection for Gilles would increase exponentially every damn day, and he certainly hadn't reckoned on how much pain would be heaped upon a dying man's body or how long and drawn out his death might be. After thirty days of agonised suffering, something inside Martinet snapped. Unable to bear another minute of Gilles’ tormented cries, he bit him, paying no heed to the man's pathetic attempts to stop him. It was his own mind he had been concerned about. If he let him die and slip away never to utter another sound again, he would have endured endless guilt. Rebirthing the man in the manner of a vampire gave him a chance at proving there was another way, a better way, for his friend to exist. It had been a risk worth taking.

Gilles had never forgiven him, of course. For the first few years of his new life, he sought death with a vengeance, which had Martinet following him night and day. The amount of times he'd had to scrape the young vampire up off the floor, dust him down, and smile politely whilst giving him the necessary blood and space to heal had been appalling, but it changed nothing. He would have done it all again for as little as just one extra day of his life.

If he'd known how short the vampire's life was destined to be, he might have rethought his actions, but it was far too late for recriminations now. Martinet had rebirthed a gentle and honourable man into a vampire, sparing him one awful death only to deliver him swiftly into another. For Violetta's first assassination attempt had been a gruesome affair and, unfortunately, that was exactly where his mind was headed and there was no avoiding it.

* * *

THE VERY FIRST time he had set his eyes on the huntress, Gilles had been feasting in one of his favourite brasseries in Paris, bemoaning the fact that the exquisite French food he'd just eaten had been worse than tasteless in his mouth. He still could not get over the idea that the only sustenance he would ever find truly appetising was the fine vintage of freshly decanted blood. It amused Martinet to no end. In the first few years of his life as a vampire, Gilles had trawled all over the world searching for the most renowned eateries and the most elegant dining establishments in the hopes that something would tempt his taste buds. A rare and bloody steak had been about the only thing he had enjoyed, and the pleasure derived from it was less than half of what it had been when he was human. He was not to be discouraged in his search though, and Paris remained his favourite haunt for gourmet fair. If he was not destined to enjoy it, he had decided he could at least admire the artful presentations that appeared on his plate, and the wine wasn't so bad either.

The huntress had sat at a table opposite him. He thought she had been waiting for her date and immediately felt sorry for her, thinking, 'The stupidity of man knows no bounds.' He had admired her discreetly, when he could tear his eyes away from his plate, and even though women were not his first choice for sexual partners, he had felt the sway her body held over his. Gilles had found it disturbing. Her beautiful fiery waves had been arranged in an elegantly long ponytail and tied back with a gold barrette at the nape of her neck. Her eyes had been smouldering under the weight of eyeliner and mascara heaped upon them, and those violet irises... when he'd caught her gaze accidentally, he wanted to open his mouth in awe. She had been so disturbingly beautiful that he quickly finished his half-hearted attempt at eating and, flinging his napkin down in dismay, rushed from the restaurant to re-evaluate his sexual preferences.

That had been partly Martinet's fault. Although Gilles was unaware of it, the younger vampire was able to feel the emotions of his master if they were left unchecked. They rarely were. Martinet could disguise nearly all his reactions through many years of careful practice. Sexual chemistry such as that Violetta provided couldn't be masked on a moment's notice. It was something that happened far too rarely. A raging torrent of desire had hit him upside the head, and it wouldn't have hurt more had a hammer been raining down blows upon him. His chest had just discovered a weight that truly hurt, yet was lighter than air. Her presence immediately wrapped itself inside his body, and it felt like liquid fire running through his veins. Goosebumps erupted over his skin, which was crazy, considering he was nowhere near her. What the hell had just happened?

Keeping himself a firm but silent presence inside Gilles' head, Martinet had tried to search for her to no avail. Gilles was walking fast and purposefully kept his head low. All Martinet managed to get was a detailed view of the concrete pavement and it was more than a little frustrating. He couldn't very well order Gilles to look around, because that would indicate his interest in little Miss Redhead, and he hardly wanted to declare it to the world at large. He would have to bide his time and wait and see if she crossed his path again.

The wait, as it happened, was a lot shorter than he had anticipated.

Gilles had been headed home to the attic apartment in Saint Germain-des-Prés. Martinet had owned it for more than three hundred years, and its value was now astronomically ridiculous. The neighbourhood had been home to all sorts of famous personages, such as Pablo Picasso and Oscar Wilde, and the characterful streets and expensive designer boutiques had provided much amusement for his family over the years.

Punching in the entry code, Gilles wrapped his beige mac high around his ears to keep out the chill wind of a December night and his brow wore a furrowed frown. He was annoyed that he couldn't get the startlingly clear image of the redhead out of his mind. Her violet eyes had burned a path of glittering fire inside his head. A sliver of unease overtook his body. An older vampire would have recognised it for what it was: a warning. Gilles put it down to the lateness of the hour and thought no more of it.

Hearing the lock click, he opened the tall white wooden door only to find a tendril of vividly bright auburn hair draped over his shoulder. He had turned around in shock, thinking he had been seeing things, and there was Violetta. The avenging angel had marched straight past him, the tails of her long red wool coat trailing behind her, and the scent of Chanel No. 5 wafted delicately in her wake. Gilles felt himself harden at nothing more than the view of her receding posterior. He almost swore out loud.

'Who are you?' He let the door behind him slam shut and stood still as a statue, silently assessing his uninvited guest. Curling both hands into fists, he waited patiently for an answer. It was just as well he had all the time in the world, because she took an eternity to turn around. Martinet remembered that much very clearly, because he had been hungering after the slightest glimpse of her and time almost crept to a standstill as the first sight of elegant cheekbones came into view.

She began to undo the large red buttons that decorated the length of her, from neck to mid-thigh. Shrugging out of the heavy coat, she draped it over the side of an ancient Chesterfield sofa.

'I am your saviour,' she had said in English, and that was when Gilles knew he was in trouble. People from around these parts did not speak English - not if it could possibly be avoided, in any case.

'I am here to release you, Gilles. Release and liberate your soul.' She had drawn her knife dramatically. Back then she kept it in her pocket, but as the years had gone by, the woman had learned from her mistakes, but that was another story entirely. Holding the knife aloft, she let the blade twist in the dull lamplight of the quaint sitting room, so that its silver planes caught the light and gave notice of her intentions. He stared at her open-mouthed for a few seconds, and then he laughed.

'Oh, Madame. You are late, so very late. I have been actively searching for death these past few years with little success. Well, that and a decent meal at any rate.' He held his hands out to his sides in a gesture of surrender, smiled, and said, 'I'm all yours. Just make it quick.'

She took him at his word. Walking towards him, she kept eye-contact, letting him admire her shapely curves and the bounce of her luscious red hair. When in touching distance, she paused, almost as if she couldn't believe her luck, but Gilles remained where he stood, true to his word.

'Any last requests?' Her voice was now a mere whisper of sound, but of course he heard it.

Gilles saw her throat swallow in panic, watched her wrist tremble around the knife's hilt, and heard the quiver in her voice. He was to be killed by a huntress, of that much he was sure, but he wondered if she would be capable of what she threatened. Her composure was now somewhat lacking. Trust his luck to get the newbie.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and slid his hand around her neck, bringing her into his chest. He inhaled her scent and sighed mournfully. She could not move out of his grasp and he felt her struggle against him as the first whit of true panic took root. She would need to improve her game if she wanted to stay alive long in her line of business. He didn't feel charitable enough to tell her so, though.

Pushing her away from him, he took a step back and cleared his throat. 'I'm sorry, Michel,' he murmured, 'but I cannot live the life you have forged for me. I hope you find another who can.' Having said his piece, he simply nodded at her and waited. Thankfully the huntress did not dawdle in her plotted attempt on his life.

The knife arced in the air and plunged for his throat. It must have been honed to a fine edge, for it sliced cleanly through several layers of skin and fat, and moved downward in a straight line, puncturing his lung. Gilles felt a whoosh of air leave his body and blood bubble up his throat. Though he did not need air, or the inflation and deflation of a pair of lungs to pump said substance around his body, he did need blood and he was losing it fast. Death could not come soon enough. He had begun to wonder if his time would ever come, but by the looks of it, death had arrived, and by all that was holy it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Feeling his soul begin to detach itself away from his body, a strange light-headedness overcame him. Euphoria? It was an interesting enough thought. But there was no time for musings because his was not to be an easy death. He supposed he almost deserved that much, for Gilles had known what Michel would do to him, and had known that the life of a vampire was to be his. He also knew he would not be able to stop him, because he was aware of one thing that not even the vampire had realised back then. Michel Martinet had been in love.

Feeling his head sway as his life-force leaked from his body, he watched as she struggled with the dragging motion of the knife, aiming for his heart but not having the necessary strength to accomplish the feat. Placing her two hands on the hilt didn't accomplish the task either. She was such a slight thing, far too skinny for her own good. The girl needed a decent meal or two to fatten herself up. He almost laughed. His whole life had been a mess. Why should his death be any different?

As the blade began to burn like fire, he watched her joined hands wobble as the knife stilled, and for an awful moment, he was afraid he might live through this. She was unable to go any further. 'Goddamn,' he had gurgled in a voice that was not his own, and somehow he added his hands to her blade and with one fearsome yank, his heart was sliced cleanly in two and it was over. It was all over.

Martinet had watched the light die in Gilles' eyes. When the Rembrandt on the wall shot upward and nothing but the fuzzy outline of wood floor and skirting boards filled his brother's eyes, he knew his time was almost over. He was helpless to lift a finger. Gilles was in Paris, he was in London. Vampires moved quickly, but not that quickly. His mind reeled. 'Stop the bleeding,' he had ordered, his voice harsh, uncontrolled panic taking over his body. Although the young vampire's hands sluggishly raised themselves to try and obey his Master, they never even made it halfway. Blackness engulfed Martinet's head. Blackness remained in the spot where the light and life of Gilles had been only moments before. He had thrown back his head and screamed. Hot tears poured down his face as grief consumed him. For one who prided himself on his lack of emotion, the loss of his son had produced a devastating misery that nothing could touch. But that was just the beginning of his family's life being shot to hell...

Finally the flashback ended and he was released from its powerful grasp. Switching off the radio, it was all he could do to stop the tears from pouring again. He needed to focus on the present. He had his objective and it was time for payback. He had waited an awfully long time to get even, and it was only fitting that he took his time in achieving his goal. Martinet suspected he had a lot of hard work ahead of him, but it wouldn't be all bad. She had a body to die for and the face of a beauty queen. However much he wanted to abhor her, the fact remained that he'd probably have to settle for intense dislike. He didn't have to like someone to enjoy fucking them though, so there might be a God after all. His train of thought abruptly ended as he hit a bump and the car went flying.

The top speed of the Audi was reported to be 155mph and when he looked down at the illuminated amber dial before him, it was to realise that the poor engine was almost at the limit of its endurance, and oh how he knew that feeling well. Taking his foot off the gas, he slowed down on the approach as they rounded a hairpin bend that would have thrown most other vehicles off the road if they'd tried it at the breakneck pace he had used. Four wheels remained on the tarmac, thankfully, but his hands rattled against the steering wheel and it was now a struggle just to turn the damn thing. He had no choice but to plough on, deep into the mountains. There was no recourse for failure.

After another half an hour of driving, he sighed in relief as the enormous flat-topped monoliths of the Dolomite Mountains began to rise all around him. It was not before time. The vicious turns and twisting mountain passes had begun to take their toll on his arms, and he found them jerking and banging against the Audi's interior, almost uncontrollably. His legs were in a worse state, but thankfully they weren't needed as it wasn't a stick shift. As they began ascending into the mountain range, higher and higher with each kilometre that passed, he felt his body weakening degree by degree. By the time they got to his little hideaway, he'd be reduced to crawling. Still, it wasn't the first time he'd have to crawl as a vampire and it probably wouldn't be the last. Suck it up, he told himself, after his arm did a particularly vicious flip and slammed into the side window behind him. Biting down on the groan of pain that wanted to escape, he rounded the final bend and let the car tear off down a rutted dirt path that would shortly take them to the entrance of his underground home. Surrounded by a tumbling hedgerow of weeds on either side, he forged a path through some of the more aggressive ones. The track was rarely used and left poorly maintained for a reason. It kept annoying tourists at bay.

They bounced around frantically for a few minutes, which was nothing Martinet hadn't been doing already, though it probably didn't do Violetta any favours in the back seat. She'd just have to hang in there for a moment. When the path finally broadened out, they were met by an alpine log house that was typical of the South Tyrol region. White louvered shutters decorated the windows and a long wooden balcony ran around the middle of the house. This was decorated with a series of large terracotta tubs bearing all manner of bursting floral accomplishments. A copse of leafy beech and conifer trees encircled the property and disguised the sheer cliff-face only a few meagre yards behind it.

Martinet gave up a silent prayer of thanks and began to wrench the keys out of the ignition. Shutting off the engine, he parked outside the villa and, with a struggle, managed to get himself outside the car on legs that could have belonged to a newborn giraffe. Still, it was better than crawling. As he fought to put one foot in front of the other, he made his way shakily down the little lane that skirted the house, for that was not where he was headed. He was about to dive down the cliff-face, where the entrance of Oscura Dimora lay. It would be an interesting journey in his present condition, to say the least.

He did not spare a thought for Violetta. The villa was empty and they were in the middle of nowhere. Even if someone had been about, they'd be unlikely to go peering in strange cars at this time of night, and as his had tinted windows, even if they did, they wouldn't be able to see much. When you took into consideration that the car door would automatically lock itself when the key fob was a couple of metres out of reach, she was pretty safe and he had to be content with that. He'd come back for her as soon as he was able.

Martinet usually enjoyed the scramble down the limestone cliff, which on a normal day would have taken him barely a minute or two. Alas, things were not going to be that straightforward today. His body was jerking uncontrollably at every opportunity and his vampiric strength was non-existent. This was going to be messy and it was going to hurt. On the plus side, he was no stranger to pain and it certainly wouldn't hurt as much as the holy water incident. Trying his hardest to think up strategies that wouldn't involve the near loss of a limb, he debated the options before him.

Option one: dive down the cliff headfirst, hope to land somewhere close to the opening portal of his cave and scramble as best as he was able to the entrance.

Option one was not particularly inspiring. It would most definitely involve several broken bones, more bleeding, and lots of swearing.

Option two: find some pitons, a couple of karabiners, some pulleys and then abseil down the mountain.

Option two was great, but he had none of the required items and doubted he could get his hands on the stuff at short notice. If he did, he suspected there'd be humans about and then he'd probably get distracted for quite some time.

Option three: find a reel of rope, tie it to something sturdy, hurtle down the cliff, and improvise or swear where necessary.

Option three was the most realistic of the lot, and he was fairly confident there was some rope stored in the shed at the back of the villa, which was always kept unlocked and should be relatively easy to retrieve. In just a few minutes he had done exactly that and in his hands he cradled some white nylon rope, one end of which he had somehow managed to tie around his waist and the other was fastened around the cast-iron latch handle of the shed door. He really hoped someone had screwed the thing on firmly, because if they hadn't, he was shortly going to find it hurtling down the cliff towards him. It would have been sensible to tie it to something a little more sturdy, like the Audi perhaps, but he liked to live life on the edge - quite literally as it happened.

Walking slowly to the ledge before him, he tested the messy double knot around his waist, and was less than impressed with the security it provided. Oh well. Looking down at the black pit of what was unmistakeably very hard rock below, he grimaced, sucked in his cheeks, and then jumped.

Chapter 13

Oscura Dimora

WITHOUT A SINGLE thought of misgiving, Martinet leapt backwards off the cliff. That was one of the advantages, if you could call it that, of being a vampire. Death wasn't particularly scary. Yes, broken bones were an inconvenience, blood was a highly desirable commodity to be kept inside the body at all times, and flesh still stung when scraped and bruised, but overall his body healed itself within minutes rather than days when these kinds of events struck. That still didn't mean he liked getting hurt in any way, shape, or form, but as the years went by, his pain tolerance seemed to increase with them. That was probably a good thing, because he had a bad feeling about this.

The first part of the jump went tolerably well. Air whistled up the length and breadth of him and chilled his skin to the bone, but the cliff stayed away from his body. This was good. He had allowed himself about two hundred metres of rope because that was approximately where the entrance to his home lay down the cliff-face. Far enough down so that no enterprising tourists or rock climbers would manage to make it without one hell of a struggle, but not too far that it would be a tedious journey for himself every evening. All was going swimmingly until the makeshift bungee he had created for himself extended to its full reach. There was a sharp twang and an almighty force was exerted against his abdomen as the rope bounced back upwards towards the cliff. He'd expected that, and at this point things were still looking good. No nasty bumps, no rope burn, no broken ribs. So far this was a grand day out in his opinion, but it was not to last. When he began plummeting downwards again, he caught a glimpse of the narrow opening to his underground cave. He was within perhaps six or seven metres of the thing and he tried to sway towards it when the rope reached the end of its limit once more. This time, when he waited for the bounce back up, it didn't happen. Martinet cursed a century's worth of hard-earned cuss words as his body began to plummet to the ground below.

The bloody handle did hit him on the head. He'd had a feeling it would, but he had no time to mourn his misfortune. The cliff-face was hurtling towards him at a rate of knots and if he didn't do something quickly, it was going to give him a visage that would make Freddy Kruger look rather dishy. Alas his options were limited, so he got his talons out and turned his face to the side. There were a few seconds of nothing but pleasurable silence and then a sickening crunch as his body hit the wall of limestone rock at a velocity that sent several nasty cracks running through it. As his cheekbone smashed into the wall, he had the foresight to angle his head back, but the damage had been done. His talons scraped anxiously for purchase, but did little more than rearrange some fallen scree before he began hurtling downward again, ready for round two. Martinet verses the wall. Geez, this was a fun game.

The second time he bounced into the cliff, he was ready for it. The same cheekbone slammed against it, because he saw no point breaking two of the things, and his talons esank painfully deep into the rock. The noise of them could be likened to someone scraping chalk against a blackboard, but he used considerably more force. The good news was he was now stationary. The bad news was he was halfway up a mountain with a sheer drop below him - that and the possibility that his manicurist might never speak to him again. Still, he guessed he could be grateful he'd worn rubber-soled shoes this evening. They were going to come in handy. Placing them both flat against the cliff, he began scrambling upward.

Adrenaline and pain focused him as nothing else could, and after about ten minutes of scrabbling, clawing, and swearing, he found the entrance to his cave. He flopped down, absolutely exhausted, on the narrow ledge that led into a small tunnel that burrowed steeply into the mountainside. He would need to give himself a couple of seconds before he attempted that, but the knowledge that fresh blood was only a few metres away would shortly spur him on. He could almost smell the stuff.

Laying his broken cheek down on the cold surface of the stone helped to numb and soothe away the pain. To be honest, he hardly even felt it. Today he was euphoric. Not only had he achieved his objective and captured his huntress with his life intact, but he was within hours of being able to play the most intense game of cat and mouse that was possible between a beauty and a beast. He wasn't exactly sure whom he would cast for each role, but he suspected time would tell. It always did. Get up, Martinet. Get up off the damn floor and get her inside somewhere safe.

It was an odd sentiment, considering he was planning to kill her, but it was instinctive. She was human and he still thought of her as fragile, though she had proved on more than one occasion this evening that she had a will of iron and nerves of steel. He would have to see what could be done about that. He needed to intimidate the girl and quickly. After that, she'd be careful to do exactly as he said, but he'd always have to maintain a firm presence within her head. If he ever made the mistake of underestimating her, he'd be dead. There was always at least one way to kill a vampire.

Get up. Get up now. He struggled to his knees, but did not have the necessary strength to make it to his feet. Goddamn. Another curse left his lips. Fine, he would crawl. Gritting his teeth, he decided the huntress had won this round, but she wouldn't win the next. No, the next round would involve her crawling. There would be lots of crawling and she would be naked, pleading and begging for the release he would not grant her. She was going to get rather good at crawling by the time he'd finished with her.

He got halfway down the tunnel on all fours before he began seeing stars. There was hardly any blood left in him and his body was going into hypovolemic shock. His circulation was shot to hell. He had a paralysing moment when he wondered if he'd actually make it down the last few steps and into the kitchen, the first room in his oddly situated house and a wholly unnecessary one, bar the fridge. He'd kept a kitchen purely for Gilles and every time he saw the thing now, he wanted to scream and shout out his loss. Fortunately, no one bar the servants would hear him down here. His master was long gone. There was a niggling worry in the back of his head that once he started the wailing and keening he might never stop. He had bottled up more grief than anyone should ever have to deal with in a lifetime, and he was at a loss as to how to deal with the stuff, except for his plans for Violetta. He guessed it would be a start. Keep moving. He was falling apart. The whole of him trembled like a Massai warrior who'd decided to take a vacation in the Arctic Circle. He was cold, so damn cold. Another inch. His hands scraped pitifully against the smooth stone steps and, using the last remnants of his energy, he pushed himself forward, hoping to fall down the last ten or so stairs to the bottom.

His body lumped, bounced, scuffed, and banged against each individual step, but he made it in one piece. He profusely thanked whichever servant had the foresight to place the modern stainless steel fridge at the entrance to the kitchen, even though he had just clunked his head on it, because with a single agonising wrench he had the door open and there in front of him were over a hundred clear plastic packets of blood. There were no niceties today. He ripped the top off the nearest bag and with badly shaking hands, threw the stuff all over him. Hopefully some of it would land in his mouth, and it would give him the strength to reach for another.

* * *

THE TIME IT took to go from weaker than a baby to strong as an ox was barely twenty minutes. Six bags of blood, twenty-five swear words, and a whole lot of laundry later, Martinet was in the shower cleaning himself up. His lower legs still stung, but they'd already shown great improvement after the massive blood intake, and given another day, they'd be right as rain. His cheek had swelled rather nastily and was still sore to the touch, but the bones had knitted together and in a couple of days, there wouldn't be a mark upon him. His huntress, however, would be bearing lots of marks. His. It was time to go and retrieve her.

He dressed all in black. It matched his mood. From the neatly pressed slacks to the thick cashmere roll-neck jumper that fit against his torso with exacting precision, he was ready and eager to start the night's proceedings. On feet that were now lighter than air, he raced back up the steps and almost floated up the cliff-face. He felt good. His body needed to heal a little, but his strength had returned in full measure. There was a lot to be said for that. After several thousand years you became used to having extraordinary strength and out of all of his many talents, strength was one of the ones he appreciated the most. When it went, it was sorely missed. He made the journey back to the car in less than five minutes, almost letting his enthusiasm get the better of him. Pausing, his hand on the shiny black door handle, he contemplated what he was about to do. Would he be able to live with himself after this? She was an innocent, she was young, and he planned on taking her life. Could he cope with the guilt? He pursed his lips together and slowly ran his thumb across his mouth as he considered his next steps. Gilles' face floated before his eyes and then several others came up to join him. He shook his head. Hell yes, he could live with himself, and not only that, he'd damn well dance on her grave. If she could live with herself after all the cruelties she'd delivered in her incredibly small lifespan, then he should have no problems.

Pulling the door open sharply, he picked her up carefully, supporting her neck in one hand and the curve just below her ass in the other. He cradled her to his chest and inhaled her. He sucked in a slow lungful of air and savoured her flowery fragrance. Lily of the valley. That was what it was. From the moment she'd first stepped in the ballroom, he had singled out her very distinctive perfume but the particular brand she wore had remained elusive. It had niggled him. Over the years, he had committed hundreds of bottles of scent to memory and had an especial fondness for Chanel, but Violetta had chosen something much less sophisticated and yet, the beautiful pure cut of the scent was far more intoxicating to him. If he wasn't much mistaken, she wore Penhaligon's Lily of the Valley and on her skin the smell was sublime. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensory overload for a moment. He would have to get her a bottle. The tantalising aroma did funny things to his insides, and he liked to encourage that at every opportunity.

'Wake up,' he whispered in her ear. He didn't really want to wake her, but the journey down the mountainside wasn't going to be pretty if he didn't get a little help.

'Where am I... what...?' Her eyes were dazed, her tongue was thick in her mouth, and her faced was pinched. Her arm. He'd forgotten about that, damn it. Burrowing inside her head, he swiftly numbed the area. He was rewarded with a shaky smile. The girl must be dreaming. She'd be busy trying to claw out his vital organs otherwise.

'Hold on to my neck and shut your eyes.' The whisper was inside her head this time.

She gave him several confused, sleep-filled blinks of her eyelashes, so he repeated the command, giving her a little push. Obediently her arms snaked up around his neck, her fingers entwining tightly as her eyes fluttered closed.

And so they flew down the mountainside in a series of grand jumps before he landed expertly on the small ledge that would lead to her new home. She would be spending her foreseeable future there, be that long or short. He didn't particularly care at this moment in time. He had designs on her body for the next week or two, and after that, they'd see. She deserved no promises. After he'd seen to her arm and the limb had repaired itself, he'd extract his revenge and enjoy every second of her torment. He fully intended to put her through hell and back. It was the very least she deserved, but it was all he was capable of, so it would have to do.

Walking down the same steps that had nearly been his undoing only minutes ago, he danced upon his toes and twirled his prize around in his arms. Her eyes snapped open at the dizzying movement. Large and voluminous in her beautiful oval face, they stared up at him with dawning comprehension. There was no fear, though there would be in the days to come. He'd make sure of it. Right now, it was a look of contempt and loathing that broadcast itself loud and clear without the need for words to be aired.

'Yes. You're doomed, Princess. Get used to the idea.'

She did not give him the satisfaction of a response, merely closed her eyes and tried to shut him out. He laughed. 'That's hardly going to be very effective, darling. Not when I can easily rummage around in that delightful mind of yours.' He heard the scream of rage she stifled. He felt the tightening of her fists and her frustration at being so easily captured.

Manoeuvring her easily through the house, past the now spotless kitchen that housed little more than several pints of blood, he decided all that would have to change. If he wanted to keep her alive, he'd need to feed her. A mug of sugary tea would probably keep her going until the morning when proper sustenance could be provided. The day he had planned was going to involve lots of exertions on her part, and she'd require plenty of energy.

Walking across the stone floor and nudging the oak panelled door of his bedroom open with his knee, he flung her across the room and watched as she landed bang in the middle of his bed. He watched her splutter and curse as she pulled herself up on his cherry-red satin sheets and finally she bit. 'Why don't you just kill me now and spare yourself the trouble of looking after me?'

It wasn't the words he had been expecting. 'So you admit you deserve to die?' He inclined his head in question and a fold of ebony hair slid across his cheek. Her heartbeat thumped erratically, and her body was drawn taut as a bowstring. He wondered if he might get an apology.

She gave him a derisive snort in response. 'Do your worst, Martinet. I have people who'll come for me. Just sleep with both of those wonderful blue eyes open, asshole, because I promise you that as soon as I find them closed, I'll rip them out.'

His lips narrowed and then he flooded her body with pain. He intensified the sensation so that she writhed about in agony. His huntress was going to learn to keep her mouth shut unless she could find something nice to say. Watching her body coil in the throes of anguish for several long minutes, he finally said, 'It won't stop until you apologise.'

'Go. To. Hell.'

He admired her. He couldn't help himself. She'd never looked more beautiful, splayed out and thrashing her limbs around in a twisted mess across his bed. He desperately wanted to fuck her, but for that reason alone he'd make himself wait. He needed to tread cautiously around this one and she would require careful handling. He added another notch of nastiness that would have her endorphins screaming in no time. Another minute of thrashing ensued. Then a strangled voice could be heard.

'Please. Make. It. Stop.' Each word was bitten off and spluttered out whenever she had a chance to inhale a second's worth of air.

'Apologise.' He upped her level of torment again. To be honest, he was curious how much more the girl could take. She was much stronger than she looked. Finally a tortured scream left her lips.

'I'm sorry,' the words were gurgled and almost unintelligible, but it was a start and it would do.

'Apology accepted.' His steely glare descended upon her, sending slivers of metal deep into her spine, but he halted the pain instantly. Compliance was always rewarded. Walking slowly to the side of the bed, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the stone, his warm hand reached down to capture her wrist. She immediately pulled it away out of his reach.

A semblance of a smile began to twitch at the two corners of his lips. 'Do you realise how pointless that is? Do you really believe you can escape, outrun, or outwit a vampire? His hand moved, so quickly that not even a blur was present in her vision. When she blinked, the fingers of both his hands had surrounded her wrists and were digging tightly into the soft skin. When she wouldn't look him in the eye, he simply commanded her head up and trapped her within his gaze. Two icy blue eyes bored into hers and the game for superiority was lost.

'Stay still. I'm going to fix that arm, unless you want to end up disfigured for life?' He raised an eyebrow at her. She didn't move, but neither did she give in gracefully.

'Why fix me? I'm here to be tortured, aren't I? That's what you want, isn't it? Revenge.' The violet petals of her eyes spat venomous fury. The woman looked so beautiful he wanted to paint and frame her.

'I'm going to fix you in order to break you properly. Breaking bones would be far too easy, Violetta. There are other torments that are far worse than physical trauma and pain. In order to experience them fully, you need to be in the best of health, my dear. The good news is that with a few drops of my blood inside you, that shoulder will be good as new within a day. I just need to set it straight.'

When she struggled against him, as he knew she would, he paralysed her from the neck down. When she immediately started spluttering obscenities at him, he wished he'd gone the whole hog and shut her down completely, but he needed to make sure he didn't make any mistakes and for that, he needed her conscious. If he made a mistake, she wouldn't be. Ignoring the copious threats and curses directed his way, he let his mind tunnel into her body and spread itself carefully over the area that needed to be repaired. There was lots of damage to keep him occupied. A comminute fracture, the bone broken in several places, was going to take some careful healing. Add to that muscle, nerve, and tissue damage, and it was going to keep him busy for the better part of a half hour. He began the painstaking process of putting each piece of sinew and fibre back in its rightful place. Shutting out her entertaining, but rather distracting diatribe, he applied himself to the intricate process of mending the break. Knitting together bone fragments, tendons, and ligaments, piece by tiny piece, required a great deal of concentration. It was such a mess the whole process took a little longer than he'd expected, nearly an hour in total, and at the end of his task, he was spent. Violetta, on the other hand, had barely gotten started but he knew of something that would shut her up quickly.

His fangs, which had been threatening to burst from his lips the whole time he had been close to her, due to her unique and all-consuming smell, were finally allowed free rein. Bringing his forearm up to his lips, he gently placed two puncture wounds in his flesh. His venom easily broke through the hard casing of his body and he felt his tongue lock as blood began to well to the surface of the twin holes.

He placed the droplets of blood in front of her lips for a second, purely to enjoy the look of horror that resided there. 'See? I don't have to break bones to torture and torment you. Tonight, Violetta, you shall drink blood. My blood, and it will be a sweet agony all of its own. But you'll find out why later. For now, drink and heal yourself, my sweet.' Her lips contorted instantly in repulsion, but he simply overrode her natural instincts and commanded her body to obey him. Her eyes went wide with shock as her lips descended, gently sucking at the tiny glistening beads of burgundy fluid that he presented for her delectation.

Apparently the flavour was not to her taste, for she began to retch around his flesh, but he did not allow her the privilege of stopping. She needed to swallow at least a teaspoonful in order for his earlier work to be completed. Amidst several creative invectives, he managed to discern from her thoughts that his blood was 'disgusting', with a 'metallic or coppery' flavour. She couldn't quite decide which. Without a doubt she let him know that his particular taste was not to her liking. Too bad. She would drink until he told her to stop. Her face was a picture.

'That's enough.' He didn't need to pull her away, as he would have had to do with a fellow vampire. She immediately stopped as soon as his coercion had left her body. Finally the young woman was speechless, and not before time. She also looked exhausted. It had been a long day for a human, he supposed.

One of his servants walked in then, bearing a cup of English Earl Grey tea as he'd been ordered. Everything worked telepathically around here and pretty much flowed like clockwork. Knowing his master well, the servant carefully placed a bright flowery tray on the bedside table and departed as quickly and silently as he'd arrived.

Picking up the fine gilt-edged bone china cup, he blew gently on the wisps of steam that flowed upwards and cooled the boiling water down to a drinkable degree. Holding the cup of heavily sweetened fragrant tea to her lips he said, 'Drink.' She had no choice but to obey his command and the fluid streamed down her throat and removed the earlier source of her discontent. He was such a thoughtful thing, really.

After she'd drained the entire contents, bar the last few dregs of murky tealeaves that sloshed about in the bottom, he inclined his head slightly and asked, 'Better?'

Violetta looked at him very slowly through lidded eyes. She swallowed carefully and licked her lips before clearing her throat. 'Just peachy, thanks for asking. I've been kidnapped, forced to drink blood, chased, deflowered, manipulated, laughed at, and put on display, and let's not forget spanked and publically humiliated. It's been a top night all around, I think. Oh, I forgot the fainting.' The sarcastic barbs tripped off her tongue, one after the other without pause. 'Yes, absolutely top night. Let's do it again sometime.'

Martinet had to bite his lip in order to hide his smile. She really was quite something. Staring directly at her, a look of bored indifference gracing his features, he replied, 'We're just about to, actually, and I should point out that a lot of the above didn't actually happen. They were nothing more than figments of your imagination. You're still a virgin, darling. Would you like me to prove it to you?' The detached look had gone and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that scared her witless. Her face did not give her away, but her eyelashes fluttered rapidly and her bottom lip trembled.

'The games are about to begin, darling. You'd better buckle your seatbelt up and settle in for the ride.'

Chapter 14

A Bedtime Story

THERE WAS NO time to buckle up. Her whole body floated downwards, to be greeted by the soft crimson satin below. She tried to fight his hold over her, desperately trying to avoid the silky sheets that graced his bed, but her body was no longer under her command. She took a fleeting moment to wonder if it ever would be again.

'Do you want to fight me, Princess? Do you want to slam those little fists of yours against my chest and call me names?'

She didn't answer him. Her voice was locked away within her throat once more, at his request. He had obviously heard enough. Her job was to lay there and look pretty, she guessed. Oh dear God.

Black ropes slithered up her limbs and coiled around her flesh in a serpentine fashion, winding themselves tighter and tighter, tugging at her limbs. No.

'I want you spread wide open for me, Violetta. That way you'll be ready to be taken at a moment's notice. I'll also be able to see how aroused you are for me, and I think you like this body of mine, don't you, Vi?'

Her grunt of protest remained trapped inside her head, but she knew he heard it.

'Oh, I know you find me attractive. Now we're going to work on needs, wants, and desires. I'm going to train you to be desperate for the slightest touch my hand may choose to bestow upon your flesh. We're going to make you a hungry, panting, pathetic little slave who lives for nothing more than to pleasure and serve the capricious notions of her master. I've developed quite an active imagination over the years, I'll have you know. We're going to have so much fun together, you and I.'

The words were lost in her head, but they echoed over and over. The rope was reeling her arms and legs tightly into the wooden corners of the four-poster bed and she was beginning to resemble a large 'X' shape. Try as she might, bracing her arms and legs against the firm tugs did not help in the slightest. Finally she was splayed out to the ropes' satisfaction and the pressure against her wrists and ankles lessened slightly.

Martinet ran his index and middle finger up and around the small ridge of her ankle. He watched intently as she sucked in air. At this moment in time, her mind did not like his fingers upon her. Her body called her a liar though, and trembled at the ridiculously light touch.

His fingers dived under the glistening organza of her gown and crept up a shapely calf. Tiny steps that did little more than tickle her, but she got noticeably more nervous as they tiptoed higher and higher.

'You never thanked me for the arm, you know.'

Violetta told him, in no uncertain terms, just what he could do with his thank you.

'Tsk, tsk. A lady never swears.' He grinned at her, letting the pads of his fingers brush up against the delicate skin of her inner thigh. The nervous pounding of her heart and the flush of heat that turned her cheeks from alabaster to cherry almost instantly told him all he needed to know. His fingers wandered higher.

'Don't. Stop.' The whispered plea inside her head was frantic.

'Oh, I don't intend to,' he said, deliberately misunderstanding her, and without warning his hand clamped around her sex. She rose into him and gasped. It appeared that her body was once again under her control. Oh, who was she kidding? The vamp played her better than Hendrix played the guitar. He knew when to stroke, when to cajole and, more importantly, when to strike.

'My goodness, you're not wearing any panties,' he exclaimed with a devilish gleam in his eyes. 'Why you wanton little...' Martinet didn't finish his last word. Now that Violetta had regained the use of her voice, she was about to use it at the top of her lungs. Unfortunately, Martinet was once again one step ahead of her and his face rapidly descended towards hers. The scream that had been bursting to escape just seconds ago curdled in her throat. Her body pulled against the ropes. Not to get away from him, as it should have, but to move closer. She wanted those talented lips on hers. She wanted his hands on her fevered naked flesh and already, she craved the intense pleasure he could so easily bestow upon her. Covering her lips with his own, he breathed her in. She, on the other hand, couldn't breathe at all. His hands were running up her arms, tracing delicate, rambling patterns on her flesh, while his tongue might have been forked like a dragon's, for it spilled sparkling flames of fire wherever it landed. The ropes rubbed tightly against her wrists and ankles, but she didn't give a damn. She drank him in whole and writhed sinuously underneath his body, begging for more of the same.

'Isn't it hideously embarrassing to be this attracted to your jailor?' His lips left hers with a soft pop and for a moment she just blinked in surprise. Her body was still pulling against her bonds, trying to get ever closer to her talented antagonist. It was horribly humiliating. That alone made her furious.

'Stockholm syndrome's a bitch,' she whispered. 'And isn't it better to do everything you say? If I don't, you'll just make me obey, so it makes little difference.' Only her eyes, the true windows to the soul, corrected her statement. They knew differently. And so did he.

'The dress needs to go, darling. I want to see you naked, exposed, and vulnerable. It's time to stop thinking and start feeling. I'm going to feed off your body and then I'm going to feed off your emotions. Not only are you fresh blood, but you're fresh entertainment and that's been lacking in my household for some years now.' He gathered the hem of her dress in his two hands and gave an effortless tug. The feeble material had no choice but to split in two, and she was afraid she knew that feeling all too well.

Her head was telling her that this was the worst possible thing that could ever happen to her. Her body was telling her something else entirely. One look at his beautiful face, an angelic face that disguised the heart of a demon, and she was lost. She needed to focus. Distract the bastard. Oh, and while you're at it, get a grip and stop dribbling. He'd tied her to his bed for chrissakes, and here she was anticipating the main meal. What the hell was wrong with her? What had he done to her now?

'Is this the only way you can get girls, Martinet? You have to tie 'em up, huh?' She gave him a look of disgust and rattled the ropes that held her arms for effect. 'You need therapy.'

In response, Martinet shredded her lilac dress to bits in one smooth yank of his hands. Tiny pieces of torn fabric shot up in a rush of air and then proceeded to float down slowly, covering the bed in a shimmering confetti of colour. Gently parting the rest of the frothing fabric away from her body, he carefully displayed her breasts and traced a slow path over her concave stomach. 'Not bad, I suppose. Not as beautiful as some, but most certainly not the worst I'll have bedded.' He reached to caress the globe of her right breast, covered in a camisole of fine purple satin that hid nothing. He squeezed the tip of her nipple and laughed when she mewled.

'You didn't answer my question,' she growled in response, turning her face to the side, hoping he didn't examine too closely the stain of heat that was rushing up her chest.

Martinet grabbed hold of his sweater, raised both hands, and drew it slowly over his head. He then threw it across the room. Sitting down on the side of the bed, he quickly removed his footwear and took off his watch, but Violetta couldn't have said what shoes he wore or repeated whatever words he was now directing at her. She found herself absorbed in the hard planes of his chest, the delicate thatch of hair that covered him in fine swirling patterns, and the sharp dip of his hips. When he began to speak at double his original volume, Violetta shook her head as if to clear it of the dark malaise that had fallen over her, but it was of little use. Monsieur Martinet was moving in for the kill. His naked chest was coming towards her at speed and his hands had already tangled in her hair.

'I'll repeat myself for the third time, shall I?' His voice was little more than a whisper against her ear, but she caught the words this time, because he pummelled them into her brain. 'We both know I don't have to tie women up to bed them. For the most part, they throw themselves at me and I take advantage of the fact. This face and body gives me extraordinary privileges that I misuse at every opportunity, to my own advantage. You are not immune to these charms, my dear. The only reason you are tied to my bed is because you'd kill me without a shred of conscience at any given opportunity. Actually, that's not entirely true. I love kinky sex. We can go into detail about that later, though.' His lips twitched. 'Any last requests, darling?' His mouth hovered inches above hers and she knew he was about to begin a war that could only end in death and disaster.

'Please, let me go.' When she moved her lips to talk, his were so close that they touched for the briefest instant. She recoiled in shock, trying to bury herself back down into the mattress, but there was nowhere to go.

'Will you promise to stop killing vampires if I agree to do so?' He enunciated each word carefully and the imprint of his lips, over and over again on hers, made her body ache for something it did not fully recognise.

Violetta's first response was to lie, but he'd bargained on that and the falsehood remained wedged in her throat. No amount of pushing on her part could force it out into the open. So much so, she nearly choked on the single word. Finally giving up, she closed her eyes in defeat and muttered, 'No.'

'You've got a lot to learn around these parts,' he said, using one finger to peel a single eyelid open, giving her no choice but to look at him. He traced a soft path over her eyebrow as he spoke and it should have made her shudder in revulsion, but instead a fierce heat spiralled everywhere. Trying to avoid the hypnotic blue eyes that were trying to bore a path into her head, she eventually discovered it was no use. He held her in place, silently and effortlessly.

'The first lesson is pretty simple. You can never lie to your master.' The finger continued to smooth the hairs over the arch of her brow. His hands were long, beautiful, and noticeably warmer than a human's. 'The second lesson is equally clear-cut,' he continued. 'You must obey every order I give you. We both know you'll be testing that one to the limit, but you will learn from your mistakes. There are consequences for every single action you take. You're intelligent. You'll soon figure it out.'

Violetta began to voice one of the million or so questions now buzzing around her head, but it was cut off before a single syllable could be pronounced. His lips and tongue were inside her and she was lost in an inferno of almost painful desire. Her body ignited in all the wrong places. The tips of her nipples pointed and swelled, her lips grew thick and heavy under his onslaught, and between her legs there were waterworks of the grandest order. She could feel fluid leaking down her inner thighs and she closed them tightly, mortified.

'That's normal,' came the voice of the beast inside her head. 'It just means that your body wants mine. It's your way of preparing yourself for what's to come.'

Violetta had no idea how he could articulate words, let alone plan out a sentence. She was a mess. Her body was whirling at the speed of light, her throat was dry, her heart pounding, and everything was reacting strangely.

'You forget I've done this many times before,' came his inner voice, as his head angled sideways for a deeper kiss. There was a soft scrape of stubble against her cheek and she moaned against him. 'That's it, Princess, give yourself up to me. I'll take good care of you.' She didn't believe him. The man was poison and the smallest drop was deadly.

His tongue stroked a sinuous path inside her mouth, and the velvet caress had her body arching for more. His weight pressed into her, dragging her deep into the mattress, but the hard rub of his cock between her thighs was incredible. She felt everything. Every sense was heightened and the smallest touches were amplified to an extraordinary degree. A single finger caressed the underside of her breast, raising a path of goose-bumps in its wake. The satin sheets rubbed against her legs as she squirmed underneath him, imparting a single spark of static. Ropes chaffed gently against her wrists, but the tension in her spread-eagled body was so intense it had her gasping. Feeling the strands of his long fine hair as they brushed over her cheek, she moaned heavily as he angled his mouth for another onslaught.

They were the least of her worries. The friction of the hard length of him, rubbing against her naked sex, had her almost insane with longing. His hands cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples in his fingers was one of the most amazing sensations she had yet to experience. She could feel a steep mountain of pleasure building inside her body and it desperately wanted to escape - it just couldn't quite work out how.

He finally broke free of her mouth and his voice was a little more ragged around the edges than usual. 'You're such a responsive little thing. I've barely touched you and yet you're nearly creaming the house down already.' Martinet groaned as she moved sharply against him, her hips bucking upward.

As soon as the movement of him grinding against her had stopped and the contact was lost, Violetta's eyes sprang open. She was angry and mostly for reasons she could not fully fathom. There was a few seconds' pause as she gathered up her venom. Then she let it explode. 'What do you mean, barely touched me? You're all over me, you monster!'

'Oh, Violetta, I've barely started. I'm still clothed and my tongue has touched nothing more exotic than your beautiful, if somewhat petulant, little mouth. Let's just say it has much grander aspirations. I want to taste all of you and after I've tasted, I intend to feel. What do I want to know? Well, let's see.' He ran his mouth down the curve of her jaw and poured tiny, hot, wet little kisses down the line of her throat. 'How soft you are. How tight you are. Are you responsive to a light touch or a heavy one? Do you like pain, and if so, a little or a lot? These are only some of the things I intend to find out about you, chérie. There is one thing that will become apparent within a very short timescale, though. Whether you will allow yourself to be bent and moulded into a different shape, under my strict tutelage, or whether you will break and shatter. Odds are an even fifty-fifty, in my opinion. One moment you appear as delicate and ethereal as a butterfly, but in the next, I see the eyes of a killer. I wonder who will win?' He planted a damp kiss where her breastbone dipped, right at the base of her neck.

Violetta couldn't stop herself from squirming under the torrent of kisses he was raining down upon her. He had an unfair advantage in this game. He was able to move. She was but a mere pawn to be played or sacrificed at will. It was a scary thought and one she did not wish to dwell on. 'The killer,' she spat out angrily as her body rose to meet yet another taste of his feathery lips. The annoying man chuckled in response as his head moved lower, towards the valley of her beasts and, hooking a finger underneath the almost transparent fabric of her camisole, he tugged sharply. The flimsy thing fell apart in his hands and he slid the material to either side of her with a look of penetrating hunger on his face.

'Maybe, but excuse me if I'm not entirely convinced just yet, chérie.' His eyes did not connect with hers as he spoke. They were glued to the twin orbs of pert flesh in front of him. 'You are so very beautiful, far too beautiful to be a deliverer of death, my dear.' His mouth swooped down to suckle at a dusky pink peak and as his tongue laved, and his teeth gently grazed her areola, Violetta nearly shot off the bed, only to have the ropes springboard her straight back down to the mattress.

'You already know that is not the case,' she bit out, somehow, through gasps of tormented pleasure. 'Gilles, Alastair, Rogere, Celeste...' And suddenly she could speak no more. His teeth had clamped around the sensitive point of a nipple and he bit down, hard. She had to clamp her jaw together to prevent herself from screaming.

'Do not try my patience, chérie,' he said darkly, releasing her now brilliant-red nub from his mouth. 'I have the power to make your life worse than any hell you can imagine. I am systematically going to strip away every shred of your being and rebuild you to my own personal design. You will be the perfect slave. From cooking to cleaning, from satisfying my thirst for blood to my cravings for sex, you will obey me in all matters and you will watch your tongue.'

His hand dived under her backside and gripped it fiercely. The scream she had been bottling up erupted from her, and there was no stopping it. His fingernails had buried themselves in one of his earlier raw pink stripes and the pain had her crawling inside herself. There was a slithering sensation all over her lower legs, which had her eyes pouring out of their sockets to find that the rope had turned into twisting black snakes and was unravelling from her ankles in one fluid move. She recoiled and her head spun. Martinet grabbed both her ankles together in one hand and began bending them forward, towards her head. No amount of struggling on her part could stop the motion, and she found her bottom quickly thrust out for his intimate perusal. His spare hand ran over the earlier marks he had made and she squawked in protest.

'Don't like that, hmm? Too bad, because you're going to like this even less.' Straightening out his free hand, so that his fingers were all in line and his thumb tucked away neatly to the side, he raised it behind him... and let it fly. Violetta, in her newly uncomfortable and horribly humiliating position, watched on aghast.

When the smack connected, it was not as hard as she had feared, but it still smarted a great deal. Four or five spanks later and she decided she might have to rethink that. He was building the heat up slowly but surely, and her earlier stripes were incredibly sensitive whenever his hand caught them.

'Feel those, do we?' He gave her a look of dark, male satisfaction and smiled as his hand connected with a sharp thwack once again. 'Repeat after me, Princess,' he said, giving her a look of piercing disdain, 'I will watch my tongue in my master's presence. You can take as long as you like, but my hand won't stop until I hear those words from you.' As if to indicate he meant business, another heavy smack landed on the seat of her buttocks.

Violetta decided she'd rather swallow crude oil than repeat those words out loud. If he wanted her to call him 'master', he would need to employ stronger tactics, for she would bestow that particular word to no man alive.

'Isn't it awfully lucky that I'm dead then, chérie?' Another hot blow landed on her rump and the heat was building to an intensely uncomfortable level. His blue eyes had a look of utter contempt in them, and she quailed under his gaze. For some reason, she had an instinctive urge to obey him, even when every brain cell roared at her to stand her ground.

A few more spanks from his sturdy hands and her body began to shake. 'I will watch my tongue in my master's presence,' he repeated after each slap, as if he were talking to an errant schoolchild. Her backside was blisteringly hot and no amount of struggling could avoid the continuous, ever accurate blows as they imparted more and more fire.

'Stop. Please stop,' she whimpered and her eyes filled with hot, salty tears.

'I will watch my tongue in my master's presence,' was his only reply. His voice was menacing, his displeasure with her increasingly obvious, and the beat of his hand became faster.

She bucked wildly underneath the onslaught, but he held her fast with little effort. Trying to tense the muscles in her ass tightly, to lessen the sting of each strike, she found she was already tiring and it was becoming more and more difficult to fight him. Her mind swirled in a haze of fog-filled pain and escalating arousal. Did vampires need sleep? Did they even get tired? Could he do this all night?

'I can keep this up for two weeks straight, if need be,' came the ominous reply.

She screamed and was annoyed when she couldn't thump her fists around to accompany the sound. Having someone constantly inside your head was infuriating.

'And it's only going to get worse. Now say it, or you'll be getting no sleep tonight and you're certainly not getting any tomorrow.' The speed and intensity increased and he left her speechless for a moment. Knowing every word he spoke was true just made everything worse.

'Stop,' she pleaded. 'Stop. I want to say something.'

He raised an eyebrow, but his hand obligingly stopped in mid-air. 'Speak,' he commanded.

'I will...' a round of coughing ensued, 'watch my tongue...' followed by a choked sob, 'in my...' a giant hiccup ensued where a word was garbled beyond recognition, and then, 'presence.'

Martinet clucked his tongue and chewed his lip. He then pursed his lips and joined his two index fingers together in a sharp point, deep in thought. 'Hmm,' was all he said for several seconds. Then he came at her in a blur of speed and raked his fingernails down the crimson flesh of her buttocks.

'Master. Master, master, master,' she shrieked in response, prepared to do anything to get him off her.

'Give me the whole damn sentence right now or face the consequences.' His gaze had gone from dark to black and his fangs were now visible under the top of his lip. That got her attention as nothing else could. If she was bitten, her life would be over in so many ways more than one.

'I will watch my tongue in my master's presence.' It was remarkably clear considering her chest had bent back double in order to escape his razor-sharp nails.

He clucked his tongue. 'We have such a long way to go, you and I.' He released her legs and the black ropes crept back around her as if they'd never disappeared, pulling her legs into their former position, her thighs at a forty-five-degree angle. But what really had her worried was that his hands were now on his fly.

'Nooo,' she howled, watching as he slid his black slacks down long legs, heavily corded with muscle.

'You protest too much, darling,' he said lazily. 'Don't fret. You're going to enjoy this.' And those were the last words he said for some time. His mouth was far too busy doing other things to entertain any thoughts of speech. He returned to her breasts and nibbled, sucked, flicked, and twisted her nipples around in his mouth. Violetta nearly exploded by those attentions alone, but he knew just when to stop and pull back. He had her sobbing in less time than it took to flick a light switch.

He worked her over with an almost fanatic intensity, caressing wrists, elbows, navels, hips, and thighs using his fingertips, teeth, and tongue. Every erogenous zone on her body was milked to its maximum potential for pleasure, but stopped short of the magical release she had experienced earlier with him. Her wrists pulled in an almost demented effort at the rope as she tried to rub herself along his body, needing the friction and closeness that remained an elusive few inches away. He had her sobbing in seconds, and the worst part was that his mouth had returned to her throat and was preparing to repeat the entire process all over again. She didn't think she'd survive a second round.

There was a chuckle inside her head at the thought. 'Oh you will. You're much stronger than you think, chérie. I've made some women wait for days before I finally give them what they crave. You might have to wait weeks.' He appeared to have his voice back, because through her pitiful moans and wails of lust and hunger, he began to apprise her of all he had planned. While she could not speak, her tongue thick and useless in a mouth that was almost frothing with desire, he was remarkably eloquent.

'Tomorrow is Sunday,' he murmured. 'We will begin with a late breakfast, followed by a thorough and most intimate bed-bath, and finally we might see about divesting you of your virginity once and for all. It will be the first step in ensuring you are a huntress no more. I am thoroughly looking forward to feeding you, Princess. Finding out all your likes and dislikes, and exploiting them where I can.' His lips brushed ever so gently over her sensitised flesh and it was maddening in the extreme. Violetta didn't want to listen to a word that escaped his lips, but nor could she avoid them.

'You will be wholly reliant on me and utterly helpless for the entire week. Feeding, bathing, toileting, care - all this will be in my power to give or withhold as I see fit. It's going to be an interesting experiment, isn't it? My huntress will now experience what it feels like to be the victim, knowing that nothing but death will await her at every corner.' Death and the near, but oh so far, flickering glow of pleasure.’ He grinned at her from between the inverted 'V' of her legs before letting his breath tickle her sex. Soft little puffs of air that would do little more than drive her insane. He watched her try to squirm, and to give the girl her dues, she made impressive use of what little leverage she had been given. Twisting this way and that, she managed to avoid his teasing technique by working her hips up and down, although it cost her dearly. She had precious little energy left, and as he needed her to conserve it for the next few minutes, he took care of the problem. The steel cuffs floated up from their resting places around the carved rungs of the old oak bed and obediently released their ratchets. Glinting in the beautiful ochre candlelight, they danced to attention and waited to do as he bid.

'No, no, no,' she moaned, at a loss as to where to look.

'Aren’t you enjoying your bedtime story, chérie?' The cold steel of the handcuffs pressed at each ankle and wrist and awaited his command. They hovered patiently, and thrash as she might, she could not avoid them. His tongue traced a straight line over her sex and he watched her shudder. 'Can you hold still for me, Princess? If you can, we might not need the cuffs...'

Martinet knew, without a single doubt, that she would not be able to accomplish the deed. No woman had ever stayed still under his tongue and Miss Cancellaro was not about to be the first. He suckled at her labia, probed her wet entrance with his tongue, and palpated her clit with the softest, but most deadly of pointed flicks. Then he attacked. Using every method known in the book he sucked, grazed, slurped, drank, and swallowed. The woman was all over the place. He pulled his head up, seeing his reflection in her mind's eye, his features moving strangely in the ambient light as her head swam with sensation. 'The cuffs it is,' he murmured.

There was a sharp click of steel upon steel and then a whir of metal teeth as the handcuffs fastened themselves tightly around every limb. Her eyes almost exploded in shock as she felt their cold pressure and he revelled in the look of fear that marred her features. Rope, she thought she could deal with. Unyielding metal was different. It only lasted an instant, and she was quick to recover her wits, but it was gratifying nonetheless.

'You're inside my head,' she said angrily. 'This isn't real.'

He merely smiled in return. There was a shower of incandescent sparks and suddenly a molten line of letters were embedded into each cuff in turn. She shrieked out loud as she saw Property of M. Martinet emblazoned on both the upper and lower curves of her restraints. 'It's real enough, pumpkin. You can think of this as the dress rehearsal, in any case. We'll replay the whole thing through properly tomorrow.' He gave her a wink and his tongue descended once more.

This time she could not move more than an inch without hurting herself. The metal held her tightly in its fierce grip and it did not bend. She, on the other hand, would have to bend in all sorts of beautiful contortions before the week was out. Time would tell whether she would be flexible enough to achieve all of his designs, but they could work on perfection. They had all the time in the world.

He felt her pulse rocket. Violetta's beautiful hips bucked back and forth as he caressed her blushing buttocks and pulled her closer to him. He feasted on her body to his heart's content and watched her blood boil. Thankfully the scent was less potent now he had fed, but she still called to him in a way that most mortals did not. He would have to be careful if he fed from her, but that was a long way off from his plans as of yet. Right now he wanted her on the brink of burning release, but not quite over the edge. Another few sucks and a couple more pointed flicks with his tongue achieved his goal. He ascertained the moment very carefully from within his advantageous hideout inside her head and abruptly pulled away at the moment of climax. As she bawled her displeasure around the stone walls of his room, he mused that if he'd had neighbours, they would have heard her from about five miles away. Trembling violently, it took her a good few minutes before she gathered up enough energy to address him.

'You told me I'd enjoy it,' Violetta panted. 'Well, I have news for you. You're not quite as good as you think you are.'

The young woman was gloriously furious and she had never looked more beautiful or indeed dangerous as she did at that moment, even tied up as she was. 'Well, you did enjoy it, didn't you? Just not as much as you wanted to. Maybe you should remember not to recite names of your former conquests before we begin getting naked next time. It might help my future generosity in regard to your next orgasm. Or not. No, not, I think.'

He pulled her very own silver dagger from its holster around her thigh and drew the point slowly up her inner thigh, smiling cruelly as she gasped. He then slammed it on the bedside table. 'I give you a week. I'm going to work you over every day for a week, many, many times over, and I'm willing to bet you'd be prepared to use that to end it all in less than seven days' time.' His eyes flew to the dagger, following its carved handle as it gleamed in the candlelight. Hers did the same.

'You're crazy,' she said, her lashes blinking rapidly.

'Seven days.'

'And what if I do?' She looked at him with a mouth wide open in disbelief.

'I'll bring you back to life. For whichever way you turn, this is a game you cannot win. I will have my revenge, one way or another. All that remains to be seen is whether you wish to stay human.'

Violetta shook with helpless fury. The beast had a heart that was blacker than coal, and twice as hard. His last words engraved themselves into her head in vivid relief. They were a stark warning of what was to come. Then the room tunnelled into blackness and she was propelled forcibly into sleep, to await his pleasure on the morn.

Chapter 15

And So It Begins

‘WAKEY, WAKEY, RISE and shine.’

Violetta’s wakeup call the following morning was not pleasant. There was no gentle, groggy awakening with birds twittering and sunlight streaming in through her sash window. As soon as Martinet walked through the door and she spied the grey stone walls around her, she was instantly awake and fearful for her life.

‘I’ve brought you eggs benedict, porridge with honey, orange juice, and coffee. I figure you’ll need to keep your strength up if you plan on making it through the next few days.’

‘And if I refuse to eat?’ she immediately countered.

‘We both know that’s not an option available to you.’ Violetta watched as Martinet placed the breakfast tray quietly down upon the table next to the bed and noted sourly that he looked remarkably well rested and healthy this morning.

‘Put that that meal anywhere near me and I’ll spit it right back out again.’

He grinned at her. ‘Then we’ll just spoon it somewhere far more interesting, and I’ll eat it.’

Her face blanched, but her expression remained murderous.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Martinet picked up the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and brought it to her lips. ‘Drink,’ he commanded and then the glass was tipped upwards. Pinned by the intense glare of his cerulean blue eyes, she had no choice but to obey. Sweet, tangy tasting orange juice slipped down her throat and she swallowed to order. Violetta wanted to cry.

‘Oh I won’t be letting you do that, precious. There’ll be no tears on my watch. What you do when I leave the room is your own affair, though. For now, you’ll just have to keep them bottled up. I’ve managed to, for the past year or so.’

As Violetta angrily blinked her tears back, Martinet fed her the eggs benedict. Soft, fluffy muffins with melted butter and hollandaise sauce melted on her tongue. Poached eggs and Parma ham created an irresistible flavour that she normally could have savoured for hours, but it instantly turned to ashes in her mouth. Her life was no longer her own. Her independence had been taken from her in one fell swoop and if Violetta hadn’t realised the magnitude of that thought, she did now. She’d become nothing more than a plaything for a vampire, one who wanted to tear her limb from limb, rip out her heart, and put her through every hell imaginable. As a mouthful of porridge was spooned into her, she winced, never having been a fan of the gloopy stuff and she instantly realised her mistake.

‘Oh, you like that, huh? I sense we’ll be breakfasting on porridge lots in the upcoming week.’ Another mouthful of the slimy stuff was thrust into her mouth and she had to struggle to swallow it down. Before she had time to draw breath, another one followed suit.

‘It’s going to be fun having you here, I think,’ Martinet said. ‘I haven’t had much fun in a while, so you’ll have to excuse me if I get carried away.’

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than a pint of coffee was poured down her throat. Thankfully, it wasn’t burning hot, but Violetta spluttered for a bit as she tried her hardest not to inhale it.

‘Do you like coffee?’ The vampire looked at her questioningly.

The first thing she wanted to blurt out from her lips was ‘no,’ because she knew if her reply was yes, he’d make sure that she didn’t have any, and life without coffee would have her considering death sooner rather than later. The word died instantly on her lips, however, because she’d forgotten she couldn’t lie to him, but it hardly mattered. He could read her thoughts and in her half-awake state, she hadn’t even tried to conceal them.

Martinet laughed. ‘Eventually you’ll learn to tell the truth. There isn’t really any other choice. As to your coffee dilemma, the intense headaches you’d suffer on withdrawal from caffeine would interfere with my other plans for you, so you’re safe for now.’

‘And what are your plans for me?’ Violetta rattled the handcuffs around her wrists and legs, and noted with surprise that there were no red marks around her limbs, nor was there any pain or cramping.

‘You didn’t sleep with them on,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘I placed them on you just before I woke you up. I find I like you much better when you’re tied up.’ Setting the coffee cup back down on the tray, he began removing the beige blazer he wore. Violetta’s eyes flew upwards.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she stammered.

‘I should think it fairly obvious,’ he said, hanging his jacket on the back of a beautifully carved Italian renaissance chair. His shirt followed suit, and he took his time with the buttons. ‘But if you’re desperate to have it spelled out for you, I guess I can oblige. Today I will make sure that you’re no longer able to perform in any capacity as a huntress and I’ll begin the process of turning you. Some parts you’ll almost enjoy, other parts you most certainly won’t, but that’s too bad.’

When Violetta heard the zip to his slacks rasping downwards, she punched her arms forward in the cuffs, but there was no arguing with cold, hard steel. When the door to his bedroom was opened, she stupidly hoped someone had come to rescue her, but it was just a servant bearing a basin. Placing the bowl on the table, he then picked up the breakfast tray and scurried from the room with his head down. Violetta wished she could do the same.

‘Time for your bath, precious.’ Standing there in nothing more than a pair of black boxer shorts, Martinet looked utterly resplendent. His perfect body was coupled with the face of an angel, and that just served to demonstrate how cruel the fates could be. Her body was already responding to his presence and she, through no fault of her own, was going to make things far too easy for him.

‘Why couldn’t you have been hideously ugly?’ It was a sulky little comment, but there was plenty of force behind it.

‘I probably was, once upon a time,’ Martinet said, as he reached into the basin and picked up a sponge. ‘But the change seems to perfect your body in ways you couldn’t imagine.’ Running the sponge lightly down her leg, he began to gently wash her, with slow, soothing strokes. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself horribly aroused.

‘I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly you won’t even be able to remember your name by the time I’m finished with you.’ He let that sink in for a moment before continuing with, ‘If we’re taking away your ability to hunt the un-dead, I figure it should be a momentous occasion.’

She snorted. ‘It’s hardly going to be that. You’re not going to let me climax,’ she whispered.

‘Oh, you’ll still have fun, take my word for it.’ Dipping the sponge back into the bowl of warm water, he began soaping down her stomach, grazing the undersides of her breasts with annoyingly frequent regularity. Violetta wanted to scream.

‘Please don’t bite me.’ Her eyes begged him to reconsider his earlier threat, but he was far too focused on the job at hand.

‘There is no question that you’ll be bitten and turned. Only when the change has been completed will I allow you freedom of any kind, and believe me when I say that things will get rather boring being tied to my bed all day.’

‘With you around, I doubt that,’ she mumbled sardonically, and he laughed.

‘You’d be surprised.’

When he began sponging her breasts, she had to swallow down several moans that wanted to escape. Her nipples hardened instantly and an insistent, pulsing burn began between her legs. Clamping her mouth closed, she let her eyes roll up into her head and tried to ignore him, but it was an impossible task.  His touch was electric and even the most innocuous parts of her body seemed to respond with intense arousal.  There was no fighting it.

‘That’s right, just embrace it. You’re going to get very accustomed to this feeling in the next couple of days.’ As if to slam his words home, the sponge then went between her legs and she gasped.

‘You don’t fight fair,’ she whispered.

‘Neither do you. We’re a match made in heaven.’

‘Hell. That’s the only place you’re going, vampire.’

The rubbing between her legs became harder and she began thrashing in her cuffs. ‘That’s where you’ll be headed by the time I’ve finished with you too, sweetheart.’ He raised an amused eyebrow at her but didn’t let her words detract from the task at hand.

The infuriating male must have soaped her for a good forty minutes before he was satisfied with her level of cleanliness. By the time he had finished, she was a sobbing, trembling mass of hormones and desire.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Like all my Mondays have come at once,’ Violetta bit back, her throat tight and sore. ‘And I need to pee.’

‘Then you’d better ask me nicely, else you’re not going to enjoy yourself very much today.’

‘Go fuck yourself.’

‘I hardly need to, when you’re there all wet, ready, and waiting for me,’ he said, blowing her a kiss.

Violetta screamed. The sound was short-lived. His head dived between her legs and his mouth attached itself to her sex with the tenacity of a shark. Though she bucked and wriggled, there was no dislodging the vampire and it could only have been a few scant seconds before she found herself desperately hovering on the verge of orgasm. The fighting stopped. She couldn’t suck in enough air for the effort required. Besides, her whole body was humming with something new and wonderful, and she was desperate to reach the pinnacle that had been denied her last night.

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ His head pulled itself up abruptly and his tongue licked a long line around his lips. ‘You need to learn how to behave before I start letting you have those kinds of rewards.’ He blew a stream of hot air across her clit and she mewled in frustration. ‘You taste delicious, by the way. My task of driving you clinically insane isn’t going to be an onerous one, chérie.’ His fingertips traced the outline of her nether lips, over and over again, and though she pleaded with him to continue his onslaught, he paid her no attention. When around five minutes had passed and her ardour had cooled considerably, he began all over again.

After a further twelve attempts, all so close and yet so far, Violetta’s eyes were wet with tears and her wrists marked red raw with the lines of her struggles. She was exhausted and barely had the strength to keep her eyes open, but when he finally pulled away from her and began dressing himself, she managed to utter one last word. ‘Bastard.’

He merely shook his head and his eyes bore an almost pitying look. ‘This isn’t a war you can win, Princess. Bend. You need to bend, or you’ll shatter and break.’ He strode from the room, closed the door quietly behind him, and left her immersed in nothing more than her own misery and a darkness that was deadlier than anything she had ever known.

* * *

HER DAY TURNED from bad to worse in the blink of an eye. When he re-entered the room an hour or so later, he bore a look that was not at all pleasant. The vampire was getting down to business and the gloves were off. Violetta was not wrong. She suffered humiliations aplenty as he took care of her toileting with a bedpan, and the horror of having to pee in front of someone on a regular basis was only just beginning to dawn on her. She could not fight his control over her body, and she could feel his insidious presence begin to invade her mind.

‘I’m rifling through your head, Violetta, and I’m going to discover all your naughty secrets. Your darkest desires will be mine and I’ll exploit them to the fullest.’ Closing her eyes, she tried to fight him, but how did you win that kind of battle?

‘You don’t.’ When he began undressing again, she wanted to rake her nails down his body and tear him to shreds.

‘Kinky, but that’s why I’ve got you tied up. Just relax and enjoy the ride, Princess.’

‘You never let me; that’s the problem,’ she wailed.

He didn’t respond. Moving around the room with leonine splendour, he opened cupboards and doors, and it was clear he was searching for something. It wasn’t long before she found out what new torments awaited her.  He brushed her skin with soft, white ostrich feathers and followed up his long strokes with the tips of his fingers. The pressure he employed was so light that it didn’t tickle, but by the time he’d finished, she was begging all over again. Then he used silk scarves, running them along every inch of her body, and when she’d become accustomed to that, he switched to a length of heavier black velvet. Her skin was becoming unbearably sensitive. He didn’t stop until every nerve ending prickled and each limb she owned was straining as if it might break.

‘How do you feel?’

Violetta stopped the word desperate from leaving her lips, but he heard it anyway.

‘And to think this is just the beginning. Imagine what you’re going to feel like in a few hours… or a few days’ time.’ His voice purred the words seductively and suddenly the room burst into flames. A hundred, perhaps two hundred flickering candles lit up every corner of the room, illuminating antique furniture with waves of shimmering colour and shadow. Moroccan lanterns hung suspended from the ceiling and they appeared to twirl gently on long silver ribbons, as if caught on the breeze. Faded tapestries covered the walls and a world of books lay all around them. It would have taken centuries to amass such a collection, but she guessed time was not an issue when you were a vampire.

‘You will soon find out that time is your worst enemy when you become one of the un-dead,’ he said softly before fastening the large rectangle of midnight velvet that he had been teasing her with around her eyes.

‘No. I don’t want…’

‘This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what I want.’

‘You want to annihilate me.’

‘If that were the case, you’d already be dead.’

‘Then what do you want?’

‘A fitting revenge.’ The knot was tightened sharply around her head.

As soon as darkness once again crept over her, Violetta felt smothered and overwhelmed. For a moment, she struggled against the cuffs that held her, but as soon as she felt something trail across her stomach, she stiffened.

‘What’s that?’

‘Shhh.’

If his words were supposed to be comforting, they fell far short of the mark. It felt like a thousand snakes were writhing all over her body, and the cold feel of their skin made her flinch. They slithered everywhere, from the tips of her iron-clad feet to her knees, arms, breasts, neck, and he even let them run over her face.

‘What the…’ She didn’t manage to get out the rest of her sentence because a stinging slap rained down upon her thigh. It felt like a thousand tiny prickles dancing upon her leg. It wasn’t exactly painful, but the contact certainly smarted. The next thing she felt was a warm hand circling around her neck and it began to tighten.

‘I’m going to teach you to feel. Soon you are going to learn the meaning of pain. While it will not be the same pain as I have felt these past few months, perhaps you will come to realise how unbearable the sensation can become when it goes on for too long. It will be an interesting lesson, I think, and one you will not enjoy much, I suspect.’

Martinet released his hold upon her neck, causing her to gasp for air, but before she had a chance to take a breath, another stinging blow landed upon her. This was followed by another and yet another, each one landing faster than the last.

‘This is called a flogger. Its many leather tails will let the heat build up gradually and when your body is adequately sensitised, your skin flushing and blushing in glorious tones of pink and red, we’ll move on to the next implement. Out of curiosity, are you sorry yet?’ His voice purred in her ear, and even though the blindfold was securely around her eyes, she knew his face was mere inches away from her.

Knowing there was little point in lying or prevaricating, she replied simply, ‘No.’ It wouldn’t matter what he did to her, she would never feel any kind of regret or remorse for killing vampires.

‘Then that makes you even more of an animal than I am,’ he said bitingly, and she could hear his tightly reined fury come across in the tone of his voice. The blows immediately returned, faster and harder than before.

The pain, as he had previously indicated, built up in carefully measured increments, slowly but surely. It spread its heat in wicked little licks that began to penetrate deep inside her, radiating its wrath to her very core. It didn’t take long before Violetta was a wriggling mass of tears and sobs, but no matter how many times he asked, she refused to admit she was sorry. It wouldn’t have been possible, in any case. She couldn’t lie.

‘Well, that’s one side taken care of, Princess. Now let’s work on the other.’

The cuffs melted from her wrists and ankles as the vampire roughly flipped her body over, and before she knew what was happening, four sharp snicks indicated that she was going nowhere.

‘You can’t do this,’ she wailed.

‘I have news for you, Princess. I am doing this.’

To add insult to injury, he pushed the image of him wielding the flogger inside her head. So even though she was blindfolded, she got to watch as he swirled the leather fronds around in a figure of eight fashion, which enabled him to swat her buttocks in double time. What was worse, she also got to watch each smarting flick as it crashed into her ass and reddened her pale white skin. Biting down on a mouthful of cotton sheet, she tried to stopper her sniffles, but it was only a matter of time before she broke down. Violetta knew she needed to find a way to fight back, but how? How did you fight a vampire that was bigger, stronger, and faster than you? It took several long minutes before the answer dawned on her.

With considerable effort, she pulled her face up from the bed and managed to cough through the wall of despair that had left her mute these last few minutes.

‘Alastair did not go down as easily as his brother Gilles. Do you want to know how I found him?’ He did not answer her, but the ferocity of his swats become much more intense. Violetta knew she would have to speak quickly if she intended on working herself out of this mess.

‘We tracked him to his home fairly easily, Gabriel and I. He was always the noisiest of your bunch, wasn’t he? Alastair didn’t even bother to keep the details of his residence secret, such an arrogant beast, that one. He just assumed he was far too strong for any of us to bother with. Oh, how wrong he was.’

Violetta couldn’t see Martinet behind her, but she heard the thud of the flogger upon the floor and the sound of his angry strides. Knowing that the noise couldn’t possibly be a good thing, she continued, ‘We had to time it exactly right. We knew we couldn’t take him down in an ordinary fight, so we stalked him for days until we learnt the exact pattern of his schedule. He liked cars, didn’t he, Martinet?’ There was no response, but she hadn’t expected one. ‘It didn’t take us long to find out that when Alastair wasn’t perfecting his glorious physique in the gym, he was working on motors. He had a great big shed out in his backyard and he’d spend hours in there every night fiddling with carburettors and crankshafts. I’ve forgotten what he was trying to fix the night we killed him. Something big and black, I think.’

Martinet stormed up behind her and began pelting words into her head. ‘I see the flogger is too tame for your tastes, Princess. If you wanted something a little firmer, you only had to ask.’ His voice sounded strained and there was a definite edge to it. Good. Her plan to unsettle him was working.

‘I think it was a Bentley. It had this great big silver grill at the front and a pair of wings for an emblem, if I recall correctly.’ There was a swishing sound that cut through the air and then an almighty crack lit up the room. The next thing she knew, her backside exploded.

‘This is called a riding crop. If you continue talking, you’re going to get on very intimate terms with the beast.’ Another swish, followed by a loud crack, and both buttocks began protesting their fate. She was not to be defeated so easily, however. Gritting her teeth tightly, she managed to talk in short sentences between his strokes.

‘He spent plenty of time under his cars.’ Crack. ‘That was how we figured out a way to end him.’ Swish. ‘When he had a car jacked up one evening, we knew we had found the perfect opportunity to end him.’ Smash. Her backside was on fire, but she didn’t care. The pain was just something she had to endure until she got through Martinet’s thick hide. Besides, desire was changing it into something else entirely, and she was beginning to wonder if she might actually be enjoying herself. ‘All we needed to do was pull that jack away and we stood a good chance of severing his head from his body.’ Smash, crack, whip, bang. Four strokes so close together rendered her speechless for a second as her vampire made his displeasure known.

‘Continue on your path, Princess, and I’ll gag you. After I’ve done that, I’ll take a cane to your backside and thighs, and I won’t stop until I hear your screams. When I decide you have suffered enough, I’ll make you suffer a bit more as I take you from behind, crashing into that brilliantly red ass. Then I’m going to take half your neck out. So try my patience at your peril. You have been warned.’

But Violetta had begun her crusade and she intended to see it through to the end. She hoped to enrage him enough to kill her. It was the only feasible option. There was no way she could endure years of this, and if he made her immortal, the torments would be endless.

‘Alastair must have weighed close to two hundred and fifty pounds, but when the full weight of the Bentley fell on top of him, it crushed his body instantly.’

There was a yell of fury behind her and suddenly a great wad of black cotton was forced inside her mouth and knotted behind her head. Due to his warning, however, she had anticipated his action and was ready for him. All she needed to do was project her sentences inside his head. She knew he’d hear her.

When over five thousand pounds of metal lands on your chest, that’s got to hurt, right?

‘I am going to peel your head open tonight, Princess, while you sleep. When you wake, I am going to play out all your worst nightmares, one by one, until we have covered them all and then I’m going to start again.’ His voice wasn’t nearby and she guessed he was on the hunt for something.

It didn’t kill him instantly. The car severed half of his chest from his body, but we knew that wouldn’t necessarily kill a vampire.

There was the sound of wind whistling through the air again. When the blow landed, the pain was much more fierce than anything she had previously experienced. It was a good job she no longer had to speak to him, because after that shocking blow, she had been rendered mute.

I found an old sledgehammer hanging up in the back and Gabriel found a long sheet of metal. Alastair, for all his enthusiasm, didn’t have a particularly well-stocked tool shed. We had to improvise as best we could.

Violetta heard the sound of splintering and realised Martinet had missed her backside altogether, thank God. He’d broken the cane against the bed frame. She just had to push a little harder.

‘I know what you’re doing, pet, and it won’t work. There is no way I’m going to kill you after what you’ve done to my brethren. Your life is going to be long, endless, and full of all the agonies I can see fit to inflict upon you.’ With another roar, he was inside her, grinding her into the mattress as he pounded away at her body. He slammed into her over and over, and her wrists and ankles felt like they would break as they strained against the hard steel of the handcuffs. Violetta was so close to orgasm she wondered if she might spontaneously combust.

It took Gabriel ten hard blows with that sledgehammer before we managed to achieve our goal… And then Martinet’s teeth were upon her neck and her blood froze.

‘I dare you to say another word,’ he whispered menacingly, and the tip of a fang pierced the skin of her neck, sending a shiver of desire down her spine. The weight of his body over her burning backside caused her to whimper in heat.

Grabbing a handful of her hair, he rubbed the hard planes of his body along hers and said, ‘You have no idea what pain is, Violetta. I have suffered over five hundred centuries worth of war, death, violence, disease, and pure evil. You, I place in the latter category. One day, you’ll understand my pain, but until then, we’ll keep working on it.’

Violetta knew she had one last chance and she had to make it count. Her sanity was already hanging by a thin thread and it wouldn’t take much more to snap it. He was screaming for you at the end, Martinet. Begging for you to come and save him. You were never there when they needed you, though. Every single one of your children died alone and afraid.

He roared and she felt twin fangs spear her neck. He was not gentle and she cried out, her head pulling against his tight hold. She tried not to think as he took long pulls of her blood. Falling headlong into one of the most intense orgasms she had ever experienced, it wasn’t that difficult. Her head glittered and sparkled with a thousand indescribable colours and the convulsions that ripped through her could have pulled a neighbouring galaxy along in its wake. Goddamn. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and then suddenly, everything went black. If this was death, she thought, it wasn’t half as bad as she’d feared. It felt like she was floating on a plateau of warm air and it embraced her sweetly with its soft, fluffy folds.

‘It’s not death. It’s rebirth, and this is the eye of the storm. My venom is now raging through your body and it’s about to do some damage. Normally there would always be a vampire present during the change, but in your case, I don’t want to lay eyes on you. I need to calm the fuck down before I do something I’ll regret, and I don’t want any regrets with you. I want you to pay for your crimes. Every. Single. Last. One.’

There was a jolt as the bed bounced upwards, and she felt his weight lift from her body. Shortly after, the door slammed with a finality that scared the living daylights out of her, quite literally.

Chapter 16

The Change

THE PLEASANT, EUPHORIC feeling she had experienced after Martinet’s bite was short lived. As soon as her body had calmed down, the sting of his whipping had returned and it consumed her. What had begun as a tingling, nagging burn soon developed into a full blown raging inferno. It felt as if someone had swapped her blood for sulfuric acid. Pulling against the cuffs still restraining her, trying to lift her weight from her smarting thighs, she soon realised that the flogger and crop weren’t the cause of her new discomfort. Her stomach, arms, legs, hands, feet, eyes, and just about everything she possessed began to boil in short order and the pain was indescribable. This was the change she was experiencing, and she was damned sure being burned in hell didn’t come anywhere close.

Screaming, she yelled his name over and over again. Violetta wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d actually re-enter the room, but the yelling helped her to deal with the pain and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she hoped that he suffered a little with her. If she’d had to describe the level of pain she’d tolerated with his whipping, she’d have given it a rounded eight out of ten. It didn’t compare with what she felt now. You couldn’t even liken it to surviving a train wreck with nearly every bone in your body broken because most people died when this kind of agony overtook them. From blood loss or shock normally, but they at least had death to look forward to. Her pain level had now hit the I-should-be-dead mark, and there was no clear end in sight. Eyeing the dagger on the bedside table, so near and yet so damned far away, she cried her heart out.

The excruciating agony of the change did not abate as the day wore on. Bones snapped and realigned themselves, veins thinned, synapses doubled, cells hardened, muscles thickened, and her lungs deflated. She vomited up every single last fluid ounce of liquid that her body contained, and then some. Three hours into the monstrous conversion and she would have happily paid someone to kill her whilst selling her soul to the devil at the same time. He had to be a whole lot more pleasant than Martinet. When another dry heave hit her stomach with sickening force, she glared at the glinting dagger before her and let out every expletive under the sun. The dagger tormented her as it kept going in and out of focus as her eyes began failing. Death had never seemed so close and yet so far away. The pain was taking its toll on her. She slipped in and out of consciousness and although the agony was far too intense to actually allow her more than a moment’s respite, her body was nearing exhaustion. Breakfast had been a long time ago, and no food had passed her lips between now and then, although she had no idea how long had actually passed in her new world of abject misery. When she finally passed out, due to nearly every major internal organ in her body failing, it wasn’t a moment too soon. She would have greeted the curtain of black velvet with tears of gratitude had there been a single drop of water left inside her body.

* * *

WHEN HER MIND had quieted, Martinet walked back into the room. He’d spent the past four hours with his head buried in photo albums. He began with the traditional albums when Kodak and Polaroid were the brand names of choice, and then moved to his computer to flick through his digital images and film. Normally, memories weren’t something he allowed himself to indulge in, but he needed to remind himself why he couldn’t go to her and quieten her fears. He needed to recall why this mess had started and why she was here. Sympathy should have had no place in his heart, or what was left of it. Hatred for the huntress had nearly eaten him alive these past few months, and yet now that she was captive in his bedroom, he felt himself softening towards her. It had been nearly all he could do to prevent himself rushing in and trying to take away her pain. The very pain that he had been relishing giving her, in order to teach her the lesson he had been desperate to mete out. What was wrong with him? He needed to refocus.

She didn’t stir when his bare feet padded across the floor, and he hadn’t expected her to. When unconsciousness finally overtook victims of the change, it was always a blessing, even in Violetta’s case. He still remembered his own change, and the agonies he had endured dulled with time, but they’d never left him completely. There was simply no human equivalent to the kind of suffering the change delivered.

Sitting down on the soft cream padding of his antique bedroom chair, he slowly examined his new child and wondered whether she’d make it through. Her lips were dry and cracked, her face was streaked with the tracks of a thousand tears, and her skin looked sallow and shrunken. That would change shortly if his venom was accepted into her bloodstream; it would begin the cell regeneration process and repair the damage that her human death had caused.

He touched her mind gently, flicking gently through its pages as she lay there, oblivious. He would begin with the most recent, and slowly pull back the layers of time until every secret was laid bare to him. It would help with her transition. When you realised that not a single thought in your head could be hidden, obeying became much easier, especially if the penalties for disobeying were severe enough. He would make sure that they were. The pity that he currently felt for her wouldn’t last. When, not if she became a fully-fledged vampire, he would be able to use her as he wished. She would no longer be fragile and there would be no chance that her body could break. Her mind would be a different vessel altogether, however, and that he would enjoy breaking - piece by tiny piece until the jigsaw would no longer fit together in any discernible order.

After several hours had passed and he had regressed halfway through some of her most important memories, he decided to take a break from his vigilance. Her colour was improving, her hair thickening, and her flesh was slowly beginning to fill out. He needn’t have worried. She was a tough one, and she would survive this. His perusal of her mind could continue in the privacy of his office. He didn’t need to be a sentinel over her person to pick her head apart.

Releasing the cuffs that held her, he smiled. Whilst he wouldn’t remove them from his bed frame, he would no longer need them. Her body would now obey every single order he gave it without question. One of the downsides or upsides, depending on how you looked at it, of the master/slave relationship. The next few days promised to be extremely amusing as she tested his absolute control, and he was looking forward to them immensely.

Smiling, he pulled the thin cotton sheet up and gently covered her body with it. She could sleep with a modicum of privacy, just this once. The new rules would begin as dusk crested the ridges of the Dolomite Mountains tomorrow. For today, she had earned her rest.

* * *

WHEN VIOLETTA AWOKE the following evening, she knew instantly that something was terribly wrong. Her chest was still, there was no breath in her body, and her blood was sluggish through her veins. She felt oddly heavy. Her throat was dry and sore, and there was a ravaging thirst that desperately needed to be slaked. Something or someone was calling to her. What on earth was happening?

Looking down at her body, she found her breasts oddly plumped and beautifully filled out, her nipples longer and darker than before. Her physique had changed somewhat too. Her body felt sleeker and leaner, more muscled and bursting with strength. Reaching up with her fingertips, she grabbed a handful of hair to find it much thicker and glossier than normal, and she let out a keening wail of despair. Slamming her hand against her heart, pressing tight against her ribcage, it was to find there was no heartbeat within her body. Pressing her fingers to her neck, she confirmed that her pulse was absent. Scrabbling from the bed, she covered her mouth with her hands and muffled the shriek of horror that she wanted to scream from the rooftops. She was no longer human. Martinet had done what he had set out to do and had made her one of them. She could barely think the word inside her head. Oh God, oh God, oh God. He had turned her into a monster.

Her eyes immediately darted to the bedside table, and there lay her dagger glinting softly in the early evening light as if begging to be used.  She snatched it up by the handle and gasped as the silver hilt burned her flesh. Vampire. She was now an immortal. Martinet had gone and done the unthinkable.

* * *

PRESSING THE DAGGER to her chest, it was all Violetta could do to hold it steady in her shaking, smoking hands. There was no way she could do this. The alternative, however, was to endure an eternity of humiliations under Martinet’s instruction, and that was even worse. There was no choice. She needed to end this mess now.

Pulling the dagger back in front of her chest, she felt her eyes blur over the shiny silver and wanted to weep at the life she was about to extinguish. She was twenty-four years old, and her life had been full of purpose and promise just a few scant days ago. Now she couldn’t face another second of torment. Martinet would drive her insane and she couldn’t bear the thought of his beautiful face coming anywhere near her. His soft, skilful hands, wicked tongue, and exceptionally clever mind had her hovering at death’s door and she knew there was no way out. She would not be rescued from deep inside the bowels of a mountain, and there was no question that she would ever be set free. She would forever remain a slave, a prisoner, and an amusing plaything that served little purpose except to amuse its maker. She couldn’t live like that. Violetta knew she was falling for the vampire, and soon she would barely remember the life she had lived outside of this gilded cage. That couldn’t happen. Each day would drive her closer to insanity until she became the monster that Martinet already was, and then there would be no way of ending her life. Better she do it now, before it was too late.

Driving the dagger forward with as much force as she could muster, Violetta stumbled. The earth beneath her feet moved violently and the mountains rumbled. Her weapon flew from her fingers and clattered to the floor as she desperately tried to steady herself. It wasn’t just a little tremor, it was a serious ninety-degree tilt. One moment she was lying down upon a four-poster bed and in the next she found herself back outside the gardens of the Castello Verde where this horrific mess had all begun. It was as if someone had instantly rewound the events of the past two days and given her another chance. But how could that be? Looking down at her trembling hands, she dashed her tears away with the tips of her fingers and felt them tangle in her silver mask. Looking at the tiny oval droplets upon her fingers, she sucked in a breath. The tears were real. Sucking upon her fingertip to make sure, she tasted salt, and with trepidation, she slowly raised her head up and looked directly into the eyes of Michel Martinet.

Feeling her eyes sucked into to the vortex of his open gaze, she reeled backwards and gasped. The beast stared at her for the longest time.

‘Why didn’t you tell me your mother and father had both been murdered by vampires?’ he bit out. ‘Didn’t you think that little snippet of information might be important?’ The tight line of Martinet’s mouth was only just visible in the moonlight and she could see the lines of strain around his jaw and eyes. He bit his lip slowly as his eyes devoured her. He was angry, murderously angry if the look on his face was any indication.

‘I… don’t talk about it,’ she whispered. ‘I try not to think about it. All I remember is blood, broken bones, and screams. I was four years old. It’s taken twenty years of therapy to get me where I am now.’

Violetta gave a choked sob and felt her jaw lock. She shook her head and the tears that she thought she’d managed to stem began to flow freely once more.

Martinet ground his teeth together. ‘It was only luck that I found out, Violetta. Even though you’re only a human, searching through every single memory you possess could have taken me ten years or more. You can thank the heavens above I wanted to fuck with that pretty little head of yours before I put all my thoughts into action.’ His eyes had turned from light blue to black and she noted his skin was paler than usual. ‘I could have tortured you for years, pulled you apart piece by piece, destroyed that admirable mind of yours from the inside out. Fuck.’ His hand reached up, threading its way through his black hair and she saw him shake his head in horror. ‘It seems I am now the monster I vowed I would never be.’ He swallowed.

Violetta could barely see through her tears, but she managed to whisper, ‘Then we are both monsters, and in the end, we are all too similar through our differences.’ She offered him a weak smile.

‘Would you have told me?’ His eyes bored into hers.

‘Would you have believed me?’ For the first time, she looked upon him with an expression of kindness.

He sighed softly. ‘Probably not.’ Rubbing both his eyes, he shook his head tiredly. ‘I will not ask you to forgive me, nor do I think I can forgive you for what I have endured, but perhaps we can both have some semblance of compassion for the other. It is not too much to ask, is it?’ Taking two steps towards her, he grabbed a fistful of her red hair and inhaled it. He sent goosebumps shimmering along her spine as his lips came to rest near her ear. ‘I will always remember you, Violetta, and every time I smell lily of the valley, I will think of you. If you ever find a way to kill me, you are most welcome to come back and the finish the job,’ he said softly. ‘You have more than earned the right.’

Violetta just looked at him, her mouth agape.

‘Now go. Your friends are waiting and the night is young. You have your whole life ahead of you and many vampires to kill.’ He pulled her silver dagger out of his pocket and with a dry smile, closed her fingers around the hilt.

Kissing her cheek, Martinet grasped her hands and smiled. ‘I wish you a long life, with great happiness and health.’ When he released them, she felt nothing more than a rush of air as his body disappeared into the night.

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING as Martinet sat on the edge of the world, he made a bet with himself. Alternating his gaze between the glittering cornucopia of hopeful stars above, and in stark contrast, the dismal sheet of grey, ragged rock beneath him, he gave her five years. Violetta would study harder, fight faster and show no mercy when she returned for him. The second time around, however, he would be ready for her. Tonight he had not been the monster he was purported to be, but if she was stupid enough to push him one day, he would be. He would do all that he had threatened and more. It was unlikely that a mere slip of a girl could be that stupid twice, though, right? As the thought entered his mind, he couldn’t resist laughing. The sound echoed long and far into the mountains below and for a moment it felt like the whole world was laughing at him.

* * *

If you like your vampires hot and steamy with a touch of kink, you may also enjoy ‘Good As Dead’ by C.P. Mandara
https://www.amazon.com/Good-Dead-Dying-Meet-Book-ebook/dp/B01C4TZRCA

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* * *

About the Author

Christina Mandara was born in the UK, but has spent most of her life travelling the world. She speaks three languages and has been chiefly employed in the fields of finance and travel. Her favourite city is Sydney and her favourite holiday destination is the south of France.

In her spare time she's usually cuddled up with a good book, exploring the countryside or baking in the kitchen. In fact, she loves her kitchen so much she's one of few woman who wouldn't mind being tied to it! Her first and foremost love is writing, however, and more often than not you'll find her on a laptop spinning tales of romance, erotica or dark, paranormal fantasies.

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JUMP TO...

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FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

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KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

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WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

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DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

WITCH OF THE CARDS

BY CATHERINE STINE

Copyright © 2016 by Catherine Stine

Fiera was born a sea witch with no inkling of her power. And now it might be too late.

Witch of the Cards is a supernatural romantic suspense set in 1932 on the Jersey shore. Fiera has left the Brooklyn orphanage where she was raised, and works in Manhattan as a nanny. She gets a lucky break when her boss pays for her vacation in Asbury Park. One evening, Fiera and her new friend Dulcie wander down the boardwalk and into Peter Dune’s Tarot & Séance, where they attend a card reading.

Fiera has an unsettling ability to sense future events and people’s hidden agendas. She longs to either find out the origin of her powers or else banish them because as is, they make her feel crazy. When, during the reading, her energies somehow bond with Peter Dune’s and form an undeniable ethereal force, a chain of revelations and dangerous events unspool.

For one, Fiera finds out she is a witch from a powerful sea clan, but that someone is out to stop her blossoming power forever. And though she is falling in love with Peter, he also has a secret side. He’s no card reader, but a private detective working to expose mediums. Despite this terrible betrayal, Fiera must make the choice to save Peter from a tragic Morro Cruise boat fire, or let him perish with his fellow investigators. Told in alternating viewpoints, Fiera and Peter each struggle against their deep attraction. Secrets, lies, even murder, lace this dark fantasy.

Witch of the Cards © copyright 2016 by Catherine Stine

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property, and is punishable by law.

Thanks for your support of author rights.

Chapter 1

THIS WAS MY first time walking the beachfront strip at nightfall. Before this, I’d stuck to the wicker rockers on the porch of the Asbury Park Hotel, where rich, respectable ladies and their paramours lounged. I had neither—the respectability of a large purse or a paramour. At least I’d made a new friend. Dulcie and I had chatted the first two mornings on the porch as we sipped sweet tea and ate blessedly free hotel crumpets. That was when I found out she was rooming across the hall from me.

Now, strolling on the boardwalk past a line of bright stores with twinkling lights, we paused in front of Peter Dune’s Tarot and Séance. A sign in the window with showy, curlicue headlines gleamed golden in the moonlight.

“Look, Dulcie!” I pointed to it. “Fortuitous timing. This shop owner’s celebrating his first month in business by conducting a table reading. Let’s go in.”

She screwed up her heart-shaped face. “You sure, Ivy? Don’t card readings scare you?”

I linked my arm in hers and gamely tugged on it. “They might. But it’s vacation time. Let’s have an adventure.”

“I suppose.” She gave an uncertain nod.

“We’ll have so much fun!” I exclaimed, my heart pumping faster. I adjusted my little summer hat with its leaves brushing over my right cheekbone. I’d made it out of felt and feathers from a penny sales bin on the Lower East Side, but no one needed to know.

The summer of 1932 was a frightening time. Bread lines in Manhattan snaked around for blocks, and some folks even camped out right in the parks. I was lucky. I had a job as a nanny, but I kept a strict watch on my purse. These days, one never knew how long her job would last. “Do I look all right?”

“More than all right,” Dulcie said. “Your bob is glamorous, especially with the hat.” She sighed and checked her own image in the plate glass. “How about me?”

“You look pretty, like the bee’s knees,” I reassured her as she smoothed her white-blonde hair over her expensive pink dress with its sailor’s collar.

I adjusted my sparkly earrings—cast-offs from my employer. Who knew if I was truly pleasing to the eye? All I knew was that in addition to the rich, these beachfronts attracted the riff-raff who craved the unusual.

That would be me.

I wanted tales of sprites and magicians, along with odd food like escargots with coiled March ferns, weather thick with damp mists, and thrillers featuring unhinged killers.

My daily drudge was minding Mrs. Cuthbert’s small son, Terrence, on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, but my spectral curiosity had led me here. That, and Mrs. Cuthbert’s generous offer of a week’s lodging; I could never have afforded this Jersey shore vacation on my wages—not even with the decent ones she paid.

In truth, she was a difficult boss. Her rules and persnickety customs were exhausting to remember—crusts cut off all the bread, shoes shined only from tip to heel, furniture polished twice a week at ten am sharp and only with her castoff stockings so the mahogany wouldn’t scratch. Those were a few in her long litany.

So, if I only had a week in this glorious place, I wanted to catch up with sleep and plunge into as many escapades as possible—even bewildering, outlandish ones.

We walked in to the jangle of Mr. Dune’s door chimes. I skated around, ogling the floor-to-ceiling shelves brimming with leather-bound books on cosmic mysteries, spiritualism, and witchcraft. Two immediate standouts were Ten Ways to Practice Mentalism and Dona Bella, Memoirs of a Southern Witch. These were my fare, similar to a favorite book at the public library—a tome on dark magic. The most stirring part was about each witch dynasty having its own grimoire, a sort of magical recipe book. I had no clue as to why dark tales tickled me so, and often wondered about my taste.

Still, I read everything I could get my hands on, even boring books that drifted me right off to the Land of Nod. At my nanny job, I was so desperate for stories I even read the tedious articles about cooking and how to throw a proper cocktail party in Mrs. Cuthbert’s Reader’s Digest and Home Arts magazines.

Mr. Dune strode toward us. His handsome aura and towering presence intimidated yet thrilled me. He was dressed in crisp, charcoal gray pants and a vest with a double-breasted pinstriped jacket. “Are you lovely ladies here for the séance?” He held out a long, elegant hand, studded with a silver ring. I barely collected my wits enough to shake it and nod. Dulcie’s hand whooshed out and hardly touched his before she clamped it protectively back to her side.

No doubt about it, he was the most striking man I’d ever seen. His thick mop of dark hair tapered into long sideburns, rendering his jawline a tad dangerous. I guessed he was in his mid-twenties. When his coffee-brown eyes gleamed at me, my breath caught, and a heat greater than any moonshine fired through me.

We paid the dime admission. He escorted us to a round, wooden table with lion-footed legs where we joined a heavyset older couple and a reedy gentleman with thin, blond hair. His lime-fizz eyes darted over to Dulcie, and then away. Two empty chairs still beckoned.

Dulcie looked terrified, so I smiled at her. She calmed enough to take a seat.

Mr. Dune strode to the window, loosened the crimson curtains, and lowered their heavy velvet over the windows, lending the already-pensive storefront a mystical aura.

His assistant, who he introduced as Opal, was a waifish ragamuffin of about seventeen with mussed hair and freckles the color of nutmeg over drawn-in cheeks. Her wise but sad eyes seemed to track our movements. I felt sorry at seeing two rips in her lace bodice, and I wondered how long it had been since she’d gotten a new dress.

She placed a candelabrum on the table. Its reddish glow flickered up the edges of the audience’s chins and cheekbones, settling ghoulishly on the sockets of their eyes. Dulcie glanced over at me with a worried frown. She was from a well-to-do family who’d surely never seen a bohemian card reader. I’d never seen one either, but I was uncannily calm. I shouldn’t have pushed her into this. Though when I gave her hand a squeeze, she eased back in her chair.

Opal poured a round of grape juice from a cut-glass pitcher. Its spicy, pungent aroma wafted up and stung my nostrils. Good heavens, was it real bootlegged sherry? We exchanged shocked glances that glided into sneaky grins, but no one said a word. Its liquid fire burned inside my chest with my first sip, amplifying the heady warmth that the strange proprietor had already started in me.

The chimes jangled again, and a tall woman in strappy heels strutted in. She had an unearthly beauty, as though she was composed of violets, wishes and sultry clouds. Her hair, the color of midnight, was swept up in a twist and cinched with a purple, grosgrain ribbon, save for her long bangs. Gleaming, black garnets dangled from her ears. She was even fancier than the rich ladies at my hotel, who fanned themselves as they rocked in their best summer lace.

As though she’d done this many times, she took a seat without addressing Mr. Dune. But wasn’t this his first month in business? The woman’s gray eyes with golden slivers stared shamelessly at me. Did I know her? How could I? It was only my second night here in Asbury Park. Yet her gaze was so keen I had to avert my face.

“Let us begin then.” Mr. Dune settled into the last empty chair, straightened his jacket tails, and scraped closer to the table. His presence gave a sense of gravitas and calmed me from the unsettling flurry our new arrival had caused. “Introductions first,” he said. “Tell us your names and where you’re from. Whom you’re hoping to hear from, if you like. But no more,” he cautioned. “I’ll divine the rest.”

Out of a pensive silence, the older man spoke for both his wife and himself. “We are Mr. and Mrs. Parson, from Short Hills, New Jersey.”

“I’m Tim Stevens, from Sandy Hook,” the reedy guy exclaimed. His gaze slunk over to Dulcie again. She didn’t seem to notice.

I said I was Ivy Lorena from New York, and Dulcie said she was from Madison, New Jersey.

The beautiful latecomer said only, “Alyse Bone,” as if she were so important, everyone should know where she was from without her telling us.

Introductions over, Mr. Dune extracted a Tarot deck from a leather briefcase and shuffled it with an expert hand. I studied his ring in more depth—a raised wolf’s head. A ripple of fear mixed with longing passed through me at the odd contrast between Mr. Dune’s civility and the snarl on the wolf’s muzzle. “Which brave soul will be first?” he asked.

Mr. Parson spoke up as his wife twisted a rumpled handkerchief. “If you please, we hope to hear from our son, Harry, who passed last year.”

Mr. Dune nodded. “Ma’am, we don’t always hear from whom we’re expecting, but we shall see.”

Mr. Parson chose each card from the ones Peter Dune spread in front of him, and then Peter placed them, one by one, in a cross pattern. They were large cards with brilliantly hued illustrations. Most were royal figures swathed in robes, some holding staffs, others clutching cups. I’d seen pictures of the arcana in books but never in person. They were spectacular, and some deep urge in me longed to touch them. Of course, I held back.

While Mr. Dune perused the cards, I felt a gust of ill-disposed air aimed my way. Looking up, I saw Alyse Bone peering at me through her long bangs. She quickly adjusted her expression into a regal smile, yet I could sense her unseen emotions—moody, frosty and guarded.

Far more than I liked or understood, these powerful intuitions often came to me unbidden—a sense that a certain lady would twist her ankle on a loose plank on the way out of the neighborhood bakery, or a ripple of worry that the gentleman reading his newspaper on the subway would get fired that day. What was it about Miss Bone that stirred a sudden draft up my sinuses? I pressed my palm against my chilled nose to warm it. Maybe this card reading would give me a clue into my unknown origin and strange hunches. I wanted to either understand them or banish them from my life because they made me feel downright loony at times.

I refocused my attention on Mr. Dune as he pointed to the first card—a young man wearing a mask and holding a staff. “I’m seeing a figure,” he explained, tapping the next card, a skeleton with alabaster eyes. “It’s a small boy. He’s crying . . .”

“Our son!” wailed Mr. Parson. “What’s he saying?”

Dulcie gasped and clutched my hand.

“He’s saying he didn’t mean to run out into traffic. It was—”

“That’s not what happened to him,” Mrs. Parson snapped in a tight voice. “He expired from diphtheria.”

Dulcie’s hand flew up to cover her gaping mouth.

“I told you we shouldn’t have come here.” Mrs. Parson rose and grabbed her scarf. She glared at Mr. Dune. “Tell it to Sweeney, you con.”

The very air in the room was stammering. I wriggled my right leg to get rid of the strange force also jittering through me, and I looked over at Mr. Dune to see how on earth he was going to weasel out of this mess.

“True, that wasn’t what did him in,” Mr. Dune insisted in a defensive tone. “Nevertheless, he did run out into traffic one day.”

“Do you think we’re saps?” Mrs. Parsons’ face had grown red with sadness and fury, and she shook a fist at Mr. Dune. She was sitting right next to him, and I feared she would grab for his neck and strangle him even though he was stronger. “We’ve gone to other mediums. We can tell a charlatan from an honest one. We want our money back,” she hissed.

Mr. Dune moved his chair away from her and made another big show of trembling. Just as I was convinced he was a shoddy, grade-B actor, conning us out of dimes like we were Dumb Doras, he began to shudder with such force that he knocked over his sherry. The thick drink rushed onto the table, pooled around the cards, and then the goblet rolled and crashed to the floor. Opal ran over with a broom and a dirty rag to sweep up the sticky shards.

Suddenly, Mr. Dune stood up as if an invisible being had grabbed him by the back of the collar and shoved him right over the table. His shocks of dark hair flopped into the spilled sherry. Mrs. Parson let out a high-pitched squeal, and her husband’s jaw wagged at the sight.

“What’s happening to me?” Peter Dune mumbled as his handsome face contorted into a pained grimace. “Be careful,” he slurred. Then, jerking upright, he reached across the table for me, as his dark eyes glimmered with fear. “Be careful, Fiera,” he warned, louder this time.

“Did you say Fiera?” Alyse Bone asked in a tone as if everything was as routine and normal as tapioca pudding with whipped cream, but somehow, the cream had toppled sideways. Her catlike gray eyes narrowed at him as she dug her long fingernails into the rim of the table.

I was just as shocked. The sound of the name set my whole being on fire. Fiera? Really? For me, this name was anything but routine. Had I heard him correctly? “Be careful of what, Mr. Dune?” I managed to utter. People gaped at him as his eyes rolled up in his head. “Mr. Dune? Are you all right?”

Opal wavered in the shadows, one hand holding the broom, the other pressed to her skimpy chest. Clearly, she couldn’t fathom how to help. Which meant that this was no regular occurrence at Peter Dune’s Tarot and Séance.

Tim was the first to leap up, his eyes full of worry. “Peter, old boy,” he called as he waved his hands in front of Mr. Dune’s face. “Don’t you see me? Over here!”

“Are you friends with this man?” I asked Tim. “Can you run out and get him a doctor? He’s shaking like an epileptic.”

Before Tim could take any decisive action, Mr. Dune stumbled toward me, the heels of his polished wingtips nicking against the floorboards. “Fiera,” he wailed again, low in his throat.

Dulcie whispered something too, but it didn’t register over the roiling in my brain. So, I had heard him right the first time. How could he know Fiera was my private name? No one was ever called Fiera. Except me. My baby name was the only thing the orphanage had ever revealed to me. They said my real mother had nicknamed me that. Due to the unfortunate circumstances of my infancy, they’d renamed me at once. I’d begged them to tell me what circumstances they were referring to, but they’d only smiled sadly at me and shaken their heads.

So, all of my life, I was simply called Ivy Lorena. How could this shuddering man know more? My heart rang like a gong against my ribs.

Was this a con game? Had Mr. Dune done research on me, and if so, why? How had he pulled off this caper? My senses told me otherwise.

In the few moments I’d been lost in thought, he’d moved so close his hot breath now heated my cheeks. He was staring at me, yet through me, and his eyes scorched me with their raw beauty, their unhinged emotion. I grabbed him by the shoulders and gently shook him, desperate to startle him from his stupor. “Why do you call me that? What do you want from me?” I murmured.

He didn’t answer, but started to groan as his face contorted in a horrified grimace. “Fiera, Fiera, I’m choking, Fiera!” Reaching out for me, he wrapped his substantial arms around my shoulders. As he clung on, I must say it inspired a wave of heat and excitement in me, highly inappropriate for the moment.

Inside my uncanny vision, a monstrous, frothy wave rolled up. It was so real that its marine scent stung my nostrils. As it continued to barrel forward, the invisible wave seemed to overtake him. He pitched forward and crumpled onto the Oriental rug, where his shaking disappeared as swiftly as it had come.

Everyone stood stock-still, breathing hard, with glazed expressions. Only Tim took a slug of his sherry before plunking it back on the table.

I knelt down and wriggled Mr. Dune’s shoulders. “Mr. Dune? Can you hear me? What happened to you? Do you need an ambulance?” He rubbed at his eyes. They looked amazingly clear as they stared up at me. But they also looked blank, emotionless. As if he had no memory of what had just happened.

Picking himself off the floor, he straightened his suit. “What was—?” He never finished his sentence because Opal scurried over to brush the dust from his back.

“Well, I never!” Mrs. Parson stood up and wobbled to the front door. She turned to her husband. “Are you coming?” Mr. Parson followed his wife, regret splashed across his porcine features as if he preferred to stick around for the next circus act.

“What was all that?” Dulcie asked me, the blood so drained from her face that her pastel pink dress was now rosier than her cheeks.

“I’m not exactly sure.”

Opal brought Mr. Dune a goblet of water. He sat down, drank a few sips, and slowly shook his head from side to side as if he wasn’t sure it was attached to his head. “I’ve never drifted off like that. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t worry. We’re glad you’re back with the living,” I answered with a shudder. It felt odd being the one to comfort him. I was longing to ask where he’d conjured up my private nickname, but with Miss Bone standing inches away with her sharp curiosity, something told me to save my queries.

“Shall we head on back to the hotel?” Dulcie implored.

“Let’s do.” I gave Mr. Dune a motherly pat on the shoulder. “Feel better, sir. Get a bit of sun tomorrow. This place is awfully dark. Sunshine will do you justice.”

He nodded thoughtfully, attempted a grin, and took another sip of water.

Miss Bone beat us to the door. As she did, she performed a theatrical turn, which sent her dark skirt rustling. “Lovely to meet you, Fiera,” she said, exaggerating my secret name. And then she clicked out on her heels, the chimes loudly jingling.

“It’s rude to stare,” I blurted before I could stop myself.

If she heard me, she didn’t show it, for she kept on walking.

“Oh, Ivy?” Mr. Dune implored from behind me.

“Yes?”

He grabbed a card deck from a wicker basket on a side shelf. In three long strides, he was in front of me, looking as imposing and dashing as he had when we’d entered his establishment. “I want you to have this.” He held the deck out.

One of his illustrated Tarot decks wrapped in cellophane! A hot flush of pleasure and embarrassment shivered up my neck. “Oh, I couldn’t, really.” I didn’t even know him, and why would he do this? “It doesn’t seem right. I can’t pay you.”

“I insist.” He held it out further, the light glinting off his silver fox head ring.

Dulcie was looking faint, and I needed fresh ocean air too, so I put the deck in my purse and thanked him. With one last peek into his smoldering eyes, we fluttered off like quivering moths in the night.

Chapter 2

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Dulcie and I arranged our beach chairs so they were almost touching. She’d been kind enough to rent two from the hotel, since my money was quite tight. Settling into the canvas-backed chaise loungers, we admired each other’s swimsuits.

“I should’ve worn a pajama beach set like you, Dulcie. My legs are bound to fry.”

“But your gams are so shapely no one could properly admire them if you had on long pants. Mine are like sticks of firewood.” She fanned away a dragonfly. “That navy-blue cutout suit looks like the eel’s heels on you. I wish I had the nerve to show off more skin.”

I’d gotten lucky when I found the suit in a Salvation Army rack—probably a recent discard from a high-society darling who had to have the latest in this season’s bathing wear. Not only did my suit reveal a daring hint of bosom, but it also swooped down on the other side to show off my back. I couldn’t resist when I saw the price. Fifty cents well spent. Except now, I felt unduly exposed.

“You’re such a lady, though, Dulcie. I love you in pastel blue.”

“Thanks, dearie, I knitted the top myself.” Her cheeks bloomed with modest delight.

We watched the crowd play along the breakers, some jumping waves, others wading in slowly, while brave souls took a fast plunge in. It was a delicious, heady mix of all ages. Little children huddled together along the dry sand as they built sandcastles. Pretty girls in threesomes strolled by us as they adjusted their wide-brimmed hats and giggled at small talk. Men walking in the opposite direction ogled them. I peeked surreptitiously at the men’s swim gear—stretchy getups with belts, their hairy, knobby legs exposed for all to see. I’d never been to the beach before, and it was a jolt to see so much flesh. Yet, I felt oddly at home here, my toes digging in the warm sand and my gaze feasting on the endless, cycling realm of aquamarine ocean.

Dulcie dug into the cavernous depths of her cabbage-rose beach bag. “Want a cold Moxie? I have a wicked sweet tooth. This soda has a tang and a sugar punch.”

Her enthusiasm made it sound as if she was advertising the drink, yet at the mention of the spicy soda, my mouth watered. All I carried here was a tinny thermos of lukewarm water. “You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” she chirped. “I bought a few chilled ones at the dime store.” Dulcie popped open the cork-lined top with her own bottle opener and handed it over, a halo of fizzy bubbles erupting from the cheery, orange bottle.

Greedily, I thanked her and took a few gulps.

Her own Moxie in hand, Dulcie turned to me with a more solemn expression. “So, what happened at that séance, Ivy?”

I inwardly cringed. How could I tell her when I wasn’t even sure myself? It had something to do with Mr. Dune tapping into my own odd visions, as if we had actual electrical wires that crossed. Why him?

And how had he divined my secret name?

Did I dare tell Dulcie about my strange sensations, my premonitions about people that often turned out to be right on the money? It didn’t seem wise, or even safe. Besides, she’d never believe me. She came from a genteel life, where people played their parts with good manners and finesse. Where, no doubt, they didn’t stray from the paved straight and narrow.

I’d seen a glimpse of that life working for Mrs. Cuthbert, and I didn’t fit in. The bone china and pressed linen tablecloths I set for her formal dinners, her complicated dresses edged in velvet and eyelet satin that I pressed for her, the Philharmonic concerts and art functions she was ever attending, even in this horrid, bleak Depression, was not for me. It was as if life for the rich kept on going without even a pebble in the road to stumble on. I was used to keeping my life to myself, my former one as well.

No, I couldn’t chance Dulcie shrinking away from me. If I only had one week in this beach paradise, I wanted a friend to share it with. Shrugging, I twisted the Moxie bottle into a sandy hillock to secure it. “I’ve no idea what happened at the séance, Dulcie.”

She studied me. “Why would that man call you Fiera? You had such a spooked look on your face when he did.”

“I’m sure.” Perhaps this much I could risk. “I was flabbergasted, Dulcie. You see, my birth mother named me that.”

She lowered her tinted spectacles to stare at me, and her pastel-blue eyes widened. “How would a total stranger know that?” I shrugged again. “And why don’t we call you that if that’s your real name?”

I sighed, knowing it was time to take a leap of faith. “I didn’t grow up with my mother. You see… I was raised in an orphanage in Brooklyn. I guess the caretakers thought Ivy was a more appropriate name.”

“You poor darling.” Dulcie raised a hand to her cheek. “I mean, sure, Fiera is a lovely name, but Ivy is… well, sensible.”

“Fiera means fire,” I murmured in a tremulous voice.

“That’s something.” Clearly, I’d confused her and she had no idea how to properly react.

“Yes, it’s something.” I fanned my hand across my forehead to shield my eyes from a swift burst of sunlight. Looking toward Dulcie and then past her, I saw two men approaching us with purposeful steps. My pulse bumped faster. “Well, speak of the devil!”

She spun around in her chair just as Mr. Dune and his friend, Tim, reached us. Both wore stylish swimwear—Tim’s was green striped to match his light green eyes, and Mr. Dune’s was a charcoal top with black, formfitting shorts. I couldn’t help but admire how they wrapped around his narrow, muscular hips. Quickly, I shifted my gaze upward to his firm abdomen and finally to his brooding, enigmatic face. He adjusted his Foster Grants further up his well-defined nose, and then tilted his head in a silent hello, which brought back a wash of emotions from last night’s strange occurrences.

Tim, by comparison, looked rail thin and his chest was bowed. He wore an amiable expression though, and his hair glimmered honey-lemon in the late morning sun. “Why, razzle-dazzle-doo!” he exclaimed, glancing at me before settling his smile on Dulcie. “If it ain’t the prettiest dolls in Asbury.”

She blushed deeply, but to my utter surprise, she kept even with his jazzy volley. “You fellas are pretty jake yourself.”

“You gals going to invite us to share a corner of your chaises, or what?” Tim brazenly asked.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Dulcie shifted her legs to one side of the chair, and Tim helped himself to the corner.

I followed suit, but I held myself stiffly as Mr. Dune perched on my chaise corner. He seemed as uncomfortable as I did, raking a hand through his hair and fidgeting. After all, we had just met each other last night and now we were thrown together, practically naked. I’d wanted an adventure, but this was all too bizarre.

“I was just congratulating Peter here on what a stand-up séance he gave, don’t you all agree?” Tim asked us before glancing back to his friend. “That old couple almost blew a gasket, but Peter held his own.”

“Don’t talk bull, Tim. My readings are genuine.”

“I know, old boy.” Tim gave Mr. Dune a playful punch to the arm. “You’re the best in the business.” He frowned. “But… Fiera, what kind of name is that?”

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Dune’s neck mottled with pink splotches. Tim didn’t explain his point. Instead, he got busy unlacing his sandals.

I felt bad for Mr. Dune. Hadn’t it been obvious to Tim that his friend was in a semiconscious haze last night? “How long have you two known each other?” I asked them. “You seem like old school chums.”

“Ah, no. We’re simply… in business together,” Mr. Dune volunteered. I noted that his mottled neck was now a deeper shade of red.

“Hey, I was wondering, have you dames ever heard of the Circle of Light?” Tim squinted at us. “You know, that spiritualist church group in Belmar, the next town down?”

“Sure, I’ve heard of them. What about it?” Dulcie asked.

“Nothing much,” Tim replied. “Since we were on the topic of séances and all, I thought I’d ask.” He shrugged. “Sounds like a fascinating group. Peter and I thought we might step on over and see what they were up to.”

“I had an uncle who was a follower,” Mr. Dune chimed in. “Very involved group. They performed healings and mentalist readings to help folks connect with loved ones.”

“Sounds helpful,” I said.

“I have a cousin who went there,” Dulcie said. Both men gazed more keenly at her.

“For the record,” Dulcie added, “Fiera is Ivy’s real birth name. So I’d agree that Mr. Dune’s psychic talents are quite impressive.” She spread her arms in a gesture of enthusiasm. “I think Fiera is an exciting, dramatic name. It means fire. In fact, we should all call her Fiera, don’t you agree?” She looked around our circle for acceptance.  Everyone gave what seemed to be tentative nods.

“It does have a certain ring to it,” Tim agreed.

Mr. Dune looked over at me. “What do you think?”

“I…”

As they waited for me to finish my sentence, the ocean air seemed curiously suspended, and the lively activity all around us blurred to a gray smudge.

What exactly did I think? Fiera was my only link to an anonymous mother, a painful knowledge that I had been ruthlessly sent away from my blood kin. But it was a connection, a pretty name. It could be a fresh twist on me, borne of a very rare vacation. Whatever would Mrs. Cuthbert say? I breathed a sigh and tried it out. “Fiera!” I giggled. “Sure. I’m Fiera from now on.” The tension broken, everyone started chattering again.

“Well, Fiera,” Mr. Dune said as he smiled at me. “Call me Peter.” The ring of my newly given name on Peter Dune’s lips sounded like liquid music. Perhaps its use would somehow lead me to my true calling.

Tim leapt up. He swatted Peter on the thigh with his towel. “Glad that’s settled. Let’s go for a swim. Gals?”

“Sounds swell.” Dulcie grabbed my hand and pulled. “Come on, Fiera, what do you say?”

I’d never been taught how to swim. In fact, I’d only gone once to the public pool on the Lower East Side, and I’d only paddled around, my toes trailing along the concrete bottom. That pool was much too crowded to learn in even if I’d had a good teacher. But something deep in the sea was calling me.

Dulcie encouraged me. “You only need to go out a little ways. We can jump the waves in the shallow water. It’s easy.”

“You lead, I’ll follow.” The glittering sea was more magical than emeralds, paintings, or the grand old trees in Central Park. I unwrapped the towel I’d shrouded myself in when Tim and Peter came our way. Feeling very naked, I hugged myself as Dulcie and I skipped down to the water’s edge, slightly ahead of the two men.

It was a matter of weighing which was more embarrassing—walking with them while Peter looked over at my bosomy neckline, or walking ahead of him where he could see my ample posterior, wagging with each step. Who was the joker who’d invented modern swimwear?

No matter my shy spell, the moment we splashed ceremoniously into the first set of breakers, I was hooked. Dulcie and I held hands and hopped gleefully over the waves, each one threatening to tip us off-balance. United, we were stronger than the rushes of whitewater.

It was fun to watch the other swimmers too. Some played ball in the water, or dove under the waves, only to reappear at the crests just before they crashed to shore. Tim and Peter started a game of splash wars, where they flattened their palms and fanned water at each other. After a while of that, they attempted a more daring feat—Tim sitting on Peter’s shoulders and then leaping off sideways.

Before I knew it, Tim had lured Dulcie away from my side, and she was sitting on his shoulders, screeching as he bounced her around, water splashing every which way. I snuck a look at Peter. He was swimming toward me. Panicked that he would toss me up on his shoulders too, I pitched away from him. In that instant, I lost my footing. A large wave trundled toward me at frightening speed, bowling me over and tossing me around in its fury. I tried to hold my breath, but I must’ve inhaled saltwater because my sinuses seared like holy fire. I coughed, which leaked in more water. This time into my lungs.

A second large wave twisted me up in its crest as if I were a tiny, flailing crab. And then, in a rush of foamy bubbles, burly arms were grabbing me, hauling me up against the undertow. With determined, steady steps, he towed me toward the shoreline.

Peter drew his arm around my shoulder. His ribs were pressed tight against mine and his wet hair tickled my arm. Another wave caught us, and I tripped. In reaching out for me, he lurched sideways. Righting himself, he scooped me up before the next wave could seize me, and carried me back to the beach.

As soon as we were on solid ground, a lifeguard ran to our side. A fellow lifeguard brought him a medicine bag. Peter tipped me back down, but he still had an arm wrapped protectively around me. It felt improper but decidedly nice. His warm, beating heart pressed against my shoulder blade calmed my chattering teeth.

The lifeguard thanked Peter for his help, placed an Asbury Beach towel around me, and proceeded to take my vitals. By this time, a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered. I was flushed, not from the sun, but from humiliation. Somehow, I already felt the sea was my home, and what clumsy fool fell so spectacularly in her very own house? They pronounced my pulse normal, simply fast from the ordeal, and lectured me not to swim out past the breakers again. I already knew I wasn’t going to obey.

“Better now?” Peter studied me.

“Yes, thanks, I’d like to sit d—”

“Gangway,” he thundered at the gawping crowd, ferrying me through it to my chaise.

By that time, Dulcie and Tim had jogged out of the water and up the beach. They arrived, breathless.

“Gee, Fiera,” Dulcie fretted, “sorry I didn’t keep a firmer hold on your hand.”

“It’s okay, Dulcie. I’m not your responsibility.”

“Let’s make it up to you,” Tim suggested. “I have tickets to tonight’s concert and—”

“The one in the convention hall?” Dulcie eagerly asked.

“That very one.” Tim pumped out his chest.

“Fiera, we have to go,” Dulcie exclaimed. “We just have to.”

“Who’s playing?”

“Rudy Vallee and his big band,” Peter volunteered. “I’d be delighted to have you along. Will you?”

Heavens to Betsy! Was he inviting me on a date? “It sounds smashing,” I said, “but I didn’t bring anything to wear.” In fact, I owned no evening dresses at all, not in my frayed suitcase or back in my humble room in the Cuthbert’s.

“Don’t worry, Fiera,” Dulcie soothed. “I have two extra dresses.” She looked me up and down. “You look the same size as me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. You already rented these chairs and—”

“Don’t be silly,” she chided. “You can’t miss Rudy Vallee’s Connecticut Yankees. You’d never live it down.”

I’d never live any of this down. My almost drowning, the moment Peter lifted me off my feet and carried me to shore, and then the crowd gaping over at me like I was the bearded lady in a sideshow. But my old name was new again.

And even if Ivy wasn’t, Fiera was up for daring things.

Chapter 3

NONE OF THIS made sense.

I pored over my notes in my clandestine office behind the store. I had no idea why I’d blacked out during the séance. I’d never been known to have epilepsy, or fainting spells. I hadn’t hit my head on anything recently that would explain a temporary bout of amnesia like that.

If it wasn’t based in science, I wanted no part in it. And if I had no way to rationalize it, I wasn’t going to report it. I took a gulp of my Lipton and swallowed it. One needed a strong, black tea when faced with strange dilemmas.

The haziest of memories from last night were seeping back to me. I did recall moaning her name. Exactly why had I blurted it out? And how could I possibly know that it would be the girl’s long-suppressed birth name? Normally, I couldn’t even predict the weather. Frowning, I placed my pen on an old bit of newsprint next to the ink bottle. I shut my journal, glared at my Tarot deck next to it, and adjusted my tie.

A concert, and now a double date… how had I drilled in so deep, so quickly? An image of Fiera played across my mind: her wild brown hair funneling up in the sea wind, her radiant eyes and skin—so incredibly soft. My pulse throbbed in my neck. It had been so long since I’d felt anything aside from sadness, pity, boredom, or aggravation.

My only love in high school had moved to Canada. In the end, she’d turned out to be too different from me. She’d become a horse trainer, and I’d become… what—a master skeptic, a devoted foot soldier of the anti-spiritualist movement.

And then, this woman who exhibited unsettling signs of all that I stood against—mesmerism, a hold on the unseen, a power to move or still the very air—we all felt it that night, and the next day as we waited for her to approve us calling her Fiera. Try as I might to quell it, the feel of her luxurious weight in my arms as I ferried her to shore was rolling through me still in fragrant waves.

I sighed. She was dangerous. This yearning and dreaming was dangerous.

Banish this silly dalliance, I scolded myself. You’re here strictly on business, only here to find out more about The Circle of Light frauds and report back. Not to woo a girl, and especially not to involve yourself with one who shows strange mentalist abilities.

But it was you, not Fiera, who fell into a trance, my rebellious mind argued.

Bah! Mentalist abilities. Load of hooey! I grabbed the Tarot cards on my desk and pitched them to the floor, scattering them across the carpet and under my desk in the process. The hanged man ended up by my right foot. Glaring at it, I kicked it under the desk. This last month, I was repulsed every time I put on a show of reading them, pretending to be one of the very shady con artists I abhorred.

I looked at the only photo above the desk on the wall—my dear sister, Gertie.

Five years ago, a man named Frank Docker who’d belonged to the Circle of Light down in Philadelphia, had duped her. He’d presented her with photo collages of floating ectoplasm and faint, boyish apparitions, insisting they were spirit photos of my sister’s son. Little Steven had withered away a few years prior of scarlet fever, vicious red marks marring his entire body. It was too advanced to respond to the newest antibiotic regimen. Still, those ghostly images provided Gertie hope, while at the same time emptying her purse of dollars. It was a false, costly hope offered to her by a sadistic man. For when she found out the images of Steven were fake, and the so-called medium had gotten off free and clear from his trial, she broke down in stages. Became addicted to morphine and opium. It didn’t matter which, she would do anything to blank out the pain.

I flopped down into my sagging easy chair and folded my head in my hands, releasing a haggard sound between a sigh and a sob. I would seek revenge for the rest of my life. If Houdini could expose false mediums, so could I. And I had more reason to. One had essentially murdered my sister. Sure, she was still breathing, but barely, and her brain was forever pickled.

As I rose, I glanced at myself in the mirror affixed to the door. I was sunburned from the beach, but I did look dashing in my evening wear. Was that how Fiera would see me? Oh, what was the point?

A ringing of the door chimes shook me out of my brooding. Tim, who had a key, bounded in. “You look dashing, old boy,” he said, and then added, “We really reeled the shiny fish in this morning at the beach, eh?”
I wasn’t in the mood for his self-congratulatory rah-rah. Besides, Tim needed a bit of correction. “Watch your wagging tongue,” I warned. “Don’t make jokes about me not being a genuine psychic. You want to bust our cover wide open?”

“Oh, they didn’t bat an eyelash,” he scoffed. “They only imagined you more of a star. You heard Dulcie.” He imitated her in a high, affected voice as he minced around. “Mr. Dune’s psychic talents are quite impressive, quite grand, and quite dramatic.”

“Pipe down, Tim.” I pressed my fingers into my temples and rotated them. A headache was threatening.

“What now?” He looked genuinely hurt, but only for a moment, until he launched into the next tease. “You’re partial to that witchy dame, ain’t you? You put on quite the show at the séance with that fainting spell. She bought it hook, line and sinker.”

“I’m afraid that part was real, Tim. I was out, cold.”

He strode over and peered into my face as if it might reveal a contagious malady I’d been hiding. “Are you sure?” He shook his head when I nodded. “Then it’s Feery, or whatever her name is, that we should keep tabs on. Something about her presence threw you into the strangest attack I’ve ever witnessed. You acted as if you were going to die.”

“Baloney,” I scoffed. But a cold shudder went through me. As much as I wanted Tim to back off the idea of tracking Fiera’s moves, I had to admit, we’d gotten more hard evidence of mesmerism out of her in minutes than we had in our entire month of keeping tabs on the Circle of Light group. “Her name is Fiera, not Feery. And I’ll handle her. You can handle Dulcie. Dulcie seemed familiar with the Circle of Light. Maybe she can help weasel us into their inner circle.” So far, we hadn’t been invited to their private meetings.

“That sounds like a game plan. Just don’t go mooning after that girl.” Tim went to the mirror and straightened his collar. “I sure am a smooth daddy-o.” Rakishly, he cocked down the brim of his hat as he struck more poses in the glass.

“Who’s primping now? I think you fancy a pretty blonde lady yourself.”

“At least she’s normal. She hasn’t put some hex on me, and she’s rich.”

“She’s conventional, all right,” I countered, scooping up the scattered Tarot cards. I thumped them on the desk until they were more or less in one organized clump. It was only coincidence that the hanged man was on the top of the deck, staring out at me. If it’s not scientific, it means nothing, I thought. Grabbing my own hat off the wall hook, I put it at my own rakish angle. If I were being truly honest with myself, I was eager for the evening to start. To feel Fiera’s mysterious gaze upon me, to believe and hope that she was normal and not someone I had to report to my boss, or God forbid, press charges against.

Chapter 4

JUST AHEAD, THE lights of the new convention center twinkled like brash jewels against the inky ocean vista. I was newly timid walking next to Peter. When he and Tim had picked us up on the porch of the hotel, the sight of him made me momentarily breathless.

His hair was neatly combed back to show his broad, strong forehead and his handsome, sculptural features—the Roman nose, the serious, deep-set brown eyes, and his perfectly formed mouth, both sensual and stern. He wore an impeccable evening suit of the charcoal gray he favored. Its cool, unobtrusive hue was an effective counterpoint to his plucky lavender shirt and purple-striped tie.

Dulcie seemed delighted with Tim, and she fell into an easy gait next to him, her arm already gaily linked to his. I was embarrassed by my stiffness, which seemed to rouse a matching reaction in Peter. We walked side by side, not speaking or touching. Had he decided between noon and eight pm that he’d made a terrible mistake in inviting me, no longer fancying my company? It was true we’d been thrown into a premature and bizarre intimacy when my presence at the séance had somehow thrown him into a trance. I had no more explanation for our unearthly connection than I had for why grass was green and fireflies flashed.

“Do you hear the band?” Dulcie exclaimed. “They’re so good!”

“Even better than they sound on their Hit of the Week record,” Tim said.

“Watch for his megaphone,” Peter said. “They say he sings in it to amplify his voice.”

The enticing music drew us on at a faster clip. The convention center’s entrance border of colorful porpoises, gigantic seashells, writhing sea dragons, and even King Neptune himself, wielding his infamous pitchfork, wowed me. Peter explained the fancy bordering was in the Art Deco style. On top of the grand doorway perched a metal sculpture of a ship, oxidized by the salty air into a beautiful, minty green.

Inside the spacious ballroom, I gaped as much at the ladies in their finest drop-waist ruffled dresses and spaghetti-strap silk dresses, swooping low in the back. At the sight, I was filled with relief that Dulcie had lent me a pretty floral number with cute cap sleeves and a big skirt. It gave me a fighting chance of fitting in. Gents in formal wear with ties and matching handkerchiefs were already swirling their ladies to the plush beats of Rudy Vallee’s band. I sighed. It was all so romantic!

Craning my neck to get a glimpse of the musicians, I saw that Rudy Vallee was, indeed, a striking bandleader, but not as handsome as Peter Dune. He had a long face and a thick, wavy mop of hair. As Peter had explained, he was crooning into a large megaphone. His tone was like cream as he led his Connecticut Yankees in a rendition of “Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries”.

Far from a bowl of cherries, I thought. But here, in this swanky convention center, with its swelling columns and balustrades open to the languid ocean breezes beyond, one could almost imagine that the poverty and worry of life were faraway nightmares.

“Shall we cut a rug?” Tim asked Dulcie.

“Copacetic with that, big daddy!”

They floated out to the dance floor, and Tim made up for his skinny frame by doing an expert Lindy Hop. They held hands and pulled close, only to swing way out next, each stepping to the jazzy beat of the band’s next number, “Puttin’ on the Ritz”. I gawked at their fast footwork.

“Dance?” Peter asked me.

“I won’t be able to do the Lindy without lessons,” I protested.

He chuckled. “We can make a go of it, can’t we?”

“Sure we can.” My heart sped up as he led me out to the thrumming crowd. Attempting to copy the steps of the people beside us proved awkward. I stepped on Peter’s fancy shoes more than once. But to be fair, he bumped hard into my knee with his own bony one, causing me to reel clumsily into the next couple over. I apologized, and we all laughed it off. After which I discovered my best shot was to improvise the steps according to my natural sense of the music. Peter echoed my lead in that, for which I thought him utterly adorable.

We were both working up a sweat. It suited his face just fine, reminiscent of illustrations of Olympic athletes, rubbing themselves with oils before a marathon.

As the band delved into the moody, slower beat of “Pennies from Heaven” and couples began to pull in close, Peter held out his hand. “May I?”

When our hands met, and he drew me in to slow dance, I was afraid he’d feel my racing heart against his. I’d never danced with a man before, except to prance around the room with little Terrence, when I was minding him. We did that to run off his extra moxie when it was too stormy to go to Central Park.

But here, now, not with a boy, but rather a full-grown man, I was spellbound. Peter Dune would have found me speechless too, had he asked me anything just then. No matter, the music was too loud for that, so we simply sank into each other. He smelled of an exotic spice, which made me think of tropical jungles I’d seen in travel magazines.

As this crooner ended and the band announced a short break, a slim, regal figure in emerald green flitted toward us through the dark, atmospheric sea of flesh. With her approach, a sudden breeze chilled the air. Yet, when I glanced toward the windows, I noted that the gauzy curtains, drawn halfway over the windows, were still.

As the figure in green floated closer, I recognized Alyse Bone, the woman from the first séance, peering at me from under her long, black bangs. It was hard to determine how old she was because I sensed she was older than she looked—around thirty-five. She smiled and greeted me, holding out her elegantly turned hand with a matching emerald ring that must have cost a small fortune. Reluctantly, I took it and she squeezed mine in response. “If it isn’t Ivy Lorena, or may I call you Fiera?” The way she said it made the hairs prickle on the nape of my neck. I had no idea why, as she was still smiling broadly, and more graciously than at the paranormal store.

I’d been eager to use my old name, but now, with her, I felt oddly possessive of it. As if I only wanted close friends to use it. But I couldn’t be that rude, could I? Especially with Peter standing here, glancing back and forth at us. “Of course, call me Fiera. Why not?” I answered as lightly as I could muster.

“Delighted to.” Alyse gave Peter an equally effusive greeting. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a minute, do you? I’d love to get to know her a little better. And it’s terribly hot in here. You’ve danced her into a sweat.” She winked at him. “Looks as if she could use a trip to the powder room to refresh her rouge.”

I found myself reluctant to leave his side, wondering if he’d find another pretty girl to dance with during my absence. And I was pleased to see his hesitation. “I’ll find something to amuse myself with,” he finally replied. “Shall I get you a drink in the meantime, Fiera?” My heart fluttered with relief and affection for this serious, stiff man.

“Sounds lovely, a Ginger Beer or Coca Cola?”

“No hair of the dog?” Alyse teased.

I frowned. “Excuse me?”

Her laughter was like water gurgling from a country brook, much purer and cleaner than she seemed. “A toot,” she explained, which left me even more perplexed.

Peter said, “This isn’t a juice joint, Alyse.”

“Oh, I always forget,” she joked. “I know of one nearby.” She winked again at Peter and whisked me off with no further explanation.

On the way to the powder room, I got it. Liquor, of course! How slow was I? I’d seen random news articles about prohibition at Mrs. Cuthbert’s, but I hadn’t heard all the slang terms for liquor. Well, a gin rummy, I knew that one. Nor had I ever indulged in drink. The nuns at the orphanage were quite strict, and although I secretly didn’t subscribe to their Catholic religion, I had no choice but to follow their platonic, firm discipline while growing up. Lights out at nine, up at dawn, and always in a crisply ironed dress. Homework for the three hours preceding dinner. It had instilled in me good work habits. But I wondered what all I had missed.

I followed Alyse into the parlor room and tried to reorganize stray hairs into my now-drooping finger curls while she applied another coat of crimson lipstick and rouge to her already-painted face. Then she swept me out of there to an elegantly appointed porch that looked out to the sea, where the music was less overwhelming.

“So!” she started as she stuck a cigarette in a slim, ebony holder, lit it and took a drag. “Tell me, have you always lived in New York?”

“Yes, I guess I have.” I was thinking about my upbringing in Brooklyn. That was part of the greater city.

“From which neighborhood?” she prodded.

Her direct line of questioning took me aback. I shrugged, at which her smile slipped, but she swiftly regained it. “Where are you from?” I asked her. Turning the tables on a snoop was fair play.

“Oh, here and there,” she answered vaguely—a tit for tat? “How did you get that name—Fiera?” Her gray eyes stared, it seemed, all the way into me where she could pinpoint my humble and unfortunate beginnings.

“From my mother.” Where else?

“Where’s your mother now? Are you close?” She took a drag of her cigarette and held in the smoke for an inordinate amount of time. Then she released it in swirly rings—impressive but disquieting.

“Oh, she—”

At that moment, Peter saved me from any further inquisition. Tim and Dulcie accompanied him, all with cold drinks in hand. Peter handed me a Coke. I began to guzzle it down, but then thought to take sips that were more ladylike. Nothing tasted as good as its cold punch.

“Whoa, Nelly,” Tim joshed. “Want a spike in that?”

I’d already looked the fool for not getting the earlier reference to bootlegged whiskey. I wasn’t about to be the butt of more jokes in front of everyone.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I replied, holding out my glass.

In one swift motion, Tim reached in his waist pocket for a small, silver flask, shrouded it by leaning toward the railing, and poured a finger of the liquid into my Coke. He swilled it around and echoed that procedure with the rest of the drinks.

We toasted and drank. Its dangerous nectar lit up my insides.

Dulcie started to talk about her incorrigible sweet tooth and how she always got hungry late in the evening. She mentioned that she had a few toffees back in her room, and then Alyse Bone said she knew of a divine place, right up on the boardwalk, that made their very own fresh saltwater taffy on premises. That you could see them making it, and that they stayed open quite late to cater to the dancing crowd.

“We have to go! This very minute!” Dulcie yelled, jumping up and down, making her chunky heels click. Tim enthusiastically agreed.

Alyse Bone whispered something in Peter’s ear about a juice joint. When he nodded, she gave him a quick hug, which roused my unexpected fury.

But quicker than lightning, he took my hand. The five of us then pranced down the boardwalk to our next great adventure.

* * *

SPELLBINDER SALTWATER TAFFY was a paradise of colors and sweets. It was dolled up with scarves and tapestries to look like an exotic harem where any dream or desire could be accommodated. Purple storefront signs in one of the big windows lured folks with the promise of Magic in Every Box and Better than a Baby Ruth! Dulcie excitedly pointed out the mechanical taffy-puller in the other window, which was presently stretching out a huge wad of blueberry-colored taffy. Mesmerized, we watched it wind and pull, wind and pull.

We broke away to go inside. The place was thick with the late-night crowd in their best gowns, infused with a sensual blend of warm molasses, men’s cologne, French perfumes, and sweat.

Wicker baskets of the sticky, stretchy taffy were everywhere. Sprawled out on long counters, each brimming taffy basket had its own color and sign.

The peppermint-striped taffy had a sign that read For Luck in Love! The blue taffy promised to Wash Away your Blues. The lemony and orange taffy was labeled For Good Fortune.

“This Good Fortune basket’s almost empty,” I said to Peter. Just then, a stout man in a candy-stained apron with a wild halo of hair waddled over and quickly refilled it with another bounty of the wrapped, fruit-colored taffy. As soon as he did, people started to grab bags of it.

“Good fortune taffy is bound to be popular now,” Peter remarked.

“Yes.” I sighed. “So many folks are hard-pressed to rub two dimes together. Even if the promise is hooey.”

“I believe in the supernatural,” Peter was quick to state. “Don’t you?” He gave me a hard look.

I was filled with a welter of strange sensations; that there was, indeed, a supernatural reality, yet there were strong non-believers in our midst and a chill winding around us, like cold, hardening taffy.

Alyse Bone pointed to a basket of black taffy that bragged Wards off Evil Spirits. “That’s a fun one, don’t you agree, Fiera?” She winked at me.

“I hope to never need that charm.”

“One always hopes.” She wandered off into the crowd.

Dulcie came bounding up to me with an armful of multicolored packets. “I’m going to buy the whole kit and caboodle,” she chirped. She had so many that a few bags escaped her clutch and plunked to the floor. Tim, by her side, was quick to scoop them up and place all of her taffy packets in an empty shopping basket.

“Are you going to buy any?” Peter asked me.

“I’m not a sweet tooth.” It wasn’t a lie, although I did have a weakness for fruit pies. With all of these high rollers cavorting around me, I was embarrassed that my money was almost depleted. “What about you?”

Peter looked taken aback, as if it was the furthest thing from his mind, and he had to wrack his brains to think up a fast line. “Um, sure. I could probably use a little good luck boost.” His lips pressed into a strained smile. I didn’t get him. One minute, he was jolly and the next, so formal. I hoped it wasn’t because he didn’t like me. “Give me a minute, Fiera.” He dashed off; I supposed to buy taffy.

I was wondering whether I should wait for him here or explore further when Alyse Bone came floating back. True to her nature, I didn’t hear her until she was smack dab in front of me. She didn’t speak, but she did take my hand and lead me through the press of people to Dulcie and Tim. He then led us to Peter, who was enfolded in a knot of people I’d seen at the concert hall.

If he’d bought taffy, it wasn’t evident from any paper bag. His hands were empty. Everyone, including Peter, seemed to be copacetic with wherever Alyse was leading us, no questions asked. Did Peter know Alyse well? I thought he’d just made her acquaintance at that first séance I’d attended. Who was this imposing woman, and what made her the boss? I tamped down my irritation. She was undoubtedly trying to show us some fun.

Alyse led us past the glassed-in area in the back of the shop that held the cooking vats and taffy-cutting apparatus. There were rolls of paper to wrap the taffy in, and different rolls that held tiny Spellbinding labels. An array of wide knives and stirring spoons were affixed to the wall, and the man with the puffy white hair who I’d seen refilling the baskets was there, shoveling fresh taffy into cellophane bags with a broad trowel. He paused to watch us troop toward the back exit, and his gaze fell on me with evident interest. It made me uncomfortable, as he was the cook, and therefore not supposed to ogle the clientele. Plus, he must’ve thought it strange that Alyse was leading an entire posse past his workstation behind the store. How often did this happen?

With an officious rustle of her green gown, Alyse stopped when she’d reached a pantry labeled Supply Closet. She ferried us in and quickly closed the door. I wondered why she would lead us into a cramped pantry lined with cooking vats, oversized molasses jars and a soiled push broom. Especially so, when she held her hands against a wall covered with a line of aprons on hooks and proceeded to shove at it.

I was struck with waves of claustrophobia when, unexpectedly, a vertical slice of wall opened. She nudged us in, where this outlandish door twisted us up in its great circular, spinning parts. It spun us through and then closed as if it had never moved at all.

We were on the landing of a dark set of rickety stairs. Descending in single file, we ended up in a basement storage area, cobwebbed with an odor of mildew… and something else, invisible but pungent. Musky incense.

Dulcie and I exchanged startled yet excited looks, as I braced for an even bigger shock.

And there was one. Alyse Bone rapped on a tall shelf of floor waxes, and a tiny panel popped open in the wall between slats. One eyeball scrutinized us from the other side. When the eye saw Alyse, we heard a bolt slide, and wonders of wonders, this cabinet spun around to reveal a den of iniquity beyond.

We squeezed in, one after the other, like hungry waifs into a stocked grocery. Rebellious excitement charged through me, dangerous and wonderful.

“Well, I’ll be!” Dulcie cried.

“Compliments, Miss Bone,” Tim reverently murmured.

Alyse flashed Tim a dazzling smile, and then turned to the rest of us with a more serious expression. “I trust that you’ll keep the location and nature of Spellbinding’s Speakeasy to yourselves?” It was a command rather than a question. Her gold-flecked gray eyes took a moment to record our silent promises.

“Who owns this place?” Peter whispered.

“Some daring soul,” she replied vaguely with an arch of the eyebrows. “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

Tim and Dulcie bounded in first. Following Peter into the dark, smoky chamber, my eyes saw little but gradually adjusted. Black velvet settees were scattered here and there, and elegant folks lounged in them, some smoking with the long cigarette holders I’d seen Alyse use. Men circling around one table played card games, and a gaunt man with a long beard and knit cap puffed on a hookah in a dark corner.

A high counter was set up along one wall as a makeshift bar, and ladies dressed in short skirts with matching cloche hats the same bright colors of the taffy upstairs were circulating to take orders. A jazzy version of “Body and Soul” played on a Victrola.

Alyse settled us in at one of the longer couches shaped in a semi-circle, and a waitress in raspberry-pink took our order. I had no idea what I wanted, so Alyse ordered me a cocktail called absinthe.

When it arrived, it was as glittery green as her emerald ring. It tasted of licorice but was much steamier going down. Peter ordered one too, while Dulcie and Tim, who had joined us, stuck to white wine.

Alyse whispered something to Raspberry Taffy Girl, and she minced away, only to return with a brimming basket of green taffy with pastel blue swirls.

“What do these do?” Dulcie asked Alyse.

“Lots,” Alyse cryptically answered. “They go exceedingly well with absinthe.” At her recommendation, I took one.

It tasted like cool, bountiful nectar of the gods. I helped myself to two more, and then, when Peter held his share out, a whole handful. It felt as if I couldn’t get them in my mouth fast enough. I stuffed them in when he wasn’t looking so I wouldn’t seem piggish.

Peter asked Alyse where she worked. So, he didn’t know her after all. In her cagey fashion, she simply stated that she was managing a few businesses in the area.

She asked where he hailed from. He said he’d come east from Kansas to make his fortune. She applauded him on his wise move, saying all he would’ve made out there would’ve been pennies in dust and tumbleweeds.

She asked me where I’d gone to school. I gave a vague answer about a girl’s day school. Then she asked where I lived and worked now. Something told me it would be wise to be as brief as she was. “I’m a nanny.”

“How delightful,” she purred. “I adore children.” Her tone was absolutely false in that regard, and we exchanged knowing looks saying as much.

The absinthe soon put me in a dreamy state. Added to the mix was the sensual comfort of sitting next to Peter, who served as a buffer between Alyse and me. Something about her still put me on edge even though she was beautiful and elegant. Well, maybe because she was.

Tim asked Dulcie to dance. I waved languidly to them as they gamboled off.

Somewhere in the room, a chorus of faint voices floated around, high and sweet. Or was the sound merely in my head? How could it be? Peter asked me a question, but it took three repetitions for me to understand him over the low-slung jazz notes infused with the chorus of invisible soprano cherubs singing at me.

“Have you always had a talent for the unseen?” I finally heard him ask.

“Whatever do you mean? It was you who saw things that weren’t there.” I had to right myself because I found myself swooning and swaying so much I nearly fell into Peter’s lap.

“But it was you who eked it out of me.”

“Little old me?” I giggled.

“Yes, you,” Alyse agreed. “I was there, too. You have some strange talent. Can you describe it? How it works? You must be aware of it.”

Everything was turning light and frothy like a magical cake icing. The barkeep was chatting up the fellows at his counter, the card players exhaled in cheery gusts of laughter, and the waitresses flounced around like so many sunny meadow flowers. I didn’t see the harm. “I do sense things. Yes. Always have.”

“What kind of things?” Peter and Alyse asked in precise tandem. How very coincidental. Their unexpected accord perfectly matched the soprano voices singing harmoniously in and around my head.

I giggled again. “Do you hear them?”

“Hear what?” Peter looked around, spooked.

“Little children, little voices.”

Alyse’s brows creased. “What are they saying?”

“They’re singing.” But the entire mood of the room had changed in an instant. Their radiant energy soured. The little children of the ether weren’t singing any more. They were starting to weep, over something very sad.

Over me.

How did I know this? No idea, but I knew. A hard frost shot through my bones. I took a big gulp of the absinthe. Perhaps it would block out the voices, the wailing of innocents.

“What is it?” Peter took my hand in his. His concerned touch cut through the horrible, chilling ache and melted me. “What’s the matter, Fiera?” His face paled, and right then, I knew he heard them too. “They’re crying, aren’t they?” he whispered in my ear, tickling my soft lobe. “They’re crying over you.”

“Yes.” I leaned on him, letting the voices cry for me.

We hugged and I swear I felt his sudden, hot tears melt through the shoulder fabric of my dress. It was infinitely sad, infinitely tender.

“Peter!” Tim’s reedy voice cut through my reverie. I looked up only for a minute to see Tim staring over at Peter with a look of distaste. Why? Oh, who cared? I rested my head again on Peter’s shoulder.

The invisible cherubs whirring inside my head took translucent form and slipped out of me. They soared around the room like hardscrabble angels, flitting past Dulcie as she danced; sliding, their soft baby feet gliding over the long bar counter, and right through the man with the hookah. He glanced up for a moment as if he, too, felt the supernatural breeze. Then he bowed his head back down and took a pensive draw on his smoking device. Even when I closed my eyes, I saw green paisleys and floating leaves, the rushing of a cold stream bubbling under me, which filled me with terror. I came to with a gasp.

“What is it?” Alyse’s eyes narrowed. How could I tell her of this suffering, shot through with spectacular floating objects, and my strange, sudden affinity with Mr. Dune?

“I see children weeping,” I admitted. “They’ve been hurt.”

“How?” Her voice grew anxious.

I silently asked them. They couldn’t reply. Maybe they were too young, only babies, really. They hadn’t learned how to talk. “They can’t say.”

When I looked over at Peter, it was obvious he was in the same deep trance he’d been in when we first met. His eyes were glazed as if whatever he was experiencing was far from this dingy basement speakeasy. “What is it? What do you see?” I whispered in his ear.

“They’re fading. They’re dying. They’re being—”

“Snap out of it, Mr. Dune.” Alyse gave him a stern shaking. “You’ve had way too much absinthe. You must slow down.”

“It’s not that,” I insisted. “It’s not!” I reached out and clasped one of his arms.

“Then tell me what it is, Fiera,” she insisted.

“It’s a vision. Of something real.”

“From where?”

“From long ago.”

“How long ago?”

“As long ago as there is a long ago.” I sounded ridiculous. Yes, Alyse Bone was right. The absinthe was crazy making. Or was it the taffy? I leaned into Peter’s limp shoulder, reached over, and hugged him. Shook him, too, but with more patience than Alyse Bone had.

His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed at me with that same calm as when he awoke after the séance. But as before, his expression was clear of emotion, blissfully unaware of what he’d whispered to me only minutes ago.

“Well, there you are,” he slurred. “You look positively ravishing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Dance?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I bumbled to my feet.

“You two really drank the coffin varnish.” Alyse gave an unbecoming snort. “Glad you finally snapped to.” She rose up and drifted away, seemingly irritated with our boozy haze.

Perhaps I was too far gone, but I didn’t care. Peter and I danced and danced. The room filled with the overflow from the convention hall dance—young lovers, bootlegger types with wide ties and cigars, older women with twinkling earrings and heavy bosoms, even a prostitute or two. I thought so anyway, because they wore way too much rouge and came alone to sit brazenly up at the bar with the gin rummies.

This time, I couldn’t say whether I stepped on Mr. Dune’s polished wingtips. He probably couldn’t be sure if he knocked his bony legs into mine or what. We had many more nips of absinthe, and I wolfed down another green-swirl taffy. Before I knew it, I was leaning provocatively against Peter and laughing like a wild banshee.

I remember gaping up at him to see his black hair all disheveled and him indistinctly mumbling. And I, thinking that he was the most gorgeous human being I’d ever seen. I remember Dulcie grabbing one of my arms, and Peter grasping the other. I remember all of us howling at the crescent moon over the ocean, and the shocked sideways glance of the hotel proprietor as we all stumbled in.

I recall pulling out the Tarot he’d given me, and laying them out on the bedroom rug. I recall babbling at him—about a witch and a swindler and a boat—not necessarily in that order. I can still picture his expression of shocked surprise, but not at what.

And I remember Peter’s lips branding my forehead—how could I ever forget that—while shocks of his lush black hair dangled deliciously on my burning cheeks. The last thing I recall before things went dark was kicking off my shoes.

Chapter 5

THE FAIRGROUNDS AT Belmar-by-the-Bay were a lively melee of booths, and food vendors and tourists out for some morning entertainment. Set in a rangy expanse of well-mown lawn grass, there was room for folks to park around the perimeter. I had to admit it was a better location for a spiritualist fair than Asbury Park’s neighboring Ocean Grove, which hosted a Methodist Church Camp every July. As anti-spiritualist as I was, I was also a skeptic when it came to bible thumpers.

My head was splitting from last night’s absinthe that I’d vowed not to guzzle. But guzzle it I had, in my anxiety around Fiera’s strong presence. However, I couldn’t afford to spend this morning in bed with a damp washcloth pressed on my eyes. Tim and I were at the fairgrounds on important business. The Circle of Light group had a large booth here, and if we couldn’t yet infiltrate their private meetings, this was second best. The bureau was pressing me on my findings down here, and I had too few notes for them.

Tim jabbed me in the side. “Hurry up, fella, or are you carrying too big a torch for a certain lady to think straight?” He squinted at me in amusement.

I ignored the comment. To get Tim started was always a mistake unless one wanted to have a back and forth lasting hours. Shading my bloodshot eyes with my hand, I surveyed the crowd, scouting for the Circle of Light banner—a crescent moon with black gothic lettering around it. “Ah!” I pointed ahead and to the right. “Over there.”

Shorter than me by a good foot, Tim had to stand on his toes to see above people’s head’s. “Yes, I see them. Let’s hurry before the line gets too long.” I was in no shape to run, so he bounded ahead.

At their booth, they’d strung up a line of large photos with clothespins. Some boasted strange, shimmery lights; others displayed disembodied heads, even feet, or elongated ghostly forms. In boxes on their long tables, they’d assembled many more copies of the same prints for sale. People were scrambling for them, even at the elevated prices. It turned my stomach to think of all the money good people wasted on this twaddle, and I was tempted to round up all of their bogus merchandise. But I’d need additional hard evidence of fraud.

The photographer, dressed in a white seersucker jacket and summer pants, had a Circle of Light logo on his pendant. He was in the process of snapping a photo of two pretty little girls. When he was done, he fished around inside his big camera box covered by a swath of black fabric, then took the apparatus from its stand and carried it inside the tent. In five minutes or so, to great fanfare, he marched back outside and presented the photo to the family. “You see? This sphere of light is clearly your baby boy floating above your two girls. He’s come down from the heavens to say hello to them.”

Their two daughters worked their way to the front for a better look. “Mama, Papa, look at Ellis!” screeched one of them while her sister emitted gasps. This prompted a wail from the mother and a choked sob from her husband.

“Ellis is safe now, dear,” the man said to his wife, and she nodded, a grim smile brightening her tears.

Finagling a spot behind them, I examined the photo and suppressed a disgusted snort. The photo was blurry, so much so that one couldn’t say for sure whether it was these girls or two other children entirely. Yes, there was a hazy orb of light above the figures.

But it was still a hoax, a clear alteration of the image. There were a few ways to alter photographic paper—smearing the process inks, covering the developing paper in sections, so that wherever the paper was covered, the photograph would remain white. Or simply the bait and switch of a bogus print, taken days or weeks earlier—my department had seen it all.

Still, so far this was nothing worse than what I told people at my own séances. We both gave people false hope. But there was a difference, I decided. These people were lining their pockets with cash, while my paranormal theatrics were strictly to lure in local spiritualists and report on their activities.

“Peter, shake a leg,” Tim called from his place at the end of the line. Customers were starting to wind all the way around the booth.

As we waited our turn, we heard the photographer tell many a lie about his supernatural photos to each client whose turn it was next. He declared that a lonely man’s wife had just appeared in a circle of light around his baldpate. To a desperate young man who’d lost his fiancée to rheumatic fever, he claimed he saw her spirit in what looked to me like an intentional smear of photographic ink. And there was an intelligent, well-dressed woman who swore she saw a ghost dog in the exact shape of her dearly departed bloodhound, Mumsy. So even the upper-crust intellects were gullible prey.

“Distressed folks will see a magical nymph in a pile of stinkin’ dog poo,” Tim whispered in my ear.

“And whittle down their fortunes like incorrigible gamblers,” I muttered back under my breath. We dared say no more. We had to play the part of eager clients. Nevertheless, I surreptitiously scrawled notes in my leather pocket notebook—on the nature of the images in the photos and the outrageous promotional jargon. One sign said Only $1.99 to Walk Across The Circle of Light’s Bridge to Your Family in Heaven. Another stated Your Loved Ones Want to Talk to You. Ask About our Circle Séances for $2.99. I also jotted down the physical descriptions of each Circle of Light salesperson. There were three others, and the white seersucker jacket, which initially looked like cheerful beachwear, was clearly more a uniform. Every Circle of Light follower wore one. They also wore the pendants. I noticed they were all men. I wrote that in my book as well.

Finally, it was our turn in line. The photo barker turned to us. “Who wants their picture taken with a spirit? And which dearly beloved from the other side are you looking to see today?” he asked.

Tim spoke up. He was more quick-witted than I was when I was angered, and this scene had gotten me hot under the collar. “Take me, if you will.” Tim had mussed his hair and wrinkled up his face in an unattractive grimace to look depressed. “My only auntie passed away a few days ago. I’m heartsick.”

“Sympathies, sir. Tell me, what did she look like?” It was obvious the barker was fishing for clues so he’d know how to fashion the photo.

Tim spread out his hands. “Well, she was a broad one. I’d say her hips were yay big.” He drew his hands out even wider, and I smiled inside at his devilish urge to challenge the grifter at his own game. At this rate, the aunt’s so-called phosphorescence would cover the whole blasted photo.

Rubbing at his jaw, the man gestured for Tim to stand in camera’s range and then popped his head under the armor of the shroud. Oh, how I longed to pull the whole shebang off in one grand swoop. His hands fiddled around in there, and then he ducked inside the tent with the camera. Finally, he emerged, an oily snake slithering toward us.

“Here, good sir, looks as if your dearest aunt, rest her soul, has surrounded you with her own wondrous circle of light.” Clearly, the man had put a ring-shaped device over most of the negative so it wouldn’t process that area. Tim’s blurry face, staring out from the center, was the only recognizable part of the image.

Instead of exposing the man for the fraud he was, I praised him up and down.

“You are an extreme talent,” Tim agreed. We chose four more pre-packaged photos as evidence and then paid for the lot.

“May I ask what one can do to be a Circle of Light member?” I stared into the man’s eyes to gauge his reaction.

He looked startled by my question. “Sir, that’s not for me to say, and I must get back to my photography.” He cocked his head toward the swelling line.

“Just one more quick question. Who decides then?” Tim asked him.

“One moment.” He scurried behind the booth into the tent. Then he and another man emerged. The photographer returned to his camera work while the other man approached us.

He was quite tall, even taller than I was, at 6’3”. And his eyes were a liquid blue and piercing as a hawk’s. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped closely on the sides but left oddly puffy on top. He, unlike the others, had on a red shirt under the white seersucker jacket—a sign of leadership?

“I was told you have questions about the Circle.”

“Why, yes,” I started. “We are quite impressed with the spirit of your work. We’d love to attend a meeting, to learn more, possibly become a part of the Circle, as you call it.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. We don’t induct new members unsolicited. You must be invited, highly recommended. Even then, we rarely add members.”

The man used big words—a highly educated man. “How long does the induction take?” I pressed.

He studied us. The air vibrated with his suspicious, tense energy. “Months of indoctrination, learning the ins and outs. It’s quite a complex set of, um, rituals. But as I said, it’s a moot point.” He started to turn, but I didn’t give him the chance.

“Your name, sir?” I fished in my pocket for one of my calling cards, holding it out to him.

“Dr. Talcott.” He took the card, read its fine print, and then glanced back up at me with a more accessible expression. “You are Mr. Dune, of the Tarot and Séance shop in Asbury Park?”

“That’s me.”

“I’ve heard of you. In the short time you’ve set up business, you’ve gained a reputa—”

“A good one, I hope?”

Dr. Talcott chuckled. “To some.”

I couldn’t let that vagary deter me. “I would love for you to attend one of our séances. Find out for yourself what we do and how good we are at our job.” I handed him one of my newly printed flyers. “It would be grand to have a true spiritualist among us.” I nearly choked on my words, and I couldn’t help adding, “Who are the people not so keen on my establishment?” I hated myself for asking. It showed my insecurity. Yet, it reaped an unexpected benefit.

“Alyse Bone,” he replied. “Has she been in for a reading?”

My blood ran cold. “Why, yes, she has.”

“I bet she has,” he muttered.

This cynicism on his part was a strange response, so I prodded him further. “Do you dislike her?”

Again, he chuckled, this time more darkly. “It isn’t exactly that, Mr. Dune. But I have no doubt that she doesn’t like you so very much.”

“Why ever not, and how would you know?” Tim blurted, apparently unable to contain himself with this new development.

Dr. Talcott’s eyes lit up with a mischievous gleam. “She’s rumored to be a witch—one who doesn’t take lightly to people horning in on her territory. Guaranteed, she wants you banished, like…”

“Like who?” I pierced him with a stare as hawkish as his own.

“Like no one.” He gave a sardonic roll of his eyes. “You don’t believe me? See for yourself. I wouldn’t be surprised if she slinks back for another séance and stirs up a cauldron of trouble. Keep your eyes on her. Good day, sirs.”

With that, he turned and hoofed it back under the tent.

Tim and I blinked at one another like dumb oafs, until I had the presence of mind to call after him. “You’re welcome to visit anytime, Dr. Talcott.”

Riding back to my store in Tim’s Model T, I felt that I’d struck rare gold. Not as much with the Circle group as with the exotic nugget that Dr. Talcott had placed in my hands with his words about Alyse Bone. “I don’t believe in witches any more than the devious spiritualists,” I told Tim.

“Neither do I, fellow,” Tim agreed as we drove past a line of hotels with striped awnings. “But it says something about her character—or lack of it.” We exchanged curious looks. “I mean, where there’s smoke, there is bound to be fire. Is there not?”

“Copacetic with that,” I said. “We should keep an eye on Miss Bone—invite her for another séance, the sooner, the better.”

“Or meet her for drinks in the gin joint. Get her pie-eyed so she’ll squeal her secrets.” Tim turned onto my street and parked in front of my shop. We headed inside. “Shall we have a cigar and compare notes?” he asked to the jingle of my door chimes. He began to walk back to my secret office, but I rushed ahead of him.

“Um, not today. I’m still feeling punkish. I need a nap.” I made a show of rubbing my forehead. “Still hurting.”

“Aw, all you need to cure that is a little hair of the dog.” Tim took out his flask and kept walking toward the interior office, where it was our normal custom to put our feet up on the desk and wind down after an investigation.

“Hey.” I spread my arms across the inner office door. “It’s a fright in there.” I nervously chuckled. “Late night, you know, my shirt and old socks… you don’t want to go in.”

He snickered. “That wild, eh?”

I forced a sheepish grin. Let him think what he wanted, if he went in there, he might have worse suspicions about me. “I’ll ring you up tomorrow.” With that, I slipped inside my office and quickly locked the door.

On my interior desk lay two bags of Spellbinding taffy, one of the packs torn greedily open, and wrappers scattered across the desk.

I could not allow Tim—or anyone—to see them. In my stupor last night, I’d bought one bag of green Truth Serum taffy, and another bag of Luck in Love. Did I think they would work? No chance. I was a hardened nonbeliever. Then why on earth had I purchased these cellophane bags of silliness?

My thoughts shifted to Fiera—beautiful, unfathomable Fiera. Somehow, she was the key to so many unclear directions, sensations. Whenever I allowed my mind to wander, my head filled with images of her—sitting across from me at that séance, laughing at my clumsy efforts to dance, us cross-legged on the carpet as she read my fortune in her hotel room, of her practically falling into my lap. Of me helping her to bed, slowly unzipping her dress… and then the heated thoughts and emotions that I dared not feel poured in.

I was here on an undercover mission. If she knew I was deceiving her about my identity and mission here, she would hate me. Forget about the irony of the taffy I’d bought—she could never find out my true job.

Whether I admitted it, whether I liked it, Fiera was a catalyst. Last night at the speakeasy, she’d done it again—made an ethereal connection with my heart and mind, the part of me that was so deep I had no idea how to access it—without her. The bond might’ve been spectral, but it was as binding as if we’d been tied together by thick ropes.

Again, I’d all but forgotten our conversation in the moment of connection. This greatly disturbed me for I was a man of reason, of science. I didn’t subscribe to spiritualist malarkey. I needed to find out what I’d said to her and make her swear to secrecy. I couldn’t leave random words floating out in the world that might incriminate me.

I had to go see her. Now. This bizarre connection must be explored again. It suddenly seemed the most vital part of my research, more important than any of the Circle of Light antics. I simply had to find out if it were real or not.

If it was, then everything I’d ever believed in might be a lie, and what I’d assumed was a grand hoax just might be real. Snap out of it, Peter, I scolded. You know it can’t be real. Perhaps what upset me most was that I’d have to expose her bag of tricks when I was actually starting to like her.

On my way out, I grabbed a Lucky in Love taffy, unwrapped it with trembling hands, and ravenously chewed it. Then, with my pulse pounding in my neck, I locked up the shop and hastened down the boardwalk to her hotel.

Chapter 6

THE SUN STREAMING through the windows was over-bright. My head was threatening to explode. It throbbed mercilessly, and my eye sockets ached. I attempted to sit up, but my stomach lurched. Easing myself gingerly back on my bed, I frowned while last night’s events shambled into mind.

There was the convention center and the formal dance with Rudy Valley’s band. There were Alyse Bone’s odd interrogations in the powder room, our venture to the taffy store, and down to the speakeasy below.

It was there my memory got spotty. Very spotty.

And the bits that wafted in were disturbing to say the least! There I was, sprawling half into Mr. Dune’s lap. I’d said something about floating cherubs, and then he was crying into my shoulder. Something else about hot tears for the ones who got hurt? What in God’s name? There were sharp looks from Tim and Alyse. Then, dancing with Peter, us wallowing on each other like drunken saps.

Me telling way too many truths and half-truths about my life. To people I didn’t trust, like Alyse. To people I didn’t really know, like Peter Dune. Yes, I would revert to calling him by his full name. Ha! As if they were my best of friends, I’d blurted out things I’ve never told anyone.

What was I thinking? I wasn’t! What was in those drinks? That taffy?

As I sat unsteadily, my stomach immediately rebelled. I got to the bathroom just in time to heave up the contents of my stomach in a distinctly unladylike fashion. Afterward, I glanced in the mirror and cringed. Not only did I look like hell on earth, I was naked except for my brassiere and short tap pants.

Oh, holy mother! Peter Dune had been carousing in my room. Had we done anything I should be ashamed of? I looked down at my disheveled state—my bra straps hanging halfway down my arms.

Walking as slowly as I could to avoid further sickness, I returned to my bedroom and took a scathing survey. The Tarot Deck was scattered across my rug, and there were taffy wrappers flung about. My stockings were in spirals under my side-table, and my slip and dress were flung carelessly over my chair.

Threading my hands through my hair to tame it into passable waves without using my hot iron, I stared down at the Tarot cards as more distressing flashes came to me. Of Peter and I hugging on the speakeasy settee, me reading his fortune for him in this hotel room, and his shocked look at my words. Him peeling off my stockings one by one, and my sighs of pleasure at the process. Good gravy, what else? I didn’t want to know.

I sat frozen and yet burning with humiliation. There was no way I could see him again. We’d gone too far in our impropriety, so there was no chance that he would view me as a proper lady now. Nor was he a suitable gentleman. He, who would tramp up into a lady’s hotel room and take advantage of her in her helpless state of inebriation. What a foul and forward act! Who was this Mr. Dune, and what did he want with me other than to seduce and discard me, under the pretext of a gentlemanly date? In truth, I had no clue, because everything had piled on much too furiously and fast for my comfort.

Although I had three more days of vacation time, I decided that I must immediately return to New York. I couldn’t face Peter Dune, but even worse, I couldn’t face Dulcie. The image of me hanging off her arm last night and her hauling me up the stairs of the hotel was too horrid. All I could do for a while was hug myself and rock.

* * *

I WAS FILLED with regrets when I threw my scarce belongings into the used suitcase Mrs. Cuthbert had given me. I would sorely miss Dulcie; she’d been nothing but lovely to me, and generous beyond measure, paying for my beach chair, loaning me her evening dress. I gasped. The dress! I would have to see her again to return it. And who should come knocking on my door at that very minute?

“Fiera? Are you in? Hello?” She knocked harder. “Are you well? You were in quite a state last night, Fiera.”

My heart was pounding to the beat of my bleary headache. I ran to the door and flung it open before realizing I was still in my underwear. “Oh! Come in,” I exclaimed and ran for my robe, already in my open suitcase. Flinging it around me, I tied it.

Dulcie stepped inside, her mouth dropping open at the sight of my suitcase all packed. “Don’t you have more days left here?”

“Yes.” I handed her the dress she lent me, its gauzy, full skirt tossed with flowers spilling over my arm. “I can’t thank you enough for loaning me your beautiful gown.”

“I was happy to do it.” As she took her dress, she eyed my suitcase again. “Why are you packing?”

I sighed and hung my head. “I can’t stay here, Dulcie. I did dreadful things last night.”

“Like what? Did you murder someone?”

“Of course not. Well, I did murder my own reputation.”

“Oh, that.” She let out a peal of laughter, which I have to say, lifted my spirits an inch. “We all went a little crazy! It was a hoot!” she said. But when she saw tears start to roll down my face, she hurried over and held me at arm’s length to look closely at me. “Are you sick?”

“I was, this morning. My head is still throbbing.”

“You did drink a lot of that… what was it?”

“Absinthe.” At the word, my stomach performed a sickening flip. I willed it to still.

“Poor dearie.” Dulcie guided me to my bed. “Sit and rest. And then we can go out for a bite to eat on the boardwalk later.”

I groaned. “I don’t think I’ll ever have an appetite again.”

“You will. A little food will be the best thing for you. Helps a hangover.”

“How would you know?”

“Fiera, I’m not quite as angelic as I look. I’ve had my nips now and then at parties.”

“It’s just that, I can’t face Peter Dune again, Dulcie. He was up here last night, and I woke up with only my underwear on. Who would come carousing in a girl’s hotel room with her as crocked as I was?”

This time, she threw back her head and bellowed like a jaded sailor. “Oh, honey, he’s smitten with you. That’s what for!”

My belly flipped, this time not from sickness. “Smitten?” I shook my head in disbelief. “More like free favors from a floozy.”

“Absolutely not! He did nothing of the sort,” she pronounced. “He left with his clothes on. And before that, I heard you talking his ear off, telling him his fortune.”

“What was I predicting?”

She tapped a finger against her bottom lip. “Well, I didn’t hear the exact words. Just things like, ‘Your future will be such and such, and I see a vision of so and so’—things like that. I could hear you all the way across the hall. So I highly doubt there was time for much… play.” Dulcie’s report was some comfort, but I detected a creeping look of doubt in her eyes, in the way her delicate mouth pursed.

The fact was that I still felt dirty, sinful and utterly humiliated. “I’ll consider what you said, but Dulcie, I can’t face him. I have to go.”

“Please don’t,” she wailed. “I’m staying here all summer, and it will be so dreadfully boring without you.”

“I’m flattered, I really am.” I patted her hand. “But even if this incident with Peter Dune hadn’t happened… My money’s running out. I’m not as well off as you.”

“Don’t fret about that. It’s a terrible time for most folks. I’m just lucky that Daddy has money from his buildings. I’ll spot you.”

“That’s not right either. I’d feel owing. It would be unbalanced, Dulcie.”

“Aw, let’s at least have one more meal, one more stroll down the boardwalk. What do you say?” She looked so sad, and so hopeful that I had to agree to it.

* * *

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE hotel and the trek to Beach Joe’s Burger Palace, I rediscovered my appetite. Dulcie and I ordered burgers with fried onions, and I washed mine down with a cold Coca Cola. She was right—food did help a hangover. My headache lessened, my body felt stronger, and my stomach calmed down.

Afterward, we walked along the beach collecting shells and then sat for a spell on a boardwalk bench, facing the ocean. The marine breeze soothed my soul and the sun relaxed me. “I’m already feeling nostalgic for my time here.” That was hard enough to admit; it would’ve been impossible to add that I was jealous of the carefree children jumping the breakers and making sandcastles. I’d never had a chance to see the coast growing up in the Brooklyn orphanage. But I wasn’t one to feel sorry for myself, so I shook off my brooding.

Dulcie handed me a piece of paper that she’d scrawled her address on. “Promise you’ll write.”

I slid it in my dress pocket. “‘Course I will.” She tore off another piece of her notepaper and lent me her pen so I could I write my address for her. “You’ll have to make sure to write In Care of Madame Cuthbert.” Checking my watch, I added, “I’d better get back if I’m going to catch the train.”

We walked back at a fast clip, and I snuck in while the proprietor was busy with paperwork. I’d already told him I was leaving early, and he’d given me a look of disgust, no doubt recalling my outrageous behavior of the previous night.

When we reached my hotel door, Dulcie looked as if she was about to cry. “Can you come in, just for—?” Just as she was about to finish her sentence, we heard the proprietor having angry words with a man downstairs.

“No, you cannot come upstairs!” the proprietor exclaimed.

“I must! I won’t stay long.” That low, husky voice sounded so familiar.

“Dulcie, yes, let’s do step in your room for a minute.” I realized the plaintive bass voice belonged to none other than Peter Dune.

His voice, filtering upstairs, grew unrelenting. Dulcie fiddled with her key until the second before he came bounding up the stairs.

We ducked inside, and she gasped. “Fiera? Whatever is wrong?”

But she didn’t have to wait for the answer because Peter Dune proceeded to rap wildly on my door, across the hall. “Fiera? Are you in there? Open up. I need to speak with you. Now.” He knocked harder.

Dulcie’s eyes got big and her face paled. “Hide! He’s acting awfully boorish.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Peter Dune gave up banging on my door and began to bang on hers, which prompted me to wriggle under her bed. The floor was full of cobwebs and dust, and I had to pinch my nose to keep from sneezing. So much for the chambermaid’s cleanliness!

“Dulcie? I know you’re in there,” he insisted. “Give me a moment of your time.” He rapped more determinedly. “Dulcie, it’s important.”

To my horror, I saw her heeled sandals move toward the door and heard her swing it open. “Yes?” she cooed, a perfect illusion of innocence.

“Oh, thank you,” he exclaimed. “I’m searching for Fiera. The manager said she checked out today. Have you seen her?”

“No. In fact, I walked her partway to the train station. Her vacation ended a little early due to unforeseen circumstances.”

Never was I so grateful for a deceitful friend.

“What kind of circumstances?” Peter Dune was waiting for an answer that was not forthcoming, so he barreled on. “Do you have her address in New York?”

“No, Mr. Dune.” Good Dulcie, she’d even reverted to the more formal mister.

“You don’t have to call me mister,” he refuted. Good heavens, was he going to flirt with my friend now that I was out of the picture? It was all too shoddy.

“Can I give her a message?” Coldness seeped into Dulcie’s voice.

“No. No, I’ll locate her myself. Good day, Dulcie.”

“Good day.” With that, the door swung shut.

Locate me himself? Why and how would he do that? I waited until his footsteps cantered downstairs before rolling out from under the bed and shaking out my dusty skirt. The movement brought back my queasiness, but I swallowed hard and took a deep, refreshing breath.

Dulcie was sitting on the covers, looking spooked. “You were right. He was acting like a downright lunatic.”

“Thanks for covering for me.” I hugged her. “I really must be going now, Dulcie. My train comes soon. I promise to write.”

“Please do.” She sounded truly forlorn. I didn’t want to look back at her for fear I’d never have the gumption to leave my kind friend and this wonderful beach hotel.

I grabbed my suitcase from my room, went downstairs, and plunked my key on the front desk. Hurrying out to the street, I scouted in both directions to make sure Mr. Dune was nowhere in sight, and then I marched up to the boardwalk for one last inquiry.

Spellbinding Saltwater Taffy looked decidedly different in the daytime. The scarves draped so seductively last night looked dingy in the sunlight. And there was a fine sheen of grime coating the picture windows. I scurried around from basket to basket, passing the one full of pink-striped confections, and the lemon-orange ones. It seemed as if I’d gone through every color of the rainbow before my eyes focused in on the green ones with the blue swirls—from last night. They were near the back, by the glassed-in cooking area.

Funny, there was no big sign boasting what miracle they supposedly performed. I picked up one of the wrapped taffies and read its fine print. “Truth Serum Taffy.” Icy dread chilled my chest. “Truth telling, eh?” I murmured.

“May I help you?” A girl was suddenly behind me. I nearly leapt into the glass wall from the surprise.

“Miss, so sorry to scare you.”

I looked into the seagull-gray eyes of a beautiful girl of about seventeen. She wore the purple Spellbinding apron and matching purple earrings. Her lush, peach-hued hair was swept into an elegant bundle of curls, tamed only by golden hairclips, and her cheeks had a light spray of freckles.

I finally found my voice. “Is, um, Alyse Bone here?”

“Alyse?” The girl furrowed her artfully tweezed brows.

“She says she comes here a lot. She brought me last night with my friends. I thought maybe she owned the place. Tall, jet-black hair, wears rather high heels.”

The girl’s confused expression shifted to a more relaxed one. “Ah, Miss Bone. She’s not the owner, but she does help manage the store. Haven’t seen her today.” She glanced down at my scuffed suitcase. “If I do, should I give her a message? Might you care to tell me your name and your nature of business with Miss Bone?”

Odd that this girl who claimed confusion would abruptly admit Alyse sometimes helped oversee the store. Strange also, if she hardly knew Alyse, to be inquiring as to what my business was with her. But whatever it took to send Alyse word. “Tell her Fiera came to say hello. And tell me…” I held up the green-swirl taffy. “Do people really think that eating this will induce one to tell a deep, dark truth?” I gave a laugh to indicate that I, for one, did not believe.

“Some do, some don’t,” the girl said.

It was then I saw the old man with wild, white hair lurking in the background, slowly refilling one of the baskets with blue taffy. He was staring at us. I wasn’t sure why, but a wave of mutual recognition seemed to pass between us. What was it exactly—an alliance, a mistaken recognition of a long-lost relative, or the acknowledgment of a similar sensibility? I had no clue. He took out a pipe from his apron pocket and tamped down its tobacco with his thumb.

All I knew was that this place, and these people, were truly alarming, to say nothing of Peter Dune. I was suddenly glad to be leaving, to be going back to a place where no one stared at me, and no one asked me intrusive questions. Where no one fed me taffy that said Truth Serum, and where I didn’t act like a daffy nymphomaniac and later forget my own actions.

“Thanks, I must be going,” I said.

“Where are you off to?” she asked in a voice so honey-laden that my breath was taken away and I almost forgot why I was there, or that I had a train to catch in a mere twenty minutes.

“Um, uh, nowhere important,” I managed and raced out. A small triumph—my mind was returning to normal. Yet, like an itch one must scratch, some incorrigible urge drove me to look back. The white-haired cook was standing in front of the store, smoking his pipe and gazing with unwholesome interest at my departing figure.

Chapter 7

IT WAS HARD to memorize the address, but I managed. As soon as I got outside, I asked some passerby to borrow his pen, and promptly jotted the East Sixty-Fifth Street address on my forearm. Once I managed that, I took off at a breathless pace to the Asbury train station—only to see Fiera’s train rumble off in the distance, while I stood, aghast, on the platform. “Damn it all, to hell!” I swore loudly, too late to quell it.

An old lady, glaring at me like a plucky parrot, poked her parasol in my direction. “For shame,” she spat.

“Beg pardon,” I muttered. At least I had Fiera’s New York address. Her friend, Dulcie, had carelessly left the note wide open on her side table. And while she was making a show of avoiding my questions, I was committing it to memory.

This temporary fumble gave me time to go home and do more research into the identity of Alyse Bone. After that, I would take an afternoon train to the big city. Shadow Fiera. Learn her haunts. I would get back to the Circle of Light soon enough. The thought of seeing Fiera again and in her own element was at once thrilling and guilt inducing. I quashed down my guilt. After all, I was a special vice squad agent, and I was committed to do my job.

* * *

PORING OVER THE research I’d gathered and the rest that Tim had gotten from the Asbury civic society and the local businesses, it was clear that Spellbinding Saltwater Taffy was not Alyse Bone’s only business. She owned a seashell store in Point Pleasant, a dog grooming parlor in Asbury, another speakeasy up in Manhattan by the name of Madame Lu’s, and a mannequin factory up in Brooklyn. Mannequins and dog grooming, really? Whatever her predilection, Miss Bone was quite the business mogul. She cannily operated under various names: Lady Lu, Madame Bellmore, and Mistress Moon were her three most colorful ones. I sniggered at Mistress Moon, fantasizing the kinds of shady businesses she could conduct with that pseudonym—a dominatrix lounge, a rich women’s lunatic asylum, and a dance parlor for insomniacs.

Oddly, half of her businesses were based in New York. So, what was she doing loitering on the Jersey shore when she had more important commerce to attend to up north?

Unless, that was the point. “Ah-ha!” I exclaimed, pleased with my vague hypothesis. Perhaps the most important business was here—or the most important person. But who could be so important to her, here in Asbury? And if Dr. Talcott, the man from the Circle of Light cult was right, who did Alyse Bone consider such a threat to her so-called queendom?

Or was she was hiding from someone more key in Manhattan?

I jotted all my questions and theories in my leather notebook, no matter how farfetched. Sometimes, it was the least rational theory that triumphed as true blue. And among my questions was one I felt most important—What exactly is the definition of a witch?

I fixed a strong pot of coffee and a ham sandwich, and then I packed a small suitcase. Jotted down a note for Tim informing him of my brief jaunt to New York, and making a request for him to please watch over Peter’s Tarot and Séance. As I was slipping my pen in my vest pocket, the door chimes rang. Locking the inner sanctum, I scurried out, making sure that the gap in my back office was tightly sealed.

My young assistant stood in the doorway. In my haste to finish my research and pack a bag, I’d forgotten Opal was scheduled to work. “Good afternoon.”

“Likewise, Mr. Dune.” Opal always looked a trifle hungry, sad and disheveled, and today was no exception. Her pastel blue collar stuck up at a crooked angle, and the hem of her skirt was frayed on one side. I suppose I had a weakness for people who needed a leg up. No doubt, it came from my sister, always a dollar short and terribly enfeebled from her opium use.

Fishing in my pocket, I pulled out a handful of bills. Pressed them into Opal’s fragile hand. “I’ll be traveling for a day or so. Get yourself a plate of hot food and perhaps, a new frock. Soon after I return, we are holding another séance.”

Opal’s eyes, already bulbous, widened as she examined the cash. “Why, thank you, Mr. Dune. I surely will.” She stuffed them into her rather flat bodice.

“Oh, and Opal?” I reached into my briefcase for some of the séance flyers I’d quickly gotten printed and handed them to her.

“Yes?”

“If that woman who was at our last séance, Alyse Bone, or the younger one, Fiera, come in, please tell them they are invited to the séance on Friday night. Give them each one of these.” Today was Tuesday. I hoped that would be enough time to track Fiera down and convince her to attend. I needed all of them there in order to do a proper study, including Dr. Talcott. I left some flyers for Tim to distribute to the upper echelons in the Circle of Light as well. “Can you do that, Opal? Do you remember Miss Bone and Fiera?”

“Yes, sir. How could I forget?”

Indeed, how could anyone forget them? Especially Fiera.

Clasping my overnight bag, I pocketed a Lucky in Love and Truth Serum taffy, and then rushed down the street to the Asbury Park train station.

Chapter 8

AT PENN STATION, I bought Terrence a balsa-wood plane with some of my last money. The salesman claimed that they were a favorite with four-year-old boys. There was another small treasure stashed away in my suitcase for him, as well. It felt strange to be back in the oppressive heat and loud bustle of Manhattan after the cooling salt breezes and soothing whir of the ocean tides.

Haphazardly, I bumped into people while worrying what Mrs. Cuthbert would think of me returning so early. They returned my clumsiness with scowls and eye rolls. I hadn’t taken full advantage of my employer’s precious vacation gift. Yet, I wouldn’t be able to give her back her money for my unused hotel days. I’d tried my best to get them refunded, but the curmudgeonly proprietor had refused to reimburse me. He’d argued it was too late to rent my room to someone else. What a terrible waste. But I had to leave. All the way uptown on the elevated line, I fretted over which lie I might tell. I didn’t dare tell Mrs. Cuthbert my real story—about the séance, the speakeasy, of Mr. Dune’s strange behavior, and, truth be told, of my own.

* * *

IT SEEMED I had intruded in the middle of a lively tea party Mrs. Cuthbert was giving. She gaped at me, her teacup half-drawn to her opened mouth. Five ladies dressed to the nines sat around her fancy living room, chatting. After I walked in, everyone got quiet, as if an unwelcome spirit from the Land of Night had floated in.

After a moment, Mrs. Cuthbert rose and walked toward me. “Why, Ivy, you’re home awfully early.”

I’d grown so used to being called Fiera in a mere three days that Ivy sounded like a stranger’s name. It was as if I’d been away for months rather than days. I didn’t reveal my new name to her. I simply nodded and ad-libbed, “It was a wonderful first day… and then I was bitten by a jellyfish minutes before I was hauled out to sea in a dangerous riptide. Nearly drowned. Yesterday, I contracted food poisoning from rancid steamed mussels. I was sick all afternoon, in a weakened state and, well… here I am, better, but back early.” Such flimsy excuses. “I missed Terrence, too,” I added for good measure, “and I so want to thank you for the stay at the hotel, and my time at the beach.”

I glanced around the room, too embarrassed by my own lies to look directly at anyone. Most of Mrs. Cuthbert’s furniture was comprised of ancient mahogany chairs and tallboy cabinets. She wasn’t much for modern Art Deco, but she did have a spiffy Bakelite radio. Right now, it was tuned to an afternoon big band show. I stared at its cream-colored ridges until they blended and warped.

“Oh, Ivy, how terribly unfortunate.” Mrs. Cuthbert came closer and laid a chilly hand on my shoulder. She ferried me off me to the back of the large duplex apartment, past the ladies and their curious side-glances. The second I left the drawing room, their clamor swelled right back to its previous volume.

I’d heard their gossip before, about which society matron was buying which painting, and which married gentleman was flirting salaciously with which loose lady. Nothing too focused on the harsh realities of the day—about who’d lost their job or who was standing with their hands out in a food line, eating cold beans from a can.

I happened to know a little about that bleaker world. Every time I walked past the Hooverville shanties on the Great Lawn in Central Park, I couldn’t help but see ragamuffin children and homeless people hunched around fire barrels, roasting their food. It was heartbreaking, and it could’ve so easily been my home if Mrs. Cuthbert hadn’t hired me. I tried my best not to judge her rich friends who complained about what I saw as trifles—a trip to the dentist for a filling or an inconvenient tear in a stocking.

“Terrence is back here. Old Lorraine was watching him as best she could around her cooking work. But surely, he’s climbing the wall with boredom,” said Mrs. Cuthbert. “So, perhaps your return was opportune.” This time, she offered me a warm smile. “Can you put your things in order quickly and take him straightaway to Central Park? Mind you, nowhere near the Great Lawn shanties. Stay near the Fifth Avenue exit so you can flee easily if a derelict bothers you.” I nodded. “It’s supposed to rain later, so time is of the essence.”

That was her favorite line. According to her, time was of the essence in getting to her bridge club, making it to a fancy dinner or the theater on time, or giving Terrence his bath.

Normally, the line was annoying, though right now, it was a welcome sign she believed my lies and was moving past them. “Of course, Mrs. Cuthbert. I’d be happy to. I even bought Terrence a little balsam airplane to fly over there.”

“Did you, now? That was nice of you.”

By this time, we’d made it to the nursery. Terrence came bounding over to me and grasped my legs as if I were a wide tree trunk. “Ivy, you’re back! Lorraine’s no fun. She’s too creaky, and she says her ankles are too swollen to take me to the park.” Lorraine was their cook, and she was seventy-five if she was a day, so I understood Terrence’s frustration. His brown hair swirled in every direction and his cheeks were a hearty pink. He’d been dressed in a neat pair of beige linen trousers, but he’d managed to scuff the knees. “Ivy! Take me outside. Will you? It’s so boring in here!” He groaned and held on tighter.

“Let go of her legs and she might be able to, Terrence,” Mrs. Cuthbert said.

She went back to her tea party while Terrence trailed along with me to my room. I dropped my suitcase and belongings on the bedspread. He jumped up on the bed and leapt around like a chimpanzee.

“Watch me, Ivy, I’m flying,” he yelled, waving his arms. “I’m a hawk, no, I’m a plane.” He jumped even higher, wrinkling my coverlet and disturbing the contents of my suitcase, some of which jolted over the rim and onto my bed.

I didn’t have time to set everything right or discipline him, because I was madly scrambling around, sorting out my clothes and hanging them up as quickly as possible. Terrence was a sweet boy, but spoiled, and lonely for other four-year-old friends. His mother was keeping him at home until he started kindergarten next year. And she didn’t think often enough about introducing him to potential playmates.

“Okay, little man, time to stop your cavorting.” I gestured toward the door. “Let’s get to the park before it rains.”

He jumped off and stumbled, landing on his rump and screeching in pain. “Ouch, Ivy. Help me up!”

I lent him a hand and we crept along the back hall, shooting down the old servants’ stairs and across Fifth Avenue. When we were safely on the grass, Terrence dashed off ahead of me, badly in need of a good run. Sitting on a bench, I kept careful watch. I also studied the sky. It was getting darker and the humid air was rapidly becoming windy, blowing the overhead branches about. When he’d had twenty minutes to run, I called him over and held the present behind my back. “Which hand?”

“That one. No, that one!” Terrence hopped from one foot to the other as he changed his mind.

I thrust my hands in front of me. He took the paper bag from my hand and tore into it. “Careful, you’ll rip your present,” I warned. That inspired him to tear in to it a tiny bit slower.

“A plane! A flying plane.” Gripping it in his chubby hands, he thanked me and then raced it around in circles on the grass. I was delighted, even shocked that he liked it so much, because his room was chock-full of much more extravagant toys. He had the newest Big Performing Circus, a Lionel electric train, and even a pedal car with real electric lights.

Heavy clouds were gathering while I showed him how to open the balsam wings, tip it upward, and flick his arm so it would soar instead of flopping to the ground. He was just starting to get the hang of it when the sky let out a frightening crack of thunder, and rain began to pour down in dense sheets.

I shielded my eyes with my palm. “Come on, Terrence, we’ve got to get back.”

“No! Let me fly in the rain. I like rain,” he insisted.

“Terrence, it’s dangerous to stay out in a thunderstorm.” Almost as if to prove my point, a booming thunderclap reverberated through the trees. It was so deafening that it seemed mere yards away.

Panicked, Terrence ran and stumbled, this time landing right on his wooden plane. Even through the ruckus, I heard the dreadful crack. He rolled off it, and, holding up the shattered thing, he wailed, “It’s broken! My airplane.”

He wouldn’t let me take it for safekeeping, so I showed him how to take the battered wing in one hand and the body of the plane in the other, in order to prevent further damage. The thunder kept on coming, each time sending him into another tailspin of startled bawling.

By the time we got inside, mucus and tears were smeared on his face, and I was at my wit’s end. I wasn’t a mother, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the skills for it. I had to think fast though. His mother’s tea party was still in full swing, and I wasn’t about to bother her after my first inopportune appearance. So, I promised Terrence I’d fix the ruined wing—somehow.

“You can? You will?” He beamed up at me through his waterworks.

Guiding him into my room, I wiped his face with a clean handkerchief and then gave him the second present—my shell collection from the Asbury beach. “Play with this while I locate some glue.”

As he sat on the floor, cross-legged, he was at least temporarily absorbed enough to put down the broken plane. He began to pile up shells and see how high he could stack them before they tumbled down in a heap.

Time is of the essence, I thought. I ran to the bathroom and flung open the medicine cabinet. Was this where folks kept their Casco’s Milk Glue? No, there was nothing in there but aspirin, Coca Cola syrup for rumbling tummies, and hand lotion.

Where else? I tiptoed into the kitchen and peeked into the various drawers. No glue, only silverware, string, a mess of grocery and breakfast cereal coupons, and multiple corks for the wine. Might string work? I decided not.

The last possibility would be in Mrs. Cuthbert’s private bathroom closet. Once in a while, she asked me to go in there for towels. I’d never gone without permission, though this was an emergency. Terrence was starting to call for me.

I slunk through her room and into the adjoining bathroom. Before, I’d always grabbed a towel and hurried off. But upon closer inspection, I saw that her private cabinet shelves held a wealth of objects: a bowl of golden necklaces and earrings, lipsticks of many colors, neatly folded silk pajamas, and—

Mrs. Cuthbert stormed in the room. “What are you doing in my private closet?” she asked, her green eyes firing off bullets. Before I could answer, she wagged some flat paper objects at me. “And why did you give these evil cards to my Terrence to play with? Is this your idea of a child’s game?”

I saw, with spreading horror that she was holding up the three most off-putting Tarots—the skeleton of death, the hanged man, and the red-horned devil.

“Well?” she spat, wagging them closer to my face.

I stumbled on words to get out a semblance of an explanation. Instead, my embarrassment, frustration, and fury from the last couple of days tumbled out in a kind of nonverbal frenzy that seemed to electrify the very air.

In that elemental force, the cards were mysteriously yanked from her hand. They flew up, grazing her cheeks, and staying aloft in a holding pattern. Then, just as swiftly as they’d flown from her grip, they fluttered to the ground. All face up and staring at us.

Mrs. Cuthbert stepped back and warded me off with raised arms. Her face contorted in a grimace of terror. “What are you, Ivy, some kind of witch? A dark person aligned with the devil?”

Terrence ran in. “What did you do with my cards, Mama? I was playing with them.”

When he saw them and tried to pick them up, she took his hand, pulled him close, and held him behind her. “I’ve been only kind to you, Ivy. And you repay me with this… this teaching my son the devil’s cards? Get out! Pack your bags and leave. Immediately. And give me back the money refunded for those two extra hotel days.”

“I… I can’t.”

“Why not?” Her glittery eyes were scary.

“I tried. The hotel manager refused. He—”

“Poppycock! You’re a thief, too?”

“No! You have to believe—”

Was it the spike in my upset that had the cards literally flying up again? This time, they careened around her neck, nicking her skin like paper razors. Thankfully, they didn’t cut through her skin, but made a trail of raised, pink lines. How could that be?

Frantically waving them off, she turned on her heel and hauled Terrence off with her. She and her guests scurried to take refuge in the study off from the main living room. My hearing seemed quite acute. More than I remembered it ever being. I could hear her slide the deadbolt on the double doors and the hissing of frantic explanations. “I said out, now!” she called through the door. Terrence began to wail anew.

I ran into my room, where he’d scattered one of my Tarot decks all over the rug. As I cursed at the cards, I cursed at all the spoiled little boys in the world. For he had not only thrown my cards about, he’d smashed many of the seashells I’d so lovingly collected for him. My heart ached and my eyes stung, but I couldn’t afford to cry. Not now, not yet.

Dashing around, I collected the clothes I’d just hung up, the shoes I’d placed back under my bed. Something compelled me to collect the other three Tarot cards as an afterthought. Lastly, I scrambled through the kitchen, desperately searching on the countertop for a loaf of bread to toss in my suitcase for later. Mrs. Cuthbert must’ve tidied up for her guests, or given them her store of cookies and bread.

To make matters worse, she heard me rattling around in there and called, “Get out of my kitchen, you thief! Buy your own food. Scram before I call the cops!”

I thought of apologizing, yet what good would that do? She’d called me a thief, a witch, and worse, some kind of lady demon. Right in front of her son and her guests.

Well, was I? I’d often sensed people’s thoughts and emotions—knew what they were about to say before they uttered any words. And there was that uncanny connection I had with Peter Dune where our psychic wires seemed to cross. It had occurred not once, but twice now. What was happening to me? Whatever it was it was amplifying—swelling and spreading like the crimson stain of spilled wine. I’d never been able to move things out of someone’s hands or off a floor. Closing Mrs. Cuthbert’s front door one last time, I shuddered, fretting over the unearthly movement of the cards. We all saw it with our own sane eyes. Had I done that?

Impossible.

Chapter 9

IN THE DRIZZLE that marked the end of the storm, I started to cross East Sixty-Fifth Street. I intended to inspect the names on the mailboxes when I saw a distressed woman hurtling down the front stoop, suitcase and bags bumping against the iron railing as she flew. Stepping quickly back on the curb, I ducked behind a stout oak tree.

Poking my head out after a second, I saw it was Fiera! She was red-faced with tears streaming down her sensitive features, and she was walking at an unusually fast clip toward me.

Good Lord! This wouldn’t do. Not at all.

My chest burned as I tried to straighten up and adjust my torso in a sideways pose so the tree would still conceal me. I stuck my briefcase between my legs and prayed she wouldn’t spot me in this compromising and ridiculous position.

With the click of her boots approaching, I kept angling myself in increments to the right and held my breath. The rush of air and the scent of her woodsy perfume told me she’d passed me. It had worked. Still not daring to emerge from behind the tree, I stared at her as she continued her trek northward.

That was, until a matronly woman in an ill-fitting floral dress marched up to me and grumbled, “You should be ashamed of yourself, you looky-loo. Get out of my neighborhood or I’ll call the police.”

I was a cop—of a certain category. But I complied. Shadowing Fiera at a safe distance, I was relieved to see her heading into Central Park, where there were ample trees and bushes to hide behind. She made her way further northward, and then settled on a bench and set her bags on either side of her.

Her head bowed, she began to sob into her hands.

Had she gotten into a brutal disagreement with her employer? Or worse, had she been fired? I was tempted to come out of hiding and offer her a clean handkerchief. The possibility that she’d lost her job disturbed me more than I wanted to admit. Tim had warned me not to have feelings for this girl, and I knew it was foolhardy. Yet, my heartstrings pulled in many directions at seeing the shudder of her delicate shoulders, her hair dangling in damp clumps around her wet face, and her bedraggled baggage.

By the time she rose wearily from the bench, my knees and neck were aching from crouching behind a dripping laurel bush, with one ear cocked for pertinent sounds. That was part of my job description—to spy, often in uncomfortable settings. I had to obtain all details on the particular person of interest regardless of my comfort, my peace of mind, and my emotions.

I followed her again, this time in a westerly direction while avoiding the puddles in the sopping grass. She walked slowly, almost aimlessly, as though she was unsure of her destination. As she drew closer to the Great Meadow, my pulse throbbed in my neck. Good God! She was heading toward the filthy squatter village called Hooverville. Did she have no friends in this city?

Hooverville, I recalled, had started as a protest by military men denied fair housing options during this terrible time of food and job shortages. But it had swelled to a large, and squalid, homeless warren, with folks building shelters from corrugated paper, scrap wood, newspaper, and tin—basically anything they could get their hands on.

I watched as Fiera approached a family with two unkempt urchins. She spoke in halting sentences to the women, who, though she offered Fiera a faint smile, sent her off with a firm shake of her head. Fiera wandered on a little further and then paused as she surveyed the makeshift structures, trying, I suppose, to weigh her options.

It was all I could do to stop myself from dashing over and offering to help carry her bags, buy her a meal, or ply her with cash for a hotel room where she might take a warm shower and get a safe night’s sleep.

But it was against my job assignment, which was only to surreptitiously track, to observe, and to doggedly report back evidence of spiritualist or paranormal cons to the bureau. Or else get close to her strictly in order to obtain information. So far, that had backfired. I didn’t understand why she’d gone home from the beach so early. She’d told me she would be staying for a few more days. Had I offended her somehow? Sure, we were tipsy and acting wild, but I didn’t think… I raked a hand through my hair.

If I was being honest, there were moments of that night—no, more than moments—that were lost to me.

Abruptly, she spun around, as if she could hear my thoughts. She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes in my direction. Swiftly, I turned my back on her and pulled out a newspaper from my briefcase, sweating bullets she would recognize me from my stance or my clothing.

But the next time I dared peek behind me, she’d moved on, and was now speaking to a young lady, closer to her age, who stood in front of a canvas tent.

They engaged in what looked to be a hopeful dialogue. The woman was nodding and gesturing with her arms in a friendly way. But then, a burly man wearing suspenders came out of their tent. He frowned and slapped a wide arm around her, pulling her inside with no further word to Fiera.

Fiera picked up her luggage and moved on. Against my will, I felt proud of her. There were no more tears, only a fierce determination in her steps. Just past a line of flapping laundry set up between two tents, she paused. Why? Then I saw—she was smack in front of a large cardboard container, perhaps used to deliver a sofa or easy chair. It was torn and battered. Looking inside it, she must’ve determined it abandoned, because she kneeled down and crawled inside, dragging her bags in after her.

The post-storm light threw golden patterns on the shantytown, lending it a more utopian air than it deserved. If I was going to be here for a while, I might as well get off my feet. I chose a level area, far enough away so Fiera couldn’t identify me. Spreading my newspaper out to help soak up the sopping lawn, I sat down and gingerly adjusted my trouser legs so they wouldn’t split on me. I was tired, and hungry, and I could only imagine that if I was, her discomfort must be greater.

The scent of baked beans from the folks who were cooking over one of the barrels wafted over and made my stomach growl. The clamor of many conversations drifted over, too, though I couldn’t make out distinct words. I even lay down for a while, spreading more newsprint and resting my head in my arms. I stared up at the clearing late afternoon sky.

Again, it seemed more benign here, gazing at the clouds, than I knew it to be. And God only knew what might happen to Fiera after dark, alone in that flimsy edifice without a locked door. I’d heard sinister stories—of shantytown rapes, thievery, and brutal, bloody fights. I determined to do something that might help her without being seen, but what?

As I lay there, worrying myself silly, one of the Hooverville rogues suddenly towered over me. “You got money, mister? You look like you got some money.”

I startled to a sitting position, making sure my briefcase was secure in the crook of my arm. He wasn’t a man, rather a very tall boy of about thirteen. Stretching out his hand, he tilted his head expectantly, which made his long, stringy bangs flop over his forehead. His hand was grimy, his shoes rifled with holes. He needed a good, soapy scrubbing, likely even a delousing.

In a sharper tone, he repeated his demand. “I need money. Now, mister!”

The fact that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer gave me a chill, but the slightest wavering in his fierce, golden eyes gave me the courage to follow a sudden idea. “I might have some money, but you’ll need to earn it, sonny.”

“How’s that?” The boy crooked his head in the other direction.

I pointed to the large container Fiera was occupying. “See that big box?” The fella spun around and nodded. “I’m going to go buy you a bite to eat, along with a bite for the person staying in that box. When I come back, I want you to bring her the food, and leave her a paper flyer. When you go, tuck it in the side of that box.”

“Why don’t you bring it over?” the kid asked. He was quick to add, “Look, I’m jakearoo with doing the chore if I get paid, but…” He squinted at me. “How come you don’t want her to see you?”

“That’s my business.” I barked out my reply to make sure I had him cowed.

“Okay, okay. How do I know you won’t chisel me?”

“I’ll have to come back to get her the food. I’ll give you half your money now, half later. You’ll need to sit tight to earn the balance.” I slapped out a few bills and handed them to him. “Can you promise to do that?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy plopped down on my newspapers and pocketed the cash.

That settled, I ran off toward Madison Avenue to scout for a café or bar that would fry me up some fast grub.

It took me a good forty minutes, and the sky was dusky by the time I returned. I worried that the boy would be gone, but I needn’t have. He was in the same exact spot I’d left him.

When he saw me, he leapt up, and I had to wave him back down, so we wouldn’t be conspicuous, should Fiera be peering out of her corrugated sanctuary.

This time I sat on my briefcase, partly to ensure it wouldn’t be stolen, and partly because I didn’t relish the thought of sharing the crumpled newspapers with the boy.

He took the oily bag of fried fish I gave him and practically inhaled it whole. Then he brushed his mouth on the back of his hand. “The rest of my cash, sir?”

I chuckled. “Ah, it’s sir, now, is it?” I handed him one of the séance flyers and the tightly rolled bag of fish for Fiera, where I’d added a wad of dollars. “Remember your part of the bargain? No opening and eating the food in here.” I stared at him.

He muttered an okay and took the items. Leaping up, he sauntered across the patchy meadow to Fiera’s container and rapped on it. It took a few times. She was surely petrified that some man would haul her off, but she did peek out.

The boy handed her the bag, and they spoke back and forth for a few minutes. To his credit, he never looked over or pointed to me. She took the food. Of course, she did. She must have been starving.

As instructed, when she ducked back inside, he tucked the séance flyer in one of the front corners of the box where she’d be sure to see it later.

He jogged back, no doubt invigorated from his unexpectedly tasty supper. I paid him the balance. “You have brothers and sisters?” He nodded. “Buy something for them, too.” I shoved a few extra quarters in his waiting hand.

He grinned, revealing brown-rimmed teeth. “You’re not so bad, mister. Come back anytime. Name’s Billy.” With that, the kid ran off.

I waited another fifteen minutes or so to see if Fiera might peek out of the box again. It was not to be. And, as I walked back to Grand Central Station, I was glad she was taking care to stay out of sight. A pretty young woman in a town of roving derelicts couldn’t be careful enough.

As much of an unbeliever as I was, I prayed for her safety, and prayed that she’d make it to my paranormal store on Friday. For inside the paper bag with the portion of fried fish, I’d deposited enough cash for a train ticket to Asbury Park.

Chapter 10

WHAT WAS I to do? I stumbled down Mrs. Cuthbert’s front stoop, weeping angry, despairing tears, which mixed with the dregs of the rain. Where could I go? Who did I know in this vast, cold city? I’d lost touch with the girls my age, who had left the Brooklyn home when I had. There was ginger-haired Geraldine. Her dream was to travel west, see the Golden Gate Bridge. I wondered if she made it, with only her good looks to get by on. Then there was Melody, who sadly couldn’t sing a tune to save her life. Who knew what happened to her? Annie had taken her life only days before she was set to graduate out. Hung herself with her belt. She was petrified of the streets. The same ones I was now alone on.

Running across Fifth Avenue, barely watching the traffic, I felt the prickly awareness of someone watching me. I spun around and looked up at Mrs. Cuthbert’s windows. Was she gazing down at me, feeling guilty at turning me out onto the filthy streets? Or was it little Terrence, realizing the one person who took him out to the park and played with him was gone forever? No, their windows were empty of faces. Then who? Facing forward again, I peered down the block. There was only a stocky woman in a too-tight floral housedress, hobbling along.

I shook off my uneasiness. Now that the rain was tapering off, I could go into the park, sit there, and sort out my options. Sinking onto a bench, I wiped my tears off, only to be overcome by a deeper sorrow. I let my heart pour out its anguish while I rested my head in my hands.

Why had I taken those tainted Tarot cards? If only I’d refused, I’d still have my job. Why was Peter Dune so intent on giving them to me in the first place? And why was he so hell bent on finding me at the hotel after that awkward night at the speakeasy? A shudder passed through me as I felt a shadowy presence hovering again. It didn’t feel dangerous, rather keenly observant. Was that part of my strange, growing powers or just plain old dread? I looked up, toward a bank of oak trees and laurel bushes. Why couldn’t I shake off that feeling of being watched?

Oh, bother. There were more important things to worry about than being ogled by a man, such as where I was going to lay my poor head tonight. Think, Fiera, think, I scolded. I could ride a subway train out to the orphan home I grew up in and plead for the director to take me back. It was the only home I’d ever known. But I would be another expensive mouth to feed. Plus, the few good overseers had moved on, and those who remained were a mean bunch. It would also feel like a step backward into my troubled adolescence, especially without my old classmates. A bad option, after all.

What about Dulcie? My heart ached for the sweet-tempered, generous friend who I’d only gotten to know for three days. I could go back and beg her to let me stay in her room, make a bedroll on the floor. I rubbed my eyes, my weary forehead. No, I wouldn’t be able to stand her look of pity. It would be too unbalanced. I remembered how humiliating it was to have her pay for my beach chair and lend me that fancy evening dress. I couldn’t bear to be seen as a pauper.

I needed to find another job. That was the bottom line. I got up and started to walk north, and then westward, wandering aimlessly at first. But then an idea came to me. It would only do for one night. But it would give me a little more time to consider my choices. And I would feel an equal to those who were also suffering.

I made my way to the shantytown in the Great Meadow that Mrs. Cuthbert had always forbidden me to enter.

* * *

A LARGE, BATTERED carton would be my tiny apartment for tonight. I’d spied it just when I was giving up, after two families had turned down my pleas to sleep in a modest corner of their shelters. Seeing the box, my heart leapt so high one might imagine I’d seen a real tent, an entire cottage of wood! I studied its torn edges, its label announcing it once held a General Electric Frigidaire. After I straightened its bashed-in corner, I crawled inside.

My bag and suitcase would have to stand in for a proper door, I thought, pushing them flush with the opening. And then I lay down and propped my head on my carpetbag, where I kept my more valuable items. Never was a ceiling of smelly, damp cardboard so divine.

My ears opened to the many voices around me. They argued about how long the financial woes might continue, drunkenly ranted about things too slurred to make out, sang “Rock Candy Mountain” out of tune. An infant cried while folks chuckled over a randy joke.

Inhaling the mineral-rich scent of wet grass, smoky kindling and grilled meat, it occurred to me that life and humanity persisted, no matter how dire the circumstances.

I startled at the rapping of knuckles on my corrugated room and sat up so abruptly my head smacked the box top. Peering out, I saw it was a ruffian some years younger than I was, but older than a child. What could he possibly want? To rob or maul me? I shivered but made sure my voice was sharp and garrisoned. “Yes?”

He foisted a fragrant, greasy bag in my face, at which my stomach loudly rumbled. “For you, missy.”

I was famished. My thoughts returned to the recent disaster. I hadn’t been able to grab any food from Mrs. Cuthbert, when normally at that time, Terrence and I would enjoy a late afternoon snack. My hand hovered near the bag. “Why are you giving me this?” I asked suspiciously, though my uncanny senses told me he was no real threat.

“Figured you were hungry. You’re new here, right?” The boy gave me a furtive look and then his eyes darted to the bag, as if he was reconsidering his gift.

I grabbed it and thanked him. The moment he ran off, I opened the bag and wolfed down the delicious fried fish and chips it held. Good heavens, this was better than Mrs. Cuthbert’s watery, soggy vegetables, or even my own reliable meatloaf for that matter! Upon one last inspection for morsels, I saw a bunch of folded dollar bills. My first impulse was to try and find the boy to return the money. But he was long gone, and the night held many dangers. Besides, I had no job and this extra bit of cash would help tide me over.

Brushing away my remaining guilt, I lay back down, enjoying the animal satisfaction of digestion, the wonderful, slow gurgle of a full, warm belly. Even precarious times seemed sunnier after a good meal.

Some force of nature inspired me to peek outside one more time before I attempted sleep. Pushing my suitcase to one side, I glanced at the dark tree branches angled against the glow of the moon and the smoke wafting skyward from cook fires. I breathed in a nutty scent of coffee brewing, and I was sliding the suitcase back in place when my hand brushed against a paper. It was stuck in one corner of the box.

Finding its edge, I gently wiggled it free. The flyer was almost too dark to read, but angling it toward one of the flickering fire barrels, I could just make out the headline. My heart jumped right up into my throat. Peter’s Paranormal!

It was announcing a séance, this Friday.

When had this flyer made its arrival? I reviewed my earlier steps, into the park and to this box. This paper had been placed here after I’d crawled in, I was sure of it.

Had the tall boy who came over and handed me that delicious fish dinner put this flyer by my entranceway? He said he’d seen me wandering and felt sorry for me. But why me when there were so many other mouths to feed? It wasn’t as if he asked me for any untoward favors in return. And the money! Had he truly left that in there by mistake? The whole mystery of it nagged at me.

My mind jigged and jagged with floating sensations, snippets of images—of Mr. Dune walking on the sidewalk, of him looking up at the clouds, of him thinking of me. I began to hear the faintest murmur of the crying infants that he and I heard at the speakeasy. In my chest, in my veins, our wires had crossed again—rife with color and sound. Was I going crazy? If not, what was happening to me?

I pressed my palms to my temples and rubbed them in slow circles. How could this Hooverville boy have had access to Mr. Dune’s flyers? Mr. Dune’s words to Dulcie played in my head. I don’t need to leave a message for her. I’ll locate her myself. Had he followed me here?       What an absurd idea. He wasn’t on that train. There was no way he could’ve located me so fast, even if he had excellent sources. But those feelings of being watched… Then another thought wafted in.

The Tarot cards! Perhaps they were an elemental link between Mr. Dune and me.

I reached in my carpetbag for the deck. My hand burned at the touch. Yes, the cards were alive somehow—at least to me. They moved in my hand, pressed more firmly to my skin. I remembered how they’d sailed up toward Mrs. Cuthbert’s face when I was so upset, and made trails of pink lines in her blue-veined neck. And Terrence had chosen the worst cards, as if he were subconsciously revealing the mean, pinched side of Mrs. Cuthbert, his own mother.

An outrageous notion tickled the edges of my mind. A torturous, teasing kind of tickling—like when you’d enough and it started to hurt but the tickling tormenter wouldn’t let up.

This disturbing idea also brought with it a pinprick of hope. Tomorrow, I’d make my move. For now, I could spread out my aching bones on my humble floor and fall into astonishing dreams.

Chapter 11

I STRETCHED MY aching back and breathed in a deep, calming breath. Rang the chimes. It was only three pm, way before the séance was to begin, but I needed to talk about a business matter.

When Peter Dune opened the door, and I saw his great male beauty again, his mop of coal-black hair and deeply earnest brown eyes, I was temporarily lost for words. I could’ve so easily reached out and run my fingers over the fabric of his fine gray shirt, felt the warmth of his broad chest just under it.

He looked as if he’d seen a phantom. We stared at each other for an awkwardly long time. Then he took my hand and said, “Fiera, I heard you’d gone back to the city early. I’m so glad you decided to return for the… séance.” His fingers burned the way the Tarot cards had.

A sudden and deep wave of knowledge filled me that he’d been in New York City. Was that how his flyer reached me, and that money? That was completely farfetched. For one, he had no idea what my address was. Secondly, he had this business to run. I pulled my hand back and brushed it against my carpetbag as if removing soil. “I’m here to talk business, Mr. Dune, and that is all.”

“Oh, well, come in then.” He sounded disappointed. Closing the door after me, he gestured to the round, wooden table. “Won’t you have a seat?”

I arranged my skirt while he gave instructions to Opal to brew us tea and then make herself scarce in the storeroom, unpacking boxes. She glanced over at me with her birdlike eyes, and the faint curve of a welcome-back smile brightened her face. It gave me great comfort, truly.

For coming back here, after running from Mr. Dune’s improper advances only twenty-four hours ago, was the most difficult act of my twenty-two years.

Or maybe they had been my improper advances, too. All I knew was that we’d been like a dangerous tinderbox to a dry forest. We were volatile together, and it frightened me. But I was hungry and homeless and there was money to be made here, if he would accept my offer.

“Fiera, sugar and cream?” I could tell by his ramrod posture that Peter Dune was waiting for further explanation. He watched me stir in a spoonful of sugar.

“I received a flyer in NYC, informing me of your séance tonight.”

“Oh?” He clenched his jaw. “All the way in Manhattan, eh?”

“Yes, did you have no hand in bringing them there?” I searched his eyes for a sign of guilty admission, but there was a wall I could not penetrate. “Or a fish dinner with money in the same paper bag?”

“A fish dinner, brimming with money!” His eyes lit up. “That’s a rich one. But as far as the flyers, well, I do mail flyers up to the city. Folks there distribute them for me, so I have a long reach in my advertising these days.”

“Look, I’m not here simply to attend the séance. I am wondering if you’ll hire me.” I gauged how my words were affecting him, if I should even continue.

He raised his dark brows. “Oh? Hire you for what? I have Opal to serve drinks, and Tim will help me record the sessions from now on.”

“A recording secretary, what a clever development! Seeing as you forgot much of what you said during the last reading.” I couldn’t help but smile.

“I did nothing of the sort. I was passed out cold.” Doubt and confusion were etched in his eyes and in how he pressed his lips together until they were thin, white lines.

“Well, at any rate, I could read the cards. You gave me a deck, after all, and I have a good feel for it.” I leaned forward. “Perhaps we can get some answers to the mysterious origins of our mutual visions.”

“What visions?” Now he sounded alarmed.

“The waves I saw that almost drowned you, the weeping babies, and whatever else that is born between us.” I leveled my gaze on him even more pointedly. “Because we both know that not only is a dramatic reading the path to making your business thrive, but it’s also the path to unraveling our otherworldly connection.”

He sniggered. “What otherworldly connection?” He seemed to quickly modify his reaction. “Not to say there isn’t one… I only wonder.”

“We both know it’s there,” I remarked in as matter-of-fact tone as I could muster. “Don’t you want to know why?”

He gazed down at his hands, clasped them and kneaded the knuckles. Was he going to turn me down? My troubled mind was already churning out half-baked solutions as to where my next meal would come from—the leftover plates on the boardwalk restaurants? The alleyways behind the hotel kitchens?

After a very long minute, he raised his head up with unexpected fire. “You’re hired. Do a flashy reading of the cards. Wear gypsy clothes, be a Sarah Bernhardt actress. Put on a rollicking good performance.”

I was elated. But also hurt he would assume all the information we’d pulled from the ether was bunk. It meant something. I just had to figure out what. “When can I start?”

“Tonight, at seven sharp.”

This meeting was going better than expected. It emboldened me. “And my lodging? I’ll need some money fronted for lodging. These are hard times, Mr. Dune.”

“Call me Peter.”

“Ah, yes. Peter.” It was strange, as if we were meeting each other for the first time—all over again.

He told me he had a colleague down the street who owned a rooming house called the Starfish Inn. It was not as fancy as the Asbury Hotel where I’d stayed with Dulcie, he said, but it was safe and cheap. That sounded heavenly to me.

“This is strictly a business deal,” I insisted. “No funny stuff, no lounging together, half-crocked in speakeasies.” He nodded. We shook on it.

He called for Opal and had her walk me over. Turned out that she lived there, too. The rooming house was narrow clapboard, built before the turn of the century. It sagged toward the bayside and was painted sallow mustard. But my room was blessedly clean of fleas and bedbugs. I even checked the mattress seams. The bathroom even had a fragrant lump of soap waiting for me. I could finally scrub off the shantytown mud. Maybe I would even make enough money to buy a dress on sale and another bag of delicious fried fish. As I unpacked, it occurred to me that Peter hadn’t asked what happened to my nanny job—odd of him not to inquire.

As if he already knew.

I brushed off my suspicions. Instead, I found myself eager for the stars to ascend in the night sky and for the séance to commence.

Chapter 12

SHE WAS BACK! I was slaphappy over it. My ploy with the shantytown boy had worked. I took a hot shower and slid into my best suit. Spritzed a dose of Parisian cologne on my neck. Fiera had made it clear she was here only for the work. But I couldn’t help myself.

I spent the next hour cleaning the parlor, deciding not to leave the task strictly to Opal. I organized the books, the candles, the goblets, and the brandy that Tim had procured from Spellbinding Speakeasy.

Finally, seven approached. When I stepped outside to place the sign on the boardwalk, a spirited breeze cooled my face. Leaning on the railing, I watched golden reflections of the full moon ripple on the waves. I imagined Fiera next to me, her shoulder brushing against mine, which made me think about her shapely legs, and helping her slide under her covers, tucking her in. Peter, I scolded, stop this insanity! The lady is only here to work. And you are here to study her every nefarious, con-artist move. I sighed, straightened my jacket, and returned to the store.

Back inside, the guests arrived in rapid succession. Dr. Talcott came first and spent time perusing my bookshelves. He was again dressed in his white seersucker suit with red shirt and dangling Circle pendant. Next came Opal and Fiera. Opal looked quite presentable, and I wondered if Fiera had straightened Opal’s collar and advised her on a dress. And Fiera was resplendent. A little soap and water had done wonders for her muddy, rumpled state. She’d washed her hair and it was loose and wavy, flowing down her back. She wore a faded, but pretty navy dress with ribbon trimming.

I offered Fiera the first choice of seat at the table. If she was going to work, she should be comfortable. She picked the spot facing the front door and began to shuffle her cards. Presently, Talcott came over and introduced himself. They exchanged friendly banter, and Fiera seemed quite curious about the Circle’s bogus photography business. I had to choke down a derisive comment or two.

Tim arrived next with a new memo pad and a fresh fountain pen. He asked Fiera how Dulcie was. Fiera said she wasn’t sure but hoped to see her soon. Opal busied herself getting drinks for people—Coca Cola with a brandy spike for Tim, Fiera, and me, and plain soda for Dr. Talcott. Opal set a brass incense pot in the center of the table and handed Fiera the matchbook.

I closed the heavy drapes and shut the door. Just as the séance was about to start, the chimes rang and a young lady with a pink dress and ginger-colored hair piled high atop her head waltzed in.

She smiled at Fiera. “Ah, if it isn’t the very same lady who asked me about the Truth Taffy. Fancy seeing you here! You’re reading the cards tonight?”

“Yes,” Fiera answered, a rush of pink mottling her cheeks.

“Shall we do a round of introductions?” I suggested.

“They call me Celeste,” the new arrival said. “I work at Spellbinding, on the boardwalk.”

I introduced myself and sat down next to Fiera. In case of another trancelike reaction on my part, I didn’t want to practically fall across the table again. Tim described himself as the recording secretary. Dr. Talcott explained he was the regional head of the Circle of Light.

Celeste studied Talcott. “Are you a medical doctor?” Hadn’t she ever heard of the Circle of Light folks? That seemed unlikely as their idiotic posters were plastered all over the boardwalk.

“I’m a Doctor of Philosophy.” Talcott sniffed.

Fiera lifted the brass pot’s lid, lit the incense, and closed the top. It began to waft out of the pot’s tiny holes. She asked us to hold hands. “Breathe in deeply and close your eyes.” The incense smelled deliciously of exotic western sagebrush. She chanted what she called a Spell of Protection, asking the spirit world to bring us timely messages of truth. Her quick study of séances and the cards impressed me. It had taken me weeks back at the Manhattan headquarters to commit the basic procedure to memory, and at least another week to put on a convincing performance. If a devoted realist such as me could fake it, I supposed Fiera, who seemed to be a believer, could ace it.

“I’ll start by reading the cards.” She placed them, one by one, in the cross-pattern I had used. Had she studied my method so thoroughly in one evening that she’d already imprinted the pattern to memory?

She stared down for a time, occasionally moving her hands over the cards as if they were emitting surges of invisible electromagnetism. Supernatural energies, bah! I worked hard to suppress a sardonic snigger. “There’s a young boy stepping forward.” She pointed to the Prince of Cups. “A baby boy is trying to tell me something.”

How on this green earth did she get a babe in arms from a grown prince? My memories wafted back to the speakeasy, to us hearing the cry of a disembodied baby. Absurd! Poppycock! Was Fiera going to pull the same stunt here? Did she have a hidden music box that sounded like an infant’s cry? I regretted not rifling through her pockets the night she was crocked. I’d let my emotions cloud my strict procedural techniques. That couldn’t happen again.

Closing her eyes, Fiera began to swoon. When she next spoke, her voice was higher, faint with pain. “I am sick with poison. The lady left a jar of mushrooms in pork sauce in the sun for three weeks. The mess rotted and grew Botulism spores. She skimmed the mess off and put it in my milk. I was too young to know.”

“What lady? What was her intention?” Talcott asked, his brows beetling over his hawkish eyes.

“The mean lady,” squeaked Fiera. “I see it now. She put the spores in my milk bottle, and I drank it.” Fiera gurgled, deep in her throat, as if the actual poisonous substance was making her paralyzed, unable to speak. The crowd gasped.

“That sound is horrific!” Celeste clapped her hands over her ears.

“What happened next?” I asked Fiera—or the baby boy inside of her. It wasn’t as if I believed her performance, though it was quite compelling.

She drawled slowly, painfully, “My little lungs were frozen. The woman laughed at me, but I couldn’t move.”

Oddly, I felt an empathic burn in my own lungs. “And after that?”

“The doctors never found my killer,” she gasped. The supposed spirit, through Fiera, began to cry in a high-pitched infant squall. I would have guffawed over this just a few days ago, but my doubts swirled inside me, twisted up my guts, confusing me.

“Who killed you?” Talcott asked again.

“Evil looms large,” was Fiera’s quizzical answer. But the voice was not hers. Now, it had lowered in timber to the voice of an old woman’s. Fiera’s eyes rolled up in her head. “Evil. Looms. Large.”

“Who is speaking now? Are you still the babe?” I asked.

“The old caretaker. The one who found them.”

“Them?” Talcott asked.

The spirits inside Fiera had no more to say, at least with words. Abruptly, a cold wind blew throughout the room, despite the fact that the drapes were drawn together and the windows closed. Rustling around, the cards rearranged themselves into a loose circle, with The Prince of Cups in the center.

All the while, Tim kept on taking furious notes.

From the outer circle, the Queen of Swords rose of its own accord and slapped down over the Prince of Cups as if she were trumping it. My Lord, how had Fiera done this trick? It was more than any natural wind could do. But she had no strings attached to the cards; her hands weren’t even touching them. My pulse throbbed in my temples, and I had to loosen my collar.

Opal came forward and pointed to the queen. “Fiera, tell us, what does that mean?” I was shocked to hear Opal interject in a reading. It was not her way, not her place. She’d always lurked far back in the shadows. “Please, what does it mean?” she persisted.

Fiera stared down at the Queen of Swords. Swaying in her seat, she answered in a third, singsong voice. “A sad little girl comes forward now. She needs to speak.”

“What does she say?” Tim asked, his pen poised over his paper.

“She’s still a baby, too, with short, auburn hair. She says the woman filled her bottle with iodine.”

“Was the woman treating the baby for a goiter?” Talcott asked in his crisp, scientific manner.

“No goiter,” Fiera answered in the singsong monotone.

“For hypothyroidism?” Talcott persisted.

“No.”

“Then why the iodine?” he asked.

Fiera choked back a sob. It tore me to pieces to hear. “She wanted to stop my heartbeats.”

“Who are you? Tell me,” I pleaded, all of my professional distance cast to the wind.

“Someone dear to you.”

“But I have no children,” I protested.

“Someone dear to you,” Fiera repeated in a high baby voice.

“This reading is quite dreadful!” Celeste’s already-pale complexion turned greenish white. “Make it stop!”

“Why did she want to poison you?” I asked earnestly, leaning close to Fiera and taking her arm.

At the touch of her soft skin, I felt myself start to fade. As before, Fiera’s senses melded into mine—into a gooey pudding of emotions and half-digested visions.

Behind my lids, I saw a spinning linoleum floor with gray paisley panels, a high kitchen counter with glassed in, dark wooden cabinets; a rounded, black kettle on a big stove, a pair of square-toed black shoes by me on the floor.

Why was I on the floor, pray tell?

I babbled the answer to my own questions, and the last bits I recalled were Celeste’s gulps of horror, the clip-clip of her chunky heels as she ran from the shop, and Tim’s fountain pen scritch-scratching against his infernal memo pad.

At that, I slumped over in my chair and slid to the floor.

Chapter 13

“PETER!” DESPITE MY vow not to have any more close contact, I leapt from my chair and knelt down, rubbing his cheeks firmly to rouse him. “Answer me, please. Wake up!”

Opal was already beside me, sprinkling cool drops of water on his forehead.

He came to quickly after the dousing. As before, he blinked in confusion, clearly not recalling his last lucid moments.

“Are you hurt?” I ran my greedy fingers once through his dark curls—just to help revive him, I told myself.

When he gazed up at me, I detected a fire in his eyes, which, to his credit, he dimmed to a simmer. “I… I’m fine. It must’ve been from breathing in all that incense on an empty stomach.” Sitting, he brushed off his suit jacket and rose awkwardly to his feet.

But he didn’t look fine. Furrows of worry lined his forehead, and his upper lip had beads of sweat that he nervously brushed off.

“You’re turning into a regular lilting lily,” Tim chided.

Talcott adjusted his bowler hat. “Mr. Dune, I see you’ve revived, so I must leave. Let me know if Miss Bone will plan to attend an upcoming séance. If the fireworks spark this hot when she’s not even here, pity we never got to see what happens when she is.” He nodded to me. “Good performance, Miss…”

“Fiera, Fiera Lorena.” Why did everyone assume I was performing? And Talcott of all people! He was a spiritualist.

Talcott swung back to Tim. “Frankly, I’m disappointed. I thought you’d mentioned inviting Miss Bone to this one.” With that, he marched to the door.

Tim scrambled after him. “Why leave so soon? Have a cup of tea, perhaps?”

“Not now, too late for that.”

“I’ll make sure Miss Bone is here next time,” Tim persisted. “This was simply a gap in our communication, that’s all.”

Dr. Talcott kept on walking.

I tried to fathom why Dr. Talcott wanted to see Alyse Bone so badly, and why Tim cared so greatly for Talcott’s business. Talcott seemed like a wet blanket at best, though these days money was money, after all.

Inside, Peter settled wearily into a chair, while Opal ran over with a fresh snifter of brandy and a handkerchief she’d dampened. A surge of jealousy passed through me, watching her dab the cool cloth across his forehead.

Inwardly, I scolded myself. No, Fiera, no more thoughts of Peter Dune. Your unhealthy attraction can only lead to trouble. Regardless of my attraction, our supernatural connection had reoccurred in spades, and it made me intensely curious—and upset. The strange voices emanating from me during the séance and the onslaught of poisoned infant exposés had my stomach violently churning. “Do you remember what happened, Mr. Dune?” I asked in a timid voice.

“Call me Peter, and no, I don’t.” He heaved a great sigh as he shook his head. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“You touched my hand and then…”

Tim marched back into the shop, interrupting our attempt to piece together the events. “May I take a look at your cards, Fiera?” he asked.

“For what purpose?” Funny, Tim had never expressed interest in them before this.

“After your dramatic read of the Prince of Cups, I’d like to refresh my memory of the cards. Take a closer look at the cup arcana.”

“Certainly.” I handed him the deck. He rifled through them to the card in question. Fishing it out, he held it to the light and flipped it to the other side.

“Whatever are you doing?” Peter grumbled.

Tim ignored Peter’s question and leveled his gaze on me. He smiled, but it wasn’t a warm grin. “So, Fiera, how did you make those cards rise?”

Heat flared in my chest. “Truly, I’ve no idea. I’d like to know as much as you.” There was no answer as to why my supernatural powers were growing, and it alternately terrified and astonished me.

“Oh, baloney.” Tim glanced at Peter, and then back up over to me. He chuckled. I didn’t find anything funny about Peter’s collapse or the upsetting message I’d received about the poisoned infants. In fact, it was a challenge not to burst into tears, for I was still quite rattled by how real and utterly terrifying it all was. Under the circumstances, Tim’s laughter seemed cruel.

“You must know, Fiera,” Tim shot back. “Let us in on your masterful act. You scared away our customers. Celeste practically had a conniption fit, and Dr. Talcott—”

“Forget about Talcott. Enough!” Peter roared, his strength clearly reignited. “Do we not want help attracting more customers?”

“We have our routine,” Tim shot back. “It’s one thing for Miss Fiera to bring in a few warm bodies, but quite another for her to have them running for the hills! Whose bright idea was this? And you!” Tim shook his fist at Peter, who returned a glare that demanded he not utter another word in public company.

Opal scampered about, gathering soiled cups, wiping down the table, and tamping out the incense in the brass pot.

I packed my cards, and turned once again to Peter, who was now sitting in a chair. “If you’re sure you’re feeling better, I think it’s time I left for the inn.”

“What inn?” Tim asked me. “I thought you’d returned to the city.”

“The Starfish, in Asbury.”

“You had a hand in getting this dame a room here?” Tim growled at Peter. I’d never seen him this cross in the short time I’d known him, and it raised my pulse in alarm. Was Tim going to insist I check out of the inn? If so, I’d be forced to sleep under the boardwalk with the vagrants. I imagined them pawing me, rubbing up against me with their unwashed clothing and drooling mouths as I tried in vain to sleep.

“Stay out of this,” Peter retorted. “I’m in charge here.”

“He hired me fair and square,” I added. “And if the money is a problem, you can take some of the hotel cost out of my next paycheck.”

“Peter, you and I need to talk,” Tim hissed.

Opal was giving me darting, cagey looks, as if she longed to be saved.

“Are you finished with your chores?” I asked her. At her nod, I snatched my satchel, took her arm, and we left together.

We were silent as we hurried to the Starfish Inn. The nighttime ocean blew in raw air, and I shivered in my light cotton dress. Somehow, the people walking around after dark looked decidedly shadier—a goateed man with gleaming gemstone eyes, two rummies staggering by, a fox-lean boy with a famished look that had me sensing he might rob us. Or worse.

Safely inside, I invited Opal for a cup of tea. I brewed it from hot tap water and the free teabags I’d squirreled away while still at the Asbury Hotel. She perched on my one wicker chair in the corner, its slats cracked and dry, shedding to the floor in stumpy bits. I sat on my bed. Poor Opal looked worse for wear than I felt. Her big, owlish eyes were rimmed with pale pink.

“Why was Tim so angry, Opal? I was only doing my job reading the cards. Is the hotel cost coming out of Tim’s pay or what?”

“I’m not sure,” she murmured in a voice so soft I had to crane my ears to hear it.

“Tim usually tries hard to be funny—he’s full of off-color jokes,” I added, coaxing her to relax, to talk. “Don’t you agree?”

She sipped her tea and ran her finger across a chip in the rim. “When no one’s in the shop, he’s not always so jolly. He can be unkind to Mr. Dune as well.”

“What does he do, Opal?”

“Tim has a short temper. He thinks he’s always right. He competes with Mr. Dune.”

“Competes for what?”

She shrugged. “To be the boss. They don’t argue in front of me, but I hear them going at it in the back room. Not what they’re saying, but the blare of their angry voices.”

“That’s awful, Opal. They’re business partners. What could they be fighting about? Do you think Tim will get me thrown out of this inn? I don’t understand why he’s so angry with Peter for hiring me, or why he cares so much about Dr. Talcott. I could go talk to Talcott if he likes, try to get him back for another reading…”

Opal shook her head again without speaking.

“I can’t help it if I heard those voices, those sad babies, and I have no idea how the cards started flying around.” I paused. “Opal, it wasn’t a performance. It scares me, it does. I wish I knew how I did that.” It wasn’t the first time either. I cringed, recalling how the cards had nicked Mrs. Cuthbert’s neck and left angry, red lines. If only I understood what was happening to me.

When Opal regarded me, her expression was unexpectedly fierce. “You have powers, Fiera, truly. It makes Tim uncomfortable. Peter too.”

I threw my head back and snorted. “But Tim is Peter’s friend, and Peter is billed as a medium. Why would Tim loll around Peter if mediums gave him the willies? And why is Peter afraid?” When I glanced back at Opal, she looked stricken. Another round of laughter that was pressing at my throat dissolved like acid. “Is Peter pretending to have reading powers? Why would he do that?”

Opal wouldn’t directly answer the questions. Instead, she dipped a finger into her tea and stirred it around. “You have a job. You’re very good at it. Mr. Dune sees that. Hopefully, he’ll give Tim a what-for.”

“I cannot believe that Tim accused me of doing something underhanded to make those cards fly.”

“Your power threatens him. He has no talents. He’s a hanger-on.” She gave me one of her rare smiles, which made her brooding face light up. “I’m glad you’re here, Fiera.”

I got up and hugged her. Her ribs and shoulder bones jutted out like baby chicken wings. She reminded me of the new arrivals at the orphanage—lonely, lost, and wispy as March clouds. I felt a surge of protectiveness. “Shall we take in some sun tomorrow at the beach? Do you have the morning off? What do you say?”
“Why yes, I do. I’d like that.” Opal rose to her feet and brushed off her dress. “Are you sure?” She was suddenly shy.

“Of course, Opal. You can’t work all the time, can you? Are you a good swimmer?”

“I can do the crawl and the backstroke.”

“You’ve got me beat by a mile then.” I gave her arm a squeeze. “What do you say you give me a swimming lesson? I can hardly tread water.”

“That sounds perfect.” She held up her cup. “Shall I wash our cups for you before I go?”

I took it from her. “Don’t be silly. You work for Peter, not me. I’ll run some water over them. See you tomorrow morning, in your swimming costume.” I gave her another impulsive hug, feeling much like the older sister I never had the good fortune to be.

* * *

“RAISE IT LIKE this,” Opal instructed. She formed a wide circle with a rail-thin arm, then the other, and let each one paddle under the water only to rise again in a graceful arc. We were wading in the shallows, but each breaking wave threatened to knock me over as I practiced.

I was slowly getting the knack of it. Even more exciting was a growing sense that I belonged here—inhaling the scent of seaweed, the swell and ebb of the mysterious aquamarine depths around my hips. It was entrancing. After a series of bungled tries, I managed a respectable doggie paddle away and back to Opal.

“Well done!” she said in a proud teacher voice. Opal would make a good schoolmarm. With her natural seriousness, I could imagine her in her thirties, a little more filled out with a tight bun and pressed uniform, addressing a room full of students as gangly as she was now.

I swam back and forth about six times. Each time, Opal clapped ceremoniously for me. On the seventh lap away from her, I felt a strong urge to go further. So strong, I couldn’t resist. I pushed my arms forward and dove underwater. Once under, I heard a sound, like the humming of golden-throated mermaids. How utterly ridiculous, I thought as I kept on paddling. I was out past the breakers now, and the humming grew more compelling. It was as sweet as the earlier cry of the murdered infants had been bitter. “Come, Fiera,” it sang, “Come out to us, out to us.” Whether the unearthly song was inside my ears, or outside, it was impossible to tell.

On sudden impulse, I dove deeper. In my bones, I felt a delicious, haunting memory of homecoming. On another undeniable impulse, I opened my eyes to see, in vivid clarity, my hair swirling around me, and a glowing green light further ahead.

This too, seemed as natural as drinking a glass of water or combing my hair, and I made my way toward the iridescent underwater lamp, which lured me forward. I scissor-kicked my legs as if I’d been swimming for decades—a human mermaid.

No, Fiera, you’re getting too bold, I scolded. You don’t yet know how to swim properly. It’s impossible with only one lesson. I gaped up toward the sun, undulating through the waves. I was so very deep down with no confidence in my ability to dart back to the surface. Abruptly, I floundered and forgot to hold my breath. I inhaled salty water, which burned my lungs.

Paddling desperately, I struggled toward the surface like a dying porpoise.

Abruptly, lifeguards swarmed all around me, big, burly men, clutching my arms and hauling me in. I pictured the time Peter’s arms had reined me in me and hauled me to shore, and then I remembered we were barely friends anymore.

It turned out to be only two lifeguards, one for each of my arms, helping me lumber over each fierce breaker. They deposited me on the sand, seaweed wound through my hair like tarnished green pirate treasure, my bathing costume bunched up in a terribly unladylike fashion, me coughing out water, while that eerie green light I’d seen still haunted me. It was so very real.

“You almost swam into the jetty rocks!” a lifeguard exclaimed.

The second lifeguard took my pulse. “Didn’t you see the red flag and the signs saying no swimming near the jetty?”

“I saw a green light flashing under the sea. Did you put it there? Does it warn ships they’re too close to shore?” I gasped between wet coughs.

“There’s no underwater light anywhere near that jetty, miss,” insisted one lifeguard, giving the other a baffled frown. “Must have been your mind playing tricks from your near-drowning.”

Opal stood above me with a pale, distraught grimace. “Is she okay, sirs?”

“She’ll be fine, but tell your friend not to go out so far until she learns how to swim, you hear?”

Opal nodded, her eyes pinpricks of fear.

“Fiera! Is that you?” another familiar voice remarked. I looked to my other side. Dulcie! “Whatever is the matter?” she asked one of the lifeguards.

“She swam out too far. You’ll look after her?”

“Why… yes, of course.”

“I will too,” Opal promised.

Dulcie looked from me, over to Opal on my other side, and back to me, utter confusion written on her face. “Fiera, is she with you?”

I struggled to sit up, at which I choked up another round of frothy, discolored seawater. Opal wrapped her thin towel around my shoulders. “This is Opal from Peter Dune’s shop,” I finally spluttered.

“Yes, I recall.” Dulcie looked vaguely uncomfortable. It occurred to me that her level of society never fraternized with their hired help. That to her, Opal was no better than a maid or cook. The idea irritated me, though I was too bleary to think clearly about it. “Good heavens!” Dulcie exclaimed, helping me to my feet. “Fiera, I’m thrilled to see you again. But what a complete surprise!”

“Opal here was teaching me how to swim.”

“Come, join me.” Dulcie offered me a steadying arm, and the three of us walked to her chaise. Once there, Opal stood around nervously as Dulcie pulled over another two chairs. “Would you like a seat, dear?” she asked.

“Miss, perhaps I should head back.” She eyed the towel she’d given me that was now around my shoulders.

“Nonsense,” I insisted. “And call me Fiera. Come, sit by me.”

Opal gave me a grateful smile. I handed her my own dry towel. She spread it over her seat and sat gingerly, as if she was afraid to muss it up.

Dulcie turned to me. “So, what brings you back?”

I was in a pickle, not knowing how much to say about being fired in front of Opal. Or how much I wanted to say about working for Peter in front of Dulcie. But it wasn’t my nature to lie either.

“Things were a tad bumpy with my nanny job, so I um… thought I’d inquire into employment possibilities in Asbury.” I shrugged. “It’s still summer, after all.”

Dulcie gave me a warm hug. “That’s delightful. Are you seeking another nanny job? Do you know anyone around here? Other than myself… and—?” When Dulcie glanced over at Opal, her refined features twisted into a confused frown.

Embarrassed heat wafted into my cheeks. Dulcie must’ve been putting together two and two. She didn’t understand the desperate need to make money at any costs. Not like I did. Not like Opal would.

Opal had the good sense to stay quiet.

“You poor dear,” Dulcie cooed. “Don’t bother explaining anything now. You just about drowned! You must be exhausted.” I nodded weakly. “I have a great idea,” Dulcie eagerly added. “Come learn to swim at my beach club! It’s impossible to learn in these high waves, Fiera. The pool at my club is crystal clear and calm.”

“That makes sense.” I glanced over at Opal. I hated to cut her out of the lessons, especially since she’d been a game soul to teach me in the first place.

Opal sensed my worries. She patted my arm. “That sounds grand, Fiera. These waves are a challenge.”

“Well, you’d come too, wouldn’t she, Dulcie?”

Dulcie smiled. “The more, the merrier. I don’t see why not.” But the waver in her voice belied her misgivings. Perhaps my growing power of sensing knew she was uncomfortable with viewing Opal as an equal.

Still, I had to swim. I would do anything to dive back under those ocean waves.

Chapter 14

IT HAD ALL been leading up to this. I’d felt it for a couple of weeks. Tim and I were sliding way out of sync, and I was too tired and drained from the drama of the reading to contain my temper.

“Why on earth would you confront Fiera like that, Tim? We’re supposed to find out as much as we can without exposing who we are—get more evidence first. Now, Fiera will know we suspect her of being a con.”

He sniggered. “Funny, you don’t act as if she’s conning anyone. Far as I can see, you’re swooning like a schoolgirl and eating up her every dark Grimm’s Fairy Tale.”

“Now wait a darn minute!”

“The first time you fainted, I thought you were putting on an act. Now I think it’s real. Can you truly handle this line of work? You’re cracking. Do you even know what you said?” Tim’s freckled face contorted in a grimace. “You scared away Talcott. We need him on our side in order to infiltrate their two-bit operation. Your melodramatic acting went too far. He thought you’d had a stroke.”

I breathed out in a disgusted huff. “Isn’t that our job? To make a good show of it?”

“Sure, but you take it too far.” Tim flipped pages back in his notebook. “And what does all of your lunatic babbling mean?”

Clammy nerves wafted through me. Truth be told, I had no idea what I’d said. So I waited, hoping yet dreading he’d reveal it all.

Tim launched into an account of my supposed tirade. “You mumbled something about killing babies, poisoning them with iodine, with botulism, and about taking a tour through some old granny’s kitchen with gray paisley linoleum. Said you were in a room with a black cauldron, and the old hag was wearing square-toed shoes that you deemed witch boots. You said she was mumbling Latin, and you claimed it was her witch’s spell.” Tim glared at me as if I was an oil stain on his dress trousers.

“That’s absurd. I never said those things.”

“You’re accusing me of lying?” Tim wagged the notebook at me. “I have evidence. We’ll answer to our boss sooner than you think.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact,” he spat out. “Mr. Vane is coming down in a few days from the New York headquarters. Don’t you remember? Or has your brain been pickled by that card reader?”

“Her name is Fiera, and she’s nothing to me. I’m simply trying to get evidence on her.”

“Then why were you so upset when I asked to inspect her cards?”

“Because it’s too obvious, Tim. You’re the one who’s fouling up our case.”

Tim stalked over to my desk. Before I realized what he was going for, he grabbed a fistful of the Lucky in Love taffy I’d left out, including a dozen empty wrappers of pieces I’d already devoured. He pitched them to the floor. They scattered under my chair, around my shoes. “You’re eating this garbage like it’s opium,” he exclaimed. “You’re falling for the girl. Deny it all you want, but you’re the one waxing up the works.”

“Get out!” My fists itched to bust open his jaw. I was a gentleman though; I didn’t do that. It would be his fault if I transformed into a marauding beast. I had to get him out.

He must’ve felt my rage. “Fine by me.” He grabbed his hat and hurried toward the door. “If you refuse to fix your mistakes, we’re done. If you fix things, get Miss Bone here for another reading, we can talk. That’s what Talcott wants; it’s the only way to lure him back.”

“Why are you so fixated on Talcott? It makes no sense when the person your crosshairs are on is Fiera.” Admittedly, a small part of me didn’t want Fiera to be caught, but really, Tim’s preoccupation with Talcott bordered on the manic. We’d only gotten a box of retouched photos from him, and I was pretty sure that was all we’d get.

Tim focused a hateful frown on me. “I almost got Talcott snookered into letting us attend one of their private séances. Members only. But after tonight…”

I bent over my desk, raking a hand through my hair. Embarrassment and fury rolled out of me in alternate waves. Tim had been working hard, and what I had accomplished? I sighed. “Look, I’ll speak to Alyse Bone—see what I can do to get her in here.”

“The sooner the better.”

“We’re on the same side, Tim, but please don’t tell me how to run the business.” As he stomped out of my office and then the store, my phone rang. Normally, I welcomed company matters, but a shadowy intuition had me flinching.

Intuition? I was becoming as bad as Fiera, getting crazy hunches that I had even a pinch of psychic powers. “Pshaw,” I grunted and reached for my phone.

Chapter 15

“GOOD, FIERA!” DULCIE cheered me on as I swam laps in her pristine beach club pool.

She had invited Opal too, but Opal had bowed out. “I need to work,” she protested. Dulcie would never admit her prejudices, yet her visible relief gave her away. I wondered whether I’d been born to a lowly mother—some scullery maid—or to a highborn unwed mother ferried off to give birth in secret so as not to tarnish her reputation. I’d never know, although I suspected the former because my automatic sympathies went to Opal.

Despite my timidity around the beach club clientele—ladies in beach pajamas with peacock prints, a mother and daughter in matching striped sailor-style bathing gear, and men lolling in chaises, sunning their tanned and oiled Hollywood bodies—I became so preoccupied with perfecting the movements of my arms and the kicking of my legs that I relaxed quickly into the repetitive strokes. Cutting through the sun-warmed liquid was divine. I sped through dozens of laps. Though, strangely, I missed the briny seawater and the tugging of the tides.

“Fiera, dear!” Dulcie called when I popped my head up for a breather.

I waved and made my way over to the ladder where she held out a thick, white towel monogrammed with the club’s logo—AHSC for Atlantic Heights Swim Club.

Wrapping myself up in it, I followed her to the chaises she’d pulled together. Dulcie reached in her cabbage rose bag for her signature drinks—two ice cold Moxies—and popped off their cork-lined tops with the opener she’d tied to the inside with a violet ribbon. She handed me one.

“Gee, thanks! Swimming makes a girl thirsty.” I took a refreshing gulp.

“You’re almost a real mermaid now,” she remarked. “I’d say your progress is one-hundred percent better than your seaside mishaps.”

“One-thousand percent.” We giggled.

“So, Fiera, what really brings you back to Asbury?”

I told her about being fired, even about Terrence finding my Tarot deck, but I said nothing about sleeping in the shantytown. She’d be too shocked.

“Did you gain employment yet?”

I couldn’t lie. I just couldn’t. Sighing deeply, I said, “Peter Dune hired me to be a card reader.”

Dulcie lowered her sunglasses and leveled her gaze on me. “Fiera, you were convinced he was a madman, obsessed with getting you in his bed.”

“I know, I know.” I hated the whine in my voice. “But this time, it’s all business. I told him no hanky-panky.”

Her responding chuckle was surprisingly raunchy. “Lordie, you have nerve! I would’ve liked to have seen his face.”

I allowed myself to relax into the chaise. “It was pretty funny. He agreed to my terms. I guess I’m a better businesswoman than I imagined.”

“Oh? What terms? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Well, I told him I needed room and board. He put me up in the Starfish Inn.”

She clucked. “A tad shabby but not dangerous. You don’t think he expects more of a payback, do you? I’d watch him like a hawk. And dearie, if you want to stay in one of my daddy’s hotels, you—”

“No, Dulcie. You’ve done more than enough. I really appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t feel right.”

She rubbed drops of condensation off her pop bottle. “You’re so proud, Fiera. I admire you for it. You didn’t even keep that dress I gave you.”

“It was a loan.” I didn’t want to owe anyone anything or depend on anyone’s help. No one had helped me get a leg up so far. It was safer to go it alone, that way no one could hurt or disappoint me.

“But I offered it to you.” Dulcie gave me one more earnest, motherly gaze and then tossed back her blonde curls. “If the Starfish is fine by you, I’m copacetic with it. I have to go soon. I have a date.”

It was my turn to give her a look of concern. “Do say? Not with Tim.”

“What’s the matter with Tim?”

“I’ve heard things.”

“From whom?” When I hesitated, she carried on. “Not from Peter or that assistant of his. I wouldn’t take—”

“Dulcie, Opal’s a good girl. She might be from a lowly station—”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Opal’s sharp as a tack. She’s heard things. Heard Peter and Tim fighting. She overheard Tim saying malicious things to Peter Dune.”

“Such as?” Dulcie nibbled on a fingernail.

“Opal couldn’t make out exact words. She only said Tim thinks he’s always right.”

“Maybe he is.” Her insulted tone proved she didn’t buy what I was saying.

“Doubtful.” I gathered up my belongings, and then gave Dulcie a hug. “I’ve got to head out too.”

She looked suddenly bereft. “Will I see you again soon? Another swim lesson?”

“I’m a fast learner. I’m ready for the ocean next.”

“Fiera,” she growled as she thrust items in her already-loaded carpetbag.

“Don’t Fiera me, Mama Bear,” I teased. “Stop by the beach soon. Now that I have a job, I’ll buy the Moxie. For three of us—including Opal.”

She nodded, registering that for better or worse, Opal was part of our team now. We strolled out past people in their expensive loungewear and the ornate gates of the club. I was headed to the sidewalk and a long walk back to the Starfish Inn, and Dulcie back to her finer lodging.

Chapter 16

“MAY I SPEAK with Mr. Dune?” a piercing bass voice demanded.

I cringed. It was my boss Sam Dickerson, the head of the whole New York operation. And he sounded grumpy as all get out. “That would be me.”

“What’s your progress in Asbury? Tim tells me you boys haven’t turned up much. He says you’ve been getting a little too friendly with one of the females you’re tracking.”

My blood immediately rose to a boil. “That’s absolute hooey. No merit whatsoever to that accusation.” I clenched my jaw to stop myself from barreling on about Tim’s many gaffes—how combative he was, how he flirted shamelessly with ladies regardless of their married status, how he soused around in the speakeasies, and pilfered company money on flashy outfits. My own ire would only be construed as traitorous to the operation here.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Mr. Dickerson barked. The image of his red-face with the shoulders and neck of a linebacker came into my head. He had a lousy reputation for firing his staff on a whim, and I had no desire to be in his crosshairs.

“I’m doing my job. I have my eyes on the Circle of Light group and um, the lady in question.”

“Who is she and what is she doing in Asbury?”

“She’s not a spiritualist per se, but she claims to be a medium. She reads Tarot cards.”

“Well, what can you get on her? What’s her name? Is she connected to the Circle group?”

“No. I hired her to read the cards. Fiera works for me here; she’s under my thumb.” I stopped short of revealing I put her up in the inn down the street with company money. I didn’t want Dickerson bellyaching about cash flow. That was his pet activity, and it was highly aggravating. This particular sting operation was funded by a group of wealthy New Yorkers burned by the Circle of Light group, but also other mediums in the north Jersey area that had conned Dickerson’s clients when they’d vacationed at the shore. The company coffers were stocked, but he meted it out like a Scrooge.

“Fiera, what kind of name is that? Unusual. Is it Italian? French?”

It irritated me to no end that he suddenly sounded interested. “I’m not an expert on origins of names, sir.”

“Did you catch her in anything yet? What do you have on her? I want the lowdown.”

My back prickled. Something in me hated ratting Fiera out. I didn’t want to tell him diddlysquat—how the cards seemed to soar at her command or about her uncanny ability to make me faint at the touch of her hands. I won’t describe anything I can’t explain by rational means, I reasoned.

When I’d sought out Dickerson after my sister got swindled, I told him I’d done private investigative work. It wasn’t a lie. I’d worked briefly for another private eye, getting evidence on gambling dens and illegal liquor imports by the Lower East Side piers.

Dickerson’s outfit specialized in routing out psychic phonies, and I’d been gung-ho about seeing every last Circle of Light, or any, fraud strung up by their ankles. But since I’d met Fiera, the lines were not so sharply defined between hero and villain. She wasn’t a bad person, or out to take someone’s hard-earned cash. What was her motivation exactly? Of course, she needed money like any other person, but she seemed to derive real joy from the process of reading the cards, and she’d gotten truly upset when that first client called me, and then her, a fake. It was confounding. I needed more time to figure it out on my own before Dickerson pressed me any further. I loosened my collar in a heated surge of annoyance for accepting work from this blowhard.

“Listen, Tim tells me you fainted during one of the séances,” Dickerson went on. “He says you’ve been getting too chummy with the dame to be able to make hard choices. Are you ill? Have you had a checkup recently? You sure you’re up to the task?”

“Tim’s a lousy liar!” I blurted before I could contain myself.

I heard the blunt wham of Dickerson slamming his meaty fist down on a hard surface. “You’re a goddam private dick for hire. Who are you to talk?” he shouted into the phone.

“Look, Mr. Dickerson, I took this job because so-called spiritualists ruined my only sister’s life. I’m not going soft on you, sir. But let’s stick to our first target, the Circle cult. The woman—Fiera—is only a distant second.”

“I call the shots, Dune. Any and all psychic shams in the Asbury and Belmar shore areas are our targets. We need hard evidence to keep the gravy train going. But I’ll give you one more chance to get something solid on those Circle cretins. And not just silly retouched photos, you hear? I want incriminating conversations!” This, too, he punctuated with the slam of a fist. “I rented a wire recorder from some detective mucky-mucks. Tim has it. It’s costly, Mr. Dune, so you better record some very guilty chats on it before we have to return it to the rental agency and pay a golden arm. Is that clear?”

I involuntarily shuddered. He’d already met with Tim and I wasn’t part of that? “Quite clear. I’ll nab those Circle—”

“You nab that dame too. Our clients are clamoring for warm blood. We need to serve some up real soon. We go for our annual party cruise on the Morro in ten days.”

Oh, hell no! In my state of agitation, I’d forgotten all about the upcoming business conference. I’d only worked for Dickerson & Dickerson for nine months. But the Morro was notorious. Everyone in the boroughs and Jersey knew of it. It was an enormous cruise vessel that made regular runs from New York Harbor to Cuba, with film stars, Mafiosi, and wealthy businessmen who craved secrecy, tropical rum, and the rest of the hard stuff. No doubt some of Dickerson’s anti-spiritualist clients would be partying with us, and they wanted something to party about.

On the ocean, it was anything goes; prohibition laws were suspended on the high-rolling waves. We all had our hypocrisies, I guessed, even royal flush Dickerson.

“Ten days, Mr. Dune. When you come to Manhattan for the Morro cruise, I want my ears to explode from those recordings, you hear?”

“I won’t disappoint you.”

“If you do, your days at the agency are over.”

* * *

ON THE RIDE to Belmar, there was only the crackle of static-laced band music on Tim’s car radio to breach the tense silence. He knew I’d had my ears twisted by Dickerson. It was evident in his darting side-glances. Not wanting to give Tim the satisfaction of knowing the call had upset me, I stared out of the window at the passing cars. After this sting operation, when I could really let loose on his treachery, he’d hear my anger loud and clear.

The wire recorder Dickerson had rented sat between us on the car seat. It was almost as large as Tim’s beefy briefcase. How we were going to smuggle this behemoth into the Circle’s headquarters was a mystery. At least Tim had finagled Talcott into inviting us to their meeting. That was one point in his favor.

Tim pulled up to a tall Gothic revival on Eighth Street bordered by a black, wrought-iron fence. The same elegant scroll railings wound around each circular balcony. Its front garden was brimming with the strangest flowers, comprised only of black or the deepest ultramarine—the hues of a Halloween night. Imagining them tended to by a coven of witches, I smiled. More and more, my mind was wandering into obscure nooks. Maybe I was beginning to believe in Fiera’s powers—or at least the possibility. How else was I to explain our uncanny connection, my sudden half-conscious states at her touch, my own visions?

Tim shoved the wire recorder in his leather briefcase. Struggling out of his vehicle beneath its bulk, he tripped on a rut in the road and pitched forward. Catching himself just in time, he windmilled his other arm and teetered clownishly, which made me chuckle.

“Want to let me in on the joke?” he groused.

“Not particularly.” I choked down another laugh.

Walking up to the house, I grew even more impressed with the garden. It might be a mystifying color choice, but whoever planted it had done an impeccable job. The dusky blooms glistened like dark jewels from their dawn watering. In contrast, the wholesome look of the American flag sticking up from the flowers looked terribly awkward.

I gripped the circular brass knocker and rapped. Talcott greeted us in his requisite white seersucker suit and red shirt. Two other solemn gentlemen dressed in identical gear flanked him. “Welcome to the Circle’s Sunday service,” Talcott said crisply as he shook our hands. His was cool and rough—like old tree bark. “Right this way,” he said, turning on his heels.

We followed him into a large sitting room with bay windows and dark flooring. About eighteen men in uniform sat in chairs arranged around a table. They were chatting amongst themselves, but when we arrived, a curious lull descended. Most of the men were older, professorial-looking types, but a few younger recruits stood out.

Talcott led us to two adjoining seats before he glanced at his pocket watch. “We’ll start in five minutes.”

I took a closer look at the crowd. There were no women, not that unusual for a private club. Though it had me wondering whether most of the men were married and if so, what kind of wives they had. What woman would find a man attractive who always wore the same garish outfit, to say nothing of their foolish medallions? I choked down a snicker.

“We have two guests,” Talcott explained to the crowd. “Peter, and his business partner Tim are owners of Peter Dune’s Paranormal up in Asbury. They are readers of the cards, and are fellow believers in the ethereal world. They wanted to see how we manage our groups. So, give them a warm welcome, and an inspiring session, shall we?”

Welcomes reverberated around the room. I glanced over at Tim, impressed at his ability to turn our last bumpy experience at my store with Talcott around. While I’d been getting a lecture from Dickerson, Tim must’ve been charming Talcott all over again, not an easy task with someone as stern and humorless. I broke into a grin, wanting Tim to know I appreciated this factor. This was when I noticed he no longer had the briefcase. Had he put it down on purpose in a corner of the foyer after Talcott let us in? He saw me eyeing him with concern and made a slight reassuring motion with his head.

Just as Talcott was lowering the window drapes, Tim announced he needed to use the facilities. Looking closer at him, I saw his face was damp with sweat. Though he often brimmed with energy, he wasn’t normally the anxious type. I worried that having to deal with the wire recorder had given Tim a sudden case of the heebie-jeebs.

Damn it all, I silently cursed. I should’ve insisted on being the one to manage the wire recorder. Tim obviously didn’t trust me anymore, and sad to say, I didn’t trust him either. I thought of following him out, but I decided that might blow our cover.

This unexpected delay was rousing impatient chatter among Talcott’s followers. I overheard bits and pieces: “What do they want with the Circle? Are they friends of Talcott… If he was going to initiate them, he should’ve discussed it with us.”

Abruptly, Tim burst back into the room and swiped his brow with a handkerchief. As he turned to sit, he gave me a subtle, reassuring nod. Talcott flicked off the lights.

The session began with a long, tedious silence while the men conjured the so-called spirits. They could be doing anything in here, and we wouldn’t know because it was pitch dark. I listened to sounds of life from outside: a burst of children’s laughter, a dog barking, and the honking of horns. After about ten minutes, someone’s voice—not Talcott’s—trailed up from a low growl to a soft wail. It raised the gooseflesh along my arms. “A spirit descends. The spirit of someone barely alive.”

Looking up, I saw a faint blue glow hovering inches below the ceiling. It was, indeed, lowering itself into the room. It had to be trickery. I might be starting to believe in Fiera’s powers but this so-called blue spirit was bunk. Any electrician worth his salt could rig the ceiling with carnival lights.

Its opalescent gleam illuminated the edges of our faces, so I could now make out the man who went on in the same plaintive wail. He was sitting on the opposite side of the circle, and he was shorter than Talcott. The man’s eyes fluttered as he spoke. “This poor person is hooked on demon drugs. I see her press the needle in her arm. She comes to warn us… or should we warn her? She will die if she continues this.”

A she! Why a she in the midst of this distasteful men-only club? My heart raced of its own accord. Talcott’s eyes were shut, as were the eyes of all the other men except the one who was speaking. Looking up, I saw the light had moved closer to me and was now shimmering just above my head. This wasn’t funny at all.

“Do you have any questions, Mr. Dune?” It was Talcott’s voice that rang out this time.

“Who is this person? What is her name?”

“It starts with a G,” said the man with the fluttering eyelids. Detecting an edge of malicious humor in his tone, my worries immediately flew to my sister. Had Talcott and his Circle done research on my background? How dare they! Was Talcott getting his revenge for us not luring Alyse to my own last session? No… that seemed too extreme a reaction. What then?

Hopefully, the recording device was capturing every line of this outrage. “Tell me,” I said, “what’s the rest of the woman’s name, and what might she want with me?”

“G… G… a Gabby. No, a Gertie.”

My heart hammered so alarmingly I managed to only gasp out the next question. The blue light slid down to shudder in front of my face. “What does this Gert want with me? I don’t know anyone by that name. She must be here for someone else.” I refused to lead him by admitting he’d hit on my sister’s name.

“No, this message is for you, for you,” he replied in a singsong voice, which rose to a girly wail. “Brother, if you don’t come for me now, I will soon be gone from this earth.” Abruptly, the blue light winked out. Once again, we were in total darkness.

Talcott and his minions had real nerve to game me like this! Seething with rage, I barely registered anything else except the hot blood thrashing around in my head, and my insatiable urge to punch Talcott’s face in.

What followed were a few minutes of uneasy silence. Afterward, the man who’d spoken went on to talk about some trivial club matters. I felt the lightest tug on my shirt cuff and the tickle of Tim’s warm, onion breath on my ear. “It’s recording in a vent behind this wall. Distract them when this is over.”

Then, unexpectedly, the lights came on. Like a nocturnal possum, I’d gotten used to the dark, and the sudden brightness bit into my pupils. Tim leapt up, claiming he had stomach troubles. “Sorry for the disruption. I’ll be right back,” he promised. By some miracle, no one marched out after him.

The men started to talk about the session. Talcott got up, stretched, and ambled toward me. Despite whatever game he was running on us, his relaxed manner assured me he wasn’t suspicious of Tim and me. “What did you make of the message today, Mr. Dune?” he asked.

Still fuming inside, I had to work at keeping an amiable tone. “Quite curious, Dr. Talbot. I don’t know a soul named Gert.”

The man who’d mumbled the line stepped over to us. “There must be some connection. A friend of a friend, perhaps?”

“Absolutely not,” I lied.

Talcott shrugged. “Who knows the mysterious ways of spirit? Shall we go find Tim?” He walked me down the hall. “Let’s wait for your friend here by the front door.”

Tim came barreling out of a different side hall, lugging the briefcase. At least his face was expressionless and he’d wiped the sheen off it.

As I leaned over to grab the door handle, Talcott outstepped me and used his lanky body as a barricade. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

My gut clenched with a dark premonition. “No,” I replied. “We’ll be on our way now. Thanks. It was…” I searched for the right word, “illuminating.”

“I’ve got my briefcase,” Tim reasoned, holding it up with difficulty, “and that’s all I came with.”

“You did forget something then,” Talcott insisted. He lunged forward and seized Tim’s case. “You forgot to give me your wire recorder, that’s what,” he snapped. Yanking open the attaché clasps, he pulled the device out with both hands. The case clunked to the floor along with some of the wire recording rolls, which began to unspool.

“Now, you wait a minute. That’s thievery,” Tim shouted and reached for it, but Talcott was too fast for him and took some steps back, clutching the case to his chest.

At this hubbub of discord, more of Talcott’s men poured into the foyer. I picked up a wire roll and began to rewind it, but someone slapped it from my hand. Another man picked up the rest of the rolls, and a third grabbed Tim’s case and rifled through it.

“Gentlemen, I’ll handle these men,” Talcott instructed. “Just take the recorder and give me one of the spools.” He stuffed it in his pocket. “Lock the doors and windows and let us by. Go!” The red-and-white crush of men parted. We had little choice but to follow him up the stairs and see this fiasco out to the bitter end.

Talcott led us into a sitting room and bolted the door.

“You can’t legally hold us here,” Tim asserted, reaching for the sidearm under his coat. I shook my head at him, warning him not use deadly force. As much as this dreadful turn of events unnerved me, we needed to avoid violence. Tim was a bundle of loose wires whose impulsive behavior could spark and burn as hot as I imagined Talcott could.

“What do you want with us?” I glared at Talcott’s wide, almost frenetic, eyes, and hoped he couldn’t read the fright in my own face.

“What makes you think I want something from you? What do you want from the Circle?” He took a menacing step forward. “I could report you for blackmail.”

“Blackmail, ha!” My head was exploding from fury. “Your group has—”

“Peter, shut up!” Tim hissed at me.

Hard to believe I’d almost spilled out my hatred of the Circle, how they’d ruined my sister’s trust in humanity. I’d almost blown our cover. Balling my fists up and pressing them tighter was the only way to keep them from injuring Talcott.

Tim plastered on a fake grin. “This is all a big misunderstanding, bub. We were simply recording your reading out of pure curiosity and admiration.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Mr. um…”

I swallowed back an impending gust of nervous laughter at the fact that Talcott couldn’t recall Tim’s last name. “Look, what do you want from us?” I asked him again. “You must want something or you wouldn’t have cornered us up here.”

“Ah, the sand shark has a brain.” Talcott coiled over me as he fingered his bizarre medallion.

An instinctive suspicion told me it was really an evil eye casting a spell on me. In another moment, I shook myself out of that lunacy. Next, his hawkish nose seemed like a grappling hook about to pierce my forehead. What was wrong with me? Looking over at Tim, I saw he was standing slack-jawed as well.

“I do want something,” Talcott finally admitted. “Perhaps we can make a deal. Or…” he reached in his pocket and held up the spool, “this one gets crushed under my boot heel.”

Tim snapped to life. “You just wait a minute, mister, that—”

“Shut up, Tim.” It was my turn to keep the lid on our mission. “What kind of deal? Out with it.” My sharp tone matched the piercing force of Talcott’s stare.

“Information on Alyse Bone,” he said. “In return, you’ll get the recorder back in one piece. Those things are expensive to rent. Yes, that’s right. I know you’re working for a PI Joe in Manhattan. You get to take it back to your fat, flap-jawed Dickerson.”

Tim gasped at this; although I’d already half-determined our cover was up. It wasn’t that hard to get the lowdown on us if a fellow did his homework. Talcott might be humorless, but he was one determined con. He’d played dumb during the entire reading. Rotten bastard.

“What specific information on her are you after?” I asked him.

“Where her place is in Manhattan. Where she keeps a special book called a grimoire.”

“What’s a grimoire?” I asked. “And what does it look like?”

“It’s just a silly name for a book, that’s all,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand at seeing Tim frown in confusion. As for me, the term sounded vaguely familiar, but I had no clue what it meant. Filing it away in my memory, I planned to look it if we ever got out of here. “It’s green, made of unusual fabric, not leather, but thick,” Talcott revealed. “It has a star on the front with some symbols—a design of circles and signs.”

“What’s in the book and why do you want it so bad?” Tim asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing of any concern to you, nothing to bother your palooka little head with.” In a resolute tone, he added, “So, what’ll it be? We’re busy men, are we not?”

“We’ll do it,” I said. “We’ll get you information on Miss Bone, no questions asked.” I did have questions, of course—why Alyse? She must have some power that threatened him—in Belmar real estate, in her ability to ruin him? I would find out. But for now, I stepped forward again until our noses were practically touching. “Now, give me that wire recorder and those spools.”

“Hold on.” Talcott stood unmoving by the locked door, his gangly limbs acting like boards nailed across the door. “I said after you get the goods on Ms. Bone.”

“I should blow your fool head off,” Tim muttered. He glowered at me to make it clear that it was not how he would have handled the mission.

But I knew the depths of depravity to which the Circle cult could go if provoked. Gertie’s hellish journey into depression and addiction at their cruelty was proof enough. Playing along was the best way to get the recorder back in one piece. Plus, I’d already determined to interrogate Alyse on my own.

Talcott unlocked the door, and we galloped down the stairs. Never was it more of a keen, dark joy to leap into Tim’s car, flick on his static-filled radio, and blast away from Belmar.

Chapter 17

OPAL AND I headed to the beach. This time, Dulcie couldn’t join us, to my secret relief. For the time being, I wouldn’t have to negotiate the tension-filled spaces between my two friends. Yes, Opal was becoming a friend. She was shy and unsure, awkward, and sometimes at a loss for words, yet she possessed a quiet wisdom. I guessed she was what people called an “old soul”. I felt it when she lovingly ran a damp cloth over Peter Dune’s leather-bound books, and when I caught her staring at me with her luminous eyes as if she saw something important in me that I didn’t even see in myself. I heard it when she offered a profound wisdom after a long silence. She’d impressed me first when she’d described so clearly Tim’s resentment of Peter’s power. She’d shown her insight when she insisted I had powers.

Funny, I felt her powers too.

We packed turkey sandwiches, and I splurged on cold Moxies and a bottle opener at Woolworth’s so we didn’t have to depend on Dulcie being there as a luncheonette waitress and top popper. Weaving our way through lounging young couples, mothers and their toddlers filling buckets with sand, and men smoking pipes, we spread one of the hotel’s thin blankets on a flat, dry expanse and settled in. After sandwiches and a bit of sunbathing, I was longing to leap into the surf again.

So far, I only knew how to swim well in still water. But oddly, I wasn’t scared of the ocean anymore. Something out in its depths was driving me on, a secret part of me, coming alive. Where the outer waves met my deep inner sea, I had no boundaries, no jetties to crash into, or possibility of drowning.

I stood and adjusted my swimsuit. “I’m going in, Opal. You want to swim too?”

Her face warmed into a gentle grin. “I’ll be here. I’ll keep an eye out for you, Fiera.” Darn if she didn’t sense correctly I wanted to explore on my own and was just being polite to invite her to swim.

“Thanks. Hopefully, I won’t forget my lessons and I’ll be good this time.”

“You’ll be good,” she echoed.

I walked to the water’s edge and strode in, feeling the foam curl around my ankles, then thighs. Twisting sideways when the waves barreled in, I broke their force against my willing hip. And then I was past the breakers and out into deeper, rolling water. I slid down until my chest was submerged, and I began to do the breaststroke, kicking my legs out and back, frog style. Only that first plunge was unnerving. I soon took to it, forging a path parallel to the surf. Before I knew it, I was further out than anyone else was. This felt so natural—why had I ever been scared? A breeze spiraled around me. Some uncanny sound was mixed up in it—like a flute, or a bell.

“Come, come, come,” an unseen maiden sang. Treading water the way Dulcie had taught me, I spun around to see who was behind me. There was no one.

The song again! I cocked an ear to the wind to determine where it was coming from. It wasn’t that I actually heard it out loud. It was inside me, in my head. Was I going insane? No. I felt fine; I’d woken with a clear head, and had a sane conversation with Opal earlier.

The singing was directing me down, underwater. I breathed in as much air as I could and dove. Propelling myself forward, I clasped my hands together as if in prayer, and scissored my legs the way Dulcie had instructed.

I wasn’t worried anymore. The invisible ocean lady called to me in buoyant song. “Come out, out to where you belong. Collect what is yours,” she appealed. If her voice were a color, it would be turquoise and the gleaming pink of scallop shells when they were dipped in water.

“What’s mine?” I asked her, not with my voice, but with an inner questioning. I know she heard me because she answered me.

“It’s been yours since you were thirteen. We’ve been keeping it safe for you, locked away from thieves who would try to steal it before you could claim it. We’ve hidden it from everyone, even your family.”

“But I don’t have a family.” Tears pricked my eyes, even underwater.

I couldn’t see her, but I sensed a female presence gazing at me with compassion and sadness. “Yes, you do.”

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

“My mother?” I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Who is she?”

“She’s quite powerful,” was the woman’s cryptic answer. I asked her again, but she gave me the same response.

“What is it you have hidden for me?” I sent her this question as I shot forward, still not needing to take a breath. Still lost in a whorl of briny magic and periwinkle bubbles.

The strange emerald glow I’d seen from a distance that first time when I almost drowned shimmered up ahead—alluring, hypnotizing. What could it be? As I darted forward, my lungs began to burn. Still, I persisted, cutting smoothly through the water, as if it were honeyed air, honeyed everything and more.

I was closing in on the otherworldly lantern when I saw her—what was she—the ghost of a drowned swimmer, an apparition, a mermaid, or ocean goddess floating by the light? Her whole being was glowing green. She wore a long, gauzy gown, and her lovely, heart-shaped face held dancing eyes and a warm, beckoning smile. She waved me on as she hovered by the light set in the rocks beside her. My chests tightening, I slowed my pace to keep from crashing into a rock formation rising from the ocean floor. Strange, it wasn’t a manmade breakwater; it looked more like a castle made of dark coral. Now that I was only yards away, I saw it was a construct of boulders that were jagged and jutted out at all angles.

“Come closer,” sang the beautiful green apparition, half solid, half transparent. Her seaweed hair coiled and danced around her shoulders, side-lit by the glinting beam. She beckoned to me again with an elegantly turned hand. “Come here, sweet Fiera.” Was she truly friendly or some devious Greek Siren luring me to my death? My chest seized up in terror.

As if waking out of a profound sleep, I remembered how very deep underwater I must be. Looking up, I saw only a tiny globe of sun undulating miles away, above the surface. My heart stuttered. And I faltered, as I’d done that perilous time before. I struggled not to gulp in cold, briny water. Taking in only a few drops, even that froze and then seared my lungs. Before panic took complete hold and I inhaled a pitcher’s worth of deadly water, I shifted upward. I pumped my limbs like mad, starting the long, desperate journey to the surface. Halfway up, an unaccountable calm spread through me.

“Come back, come back,” the sea goddess sang ruefully from below. I could see her in my mind’s eye as clearly as if she were swimming right in front of me, leading the way to the surface.

Next time, I promised her without words.

This was what life was all about, my real life, I realized. Everything else before this was a sun-bleached preface. I wasn’t sure how I knew this, but I was certain of it.

When my head burst above the waterline, I gulped in air, shaking out my hair and dripping eyelashes like a sea otter that had always lived in water.

My strokes were sure as I swam in, curving my body like a smile over each breaker.

In two separate rowboats, lifeguards rowed swiftly toward me, concern on their tanned faces.

“Are you all right, missy?” a lifeguard asked as his vessel reached me. He stretched out his hand.

I nodded but didn’t take it. Bobbing slightly over the next wave, I said, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t you need a ride the rest of the way?” he asked with raised brows.

“I can manage. Thanks.”

The second lifeguard had muscles that flexed with each stroke. “Your friend said she lost sight of you for ten whole minutes,” he called. “What happened?”

I had no answer for him. Looking over his shoulders, I realized Opal was standing on shore, urgently waving. Her reddened cheeks showed she’d been crying. A pang of guilt went through me. How could I have forgotten my dutiful friend out there on the beach? How could it be the ocean had called to me so strongly that it had erased everything else?

“I’m okay, Opal,” I yelled and waved to her. Leaping over the last breaker that separated us, I ran to her and practically crushed her in a hug.

“I’m so relieved.” She hugged me back with her skinny arms. “I knew you’d be okay, Fiera. I knew it.” Her terrycloth robe was sopping by the time I let go.

“I’m more than okay,” I admitted to her after the lifeguards returned to their wooden platform and the shocked crowd went back to their beach doings.

“What happened out there?” Opal asked when we were once again sitting on the hotel blanket.

“Something important, Opal, something grand and mysterious. I’ll tell you all I saw.” My spirit was soaring. Could she see it written on my face the same way I’d heard the sea goddess’s silent words? “I don’t pretend to know what it is yet.” I gave Opal a mischievous grin that matched the happy flutter of my heart. “But I’m going to find out.”

Chapter 18

I HURRIED DOWN the trash-laden Philadelphia street and up the splintered tenement steps, letting myself into my sister’s apartment with the key she’d given me years before. The only way to see clearly how she fared was to make a surprise visit. I clenched my jaw, hoping against hope that the Circle folks were wrong, and Gertie wouldn’t be nodding out from a dreadful narcotics-filled syringe sticking out of her pocked arm… or worse. I stood for a moment in the foyer, my ear cocked for sounds of movement. It was far too quiet. Oh, God, no.

I tiptoed into the living room. Peered around at the clothes flung in places they didn’t belong. My gaze drifted to the couch. There she was. One arm hung down toward the floor, and her head tilted at an awkward angle toward the backrest. Was I too late? Oh, Lord! I rushed forward and shook her.

She shuddered, and her eyes blinked open. They stared at me without recognition, shot through with tiny, broken veins. Her hair was unkempt and her cheeks were a bit sunken. But she was alive, and that was all that mattered. “Peter?” Her gaze gradually focused on me, and her brows lifted. “Peter?”

I leaned over and hugged her. “Dear Gertie, you’re all right.” She’d merely been asleep.

In about ten minutes' time, I’d made us tea from the stale bags in her kitchen. She sat up, sipping it in a chipped family cup strewn with violets.

She’d managed to pull a natty shawl around her shoulders and arrange her hair with some clips. I had no intention of telling Gertie all the gory details of the Circle’s dire reading, or my present trouble in Asbury with Dickerson. Clearly, she had enough troubles of her own. I reassured her I had gainful employment and I’d simply found time and money to take the train down from New York and pay her an overdue visit. She seemed satisfied with that information, nodding and sipping her tea.

“Would you like to move up to Jersey? Why don’t you let me set you up in an apartment there?” I asked her for at least the tenth time. “It would be much easier to see you. I could keep an eye on your welfare, make sure you have food in your pantry, and—”

“No!” Gertie practically shouted. She might be half-disintegrated, but she was still stubborn as all get out. The drugs hadn’t taken that from her. “I like living in Philadelphia,” she said. “We grew up here, Pete. I can’t leave.” Now she looked on the verge of tears.

I patted her bony shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gertie. I won’t take you anywhere you don’t want to go. This place is all paid up, and I’ll make sure the money keeps coming in.” I sighed, afraid of her answer to my next question. “So, um… how are you spending your days?”

She shrugged. “I sit here. I knit socks.”

“You’re not doing any more… things you shouldn’t, are you?”

Gert beamed as she shook her head. “No, Pete. No more opium. No morphine. No more anything. I’m clean.” She held out her arms. They were blessedly clear of marks, other than her old scars.

“Oh, thank, God, Gertie.” Another worry drifted in. “Do you have a friend here, someone to talk to?”

Pride brightened her face. “The lady down the hall is very nice. She brings me dinner.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous, Gert, really.” It was more than I had hoped for, another soul caring about her welfare. “What’s the nice lady’s name?”

“Miss Aberdeen.”

“Well, you tell Miss Aberdeen I truly appreciate her generosity. Will you?”

Gertie nodded.

I pulled out my billfold, counted out one hundred dollars, and separated them into two piles. “Keep this eighty for yourself,” I said, tapping the larger stack. “Give Miss Aberdeen the smaller amount, you hear? Make sure she gets twenty dollars for her efforts.”

Gertie agreed. She had no real conception of the value of money during these terrible times. Psychologically, she’d been reduced to a girl of about thirteen even though she was twenty-five.

A picture of her former life sifted in. Of her weeping over the death of her son, Steven, her face puffed up like a swollen melon, of soiled handkerchiefs around her like brittle, faded bouquets. And then, coming over for surprise visits to see her hunched over, nodding out, with bloody needles in an open, velveteen bag spilling out next to her.

After the precarious days of weaning her off all the poisons, when everything she ate came rushing back up, when she couldn’t organize her thoughts because her brain had so many wormholes from long opium benders.

If I thought about it too much, I wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for weeks. But I needed to be strong for both of us. I needed to keep bringing in cash, and hold on to my job with Dickerson & Dickerson. At least she was no longer strung out—sweet miracles existed amongst life’s bitter nightmares. I glanced at my watch. “It’s late, Gertie. I need to catch the last train back to Asbury. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” She attempted a lopsided grin.

I got up and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s wonderful to see you, dear sister. I’ll call you again soon. When you don’t pick up, I get scared for you, so answer all of your calls, okay?” I gave her a stern, fatherly look.

She saluted me. “Yes sir, Pete. Girl Scout’s honor.”

With that, I gave her a parting hug and hurried into the desolate streets. So, Talcott had fed me a line of utter horse-crap about my sister. I was never so glad to unearth a bold-faced lie. Not so fast, an unwelcome voice in me whispered. Gertie’s worries might not be over yet.

* * *

IT WAS STRANGE entering Spellbinding Taffy in daylight. The draped displays that looked bright and fun at night appeared garish and cheap in the early afternoon sun. The glittery containers looked slightly sinister—an overload of sugar and forced gaiety. Nevertheless, on my way in, I bagged handfuls of Luck in Love and Truth Telling taffy.

Celeste, the ginger-haired lady, was behind the counter arranging a wicker basket of yellow candies. If she was surprised to see me, her remote gray eyes didn’t show it. “Delighted to see you… Mr. Dune, is it?” She knew darn well who I was, because she’d made quite a show of crying and running out during my last séance. “What can I do for you today?” she asked as she continued to neaten the candy basket.

“I’d like to speak to Alyse Bone.” At this, her eyebrows shot up.

“Oh? I’m not sure she’s available. I’ll take a look in the back. What shall I tell her is the exact reason for your visit?”

“I’d rather keep that to myself, thanks.” I placed the bag of taffy on the counter. “How much?”

She peeked in and smiled. “Ah. Truth Telling and Luck in Love. That’ll be twenty-five cents. Who’s the lucky recipient?”

“Oh, no one. I picked these out of sheer coincidence.” I gave her a quarter, rolled the bag top shut, and thrust it in my jacket pocket. “Now, tell me, is Miss Bone here, or do you know where I can find her?”

Celeste gave me a cryptic look. “She’s hard at work developing a new taffy. Let me escort you down to the… club, and I’ll bring her there when she’s done. All right?”

“That will be fine.” I followed Celeste past the open kitchen area, where I craned my neck for a glimpse of people at work making confections. I saw no one. But this, too, wasn’t lost on the pretty Celeste.

She let out a girly giggle. “Oh, Miss Bone’s in a private section of the kitchen. Her new recipes are top secret. She can’t have the public gawking at her.”

“No, I guess that would stifle her creativity.” I had no choice but to follow Celeste through the trick pantry door and down to the dank basement, where she knocked at the wooden panel set in the cellar door. It slid open, and wide-set eyes stared out. The bartender swung the heavy door open.

“In you go!” Celeste said brightly, and then she retreated into the dark basement.

It being morning, the bar was almost empty. Only one waitress flitted around in a candy-cane pink uniform. I took a seat at the bar near a soused fellow nursing what I guessed was a bourbon. It wasn’t my manner to drink before early evening, so I ordered a coffee. It took a few minutes because they had to brew a fresh pot. No doubt, a cup of Joe was a rare order here. Bluesy jazz piano plink-plunked from a radio. When my sight adjusted to the dim space, I noticed the white-haired cook from the taffy shop. He was lurking in a corner, smoking his pipe and studying me. I nodded amiably, in part to get him to stop staring. He nodded back, then strode to the door and left. People could be so odd. I had a sudden burst of paranoia, thinking that he was some kind of spy for Alyse. But that was ridiculous. I was the private eye here, not the silly old cook! Just when I doubted Alyse would show up, I heard the turn of a key and she entered without knocking.

She wore a midnight blue dress, which clung to her fashionably narrow hips, and a navy hat tilted at a rakish angle—an unusually fancy outfit for a candy-mixing session. I stood, but before I could meet her halfway, she’d made her way across the room, navigating easily around the myriad of small, round tables. “Mr. Dune,” she held out her hand, “to what do I owe this visit?”

“I was on the boardwalk so I thought I’d pay you a neighborly social call.” I took her hand and kissed it, hoping to charm and disarm her all at once. People said I could sometimes be awkward and formal, but if duty called, I had the skills to pull out the stops. A charming approach was necessary with a smart, alluring, and intimidating woman like Alyse. “Celeste tells me you’re creating a new taffy flavor. How exciting,” I gushed.

Alyse slid her hand out of mine and waved us to a table. “Why, yes, it will be a stimulating addition to our Spellbinding lineup.” She winked, which on her was more feminine than expected. A wave of heat fanned through me despite my efforts to remain detached. Snake charmer, I intoned silently. This diva was forty if she was a day.

She ordered us two absinthes despite my protests. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Dune. You can’t come into Spellbinders and only get a toot from boring old java.” She skated a cut-glass beaker toward me. “Take a sip and then you, lucky man, will get the very first taste of my new concoction.” She waved taffy at me.

I sipped my drink. Even through the wrapper, the taffy glowed an electric blue. “What did you name it?”

“Fantastic Journey.”

“How poetic. What black magic spell will it work?”

She chuckled, but there was an irritable edge to it. “Who said it was magic?”

“I’ve heard.” I leaned forward on my elbows. “People talk.”

“About what, Mr. Dune?” She was again in control, her tone modulated, if a bit husky.

I shrugged. The game was to get her as eager to hear what I had to say as I was to hear her story. This wasn’t my first walk around the park. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out a Truth Telling Taffy. “Do you like games, Miss Bone? What do you say we trade? You eat one of these, and I’ll eat a Fantastic Journey.”

Again, anger glinted in her sharp gaze, but she shifted quickly to a look of jaded amusement. “Oh, twaddle,” she scoffed. “Games are fun, but… don’t you trust me?”

“Sure, I trust you.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you afraid of your own candy?”

“Oh, let’s get on with it.” Alyse took the Truth Taffy from me, unwrapped it, thrust it in her mouth, and chewed. I followed suit.

The blue taffy exploded like fireworks in my mouth. It was a fantastic blend of pineapple, ginger, and something utterly unidentifiable. “Another?” I held out a second Truth Taffy, and she gave me another of hers. We began such a loud and chewy competition that the souse at the bar glanced over from his drink, curious to see what all the laughter and lip smacking was about.

Alyse wedged a cigarette into her long, skinny holder and lit up. She blew the smoke artfully to one side. “So, tell me, Mr. Dune, why are you really here?” This was it—after imbibing a dozen candies, the interrogation had begun.

I was determined to wield control, while giving an impression she held the reins. This was sure to be a trickier game than the taffy-eating contest. “As I said, I hear all kinds of scuttlebutt about you, and I just want to get the story from your mouth.”

“Who’s spreading rumors, Mr. Dune?”

“I’ve heard things from a few folks.”

“Oh, come now, let’s be frank.” She stared at me with her strangely luminous eyes.

I wasn’t sure it was the best idea to spill it all, but the taffy—or something—was making quick work of my rational side. “Dr. Talcott,” I revealed. “He’s a spiritualist over in Belmar. Do you—?”

“I know him.”

“Oh, really? Are you friends? What kind of man is he? He claims you’re some kind of witch.”
“If I’m a witch, then Dr. Talcott is a hairy old warlock.” She brayed with laughter.

“Are you saying he’s correct? That you’re in some kind of coven, Miss Bone?”

“Sure, why not? I favor black dresses, Mr. Dune.” She looked down and fanned out a section of her dress. “Well, this one’s midnight blue, but close enough. And I adore All Hallows Eve like most creative souls do.” She paused to take a sip of absinthe and urge me to drink up. “So, what about Dr. Talcott? And why do you care what he says?”

Why did I care? My mind was all fogged up. This wasn’t how I planned to start this talk. I needed to dial it back, regain my mental faculties. “Let’s get to that in a minute. Um, do you have any children, Miss Bone?”

Her expression stiffened. “Well, now, who wants to know? Your Dr. Talcott?”

“No. I’m just curious. Because you don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”

“Oh, bushwa, Mr. Dune.” Her proud grin was back, still edged by a grimace. Even so, I was drawn to her dangerous, sensual edge, as if she were a hungry panther. My gaze followed the graceful curve of her black tresses as they wound around her low-cut bodice.

I had to force my eyes away from her pale, heaving chest, peeking from the bodice’s top. “Talcott says you have businesses in Manhattan. He says you have a few here too. A dog grooming parlor, a—”

“That’s right, Mr. Dune. I’m an entrepreneur. A lady’s entitled to make as much money as a man, is she not?” She took a long drag from her cigarette holder and slowly exhaled.

“Why, of course. It’s wonderful that a woman owns businesses. I just—”

“You just what?” She held out another electric blue taffy and wagged it at me.

I was about to devour it when I remembered, with the half of my wits I had left, that the game involved me feeding her one of mine too. She accepted another Truth Taffy, opening it slowly and taking seductive bites.

As I watched her, the plinky-plunky piano riff stretched into scary carnival music, and the cocktail waitress’ innocent grin smeared into a hostile clown leer. What was happening? I didn’t believe in Miss Bone’s ridiculous magical taffy. Well, then, I asked myself silently, why am I intent on feeding her more and more Truth Taffy if I believe it’s all nonsense? I had no answer.

Shaking the apparent gluey strands of taffy from my mind, I said, “It’s just that if you have bigger businesses in Manhattan, why would you prefer to hang around humble Asbury Park? Such a charming and intelligent businesswomen should be in New York, being the toast of the town,” I added, appealing to her vanity.

“Are you inviting me to a grand Manhattan restaurant?” she asked, punctuating it with another one of her signature winks.

Oh, Lord, she was getting the wrong idea, or perhaps my own runaway libido was betraying me. “I’d love to, but um… I must stay in Asbury, manage my store, you know.” I gave her a sheepish grin. “What businesses do you own up in the big city? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Would her vanity, or the supposedly magic taffy, drive her to tell me the truth? I held my breath, waiting.

“I owned a shop that supplied stores,” she said in a monotone.

“What kind of merchandise, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before replying. “For department stores.” Alyse said no more, but she screwed her face into a tight frown. I sensed her struggling to hold back information. Maybe the confounded taffy was working after all.

And for me, the room was whirring and buzzing. Blue light skidded off my side vision. I blinked to clear the effect. No more absinthe for me. My thoughts flew to Fiera, her beautiful face, her curves, and her own magical ability to make the Tarot cards fly. Fiera, Alyse, Fiera, Alyse, my mind sang in a confused ditty. I needed to ask Alyse a few more important questions, but my brain felt like an overheated engine that had blown a gasket.

My mouth had trouble forming the next, but form it I did. “Tell me, where did you live when you were in Manhattan? You must’ve had a magnificent place.” Again, I appealed to her vanity because that clearly worked.

She paused for so long I worried she’d gotten suspicious again. But then her face took on a nostalgic glaze. “I had a place downtown, on the East Side, across from Saint Marks Church. They had a green market there every week, in their courtyard. I’d buy fresh Russet potatoes and the best green leeks.” She trailed off.

“Between Second and Third Avenues on Tenth Street, then?” I asked. She nodded slowly as if still picturing it. “Yes, colorful neighborhood,” I added. “Do you recall the house number? I know that row of brownstones, such a decent tree-lined block within the hubbub.” She only frowned, so I quickly asked another question.

“Tell me how you decorated your apartment. Did you have expensive Oriental rugs? I bet you did.” This question was completely transparent, absolutely leading. Any fool…

Yet she took the bait, focusing her eyes back on me. “I never liked those Asian rugs, too slippery at night. I had the expensive new linoleum—the kind on the big rolls. Well, back in those days—”

“Oh, that’s great stuff in a kitchen, Miss Bone,” I agreed with my heart thudding. “I love that type of linoleum. So very practical too, for cleaning up spills. What pattern?”

She sucked on her cigarette holder. “Let’s see, it was gray—gray paisley.”

At this, I gasped. She was describing the exact linoleum flooring as the image in my swooning trances after Fiera took my hand during the séances! Could I have hit pay dirt?

Apparently, my loud gasp snapped her out of her reverie. Her dark eyes burned with an abrupt, terrifying fury. “For what possible reason are you curious about my old floor linoleum, Mr. Dune?” she snapped. “I’m a witch, remember? I could cast a very, very nasty spell on you, if you’re not careful.”

I flinched, overturning my drink. It splattered sideways and drooled off the table.

“The reason for your interrogation about my floor tile?” she repeated, her coal-black eyes staring coldly at me.

“Well, um—” I stalled by dabbing at the spill with some cocktail napkins.

“Black cat got your tongue?”

This woman was one formidable bully. Before I could devise a plausible answer, she launched into peals of sudden laughter as she righted my glass. “Oh, lighten up, you gullible fool!” she teased. “Don’t believe everything people say. Especially Dr. Talcott.”

I sucked in a recuperative breath, gathering my wits anew. “I take it you don’t think too highly of him.”

“He’s a conniving donkey.”

“He said you had a grimoire. He said he wanted it.” What was wrong with me, blurting out everything? Had I been the one to eat the Truth Taffy?

“A grimoire, ha! That’s a rich one.” Her voice was dismissive, but her eyes seethed with the brand of anger a bad surprise invokes. Why? She snorted and rose to her feet. “Do you even know what a grimoire is, Mr. Dune?”

“No, tell me.” I had a rough idea from perusing the books in my own store, but maybe she’d trip herself up, explaining. I stood. Lurching forward, I caught myself on the table for support. What was wrong with my balance?

“A grimoire is a book of magic. A manual, if you will. And no, I do not have a grimoire. But if I did I’d…” She shot another dramatic glare my way as she adjusted her hat. Who knew whether she was still playing with me or trying her best to sway me off a correct path? “This meeting is over,” she announced, adjusting her hat. “Can you get yourself back to your store properly, or should I ask my cook to escort you?”

I had a vision of the white-haired cook, luring me into a weedy side alley and beating me senseless. Either the taffy or the absinthe was making me overly fearful. “No more of either for me,” I muttered, stumbling toward the door. In a louder, hopefully more convincing tone, I said, “I’m fine. I will make my way on my own, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied. As I struggled to the door, I felt her heated gaze follow me, but no footsteps.

Once upstairs, I saw no sign of either Celeste or the old man. Who was minding the store? Not my concern, I decided. Hurrying past the gaudy displays of Vex Me No More licorice taffy and the pink-swirled Make me Pretty taffy, I stumbled into the light of day.

* * *

THIS WAS NO longer ordinary sunshine, more the swirls of thick blue buttermilk, slurping up the clouds and everything else in its creamy wake.

I veered to the right of the boardwalk so I could clutch the wooden rail as I walked. For all at once, I feared I’d float away if I didn’t grab onto an object attached to solid ground. Seagulls dive-bombed me, children’s laughter curdled into loon screeches, and then into the same infant cries Fiera and I had suffered through at the speakeasy after the dance. Speakeasy, speak hard, my brain felt like it was burping. What was in that blasted taffy?

Passersby began to sprout hair on their faces and arms, turning into rampaging warlocks. They hissed at me as they passed, snapped at me with their frothing snouts. I pressed my hand to my heart so it wouldn’t explode right out of my ribcage. Glancing over at the ocean, I could swear it was an ogre’s tongue licking at the beach, the boardwalk, at the wooden slats right beneath my shoes. Its wet tongue writhed, thrashing its nubby blue feelers at me. I swerved left to avoid it and picked up my pace, still holding a sweating hand to my heart, where it bumped frighteningly hard under my palm.

“Fiera, where are you? Where am I?” I moaned.

“Sir?” A lady was shaking my arm. “Sir? Are you ill? Do you need a doctor?” When I gazed over at her, she transformed frighteningly fast into a witch with burning crimson eyes and blue lizard flesh. Was this my supernatural punishment for exploring the dark side of life?

Yanking my arm from her vise-like grip, I lurched around her and cantered down a ramp to the street. The pavement heaved and buckled under my feet, and I tripped and fell. Lost one of my shoes. I scrabbled around on my knees for it. Get away, I told myself. Leave it!

Out of a primitive but true compass, I found myself at the Starfish Inn. Pimpled blue starfish were swarming over the blue door. The idea of touching them repulsed me, but that was nothing compared to the dread of being captured by that blue witch. I pushed my hand against a couple of the squirmy starfish, launched myself through the door and down the hall.

Blue—why was everything glowing blue—the carpet, the pictures on the wall, the flickering sconces? Out of a dim well of memory, Fiera’s room number bubbled up, and with no clear awareness of how I got there, I was pounding on her door.

“Warlocks and witches are coming, we need to hide!” I exclaimed, not loudly enough to scare everyone in the place, but enough for her to hear. “Fiera, please.” Behind me, I heard growls and sharp nails rooting against the floors. “They’re worse than rabid wolves, Fiera. They’ll bite my legs off, hurry!”

The door swung open, and she pulled me in.

The next thing I remembered was being splayed on my back with witches soaring above me. All in cobalt blue robes, they were, with crooked blue hats, and their forked blue tongues poking through fangs as their faces creaked into snarled grins. “I never knew witches had fangs,” I mumbled.

Fiera was there. Yes. She was stroking my face. Her hands were warm and loving. “Oh, my blue, blue angel,” I moaned. She mentioned something about a hospital. I didn’t hear the whole thing, though I clenched at the thought of leaving the safety of her room. “No hospital, no! The warlocks will jump us.”

She kept on nodding and stroking my forehead now with some blessedly warm compress. “Blue heaven,” I mumbled again. “You’re my blue heaven.” In another pinprick of awareness, I saw her face, gazing tenderly at me, so very close. I managed to push myself up on my elbows, and I pressed my lips to hers. She didn’t pull away but returned the kiss, and it spread such overwhelming waves of pleasure through me that I growled, long and low in my throat. “Fantastic journey, Fiera, I want to take a fantastic journey with you. Your eyes, your hair, your soft lips—perfection.” As I kissed her again, blue flames flickered behind my eyelids.

She moaned and skimmed her tongue against mine, then playfully nipped me. Absolute bliss.

Inexplicably, I lost my strength and had to let my head fall heavily on the pillow, like some overripe, rotting melon.

“What’s wrong?” I heard her say, as if through the wrong end of a foghorn.

Rolling on my side, my body began to melt and liquefy. Muscle to warm, pulpy juice, blood to hot, streaming liquid, which reeked of sour iron. “I’m turning to soup,” I drawled.

I realized this all without fear. I became a vivid blue fountain, rushing up and over, each of my many spires glittering a slightly different blue—cornflower, ultramarine, robin’s egg, and teal. I thought of Gertie, sleeping on her couch, her one arm dangling.

And then my blue liquid world leaked away until it was dry.

Chapter 19

PETER DUNE WAS out of his godforsaken mind.

It shocked me to hear him rambling about witches and blue warlocks. I hadn’t wanted to let him in at all. But after my first jolt of alarm eased, his pleas sounded convincingly desperate. My heart went out to him. After all, when I’d arrived on his doorstep, dirty and jobless after Madame Cuthbert threw me out, Peter had taken me in, given me work, a place to live.

Who was I to turn him away no matter how uneasy it made me?

I settled him on my bed, the only furniture I had where he could lie flat, because he was sweating, shuddering, and could hardly stand. I untangled the laces on one impossibly long shoe. “Your other shoe is missing!” I exclaimed. “What happened to it?”

He mumbled something incoherent.

“Are you drunk?” I leaned over and inhaled a whiff. He smelled of sweet liquor, but not so much as to be soused. “Did you take some unusual medicine?”

“Blue journey,” he slurred and began to thrash around as if ridding his body of insects. There was no use trying to hold a conversation. Whatever he’d taken had rendered him temporarily incapable of sensible talk.

Play nurse then, I told myself. Pulling off the one shoe, and loosening his shirt buttons, I experienced a jolt of excitement.

He grabbed my arm, but a moment later, he relaxed his grip, seeming to sense it was me who sat by him. This didn’t stop him from continuing to babble about monsters, how their blue tongues had sucked at his face, bitten his legs. I asked him where he was when this happened. He kept repeating, “Fantastic journey. Fantastic journey.” It seemed more a nightmarish trip to hell.

Despite his occasional flailing, Peter let me apply a warm, wet cloth to his forehead. I brushed his damp hair from his eyes and moved the cloth left, then right. This must have soothed him, for he stopped mumbling and his lids lowered in increments over his spooked eyes. “Shh, now, shh,” I whispered. “Whatever it was, it’s gone. You’re safe; it’s over.”

At my words of reassurance, he abruptly awoke and raised himself up on his elbows. With his eyes focused anew, he kissed me. The touch of his full mouth shocked me, branded me. At first, I held back, but he pressed harder, his tongue flicked out, teasing invitations that were so hard to resist. And oh, his inviting warmth.

I returned the kiss, at first pursing, ladylike, and then when the heat overcame me, boldly flicking my tongue into the space between his lips and meeting his tongue there. Oh, Lord, all the sweet memories of our night of dancing rushed in, as though no matter how hard I’d shoved them down, they were determined to explode into my consciousness, my heart.

I threaded my fingers through his delicious black hair, felt the healthy thickness of it, the weight of his handsome head in my palm. His tongue drove past my open lips, demanded full passage. I brought mine forward and met his again, each of our ardent movements driving me closer to the edge of some sweet abyss. This was dangerous, forbidden. I’d devised strict rules when I returned to Asbury and now…? It was unfair to take advantage of his feverish fugue state, as unfair as it had been of him to take advantage of my drunkenness after that dance.

But kissing Peter, I understood his need, for it was my need too. I had to take it if it was given, no matter what the circumstances. What was I becoming? All of my ladylike manners were slipping away so easily in this newfound passion. I’d only had one sweetheart before, and it was chaste as could be. I was fourteen. He was probably sixteen, a delivery boy who came a few days a week to deliver the milk at the orphanage. I remembered his innocent smile, his pink cheeks, and his freckles. We’d hardly spoken before he passed me a letter in the kitchen on his way out.

I like you missy. Will you be my girl? I will give you an extra jug of milk for a kiss

I’d never written a return note, only blushed, giggled, and run away upon his return.

I stroked Peter’s angled cheek. Would he remember this later?

As suddenly as he had kissed me, he fell back on the bed, his head banging down on his pillow, eyes rolling up in his sockets.

“What’s the matter, Peter? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No! No hospital. No! I’m turning to blue… water.”

“What?” I moved closer to his face. “What do you mean?”

“Turning to liquid,” he mumbled.

And then, I saw he was gagging. I ran for my wastebasket and watched, horrified, as bright blue liquid spouted forth from him like a poisonous blue fountain. It kept on coming until he’d filled up half the wastebasket.

I opened the window, moved the wastebasket by it, and studied it, aghast. What kind of food or medicine could glow blue like that? It seemed positively unearthly, something made of toxic and rare tropical flowers. The sight made my heart freeze.

Hurrying back, I saw he’d turned on his other side and was already softly snoring. Poor, poor baby. I pulled the covers to his chin and tucked him in.

There I sat for hours, stroking his head, his arms, his handsomely muscled back, and through it all, he never awoke. Finally, when the sky grew dark, I lay down gingerly beside him. I was still fully dressed; for I had no idea what he’d think when he finally woke.

Without waking, he turned toward me, wrapping me in his long arms. I embraced him then, too, fitting my body to his for my own private present, one that I savored and always would. For even in his sickness, he was sweet, strong, and everything I had ever wanted. Pretending anything else was folly. I greedily took him in all night—his sighs, his low moans. His words were hot embers of magic. “Fiera. My love. My fantastic journey.”

I brushed my lips over his beard, up to his eyelids with the lightest dusting of kisses. Moving down to the base of his damp, fevered neck, I lingered there.

* * *

HE SLEPT UNTIL noon the next day. I sat next to him on the side of my bed and handed him a homemade coffee. I’d gotten adept at mixing ground beans in hot tap water, and then letting it sun brew until the silt settled. “Don’t stir it,” I cautioned. “Not unless you want grounds in your mouth.”

Peter said he had no memory of his strange nighttime utterings—no memory of vomiting, his abject terror, or even of pounding on my door. I wondered if he remembered kissing me, but I didn’t dare ask. He did, however, remember being down in the speakeasy with Alyse, and her offering him bunches of Fantastic Journey taffy and absinthe.

“A brutal combination, Fiera.”

“Apparently. Was the taffy blue?”

His brows shot up. “How did you know? The brightest blue ever.”

After I explained that his sickness was blue, and I was at my wits end trying to fathom why, I told him I was ready to take him to the hospital, but he’d begged me not to.

“Oh, Lord, I was quite a handful.” He apologized profusely for making a mess.

I shrugged and said, “No matter.”

Peter’s eyes still looked glazed as he gulped the last of his coffee and brushed his unkempt hair from his face. “I asked Alyse Bone if she was a witch, and she didn’t deny it.”

I erupted in laughter. “Wherever did you get that idea, Peter?”

“From Talcott. He wanted me to find a grimoire she owns. Whatever that is exactly. That’s why I went there. To ask her some things.”

“What does Talcott want with a grimoire? He’s a spiritualist. And why would he want one that’s not in his lineage?” The skin along my arms pricked. “Alyse Bone owns a grimoire? Why would she? Doesn’t she own businesses?”

“I don’t know the answers to your questions. You know what a grimoire is, then?”

“I do. In fact, I studied up on them. Personal fascination, I suppose. You have some on your bookshelves; did you not order them?” I grinned. “Anyway, they’re witches’ manuals. Each dynasty has their own special book with unique spells.”

“Huh! You believe in witches?” Peter looked flabbergasted.

I shrugged. “Is it so out of the question? You’re a medium, Mr. Dune.”

“Peter.”

“All right, Peter.” I turned toward him and stared into his eyes, hoping I’d see a hint as to where he was going with all of this. “Do you believe in witches?”

He looked terribly uncomfortable, like I was picking at an inflamed scab that didn’t want to come off. “Who knows?” he finally answered with a sigh. “Everything in my world is changing so fast, crumbling, shifting under my feet.” He put his hand on mine, and I flinched, but I didn’t pull back.

The memory of my secret kisses was like stolen honey on my lips. “What’s shifting, Peter?”

“My beliefs, my emotions, my…” He gazed at me, and luscious energy wafted out of his eyes right into my hungry soul. I flinched again, but this time because it was so exhilarating. “I do recall a few things from last night,” he admitted.

“Really? What?”

He leaned closer, gently took my chin in his hand, and raised it up until his lips were level with mine. Then he kissed me—long, openmouthed, and hard. “I remember that,” he whispered in my ear when we took a breath.

We kissed again, deepening them, and he lowered me to the bed. “You’re so beautiful, Fiera, so very beautiful.”

“I don’t scare you? My power to make cards fly?”

In answer, he kissed me again, this time delivering them in a row, along my collarbone, and dipping down to the neckline of my blouse. “I love your power, your mystery, and your milky complexion.” With his wide, calloused thumb, he nudged my blouse off one shoulder, nuzzling my breast with his lips. The stubble of his beard scraped my soft skin in a most affecting way. He nibbled on the nipple, and it sprung into a supple nub.

I gasped and panted softly, tugged at his shirt, easily undoing his buttons and running my hands along the sublime lines of his firm chest and sides. This time, he was the one who was groaning, low, husky, and making me wild with a lust I’d never felt before.

“I have to go up to Manhattan for a week or so on business,” he rasped, “and I need to tell you my feelings before I go. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly.

“I think about you all the time. Every minute. I can’t contain it anymore. You’re all that I think about, dear, dear Fiera. Do you feel it for me, too? Do you care for me?”

Oh God, his expression was so open and vulnerable, and this was all terribly unexpected. I could hardly breathe. He was waiting for me to answer, and so much hinged on this. Mesmerized by his brown eyes, flecked with gold, I said, “Yes, I think about you, too. I tried to stay away, to keep it professional, to never let you take advantage of me again, but—”

“Take advantage of you?” The hurt in his face was raw. “When did you think I took advantage of you?”

Suddenly, I felt unsure. Had I imagined it, exaggerated everything? “After we went to that dance, when I was crazy drunk, when you came to my room…”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, Fiera.”

I delivered him a sharp, little punch to his ribs. “What’s so darn funny, mister?”

“You were the one who was all over me. You wanted me to… well, I can’t even say it.” His cheeks turned bright pink.

“What? Tell me!” I punched him again, but not too hard. But enough to show him he’d best tell me the unvarnished truth.

“You wanted to… well, make whoopee, and I said I wouldn’t take advantage of you in your, um, condition. You tried to talk me into it, but as tempted as I was, I had to be a gentleman.” He wagged his hands in a sheepish motion. “I’m telling the truth. Take it or leave it. All I did was help you out of your stockings, and that was tempting to the extreme, Miss Spitfire. Oh, and I tucked you into bed.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Who knew I was such a filthy tease! All along I thought you were the uncouth, wild one.” I lightly kissed him. “I’ve always been so chaste, such a well-behaved girl. But let me live up to my brand-new reputation. If I was bad that night, let me be very, very bad.” Either it was the devil lighting a fire in me, or my unleashed passion, but it was uncontrollable in its force. I unbuckled his pants and pulled them off him. It was deeply, shockingly arousing to see him so big, so very hard. I had to put my hands on it and see if it was real. It was thick and oddly precious. I stroked it lovingly, my breath coming faster with each caress.

He moaned and moved with my hand, arching his narrow hips. “Oh, Lord, Fiera, you are a goddess.”

Then, in one swift motion, he rolled on top, pulled down my pajama pants, cupped my wide bottom in his hands, and drew me to him. We gave each other exquisite pleasure without journeying to that dangerous frontier of baby making. I never knew such passion existed in a world filled with so much sorrow, hunger, and pain. It fed me. It did. And I would miss Peter dearly during his trip on the Morro. I would count down the days.

Chapter 20

THE DIRT, CLAMOR, and bustle of the Lower East Side always excited me. I was headed to the row of houses across from the famous Saint Mark’s Church. There wasn’t much time before I had to report to Dickerson and board the Morro line, but I was determined to get some answers.

It being Saturday, I had to weave between ladies hauling groceries and their spirited children, lines of downtrodden day workers begging for a shift in anyone’s factory, and hobos, pleading for a handout. There were dogs in the streets sniffing at gutter refuse and ruffian boys running through the crowds playing tag.

I turned off Third Avenue and onto Tenth Street. The outdoor market was set up ahead in the church square. Vendors there required burly sidekicks to watch for thieves with quicksilver hands, swiping potatoes, green peppers, carrots, or anything that could fill a grumbling belly.

I approached a ruddy-cheeked apple seller with strands of brown hair escaping her flowered scarf, and purchased two apples. Apples seemed a safe, mild food since my innards were still reeling from the almost-lethal mix of absinthe and electric blue taffy. God only knows how much I’d imbibed yesterday, because my last clear memory was of Alyse grinning wickedly as she waved her taffies at me.

Fiera had filled in some of the gaping holes in time with anecdotes of my shameful behavior—my thrashing around on her bed, vomiting into her trash can, moaning crazy things about warlocks and witches, not to mention the fact that I’d appeared at her door wearing one shoe. Despite this, she’d welcomed me in, tended to me, wrapped me in her own blankets, and later, in her tender arms. The memory sent overwhelming shivers of heat and desire through me. I wished with all of my heart that I could spend more time with her now she was finally letting down her barriers. Now that I’d let mine down. Sweet Fiera on fire.

I thanked the apple seller, who looked oddly familiar… or was that just some déjà vu, perhaps an old school friend of Gertie’s who had moved to Manhattan? Pocketing one of the apples for later, I polished the other on my coat and took a bite. Delicious. I wolfed down the rest within minutes.

No more daydreaming, time to investigate, I told myself as I rang the buzzer of the first house.

“May I help you?” asked a bespectacled elderly fellow with suspenders.

“I’m looking for a room to let,” I lied.

“I don’t rent rooms,” the man explained. “This house has been in the family for years.”

“May I ask one more question, sir?” I wasn’t giving up yet. “I wonder—do you have any gray paisley linoleum in your kitchen?”

“Is this some kind of joke?” The man began to shut the door.

I held it open. “No. I, well… collect the stuff. I’m a linoleum connoisseur, an interior designer.” I chuckled. “I would pay you grandly for a piece of it.”

The fellow scratched his head, frowned at me. Shook his head. “Sorry, bub, no gray paisley linoleum in here.”

“Have you fixed the place up since you moved in? Replaced the flooring?”

This time, he slammed the door in my face with no answer.

Undeterred, I moved on to the next place. It looked like a tenement house with laundry lines strung like crossroads in front of the windows, and I rang the bell.

A lady with a tribe of screeching children opened the door. I had to yell over them to make myself heard, but this time, she said there was one room to let.

I’m in luck, I told myself, following her swaying behind, curtained under voluminous skirts, up four flights. The apple gurgled irritably in my belly from the effort. She showed me the fourth apartment, which had a small kitchen. But the floor treatment was black-and-white checkered linoleum. I asked her about the types of finishes on the other floors.

She cocked up a wide hip and rested her arm on it. Screwed her face up at me. “Why you looking to know, mister?”

“Yeah, why?” echoed one of her big-eared hooligans. He stuck his tongue out at me. She swatted him away, but from behind the safety of her skirts, he stuck his tongue out at me a second time.

“I’m a private detective,” I admitted, flashing my card. “Researching an unsolved mystery on this very block. It was connected to a kitchen with gray paisley linoleum.”

“A crime?” Now her face was open, eager, and her son had sidled up to her for a good listen as well.

“A mystery. Have you heard an odd story about doings on this block?”

“The witch story,” blurted her son.

His mother swung around and threatened to swat her boy again. “Hold your tongue, Jim. The man don’t want to hear that crazy stuff.”

“Oh, but I might.” I kneeled down. “Jimmy, will you tell me the story?”

The lady rolled her eyes as her son spoke, but she didn’t try to stop him. “They say a witch killed people down the street,” he relayed with wide, blue eyes. “They say she put a spell on a bunch of people and got some kids disappeared.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” I stood and asked his mother about it. She nodded with clear reluctance. “What exactly have you heard?”
“I don’t know about any children, but they say she killed the old landlady, about twenty years ago. The poor lady’s body was never found. Poof! It weren’t no witch, though. Some thievin’ sonnuva gun done it for the money.”

I looked back at Jimmy. “Where did this old lady live? Did your buddies on the block tell you which house number?”

Jimmy’s mother wagged a finger at me. “Don’t go filling my Jimmy’s imagination with nightmares, mister. You ain’t the one having to put him to sleep at night.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The house number? I mouthed at Jimmy.

The boy pointed to the adjoining wall. “Next door. Can I come with you, mister?”

His mom grabbed one of his donkey ears. “Stay put, you hear?”

That was the last I heard from either one, because I was already beating a fast trail out of there.

I rang and rang at the next house, to no avail. My nerves were frayed. Glancing at my pocket watch, I saw that I only had less than an hour until I needed to get to the wharf to board the party boat. Finally, an angry man stuck his head out the window and yelled, “Landlady ain’t here. Take a hike!”

I waved up at him. “Can I see about a room?”

“No spare rooms, bud.”

Before he could close the window, I yelled out one more question. “When does the landlady get home? Not for a room, just to say hello.”

He thought for a moment, probably deciding whether it was worth responding. Then he pointed across the street and yelled, “She’s over in Saint Marks Square, selling apples. But I told you, the place is full up.” With that, he slammed the window shut.

The apple lady! Perhaps my earlier uncanny déjà vu stemmed from the fact that I would return to speak with her on a very different matter than the price of her apples.

I ran across the street, dodging a honking car and a boy on a bicycle, who both yelled curses at me. Then I had to wait in line again, for apples were a popular item. When it was my turn, Apple Lady offered an odd frown, as if trying to recall where she’d seen me.

“Pardon me, ma’am, do you manage the building across the street?” I pointed to the one in question.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Who’s asking and why?”

“Just me. I’d love to have a look at one of the apartments, if you have time, after you finish at the market…” None of that sounded good. I sounded like a man who was after more than a room to let.

“Who told you I managed that place?”

“The little boy next door.”

“Which one? There’s about fifty of ‘em.” She grinned, revealing a toothy gap between her front teeth.

I explained as much as I could without sounding creepy. Luckily, she was getting ready to close up shop. I helped her take down the umbrella and carry the remaining wooden box of apples across the street and into her apartment.

“I shouldn’t let a strange man in, but you look like a gentleman.” There was an awkward pause. “Well, aren’t you?” She turned to appraise me once she set down her wares on her dining room table.

“Oh, aboveboard, miss. I’m trying to solve a mystery and…” I glanced at my watch again. “My time is fast running out; I have to board a ship soon.”

“Busy man.” She grinned again. “Well, tell me what you’re trying to solve and I’ll see if I can help you.”

“The little boy next door told me there was a rumor going around about a woman who killed an old lady, some years back.” Apple Lady gave a sobering nod. “And, well—”

“—the body was never found, right?” she whispered, filling in my last words.

“How did you know?”

“They say she lived upstairs.” Apple Lady took me up to the second floor, which held the biggest kitchen, and when I saw the floor linoleum, I inhaled a sharp breath. Gray paisley. Exactly as in my fevered trance visions.

“What do you know about the woman who was living here at the time?” I asked her, getting out my notebook.

“They say she was pretty, kept to herself…” She tugged at a stray lock of hair. “They say she owned a business out in Brooklyn.”
“What kind?”

“A lace factory?” She tugged again on her lock of hair, which seemed to help her recall things. “No, that’s wrong. It was a factory that made store dummies.”

I felt an acute pinch in my gut. This was playing out in sickening clarity, and it didn’t look good for Alyse. But then again, I had not one shred of evidence of any foul play. Only rumors, tall tales, and a rectangular strip of gray linoleum. I paced back and forth on it, studying its surface to see if I could detect any dark stains. Nothing. Glancing at my pocket watch, I realized I was on the verge of being late for the Morro launch.

I leaned toward Apple Lady and shook her hand. “Thanks so much, Miss…?”

“Miss Malarky.”

Malarky? Jiving nonsense? Her name sent a flurry of unsettling superstition through me. Get a hold of yourself, I scolded silently, or you’ll become as gullible as your sister Gertie. It was one thing to go by intuition, and quite another to be a slave to delusion.

“Well, good day, Miss… Malarky. Thanks for your help. Your apples are quite delicious,” I added. Immediately, I scolded myself again for sounding so forward.

But she simply let out a good-spirited bray and walked me to the door. “Best of luck with your investigation, Mr.…?”

“Dune.” I tipped my hat and hurried off to the dock, with a very bad hunch about the upcoming voyage, and a strong desire to call Fiera and fill her in on my finds. There was absolutely no time at all. It would have to wait until my return.

Chapter 21

DULCIE, OPAL, AND I strolled along the boardwalk. We’d gone swimming and sunned on the beach until most of us were chestnut brown. We changed in the beach lockers, and then feasted on hamburgers and chocolate ice cream. As we walked, we attracted winks and appreciative nods from young men. We were the cat’s pajamas. Dulcie wore a yellow sundress with white pinstripes and a delicate gold locket necklace. Opal wore a plain but pretty red shift. I had on a new blue jumper with a matching pair of Foster Grants. I had fun pretending we were Hollywood starlets, arm in arm. It was one of those afternoons full of golden sun and lazy smiles.

Except I already missed Peter. The memory of his strong arms pulling me in electrified me; the memory of his masculine firmness pressing down on me still gave me shivers.

With Peter gone, it was good to spend time with my friends. They kept the edge off my loneliness and helped distract me from my worries. Who knew what Peter was actually doing on the Morro? Might he spend time with other ladies, more suitable ones who had no strange powers to make cards fly and men faint? He’d be out on that colossal vessel for an entire week, and as comfortable as I was becoming with the sea, the Morro would be too far to swim to.

An hour ago, under the delicious green waves, the mysterious siren had again called to me. Once again, I was able to hold my breath and propel forward a very long way toward the glowing emerald light and the rippling woman beside it. My heart raced as I saw the beautiful siren, her green hair swirling in the undercurrents. I’d worried it was all a dream, but no, she was still there, waiting. For me? Or was she simply waiting for anyone brave or foolish enough to swim all the way out there? Would she have a message? What did she want?

But I didn’t swim all the way to her. I couldn’t. For Dulcie was up on that sandy beach, waiting, wondering. I could feel her coiled, questioning energy. Dulcie, unlike Opal, had no idea of my underwater explorations, the strange, green goddess who hovered there. I couldn’t tell her, not yet. Not until I knew more. The last thing I wanted to do was frighten her.

It was enough that Opal knew. It helped that she took my strange adventures in stride, as though they were hardly out of the ordinary. As though everyone could swim on and on and on without breathing underwater. As if it were normal to know what a grimoire was.

Up on the boardwalk, the first chilly breeze of the afternoon rustled my clothes when we walked past Spellbinding Taffy. The cold penetrated my heart when I saw Alyse walking toward us. She was always impeccably put together, and this afternoon was no exception. She was decked out in a red Tallulah Bankhead movie-queen skirt that swirled around her ankles, a black silk double-breasted shirt with billowing sleeves, and an equally coal-black straw hat with a wide brim. She held her ever-present cigarette holder between two elegantly arched fingers.

“Why, look who we have here,” she gushed. “It’s the little triplets of Asbury.”

A swell of icy air chilled me just as it had the night I first met her.

“Good afternoon,” Dulcie chirped, clearly blissfully unaware of Alyse’s cold side.

“How are you, Miss Bone?” I managed. For I was fuming that her damned taffy had made my sweet Peter so sick.

Opal, being Opal, stared at Alyse without uttering a word. Despite my normal show of manners, I secretly hoped Alyse would be offended by Opal’s unsympathetic scrutiny.

Alyse ignored Opal. Turning to me, she said, “I wanted to tell you, I think you have real talent with the cards. I’d love to get a reading.” She leveled a formidable gaze at Dulcie and then Opal. “Alone. I think the spiritual and etheric energies will be strongest that way, don’t you agree?” Her questioning eyes pierced me as if she could see my doubts about her—that she’d threatened Peter, made snide comments about Talcott, had a strangely hostile reaction to hearing about the grimoire. I constructed an imaginary shield over my mind, to protect it from her mental invasion.

“Well?” she persisted, bestowing one of her bewitching smiles. It transformed her already pretty face into serious diva radiance compared to our kittenish-grins. It dazzled. It was easy to picture grown men being absolutely taken by her.

Had Peter Dune been drawn in too? Was that why he’d eaten so much sickening taffy? One couldn’t exactly blame that on anyone but the person who inhaled the confection.

Opal sparked to life and spoke bravely for me. “Fiera, I’m not sure Peter would want you conducting your séances alone. It might not—”

“Hush, assistant,” Alyse scolded. “Fiera, here is the master card reader now that… well that Peter Dune is—”

“Is what?” I studied her shifting expressions.

Alyse shrugged. “I heard he’s away for a brief time, on business.”

“He almost didn’t make that trip, with all the taffy you fed him,” I rudely blurted. “Honestly, I think I should wait until—”

“Until when? Does Peter control you? You have more talent than he does in your little finger.” Alyse leveled a critical frown at me, and suddenly, I longed to please her. “Besides, I pay well, Fiera, quite well.”

“Taffy? When did Mr. Dune get sick on taffy?” Dulcie looked thoroughly confused, poor dear. She hadn’t heard the full saga of Peter’s blue dream sickness.

Alyse chortled, her head thrown back, her ebony hair cascading down her back. The sound of her laugh was captivating, putting my misgivings to rest. “You can’t blame me for Mr. Dune overdoing a good thing,” she said.

Peter had been a candy hog. I shuddered, wondering why I was suddenly critical of Peter. Was this woman’s influence on me really that strong? “Well, all right, I don’t see what harm there is in giving you a private reading.”

“Wonderful!” Alyse gushed.

We made arrangements for her to stop in the next evening, on Opal’s night off. After we said our goodbyes, and Alyse was beyond hearing, Opal took my hand, unusual for her. “I don’t like that woman.”

“I know; I know.”

“She is rather full of herself.” Dulcie hoisted her carpetbag higher up on her shoulders.

I sighed. “She said she’d pay me generously. Money is money, gals.”

“Good point, dear.” Dulcie slapped me gamely on the back.

But Opal was having none of it. She mumbled something under her breath. After that, she was quiet as seagulls were before a storm.

Chapter 22

I MET DICKERSON and his team on the piers. Ironically, the Dickerson army of nondescript guys in black fedoras and gray suits stood out like swarming black ants in the festive tropical fruit bowl of Morro passengers.

Tim was there with a tidy new haircut and a dyed green carnation in his jacket. He looked away as he saw me approach, clearly trying to avoid eye contact. Fine, I was tired of him, too, weary of the whole lot of them. Judging from Dickerson’s cordial handshake and usual barked hello, he had no idea yet that Talcott had confiscated their rented recording device. I wasn’t keen on cluing him in either.

The wide boarding ramp was teeming with fancy ladies, whose porters struggled under the weight of their over-packed steamer trunks. I recognized a real starlet from the picture shows. It was Irene Ware, and she was on the arm of none less than Bela Lugosi, in a dark outfit matching his Dracula persona. Reporters snapped photographs using blinding flashbulbs while a phalanx of burly bodyguards held people back from hounding them for autographs.

“Will wonders never cease?” I muttered. Aside from the impending nightmare of the Dickerson meetings, the pomp of the Morro Castle liner might prove to be a fascinating affair. I wished Fiera were with me though. No doubt, she’d get a kick out of seeing Mr. Lugosi and Miss Ware so far from a Hollywood movie set.

Another hullabaloo exploded on the gangplank a couple of minutes after the first stars entered the Morro. The fellow next to me and his wife pointed out two more celebrities in the process of boarding. One was Elsa Schiaparelli, the great Italian fashion designer. Craning my neck, I spotted her vamping up the deck, her dark bob glued flat and downy feathers fluffing up from her neckline. A dapper fellow in a jazzy suit and a sky-blue hat accompanied her. He had a pencil-thin moustache. As he walked by, another man elbowed me and hissed, “Hey, bub, that’s Salvador Dali!”

“Who?”

“The great Spanish artist. The painter of strange dreams.”

I wasn’t up on art, but this fellow surely dressed the part.

On the deck, the fanfare continued. A live salsa band was luring us into the Cuban party spirit. Colorful umbrellas and chairs were set up at intervals, and everywhere I looked, balloons bobbed in the wind. A waiter whooshed past, his wide tray filled with amber-hued drinks topped with pineapple garnishes. He offered one to me.

Dickerson waddled over, plopped his own empty shot glass on the waiter’s tray, and grabbed a fresh cocktail. His drinker’s cheeks were already red as maraschinos. “Dune, we meet at seven sharp for dinner and chats with the clients in the Crystal ballroom.”

“Remind me why they wanted to meet on a public ship?” I asked, barely able to contain my irritation.

“It’s the only way we could spend time with Mr. Blanchard, or as I call him, Mr. Deep Pockets,” he confided. “Mr. Deep Pockets was already booked on this cruise. Plus, hey…” Dickerson shrugged as he offered up a rare grin. “What better place to get lost?” He gestured around to the open sea. “The clients want some fun, escape. Whatever we say on this here boat goes no farther than these waves, am I right?”

“Sure, sure.”

Dickerson’s grin evaporated as he eyed my suit. “Look Dune, there are only five big clients here, so they will all be eyeballing you up close and personal. Your suit is wrinkled. Dress up a little, tux and tie. Understand?” He added this query after almost every question.

“I’ll be there,” I replied through gritted teeth.

Nursing my drink, I hurried to my cabin below. On the way, I admired the dark wood hall paneling, the expensive wall sconces, and deep crimson rug runners. Impressive rig. At least this first night would be about puttin’ on the ritz. Dickerson’s clients would expect to be lushly feted for shelling out so much dough for our investigation. This week, no doubt they’d want a full progress report on the Jersey affairs. But tonight, I had a short reprieve.

I burst into my room, deeply relieved to be alone and able to think. Taking a long pull of the rum, I kicked off my boots, tossed my suitcase on the bed, and loosened my tie. I gazed out of the porthole and dreamed of having Fiera here to talk with, to hold tight. My hands longed to stroke her creamy skin and gaze into her deep brown eyes that had seen so much. As the huge vessel left the dock, the captain blew a great horn. To many, it would be the signal to celebrate. To me, it meant the start of a lonely week, worrying about my love, and the new, disturbing clues I was putting together about Alyse Bone.

* * *

THE CRYSTAL BALLROOM was in full swing when I arrived. Onstage, a big band was jamming and sensual dancers in skimpy, silken gowns were swinging their hips. Tim glared at me as I walked over to the Dickerson table.

He said under his breath, “About time the snobby killjoy joined us.”

“Better than being an incompetent rube and snitch,” I countered, and then sat as far from Tim as I could.

The man sitting next to me was Deep Pocket’s brother-in-law, a Mr. Fulton who had paid dearly for an investigation into the Circle of Light group. And he didn’t waste time asking me about my progress.

Fulton adjusted his expensive tortoiseshell spectacles to study me better. “What’s the lowdown on the group in Belmar? Dickerson says you’re one of the men tracking them.”

I nodded. “Yes, we collected suspicious photos.”

“Anything direct you can charge them with?”

“We’re in the process of analyzing the images. They show the typical double exposures, manipulation of the negatives and such. We haven’t yet gotten a warrant to sweep their premises and confiscate equipment.”

Fulton grunted. “You need a warrant? Everyone knows they’re crooks. Just push your way in.” For a so-called refined Wall Street investor, this guy sure had a thug’s mentality.

“It’s not quite that easy, sir.”

He snorted. “They conned a family friend out of hundreds when his twin brother passed. Surely, you can get enough pay dirt on them to slap them all in jail.”

“We’re on top of it, sir. Have no fear.” I passed a brimming basket of fancy bread to him, so he’d stuff his mouth with a roll and quit asking questions.

Dickerson ordered a second round of drinks for the table. It was hard to refuse, even after my hangover from the speakeasy. This cruise boat was the one place beyond the reach of Prohibition vice. No raids and no undercover cops, except for us good old Dickerson’s boys. I sipped my rum and watched the dancers. They were experts, similar to how I pictured the fabulous Follies at Ziegfeld’s Theater on Fifty-Forth Street—high stepping, hip thrusting, all glittering smiles and winking sequins.

From the corner of my eye, I located the table where Salvador Dali and Elsa Schiaparelli were holding court. Their table guests were loud and colorful, so much more fascinating than my table full of private dicks and demanding clients. Schiaparelli had on an outrageously eccentric hat. It was a fat, stuffed lobster fashioned out of some soft fabric like velvet and it stood up, its feelers twitching under the ceiling fan. I swallowed a burst of shocked laughter.

Presently, our waiters surrounded us, delivering a feast of huge proportions. We had lobster and baked potato brimming with the finest farm bacon, chives, and sour cream. That was followed by chocolate cake with praline ice cream and at least four more rounds of fine Cuban rum. With tongues loosened by drink and energy spiked by the rich food, the hubbub in the dining room grew deafening as the music pounded ever faster. People poured onto the dance floor.

Dickerson made the rounds, mooning over our two female clients, Deep Pocket and Fulton’s wives, and slurring dirty jokes into the ears of my fellow detectives.

By the time he reached me, he’d managed to grab the arm of a young dancer, who he more or less threw on me, saying, “Delilah is all yours tonight. On me, Dune.” Leaning in closer, he whispered, “I had the pleasure of her company on the last trip. She’s a wild fox in the sack.”

I faked a smile, inwardly cringing at the idea of sharing his whore. He was trying to be generous and that counted for something. This was Dickerson’s rare moment of largesse, because tomorrow when he, no doubt, had a pounding hangover, it would be an entirely other story.

He must’ve sensed my heart wasn’t in it because he leaned over and said much too loudly, “If she’s not your cuppa joe, there’s Gladys over there with the gold tiara.” He pointed to her. “She likes to suck on toes. Or there’s Spanky.” He chuckled as he pointed to a redhead with cantaloupe breasts. “She likes… well, the name says it all.” He launched into a lascivious belly laugh, which sent his spittle spraying.

Dickerson disgusted me, and I felt sorry Delilah had to overhear his leering assessment of the dancers. “Look, it’s fine, Dickerson.” I swiped his saliva off my face. “Delilah can keep me company.” I offered her a warm smile. She returned it, clearly grateful to be out of his clutches.

She was a pretty enough lady, in a snug red outfit, spiky heels, and too much makeup. Her stage name was Delilah Darling. I took her out on the dance floor and filled the time gamely learning more steps while she pirouetted around me.

When we took a breather, we happened to pass the Schiaparelli party table. Delilah giggled at the doings there. “Will you get a load of that?” she exclaimed.

A few people, including Dali and Schiaparelli, were balancing what looked to be chocolate butterflies on their noses, while an elegant woman photographer snapped pictures of them.

“Could she be from Vogue?” Delilah surmised.

“You never know,” I replied. “Look, their cake is pretty jake, too.” In the center of the table sat a confection shaped like a red lobster with chocolate pieces for the eyes and red licorice for its many legs. Delilah and I exchanged a good laugh as we made our way to the door.

“I’m beat,” I admitted. My new hangover was beginning to clamp its cold fingers around the edges of my old one. “Can I walk you to your room?”

“How about I walk you to yours?” Delilah giggled, giving me a bold goosing on my behind.

I wasn’t used to women being that forward, though I was far from a prude. Normally, I would’ve jumped at the chance for some easy female attention. But my heart was beating lustfully with memories of Fiera. “Delilah, that’s a tempting offer, but I’m afraid I have to take a rain check. I have a splitting headache.” I gave my forehead a dramatic squeeze.

“Sugar, I can do that… and more for you.” She winked.

Had Dickerson shelled out for the women beforehand? I didn’t want to ask. “Look, I had fun dancing with you. We really cut a rug. And I’ll see you around deck. We’ll be here for another week.” Inwardly, I worried how I would fend Delilah off for that long. Finally, she took the hint and let me walk her to her room. When I gave her a chaste peck on the cheek, she swung around and tried to land a wet one on my lips. But I was too fast and turned to one side.

I didn’t want to make Delilah feel bad. I just couldn’t banish the vile image of red-faced Dickerson grunting and sweating over her in bed. Besides, I only longed to make love to one woman now. Something had me quite worried about Fiera. Was it my intuition or just bad nerves? If it were grounded in reality, there was nothing I could do for her, for she was far, far away in Asbury.

Chapter 23

DUSK WAS DESCENDING as I lit the candles and drew the curtains of Peter’s Tarot and Séance. I got out my best Tarot. Since he had given me that first deck, I’d saved up for two more. In fact, I’d started to collect them. I had a Planetary set and another rendered in ornate etchings, of royalty lolling against Italianate columns.

No matter how flowery these others were, my favorite deck was still the one Peter had gifted me. Whenever it rested in my palm, it radiated with warm energy.

The store was desolate without Peter. Dusty. Shadowy. Full of flitting spirits and cobwebs. And his personal items such as his charcoal jacket draped over the chair behind the sales counter only made me pine more for him.

Yet, I looked forward to this reading with Alyse. I could get to know her more without the distractions of other clients. I was hopeful she might soften, unfreeze a little, and confide some special detail about her life—a juicy secret even. Anticipating it, my heart began to race at an unhealthy rate.

The chimes sounded while I was rearranging the bookshelf for the second time. I hurried to open it and greet her.

“Good evening, Fiera.” She waltzed in, dressed to the nines in a flowing aquamarine gown reminding me of underwater currents.

“Welcome, Alyse,” I said, and meant it though a chill fluttered through me. “Have a seat at the table. May I bring you some water?”

“Oh, darling.” She pulled out a sinuous corked bottle. “I brought you a treat. My special absinthe.” She ceremoniously placed it down. “Shall we indulge before the reading?”

Eyeing the electric green decanter, my mind wafted to Peter, drinking with Alyse only days ago, and then retching her so-called treats in my trash can. But it was rude to reject a gift. “Just a drop. It’s hard to give a proper reading when I’m… you know, so pleasantly lubricated.” I gave a dainty laugh. Reluctantly, I brought over two cups and watched her pour.

Afterward, I took my usual chair and began to shuffle. Alyse joined me, in the next chair over.

I pretended to take a sip of the drink, but as subtly as possible, I let the foul liquid slide back into the cup. “Tell me,” I asked her after primly wiping off the excess with my napkin, “what question will you pose to the spirits tonight?”

Her seagull gray eyes studied me. In that moment, I sensed she was examining my soul, my own dark secrets. How much did she know? She couldn’t possibly know where I’d come from, how hard my life had been. Did she know I’d kissed Peter, lain with him, could she?

While she did this, I studied her too—the perfect curve of her lips, how they bowed out from the center in two graceful arches, how smoothly she’d painted on her shiny, grape lipstick. Grape lollipops, blue taffy, reeling sickness, stupors, toads, tadpoles, and dark storm clouds rushing, rushing by. My thoughts were strangely disconnected, as if they didn’t belong to me. I reeled my focus back to the cards. Spreading them with a swish of my hand, I asked her to ponder each card before she picked her nine, and to only choose ones she felt strongly led to.

Slowly, thoughtfully, she handed me her picks. I arranged half of them in a cross and the other half in a vertical line to its right. All facedown. “Any special question?”

“Where is the grimoire?”

At this, I inhaled a sharp breath. To hide my reaction, I coughed into my hand. “Beg your pardon. I didn’t quite hear that. Again?”

Her gray eyes scorched. “I asked where the grimoire was.”

All of what Peter had told me rushed into consciousness—how Talcott asked him for Alyse’s family grimoire, how she’d snickered at the mention of Talcott, how she didn’t deny being a witch. And I’d told Peter I knew what a grimoire was. It was a family spell book. I’d done my reading on the so-called occult; in fact, I’d read most of the selections in Peter’s shop bookshelf. I’d never quite understood why, but that was my strange love, obsession even. If Alyse were a witch, she would already have a grimoire. Why then, would she want to know where it was? Had she misplaced it? Maybe that was it. My inner muses told me to play dumb.

“Oh, now I heard you,” I lied. “Who knows what a grimoire even is? Let’s see if the cards can tell us.” I flashed a clueless, coquettish look her way.

The first card I turned was a nine of swords depicted in front of a dark, angry ocean. I couldn’t help but gasp again, but artfully hid it in a sneeze.

“Summer pollen?” she asked with a Cheshire grin.

“Mm, no doubt.” I turned the subsequent cards up and began. “The atmosphere surrounding this reading is one of strength turned outward. Appropriately near a body of water—in this case, the ocean and the boardwalk.”

“The family spell book?” she persisted.

“Family?” I turned over the second card and studied it. “We have the hermit. You may find this spell book, but you will be alone. You are alone.”

“Hardly.” She snorted. “I’m surrounded by my taffy store employees, the speakeasy employees. I can’t carve out a moment for myself.” She pouted. “Such a gloomy old forecast. Can’t you give me some good news?”

I did want to relay better news. Something deep inside me wanted to please her, although I had no idea why. “I am simply the conduit from spirit,” I said in defense. Turning the next card, I was shocked to see Death. “The action surrounding this question.”

“My death or yours?” Alyse laughed with that alluring, yet terrifying full-tilt abandon, her crow-black hair thrown back and ivory teeth gleaming in the candlelight. It reminded me of that first night I’d met her. How I was alternately enticed by her beauty and leery of it—of her. I’d been unaccountably frightened of her dissatisfaction, her scorn. What was it about her that felt so oddly familiar, intense, overpowering? Why on earth was I so anxious to please her, to not disappoint her? She shot me a look. “I asked you for good news.”

My innards clenched. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, silly, I’m joking.” Dismissively, she waved a hand with its long, purple nails. “The next card?”

It was of a small girl, holding a bejeweled cup, again, in front of the sea. Funny, I didn’t recall so many depictions of oceans on these cards. I was at a loss, my mind a foggy blank.

Then, abruptly, I was filled with such a horrid, rolling sickness that I had an inkling of what Peter might’ve felt.

A girl, the ocean, the death card.

Another upsurge of sickness struck me, followed by abject panic. An abrupt image of the orphanage came to me, how terrified I’d been as a toddler of the towering furniture, the black hooded nuns, and the staring hoot owls sobbing outside my window at night. Their angry wails were mine, their lonely station, mine. The blue crystal of the winter moon was my abandoned heart after it had frozen in pain.

When a beautiful stranger betrayed me.

Raven hair, red lips, and an elegant, swirling gown. This floated in my head like tense, baffling theater.

“Something amiss, dear Fiera?” Alyse asked too gleefully as she rose from the chair in a swirl of midnight blue.

“You… it’s you,” I choked while my lungs bloated with sudden toxic bubbles.

She towered over me then, lifting right off the floor. “Yes, it’s me, Fiera, after all of these years. That old hag of a caretaker hauled you off to that orphanage before I could, well... I thought you would never bother me here, but it seems—”

“Mother?”

“You guessed it. You’re a smart girl; I’ll give you that.” Her sharp nails drew closer to my neck, threatening to squeeze it. Alyse’s glare was terrifying, her expression brutish with hate. “Tell me where that grimoire is. We’ll get it together. You’ll give it to me.” Her face blazed with salacious interest.

“Does that mean you are a witch?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Fiera.” She hulked over me as my throat again filled with what tasted like muddy, gritty seawater. I coughed, but nothing came out.

“Don’t you have a spell book?” I asked her. “I thought all witches had one.”

“So, you’re not that dumb.” She cackled while she cycled her arms at me, which sent up another invisible spray of dirty surf. “Quit stalling, girl.”

The cold saltwater splashed my face and dress, yet they remained dry. “I might be able to find it,” I said coyly, “but if I do, can’t we share it, Mother?”

Her voice hardened again as she flew around me. Actually flying! Her feet were off the ground entirely. What more could she do? “Impossible,” Alyse bellowed. “The older you get, the more your power grows. I must remain the most powerful witch in Asbury.”

“My power? So, I am a witch!”

“Yes, Fiera, I’m sure you sensed something different in you.”

“I have,” I said with a rush of relief and hope, despite my terrified horror at seeing Alyse soar above me. “So, all of those odd sensations, my notions about people’s stories…” Maybe I could turn this around. It was a monumental event, finding my mother after so many years, of her finding me. “We could join forces, now that we’ve found each other. Don’t you want to get to know your only daughter?”

Alyse stopped in midair, yet her gown still floated as if caught on its own magical currents. Her stiff frown softened to an almost wistful look, and it seemed as if she were really considering this—but only for a moment. Then she delivered a scathing verdict. “You would only squander the magic, and your affairs, as you’ve done with Peter, like you’ve misused this store.”

“Don’t bring Peter into this!”

“Oh, don’t get in a lather, Fiera,” she scoffed while gliding in front of me. “Peter, eh? Your Achilles’ heel. Don’t you know that your dear, loyal Peter is off on a party boat to Cuba, dancing and boozing with actresses, millionaire ingénues, and ladies of the night?” She chuckled low in her throat. “You can’t hold a candle to the elegant dames on that cruise boat, dripping in diamonds and furs. You have no money, no class.”

That hurt. She might not know me, but she knew where to jab me. “Careful, Alyse,” I hissed. “You’re my mother. If I have no class, well then…” I belted out my own critical laugh as I suddenly saw her in a different light. I took in the clownish, overblown cut of her dress, her painted dragon nails, and those gaudy pumps so elevated it was a wonder she could walk one step in them without snapping both ankles.

“You ungrateful mouse!” she screamed. “I almost killed you as a baby. Until that nosy caretaker barged in and ferried you off to the orphanage. Yes, I had to kill the old bag after that. She knew too much. But now?” Alyse snorted. “Now there’s no hag to get in the way. No little servant named Opal, no white knight Peter to rescue you. Now I intend to finish the job. But first, let’s play, shall we?” Out of her palms flew seaweed vines, reeking and slimy. With an officious swirl of her arms, she slapped me onto my chair, and the vines wound themselves around me until I was trapped in a tangle of them. I tried to shake free, but they were so tight my circulation was cut off.

“Now, tell me where that grimoire is, or—”

“I wouldn’t tell you—”

“Ingrate!” She gave me a wicked slap. My eyes sprang tears from the impact, and it jerked my head sideways. She hit me again, even harder.

“Tell me, damn it all!” She slugged me over and over. In my stupor, it dawned on me her hands weren’t even touching my skin. Her supernatural energy was circulating in a cyclone whorl. Books fell off the shelves, chairs rotated in jerks, and her bottle of absinthe smashed to the floor.

The chair underneath me was unbalanced by an alarming surge of freezing water. My heart clenched in terror. Alyse was forming a black magic ocean right here in the store. The waves rose steadily higher until they reached my neck. I lifted my chin to inhale more oxygen, and then struggled to free my arms in order to paddle. This I was able to do, though I was still trapped in the chair, which was tipping this way and that like a buoy in a hurricane.

No matter I was on dry land, I was drowning. Out of the humid summer air, wave after violent wave overtook me. The magical torrent was so real I could feel its salty spray, the heavy pounding of the breakers, and my dizziness as the chair rolled around in its clutch.

“B—but how did you know it was me? And what have I ever done to you?” I cycled my arms to try to stay on the surface of the rushing current, but I wasn’t strong enough.

“When Peter uttered the name Fiera in that trance you put him in. I was the only one who knew your baby name, everyone else knew you by Ivy. I’ve never met a Fiera before or since. Us witches, we know. You felt our unseen connection too, I knew it from the way you narrowed your eyes at me, even that first night.”

The water was filling my mouth now, cutting off my windpipe. Funny, under the water, I didn’t need to breathe, but up here… I spat out the sudsy liquid and lifted my chin upward for air. “Help, Mother, please, make it stop. For the love of the ocean and your only kin.”

“It’s ironic you’re a sea witch, bred for the water, yet you drown in your very own element.” With this, she brayed. I recoiled at its icy sound.

There was no time to make sense of her murderous rage. I had to find a way out. “I don’t know where the grimoire is; I don’t have it,” I gasped, my head bobbing just above the salty swell. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No. Figure out where it is and find how to unlock its enchantment. It was locked away from me in a generational charm when you turned thirteen. The only way it will revert back to me is if you give it to me—or you die.”

She was bluffing. She needed me alive. I also knew from my readings it was very, very hard to kill a witch. One needed a special bullet, or a bottle filled with elements, which would harm that particular witch or turn her into another sort of less powerful and malignant creature—land witches into owls, for one. But sea witches? I had no idea. “Look, I’ll try to find it. I don’t…”

But I did—I suddenly knew where.

The green siren at the bottom of the sea was guarding it for me. She had beckoned in a language I didn’t understand—until now. Her words sang in my head like dappled sun on water—The ocean grimoire is yours; swim down and get it.

I pictured an image from one of Peter Dune’s spell books I’d read. Yes, this image—it just might work if I only had a nascent strength brewing within me. Desperately, I conjured a skein of protection around my head so Alyse couldn’t pry in and see my vision. I would never tell her what I knew. No chance in hell. Not after learning of her attempted murder, my precarious babyhood, and my natural given powers. I would rather her maim me, banish me.

Well, not that.

The Death card. We’d both seen it. What did it mean?

My body was weary of fighting the water and of her vicious, repeated slaps. As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I had to shake my head to keep from letting it sink below the water. And then, a blurry memory surfaced—of how I got the Tarot deck to fly around Mrs. Cuthbert and cut into her neck.

My power—the cards!

Alyse might have brutal magic, but I had some talent, too. With the little strength I had left, I began to concentrate on my cards. I pictured each one—the cups, the swords, the haughty queens and handsome princes leaning on their marble pillars. The Death Card, too, composed of rattling bones, and the hermit in his forest tree cave. I worked to raise them up into the air and orbit them around Alyse’s head. She hit me once more without contact, but through my swollen eyelids, I saw the cards rise in a line and spin her way.

I gave it my all. Pictured them moving faster, cutting into her flesh. She was a witch, and that meant it would be quite hard to kill her, but I could sure as hell scare the tar out of her.

The cards spun around her, nicking her cheeks, carving into her neck—wop, wop, wop!

She groaned as they diced into her forehead and the exposed part of her arms. And the worst, one sliced right through the jelly of her eyeball. She yelped and grabbed at it.

As this happened, the seawater’s fury subsided a fraction, just enough to take a few decent breaths.

“You bitch, I’ll kill you!” she screeched. “I was going to keep you alive to get more information from you, but...” She plucked out that card, yelping as she did, and swatted away another burst of cards. “This game is over.” She brushed off the cards still clinging to her face, and I saw blood dripping down in rivulets, the heaviest flow streaming from her injured eye.

The front door rattled. The water heaved back and forth as if some great sea monster was pulling at it like salty taffy.

A key turned in the lock, and when it did, the magical water disintegrated rapidly into thick, frothy mounds, which then shrank into smaller phlegm-like pools. The chair I was trapped in clomped onto the floor.

Opal entered the store, just as Alyse’s legs were sucked into the last fizzing puddle. “What on earth was that horrendous harpy up to?” Opal pointed to one of the puddles. “Her legs just got eaten by that filthy blob of water!” Then Opal saw me knotted to the chair and rushed over. “What did that she devil do to you, Fiera?”

With a strange, wet pop, the last thing to evaporate in the turbulent burst of sea foam was Alyse’s purse.

She was going to pay me for a reading. Darn, I lost the money, I thought in my warped way.

Even in my abject terror, I had gallows of admiration for Alyse’s sheer talent.

Opal tried her best to untangle me, fumbling at the knots, and then stretching single vines in vain. They weren’t budging. They’d morphed from oozy, stinking things to crusty ropes with pustule-like bumps. Disgusting, really. Not normal seaweed at all. It was strange how Opal didn’t ask why Alyse had done this, or how she could’ve done it. She simply ran to Peter’s bookshelf, pulled down a dusty tome, hauled it to the wooden table, and rifled through it.

“Opal?”

“Wait. I’m looking for a spell.”

“You?” The world was shifting its axis so fast it was dizzying. Aside from the fact that I was already feeling claustrophobic trapped in this black magic web. “You know spells!” I tucked this neatly in my mind.

Opal groaned, continuing to shuffle through the book. “Not well. I’m just learning. I know some rudimentary ones. Ah, here.”

She came over, hauling the book, seemingly as heavy as her entire being, and she balanced it on my chair. “I think it will work best if I’m close to you.” Brushing her wispy hair from her eyes, she proceeded to chant in Latin or some other ancient language.

She squinted, sweated and strained. Nothing. She chanted the spell again for a second and third time. Just when I thought I’d have to endure the rest of my years in this dreadful chair, the vines began to make a strange scratching sound.

And to unwind!

The scraping was a bit like a cat playing with sheets of crackly cellophane. And once the petrified old vines dropped to the floor, they disintegrated into black, foul-smelling powder.

Revolting. But what a huge relief!

I stood up, tested out my legs. Asleep, and now beginning to prickle, but usable!

Stumbling through the ashy residue and over to Opal, I hugged her. The poor thing, I was afraid to let her go.

When we finally broke apart, she asked me what happened.

I told her everything—everything.

“We have to find another place to live,” she said without blinking.

“Yes, sanctuary somewhere. But where?” I started to pace. “I know, at Dulcie’s. Her father owns hotels.”

“Do you think she’d let me—?” Opal looked unsure, her eyes misty.

“Don’t be silly, Opal, you saved my life! Dulcie may be territorial and a bit on the snobbish side, but she’s got a big heart.” I hugged Opal again. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I know where that grimoire is! I saw it in my vision. It’s out past that jetty, the place I keep trying to swim to.”

“Shall we go to the beach soon to fetch it?” Opal asked with a grin.

“Yes! Let’s.”

“I could help you practice your spells.”

“For a shy little gal, you sure are a firecracker,” I said. “Now let’s head to the Starfish and get packing.”

Chapter 24

IT WAS ONLY ten in the morning, and already the library below deck was thick with private dicks puffing on Cuban cigars and swilling drinks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a wise guys’ juke joint. After spending the night tossing and turning, I ordered nothing but black coffee. Again, I sat as far as possible from Tim. He glared at me from across the table while Dickerson interrogated Brockman and Ellis, the two PIs working in Atlantic City. We were next on the chopping block. The damn party was over, and I knew there would be some hell to pay.

“Yeah, yeah,” Brockman was saying, “we raided their crystal ball palace when they least suspected.” His partner Ellis snickered in agreement.

“But did you get hardcore evidence on her, Brockman?” Dickerson spat. “We need hardcore evidence for the cops to lock her in the slammer. Understand?” He was still spraying an offensive mist, but at least not with a drunken, leering grin. Instead, he wore a vinegary frown, with one palm to his bloated stomach. His cheeks were even more florid than last night—like purple bruises from a sucker punch.

“Sure, sure, we got a wire recording of Turban lady and her shill. They were talking about all the fools they gypped that day, joking about all the lies she filled ‘em with. Not only that, he was dealing some big scores of opium on the side. It’s all on this recorder. Good device, this thing.” He gave it a chummy pat.

I flinched. Opium had been my sister’s drug.

Brockman played the most outrageous section, where the fortuneteller’s sidekick was counting up the drug money, “Seven hundred, eight hundred …” while she laughed about how gullible her clients were. This had all of us shaking our heads.

“You got the cops to slap them with a warrant?” Dickerson asked.

“Done! In the bag,” Brockman gloated. “The gypsy and her big-shot doper are airing their heels in the Lewisburg Federal Pen for a good ten years.”

This induced rowdy huzzahs and backslaps. It was exhilarating that one more rotten drug pusher was safe in jail.

Even Dickerson creaked out a dyspeptic smile. “Atta boy, fellas, good job.”

But when he turned to me, his grin faded. Perhaps he’d already heard what happened to the doomed wire recorder. “Dune? Stevens? Let’s hear what you got.”

I took a moment before beginning. “We’ve obtained lots of falsified spirit photo evidence on the Circle of Light group.” With that, I unlatched my briefcase and tossed the bulk of the array on the wide table. The men studied and passed them around.

“Have you gotten the cops to serve a warrant?” Brockman ventured.

“Not yet. We were working on infiltrating their séances down in Belmar.”

“Yeah, yeah, and?” Normally, Dickerson’s patience had a very short fuse, and when he was hung-over, he could blow at any second. “You got the wire recorder here? You got something juicy for us to listen to on it?”

I glared at Tim across the table. His frayed nerves and incompetence had botched the operation. Let him share the damned heat for it. “Tim, you may want to tell them what happened.”

“And I may not. You’re doing quite fine.” Tim glared back, his pale face mottling under his freckles.

“Look, I’ll tell you straight,” I said. “The recorder got confiscated by Talcott, the head of the Circle of Light cult.” The sudden lull in the library was deafening.

“Say what?” Dickerson leaned forward, his forgotten cigar close to scorching his fingers.

“The Circle cult leader in Belmar,” I repeated. “Tim took the wire recorder in and ran out with it just when the meeting started. I was worried it was all too obvious, and… well…” I shook my head.

Tim snorted in disgust. “Dune forgot to say that it was his little bug-eyed Betty who got us into a mess with Talcott. What Talcott really wanted in exchange for the recorder back was dirt on Fiera, Dune’s spiritualist lady pal, and the older broad who owns the taffy shop in Asbury.” Tim glowered at me. “Yeah, that’s right. To get the recorder back, Talcott is blackmailing us for information on the old taffy lady.”

“Well, did you give it to him?” Dickerson cut in.

“I’ll get to that,” Tim said vaguely, choosing to ignore the request. Clearly, Tim wanted to unload the dirt on me before anything else. “Dickerson, listen to this wheelbarrow of pig crap. When I finally lured Talcott into the store for a card reading to get more dirt on him, Dune’s lady pal, Fiera, did some witchy things to make the cards fly in Talcott’s face. She scared him right off after all of my hard work. How’s that for sabotage?” Tim paused for dramatic effect before landing the final punch. “So, why don’t you ask Dune about his card reader, Fiera? He’s been going soft on the operation, jumping in the sack with the vixen. That’s right—sex.”

The room whooshed to a shocked silence.

“Tim, enough, you fool!” I shouted. “You have no proof of that.”

“Where’s the goddamn recorder now?” Dickerson barked.

“At the Circle of Light premises,” I said.

Dickerson stalked over and stuck his red face and whiskey breath right in mine. “You better get that recorder back. We’re paying a golden sow for that rental. And with this country, this here agency practically in a goddam financial collapse, why, I…” He lobbed his balled fist in my face, but he must’ve thought better of hitting me. Instead, he took an even worse tactic. “Where’s this Fiera dame you’re shacking up with? I want her hauled into the New York office as soon as we get off this rig. Dune, I should dock your goddamn pay for this… I should—”

“Fire him,” Tim blurted.

“You shut up,” I seethed. “You’re the one who botched the Circle recording.”

I stood up and glared at the men. Things were becoming very clear, as if I’d been living in a blinding fog for weeks but the wind had swiftly blown it all away. “We’ve made a huge mistake; we’ve all been wrong about the spiritualists.”

“What?” barked a Dickerson clone. “Why should we listen to you?”

“Because you’re not seeing the whole picture!” With this, the crowd was shocked into a disbelieving silence. “Open up your narrow minds,” I shouted. “There is magic in this world.”

Flustered murmurs trundled around. I let them settle, and then continued. “Like you, I assumed all spiritualists were criminals and we rational men had every answer to the universe. No worth in magic, mysticism, psychics, readers of the cards, none of it.” Though every man was scowling at me, they were listening.

“What about your own sister?” Tim retorted. “You’re being disloyal to her by saying all of this. In fact, I believe you’ve gone stark raving mad. Men?” Tim looked around the room for agreement.

Some men responded with “Amen to that” and “Huzzah” but I simply waited until they were done and went on.

“Yes, it’s true my own sister Gertie was conned by a Circle member. Some Circle men are bogus, like many businessmen are corrupt. Sure, she lost her money, even got hooked on opium. But that doesn’t mean all mentalists are cons. When I met Fiera, I knew that wasn’t the case.”

“Aw, bunk, you just like her body,” Tim yelled. “She’s a filthy fraud like the rest.”

“Really? Is that why I fainted at her touch? No, not fainted. I’ll say it straight, men. I went into a genuine, bona fide trance. I had visions. And I hadn’t smoked one lousy puff of opium, of heroin. Wouldn’t touch that evil stuff, after my sister almost died from it.”

“But how do you know Fiera didn’t drug you?” someone asked.

“Because Fiera wasn’t serving drinks. She wasn’t sitting anywhere nearby. In fact, she was across the table from me.” I shrugged. “There’s no other explanation than there’s more to the real world than you bigoted dolts assume.” A loud, unsettled clamor erupted. I didn’t wait for any response or judgment, just simply plunged on.

“I never trusted my own intuition; I was always kowtowing to know-it-all bullies. Yes, like you, Dickerson.”

There was a shocked explosion of protests, led by Mr. Turnip Face himself. “Who the hell do you think you are, Dune?”

I shrugged. “A man, a sensible, intelligent, rational man with intuition that’s getting stronger by the day. I know Fiera’s a genuine spiritualist. It has nothing to do with the fact that I love her. Yes, you heard me. I love and worship the woman.”

Dickerson was practically choking on his tongue. “Get out, you rude, loudm—”

“With pleasure. I quit!” I threw the rest of the Circle photos and notes on the table.

“I’ll see to it that witch lover of yours gets slapped in jail,” Dickerson bellowed. “And what’s more, you’re going to get a hefty fine, or jail time yourself,” he added.

Marching out of that library with its curdled energy and suffocating cigar smoke was a gift—except for the threats to fine me, jail me… or worse, Dickerson’s promise to get Fiera jailed when we stepped off this Morro Cruise from hell.

Chapter 25

THANK THE HEAVENS Opal and I found Dulcie rocking on the porch of the Asbury Hotel. We herded her up to the privacy of her room where we relayed, in breathless gasps, the whole saga of Alyse, the grimoire, and my roots as a sea witch. I’d been so reluctant to tell Dulcie anything; afraid her proper upbringing would make my dark secrets too shocking for her. After all, witches, spell books, and murderous mothers were the stuff of lunatic nightmares. But Dulcie surprised me as she often did with how accepting of strange new realities she could be when tested.

She grabbed my hands and squeezed them. “Fiera, you must take sanctuary from your, um… mother immediately! I’ll ask my daddy to put you up in his Belmar Breeze hotel. That’s far enough away from Asbury that she won’t find you.”

“Isn’t that asking too much of him, and too much of your kindness?” My chest pinched with worry.

“Of course not! That dreadful woman is dangerous. I can’t understand why I never saw it.” Dulcie turned to Opal. “But you did, didn’t you, dear?” Opal nodded. Dulcie squeezed my hands again. “It’s a miracle that sweet old caretaker saved you all those years ago. And your mother killed the poor woman?” Dulcie shuddered, her eyes widening in empathic fear. “It makes me quite ill to think of it.”

“Yes,” I said, “that kindly woman risked her life to bring me to the orphanage in Brooklyn. I feel terrible she saved my life only to lose hers to that… that…” I couldn’t finish. For it broke my heart to finally find my mother, only to discover in the very same breath she was a monster of horrific proportions.

“Shh, now, shh.” Dulcie came over and gave me a motherly hug, which inspired tears I never dared shed while my mother was tormenting me. I tried not to cry long. If did, I might never stop. Wiping my face on my sleeve, I attempted a smile.

“May I help Fiera practice the spells in the hotel?” Opal asked. “We would promise to keep things spotless.” She looked doubtful.

Dulcie went so quiet I thought she’d say no, but she finally exclaimed, “Opal, you must stay there, too. It’s not safe for you in Asbury. Alyse knows you two keep company. She could harm you to get to Fiera.”

“Oh, we are beyond grateful,” I gushed.

“Thanks, Miss Dulcie,” Opal said.

“It’s Dulcie. No miss,” Dulcie insisted. Opal nodded, clearly still intimidated. “The Asbury Hotel is so boring without you there, Fiera,” Dulcie admitted. “It’s funny, I was just thinking of getting back to Daddy’s Belmar hotel until summer’s end, and now, well…” She shrugged. “This decides it. We’ll have us a fancy pajama party,” she chirped.

* * *

DULCIE WENT ABOVE and beyond. Not only did she charm her father into opening up two adjoining suites, she talked his driver into picking up Opal, our belongings, and me. We didn’t have much. Our rooms in the Starfish Inn were already furnished. I had one suitcase to be exact, and a grab bag filled with towels, bathing gear, and filched teabags. Opal had about the same. I determined if we got out of this present dilemma in one piece, we both needed to shop for new dresses and stockings.

Except right now, we had things more pressing to think of—steering clear of Alyse, recovering the grimoire, and keeping it from Alyse’s clutches. Inside, I felt the countdown of an invisible time clock. One that if not heeded before it ceased ticking would lead to mortal danger.

The rooms provided some splendid creature comfort. Opal and I had a shared room with our own bed and an ocean view. Dulcie had her own queen bed next door with a handmade Birds of Paradise quilt. She ordered in three roast chicken legs with steamy mashed potatoes. Everything tasted divine. I indulged in a long shower and slipped into bed, exhausted from my dark ordeal. Opal did the same. Tomorrow, we would rise at dawn and Dulcie’s driver was set to take us to the Asbury beach, no questions asked. The earlier, the less chance of running into Alyse, who kept late hours at the speakeasy. I couldn’t afford to run into her again until my magic was stronger. For that, I knew I must practice. Would the sea siren still be there? Would she tell me how to collect the grimoire willed to me at thirteen? Despite these questions tumbling around in my mind, I drifted off like a cloud in a sunny sky.

* * *

IT WAS FIVE am and barely dawn when we tumbled into the hotel chauffeur’s extravagant Buick town car. He asked no questions, just drove us to the spot Dulcie had requested. When we piled out, he barely turned his head. Simply stared out at the road ahead. Must be lovely to have a hired limo at one’s disposal, I thought.

Up on the Asbury Park beach, Dulcie and Opal spread out the blanket and arranged the supplies. It was still chilly so they bundled up in shawls. The tradeoff was a blessedly empty beach with no lifeguards. No Alyse lurking about, even in the murky shadows under the boardwalk.

I had practiced my underwater strokes enough that I was no longer in need of a rescue. We waved once to each other before I dove into the breakers and shot down into the emerald-green depths.

No need to breathe, no pain or pressure in my lungs. It was all still miraculous. Yet there was a new surety to my mission, in finally knowing my strange yet special heritage.

Sea witch!

The idea filled me with shivers of pride and delight. It felt right, as nothing had felt right in all of my twenty-two years. Having swam a distance of about thirty street blocks, I made out the lantern’s green glow and—yes—the siren’s flowing hair! A denser shade of green than the lantern, her long curls danced around her face in gentle arcs. As before, she beckoned me over with her hand, and her voice called out in that singsong language—high-pitched melodic calls not unlike what I imagined a dolphin song would be. Again, my mind easily translated.

You are here! I am glad. I’ve been guarding this book for you a long time. Many wanted it, but none could steal it. I saw to that.

Who would try to steal it? Alyse maybe, but others? I wondered who else she was referring to, but in my excitement, I dared not ask. Where is it? was my only silent question.

She gestured to the ocean floor just beyond her. Jutting up from it was a set of angular boulders. Odd how clear my sight was, for I recalled not even a few weeks ago, my underwater vision was blurry, like squinting through copious fog. I wriggled downward and touched one. At my touch, the rock began to glow with the same green as the siren’s lantern.

And then, wonder of wonders, at my second touch, a small rectangle within the boulder opened and slid outward—a small, rocky drawer.

I glanced over my shoulder at the sea lady. She smiled and nodded. That’s it. Go ahead; take what is yours, Fiera.

Looking back down, I saw a book. It was only around four inches wide and five inches tall—funny how such an important book could be so very small. It was encrusted with delicate shells, pearls, and other underwater jewels. When I picked it up, the same warm energy radiated in my palm as when I used the cards Peter had given me.

I wondered at the pages, made of a substance-like fine paper, but was undamaged by years underwater, and as easy to turn as a new book made of fine cotton rag.

Good luck! sang the siren, yet this time when I glanced over at her, she was gone.

Was she a dream or a lunatic vision? Had I gone insane? I looked down at my trembling hands. No, the book was still there, barely filling my opened palms.

I tucked it in the stretchy bodice of my swimsuit. Just I did, a school of blue-scaled fish wriggled over and encircled me, tickling my legs and arms with their fins. I had little time to wonder at this because I saw with a jolt of pure terror, a young Great White shark streaking toward me.

I lurched sideways, but there was no time to swim away. My heart raced as it barreled forth. No extra second to check whether I had a bloody wound from the jagged rocks. The shark was moving way too fast. I braced for the sharp pain of a bite. Astoundingly, as the blue fish had, it slid up against me, nudged its wide head into my hip, and circled gracefully around me, almost in a ceremonial dance.

Hello, fellow, I thought, so relieved my legs almost buckled.

As if it heard my greeting, it caressed my side again, and then, as rapidly as it had arrived, it departed. In a moment, it was only a creamy shimmer in the aquamarine tide.

It was time. Jackknifing forward, I headed to shore, and all without one human breath. I patted the book lodged under my swim top. Still there. Now that I had freed it from its magical locker, anyone could snatch it from me, so we would need to leave the beach immediately. As I hurried toward my friends, I searched for moving shadows under the boardwalk, especially for one with raven-black hair.

This book could change everything, but only if it remained in my possession.

* * *

WHEN THE POKER-faced driver dropped us off with a simple, courteous nod, we rushed to the hotel suite to study the grimoire. After all, the sea goddess hadn’t told me to keep it secret from Opal and Dulcie. I could hardly believe the book was real, so I kept touching it, and then touching it right over again.

“It’s a miracle. I can’t believe it’s mine,” I whispered.

“It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dulcie exclaimed. She seemed nervous to touch it, but gazed at it in wonder.

“Curious how dry it is,” Opal exclaimed, “and look at all of those tiny, inlaid shells.” She reverently ran her hand over it.

There was a border of blue muscle pearls, and a pattern within that of pink, golden, and even lime-hued shells, delicate and shiny as a baby’s fingernails.

I opened it slowly, taking care not to crack its delicate book spine. The inner text, written in green script, was so fine it was a challenge to read. Of course, Dulcie had the answer. She produced a handy magnifying glass on a yellow ribbon from her voluminous cabbage rose carpetbag like everything else under the sun she stored in there.

I had to admit, the magnifier made it much easier to see the print. Generously, she insisted I keep it and placed the ribbon around my neck.

We huddled over the tiny book and studied it together. There were spells for rousing small waves and others for creating fierce tidal waves. I doubted I would have need for that one. I would worry it would lead to someone’s death. There were tamer spells for luring in fish to do chores, and others for traveling at great speeds across vast riptides and swells. That one sounded handy to store in the back of my mind.

These were enchantments we could hardly try cooped up in a hotel room, however expansive it was.

The first was for unbalancing someone on dry land. Not unlike that awful spell Alyse—I wouldn’t be calling her mother—put on me when I almost drowned in her cruel wave cyclone.

Alyse’s power to mesmerize, to make one lose oneself under her influence, was potent. I realized now, when she and I were at the speakeasy, her supernatural powers had lured me to criticize Peter’s appetite for taffy—even call him a candy hog, and she’d caused me to doubt Peter’s loyalty when she spoke about what he was doing on the Morro. In a testament to my own powers, I sensed her evil before she completely flummoxed me, and so was able to conjure an invisible, but protective helmet around my skull.

“Try a simple spell first,” Opal suggested.

I found one from the first section of the book. Chanting from its verses over a saucer of water, I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined the liquid coming to a boil. I uttered the chant three times as it instructed, but I was afraid to open my eyes and see that I’d failed.

“You did it, Fiera, look!” Dulcie’s squeals, high and excitable, signaled the spell’s success.

Indeed, the water bubbled with a shimmery rise of steam. My reaction was to laugh. In fact, we all laughed with great relief.

“Try another one!” Opal said more eagerly than I’d ever heard her.

“Yes, do, this is more fun than the picture shows,” Dulcie agreed.

This time, I was more ambitious, attempting to conjure ice from water in the hotel sink. We watched, fascinated, as frost florets began to shape on the water’s surface. But they stopped as suddenly as they had started.

“Watch out, the water is rising,” Dulcie warned. “Can you stop it?”

Indeed, the liquid was no longer freezing to ice. Instead, it had reached the rim of the sink and was threatening to spill over.

“Say the charm faster,” Opal urged. Reading from the spell book, she began to chant in tandem but missed a few words in her haste. I guessed other budding witches could help, but not as effectively as a sea witch.

It wasn’t only the skipped words; no doubt, I’d done something else wrong. The water overflowed, fountaining over the nice parquet flooring.

“What a disaster!” I grabbed a cup and began to bail out the sink.

Opal fetched another cup and helped. “You’ll improve; don’t give up.”

Dulcie hauled over a mountain of thick hotel towels to sop up the flood.

“I’ve ruined this lovely room,” I said, taking over another armful of towels. “Your father will boot us out.”

“We have maid service. He’ll never know.” Dulcie dumped the sopping towels in a corner of the tiled bathroom floor. Returning, she said, “Try it again, Fiera, you must! Otherwise, you may develop a block against magic.”

The second time was the ace in the hole. Frost designs formed all at once over the surface and quickly deepened to form a solid block. I rapped my fists against it to make sure. My skinned knuckles were proof it was frozen.

But it was too early to call me a working witch because the third spell badly backfired. I was trying too hard in my desperate awareness that Alyse was surely plotting as fast as we were. Filling the claw-foot tub up with cold water, I performed a fire conjuring. Normally, there was no way to ignite a fire on water unless its surface was slicked with oil. Dulcie and Opal stood nervously by my side, each gripping one of the hotel’s drenched bath towels in case we had a problem.

This time, I memorized the chant first so I wasn’t dependent on staring at the book. In an archaic form of Latin, its poetic ring thrilled my newly sensitive ears.

I recited it three times. It seemed to be a power number, for at the last line of the third chanting a loud boom signaled the eruption of fire on the bathwater. After startling at the sound, Dulcie and Opal put down their towels and clapped. It was a jubilant moment.

But the fire got bigger and hotter, and began to leave soot marks on the ceiling. It was no normal blaze—it stunk of unseemly toxins and even of burnt skin. I choked and gagged, trying to douse the mess. Dulcie and Opal were both thrashing at it with their wet towels. But nothing doused it. Worst of all, heavy smoke began to pour out of the windows, alerting all to the disaster unfolding in our room. Looking down, I saw two men point up to the windows and run into the hotel, and then there was a hubbub out in the hall.

“They’ll call the fire department. We need to put it out!” Opal shouted, no longer the calm magical sidekick.

Sirens sounded from a distance, but grew closer with every round.

Waving the smoke from my face, I hurried over to the spell book. My first hunch told me to flip to the next page. Amazingly, there was a spell there on how to douse a fire with magic. “Uh, oh, this undoing spell involves the waving of a seagull feather.” I groaned. “We’ll have to run down to the beach and pull one off a seagull.”

“Shall I go?” Opal was already slinging on her shoes.

“Wait, I may have just the thing.” Dulcie rooted around in her voluminous carpetbag. Turned out, she not only had one feather but three gray quills wrapped in a dining napkin she was saving to make a modish hat.

Sweating with nerves and hacking from smoke, I gasped out the chant while swinging the feathers over the angry blaze. Tongues of fire curved away from the plumage as if the supernatural blaze was afraid of it. With each sweep, the fire curved downward. Finally, it dimmed.

“It’s out!” Dulcie exclaimed.

“Good. It’s too late to call off the fire squad though,” Opal grumbled.

Indeed, we heard the tramping of boots and pounding of fists on the door. If Opal hadn’t hurried to open it, I swear they would’ve kicked it in. People were rubbernecking out in the hall, trying to get a good look-see into our room, but the other firemen held them at bay.

“Where’s the blaze?” asked the tallest fireman in yellow rubber gear and a hat to match.

“Oh, um, it’s out,” I squawked.

Dulcie stepped forward. “Sirs, we are truly sorry to have troubled you. We were simply roasting marshmallows in the bathroom.” She released a musical giggle.

The first man rolled his eyes at the second man and knowingly shook his head. Let them think us childish women, as long as they got out of there fast before they saw my spell book. I slipped it under my mattress when they inspected the bathroom.

At seeing the ominous black soot on the bathroom ceiling, they gave us a very stern lecture and called in Dulcie’s father to boot.

He was a tall bear of a man with a ring of blond hair around his baldpate. “What’s the meaning of this?” he bellowed.

“Oh, Daddy,” Dulcie said, “the weather’s been so horribly windy and drizzling, we haven’t been able to roast marshmallows on the beach, so we…” She gazed up at him with sad, puppy-dog eyes. Really, she should have been an actress.

He shook his head at her, clearly baffled by the careless actions of his only daughter. “Get the kitchen staff to roast them for you. This is no place to start a bonfire.”

Dulcie hugged him. “What a perfect idea. We should all be as resourceful as you, Daddy dear. Please forgive your Dulcie.” She grimaced. “I was only trying to show my new friends a good time.”

Dulcie may not have won over the firemen, because they were muttering to each other about ditzy dames as they packed up their gear. But she swayed her father. He only curbed her weekly allowance, and that was all. She was more of a magical enchantress than Alyse or I when it came to pulling the wool over him.

After that near disaster, we took our bag of tricks to the beach. I practiced in earnest at dawn and in the evening, after the burly lifeguards had gone dancing and the families had packed up their umbrellas and children’s pails.

I hauled in special seaweed called Bladderwrack for making salves of protection, fish bones and sponges from the ocean floor, and the spawn of the immortal jellyfish. Manganese nodules—round balls of ore and iron that had been “growing” very slowly for hundreds of years—were considered to contain very powerful magic according to my grimoire, so I collected them as well. I assembled, labeled, and grouped these salves and objects in my own carpetbag.

Time was growing short. I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I knew, deep in my soul, that I must learn fast because I was careening toward a weighty destination. And if I didn’t know how to hit the brakes, I would crash.

* * *

THE DAWN OF the fifth day after Peter was gone contained both happy and sad moments. Dulcie, Opal, and I trekked to the beach, and I went through the spell in my head for the thirtieth time. I dove in as the sun tried to emerge from heavy clouds. Everything felt inexplicably heavy as I made my way out past where I’d gotten my grimoire.

Perhaps a mile out, I began the chant. Repeated it three times, as was becoming my habit. On cue, the waves stopped rolling—at least a large circle of them. And then, as I gave it my full force of magic, I drew a gigantic swell upward from the middle of the calm water. It climbed ever higher, which put me in mind of a tale in the Thousand and One Nights, where the djinn created a mighty tidal force.

And then, taking care no boats were cruising anywhere near it, I let it crash in a gushing, gurgling torrent. Fountaining down, it formed a giant wake, which I managed to quell before it rushed out and upended any fishing boats.

The spell had gone perfectly. It was exhilarating, with a buoyant sense of mind and body, floating on a stream of luxurious magic. As I swam toward shore, I could see Opal and Dulcie clapping and leaping in gleeful bursts. They looked like eager china dolls from where I was, so far out.

The sad part came after that.

We were climbing up the wooden stairs that led to the boardwalk when I saw a familiar figure leaning over the rail, fanning his eyes from the beginnings of a light drizzle.

Tall man, scrubby, salt-and-pepper hair, that ugly, clunky medallion, the crimson shirt and white seersucker jacket a dead giveaway.

“Greetings, Fiera,” Talcott said as we reached the boardwalk.

“Oh, hello, what brings you out in this damp weather?” I asked him as politely as I knew how. Opal, in her unmannered way, was already gaping at the man. She was my weathervane, and it was clear he made her nerves bristle as he did mine.

“What brings you out might be a more apropos question?” He managed a chuckle before turning his cold blue eyes on me as if I was a curious street urchin. “Fiera, may we have a private word?”

I stepped away from my friends, yet sent them silent apprehensive frowns to beg them to please not leave without me. “Yes?”

“I understand you are um… together with Peter Dune?” Talcott said.

I frowned. “What business is it of yours?”

“If you are, I have important news.”

“Then perhaps, yes,” I reluctantly answered.

His narrow face spread into an unfriendly smirk. “I must warn you then. Peter is not who he seems.”

“What does that mean?” I brushed raindrops off my cheeks. “Please make it snappy because it’s starting to rain.”

“He’s an undercover agent, working to rid the East Coast of spiritualist cons, card readers, and psychics. Like you.” Talcott smiled, apparently pleased with this pronouncement.

My heart oozed with what felt like blood from a vicious psychic stab wound. “Hogwash,” I snapped. “You should know better than to believe rumors. Peter is genuine and smart.”

“Peter Dune may well be intelligent, but not enough to keep his true mission here under wraps.”

“Why should I listen to you? He doesn’t even like you.” Peter said he loved me. But did he, really? I flinched as excruciating pain shot through my whole being.

“His double life is a fact,” Talcott dryly said.

“Peter wouldn’t hurt me.” Would he? My heart was skipping beats.

“On the contrary, he was assigned to track you, examine your every move, get you arrested, and slap you in jail or in a lunatic asylum for your Tarot card work.”

Oh, the aching, searing pain of hearing this. “What possible evidence do you have?”

“Dune and Tim, his lollygagger assistant, weaseled their way into one of my Circle séances,” Talcott spat. “But what they really came for was to plant a wire and record information on my group. I still have this recorder. I confiscated it.” Talcott paused, and it was clear from his confident leer he knew he’d hit his mark. “Don’t believe me? Stop by my Belmar office and see for yourself. Peter Dune works for the Dickerson Agency in New York City. He’s on the Morro as we speak, partying with his anti-spiritualist boss and wealthy clients, who would like nothing better than to see your livelihood and even your existence snuffed out.”

Could Dickersons’ agents even do that? Or was this Talcott’s bravado speaking? Either way, it unnerved me to the bone. My mind spun dizzily as it went through frenzied scenes of Peter’s embraces, his kisses, his passionate promises to think of me every minute he was on the Morro, and of him saying how much he loved me. My deepest soul told me Talcott spoke the truth, yet how could I endure the loss? Never again would I feel Peter’s arms around me, his warm, reassuring breath in my ear, see his familiar leather business shoes lined up under my bed, or read the cards by his side at his store.

I was reeling, but I had to hold onto my wits. I nodded to my friends, still waiting for me by the stairway, indicating I was almost done with this fool. “I have a question for you, Mr. Talcott.”
“Doctor Talcott,” he corrected.

Doctor Schmocter, I silently mocked. “Why did you want Peter to ask Alyse about her grimoire? Speaking of cons, if you are a Circle of Light man, what on earth would you need a witch’s grimoire for, an ocean grimoire to be specific?” I stared into his face with his overbite and beetling brows.

Ha! I’d caught him off-guard. A very tiny comfort in relation to the enormous agony he’d caused me by revealing Peter’s deceitful double life. My inner senses still told me Talcott was right about Peter, although my heart wanted desperately to discount it. I thought of Peter’s locked office, his sudden, unexplained absences, and his secretive reaction to my questions about his Morro cruise.

Talcott didn’t answer me, only stared at me with his owlish eyes, and their intensity felt much like Alyse’s own mesmerism. It frightened me, but I wanted to stay strong and not let Talcott see how upset he’d made me.

“What does Alyse have to do with this?”

“It’s all connected,” he answered in a mysterious way. “Protect yourself, Fiera. Get away from Peter Dune before he destroys you.”

“You’re warning me about the wrong person,” I answered in an equally quizzical way.

His brow furrowed. “Oh, and who might that be?”

“Haven’t you heard? Alyse is my mother. She is the dangerous one.”

“Do say!” His eyes glinted. “Come to think of it, I see a slight resemblance. Alyse is more arrogant than dangerous.” He rubbed his pointy chin. “I thought she had no childr—well, she told me her baby passed away years ago.” He handed me a square of paper. “Here’s my calling card. Come see the wire recorder. We’ll talk more about Mr. Dune, the grimoire, about you and Alyse.”

I shrugged. “I’m busy.”

“I’ll tell you lots of colorful tales about your mother,” he offered with a jaunty wink that struck me as out of character. “So, do stop by.” With that, he turned and marched down the boardwalk, his lanky figure fading into the fog.

Dulcie ran over. “What was that all about, dear?”

“That man is bad.” Opal glared at the patch of mist he’d melted into.

“He told me horrid things about Peter.”

“What?” Opal and Dulcie asked all at once.

I poured out the whole sorry tale, sobbing and gasping. Their horrified expressions enforced the deep betrayal I felt.

“He also said he could tell me lots about Alyse,” I said when I could speak again.

Opal let out a hard sigh of disgust. “He’s trying to lure you in for some reason. Don’t fall for it.”

“You’re right. He’s peculiar, unsettling.” I was tempted to rip up his card, but for now, I shoved it down the side of my bathing gear.

Afterward, Dulcie and Opal flanked me on either side and helped me down the boardwalk stairs and into the back door of the hotel, so none of the wealthy vacationers would have to see me bawling my eyes out.

To hell with Talcott, I decided. I’d prove Peter’s innocence, or guilt, for myself. And that would involve more than just hearing the recorder. I would ransack Peter’s secret office that was even locked to Tim.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY at dawn, I traveled up to Asbury Park and undid the padlock Opal and I had secured on Peter Dune’s shuttered Tarot and Séance when we’d left for Belmar. We’d posted a Closed for Repairs sign there, too. These early risings were becoming exhausting, but the fear of running into Alyse before my magic was strong was more than enough to power me up and out.

Once inside his store, I picked his private office door lock with a scissors and an Unlock Charm memorized from the grimoire. It worked well, and I had a moment of triumph in my growing skills before my heartache returned full force.

The empty store was dark and foreboding. It felt positively haunted. Creeping around, I lit enough lamps in order to see, and then repeated the Unlock Spell with the scissor-twist to open Peter’s desk drawers. A pang of guilt gave me a moment’s hesitation. What if Talcott was wrong about Peter? I proceeded, though, and the journal I unearthed sickened me.

My adrenaline raced as I read his entry about his sister Gertie and his vows to round up and jail all spiritualists. Dickenson’s letter assigning Peter to investigate the Asbury Park area was stuck in one of the pages, and Peter’s numerous reports to Dickerson, mostly on Talcott’s doings down at the Belmar fairgrounds. Peter wrote about the Circle séance he and Tim had attended. The notes were mostly about Talcott confiscating the recorder and barbs about Tim’s incompetence. But they also described how Talcott had underhandedly researched Peter’s sister Gertie in order to use those details to trick Peter into thinking Talcott received them from spiritual vibrations. What goes around comes around, I thought.

Despite my cynicism, my heart bled for Peter being duped by Talcott, and for having a sister conned by the Circle cult. Peter never told me she’d almost died from depression and addiction. It explained at least a small part of why he was so bitter toward false mediums. But not all mediums are fake, I retorted silently, tossing the paper back without caring to put things where I’d found them. What did it matter at this point?

And then, when I saw my own name scrawled on the page, my hands shook so badly, the journal trembled.

Fiera, Witch of the Cards

Fiera is a young woman who works as a nanny in Manhattan and is vacationing down in Asbury Park. She claims to be a Tarot card reader and medium, but what is she really after? She is poor. Will she bilk the tourists and beachgoers out of their cash? She put on quite an act during the first séance I held. Swooned, and even went into a supposed trance.

“Hmm, more like he went into a swoon, I’d say,” I muttered, and continued to read.

I intend to keep a record of her mentalist activities. Perhaps I will hire her to read cards here. That way I can keep an eye on her. I gave her a deck to lure her in. In a second reading, she did a trick where she raised the cards in the air and they spun around. Must uncover her deception. More to come…

“Trick, hah! Not quite, Mr. Dune. It’s not as if I chose to have these powers. What am I really after?” I hissed, “Certainly not you anymore!” I found the rental receipt for the damning wire recorder, and yes, it was clear the device was still at large and the hefty bill unpaid. There was a recent letter from Dickerson, asking how much longer they needed it to collect evidence. The note urged Peter to “stay on the young witch’s tail”.

By the time I shoved the desk drawers shut and stumbled out of there, I could hardly see I was so angry and sick with betrayal. On the corner, I clutched onto a streetlight to catch my breath, but I only felt sicker. Leaning over into the gutter, I dry heaved. Nothing came out because at breakfast I’d felt too ill to eat. I splurged on a cabbie, and when I reached the Belmar hotel, I shambled upstairs, collapsed on the bed, and slept in my clothes.

Peter was out of my life. Dead to me.

Chapter 26

BEING CUT OFF from Fiera the cruise to Havana was exquisite torture for me, especially now that I saw Dickerson and his gang as misinformed, narrow-minded cretins. Not that I cared a fig about my own consequences, but I cared a great deal for Fiera’s well being. I was determined to save her from the long arm of the law or Dickerson’s sleazy hijinks when I set foot again on solid New York ground.

It wasn’t that I’d planned to make such a dramatic break on the Morro. In fact, I hadn’t planned much of anything. For the first time, I was operating almost solely off my intuition. It had its benefits in the feeling of being honest and standing up for my beliefs. It had its drawbacks in enduring the sight of my hostile former colleagues during every meal, every stroll on deck, and my every trek to the cabin below since we’d been assigned cabins along the same stretch.

My strongest hunch told me things were going badly with Fiera in Asbury Park. This, too, drove me into a frenzy. The first thing I intended to do in Havana was to locate a private phone and get in touch with her.

Meanwhile, the Morro dinners and dancing blazed on in a haze of colors and flavors—ladies’ silks and steamy escargots, the blare of big band trumpets and flash of waiters with red linen towels slung over their arms, ferrying brimming silver platters to clients.

Only the antics of Salvador Dali and his star fashion designer Elsa Schiaparelli made me grin. On the second evening, he set up an easel right at the head of the dining room table and painted the dinner guests. They posed holding lobster claws and giant clocks. One elegant model put an expensive red fox stole on her head like Little Red Riding Hood. Bela Lugosi modeled in full Dracula makeup with a white death mask and black-rimmed eyes. Dali even had a very short horse jockey position himself on the table as the centerpiece, ready with his riding crop to whip a stuffed octopus. An effectively distracting minstrel show.

At one point, I caught Dali’s eye, and he winked at me, as if inviting me over. I was sure I looked positively forlorn, sitting at a single’s table while nursing my vodka tonic. I waved back but made no move to crash their party.

After one more drink, I decided to call it an early night. When I saw Tim marching toward me as I’d almost reached the sanctuary of my room, the flavor of the evening staled. He purposely elbowed me and muttered, “I’ll see to it your witch gal gets what’s coming to her.”

I had the urge to stick my boot out and trip him. His pointy chin would have made a satisfyingly sharp clunk because the floor underneath the runner was hardwood. But I chose to take the high road. There was nothing to be gained from provoking the playground bully. Though I did say, “Go ahead. Choose that moronic action and I’ll expose your inappropriate antics with Dulcie.”

Then I unlocked my cabin door, swept in, and slammed the thing in his face.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, we landed in sunny Havana for a day’s wandering, dining, and shopping. I’d always wanted to see Cuba—its balconied houses, bronzed ladies, and dashing men, the array of tropical trees and fuchsia hibiscus. The rum, the music, and the glorious Cuban dishes—we’d only had a tantalizing taste on the Morro.

Yet all I could think of was finding a telephone with a reliable connection and an operator who would insure my call got through.

I found one in a fancy hotel lobby. Unfortunately, the call to my Tarot store kept ringing and ringing and ringing. At the twenty-fifth ring, the operator got back on. “Mr. Dune, your party is not answering. Why don’t you try again later?”

“Once more, perhaps the proprietress was indisposed.”

“Once more” turned into three tries to my store, and one to the Starfish Inn, where the manager explained both Fiera and Opal had checked out a few days prior with no forwarding address.

My heart was aching and pounding at the same time, making me short of breath. I had the operator try the Asbury Park Hotel. Perhaps Dulcie could tell me some news. But it was not to be. The manager there reported Miss Dulcie had suddenly packed her belongings and cancelled her remaining two weeks. No forwarding address.

By this time, the phone operator was getting quite impatient with me. And I was ready to throw the goddamned phone across the room. There was no choice but to wait it out and try my store later. I thought of calling Alyse at Spellbinding Taffy, but I had a sinking suspicion she might be behind Fiera’s exodus. Just that hunch gave me more heart palpitations. If the worry didn’t kill me, a heart attack might. I imagined Alyse taking Fiera out to dinner and feeding her poisoned taffy. I pictured Alyse inviting Fiera to swim, holding her head under—and worse.

Why hadn’t I seen the clues? I never took my intuition seriously before but now that I had shifted my view on this, my hunches were worrying me to death. I had to get out, to walk around until I could make a second series of phone calls, no matter the price.

So, I spent the afternoon pacing the streets of Havana. Barely registering the sights, I figured I’d walked past a market full of melons and bananas by the shapes and scents, and an organ grinder with a curled black moustache because I distractedly tossed coins in his basket. I walked past rows of houses, where women shouted to me from their high balconies. And I stumbled around nut-dark children playing in the streets.

Sweating from the afternoon heat, and faint from thirst, I finally crawled into a dark bar and ordered a vodka and soda with three limes.

Abruptly, I felt a rapid pat pat pat on my back and a fellow with a Spanish accent say, “Comrade in arms, what is plaguing you that we cannot fix?”

Cubans are quite forward with their prying, I acidly decided. Upon turning around, I saw the mischievous grin of no less than Dali, the Morro’s famous artist.

I couldn’t help but smile back. He was such an imp. With his thin, comic-strip moustache and troubadour smock, his striped stockings and elfin shoes, he could have made a corpse cackle. “Ah, it’s you,” I managed. “You certainly know how to entertain yourself.” I held out my hand. “Peter Dune, New York City.”

He shook it, his wiry hand containing a surprising measure of strength. “Salvador Dali, artist of the world.” He winked again. “I was trying to lure you to our dinner table the other night. You looked so glum.”

I grimaced. “Yes, it’s not been my favorite vacation. For a number of reasons I won’t bore you with.”

“No danger of boring me, Dune.” Dali twizzled his moustache. “Is it about a woman? Or a business gone awry?”

“A bit of both, I guess.”

“Well, come join our caravan,” he offered.

Just then Elsa, Bela, and Bela’s movie-star date, Irene Ware emerged from the bathrooms wrapped in enormous towels. He certainly knew how to have fun.

We spent the afternoon on a beach with platinum sand.

“You must forget your troubles, even for an hour,” Dali insisted when he saw me still fretting. He talked me into letting him bury me up to my chin in the sand.

I humored him at first, but his grin was infectious and seeing his gothic vampire’s sandcastle on my belly made me suddenly happy. Dali was so childlike and playful it brought back sweet visions of Gertie and me at the shore as children. When the world seemed so innocent. I supposed artists had a knack for that.

Bela played the role of water boy, fetching bucketful after bucketful from the azure swells. I watched his bony figure lope up the sand banks and tried to square his boyish presence with his sinister Dracula image. The absurd incongruity made me giggle. I also snuck peeks at Elsa and Irene Ware lounging in racy string bikinis and smoking thin, brown cigarettes. They were elegant, modern, and sleek, and the sight of their beauty gave me a pang for Fiera.

Finally, Dali had his fill of making me his living sculpture and knocked down his castle after taking photographs of it. I shook off the sand, took a quick dip in the balmy water, and returned to the fold.

From the depths of Elsa’s picnic basket, she offered up thinly sliced meat called prosciutto layered on crunchy bread, and a huge variety of olives. We washed that down with sangria decorated with Dali’s handmade cocktail garnishes. Lobster claws—what else?

I must admit I was so distracted by the fun I forgot my heartache and worry, at least until we packed and began the hike back to the Morro.

I gave Dali a brotherly punch on the arm. “I truly appreciate you adopting me into your dog pack this afternoon.”

“Anytime, we must continue the party on the Morro. Sit and dine with us.”

“That’s quite generous of you.” I paused, thinking of how I would form my next line, without explaining all the details of my Fiera woes. “I must run ahead now and try to call my lady friend.”

“Go. Contact your earth goddess,” Dali said with a flourish of his arm.

Good way of putting it, I thought while I jogged toward the hotel with my heart afire. But it was not to be. The operator tried again to no avail. I’d have to wait two more days jostled around on the open sea before I would learn of any nefarious doings in Asbury Park.

Back on the Morro, I determined to order room service and hole up in my cabin the next day—maybe even for the entire rest of the journey. Beside myself, I was in no mood for more of Dali’s high-spirited antics or Tim’s mean-spirited digs. The weather had turned stormy, which matched my state of mind, and I spent the night tossing along with the furious waves.

Chapter 27

IT WAS ASTONISHING to feel my supernatural strength increase, and not unlike the growing pains I’d felt as a child. One evening after practice, I got a feverish headache. Another time, I had a craving for ice cream and a buoyant feeling of weightlessness. A third memorable session had me swearing I had ghost fins on my hips and an invisible fish tail to boot! Opal said she’d read about this phenomenon in the literature. It was common when young witches unleashed their power and a good sign mine was truly blossoming.

It was time to go after Alyse. I was as strong as I was going to get. For these last eight days, I had tirelessly practiced my magic.

Exciting, but still… who knew if it would be enough to take down the raven-haired witch? She had years of practice, so this was a long shot. But what choice did I have? There was no way of measuring my powers against hers until we were finally engaged in active battle. Unnerving, but no this was no time to indulge in my fear.

For if I waited too long, Alyse would come hunting for me. I needed to maintain the element of surprise. She wouldn’t suspect I would stalk her at Spellbinding so soon. I sensed her overconfidence, her assumption it would take me years to develop my prowess.

Dulcie custom made me the perfect diver’s suit for dangerous expeditions. Who knew she had such skills with fabric and thread? The suit was green like the sea siren’s gown, but clingy in a bathing jersey and with pant legs. We designed it together over the space of two days, me adding secret pockets and pouches, Dulcie adding pretty finishes such as rickrack and emerald green buttons as tiny as unripe berries. Putting it on, I admired my look in the mirror. It was snug and spanned my length from neck to ankle.

In my hip pouch, I secured a trapping jar with squid ink, toxic anemone, and precious corals I’d been obsessively collecting. Then I placed a powerful banishing spell on the entire concoction. In one of my hidden arm pouches, I hid a decanter filled with healing Bladderwort in case of injuries. In my other arm pouch, I stashed a poison-tipped knife and a crushed sphere of iron ore. This would be a fight that I would try my damnedest to win. One of us—either Alyse or I, would be gone from Asbury Park before this war was over.

* * *

BY THE TIME I gathered up the nerve to head to Spellbinding, it was late afternoon and a storm threatened. Swift winds drove a persistent drizzle. I donned a thick, cotton smock over my swim gear, partly to hide it, but also to stay warm. Dulcie insisted I allow her father’s driver to take me. On land, I was still quite mortal. Unlike Alyse, I could not fly on land. I had tried to conjure it. Perhaps my powers on land would grow, but for now, I had to figure out another way. I didn’t want to bother the liveryman, but I gave in because my knees were jittering so badly I would’ve stumbled and tripped if I’d tried to walk. Plus, it would have taken me hours and used up my force.

Opal pleaded with me to let her tag along. I forbade that, saying I would never forgive myself should she be a casualty of any supernatural fight. But seeing her eyes mist with tears, I hugged her and said, “If I’m not back by tomorrow morning, you can come looking for me. That will mean something’s wrong. If that happens, it’s okay to get backup. The police or firemen.” I held her at arm’s length to make sure she understood.

She nodded, and her relieved smile was like cool spring water on a feverish head. “Of course, Fiera. We’ll count down the hours and fling pixie dust your way, won’t we, Dulcie?” Dulcie nodded and ran over to give me a reassuring hug as well.

Before I chickened out or started to bawl, I ran down the stairs and into the driver’s wide Buick.

Walking the last stretch of boardwalk to Spellbinding, I patted my secret oasis of elixirs to make sure none had shifted or fallen out during the bumpy car ride. Would the fight start right there in Spellbinding’s aisles? Or would I be able to lure Alyse outside first, hopefully near the ocean where my powers were strongest? I realized with a rash of panic that I hadn’t planned this down to the smallest particulars. And didn’t they say that true genius was in the details? Well, I was a witch, not a genius. No time for more planning. I took a deep, clearing breath and strode in.

There were new displays—a basket of amber taffy promised a peachy complexion, and a large tin of black, pinstriped taffy swore to rid one of plagues. I chuckled inwardly at that. If I ate a handful of candies, would they relieve me of the deadly plague named Alyse? Or relieve me of the resurgent suspicion Peter had used me only to indulge in his own sensual passions?

“May I help you?” a voice cooed behind my left shoulder. I spun around, clutching a fistful of striped taffy, and realized I was stroking it as if I were already in a ravenous trance. What in the world? I threw the taffy back in its tin and looked up. It was Celeste, the ginger-haired counter girl.

“Fiera, isn’t it?” She looked me up and down with silky compassion. “Lovely smock. Did you find it at Bamberger’s? JC Penney? Or did you sew it yourself?”

I paused. This wasn’t a fancy smock by any means. It was plain and bulky, and I didn’t want her to touch it for fear she’d feel one of my hidden vials. So I quickly stepped back. “It’s just an old dress I’ve had for years. Nothing special.” I looked beyond Celeste to the main counter. “Um, is Alyse Bone here? I actually wanted a word with her.”

“You missed her.”

“When will she be back?”

“Not sure.” Celeste smiled, which brought out her cinnamon freckles and a pink mottling of her cheeks. She was very fetching. In fact, if I were a young gentleman, I would be smitten. “Something I can help you with?” she asked. “I know most of what goes on here. A special taffy request?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, no. It’s kind of personal.”

“Personal? Has Alyse done something to you?” Celeste sounded eager to know.

Why would she assume it was personal? Did my serious expression give it away? I had to mask myself more. My emotions were all too evident, and I might pay dearly for that. “No, not Alyse. Just… tell me when she might return because I need to…” Try as I might to be strong, I couldn’t help tears from welling up. It was Peter who made me so sad. Dear Peter. The one who would never lay down with me again or stroke my skin. The one who had pierced my heart with a razor-sharp knife.

Peter, the handsome betrayer.

Not Alyse. Alyse could go to scorching hell for all I cared.

“Oh, dear.” Celeste offered me a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “Please don’t cry. I was just closing up. Shall we take a stroll on the boardwalk? I have an umbrella we could share. You can tell me your troubles. Perhaps it will help cheer you. I promise to keep things confidential; it might help to talk a bit.” The girl’s warmth and outpouring of compassion soothed me like warm honey and milk. I sorely needed it.

“A walk sounds fine,” I decided impulsively. “No need to share your umbrella; the drizzle suits my mood. I’d like to come back here in another hour, though, to see if Alyse has returned.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied in a patient tone.

We began walking. The rain pattered on her umbrella and on my exposed face and arms. “Let’s go to the beach,” I said in a flurry. “I don’t care if it’s raining.”

“Okay,” she agreed. This surprised me because underneath the apron she’d shucked off, she wore a dress with pale blue ruffles. On its rounded neckline was a row of blue-tinted seed pearls.

“A pricey dress for a girl who works in a sweltering candy store,” I noted. “You sure you want to get it all damp?”

“Oh, this old thing,” she exclaimed in an odd refrain of my earlier line, “was a cast-off from my older sister, who wore the elbows threadbare.” Celeste lifted her arms, and I had to admit she was right. Funny, I hadn’t noticed the holes in the elbows before.

We chose a spot under the boardwalk, which protected us from the rain, but not from the darkening shadows.

Celeste turned to me. “So tell me what has you so very sad?”

Something in her charming, sisterly attentiveness opened me up. “I thought I was in love with a man, but he’s hurt me.”

“Oh? How?”

“He’s not the man he claimed he was. He said he owned a store on the boardwalk, but he works for an undercover agency, and …” I had to stop for my voice was shaking.

“Who is this man?” she asked. “I know most everyone in Asbury Park. I promise not to spread it around.” She gazed into my eyes, and I felt a wave of recognition, which passed by like wind sliding off a seagull’s wings.

“Peter Dune.”

“Ah, the man who runs the Tarot card shop. Do you love him?”

“Yes, I mean, I did. But now?” Fresh tears spilled over my lids, and I was grateful for the handkerchief Celeste had given me, now soggy with tears and raindrops.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what did you want from Alyse?”

Another intense wave of dread crashed through me. But I plowed on, relieved to have someone, anyone to listen to until Alyse returned. “She’s injured me.”

“How so?”

“She actually tried to drown me,” I said.

Celeste gasped. Her gaze was the incalculable, yet shallow look of a young girl who had yet to see any real pain—such clear, almost transparent gray eyes like the drizzling clouds outside.

“I’m quite serious. I know it’s a terrible time with money and jobs, but you should immediately leave her employ. Alyse is not who you think she is.”
“Who is she then?” Celeste leaned toward me, her long hair brushing my arm, her peach-scented perfume clouding my senses. Charming me. Alarm shuddered through me again, along with the memory of my drowning in virtual waves in Peter’s store that first evening when we touched. “Who is Alyse, really?” Celeste persisted.

“I know this sounds crazy, but she’s a very dangerous witch.”

Celeste let out a soft gasp. “What does she want to kill you for? Do you have something she wants?”

Something she wants, my mind repeated. In that moment, I had a terrifying realization. Looking over at Celeste, I saw her eyes were the exact same color as Alyse’s—seagull-gray with golden flecks spinning out from the center. And, not only were Celeste’s eyes changing from kind to hostile slits, she was changing every which way. Her ginger-spice curls were straightening and turning black as crows, her pastel dress was darkening into a midnight blue gown, and her girlish bow-lips were mutating to mean crimson slashes.

“She wants a grimoire, perhaps?” snapped the changeling. “Yes, it’s me, Alyse. Did you think I was so stupid I didn’t see you coming? Did you think I wouldn’t protect myself? I’m a witch, I can shape-shift, and now?” She flew up without wings on sheer air, arching her back and unleashing her sharpened fingernails. Then she charged me, slashing the flesh on my arms and hands in parallel rows. “Bleed, daughter, bleed,” she ranted. “Bleed until you give me that grimoire you owe me. Turn it over to someone who can properly use the magic. Now.”

“I owe you nothing,” I hissed. Perhaps it was my upset or rage, but this time when I stood, my body left the ground. There wasn’t time to be astounded, for I had to take immediate action. Rising up in my own miraculous flight pattern, I soared over Alyse and dive-bombed her, slicing into her cheeks with my poison-dipped knife. Dark red blood burst forth and slid down her face. This gave me both satisfaction and pain. Revenge did not come naturally for me. I had to tell myself it wasn’t revenge as much as protecting my own life.

Alyse cackled and spun up higher, her face tilted toward the rain. I realized she was washing out the poison my knife had injected. She glanced back down at me, and before my eyes, the bloody wounds I’d carved into her face began to fuse and knit into new pink skin. “You think you can hurt me, silly girl? I heal as soon as you cut me. Can you produce magic that strong?”

She flew at me again and gouged supernaturally inflicted wounds in my scalp, this time with no fingernails. I bit down on my tongue to avoid giving her the satisfaction of my cries. The deep, painful wounds throbbed along with my every heartbeat. I tried to recall the healing spell from my book. Chanting what I could, my head gashes prickled in their effort to knit together. As I chanted, I flew out over the ocean, forcing Alyse to follow me.

The closer I was to my beloved sea, the more I could pull power from its tides. I felt a sweet infusion of buoyancy as I hovered over the breakers, and the pain in my scalp lessened.

“Murderous hag,” I spat, “you’ll never get the grimoire, not after you tried to kill me.”

“I’ll tear your limbs off,” she screeched and flew at me, her eyes afire with rage. We wrestled each other, rolling over and over in the sky, our fury and magic keeping us aloft as we tore out clumps of hair, twisted arms, and landed brutal punches. I pocketed her hair and pieces of her torn flesh. This was not how witches fought. Even I knew that.

But before I tapped into my truest powers, I had an irrepressible urge to release the pent-up rage and agony of years that I didn’t even know I was harboring. Why did she birth me only to abandon me? How could she hurt me so deeply and not even care? Did she have no heart, no compassion or love for her own flesh and blood? “Why? Why do you hate me so much?” I blurted.

“The sight of you makes my skin crawl,” she spat. “You have no right to share my power, my world, or the sea I swim in. I despise your every breath.”

So, there were no rational answers. She was a rabid lunatic. Who else would attempt to kill their only daughter?

“Where is it?” Alyse asked, clamping my neck in a vicious chokehold.

The pinch on my muscles was excruciating, but just as painful was the constant awareness that it was my mother doing this to me. A scream was trapped in my contorted throat. The moment she eased up, I slid from her grip and shot down under the water.

Where I was at home. For a second, my truest mother, the blissful saltwater, swaddled me.

Then mighty thunder seemed to reverberate up from the ocean depths, and Alyse’s dark form streaked toward me. I might have the grimoire now, but she had years of supernatural practice over me. She grabbed my feet and pulled me down. Held me in invisible chains. But I didn’t need to breathe. Had she forgotten?

We wrestled once again in a black explosion of bubbles. The virtual chains she had imprisoned me with rattled as if they were made of heavy iron. I couldn’t do this alone. I called out my first magical plea for the sea creatures to help me.

In panoramic majesty, a hundred or more fish sped my way, followed by larger, more intimidating creatures—whales, billowing eels, a lumbering, blue creature with a hammer-shaped head, a fish with fins like sails, dolphins, and sleek sharks. They repeatedly batted Alyse with their tails. Five or even twenty wouldn’t have made a dent. But there were thousands now, switching and smacking their tails in the dark currents. In a whirling swarm, it was clear they were diverting her focus. She belted out an angry chant and some of the fish withered and fell, in seesaw arcs to the ocean depths. This pained me. Yet the biggest, most fierce creatures persisted. In a supernatural burst of power, they gnawed on my chains. Amazingly, I heard the invisible chains crack and crunch in their massive jaws. Alyse cursed me and chanted ever faster, while I wriggled out of the broken chains and shot upward, frantically pumping my legs.

I heard the dull clanking of metal below as the chains hit rocks on the sea floor. My magic was so new I was like a kindergartener in my wonder. I howled out a spell for the fish to reconvene and strike Alyse with renewed vigor.

In archaic commands, she chanted back at them, which spun them into a disorganized dance. I tried to call the school of fish back to order, but they were already gone. Alyse’s magic was still too strong.

Up above, the sky released another Dante’s hell of thunder and lightning. It shot right through the sea currents and down. My thoughts went to Peter, I wasn’t sure why. I wondered how the Morro was faring in this dreadful storm.

Was Alyse causing this weather? Was her magic that potent? No, she was a witch of the sea, not of the sky.

“You’re wrong, stupid daughter,” she yelled through the depths. “I have mastery over the sky too. And your Peter is not safe, not by a long shot!” With that pronouncement, she released a combined bellow of rage and laughter. Barreling toward me at frightening speed, she raised her arms. With that action, my body spiraled through the water. It felt as if I’d forgotten how to swim and was hopelessly trapped in a breaker.

“I know your true weakness,” she cackled.

“You’ve no idea,” I shot back as I tried to stop myself from careening all the way to shore.

“I do. You’re so very transparent.” She used her traveling powers to instantly speed over. She leaned aggressively into my face as the pounding undercurrent snaked me around. “Your Peter,” she countered. “He’s your weakness. That silly card reader.”

“He’s no card reader,” I argued, anything to dissuade her. Finally, I steadied myself and dove out again, into deeper water. I wasn’t sure why it mattered, why I cared if she got it in her mind to destroy him. “He’s a fraud. He’s a con artist,” I argued. “He collected evidence on me, to destroy me. And you.” Maybe if I got Alyse on my side, I could run my own game on her. Sure, that was the ticket.

“You can’t fool me.” She launched forward in the tides and lunged at me, so close our noses and arms touched. The sting of her flesh on mine repulsed me. “You’re in love with him, Fiera,” she accused. Her gray eyes were electric eel lights, blinding me in their eerie brightness.

“You’re wrong. Forget Peter. This is between you and me.”

“Ha. That proves it.” Alyse declared. “I’ll kill him. Try to stop me. The only way you can is to give me that goddamn spell book.” Her eyes glinted as she stretched out her hand. “Give me that book. You’re no match for me.”

“Never!”

“Idiot. You’ve made a terrible choice, and now Peter Dune will suffer for it.” She poked a sharp fingernail in my rib. “Catch me, witch.” With that, she was gone.

* * *

I SHOT UP to the water’s surface. Covering my brow with my hand to protect from the battering rain, I gazed at the inky sky and sank deep in thought, deep in worry—for Peter.

I loved him. He betrayed me. Like Alyse, but not like Alyse.

She’d tried to murder me—twice now.

Peter was just doing his job. No, lousy excuse, start again, Fiera. I loved him. But it was no longer safe to feel anything for him because Peter had lied. Liars will lie again. He pegged me for a fool. Had he ever loved me? Who was the real Peter? I never knew.

The battering rain felt right. Punishing. I let it pound on me as I tread water. Our connection when we met, what about that? The way, at the touch of my hand, Peter swooned into a trance. What about that? The warmth in his dark gaze, the way he stroked my hair, my naked back, even my soul, was that just some clever act?

My truest intuition tells me no.

But facts are facts. He worked for Dickerson, whose mission was to round up and wipe out mediums, spiritualists, and surely witches. I needed to stay away.

Peter is in danger though. I feel it with every breath I take. My lungs were clogging with supernatural smoke, and the sky was ablaze with scorching hot rain. My heart burned in fear. Like my séance visions, this suddenly scalding heat was very real.

Where had Alyse gone? She would not hesitate to snuff out Peter’s life as completely as she tried to end mine. If I ignored that and let him perish, would that mean I was as heartless as she was?

Another burst of smoke invaded my lungs so intensely that it made me gag. I raised my head to the wind and sniffed. This wasn’t just a feeling. The anxiety plaguing me had its earthly nexus in that burning odor. Fire. Real fire. My mind traveled back to the first night at Peter’s store—to his mesmerized state—him yelling about a fire, my choking on rising seawater and smoke. I felt a flipping over of my entire soul, as if the ocean had churned me up and swallowed me.

As I craned my eyes, I saw it, an eerie gray mist pouring through the thunderous downpour. Dense, sour, and malicious like the devil himself. Peter’s boat was due back tomorrow at dawn. I knew without a doubt what my earlier visions had all pointed to. Alyse was seeing to it Peter would never, ever disembark from the Morro.

A terrific pain stabbed me, much worse than any blows Alyse had delivered. I dove under the ocean swells where my powers reigned, tore through the deep currents, and out to the injured vessel.

Chapter 28

A JOLT WOKE me out of a restless, troubled sleep. Shaking off my covers, I had a nagging awareness that everything was dreadfully wrong. A vision of Fiera struggling in the ocean invaded my senses. All around me pulsed a menacing presence, like some ghoul escaped from purgatory, lurking in the shadowy corners of my cabin.

To feed on me.

Get a hold of yourself, I silently scolded. Intuition was one thing, but falling prey to delusional specters was altogether unacceptable. I mean, Bela Lugosi was real, but Dracula was just a character from a gothic novel.

Still, I strained to peer into each corner, every crevice. There was only a suitcase in one corner, a chair with red-striped cushions in another, the bed I was on in the third, and the forth corner was devoid of any clutter. It only led to my small washroom. The cabin smelled oddly woody though, like a blazing hearth fire.

Once again, visions of Fiera pummeled me, of her screaming, her choking on seawater. It was just as I had seen in the séance. Back then, I’d been out cold with no memory, but, unexpectedly, I recalled everything. Everything.

This was no fit of neurotic worry. My earlier visions at the store were leading up to this moment in time, shouting out a dire warning. Yet, what exactly were they warning of? I leapt out of bed, scrambled into my clothes and thrust my cabin door open. That was when I smelled fire so dense and corrosive it bowled me over.

With a dampened shirt pressed over my nose and mouth, I dashed into the hall. Everyone was teeming into the hallways in nightgowns and pajamas, their jackets haphazardly flung over them. Babies screeched, a mother was sobbing, and I saw Tim and Dickerson’s boys greedily trying to beat the pack to the upper deck and lifeboats.

Where were Dali and his friends? Had they made it to the upper deck? I hadn’t thought to ask where they were staying.

The boat made a sickeningly loud crack and more thick, acrid smoke surged toward us. People were choking on it. A few had already succumbed, their bodies hunched on the floor. Suddenly, the vessel tipped on its side, sending people crashing against the walls. I picked myself up and helped fellow passengers to their feet before crawling toward the staircase to what was once the upper deck, but was now a sideways deck. “Hold on!” I yelled at random. “Grab onto something.”

I struggled up the stairs, one hand gripping the railing, the other pressing my shirt to my face, to slow the scorching of my lungs.

Another deafening crack angled the ship halfway upright again. Many more people were thrown about. Some, wailing, fell clear down the stairway. I managed to struggle to the uppermost deck where I could see the locus of the fire. It was worse than I feared, billowing out of the starboard side in back. The library was under that section, where Dickerson had called that fateful meeting. No doubt, that meeting room was a blazing pile of book ashes by now. Because up here, the fire had eaten clear through the deck. Angry plumes of smoke ballooned between yellow flames arcing far into the stormy sky.

Hordes of frantic passengers struggled to board the lifeboats. I had never bothered to count the boats before, but clearly there were more people than boats. How could the Morro staff be so incredibly negligent? People were brawling, punching one another in their haste to board. In another violent jerk of the boat, many folks went screeching to their deaths in the black waves below, inspiring ever more panic amongst the crowd. In the morass on the deck, I spotted Dali and Elsa. Elsa had on a rumpled bathrobe with her hair in curlers. Her eyes were round as saucers in their pure terror. Dali’s impish smile was replaced by a grim set of the jaw.

“Over here!” I shouted. “Over here!” They clambered my way, and I helped Dali and Elsa into a lifeboat already brimming with people.

“What’s the big idea?” crabbed a dowdy man, pushing ahead in line.

I had no desire to argue. After making sure Elsa and Dali were safely ensconced, I turned away to find Bela and Irene. Somehow, if I could help them, this sickening doom might lift. Perhaps then, my lucid nightmares of Fiera thrashing in the sea might fade.

I wove my way back to the crooked staircase to help two bleeding children screaming for their mother when a monstrous headwind caught me and lifted me right off my feet. The children, clearly so shocked at this, stared up at me, their cries forgotten.

“What in heavens?” I exclaimed as this singular wind lifted me further.

I’d been in fierce hurricanes. Never had the gusts been this strong or specific in their choice of victim. Suspended in sheer space, I flailed my arms and legs like an overgrown child, trying to root myself again on solid ground. I tried in vain, because something invisible but as powerful as Zeus kept ferrying me up and up and up. “This is no tornado. I’m not in the eye of a tornado,” I reasoned to tamp down my growing agitation.

“You’re not,” boomed a female voice from the smoke-poisoned sky.

Where are you? Where have I heard you before?

“In the speakeasy. In your Tarot parlor,” answered the disembodied woman to my unspoken questions. And then, like a menacing Gorgon, Alyse materialized around me, her hair flying in wild, seaweed-like strings. She was wrapped in a silvery gown covered with shimmering fish scales. Alyse wasn’t touching me, yet I felt her arms close in a vice grip around my ribs. Holy hell! Talcott was onto something after all. This woman was no mortal. She was soaring next to me, and I was soaring as fast as she was, in some supernatural sync defying the laws of gravity. To plummet into the ocean’s vast and mighty waves so far below would be a sure ticket to an early grave. Out here, the roiling water was deep as Davy Jones’ locker.

“Where’s Fiera?” I asked her.

“It’s not your business,” she snapped.

“Fiera is my business. What did you do with her?”

“The same thing I’ll do to you!” She took an abrupt ninety-degree dive into the monstrous ocean swells. In my magnetic lockstep with her, under I went.

Hitting the water so violently stunned my heart and paralyzed my muscles. A second ago, I’d been suffocating on thick smoke. Now I had to try to pump my shocked limbs and hold my breath not to choke on icy seawater.

Kicking my legs as best I could, I swam toward Alyse. I got a firm grip on her scaled robe, and I shook her hard to try and free myself from her bonds. She magically pushed me off and laughed. Yes, she laughed underwater. With no breath, how was that even possible? Yet the sound of her mirth gonged like a funeral bell through the currents.

In a desperate second attempt, I lurched upward and kicked her head. My boot landed hard on her ear and jerked her head sideways. She howled and grimaced. But she was abnormally strong, and in some form of godless spell, she yanked me back again without even touching me. Waving her hands, she carved supernatural cuts into my face and arms. My skin split into so many crimson ribbons. Going for my neck, she pared the muscle like a filet. It hurt like a bastard, and my blinking eyes watched the water darken into purple swirls. Groggy from loss of blood, my last conscious visions were of Fiera, slumped over a boulder on the ocean floor.

Chapter 29

I SMELLED DISASTER. I tasted it, like the iron of blood, the bile of sickness, and the flinty crackling of bones. My every limb trembled violently with the sense of it. Still, I kept hurtling forward, cutting through brackish ocean water shot through with jellyfish. I had less than thirty seconds. My sensate brain knew this somehow. Cutting up toward the water’s surface, I saw a deeply sorrowful sight.

The Morro was on its side with flames shooting skyward, the deluge of rain doing nothing to blanch the inferno.

Peter wasn’t on the boat; my enchanted animal sense told me that too.

I had less than twenty-five seconds to find him. I projected a message for the fish to please, please, please ferry any drowning passengers to safety they could. Magic had its limits. I was already weary. My supernatural strength would deplete before long.

I treaded water while I sent out psychic feelers in all directions. Like a bat sensing heat, I homed in on a circumference of water hotter than the rest. It was a good ways toward the shore. Under it beat the heart of a man. I dove under where I could best track the sound and the heat and barreled forward. I had about fifteen seconds left. The time ticked down with each of his slowing heartbeats.

I drew closer. There was blood, swirling in dark red clouds. Peter was hurt. I shouldn’t have cared, but I couldn’t help it. Alyse had trapped him. I felt her murderous rage and wondered how and why anyone could stay that angry. Pure evil was the only answer. I aimed for their tangled torsos. Must keep my edge of surprise and speed. Have to beat Alyse at her malicious game. I chanted an unlock spell because I sensed she’d wrapped her magic chains around Peter as she’d done me.

Through the deep, I heard the sonic clank of their undoing and clattering down, down. In a furious sprint, I snatched Peter from Alyse’s grip. She was too surprised to grab him back, yet I’d have to keep moving. In my arms, he was limp, cold, but thankfully not as heavy as he would’ve been on land.

I chanted a spell of protection and speed as I brought him up, and another to reverse the pull of the undertow so Alyse would be slowed long enough to ferry Peter to safety.

On the water’s surface, I allowed myself one look at the face I had once loved so much. His cheeks were sliced like raw meat. His eyes were open but blank. It horrified me. I lowered my lips to his and breathed air into his lungs. Once more, I tried, but he’d need a real doctor soon. I hurried on toward shore.

I knew Alyse had caught up and was behind me by her foul energy—the eager, drooling grin of a robber in a desolate alley. Her cackle resounded in the depths and set off a gigantic wave. It coiled me inside its unnatural force. Rolling and rolling, I struggled to keep hold of Peter while emitting a silent plea to the bigger fish. Come quickly. Please bring him to the surface. Suck the water from his lungs.

Two large sharks sped toward me and nudged me past the nexus of the roiling wave. Seeing them hoist Peter on their backs, I had a sudden terror they wouldn’t be able to resist gorging on his bloody flesh. What choice did I have though? I projected a resist charm, and then tied Peter’s shirtsleeves around one of the sharks. The other shark nuzzled me like a pup before they sped off.

I was bone weary. Magic was tapping my reserves. Save your energy for the important spells, I thought as I sank under the water’s surface again. How would I know which ones I’d need? Already I’d performed more in rapid succession than I’d ever done. Only the most essential. Spinning around, I saw Alyse right in front of me.

“You reveal your heart too easily,” she hissed. Underwater, her eyes gleamed a yellowish green, not their usual gray. Their shade was a world away from the lovely emerald tones of the siren who’d given me my grimoire.

Collect, I told myself. Swiftly, I grabbed for a few scales on Alyse’s gown and tore them off. Pocketed them.

In response, she ripped a clump of my hair out and tore at my suit, trying to expel all of my secret treasures. One of the crushed ore vials floated up, and she grabbed it. “You think you can use your potions to make me weak, girl?” Narrowing her eyes at me, she began to chant in a language I hadn’t yet learned. My heart beat unusually fast and my legs felt frozen.

A spell, a spell, a spell, I mumbled, becoming confused. A wiser voice in me shouted silently, Put the charms in the bottle. The bottle!

Alyse was deep in the middle of another evil conjuring. I had to do something quick or her magic would destroy me.

Before I could decide what to do, she raised her hands and cycled them in a wide arc. The sea around me proceeded to spin faster and faster, creating a magical water tornado. I was no match for it, and it spun me around so completely it was all I could do not to black out and let it twist me to my death.

Somewhere in my darkest moment, an idea filtered in. It was a long shot, but an idea nevertheless.

While I careened around, I strained to recall the spell to make myself invisible. So many spells had been crammed into my head in so short a time. It was nearly impossible, especially in my disoriented state.

“Remember it all, sea witch. You must prevail.” The voice of the underwater maiden guarding the grimoire floated into my mind.

Reassured, I chanted and chanted until it came to me. Finally, incredibly, I no longer saw my limbs.

In a determined burst of vigor, I performed a chant to build a skein of water around me. The airtight bubble grew and pushed out the seawater. If I’d had more time, I would’ve reveled in the wonder of it… for it was a complex spell and I’d performed it well. All I could do in this desperate moment was hope it would protect me long enough to carry out my act. I pulled my collection jar from a pocket, extracted Alyse’s hair I’d saved in another, and wound that in. Found the bits of her skin I’d gouged out in the first fight and added those. Lastly, I stuffed in the scales torn from her gown. My fingers trembled as I got out the second jar of crushed ore I’d made earlier and added it to the entrapment mix. Oh, horrors, my hands were becoming visible. There were mere seconds before Alyse would see me.

I reminded myself that was part of my plan, too. It just had to happen after this part was completed. I bent over the jar and chanted. In the airtight bubble, blood from my wounds oozed down my now-visible chest and arms, onto the jar’s surface, and made its way to the bottom of the translucent water skein.

The enchantment was draining, and I was nodding in and out of consciousness. It wasn’t just my own exhausting magic, though. Alyse’s conjuring had weakened me. Maybe it wasn’t that hard to kill a witch, after all.

Stop that, Fiera! Opal’s voice sounded in my head, and it provided me a spark.

Then I saw Alyse’s menacing shadow just beyond the water skein. Her cobra hair, the undulating silver gown, and blurred form grew bigger, closer. When she broke through the bubble and charged, I was ready.

I raised my knife and chopped off her finger as she drove in. Dividing its meat in two filled me with horror, pain and satisfaction all at once. I stuffed the bloody finger in my jar. Slapped the top on and twisted it closed before Alyse could stop me. The last essential ingredient was blessedly safe when the seawater fountained inside the broken skein and collapsed it. I chanted over that collection jar with all my heart and soul.

In a murderous rage, Alyse screeched, cursed, and assaulted me. I grappled with her, witch to witch. My anger fueled me, yet I was mourning too, knowing a woman I should love and who should love me back was my mortal enemy and would never be more than that. Despite the obvious agony of her lost finger, she issued another paralyzing spell, but it only served to slow me. I kept a tight grip on the jar. As she lunged for me again, I witnessed a remarkable event. She was crackling off and on like some bolt of lightning gone awry. Her electric eyes were gone, and then gray, then gone. Her body wavered between grainy and transparent.

“You bitch!” she cursed. “What did you do to me?”

“You set that Morro fire, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” she screeched. “With pleasure. Your Peter is dead. Sharks tore him apart. You’re a stupid girl to think they would carry a bloody meal all the way to shore. I should have gotten rid of you before you were even born. You’re pathetic.”

“Not so pathetic,” I countered, allowing myself only a second’s terror that Peter could be dead before turning my focus back on her. She could no longer distract me from my task. I continued to chant.

A banishing spell. It would use up the last of my force. But I had to risk it.

As I chanted, she wavered—a candle caught in a wind. “Unworthy daughter,” she hissed. Her hands grabbed my throat and squeezed. I gasped. Were my powers too inexperienced to complete the spell? Would she come back full force and destroy me? A second later, her body grew shadowy again and her fingers lost their grip.

Flickering off for the last time, she transformed into a twist of smoke. I opened the jar top just long enough for her black soul to whoosh inside my collection jar. Twisting it firmly closed and putting it in my water suit pocket, I bent my head in thanks. I had one final pang that my real mother, however malevolent, was gone. Pushing off to swim the distance to shore, I prayed Peter would still be breathing.

Before I had to let him move on for good.

Chapter 30

I RODE UNDER heavy night clouds that sent rain to pound on my battered flesh, bound onto the back of a slippery, oiled being. So very tired I was, so near to what I imagined death to be—a giving up, letting go, a granting the next generation their turn.

While I rode, I had fever dreams of Fiera riding a shark queen whose wide row of teeth glittered in the starlight. Fiera rode bareback and wore a coral-rimmed crown. One arm was raised in jubilant celebration.

Who knew the meaning of this, or of anything?

Oh, the exquisite pain of my broken face, my gory body, my shattered soul. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Whatever magnificent and fleet being I rode on undulated easily through the rising and falling waves, each one an Everest of cold brine.

The next sensation was of wet sand under my fingertips. I crumbled it, reveled in the solidity of the earth. It hurt to breathe. Turning my head slightly, I had a vision of a hundred fish depositing bodies on the shore. Such a pretty fantasy! Had I died?

Sirens woke me, men yelling and running zigzag with their stretchers.

Suddenly, a person was forcing my mouth open and shoving my head sideways where I coughed up volumes of water.

Someone else wound cloths around each of my arms. I writhed and screamed while another sadistic torturer slathered grease over my raw face.

“Fiera!” I moaned.

“He’s breathing.”

“Where… is… Fiera?”

“Look!” said the same man, distracted from pasting his infernal grease on me. “Look, over there. The fish are bringing in bodies!”

“What in the devil’s hell? Are they alive?”

“Who knows? As long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen such a thing.” The men were off, and thankfully, the tin of smelly grease was left forgotten on the sand.

At that, my earthly goddess was by my side, softly calling to me.

Chapter 31

“PETER!” I MURMURED. “Can you hear me? Blink if you can.”

He lay on a canvas stretcher stained with his blood. In the camp lantern the medics had placed near him, I saw his face was swollen almost beyond recognition and slathered with thick, yellow ointment. But yes, there was a faint flutter of his eyelids. When I pressed Peter’s hand, his fingers brushed ever so slightly against mine. My heart soared. Alive! I only had minutes before the medics would return from investigating the wondrous event unfolding down at the shallow surf.

Hundreds of porpoises, sharks, and other colossal marine fish had wriggled in on the breakers and rolled their human cargo onto the Asbury Park shoreline.

They’d listened to my plea! Blessed fish in the hallowed sea, my beloved domain. These wise beings had saved otherwise doomed Morro passengers. I worried how many others they couldn’t save. But I had done my best. My immediate concern was for Peter. I gazed down at him. “Can you breathe?”

Another flutter of his lashes told me yes.

I got out my healing compound, the Bladderwrack. “This will hurt,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m going to put something on you to heal you faster than the doctors can.” His nod was barely perceptible, but I felt it like a soft wind. Chanting, I sprinkled the Bladderwrack over his face, neck, and chest. I unbound the arm gauzes to place it there, too, and then quickly rebound them.

His long, low moans filled me with sadness and an inappropriate longing. They reminded me of our afternoon lovemaking. I shrugged off the memory and gritted my teeth.

I was only here to make certain he didn’t die.

“Fiera,” he moaned. “My goddess.”

At this, tears spilled over my lids. The relief of knowing he’d survived was trumped by the excruciating ache of knowing he’d betrayed me. I couldn’t stay here long, or I wouldn’t be strong enough to do the right thing.

Just then, the medics returned.

“Miss,” one said, “do you know this man? We need to contact his kin.”

“I’m not kin,” I replied.

“Fiera,” Peter moaned. “My Fiera.”

The medic stared over his spectacles at me. What could I say now?

My heart was splitting into bloody fragments. I could save drowning passengers and banish a deadly witch to a distant realm, but I couldn’t break it off with a man I’d loved.

No, I could. I had to.

“Miss?” The medic was saying. “Did you hear me?”
“No, sorry. I’ve been through a lot.”

“He’s talking to you as if he knows you. Well, do you?”
“We’re acquaintances,” I said stiffly. At this, Peter groaned—in protest?

“Does he have family in the area?”

I thought of the damned agency, of Tim, of that vulgar man, Talcott. Who knew where his sister lived. “I’m afraid he does not.”

The medic pulled a writing tablet and pencil from his leather bag. “Can we please get his name and any information you have on him? In addition, we need your name and address as a contact in order to admit this man to the hospital.” He paused. “And, you are hurt as well. Your face—there’s blood. Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No, I’ll be okay. Just attend to this man, please.” So, my wounds weren’t yet healed. I brushed my arm over my face, and my suit cuff came away bloody. I had more Bladderwrack at the hotel.

Reluctantly, I jotted down my information. While I did this, the medic did another quick exam. He looked up at the other doctor in alarm. “This is quite stunning.”

“Yes? What is it?” asked the second medic, leaning in for his own close look.

My adrenaline startled to a gallop. The man had Peter’s shirt open and was staring at the raised pink avenues of healing wounds. I needed to get out of there fast, before he got over his astonishment and renewed his line of questioning.

“His face, his chest… the wounds are practically healed,” exclaimed the first medic.

“Sorry to run off,” I said, “but I have a… pressing appointment in Belmar.”

The medics shot each other skeptical glances. Any appointment at three am was highly abnormal. But then, nothing about this night was normal.

I raced to the boardwalk steps and bounded up them before I dared turn around. Up here, I saw the Morro was still ablaze. Its vista was of a thousand exploding firecrackers. Finally, the rain had stopped, which boded badly for the poor Morro. There would be no more help from Mother Nature in quelling the blaze.

The sea creatures had long departed from the shore. It was lined with medics now, tending to Morro patients. The press was swarming there, too. Out on the street, fire engines, ambulances, and police vehicles clogged every parking area.

My thoughts flew to Opal and Dulcie. I sensed their kind presences. My skills were humming, activated by a night of ambitious conjuring. My dear friends were so near. They were running toward me, and then crushing me in a long bear hug rich with love. I needed it so very badly.

“We got to Asbury Park as fast as we could,” Dulcie gasped.

“I did it. I banished her,” I said.

Opal grinned.” I knew you could.”

“I didn’t,” I admitted.

Dulcie frowned. “And Peter?”

“He’s alive. Alive and lost to me.”

“You poor dear,” Dulcie soothed. “You’ve been through so much tonight.”

“You have no idea.” I sighed. “No idea.”

Chapter 32

DESPERATE TO PUT the pieces together while I lazed in my hospital bed, I went over and over my disjointed memories of that terrifying night. I remembered Alyse lifting me right up out of the Morro and high into the turbulent storm over the ocean. If I’d had any more doubt the supernatural was as tangible as rocks and steel, it dissolved after my sky flight with the sinister Alyse. A witch! It was hard to say out loud, even harder to grasp.

I recalled her plunging me into freezing water and beating the tar out of me without even touching me. She sliced up my face, my neck, and my chest with no visible blade.

I must’ve passed out after that for my memory was a blank with only momentary bursts of images—of being carried by a slippery being through the surf, a medic smearing me with a foul-smelling ointment, and then my love whispering in my ear. Was Fiera there or had I dreamed her?

Since my arrival two days ago, the doctors had treated me like a carnival freak. They said I healed so unusually fast that my cuts were already interlaced and pink when I entered the hospital. Not to mention my magically knit left clavicle and an upper rib bone, both broken in the undersea battle. They prodded, drew blood, peered down my throat, in my eyes, and up my nose as if they might find the Holy Grail in there.

“One of the very few who stands far outside of the normal healing schedule,” one doctor finally proclaimed and asked me if I would make an appearance at one of his medical conventions. I humored him, but honestly, I just wanted to hurry home to Asbury Park.

“Was there a lady by my side on the beach that night?” I asked the medic, who stopped in the second day to give his regards.

“Why, yes.” He wore an almost guilty look on his face.

“What was her name? Did she say anything to you?”

“I believe it was Fiera. She said she didn’t know you well, that you were very distant acquaintances.”

My spirits sank. Was she angry with me for leaving on the Morro business trip? She knew I had to go, that it wasn’t my choice. We said an affectionate goodbye. My worst hunch told me she’d found out my true identity, but how? Tim was away, Opal didn’t know, and Alyse was preoccupied with trying to drown and filet me. That left Talcott, a disastrous possibility. If that was the case, I needed to find Fiera, talk to her before any more damage was done. “Did she give you her address?”

The medic hesitated, took his time cleaning his spectacles on a handkerchief. It was a worrying sign. Had Fiera advised him not to tell me anything? The medic sighed. “We don’t normally give out personal information on people who aren’t family or close friends. You understand.”

“She is a friend. She may have been shy to discuss private matters.”

He looked doubtful. What else could I do to persuade him?

“Might the hospital have it?” I asked.

He gave me a faint nod. “Look, don’t tell them I told you. You asked on your own; copacetic with that, buddy?” He leaned over and patted my hand. “At one time or another, we all have love troubles. Feel better.” With that, he left.

I roused myself and talked the desk staff into releasing Fiera’s address. She was living at Dulcie’s father’s hotel in Belmar! Why? I wondered whether Opal had joined them for she had also departed the Starfish Inn with no forwarding address. What then, had become of my store? Who was there to mind it and read cards, conduct sessions? Not that I had the heart to keep Peter Dune’s Tarot and Séance open any more. It only reminded me of my shameful duplicity. How had I stood it for so long?

When I left the hospital, I went straight there. The store was shuttered, yet with the padlock opened and hanging from its clasp. A tattered sign said it was closed for repairs.

Inside, it looked like a robber had ransacked the place. If so, they hadn’t made off with any cash, because the safe was still locked and hidden under the floor, where I put it for safekeeping while I was gone. Yet, books were scattered over the tables and the candles had been burned to stumps, but most worrisome, the door to my secret office was ajar.

Inside it, I saw chaos. My desk drawers were flung open, and my journal was flipped open upside down. Letters to me from Dickenson were crumpled on the floor with footprints as if people had carelessly stepped on them. Taffy was flung about.

Was this Tim’s handiwork? Whoever did this had a personal vendetta against me.

Taking to the streets, I fretfully hiked until my scars and newly healed bones ached. I debated how long I should wait until I went in search of Fiera. Should I wait until my scars were less frightful and her anger cooled? I wasn’t certain she knew anything. Still, I knew I should be prepared for the worst.

The Morro wreck was drifting in toward Asbury. The fire still smoldered, its smoke souring the air. It was an eerie sight, especially since the sun in a bright blue sky had finally emerged. I bought a paper. As I sat on a bench to read, the report of the mounting Morro body count sickened me. One hundred and twenty-nine deaths… and bodies were still rocking in on the surf. Salvador Dali and Elsa Schiaparelli were not amongst the dead. Neither were Bela or Irene. Thank God for small wonders.

I slept fitfully on the office couch. During my periods of insomnia, I stared at the tin ceiling and pined for Fiera. Images played in my mind, just like a picture show—of our work in the store. Of how radiant she was, and how utterly joyous I was when she appeared at my door after her difficult night in the shantytown. I could practically hear our intimate talks and feel her caresses from our afternoon embraces. It had been much too brief. I longed for more of my sweet Fiera.

The next morning, I slugged down two cups of strong coffee, made a valiant attempt to tame my tousled hair that had grown too long, and buttoned up the last of my clean but un-pressed shirts. As a finishing touch, I dabbed cologne on my shirt, carefully avoiding my injuries. Getting lucky was a long shot, but as the boy scouts declared, one had to be prepared. After, I hailed a livery cab and headed to Belmar.

Chapter 33

I WAS PACKING for New York City when I heard a knock. Opal and Dulcie had gone out to eat hot dogs and stroll on the boardwalk to give me time and room. They knew I was blue, and it was hard for me to leave Belmar, leave Peter and my old hope for us behind. I had no idea where I would find a job, perhaps at the Brooklyn orphanage, which had raised me up, though during these hard times they would likely be cutting jobs. Dulcie had begged me to stay on, promising me her father would find me hotel work. But she’d done way too much for me already. It was time for me to fend for myself. I told Opal I might send for her if I found gainful employment. She was practically a child and still needed some looking after. She hugged me for that and kissed my cheek. Perhaps we could read the cards, open our own Tarot parlor in some odd corner of the city. Who knew what time and fortune might bring?

There was another knock, firmer this time. I glanced at the clock on the side table. Strange, they weren’t expected back for at least an hour. Besides, they both had keys to the hotel room.

My witch’s soul knew before I opened the door. I panicked. Maybe I should pretend I wasn’t there, but I was so curious—terribly curious. If I could get just one peek to prove he was better, I could order him to leave afterward.

I opened the door. Peter flew at me. Took me in his arms. For a second, I was helpless to push him away. It felt so blissful. His warm skin on mine and his breaths on my neck. But the painful memories of talking to Talcott flew in, darkening my vision, hardening my heart. I shoved him off me.

“What’s the matter, Fiera?” By the horror in his eyes, I knew he’d figured it out. “No, dear Lord, you know, don’t you? The New York agency, the Tarot store’s real purpose…”

“You need to go,” I said simply, stepping back.

“Let me explain,” he pleaded.

“It’s too late. You did it. It’s done.”

“But I love you.”

“Liar!”

“It’s true. Your voice when I washed up on that beach after…” His voice broke, and he paused to pull himself together. “Your sweet voice in my ear was all that kept me alive.”

It hurt. It hurt so much. I didn’t know there was that much pain in the universe. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

“Oh, dear God, I love you, Fiera. I’m so very sorry. I did horrible things. I can’t blame you for feeling the way you do.” His eyes were bloodshot and wild. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. I’d never seen him in such a state. “I blame myself. If I could start over.”

“You don’t know how I feel,” I spat back. “You haven’t even asked me.”

He took a tentative step toward me and stopped when he saw my threatening glare. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from taking a swing at him and busting open his wounds. Or better yet, putting an enchantment on him to roll him in a few more magical storm breakers.

“Tell me, honey,” he murmured. “Please tell me.”

“You don’t deserve to know,” I growled.

“Oh, Fiera, I’ll never forgive myself. I…” His voice bled desperation and his eyes were misted with tears. When I saw them, my doubt faltered.

Was it a mistake to look up at him for more than a second? Our eyes locked. Even with the myriad of deep scars running down his jawline, he was magnificent. Agony was etched in his gaze, in the quiver of his jawline, and it broke me. His male beauty overwhelmed as it always had. “Why should I trust you? You lied to me. Worse, you brazenly manipulated me. You only gave me that deck of Tarot cards to lure me in.”

“No, I did it because I loved you, even then. I knew I had to see you again.”

“Damn it! Don’t mislead me. Not for another second. I read your two-faced journals. I read all of your agency papers. Those Dickerson letters, the whole filthy mess.”

“I’m not misleading you. I loved you even then,” he repeated. He was nothing if not persuasive.

I sent him disgusted sneer. “What?”

“I was fooling myself, Fiera. I was running a grifter’s game on my own damn self, trying to get back at someone, anyone, for what happened to my sister.” He raked a hand through his mop of hair. “If you’ve read my journals, you know about Gertie?” I nodded, and he went on. “The Circle cretins destroyed her. She’s never been the same after that. She’s my only family. I was insane with rage.” He gazed at me. “Have you ever felt that way?”

“Yes, from what you did to me.”

“Oh, honey, I’m beyond ashamed.”

“You should be. How can I ever trust you again?”

“If I can’t have you in my life, it’s not worth living,” he moaned. I saw the tears start to run down his cheeks. My heart lurched inside my ribcage. I was afraid I would cry, too. In my heart of hearts, I realized that as crazy as it sounded, what Peter was saying was real—his love for me, his black regret, his terrible shame. He brushed his wet face on his shirtsleeve. “How can I make it up to you? Tell me, please.” He reached out his arms for me. Hungry—I could feel how hungry he was for my touch.

I held up my arms to block him. “Sit over there,” I ordered, and I pointed to the breakfast table. He complied like a docile puppy. This wasn’t so bad. I smiled inside, and then sat across from him. “Explain.”

Heaving a great sigh, he raked his hands through his hair. Clearly, he was struggling to collect his emotions. “I’ve always been strictly a man of science. And then you came along and enchanted me with your wisdom, your fire, your delicate beauty, and your indomitable spirit. Gradually—no pretty darn fast—you converted me. I became a firm believer in the great magical tapestry that weaves the world together with its golden strands. I could no longer possibly believe in Dickerson and his grand inquisition to round up all evil mediums.” Peter grinned. “You ruined me for the so-called righteous cause. Not only that, but whenever we touched, your magic flew right into me.”

“It did. You were a great conduit.” I didn’t hate him, not exactly. He looked so boyish with his wrinkled shirt and his hair dangling over his forehead. He needed taking care of. His words were beginning to warm me. But I kept that close to the vest. “Go on.”

“Well, I had a big problem. I was bringing in a badly needed salary from Dickerson and his filthy rich clients. Then there was the thorny issue of dealing with Tim and attending the business cruise on the Morro. We lost the wire recorder; I guess you know that too.” I nodded. “You really know how to ransack an office, lovely lady. It was quite a fright in there.” He chuckled. “I had it coming.”

“You certainly did.” I knew I could easily have him. That he would do anything for me. But I wasn’t quite there yet.

“Here’s the highlight.” His face brightened. “I told Dickerson off. I caused a real scene on the Morro during the business meeting. I waxed eloquent about the true existence of magic. I told the agency boys they were narrow-minded fools. I told them to go to hell, especially Tim.”

“Do tell.” Bubbly pleasure fizzed up in me like Dulcie’s Moxie soda. But still I wore a poker face.

“The best part? I quit. After announcing I was madly in love with a very talented medium and reader of the Tarot named Fiera.” His eyes implored. “I need you, Fiera. I never knew I could love a woman as I love you.”

I was tempted to run over and hug him. Not yet though. If he was coming clean… “My turn to confess.”

“You?” His brows shot up.

“Oh, yes.” I folded my hands on the table and started. “It seems I hail from a powerful witch dynasty, of sea witches to be exact.”

His coffee-brown eyes glimmered in fascination. “Do tell!”

“True. Alyse is my mother.”

“Alyse! Holy fire.”

“She tried to murder me when I was only a baby. Remember how we heard the sound of infants crying when we were in that speakeasy, drunk on absinthe?” Peter’s mouth fell open, and his hand flew up to cover it. I paused to let that sink in. “The only thing that saved me was my caretaker. My mother said she murdered the caretaker after the old woman carried me to the orphanage.”

“My God, Fiera, that tenant who I spoke to was right!”

“What tenant? Where?”

“I had a hunch after speaking to Talcott, who insisted Alyse was a witch. So I grilled Alyse at the speakeasy, and she laughed it off. Well, that’s when I got terribly sick. Alyse played her murderous games on me and failed. Anyway, just before I boarded the Morro, I went to the address on Tenth Street where Alyse told me she used to live.” Peter grinned. “There are a few useful things I got from being an investigator. I’m good at prying out information and conducting covert searches.”

“I’ll grant you that.”

“The residents said about twenty years ago, a woman murdered an old lady there and her body was never found.”

“Oh, Lord, Peter. How incredibly sad! I owe my life to that caretaker. She was so brave to stand up to Alyse.” I frowned. “Wait, so, you were putting the pieces together all along?”

“Yes, a few.”

Peter’s hand was stretched out on the table and it filled me with sudden longing. I could easily reach for it. He could press my hand into his and stroke it with his wide thumb. Just the thought of that simple move made my belly ache for him. He saw me looking at his hand, and I sensed he could read my emotions as easily as I could read his. “Let me finish my confession before we get sidetracked,” I said.

“Be my guest.” He slid down in his chair, which exposed his neck when the collar opened. Despite the jagged scars, it was muscled and firm. Remembering how I loved to kiss that neck sent shivers all through me. When I glanced up, I saw his eyes dilate with pleasure. He knew. We were still bonded that way.

Concentrate, Fiera. Get through this. “Alyse tried to kill me again when you were on the Morro.”

“Oh, dear God, Fiera! I hope she didn’t hurt you.” He leaned forward, and his hand instinctually reached out as if to comfort me. He lay it back down on the table. Empty. “How?”

“She posed as Celeste, that cute little counter girl at Spellbinding. Turned out Alyse could change her look—her whole being—at will. Opal saved me. She ran Alyse off and unbound me. Opal has supernatural talents too.”

“Opal! Wonders never cease.”

“She helped me practice my spells after the ocean siren gave me the grimoire she’d been saving for me. I practiced my magic devotedly for as little time as I had in order to eliminate Alyse.”

“Eliminate Alyse?” Peter looked skeptical now, which made me angry. Though I knew it was hard to digest, even for me. “Not just a simple killing?”

“No. I banished her to another realm.”

“Banished, like whoosh?” His mouth hung open. He looked so comical catching flies like that I laughed. “But how?”

“Banished, yes, to a realm of dark souls. That’s how it’s described in the grimoire. I put in pieces of her skin, her hair, into a special jar. I chanted and chanted over it. I chopped off her finger and put that in too.”

“Heavens!” He clapped both hands over his face. “Don’t ever get mad enough to put pieces of me in a jar.”

“Then don’t give me more reason to, Mr. Dune,” I quipped. “In all seriousness, I trapped her crooked soul in there. It’s almost impossible for her to ever return. She’s gone!”

Peter stared at me, his eyes huge. Finally, he was at a loss for words.

“So, you see, I’ve held a lot from you, too. I had my own secrets. Oh, and a postscript. I saved you from the Morro. I enchanted a shark and directed him to carry you to shore on his back.”

Peter burst out laughing. “So my dream visions of huge, enchanted fish were real.”

I nodded.

There was mirth and astonishment mixed up in his gaze. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You are a sea witch. I dreamt you were wearing a coral crown and riding a magical shark. Thanks for helping me, beautiful one. Especially when you felt so betrayed. I’m so sorry, Fiera. I never, ever intended to hurt you. The lies, the fabrications, just snowballed out of control.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I breathed a long sigh. This was followed by a weak surge of anger like the last swirl of water down a drain when the stopper is removed. “Please don’t ever lie to me again.”

“I’ll sign a declaration in blood.”

I flinched. “No thanks, you’ve bled enough already.”

“True. And you won’t hide things from me anymore, even if you fear I won’t understand?”
“No, I promise.”

“Well, then.” He gave me a seductive look, his head cocked at a rakish angle. “Can I kiss you?”

In response, I slowly licked my lips. He rose and stalked over to me like a lion catching the scent of his lioness in heat. Wrapping his muscled arms around me, he coaxed me to my feet. Leaning over, he brushed his sensual lips over mine. My lips tingled and the delightful feeling spread all through me. He thrust his tongue in my mouth with famished haste and pressed himself up against me.

We were both so hungry for a deep taste of each other.

I put a note on the door for Dulcie and Opal that I would be involved in a very private consultation for a couple of hours, and I suggested they go get a cup of tea in the lounge should they return early. Opal was a budding medium. She would sense the ardent activity within and would steer Dulcie away.

Peter and I drew the covers down on my bed and slipped under them. He spent a long, luscious time stroking my hair the way I loved him to do. It melted me into a buttery dream state. We kissed with our mouths wide and tongues playing as if we could drink in passion.

“I love you, Fiera.”

“I love you, Peter Dune.”

He tenderly unbuttoned my dress and I followed suit, helping him shuck off his shirt. We tossed our clothes on the dresser, and he wrapped me in his arms. He smelled deliciously of honey, coffee, and laundry soap. I softly kissed every one of his scars, crooning a silent, healing blessing for each of them. Ducking his head down, he licked my breasts until I couldn’t help but make little mewing sounds. Giving me a sinful smile, he inched down slowly, to lick my belly and thighs and the hot, willing flesh in between them.

“Ah, what are you doing to me?” I gasped, grabbing at his hair.

He lifted his head. “Nothing bad. Giving you some new pleasure. Worshipping you.” His head disappeared once again, and the intense weight and breadth of it between my legs made me moan louder.

Peter Dune performed his own sort of magic. I bucked under his expert tongue. His low, bass moans sent me into a frenzy of lust. Now that I knew I was a witch, I felt a wonderful sense of abandon. I could be a lady yet also soar free of society’s fetters. I surprised myself by suddenly, fitfully, soaring over a cliff of ecstasy.

Even in my naiveté, I knew it was his turn. My hand moved down and caressed him. Impressively hard, thick, and all mine. This was something I’d done for him once so I knew a little. He arced and groaned as his urgency grew. It was thrilling to see him so aroused, his lids low, sweat beading on his handsome forehead, his mouth open, willingly lost in his pleasure. His body stiffened, and he let out a yelp of pure satisfaction as he exploded onto my hands. I was honored to bring him to such a personal place of bliss.

We embraced, curved easily into each other. And then we slept.

* * *

I WOKE AN hour later and took the sign off the door. Peter was still sleeping. He needed it. So I crept down to the lounge where Dulcie and Opal were sipping iced teas. They wanted to hear everything. As I told them, their eyes glinted.

“I knew you’d get back with him,” Opal professed. Now that her supernatural talents were a known entity, she’d become bolder, even a bit cheeky. It suited her.

Dulcie was a bit more motherly in her concern. “He won’t lie to you again, will he, dear? I mean, how can you be sure?”

“I love him, Dulcie. He loves me. We made a spiritual pact,” I declared. Feeling assured in my words, I ordered an iced tea and a plate of ginger cookies for the table.

* * *

AT DUSK, PETER and I walked to the boardwalk for ice cream cones—strawberry for me, and chocolate for him. It was our turn to give Dulcie and Opal some room.

“Look how pretty the sunset is, such a pink threaded with violet. Like angel wings. One day makes such a difference,” I noted.

“An enormous difference,” Peter agreed, wrapping a protective arm around me as we walked. “I have you back.”

“And I have you. Shall we sit on the beach for a bit?” I asked him.

“That sounds wonderful.”

We climbed down the wooden stairs and chose a hillock of white sand.

“What will you do now?” I asked him after we settled in.

He took off his shoes and dug his feet in the sand. “Whatever I do, I want it to be with you. What are you thinking?”

“Well, I was going to return to New York City, try to find gainful employment.” I gazed at him and grinned. “Want to find gainful employment with me in Manhattan? I mean, now that you went ahead and impulsively quit your other job.” I rolled my eyes in mock criticism.

Leaning in, he kissed me. He tasted of chocolate and love, a sensuous mixture of flavors. “That sounds like an enterprising plan.”

The touch of our bodies brought a surge of emotion, vision, and warmth. We were true divining rods. We had saved each other with our premonitions of smoke, fire, and rising storm waves. Our urgent messages had been delivered. Now we felt calm, peace, and a hopeful sense of the future. Together, the curtain of the apparent world was lifted to see patterns of energy, soul, and intention as clear as the sea in front of us, which cascaded in infinite cycles.

Disquieting wind whisked against my shoulders. Glancing over at Peter, I saw that he felt it too—its unwelcome presence. Something so unlike all the warmth that had brightened our afternoon.

Turning and gazing up at the boardwalk, I saw a splash of white and red. A man was leaning over the railing in the exact spot we’d been standing moments ago. A round medallion hung around his neck. He was looking down at us.

“The Circle of Light,” said Peter, turning to look. “Thankfully, it’s not Talcott. Those fools.”

I shivered. The stress of banishing Alyse had made me jumpy. That was it. “Hold me tight, Peter,” I said and leaned into his broad shoulder.

Folding me in his arms, he covered me with spicy kisses.

When I turned again, the stranger was gone. His specter had dissolved in the majesty of a purple velvet sunset.

* * *

Want another of Catherine’s fantastical thrillers?

Try Fireseed One, the first in her bestselling Fireseed series - What if only your very worst enemy could help you save the world?

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About the Author

Catherine Stine’s novels span the range from futuristic to supernatural to contemporary. Her sci-fi thrillers Fireseed One and Ruby’s Fire are Amazon bestsellers and indie award winners. Dorianna, her twist on the Oscar Wilde classic won Best Horror Book in the Kindle Hub Awards. Other books include Heart in a Box.

She also writes steamy romance as Kitsy Clare. Her Art of Love boxed set follows artist Sienna’s life and loves in New York City. Catherine suspects her love of dark fantasy came from her father reading Edgar Allen Poe to her, and her love of contemporary fiction comes from being a jubilant realist. She loves “bad” reality TV and travel to offbeat places.

* * *

Read more from Catherine Stine

Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Catherine-Stine/e/B001H9TXJC

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JUMP TO...

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON by SARAH MÄKELÄ

CLOSE LIAISONS by ANNA ZAIRES

TAKEN BY THE BEAST by KRESSLEY & HAMILTON

NIGHT HAWK by J.E. TAYLOR

ROOK by JC ANDRIJESKI

THE LOST QUEEN by ANGEL LAWSON

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM by NOREE COSPER

REAPER by K. DE LONG

PURGATORY by SUSAN STEC

FORBIDDEN LOVE by TERRY SPEAR

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND by JACQUELINE SWEET

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON by LISA CARLISLE

HUNTER UNDONE by EDEN ASHE

SOUL TIES by LJ SWALLOW

WOLF IN EXILE by AMBER ELLA MONROE

AWAKENED by LAXMI HARIHARAN

HIGHLANDER’S KISS by JOANNE WADSWORTH

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER by CJ FLYNN

DARK WINGS by SKYLA MADI

DESIRING DEATH by C.P. MANDARA

WITCH OF THE CARDS by CATHERINE STINE

Table of Contents

MAIN TOC

BENEATH THE BROKEN MOON

Moon/Chapter 1

Moon/Chapter 2

Moon/Chapter 3

Moon/Chapter 4

Moon/Chapter 5

Moon/Chapter 6

Moon/Chapter 7

Moon/Chapter 8

Moon/Chapter 9

Moon/Chapter 10

Moon/Chapter 11

Moon/Chapter 12

Moon/Chapter 13

Moon/Chapter 14

Moon/Chapter 15

Moon/Chapter 16

Moon/Chapter 17

Moon/Chapter 18

Moon/Chapter 19

Moon/Chapter 20

Moon/Chapter 21

Moon/Chapter 22

Moon/Chapter 23

Moon/Chapter 24

Moon/Chapter 25

Moon/Chapter 26

Moon/Chapter 27

Moon/Chapter 28

Moon/Chapter 29

Moon/Chapter 30

Moon/Chapter 31

Moon/Chapter 32

Moon/Chapter 33

Moon/Chapter 34

Moon/Chapter 35

Moon/Chapter 36

Moon/Chapter 37

Moon/Chapter 38

Moon/Chapter 39

Moon/Chapter 40

Moon/Chapter 41

Moon/Chapter 42

Moon/Chapter 43

Moon/Chapter 44

Moon/Chapter 45

Moon/Chapter 46

Moon/Chapter 47

Moon/Chapter 48

Moon/Chapter 49

Moon/Chapter 50

Moon/Chapter 51

Moon/Chapter 52

Moon/Chapter 53

Moon/Chapter 54

Moon/Chapter 55

Moon/Chapter 56

Moon/Chapter 57

Moon/Chapter 58

Moon/Chapter 59

Moon/Chapter 60

Moon/Chapter 61

Moon/Chapter 62

Moon/Chapter 63

Moon/Chapter 64

CLOSE LIAISONS

Close/Prologue

Close/Chapter 1

Close/Chapter 2

Close/Chapter 3

Close/Chapter 4

Close/Chapter 5

Close/Chapter 6

Close/Chapter 7

Close/Chapter 8

Close/Chapter 9

Close/Chapter 10

Close/Chapter 11

Close/Chapter 12

Close/Chapter 13

Close/Chapter 14

Close/Chapter 15

Close/Chapter 16

Close/Chapter 17

Close/Chapter 18

Close/Chapter 19

Close/Chapter 20

Close/Chapter 21

Close/Chapter 22

Close/Chapter 23

Close/Chapter 24

TAKEN BY THE BEAST

Taken/Chapter 1

Taken/Chapter 2

Taken/Chapter 3

Taken/Chapter 4

Taken/Chapter 5

Taken/Chapter 6

Taken/Chapter 7

Taken/Chapter 8

Taken/Chapter 9

Taken/Chapter 10

Taken/Chapter 11

Taken/Chapter 12

Taken/Chapter 13

Taken/Chapter 14

Taken/Chapter 15

Taken/Chapter 16

Taken/Chapter 17

Taken/Chapter 18

Taken/Chapter 19

Taken/Chapter 20

Taken/Chapter 21

Taken/Chapter 22

Taken/Chapter 23

Taken/Chapter 24

Taken/Chapter 25

Taken/Chapter 26

Taken/Chapter 27

Taken/Chapter 28

Taken/Chapter 29

Taken/Chapter 30

Taken/Chapter 31

Taken/Chapter 32

Taken/Chapter 33

Taken/Epilogue

NIGHT HAWK

Hawk/Chapter 1

Hawk/Chapter 2

Hawk/Chapter 3

Hawk/Chapter 4

Hawk/Chapter 5

Hawk/Chapter 6

Hawk/Chapter 7

Hawk/Chapter 8

Hawk/Chapter 9

Hawk/Chapter 10

Hawk/Chapter 11

Hawk/Chapter 12

Hawk/Chapter 13

Hawk/Chapter 14

Hawk/Chapter 15

Hawk/Chapter 16

Hawk/Chapter 17

Hawk/Chapter 18

Hawk/Chapter 19

Hawk/Chapter 20

Hawk/Chapter 21

Hawk/Chapter 22

Hawk/Chapter 23

Hawk/Chapter 24

Hawk/Chapter 25

Hawk/Chapter 26

Hawk/Chapter 27

Hawk/Chapter 28

Hawk/Chapter 29

Hawk/Chapter 30

Hawk/Chapter 31

Hawk/Chapter 32

Hawk/Chapter 33

Hawk/Chapter 34

Hawk/Chapter 35

Hawk/Chapter 36

Hawk/Epilogue

ROOK

Rook/Prologue

Rook/Chapter 1

Rook/Chapter 2

Rook/Chapter 3

Rook/Chapter 4

Rook/Chapter 5

Rook/Chapter 6

Rook/Chapter 7

Rook/Chapter 8

Rook/Chapter 9

Rook/Chapter 10

Rook/Chapter 11

Rook/Chapter 12

Rook/Chapter 13

Rook/Chapter 14

Rook/Chapter 15

Rook/Chapter 16

Rook/Chapter 17

Rook/Chapter 18

Rook/Chapter 19

Rook/Chapter 20

Rook/Chapter 21

Rook/Chapter 22

Rook/Chapter 23

Rook/Chapter 24

Rook/Chapter 25

Rook/Chapter 26

Rook/Chapter 27

Rook/Chapter 28

Rook/Chapter 29

Rook/Chapter 30

Rook/Chapter 31

Rook/Chapter 32

Rook/Epilogue

THE LOST QUEEN

Queen/Chapter 1

Queen/Chapter 2

Queen/Chapter 3

Queen/Chapter 4

Queen/Chapter 5

Queen/Chapter 6

Queen/Chapter 7

Queen/Chapter 8

Queen/Chapter 9

Queen/Chapter 10

Queen/Chapter 11

Queen/Chapter 12

Queen/Chapter 13

Queen/Chapter 14

Queen/Chapter 15

Queen/Chapter 16

Queen/Chapter 17

Queen/Chapter 18

Queen/Chapter 19

Queen/Chapter 20

Queen/Chapter 21

Queen/Chapter 22

Queen/Chapter 23

Queen/Chapter 24

Queen/Chapter 25

Queen/Chapter 26

Queen/Chapter 27

Queen/Chapter 28

Queen/Chapter 29

Queen/Chapter 30

Queen/Chapter 31

Queen/Chapter 32

Queen/Chapter 33

Queen/Chapter 34

Queen/Chapter 35

Queen/Chapter 36

Queen/Chapter 37

Queen/Chapter 38

Queen/Chapter 39

A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM

Delirium/Prologue

Delirium/Chapter 1

Delirium/Chapter 2

Delirium/Chapter 3

Delirium/Chapter 4

Delirium/Chapter 5

Delirium/Chapter 6

Delirium/Chapter 7

Delirium/Chapter 8

Delirium/Chapter 9

Delirium/Chapter 10

Delirium/Chapter 11

Delirium/Chapter 12

Delirium/Chapter 13

Delirium/Chapter 14

Delirium/Chapter 15

Delirium/Chapter 16

Delirium/Chapter 17

Delirium/Chapter 18

Delirium/Chapter 19

Delirium/Chapter 20

Delirium/Chapter 21

Delirium/Chapter 22

Delirium/Chapter 23

Delirium/Chapter 24

Delirium/Chapter 25

Delirium/Chapter 26

Delirium/Chapter 27

Delirium/Chapter 28

Delirium/Chapter 29

Delirium/Chapter 30

Delirium/Chapter 31

Delirium/Chapter 32

Delirium/Chapter 33

Delirium/Chapter 34

Delirium/Chapter 35

Delirium/Chapter 36

Delirium/Chapter 37

Delirium/Chapter 38

Delirium/Chapter 39

Delirium/Chapter 40

Delirium/Chapter 41

Delirium/Chapter 42

Delirium/Chapter 43

Delirium/Chapter 44

Delirium/Chapter 45

Delirium/Chapter 46

Delirium/Chapter 47

Delirium/Epilogue

REAPER

Reaper/Chapter 1

Reaper/Chapter 2

Reaper/Chapter 3

Reaper/Chapter 4

Reaper/Chapter 5

Reaper/Chapter 6

Reaper/Chapter 7

Reaper/Chapter 8

Reaper/Chapter 9

Reaper/Chapter 10

Reaper/Chapter 11

Reaper/Chapter 12

Reaper/Chapter 13

Reaper/Chapter 14

Reaper/Chapter 15

Reaper/Chapter 16

Reaper/Chapter 17

Reaper/Chapter 18

Reaper/Chapter 19

Reaper/Chapter 20

Reaper/Chapter 21

Reaper/Chapter 22

Reaper/Chapter 23

Reaper/Chapter 24

Reaper/Chapter 25

Reaper/Chapter 26

Reaper/Chapter 27

Reaper/Chapter 28

Reaper/Chapter 29

Reaper/Chapter 30

Reaper/Chapter 31

Reaper/Chapter 32

Reaper/Chapter 33

Reaper/Chapter 34

Reaper/Chapter 35

Reaper/Chapter 36

Reaper/Chapter 37

Reaper/Chapter 38

Reaper/Chapter 39

Reaper/Chapter 40

Reaper/Chapter 41

Reaper/Chapter 42

Reaper/Chapter 43

Reaper/Chapter 44

Reaper/Chapter 45

Reaper/Chapter 46

Reaper/Chapter 47

Reaper/Chapter 48

Reaper/Chapter 49

Reaper/Chapter 50

Reaper/Chapter 51

Reaper/Chapter 52

Reaper/Chapter 53

PURGATORY

Purgatory/Chapter 1

Purgatory/Chapter 2

Purgatory/Chapter 3

Purgatory/Chapter 4

Purgatory/Chapter 5

Purgatory/Chapter 6

Purgatory/Chapter 7

Purgatory/Chapter 8

Purgatory/Chapter 9

Purgatory/Chapter 10

Purgatory/Chapter 11

Purgatory/Chapter 12

Purgatory/Chapter 13

Purgatory/Chapter 14

Purgatory/Chapter 15

Purgatory/Chapter 16

Purgatory/Chapter 17

Purgatory/Chapter 18

Purgatory/Chapter 19

Purgatory/Chapter 20

Purgatory/Chapter 21

Purgatory/Chapter 22

Purgatory/Chapter 23

Purgatory/Chapter 24

FORBIDDEN LOVE

Forbidden/Prologue

Forbidden/Chapter 1

Forbidden/Chapter 2

Forbidden/Chapter 3

Forbidden/Chapter 4

Forbidden/Chapter 5

Forbidden/Chapter 6

Forbidden/Chapter 7

Forbidden/Chapter 8

Forbidden/Chapter 9

Forbidden/Chapter 10

Forbidden/Chapter 11

Forbidden/Chapter 12

Forbidden/Chapter 13

Forbidden/Chapter 14

Forbidden/Chapter 15

Forbidden/Chapter 16

Forbidden/Chapter 17

Forbidden/Chapter 18

Forbidden/Chapter 19

Forbidden/Chapter 20

Forbidden/Chapter 21

Forbidden/Chapter 22

Forbidden/Chapter 23

Forbidden/Chapter 24

Forbidden/Chapter 25

Forbidden/Epilogue

THE WOLF, THE WITCH, AND THE WASTELAND

Wolf/Chapter 1

Wolf/Chapter 2

Wolf/Chapter 3

Wolf/Chapter 4

Wolf/Chapter 5

Wolf/Chapter 6

Wolf/Chapter 7

Wolf/Chapter 8

Wolf/Chapter 9

Wolf/Chapter 10

Wolf/Chapter 11

Wolf/Chapter 12

Wolf/Chapter 13

Wolf/Chapter 14

Wolf/Chapter 15

Wolf/Epilogue

KNIGHTS OF STONE: MASON

Mason/Chapter 1

Mason/Chapter 2

Mason/Chapter 3

Mason/Chapter 4

Mason/Chapter 5

Mason/Chapter 6

Mason/Chapter 7

HUNTER UNDONE

Hunter/Chapter 1

Hunter/Chapter 2

Hunter/Chapter 3

Hunter/Chapter 4

Hunter/Chapter 5

Hunter/Chapter 6

Hunter/Chapter 7

Hunter/Chapter 8

Hunter/Chapter 9

Hunter/Chapter 10

Hunter/Chapter 11

Hunter/Chapter 12

Hunter/Chapter 13

Hunter/Chapter 14

Hunter/Chapter 15

Hunter/Chapter 16

Hunter/Chapter 17

Hunter/Chapter 18

Hunter/Chapter 19

Hunter/Chapter 20

Hunter/Chapter 21

SOUL TIES

Soul/Chapter 1

Soul/Chapter 2

Soul/Chapter 3

Soul/Chapter 4

Soul/Chapter 5

Soul/Chapter 6

Soul/Chapter 7

Soul/Chapter 8

Soul/Chapter 9

Soul/Chapter 10

Soul/Chapter 11

Soul/Chapter 12

Soul/Chapter 13

Soul/Chapter 14

Soul/Chapter 15

Soul/Chapter 16

Soul/Chapter 17

Soul/Chapter 18

Soul/Chapter 19

Soul/Chapter 20

Soul/Chapter 21

Soul/Chapter 22

Soul/Chapter 23

Soul/Chapter 24

Soul/Chapter 25

Soul/Chapter 26

Soul/Chapter 27

Soul/Chapter 28

Soul/Chapter 29

Soul/Chapter 30

Soul/Chapter 31

WOLF IN EXILE

Exile/Chapter 1

Exile/Chapter 2

Exile/Chapter 3

Exile/Chapter 4

Exile/Chapter 5

Exile/Chapter 6

Exile/Chapter 7

Exile/Chapter 8

Exile/Chapter 9

Exile/Chapter 10

Exile/Chapter 11

Exile/Chapter 12

Exile/Chapter 13

Exile/Chapter 14

Exile/Chapter 15

Exile/Chapter 16

Exile/Chapter 17

Exile/Chapter 18

Exile/Chapter 19

Exile/Chapter 20

Exile/Chapter 21

Exile/Chapter 22

Exile/Chapter 23

Exile/Chapter 24

Exile/Chapter 25

Exile/Chapter 26

Exile/Chapter 27

Exile/Chapter 28

Exile/Chapter 29

Exile/Chapter 30

Exile/Chapter 31

Exile/Chapter 32

Exile/Chapter 33

Exile/Chapter 34

Exile/Chapter 35

Exile/Chapter 36

Exile/Chapter 37

Exile/Chapter 38

Exile/Chapter 39

Exile/Chapter 40

Exile/Chapter 41

Exile/Chapter 42

Exile/Chapter 43

Exile/Chapter 44

Exile/Chapter 45

Exile/Chapter 46

Exile/Chapter 47

Exile/Chapter 48

Exile/Chapter 49

AWAKENED

Awakened/Chapter 1

Awakened/Chapter 2

Awakened/Chapter 3

Awakened/Chapter 4

Awakened/Chapter 5

Awakened/Chapter 6

Awakened/Chapter 7

Awakened/Chapter 8

Awakened/Chapter 9

Awakened/Chapter 10

Awakened/Chapter 11

Awakened/Chapter 12

Awakened/Chapter 13

Awakened/Chapter 14

Awakened/Chapter 15

Awakened/Chapter 16

Awakened/Chapter 17

Awakened/Chapter 18

Awakened/Chapter 19

Awakened/Chapter 20

Awakened/Chapter 21

Awakened/Chapter 22

Awakened/Chapter 23

Awakened/Chapter 24

Awakened/Chapter 25

Awakened/Chapter 26

Awakened/Chapter 27

Awakened/Chapter 28

Awakened/Chapter 29

Awakened/Chapter 30

Awakened/Chapter 31

Awakened/Chapter 32

Awakened/Chapter 33

Awakened/Chapter 34

Awakened/Chapter 35

Awakened/Epilogue

HIGHLANDER’S KISS

Kiss/Prologue

Kiss/Chapter 1

Kiss/Chapter 2

Kiss/Chapter 3

Kiss/Chapter 4

Kiss/Chapter 5

Kiss/Chapter 6

Kiss/Chapter 7

Kiss/Chapter 8

Kiss/Chapter 9

Kiss/Chapter 10

Kiss/Chapter 11

Kiss/Chapter 12

Kiss/Chapter 13

THE WATCHER’S DAUGHTER

Watcher/Chapter 1

Watcher/Chapter 2

Watcher/Chapter 3

Watcher/Chapter 4

Watcher/Chapter 5

Watcher/Chapter 6

Watcher/Chapter 7

Watcher/Chapter 8

Watcher/Chapter 9

Watcher/Chapter 10

Watcher/Chapter 11

Watcher/Chapter 12

Watcher/Chapter 13

Watcher/Chapter 14

Watcher/Chapter 15

Watcher/Chapter 16

Watcher/Chapter 17

Watcher/Chapter 18

Watcher/Chapter 19

Watcher/Chapter 20

Watcher/Chapter 21

Watcher/Chapter 22

Watcher/Chapter 23

Watcher/Chapter 24

Watcher/Chapter 25

Watcher/Chapter 26

Watcher/Chapter 27

Watcher/Chapter 28

Watcher/Chapter 29

Watcher/Chapter 30

Watcher/Chapter 31

Watcher/Chapter 32

Watcher/Chapter 33

Watcher/Chapter 34

Watcher/Chapter 35

Watcher/Chapter 36

DARK WINGS

Wings/Chapter 1

Wings/Chapter 2

Wings/Chapter 3

Wings/Chapter 4

Wings/Chapter 5

Wings/Chapter 6

Wings/Chapter 7

Wings/Chapter 8

Wings/Chapter 9

Wings/Chapter 10

Wings/Chapter 11

Wings/Chapter 12

Wings/Chapter 13

Wings/Chapter 14

Wings/Chapter 15

Wings/Chapter 16

Wings/Chapter 17

Wings/Chapter 18

Wings/Chapter 19

Wings/Chapter 20

Wings/Chapter 21

Wings/Epilogue

DESIRING DEATH

Death/Chapter 1

Death/Chapter 2

Death/Chapter 3

Death/Chapter 4

Death/Chapter 5

Death/Chapter 6

Death/Chapter 7

Death/Chapter 8

Death/Chapter 9

Death/Chapter 10

Death/Chapter 11

Death/Chapter 12

Death/Chapter 13

Death/Chapter 14

Death/Chapter 15

Death/Chapter 16

WITCH OF THE CARDS

Witch/Chapter 1

Witch/Chapter 2

Witch/Chapter 3

Witch/Chapter 4

Witch/Chapter 5

Witch/Chapter 6

Witch/Chapter 7

Witch/Chapter 8

Witch/Chapter 9

Witch/Chapter 10

Witch/Chapter 11

Witch/Chapter 12

Witch/Chapter 13

Witch/Chapter 14

Witch/Chapter 15

Witch/Chapter 16

Witch/Chapter 17

Witch/Chapter 18

Witch/Chapter 19

Witch/Chapter 20

Witch/Chapter 21

Witch/Chapter 22

Witch/Chapter 23

Witch/Chapter 24

Witch/Chapter 25

Witch/Chapter 26

Witch/Chapter 27

Witch/Chapter 28

Witch/Chapter 29

Witch/Chapter 30

Witch/Chapter 31

Witch/Chapter 32

Witch/Chapter 33